#Let them reunite so they can get married once and for all

[grapeeuphoria]

Bad birds don't deserve kisses

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Chains of Bones: DARK!GODAEMOND X READER PART TWO (YES ITS HERE)

Tags: DARK AEMOND, GREEK MYTHOLOGY INSPIRED AU

🔷Summary: You are a servant working for the goddess Rhaenyra and the God Daemon. You are tasked with protecting the flowers and one day, you find yourself captured by rhaenyra's greatest enemy: Aemond.

🔷Author's note: Dark af.

WARNINGS: Misogny, (no kidding) emotional manpulation, dubcon, body betrayl, vaginal sex (f recv) oral sex (f recev) rough sex, mentions of loss of virginty, emotional gaslighting and gore, blood, and a lot of...BONES. (Blood licking for this chapter)

This is a dead dove

Do not eat it.

(a+ warning)

wordcount:8265 (such a chonky)

Daemon's pov

It truly is set to be a special day. He could tell by the gathering dark clouds, the thunder that lightened the dark fields outside of the palace and the way how the moon was hidden behind the clouds. Darkness had certainly been fed, in more ways than one. He can’t help but think of Aemond whenever he looks at the night sky. How close they once were, and how far they’ve fallen apart. And for what? A crown, a wife, daughters? Who started this fight and who is truly in the wrong? Daemon? Aemond? Or is this all part of some greater scheme? Fate, destiny, however you like to call it? Daemon pours himself a drink.

‘’Did you let her go?’’ A voice booms out behind him. He is startled by the appearance of his wife, the goddess of light. Rhaenyra stands before him, wearing a red, scarlet gown with long sleeves and golden details, matching her golden ever shining crown. Her hands are uneasily folded in front of her, and he can tell she is upset. He doesn’t understand it yet. But somehow his instincts tell him that it’s all Aemond’s doing. Somehow.

His wife is pale of pure terror and yet still red of fury. ‘’I can’t believe this, Daemon! How could you be so stupid?!’’ She shouts, revealing her perfect teeth. Daemon is shocked by the words she uses. ‘’Do you know who she was?’’ Aside from a hungry orphan they took in one day to attend the gardens…No. He has no clue. He doesn't care. As long as she keeps Aemond happy he could not care about her happiness at all.

He knows Aemond. He treats his lovers well and already sounded smitten beyond words. That orphan will be shocked once he showers her with gold and love, when she is getting a happier life than forever here cutting flowers and watering them. ‘’Aemond’s soulmate? His Queen? He will treat the girl well in the Underworld. He plans to marry her, make her his wife and the mother of his children. This is a good thing, Rhaenyra.’’ He grabs her gloved hands, feeling where her scar hides beneath silk and lace. ‘’Aemond promised he’d invite us to the wedding. We can be reunited, as a family. The way my brother, your father, wanted it.’’

The thought of breaking bread with Aemond Targaryen makes her blood boil. He was not meant for any of his gifts. He was not meant to be the God of death. Nothing of this was meant to happen. ‘’Do not drag my father into this. There is a reason why Aemond missed out on his godhood by choice. My father never meant for him to be a god of anything, let alone death itself! And the girl you gave to him? Did it ever occur to you that Aemond had another, darker motive to kidnap her?’’ 

He sighs but he should have expected such a rude answer. Rhaenyra is a sweet woman who doesn't understand that men sometimes are over taken by their desires. Aemond as the embodiment of death most of all. ‘’Men have desires-”

She snorts. She had hoped he would believe her and trust her word.  ‘’I used to think you were clever. Your love for your nephew has blinded you. He is the one missing an eye, but you are the blind one here. You can’t see how he’s using you, sucking you dry and ruining our lives. What do you think will happen now that Aemond founds his soulmate?’’ 

Daemon rolls his eyes. Why should he care? The girl will be wedded and bedded and married off and sooner rather than later carry Aemonds children inside her belly. Why should he be concerned with any of that? ‘’I assume he’s planning a wedding.’’

She plays with her rings, firing a question at Daemon that breaks his shield and finally shows him how dreadful this situation truly is. Rhaenyra knows Aemond did not take the girl because he was overcome with lust or love. He took her as part of a strategy. She never has been close to her half brother but she knows he won't ever behave as a smitten boy. That part of him died long ago. And it wont come back. ‘’Do you think he’ll let her die?’’ Daemon freezes. He didn't think about that. He was so happy for Aemond and for a way to weaken his powers…That he didn't think of one very crucial detail. This girl needs to be kept alive. She needs to become immortal for Aemond's desires. And that means….

She watches Daemon slow and painful battle inside his own head. She can see the disappointment in his eyes. He is disappointed in himself. And so is she. 

‘’Do you think he’ll make another mistake like that?’’ she asks as a follow up question. They both know the answer. No. No he wouldn't. Aemond would never make the same mistake twice. Daemon knows that better than anyone.

‘’Aemond will be looking into making her immortal, Daemon!’’ Rhaenyra shouts. Daemon doesn't respond at first but smashes a vase in frustration. ‘’You endangered everyone we love and hold dear! Rhaena, Baela, Jace, Joffrey, even Aegon and Viserys! He will be out with knives lurking on us all until we make the tiniest slip up so his whore can become a Goddess!” She tries to storm out of the room but he stops her by appearing right in front of her, putting his arms around her body. The light in her hands shimmers as the room darkens.

All that can be heard is the promise leaving Daemon’s lips. ‘’I will make this right.’’ He has to save his children and his wife. He will protect his family. Even if it means hurting or even killing Aemond.

Rhaenyra steps out of his reach, denying him his comfort. Her eyes are tear stained and in the corner of her eyes are silver shines. ‘’How could you? Aemond outwitted us. He won this battle. I hope for the sake of everyone that he won’t win the war.’’ 

Daemon feels panic take hold of him, the way a puppet is pulled on a string. He cannot let Aemond win. He shouts the words one more time, willing himself to believe it. ‘’I will make this right.’’

His wife doesn't respond, she touches the silver with gold entrusted crown on her blonde locks. ‘’Good luck. We have another problem. The real reason why Aemond likely kidnapped her. It has nothing to do with love. But with his plan to get his hands on the crown.’’

She sits down on her throne. ‘’He lied to you, Daemon. He doesn’t love this poor girl. He is only interested in making the girl immortal so the sacrifice can be bigger. He doesn't plan on marrying her. He plans on murdering her.”

—---

You sit in the throne room helpless and completely alone. You still can't believe all that has happened. The King of the underworld has taken you home with him, claiming that he and you have this connection as he calls it. He then captured you and made love to you when holding you prisoner in the gardens. 

Something terrifying happened in the gardens. Despite your fears and better judgment, you ended up enjoying yourself when he took you. You enjoyed his cold fingers that somehow set your skin on fire and enjoyed his mouth sucking on your skin and the way he kept taking and taking…

And that is terrifying. Because maybe that's proof of what Aemond also believes. That you somehow are meant for one another. That you are his soulmate, that your bond conquerors somehow all. That is terrifying. 

You sit on the floor, trying one last time to break the necklace Aemond put around your throat. You give it a final good yank, almost choking yourself in the process. But it's no use. The stubborn bones only become stronger and you become weaker. So that won't be your way out. Time to see what will.

You aren't sure where Aemond ran off too. You don't want to know. You eye the big iron with blue sapphires decorated throne that stands all the way back in the room. You notice banners hanging with gems and black lace, and eternal fire keeps the room well lit with torches. 

The throne looks uncomfortable and unpleasant. You wouldn't want to sit it for sure. Opposite of the throne, all the way back to the beginning of the room are two huge closed doors with dragon heads as handles. You understand that is your only way out.

You run over the lush dark red carpet that is spread before the throne, careful to not hurt yourself by tripping over your own feet or the carpet. The carpet seems to only grow and grow and the room to extend beyond its original size. You are convinced Aemond is playing a game with you at some point.

Until the carpet finally stops growing, and you stumble head first into the doors. You curse, rubbing your head as you stare at the doors. There is magic at work here. Dark magic. You try to recall all that Rhaenyra taught you about dark magic.

But aside from “Never ever use it” Rhaenyra didn't teach you anything about it. It's not her fault. She didn't know you would need it now. Neither did you. 

You push the dragon head handle all the way down and the door opens with an annoying hard screech, close to the cry of a creature. Startled, you look around before entering the hallway, worried that the noise lured Aemond out of his hiding.

But in the hallway awaits no one but tall walls with glass windows, where dark shadows hide behind. You see nothing but the lush carpet that is rolled out over the ancient stones and only hear the flames dancing in the chandeliers and the wind howling outside. 

And yet you know.

You are not alone here.

Someone is watching you.

Aemond, that is likely.

You resist the urge to scream at the halls, cursing his name and yell at him for kidnapping you. You bravely continue your exploration. Mostly because you don't want to sit around until Aemond decides to give you attention again. You don't want to give him that satisfaction. You gave him enough already. Too much.

So you go on.

Step by step and breath by breath as you explore the big castle. It is older than the castle that Daemon and Rhaenyra have. You don't know how you know that. But something inside you tells you that you are entering grounds that are older than you could even imagine. You feel like a trespasser which is ridiculous. Aemond kidnapped you. He took you here. You didn't want to come along.

Finally you end up on a fork in the road where four different halls lead to bigger hallways with more doors and more secrets no doubt. You need to make a choice. Truth be told you are afraid. You don't want to get stuck in a cursed room or worse find a lost soul. You want to find the way out. 

You eventually decide to go left. You could always walk back if you changed your mind. You walk and when you turn around..

The castle hallway has vanished and you are surrounded by darkness. Suddenly, the throne room seems much more pleasing and inviting. You step forward, chasing the light with small steps.

When you reach it, your eyes are blinded and the world fades for a brief moment. You open your eyes and see that you are in a room. It has tall walls but no windows. There are various childrens toys laying around. Toys that seem old and stitched up. Bears with missing eyes and bunnies with missing ears. There are also cradles and bassinets. The whole room appears to be a nursery.

Why would Aemond need a nursery?

You feel your throat cut off as your stomach grumbles. Your heart begins to beat louder as the worst fears come to mind. You need to calm yourself down and tell yourself that you are simply hungry. In truth, you are worried. Terrified. He thinks you are his soulmate, he is definitely interested in having children with you. You won’t let that happen, however.

But first you need to get away from Aemond. You turn around…

“Would you like a pie, Milady?” A voice whispers near your ear. You scream, turning around to face whoever asked that question. 

You are met with a skeleton of a woman. She has long brown hair that is tucked away in a veil. Her bones are clearly visible and have damage here and there. You can tell she is an old soul. The woman smiles, patting the chairs next to two bears. “I make the best pies. The secret is fresh ingredients.”  That’s not a secret at all, you want to snap at her. You don’t. 

You don't trust her.

She begins to cackle. “You are as wary as your husband. I simply wanted to offer you a welcome gift. A pledge of loyalty.” You don’t like it when she calls Aemond your ‘’husband’’. You didn’t marry him nor consent to come here. He is not your husband and you are not his wife, no matter what that bone-wearing creature thinks.

You scoff. “I don't intend to stay here.” You will make that very clear. You will find a way out and you won't become Aemonds wife or the mother of his children. You don’t want pie, you don’t want food, or anything. No. You are filled with rage and all you want is to leave this place or hit Aemond on his nose. Option one seems impossible, but option two results in certain death so you which option you’d prefer.

She seems to soften at those words. She pities you, clearly. And who wouldnt? A girl, dragged into the underworld for Aemond’s dark desires and plots. She knows him better than you do. He pretends around you, he plays and preforms. He’s her captor. He is honest with this woman.  She seems to know a truth that you do not know just yet but will learn soon enough: That Aemond always gets what he wants. “You should get something in your belly. You can't think on an empty belly.” You consider her words and sit down. “Smart lass. I make dozens of pies for your husband.” Maybe she can slip in something to make him sleep. So you can escape. 

“He is not my husband.” You hiss between your teeth. She chuckles amused.

And that's when you look at the small oven in the corner of the room. You notice more bears standing there as if guarding the oven. “What is this place?” You ask.

“This is my eternal punishment. The King mistook me for another woman and locked me here. To suffer for all eternity.” You don't understand how he is making her suffer. The room seems wellkept and there is clearly food. 

She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. “You should eat the pie. I made it for you.” She says. You look at the pie she presents you. You don’t have any skills aside from gardening and watering plants. But there is another skill, a hidden talent from a life before all this. You are very good at reading people, especially when they are lying to you. And this woman, whatever reason she has for you to eat that cake, it is not good.  You stand up, shaking your head trying to be polite. 

“I am not hungry. Sorry for disturbing you.” it feels as if you broke something. As if glass shatters. A barrier breaks. And the woman smashes the plate to the ground.  You watch as worms come crawling out of the pie, the one bigger than the other. She rips off her veil, revealing a big stitch around her neck. Her head is close to falling from her shoulders. 

You back away, terrified, as her head dangles. “Don't look so afraid. King Aemond stitched my head back himself.” She chuckles. “He likes it when I lose my head over and over and over and over-” You don’t let her finish, running away. She shrieks before grabbing your arm, dragging her nails into your skin as her eyes rot in her head, worms crawling over her skin and the smell of rot fills your nose. 

A shiver runs over your back as more darkness briefly kills the light in the nursery room. A magic trick. A trick that reminds you of how Aemond first introduced himself to you. There were romantic roses, to avoid scaring you. You see it now. Because he can also choose to appear in a cloud of thunder and darkness, hell and doom.

He doesn't speak a word to you and instantly addresses the woman. “What are you doing with the Queen? Didn't I warn you to stay in the cellar, where you belong?” He lifts his head. You don’t speak, aware you didn’t had his permission to enter this room and he won’t like it when he finds out you were almost murdered or tried to escape.

The woman sighs, stomping her feet in frustration but understands the fight is a lost one now. She won’t harm you. But it was never about you to begin with. It was about him. She wanted to kill you, to hurt Aemond. And you realize that many others will do the same after this woman.  “I wanted to offer her pie. She is an orphan, Aemond. You didn't tell me she is an orphan. You know what I think of orphans.” You feel uneasy. How does she even know that? 

She turns to you when you back away, eying a frying pan near the table. She has one chance. “I ran an orphanage in my old life. Aemond hated how many souls I saved so he killed me and took me with him. But I saved dozens of little children from suffering, the way I did.” she proclaims. You feel conflicted.

Aemond nods, smiling very unconvincingly  before lifting her into the air and smashing her against the table before she can even reach her weapon. Plates and bears fall to the ground as you gawk. Aemond twists his fingers and blood comes pouring out of her eyes, as well her mouth as he creates holes by cutting open vines in her face. Blood comes pouring out. “You. Hurt. Her.” he hisses, his pupil tells you all you need to know. He's obsessed, driven by revenge and out of control.  Consumed by something bigger than you, bigger than him, even. It's something ancient, something that is always just lurking around, waiting for its turn…

Darkness.

Pure utter darkness.

“You think you touch what belongs to me? Kill what is mine by right? I didn't spend years looking for her to have her stolen from me. Not by you, not by Daemon nor by Rhaenyra!” he screams at her, spit ending up on the poor woman's face. You need to stop him. 

But you are frozen all the same. No one, no one ever cared if you were hurt. No one defended you like that. You shake your head, trying to focus on saving the woman for now. No matter how nice his defence feels he's wrong for hurting her. “Your Grace-” You tell him, tugging his cloak. You even called him his grace, expecting to sooth his ego.

He doesn't hear you and if he does he does not care. “She is trembling like a leaf.” He cuts off the air of the woman by choking her. “You don't get to scare her. You will suffer for your sins.” He hisses. “I will decorate the throne hall with your blood. How dare you upset her?! Your bones will decorate her head!”

You run out of options. “Aemond!” You scream as the remaining skin of the servant flesh begins to burn away, revealing deep holes with rotten bones below. You grab his arm, putting a stop to it.

You are pushed back by a force, ending up on the floor. Aemond stops immediately what he is doing, regret and worry written across his face as he kneels down besides you. He grabs your hands, rubbing the skin with his fingers as he looks into your eyes. “Petal, my dear. Speak to me.” He pleads. You sit back up, without his help.

“Never do that again.” He bites out, the moment he knows you are fine. “You could have been hurt.” He adds. He turns to the woman. He notices the worms on the floor. His cold expression becomes even colder. The woman trembles as Aemond crushes a worm under the heel of his boots. “To the fire with you. I will decide your fate later. But prepare for torture like you never had before.” Aemond vows before making the woman vanish.

You catch your breath. You can't believe he did that. Without any intentions he did that. He could've killed you. Easily. You need to be careful. This man might be your soulmate according to him but that doesn't make you a goddess. It makes you mortal and vulnerable. It makes you weak.

You decide to ask the truth. “You were hurting that woman.” He tilts his head as if confused before he breaks into a soulless grin. He gestures around the room, before bending and picking up a teddy bear with two missing eyes.

“You don't know who she is, do you?” You don't care who she is, she is to be treated with respect. Rhaenyra taught you that. Souls who come by her are treated gently before they are prepared to move on. And here they are treated unlike any being deserves. You don't think knowing her name is going to change that fact.

She tried to kill you, yes. But who wouldn’t in this situation? Clearly the woman is desperate or mad. Or both.  “Does it matter? No one deserves to be treated that way.” But once you have said it out loud, somewhere begins to creep this feeling that something isn't adding up to the woman's words.

“My kind, sweet, innocent Petal.” He murmurs, his good eye shimmering with adoration and love. He meant it as a compliment, you are certain of that but by the way the words leave his lips and how he looks at you, you feel mocked and ridiculed. 

He chuckles as you reveal your teeth snarling in anger. “Come now. I don't wish for us to fight. So I'll be honest about something. I can't drag souls with me to the Underworld. Everyone you see has come here by the design of the system. It has been this way since the last King.” So she earned It. That is his cryptic answer. 

“Except you.” He adds, when you open your mouth to protest. “Daemon had to give me permission before I could take you.” He makes his voice soft and gentle as if trying to smooth your nerves. As if he's romanticizing your kidnapping already. “Not that it would have mattered. If he didn't give you to me, I would have taken you another way.” He chuckles and you want to hit him when he caresses your face, booping your nose.

He sighs, putting the bear back on the chair, turning his fleeting attention back to the room.

“The woman you defended, deserves her punishment. She ran an orphanage.” so she told you.

You make a scoffing noise. Of course, that would upset him. She stole souls from him. What a bastard. “What a great criminal genius.” The sarcasm is dripping from your words. “Imagine her punishment if she taught them how to read as well.” You say, with a eye roll.

Aemond does not respond, and he doesn't smack you against the table either. His hand keeps rubbing the belly of the teddy bear he held moments ago, lost in thought. “She killed them, Petal.” You freeze. You wanted to ask who. You aren't sure why. You know who they are. You know who killed them. She did. She killed orphans. Innocent defenseless children who had no one to look out for them. You could easily be one of them. 

Aemond continues, his voice cold. “There were so many children's skulls, that I myself lost count. She would force them to do labor for her and if they died she chopped them into pieces, and put them into her pies. She gave the pies to starving people.  Except the eyes. She kept the eyes and put them into her teddy bears.” 

You feel as if smacked in your face.

You feel sick and horrified. You stare at the teddybears who all miss eyes. Those poor children. You don't have words for it. You are sick to your stomach. “She was worshipping you, wasn't she? That is why she kept their eyes.” You say, rubbing your stomach as it makes an unsettling noise. You remember some people who worship Rhaenyra leaving candles for her or shiny stones.

For Aemond, they likely leave eyes.

How horrible and twisted.

Aemond nods confirming your accusation. You expect him to laugh about it or make a joke. His voice sounds as if a nail hitting a casket. Repeatedly. He is furious. “....Yes. And that only makes my fury bigger. She deserves all the punishments I give her. Unlike what you were maybe taught, I don't enjoy senseless murder. I care a great deal about justice. Which is exactly why that woman should be locked up in the basement.”

You can hear some dark chuckle coming from his throat which sounds very sudden. Aemond's smile becomes a little broader and a little darker. You feel shivers run down your spine as he begins to approach you smirking. “But we haven't had time to discuss the most important question of all: What are you doing here, Petal?”

You know you got yourself almost killed. So does he. You can feel the fury radiating from him and the disappointment. He is upset you even tried to run. “I, what happened to the children?” You ask, trying to spin the conversation. “Did you save-” Your voice is cut off the moment Aemond calmly raises his hand silencing you.

He leans in closer, grabbing you tightly. You battle but don't last long. He is stronger. “Do not change the subject. You will answer me.” He whispers in your ear. When you don't answer, He grabs your arms, pinning you over the table and begins to kiss your neck. He moans against your throat.

“I am your Queen!” You cry out helplessly as he begins to kiss you again. You try to find it hateful and disgusting what he's doing with you. He needs to understand that while you enjoy his touch, you don't enjoy being treated as an object. You hope that reminding him of your title and position makes him see how terrible he is treating you.

But this time, his seemingly gentle and slightly terrifying side that seems to care so much about your wellbeing, is nowhere to be found. The monster is all that remains. 

“My queen, my wife!” he bites out between the painful kisses. “You know what happens when Kings are displeased with their Queens? They'll get punished. And that just happens to be something I'm quite good at.” He whispers. You begin to silently cry regretting you even set a foot outside today. You pray to Rhaenyra wishing for her to come save you.

You cry, tugging the necklace desperate to break it. Aemond scoffs as you nearly choke yourself. “You should know that the necklace cannot be broken or destroyed. You made it part of your own body and soul  when you touched my crown. Your own life is fueling the chain. You should also know that the bones chain you to me. You can't leave my side ever. Or you'll die.” He reveals. “And stop praying to her. She can't come down here. Not without my approval.” He grins, smirking as you continue to cry. 

He kisses your salty cheeks, feeling the way you tremble and you can tell by the way his pupils grow that it only arouses him more. “No one is coming to save you. No one can save you. You are where you belong.” He lets out another much deeper moan as he begins to lick your neck, stealing hungry glances at your breasts.

You hold back a soft moan as Aemond kisses your lips, spreading your legs. You hear his laughs and his dark chuckles. You shove his arms away, angry and upset.  “Why deny yourself pleasure, my darling? Don't you know I can hear every dirty thought echoing in your mind? How you want me to rip your dress open and for me to have my way with you?” You do and you do not. You have two people living inside of you, it seems. Your sensible experienced personality, who knows what Aemond does is wrong. And something primal, ancient and out of this world strange who just wants to let him do what he wants. 

Aemond smiles as your inner battle continues. He tries to convince you once more. “It felt good, didn't it, Petal? You enjoyed feeling full. You enjoyed getting fucked and being stuffed. You enjoyed it all and you have the audacity to lie to me that you don't feel our bond.” It's true what he says. There is something between you two, something big and it's real. It's terrifying you. It makes you want to run far far away from.

He sees you tense up. He tries to lower your walls again. “I felt it too. The way how tight you wrapped around me. It was as if inserting a key in a very special, stubborn lock. There was no need for me to twist or to be rough. The chest just…opened.” he shudders at the delightful memory recalling how he fucked you sore and bloody in the garden.

You want to protest and argue. Fight and resist. But you can't. “You rise so quickly, my little Petal. Delicate and fast. That's good. I have needs and desires and I am sure to have needs for you.” You shiver as he runs a finger over the chain you wear, stimulating your spine. You wonder if he's going to touch you now. You are longing for it, you discover. Aching. Wanting. No.

Needing.

Aemond smirks, coming closer to your body. He leans in as if to kiss you, his lips inches from your own. He lifts your skirts, feeling you between your legs. “Such a shame, though, that I am punishing you.” He says before removing his fingers taunting you with a soft little pet almost a brushstroke. “I want you to understand that you are my Queen. But you are to be my wife too. The wife's duty in marriage is to provide for her husband's needs and his desires. It's to have his children one day.” 

That little confession is enough to break the magical spell and to make you understand how terribly messed up your situation truly is. “What?” you whisper, horrified at his confession. “I didn't sign up for that!” You take a shaky breath. Aemond seems to be confused as he stares at you, his grip loosening. He stares at you but he isn't there. He stops kissing you. He caresses your face, muttering words but doesn't speak them. 

“Petal…?” He mutters. You are terrified and confused. His silence and empty eyes betray that somehow you weren't talking to Aemond at all moments ago. You were talking to whatever possessed him. He can't seem to control it. You are aware of that. You are stuck with arguably the most powerful God of all, and he can’t seem to control his own darkness and powers. You are in great danger.

“Please let me go.” you whisper. “I can't make you happy. I can't make anyone happy. You'll be miserable around me.” You don’t even lie. You make for terrible company.

He only grabs you tighter, upset that you are even resisting him to begin with. “You are a stubborn little thing. In time, you see this is something good! You can't be stolen from me, my love. You'll be at my side, where you belong. You'll be my Queen and my love. The mother of-” You freeze at that last word. You never had a mother. You don't know how to be a mother. You don't want to be one. You can't be one.

You pick up the pan closeby your hand and smack Aemond across his face. The King is injured but heals instantly scowling in a way that reveals you didn't do much damage. You made things only much worse. “You mean your whore! You don't allow me any freedom! If I am a Queen, why am I treated as a prisoner? Why do you say you want to punish me and hurt me? Why do you-” You tear up, sobbing as he begins to kiss you, bearing your neck naked so he can kiss you properly and bite you painfully to punish you.

“Because I don't trust you yet.” He says.

You scoff. You know he is right. But it all sounds like he’s making excuses. “I've given you my all. My virginity, my pride.” He laughs, darkly as he throws his head back into his neck. He scoffs at your tears.

“You didn't give me anything. I took it from you. You were aroused and wanting but you also were afraid and insecure. So I had to take the first steps.” He pushes the crown on his head  a bit further as you avoid his eye. He lifts your chin gently and wipes away your tears.

His glare becomes a playful sly glance as he begins to touch. “The first time is known to hurt. You did well. You obeyed and even joined in on the fun. I want to bet that once you see how I am, you and I will spend so many happy years together.” His mood swings confuse you. He also seems to really really believe that his personal happiness depends on you.

“What makes you say that?” You wonder why Aemond Thinks you are his one true love. You want to know what the liar told him and squeeze their eyeballs out.

He smiles, already forgotten how he pinned you down and bit you. “You're like me. A kindred spirit. We seek the limits. We break them and change them. That's how we are. We are unlimited and endless.” He makes you sound so powerful. So fearful. So …immortal.

You stare into his eye, caressing his face gently. You sit back up on the table. You lean in and as day and night circling each other your lips find his own. You burn yourself hissing as you stop the kiss. He brings his little finger to your burned lips, healing you with a single simple touch. He kisses you again and again as you slowly become infused with toxic wants and desires that you shouldn't have for him just yet.

Aemond was so keen on playing with your feelings earlier, denying you your pleasure. You will pay him back for that. You wait until Aemond has the increased and much darker pupils again, understanding all too well you mess with something you shouldn’t mess with. His grip is tighter and small burns appear soon on your wrists as he undresses you and himself, sloppily and full of groans. He spreads you, before slamming himself inside of you, grunting in your neck. You feel your own skin burn under his, and worry this could kill you. “This is where you belong. On your back, taking my seed and cock. You think you can escape but from the moment I laid eyes on you, you were meant to be mine.” 

He begins to trust his hips, keeping eye contact with you as he thoroughly seems to feel every inch of you, trusting himself inside of you, painful and slow. He takes his time discovering you, watching your reactions closely as he begins to experiment on your body.

He goes for your breasts first, greedily sucking on your tits. Your arousal grows and your body likes it, but the pain that follows isn’t pleasant at all. When Aemond’s mouth leaves your tits, you notice small burns on your breasts. You are shocked.

“You hurt…” You mutter, trying to push him off you.

Aemond rolls his eye, quickly kissing you to get you quiet and pushes you back on the table, taking you deeper and rougher. “You'll be healed. I promise. I know you want this too, Petal. Your arousal has not gone unnoticed. And you do deserve a punishment for disobeying me.” He whispers when taking you. You try to be strong and stoic and cold. He is hurting and pleasuring you at the same time. Does he even realize that your skin can’t handle whatever is going on with his lips?

You wait until Aemond is distracted, slipping away for a moment, turning your back to his front. It doesn’t take long before you are back on the same table, his hands on your butt while you hear the loudest smack you ever heard and feel a stinging burning pain. You scowl. “What in the world?! Did you just hit me?!” You will kill that man.

He grins, shrugging. He doesn’t even seem to care. He takes the cheeks he spanked so painfully and begins to rub and feel your flesh. “I spanked you. That's a bit different. My intention isn't to cause you pain. It's to make you embrace your destiny.’ A lie, clearly. You can tell. You study his face, the way his eye is glued to your belly tells you he doesn’t want to talk about it. His pupil has become fully black, even the usual white part. Just one endless, black and terrifying eye staring at you. He grabs you by your hips, entering you from behind, grunting in your ear as he takes you. You pleasure builds as you try to find enjoyment in this. It isn’t difficult. He seems to know your body somehow better than you know it yourself. You just wish the burns wouldn’t hurt so much. “If only I could just stay inside of you forever. But I know you are hurting. The burns and bruises..” Aemond groans as you playfully twist his own nipple, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He grins, grabbing you by your hair and pulls you playfully closer, taking you again. ‘’That tickled.’’ You don’t doubt it for a moment. You aren’t weak and can pack quite the punch. Aemond just happens to be an immortal God. Pain works differently for him. He heals faster too. You saw it with the pan. There’s not even a scar. A human being would’ve been knocked out. 

You like it so far. But you want more. You think of the best way to play him, to get what you want. You push his hands off you. Within seconds they are on the table, almost glued to the top. He bites your earlobe, feeling your parts as you feel pleasure burn through your skin, your veins and your very soul. ‘’Do not resist it. You won’t get far anyway. I know this place better than you do. You’ll only end up in troublesome situations.’’ He chuckles, the bastard. You are tempted to kick him for his little condensing note at the end but instead you fake a submissive little sigh and allow him to fuck you again. He stops, studying your face. ‘’You think you can outsmart me, don’t you, Petal? You think I don’t notice? I do, my little human Queen. You get to do all the messed up dark dirty things with me when we are in bed. I don’t mind an uncouth partner. I quite like being kept on my toes.’’ You mutter in your head that he yaps too much. Too much yapping, more fucking. Aemond as if reading your mind gives a rough, almost shattering trust to your core, causing you to cry out loudly for release. He holds you down, smirking. ‘���Just don’t be offended, if I pay you back for it. Yes?’’ He waits for you to answer but slams inside of you, bringing you to the edge and forcing you to fall. You are hit with many emotions of pain and bliss as you come as he takes you, crying out for mercy. He grabs you tight, and you hear him grunt your name as he finishes inside of you, bending your head down and giving you one last rough fucking. You pant, turning around and facing him, blood dripping down your face. Aemond tilts his head, studying your naked, bruised and slightly burned body. He brings his fingers to your forehead, scooping up blood that comes out of your forehead. You watch speechless as he licks it, tasting it.  ‘’Mhm. Don’t get frightened. It’ll heal.’’ He says. You move, setting your feet down on the floor. The floor changes colour under your feet, and when you lift your head you are in a lavish bedroom.

The walls are gold with scarlet. Golden chandeliers shimmer on the ceiling, dangling peacefully. Diamonds and gemstones decorate the walls, together with paintings of animals. You are now sitting on a huge bed, suited for more than two people. You sink in the pillows, wearing a new appropriate red silk gown, definitely the most expensive thing your fingers have ever touched. You look around the room, closer. You notice a vanity with a hairbrush and a matching stool, a room where you can see one or two dresses hanging in, and when you look at the flowers on the golden gilded nightstand, you see there are no real flowers there. Just dark purple amethyst shaped into flowers. You are absolutely blown away. There were days you starved, days you stole and robbed to eat pathetic little crumbs. And now? You could buy a carriage with this. Or a horse. Or both.

Aemond stands before the bed, giving you a wink, clearly happy you like your new bedroom. You don’t want to like it. You feel as if you don’t deserve it. “Sleep well, love. I will be back. Try to not miss me so much.” You glare. He waves, chuckling before almost skipping out of the room, completely in his own world. You stare at the ceiling, and notice paintings of dragons and flowers. You close your eyes instead, trying to block out the wealth. 

You lift your head, staring at the vanity. When you see your reflection looking back, you see that from your head, two small pale, claw-like things have come crawling outside of your neck, outside of your skin. Your bone necklace, the necklace Aemond told you was unbreakable, has grown into your skin. You don’t know what that means, as Aemond didn’t explain it to you. But it can’t be good.

-

Flames dance in the chandeliers as four people sit around one marble table. Queen Rhaenyra plays with her rings, unintentionally causing the room to be hidden in darkness from time to time. Her consort and husband, King Daemon sits next to her, his eyes always wandering to the door, afraid that Aemond shows up at this council.

His daughter, Baela catches his glance. ‘’You can stop looking. Aemond has better things to do than spy on us. He thinks he can’t be stopped anyway.’’ Daemon stops, embarrassed his own daughter had to point this out. Baela sighs, not even bothering to apologize. It’s been years, but she still remembers what Aemond did. And what he took from her.

Rhaenyra speaks. ‘’Does anyone have any idea to stop Aemond?’’

Jace, god of Charm and Rhaenyra’s heir, speaks up.

‘’We can kill her.’’ He suggests. A stupid plan. It would not make a difference. It would only make Aemond angry and vengeful. It won’t strip him of his powers. And that is what needs to happen.

The Goddess of Momento laughs, scoffing at his naive little plots and plans. She always is reminded of Jace’s godhood being mere…well, social. Not very mental. Hers, on the other hand… ‘’Yes, because that went so well the last time.’’ Her twin sister, Baela rings out dryly. Baela plays with an orange that switches between the stages of rot and freshness, as her clear time magic is being put to use. ‘’I haven’t forgotten what happened to Lucerys because of Aemond. He’s the reason I am without a husband, and Rhaenyra with one son.’’

The Queen of Realms and light, bows her head in gratitude, thanking Rhaena for the defense. Jacaerys scoffs, insulted that his rule is undermined. He finds it stupid that the two dragon girls are even invited here, at this council. The last time they were involved, they caused Aemond to kill Lucerys. It is their fault. Aemond threw the blade, but they armed him. They are guilty, same as him.

Rhaenyra hisses as the crown briefly slips from her head, falling on the table. She quickly puts it back on her head, casting a magic spell to see if she can track the girl’s thoughts. But nothing appears. Silence. Deadly silence.  ‘’It’s going faster than I thought. I can’t track her anymore.’’ She announces. 

The three others glance at each other, uneasily. Is she already killed?  ‘’What did he do?’’ Rhaena wonders out loud, not questioning anyone. Dark magic has always fascinated her.

Queen Rhaenyra throws her hands on the table, frustration getting the better of her as the chandelier dangles dangerously, the light in them flickering. ‘’Likely something! I don’t know. I don’t know dark magic. My father intended for my son to follow the path of death, my boy, my sweet boy who was the good itself. Not this, dark individual corrupted by power!’’ Daemon tries to comfort her, but she only pushes him away. Daemon still is blamed for her son’s death. No matter how much he tries to redeem himself. She will never forgive him.

Rhaena brings the attention back to her. ‘’I’ve seen some things. The girl isn’t happy that Aemond kidnapped her. If we can get to her, we can destroy him. Using his own love against him.’’ A wild plan. A foolish plan. A genius plan.

‘’You think this girl will betray Aemond?’’ Jace asks, scoffing. He finds it a dumb plan. 

But Rhaena is very sure of her case. She spent time watching Aemond, yes. She knows him well. But she spent more time watching this girl. Aemond wasn’t the only one who knew of her existence. Rhaena knows her better than he ever could. ‘’I think this girl is more keen on surviving than anything. We don’t have to keep her alive, of course.’’ Her eyes briefly go to Rhaenyra, who nods. She folds her hands on her lap.

The Queen nods. ‘’It’s for the best that after Aemond is defeated and the crown is back where it belongs, that we murder the girl. She has seen too much. It would be a mercy to grant her a quick death after enduring Aemond’s torture.’’

‘’Agreed.’’ Jace mutters. ‘’I can get into the Underworld. I don’t need much, just one conversation and I’m sure with Rhaena’s help I can convince her to turn on Aemond.’’ 

Daemon, who hadn’t been listening at all to what anyone was saying, looked up at long last. ‘’How do you plan on getting into the Underworld, exactly? You think Aemond is going to roll out the carpet for you and make you his best man?’’

Jace smirks, enjoying the way everyone listens to what he has to say. ‘’I am quite charming, when I want to be. But my in isn’t at Aemond’s mercy. It’s at his girl’s. Once she’ll know how to summon me, she’ll do so, and tada, out of the upper world, into the hellfire.’’

Daemon remains unconvinced. Jace will get himself killed. ‘’How will Aemond not kill you when he sees you around his girl?’’ Aemond is known to be protective and violent around men who mess with his girls in the past.

His laugh is starting to annoy Daemon, so Jace quickly stops it. ‘’I don’t know this girl, but I assume she wouldn’t like it if Aemond showed his true, murdery side to her. I think he’ll behave and lie to get her approval.’’

Rhaenyra shakes her head. They need someone Aemond would trust blindly, and give his life for. Someone who can make him open the portal, someone who would now come back into his life, with his wedding and his newfound love. Someone who can awaken that cold dead heart of his. Someone like…Rhaenyra slams with her hands on the table, smirking. ‘’It is too risky. We must appeal to her. We must turn to the Goddess of Justice. The Queen of Right and Wrong.’’

Baela shakes her head, disliking where this is going. ‘’You can’t mean…?’’

Rhaenyra nods. ‘’But I do.’’ Her eyes are burning with determination. ‘’We must ask Alicent Hightower for help.’’ The Goddess of Justice, the Goddess of right......

and Aemond's own blood.

His mother.

A/N

Such a chonker chapter holy cheeseballs.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

I love you

God Aemond loves you too (he boops your nose haha)

[little-diable]

Our suffering ends now - Tommy Shelby (smut)

It truly has been a while since I’ve last posted a Tommy fic, but I love how this came together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She has mourned his death for the past years, all until her boss speaks of him, leaving (y/n) to wonder how she could have been betrayed like that, blindsided by lies. It’s time for her to return to the man she has believed to be dead.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, reunited lovers, some angst and crying

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (3.5k words)

Trees blurred past the window she sat close to, hands holding onto the book she carried with herself. Her eyes burned from being awake for so long, having to change trains every few hours, set on making it to him before night would break. Hours ago her heart had raced in her chest, pounding against her ribcage as if it was trying to flee from her. And she couldn’t blame it, knowing that what she was about to do would be uncomfortable, scarily so. 

This journey broke more promises than she could count with both of her cold hands, and yet she hadn’t been able to fight against the need to see him again – after all these years. She could still hear Ada’s and Polly’s voices speaking to her, forcing her to leave that one cruel night years ago. With tears rolling down her cheeks she had given in, watching the two women pack her bags before accompanying (y/n) to the train station. A foolish mistake she had been forced to live with. 

She was torn between hurt and anger, not understanding how the two women she had once loved like her own sisters could have betrayed her like that. For years she had lived with the knowledge that her lover was dead, that he hadn’t made it home after the war. Lies, nothing but lies she had been fed. 

If it hadn’t been for her job she would have kept believing the lies, not doubting what she had been told by the two. If it hadn’t been for the way her boss had spoken of him, she wouldn’t have stopped grieving the loss of the man she had once promised to love until her death. If it hadn’t been for the sinking feeling growing deep within her, she wouldn’t have purchased the train tickets that very night before calling the only man she had kept in touch with. 

Her legs ached as she rose to her feet, ready to step out of the train in hopes of spotting him. A deep breath was sucked into her lungs as (y/n) started moving, holding onto her suitcase while the cold evening air wrapped itself around her. 

“(Y/n)!” The smile widening on her lips only grew as her eyes spotted Alfie, rushing towards him to throw herself into his arms. He held onto her, hugging her as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, even though it had only been a handful of weeks. His comforting scent wrapped itself around (y/n), cozying her along as he slowly parted from her. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You fucker.” The words rolled off her tongue before she could stop them, earning a few shameful gazes from couples brushing past the two. But Alfie’s loud laugh distracted her enough to keep smiling at the man she had crossed paths with years ago, instantly learning to love him like a brother. 

“Come, come, let’s get some food into your system and then you can tell me all about why you have summoned me to Birmingham, yeah?”

…

“Pain has never suited you, and yet it never dims your beauty.” (Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him in an almost mocking manner, drawing a smirk onto Alfie’s lips. She pushed herself further into the couch, legs tucked underneath herself while Alfie sat close to her, waiting for her to finally shed some light onto her mysterious behaviour. 

“You remember what I told you about him, don’t you?” A sigh left Alfie at her words, eyes momentarily fluttering close as if his annoyance was already getting the best of him.

“I told you I would marry you, there is no reason to mourn a life with a husband you never had. Say the words, Alfie marry me, and I will, yeah? Is this why you so desperately needed to see me, pearl? Because of some boy who fell at war like so many others?” Her jaw muscles began to tick in anger, a fire started to burn in her eyes at his words. (Y/n) had to let go of a few deep breaths, trying to keep calm before this could spiral into another fight neither of them would win.

“He’s not dead.” It was a simple sentence, and yet it carried more pain than all others she had spoken in a long time. It almost felt as if every single vowel had sharp teeth, scratching at her tongue as they rolled right off the strong muscle to leave behind wounds that wouldn’t fade. 

“What? Did his ghost suddenly appear at night? Did God speak to you-,” the sharp call of his name interrupted Alfie, forcing him to quieten down with anger tugging on his features. For a moment, neither of them spoke a word, letting a heavy silence fill the room. Ever since their paths had crossed, she had told Alfie all about him, without ever telling him his name, he knew nothing but the endless moments she could still remember, the love she had been fortunate enough to experience. 

“I heard it at work, my boss spoke of him and his brothers. He’s alive, I’ve grieved a man who was never dead all because I believed lies I had no reason not to believe. That’s why I called you, if somebody could help me find him, it’d be you.” Tears welled up in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as if the sky itself was crying for her and all those horrible years she had lost to mourning him.

“What is his name, (y/n)?” Seriousness clung to Alfie as he asked the one question he had never dared to ask, shoulders tensed, lips pressed together as if he already knew the name she was about to whisper.

“Tommy Shelby.” All Alfie did was stare at her, making goosebumps appear on her arms as he shot to his feet, turning his back on (y/n) while a sound torn between a groan and a shout tore out of him. She was close to flinching, not understanding why he was reacting that way. 

“I can’t take you to him, (y/n). You’ll take the first train home tomorrow morning.” (Y/n) mimicked his movements while an almost hysterical laugh clawed out of her. Slowly, Alfie turned back towards her, both stared at one another, waiting for the other to break first. 

“I won’t leave, not before I see him again. What do you even know of Tommy, Alfie?” With two quick steps he had reached her, hands finding her warm face to cling to her. Pain was swimming in his pupils, a pain that reached far deeper than she could imagine. His calloused thumb stroked her skin as he softly shook his head at her, seemingly fighting to find the right words.

“Tommy Shelby is a devil, yeah, he’s a man who’d kill you without needing a gun nor a knife. He’s not the man you once loved, go home, forget about him and allow me to show you glimpses of a life you deserve to live, pearl.” (Y/n) pushed herself into his arms, cheek pressed against his chest to listen to his racing heartbeat. She clung to the man she wished she could love like a lover, a man who’d treat her well enough to offer her the world. And yet her heart couldn’t let go of Tommy, of the life she ached for like a starving woman dreaming of a soup to warm her aching body.

“Take me to him, Alfie, this is a decision that’s only mine to make.” 

……

Her fingers were interlaced with his, feeling his thumb stroke the back of her hand while she shifted her weight from one side of the pillow to the other. Both were staring at the door, waiting for the sound of somebody knocking on the wood to reach them. With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) had problems breathing, tensing even further as the sound could finally be heard. 

And then her eyes found his frame, a man dressed in a sharp suit, in a thick dark coat and a cap whose shadow hid most of his features. Alfie rose to his feet, hiding her behind his frame as if he was still giving her the chance to turn around and leave, “Tommy, I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again but we both know that’d be a lie, yeah.”

“What am I doing here, Alfie? I don��t have much time.” Silence began to stretch itself through the room, a silence that was filled by the sound of (y/n) clearing her throat. Alfie was forced to step aside as she rose, forcing all eyes onto her. For a moment nobody spoke, icy eyes wandered over her features, forcing her to straighten her spine and to blink away her tears. She struggled to believe that he was real, he had changed, had grown older and yet he still looked like the boy she had sworn to marry. 

“Tommy,” his name left her like a whisper, a sound that made him take a step back as if his personal hell was awaiting him. He kept staring at her until Alfie pushed himself closer to (y/n), forcing Tommy’s eyes to flicker from her to his enemy. “Do us a favour and give us some time alone, please, Alfie.”

It took Alfie a second to give in, staring at Tommy for a few more seconds before he reluctantly left the room. The door fell shut with a heavy thud, making her jump while it began to dawn on her that she was finally alone with Tommy, just like she had imagined for all these years. 

“It felt like a dream, you know, to hear your name again after all these years where I grieved you, believing you to be dead.” (Y/n)’s voice trembled, shaking with every further word she spoke. Her wide eyes clung to his confused features, watching his expression harden. She took a step closer, halting in her step as he shook his head, forcing her to stand still once again.

“You don’t need to lie to me, (y/n). You left without a word, forcing me to return to an empty home.” A sob left her, rumbling through her louder than intended. Now it was on her to shake her head, to cover her mouth with her shaking hand while bile filled her mouth. It felt like a cruel joke, allowing her to see through the game Ada and Polly had played on both of them. 

“Tommy, they told me you died, they made me pack my bags, made me leave home to start my life all over again in a different city hours away. I didn’t leave on my free will, why should I? I was ready to marry you, to start a family, you have to believe me.” She tried to move again, successfully this time, coming to a halt right in front of him. (Y/n) allowed herself to cup his cheek like she had last done the day he had left to fight in a devastating war. His piercing eyes kept staring at her glassy ones, watching her tears fall.

“Who’s they?” It was a simple question, a question rasped out with pain dripping from the words. Her tongue kissed her teeth, all too aware that this situation was about to spiral into another heartbreak. 

“Ada and Polly.” Nothing but a whisper, words that made anger widen on his handsome features. His gloved hand found hers, gently pushing her hand from his cheek to get some more distance between them, clearly hurting (y/n) with the simple action. 

“It’s good to see you again, (y/n), now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a busy day ahead. I hope Alfie takes good care of you.” Tommy turned from her, ready to leave the room while she choked on another sob.

“He’s nothing but a brother to me, Tommy. I never loved another. I can’t even bear the thought of being close to somebody who isn’t you.” He halted in his step, letting the words wash over him before wordlessly leaving the room. Leaving (y/n) behind with another cruel sob leaving her.

……

It had been hours since she had seen Tommy, hours she had spent with her cheek pressed to Alfie’s chest, drowning in the tears that didn’t seem to stop rolling. He had clung to her, had whispered comforting words to try and soothe her pain, without any luck. All until the phone call that had reached him, asking him to bring (y/n) to the Garrison at 4pm, not followed by any explanation. 

And so it came that she was leaning against Alfie as they stepped into the empty place, letting her eyes wander through the room. She found herself distracted for a moment, until her name was shouted by Arthur’s familiar voice, forcing her into a tight hug that made her chuckle in delight. 

Her body shook as they were led towards a room in the back, allowing her eyes to meet Tommy’s icy ones. A cigarette was held between his lips, the smoke engulfed him as if his shadows had moved up his body, whispering commands to him. It took Alfie a moment to let go of (y/n), to press a kiss to her hairline, eyes drawn back to Tommy, “If I find her crying again, I won’t hesitate to finally put a bullet between your eyes just like God intended, yeah?” 

It felt like a deja-vu, reminding her of their conversation hours ago after Alfie had left. She didn't dare move as Tommy kept smoking, intensely studying her. He leaned back in his chair before he reached his hand out, wordlessly urging her closer through the now empty room. (Y/n) moved slowly, feeling her heart skipping beats as he pulled her closer, forcing her to stand between his thighs.

“I dreamt of you, back in France. You were the only thing keeping me alive. I even prayed, to you or whoever would fucking bring me back to you. And then you were gone. They said you couldn’t wait any longer, that you couldn’t endure the pain.” He had his eyebrows furrowed, no longer able to look at her. A sigh left (y/n), she leaned back against the table to get a better view of his hard features, feeling how torn he was.

“They told me you died, that there was nothing left for me here. I didn’t get a chance to protest, they packed everything up and then I was suddenly on a train up north.” Her words drew his eyes back to (y/n), looking at the woman he had always loved, even as he had tried to hate her. Tommy tugged on her hand to pull her into his lap as if he still needed to convince himself that she was real, not a trick of his tired mind.

“They will pay for the hurt they’ve caused you.” It was a promise, filled with darkness and hurt, but (y/n) didn’t find it in herself to worry. Not when she was this close to him again, finally. 

“Is it true what Alfie told me? Did you get married?” He swallowed before his hand moved up her thigh, coming to rest on her waist. The silence told her everything she needed to know, leaving her to wonder how that woman had managed to capture his heart while (y/n)’s had been missing half of hers.

“I did, her name was Grace. I loved her, and yet it was no love like ours. Nothing could ever be like that.” A soft smile tugged on her lips, trying to forget about the woman who had once been at his side. Alfie had told her of her, of every detail he had picked up on over the past months, stories (y/n) was desperate to leave behind. 

Whatever it was that urged her on to move, it grew stronger with every passing second, until her lips ghosted over his. Tommy instantly reacted, searching her lips to press a hard kiss against them. He tasted of whisky, of cigarettes, and tea, nothing like the kisses they had last shared as young adults, tasting of a bright future that had been dimmed weeks later. 

The kiss grew more passionate as she began to shift around, wrapping both arms around his neck while her legs rested on either side of his. Their tongues fought for victory as his hands moved up her sides, tracing the body he had longed for in cold and dark nights. She was his warmth, the warmth that had been robbed from him beneath the surface of the earth, hiding away in tunnels that would forever haunt him. 

“Tommy,” she mumbled his name against his lips as both sucked air into their lungs, unable to stop clinging to one another. “Touch me, prove to me that you’re real. Let me feel you, please.”

His grip on her grew tighter, icy eyes watching her for a moment before he kissed her again. His hands found the seam of her dress, pushing the skirt further up her thighs with his hands finding her warm skin. A groan tore out of him as he touched her through the fabric of her undergarments, drawing a soft moan from her parted lips. 

Tommy spoke no warning as he stood up to place her down on the table. They held eye contact, wordlessly communicating while he pulled her undergarments down her legs, hand instantly drawn back to her heat. He touched her with care, gently brushing through her slip to collect drops of arousal. 

(Y/n)’s head rolled back, eyes fluttering close as he began to circle her pulsing bundle. Even though her mind struggled to figure out if she was truly experiencing this, if her lost lover was back to bring her pleasure, she didn’t find it in herself to care, to ask any other question. 

He looked like the devil, towering over her while pushing two fingers into her tightness. Tommy had been the last man she had allowed to touch her, and yet it felt so different to be touched by him, a new sensation she was already addicted to. He moved slowly, curling his fingers against her swollen spot while his thumb kept rubbing her pulsing bundle. 

She choked on his name, calling it out into the evening as if she was trying to summon him. He marvelled at her while he brought her pleasure, reminding her of all those times he had imagined this happening, aching for her while other women warmed his bed. And yet they hadn’t been her, no other woman had ever managed to make him feel this alive, eliciting a love for life deep inside of him. 

“I need you, all of you. Make love to me like you once did, Tommy.” He fumbled with his belt, freeing his hard cock from his trousers before brushing through her slit again. His hand found her throat to pull her in for another kiss the second he sank into her, feeling her walls flutter around him. 

It felt as if the world was ending, as if this was the last thing they could experience before their lives would end. And yet, (y/n) could only pray that death would be this beautiful, this comforting, finding herself in the arms of her lover. 

Tommy moved with care, fucking her softly for a few thrusts before he picked her up again to sink back down on the chair. He allowed her to take what she was aching for, fucking herself on his cock while his strong hands supported her. Every now and then his hips began to jerk, forcing his cock deeper into her tightness. 

“Heavens, I missed you, Tommy. I missed you so much.” Her eyes were too tired to cry again, and yet she felt as if she was whimpering for him, for the time lost, and the dreams that had been buried six feet under. His hand kept a possessive hold of her throat, keeping (y/n) close to whisper to her. 

“You’re mine, (y/n), no lost time will ever change that.” The second his thumb found her bundle again she was done for, ready to let go with his name bleeding from her tongue. He held onto her as she came, knowing that he wouldn’t last much longer himself. 

It hadn’t been long since he had last found comfort with another woman around, and yet it hadn’t nearly felt this good, this intense, this right. Tommy forced his eyes to stay open, to watch her fall apart as he followed moments later, imprinting himself on her walls. 

For a minute or two neither of them spoke, letting go of heavy breaths while their bodies stayed connected. Gently, he helped her off his lap, only to pull her back in the second he’d redressed. Neither of them could let go, scared that the other would leave their side otherwise. 

“What will happen now, Tommy?” She was scared to speak the question, didn’t want to be pushed away by the one man she’d never be able to stop loving. His hand pulled her back against his chest, chin placed on top of her head while alighting a cigarette. 

“Now you’ll find a new home here, with me. Our suffering ends now.”

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[the20thangel]

The Caged Queen

Summary: The war has ended. Rhaenyra is dead, and Aegon is left burnt. You from House Celtigar have married the King and ruled at his place because of his injuries. To try to bring stability to the realm, you invite the lords of the realm to pledge their loyalty to the crown. Forcing you to reunite with a lord from your past, tensions run, and feelings come back. (I have not proofread, so I apologize for any errors)

Benjicot X reader

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+

Word count: 3.5 K

Masterlist

Sitting in the council room, listening to the state of the realm, seeing how you can bring it into peace after the dreadful war. You sighed, listening to the lords discussing the possibility of marrying Prince Aegon, Rhaenyra’s son and your husband’s child, with his first wife, Heleana, Princess Jaehaera. The war ended, but the tensions were still high around the realm. With the current council holding surviving lords from both black and green sides, meetings usually ended with arguments rather than solutions. Since you had yet to provide a male heir to the king, you understood it was only plausible for the two to marry, but you did not want that for your stepdaughter. For you know, the sweet princess would never survive the hardships of court, just like her mother. You also could not help but think that Prince Aegon would be okay with marrying the daughter of the man who killed his mother. 

You were only a stand-in for your husband, who was too weak and almost always in pain to get out of his bed. Growing tired of the arguments, you cleared your throat. 

“My lords, I understand that the realm needs stability, but I don’t feel like marrying the young royals will achieve this. They have not healed from the horrors of the war. I will not force them into a marriage that could end in resentment. What would we do once they, in their anger, kill each other? Hmm? The realm will be left with no heirs left.”

You explained, twirling a ring on your right index finger; it was pretty garnet. Lord Corlys gave you a pointed look, stopping you from your nervous tick. Lord Peake condescendingly looked at you with pity.

“My Queen, no insult to you or the king, but since you have yet to become with child, King Aegon’s reign is frail; we need to make sure that the realm has heirs to prevent a war from brewing again.”  snidely explained Lord Peake, giving you a crooked grin, as eyes roamed down your body. 

Disgusted, you sneered at the lord, “Surely, you understand, my lord, that my husband is always in a great deal of pain, so tell me, my lord, how am I supposed to become with the child if laying with my husband will cause him immense pain? You want to ensure an heir for him; you should find a way for me to do my duty. I am responsible for Prince Aegon the Younger and Princess Jaehaera's well-being. My stepdaughter is still a child; I will not force her into an early marriage. So let us conclude this meeting by brainstorming a more realistic way to ensure lasting peace for the realm; surely our families and people deserve that much?” 

You stood up, prompting all the other lords to stand and bow their heads, letting you be the first to walk out of the council room. Walking to the king's rooms, you saw your husband peacefully sleeping on his bed. Turning to the maester, you asked about Aegon’s status. 

“The King is in great pain, but he seems to relax once given some sweet wine and poppy milk. Hopefully, letting him have adequate rest will bring back his strength.” 

 Thanking the maester, you turned to look at Aegon. You suppose you got lucky; you were his second wife after the tragic death of Heleana. Lord Larys, before Queen Rhaenyra executed him, convinced Aegon that he needed another Valyrian bride, and besides the Velayrons, House Celtigar was the only other house with Valyrian genes. So your father betrayed Rhaenyra, and you were soon married to Aegon. Although you pleaded for the Queen to help you escape from your fate, she was already ridden by grief and sent you away, claiming that you betrayed her like your father. Then Princess Baela attacked Aegon a week before your marriage, injuring him more than he was before.  So, although the seven witnessed the marriage, it remained unconsummated.  

Of course, the only people who knew that it was unconsummated were your ladies and Alicent Hightower, who would only glare at you should you be in the same vicinity as her. It did not help that you started prohibiting her from reaching your stepdaughter, but the poor girl confessed her grandmother frightened her. Sighing, you placed a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the room. Walking to the children’s chambers, Aegon the Younger and Jaehaera played quietly. Smiling, you greeted them, allowing both children to embrace you. They were innocent in the war and lost people they cared about, and you needed to protect them from lords who wanted to place burden after burden on them. You spent the rest of the day with the children, trying to ignore the nagging feeling from that morning's meeting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, another council meeting was called. As you sat at the head of the table, you noticed that only a few lords seemed happy, and Lord Peake was not one of them. Turning to Lord Corlys, he cleared his throat. 

“My queen, after you left, I decided to follow through on your command and brainstormed a plan to bring stability to the realm, and I decided the course of action was to call all lords from the realm to come to Kingslanding and pledge their loyalty to the crown, ending the occasion with a ball. Therefore, the lords see how much we appreciate their oaths.” 

As you thought in the plan, you brought up the concern that the smallfolk would see this as a slap in their faces if the highborn indulges while they are struggling. Another lord countered by saying they would provide opportunities for the smallfolk to work for the lords coming to Red Keep to earn coins and hold minor feasts outside the walls. Nodding, you decided to allow the plan to run its course, taking the rest of the time to prepare preparations for the many houses and where they would stay in the castle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two moons passed, and finally, the lords were here to swear their oaths to the crown. Aegon was improving but still had too much pain to leave his room entirely. As you stood with Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera, each lord came up, bowing and swearing his loyalty to the crown and House Targaryen. The last house from the Riverlands came up to the royals, House Blackwood. Lord Benjicot came forth, staring at the Prince for a while before bowing. Your heart started beating fast, seeing the Raventree Hall lord for the first time since your marriage. Seeing him so close, your chest tightened, but propriety was a border between you both. Benjicot raised himself, allowing both your eyes to meet, gray on lilac. You closed your eyes, nodding to him. 

Benjicot stared at you. You were so close, but he knew better than to reach out for you. Seeing your face away from him greatly upset him; frowning, he bowed again before walking away, his fists curling. 

Soon, the festivities began, with lords and ladies dancing and laughing, enjoying themselves. You tiredly smiled, happy that the court seemed to enjoy themselves, but it took a toll on you. Hoping to use the children as an excuse to leave early when the herald's voice came out. 

“Presenting His Royal Majesty, King Aegon, Second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” 

Everyone gasped as the Kingsguard practically carried Aegon to you, and everyone paled, including you, at seeing your husband. Seeing him wheeze in pain caused you to quickly go to his side, helping him stand beside you as the court became silent.  You scanned the room, seeing many of the court becoming uncomfortable at seeing your husband’s state, and you were saddened to see Prince Aegon shake in fear, walking farther away from you. Before walking to the young boy, you felt a coarse hand grasp yours. Turning, you saw Aegon pull at your hand. Walking towards him, he reached up to you, barely kissing the corner of your mouth. You froze, stiffening at his actions and feeling dread when you made eye contact with Benjicot, whose face darkened with anger, and walked out of the room. Your eyes followed the lord as Aegon addressed the crowd.

“I thank all of you here for coming to swear loyalty to me and my queen. Even though I have not made many appearances in court, I know I have left my rule in the best hands possible. My lovely wife has done an excellent job in ruling in my name, and I wish to come out today so that we may take the time to honor her.” He gasped again in pain as he pushed for you to stand closer to the crowd. 

The lords and ladies smiled, clapping for their queen; what Aegon was the truth, you had ensured that the realm slowly returned to the peaceful times of King Viserys. Shyly, you smiled at the crowd before turning back to your husband, urging him to return to his chambers, seeing him in pain. You may not fully love your husband, but you were not cruel to enjoy him in pain. He nodded and kissed your hand again before leaving with his guards. Sighing, you clapped your hands, asking for the bards to play joyful songs for dances. 

Turning to the prince and princess, you saw how pale they were from Aegon’s appearance; you comforted them and let one of your councilmen know that you were also retiring with the children, not noticing how a certain councilman, followed you out and then changed course towards the king’s chambers. You spent an hour with each child, reading them sweet Valryian tales until they relaxed enough to sleep. Smiling, you kissed each child goodnight before walking out and making your way to the Queen’s Chambers. As you were a few steps from your chamber, you felt an arm grab yours. You spun to punch your attacker, but your hand was quickly caught as you heard a slight chuckle. You relaxed, seeing that it was Benjicot. You nodded as you addressed him. 

“My lord, pardon my attack, but I would have thought you knew better than to sneak up on your queen?” you questioned, noticing your hand still in his, but you made no move to remove it. 

“Forgive me, my queen, but I couldn’t help but notice you walking alone. Should you not have guards or ladies with you, or does your king not care what happens to his wife?” Benjicot criticized. 

You lightly scoffed, “Usually, no one outside the royal family would be this far into Meagor’s holdfast.” 

Benjicot flushed; he was caught. Still, he shook his head, backing away slightly from you. 

“I apologize; I got lost while walking around the grounds. I was trying to find my way back to the ballroom when I heard footsteps,” he confessed, his eyes softening as he fully took your appearance. 

Nodding, you point him to the correct path, wishing him goodnight as you turn away. Pausing when he called your name. 

“Lord Blackwood, I am the Queen; you do not have permission to use my name freely,” you quietly hissed at him. Feeling your chest tighten again when you heard his husky voice speak your name. 

Benjicot smiled, walking towards you, his body nearing and pressing to yours. You both stared at each other, him taking a strand of your hair. 

“Does he treat you well?” he questioned, staring into your eyes. 

Your eyes softened, nodding, “Yes, as best as he can. I hardly see him, but he is kind whenever we see each other.” 

Ben nodded; feeling reckless, he reached to caress your cheek, but you moved your face away from his touch. 

“Don’t,” you stated, your eyes hardening at him. 

Ben frowned, “I’ve missed you…” 

You cruelly laughed at his words, smirking tauntly as his frown deepened. 

“You missed me? You left Ben… You don’t get to miss me when you abandoned me when I needed you the most… You lost the right to miss me.” you angrily stated, tears slowly falling down your cheeks. 

Ben shook his head, wiping tears away from your face. You sob out as you allow yourself to lean to his touch; no matter how much you can deny it, you miss him as well. 

“I did not mean to…I had to follow my duty, to fight for our queen-” 

You shushed him. Looking around, you brought him inside your chambers. 

“Do not speak about Queen Rhaneyra freely; you could be charged with treason,” you warned him. 

“I will never deny Queen Rhaenyra’s claim, you know this, at least you did before you married her murder and become a queen-” Ben didn’t finish his sentence as you slapped him. 

“Do you think I wanted this? I never wished to be queen. I never wanted to marry him. But what other choice did I have, Ben? I was alone; the queen pushed me away because of my father’s actions. You left me, YOU LEFT. Allowing my father to force me into a marriage I did not want. What was I supposed to do? Kill myself or try to survive and marry a man who was broken. Prince Aegon would have been killed with the queen if not for me. I fought for Prince Aegon while you all were fighting silly battles. I …” you sobbed, falling to the ground in heartbreak, finally allowing your walls to break down since you walked up the blasted steps of the Sept.  

Ben swallowed bitterly; he hated seeing you cry; kneeling, he gathered you to his arms as you continued to cry in grief. Hushing you, he kissed your crown, trying to comfort you. 

After a moment, you leaned back, your face close to his. 

Ben smiled sweetly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you…. When I heard you married him, I became resentful and filled with rage. The battlefield allowed me to release my anger.” 

You shook your head. Sadly, smiling as you felt a kiss on your cheek, “I don’t love him… I hoped you would have come to take me and the prince away from this golden cage. I cried at my wedding, trying to imagine that it was you who I was marrying infront of the weirwood tree, not him…but you never came. You left me, Ben.”

Ben closed his eyes in pain; he regretted not coming to take you away. 

“If I could go back, I would… I love you…I will never stop loving you,” he confessed, leaning in but stopping away from your lips. He would not dishonor you. 

You softened at him. He was still your sweet Ben. You were still his lady. As you expressed your thoughts, Benjicot grinned. Unable to stop himself, he finally kissed you. Allowing yourself to fall into his kiss, you placed your arms around his neck, leaning more into the kiss. You will stop denying yourself to him. You wanted him. 

As the kiss deepened, Benjicot dragged your body closer to him, causing you to grind his lap and groan at the sensation. Feeling like he was dishonoring you, he was about to stop when you grinded yourself harder to him, taking a loud groan from his lips to yours. Ben growled, knowing he should stop. You were married and the queen, but your sweet body cast a spell on him, with each movement of your hips, called out to his groin as it stiffened with each grind. Ben pressed your hips down harder to cause the fraction to strengthen; you grabbed his other hand and placed it upon your breast, moaning as he fonded your breast. 

Separating his lips from yours, he leaned to your ears, groaning your name from your movements, “We need to stop, my queen; if you don’t… I don’t think I will stop myself…I don..dishonor…fuck.” 

He could not finish his thoughts, leaning his head back from feeling your hips circling on his lap. Forgetting his argument, he kissed your neck, sucking and biting. You gasped in delight. 

“Your queens need you, my lord, I command you to love me…I command you to take me…take me, Ben.” you pleaded, grinning as he growled and picked you up, throwing you on your bed. 

Feeling giddy, you began to undress yourself as you saw him stalking you, undressing himself along the way. Calming on the bed, he pulled your body to him. Both groaned as he rubbed his stiff cock on your wet cunt. 

“So wet for me, I bet he could never get you this wet… you're wet for me and only me, my sweet girl,” he whispered to your ear, grinning as you moaned at his teasing. 

Kissing him, you wrapped your legs around him, sighing in delight as he rubbed himself on you. “I will never know; we never consummated the marriage..” you confessed. 

You needed him to know you were still a maiden. That you never entirely gave yourself to the king, that Ben would be the only one. Benjicot froze upon hearing the news; technically, your marriage was not valid… technically you were still his as he was still yours. Grinning wildly, he kissed you more fiercely, causing you to gasp and allowing him to sneak his tongue into your mouth. As you grabbed his shoulder, you felt the slight pain of him entering you. He fully sheathed himself inside of you, pausing to let you get used to his size and girth. 

Although it was slightly painful, you were happy; no other man would be inside you, for your body and soul were committed to Benjicot Blackwood. Nodding for him to move, Ben started slowly and deeply, causing you to moan, leaning your head back on your pillows, enjoying his sweet movements and kisses on your neck. As much you loved him being sweet, you needed more; you waited too long enough to have him. 

Pleaded for him to go faster, Ben grinned, switching his position to allow him to lift his hips faster as he began to pound into you, groaning as your walls began to clench around him. He felt at home; he belongs between your legs. Moaning, you began to drag your nails down his back, locking your legs around him. 

Sounds of skin slapping became louder with the grunts, groans, and moans coming from the queen and her lord. You whispered his name like a prayer, meeting his hips with each thrust, clenching hard as he pounded into you. You needed him; you will never tire of him. Soon, both movements began to grow sloppy, feeling your release coming fast. As Ben started to exit, you quickly grabbed his upper body with your arms as your legs tightened around his hips. 

“No, I will have it no other way but inside me; finish inside me; your queen commands it, Ben,” you commanded, moaning as he slammed hard twice before feeling his hot, creamy release inside of you. Coating your walls as your release milked him of every drop he gave. 

As you finally came down from your high, you breathed heavily; he was still inside of you. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him look up to you. Smiling, you brought his face to yours, kissing him sweetly. Benjicot grinned, moving up to caress your face when you both heard a commotion outside. Freezing, you both quickly jumped from the bed. You change into your shift fast before turning to help him redress. Hearing the Kingsguard yell, you promptly pushed him to hide as you turned scared, the guards flying into the room. 

“My Queen!” stated a guard as you reached for a cloak. 

“Commander, what is it?” your heart beat so fast. Did they hear you and Ben? 

The commander scanned, looking for danger; when he saw nothing, he turned to you. 

“My queen, I regret that the King has been poisoned. We are looking for the culprit.” 

You gasped; Aegon was dead. Quickly, you commanded the court to enter the throne room, asking the rest of the guards to bring the children to you. As they left, you breathed. He was gone; you would no longer be queen. Turning to Ben, he left his spot, taking your face into his hands. 

“You need to go to Ben before they find you and try to blame you…I’ll see you in the throne room. I will fight for Rhaenyra’s son to be king and bring my queen’s wishes to life.”  you asked of him. 

Nodding, he kissed you once more before he began to leave. Pausing, he turned to you with a slight grin.

“After this mess, will you marry me, my queen?” he asked, causing you to blush. 

You smiled as you breathed your answer, “I will gladly be your lady. After we crown our king, I will marry you infront of the Weirwood tree at Raventree Hall. Now go quickly.” 

Benjicot dazzled you with a broad smile, turning; he quickly left you, eagerly awaiting for the future.

[softlytowardthesun]

I’m thinking about Danaë, Perseus, and Andromeda.

Danaë was a princess, once. Her happy life was upended the day her father caught wind of a prophecy that his grandchild would be his undoing. She was imprisoned in her own home, and when her son was born, she and the baby were banished and left for dead. Yet Danaë powered through, as heroes are known to do in these types of stories. This single mother in a strange land raised her son with pride — not hubris, but true, righteous pride. They have no need of gods or monsters or the kingdom that cast them out; all mother and son need are each other.

Perseus’s call to adventure begins when yet another evil king decides to treat Danaë as an object instead of a person. Polydectes will force Danaë to marry him unless Perseus can cross the world and return with the head of the Gorgon Medusa. Perseus is in no place to protest, not when the truest hero he’s ever known is counting on him. This is not a quest for glory, but piety: the duty a child owes to their parent.

In his travels, Perseus meets Andromeda, chained to a cliffside and awaiting her grim fate. She too, has a story of a mother and child. Queen Cassiopeia foolishly offended a long list of sea gods and their kingdom will be washed away unless the gods exact their price. Cassiopeia did the offending; it should be her on the cliff. But Andromeda has to suffer for the sins of her family, just like Perseus. He chose to risk his life for his mother; Andromeda had her fate chosen for her.

Maybe Andromeda tried to talk herself into thinking her death would mean something. She’s grown up as a princess, where each generation of the dynasty is meant to be in unbroken continuity with the generation before. The crown she is presumed to wear weighs down any hopes for her own life. If Cassiopeia tells her to die, it is her duty and honor as the child to obey. Secretly, she prays that her death will mean something for her mother — that the next child she has will be granted the freedom of choice Andromeda herself never knew.

But Perseus, raised by a mother worthy of her role, knows that is bullshit. He knows Andromeda deserves better than this, and he breaks the cycle by destroying the monster and breaking her chains, will of Poseidon be damned. And when Cassiopeia reunites with her child, it’s clear she has learned nothing. She immediately tries to force Andromeda into an unhappy marriage - just like what Polydectes means to do to Danaë.

Now Andromeda and Perseus are both angry. She is ready to let her so-called family crumble. She shields her eyes, and lets her suitor and her mother meet the Gorgon’s eyes. She walks away from the stone to which she was chained, into a new life of her making.

The young couple returns to Seriphos. Perseus saves Danaë from the dread altar. A worthy king claims the throne, and in a remarkable stroke of luck for Greek mythology, Perseus kills his evil grandfather without technically violating Ancient Greece’s taboos on kin-slaying. Andromeda and Perseus ascend to the throne of Mycenae, and have that rarest thing in any myth: a happily ever after.

Andromeda gets a husband and a crown, sure, but she also gets Danaë. Danaë is everything Cassiopeia wasn’t: humble, resilient, and loving. She raised Perseus well, and she teaches Andromeda how to stand tall against monsters: not the sea beast, but the creatures that would rather offer up their own children than admit that they were in the wrong.

[madwomansapologist]

meant to be | shan yu

Pinterest Board | More Shan Yu | AO3

synopsis: Shan Yu told you China would be your dowry. He's a honoured man, despite everything.

warnings: fluff. marriage cerimony (made my best to be historicaly correct). murder couple. age gap. kidnapping. yandere!shan yu (or as i prefer to word it: malewife!shan yu). smut. a lot of teasing. switch!reader. praise kink. dumbification. creampie. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

The warm breeze ruffled your combed hair. You couldn't care less. There are more important things. Like the sunrise, so warm and invigorating. Or the distant mountains, protecting the city. The lights coming from the houses bellow you.

The world is still so beautiful. All of this seen from the palace, in the highest room, in safety. This view alone made the entire journey worth it.

Your mom pulled you away from the balcony, sitting you down on the bed and trying to rearrange your hair. A red veil was placed over your head, probably in an attempt to get you to sit down and stay still for once.

You weren't expecting for Shan Yu to be so... attached to traditions. They aren't even his. You thought once China was conquered, the only thing he would care about would be his coronation. Not a wedding.

"I just don't see the need of it," you said to Shan Yu. "We're travelling, living together, for so long. Don't you think a cerimony seems... a bit tardy?"

Shan Yu's gaze always revealed more than the words coming out of his mouth. And the certainty hidden in the golden eyes said more than he needed.

He held your hands, taking the last step that separated his body from yours. Shan Yu brushed your hair away from your face, stroking your bloody skin. "You are my greatest pride, Moon," Shan Yu smiled. "Nothing will ever stop me from showing this to the world."

With the world burning around you, Shan Yu knelt down. "Will you marry me?" He kissed your knuckles covered in the blood of your enemies. "Will you give me your heart?"

He did his best to be perfect. Just like in your dreams, Shan Yu explained to you.

Your family was picked up, the trip quicker due to the victory, and the engagement letter was delivered as soon as you were reunited. They feared for you, searched for the truth hidden in between your words, but after a while you made them understand. He's a good man, you swore. It doesn't seem like it, but he's good to me.

You assumed the dowry would be, well, China, but Shan Yu wasn't content. How he discovered that geese were signs of unwavering love you still don't know, but he did. So many flowers, symbols of luck and prosperity.

Shan Yu was clealy trying to make up for the first impression he made on your parents.

The wedding gifts arrived the same day. Silver, jewelry, exotic foods. The separate floor for your parents seemed more like a hideout of treasures than a place to sleep.

They accepted the gifts. You're not sure they could do anything more than that, but it still meant a lot for the both of you.

"You can change your mind, cub," your mom sat beside you. "I've told you before. Your father and I may look old, but we still have energy. One word, and we're ready to runnaway with you."

You let your head fall on her shoulder, enjoying her warmth. You missed her so much. "Thank you," you whispered. "But I am sure of this. I don't think I have ever been so sure of anything in my entire life."

The silence was quite comforting, but you were glad when she opened her mouth. "So you think we look old?"

Laughing, you looked at her. Throught the red veil, you could still see the face of the woman you love the most in the whole word. "You are beautiful," it was nothing but the truth. "Mom, do you still love me?"

She held you by your shoulders, so tight you could feel it on your bones. "Always," she said. "Are you ready?"

You were.

"Perfume," she remind you. Holding the doorknob, you looked back. She opened some drawers, and took a frask out of it. You let her spray it on you. "Lotus flowers. So you can give me pretty grandchildren."

"Mom!" You practically ran from the room, going down the stairs. "I prefer when you hated him!"

You bumped into your father, who held you carefully. Your mother reached you, leaning on him for support. “Now all you have to do is wait,” he informed you. Approaching, with a smirk on his face, he whispered. "Or run away."

They really are soulmates. "Go on," you told them. "I will wait."

They walked away, heading down the stairs to the ceremonial hall, and you took a deep breath. There was no reason to be nervous, but that didn't convince your mind. Admiring the paintings from past dynasties, sad to see how such beautiful works are hidden in an isolated buildings, you heard his steps.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" You asked, glaring at the painting.

Shan Yu offered you his arm. "Incomparable," he smiled, looking at you.

You breathed deep. After a last glance, you accept his touch. "You won't believe what my mom told me."

"Nothing worse than what your father told me, I assume."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The warm breeze caressed your skin, your fingers focused on removing the pendants from your hair. In your chambers, the party was far below in the palace. Shan Yu locked the door, and watched you undo each braid.

"You're happy," he said.

You looked at Shan Yu, and stretched your arm towards him. He got closer, stroking your skin, and stood before you. "And so are you."

"And now?" You allowed him to help you. "China. Our marriage. What comes next?"

Shan Yu stroked your loose hair. "Tomorrow we rule," he said. "Tonight we celebrate."

You stood up, your fingers undoing the knots in your clothes. “We did it all wrong,” you let the fabric fall down your body. You crawled onto the bed, looking at him.

Shan Yu admired you. He looked at you the same way you looked at each of the paintings in this palace. "We did?" He asked, voice hoarse, unable to care about anything other than you.

“I was supposed to be a virgin,” you said. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you slowly spread your legs. His gaze was no different from that of a wild animal. "The veil. The letters you wrote to my parents. The wedding night. I was supposed to be a virgin but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

He took off his ceremonial attire, being reciprocal to your show. "I prefer it this way," he ignored your teasing. Shan Yu held your ankles, stroking the warm skin and pulling you as he placed one of his knees on the bed. "You're comfortable. Excited. Shameless."

Shan Yu was ready to dive into you, but you were faster. You pulled his arm, knocking him onto the bed. A surprised laugh escaped his lips as you sat on his lap.

“I thought you liked that,” you placed Shan Yu’s hands on your waist. "You seemed to enjoy all of our private lessons. I tried so hard to learn."

Shan Yu moved to lay you down onto the bed, but you stopped him by rubbing your sex against his hardening member beneath you. You forced him down, hands wandering through his chest.

"You little devilish thing," he groaned. "You never cease to amuse me, don't you?"

You scratched his arms, focused on the movements of your hips. "Oh, but that's why you fell in love with me," you whispered against his ear. "You never know what to expect."

He throbed against you. Smirking, you teased him more. "See?" Biting his earlobe, you felt his nails dig into your skin. "I bet I could do anything to you."

You stood up, admiring how the yellow eyes followed your movements. Rubbing your breasts against Shan Yu's torso, you kissed him.

Celebrate, he told you.

Still kissing him, you grabbed his cock and rubbed it against your clit. Before he could react, you let it slide inside you. With his cock deep within your pussy, you rode him.

Mesmerized, Shan Yu could only watch the way your body moved. How perfect you were. Made to break him in pieces and put him back together.

"You fuck me so good," you moaned, looking into his eyes. Walls clenching tighter around his cock, buried deep within you. "Hm, fuck... My emperor is so good for me."

Something imploded inside Shan Yu.

He grabbed your neck, throwing you onto the bed, still inside you. Shan Yu moved you effortlessly, as if you were as light as a feather. Your legs on his shoulder, his hand holding your neck as if you would've run away from him, his teeth deep into your skin.

"Say it again," Shan Yu growled.

"My emperor," you cried. "You make me feel so whole. F-fuck, you can do anything you want to me."

Shan Yu fucked you like a senseless animal. Like a brutal beast. Like something made for him to devour, to taste and savor until he got tired. A pretty doll for him to break and put together how many he wanted.

You never felt so desired.

You pulled him into a kiss, your lips barely able to behaving as they should've. Close to him, closer than anyone else has ever been, you felt as his thrusts find the right place to beat.

"Mine," was the only thing you were able to understand from his words. "I will never let you go," he squeezed your neck, getting a whimper from you. "You're mine."

Your mouth contorted into a smile. "I don't want to go," you pulled his hair. "I'm yours. Only yours."

And so Shan Yu filled you, teeth deep into your skin. He didn't stop. He continued moving hard, his thumb circling your clit, until you melted into his fingers.

"My emperor," you whispered against his mouth.

Shan Yu smiled, his teeth sinking into your lips. "My empress."

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[cutielando]

Hello can I request draco with a gryffindor reader who happens to be the daughter of both Ares and Aphrodite. How would her parents react when their daughter wanted to marry a former death eater after the battle of hogwarts?

ungodly romance | d.m.

synopsis: in which you don't know how your parents will react

my masterlist

Being the daughter of two Gods came with many difficulties.

With your status came responsibilities, obligations and burdens. Things were expected of you, you needed to reflect well on your parents and your kind.

Studying at Hogwarts had been your way out, your one place where you could be yourself without people breathing down your neck, without being judged for every little thing that you would do. It was your escape.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, that place had forever disappeared from your life. You were back in your closed-off world, living to please the people around you, make them proud and give them someone to show-off and brag about.

However, there was one person whom you reconnected with that gave you your freedom back.

Draco Malfoy.

During the war, you had had to cut off contact with him because of your opposing positions in the war, your parents having forbidden you from associating with Death Eaters or anyone who might tarnish their stellar reputation, as a matter of fact.

You and Draco had just secretly started dating before the war broke out, cutting contact being the most hurtful thing you've had to do. Having just found someone to love you for who you were, and immediately having to let them go.

When you reconnected after the war, it seemed like two pieces of a puzzle reunited after a long time without each other. You finally felt like you were at home again, safe and sound in the arms of the one you loved.

There was just one problem.

Your parents.

The fear that crippled your heart at the thought of them meeting Draco was paralyzing. You knew how they felt about Death Eaters, and despite Draco leaving those days behind, that wouldn't matter to them. He would still be evil in their eyes.

Draco was the one who insisted that he meet them. He was positive that he could change their minds and make them see that he was good for you, that those days were long behind him and he wasn't evil at heart as they had concluded.

You weren't so sure, but you figured you had nothing more to lose. The worst your parents could do was lock you away for good, but it wasn't anything that you hadn't previously been through.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" you asked Draco for the twentieth time as you stopped before the grand door that sat in front of you.

You had been very evasive with details about your boyfriend when you told your parents you would be bringing him to dinner, which sparked their curiosity even more.

But not in a good way.

"Love, we have to get this done. We can't hide away forever" he caressed your cheek, sensing how nervous you truly were.

"Yes, we can. There's nothing stopping us. They don't care about my life anyway, and I know what they're going to say already. This is all really unnecessary" you tried to reason with him, trying to convince him just how bad this idea was in your eyes.

"I want to meet your parents, and regardless of what they say, I'm not giving up on us. Whatever comes our way, we'll deal with it together" looking into his gray eyes, you felt comfort.

Without realizing it, you found yourself nodding and taking his hand, finally entering the place you had been dreading to enter for the past few days.

Immediately, as soon as you stepped foot into the house, servants bombarded you left and right, not even sparing Draco a second glance as they focused on you.

"Master and Mistress are awaiting you in the grand ballroom" one of the servants informed you before disappearing with the others into another room.

You glanced once more at Draco before letting out a big breath, and beginning your journey towards the ballroom.

Once stopped in front of the entrance, you raised your hand to knock, but the doors opened on their own before you got the chance.

"Hello Mother, hello Father" you greeted your parents, both of them conversing with their backs turned to you.

"Sit" your mother's sweet yet icy voice spoke, not turning around yet.

You glanced at Draco with the corner of your eyes, but followed suit nonetheless.

Both of you took a seat next to each other, clearing your throat and keeping your hand clasped in his.

Your parents, Ares and Aphrodite, God of war and Goddess of love and beauty, now stood facing you, eyeing you down wearily. You were accustomed to their intense gaze, but it hurt Draco to look at them.

"Who have you brought here?" your mother asked, her eyes scanning your boyfriend.

By the way she was looking at him, you could already sense her suspicion.

"This is my boyfriend, Draco. Draco, these are my parents"

"It's an honor to meet you both," Draco said nervously.

Your father stared him down, cracking his knuckles.

"What is this young man doing in my house? Do you have no respect for us? Don't you know what he did in the war?" the booming voice of your father echoed off the walls, his fist hitting the long table that stood between you.

You didn't even flinch, accustomed already to his outbursts. There was a reason why he was the God of war, after all.

Clearing your throat, you held your head high and looked at your father.

"I am aware of Draco's actions during the war, but I am also aware of the fact that he did not participate willingly in any of them. He was being forced by his father, who is now residing in Azkaban for his crimes. I know you despise the lot, but Draco is not like them. He never was and he never will. I ask of you that you give him a chance and get to know him before making any judgements" your father was fuming, but you could your mother smiling from the corner of your eyes.

She had always encouraged you to fight for the ones you love, and this was the first time you had really stood up to your father like this.

"I don't want to hear this right now" he turned around and stormed out of the room, something you had known was going to happen.

"Don't worry, my dear. I will speak to your father. Draco, consider yourself welcomed to the family" your mother caressed his shoulder before graciously following after your father.

Left alone in the room, you let out a big sigh of relief, not quite believing what had just happened.

"I told you so" Draco teased, bumping your shoulders.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

thank you for requesting !!

i changed things up a bit as i went along with it, hope that’s okay !!

i hope you like this, i had fun writing it !!

REQUEST HERE

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 21: Preparations

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Astarion weaves Illyria through the streets with her hand in his. He keeps a close eye on her but is rather proud to see his beloved is starting to become a tad more comfortable around the living. She does not squeeze his hand with quite the same ferocity or tug on his clothes at the sound of beating hearts nearby.

He leads her to the Wide, an area in the upper city where merchants set up their stalls to peddle their wares to the patriars and nobles that call the Upper City home. The first stop is a jeweller’s stall, the same one from which he commissioned her ring. She eyes the selection while he chats with the jeweller, who shows him various pieces. He holds up a pair of earrings with large sapphires.

“You know your ears are not pierced, right?” She teases him with an arched brow.

“Perhaps I will get them pierced just so I can wear them. They are quite fetching,” he taunts her back with a wry grin. “Not for me, little love. Do you like them?”

She lets her fingers run over the stones, which are perfectly polished and sparkling. “They are pretty, but they look… expensive.”

“We’ll take them,” Astarion says, handing them back to the jeweller to place in a box. He returns his attention back to Illyria, who looks rather uncomfortable, though he cannot fathom why. “Love? Is something troubling you?”

“Oh, no. Not really.” She looks askance, her splintered, crimson eyes darting away from him. “I’m—” she trails off, shaking her head, and corrects herself. “You don’t have to buy me things. You know that, right?”

“Have to?” Astarion’s brow arches.

He reaches for their bond, and she lets him access most of her mind freely, but there is something she keeps blocked and hidden, like running into an invisible barrier. It rankles him slightly. He should be granted full access to her mind, no? They are to be married, after all, and now she decides to hide things from him? Astarion takes a deep breath and tries to let it go. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’s keeping some things under lock and key after his most recent episode.

Astarion worries that she’s not as okay as she says. There have been times when he’s reached out to her, and she’s reflexively jumped back or grimaced as if she expects pain to follow. Every time is like a barb to his heart. He deserves it; he knows this, but it does not stop it from hurting him nonetheless. She refuses to discuss it, preferring instead to continue reaffirming that she is fine.

But how could she be? He, her husband, her lover, who is supposed to protect her, held her down and carved something into her flesh, and he’s not even sure what. The other version of him might know, but all he can work out is that the symbols are not random and they are not infernal. Astarion is glad he cannot remember it, but he feels guilty for that gladness. If he had to live with the memory of hurting her like that… Gods. He does not know if he would be capable of it.

It makes him feel weak.

“Illyria,” he says, lowering his timbre to something meant to reassure and soothe. “I want to. I want to give you everything.”

She smiles at him, closed-lipped so as not to show her fangs. She places a hand on his chest, patting him gently. “As long as I have you, I already have everything. You are enough.”

Astarion’s heart swells. He is enough. These are not words he ever thought he would hear. “Thank you. But you will indulge your husband in his wishes to buy you gifts, won’t you?”

She sighs with a small chuckle. “I will indulge my husband in whatever makes him happy.”

“Splendid. Nothing would make me happier.” Astarion smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now, get over here and pick out my ring, will you?”

He’s already commissioned her wedding band. Wedding. Married. Gods. A notion that once filled him with dread. He cannot remember if the mortal man he was ever had any aspirations of marriage, but he is certain that in the last two centuries, he’d never pictured it would happen to him. He dismissed the idea as another dream stolen by Cazador and undeath.

So many years spent in the boudoir, an endless parade of warm bodies, and the resignation that he would spend eternity alone. Until she came long and breathed new life into his inert heart. She made it remember how to feel, taught it how to love, and then restored its beat.

“You want me to pick it out?” Illyria glances at the display. “Are you sure? You can be very fussy.”

“Fussy, am I?” He crosses his arms and feigns irritation, although he cannot wipe the smug smirk off his lips. “Darling, I can make anything look good. I’m positive whatever you pick will be perfect.”

She nods and starts pursuing the various styles of rings staged and offered. He steps behind her, watching over her shoulder as she pursues. He lets his body press into her back slightly, carefully, to see if she will jolt away from him like she does sometimes, but instead she presses her ass into him further and undulates her hips against him.

He’s pleasantly surprised, allowing her to continue until he can feel himself hardening, and then his hands slip down to halt her. He would love to bend her over this stall, vendors and patriars be damned. She catches his thoughts and shoots him a heated look over her shoulder that almost looks like a challenge.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just do it,” he projects into her mind. “To Hells with them all.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, asking the jeweller to show her something more unique and answering him back at the same time. “You want all these people to see me come?”

He snorts, answering back with an immediate. “No!”

“I didn’t think so.”

Illyria turns around. “Try this one on, will you?”

Astarion is pleasantly surprised when she holds him an obsidian-coloured band with a fire-opal inlay that glitters underneath an intricate pattern etched into the center of the ring. He slips it on, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his finger. The cool metal feels strange between his fingers, but also right, as most things do when it comes to her.

“I like that one. What do you think?”

“I… I love it,” he glances back at her with soft eyes to let her know that his sentiment is genuine.

Illyria smiles carefully and returns to speaking to the jeweller about alterations, with her main focus on engravings. Astarion loses himself in thought while she speaks, and his fingers smooth over the metal. What will he do if they cannot complete their objective in the Hells? Is marrying her truly fair to her? Is he dooming her by tying her to him in this way? If he cannot be saved, he will have to force her to get away from him before he loses his sanity entirely.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, Syolkiir, salen thiramin,” Illyria recites what she wishes be engraved into the inside of the band.

His mind translates his mother tongue into common. “You hold my heart forever, Wild Star, my soulmate.”

Thiramin. Not even merely a soulmate. Not for Elves, at least. A thiramin is someone you are intertwined spiritually with. It’s a love that’s prewritten into the stars and promises eternal devotion. Though it’s not often unrequited, when it is, it’s disastrous. Elves often go mad, ending their lives if they lose their thiramin.

Astarion is too stunned to speak as he takes the wrapped earring box, and they walk away from the little stall. He did not even hear when the jeweller estimated the ring would be done and ready to pick up.

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” Illyria whispers, interlocking her fingers with his. “You don’t even have to feel it back. It won’t change anything.”

He swallows hard. “When did you know?”

“Before the tadpole linked our brains together,” she admits casually.

“I felt it too,” he confesses. “… I feel it too.”

She gives his hand a squeeze, looking at him with concerned eyes, and he shakes his head to dispel his whorling thoughts. Thiramin. Gods. He stands to lose so much; they stand to lose so much. It’s a terrifying prospect.

“There’s one more stop we have to make,” he says, finally coming back to himself. Shoving the panic and fear somewhere deep. He can worry later. Right now should be a happy time for them. “Are you alright, or would you like to go home and have a snack?”

“You’re a very generous juice box, Astarion,” she taunts, trying to lighten his mood.

“I am feeling rather gracious today, thiramin,” he teases back, watching her eyes light up at the word, and the affection she feels spreads through him like sunshine through his veins. “Is that a yes?”

She smirks. “How could I say no?”

Astarion removes his chemise as soon as they enter the manor and ascend the stairs to their room. His consort, no, wife, he reminds himself, is typically good at not spilling as long as she’s not ravenous, but blood hardly ever comes out of white, so it's better to be safe. He throws the shift over the back of the lounge in their room and sits on the bed with his back pressed against the headboard.

He grabs her hips as she crawls up on him and settles in his lap. She places her hands on his shoulders, and a shiver runs down his spine. “Gods. You’re cold.”

“I’m dead, genius,” she laughs lightheartedly.

It makes him smile, but it also sends a shock of remorse through him in equal measure. Where this used to be a sore topic for her, she seems content with the fact that he killed her. Astarion cannot say he regrets doing it, because that would be a heinous untruth, but it does not stop him from feeling a little bad. Even if she did give him permission to do it, he hadn’t exactly given her much of a choice in the matter. It was either be turned or end the relationship, and he was pretty sure she loved him too much to do that.

Which means he really didn’t give her much of a choice at all.

“I’m sorry I did not give you much of a choice,” he says, though it pains him to do so. Sorry is not something he is particularly good at saying. “I look back on it, and I am ashamed of the way I acted.”

She cups his face tenderly with a small smile. “I wanted this, Astarion. We talked about this when you were a spawn, and we had no idea what would come of the Rite.”

“I could have at least given you the choice to wait until you were sure you were ready,” he laments. “As it stands, I did not."

She sighs. “You could have, but my choice would have been the same regardless. I’ve only ever regretted becoming a spawn—“

“Bride,” he corrects quickly. “Spawn is an ugly word.”

“Fine. Bride,” she acquiesces. “I only ever regretted it when you weren’t you. If the Rite had no consequences, I would never have looked back, and I don’t look back on it now. I am fine with what I am. Plus, it’s a little amusing to be the one making you cold now.”

“Cheeky,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “You do not make me cold. I can just cool my body temperature down on a whim.”

“Bragging, are we? Confidence looks good on you,” Illyria giggles, running her fingers through his hair. “You are magnificent, Ascendant. I will concede that much.”

“Feed, little love,” Astarion instructs, offering his neck. “Or we will be late.”

Illyria rains kisses down his neck, earning her a whine from him. The tingle runs straight to his cock, and he grinds into her involuntarily. Her fangs find their mark, popping through his skin with an icy pinch that dulls quickly into a rather arousing ache. He glances at the window, trying to judge if he has enough time to take her before they must go. To his great disappointment, there is not enough time to make love to her properly.

Even though they’ve decided on having a small affair, there is still some planning that needs to be done, and Astarion does not have a lot of experience in this sort of thing. Where does she want to get married? Certainly not a church. Perhaps the villa where he proposed to her? He purchased the property some time ago on a whim. Who can they get to marry them? Should he invite her friends? He knows she said just them, but is that truly what she wants? Elven marriage ceremonies typically go on for weeks with poetry recitations, musical performances, and a host of other theatrical events.

Is she embarrassed by him? Scared he will lose himself and hurt or kill them at their wedding? If this is what being nervous feels like, he fucking hates it.

She unlatches from him rather abruptly. “Hells, Astarion. You know you can simply ask me these questions, yes? The villa would be perfect. As for who, we can just hire someone. It matters not who officiates as long as, by the end of it, we are married, and not in this weird vampiric way. Our friends, not mine, ours,” she accentuates. “Can come to the great soiree I am sure you will throw as soon as we return. It is not because I am embarrassed or I think you might kill them.”

She pauses for a second, contemplating how to word whatever is coming next. “I want it to be you and me, because that’s how we are going to spend the majority of our lives. Our friends will grow old and die. It is just a fact. Once they are all gone, it’s just us. There might be other friends along the way, and they too will die. In the end, it will always be us for eternity. That is the reason I want it this way.”

Astarion smiles, thumbing some blood away from the corner of her lips and popping it in his mouth before kissing her with an ardent passion. He coaxes her lips to part and tastes himself on her tongue. “As you wish, little love, so shall it be,” he breathes. “What about your parents? Would you like them there or to at least let them know you’re getting married to a very handsome, powerful, and influential lord?”

She giggles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve never discussed my parents, have we?”

It's true. Despite spending all this time together, they’ve rarely spoken of her past. When he was attempting to seduce her, he did ask her the typical insipid questions one would ask to appear genuinely interested in a person. They were always met with an offhanded comment or her using her silver tongue to cleverly switch topics so seamlessly he did not realize she was avoiding the questions.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “We have not discussed much of your past before the nautiloid.”

“I’m an orphan,” she finally says, her gaze dropping to her hands pressed against his stomach as if using him to bolster herself. “I don’t have any parents to invite or inform.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion coos, taking her hands in his. “I did not know.”

“You couldn't have known,” she shrugs. “I didn’t tell you. My childhood was not… good. It’s not something I like to think or talk about. Truthfully, if I thought you would, I might request you compel me to forget it entirely.”

Alarm bells go off in Astarion's head. She would request that he compel her to forget large parts of her life? He could. He could do that for her, but it would be to her detriment. He sincerely hopes she never asks him for this, because he would find it difficult to say no. If only because he would do anything for her.

“I would not do it even if you asked,” he lies. He would do it if she begged him to, because he can deny her nothing. “Your past made you who you are, and I love who you are. I will not pry, but I do hope you will tell me more someday.”

“Thank you for not prying.” She leans down and licks the last bits of blood off his neck. Astarion’s wounds are already healed over to pristine ivory skin.

“Now that you have had your snack, we really must be going.”

“Where are we going that you’re in such a rush to get to?” She arches a brow at him.

“You’ll see, little love. Indulge me once more for today.”

The Lower City is much busier than the Upper City, and it makes sense to you now why Astarion offered to stop and give you a snack before heading down this way. He seems to know exactly where he’s going, pushing through the crowds with purposeful steps, but you decidedly don’t. You allow him to drag you along through the torrent of bodies that are brimming with blood.

Astarion opens the door of a shop for you, bows shallowly with a sly grin, and ushers you inside. “After you, my love.”

You arch an inquisitive brow at him, but enter the shop as instructed. The outside appeared rather nondescript. A small, worn sign was all that indicated it was a shop at all. It didn’t strike you as somewhere Astarion would frequent. Once you get inside, the space opens up to an opulent foyer that is empty except for the two of you and, to your great surprise, Shadowheart.

She comes up to you slowly with a guileful grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

When you look at her, all you see is her blanched, chalky complexion, the only colour afforded to her by her own blood smeared and leaking from her neck. You can hear her pleas gurgling in her throat, feel her hands raking across your skin, and feel her tugging on your clothes. You grimace, remembering the sweet succour of her blood circulating through your veins, easing the coils in your stomach and the webs of confusion in your brain. Without realizing it, you start taking steps backward, away from her as she nears, and jolt when your back bumps into Astarion. His arm wraps around your chest in an almost protective gesture, while his other hand gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Shadowheart,” he says formally. “I see you got my summons. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

“Summons?” She snorts, crossing her arms. “Am I even able to counter that haughty attitude anymore, Astarion? Or will you go lose your mind and kill us all?”

Astarion doesn’t show it, but there is a sting that prickles through the bond as her barbed words settle. You nearly scold her, but he’s quick to riposte her cheek. “Darling, don’t be silly. I would be more than happy to kill you. I needn’t lose my mind for that.”

Shadowheart laughs jovially, and Astarion’s grin is crooked and boyish.

“It’s good to see you, Astarion.” Shadowheart says warmly.

“And you,” he replies coolly.

Your brows pinch as you look between them. Have you slipped into some alternate dimension where they actually seem like friends, or is it you who’s losing your fucking mind?

“And it’s good to see you, Illyria.” Shadowheart smiles. “You look much cleaner than when I saw you last,” she teases.

“Shadowheart,” your voice comes out in an uneven croak. “I… Gods. I don’t know what to say. I…”

She waves her hand flippantly, as if almost draining her dry is so minor that it’s not even worth your apologies. “I did offer to help, though next time, could you perhaps waste a little less?”

Hells below. You don’t know if your body wants to pale or flush. Thankfully, it’s incapable of both.

Astarion waves over a woman, who you didn’t even realize was waiting in the wings of the establishment. “Expense my account for whatever she decides on, Lorne, and do not tell her the cost,” he instructs while giving you a small shake. You grumble under your breath at him in a slurry of elven curses that makes him chuckle.

“As you wish, Lord Ancunín.” Lorne replies tonelessly, shrinking back to wait for you.

He presses a kiss on the top of your head. “Have fun, my sweet. You know how to reach me when you’ve finished up.”

You whirl quickly, grabbing his arm before he can leave, panicked. “You’re not staying?”

“No, but I will remain close by. You need not worry.” The rest of his message is in your head. “About the sun. You’re safe. I will keep you safe. Always.”

It’s not the threat of your sun protection that has you terror-stricken. It’s being in the presence of two living people without him around to stop you should your restraint fail again.

“Compel me,” you say, but make sure it’s loud enough that Shadowheart hears it. You want her to know that you’ve asked for this before she gets any bright ideas about scolding him. “Compel me not to drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his smile failing as he processes your request. His discomfort is noticeable in the tense set of his shoulders. “I would really rather not.”

“Astarion,” you grab his coat, tugging on it slightly. “You know I can’t be trusted with them, but I trust you. Please.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly, but you feel the order come through in your head as clear as day, but he adds another in. “You do not feel hungry. You will not feed on the blood of thinking creatures.”

Relief.

Relief from that unrelenting itch in your throat and the ache in your stomach as soon as the order is passed. It’s been so long since you haven’t felt hungry that it feels strange. Why haven’t you been asking him to do this the whole time? Because it makes him uncomfortable, you remind yourself, and you quickly feel sick for making him do something he told you he didn’t want to do.

Astarion nods, though the look on his face is rather grim, and he kisses your forehead and walks out without another word.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Shadowheart says. “Gods. Why didn’t you tell me he asked you to marry him? I’m so happy for you!”

Her genuine mirth is a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. “I… You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Shadowheart smirks. “I do wholeheartedly believe you could do better, but alas, you were always sickeningly in love with him. The way you two used to eye-fuck each other in camp. Gods.” She makes a dramatic expression of disgust, pretending to shudder. “You could have been more subtle about it.”

It’s the first time you’ve been able to be around her without wanting to eat her in a long while, and you rush up to her quickly, but stop short when you realize she might not want to get this close to you. She scoffs and closes the gap, wrapping her arms around you.

“Gods. You’re as cold as you are pale,” she laments mockingly. “Come on. Let’s find you an atrociously expensive dress, shall we?”

The woman fitting your dress seems unconcerned that you have no reflection. Did Astarion compel her to completely miss that? Likely. The woman brings in dress after dress, which Shadowheart helps you into because you don’t want Lorne to see the scars on your back. Every dress is beautiful, you suppose, but nothing you would actually wear.

As Shadowheart undoes claps and places pins in yet another one, she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me, Illyria?”

You sigh. “I should have. It just seemed like a bad time to say something. At best, I was worried you might try to talk me out of it. At worst, I thought you might go down there and try to stake him.”

“That’s surprisingly accurate, actually,” she laughs, standing and turning you around.

You’re letting Shadowheart be your eyes for this. Her brows pinch, and she rotates a finger to make you spin, but it only makes her nose wrinkle up worse.

“I take that expression as a no.”

“Definitely not,” Shadowheart snorts. “That woman is bringing up the worst of the worst. I am sure of it. I’m going to go back there and pick some for you, okay?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart winks. “I have my ways.”

She disappears while you snicker and ease out of the bulky fabric. You stare into the empty mirrors, letting your fingers crawl over the surface. If there was one time you wanted to be able to see yourself, it’s now, but you will never see your reflection again. You couldn’t possibly have understood it at the time — the sorrow and anger he felt, the mourning of his reflection — but you understand it now.

You understand him now.

Shadowheart steps in with an armful of dresses she’s procured. Lorne squalls in the background, scolding Shadowheart, saying that this is extremely unorthodox.

Shadowheart waves her out of the room with a grin, and she giggles hysterically. “I hope she complains to Astarion.”

Shadowheart helps you slip into a few more dresses, which are vastly better than the ones Lorne was bringing, but it’s not until you slip into the last dress that you think you feel something other than a desperate need to get back to Astarion.

The gown defies the boundaries between clothing and art. The champagne-coloured bodice shimmers with a constellation of the finest diamonds. Each stone sparkles like a thousand stars, casting your form in an ethereal light. The neckline plunges temptingly low, giving you a generous allure.

As the bodice meets the hip-hugging skirt, a cascade of lace descends in a mesmerizing train, as if a waterfall of gossamer had been captured in time. The pattern of the lace is reminiscent of swirling firestorms, and the edges are adorned with a delicate trim of moonstones that appear to glow as if imbued with silvery moonlight.

“I think I like this one,” you say, but glance up at Shadowheart.

Shadowheart’s eyes look wet. “You look otherworldly, Illyria. It’s perfect.”

Shadowheart helps you out of the dress, and Lorne comes to collect it, her face still screwing up into a scowl when she looks at Shadowheart, who smiles politely at her.

Before you can leave the dressing room, Shadowheart stops you and asks tentatively. “Do you think marrying him is a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea or not. I’ve dreamt of it since I met him. Even in his darkest hours, I could never bring myself to stop loving him, and I tried, Shadowheart. I tried to let him go, begged for love to turn into hate, but he’s far too tangled in my soul. For better or worse, I love him, and this is what I want.”

Shadowheart squeezes your shoulder. “As long as you’re happy, I support you. Always. But I think you need to be careful. Astarion will always do what it takes to survive.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As with most fic writers, I am a WHORE for comments. We appreciate even just an emoji. Please feed your fic writers the sustenance of comments 🥰

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Sorry I've been MIA guys. Life has gotten in the way, and my writing time has been significantly cut down recently. I'm hoping that it will recover, but it might be another month or so of spotty and shorter updates. Also, when patch 7 releases, you know I am DIVING head first into it

[terrence-silver]

Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

---

I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! It's another wednesday <3 I was tagged by the lovely @sheirukitriesfandom @theoneandonlysemla @hircines-hunter thank you for sharing 🥰

Tagging: @captain-of-silvenar @umbracirrus @pocket-vvardvark @lucien-lachance @firefly-factory @lady-iizsil @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter

Unfortunately this week I do not bring you a snippet of Rulindil's grisly demise. That needs to cook a bit longer in the brain. Instead I bring you this lovely Theodora and Ondolemar snippet (featuring Phy!) because they are who matters most <3

The previous few days had been special, Phy meeting them on the road before making it to Riften. They spent the rest of the journey catching up, finally reunited after two long years. While Phy was away tending to her dying father, so much had happened. She wrote explaining the big events, the pregnancy, Arthano’s birth, Miraak. Unfortunately due to the nature of her love’s situation she had to keep it vague in the letters, writing that He has returned to me, do not worry I am being taken care of. Seeing her best friend meet her son for the first time was beautiful, albeit a bit funny as she wasn’t sure how to hold him. 

“He’s so sweet Theo, so adorable. He definitely looks like his father though, like completely. I don’t know if your traits even tried.” She teases. 

“Hey, he’s got my hair and my mother’s eyes.” She said pointing to the dark waves on his head and his big brown eyes. That was about it though, everything else was very distinctly Altmer. That was more than alright though. On long nights before he found her, gazing at their son’s face brought her comfort. He was still with her. 

Once having arrived in Riften, they stayed at Phy’s home, Honeyside, overlooking the docks. After having been on the road so long, relaxing in a proper home felt nice. Ondolemar claimed that his time ‘roughing it’, as he called it, looking for her had gotten him used to difficult conditions. Yet, she could tell he was happy to be near proper civilization; his words. Neither Theodora nor Phy had the heart to tell him what Riften was famous for. 

But no, nothing was special that day. As they sat in front of the fireplace, Phy offered to take her new nephew on a walk to calm him down. Thankfully he had been sleeping better since they arrived. She is caught up in the comfort of his arms when he speaks.

“Will you marry me?” It shouldn’t take her off-guard. He had risked his life, given up everything he had ever known to come find her, and on top of all it, they had a child. Yet it does. Theodora can’t shake that she’s dreaming. 

“Are you asking because it’s the proper thing to do?” She teases him, an attempt to deflect. 

“Partially.” He responds. “I was raised to believe that you should be married before children and if you get a woman pregnant the least you can do is take responsibility.” He gives her a quick kiss, turning her head to face him. “But it’s more than merely that.” She kisses him now.

“It’s more than that?”

“I want to call you my wife.” There’s a subtle look of shock dawning her face. 

“You do?” He nods. 

“My wife and I.” A kiss is placed on her forehead. “Oh, my wife likes those.” One on her left cheek. “I’m sorry I cannot, I promised my wife I’d be home.” One on her right cheek. “My wife Theodora.” She hums when he kisses her lips again. 

“I’d like that.” She tried it out, it feels surprisingly natural to say. “My husband Ondolemar.” It leaves her mouth a few more times, a beautiful tune my husband, my husband, my husband. 

“So with that in mind, let me ask again. Theodora, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” 

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Thirty Three

The forest was serene, almost deceptively so, as Historia sat on a fallen log, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The distant hum of the wind weaving through the trees barely masked the tension that hung between her and Porco. He stood a few feet away, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the ground.

“This is pointless,” Historia muttered, her voice breaking the silence. “Every idea we come up with falls apart before it even begins. The Rumbling feels inevitable.”

Porco shifted, his brows furrowing deeper. “It’s not just a feeling. It is inevitable,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “There’s no talking Marley—or the rest of the world—out of their hatred for this island. It’s not just something they can unlearn. They’ve built their entire existence around the idea that you’re devils.”

Historia’s shoulders sagged, and she looked down at her hands. “So that’s it, then? We’re just supposed to accept it?”

Porco pushed off the tree and stepped closer, shaking his head. “You think I want that? That I want the people I left behind to suffer for something they had no control over? My people in the internment zones. They’re the ones who’ll pay the price if this happens.”

“And so will we,” she countered, lifting her gaze to meet his. Her blue eyes shimmered with emotion, and Porco’s breath hitched. “If the world attacks Paradis first, they’ll slaughter everyone here. Including the child growing inside Aurora. Including Eren. Including me.”

Porco’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated this. Every angle, every decision, led to more death, more pain. He was a soldier, but for once in his life, he wanted to fight for something other than destruction.

Historia’s voice softened, her vulnerability shining through. “You’ve seen all of them by now, haven’t you? The memories. Ymir’s memories.”

Porco froze. His connection to her had started with Ymir, but somewhere along the line, it had become his connection. His own feelings. He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I’ve seen them.”

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

He let out a shaky breath, stepping even closer to her. “I saw you. Back when you pretended to be Christa. I saw Ymir looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in this damn world. And I get it now. I didn’t then, but I do now.”

Historia’s lip quivered, and she bit down on it to stop it from trembling. “Ymir… she always told me to live for myself. To stop pretending to be someone else.”

“And you did,” Porco said, his voice softer now. “She’d be proud of you. Hell, I’m proud of you, and I barely know what the hell I’m doing here.”

She let out a weak laugh, wiping at her eyes. “It’s all so messed up. You inherited Ymir’s titan because she sacrificed herself to save Reiner and Bertholdt. You’re here, protecting me, when you were supposed to kill me. And Marcel—” Her voice caught, and she looked away. “I’m sorry about Marcel. If it wasn’t for Ymir…”

Porco closed the distance between them, kneeling in front of her so she couldn’t look away. “Don’t. Don’t blame her, and don’t blame yourself. I’ve already made peace with what happened to Marcel. What’s killing me now is figuring out what to do next.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “Leaving Marley? Coming here?”

He reached out hesitantly, his hand brushing against hers. “No. The only thing I regret is that I can’t figure out how to fix this. How to keep you safe. How to save my people without destroying yours.”

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. Porco didn’t see the queen of the walls in front of him, and Historia didn’t see the Jaw Titan. They saw two people trying to make sense of an impossible situation, tethered together by shared pain, shared memories, and something deeper than either of them could put into words.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” Historia whispered. “Not you, not Eren, not Aurora, not my people. But I don’t know how to stop it.”

Porco’s hand tightened around hers. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

The words felt hollow, but they were all he had to offer. 

…

Meanwhile, Eren was pacing near the compound’s main building, his brows furrowed as he scanned the grounds for Aurora. She had wandered off after the meeting, and something about the way she had been acting lately nagged at him. He trusted her completely, but his instincts told him something wasn’t right.

He turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps and froze. Captain Levi was striding toward him with purpose, his face a storm cloud of determination. Behind him trailed Aurora, her expression panicked, her movements hurried as though she were trying to stop Levi from reaching him.

The moment Eren’s eyes locked on Aurora’s, she immediately looked away, her gaze dropping to the ground like a guilty child caught in a lie. Eren’s chest tightened. What the hell was going on?

Levi didn’t waste any time. “Jaeger, we’ve got a problem,” he said curtly, his tone as sharp as his blades. “And you’re not going to like it.”

Eren’s emerald eyes flicked between Levi’s grim face and Aurora’s tense posture. She stood behind the captain, wringing her hands, biting her lip as though bracing herself for an oncoming storm. That look sent a chill down Eren’s spine.

“What’s going on?” Eren asked, his voice calm but laced with unease.

Levi crossed his arms. “Our queen has been sneaking around with the Jaw Titan. Porco Galliard has been hiding near this compound for months, and Aurora here has known the entire time.”

Time seemed to freeze. Eren’s expression darkened as the words sank in, and his eyes slowly turned to Aurora, who winced under the weight of his piercing gaze. “What?” His voice was quiet, but it carried a sharp edge.

Aurora stepped forward, her heart pounding. “Eren, I was going to tell you—”

“Were you?” he interrupted, his tone colder than she’d ever heard before. His fists clenched at his sides as he tried to process Levi’s revelation. “Months, Aurora? You’ve known for months. And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “I thought I could handle it. Historia is my friend, and I trusted her. Porco hasn’t done anything hostile—”

Eren’s laugh was bitter, cutting her off. “Not hostile? He’s the Jaw Titan, Aurora. He’s the enemy. How do you know he’s not manipulating Historia? How do you know he’s not planning something?”

“I—I don’t,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But Historia… she loves him. He’s not here to hurt anyone, Eren. Please believe me.”

Eren shook his head, taking a step back as though her words physically stung him. “That’s not the point. The point is you didn’t tell me. We’re supposed to trust each other, Aurora. I’ve never lied to you—not once. Why couldn’t you come to me with this important?”

Aurora’s guilt consumed her, tears welling up in her eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was betraying you. I was scared of what you’d think, scared of what you’d do. I was trying to protect everyone.”

Eren’s jaw tightened. “You were trying to protect everyone except me. Do you know how that feels? To know that the one person I trust above anyone else has been hiding something this important from me?”

Levi watched the exchange with crossed arms, his expression unreadable, but he finally spoke. “Enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “You two can have your lovers’ spat later. Right now, we’ve got a much bigger problem to deal with. Porco Galliard is an enemy shifter on our turf. This isn’t just about trust—it’s about security. You need to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

Eren’s gaze burned into Aurora for a moment longer before he finally exhaled and turned his attention back to Levi. “Where is Historia now?”

“Probably sneaking out to meet him again,” Levi said bluntly. “If we move fast, we can catch them both.”

Eren nodded stiffly. “Let’s go.”

As Levi turned to lead the way, Aurora grabbed Eren’s arm, her voice desperate. “Eren, please—”

He paused but didn’t look at her. “We’ll talk later,” he said coldly, his words slicing through her like a blade.

Aurora released his arm and watched helplessly as Eren and Levi walked away, her heart shattering under the weight of her guilt.…

Eren stormed through the compound with Levi right beside him, his jaw tight and his eyes blazing with anger. Aurora followed a few steps behind, her heart heavy with guilt. She’d never seen Eren this upset before, and the sharpness in his voice earlier still echoed painfully in her mind. She had always been his confidant, the one person he trusted completely—and now, that trust was fractured.

As they approached the rest of the scouts, Eren’s expression was thunderous. Mikasa, Armin, Hange, Jean, Connie, and Sasha stood in a loose group outside the central building. Floch was nearby, barking orders at a couple of Jaegerists before turning to join the gathering. The moment they saw Eren and Levi’s grim expressions, the air grew heavy with tension.

“What’s going on?” Hange asked, tilting her head curiously. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Levi didn’t mince words. “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

Eren crossed his arms, his gaze hard as steel. “The Jaw Titan has been hiding on this compound for months. And he’s been meeting with Historia in secret.”

The revelation hit like a thunderclap.

“What?!” Jean’s voice shot up. “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Connie’s mouth hung open. “The enemy… here? And with Historia?”

Sasha looked between them, her face pale. “How is that even possible? Wouldn’t someone have noticed?”

Floch’s face twisted with fury. “You’re telling me the enemy has been here this whole time, right under our noses? This is unacceptable!”

Armin, ever the voice of reason, tried to calm the rising tension. “Wait—there has to be an explanation. Maybe Porco is—”

Eren cut him off sharply. “There’s no explanation that justifies keeping this from me.” His voice was like a blade, cold and cutting. His eyes flicked to Aurora, and she flinched under his gaze. “Aurora knew. For months.”

The scouts turned to Aurora, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.

“You knew?” Mikasa asked softly, her tone tinged with disbelief.

Aurora’s voice trembled as she tried to explain. “I thought… I thought I could handle it. Porco hasn’t done anything hostile, and Historia trusted him. I didn’t want to cause more chaos when we’re already under so much pressure.”

Floch scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “Unbelievable. You’re telling me you put all of us at risk because you ‘thought you could handle it’? What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Floch, that’s enough,” Armin said, his voice firm. “Let’s not turn this into a witch hunt.”

Eren ignored the growing argument and turned to Aurora. His voice was low but laced with steel. “Where’s their meeting spot?”

Aurora hesitated, her heart sinking further. “Eren, please… don’t do anything rash. Just—”

“Where. Is. It?” Eren demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, Aurora finally gave him the location. “The woods, near the northern edge of the compound. There’s a small clearing there.”

Eren nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched. “Go back to our room.”

“What?” Aurora blinked, taken aback. “Eren, I—”

“Go back to our room,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time. “Now.”

Aurora opened her mouth to protest, but the anger and hurt in Eren’s eyes stopped her. She nodded silently, turning away with her heart feeling like it was shattering into pieces. She walked back toward their quarters, her head bowed, tears threatening to spill. She had never felt so distant from him before.

“Eren, you don’t have to be so harsh,” Armin said, stepping forward. “She was just trying to help.”

Eren’s glare turned on Armin. “Stay out of it,” he snapped. 

Levi stepped in, cutting the brewing argument short. “Enough. We don’t have time for this right now. If we’re going after Galliard, we need to move. Let’s go.”

The group quickly fell into formation, tension crackling in the air as they prepared to head to the clearing. Eren’s resolve was unshakable, but the weight of Aurora’s omission lingered heavily on his heart.

The forest surrounding the meeting spot of Historia and Porco was dense, the thick canopy above casting long shadows over the ground. The scouts moved swiftly and silently, their ODM gear occasionally clicking softly as they maneuvered between the trees. Eren led the group, his jaw tight and his mind racing.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Aurora. The betrayal he felt gnawed at him like a persistent wound. How could she keep something so critical from him? How could she lie to him, night after night, for three whole months? The trust they had built felt fractured, and it was a pain he didn’t know how to process. Yet, underneath his anger was a pang of guilt. He hated the way he had spoken to her, seeing the hurt in her eyes as he sent her away.

Mikasa, ever attuned to Eren’s emotions, broke the tense silence. “Eren,” she said softly, gliding up beside him. “I know you’re angry, but I don’t think Aurora was trying to hurt you. You know that, right?”

Eren’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his tone clipped. “That doesn’t make it okay, Mikasa. She lied to me. She lied for months.”

“She was wrong,” Mikasa acknowledged, her voice calm and measured. “But think about why she did it. Aurora’s not like us. She hasn’t been through what we have. She’s soft-hearted and kind. She probably thought she was protecting Historia.”

Eren let out a sharp exhale through his nose, his brow furrowed. “And what about protecting everyone else? What about protecting me? If Porco had decided to go on a rampage, who knows what could’ve happened?”

Levi, overhearing their conversation from a short distance, interjected with his usual bluntness. “Exactly. There’s no excuse for what she did. If Galliard had turned on her, this compound could’ve been a bloodbath. And if Historia had been killed, we’d be in even deeper shit than we already are.”

Eren clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “I know,” he ground out. “I know that, Captain. But—” He hesitated, his voice softening slightly. “Aurora’s my wife. I thought I could trust her with everything.”

Mikasa placed a hand on Eren’s arm, her touch gentle. “You can. But trust goes both ways. She’s human, Eren. She made a mistake. She didn’t do it out of malice.”

Levi scoffed, his tone dry. “Mistake or not, it’s a mistake that could’ve cost lives. She got lucky, that’s all.”

Eren’s jaw tightened further, his emotions a storm within him. He wanted to forgive Aurora, but the weight of her omission felt heavy. He couldn’t shake the image of her averting her gaze when he looked at her, the guilt written all over her face. It was a betrayal he hadn’t expected, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

As they neared the clearing, the group slowed, their movements cautious. The faint sound of voices reached their ears, confirming that Porco and Historia were indeed at the meeting spot. Eren’s heart pounded in his chest, his anger momentarily giving way to the cold focus of the mission.

“Spread out,” Levi ordered in a hushed tone, his sharp eyes scanning the area. “We’ll surround them. No one makes a move until I give the signal.”

The scouts nodded in unison, their expressions grim as they moved into position. Eren stayed close to Levi, his mind still reeling but his focus locked on the task at hand. Whatever Porco’s intentions were, they would find out soon enough.

The forest clearing fell silent except for the faint rustling of leaves, a deceptive calm before the storm that was about to break. The scouts had their eyes trained on the two figures in the distance, moving closer until the sight before them nearly made their jaws drop.

Historia and Porco were locked in a deep, passionate kiss, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band when the couple realized they were no longer alone. Both jumped back in surprise, their expressions a mix of shock and guilt as they turned to face the scouts.

“Shit!” Porco cussed, immediately moving to bite his hand, his eyes blazing with defiance.

Eren didn’t hesitate. His hand was already cut, blood dripping from his palm as the crackling sparks of his transformation began to ignite. He stepped back, his gaze locked on Porco, fury radiating from every inch of his being.

The clearing lit up with the telltale sparks of two impending titan transformations, but before either could act, Historia ran between them, throwing her arms out wide. “Stop!” she cried, her voice desperate and trembling.

Eren’s glare shifted to Historia, his rage barely contained. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. “You’ve been lying to me and everyone else for months… for this? So you could sneak off and kiss the enemy?”

“Eren—” Historia began, but he wasn’t finished.

“Have you been compromised?” he asked harshly, his words laced with disappointment and suspicion. “Are you working for Marley now?”

“No!” Historia snapped back, her voice shaking but firm. “I haven’t been compromised.”

Porco’s jaw tightened, and he took a step forward. “Don’t talk to her like that, Jaeger—”

Before Porco could get any closer, Levi and Mikasa moved like shadows, blades drawn in an instant. Mikasa’s glare was as sharp as her steel, and Levi was a blur of deadly precision.

Without hesitation, Levi incapacitated Porco, his blades severing all four of Porco’s limbs faster than anyone could react. Porco hit the ground with a grunt of pain, his body writhing as he began to heal, his defiance undimmed.

“What the hell is your game, Jaw Titan?” Floch spat, stepping forward with his rifle trained on Porco. His expression was livid. “Why are you here? Manipulating the queen? What were you planning to do, huh?”

“He’s not manipulating me!” Historia interjected, stepping protectively in front of Porco, her voice trembling with emotion. “We’ve been trying to come up with an alternative to the Rumbling.”

Levi scoffed at that, his face a mask of disbelief. “An alternative?” he echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Looked to me like you were just sucking face in the woods. What’s your brilliant plan, then? What have you come up with in three months of sneaking around?”

The silence that followed was damning. Historia looked away, her face flushing with shame, while Porco glared at Levi, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“You’ve got nothing,” Levi said coldly, his voice a razor-sharp rebuke. “Three months of sneaking around, risking everything, and you’ve got nothing to show for it.”

Levi turned to Mikasa. “Help me chain him up,” he ordered. “We’re taking him back for questioning.”

Mikasa nodded without hesitation, her expression grim as she moved to bind Porco tightly with chains. Levi leaned down, his blade hovering near Porco’s neck. “Don’t even think about transforming once you heal,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “I’ll just cut off your limbs again. And again. As many times as it takes.”

Porco glared up at him but said nothing, the defiance still burning in his eyes.

Floch rounded on Historia, his anger palpable. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped. “You could’ve gotten us all killed! You’re the queen, and you compromised yourself for some stupid little romance?”

Historia flinched at his words but didn’t respond, her head bowed in shame.

Eren, meanwhile, was glaring at her with an intensity that could have burned the entire forest down. “Why?” he demanded, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “Why did you make Aurora keep this secret? Do you know what that’s done to her?”

At the mention of Aurora, Historia’s eyes filled with guilt. She knew what she had asked of her friend was unfair, and it had clearly taken a toll on her. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt her… or you.”

Eren’s jaw clenched, his anger warring with his lingering disappointment. “You didn’t just hurt her,” he said. “You hurt all of us. And you jeopardized everything we’ve been fighting for.”

Levi yanked Porco to his feet, the chains digging into the shifter’s skin as he stumbled. “Save the apologies,” Levi said flatly. “You’ll have plenty of time to explain yourself back at the compound.”

The group turned to leave, the atmosphere heavy with tension and unspoken words. As they marched back toward the Jaegerist compound, Eren couldn’t help but glance at Historia and Porco one last time, his mind still reeling from everything that had just unfolded.

Levi was dragging Porco along the dirt path like a sack of potatos, the chains rattling loudly as the Jaw Titan’s body scraped across the ground. Porco glared but remained silent, the humiliation of his situation adding fuel to his anger.

Floch followed close behind, his face twisted in barely contained rage. Historia walked a few paces ahead of him, her shoulders hunched and her face pale. Floch didn’t stop talking the entire way.

“How could you do something so stupid, Historia?” Floch snapped, his tone harsh and cutting. “You’re not just the queen—you’re supposed to be someone we can trust! Someone who stands above all of this nonsense, who puts Paradis first! And yet, you’re sneaking around with him?” He gestured angrily toward Porco.

Historia flinched at his words, guilt written all over her face. “I know I made a mistake,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I just thought…”

“You thought?” Floch interrupted. “You thought what? That you could trust a Marleyan shifter? That sneaking off with the enemy wouldn’t have consequences? Do you have any idea how badly this could’ve gone? If he’d decided to betray you, we’d all be dead right now!”

Eren, walking near the front of the group, was silent but visibly simmering with anger. His fists were clenched, and his jaw was tight as he shot occasional glances at Historia and Porco. His suspicions had been building ever since they discovered Porco had been sent to assassinate Historia but instead let her go. Seeing it all confirmed, and realizing how much Aurora had kept from him, was almost too much to bear.

Behind Eren, Mikasa, Hange, and the rest of the scouts exchanged uneasy glances. None of them could believe the sheer absurdity of what they had just witnessed. Jean muttered under his breath, “This feels like a fever dream.”

Connie, still in disbelief, shook his head. “Yeah, but it’s real. What the hell was she thinking?”

Sasha sighed, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “I don’t think she was.”

When they finally reached the compound, Levi didn’t waste a moment. He dragged Porco straight to the basement, Mikasa trailing behind him. Porco glared at both of them but knew better than to try to resist. Levi was a force of nature, and Mikasa’s unwavering gaze was more than enough to keep him in line.

“Don’t even think about transforming,” Levi growled as he shoved Porco into a chair and began securing him with reinforced chains. “I’ll make sure you regret it if you try.”

Mikasa knelt beside Levi to help secure the chains, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. “What now, Captain?”

Levi’s expression was grim. “Now we interrogate him. If he knows something we can use, we’re going to get it out of him.”

While Levi and Mikasa dealt with Porco, Eren turned to Floch. “Keep an eye on Historia,” he ordered coldly. “She’s compromised as far as I’m concerned. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Floch saluted stiffly, his expression serious. “You can count on me.”

Historia, standing nearby, bristled at the implication but said nothing. Deep down, she knew she deserved this. If only she had been honest from the start, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

Eren gave her one last glance before turning on his heel and walking away. Mikasa called after him, “Eren, what are you going to do?”

Eren didn’t turn around as he replied, his voice low and steady. “I need to talk to Aurora.”

Mikasa’s brow furrowed as she watched him leave, her concern evident. Hange, standing beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Give him space,” Hange said softly. “He’ll figure it out.”

As Eren strode toward his quarters, his mind was racing. The hurt and betrayal he felt from Aurora’s secrecy twisted in his chest like a knife. But more than that, he was determined to get to the bottom of everything and understand why she had kept this from him. He didn’t just need answers—he needed to hear it from her.

…

Aurora paced back and forth in her and Eren’s quarters, the room feeling smaller with every step she took. Her hands wrung together anxiously, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress as if the motion could somehow ease the turmoil in her heart. Every few steps, her hand instinctively went to her baby bump, now rounding enough to be visible beneath the folds of her clothing.

Her breaths came uneven, her chest tight as the memory of Eren’s voice played on a loop in her mind. He had never spoken to her like that before—never with such a cold edge, never with disappointment laced so thickly in his tone. It cut deeper than she thought possible, leaving her feeling hollow and aching in ways she couldn’t describe.

Aurora bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling, but her thoughts refused to quiet. How could I have been so foolish? she asked herself, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She had wanted so badly to help Historia, her friend—the first true female friend she’d ever had. The bond she shared with Historia had been a lifeline, a connection she had never experienced before. As someone who had been a slave for most of her life, Aurora had longed to be someone Historia could trust, someone she could count on.

But now, standing in the dim light of the room she shared with Eren, Aurora realized how wrong she had been. She could see it clearly now: the secret she had kept was dangerous, reckless even. It wasn’t just her own safety or Historia’s at stake. It was everyone’s—Eren’s, the scouts’, the Jaegerists’, and the entire island of Paradis.

Her pacing slowed as the weight of that truth settled heavily on her shoulders. What if Porco had been lying to Historia? What if he had harmed her? What if he had used the secret meetings as a cover to gather intelligence and mount an attack? And worst of all, what if I could have prevented it all?

Aurora stopped in her tracks, placing both hands on her baby bump as her knees felt weak. Her child. Our child. She thought of what might have happened if Porco’s presence had led to something catastrophic. She had put everyone at risk—not just Historia, but her baby, Eren, and all the people she cared about.

Her stomach twisted painfully, and her breath hitched as guilt consumed her. Eren and Levi had been right. It wasn’t about keeping a friend’s secret or showing loyalty to Historia—it was about responsibility. If anything had happened… if anyone had been hurt… she wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself.

Aurora lowered herself carefully onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as they rested on her lap. The room was eerily quiet now, save for the faint rustling of the curtains in the breeze. Her head dipped low, and she stared down at her hands, the image of Eren’s hurt expression flashing in her mind again.

Her voice broke softly in the empty room. “I’m sorry…” she whispered to no one, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her hands moved to her belly, cradling it as if seeking comfort. “I just wanted to be a good friend.”

But now she understood the cost of her choices. Keeping this secret had fractured the trust between her and Eren—the one person who had always been by her side, who had never kept anything from her. And now, she wasn’t even sure if she could fix it.

Aurora blinked back more tears, her resolve hardening slightly. I’ll make this right. I have to. But even as she thought it, doubt lingered. Would Eren forgive her? Could she ever forgive herself?

The faint hum of activity from outside the room only served to emphasize the deafening silence within. Aurora stayed seated, her hands protectively over her baby bump, waiting and dreading what was to come.

But then, Aurora suddenly froze where she stood, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto a figure…

 The ghostly little girl was back—but this time, she wasn’t standing far away at the edge of the tree line, in her dreams or some shadowy corner of the rome. She was here, directly in front of her.

Aurora’s heart hammered against her chest as the little girl stood just three feet away, her form eerily solid and tangible. The tattered dress hung loosely on her pale frame, her vacant white eyes like hollow voids that bore straight into Aurora’s soul. The small wooden bucket in her tiny hand dripped an unseen liquid onto the floorboards, but Aurora’s attention was fixed on the girl’s unsettlingly blank expression. And just like before, the girl’s unblinking gaze was glued to Aurora’s belly.

Aurora’s lips parted as if to scream, but no sound came out at first. Her knees felt weak, her entire body trembling. Her hands instinctively flew to her baby bump as if to shield her unborn child from whatever malevolent force this was.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her gaze flickering for a brief moment to Aurora’s face before returning to her belly. That subtle movement was enough to shatter Aurora’s paralysis, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Aurora bolted toward the door, sheer panic driving her movements, but as her trembling hands reached for the doorknob, it swung open violently from the other side.

Eren burst into the room, his emerald eyes wide with alarm. He had been walking briskly back to their quarters, his mind a whirlwind of emotions after the confrontation with Historia and Porco, when Aurora’s scream tore through the air like a knife. His body had moved on instinct, the sound of her fear slicing through his anger and disappointment.

“Aurora!” Eren called out, his voice urgent as he scanned the room. But all he saw was Aurora, standing just a few feet from the door, trembling and pale, her face streaked with tears. There was no one else. No intruder—just his terrified wife.

“Eren!” Aurora gasped, her voice breaking as she rushed to him, clutching his shirt desperately. Her hands shook as she pointed to the spot where the girl had been. “She was here! The ghost—she was here! I saw her! She was so close!”

Eren grabbed her by the shoulders, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her panicked words. “Aurora, calm down,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “What ghost? There’s no one here.”

Aurora shook her head frantically, her grip on his shirt tightening. “No, you don’t understand! She was right there!” she cried, pointing to the empty space in front of the bed. “The same little girl I saw three months ago! The one I saw outside earlier today—Captain was there! He saw how freaked out I was!”

Eren’s jaw tightened. He remembered Aurora mentioning this “ghost” months ago, right after her terrifying dream. At the time, he had chalked it up to stress or the lingering effects of everything they had been through. But now, seeing her this distraught again, the unease crept back into his mind.

“Aurora…” Eren’s voice softened, his hands moving to cradle her face as she sobbed against his chest. “There’s no one here. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

“I’m not making this up!” Aurora pleaded, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “She’s real, Eren! I’ve seen her twice today! She keeps staring at me—at my stomach! Please, you have to believe me!”

Eren frowned, his mind racing. He didn’t see anything in the room now, but he couldn’t deny how genuinely terrified Aurora was. He guided her to the bed and gently sat her down, his hands still on her shoulders as he knelt in front of her.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning. What did you see?”

Aurora’s breaths were shaky as she tried to calm herself. She wiped at her tears but kept glancing nervously toward the spot where the girl had been. “It started three months ago,” she began, her voice trembling. “I told you before—I saw her after that nightmare. She was in the corner of our room. I thought it was just my imagination, but now…” Her hand moved protectively over her belly again. “I saw her earlier today, outside near the tree line. She was staring at me, just like now. And this time… she was so close, Eren. She looked real.”

Eren studied her face carefully. “You said Captain was with you earlier when you saw her?” he asked, his tone serious. “What did he say?”

Aurora nodded quickly. “He didn’t see her, but he saw how scared I was. I told him about the girl, and he thought I was hallucinating.” Her voice cracked. “But I’m not crazy, Eren. I know what I saw.”

Eren’s green eyes darkened as he considered her words. “And this girl,” he said slowly. “She keeps looking at your stomach?”

Aurora nodded again, a chill running down her spine. “Always. She doesn’t say anything—she just stares.”

Eren’s gaze flickered to her belly, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t know what to make of this. His first instinct was to protect Aurora and their baby, no matter what, but this was beyond anything he could fight or destroy.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice calm but resolute. “I believe you. I don’t know what this is, but I’ll figure it out. I won’t let anything happen to you or the baby. I swear.”

Aurora let out a shaky breath, her tears flowing freely again as she leaned into Eren’s embrace. For now, his arms around her were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Eren held Aurora close, his arms wrapped protectively around her trembling form as her sobs slowly began to subside. His heart was a storm of emotions—anger, hurt, disappointment—but above all, there was love. His love for Aurora always outweighed everything else, even his fury at her betrayal of his trust. Right now, she was in distress, and no matter what had happened, she was his wife. She was the mother of his child. She was his heart.

After a few moments of silence, Aurora pulled back slightly, her hands clutching his shirt as she looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. Her voice was trembling, heavy with guilt and regret. “Eren… I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her words catching in her throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. I just… I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to be a good friend to Historia, but I see now that I was wrong.”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, and she shook her head as if trying to shake away her own shame. “I thought I was helping her, protecting her secret… but I didn’t think about what keeping that secret meant. About how dangerous it was—for her, for you, for everyone.” Her voice cracked, and she gripped his shirt tighter. “Please, Eren… don’t hate me.”

Her last words pierced through Eren like a dagger. His chest tightened as he stared down at her, her tear-filled eyes pleading with him. He knew Aurora’s past. He knew the years she spent as a slave had skewed her understanding of trust and loyalty, that she had learned to put others before herself no matter the cost. In her mind, she thought she was doing the right thing by keeping Historia’s secret—even if it meant lying to him.

“Aurora…” Eren’s voice was quiet, but firm, as he gently cupped her face in his hands. “I could never hate you. Never.” He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away her tears as she let out a shaky breath. “But I am disappointed.”

Aurora flinched at his words, her lip trembling, but Eren quickly continued. “I’m not disappointed because you wanted to help Historia. I’m disappointed because you didn’t come to me. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, even when you knew how serious it was. We’re supposed to be a team, Aurora. You and me. Always.”

Aurora’s tears started again, and she buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I know… I know I messed up. I should have told you. I just thought… I thought it wasn’t my secret to tell, and I didn’t want to betray Historia’s trust.”

Eren sighed, his hands moving to stroke her hair as he tried to calm her. “I get it. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. You thought you were doing the right thing, but this isn’t just about being a good friend, Aurora. This was about the safety of everyone on this island—of you, of our baby.” His voice softened as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t care how bad you think something is. You can tell me. We’ll deal with it together. That’s what being a team means.”

Aurora nodded against him, her tears slowing as she clung to him like a lifeline. “I’ll never keep anything from you again, Eren. I promise.”

Eren tilted her chin up, meeting her watery gaze. His expression softened as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I believe you,” he said quietly. “But I need you to remember that we’re in this together. You don’t have to carry anything alone anymore, okay?”

Aurora nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Eren kissed her softly, a lingering press of his lips that was filled with forgiveness and reassurance. When they pulled back, he placed a hand gently over her growing belly. “We’re going to get through this,” he said. “All three of us.”

Aurora’s lips trembled into a small, relieved smile as she placed her hand over his. Despite the guilt still lingering in her chest, she knew she had to be better—not just for Eren, but for herself and their unborn child.

~

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[manias-wordcount]

hiya! just got my wisdom teeth pulled a few days ago. so I’m in need of an Ashitaka x reader rn.

👉👈 can I maybe get an Ashitaka x F!Reader who’s his wife maybe? Shes maybe a month pregnant and goes on the journey with him. and their relationship is absolutely adorable and cute. occasional bickering. she’s also a demon a kitsune. but his tribe didn’t know cause she kept it hidden so only he knew and still decided to marry her.

the fic ends with them reuniting as he returns to iron town. her running into his arms with bandages covering her legs and arms after being injured in the battle..

Home (Ashitaka x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀, 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝟭𝗞 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗟𝗢𝗟. 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁! 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝗳𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲. 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝘆𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

He doesn’t what to think when he comes back and sees Iron Town completely destroyed.

  It was what he was expecting. He had seen so much devastation come about from this battle. From greed. But he’s only human. He’s only a man- only one person. And so, his heart races fast and beats hard out of his chest as he rides Yakul down the mountainside to the site of where Iron Town once stood. Even after he had returned its head and made peace with the forest and his curse, he knew fear. Even after the spirit had washed over him and the rest of the valley, he knows anxiety. And so, he rides swiftly. And he searches. And he begs in his mind and prays to all of the gods and spirits he knows- including the one who just had to die to let the forest have a chance to live again for a chance to see you again.

  And he does.

  Although to be fair, you see him before he sees you. And he hears you before he sees you. But at the sound of your voice- at the sound of your shout of his name- everything slows down. Because he turns his head. Because finally, he sees you. The second he does, he knows he’s home. Because his home is where you are, after all. 

  And it starts as a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding in. A feeling of long-awaited homecoming. Of freedom, even. Despite having seen you mere hours ago. But he can’t help it. You were put in harm’s way. You were stuck in Iron Town- fighting a battle you had no business fighting in. A battle that someone else caused. A battle that he dragged you into. 

  And now, you’re in the middle of the lake with the rest of the people from Iron Town- having escaped the black death that had flowed from the mountainside. But the numbers. The numbers have thinned. He swears, there used to be more people in Iron Town than this. But then he spots you picking up the bottom of your dark blue kimono, soaked by the water, as you begin to run towards him. Behind you are Toki and Kohroku, and a few other familiar faces. They look grim but alive. But it’s not them he focuses on. It can’t be them he focuses on. Not while the sound of your legs splashing in the water as you make your way towards him. Not while he’s dismounting from Yakul, ready to meet you halfway. Not while you’re so, so close that he can see every fresh bruise and cut and bandage wrapped around your body. 

  Not while he’s just so close to you.

  And the second you make contact with each other, it’s just about a couple feet into the lake. The water is at his knees, but he doesn’t care about getting wet. Because now, your arms are around his shoulder, and your head is tucked into his shoulder. His hands are able to squeeze themselves around your waist. And your bodies are able to melt into each other’s. Your bodies are able to hold each other. Something he truly thought he wasn’t going to be able to do anymore. Something he almost lost. Something he could have lost.

  “Ashitaka” You murmur his name. It’s a sound so sweet and so perfect that he can’t help but hold onto it at this moment. So he holds you tighter. So he holds you longer. Presses his lips against every single inch of your skin that he can find and promises to himself that he’ll never part from you again if he can help it. And so help him, he will. Even if it kills him, he will. “I was so scared, Ashitaka. We lost so many.”

  The way you whimper. The way you whisper out your fears and your sadness to him nearly kills him. But you’re alive. The forest is alive. And not all of Iron Town has fallen. That’s what matters. Towns can be rebuilt. The forge can be lit anew. Bones can break. Wounds can heal. Scars can fade. But he just couldn’t lose you. Both of you.

  “Shh, I know, I know…” He hushes you gently, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. There are tears dotting your cheeks. Threatening to spill over as your lip quivers and your body shakes. But he keeps an arm wrapped around you. Pressing your body into his as the water of the lake continues to lap at the two of you. But then he leans in close, pressing his forehead against yours while his hand travels down, down, and down. His voice gets serious and soft and relieved as you continue to stare deep into your eyes, his hand finally coming to rest on your stomach. “I’m just…so glad I didn’t lose you and the little one. I don’t know what I’d do…”

  At that he trails off, watching as your expression morphs into slight surprise and realization at his words. Your eyes draw downwards as you put your over his and take a deep breath. Before nodding slowly. Still there, your wordless action tells him. The child that the two of you share- the one that’s growing slowly within your body- it’s still there. Even after all the stress. Even after all the fighting. He didn’t lose the two people he loves more than anything in the world.

  “I had almost forgotten…” You say quietly. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have. You’re starting to show. It’s subtle. You haven’t grown that big yet. But he knows. And that’s why he never stopped thinking about you. About you and his unborn child. Because he almost lost you both. Because he almost lost you both. “...there was just…just so much-”

  “Hey-” He calls out gently, cutting you off the second he notices your voice start to quiver more than he’s comfortable with. His hands squeeze at your body, and you respond by holding a little tighter as your eyes flicker up to his momentarily. “Let’s not worry about that right now, okay?”

  You nod your head shakily. You don’t look convinced. Instead, you just breathe in and out slowly. Deep, deep breaths full of looming emotions that have yet to pass. So he tries again. This time, by holding you impossibly tighter than before. Like he’ll lose you if he lets go for even a second. Like he’ll wake up and find out that he’s still in the battle. Still in the war. Far, far away from each other. From safety. From home. 

  “Hey, don’t worry about that anymore, okay?”

  But he’s not. And you’re not either. So he just has to remind you that. He has to remind you of what home feels like. Of what home is. Of who home is. And how it’ll always be…

  “We’re home now, my love.”

  …wherever you find each other.

[kyotosummer]

WHY I CAN’T STAND STOLAS & CURRENT HB WRITING: HELLUVA ANALYSIS

I need you to first understand that if you are sexually attracted to Stolas - this isn’t about you. You have what you want. Let me fucking vent. Okay? Okay.

Here’s the thing, I have a bio dad that reminds me too much of Stolas: a bunch of siblings, family expectations, etc. The difference is that he got to marry his Blitz0, but lost all ambition to make an effort once he settled into his expected life, and lost her due to his lack of ambition. When he finally reunited with me, his daughter, after nearly a decade of vanishing, “oh, he’s just going through a rough time. He’ll come around,” “He loves you, he’s just falling on hard times right now,” etc., he ONLY had eyes for his Blitz0, every interaction with his daughter either felt like an obligation, a way to mentally check out, or a show off of “See, Ex-wife and Sister, I can interact with my kid!” It was never about the daughter he was actually with. When none of that worked, he turn into a sad, wet sac. So I was stuck with one parent who let things out in anger because she had ambitions and worked her ass off just to be lower-middle class on only her own power, and one who made everyone feel sorry for him because life didn’t turn out how how he expected. Because who cares about the kids, am I right? If they’re teenagers, they’re fully developed and the parents don’t need to bother with TEACHING them anything. They either need to be able to add to the family income or find things out on their own.

When Helluva Boss began, I thought this was going to be a show about broken people fixing themselves. As we began to learn about Blitz0’s past, I felt like Stolas’s journey was going to be about learning to connect with his kid, and maybe Blitz0 will help him and they can get closer together through that. With Blitz0, his journey seemed to be about learning to understand that he is a loving person and has done a lot of things to improve lives. Ghostfuckers really got me excited because I thought we were finally going in this direction.

To me, Stolas has not yet earned the right to live with Blitz0. Stolas hasn’t earned the right to feel sorry for himself yet. To me, Stolas will not earn that right until he sits the fuck down with Octavia and talks about their relationship on-screen with a vow to do ____ to spend more time with her and give her JUST EVEN A FEW HOURS OF UNDIVIDED, NON STELLA OR BLITZ0 RELATED ATTENTION FOR EVEN A FEW HOURS A WEEK, just SOME FUCKING EFFORT to fix the relationship. TEACH HER HOW TO USE THE FUCKING GRIMOIR, YOU ASS!

I don’t give a fuck about Stella. I would have APPRECIATED it if the show gave Stella a slightly more complex personality, considering that she was betrothed to a boy who didn’t want her for her entire life - meaning that through her teen years, where her hormones are all over the place and she’d have spent a lot of time trying to make herself pretty enough to satisfy her vanity, Stolas still wouldn’t have given her the time of day. But sure, let’s just make her an evil, manipulative bitch for the sake of simplifying the story. She’s hardly in the show, and giving that much complexity to side characters can make a production difficult to wrap up, so I really don’t care.

But this - I can’t stand this. To me, the episode that was “Mastermind” should not have existed. Blitz0 should not have been there at all. The Grimoire situation has long been handled, and he was now doing things legally. The show itself already established this - so WHY are we suddenly turning this into a punishment for Blitz0? Stolas could have easily faced the same punishment for just cheating on Stella with an Imp, or he could have gotten punished for giving up the book, even temporarily, but that punishment should NOT have been a trade for Blitz0’s life. This should have been about Stolas’s divorce, not whatever fucking circus performance THAT was.

I don’t like characters that evolve to become sad. I can’t stand it. If that does happen, then they should learn how to gather their strength and fight the sadness. Because it’s a FUCKING TV SHOW, NOT REAL FUCKING LIFE. USE FUCKING METAPHORS. I also don’t want this sadness to bleed into Blitz0, either. He’s actually made progress, don’t change the writing to have him go backwards in development.

We, the audience, have been shown so much about Blitz0’s life that none of the other characters have seen or understand, and I hate that too. If they don’t know, if they’re not about to find out too, then I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about sad things and then watch a bunch of misunderstandings happen (FOR FUCKING MONTHS, BECAUSE EACH EP IS ONCE A FUCKING MONTH) because these characters just don’t know. I don’t like that it’s taking so long to resolve, because I can tell Blitz0 whump is coming, and the longer that drags out, the more I think it’s going to be so gratuitous that it won’t even be fun to watch. And shit, watch M&M have to be the ones to deal with it anyway.

And if we don’t get Blitz0 whump - if I had to sit through all of those sad images and start rooting for him, only to have him not have all of this get revealed to everyone in a cool fight scene gone wrong, instead it’s constantly just variations of people getting frustrated with him and it comes out in the quiet aftermath of the frustration , I’m going to lose my shit.

So yeah, TL;DR - I don’t like Stolas because his need to be the sad bird is actively hurting both Octavia and Blitz0’s development in my eyes.

[corpsebasil]

Moon Summoner 18+

The sister of the Sun Summoner and the prince of Ravka have history, and his engagement is something neither of them want.

@themermaidscales82

It had been days since your sister’s engagement to the prince of Ravka, your joy at being reunited with your younger sibling overshadowed by a sudden irritation that grated on you at every turn.

He had been your friend, once. But things had changed since he’d come back with Alina, and whatever good graces had used to simmer between you were now replaced by a constant war of bitching at one another, angry looks across rooms, and a tense silence that occurred when Alina left you two alone for more than a second.

He didn’t understand where things had gone wrong. He’d come back with the Summoner and proposed in what was clearly a political alliance, and you had a boyfriend. A godsdammned boyfriend. His blood had boiled when he’d seen the handsome Grisha man wrap his arms around you, your giggle so girlish and amused you had to be acting.

And when he’d moved towards you, smiling in greeting, nothing but an icy expression of hate had clouded your features. It had wrenched something inside him, making it difficult to breathe. So, he’d finally confronted you, cornering you after what he’d overheard some female Grisha gossiping was the cutest picnic they’d ever witnessed on the Palace lawns.

“Oh no.” You started, pleasant expression souring as you watched the prince approach. “Don’t start. I was having a good day for once.”

“Why are you with him?” Nikolai demanded, and you let out a surprised bark of laughter; of all the things he could’ve opened the conversation with, you never would’ve guessed that.

“Why do you care?” You rolled your gorgeous eyes, walking past, your unbound dark hair tumbling down your back. Nikolai had always thought your hair was more raven’s blue than black, and was proved right when the Sun hit it through the palace windows. Gods he was obsessed with your hair and the scent of lavender that clung to it. Alina was beautiful, but to him, you were stunning. “Don’t you have my sister to warm your bed, Nikky?”

“She isn’t—she isn’t warming my bed, Saints above.”

“But she will. Once you’re married, she will, and I’ll get to watch with absolute joy as you pop out cute little babies.” You stopped, tapping a nail against your pursed lips. “I wonder what a Starkov and Lantsov baby would look like.” Then you smirked. “Hopefully they look more like Alina and I than you.”

Nikolai didn’t argue, not when your heart-stopping features were for once not glaring up at him. But the idea of Alina—he barely repressed a shudder.

“Nice picnic?” He asked, switching gears, and your smile dropped again.

“Saints save me.”

“He looks like a prick. You should date someone more worthy of your attention than a lowly Grisha nobody.”

“What like you?” You snapped, defensiveness rising. He had left. Left. And he hadn’t even asked you to go with him when he decided to galavant around the world. So he didn’t have a single iota of a say in who you dated, or who shared your bed. “In your damn dreams, prince.”

“You can’t be serious. He’s boring, he’s—”

“I love him. So why don’t you stop fucking with me and leave me. Alone.”

“You’re not in love.” Nikolai scoffed, grabbing your arm as you turned to go. “Trust me, sweetheart. I know what you look like when you actually want someone. So you can stop lying to me.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.” You moved closer to him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Not a thing.”

“I know this,” Nikolai said, eyes dark and unamused. “I know that pissing me off is fun for you. I know that I annoy you so much it makes you want to have sex with me.”

“Stop it.” You smacked at his chest, and he caught your wrist, yanking you an inch closer. Close enough to kiss. “Nikolai. Stop.”

"Admit it." He urged, raising an arrogant brow. "Admit you want me and I'll let go."

Your blood rushed in your veins but you spoke anyway, unable to let him win this stupid, stupid fight.

"If you don't let go of me," you hissed, glaring. "I will kill you."

“And what would your Sun-loving sister have to say about you murdering her future husband?”

“I’d tell her you were sexually harassing me in the hallway and that you deserved it.”

The ire faded from his eyes and he let you go, casting a glance to the heavens as if he was sending up a quick prayer. Then he looked back at you, face softening, and dipped his head once before walking off.

“That’s it?” You called after him, and he turned, still walking backwards as he slammed a nail into the coffin of your own making.

“Clearly I misjudged your feelings towards me. I won’t make that mistake again.”

And when he left, truly left, you felt something fragile in your chest begin to crack.

-

Your boyfriend had known something was off the moment he saw you in your rooms preparing for the party that night, your anger a silent cloud of smoke billowing around your head. Alina had been trying to convince you to use your power for days, the Moon’s twin to her own sunshine, but you had sworn off Grisha training long ago, preferring the calmness of a normal life as compared to a Saint’s.

You hadn’t been pushed, either, when a week after you’d arrived at the palace you’d blinded the man who attempted to force you into training. No one made that mistake again. Alina had come by to see you after your fight with Nikolai, demanding why he was in such a bad mood and begging you to play nice in front of the guests that night. And when she’d brought up your power, beginning the same spiel about how the two of you were stronger together, you’d practically bitten your little sister’s head off.

You regretted the harsh things you said the moment you saw her lip tremble, excusing herself from your chambers. So now you were pissed at Nikolai, still confused by his behavior and…have sex with him. That’s what he’d accused you of wanting. And damn you if your face didn’t flush at the prospect, knowing from the time before he’d left what a skilled kisser the prince happened to be.

“Y/N?” The Grisha that entered your room called out, his expression confused. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t—” your clamped your teeth down on the words. Nikolai had jarred you, that was all. But still, the words left your mouth, and you hated yourself, hated yourself for how many people you’d hurt today with your brashness. “I don’t think this is working. I don’t know if I can be in a relationship right now. Not with—with you.”

The boy was quiet for a long moment, then nodded, something like understanding washing over his face as his cheeks reddened.

“I get it.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “He’s a prince, so.”

“What?” You snapped, turning in your chair, but to the Grisha’s credit he didn’t flinch, not as he held a small box out to you. “He asked me to give you this. He apologized to me in the hall for…for being passive aggressive. Said it wasn’t about me and,” he let out a soft laugh. “I’m a guy, Y/N. I can tell when someone’s wound up over someone.”

Your words failed you as he handed you the box. The power move you’d just played into made you feel a bit sick. Nikolai apologized, gave your boyfriend a present to give you, and then you dumped him? You could almost see Nikolai’s amused grin in your mind, and the way he’d laugh when he realized he’d won the fight without hardly trying. You’d unintentionally proved him right.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, but the boy just smiled sadly and left, shutting your door quietly behind him. You swallowed and looked down at the box, taking a bracing breath before opening the lid.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting—a scorpion, a bomb, what—but it definitely wasn’t the necklace that laid on a bed of velvet, the emerald hanging from the end so stunning it almost stole your breath. And under, written in his princely handwriting, was a note.

My Y/N,

I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say besides that.

- N.

-

The party was in full swing by the time you made it inside, immediately grabbing the nearest flute of champagne and knocking it back. The necklace, stunningly beautiful against your chest, was slightly cold against your heated skin.

You scanned the crowd then yelped when Alina grabbed your hand, pulling you into a quick hug.

“I’m sorry,” she said, doe eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have pushed you about Summoning. I know you don’t like it and—”

“No.” You squeezed her tightly, that face and build that was similar to your own, and pulled back to smile. “I’m sorry. I should never have treated you like that.”

She smiled gratefully, looking stunning in her own gown, but paused, looking at you with a note of confusion.

“Where’s um—gods what was his name?”

“We’re done.” Was all you said, your smile falling a bit.

Alina opened her mouth to say more, but a courtier asked her to dance, and she shot you one last meaningful look before accepting. The two of you would talk later. Later would be when you could vent to her. But for now, you felt a presence at your side, not touching you, and it was as if your very soul recognized him before you looked up.

“I see you got the gift.” He said simply, eyeing the jewel that hung from your neck. “It looks beautiful on you.”

“Nik,” you sighed, turning to face him. “can we please not fight anymore? I’m exhausted of this.”

“A cease-fire, darling?” He raised his brows, but a glimmer of hope was building in his eyes. He looked ridiculously handsome in his suit, blue eyes soft as they watched you. “Not your style, but I’ll accept your surrender.”

You smirked and tugged your white handkerchief out of your pocket, waving it once in a comical manner as a boyish laugh left him. He snatched it up, tucking it in his own pocket as you protested, a smile pulling at your mouth.

“Theres the smile I love.” He teased, and your face fell a bit. He quickly added, “I’m keeping your flag of surrender. Lest I need to remind you of it, later.”

“Insufferable. All you men are insufferable.”

“Too insufferable to dance with?”

“Saints. Fine. Lead the way, Prince Charming.”

Nikolai’s low chuckle jabbed at an emotion inside you that you hadn’t entertained in years, the feeling growing more and more as he took your hand gently in his and moved the two of you onto the dance floor. You danced in peaceful calm for several minutes, then allowed the prince to lead you into the next song, and the next.

He was definitely breaking all sorts of court etiquette rules, especially when the woman he was holding hostage was his fiancée’s sister, but Nikolai didn’t give a shit. You finally weren’t trying to flay him alive and…gods. He’d missed you. Hadn’t wanted to put you in danger years ago when he fled. Hadn’t wanted to take you away from your Grisha, not if your mind changed about practicing and you might very well be what Ravka needed to tear down the fold.

But you were as stubborn as ever, to his delight, and hadn’t let anyone push you around. Not where your own life was concerned.

“He and I, we…” you trailed off after a moment, feeling Nikolai’s grip on you tighten a fraction before you spoke. “I left him. You were right, for once in your life.” Your teasing note fell flat, especially when you looked up at him and found his expression to be torn between what seemed like regret and relief.

“Was I right about more than that?” He asked, his tone also not hitting the part for the joke he was making, and you let out a half-hearted laugh.

“Sure, Nik. All I want is to sneak out of here and tear all your clothes off.” You grinned, but then felt your face warming as the truth of your words was a bit too obvious. But Nikolai either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because his hand reached up to casually brush a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“I wanted you to come with me.” He said, brow furrowing, and your smile dropped from your face. “Alina isn’t—she isn’t—” his expression changed into one agonized enough for your own heart to ache, especially as his next words cleaved you in half. “I want to marry a Starkov. But not her.”

You stepped back, eyes shuttering as you stared at the prince, at your old friend, at the man who riled you up and made you laugh and pissed you off and—

You couldn’t stay.

You turned and left, not even stopping to say goodbye to Alina before you’d ducked out of the hallway, something in your chest tearing in two at his words. Marry him. Marry him. Alina was going to marry Nikolai, and you couldn’t— A choked sound left your mouth as you ducked into the closest room, slamming the door to an oversized broom closet behind you.

And when the first broken sob pushed past your lips, you sank onto the ground, one hand clutched around the necklace at your throat. It was all a waste of time. The years missing him, the days of sparring with him—wasted time. Not when you could’ve been enjoying his company, rekindling your friendship.

But it might’ve been just that much harder to watch your sister walk down the aisle if you allowed yourself to feel for him again. Especially if the way you felt now, like your world was collapsing, was a preview of that event. So you stayed in the closet, crying until you managed to catch your breath, and then headed to your rooms to bed.

-

Nikolai was sitting on your couch when you entered and you froze, hand stilling on the doorknob as you looked at him. He glanced up, eyes rimmed with red, and smiled weakly at the sight of you.

“My favorite Starkov.” He said by way of greeting, taking in your tear-stained face with an expression of pain. “What is it?”

You couldn’t hold back your words, not when the champagne was going to your head and you’d just wept over him for longer than you’d liked.

“Don’t marry her.” You pleaded, shutting the door and leaning against it. “Please, Nikolai. If you marry her I’ll be stuck with you forever on the sidelines and I can’t handle—” you gasped as a shot of pain ran through you so hard you almost broke, and he stood, stepping over to you in a few easy strides.

“Y/N,” he whispered, clasping your face in his hands. “Please don’t cry. I can’t take it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Your face crumpled as you looked at him, looked at your friend you cared so much for, and his own expression was just as ruined. “I can’t help but—” You wanted to say it. Love you. But if you told him that truth you’d never be able to go back. Would rather die than admit that and watch him marry Alina. “Nikolai, I can’t—”

“I love you.” He said, almost as if he couldn’t get the words out fast enough, and your heart seized in your chest when he lowered his head and kissed you. Your eyes shut before you could stop yourself, and then you were pushing him away, eyes widening with horror.

“Don’t.” You whispered, pain cleaving you in half. “Please don’t.”

“I do. I love you.”

“Nikolai—”

“From the moment we met. The moment you blinded that asshole of an instructor. The moment you kissed me in that tavern. I haven’t forgotten. Not your spirit or your beauty or—”

“Nikolai.” Your voice was a plead, even as you gripped his coat, holding him close to you. “Nikolai she’s my sister. I cant.”

“She doesn’t love me. Not like you do.”

“I don’t—”

“Please don’t ruin this.” He sighed, planting another dizzying kiss against your mouth. “Please. I cannot imagine my life without you. That is not a life I want to live. I’ll go to my grave before loving anyone else, because you are the only person I could imagine myself loving forever.”

“Nik, I don’t..” your throat tightened as you looked at him, at those handsome features you’d well past memorized. “Ravka is more important. Ravka is more important than how I feel.”

“I don’t care about Ravka. Not more than you.” He practically hissed, blue eyes boring down into yours. “I want you. I’ll give up my crown. Give up everything, just—just love me. Because if I go one more day without you I’m going to lose my mind.” He sighed and pressed his brow against yours, feeling your hands trail up to grasp his neck. “You are my star and my Sun. You are the breeze that touched me when we were apart. You are—”

You cut him off with a crushing kiss, almost knocking him over as you pushed him backwards onto the couch. He gripped your hips and groaned against you when you yanked at his trousers, wanting more contact, more, especially when his hands ran up your bare legs and practically ripped off your underwear.

“Just one night.” You swore, voice hoarse as you looked at him.

“It’s not enough.” He argued, but let out a gravelly moan when you managed to free him from his clothing and sank down on top of him. “Holy—”

But there was absolutely nothing holy about it. Not when you two grasped each other desperately, every inch of you burning as he thrust up inside you, your moans echoing against the walls as you felt him. Saints he was—and the feel of him was—

“Nikolai.” You gasped, burying your face in his neck, especially as he rolled you both over and fucked you against the couch, every gasp and moan pulled from your mouth music to his ears.

“God, I love you.” He whispered against your skin, pushing at your dress to take it off, his hips still rolling against your own. You moaned as he bit down on the skin of your shoulder, then licked the offended area. “Y/N.”

Dear gods.

You could barely breathe as he pushed into you, especially when you came, his fingers rubbing at your clit as he fucked you. But then you were moving, his strong arms carrying you to your bed, and he kissed you over and over as he thrust into you lazily, grinning against your neck when he brought you to orgasm again.

Afterwards, when his mouth was pressing soft kisses against your neck and bare shoulder, you turned to face him. Brown eyes met blue as you took him in, took in the planes of his face and the loving expression in his eyes.

“Do you really love me?” You questioned, combing your fingers through his hair. You were still a bit stunned by his confession, even if it mirrored how you felt, too.

“With every fiber of my being.” He sighed, closing his eyes at your touch. “I will break off the engagement.” Before you could protest he gave you a deadly serious look, eyes never leaving your own. “I refuse to put a ring on anyone else’s hand. I will crawl on my knees for you. I will beg you until we’re old if that’s what you want. But I will marry you, Y/N.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he brushed away your tears with his hand, leaning forward to kiss your brow.

“So much energy wasted fighting when I could’ve been fucking your lights out every night since I came back.”

You snorted and smacked his shoulder, earning an affectionate grin.

“Go to sleep, Prince Charming.” You murmured, setting against his chest as he looped his arms around you, beckoning you both into a peaceful sleep.

I have no words BYE

[bloooodyconsort]

How I gained Unlimited Power by Astarion Ancunin

Acquire as many perks and permanent buff like Auntie Ethel hair, the shadow summon etc etc

Pretend to be helpful so you can gather a lot of valuable allies such as Zevlor and foster a good relationship with your party members

Raise your relationship with Gale because THE Gale of Waterdeep is a valuable ally

Raise your relationship with Wyll because he is the son of a Duke, exiled or not he still got some clout that you can use

Shallow the cringe from doing selfless good deeds like a lame ass hero, because it is an effective strategy to romance Gale

Successfully Romance Gale

Endure Gale's dramatic hang up with Mystra

Pet Gale's flying cat

Commit genocide against goblin and gith, don't worry not even your goodiest two shoes friends will complain about it. You killed them. You killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them. And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They're like animals, and you slaughtered them like animals. YOU HATE THEM (because ew they are ugly)

Prevent Gale from going Kamikaze for Mystra in Moonrise Tower

Get to Baldur's Gate with your gang

Steal all valuable items that you can find, rob all merchant and kill anyone who get in your way because honest trading is for losers

Immediately confront Cazador, bully his flat board skinny rat ass, steal the ritual and power, then become vampire ascendant

Yay! No more crippling hunger and now you can get a tan without the fear of turning into crispy elven bacon!

Encourage Gale to take the crown for himself to become a God because no way you will let go this once in a life time opportunity

Solve your companions personal issues and quests because you don't want Karlach to blow up and it is imperative for Wyll's dad to be saved (he's a Duke) etc etc

Gather allies to bonk the brain

Defeat the remained dead three and steal Gortash and Orin clothes for the drip

Bonk the brain

Gale will retrieve the crown for himself so he and YOU will become Gods

Okay fine Karlach can go with Wyll to hell as a treat

Hone your ascendant power, congratulations now you can turn into a bat, even some people who have been critical of your ascension will admit that your bat form is super cute. It is a genius PR move because statistic proven that EVERYONE are weak to cute animal and you can spy to learn about gossip and secret

Reunite with your buddies 6 months later, get hammered, spy on them using your bat form, flaunt your expensive clothes because now you are a rich boi, judge your friend's attire

Make out with God! Gale, you gotta admit that he looks badass

Ascend AGAIN for the second time and now Gale will take you to Genshin Impact Heaven his domain

Congratulations you married the God of Ambition and now you are the Ascendant God of Vampires

Conclusion?