#I don't go to war unarmed

[omegas-spaghettios]

*The Acolyte Episode 5 Spoilers*

I think it's funny that after so much of the fandom saying the Acolyte is anti-jedi and pro-sith the sith's point of view is literally just "the jedi oppress me cause I'm not allowed to murder whoever I want 🥺😡"

[stubz]

Injuries and a ship invasion, no one dies

"Why do they let humans take care of our younglings? If it hadn't been for the coalition then it would've been another century till they realize our existence. Their senses have dulled to the point where its laughable that they are the dominating species of their planet. And lets not forget the fact that they're at constant war with each other over the most stupidest things, color of skin, where one lives, who they love, what they believe, etc."

"Calis stop it! Your being a xenophobe. And while some of that is true you should know by now that the humans care deeply for our children."

"I am simply being concerned parent who worries for their young's safety and well-being...we are in a dangerous area right now, the middle of a war zone, and it would make me feel safer if we had some others at the care centre till reinforcements arrive."

"Trust me my brightest, the humans will do everything they can to ensure the safety of our Dali...and knowing them they'll likely surprise you and live up to their reputation."

"...fine, fine, I apologize, you are right. The humans have surprised me so far, what's one more?"

.

..

...

....

"WHERE IS DALI?! WHERE IS MY YOUNGLING CAPTAIN!"

"Calis calm down! Your arm!"

"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN WHEN ENEMY FORCES HAVE INVADED OUR SHIP AND NONE OF US CAN FIND OUR YOUNG!!"

"Calis, your hurt and so is your partner. Think of Gala, they need you right now."

"...Gala is hurt because they were looking for Dali. They got shot because they were heading to the centre...I have to find Dali. For Gala, Captain."

"I'm sure that Kim and Max are doing everything they can to keep them safe."

"With all do respect Captain, how could 2 unarmed humans survive what our force couldn't."

"...I don't know but its probably going to be one hell of a story we'll be telling for the ages. Now go get your arm treated. That's an order."

.

..

...

....

"WE FOUND THEM!"

"CAPTAIN WE FOUND THE YOUNGLINGS!"

"WE NEED A CRANK AND SEND EVERY AVAILABLE MEDIC!"

"oh great stars please no...nonononono DALI!" the Delzah rushed forward, breaking through the search party, only to be stopped by their captain.

"Calis...you have to let them do their job. We, we just have to hope." he could not help the hitch in his breath. Hoping, praying, that his own child was okay underneath the wreckage that was once the youngling care centre.

They fight and thrash until eventually grief overtakes them. They collapse into the captain's arms wailing.

"...what hope do I have that my child is alive under all that rubble. Captain...the only hope I have is that they died quick and that they are with the stars now..."

"Oh Calis..." he sobs. He knows it. There was hardly a chance that anyone was still alive underneath there. Only the strongest younglings who were from a strong species may survive and his child was not one of those few. They were strong but his child was like him...a runt, the joke of the family. Too small, too weak, too soft. She was surely dead...why couldn't it have been him?

"MAPA!"

"PAPA!"

One by one, children emerge from an opening made in the rubble, and at the front of them was Dali and a small feline like child.

"my glorious star" flinging themself from the Captain Calis dragged themself to meet Dali who leaped into their Mapa's arms.

The captain was not too far behind, running to his daughter and cradling her close. Words were not exchanged but Calis could feel the vibrations coming from their purrs.

"See...I told you they would be waiting..."

last to emerge from the rubble was the humans, carried out on stretchers. Only one was conscious. Glass glittered from their skin, dirt and dust blended with vibrant red blood, staining their white bandages, and a rebar was poking out of the unconscious one's side.

"You...got everyone right?"

"Yes, human Max."

"Good...that's good..." and finally did they lose consciousness.

.

..

...

....

"Apparently they covered the windows and hid the kids in the storage room, putting them to the farthest corner while they formed a human wall in front of the door.

When those quiznaking bastards couldn't break down the door they rigged the centre with explosives. Lucky for us the humans personally requested that the storage room be made durable for the equivalent of their disasters on earth so it held up decently well."

"But how did they get so injured?"

"Decently well, meaning the room wasn't completely stable. Eventually the walls started to give and the humans had to improvise by becoming the new pillars. They took shifts until they both had to hold up the weight for what the kids guess to be 3 hours...imagine holding up all of that weight until you were on your hands and knees with rebars, broken glass, and debris piercing into your body."

"...Gala said that Human Max nearly flatlined and Human Kim needed 2 liters of blood."

"You seem confused."

"...Humans are impressive but how did they do all of that? They were already injured and yet managed to hold up a collapsed ceiling for hours until help arrived, I thought they were completely average and even weaker than us."

"Apparently when their loved ones, especially children, are in danger they tap into their more primal instincts. Allowing them to withstand a shot to the side, a slab of concrete to the head, and hours of keeping a ceiling from collapsing until they know everyone is safe.

Heard a story of a human who died only after he saw his kids was safe from a fire."

"Looks like Gala was right. Humans have surprised me once again."

[princessisfinethx]

Baby Fever

This post is inspired by all the babies running around my family right now. And also a comment I had gotten a while back about König being good with children. I don't know if I should tag them or not, would that be rude?

Warnings: Pure fluff, babies, Soft!König, baby fever König. Toddlers being toddlers. Established relationship.

König knew for certain he did not get baby fever easily. When he saw babies or kids, he would shrug and make a comment about how small they were or something. You were almost the same way, not wanting kids right now but couldn't help but adore the tiny babies and toddlers. You were dating for a while and agreed that kids were not an option right now. So, when you were asked to babysit for your brother and his wife, you asked König to come along to help you.

~~~

You warned König that your brother had two boys and one girl. The boys were 6 (twins) the girl was 1. König made a comment about weird age difference, and you replied, "They get baby fever a lot more often than you know. And they want a big family." He nodded and you added. "She's pregnant again too." Which made König's eyes widen.

When you both arrived there, the boys ran to you excitedly, screaming about their auntie being back. But they quieted when they saw König. The large male stares down at the twin boys, waiting to see what they'll do. The first boy walks up and crosses his arms. "Why are you so big?"

König crossed his arms as well. "Why are you so tiny?"

The second boy laughs. "You sound like a evil bad guy!" The boys take off running and you chuckle at them. You now had a small girl on your hip. She hid her face from König and you smiled, rubbing her back.

"She's a little shy, but her mom said she's due for a nap." You walked him inside just as your brother and a pregnant wife walked out, yelling to call them if you had any trouble. König followed you inside while taking in the interior of the house. You were rocking the girl, humming for her to sleep. "Do you think you can watch the boys while I try putting her down to bed?"

He nodded. König made sure that you couldn't see his nervousness at the thought of watching two boys. You left to go put the young girl to sleep and on que, the twins came running out with play swords. One boy raised his sword at König. "Prepare evil villain! For we will slay you!"

König put his hands up and glared. "Attacking me while I am unarmed? How unfair!" The boys giggled at his accent, and maybe perhaps König was making his accent heavier on purpose, but he wouldn't admit that aloud.

When the small girl, Ember, was asleep, you walked out to the living room to find it empty and the front door open. When you inspect that as well, you find König outside with the boys, Dexter and Derrel. König was kneeling in front of one of them and smearing mud over his cheeks, the other twin boy already being marked by what you assumed was pretend war paint.

You crossed your arms as you watched König stand, some war paint of his own painted messily across his face. He was talking to them but you couldn't hear them.

~

"Why do you sound so funny?" One of the boys with the missing bottom and top teeth asked him. The other boy was only missing a few of his top teeth.

"I am from Austria." König finished his face paint and nodded to himself.

The twin boys looked at each other and then asked separate questions.

"Did you meet Steve Irwin? He catches animals."

"Have you ever wrestled a kangaroo?"

"Do you have to kill spiders as big as your face?!"

"Is it true that you can eat kangaroo like chicken?"

König had frowned, knowing they would misunderstand the moment he said it. "No, boys, that is Australia. Austria is further away." He stands. "Now we can play evil bad guy that gets stopped by cool good guys." The boys were giggling excitedly, and he held his hand up. "But wait, first, I must do something bad." He spied you coming down the steps and nodded. He walks over to you and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. "I have stolen your precious auntie, and she will be my prisoner!"

The boys screamed in a panic and rushed him, while you laughed and playfully screamed for help.

~~

A while later, while König and the boys played outside, you got a notification that the baby was awake. "I'll be right back, boys." You stand and walk to the house. When you left, the boy missing both his top/bottom teeth(Dexter) had looked at König.

"Are you going to marry our auntie?"

König thought about this and then answered. "I want to, but your auntie has to like me first. If she doesn't want to marry me, then I won't make her."

"Want me to ask her if she likes you?" He wiped his nose without a care in the world and König grinned.

"No, I am a big boy. I'll find out myself."

The other boy, Derrel, ran up to them while swinging his foam sword. "There's a girl in my class who kissed my friend Barry and it was gross!" He giggled. "Aren't you afraid girls have cooties?"

König chuckled. "I was told that girls and boys have cooties. Did you know cooties come from dirty kids who don't brush their teeth or wash their feet?" He watched the boys make faces, obviously not believing his statement.

You walked out the house with Ember on your hip, smiling down at her while speaking softly. When the boys saw them, Dexter walked up to you. "Emmy doesn't play right when we play games."

"Well, she's a baby, you know." You squat down and set the infant on a blanket laid out in the grass. "She doesn't know how to do much right now. You have to give her time to learn."

Derrel spoke next. "She sleeps a lot too."

König spoke up next. "Babies sleep a lot. When she was growing in your mommy's tummy, all she did was sleep. She was used to it, but now that she is out of your mommy's tummy, she has to get used to being awake. That's why she naps more than you two."

"Poor Emmy." One of them huffed, sitting beside the baby girl and giving her the foam sword which she took happily. "Ah! She has a weapon!"

"No! What have you done! She's unstoppable now!" König gasped dramatically and picked up the other sword. "I will defeat her!"

"No! That's my sister!" Dexter ran at König and jumped on his back. Following was Derrel, and König fell to the ground with a fake grunt of pain. You then picked up the baby girl and helped her walk over to the fallen König, where she screamed in some kind of excited baby scream. The twin boys yelled in victory while sitting atop the large fallen man. Ember held herself up on König's shoulder and he watched defeatedly as a line of drool fell on his face.

"Yack... I've been defeated."

~~~

After König won everyone over with his famous chocolate chip pancakes, everyone was settled down on the couch to watch Scooby-Doo. The boys have taken to sitting in König's arms and Ember played in her baby pin. When König said he never watched Scooby-Doo, the twins were excited to show and tell him all about the mystery-solving dog and the gang. And König was more than happy to listen to all of it. It was about an hour into the movie, and both boys had fallen asleep. König continued watching the movie. You took Ember in your arms and sat down beside them. "They really like you."

He perked up at this, looking over at you and grinning nervously at you and the baby. "You think so? I was nervous I would hurt them accidentally, or they would be scared of me." He watched as Ember reached for him and the Austrian man carefully moved his arm away from one of the boys to hold the small girl in his arms.

You had chuckled softly and laid your head back. "You're doing great with them. But I think those pancakes sealed the deal." You watched as the baby girl curiously poked and pulled at König's chin and lip. He poked his bottom lip out, then stuck his tongue at her. She watched in curiosity before doing the same thing, her hands slapping his face in excitement. You both laughed.

One of the boys woke up and moved over to you, laying his head in your lap and saying it was cold. You pull a blanket over him and gently ran your fingers through his messy hair. After he had fallen back asleep, you look up at König but find him entertaining the baby with his facial expressions.

~~~~

After you and König left, with sad goodbyes from the twins, you noticed how quiet your driver was. Looking up at him, you linked your hand in his free one, causing him to look over at you and interlock his fingers with yours. "What's on your mind?"

A lot. You, him, a family somewhere in the future, you with a wedding band on your left hand and a big belly carrying his child. He was staring forward at the road, and he sighed, a look of annoyance washed over his features. Should he tell you how he felt? What if you detest the idea of having kids with himm "The twins were so rowdy and annoying. Do all kids act that way?"

"Yes. Most of the time."

"And the baby girl, do all babies drool as much as her? It got on my face and my shirt."

"Yes." You watched him carefully, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"Kids are filthy creatures. And clumsy. And a handful..." he brought the back of your hand up to his lips, holding your hand there for a moment. "And they cry for nothing."

"That's usually a toddler phase." You tilt your head. "König what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong Liebling..." He sighed almost defeatedly. "But I can't help but picture us with our own crazy little children... and I want that very much." He looked at you after stopping at a stoplight. "I know we are not ready for kids yet, and we are not married. But I saw the way you look at them, and how big you smile at them and I can't help but want that too, with our own babies." His eyebrows furrowed in thought while he pressed another kiss to your knuckles. "But, maybe that's wrong to dream only after a day of caring for children."

You sit up in your seat and move your hand to cup his face. "It's not wrong to dream König...it's called baby fever." You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his nose.

"You would make the most perfect mommy," He says in a desperately soft voice as you press your lips to his nose. He cups your face so you look into his eyes. "I would be honored to be the father. The best father. Say the word Mein Liebling, and I will give you as many children as you desire."

:')

Don't come after me I just- I dunno.

[ianduncankinnie]

I often post about Palestine but I'd like to take a moment to talk about what's happening in Bangladesh.

KEEP YOUR EYE ON BANGLADESH

TL;DR Students killed for protesting the government's quota system. Students are being arrested and murdered for speaking up about their deceased friends. Everyone is being threatened by the government and many social media platforms are being banned.

All I'm asking is to spread the word. Please. International pressure really works for our nation. We're dying here. UNICEF reports 34 children dead. There might be more. All reblogs and likes and shares are appreciated. Thank you. I guess I'll see you tomorrow.

Past

A movement protesting the government's quota system put forth by the father of our nation Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. This was placed in the first place to help the grandchildren of those who fought in the Liberation War of our country to get government jobs. We have a terrible job market here which is why many highly educated people leave the country. On 16th July, While protesting, a Student named Abu Sayed of Begum Rokeya University was killed by the police. This only stoked the feelings of injustice between the students.

During a press conference, the PM was asked about the quota for the grandchildren of veterans. Her response? "If we don't give jobs to the grandchildren of Veterans, will we give jobs to the grandchildren of Razakars?" Razakars are the people who collaborated with the Pakistani Forces to bring down the Bangladeshi freedom fighters. They betrayed the nation for their own gain.

Traitors.

Imagine calling the youth of your nation traitors.

Imagine calling almost 14 million young people who can't find a job despite their credentials betrayers.

Imagine cursing people who are protesting for job equality under a government with the all time highest corruption in the history of this nation.

On 17th July the broadband connection centre in Mohakhali was burned down. Mobile data services and communication were shut down by the PM. After 11 days the internet was properly restored.

On 19th July, A National Military Curfew was put in place by the Prime Minister to mitigate the unrest.

But that was last month. If you need details I highly recommend sources in Bangladesh like the Daily Star or reputable like Al Jazeera. The quota has since been lifted. Lives were lost. But it was for a good cause, right?

Right?

RIGHT?

Present

Well no. There's still a curfew in the capital. Several districts like Cumilla are still under attack. The government warns of not spreading misinformation yet still lie about the severity of the issue. The police are arresting those who protest as well as those who speak up. The students are demanding for the resignation of the PM. The PM obviously refuses to apologise or even acknowledge the deaths of some 147?

or is it 200?

They're not counting how many they're killing. They're not letting anyone else count either.

It is midnight here. This morning as in 4th August 2024, the students have called for a non cooperation movement. The Ruling Party Awami League will also be holding rallies across the nation tomorrow. I do not know what is going to happen to me. I do not want to think of what will happen to my family tomorrow. I don't really care. What I'm truly scared for is the future. As these protests do not end well here.

Future

Precedence says the PM will eventually resign. Every student protest of our nation has ended in momentary success.

Momentary

What comes after is usually a military regime. A caretaker government until a next government is chosen in a supposed election. Even then if they decide to hold an election. The caretaker government is usually run as a dictatorship. It was true for the 60s. It was true for the 90s. I don't doubt it will happen again.

I'm graduating next year. My niece is still new to the academic system. I wish her the best. My grandmas and grandpas are dead. Nobody left to pray for me. My aunts and uncles are growing old. My cousins can't speak up for fear. My mom is so tired. My dad is angry. I'm unsure if I will still be able to post the next couple of days.

All I'm asking is to spread the word. Please. International pressure really works for our nation. We're dying here. UNICEF reports 34 children dead. There might be more. All reblogs and likes and shares are appreciated. Thank you. I guess I'll see you tomorrow.

[neptuneiris]

for the crown (03/03)

two things can kill the soul, emptiness and false hope.

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you gave yourself to him, you love him, he said that despite your low status at court, he will still marry you, because you are his, the woman who was his friend since childhood, until the war comes.

word count: 9.3k

previous part • series masterlist

and here ends another story, I can't believe it :( thank you so much to all the people who supported me and who read, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, you are incredible beautiful people, I love to write all this with pleasure for you❤ see you in the next stories. this is the end, there will be no epilogue.

warnings: angst, denigration, abusive behavior, possessiveness, infidelity, betrayal, mention of death, blood, cuts.

"Prince Daemon sends his greetings."

That's what the man says as he holds a dagger menacingly against your throat, feeling the cold metal firmly against your skin, while with his other hand he quiets your sobs as tears fall down your cheeks.

Even you still don't process how you got into this situation. It just all happened too fast.

All the commotion happened so suddenly, a soldier in green armor shouted ambush and suddenly men with black banners appeared surrounding the camp at Harrenhal, while everyone barely had time to react and suddenly they were already surrounded.

Even Aemond.

The maidservants were the first to flee towards the castle in fear, so you too quickly decided to go after them as the enemy soldiers began to surround everything and kill the men attacking them.

When you suddenly felt someone grab you from behind forcefully without expecting it at all and silenced your screams with his hand, instantly bringing the dagger to the side of your stomach, placing the tip ready to be embedded in your skin, threatening you.

"If you want to live a little longer, I suggest you put up no resistance and don't make a fuss, my dear," the unknown man threatens in your ear in a low, slightly amused voice.

He tells you as he moves the dagger threateningly firmer against your skin, warning you.

However, not thinking correctly and acting on a survival impulse, you gather courage and manage to get the man off you by hitting him with your foot in his intimate part as hard and fast as you can.

The man gasps loudly from the pain, releasing you, giving you time to run and call for help, crying and completely terrified.

But the man immediately pulls himself together and angrily grabs you again in a quick and calculated motion, knocking you to the ground.

You cry and cry for help as he drags you away and you continue to put up resistance, terrified and desperate, but still he places you at his feet and then stands over you, immobilizing your movements.

"No! No, please!" you cry out to him pleadingly, crying, resisting and beating him as best you can with your hands made into fists.

"Shut up!"

He shouts angrily at you, then unexpectedly hits you with his raised hand right on your right cheek, hitting your lower lip as well, bursting it, while a wave of pain runs through your face and you stop resisting.

When suddenly everything goes strangely quiet.

Rhaenyra's army does not kill Aemond's forces, there is no bloodshed or battle as such, except when the green soldiers put up too much resistance and the archers shoot them right in the forehead, killing them instantly.

This is strange to Aemond, who with his sword in hand, alert and defensive, watches as he is surrounded by all those men along with his army, attentive and waiting… though they are not actually attacking them.

Not yet.

Desperately he looks for some way to free himself from the situation, needing his dragon to have a better chance, observing how his men don't even have their swords with them or at least not many of them, most of them being unarmed by the unexpected situation.

When then he remembers you.

More desperate than before, he searches for you among all the people, unsuccessfully, starting to worry, feeling the nerves invade him even more, hoping and wanting to believe that perhaps you have escaped in time along with the maidservants.

But if you've been ambushed so suddenly and so carefully, where even he didn't have time to react, he doubts that you were able to get away from it all in time.

But if you're in the castle, hiding, equally that comforts him a little. However, Aemond did not expect to see Alys came out of the castle.

Static and with clear surprise on his face he sees how a tall man, of broad build, with strong arms, wearing brown leather clothes, with brown hair and beard of the same color along with his wrinkled face, holds tightly by her hair.

Alys gasps in pain and he make her walk and with his other hand he holds a dagger against her throat.

She cries and looks hopefully at Aemond, asking for his help and completely frightened, while the man continues to hold her tight to make her move forward and threatening her with the dagger in her throat, until they reach the middle of the whole ambush.

Aemond cautiously observes the whole scene, trying not to look as worried as he actually is, taking a few steps towards them, about to speak when a voice catches his attention.

"Ah prince Aemond, there you are!"

He then feels as if a wave of fire will burn him completely alive as he now sees how a tall, skinny, hairless man with some visible scars on his bald head and also brown leather clothes holds you firmly, making you walk as you cry and continues to threaten you with the dagger this time at your throat too.

Aemond wants to believe this really isn't happening as the man holding you stands next to the man holding Alys, his two women now in front of him, each being threatened with a dagger, on the verge of death.

His heart rate increases to a faster, unstable one, feeling like he will vomit at any moment, seeing the scene in front of him.

But his attention is drawn more towards you, with the man mumbling at you, threatening you to stop crying, as he notices the blow on your cheek and the blood coming out of your lower lip, instantly watching everything with his jaw clenched and his hands making them into fists, clenching his sword too tightly.

"We've been waiting to see you, Prince Aemond," says that man holding you, watching him amused, "Couldn't miss the show, could you?"

"Let them go, both."

He demands in a serious and deep voice, angry, hiding his desperation and concern, cautious and attentive to anything, while the man holding you watches him even more amused.

"I don't think you are in a position to demand a thing prince, or are you?"

"Then what do you want?"

Aemond instantly snaps at him, his voice hard and threatening, his whole posture tense and still clenching his hands tightly into fists.

He doesn't understand anything.

If they're here to kill them, why didn't they do it from the beginning? He doesn't understand what they're getting at with this by taking you and Alys.

"What do we want?" the man repeats, then laughs bitterly and with cruelty, "No," he denies with his head and then looks at you, "What we want we already have… right here."

This sends shivers down Aemond's body, who unable to hide it any longer, watches worried and alert as the man presses the dagger harder against your throat.

Your stir and cry in fright, to which the man quickly covers your mouth with his hand, making you gasp from the pain, so you close your eyes tightly and let out more tears, sobbing into his hand, wishing for this to be over soon.

"When Prince Daemon heard that his nephew took the Crown in the Usurper's absence and that he took Harrenhal to gain more support throughout the Riverlands against his wife, apparently enjoying the company of not one, but two women in the midst of war… this got his attention and he decided to act about it."

Then the other man holding Alys speaks with a deep voice and a determined look, while Aemond listens and watches everything carefully.

"Now he can avenge the death of his son, Lucerys, properly."

The tension rises at that moment, Aemond completely transfixed watches with his eye wide open at the scene in front of him, with the man's words constantly replaying in his mind as he sees the two of you more than willing in killing you and Alys.

Then the realization also hits him like a wave.

Blood and Cheese.

These two men are the same assassins that his uncle sent to kill one of his nephews, in revenge for Luke's death.

They were never found, both successfully escaping the Keep after such an act that his sister witnessed and drove her into madness.

Aemond truly took full responsibility and understood that his sister could no longer even accept his touch or tolerate his presence, crying completely devastated the next few days after losing her son and to this day.

But now… the victims are not his niece and nephews due to the lack of children of his own, now it's you and Alys.

He didn't bother to keep his activities with Alys discreet. Everyone knew there was an intimate relationship between him and her, he even knows that word must have gotten as far as King's Landing.

As well as with you, the words spreading since he stole you from the Keep and brought you here with him.

This is why he understands that these men have taken you and Alys successfully, until now realizing the grave mistake he made in carelessly letting his weaknesses be known.

Watch as Alys watches him intently, pleading, as the man continues to hold her tightly with the dagger at her throat, and then watches you, you already watching him the same way she is, frightened and begging for his help.

"We will tell you the same thing we told your sister, Prince Aemond," Cheese says in a more serious and firm voice, "We are debt collectors. In this case a son… for a mistress."

Cheese's grip on you grows tighter, as you gasp from the pain and continue to cry, while Aemond presses his lips together and stands as still as ever, afraid to make a false move, watching and listening to everything intently.

He feels as if his heart is going to burst out of his chest at any instant, he wants to vomit and wants to burn everything to the ground because of the fact that he can't do anything about it.

He is completely helpless in the face of the situation.

"We only want one to balance things out. The other one we won't touch a hair on her head."

Cheese continues, along with Blood still holding the daggers menacingly against yours and Alys' throats.

"Then… which one would you prefer to save, your Grace?"

The tension increases with every second, as Alys stares at him pleading and you too, crying.

These words hit not only Aemond, but also you, desperately asking for his help, terrified, crying harder, knowing full well that the dagger in your throat can kill you at any instant, the decision being his.

You watch him completely attentively, as Aemond slightly raises his hand towards the men, swallowing hard, wanting to keep calm and peace, as he feels the despair all over his body.

And now he understands what his sister had to go through.

"No, wait," he says instantly, trying to sound calm and look less desperate and worried, "Wait," he repeats firmly and cautiously, trying to reason with them, "I'm sure we can come to a beneficial agreement. Just let them go."

Cheese laughs bitterly, as Blood answers for both of them.

"An agreement is not a mistress, prince."

"It has to be one of the two of them," Cheese makes clear, in warning, "And I advise you to make up your mind soon before Blood gets bored and decides to enjoy one of the two, prince."

Your heart rate increases in panic, as Aemond purses his lips and starts to become clear in his indecision, really wanting to believe that none of this is happening, when the moment is more real, terrifying and vivid than ever.

"Choose or we kill them both," Cheese says as a final warning, his gaze determined.

Alys stirs hard, drawing the attention of Aemond, who with the clear worry and desperation on his face, watches as Blood orders her to stand still while she pleads with him to choose her. Worry invading him more, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms as he squeezes hard.

When then his gaze turns to you.

Your eyes completely teary, red and panicked look back at him, pleading with him to choose you, feeling just as scared as he is, feeling your fear increase and you breathe harder each time you feel the man place the dagger more firmly against your throat.

Aemond says nothing. His gaze is completely hard, his jaw clenched and clear indecision is on his face as he watches continuously between Alys and you, watching the daggers in each other's throats.

And in that moment you have hope.

All the moments you shared with Aemond since you were both children you remember, all the gifts, details and the caresses that happened as you both grew up.

All those moments together, when he gave you your first kiss and when he claimed you as his.

You've been his friend since you were both children and his companion ever since, to this day. And you are hopeful that he will choose you, because that is what you would do.

However, seeing Aemond's hesitation and how he watches you so deeply, his eye desperate and full of concern, you still wait for all this to be over once and for all, wanting to stop feeling the edge of the dagger against your throat.

But Aemond remains silent, being aware that he has to choose soon, because he can't lose both of them. But seeing you and then Alys, the decision is very difficult.

You watch him without understanding, expectantly, while begging and crying for him to choose you, while the man's hand hurts you by your broken lip, but still completely attentive to him, wishing that this horrible torture where you are on the verge of death is over.

When finally Aemond seems resigned and finally points.

"Her."

And in that moment… everything around you stops.

Your face slowly softens in surprise, watching Aemond with your eyes wide open, your soul falling at your feet.

You watch perfectly well as he points to Alys.

You watch perfectly well as he chooses her.

Then all the realization also hits you like a wave, not even crying anymore because of the panic and because of the man who can kill you at any second.

But you cry because you realize that not even in this kind of situation where you are on the verge of death, he will choose you.

All you feel is an empty feeling inside you, as if something is missing, with a huge sharp pain in your chest, as you watch Aemond and you can't even hear what he says to the man holding her, everything sounding too far away and feeling like you are flying for a moment.

With your gaze completely devastated, you watch as the man releases Alys and Aemond quickly takes her in his arms, concerned, everything about him looking for a moment relieved, as he holds her and makes sure she's all right.

The way he holds her face, the way she watches him as she is now safe in his arms, everything hurts.

Feeling completely weak and watching the scene, really not wanting to believe it, it's as if your very mind is going into a state of resignation unconsciously, as that sharp pain in your chest is more constant and you feel like you're breaking into a thousand pieces.

The man removes his hand from your mouth to hold you tightly by the jaw, you barely feeling his touch as you continue to watch Aemond's choice attentively.

The two of them embrace, he holds her against him as if she is the most precious thing he has, making sure that no one will ever take her away from him again.

When then his gaze turns to you and though you don't know it… his cold heart breaks into pieces at the sight of you.

All he can see on your face is how completely broken you are, tears streaming down your cheeks, confusion, sadness and betrayal completely to him, all of you totally devastated.

He presses his lips together, leaving Alys aside for a moment when you've seen it all and now you understand it all, looking away from him and focusing on the ground, all realization in your broken gaze.

And it all feels worse when Cheese says in your ear, loud enough for everyone to hear:

"Did you hear that, my lady? Your prince wants your death."

Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes and let some more tears fall, accepting all this, Aemond, Alys, your destiny, everything… and you wait for death, giving yourself completely to it.

Cheese watches Blood with a malevolent smile, that being the signal, while you silently cry and wait for it all, when Aemond again intervenes, worried.

"No, no, wait," he urges.

But both assassins already have what they wanted, so Blood watches him with a dark look.

"There is no more demand here, Prince Aemond. You have made your decision."

"No, wait," Aemond says again more firmly, desperate, watching behind both men and again at them, so continuously, "Just wait."

"No, prince," Cheese denies with his head slightly amused, "No more waiting."

He says to again place the dagger against your throat decisively, causing Aemond to freeze completely and you weak freely allow access, hoping it will all be over soon, as Cheese gives Aemond a dark smile.

"Prince Daemon sends his regards."

And then everything happens too fast.

You let out a last sigh, with your eyes closed, letting yourself go completely, waiting for the moment when you will feel how the blade cuts your skin and the blood will come out of your throat, running all over your body to the ground and so you will bleed to death.

However, the sensation of the blade against your skin never comes.

When suddenly, the whole place again explodes into chaos.

The men surrounding Aemond's men are surrounded by Lannister and Hightower bannermen, neither of them expecting it and they are killed instantly, this being the opportunity for Aemond's unarmed men to take up their swords and defend themselves.

This immediately catches the attention of Blood and Cheese, also that of Aemond, who pushes Alys away and again takes his sword, looking desperately at Cole, who observing the situation, orders one of his archers to attack.

And then… an arrow pierces perfectly through Cheese's head, killing him instantly.

Without expecting it, you fall to the ground in a firm hit, feeling how blood splashes in your direction, only it is not yours, while the army that was with Criston Cole makes its way through the whole place to rescue Prince Aemond and his men.

And the moment that happens, Aemond reacts quickly, holding his sword tightly, in an instant heading towards Blood, who completely bewildered watches the whole scene confused, to then behead his head in a calculated and firm movement.

He yells at Alys to hide in the castle, quickly, then rushes towards you, who crying on the ground with Cheese's body next to you, he quickly takes you in his arms, lifting you up.

You look at him completely bewildered, while everything around starts to be a battle and a bloodshed, as Aemond makes you run for safety.

But the instant you finally react and understand what is happening after such a sudden situation, you move his hands away from your body, avoiding his touch, to seek refuge in the castle yourself, scared.

Aemond then begins to kill the men who had surrounded him before, with fury running through his veins, without measuring his strength and his limits, feeling how his fear from before is replaced by adrenaline and kills every man who fights for his half-sister and his uncle, furious for the situation he was forced into before.

And he kills every one of those men, until there are none left.

Some time later, all is quiet again, as carriages take away the dead bodies that were seen around and inside Harrenhal, while Aemond's men supervise everything and Aemond has a meeting with Criston Cole and all his advisors, talking and discussing about what happened.

Aemond immediately orders the word to reach King's Landing about the ambush and also how he has avenged his nephew Jaehaerys.

They also discuss how they could have been ambushed in such an unexpected way, really none of them having an answer, as Aemond runs a hand over his face and feels completely exhausted in every possible way.

It is not until he has a short break, still having many things to discuss and do, that he goes to your chamber, where he was informed some time before that you were being attended to by the Maester, that he can finally come to see you.

He finds you alone in your chamber, without any trace of blood and your hair still wet from the bath you took, the wound on your lip is already clean, but the bruise on your cheek is more than visible.

Even when you hear how they enter your chamber, you still don't turn around and continue watching through your windows, knowing perfectly well that it's him, since you would recognize the sound of his boots walking anywhere.

With your gaze completely broken, disinterested at the same time and with dry tears on your cheeks, you look at the mountains beyond, still feeling that sharp pain in your chest and still feeling weak.

Aemond lets out a long breath, shortening the distance between both of you, placing himself behind you, while you continue without watching him, the tears wanting to come out of your eyes again and pressing your lips together, avoiding sobbing and crying in front of him, not wanting him to see you that way.

In fact you don't want anything from him anymore, you just want to be alone.

"Y/N—

He starts to say to you in a soft voice, while his fingers touch your arm, but immediately your face hardens and you pull his hand away in a cold, abrupt and curt way, not caring, not wishing him to touch you, even without looking at him.

Aemond remains completely still, watching you, not expecting at all that reaction and behavior from you, while you continue firm, without looking at him and without saying anything at all.

He lets out another long breath as he looks away from you for a second, to look at you again with some anger in his gaze, expectantly.

"Now what's wrong with you?"

Nothing, you don't watch him or say absolutely nothing to him.

Do he still dare to ask?

You ask yourself, incredulous, not believing he's fool enough not to know what's wrong with you. Of course he knows, he just wants to make you look weak and dramatic.

But how are you supposed to feel and how are you supposed to act, when hours before in that horrible moment, he practically condemned you to death?

Aemond runs a hand all over his face and hair, his patience beginning to wear thin, not wanting to have to deal with you now when he's already had so much to endure this day and it's not even over yet.

"Are you done yet?" he asks you annoyed, "Believe me I'm not in the mood for your behavior right now."

And that's when you can't resist any longer, answering him even without looking at him.

"Then leave," you tell him without much emotion, "I didn't ask you to come and I'm certainly not holding you back if you have more important things to do. I'm sure Alys will be more pleased to see you, after all… she is part of your important matters."

Aemond completely loses his patience and in a second he's already grabbing you hard by the jaw to force you to look him in the eye, while you stare at him without expression, your gaze completely dead and empty.

"You are going to stop this fucking nonsense and you are going to stop it now," he warns you in a serious and threatening tone.

"Do not touch me," you tell him seriously as you again abruptly pull his hands away from you.

And again you turn your back to him, staring at the window, instantly feeling tears run down your cheeks, only you dare not make a sound, waiting for him to leave and leave you alone.

"Can you stop behaving like this? I'm sick of it," he demands, annoyed, "I knew Cole was coming, I saw him approaching and I knew you would be fine, I saved you," he exclaims serious, explaining.

Again you say nothing to him, not daring to look at him, tears falling more freely down your cheeks, unable to hold back.

It makes you sadder that he doesn't really know why you are this way, and it certainly isn't because you were terrified of dying. In some part if it was, but what hurt you more was that he chose her and you were condemned to death, is that because he didn't choose you… for her.

And if he knew Criston Cole was coming, then why did he still choose her?

He could have chosen you, he could have taken you in his arms as he did with her, that's what you would have done because you have known him for years and you are the one who has always been with him, not her.

However, you understand that you should stop thinking about what you would do for people, because that doesn't mean they will do the same for you.

That has become more than clear to you, because even if you choose him, he won't choose you.

He couldn't risk losing his precious Alys one way or another, wanting to make sure he had her really safe first, while you remained in that man's arms, waiting for your death.

You are not more important than his witch. He needs her to win the war for his brother, his family… and you are not more important than the crown.

"Hey, did you hear me?" he urges you, annoyed "I knew Cole would come."

You sniffle, lowering your gaze, then nod even without looking at him, looking the saddest and most disinterested, really wishing he would leave and leave you alone.

"Of course," you murmur to him without emotion, bitterly.

He didn't know anything.

Your mind tells you, only making you feel worse, even though you knew from the moment he chose her, not wanting to say anything to him about it, not having the energy to fight him.

And at this, Aemond has had enough of your attitude and disinterest, so he snorts bitterly, annoyed and tired, turning around to leave, not saying anything else to you and certainly having more important things to take care of.

You press your lips together, your gaze completely hard, really not wanting to say anything, but needing to get it out of your system, so in a low murmur you say:

"Liar."

And even though you've said it to yourself, still Aemond hears you and in an instant stops, turning to you again, instantly feeling his watchful and annoyed gaze, hearing you as he takes a few steps towards you, while you stand firm even though you don't even return his gaze.

"What did you say?"

He asks you slowly, like a madman about to explode, not liking your word at all. And you make it clearer to him, swallowing hard first.

"It was Criston Cole and the archer who saved me, not you," you answer him coldly, "Even in that kind of situation, you will always choose her," you tell him bitterly, "It was you who gave me over to death, because you didn't even know if Criston would arrive, it was just a coincidence that it came at the ideal moment."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Y/N. You don't know anything," he tells you menacingly serious, "So I advise you to stop acting like a fucking little girl and stop bringing Alys up every second when I've already explained to you, countless times, that I need her to win the war."

"Yes," you mutter, your gaze bitter, "You need her so much that you'd rather kill me first, than lose her."

"Seven fucking Hells," he mumbles, sick of it, "That was necessary, what do you not understand?" he says to you annoyed, "And yet why do you care so much? At the end of all this I'm not staying with her, it's you I'm marrying."

"Oh is that so?" you say without emotion, "I'm not sure about that anymore. At this point maybe your witch will marry you first before me," you shrug, "And I wouldn't be surprised. Even if that happens, you won't let me go. I'll just be just your whore, like I've been all this time."

"Don't say that," he warns you.

"Or I will finally end up dead."

"Y/N," he warns you for the last time.

You let out a soft sob, closing your eyes tightly, breaking into pieces again, the memory even more vivid than ever, the dagger against your throat and him choosing her, over and over again.

And you feel again how Aemond tries to grab your arm, but you push him away again in an instant.

"'Go away. Leave me alone," you beg him hurt and upset, no longer bearing his presence.

He tries to speak, when at that moment there is a knock on the door, so resigned and irritated he orders with a firm voice to enter, turning around to observe who it is, being the Maester.

He catches your attention as well, at once calming you down and wiping your tears away.

"Oh my prince," he bows his head to him, as you continue to turn your back to both of them, still controlling yourself, "I'm sorry to interrupt, my prince. I just came to attend to Lady Y/N's wound, I have already gotten what I need."

"I understand you have already cleaned and tended to her wounds, Maester," Aemond tells you cold and serious, watching him intently and intimidatingly.

"No, my prince. I tended to the wound on her lip, but the one on her throat is missing. I didn't have what I needed, so I went to get it," he explains softly.

Aemond frowns slightly, as the Maester makes his way across the room to you, who once calmed down and with a calmer and more serious attitude, you let him do his job, not looking at Aemond for a second and pretending that he is no longer there.

While he continues standing, observing the work of the Maester. He didn't even know that the assassin had managed to cut a bit of your throat, being a barely visible and small cut, but deep enough.

He lets out a long breath, looking away for a moment, running a hand over his face to finally leave the chamber.

He feels furious, annoyed and stressed by everything that still awaits him, instantly meeting again with all his advisors, the matters of the war at this point really bothering him and a lot.

While you, when the Maester finishes cleaning your wound, continue to be locked in your chamber, not having the energy for absolutely nothing, reliving the moment in your mind over and over again about Aemond choosing her… and not you.

You cry silently, thinking about it and also about Aemond's words of justification, only making you feel worse.

Even lying in your bed, really having no peace and unable to sleep properly, you still feel that sharp pain in your chest. Fortunately Aemond doesn't appear in your chamber again, but still you continue to suffer in silence.

And when you finally manage to sleep, the nightmare repeats itself, the words of that man leaving the choice to Aemond, and then he chooses her, and finally the man kills you in a fine and perfect movement.

At that moment you wake up, bringing your hands to your throat in an instant, breathing hard and gasping in fear, beads of sweat all over your face and body, hugging yourself and in an instant crying again.

He choose her.

Your mind tells you, not leaving you alone, thinking that Aemond probably hasn't come to see you because he is with her. After what happened… he must still be with her.

It's not like you want him to, but all this just reinforces more what happened and how you are nothing to him, how you are not more important than her and that you just don't matter to him.

All these thoughts don't leave you alone, feeling completely alone and more than vulnerable, letting the ghosts of the cursed castle of Harrenhal consume you in darkness… letting her consume you, the witch.

When the next morning, after one of your maids brings you a tray with breakfast, even though you have no appetite and do not wish to eat anything, there is something hidden among all the plates and napkins laid out for you.

Then it's as if you again feel like you're floating, the realization hitting you harder than before and that ache all over your chest making you feel weaker and more vulnerable.

Just now truly understanding… the role you play in Aemond's life.

Everyone in Harrenhal hears the huge roar of Vhagar in the skies, approaching.

It is not until shortly after that a vibration is felt throughout the ground, indicating the landing of the huge dragon and also indicating the return of the Prince Regent.

Aemond runs one of his hands over his face as he removes the helmet that complements his armor, instantly seeing the ash permeate his fingers from all that he ordered burned and destroyed to the ground, heading towards the black castle.

Since the ambush yesterday, having the meeting with all his men and advisors, this morning he decided to head alone towards Rhaenyra's army that was slowly approaching, deciding to wipe them all out from the skies, responding to the harsh ambush and killing all those men fighting for his half-sister.

He didn't act instantly, he had to wait for the perfect moment to attack and take them all by surprise.

And when the moment finally came, he burned every single one of them with their carriages and supplies, leaving absolutely nothing, making sure of it.

Criston Cole and all his advisors wait patiently for their return, watching Vhagar in the distance on some mountains, while the figure of Aemond begins to get closer and closer.

And once they are all in the Council Room, again the discussions begin.

"There is not a man or carriage left," says Aemond firmly, "All is cleared as to any movement on the part of the blacks."

"There are no claims that there are any more soldiers fighting for the blacks in the Riverlands, my prince. According to the spies and soldiers you sent."

"Good," Aemond says with a nod.

"Ravens arrived as well, my prince," Cole tells him, extending rolled parchments to him, "All from Kings Landing."

"There was an attack?" he asks instantly, taking the paper.

"No, they report that all is well, Prince Daeron is guarding the entire Keep. It is King Aegon's answers as to the ambush, the assassins Prince Daemon sent and he has also let it be known that he has sent soldiers for the loss, to equal again the men we had, all from Oldtown and Storm End."

Aemond nods, understanding and being pleased to hear that, finally hearing good news since he arrived at Harrenhal and feeling some of that peace he needed, also that hope of winning the war again.

He continues to discuss other plans, until finally the meeting ends after several hours, where his advisors begin to leave the room, except for Criston, whom Aemond watches him expectantly as he notices that he does not move from his spot.

"Is there anything else, Cole?"

The man watches him for a moment in silence, then lets out a long breath and finally speaks.

"Yes, my prince, there is something else."

"Well, speak," he tells him without understanding, watching him intently.

Cole again remains silent for a few seconds, while Aemond watches him, waiting, beginning to lose patience. When Cole finally speaks.

"It's Lady Y/N, my prince."

Aemond stands completely still, still watching Cole intently, not understanding.

"What about her?"

"She's missing."

He says and at that moment Aemond feels his whole body tense up completely.

"Her maid said she wasn't in her room this morning, so she searched all over the castle and the surrounding area but she didn't find her."

He lets him know as Aemond feels all that peace at seeing progress in the war fade away. He lets out a long breath, closes his eye and runs a hand over his face, wanting to believe this isn't happening.

"Since noon I've sent guards to search for her all over Harrenhal, my prince," Cole adds, "But there's no sign of her."

"Fucking Hell," Aemond mutters tired, irritated and now worried, watching him instantly annoyed, "And why didn't you say anything before?"

"I-I…" Cole is speechless for a moment, nervous, "I'm sorry, my prince. You had just arrived and I thought you would want to take care of crown matters first."

Aemond rolls his eye, beginning to feel furious, his whole face annoyed, instantly rising from his seat.

"Fetch the maid, bring her here. Now," he orders him upset.

"Yes, my prince."

Cole immediately complies with the order, while Aemond feels that at any moment he will go mad, trying to calm down.

When your maid enters the room in fear, followed by Cole, to be instantly interrogated by Aemond, being intimidated at all times and answering his questions in caution.

Then he himself gathers more men, even men on horseback, ordering several of them to head for the roads leading out of Harrenhal.

"If she's gone on foot, she can't be far, so find her and get her complete, do you understand? Without any wounds," he threatens, to which the men instantly obey.

Aemond at once gathers the men who are searching all over Harrenhal, wanting to hear news, but they all inform him the same thing: there is no sign of you.

And he instantly orders them to keep searching, not caring how exhausted they already are or that they have already scoured the area, he just wants to find you.

But the men last all night until the Hour of the Wolf looking for you, without success.

The next morning, Aemond in a sorry state, not having been able to sleep all night, being on the lookout to hear some news about you, receives the men he sent on horseback and they let him know that there is no trace of you on any road.

Aemond demands that they tell him exactly what they saw, how far they got and making sure they did their job well, annoyed and beginning to lose his patience completely, taking his bad mood out on all those men, demanding answers.

However, no one finds anything, but he forces them to search again, not caring about anything, feeling that at any moment he will go mad, despair and worry eating him alive.

When they leave him alone in the room, even Alys comes looking for him, asking him if he's all right and offering a distraction for a moment, but he dismisses her instantly, not having the slightest interest in her now, too occupied thinking only of you.

He is left alone in the Council Room, running his hands all over his face and eye, feeling more despair all over his body, when a few moments later, Cole enters the room, cautious and watching him with some pity.

"My prince," he makes him aware of his presence, approaching towards him.

"Did you find her?" he asks at once in a serious voice and looking completely tired.

"Yes, my prince."

He answers in a murmur to his great surprise, making him watch him instantly attentive. Then he lets out a long breath, feeling all that tension and despair leave his body completely, feeling relieved.

"Fucking finally," he mutters still angry, getting up from his seat, ready to head towards you.

"My prince," Cole tells you instantly, taking a step towards him, "You must know something—

"What?" he inquire annoyed, "I don't have time for this. Where is she?" he demands to know, putting on his black coat, watching him expectantly.

"Wait my prince, s-she's—

"Just tell me where the fuck is she!" he demands desperately.

"She's dead!"

Cole tells him without further ado, stopping Aemond completely, as he looks at him seriously and with a sorrowful look, assuring him completely that he is serious and that he would never dare to say something like this if it were not true, while Aemond is completely paralyzed.

He watches him with his lips half open and his eye wide open, surprised and not expecting it at all.

"She was found in the lake just beyond the main road of Harrenhal, hidden in bushes," he explains to him gently, cautious, not wanting to disturb him further, "She had a dagger and cuts on both wrists," he says very carefully, preparing to say the next thing in the same way, "Apparently she did it to herself, my prince."

Aemond feels like he can't hold himself on his feet, leaning back against one of the chairs, watching Cole in bewilderment and as if he can't believe it.

"She was brought back here and is now with the Silent Sisters," he adds, "She had this with her, as well as the dagger."

He tells him to then drop in front of him on the table apparently a letter, instantly Aemond's gaze hardening and refusing to believe that you, his Y/N, is dead.

"No. It's not her," he says firmly, "Y/N is not dead."

Cole watches him with pity, lowering his gaze for a moment.

"Yes it is her, my prince," he assures him gently, as Aemond looks at him completely serious and on the verge of losing control, "I'm very sorry."

Aemond feels as if he is floating, his whole body tense and his mind refusing again and again to believe his words, telling himself that it is impossible, that you couldn't have abandoned him like that, that you have always been with him, by his side, since he was a child.

He denies, feeling how his heart begins to beat strongly, besides starting to feel that sharp pain all over his chest, tensing more, feeling as if he were drowning and short of breath, besides an emptiness, something missing.

He hardens his gaze and tightens his lips, feeling a huge lump in his throat and a discomfort all over his stomach, as if he feels like he is about to throw up, losing strength.

It just can't be.

No.

That's all Aemond thinks, incredulous, in denial and feeling all his palpitations getting stronger, the whole world crashing down on him, despairing and feeling completely dazed.

It is not until some time later that Aemond, with his hard look and tight lips, orders Cole coldly to leave the room, to which the knight obeys, not really wanting to leave him alone, only to stand right at the doors once he closes them, being alert.

And a few moments later, Criston Cole hears how Aemond finally reacts and starts breaking everything in the room, listening to his screams of rage, he even breaks and curses that letter you had with you when you were found, because now he understands why you did what you did.

This is the first and last time I will respond to one of your letters, Y/N. But first I want you to understand that I don't want you to write to me ever again.

You have brought shame to our entire family name, you have brought shame to me, destroying the few things I built so that we could afford a life. After all I did for you, you decided to turn your back on me and give yourself away like a common whore to a prince, allowing him to ruin and disgrace you.

You are not my daughter, you are not that woman I cared for and raised, because if you had been, you would not have allowed any of this. And yet you expect me to forgive you by believing that the prince is going to marry you by the time all this is over?

The news has reached here about how the prince has taken another mistress, a witch, so you are a complete fool to believe that he cares about you and will marry you. Open your eyes at once and understand that you are nothing more than just a desire, a whim, a woman to warm his bed, becoming his whore and nothing more, which is all you will be useful to him.

You have not only embarrassed and disappointed me, but also your mother, because believe me Y/N she would be very disappointed in you. Don't write to me again and don't look for me when he leaves you and you have nowhere to go, you are just a naive fool who got carried away by the whims of a man, believing his lies.

I truly don't recognize you and want absolutely nothing to do with you, so as I told you, don't ever write and look for me again.

These same words are the ones you had read when they brought you your tray with breakfast.

You definitely not expect that your father would truly respond as you decided to send him a letter hoping he would forgive you by explaining the whole situation, why you left with Aemond and what would happen when the war was over.

You did everything in secret and with Ellya's help, fearing that Aemond would find out but fortunately that didn't happen, until you fortunately received your father's reply.

However, you did not expect such words from him.

Reading it all, with your mind still fresh from what happened with those assassins, Aemond and Alys, you now really understood what you mean in Aemond's life…. nothing.

Your father's words broke you completely, realizing that he is right.

You also understand that you have no family anymore and that you are completely alone in all this, that your father hates you for what you did and thinking about your mother too, how terribly disappointed she would be in you.

You understood that even if you stay by Aemond's side, you are only his whore and that is how everyone recognizes you now, Prince Aemond's whore.

You understood that even he could get bored of you at any moment and take Alys permanent, that made it clear to you the moment he chose her over you with the assassins, because you are of no other use to him, you can't see the future and help him in matters of war.

You are simply of no use to him, other than to warm his bed.

And you don't want to live like that, where at any moment Aemond leaves you unexpectedly, having no one else, nowhere to go, realizing that you yourself ruined your life for a man who doesn't even care about you and doesn't love you.

With your heart in a fist, sadness completely invading you and the realization getting harder by the second, the moment you found out that Aemond had left Harrenhal to attack an army of the blacks, you decided to escape.

You took a dagger from the kitchens without anyone seeing you, you passed the guards unnoticed and you walked away until you reached that lake, with tears in your eyes and feeling completely alone and hopeless.

The memory of Aemond choosing her over and over again, the letter from your father and how you ruined your life by making the wrong choices, did not leave you alone at all times and you decided to slit your wrists.

All alone, taking a seat on the ground, near the trees with bushes and the beautiful lake in front of you.

And with the view of the dusk, you let yourself go completely with blood dripping down your hands, staining your dress and tears streaming down your cheeks.

It wasn't so painful even though you felt completely alone, starting to feel very weak and disoriented, breathing hard and waiting for the Stranger to take you away.

That last memory of the world comforted you and taking your last breath, you closed your eyes and thought of Aemond. Even though he did not love you back, you truly loved him until the day you died.

And you left, not really wanting to leave, but being necessary.

Now Aemond finds himself watching you at the table in one of the large unoccupied rooms of Harrenhal Castle.

Earlier the Silent Sisters were about to begin their work with you, only to be interrupted by him and asked for a moment, where he had heard before entering how one of them had said in a low whisper; "Poor child…she died alone."

He continues to feel that sharp pain in his chest, all hard stare and tight lips, barely processing that this is really you.

Your eyes are closed, your whole face in a slight expression of pain, still looking completely serene and still, your skin pale and without color… without life, still wearing your dress, stained with dried blood.

Aemond clenches his jaw and gathers courage to look at your arms, all the way to your wrists, where he sees the deep cuts perfectly, feeling that pain all over his body again.

Then he dares to raise one of his hands and delicately touch your cheek, almost with fear, instantly not feeling that warm and soft touch from you.

When the first tear falls on his right cheek.

Just at that moment alone, Aemond realizes all the damage he did to you, understanding that you are dead because of him, because of the decisions he made, because of the way he treated you, because of Alys, because of everything, leaning towards you and holding you in his arms.

It's not just the feeling of loss, he's also furious with himself and your father for that letter, asking you in low whispers to please wake up, only to see your eyes closed again… forever.

He made you a promise and was always willing to keep it, yet he never thought about your feelings, never really cared about you, because his problem has always been that he thought he would always have you by his side and that you would never leave him.

Even choosing duty, the crown, his family, you were always with him and that kept him confident, until you couldn't anymore.

Until just then Aemond realizes the terrible decisions he made, regretting over and over again, wanting to tell you that nothing of what your father told you is true, that he does care about you, that you are important to him.

However, he never proved it to you, not in the way that was right, always treating you as his possession, choosing others over you, because he always thought he would have you.

He didn't know you were suffering so much and now… because of him you are dead.

Aemond doesn't know how long he lasted that way with you, holding you in his arms, wanting to feel that warmth and comfort you always gave him, but instead you were just a cold and lifeless dead body.

Criston Cole is the one who convinces him to leave you in peace so that the Silent Sisters can finish their work with you, leaving him no choice.

Then, before nightfall, Aemond gives the order to Vhagar to burn your body, not caring that this is a Targaryen tradition, only he and Cole being present, this being the least he can do for you.

And the last.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Alys Rivers, the witch of Harrenhal, raises her gaze and observes the figure of Aemond in the doorway of her chamber, watching her attentively, without much emotion on his face, but with a cold and distant look, catching the woman's attention, who frowns and adopts her posture willing and seductive at the same time.

"What do you mean, my prince?"

She asks him with her attractive tone, the one that always has an effect on men and also on him, only that this time no anymore.

"You knew about the ambush… and you didn't tell me anything," he tells her with a deadly tone, "Because you knew what would happen, you knew that I would choose you and not her… sending her to her death."

Alys is confused, not understanding the prince's behavior, when he has always been so responsive to her, continuing her seduction.

"You know that I have always kept my word, my prince," she says slowly approaching towards him, "I have told you every single one of all my visions. But in this case, I saw nothing about the ambush."

In an instant, Aemond shortens the little distance between them, unexpectedly for Alys holding her firmly and tightly by her neck in a threatening manner, while Alys opens her eyes wide in disbelief and horror as he begins to choke her, everything about him emanating fury.

She immediately brings her hands to his, trying to stop him, watching him in fright, as Aemond watches her like a mad man, demanding answers, his eye red and swollen, his pupil dilated and all the pain in his gaze.

"You knew about the ambush, you knew what would happen and that's why you didn't tell me anything," he repeats to her in a deadly tone, "All to get her out of your way, isn't it?"

Alys squirms and gasps for air, watching him in complete terror, beating her hands and chest desperately.

"N-no," she says as best she can, needing air.

"Don't lie to me!" he exclaims unexpectedly, furious.

Alys coughs, tears beginning to spill from her eyes, crying, as Aemond watches her with as much hatred as possible, completely disgusted, to finally have enough and let her go, instantly her falling tactlessly to the ground, gasping for air, coughing and with all the fear invading her body.

Aemond thinks of course she knew, again feeling the urge to cry, but completely resisting, he turns around and walks out of the chamber, completely exhausted, furious and hurting, no strength left.

The next morning, Aemond orders the death of the witch of Harrenhal, being beheaded in an instant for carrying out the prince's order, to continue leading his side of the war… with the difference that nothing is the same anymore.

Aemond Targaryen was always haunted by all the ghosts of Harrenhal, especially you. Every day he woke up and you were no longer by his side, it was complete torture.

He couldn't sleep, had very little appetite and began to lose the war slowly.

From the beginning he always chose the crown over you, but in the end, it wasn't worth it at all. Aemond lost himself, all the time thinking about you, where he also lost his sister, his brothers, his grandfather and all those sacrifices being in vain.

Nothing he did was worth it, not even Alys, because he lost you and he also lost the war, with nothing left of him or his family.

And all for what?

For the crown.

Taglist:

@targaryenmoony @skzenhalove @yentroucnagol

[colorisbyshe]

A lot of the response to Oppenheimer criticism has been "Clearly, you haven't watched the film, it isn't celebrating him! It shows all the things he did wrong" and I have to say... that's... still... missing the point of the criticism.

Oppenheimer occupies the same space as all the war films--like Dunkirk--that say "War is hell." While these films could and do skew towards "War is bad, let's avoid it," they still often... really end up saying "War is hell but let's pity the warriors and maybe consider the ways in which it was worth it."

The "war is hell" films end up completely missing the "anti war" mark because they choose to focus on the people waging the war, painting them in a sympathetic or at least humanizing light even when they're in the wrong. You feel bad when a soldier has to kill a kid on the other side--even if the kid is unarmed or begging for their life--because it's sooo sad that the soldier was driven to that point. And because... well, what else could they have done?

A much more effective "war is hell" film would be focused on the people whose land is ravaged by bombs. The civilians. The families. The people who lose their homes, their schools, their hospitals, their lives. Not in waging war but just in happening to live where war is happening. THEY are the real victims. They are not victimizers who might come to regret it (like warriors, like Oppenheimer) but like... actual victims.

In choosing to make a film about Oppenheimer and not about his victims--the people of New Mexico, the people of Japan, people forced into internment camps on US soil, and broader even then--you are saying "This man is responsible for great evil but let's humanize him too. Let's recognize that he didn't really have a choice or that maybe he felt bad about it. It was out of his hands."

Beyond humanizing him, it gives this history an element of inevitability. He HAD to do it. This HAD to happen. It's horrible that it happened but it was always going to happen.

If you focus instead on all the people victimized, you see all the reasons why it didn't have to happen.

And if Christopher Nolan isn't equipped to tell the story of New Mexican civilians who weren't given protective gear when the only jobs they had left were at all the labs or the stories of what a Japanese child does when his family is ravaged by American war crimes... he doesn't have to tell that story. The option isn't "Tell Oppenheimer or tell an intimate story he can't at all relate to." He could just... not tell this story.

Some stories really are not meant to have entertainment value. Some stories are not meant to be human stories but rather just facts on paper. Or told from the other human side. Sort of how like documentaries on serial killers often get it wrong but the fictionalized tv shows exploring ~what made them serial killers are ALWAYS wrong.

Some perspectives don't really need to be explored, is what I'm saying. Oppenheimer shouldn't be a grey or even dark protagonist. Some atrocities do not need to be humanized in any way, even if the humanity mostly culminates into "He was still wrong, though."

There are more efficient, less troubling ways to explore the motivation (the greed, the nationalism, the racism, the hatred, the warmongernig) behind bombings and wars like this. That would be better tools at realizing how we are repeating history, right now, in 2023.

That don't involve having to paint atrocities and the people behind them as grey or human or pathetic or pitiable.

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 5487

Ao3 Link

Summary: Arthur revisits Rhodes Parlour House, hoping to get information about the Braithwaite gold from working girl Ettie. He leaves with more questions than answers and a gift he wasn't expecting.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honour Arthur Morgan, angst, emotional smut.

Chapter Two - The Whore

[Chapter 1]

Arthur.

The air in Lemoyne is cloying. Sticky and thick like Molasses. He hates it here, hates waking up wet with sweat, bitten to an inch of his life by the mosquitos that swarm the lake behind his tent.  He’s never been this far south and would gladly leave soon as convenient, except for Dutch���s insistence that gold lies somewhere between the warring Gray and Braithwaite families. He’s less convinced but far from him to try to question Dutch once his mind is set on something. 

A high-pitched buzz by his left ear is met with the thwack of his open palm. Gotcha.

Something else is gnawing away at him, too, besides the mosquitos. A stirring in him, he thought, all but laid to rest after Mary, after— the kind that makes itself known only when he’s here, lying alone in his tent, staring up at the ceiling. 

Want. 

Fuck. He wants her so bad. Ettie, that working girl, up in Rhodes. With her daring eyes and smart mouth — her hands on him, days ago, in the parlour house. Bold as anything. God, if the very thought of her didn’t make a beeline straight down to his cock. He don't like it, don’t like it at all — what she does to him, how she makes him feel. Unarmed. Weak even. But also lighter.

He is appalled to admit he’s considered taking himself in hand more than once now to the thought of her breasts, her smile, the way she looked at him, full of doe-eyed devilment. He’s like some hapless kid. Should be ashamed. 

He’s not been with a whore since his 20s. There was that one Dutch paid for when he turned 17, a string of them after Mary ended things the first time around. Abigail? Once. The last time he lay with a woman was when he and Mary briefly came back together before she married. What was that 94… 95? Would he even remember what to do? Would he be able to last? As a whore she ought not to care, especially if he’s paying for the privilege. But he wants to please her. Wants to fill her smart mouth with sounds of pleasure. Watch those daring, teasing eyes roll back in her head as she comes undone for him. 

He’s stroking himself now. Her imagined sighs. His name on her lips—

Arthurrr—

“—ARTHUR!”

Dutch shouts him from outside his tent. Inescapable like the soupy Lemoyne air. Goddamnit, he hates it here. 

*

“Best I can stoop to is twenty.”

Arthur nods, weighing the expensive-looking silver bracelet loosely in his palm before handing it over. Hosea was better at knowing the worth of fine things, but the fence was on his way back to camp, and it didn’t make sense to make two trips. Still, twenty dollars wasn’t bad for an afternoon playing errand boy to two star-crossed lovers. Not quite the gold Dutch was hoping for, but something at least.

“Deputy.” The man flashes him a knowing wink, touching the brim of his hat. He winces before stiffly nodding back—damn badge. 

He won’t feel too bad about it; the Braithwaite girl, Penelope, had seemed more than content with just the letter, and neither family looked short on finary, as ill-gotten as it was. No, no harm done. 

The sun is at its hottest, leaving him half-blind as it beams punishingly up from the road ahead. Sweat pours from his brow, and he can barely see where he’s going when he finds himself steering Branwen right up the hill towards Rhodes rather than carrying on straight in the direction of camp. 

Only the stench of the butcher’s meat left out too long in the midday heat is enough to break him from his trance and acknowledge where he is. As though Branwen had been steering herself, with him merely passenger. 

Too late to turn around now, he concedes. Might as well carry on heading where he’s heading. 

He takes a long glug from his waterskin before dismounting. Hitching Branwen to the shadiest post of the parlour and making sure she has her fill from the water trough provided—a few extra sugar cubes for good measure. 

“Won’t be long, girl.” 

The heat was just as hard on the horses. 

He assures himself he’s here for reconnaissance— nothing more. If anyone’s likely to have information on the Grays and Braithwaites, it’s her. Probably had enough of them to pick something up the gang could find useful, what with her knack for seeing the stuff folk didn’t want seen. 

The twenty dollars burns a hole in his pocket. 

Ettie had seemed willing the last time, hadn’t she? Not put off or disgusted by him that he could make out. Maybe the badge had its uses, after all. 

Hell, maybe if he slept with her, got it out of his system, he could get on with the job at hand and stop all this silly early morning pining.

*

The parlour house is sleepy as he enters, too late for the lunchtime trade, too early for the field workers to have downed tools and made their way into town. His eyes skirt sheepishly across the bar. 

He’d found himself coming here quite a bit since the gang moved south, not just to avoid Pearson’s cooking but because it was one of the few places that offered solace from the outside sun, the thick leafy green curtains keeping out the worst of the rays. I was nicer than most places he tended to frequent, the white-clothed tables suggesting a level of expected cleanliness from its clientele. And though he’d made sure to kick the mud from his boots before entering, he now chose to stand on the hardwood rather than risk marking the floral rugs that lined the rest of the room.

He can’t see her. Not even sure she's started working yet. And though a couple of girls at the bar make him double-take, none of them are Ettie. 

He’s just about ready to skulk out, feeling old and feckless, when he hears her. Laughter carrying brightly from behind him, awakening the entire place from its slumber. He’d forgotten how alive she was. The rough sketch he’d drawn of her the night he’d got back to camp had barely captured her likeness, let alone her charm. 

She is sat in one of the wooden booths, perched on the lap of a stout-looking man, happy and light, head thrown back, though he’s certain the man at her seat did little to merit such pleasant sounds. 

He stalls for a moment, watching her work and is reminded of Hosea’s ability to tell a person exactly what they want to hear in order to rob them blind — except he isn’t sure who would be robbing who in the current circumstance. 

The stout man’s hand paws lecherously at Ettie’s waist, bouncing her on his knee as he ogles up at her. Surely, no amount could be worth the touch of a man like that. Is that how he had looked, too? Leering and pathetic? Sucked in by talk of sketching and paints. She had read him like a book, and he’d allowed it — a fool to think her interest was in anything other than the dollars in his pocket. 

Well, if money is all it will take to get her pretty face out of his waking thoughts, so be it.

“Miss White?” 

Ettie shifts to face him mid-conversation and grins impishly as though expecting his arrival.

“Hello, stranger.” 

But as he opens his mouth to respond, the words of solicitation stick in his throat, and he realises how unpracticed he is at this whole buisness. The man beneath her glares back, warning him off what’s his. Arthur swallows dryly, raising an arm to rest awkwardly on the booth’s divider, the other hooking into the buckle of his belt. 

“I believe— Last time I was here you—”

Ettie raises an eyebrow, choosing to watch him flounder rather than step to his salvation. 

So she’s toying with him. He sees how it is. Hadn’t acted quick enough the first time around and had her plucked from his side by the drunkard Leigh Gray. Now if he wants her, she’s expecting him to do the same to the dolt under her. He grits his jaw. The glint of his badge catches his eye, and he tries a different tack.

“I’ve heard word there’ve been dangerous men spotted in the area.”

Ettie scans the empty bar and looks back at him plainly.

“Everything seems fine from where I’m sittin’, Deputy.” She puts a playful hand on the stout man’s knee. “Wouldn’t you say so Ernest?” The man nods, wrapping his arm ever tighter around Ettie’s waist. 

“Would you just—I’d like it if—” He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he avoids meeting her eye and instead looks over his shoulder towards the central staircase. He speaks low, “Last time I was in, you asked to show me your work— but we was interrupted.”

A twinkle of recognition from Ettie. “Oh? You still interested?”

“Yes.” He sniffs. It’s out there now. Can’t take it back. 

She silently weighs up some mental calculation before placing a palm on Ernest’s chest. “I’m sorry, Darlin’. Would you mind terribly if you bought me a drink some other time? The Deputy and I have a prior arrangement.” 

He almost sympathises as he watches the man’s face shift from confusion to disappointment, but before it has a chance to twist into anger, Ettie kisses Ernest squarely on the mouth. “Wait right here. I’ve got someone who’ll know how to make it up to you.” She leaves with a wink and no room for protest, springing up and scurrying across to the bar. 

Arthur regards Ernest with an awkward salute, unsure what to say given the circumstances. At least when he robbed men at gunpoint, there was no pretence of polite conversation. 

It’s Ernest who is first to break their silence, “She’s a wily one, Deputy. Not as perky as some of the younger girls, but makes up for it with experience.” He slaps Arthur’s arm in a fashion far too familiar. It makes his skin crawl. “Clean, too.” 

“They’ll be cleanin' you off this floor if you speak about the Lady like that again. We understood?” He’d done his best not to raise his voice, Dutch’s instructions of keeping a low profile never far from his mind, but the man is still white as a sheet as Ettie arrives back at the booth. With her is a lofty-looking girl with ashy blonde hair, who regards Arthur with an amused up and down as she passes. She doesn’t bother to say hello, instead making a beeline straight to Ernest’s side. 

“A birdy told me you were in need of company since yours is being so rudely snatched away,” she says pointedly. 

Although Ettie rolls her eyes, it’s obvious she’s in on the bit. 

“Ernest, Ida’s going to take good care of you while I take the Deputy upstairs. Don’t have too much fun without me now.”

*

The walk up to Ettie’s room is long enough for the dread to start to kick in. He can feel his heart pumping in his throat and remembers why he stopped all this nonsense years ago, but then the warmth of her touch meets the small of his back, and she smiles at him gently from under her lashes.

 “I’ve been wantin' to get you away from prying eyes,” she says quietly, for his ears alone. “Here’s my room, first on the left.” 

As the door closes behind them, he can finally allow his shoulders to relax as he is greeted by the smell of lavender and something sweet he can’t quite place—chamomile, maybe? Her room is small, with sunny yellow walls and surfaces laden with bric-à-brac, the type which collects only once a space has been lived in for some time. Things that would be prone to getting lost or damaged travelling from pillar to post as he did, things he wanted to pick over and admire. 

A painting hung to his right catches his eye: a handsome-looking dark bay drinking from what looks like Flat Iron Lake. He moves towards it to inspect it up close.

“You wanna leave your gun by the door, Deputy?” Ettie says softly.

He looks down. Of course. And undoes his gun belt, wrapping it around itself before setting it on the side, along with his hat. He stands before her, disarmed, not quite sure what to make of the curious way she watches him or where to rest his twitching fingers without the cool metal of his buckle to anchor to. He folds his arms.

“That’s Burdock, my baby. I take him out ridin’ whenever I can.” Ettie says, gesturing to the painting that caught his attention. 

“You painted this?” 

She grins, sticking up her nose with pride. “I did!” Her lack of reticence surprising. 

“S’good.” 

He’d never been much of a smooth talker when it came to women. Even when first courting Mary it had taken months to build up to asking her for a kiss. But this wasn’t courting, and he’d do best to remember that. 

“As flattered as I am, I know you didn’t come up here just to look at my art.”

“Can a man not appreciate a paintin’?”

“They can,” she says, slinking up to him and running a trail of fire across his chest. Pressing herself flush against him. Her hair smells like rose water — not mud, or sweat, or blood. And it disturbs him to think that the last time he felt the heat from another’s body so close, his hands were wrapped around their neck. The tip of her nose aligns with his collarbone, and he could rest his chin on her crown if he felt bold. “But it would be an awful expensive trip just to look at a picture.” 

She steps back slowly to look at him, her absence leaving him cold. For a moment he fears she’s sensed the danger he’s sure he radiates — realising a beat too late, the expected next step of their dance. 

“How much do I owe you?” he says, flusteredly reaching into his satchel. 

“Five dollars. Anything ‘French’ is an additional two — Though considering I’m due payment from our little sweepstakes, I’d be happy to waive the fee for that on this occasion.” 

He’d almost forgotten about the bet placed on his head and wondered how often the women discussed what went on behind closed doors, how he would fair in comparison. He cringes at the thought and tries to push it to the back of his mind. 

“I ain’t expectin’ special treatment, don’t worry.”

He hands over five dollars, and with the money on the dresser, Ettie retakes her position. The plainness of the transaction and the affection it now entitled him to feeling implausible. 

“Relax a little,” her voice comes out like a breath, encouraging him to breathe deeply in time with her. “It’s okay. We’re gonna have fun.” She guides him over to the bed before stepping back to remove her shirtwaist and skirt, each button revealing new skin he now had permission to touch. 

As he stands there watching, something about the ungraceful practicality of her undressing fascinates him, how in contrast it felt to the choreographed movements of the rest of her performance. He wonders if this is her more natural state, all furrowed brows and uncoordinated limbs, and if so, what it took for her to keep up appearances. 

When down to her corset and underthings, Ettie faces the mirror to unpin the hair fixed neatly atop her head. He is silent as it falls like water, spilling over the ridge of her shoulders and pooling loosely at the base of her spine. 

“Your turn now.” She says, and he hardly has time to react before her nimble fingers are working open the buttons of his shirt. 

From this angle, he can see how the sun has caught the high points of her face, leaving behind a sprinkle of freckles lightly masked by powder. The slope of her neck is decorated by loose curls and a small silver locket that bobs up and down above her— He dares not gaze lower. Only as she begins to work at his fly does his sluggish brain arrive at the moment in hand.

“You ain’t taking this off?” His voice comes out hoarser than he expects, and for the first time, Ettie looks a little startled, stepping back to look at him hesitantly. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“I wasn’t planning on. My draws are split, and this unties. Look—” She pulls the ribbon at her shoulder. And he hates that it’s Ernest’s words that colour his view as the loosened cotton strap of her chemise falls away to expose a pretty breast, pushed up by the boning of her corset. Was the man blind? “It’s a little cumbersome to get on and off.” He aches to see her fully, to touch the skin still hidden from view, but he won’t push. 

Her hand dips back into his open fly, sliding between a gap in his union suit. He lets out a wince to feel the pads of her fingers making contact with the base of his dick. “That feel good?” she goads. His whole body gone rigid. Barely able to summon words. Nodding sharply in response, as she begins to ease him out. 

The pace in which she palms him feels foreign compared to his hand's efficient strokes, but she is responsive to each breath, learning him with every shudder and tense of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in the sensation of her experienced hands. Rare he is permitted such selfish pleasure. Rare anyone did anything for him without expectation of its return tenfold. And yet— The lopsidedness of the arrangement suddenly feels too much to bear. He needs to touch her, needs to make her feel as good as she’s making him. 

As her speed quickens, he moves a cautious hand to her breast, cradling her delicately before lightly skimming his thumb across her nipple. Testing. Her rhythm falters slightly, and he is rewarded with a small whimper that escapes half-bitten through her lips. That’s it. He circles the pebbled skin, harder this time, and delights to feel her swell under his touch. Confidence growing, he dips his head lower to taste her. She moans again, but this time unrestrained, head lolling back as he sucks. 

“Arthurrr—”

Her strokes hasten, and he needs to hear her keen for him again. Needs to touch her. He reaches down between them, between her legs, trying to find the source of her heat amongst rumpled cotton, but then she is pulling away. Stepping back. Straightening up. 

“Hey, this is about you. Don’t worry about me, okay.” She says.

“But—” 

“Shhhh, trust me,” Ettie whispers calmly and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. He worries that he has done something wrong, hurt her in some way he didn’t intend, too forceful, too coarse. But like she can read his mind—

“Stay put, I ain’t goin' nowhere.”

She’s good at that, he thinks, toeing the line between gentle and firm. Never going as far to bruise a man’s ego but not coming across as a pushover either. Had she always been that way, or had she learnt how to soothe a man, just as he’d learnt how to intimidate them? Through necessity. What was her natural temperament? What was his? 

Ettie walks over to the dresser and grabs a small glass jar, scooping out a little of the contents before returning to the bed. 

“You wanna get a little more comfortable?” She says, eyeing his half-open union suit and the jeans around his ankles with amusement. What a sight he must look. But if she was going to remain in her underthings, shouldn’t he? It didn’t seem proper to be exposed when she was not. He kicks off his jeans but leaves his Union suit open, but on. 

“What’s that?” He nods to the creamy concoction cupped in her hand.

“Just a little somethin’ for my comfort.” That playful look again. “You are quite… sizable. I wanna make sure I’m ready for you.”

His cheeks darken, her lack of arousal confirming his worst fears.

“Maybe if you let me touch you, you might enjoy it more.”

Her sigh is affectionate. “Who said I wasn’t enjoying myself? Anyone ever told you you worry too much?”

They face each other at the precipice of the bed. His toes curling whilst she slicks up his length with the salve in what feels like one continuous gliding motion, till he is rock hard and panting before her. She shifts herself to bend over the bed, guiding him behind her with a hand on his hip. She arches her back to rest with her forearms on the mattress. 

“You ready to show me what you can do, Deputy?”

“Arthur. Please.” He manages to huff out, unable to look away from the way she is presented so brazenly for him.

Ettie gives him a wry grin over her shoulder. “Arthur, I want you to show me what you’ve been dreamin’ on since we first met.” And he wants to show her, too. 

Swallowing thickly, he carves a hand between the slit of her draws, spreading them open to finally expose the supple flesh of her backside. The sight alone has his dick twitching in anticipation, helpless to prevent the full handful of her ass he takes in his grasp. 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He croaks.

“Might have heard it mentioned.” 

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, steadying his breath, before aligning himself with her entrance. He is mindful not to push into her too quickly, and though the salve helps some, he hears her breath hitch in her chest as she takes him, inch by inch.

“Too much?” He asks, trying to mask his trepidation, but he is answered by an enthusiastic grind of her hips, which sheaths him fully inside. He stops breathing for a moment, caught by the clutch of her cunt. Senses all but lost to the sensation of her heat. His lids grow heavy, but the sight of his cock buried to the hilt has him straining to keep them open. Hypnotised by the way she encases him. 

He gently rocks himself backwards and then forward, shallow at first and then deeper, slowly increasing his pace with each slap of their hips.

“Ettie-”

“That feel good, Arthur?” So good. So good. And he wishes he could look into those teasing eyes as she spears herself back onto him. At first, matching his tempo and then provoking him to speed up, take her faster, harder. 

He won’t last much longer at this rate. And tries to bat away the sinking feeling that that might be something she wants. For this to be over quickly. She’s making all the right noises, but then again, he walked into this room with a badge on his chest, so honesty was hardly something he felt entitled to. 

He wants her closer, craving the reassurance only her face could bring. He arches down over her, carefully hooking an arm around her chest, drawing her up into him, until she kneels upright on the bed with him holding her weight from behind, bodies remaining locked. 

“This ok?” He huffs.

“Mhmmm” She nods back hazily.

From this position, he can see her better, the rise and fall of her chest, the growing flush that has spread from her cheeks down her neck, the way her eyes shutter when he reaches for her breast, his other seeking out her heat from below. She hums a little then, a sound so pure it answers all suspicions about the authenticity of those proceeding it. God how he wants to watch her come around him, if only he can last long enough to get her there. 

His fingers slip between her folds, spreading her open as he continues to fuck up into her, the slick of her cunt undeniably her own making now. Ettie’s back arches wildly as he begins to rub a tight ring around her clit, and she lets out a noise halfway between a shriek and a moan like she is surprised by the pleasure. But when he tries to continue, she is grasping his wrist, pulling it away from her core and bringing it up to her mouth to suck hard on his fingers. The debauched way she looks at him then almost sends him over the edge. 

“Come for me, Arthur.”

God, his name sounds like honey on her lips. 

“Just like that—”

 Surely she’s not inferring what he thinks she is? But he is near losing himself in the thought alone.

“So close—” She coos, “Just let go, fill me—” 

Fuck. Fuck—

He drags his erupting cock out of her just in time as he spills violently onto her ass and then the floor, staggering backwards, trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus! Jesus. I nearly— I’m sorry.” He babbles, feeling boorish and out of control. 

“Hey there. I know. I said you could.” She says, turning around to run her fingers through his ruffled hair. He looks back at her, confused, still out of breath. 

“Ain’t you worried about—” he stops, trying to find the correct phrasing but becoming aware of the fond, almost patronising look on Ettie’s face. 

“I ain’t worried, no.” She smiles gently, “Wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t take precautions.” 

He nods sheepishly, though still not entirely at ease, before sitting back down at the edge of the bed, sighing deeply, struggling to enjoy the last twitches of his high. 

When his breath returns to normal, he grabs his jeans from the foot of the bed, trying not to cringe at the mess he’s made of her and her floor.  

“Don’t feel like you have to rush on account of me,” Ettie says, making her way to a small porcelain jug and basin in the corner of the room. She dampens a washcloth and wipes away all trace of his spend still marking her skin. 

“Want me to clean you up?” She approaches him cautiously.

“I’m alright.” He says. 

She raises a silent eyebrow. 

“I mean, I can manage for myself.” 

She nods and hands him over the rag. He’s not sure how to feel as he tidies himself up, but he's aware of her eyes on him, watching, trying to figure him out. Knowing he’s been read before she even opens her mouth. 

“When did you last lay with a woman, Deputy?” 

He pauses. That bluntness that throws his head through a loop. Dangerous. And he doesn’t know how to answer—what she’s wanting to hear— that it was likely five years since he’d been touched like that? That he’d touched someone else? Was she looking for an explanation for his rustiness or an apology? 

“Was it obvious?” he asks, unable to fully meet her gaze. 

“Well, you ain’t got a ring and—” She hesitates momentarily. “I shouldn’t say it,” The apples of her cheeks start to ripen uncontrollably until she breaks into laughter. “You fuck like you’ve somethin’ to prove.” 

He might be inclined to take such a comment to heart if it wasn’t for the pleasure he took in seeing her so genuinely amused, and before he knows it, he’s chuckling too.

“I just didn’t want it to be awful for you.” 

Ettie nudges him with her heel. “You paid me to make you feel good. So as long as you had fun, I did too.” 

She lights a cigarette and offers him one from her case: silver, engraved with the initials A.B. in an ornate filigree. He accepts and allows her to light the smoke from the tip of her own. He still doesn’t quite know how to make conversation but is relieved to have something to occupy his hands. 

“Still wanna see my paints?” She asks after a few moments quiet.

“That’s why I’m up here, ain’t it?” He says wryly. She scoffs before darting across the room, opening draws, rooting through cupboards, pulling things out left and right—a tornado, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. 

When she returns, her arms are laden with supplies, and she settles down next to him cross-legged on the bed, spreading out her wares between them. She opens a battered-looking sketchbook and smooths out the page.

“See,” she says, stroking the paper and encouraging him to do the same. “Just like the paper in your journal—Oh, wait a second.” 

She stands abruptly before dashing off again, this time to the water jug. Her back turned, Arthur flicks through the pages and is rapt by a flurry of faces looking back at him. A few he recognises as girls from the parlour, but there are others too: an elderly woman in a bright feathered hat, a rakish-looking man in spectacles, a little girl with pigtails holding a ragdoll, each of them living and breathing on the page like she had rendered their very souls. 

“You snoopin’?” Ettie tuts in mock disapproval, though she doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion. “And after all the grief you gave me for looking at your art.”

Art. 

Arthur had never thought about his sketches in that way before. Sure, he sometimes felt pride if he managed to capture something or someone’s likeness in a way that felt true, but he’d never had any training to consider what he did art. Not like the pretty pictures spread out in front of him now. These felt so full of life he swore he wouldn’t be surprised to see one of them moving.

“These are good,” he says as she settles beside him, her thigh resting lightly against his. 

She rolls her eyes, then nudges his arm. “Get your journal out— Don’t worry, I don’t wanna look at any of the drawings— Well, I do, but I’m not going to force you. Just want to show you something.” 

He relents and gets his journal from his satchel, handing it over suspiciously, realising only after it’s in her hands how reckless he’s being, and for what? He hadn’t asked her about the blood feud between Grays and Braithwaits, nothing about the gold. The only information gleaned was that his dick still worked, and even that had only served him.

Keeping to her word, Ettie opens the book to an untouched page and submerges her paintbrush into the jug, tapping off the excess water and swirling the tip into a square of dried paint. Her hand hovers over the blank page before gliding the brush across the paper in a flourish of crimson, blooming as it settled, like petals opening at dawn. 

“Here, you try.” 

She dips the brush back into the jug to clean it off before holding it out towards Arthur. Following her direction, he scrubs the brush into a dark green pan and brings his hand to the paper. His line comes out fainter than hers and less fluid, the brush strokes looking scratchy as he reaches the edge of the page. 

“Not enough paint. Got to get it saturated.” She smiles. “But look,” she flicks over the page, “it hasn’t gone through.” She starts to explain about wetting the paper before applying the paint, working in layers, letting stuff dry, getting more and more animated, that he starts to laugh. 

“You have to start adding colour to your work. I could—” She stops. “You planin’ on seein’ me again?” The question is abrupt, as though she realises she is getting ahead of herself and needs to square off the basics first. 

He hadn’t considered that this would be more than a one-time occurrence but he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the sense of relief that had spread throughout his body and mind in the past half hour. More settled than he’d been in months, maybe even years. Perhaps next time he could get some information out of her. Perhaps next time he could prove himself a less selfish lover.

“I’d like to if you’ll have me.”

“Marvellous! Here—” She thrusts a small wooden box into his hands.

“What’s—?”

***

“A watercolour set for travelling. Not amazing quality but perfect for a beginner or someone on the move.” She gives him a wry smile “You can borrow it and show me how you get on next time you see me.” 

She’s a whirlwind, and even as he’s riding Branwen back into camp he still feels bowled over. Not sure how he’s agreed to as much as he has, or if he’s being played, or if he cares to stop it.

Tag list: @redwritr, @twola, @ultraporcelainpig, @cassietrn & @milesology

If you would like to be added/removed from the tag list, just let me know! x

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Howdy, going through a phase with COD men (König my 6'10 BBG) and they would make such good Yandere husbands, would it be okay to request a Yandere military man who's completely delusional about a hostage he rescued? knife play and being stepped on with a tactical boot would be a bonus <3

btw the way you write dark content scratches such a specific itch and makes me want to wail, the yandere pirate story was *chef Kissssssss*

Honestly, the only thing I know about COD is that I kick ass at zombies lol so this is definitely just an oc

Yandere!Military Man x Hostage!Reader

CW: non-con, mention of death, assault, delusional ideation, dehumanizing language, dead dove

"Esteemed journalist (Reader L/N) has gone missing while covering the.."

The radio was drowned out by the vehicle hitting a rock, earning an aggravated groan from one of the men. Angrily, he slammed his fist on the dash board, as though he could intimidate the radio into working better. A couple of his brothers chuckled while the rookie squirmed nervously in his seat.

"Fucking, shit ass-" Adrian "Clank" Muigg muttered, quietly releasing a stream of curses in a very thick accent towards the machine.

(Most nicknames in the military were neither cool, nor had a badass backstory, most had fairly humorous or demeaning origins; Muigg, fresh out of boot camp, murdered an innocent television set in an attempt to fix it, which changed his name from "Big Bastard" to "Clank".)

The youngest man there prayed he wasn't visibly sweating. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Boston, the bushy browed man at the wheel, laughed with his entire chest. "That radio lady's talking 'bout the love of Clank's life!"

Clank felt the back of his neck heat up, and had to redirect his anger into tapping his foot to prevent himself from whacking Boston.

"I didn't know you had a partner?"

"He don't! HA! It's a one-sided, puppy love!" Boston joyfully mocked his best mate. "He's got that reporter-person's picture 'bove his bed, and has every article they've ever written. It's very sweet!"

Bright blue eyes warned Boston of the danger he was playing with, but Boston payed him no mind, causing more anxiety in the new recruit.

It was true, however, that Clank had a star struck crush on the journalist. They were brave in a way Clank hadn't seen before, the kind of bravery that made an unarmed civilian put their life in danger to expose the world to the horrors of war. This wasn't the first warzone (Reader) had willingly gone into, but it was the first time their mission overlapped with Clank's.

They were covering the battle Clank was involved in.

And it enraged him.

While their bravery is what initially drew him to them and their work, the longer he followed (Reader) the harder it got for him to read about the danger they got into. Weren't they fearful for their own life?? Why didn't they care for themselves as much as he cared for them??

The nearly six foot eight man had fantasized many times about what he would say and do if he got the opportunity to meet (Reader). He had an entire monologue prepared that exemplified his adoration for their work without ousting himself as a borderline obsessive fanboy.

However, that entire speech was forgotten when Clank burst into the room three hostages were being held in after killing the hostiles within the building, and found himself face to face with (Reader) in the flesh.

They stood defiantly, arms outstretched to protect the two other reporters behind them, not even wearing a bullet proof vest, ready to sacrifice themselves to save their coworkers.

Clank lowered his weapon, numbed by the sudden influx of confusing, and conflicting, emotions.

He was hurt, because he finally got to meet (Reader), and they were prepared for him to kill them.

He was enamored, because even with dirt clogging their pores, hair matted with sweat and drying blood, skin bruising and swollen, they were still the single most radiant being he had ever laid eyes upon.

And he was angry. Why wasn't (Reader) cowering like a good little civilian? Didn't they know that they could die? Why didn't they care about their life?

"I'm here to rescue you." Clank's voice was robotic, and unattached. It didn't feel like he was the one saying it, as the three frightened adults relaxed, scrambling over to his side. "Follow me."

He watched his object of affection as they obliviously helped lead the other two hostages down the stairs to the military vehicle. Their right eye was nearly swollen shut, but they were supporting a grown ass man with a slight limp. Clank imagined blowing the man's brains out.

As they made it down to where the group could see Clank's team, (Reader) released their friend and attempted to go back up the stairs. Still experiencing his out of body conundrum, Clank grabbed their arm forcefully, hard enough to earn a yelp from his favorite celebrity.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" He seethed, hissing the question between his clenched teeth to prevent himself from screaming it. The other two greedily ran outside to Boston's embrace, leaving them alone in the building.

"My footage, they kept it upstairs." Professional as always, the diligent champion of justice kept calm despite the feeling as though their arm would snap in Clank's fist.

"That is not important!"

"You don't know what I saw! It is, and I need the evidence, the proof, of what I saw!"

"Clank, where are you?" Boston's voice on Clank's radio distracted him enough for (Reader) to snake out of his grasp, bolting back up into the building.

"Shit-!" He pulled out his walkie as he ran up behind the surprisingly quick journalist. "Everything's good, I'll be down in a few minutes, start taking the others back."

"Uh, no? Excuse me-"

"That's an order."

"Clank-"

"I said; that's an order."

The violently pissed off man holstered his radio as he charged up the stairs three steps at a time.

His precious (Reader) had taken it too far this time.

Even if they didn't care about their own life, he cared. He loved them, adored them, worshipped them, so how fucking dare they continuously put their life in danger like this?

If they were to be wed one day, their life would be his. And that was downright disrespectful.

(Reader) could be heard rifling through cabinets and cupboards through the door of the first room on the floor above the one they were held prisoner on. Clank attempted to cool his rage before entering, wishing to not scare his future spouse again.

Glancing up only briefly, the adult of smaller stature offered a meak smile before going back to searching. "I'm sorry for that.. I don't mean to make your job difficult, but this is really important. We almost died for this footage; hell, LeDoux had his knee cracked open by one of those- his knee must be killing him."

-almost died-

-almost died-

Their words repeating in Clank's eardrums played over the exclamation of (Reader) finding their equipment. (Reader) almost died, for what? Nothing was more important than their life.

"I'm sorry?" Bloodshot eyes stared wide with confusion from under pursed eyebrows.

Without realizing it, Clank had spoken his thoughts out loud. But, perhaps this was for the best. They would have to learn the truth sooner or later. "Nothing is worth your life." He doubled down as he slowly approached (Reader).

It took a lot more energy forcing himself to smile than he wanted. Clank had never been so stressed or angry or conflicted in his entire life.

"That isn't for you to say." Sharp words responded with a huff, thrusting the camera into a duffel bag.

Clank released a humorless laugh. "You are like a small dog, aren't you, my dear?" His muscles were tensing under his uniform, and although (Reader) couldn't see it, they could feel the dangerous shift in his mannerisms. "You do not know of the danger you are in, so you bark loudly."

Although a pit of fear weighed down their stomach, the much weaker of the two hid it well, scoffing, and moving to stroll past Clank, praying that he was bluffing.

A harsh slap to their cheek confirmed that he was being serious, sending the already injured (Reader) to the floor.

Before they could scramble to their feet, a heavy, steel toed boot was placed firmly on their chest, pressing the air out of their lungs.

(Reader) could feel the blood rush to their head as they struggled to breath.

Clawing at Clank's shin and calf didn't move him.

"It is not your fault, that you are such a little dog. But, like all little dogs, you must be trained. Yes?"

Not a single word could be uttered. Black spots bounced around (Reader's) vision.

Clank eased up on the pressure just enough for oxygen to fill his love's deprived lungs. Between coughs and sputters, (Reader) only got out "Stop-" before his heel was digging into their sternum again.

"Tsk tsk tsk.. Now, I don't want to do this, but I have to. For us. So you must obey me, little puppy. Now, what do dogs say?"

(Reader) glared up at him in pain and hatred, sneering as angry tears welled up in their puffy eyes.

"Woof.." The pitiful bark was spat out.

"Ah ah ah." He wagged a finger at them in a chastising fashion. "Be nice, little puppy." His weight increased warningly, squeezing out a pained cry.

".. Woof."

Seeing the person Clank had loved for the past four years under his boot, writhing, flushed in the face, glistening eyes staring up at him and only him.. Clank could feel himself stiffening, and it disturbed him. Why did seeing his beloved cry in pain give him a hard on?

No, it is not because they are crying in pain.

Clank smiled, warping the situation to rationalize his hard cock pressing against his zipper. It was that they were being obedient for him.

Another cry rang out, louder this time, as Clank accidentally put too much weight on (Reader's) ribcage, lost in thought while admiring their pathetic face.

He got off, kneeling down so (Reader) wouldn't think about trying to get up. They got the message, and continued lying, grasping their chest and breathing raggedly.

"Good dog." Clank ran a hand through their hair. "You will listen to what I say, won't you?"

"Ye- ...woof." Their words quivered in shame.

"Good. Now, get on your knees."

(Reader) bit their tongue with how quickly their mouth clamped shut. It was humiliating, but their chest hurt so badly.. They rolled over, propping themselves up onto their hands and knees.

Their resolve to do as Clank said to avoid more pain was immediately forgotten when they felt his large hands tug at their pants.

"What are you doing?" They yelled in fright, whipping their head back to look at him before having their skull smashed into the floor, holding them down.

"Training, remember? For someone known for their intelligence, you sure are a moron. Bark, bitch."

Tears mixed in with snot, as (Reader) snarled "Fuck you!"

Clank removed his hand from their soft hair to firmly grasp their hips with both of his hands, pulling (Reader) onto his dick. "Incorrect."

"No!" (Reader) screamed, feeling Clank's bare member as it entered them painfully all in one thrust without lubrication. As they cried out, a slap to their ass rang out through the nearly empty room.

"What do dogs say?"

"Fuck you!" Another painful slap left a welt that would certainly bruise.

"You want to act like a bitch, putting your life in danger as though it doesn't matter, you're going to be treated like a bitch!" Clank raised his voice, terrifying his victim. "Now, what do dogs say?"

Slap!

"Woof.."

Slap!

"Woof! Woof! Bark!" They barked between viciously sobbing, heaving as he ravaged them from behind, fucking them so hard that their entire body rocked forward dangerously. The only reason why they hadn't fallen face first into the cement flooring was Clank's right hand digging painfully into their pelvis.

Whereas for (Reader) this was a nightmare, joy was already melting away Clank's anger.

"See, this will be better, for both of us. When we get back, you'll quit your job, and I can finally take care of you."

His thrusting became more passionate, and (Reader) could feel his precum as he began to slide in and out more easily. "I've dreamt of this for so long, and now I will finally be yours: whether as your husband or as your owner."

That triggered (Reader's) fight or fight response, realizing what Clank was implying. They attempted to throw themselves forward, to scramble away while he was still inside of them.

A strong arm caught (Reader) easily. Their spine was bent backwards, holding the attempted escapee in a head lock with a knife pressed to their throat as Clank continued stretching out their hole.

Despite their desperate pleas, their new fiance held (Reader) still on his cock as he released inside of them, going drunk on the way their walls felt clenching him as they milked him dry.

Eyes hazy with lust, he kissed their jaw, still keeping the knife held firmly against their neck just in case.

"Good dog."

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long! Thank you so much for your patience, I hope you like it ❤️

[captain-mj]

omg i thought of this while in the resturant! (We were ehatchign fail army and they were doing scare pranks)

and i thought like "what if soap tried to scare ghoast?"

this could go two ways

ghost isnt fazed at all

or

2. ghost reacts poorly and ends up hurting johnny or worse..

Apologies for being so absent! Here ya go!

Ghost disliked pranks. Ever since his little brother used to scare him with the mask, they just rubbed him the wrong ways. Even the innocent ones like putting salt in the sugar so it would ruin his tea were enough to spark up old anger issues.

Obviously, this went against what the 141 knew him as when it comes down to humor. While outsiders would think a prank on Ghost would end with their heads on pikes, they also didn't know he liked dad jokes and dumb one liners.

So when Gaz and Soap started their prank war, they automatically included Ghost. In retrospect, Ghost really should've sat them down and said no with a little more force, instead of brushing them off and assuming they'd get the picture. But he thought it was over by now and he doubted they'd actually do anything again after he told them he wasn't interested.

Ghost had no way of knowing the man that jumped out at him, a spur of the moment idea on Soap's part and not something planned, as he doubted he could really sneak up on Ghost on purpose, was not going to stab him immediately. Luckily, he had been unarmed, so Soap did not end up with a gaping wound in his throat. Instead, Ghost backhanded him hard enough for his teeth to rattle in his skull.

Soap hit the ground hard and Ghost felt the adrenaline rush through his veins like he got hit by a stim. Giant blue eyes, apologetic but also shocked, blinked up at him.

Ghost wanted to hurt him. Soap must've seen it, but he didn't run. What an idiot.

Ghost turned away and took a deep breath. Noticing just now a very, very startled Gaz and Price.

Price quickly helped Soap up, glancing at Ghost like he might fly off the handle.

Soap took a breath when he got up and slowly let it out. "Hurts like a bitch, but I'm alright, Captain. You okay Simon?"

"I just almost cost you some teeth and you're asking me if I'm alright?"

"Your hands are shaking. You're breathing heavy. Thought you were having a panic attack for a minute."

Ghost shook his head. "You two are like fucking little brother. Always getting yourselves into fucking trouble. Either of you pull that shit again, I'm not stopping at one fucking hit." He hissed it at them and stomped off.

His hands were shaking.

He couldn't tell if he felt more angry at Soap for startling him, himself for getting startled and hitting him or if it was just embarrassment at the whole situation.

Soap found him in his hiding spot. "Simon?"

Ghost sighed. "I'm not going to apologize."

"Neither am I. I'll say getting bitch slapped makes us even." He pulled himself up into the perch. It was hard to get to and overlooked everything.

"I didn't actually hurt you, did I?"

"Nae. Put some ice on it and I was good as rain. Glad you didn't have any rings on though." He smiled but Ghost could see the imprint of the back of his hand. "Did I get you that bad?"

Ghost sighed. "Reminded me of someone."

"Your little brother. So you said. I hope you don't actually think we're alike considering you've kissed me."

Ghost made a face and even through the mask, Soap could tell. "He used to do shit like that. Jump out at me. Fucking hated it. And you're not getting another fucking kiss from me until I know for a fact you're both leaving me out of your little prank thing."

"I can't control Gaz!"

"Learn to."

Soap sighed. "You're breaking my heart, Simon." He smiled at him though, knowing the kiss embargo wouldn't last. "Alright. Changed my mind. I am sorry for scaring you. I know you. While I don't think I could've predicted the backhand, I could've predicted your reaction wouldn't be pleasant."

Ghost sighed loudly and Soap tilted his head. "What's wrong?"

"I hate how weirdly emotionally mature you can get, Johnny." He grabbed him and forced him to turn his head. "I'm sorry too."

"Kiss it better?"

Ghost glared at him before giving him a small kiss through the mask. "There. Fucking bastard."

[thekingofwinterblog]

How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone

Inquisition is a flawed game.

I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.

The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.

One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.

The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.

The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.

The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.

I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.

All except one.

Halamshiral.

Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.

And the reason is because i hate everything about it.

I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.

The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.

So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?

Let's begin with the three main players.

Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.

The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.

Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.

Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.

Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.

Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.

In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.

There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.

So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.

Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.

But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.

Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.

Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.

He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.

He's going to break it.

Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.

And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.

And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.

For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.

He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.

And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.

Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.

Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...

Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.

Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.

Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?

Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.

And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.

Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.

Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.

Halamshiral has no soul.

It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.

It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.

Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.

Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.

Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.

Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.

How do you fix that?

There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.

Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.

Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.

And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.

Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.

Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.

Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.

Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.

Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.

And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.

Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.

Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.

Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.

Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.

Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.

It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.

Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.

And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.

[stealth-liberal]

Anyone who reblogs and adds antisemitic rhetoric to my posts about what's going on in Israel will be reported and blocked. Anyone who comments on my posts about what's going on in Israel with antisemitic rhetoric will be reported and blocked. It's already started happening, and the reporting and blocking have begun. I will not engage with a single one of you. I don't give turds with a pulse what they want.

And if you're too stupid to realize that saying that indiscriminate killing of civilian targets, of running down fleeing on foot and unarmed civilians at a picnic in trucks and shooting them like fish in a barrel and laughing about it, of abducting civilians (including CHILDREN) to bring them back to Gaza and then release videos of their mistreatment, of parading captured women in various states of undress (videos of that too) and lastly of sexually desecrateing female Jewish corpses (video of a naked Jewish female corpse being desecrated in an act of NECEOPHILIA), if you think that all of that is ok, then you're guilty of Jew hatred. You are a Jew hater pure and simple.

Don't deny it. SAY IT WITH YOUR FULL CHESTS YOU MOTHERFUCKING COWARDS!!! Don't hide behind Palestinians as your shield, grab your tiny balls or your dried up tits and be public with your bigotry and hatred of the Jewish people.

If this was happening in ANY other country but Israel, in ANY other country but the only one on Earth that's run by Jews, you'd be decrying the actions of the war criminals doing this. Because guess what? What Hamas* is doing right now is classified by the United Nations as war crimes. But that's OK when you hate Jews, all Jews, any Jews, and the thought of dead Jews gets you off.

*I am wise enough to know that Hamas is not synonymous with all Palestinians. I've done the work to educate myself on the extremely varied worldwide Palestinian community. And unlike Jew haters, I don't assume every Palestinian I meet wants me dead because I'm a Jew. As an aside, I have also never once thought that about any Muslim dominant group. Unlike the violence as for pleasure seeking Hamas and other Jew Haters (like many over privileged white Europeans, Canadians, and Americans on here) I don't cheer when Palestinian civilians are killed or mistreated. Because I'm not a monster.

[darthrevan-lord-of-the-sith]

a worse foe

The blaster bold freezes in mid air, and Krell and the clones all stare at it as it crumbles to nothing.

"Fives," a voice, filtered through a voice modulator, says softly. "Take Dogma's blaster."

Lord Revan is standing at the entrance to the cellblock, tall and imposing and crackling with the energy they know as the Force. Fives takes the blaster from Dogma and unarms it, then tosses it aside. Dogma looks small at his side as Revan approaches, and lays a gloved hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing just above where Dogma's blacks end.

"It's alright," Revan says softly, and leans forward slightly. Dogma meets him, resting his forehead against the cool, emotionless metal of Revan's helmet. "Fives, take your little brothers back to the barracks. Rex, can you stay?"

"Yes sir," Rex says. "Jesse? Kix?"

"We can stay, sir," the troopers answer.

"Good," Revan says, and everything is quiet as Fives gathers Tup and Dogma and heads to the barracks.

Once they're gone, the rumbling Rex has felt in the air becomes a roar, and then Krell is slammed against the wall.

"You don't scare me," Krell snarls. "You carry his name, but you are just a knight wearing old armour."

"Is that so?" Revan says, quiet. His hands go to the release clasps on his helmet, there's a hissing sound as the suit depressurises, and Revan lifts the helmet free.

It falls unceremoniously to the floor, and the sound echoes out across the room.

Rex sees Krell's throat contort as he swallows.

Revan's eyes are burning, flickering from red to gold to green, every line of his handsome face twisted in rage. His hands are clenched, muscles shaking, the Force roiling around him like a cloak. "You believe you can control the Dark?" Revan asks, and he pulls an unfamiliar lightsaber from inside his robes. "You believe you could be a Sith? You are nothing. You are an insect, vermin, compared to the Sith I have known. Have trained. Have inspired!"

The saber lights, and a ruby blade illuminates the room.

Krell's body is lying smoking and decapitated only a few hours later, tortured with lightning and lightsaber and terrible mind tricks that leave him screaming and babbling for mercy. For death.

Rex doesn't feel sorry for him as he picks up the decapitated head and hands it, smoking stump and all, to Revan, whose eyes still flicker between red and gold and green, but he's relieved to see the green appear more often than any other colour.

"Did Wolffe tell you?" Revan asks, taking the head and shoving it into a cryo-bag. "About-"

He holds up the lightsaber with the red blade, giving Rex a pointed look.

"You being a four thousand year old Dar'Jetii who is also the hero of the bedtime stories Fett used to tell the CC's?" Rex says. "No. General Skywalker complains about you a lot, some of that confidential information slipped out and Ahsoka filled in the rest."

Revan nods. "I want Dogma transferred," he says. "The 104th would be better for him that the 501st, he's lost his trust in the Jedi...Plo will be good for him."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Jesse asks.

Revan nods, and picks up his helmet.

"You'd be better for this army if you took command," Jesse says. "If you're really...really the Conquering Jedi-" Revan sighs at the title "-then you should be leading us, not the Council, not the Senate. You...you've done this before. You beat a better army than Grievous and Dooku."

"Mand'alor the Ultimate was a challenging opponent, yes," Revan says. "But after, the Republic faced a worse foe, one I could not defeat."

"Who?" Kix asks, always one for the stories. His eyes are big and full of wonder.

"Me," Revan says, and puts his helmet on. "The reason the Jedi don't want me heading an army is because they're worried I will turn it against them, like I did the last time someone gave me an army."

"But you wouldn't!" Jesse exclaims.

"Maybe I might," Revan says. "Perhaps I might start a war over you all."

[wangxianficrecs]

Patriarch by nilavu

Patriarch

by nilavu

G, WIP, 1k, Wangxian

Summary: In Yiling, there is a mountain covered in lush greenery, an area so green that some don't believe it when they first hear of it. The mountain is a tall peak, visible from Yiling town proper, but non-cultivators rarely go there. Of course, some stumble upon it after having lost their way and others willingly go to explore a place so mysterious. And then afterwards, most people speak of the beauty of the mountain, of how the bright green reminds one of emeralds, how the birds sing songs so sweet and mellifluous that you don't feel like leaving and how the green holds even in the midst of Yiling's winters. The name of this strange, magical place is 'The Burial Mounds.' Yiling, the storytellers all say, is where it all began. In which Hanguang-jun sends a letter to the Yiling Patriarch inviting him to Jin Rulan's one-month celebration and receives a surprising letter back. Kay's comments: OK, so I know this is another story that hasn't updated in a hot minute, but I really like the potential of it and the atmosphere and scene-setting it does. In which Wei Wuxian accepts the Jins invetation to Jin Ling's full moon celebration and says that he will attend unarmed and without Wen Ning beside him, but asks Lan Wangji to escort him. Excerpt: Yiling, the storytellers all say, raising a hand and lightly tapping the palm, open and vulnerable, is where it all began. They speak of a child who lost his parents; a gaunt, wretched thing that was all alone in the world; a little boy who had to fight with the street dogs for food. They speak of his absence, long years curled into a fist, fingers and years and months curling around until nails and war and destruction press against the soft flesh of the palm and the boy comes back, a fine young man, and proud too, and grieving. But this child of Yiling, the storytellers say as they pinch their own palms, has known pain, and will continue to know pain. The flesh of the palm is soft as is his heart, and the emptiness within him is more vast than the air through which their fingers slip. And then the child of Yiling is a child no more- in his place stands the Patriarch, he of Yiling who wields a new power and lets it drape over himself like a veil- to distract and hide and to walk a single-plank bridge- all alone and resolute, a strong fist that can break anything.

pov outsider, canon divergence, wei wuxian creates a sect | yiling wei sect, yiling wei sect, yiling laozu wei wuxian, fix-it, sentient burial mounds, bamf wei wuxian, ambush at qiongqi path, no ambush at qiongqi path

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[reallylilyreally]

The Man on the Mountain

A little something I wrote last year (here on AO3) about that Webgott scene in Points... Working doc title was "Skinny was there too, morons".

If you look at it closely, this isn't actually just Leibgott's story, or Webster's. No one seems to realise that.

Once upon a time, three men drove a truck up a hill to kill a bad man.

Joseph Liebgott is there because Captain Speirs wants to give him something nice to do. David Webster is there because Leibgott is a codependent sadomasochist. Skinny doesn't really know why he's there. Probably because Shifty is home free and Hoobler is dead.

It's been a while, and the loss of the boys in Bastogne still doesn't feel real, mostly because he wasn't there when it happened. Somewhere, way deep down, he thinks Hoob and Muck and Penkala are all just off the line, riding out the war in a hospital somewhere with Joe and Bill.

He doesn't look at it too closely, because he knows better. Just like he knows better than to look too closely at why he's here, because deep down he knows Shifty isn't home free at all. Speirs gave Joe carte blanche, and Leibgott tapped Skinny because he knows he'll fall in line. Unlike David. It's ridiculous that Web's even here. Who do they think they're kidding?

The drive up the mountain is beautiful, all hills and fields, just like every other bit of Austria he's been in so far, and it would have been a very enjoyable experience if it hadn't been from the incessant bickering from the passengers. Joe, all biting caged fury and the latent rage that's been simmering hopeless, reckless, dangerous since Lansberg, the fragility to him that's had Speirs keeping him close, on a tight leash, safe, quiet. Until now. Joe vs David, who is watchful and careful and utterly incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Joe's got his orders and is happy to follow them. Webster, with all the reticence of a man who was not at Foy, regards orders from Speirs to be inherently worth questioning, and wants to know if Winters knows.

Skinny is fully aware that Major Winters has no idea about any of this, that Speirs got this intelligence off someone who isn't Captain Nixon, and has given it to Joe because he thinks it will help.

It becomes very obvious very quickly that this isn't going to help. Joe kicks the door to the chalet down and storms in like he's clearing buildings, like he's assaulting a position, even though he's got nothing on his six but Skinny and Web. Skinny covers him, can't not cover him, but Webster is radiating discontent and reticence. He's ethically opposed to killing Nazis while they eat breakfast, apparently, and no amount of "Speirs said so" is enough to override it. The Nazi is unarmed, and so Skinny leaves Joe to it. He's not any help. Joe doesn't want help.

Webster is sulking outside, smoking a cigarette, and Skinny is suddenly fucking sick of the pair of them. They're this close to the end, this far through an unmitigated pile of utter fucking shit and the pair of them are acting like one told the other he's not invited to the party. It's exhausting, and Skinny was tired enough already.

There's a shot, just after Skinny starts his valiant attempt at bringing Web in line, and the Nazi runs out of the house bleeding but obviously not dead. Joe's behind him, Web standing there fucking useless with his mouth open like he's never seen combat. Joe is basically foaming at the mouth as he shouts at Webster. Webster won't shoot the man.  Joe can't shoot the man. Skinny just wants to go home.

He shoots the Nazi right between the shoulderblades, a perfect shot. As good as Shifty, if Shifty was here. Better than Hoobler, if he hadn't killed himself.

They get back in the truck and dead down the mountain, the two of them so caught in their rage they don't even speak to him. Speirs asks Joe how it went and Joe says "it got done" and Skinny wonders to himself how he could have killed a man in cold blood, in front of two witnesses, and have absolutely no one seem to notice that he'd even been there.

[daisymylove]

Sword catcher spoilers, speculations and theories about "Ragpicker King" and some ramblings ahead, proceed at your own discretion.

So I'm 90% sure Vienne is alive and we will find it out when lin comes to the palace to treat her

She has an official art and there was a whole snippet about her, I don't see the point of making all that fuss about a character that was going to have three interactions with Kel (speaking of which, I kind of shipped them even tho I know ana will be his end game 👉🏻👈🏻 am I the only one?), kill some random guys and bite the dust. On top of that her arc was about to get so interesting. She is a trained assassin, oath bound to protect this little girl, whom she loves deeply, until she dies, but then her charge was murdered, and her life's mission came crashing down on her. The angst, the potential.Her dying would be a huge waste.

I don't question Jolivet's loyalty, at least not now, but Markus is not a mentally stable person (btw whats up with him? does anyone have a theory?).I think he lied she was dead bc markus may have killed her otherwise and, as dangerous as she is, Vienne may be more useful to them alive than dead with the possibility of a war looming over.I also don't discard the possibility that he may have personal ties to vienne and/or her family. The whole covering her with his cape could have been a show of respect for the black guard if she's really dead, like kel thought, but compounding with the fact that, even tho she charged on conor, jolivet did nothing to either stop or harm her, it struck me as oddly affectionate. Anyone can correct me if im wrong, but I dont remember kel mentioning anything about an accent, which makes me assume she speaks their language on a native level, so there's that

One thing I didn't like was that this trained bad ass assassin was completely unarmed during such an important event.Kel is always armed, even when impersonating conor he had a dagger on his person. Granted, it's easier to conceal weapons on male attire, but it would've been more realistic if she'd had at least one dagger, had been forced to use it and thus was left unarmed. Its not enough to tackle all those guys, as kel himself thought, but she wouldn't have been helpless.

I'm also 90% sure Lin and conor are going to have sex on a beach, I'm willing to bet money on it.I've read way too many books by Cc to not recognize her foreshadowing. Besides, she's fond of writing sex scenes on peculiar locations.

The "yes I'm the goddess come back" may have been scheming on Lin's part (loved that btw) but I'm sure she actually is the goddess come back. She will also be queen, as the prophecy foretells. Charlon saying to luisa "dance for your future court", but Lin ending up being the one to actually dance also reeks of foreshadow.

Now to the ragpicker king, we know almost nothing about andreyen and I have a lot of speculations. First I thought he was the Makabi, what about the ragpicker being a figure that has always existed in Castellane, his symbol being a bird and his having a bowl that allegedly belongs to makabi's lineage. But when he said ragpicker king is a title, which he inherited from another, I put it in the back burner (it hasn't been discarded tho, im not discarding anything for now and he would hardly tell kel "yo I'm this immortal entity and have been forging my death over and over for centuries" if that were the case) in favour of thinking he's the Maharam's exiled son. He's the right age and it makes sense for a boy that has been shunned by everyone and left to fend for himself to turn to crime.

What has been nagging at me, on the other hand, is that he matches Lin's vision of Suleman from her dreams. Pale, tall, handsome, long black hair and when his eyes were going to be described the dream was conveniently interrupted. I'm not saying he is suleman for sure, idk how that would work in practical terms -- is he an immortal and suleman never actually died at the sundering? unlikely, considering Lins dream and how vivid it was. Is he a reincarnation? Under that line of thinking he could be both the exiled boy AND suleman on a single person -- and he could have no relation to him whatsoever, the physical resemblance being just a coincidence (but really?) and I'm just crazy.His interest in the stone and magic in general checks out for both suleman and exiled son, so it isn't really an indicator.

I rather liked andreyen, merren and Ji an, tho, I really don't want him to be the bad guy, but as previously said I'm not discarding anything.It seems pretty obvious to me that he wants to use lin and her abilities in some way, much like he has a use for kel, but that doesn't necessarily mean he has nefarious goals or anything

I think Anjelica, Aimada, the malgasi princess whose name I don't remember now and the prince with the huge bank account will make appearances, they have been mentioned way too much to not feature at all

and what was that dream kel had with fire and phoenixes? There's something there, I can feel it

anyway, that's what I have so far

as a side note, I'm a bit drunk and haven't proofread this properly (i never do when writing on this blog tho, sorry lol), hope its coherent enough

[small-sinclair]

I woke up with Poly!Sinclair rot dancing with s/o.

Enjoy.

not profread

Welcomed reader: @sketchy-rosewitch

Song mention: Devil's Backbone, The Civil Wars.

You’re in the House of Wax, dusting, and dancing by yourself to your noise canceling headphones. It’s been a long as time since this place has seen a good cleaning, and you just wanted your lovely Vincent’s art to shine because he’s just a good artist and he’s just so fucking beautiful at what he does.

Lester comes in with Bo, looking for a place to cool off. The Louisiana heatwave is beating them down, and the AC in the wax house is always on and cooling. You catch Bo’s eyes as you dance to a slow song in your headphones, not knowing they were there. Bo stop and watches you with amazement. He going into the fake kitchen and whistles for Vincent.

“Y/n’s dancin’, Vin. Com’ watch.” He holds a grin as Vincent comes up the steps.

Lester sits in a folding chair and watches you sway, his eyes looking over you as if he was in a trance.

‘Do you know how perfect you are, y/n?’ He wonders to himself, sighing contently. He rested his chin in his head, elbow learning on a knee, as he watches your hips and body, eyes all lovey dovey. ‘Goodness, you’re perfect.’

The twins stand behind their little brother as they watched you dance in the halo of sunlight and dust. You started humming to the song, then whisper the lyrics...

"Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I beggin' you, please. Don't take those Sinclairs from me."

Yeah, you changed the lyric from 'sinner' to 'Sinclairs', but it's true as you dance to the song, your eyes ghosting over the little figures.

Bo grits his teeth and took brave steps towards you, your back still turned to him. You just look too good to be true, and you looked too good not to be held. His rough hands wraps around your hips, and you yelp at the touch, jumping out of your skin. The wheel around and almost punched Bo in the jaw, but he dodged it, stepping back.

"Easy there, Rocky," he drawls, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. "Just Bo. That's all."

You pull an earbud out and looked at him in disbelief. "The fuck, Bo! You scared me!" You held your chest. Your eyes looked over his shoulders, seeing Lester snickering in the chair and Vincent holding back a laugh. You relaxed and giggled. "Almost nicked ya."

Bo rolls his eyes and takes a step forward to you. Without saying a word, he places a hand around your lower back and held up your hand. "Dance wit' me, darlin'," he says slow, his southern drawl echoing in his chest.

You blush and let him take the lead. You slow danced to nothing, his eyes looked into your eyes, roaming over your body and arms. He doesn't need to say anything as he dances with you, keeping you close to his chest, but his hands were loose and snug. You two stay like this for a while, him swaying you in the sunlight. you rested your head on his chest and smell the oil and aftershave leather from this morning's shave still lingering. Once he got you facing away from his brothers, he smirks, nods, and spins you.

Your free hand caught rougher hands as you were pulled into Lester's arms. "Hiya, sweet pea," he said with his goofy smile. "Mind if I hav' 'is dance?"

You managed a nod as his hands wrap around your waist, arms around his neck. His curls were sticking up from under his hat from sweat and the heat. His puppy brown eyes swaying you as if you two were high school lovers, and that's okay. He didn't take control like Bo's lead, but it was more of a comfortable lead as he stole a kiss from your lips.

"Ya lookin' like a dream," he whispers, kissing you again, nice and slow. "Really likin' ya, y/n. Make everythin' good n' betta." His voice stays soft as if he's afraid to scare you. "Yer' beautiful." His eyes shifted up and he smiles. "Looks lik' Vincey wants a turn, sug."

As soon as he says that, Vincent stood next to you and him, his wax face emotionless. Lester steps back and kisses your hand, letting you go to his older brother. He leaves the little dance floor as Vincent held up your hand and tuck his hand behind your lower back just as Bo did.

He takes lead, the dance feeling more like a waltz that you've seen in a movie, but he didn't let you trip or fall. Your eyes stayed up to watch Vincent, feeling his lone blue eye on you and a smile creeping over his lips. He's imagined dancing with you hundred of times, and to be doing it now felt amazing. Your figure in his arms as he danced with you, holding you close and careful like you were glass... you're just too good for him. For his brothers. For this dead town.

His warmth was comfortable as he lifts your face, waxed lips kissing the crown of your head. He spins you, and your hand is caught by Bo's, taking you back were you started. He steals a kiss then spins you again, Lester catching you in his arms, kissing your cheek, and passes you back to Vincent without his mask, his real lips kisses yours, then spins you again, leaving no one to catch you. All three of the brothers stood next to each other, looking at you in the sunlight's dress and dusty crown floating in your hair. They smile at you, Bo and lester taking off their hats, the bowed to you. You blush and return the guester, bowing your head towards them and lifting up to meet with their gaze, their eyes roaming over you as if you were a marble statue in a rose garden.

"Y'all make one heck of a dance partner," Lester drawled, giggling to himself, putting his hat back on.

Bo's blue eyes light up as you watched your smile. "Might as well marry ya, darlin'."

Vincent's hands move, signing, 'You're a good dancer, muse.'

You blushed as you take up your duster, the AC sending chills over your arms. "Thank you, boys. I... I never danced with someone before."

Bo shook his head at those words. "We'll always dance wit' ya, y/n," he flashes you his charming smile, "I promise ya that."

Lester nods in agreement, his brown eyes lighting up. Vincent placed his mask over his face, his hands then taking yours, pulling you into his chest. You lay your head against his shirt and sways gently again.

What a dance you'll be having. Taking each step at a time with a lion, a wolf, and a coyote. Gentle steps, humming bird. Gentle steps.