#Mount Doom is born

[eye-of-mordor]

In one of the most ancient religious texts known to man, the Rig Veda, the fire-priest god Agni is described as having many different forms that consist of fire. One such form is the volcano, and is known as Vāḍavāgni वाडवाग्नि, which literally translates to 'mare-fire.' Many hymns to him in the Rig laud his great destructive power, such as the following that demonstrates ancient knowledge of water existing beneath volcanoes:

O Agni, thou of Godlike nature, sparest the stones, while carving up the brushwood. Then are they tracks like deserts in the corn-lands. Let us not stir to wrath thy mighty arrow. O’er hills through vales devouring as thou goest, thou partest like an army fain for booty as when a barber shaves a beard, thou shavest earth when the wind blows on thy flame and fans it. Apparent are his lines as he approaches the course is single, but the cars are many, when, Agni, thou, making thine arms resplendent, advances o’er the land spread out beneath thee. Now let thy strength, thy burning flames fly upward, thine energies, O Agni, as thou toilest. Gape widely, bend thee, waxing in thy vigour: let all the Vasus sit this day beside thee. This is the waters’ reservoir, the great abode of gathered streams. — Rig Veda 10.142.3-7

[yourstormthlaylirahh]

Regardless of whether you conceptualize them as platonic, romantic, familial, etc, Sam and Frodo are soulmates. Sam loved Rosie and had a family with her and they're lovely, but his bond with Frodo superseded all others because their connection was that strong, this is shown most clearly in how in his old age Sam followed Frodo into the west. In this essay I will-

[eosofspades]

my incredibly controversial fantasy genre take when it comes to writing is that you Do Not Actually Need to use high fantasy language and make up words for stuff, and sometimes it can be better if you don't

like. maybe it's just me but i find it a lot harder to get immersed in a story when the worldbuilding is SO intricate and detailed you need a glossary or have to pour over a thousand years of history in the span of a couple pages. i would MUCH rather read a high fantasy novel where the magic kingdom is just called The Garden or the deserted string of floating islands is just called The Wastelands or magic is just called magic instead of unpronounceable words and terms that have to be memorized.

especially for me, when it comes to writing, my stories are SO grounded in character relationships and dynamics, that trying to dig into the specific lore and structure of the world around just breaks the immersion and takes away from the characters themselves.

i know some writers are gonna insist this is just "being lazy" but i firmly believe that sometimes it is the best writing decision to allow simplicity and ease of understanding in your high fantasy setting, and that it can actually make the character complexities and relationships hit harder, because you're not distracted at all with remembering fantasy terminology.

[smallestapplin]

the heats of a Dhampir

for those unaware, in castlevania SOTN Alucard has a monster form, much like his father, so pair that with vampire's having heats every 4 years and this was born.

Warning! : reader is enby afab, womb fucking, heats, Alucard being a little feral, established relationship, and shifting mid fuck.

minors do not interact!

-

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Alucard's heat is worst than he thought, his mind cloudy, filling with more animalistic thoughts, his body reacting before he has a chance to process the situation. It made him want to avoid you, and trust he has tried, yet his feet move against him, taking him right back to you or to your home.

Your voice and presence like that of a siren calling to him, luring him in to his doom, your scent keeps him intoxicated and under your spell, though you know not of any of his struggles.

He's your loving and doting boyfriend, though you know something is up with his odd behaviors and getting fussy over your bed, filling your room with various food related items and drinks, while forming your blankets and pillows into a circle.

You awake surrounded, and with the blonde brining you yet another odd shiny item, and cuddling against you with low purrs. You jokingly tell him he must've been replace with a crow for a brain, but he doesn't seem to find it as assuming as you do.

You don't question it, just like you don't question him crawling into your now nest like bed, to leave kisses along your exposed neck. You don't question his needy whine as he slides a cold hand up your loose sleep shirt, cupping your tit in a loving squeeze, as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, licking up the collum of your throat.

Silently pleading for your approval.

He can smell your want before even touching your pussy, smell how you're soaking through your panties.

"Adrian...!!" You squeak, but he's moving so fast! It's like a switch flipped in his mind, and all he can think about is ravaging your body, marking you, scenting you, mounting you.

Your panties are gone in a flash with his head buried between your thighs. Your face goes bright red at the sound of him inhaling your heady scent, a smell mixed of your sweat and arousal, it leaves his mind spinning. You toss your head back with a whimper, feeling his inhumanly long tongue rubbing between your folds, licking your clit and then back down to your weeping hole.

It takes everything in him to eat you out first, a sane part of him wanting you at least prepped for the fucking he knows his going to give you. Your pussy twitches watching him hump the bed, just knowing he's so turned on from your own need gets your body hot, your eyes struggling to not roll back just to see how needy he is.

His tongue pushing into you, the pointed tip just brushing relentlessly against your cervix, easily filling you. You grab a hold of his long blonde hair, gripping onto him like a life line as you buck your hips up, trying to grind against his face. His nose pressing perfectly against your clit, letting him easily overwhelm your senses.

"Adrian, Adrian! M'gonna- gonna cum-!!"

You let out a pitiful cry as he rips himself away from you, denying you your orgasm. His face dripping slick and drool, yet he doesn't care, he doesn't even seem to notice. He tears his pants away, tossing the now scraped fabric aside, freeing his aching cock.

You don't get to admire the beautiful sight of him for long before hes already pushing himself into you.

He's usually so much slower, much more loving towards you, but you're excited to see this new feral side of him. It's like you're truly being taken by a monster, just what you've dreamed of.

Alucard's body shakes, his eyes rolling back as he bottoms out, fully sheathed into your warm wet cunt. He doesn't give you a moment to breathe, his hips seemingly having a mind of their own as he ruts into you. Your legs are over his shoulders, with him leaning over you, his hands on either side of your head letting his sharp claw like nails tear into your pillow.

You cling to his biceps, crying out about how good he's making you feel.

"Oohh fuck! Fuck fuck fuuuck! So good, mm, haa! God, you're...you're fucking me so good. Please more, more ruin me!"

The room echoes with the sound of his hips wetly slapping into yours. He can't bare it, you're pleading sends him spiraling, his head feels like it's filled with cotton, he doesn't feel his body twisting and shifting, his form growing larger and larger.

Leathery wings sprouting from his back, curling around you to hide you from the world, his form drawfs you in size. Hands turning more into scaly claws, ripping your pilllow and sheets beneath you. Your eyes widen as the monstrous sight before you as the horns twist on top his head.

But your attention mostly drawn to the pressure in your stomach, feeling his cock growing bigger inside you, matching the new size of him.

You squirm, but with how he has you pinned you can't move.

"Adrain, wait, h-hold on...hnnn! Fuck, t-too big, I can't take it, i-it's too much!"

He grumbles lowly, harshly slamming his cock further into you, his glowing eyes flickering between the new bulge in your stomach and watching how your pussy struggles to accept his new size.

His roar is deafening as you cum, your walls clenching around him desperate to milk him. Your eyes cross, tears streaming down your face. He's fucking your womb, he's so deep!

His long tongue falls frm his open maw, drool dripping onto your chest as he licks it and the sweat off your skin, purring deeply at the taste of you.

His heavy balls smack against your ass, the sheer weight fuck them telling your fucked out mind just how backed up he is, desperate to fill you to the brim.

Cum as many times as you want, he won't be stopping until you take every last drop of his spent.

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Nine

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Driftmark happens, Aegon takes a stance and the divide only grows bigger.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

118 AC Pentos

"Aunt y/n!" Baela and Rhaena ran towards you, wide smiles on their faces. You grinned seeing the twin girls and their parents.

"It is so good to see you sweet girls. How much you've grown! You'll be taller than your father soon." You jested ruffling the locks of their silver hair.

Laena and Daemon approached you arm in arm, their benefactor some Pentoshi lord greeted you as well offering you sanctuary in his home. 

"Laena my sweet cousin." You whispered kissing the cheek of the curly haired woman. "Brother."

"Sister." Daemon replied pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you against his chest. 

Laughs and jokes were shared during the dinner held by the prince of the city. You smiled as you joined your family after such a long time apart.

...

You and Aegon mounted your dragons and flew to Driftmark. Tears escaped your eyes, the wind blew them away. Your bonded dragon screeched sensing your pain.

"Dracarys Vermithor!" You shouted letting your emotions get the best of you. Your steed expelled a breath of gold fire flying right through it. The heat of his flames brought you necessary comfort. 

"Cousin." You whispered hugging Rhaenys, her black veil covered her tear stained cheeks. She has lost her only daughter after years of being apart. Her grandchildren Rhaena and Baela obediently stood behind her, you kneeled next to the two girls. 

"I'm so sorry." You whispered hugging the two of them, your fingers tangled in their silver hair. Rhaena sniffled as she hugged your body.

Laena's casket has been placed on the edge of a cliff overlooking the salty sea. The Velaryon soldiers tied the knots to ensure it's safe passing. 

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come." Vaemond recited the funeral speech. You watched Laena's casket with tears in your eyes. Baela hugged your side, your arm protectively wrapped around the young girl.

"As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughter on the shore." Your brows furrowed as Vaemond stared at Daemon who seemingly did not care that his wife has just passed. "Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will remain bound together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood." His gaze turned to Rhaenyra and her sons. "Our runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin." Daemon chuckled.

He chuckled

Anger coursed through your veins. The people present stared with disdain at him.

"My gentle niece. May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, as your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return." Laenor's eyes were empty as he started as his sister's casket was lowered onto the depths of the sea. Dragons circled drift mark as a royal funeral was held. 

You sat next to Helaena as she played with a spider, her wavy silver locks blew freely in the wind.

"Hands turns loom, spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." She said those words as if in a trance, you smiled in sympathy. No one noticed her gift, the gift that saved house Targaryen from the doom. 

"You have a gift sweet girl." You whispered caressing her hair, her brother watched as you comforted their "lunatic" sister.

"Aemond." You said greeting your nephew. "You have grown." 

"Hello aunt." Aemond answered ever the proper boy.

"Are you excited for your engagement?" You asked curiously, remembering the news that Aemond and Helaena will marry once they turn sixteen.

"I would rather have a dragon." He responded gruffly "Everyone else has one but I don't."

"Rhaena also doesn't have a dragon... Did you know that Gaemon the glorious didn't have a dragon until the age of two and twenty? So by my count you still have some time." You tried to console your nephew.

"You claimed a dragon at eight! One of the greatest beasts!" He raised his voice.

"Some things take time, Aemond. Dragons are not like horses, you cannot just jump onto it's back and ride. The bond we share with dragons is deep and magical, it's as if our souls are connected." You explained, trying to lit the teenagers sour mood.

"Does that mean I will be dragon less?" Aemond asked voice breaking slightly.

"You are a Targaryen, Aemond. It is your birthright to bond with a dragon, and you will do that. There are no dragons to be claimed but there are eggs."

"I don't want an egg! I want a dragon! A full grown dragon!." He shouted and stomped away.

Everything was tense and awkward, the little boy you one played with was gone. Viserys was under the influence of his wife and her father, he was restored as hand after Lords Lyonel tragic passing that you knew was no accident. 

"Sister" Daemon whispered approaching you as you stared at the endless salty sea stretching before you.

"Brother" You answered not looking at him, the stunt he pulled before still itched you. "Have you no shame?" You asked not bearing to look at the man.

"I have protected our niece's honour." He answered simply.

"You are impossible, your wife has just died." You accused.

"She has died along time ago, the moment I have taken her from Westeros." He whispered "I should have listened to her, returned to Drimftmark before it was too late." He said bitterly. You sighed deeply.

"It is painful, isn't it?." You whispered placing your palm on his his back. 

"I could never be in more pain then she was." Daemon muttered, taking your palm in his large hand. 

"The God's are cruel, even ours." Bitter truth left your lips "You should tend to your daughters." You said leaving Daemon alone. 

...

Your chambers were prepared by the maids of house Velaryon. Dried tears stained your cheeks. 

"Aunt y/n?" A small voice whispered from the other side of your chambers. 

"Yes?" You answered the door, Baela and Rhaena stood together. "What is it?" 

"We... Could we stay with you?" Baela the braver of the twins asked, you nodded silently and let them into your chambers. The girls climbed into your bed as you laid between them.

"Could you tell us stories of our mother?" Rhaena asked leaning on your lap. 

"Since the beginning your mother was a fiery young girl. She had inherited the beauty of your grandmother without the dark hair and the bold, adventurous spirit from your grandfather. She was brave and kind. I saw as she became one with her giant beast as if it were nothing, a true dragon rider. " You smiled at the memory of you two flying together over King's Landing. "One time, Lord Jason Lannister tried to 'impress' her by listing the amount of gold he could offer her as his wife. It was rather stupid since the Velaryon's were richer than the Lannisters, she said and I remember it clear as day. Are you willing to make the same bribe to Vhagar to reside on the giant rock you call home, Lord Jason? The man paled with fear and didn't bother your mother ever again."

The girls chuckled.

"Do you think that Vhagar will accept me?" Rhaena asked.

"Vhagar is old and tired, when Balerion was her age he laid in his cavern all day, eating what was given him. I do not think that Vhagar will be able to match your delicate nature." You mumbled a bit un-sure.

"Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I am excepted to claim her." Rhaena muttered leaning on your shoulder, Baela nodded.

"Who excepts that?" You questioned curious.

"Father." Baela answered for her sister, you chuckled at the irony.

"If your father followed this rule he would be the one to claim Vhagar or Meleys. They were his parent's dragons and yet he claimed Caraxes our uncles mount, your grandfathers."

"Really?" Baela and Rhaena exclaimed at the same time.

"I think that Silverwing would be better suited for you, Rhaena. If you wish I can take you back to Dorne with me so you can claim her."

The Velaryon girl visibly brightened up, she nodded furiously.

"Please, aunt y/n!" She exclaimed.

"If your father or grandmother agrees I see no reason not to."

"But what of Vhagar?" Baela murmured.

"She will spend the rest of her days, without bothersome humans." You jested and the twins lightly chuckled. "Now my little dragons go back to your chambers." 

The two girls scurried to their own chambers, you saw that their mood has been improved slightly. 

...

You were restless and could not sleep, you deciding that visiting Vermithor was the best course of action. Castle Driftmark was a dull thing, even more than Dragonstone.

The beach however was empty, only the sound of waves delicately crashing against the cliffs was heard. You wondered if Vermithor has ever been to Driftmark before. The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced in the direction of the noise, the familiar straight silver hair made you sigh.

"Aemond!" You called startling the boy, he slowly turned around, you beconed him over and he obliged. "You were sneaking off to claim Vhagar." You stated and he paled slightly. "No need to lie to me."

"Yes, aunt." He admitted and lowered his head "But I only did it because I have no other choice!"

"No choice? Do you know how dangerous it is to approach Vhagar?" You sighed deeply, not wishing to startle your nephew.

"I-..." He started but the words died down in his throat "Without a dragon I'm worthless."

"Aemond, you are not worthless." You kneeled infant of the boy, taking his face into your hands. "Who makes you think that?" You demanded.

"Father... He never pays attention to me, I doubt he even knows my name." Tears threatened to spill from his violet orbs. "And he only paid attention to Helaena after she claimed Dreamfyre. What kind of a Targaryen am I without a dragon?!"

"Your father should be the last person the speak of claiming dragons." You stated and Aemond looked up at you.

"He rode Balerion."

"Once." You added "He rode Balerion once, and then he died. He never formed a bond with him, he couldn't have. Therefore he has no right to talk."

A small smile made it's way onto Aemond's thin lips.

"I think that there is a dragon waiting for you." You mumbled caressing his straight silver hair.

"What dragon?"

"Perhaps you should go with Rhaenyra to dragonstone, there is Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer. But I think Grey Ghost is most like you."

"Most like me?"

"Timid, hidden in the shadows, observing from afar. You know I was a lot like you when I was your age... Nobody cared for me after Grandfather died, I had no parents and Rhaenyra was the only thing on Viserys's mind. When my brother was in King's Landing which was not often he made an effort to be there for me, but it is not the same as a parents love is suppose." You got carried away slightly, burdening a child with your problems. "I'm sorry Aemond, I shouldn't have said that."

"I- It is all right... thank you, aunt."

"Talk to Rhaenyra of returning with her to Dragonstone."

"Could you... Could you come with me? I know you are well aquainted with dragons, and perhaps if you wished, you could help me."

You smiled fondly at his unsure rambling.

"I would be delighted, Aemond. We can even go tomorrow." You offered and he nodded his head. "Now go back to your chambers, it is late and you need all the strength you can muster."

The thin boy nodded and ran off to the castle, you felt as if a great heaviness was lifted from your chest allowing you to breathe.

...

You missed your children. You thought while eating breakfast alone. Aegon was probably in his temporary chambers sleeping or reminiscing with his siblings.

"y/n" You heard your name, you raised your gaze from the mutton pie, and fruit that were placed on your plate.

"Daemon." You mumbled continuing eating, he took a seat in front of you and ordered a servant to bring him breakfast. They placed a steaming bowl of porridge with fruit, different hams and cheeses and a slice of the same pie you ate.

"You do not seem sad... Did you love her, or married her to spite our brother?" You asked glancing at the hardened features of your brother.

"...I did love her." He whispered avoiding your gaze and digging into the food on his plate. "Is this what you felt when you lost Qoren?" His question surprised you, not once has he addressed your husband by name.

"I was miserable when he died." You admitted "But I had to stay strong, for my children for the kingdom." Daemon hummed drinking the honey mead. "...I was happy with him, he loved me and our children with ever fibre of his being. How can a man seem so strong only to wither slowly at the hands of a disease?" You questioned rhetorically.

Tears began to form in your eyes as you remembered the years you spent with Qoren. The wet tears dropped on your dress, but you quickly wiped them and took a swing of the watered down wine.

"I'm sorry your happiness was taken from you." Your brother said tenderly, which was unlikely for him. "If I could give you the happiness you long for I would." Daemon muttered, placing his palm over yours.

"My children are the source of my happiness now." You declared "As should your daughters be, they are mourning the death of their mother, Daemon. You should be there for them, the other day they came crying to me, asking me to tell stories of their mother. Then Rhaena said that you told her to claim Vhagar, she is but a child!" You raised your voice "I offered to take her with me to Dorne so she could claim Silverwing."

"Silverwing, yes..." He questioned, passively accepting your anger.

"Yes, Daemon. With your permission of course." You added, the anger simmering in your insides.

"You took great care of them."

"Someone has to." You snipped, narrowing eyes at Daemon "I don't think that the good father characteristic passed onto you or Viserys."

Daemon chuckled and nodded.

"Im afraid not, no. But you dear sister... if I worshiped the seven I would say you are the embodiment of the mother." His backhanded flattery made the anger slowly die out. "Baela and Rhaena spoke of your talk, I already agreed. You helped them greatly... They need a mother."

"Daemon..." You sighed knowing where he was heading. "Laena's body is barely cold and you talk of marrying again?!"

"Not immediately!" He countered "I just... you lost your husband, I lost my wife and-"

"And what? You'll take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house?"

"If you'll agree." He stated.

You held affection for Daemon, despite the horrid things he did throughout his life. He was still the only person who saw you, for you. Actively trying throughout your upbringing, whenever he was present.

"I promise you will be happy. We will fly on dragon back like we used to so many years ago..." Your brother pleaded.

"If Viserys gives his blessings I will become your wife.." You answered, Daemon stared at your features. Silent agreement and happiness etched on his sharp features.

...

"Aemond?" You questioned entering his chambers, he sat by the window consumed by a book that rested atop his lap. He tore his gaze away from the pages and glanced in your direction. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and the two of you walked to where Vermithor was resting, you fixed the black leather gloves on your fingers. The bronze fury bellowed as he saw you approaching.

"This is my nephew, Aemond. We will help him claim a dragon." You said nuzzling your face in his warm scales. You helped Aemond climb onto the saddle, and then strapped him in. You patted Vermithor's scales and without a command he leaped into the air, his claws dipping into the salty water before climbing into the sky, high above the clouds.

"How does it feel?" You asked Aemond, that sat in front of you.

"It feels... like I belong." He answered.

Vermithor landed near the hills of dragonmont, startling the dragon keepers there. You slid off of his bronze wing and helped your nephew do the same.

"Can you smell any dragons, old boy?" You questioned placing your palm on his horns. He chirped and let out a screech, turning towards the misty mountains. You left your dragon and headed in the direction the bronze fury pointed in.

"It is very on brand for him to hide in the mist." You said to Aemond as he walked next to you. "Hiding from the small folk... or Cannibal."

He stayed silent as if deep in thought. You observed his reactions.

"Can you feel him Aemond?"

"Her." He stated and moved ahead, slowly disappearing into the mist. You stayed behind letting Aemond do what he thought was right, and by the looks of it he might claim a dragon today.

A chirp and then a screech, orange light spread among the mist. And yet you didn't feel worried. You could hear Aemond's faint voice, High Valyrian rolling off his tongue. At the speed of lightning, Grey Ghost flew right out of the mist, leaving a trail behind him. Aemond's green cloak flowing in the wind, as he soared in the sky.

...

Moons passed after Laena's death, Daemon stayed with his daughters at Driftmark. You on the other hand returned to Dorne with Aegon much earlier, you missed your children and longed to see them.

Daemon stood before the doors to his daughters room. Despite being dressed in leather armor, Dark Sister strapped at his side he felt nervous. Nervous to face his nine year old daughters. He knocked on the door and entered.

"Father." Baela noticed and bowed her head slightly, Rhaena ran and hug his legs.

"Father can I please go to aunt y/n?" She asked, her violet eyes brimming with tears.

"Soon Rhaena, I promise." He answered caressing her long silver hair. "I- I" He stuttered "What do you think of your aunt?"

"She is nice." Rhaena muttered.

"Aunt y/n gives the greatest gifts. The dresses she makes are beautiful." Baela added.

"She was great friends with your mother." The Targaryen Prince said. "Would you be opposed if you saw her more often?"

"No, I don't think so." Baela the braver of the twins answered for her sister.

"I know you are young, and there are thing you need to know. Despite being a princess your aunt has lost protection when her husband died. I offered that I would protect her from now on." He tried to explain.

"Protect how?" Rhaena meekly asked.

"...By marrying her." Baela answered for him, understanding the situation better.

"Yes." He confirmed. "You are young, you need a mother figure. And you would get to meet your cousins better."

"Whatever you wish father." The twins answered.

"I know this is difficult and I do not except you to understand, but just know I love you two deeply. And wish what is best for you."

They nodded and leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arms around them.

...

"Prince Daemon, Your Grace." Ser Harrold announced opening the doors to the king's chambers. Viserys laid in his bed covered in blankets.

"Brother." Daemon said bowing his head and approaching his grace.

"Daemon..." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "I am so glad too see you, it has been too long."

"We have seen each other a few moons back, is your memory so bad you do not remember?." Daemon jested. "Viserys I have a favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" Viserys asked curiously "Whatever do you need?"

"I wish to marry y/n." He admitted, a pregnant silence fell upon the room. Only the crackling of the fire was heard.

"And what does y/n say of this union?" The elder brother asked, thinking of the girl he though of as a daughter.

"She has agreed on the condition that you agree and bless our marriage." Daemon responded.

"She is too good for you, Daemon." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "But if it is her wish to marry you I shall give you my blessing."

"Thank you, your grace."

...

A raven arrived from King's Landing, the grand maester of Sunspear handed you the letter. You saw the royal seal of your brother and broke it curiously.

My dear sister,

Word has reached my ears that you wish to marry Daemon. I know how distraught you were when your first husband passed away, if you deem Daemon worthy of becoming your second husband I give you my blessing. I know you make no mistakes in your judgment so I trust your decision and hope that your marriage with our brother will be as happy as your first one.

In return for your endless support and upholding our traditions. I shall give Daemon and you land so your future children will have an inheritance. The Stepstones have been won by Daemon, and are now a part of the seven Kingdoms. But without a strong presence to command the island they have fallen into disarray. If you wish it the Stepstones will become your land you may do as you wish with them. Your children will inherit the seat after you pass and as a royal decree, they will be titled as princes and princesses of the realm. The sacrifices you have made helped the realm greatly, you have brought Dorne into the seven kingdoms, secured wards from the lords of Westeros and aided the royal coffers. I will be forever in debt to you my dear sister.

You read the letter, tears flowed from your green irises staining the parchment. It felt as if he was saying goodbye to you.

"Mother?" Nymor asked seeing the tears that flowed freely.

"Yes my sweet?" You asked

"Why are you sad?" He asked and you smiled, picking him up and placing him in your lap. He was now five and very bright.

"I am happy my dear child." Your sons silver hair shined in the sun.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Sometimes when we're happy we cry." You explained "Your uncle and I will marry."

"Uncle Daemon?" He asked curiously and you nodded.

"He will become my husband." You said caressing your sons silver locks.

"Like father was?"

"Just like father was..."

"Will I have more siblings? I do not want to be the youngest Darren, Ivor and Tyla treat me like a baby!" Nymor complained and you chuckled.

"You will always be my baby." You said kissing his chubby cheek, he giggled.

...

"Maron!" You stopped your brother in law as he strolled with his wife through the gardens your late husband built for you.

"y/n, what is it that you need?" He asked walking up to you with his wife the Lady Qyria.

"I will need your help governing Dorne in my son's steed." You announced.

"I am honoured y/n but what has happened?" He asked confused.

"Daemon and I will marry, His Grace the King gave us Stepstones to govern. I will not be able to be in two places at once, that is why I need your help." You explained

"Will you be leaving Dorne?" Qyria asked.

"I do not want to, but my attention will be divided between Dorne and the Stepstones. For the time being Daemon will stay on Driftmark." You answered strolling with the couple through the water gardens.

"Let us know if you ever need help taming the Stepstones, it is a disputed land. Keeping peace will be difficult." Maron offered, you thanked your brother in law.

"Bloodstone will become to heart of the islands. I believe it will be quite expensive to raise castles there but the payoff will be large. The islands are very strategically placed, any voyages will have to pass through the Stepstones." It was true, that is why your brother and the Velaryons fought in the Stepstones for so long. But now instead of war, the islands will be conquered through alliances.

"What of Darren and Nymor?" You brother in law asked.

"I will take them whenever it is possible, but Sunspear is their home. They will be raised here, as is befitting for Dornish Princes."

"As you wish princess." The slender man answered.

...

Dragonstone

Half of the court of KIng's Landing sailed for Dragonstone to witness the wedding of Prince Daemon and Princess y/n. You were happy to see your family during a happier occasion. Aegon was less thrilled to see his father and mother.

"Aegon." You approached your nephew as he sulked in his chambers.

"Oh, aunt." The boy muttered raising his thin eyebrows at you.

"Sunfyre has been snippy all week." You answered sitting next to Aegon on his bed. He shrugged his shoulders. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Oh sweet boy, you're not as good at hiding emotions as you think you are. What is bothering you?" The prince sighed and sit up on the bed leaning against your shoulder.

"Nothing escapes you does it?" He whispered, you caressed his long wavy hair.

"I have known you since you were born, Aegon. I have raised you for over eight years. I know when something is bothering you."

"Why is it so easy for you to act like my mother when Alicent can't be bothered?" You were surprised to hear Aegon call his mother by her name. Tears welled up in his violet eyes.

"I don't know sweet boy." You muttered.

"You are more of a mother to me than she could ever be." He cried clinging to you.

"Shh..." You comforted him.

"And father doesn't care for me! He only cares for Rhaenyra! She is his golden child while I am cast into the shadows!"

"My brother is not a good father, that is true." You muttered "It is not fair to you or your siblings."

"I only ever wished for him to be proud of me, but that will never happen will it?" He asked, his violet eyes reddened by tears.

"I will always be proud of you. I have seen you grow to a fine prince, a great dragon rider and cousin and I love you like I love my own children."

"I love you too, mom." Aegon whispered, you kissed the crown of his head.

...

"Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time of darkness and light." Viserys recited as he stood at the foot of Dragonmont.

You stood in front of Daemon dressed in Valyrian robes, holding a dragon glass knife as did your brother. You pressed the blade against your palm, causing blood to trickle. You pressed your finger in the blood and drew the symbol of fire on your brothers forehead. He drew the symbol of blood on your own.

"In the eyes of fourteen flames we are now joined, one soul, one body one heart." You and Daemon recited, two goblets of heated wine mixed with blood were handed to you. You took a swing of the drink and passed the cup to the servants.

Daemon pressed his palm against your cheek and pressed his lips against yours, you leaned into him and deepened the kiss. Vermithor and Caraxes roared circling the ceremony and breathed dragon fire.

...

The maids helped you take off the heavy headpiece that rested atop your brow. Annora unlaced the beige and red robes sliding it off your body. Soon you were left only in your linen nightgown, you hair free of any braids.

Once the maids left your brother entered our chambers, his body covered by a dark red robe.

"y/n" He approached you.

"Daemon." You answered, leaning into his embrace. "It seems you have finally gotten what you wanted after all those years."

"It appears that the god's have blessed me in some sort of way." He answered running his fingers through your hair. "Tell me you did not wish for this."

"At some point where I was young, after grandsire told me of his and grandmothers love story."

Silence befallen the chamber, shallow breaths occasionally broke the silence. Daemon kissed your neck and slowly made it's way to your lips. A breathy moan escaped you as his hands trailed down your body.

"My sweet wife." He murmured untying the nightgown and letting it drop to the floor leaving you naked.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your lips against his silencing him. He groaned and let you guide him to the bed, you laid on the comfortable mattress and Daemon crawled atop you. You could feel his cock press against your leg, you moved your hand down to wrap your fingers around him. Squeezing and pumping a few times.

"Enough teasing." Daemon groaned throwing his head back, he pressed his warm palm over yours and moved his dick so the head pressed against your entrance.

"Daemon..." You moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. His dick felt different than your husband's, maybe a bit shorter but thicker.

"Soon, sweet girl." He whispered above your ear pressing a kiss against your temple, and slowly pushed in. Inch by inch until his pelvis pressed against your clit.

"Ah..!" You moaned breathily as he bottomed out, he slowly pulled out and pressed himself in one go.

"Will you give me a child?" Daemonn groaned above you "You looked so alluring pregnant."

"Daemon..." You moaned in response "Please!"

Your body moved with his hard thrusts, his chest pressed against your breasts squeezing them with his weight.

"Yes? I'll breed you well, then." Your husband moaned, as you squeezed around him.

You squeezed Daemon's shoulder, bringing his attention to your face.

"Hmm?" He murmured

"I wanna... on top." Daemon smirked and obeyed, pulling out laying comfortably on the bed awaiting your next move.

You straddled his hips, his cock pressed between your thighs. You sheathed his cock in your warm walls.

"Move, please." The rogue prince moaned under you, pressing his hips upwards for some friction.

"I didn't take my husband for a beggar." You teased refusing to move your hips. "I quite like it."

"Careful, sister." He groaned menacingly, putting his hands on your waist.

"It's fun to see you like this, moaning under me."

Daemon muttered something under his breath, and jutted his hips upwards. You chuckled and began to move your hips, bringing the coil in your belly closer to snapping.

"Close!" You squeaked, pressing your palms against Daemon's toned abdomen.

After a few hard thrusts your husband spilled inside, his warm seed brought your over the edge. Panting you clutched onto his shoulder, collapsing on his chest. Daemon chuckled, and wrapped his arms around your naked back.

"You did good, my love." He whispered pressing a kiss to your silver hair.

The funureal of Laena Velaryon and the conflict that arose on Driftmark only separated the Greens and Blacks. After a year Princess y/n and Daemon married and begun construction of castle Blackfyre. During the builidng of the castle many villages arose on the shore of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows. Now that the island was free of pirates trade erupted. The Ports build there rivalled Oldtown and Lannisport. Princess y/n used dragonfire to make the fort impenetrable and quick to build. After three years most of the castle Blackfyre was build. At the foot of the Volcano Dragonbone a dragonpit was built. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Scarlet Witch reading guide

This is not meant to be a comprehensive list of every appearance, but a walkthrough of what you need to read to understand Wanda's lore, history, and personal life events. I also have a breakdown of the Maximoff's powers and an explanation of their parentage and ethnic background. [This is an updated + condensed version of this post-- the formatting is messed up and I can't edit it, so I made a new one]

X-Men Vol 1 #4-11-- Wanda & Pietro's first appearance as teenage mutants & Brotherhood members.

Avengers Vol 1 #16-27-- The twins join the Avengers. Known as the "kooky quartet" era.

Avengers Vol 1 #128-- Wanda meets Agatha Harkness and begins studying witchcraft.

Giant-Size Avengers #1-4-- Wanda meets Robert Frank and believes he is her father; Wanda and Vision confess their feelings and are married.

Avengers Vol 1 #181-183-- introduces Django Maximoff.

Avengers Vol 1 #185-188-- also known as Nights of Wundagore, the twins return to Transia and learn about their birth on Mount Wundagore & the origin of Wanda's powers; Wanda is possessed by Chthon.

Vision & the Scarlet Witch Vol 1 & 2-- Wanda & Vision acclimate to married life. Pietro's daughter Luna is born; the twins learn that Magneto & Magda are their birth parents; Wanda becomes pregnant and gives birth to twin boys.

Avengers West Coast #42-62-- includes Vision Quest & Darker Than Scarlet storylines. Vision's memories and emotions are erased; the babies are destroyed by Pandemonium and Mephisto; Wanda learns that she is a Nexus Being while suffering the manipulations of Immortus.

Force Works (1994)-- Wanda acts as team leader and begins a relationship with Simon Williams.

Scarlet Witch (1994)-- a miniseries which introduces Lore and expands on the concept of Nexus Beings.

Avengers Vol 3 #1-3; 10-11-- Wanda learns more about chaos magic and resurrects Simon Williams.

Avengers Vol 1 #503-507-- a storyline titled Chaos, which kicks off the Avengers Disassembled crossover. Wanda suffers an apparent mental breakdown and causes a series of calamities as her powers escalate to uncontrollable reality-warping.

House of M-- a sprawling crossover event set within an alternate reality of Wanda's creation; concludes with Wanda inadvertently erasing a large percentage of the mutant population. This is referred to as the Decimation, or M-Day. Wanda disappears and remains missing for several years.

Young Avengers; Young Avengers Special; Young Avengers Presents: Wiccan & Speed-- introduces Billy Kaplan and Tommy Shepherd, who learn that they are Wanda's reincarnated sons and begin searching for her.

Avengers: Children's Crusade-- the Young Avengers, Magneto, and Quicksilver discover Wanda as an amnesiac living in the care of Doctor Doom. They help her recover her memories and her powers are returned to normal.

Avengers vs. X-Men-- Wanda rejoins the Avengers. Alongside Hope Summers, Wanda helps banish the Phoenix from Earth and causes a proliferation of new mutant to manifest, the first step in her redemption for M-Day.

AXIS-- Wanda & Pietro learn that Magneto is not their father after all, and they're not actually mutants.

Uncanny Avengers Vol 2 (miniseries)-- the twins learn that their powers are the result of the High Evolutionary's genetic experiments.

Scarlet Witch (2016)-- Wanda returns to her magical focus and has henceforth been written as an adept spellcaster. The series does a lot of worldbuilding around witches and witchcraft. The twins learn that their birth mother was actually Django's sister, Natalya Maximoff, and that they are descended from a long line of Scarlet Witches.

Doctor Strange (2016)-- Wanda is featured in the Last Days of Magic storyline.

Uncanny Avengers Vol 3 #26-30-- Wanda rejoins the Avengers Unity Division and begins a relationship with Doctor Voodoo.

Avengers Vol 1 #675-690-- a crossover event titled Avengers: No Surrender.

Quicksilver: No Surrender-- an excellent miniseries following the previous event. Wanda and Jericho use magic to aid Pietro.

Avengers: No Road Home-- a sequel to No Surrender.

Strange Academy-- Wanda becomes a faculty member at a school for young magic users.

Darkhold (2021)-- the original Darkhold is discovered; Wanda's prior experiences have made her strong enough to handle it without corruption; she merges the Darkhold with her own soul and uses it to bind Chthon.

Trial of Magneto (2021)-- Wanda stages her own death as part of an elaborate scheme to gain access to, and magically enhance, the Krakoan resurrection system, leading to her final redemption for M-Day.

Scarlet Witch (2023)-- Wanda opens a metaphysical shop in upstate New York and constructs a magical portal called the Last Door, which opens anywhere in the world for those in need.

Avengers (2023)-- Wanda joins a new iteration of the Avengers, led by Captain Marvel.

Contest of Chaos-- a crossover event. Agatha attempts to create a new Darkhold, much is revealed about the origin and nature of chaos magic.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver; Scarlet Witch (2024)-- a special anniversary miniseries which leads into the solo title relaunch. The twins are hounded by an abstract entity called the Griever and begin to expand their powers beyond their previous limitations; new context is given to Nexus beings; Chthon escapes containment.

[kingcunny]

thank you sm!! <3

ive made a couple posts about balerion and viserys before, and i got another one in the works in my drafts. like im obviously biased but theyre one of my favorite dragon-rider bonds, even though they were only together for a year.

jorah in the main series says at one point that targaryen dragons were bred for war, and in war they died. balerion being the last of the valyria-born dragons probably has this instinct better than most. he takes aegon i as his rider because aegon is a conqueror, and is going to use him for the purpose he was born for.

the aegon i -> maegor line i think is pretty easy to understand. just like aegon i, maegor is also a conqueror. balerion sees in him that same war-instinct that he saw in aegon i, that he himself has.

maegor -> aerea is where things start to shift. balerion is an old war machine, but his last two riders died outside of war and away from him. aegon i from a stroke, maegor was eaten by the iron throne. hes made his lair on his not-quite-home dragonstone, when this upset little girl who misses the excitement of her life at court climbs on his back and tells him to take her home. i think balerion was fairly homesick at this point and thought “*i* want to go home too.” so he takes them home. back to his home. except balerion doesnt know that his home as been destroyed while he was gone. he spends those years with aerea *searching* for anything, any sign that the valyria that he remembers is still there. but theres nothing. its doomed and filled with monsters now. aerea spends the whole time begging him to take her back home, back to her mother. its only after hes injured and aerea is deathly ill that hes forced to accept that this is no longer their home. theres nothing here for them anymore, they dont belong here anymore than he belongs in westeros. so balerion reluctantly takes aerea back. maybe theres something they can do to save her, or failing that, at least shell be able to die in her home even if he cant die in his. after this balerion becomes the first dragon chained in the dragonpit.

finally, aerea -> viserys. i think viserys felt fairly alienated from the rest of his family, as he was so different from any of the other men he was related to. but he was raised to idolize old valyria (or at least the targaryens version of it) and feels that if he can claim balerion, if the last living aspect of valyria accepted him, well that means theres *something* targaryen in him. balerion was the living god of the thing he was raised to worship. when alyssa wanted to claim balerion, the dragonkeepers dissuaded her by telling her hes old and slow now, and wouldnt she rather a younger more energetic mount? i wonder if they tried the same thing with viserys, but viserys wouldnt care about that. thats not why viserys wanted balerion. all viserys wanted was balerions acceptance. balerion is very old now, old and tired and in pain. hes a war machine that can no longer fight, a dragon that can barely fly. but hes still holding on. he cant die yet. viserys is very different from balerions other riders, and i think that was the point. balerion could tell viserys didnt want anything from him, other than *him*. so balerion accepted viserys as he was, and viserys accepts balerion as he is. balerion gives viserys his final flight and thats enough for him. more than that even, after their first and last flight viserys tells baelon he wanted to fly to dragonstone but was worried that balerion wouldnt survive the flight. he was *worried for balerion*, worried about *his* health and safety and comfort. when has he had another rider care about him like that? (when has any dragon tbh...) viserys doesnt want to put more on balerion than he can handle. whatever balerion can offer him is enough. all viserys wanted was his love, and he got that. so he loves and comforts balerion in his final days. balerion doesnt have a home anymore, but viserys gives him one inside himself. he loves balerion enough to let him go. to let balerion finally lay down and rest.

(sorry for the screenshot answer i accidentally posted it before i was done <3)

[mariacallous]

For American companies grousing about new cybersecurity rules, spyware firms eager to expand their global business, and hackers trying to break AI systems, Donald Trump’s second term as president will be a breath of fresh air.

For nearly four years, president Joe Biden’s administration has tried to make powerful US tech firms and infrastructure operators more responsible for the nation’s cybersecurity posture, as well as restrict the spread of spyware, apply guardrails to AI, and combat online misinformation. But when Trump takes office in January, he will almost certainly eliminate or significantly curtail those programs in favor of cyber strategies that benefit business interests, downplay human-rights concerns, and emphasize aggressive offense against the cyber armies of Russia, China, Iran, and North Korea.

“There will be a national security focus, with a strong emphasis on protecting critical infrastructure, government networks, and key industries from cyber threats,” says Brian Harrell, who served as the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency’s assistant director for infrastructure security during Trump’s first term.

From projects whose days are numbered to areas where Trump will go further than Biden, here is what a second Trump administration will likely mean for US cybersecurity policy.

Full Reversal

The incoming Trump administration is likely to scrap Biden’s ambitious effort to impose cyber regulations on sectors of US infrastructure that currently lack meaningful digital-security safeguards. That effort has borne fruit with railroads, pipelines, and aviation but has hit hurdles in sectors like water and health care.

Despite mounting cyberattacks targeting vital systems—and despite this year’s Republican Party platform promising to “raise the security standards for our critical systems and networks”—conservatives are unlikely to support new regulatory mandates on infrastructure operators.

There will be “no more regulation without explicit congressional authorization,” says James Lewis, senior vice president and director of the Strategic Technologies Program at the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

Harrell says “more regulation will be dismantled than introduced.” Biden’s presidency was “riddled with new cyber regulation” that sometimes confused and overburdened industry, he adds. “The new White House will be looking to reduce regulatory burdens while streamlining smart compliance.”

This approach may not last, according to a US cyber official who requested anonymity to discuss politically sensitive issues. “I think they’ll eventually recognize that the efforts focused on regulation in cyber are needed to ensure the security of our critical infrastructure.”

“Regulation is the only tool that works,” Lewis says.

Some Biden cyber rules might be overturned in court, now that the Supreme Court has eliminated the deference that judges previously gave to agencies in disputes over their regulations. John Miller, senior vice president of policy at the Information Technology Industry Council, a major tech trade group, says it’s also possible that Trump officials “might not wait for the courts” to void those rules.

Mark Montgomery, senior director of the Center on Cyber and Technology Innovation at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, predicts that the Trump administration will emphasize cooperation and incentives in its efforts to protect vulnerable industries. He points to a House GOP plan for water cybersecurity standards as an example.

Trump’s election also likely spells doom for CISA’s work to counter mis- and disinformation, especially around elections. After Trump lost the 2020 election, he fired CISA’s first director for debunking right-wing election conspiracy theories, and the conservative backlash to anti-misinformation work has only grown since then.

In 2022, Trump outlined a “free speech policy initiative” to “break up the entire toxic censorship industry that has arisen under the false guise of tackling so-called ‘mis-’ and ‘dis-information.’” Elon Musk, the billionaire owner of Tesla, SpaceX, and X whom Trump has tapped to colead a “government efficiency” initiative, enthusiastically shared the plan last week.

CISA has already dramatically scaled back its efforts to combat online falsehoods following a right-wing pressure campaign, but Trump appointees are almost certain to smother what remains of that mission. “Disinformation efforts will be eliminated,” Montgomery predicts.

Harrell agrees that Trump would “refocus” CISA on core cyber initiatives, saying the agency’s “priorities have mistakenly bordered on social issues lately.”

Also likely on the chopping block: elements of Biden’s artificial intelligence safety agenda that focus on AI’s social harms, like bias and discrimination, as well as Biden’s requirement for large AI developers to report to the government about their model training.

“I expect the repeal of Biden’s executive order on AI, specifically because of its references to AI regulation,” says Nick Reese, a director of emerging technology policy at the Department of Homeland Security under Trump and Biden. “We should expect a change in direction toward less regulation, which would mean less compulsory AI safety measures.”

Trump is also unlikely to continue the Biden administration’s campaign to limit the proliferation of commercial spyware technologies, which authoritarian governments have used to harass journalists, civil-rights protesters, and opposition politicians. Trump and his allies maintain close political and financial ties with two of the most prolific users of commercial spyware tools, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, and he showed little concern about those governments’ human-rights abuses in his first term.

“There’s a high probability that we see big rollbacks on spyware policy,” says Steven Feldstein, a senior fellow in the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace’s Democracy, Conflict, and Governance Program. Trump officials are likely to care more about spyware makers’ counterterrorism arguments than about digital-rights advocates’ criticisms of those tools.

Spyware companies “will undoubtedly receive a more favorable audience under Trump,” Feldstein says—especially market leader NSO Group, which is closely affiliated with the Trump-aligned Israeli government.

Dubious Prospects

Other Biden cyber initiatives are also in jeopardy, even if their fates are not as clear.

Biden’s National Cybersecurity Strategy emphasized the need for greater corporate responsibility, arguing that well-resourced tech firms must do more to prevent hackers from abusing their products in devastating cyberattacks. Over the past few years, CISA launched a messaging campaign to encourage companies to make their products “secure by design,” the Justice Department created a Civil Cyber-Fraud Initiative to prosecute contractors that mislead the government about their security practices, and White House officials began considering proposals to make software vendors liable for damaging vulnerabilities.

That corporate-accountability push is unlikely to receive strong support from the incoming Trump administration, which is almost certain to be stocked with former business leaders hostile to government pressure.

Henry Young, senior director of policy at the software trade group BSA, predicts that the secure-by-design campaign will “evolve to more realistically balance the responsibilities of governments, businesses, and customers, and hopefully eschew finger pointing in favor of collaborative efforts to continue to improve security and resilience.”

A Democratic administration might have used the secure-by-design push as a springboard to new corporate regulations. Under Trump, secure-by-design will remain at most a rhetorical slogan. “Turning it into something more tangible will be the challenge,” the US cyber official says.

Chipping Away at the Edges

One landmark cyber program can’t easily be scrapped under a second Trump administration but could still be dramatically transformed.

In 2022, Congress passed a law requiring CISA to create cyber incident reporting regulations for critical infrastructure operators. CISA released the text of the proposed regulations in April, sparking an immediate backlash from industry groups that said it went too far. Corporate America warned that CISA was asking too many companies for too much information about too many incidents.

Trump’s election could throw a wrench in CISA’s ambitious incident-reporting plans. New appointees at the White House, DHS, and CISA itself could force agency staff to rewrite the rules to be more industry-friendly, exempting entire swaths of critical infrastructure or eliminating requirements for companies to report certain data. Trump’s team has months to revise the final rule before its required publication in late 2025.

BSA’s Young expects Trump’s team to scale back the regulations, which he says “take a very broad view of the authority CISA believes Congress granted it.”

The current rule is “particularly vulnerable to a court challenge” because it exceeds Congress’s intent, ITI’s Miller warns, and Trump’s team “may direct CISA to scale it back” if the agency doesn’t “proceed cautiously” on its own.

New Urgency

One area where Trump might pick up the baton from the Biden administration is the government’s use of military hacking operations and its response to foreign adversaries’ cyberattacks.

Under Biden, the military’s US Cyber Command has scaled up its overseas hacker-hunting engagements with allies. But Republicans have pressed Biden to respond more muscularly to Chinese, Russian, and Iranian hacks, and Trump is likely to embrace that approach—particularly after picking representative Mike Waltz, an advocate for cyberattacks on Russia, North Korea, and Mexican cartels, as his national security adviser.

“A much more aggressive stance will be taken against China, which is sorely needed,” Harrell says, predicting that Chinese hackers penetrating US critical infrastructure “will be held to account.”

Montgomery agrees that Trump may “adopt a more aggressive approach” to national cyber defense, including giving the National Guard “a more significant role” in protecting domestic infrastructure.

Montgomery also says he expects more frequent and more muscular offensive operations by Cyber Command, which Trump elevated to a full combatant command during his first term. He predicts the Trump administration will “look more favorably” on creating a separate military cyber service, which the Biden administration opposed, and “take a more skeptical view” of the joint leadership of Cyber Command and the National Security Agency, which the Biden administration supported.

Trump could also harness other tools to constrain China, including authorities he created during his first term to block the use of risky technology in the US. “The Trump administration will look at the full set of policy levers when deciding how to push back on China in cyberspace,” says Kevin Allison, a consultant on geopolitics and technology.

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: Still kind of an introductory/background chapter. But Austin does get introduced in this one :)

Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor

One particularly bleak morning brought more than typical London drizzle; it brought Mr. Henry Cartwright—or 'Rat,' as he was aptly nicknamed—slinking through the narrow, cobbled streets towards their humble abode. His arrival was never without dread; his shadow seemed to cast a pall over whatever it touched, and today, its reach felt more chilling than usual. Violet watched from behind the partially closed door as this man who held her fate in his greasy palms approached. She could see the false smile plastered on his face, a grimace disguised as a greeting.

“Miss Everly,” Henry Cartwright began, his voice smooth like oil, but with an edge that hinted at the impatience beneath. “Your father has failed to meet his obligations again. And here I find myself, contemplating what measures to take to assure his... cooperation.”

Violet’s heart sank. She knew too well what this meant: further debts, more threats, or worse—actualization of those threats. The room felt colder as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud.

“I have no money to give you, Mr. Cartwright,” Violet said quietly, her gaze steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. Her voice carried a defiance born not of hope but of resignation to whatever might come next.

Cartwright chuckled darkly, pacing slowly around the sparse room as if appraising it for valuables that did not exist. "Ah, but my dear," he sneered, eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as he stopped to face her, "it's not your money I'm after. You must understand, the debts of your father have grown too substantial to be ignored any longer."

Violet felt the walls close in, the weight of her impending doom pressing down on her shoulders. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of a horse-drawn cart rattling over cobblestones outside. Henry Cartwright's gaze was like a vise, tightening with every second she remained silent.

"You see, Miss Everly," Rat continued, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper as he leaned closer, "your father's ineptitude has forced my hand. There's a certain... clientele at my club who would pay handsomely for the company of someone as rare and beautiful as you. It would certainly settle his accounts... and maybe even leave some over for your own keep."

Violet recoiled as if struck. The very air around her seemed to thicken with revulsion. Her mind raced, desperate for an escape from this nightmare, but her body felt frozen, ensnared by the horrifying reality of Rat's proposition. Rat's smirk widened as he observed her horror, taking perverse pleasure in the power he wielded over her. Violet's heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage, each beat a drum of panic. Yet, amidst the terror, a spark of her indomitable spirit flickered to life.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible yet loaded with all the conviction she could muster. Rat paused, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then quickly to anger.

"What did you say?" he hissed, stepping closer.

Violet straightened up, her gray eyes hardening like flint. "I said no." Her voice gained strength from somewhere deep within her, a place untouched by fear or despair. "I am not a coin to be traded at your whim."

Rat laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You might think you have a choice in this matter, Miss Everly, but let me assure you — you do not. This is not just your fate but also a solution to your father’s incompetence."

"I would rather die than live at the mercy of your vile desires," Violet retorted, her defiance lighting up her gaunt features.

The amusement on Rat’s face vanished, replaced by a menacing scowl. "Be careful, young lady. You are in no position to issue threats. Remember, I can make your life exceedingly difficult."

Violet's resolve did not falter, though her heart trembled within her chest. She knew the danger of antagonizing a man like Rat, but the thought of subjugation under his control was more terrifying than any threat he could utter.

"Then you shall have to do what you must," Violet said, her voice steady, though inside she felt like a fragile bird in a storm.

Rat's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. "Very well, Miss Everly. Since you choose defiance, expect no mercy from me." With those chilling words, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, each step heavy with menace.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Violet slumped against the wall, her legs weak with relief and fear. Tears threatened to spill over — not merely from fright but also from a deep-seated rage against the injustice of her plight and the depravity of men like Rat. In the silence that followed Rat's departure, the small, dimly lit room felt both sanctuary and prison. Violet's breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the despair that threatened to engulf her. Her father, who had been silent during the entire confrontation, now looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and indifference. His gaze was glazed, numbed by alcohol and years of moral decay.

"Violet, you shouldn't have spoken to him like that," he slurred, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "You've just made things worse for us."

Violet turned to face her father, her expression wrought with a mixture of pain and defiance. "Made things worse? How, Father? By refusing to be sold like property?" Her voice trembled from the intense emotion that churned within her, but her stance was resolute. "No, Father, it is you who have made things worse with your recklessness."

Edward Everly shuffled uncomfortably, his bloodshot eyes avoiding her piercing gaze. "You don't understand, Violet.”

"That does not excuse you from your vices!" Violet's words cut through the dim room like a blade. The very air seemed charged with her fury, an electric tension that made even Edward shift uneasily on his feet.

Edward's gaze shifted again, landing on the grimy window pane as if seeking an escape from Violet’s searing condemnation. “You think it’s easy? Surviving in this godforsaken place?” His voice cracked, an unusual display of emotion from a man she knew more as a figure of stubborn indifference and cruelty.

“Survival does not necessitate the selling of one’s soul,” Violet retorted sharply, her eyes never leaving his face despite the sting of tears that blurred her vision.

A shadow passed over Edward’s face—a flicker of guilt, perhaps, or merely resentment at being challenged. “You don’t know the burdens I carry,” he muttered, turning away from her piercing eyes.

Violet felt a momentary pang of pity for the man who had once been her protector, before quickly steeling her heart against it. "And you, Father, have never understood the burden of your actions on others," she replied softly, yet with a steeliness that surprised even her.

The tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring. Edward stood, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, making him look more monster than man. Abruptly, he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and yanked it on with jerky movements.

"Where are you going?" Violet asked, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"To settle things with Rat," Edward growled, his words slurring together as he struggled to maintain control over his enflamed emotions.

Without waiting for a response, Edward stumbled out of the room, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. Violet watched him go, a whirlwind of emotions churning within her. Fear for what her father might do in his drunken state mixed with fury at his betrayal and sadness for the broken shell of a man he had become.

Left alone, Violet’s thoughts raced as she pondered her next move. The walls of the dank room felt like they were closing in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her eyes as if mocking her plight. She knew that standing up to Rat had probably only bought her a brief reprieve. Men like him did not take defiance lightly, and she had no illusions about the lengths to which he would go to assert his control.

The sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses from down below reminded her of where she was — in the bowels of a club. Rising to her feet, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, refusing to allow them any further claim on her spirit. With quiet steps, she went down the stairs and approached the door that led into the club.

********************

The dimly lit back room of the club was thick with the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke, a miasma that clung to every surface as obstinately as the patrons clung to their vices. Violet's heart hammered in her chest, each beat a loud echo in her ears that seemed to drown out the low murmur of conversation around her. She stood stiffly beside her father, her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her worn skirt. Rat sat behind a cluttered desk covered in papers and empty glasses, his beady eyes appraising Violet like a merchant assessing a piece of merchandise. Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his gaze avoiding hers.

"Ah, the gem of the night," Rat exclaimed with a greasy smile, his voice dripping with feigned delight.

Violet felt a shiver course through her spine at his words, her skin crawling under the weight of his gaze. She remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, as Rat stood and circled around the desk with the predatory grace of a vulture swooping down on its prey. He stopped inches from her, his fetid breath brushing against her face as he leaned in close.

"You'll do nicely," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with unwholesome anticipation. Violet recoiled instinctively, but Rat's hand shot out, gripping her chin with a firmness that made escape impossible.

“Get your hands off of me,” Violet spat struggling to keep her eyes locked on his. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Rat snickered roughly letting go of her chin. “You’ve got fire. I’ll be sure to do something about that quickly.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet raised a brow.

Edward's laugh, a hollow sound devoid of any paternal warmth, grated on her nerves. "Now, now, Violet, be good," he chided, his words slurred slightly as he took another swig from the bottle he had managed to procure upon their arrival.

Rat's chuckle was low and menacing as he turned his attention back to Violet's father. "Edward, you've truly outdone yourself this time," he sneered, eyeing Violet like a hawk regarding its next meal. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for Violet to overhear. "Remember our agreement. She's mine until the debts are squared away."

Violet felt her blood run cold at his words, the finality of her situation crashing down around her like the walls of a decrepit house succumbing to its own decay. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she quashed it quickly, her instinct for survival sharpening her focus. She needed to think, to plan, not simply react.

"Never," she breathed, her voice trembling not from fear, but from a fierce resolve that took even her by surprise. Violet turned sharply to face her father, stepping forward so that they were eye-to-eye, forcing him to confront the reality of what he had done. "How could you?" The accusation was more than a question; it was a denouncement of every moment of neglect and abuse she had suffered under his care.

Edward, his face a mixture of inebriated confusion and dim irritation, tried to formulate a response, a pathetic attempt at justification hanging limply between them. "It's all for the best," he stuttered, his eyes not meeting hers. "You'll have food and—a roof."

Violet's laugh was bitter, laced with incredulity and contempt. "A roof? A cage, more like," she retorted sharply, her anger giving her voice a steely edge. "You barter away your flesh and blood for a few coins to squander on your vices. You are less than a man."

Edward's face reddened, his eyes briefly flashing with something that might have been shame, but it was quickly drowned out by a resurgence of his habitual defiance. "You don't understand the pressures I'm under!" he shouted back, his voice rising over the din of the club.

"I understand perfectly," Violet countered coldly. "I understand that you are a coward, Father. A coward who would sell his daughter to shield himself from his own failures."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony momentarily subdued as patrons turned to witness the spectacle unfolding. Rat, sensing the shift in atmosphere, clapped his hands with mock cheerfulness. "Enough of this family drama," he interjected smoothly, his tone brooking no argument. "Violet, you are now under my care. Edward, you know the terms. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."

With a disdainful glance at her father, Violet pulled her arm free from his grasp and took a step back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, each thud resonating with the resolve that hardened in her eyes. She wouldn't let despair consume her; she would fight, somehow.

“Now, Now, Cartwright,” came a voice that belonged to a hooded figure seated near them at the opposite table. “You should know better than to do your dastardly deeds in the open.” The figure removed his hood revealing a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair that flickered in the candlelight.

Rat sneered. “Lord Butler. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[scaly-freaks]

“Milk Carton” — Self-explanatory, it was the only song I could think of that has the perspective of someone who survived a kidnapping. I also believe that establishing what is going to happen in the beginning helps build up a sense of dread. We know that a kidnapping is going to happen, we just don't know when.

“In the Pines” — A truly haunting song. The song was originally written by Lead Belly, but the first time I heard it was this Kurt Cobain documentary called Montage of Heck, where the final scene is Kurt performing the song at MTV Unplugged. There’s this moment in the song where Kurt makes this face that is absolutely chilling, almost like he’s Colonel Kurtz staring into the heart of darkness. The lines, “you caused me to weep, you caused me to moan, you caused me to leave my home / I wish to my Lord that I’d never seen your face / I’m sorry you were ever born,” also felt pertinent. All in all, I felt it sets the Southern setting, especially the North Carolina region, where you say Aegon takes Amara.

“Rampage” — I felt that this accurately captured Aegon’s demeanour. I don’t know whether they might have known each other prior to her abduction, but most kidnappings occur with someone who knows you. There will be a lot of songs where you just feel looming dread, and this is the first of them. “Milk Carton” is disturbing, but there’s no dread, because there’s no anticipation. Whereas “Rampage,” I’m going to assume, seems to be spoken from the perspective of a lover of a boy whom, it’s heavily implied from the references to the Columbine Shooters and Tate Langdon in American Horror Story, is ultimately going to shoot up a school. When I was a kid, my parents would play this song called, “Six O’Clock News,” about a woman whose lover goes on a shooting rampage, who has just learned she’s pregnant with his child. I always was very shaken by that song, and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have loved someone who committed such atrocities; just the sheer guilt, the discomfort regarding how to mourn them, the thoughts of I should have known, I should have seen the signs…was unthinkable for me as a child, and is unthinkable now. In “Creek Blues,” another song from the same album as “Rampage,” you sort of get this mosaic of such “signs.” He shows the speaker his daddy’s guns, he kills dogs and leaves them to die by the nearby creek. I think, for me, I wanted to build up a sense of dread over the songs, until it reaches its pinnacle, sort of this mounting pile of evidence that something terrible is going to happen. I discuss the notion of warning signs in relation to violence and abuse in the explanation for “Sometime After Midnight.”

“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” — Chosen mostly because it inspired this creepy, creepy short story that we read in high school, about the immediate moments preceding the abduction of a teenage girl from her home. Incredibly unsettling story, and absolutely heartbreaking. The story, called “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” was adapted into a movie in the 80’s. Honestly considering removing it, given that I’m trying to build up dread, and it’s not really a dreadful song. Let me know if you think it should stay.

“Sometime After Midnight”— I wanted to convey a sense of looming doom; there’s this moment in W.G. Sebald’s The Emigrants, where there’s this extensive idyllic depiction of Bavaria, and then this war plane crosses the sky. This section starts out with the understanding that it’s the account of a character’s mother, and that she wrote it while awaiting deportation to a Nazi death camp. And this endows the image of the war plane cutting across this clear blue sky above this bucolic Bavarian landscape with a feeling of absolute dread; they have no idea what is going to happen. It’s the equivalent to the tomb in Arcadia, or the ending of Irréversible: it’s a portent of doom. “Sometime After Midnight” is one such prelude; the speaker remarks to herself that she knows that she spent all day getting ready for the date, but that she has this feeling in her stomach that makes her feel uneasy. She remarks that she’s been told that bad things happen after dark, and then looks at the setting sun. It’s the equivalent to a puzzle piece falling into place. I do truly believe that there is an intuition that people have that something’s off, and that many, especially women, choose to ignore this feeling, tell themselves that they’re being silly or paranoid, only to realize that their gut was right. It’s meant to convey dread, and banality. While the speaker may have considered her day preparing for the date innocuous, just a bit of fun, in retrospect, the day will become far more significant.

            I was too young to remember 9/11, but when I’ve asked my parents and my friends’ parents their stories of that day (I grew up very close to New York), they all reacted differently—my boyfriend's dad saw the second tower get hit from the train window, and stayed on the train, my friend's dad was in the South Tower and ran to the Hudson to get on one of the many boats that were trying to take people off Manhattan—but one thing detail was the same in all of their stories: there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. The reason why this detail has crystallized in their head is because they should have known. It was only in retrospect that the day that began like any other became that day. We trace the final day of murder victims, what they wore, their last words to their parents and loved ones, because we want to prepare ourselves for the possibility that our banal, commonplace lives could be torn apart at a moment’s notice, that one day we might walk out of a door and never be seen again. I believe that we have an intuition about people, but not about events. The speaker of “Sometime After Midnight” does not know that this is the last day; she may not have spoken to any of her parents or friends or loved ones but instead spent all of it getting ready for a date that will end in either her abduction or her demise. She may have a gut feeling, but by the time she feels it, it's already too late. This is her last day, and all that she can do is watch "the sky turn black by the window-side."

“Bad Things”— Another song that I felt exuded dread, although in this case, the fear actually becomes realized. The opening riff almost hits like a stuttering heart, with this insistent clapping noise; it immediately evokes both despair and anxiety. The song's chorus reads like a nursery rhyme you tell children: bad things happen, and you are powerless to stop them. The chorus is also apt for a kidnapping: you leave home, and you never come back. I had never been able to decipher the spoken part, but in looking at the lyrics, they’re really chilling, given that they’re spoken by Jim fucking Jones. The lyrics read as such: "You’d have wanted to run, you’d have had to run with them, because anybody could’ve run today, they would have wanted to. I know you’re not a runner and your life is precious to me.” It’s essentially Jim Jones gaslighting his followers in the leadup to their mass suicide, telling them that they actually have agency over their fates. They chose to stay and kill themselves alongside him, he argues, because they didn’t run when they could have. They freely chose to stay with him and die with him. But this isn’t true; the inner circle would punish those who attempted to escape, and the event that precipitated the Jonestown massacre was a group of Jones loyalists gunning down the Congressman Leo Ryan and defecting members of the People’s Temple on an air strip as they tried to leave. Jones manipulated his followers into believing they had a choice, that, if they wanted to leave, they could have, when they never did. I think I recall Aegon using this rationalization in Chapter 10 of YSMMC: it was Amara's choice to go to the cabin, so he bears no responsibility for any of the acts he felt licensed to subject her to as a result of this choice. And, as in Jonestown, Amara’s “choice” in YSMMC wasn’t much of a choice, because it was either that or a confrontation with Jace, and Aegon knew this, and exploited it to his advantage. He helped create the conditions that would cause her to choose. It all reminds me of when I was reading Chapter 17 of YSMMC, and I was reminded of this passage from Lolita:

“Get in,” I said. “You can’t call that number.”

“Why?”

“Get in and slam the door.”

She got in and slammed the door. The old garage man beamed at her. I swung on to the highway.

“Why can’t I call my mother if I want to?”

“Because,” I answered, “your mother is dead.”

In the gay town of Lepingville I bought her four books of comics, a box of candy, a box of sanitary pads… at the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go. (140)

That is to say, Jim Jones, Humbert in Lolita, and Aegon in YSMMC all act as if the decision by their victims to have sex with them was their victims’ choice, when they were the ones who set up the conditions that forced their victims to do what the men say. And, even if Amara freely chose to go to the cabin, she didn't choose any of the acts Aegon subjected her to there. I figured that this would be the approach of Aegon in this AU; tell Amara that it was actually her choice. This song sort of represents the pinnacle of the lead-up: the kidnapping that we've been expecting has finally occurred.

Anyways, as always, thank you for the opportunity for me to sharpen my character analysis approach to get ready for school; the methodology that guides my interpretation of characters is essentially the New Critical close reading method, and requires that I reconcile all aspects of their character and actions with each other, to explain their motivations, etc. It's a great challenge to have to analyze characters when their writer is right there to correct you; you're a lot less likely to cast generalizing statements about characters; it's harder to pontificate falsehoods when God is right there, if that makes sense lol. It forces me to be much more discerning, and therefore hones my analytical process, so I thank you again for that!!! X Caroline

Absolutely insane descriptor behind each song in this playlist, and the thought put into them? Girl, you are going to ace your impending studies. I consider myself lucky that this silly little hobby I picked up attracted people who treat it as something real and genuine which then pushes me to improve.

I only really fix someone's analysis if I think it's interpreting a sensitive topic in a way that I don't think is conducive to open-minded discussion; that responsibility kind of feels like it falls on me to fix since it's my work they're reading.

But your analysis, as well as others who have had their interpretations, I love to ingest, because as a writer, it's so easy to feel like these characters are just mine. But in reality, I read an amazing book and I hold those characters in me in a way that the writer might not recognise or identify with. Someone might extract the gentleness of Aegon and Amara and want to hold that close, whereas I might have written that particular chapter/passage from a place of extreme violence and trauma. Both are correct because both are tangled up with human beings. And when someone gives me their approach, I get to experience this familiarity of my characters from a whole other vantage which is so, so fun.

I'm a fan of every song you've chosen, and even though I know I can't write this AU right now, the lyrics to each are painting scenes into existence. For instance, as I was reading (and listening), a scene came to me where Amara tries to escape from the moving truck, and when Aegon gets her back, he choke-slams her into the horizontal part of the seat, her neck bent at a crooked angle as her head hits the car door. He's kneeling on the gears and the brake, one arm angled up against the roof of the truck, crouched over her like a malignant beast in a painting. The physicality of him filling up the space while she curls up and tries to push at his chest with her feet...yeah.

The Lolita comparison and the instances in YSMMC where Aegon created an inescapable situation and then handed her the illusion of choice...YES. Exactly it. If we're speaking in terms Helaena would use, Amara is an insect missing several legs, and Aegon is the spider slowly spinning the web in circles around her. Or a ladybird around which he's drawing a shape and she keeps trying to avoid the new lines he's putting on the page, without realising she can just step over them. She regularly suffers from what I like to call a fuck fog but there's so much more happening when Aegon decides to actively manipulate her. The Targaryen trauma train is so real, and it's just inconceivable every single one of the siblings hasn't developed their own methods of "playing God" when things don't go their way.

Anyway, urgh, fucking juicy ask. Delicious. Nibbling on it like a chicken leg.

P.S. Before I forget, I didn't envision Aegon knowing her before he kidnapped her at first, but I sort of like that now. There's a scene in Room where she screams at her mother for telling her to "be nice to everyone" and that's why she helped her eventual kidnapper look for his dog that didn't even exist. Maybe Amara gave Aegon a smile in passing a few times at the place she worked, and it was never anything more complicated than that. A scrap of kindness he decided to poison and taint.

[dreaming-of-barbi]

I have finally come up with a backstory for my reagent oc! I am so happy with how they have turned out !!! Very very long lore outline thing below, copied from my google docs and written on my phone so there might be some errors.

Sugar & Bone(s) | The Demon and The Vessel – lore dump / outline 

TRIGGER WARNINGS - not in order -

RELIGION, OCCULT THINGS, DEMON??, GORE MENTIONS, ABUSE??, DEATH, MAFIA??, DRUGS?? that's all I can think of 

Description of Sugar - 

About 22 years old when she reaches Murkoff.

5’3”, somewhat pudgy with blueish gray eyes and dark brown curly hair that reaches down to her hips. A large portion of her face is covered by a very sensitive, actively healing scar. 

She subconsciously touches the scar on her neck and face, feeling how much it has healed each day. She avoids mirrors and also hides her face with her hair when she can. She removed the night vision headset and E.S.O.P within the first few weeks of being there as the Demon can see in the dark just fine and they don't use the rigs.

She tries to hide the screws Murkoff drilled into her skull. She doesn't smile often as it feels weird against her healing skin. It won't ever fully heal, forever leaving a nasty spider web like scar across her face. 

Her teeth grew back sharper, some of her facial features being slightly altered because of the Demon.

Ages and timeline may change, especially as more lore for Franco comes out. It might be a little off with the ages but I tried to keep everything lore accurate. 

Locations are kind of unknown, for now. Most likely within Louisiana, before finding their way to Mount Sinyala in Arizona.

~

Ever since she had been born, it was as though she was cursed. Labeled as a “demonic child” before her birth, she was already doomed to be nothing more than a scapegoat for whatever was needed. 

The Demon found her at only a few months old, quickly latching on to such a sorrowful soul. How could something so young and small put off this much sadness? And this place? This was no religious commune, especially not when they could so easily step foot on these so-called “holy grounds”.

Shannon meets Franco at age 4 years old, very, very young at the time. Franco isn't much older, as he's almost three years older than her. 

She witnesses him being screamed at by Salvatore and, guided by a simple thought placed in her mind by the Demon, follows him when he runs off after, finding him hiding himself away and crying. She sits next to him without ever saying anything and shares a small loaf of banana bread with him, being called away by her guardians not too long after. 

Franco never forgets this gesture, recognizing her as he gets a bit older and starts learning more about his fathers… business. He sees her within The Commune whenever his father would bring him along in the following years, visiting sometimes to see how the operations were going. 

The commune is a cult, as well as a front for money laundering, and providing another way to smuggle narcotics For Salvatore. Has ties to a  “Freak Show” miles in the opposite direction of the city, which of course, also has ties with Salvatore. The cult buys and also helps distribute Salvatore's goods, earning a small profit for it as they use their ties with the Circus to keep production rolling through.

Who's going to question the little pilgrim-like Christian village out in the woods? 

Circus’ and Freak Shows were hardly even being bothered with any more, less and less appearing across the country each year as people grew bored and tired of it. 

With generous donations coming from Salvatore's companies, food and charity sent to both the Circus and The Commune, no one batted an eye at this tight knit circle. No one noticed them. 

The perfect front. 

It was a dying form of crude entertainment, the only thing keeping it alive was The exploitation of the gullible Commune members nearby, and the few people who visited occasionally. 

A deal was made with the Commune’s “Elders” and the Ring Master of the show, using one of the “attractions” to strike the fear of god into the gullible members. In return, they are paid a good sum of money, and given a discount on Salvatore's… finest selection.

A small albino girl, with a genetic defect causing feathers to grow on her face and body, skin pure white as snow, with two tiny, flightless wings to complete the look. (She is my fiance's oc! teehee) 

She was labeled the “Angle”, thanks to her own inability to pronounce the word. Anyone who attempted to correct it  would be berated and attacked by the Ring Master in a drunken stupor. 

Shannon was often taken with to the Circus, seeing the “Angle” trapped in her tiny cage, hearing the “Elders” scream how the members of The Commune lacked any real faith. Screaming as the small girl in the cage wept, demanding that they watch as she “cried for their sins”. 

Shannon would sneak out sometimes to see the Angle herself and even spoke to her, forming a small friendship, though it was fleeting, as Shannon couldn't risk being caught by the Ring Master or she (and Angle) would have hell to pay. 

She continued to seek Franco out in their younger years, despite him telling her to leave him alone for a while. He was fearful of both becoming close with someone but also fearful of what his father may do about it. Shannon was undeterred, Franco being the only person in her life who didn't treat her like an outcast, everyone else looking at her as though she was the devils spawn. 

He slowly warms up to her, they get to know each other more, Franco and Shannon always being very sneaky about their friendship. Shannon was supposed to stay within The Commune, to cook, clean, take care of the chores. Play the mini housewife for them, as all the Commune Women were expected to, and only god knows what Salvatore would do about his son prancing around with a lowly, nothing girl from that Commune, risking the operation that was held there. They knew the retaliation it may cause if either ever heard of their affairs.

Franco and Shannon knew better than to risk the wrath of Franco's father and the Commune… right?

Franco had many mixed feelings for Shannon.

She would actively look for him, wanting to spend time with him, unlike the other children and people in his life. He was often very skeptical of why Shannon was always so nice to him, even when he got incredibly angry she never switched on him or treated him with disdain like most. 

He was the only person who didn't treat her like a creature. All of The Commune members saw children as nothing more than easy, free labor, especially Shannon, training and treating her like a dog instead of a child. This would often translate into how other people treated her, as it was often encouraged to treat her this way by the “Elders”. 

Franco did not do anything like this to her, not once. She could deal with his temper, the yelling. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. 

She knew how kind Franco really was. 

Shannon began sneaking out of The Commune at around age 10, usually walking for miles to get into town and visit Franco, bringing him sweets she had made. 

Franco gives her the nickname Sugar (often Suga’ because of his accent teehee) sometime around when she's 11 - 12.

She makes him a dessert, accidentally adding too much sugar as she was distracted talking with him. He teases her for it, telling her it's “Just like you. Sweet as Suga’~.” the nickname staying as Franco keeps calling her such.

Franco began to flirt with her more around this time in their life, though he also often acted cold and harsh towards her as his own fears stirred. What was their “relationship”, if it could even be considered one? She would never be safe around his Father, around here at all. 

The “Beloved Elder(s)”, as they often demanded to be called, soon began to… up the Villages dosage of medications. They had drugged the “villagers” into submission for years, but for whatever reason they had decided to raise the amount, and even began including the commune children.

Sugar often wandered her way to Franco in town, nearly nodding off, clearly under the influence of something. 

One time Sugar appeared at his doorstep, about to collapse from whatever those bastards forced into the food. It was much worse than before, and He would stay with her, helping her ride it out. If only Sugar wasn't so naive, even as they talked of running away. Even as Sugar spoke of the terror the Commune Leaders brought her, she wouldn't hear his pleas to her that they were hurting her for such a long time, Franco trying to convince her for years that she was in danger staying within the commune. 

She learns what the Commune really is, and what Salvatore really does at 16,  finally witnessing it first hand at some point. 

Franco knew the Commune was going to break her eventually, and his father would make her disappear in an instant if he felt like it… nothing was safe here, for her. For them. 

They soon had begun to make more solid plans. Long nights spent talking about how they would run away together, Franco promising to keep Sugar safe many times. He had plenty of men he could get on his side if things ever went bad. 

He wanted a new life and he could start it with her…

But yet… his father needed him here, helping with his work. He knew that.

His father was so proud when he blew that fuckers head clean off, even gave him his beloved Lupara. 

He wanted to do good by his father. 

He was being the man his father wanted him to be now, right? He hunted down scumbags for his father, he did the dirty work. He made his father proud. 

He couldn't just let him down like this. 

“What does this girl know, anyways?”

“Sugar didn't laugh at me…”

“Father didn't stoop low, not for no whores.”

“She never scoffed at a word I said…”

Conflict within his mind happened often, going back and forth. He would ditch this broad once and for all… 

But yet, how could he ever forget…?

The way she never once avoided looking him in the eyes, how she smiled and laughed with him, never at him. Baking him things because she wanted to.

Seeking him out because she wanted to see him.

She called him “Fran”... how silly.

It really, truly is a shame. You never know when you have something so good, pure… precious. 

Not until it's too late. 

 

Maybe they had become sloppy, not covering their tracks as thoroughly as they usually did, distracted as their plans drew nearer.

Maybe it was always known, allowed to build and fester for years, until there was no denying it. 

No escaping fate. Cruel destiny. 

It was soon, she would leave this wretched “Commune” and live a free life with Franco. After the last time The “Elders” pacified the members, Sugar was almost unable to escape. She remembered how easily she could have died in that state. She nearly acted like a different person… 

The many, many times of being screamed at by his father, barely acknowledging Franco unless it was to blame something on him, or use him for his business. 

It often felt like there was another voice speaking in Sugar's head. These substances she was forced under were too much.

She was done. They were done.

They would get out of here, together…

She was 17 now. Giddy as she came back to the barbed wire lined fence of the Commune. He mind was filled with daydreams of running away together with Franco, a skip in her step as she made it back.

Only a few more days and they were free... 

They slipped through a small hole in the rusted fence, hidden behind a shed in a long abandoned goat pasture, her typical returning route.

However, this wasn't the same. As she slipped through, she immediately noticed the bushes and grass usually swarming the fence had been trampled and cut down. 

No one cleared the grass back here, no one ever came back here, and she made sure to keep the grass and plant life lush to hide her escape route behind the shed. 

Her heart began to race as she took her usual route back into the middle of the Commune, trying to avoid being seen as she snuck back into her family's shed. 

However, she was almost immediately grabbed as she stepped in, dragged out into the middle of the commune to The “Elders” by her “guardians”. 

They screamed at her about her disobedience, how she betrayed god and walked amongst sin. Commiting crimes against the lord himself and how she shamed their entire community. How dare you risk allowing the devil to infiltrate their precious sanctuary. They had known from the start what a ruckus she would cause in their precious sanctuary. 

They screamed that she was going to be punished, some of the other “villagers” being encouraged to throw rocks in her direction as they screamed and chanted for her to be punished.

Of course, Sugar had expected to be caught sneaking out at some point, and she knew if that happened it would result in her being in trouble… but her heart sank as she soon realized the extent of what the “Elders” really meant. 

They would not risk someone from the Commune getting out, possibly risking their whole operation here. 

She was just some nobody village girl. Not even her parents would miss her. They would have this solved. In fact… they called up some close friends to deal with the job.

Sugar was taken to the same abandoned pasture as the one she used to escape through, kicked down to the ground as The “Elders” gathered around her. Her fear kept her paralyzed in place, trying to think of a way to run and escape, some way to get out of whatever punishment The “Elders” had planned.

“You cannot be allowed to taint The Commune. You are a disgusting, filthy animal. From the moment you were born, you have defiled god, and now you have defiled us. This commune. Only god will judge you, now.” They taunted her, getting close to her face to say, once and for all. 

“It’s too risky to leave you alive, after what you know. You should have known your place.” 

As they step away, Salvatore steps forward and towards her, staying a few feet away as he encourages Franco to step closer to her with a push of his hand. 

Of course Franco was the one chosen to do it. Threatened earlier by his father; “Kill that pest. She means nothing to you, or you will mean nothing to this family.”

Who else was better for the job, anyways?

A fitting punishment for both of them.

Franco held the shotgun tightly, his father commanding him to lift the gun and aim for her head. He obeyed, shaky hands raising the barrel and aiming it to her face. 

Her gray eyes gazed up at him, no tears or reaction as he pointed the gun to her. Only her wide, fearful eyes gave away her terror. 

He couldn't risk angering his father more, cocking the gun and placing his finger to the trigger. He swallowed nervously, not saying a word. 

He had to do this. 

He had to do this. 

For his father, for himself. 

He didn't need her anyways, right? 

His father had done this many many times.

So could he. 

“I-it's okay, I forgive you, and… I love you, Fran.” Sugar said after a moment of silence, smiling to him the same way she always had, though it was weak and shaky. 

As if he couldn't stand to see her anymore, he pulled the trigger with a panicked cry, the sound covered up by the backfire as Sugar instantly fell to the ground in a limp heap.

She was dead. 

He had done it.

He stared down at her lifeless corpse for a long moment, watching the blood pooling around her in the grass, staining the wildflowers around her. Barrel of Lupara still smoking in his hand. 

He could have sworn… she was staring right back. 

And, just like that, Salvatore and himself were on their way home soon after.

None of the Commune members bothered with the corpse. 

She could rot right there, away from sight. 

Forgotten. 

—

“Man… I don't remember Romeo and Juliette being like this.“

A voice? 

What happened…? Why does it feel so cold? 

Jaw hurts, body aches… it's completely dark. 

No.. no it's not dark, there's a… projector? Playing a film on the screen in front of them. 

It feels so familiar, the movie. 

It was like watching through someone's eyes, seeing their point of view. They were climbing up a chain link fence. Why did the film playing look so familiar…? They've… seen this fence? 

The haunting memories come rushing back as she is almost forced to remember what had happened, nearly about to lose it when sue was interrupted once more;

“Hey. Let's make a deal, you and I. You rest for a while and I'll help you. You won't die because I won't let you. In return, you be my vessel. How does this sound, hmmm Sugar…?” 

That same voice again.

What deal? Well… Maybe some rest wouldn't hurt them. 

They did feel so very tired…

The Vessel fell dormant within the mind, and The Demon began to make their way through the dark forest. It knew having a nose, jaw and neck were important for these human things but… it had been so long since they were one. What was it even used for, again? 

Nevermind, it would heal back all the same. They'd get this poor, pathetic thing some help from another human.

Humans help other humans all the time, right? They're social animals.

This pity is such a weird feeling. What Demon shows mercy, takes it upon themself to help another? Following some random human girl until her untimely demise, helping her like this?

Don't they scheme, cheat and deceive? Only causing pain, tainting the land around them? 

Sure, maybe some, but not all. 

Demon is a species, not an evil. 

First order of business, a plan they had kept since these miserable places had drawn them in so long ago.

The Demon had seen the state of the nearby “Circus”, near the Commune. They made their way to that dingy little fraud of a place, unlocking every single cage and releasing the “attractions” to run free. 

It really had been too long since they had been around living beings, around humans. They didn't realize the chaos they would cause, possibly sealing the fate of a few of those poor souls within the circus…

Oh well, they were still a Demon, after all.

A few years had passed so far and They were nearly 22 now, the vessel's mouth and nose almost fully healed and regenerated thanks to the Demon. It had made quite an effort to keep this human hidden, like a fun little side quest, doing something… “nice” because they wanted to.

And how nice is keeping a human in this state alive? At least the mercy of slumber keeps the physical pain at bay, but what mental anguish would be left there after? Remembering her death, but never passing on?

However, that wasn't something on it's mind anyways, and soon, this human would be waking back up. The vessel was going to start needing things like food and water once more. There's only so much a Demons power can provide to a dying body.

No worries! They had found a flyer, with details about some kind of animal sanctuary thing for humans? The details didn't matter, it would be good enough. It promised things like food, shelter… a “purpose”? Whatever that means. Humans are weird.

Nearly a year later they were at the doors of a Murkoff charity facility, practically waltzing in. 

The workers tried to chemically knock out the Demon for a very long time but eventually gave up as it was a waste of their product, and the Demon just… willingly went in anyway. Walked right into the cattle car full of people, tied up, burlap sacks on their heads, not even batting an eye. 

It glanced around, clicking its tongue in amusement at the sight. 

“Quite the ride. What's the occasion, you got a Demon Lord visiting town?”

Typical.

—

It's hard to say who ended up more affected by Sugar's passing. 

Sugar herself… or Franco.

Salvatore nearly slammed him against the wall, demanding to know what he was thinking trying to get into the pants of some Commune girl, even making plans to leave with her?? 

Franco knew better than to risk his father's Business like this. 

The ultimatum was given, either kill this girl and restore some sliver of respect his father might have for him, or he would deal with the girl himself, and make sure Franco meant nothing to their family.

Franco tried to tell himself it was fine, nothing unlike the women his father went through. 

Many months went by and this thought only festered in his mind.

She was nothing, she had to be.

As the months turned into a few years, he started… exploring more. Branching out and refining his tastes, something to keep these pesky thoughts at bay. 

This would have been fine… if she didn't haunt him every time he tried to even speak to another woman. He would try his best to push her thought away, but nothing would happen there, and those god damn eyes would be staring at him all over again. 

She was dead, why was he still thinking about her. 

Why couldn't he do anything? 

He felt pathetic and it made him so fucking angry. 

But… there was one solution. 

His mind would cloud as he glanced to his Lupara…

A blinding rage would overtake him, once again seeing those terrified eyes staring at him. Forced to relive the undeniable rush that came from watching her body crumble to the ground so effortlessly. 

When he'd “come to”, yet another victim would lay in front of him. Visceral scenes he cannot remember making left in his wake, the image of Sugar in the grass below him being the only memory he could recall. 

Only… he really didn't care for these broads, and who would blame him if he… explored a little more? 

He would take it further and further each time, seeing what could bring him the same rush he felt with Sugar, her name becoming another one of the things he would mutter to himself when he hunted anyone down. Her image, his memories of her would become more vague, partially tainted by his endeavors.

He was starting to be noticed by his father, as he didn't always try to hide these misadventures… but that didn't bother him.

Things were really becoming a blur for him at this point. He didn't remember when Angelina showed up, his fathers fourth wife, his most recent step-mother. 

He didn't know when she suddenly took an… interest in him. 

He was finding himself being hurt by her, she would push him down, forcing him to kneel below her. She made him feel something he had never known before. Helpless, vulnerable, humiliated, afraid, like he couldn't stop her. It felt so familiar, feeling that rush in a whole new light.

He tried to ignore her lurking memories once more. He didn't want to think of Sugar anymore. 

She died. 

Now, he wanted to focus on this, the closest thing to attention he's felt since her. 

His father, of course, found out about the whole affair soon after.

Needless to say, Angelina disappeared, and Franco was lucky he didn't experience the same fate as Sugar that night, sent away to “help” in Miami.

His mind was a bit broken now, you could say. But, without the limitations and judgments of his father, he was free to truly explore his tastes while helping out “friends” in Florida with Cuba. 

By this point, Sugar had almost faded from his memory, only remembering the rush he felt that fateful night.

When visiting Gator Hook Lodge located in Florida, he would often try to experience his cravings with the working girls, trying to chase that rush all over again, even when he barely remembered Sugar's name.

While in Florida he is noticed and taken and transported to Mount Sinyala, a little less than a year after the Demon finds that silly little flyer. 

—

Sugar had gotten used to the routine here, going into a trial, trying to do what Murkoff instructed them to before inevitably being taken over by Bone to get them out of whatever deadly situation they had got themselves into. 

The Demon drove most of the reagents away from its many… habits. Often found gnawing on a bone from one of the corpses around the trials, complaining that the corpses are better than whatever slop the reagents are fed.

It happened often enough that they were soon being referred to as Bone or Bones by the Murkoff employees and other reagents. 

After almost a year of being with Mount Sinyala, they finally enter The Docks, to do one of the newest trials; “Poison The Medicine”. 

They had only heard of the new Prime Asset in passing, this was their first encounter with them face to face. 

They could handle it, right? How difficult could it be? Well, they knew the new Prime had a gun, so they would have to be extra careful going through these trials. 

Maybe Sugar would sit this one out…

The Demon made their way through the new trial environment slowly, keeping themself low and quiet for the time being. They neared the small room they were supposed to enter as a man begging and pleading for their life hung above, strung up almost as if on display. The sight drew a smirk from the Demon. 

As it entered the weird, rounded, rotating doors and into the small room, it took its time to take in the sight. The floor and furniture were soaked with blood, bits of flesh littered from the blast of a gun, corpses carelessly left wherever they died. This proceeded throughout the entire trial. Seems this Prime Asset certainly had been hard at work. 

The Demon pranced its way up the stairs getting a nice, clear view of the pleading, writhing man through the thick glass. If only they could find a way out there… sadly they couldn't risk making Murkoff upset like that again. 

The last time they derailed the trial, they were drugged and isolated for nearly a month! So boring. The Demon wanted to enjoy this new trial for a while before finally wrecking havoc. 

They turned and looked towards the other side of the room a large glass window revealed quite the interesting sight. 

A large expop corpse missing its head was propped up into a red chair along the corner of the room, with someone laying in their lap. They were happily suckling on the breast of the corpse, wearing a white suit stained with blood. 

The Demon smiled, scoffing with astonishment. This place just gets better and better. 

“When is it my turn?”

The Demon said aloud with great excitement before turning to press the button behind them, in front of the window displaying the strung up man. They noticed that the tank within the trial was now being lifted, and that same man was beginning to panic, writhing and kicking as he pleaded for his life even louder.

The Demon's attention was quickly drawn back to the room with the corpse, noticing that whoever had been in its lap had fallen to the ground. 

He was starting to yell something as the Demon stepped closer, peering into the glass to look, drawing an… odd reaction from the Prime Asset. He stepped back, going completely silent and never breaking eye contact with the Demon as he opened the door and made his way out onto the balcony. He didn't acknowledge the hanging man as he made his way towards unseen doors on the other side of the balcony, eyes still glued to the Demon. 

Sugar and the Demon stared right back, nearly in shock at the sight. They knew who he was, they recognized him. The gun he carried, barrel now sawed very short, his Lupara. 

Why was Franco here? 

They had him under some alias, something they didn't understand. How could they have known the new Prime Asset was Franco…? And now they were here, watching as he finally disappeared behind those weird Murkoff doors. Was he trapped in here, too...? 

He looked like he had been hurt, terribly. The Demon felt nearly overwhelmed by it as Sugar's heart ached for him, but yet also trembled from seeing him again. A conflicting dance of affection and terror, a nasty but also quite expensive cocktail in the Upper ranking Hells. No one would believe they got this shit from the source. 

They continued through the trial, doing the weird tasks Murkoff wanted them to, all while trying to avoid being stabbed. The usual, though this time it was certainly odd…

The Demon was no fool, these were real products they were placing into the cooker. They were doing real shit here. 

What the hell was this place? 

The stories they would have for their buddies at the tavern after this all…

Soon they were pushing some big, rusted, heavy, cart on a track over towards the other half of the trial. The Demon was having a good time, even as Sugar was practically bursting at the seems to know what was going on here. How was Franco here? Why was he so important here? …and how would she ever explain this to him… could she even face him? She felt so oddly terrified. 

The Demon finally butted in, a little irritated at their own lack of thinking room from it all; “C’mon, you gotta chill out. I can't do this if you're panicking, I'm feeling it all.” 

“But why is he here??” 

“Hell if I know! This place is fuckin' crazy, and that's saying a lot. I'm sure you'll get to ask him soon–”

“No, I can't just talk to him! What if he's angry with me?”

“He killed you, sweetheart… at least, he thinks he did. He ain't gonna be mad at you.” 

“But what if–” 

Their outward conversation was interrupted as they stepped into “The Train Depot”, stopped short by a gunshot to the floor beside them, causing a small crater in the floor. 

The Demon didn't jump, only turning to face him slowly before Sugar almost instantly overtook the Vessel. 

The change from the Demon to Sugar was very quick and subtle, but it was clear to Franco that something was off about her. 

Well… other than the fact that she was here and alive. 

He watched her fucking body fall to the ground, he put a hole right through her pretty little skull. 

Was he being tormented purposely by these doctors? 

They already knew so much about him, throwing his past into his face at any possible chance they could. Those fucking bastards.

He stepped towards them, causing Sugar to step back a bit in response. Her eye flicked to the gun clutched in his hand. She hadn't forgotten that night, even after years had passed. 

She could still taste the salty, metallic blood choking her as she laid there. It was so vivid, so distinct in her memory. 

Franco looked irritated, frightened, angry. He looked her up and down with a scowl as he continued to approach her. Memories that had almost been left and forgotten were being dredged up just as he was enjoying himself here. 

“Is this supposed to be fuckin’ funny or somethin’? You think this is a joke??” He demanded, nearly shouting as  anger rose with each word he spoke. Guilt and regret gnawed away at him every day, as much as he tried to ignore it. This was the one thing this wretched place hadn't thrown back into his face, how did they even know about Sugar? Enough to impersonate her? 

He was just staring at her for a long while as these thoughts rushed through his mind. 

Was she even real? Who knew what these scientist fucks were doing to him, why wouldn't he be hallucinating? 

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts as Sugar spoke up, smiling at him despite the fear she felt, seeing that same gun held in his hand.

“I.. I've missed you, Fran.”

[the-common-cowgirl]

Chapter 1 - Intro

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OFC (Anikyra Targaryen)

Summary: The Peaceful King Viserys hears word of a Targaryen Princess that resides in the broken stronghold of Valyria; which has since become an immature kingdom after of the doom befell their land. Feeling the tension between his house and believing the long night may soon come, Viserys proposes a betrothal between the Valyrian Princess and his second son, Aemond Targaryen, believing his daughter’s prophetic dream that the child born of this union will become the prince that was promised.

Warnings (Ch. specific): Mentions of murder and usurpation.

Word Count: 1600

A/N: AHA! First chapter of this rework done! Probably going to work on finishing The Lost Children after this unless this gets a lot of attention lol.

Masterlist

Dawn awakened over the vast land that once was the great stronghold of Valyria; now an emerging kingdom over the broken land. The red, hot sun greeted her on the east side of her balcony and the beautiful, bright rays danced along the pale, blue water of the sea that faced her to the south. The large, shiny, black castle, mounted on the side of a great mount of stone and soot, stood tall above the city. She could see the hustle of morning coming and goings of the smallfolk below her who now resembled crawling ants. She often sat high above them on warm dawns with her tea, wondering if, although their lives were harsh and rough, were they simpler? Were those people below her free in the choices they made or were they too, confined to a blind duty born of their station? Did they have autonomy over their beating hearts or were they too a prisoner in their own personal hell? 

She doubted it.

 She heard a door open in the distance behind her and knew her handmaiden was coming to ready her; she also knew the handmaiden would be bearing news in which she dreaded. News of the scheming of the King of Valyria and another King of a distant land. News that would be comparable to news of her own execution; at least, in her mind. She did not want to hear it but she knew it would come regardless of her wishes. So, she decided to muster up her courage, to take her cup with now cool tea and walk into her bedchambers to hear if this was the news her handmaiden would be bearing.

“Princess, a messenger has sent word that the Targaryens of Westeros have embarked on their journey here.”

The ‘False Targaryens’ you mean. 

She all but slammed her cup on a table, nearly breaking the fragile porcelain, angered by the audacity of these Westerosi to come here and believe they have any sort of claim to what was once their homeland. A homeland they were exiled from when Aenar defiled the name “Targaryen '' by gambling his riches awash then trying to make good on his debts by stealing his elder brother’s, Aelys Targaryen, dragon eggs. Aelys should have not only exiled him, but executed him. No, her ancestor, Aelys, allowed his brother to be exiled comfortably with his family, a dragon and a handful of eggs. After the doom befell Valyria,  all the dragons fell from the sky, burning from the outside in, and Aelys’ only daughter requested help from the Westerosi. She asked for Aenar to bring his dragons and help what remained of the dragonlords escape the wrecked ruins of what was their home. Aenar responded with a simple “Nyke ivestragon Aelys hen bisa vejes” [I tell Aelys of this doom].  So, desperate for help and to save the remains of her people, she took it upon herself as the last highborn blood of the dragonlords alive, she turned to head to Asshai…and the Taragryens rose from the ashes…without the help of the last of their kin.

“Princess?” Her handmaiden approached lightly and slowly; holding out her hand as if she were approaching a deadly beast that needed to sniff her first to know she’s not a threat.

“Yes, Tiah. I understand the words you spoke. I know they are coming. I’d be more content today if you chose to not speak of it. Is that understood?” She snapped with an edge to her voice she wasn’t intending upon. Realizing she was staring harshly toward her handmaiden, she softened her stance slightly and turned away to hide the outburst; lip twitching with residual anger.

��Tiah, she thought, only a year older than I but such a meek and foolish girl still. 

Her handmaiden took two steps back briskly. She held her head down and hands clasped behind her back. “Yes, your Grace. I will not speak further about them.” Like an obedient dog. 

The Princess, overcome with emotion of anger she did not want to process nor dim, yet also, feeling the need to apologize to her poor handmaiden who was only doing her duty in informing Princess of the updates that the walls of the castle echoed, decided to walk out to the balcony again instead of apologizing for her misdirected anger. 

Tiah is not the enemy here. Keep your head clear. Breathe. 

 After some time, the Princess decided to walk back into her bedchambers yet again, call upon her handmaiden, and ask for help dressing in a gown. She did not care which gown her handmaiden decided to pick, as long as it was light in this warming daylight and allowed her to breathe unrestrictedly. The day was hot and will grow hotter as the sun crawls higher into the sky. Tiah picked a thin silken gown that would allow her to stroll the castle on this day of summer without becoming faint. Emerald green silk with gold filigree embroidered on the sleeves and either side of her torso. It showed off a hint of her collarbone and she decided that it was an acceptable amount of skin to show to court. The Princess’ left hand slid along her exposed collarbone. Slender fingers caressing her soft skin. 

I will not become some broodmare for a false dragon. She reminded herself in the mirror. I am the true daughter of Valyria. The last true dragon of Valyria and I will not let the false Targaryens of Westeros feast upon my body with their eyes. I will not bend, nor will I break. 

 She thought of her mother and how she did not bend, nor break to her father’s whims. The beautiful “Light of Valyria” remained gentle but firm in her hold of power. How her mother loved her father deeply but it was her who sat the throne. How her father helped raise Valyria from the ruins and strengthened their fledgling kingdom, his duty born purely out of the love he held for her mother. Despite all of their love, duty, and power, they only produced a single child. One daughter. 

Naturally, being the “First Child of Valyria,” she would be the heir uncontended; free to marry whomever she wanted, regardless of status or power. If only the natural order of things were so easy to abide by. 

The day they revolted against her father, the King Consort, she had viewed her mother’s face for the first time for who she truly was: a monster. Only a monster would sentence their true love to death. Only a monster would marry the man who usurped her father’s place and allow him to stand beside her throne as her new King Consort. Only a monster would lie with the man who murdered her only child’s father and only a monster would give birth to the most precious being in this world. 

Her younger sister. Only four years younger but still so very wise and kind. The only person in this world whom Anikyra has ever had to love and cherish. The only one who had ever claimed to love her and didn’t abandon her for the sweet taste of death. The young Princess Scilia was the very image of their mother. Pale hair, purple eyes, touched by the dawn and the light above. She always wore light colors as well; an homage to her mother. The elder sister sometimes even thought that Scilia was the Sun itself; especially when times were dark and cruel. Many referred to the young Princess as “The Light Princess.” 

Those very people had a similar name for the elder Princess. A name she did not care to refute as she knew the truth in it. When she was born, in the month of the Sapphire, her father was so happy his child would carry a reminder of him, regardless how small. The midwives called it “touch of dark.” Her mother called it “soul of the dragon.” But the people of the great castle called her “The Dark Princess,” for the small patch of black hair on the right side of her head, intertwined in her long, thick silver locks.

Those names, those whispers as she walked the slick, black floors of the castle, they gave life to the fire burning within her. Gave life to the rage she felt. Gave life and all that is unholy to the plan she had laid before herself once she heard the news, fourteen years ago, that her mother had been taken out of the castle a month after the birth of the Usurper King’s first child, the child that sealed his place on the throne, and executed in secret by the that very man. By the Usurper, her Father-by-law. She may be the heir to her parent’s murder’s kingdom, but this kingdom will bend the knee to her and her alone. She will take her realm back by blood. 

She found herself in front of the massive iron double doors to the throne room. As they opened, the large crowd of the court turned all eyes toward her and dared not look away for even a moment, as they always had done. The masses watched the predator in the eyes of the Dark Princess at all times for sign of a threat, waiting anxiously for the day she finally snaps and ends the man who murdered the very couple who gave her life.

She began ascending into the throne room, straight toward the Valyrian Throne where the now-King sat and a voice called out before her. 

”Princess Anikyra of the great House Targaryen. First child of Valyria, Heir to the Valyrian throne.”

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[ladystarksneedle]

Born to die

Summary: In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aegon thinks about his family as he's fighting for his life.

Spoilers for future seasons of House of the dragon.

He feels as if he’s falling.

Deeper and deeper into a never ending abyss with each moment he’s awake and somewhat in his senses, when his mind is not overtaken by the sedatives he’s being fed. It’s a weightless feeling, he experiences, mostly in the wee hours of the night or whatever he assumes is. He’s covered in salves, potions and bandages of all kinds, Maesters tending to him tirelessly. The smell of disinfectant pungent in his chambers, repulses him and his mind wanders to his father briefly, wondering how he spent the last few years of his life. He feels like him now, the irony should make him laugh but his throat is choked up and movement of any sort aggravates his burns. Perhaps their line was destined to fail, destined to suffer the same fate. Cripples the lot of them and while his brother may have suffered an affliction similar to what his father gained he has much more will than that rotten corpse could ever muster, for them atleast. He rules in his stead now, Prince reagent, the favorite son, finally with everything he’s ever wanted right in his lap yet he knows he won’t fail him. Their envy as much as it pulls them apart binds them to each other too, like a myriad of threads pushing and pulling, a web tinged with their blood never breaking, never thinning. He can hear weeping every now and then. The sound comforts him as much as it shouldn’t, reminds him there is still someone who cares. A halo of red, flashes of bloodied hands caressing his face,  prayers whispered under her breath, his injuries now have him believing in the Mother who visits him every night lulling him to sleep. Perhaps his mother’s gods have decided this as a fitting absolution for his sins. Most days however are spent screaming and crying till his throat is raw. He feels less of a king now more than he ever has. No one is allowed to see the state he’s in and he’s grateful for it. He can hear the Hand's taunts at the back of his mind,

“To show weakness is a fool’s error. Are you a fool boy? You sure as well act like one. It is a wonder the King cannot look beyond his daughter, with you for a son”

His grandsire proves his usefulness even in his absence from the chain of duty he’s been bound with most of his life. Yet he would be a fool to think he still doesn’t exert power through the shadows. We light the way. A Hightower always makes it through the darkness.

He doesn’t feel like one. Never has if he’s being honest. Neither does he feel like his namesake, adorned in his regalia the day he was sent to his doom and the day he set out to avenge his son. A son he never bothered to know. A son he failed like his father before him. Perhaps he's more Targaryen than he thought.

But most of all through the burning, cracking and singing flesh that weeps more than what drenches his face, he misses him and he yearns for her. His mount equally broken, abandoned in that wretched place, guarded by his own reagent, proud and mighty. He misses his shrill roars at midnight, the flapping of his wings and the feeling of safety and comfort of his presence.

In the same breath he wishes for her. They tell him in hushed voices that she hasn’t improved. That she’s still the same shell of a woman, wife, mother, queen. The whispers following her have increased along with the voices in her head. She hasn’t visited him once since his return to their cage. He finally feels like he’s failed her. Revenge sought for their son wasn’t enough to bring her back to him, wasn’t enough to warrant a visit to her dying husband, her king. Yet he can’t find it in him to blame her and for what, the same duty and burden thrust upon the both of them, which she had single handedly carried all these years. He wants to let her go, for her own peace, though he knows both of them shall never find it now. All that is left is Fire and Blood. He’s fire made flesh as he burns and burns and burns, his body alight and his mind clinging to rage, baying for blood. Their house words have never rung truer.

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 4

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own vs Eldacar of Gondor

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own:

A fox who found Frodo, Sam and Pippin asleep under a tree and was puzzled by this.

Yeah sure why NOT switch PoV to a (arguably) non-sentient creature for like a paragraph with no bearing on the actual plot besides the comment that it never realized that the plot was happening??

It shows up for one page for no reason.  It's great.

Listen, that fox is absolutely a borbo. Confused? Funny? Has enough to be memorable but little enough to write a shitload of fanfiction about? Someone I have actually written about? Twice? (they aren't on ao3 though) clear boorbo

Look, people have observed before, correctly, that one of the things that sets The Lord of the Rings apart is that Tolkien will tell us things about the well-being of minor characters, like that the hobbits’ ponies that they lost in Bree were okay and went to live with Tom Bombadil. Tolkien is the kind of writer who will switch the POV to a fox who happens to pass by the hobbits on the first night of their journey to Rivendell, because the story isn’t just about the main characters, nor is it just about the endurance of realms like Rohan and Gondor. It’s about every living thing in Middle-earth, and for Frodo it’s especially about the Shire, the home of simplicity and good food and community and gardens and foxes. That’s what he takes up the Ring to save, and the fact that he takes it up with that motivation, not personal greatness or heroism, is what enables him to get as far as Mount Doom. Gandalf lays this idea out to Denethor when Denethor claims the fate of Gondor as a goal above all else: “For my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come.” The Quest of the Ring is not simply about Men and Elves and Hobbits; it is about ponies, and the trees of Fangorn, and tiny sun-star flowers in the grass, and yes, a fox on business of his own who never finds out anything more about the three hobbits he once saw sleeping under a tree, but lives and thrives because of what they did.

Eldacar of Gondor:

The twenty-first King of Gondor, also known as Vinitharya. During his reign the conflict known as the Kin-strife occurred and he was forced from his throne for ten years.

The blorbo of all time actually. He’s the protagonist of one of the most interesting stories in the LoTR appendices, the Kin-strife, and everything about his life story is so fascinating! His father was the crown prince of Gondor and his mother was the princess of Rhovanion so not a Númenorean. As a result all the racist nobles of Gondor made noises about how Eldacar was of “lesser race” and wouldn’t live as long as a “true Dúnadan”. One of the most fascinating examples of fantasy racism in Tolkien’s works imo – the bigotry is awful but the bigots have a shield to hide behind! Obviously their concerns are actually valid because they just don’t want their king to die young! (Their concerns aren’t valid. But I think the worldbuilding here is great.) Anyway Eldacar was born in Rhovanion and given the birth-name Vinitharya, but when he returned to Gondor aged five he was obliged to take up the Quenya name Eldacar, presumably to pacify all the racists in Gondor. He’s the EMBODIMENT of mixed-race/immigrant child trauma my beloved. Eventually his father died and he ascended to the throne of Gondor, but then his shitty second cousin Castamir (all my homies hate Castamir he’s the worst) started the civil war known as the Kin-strife and usurped Eldacar’s throne. Eldacar was forced to flee north to Rhovanion but Castamir captured his eldest son Ornendil and had him cruelly put to death which is SO SAD. But Eldacar, being brave and resourceful and clever and extremely cool, put together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and after ten years reclaimed his throne, which turned out to be slightly easier than expected because Castamir was The Worst and all his subjects hated him. And Eldacar PERSONALLY fought and killed Castamir HIMSELF and AVENGED HIS SON which is extremely important when you consider all the cringefail elves in the legendarium whose quests for revenge didn’t really go anywhere at all. Then he lived to be 235 proving that all the idiot racists who were worried about his lifespan didn’t have any idea what they were talking about, as is par for the course with racists. Also the Kin-strife itself has such far-reaching consequences for the history of Gondor! The Corsairs of Umbar, Gondor’s long-standing enemies, are actually followers of the descendants of Castamir. And during the Usurpation of Castamir Osgiliath was sacked and burned, leading to the beginning of its decline as Gondor’s greatest city. Even though Eldacar’s story is, to me, ultimately hopeful, it’s also such a fascinating turning point in the history of Gondor. Also ALSO he’s explicitly surrounded by textual ghosts which is really fascinating. His father Valacar has “children” plural – so Eldacar had siblings!! What were they like? How did they react to it all? And his son Aldamir is described as Eldacar’s second son and third child, meaning that he had a daughter too. Who was she?? What happened to her? He’s such a blorbo and there’s so much interesting stuff to dig into around him and he has to win this entire tournament please please please❤️

Round 4 masterpost

[crownedwithstars]

This was supposed to be a more coherent and structured post but my brain is mush so instead you get a bit more chaotic representation.

was thinking of how sometimes you see arguments that Beren and Lúthien get "plot armour" and are treated differently because they are Tolkien's self-inserts for himself and his wife.

and I will allow this is true tuo some extent, especially in the case of Lúthien, but I don't think their story and the success of their quest is because it's self-gratifying fanfiction.

not plot armour or self-inserts but secret third thing: Beren and Lúthien are a part of Ilúvatar's own device to bring down Morgoth and Sauron, and they are able to do the impossible because they have divine favour on their side. (I think it's even said in Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth that if the union of Elf and Man should be achieved, it would be for "some high purpose of doom" - I see what you did there, Tolkien.)

Sam and Frodo are also part of this device (and when you think about it, their quest parallels B&L in many ways).

LOTR arguably confirms this: in TT, Sam and Frodo discuss the Quest for the Silmaril and Sam proposes that they're in the same tale still.

in both cases it's people who no one thought of as powerful or important, and so easily underestimated, that overcome all odds.

it's great that these deeds are worked Ilúvatar's Children, whom Morgoth and Sauron see only as useful slaves.

Beren steals a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth -> it eventually passes to Elwing -> she brings the Silmaril to Eärendil -> Eärendil uses the light of the Silmaril to find Valinor and fulfills his prophesied fate of pleading mercy for Elves and Men -> Eärendil becomes the Star of High Hope -> Elwing and Eärendil's descendants go on to found the kingdoms that keep Sauron at bay so that he never manages to subdue Middle-earth completely and resistance can rise at the crucial moment to finally destroy him -> Galadriel gives the light of Eärendil's star to Frodo -> the light that comes from the same Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien fought for aids Frodo on his journey to Mount Doom.

as for divine favour/mercy as protection: B&L are saved by the eagles from certain death, they are allowed to return to life and Lúthien alone of the Children is permitted to change her fate (change, not choose like Eärendil and Elwing and their descendants) so that Elwing can eventually be born and be the link between the Silmaril and Eärendil (Elwing also survives two Kinslayings against all odds), the Ring is allowed to be destroyed even though Frodo had essentially failed, and he and Sam are brought back to the lands of the living from the literal mouth of hell.

B&L and S&F are also rewarded for their efforts: B&L get their happily ever after, Frodo is granted an access to the only place where he may heal and experience the greatest bliss that can be had in Arda, and Sam lives a long, fulfilling and busy life (he even gets to tend to and beautify the Shire with Galadriel's gift and in a way fulfill the ambition of creating a great garden the Ring tempted him with).

Like, Ilúvatar used the same device - the love his Children had for one another - twice and it worked both times, but that very much tracks in his legendarium, because while it's the fundamental force of Arda that takes shape in hope and pity and mercy and friendship, his villains regularly scorn and underestimate it. And because of that, Morgoth and Sauron never see B&L and F&S coming.

[wystericwoes]

Doomed pt.3

Pt.1, pt.2

Warnings: Smut, cursing, implied dub-con, reader with anxiety, panic attacks. Readers age is unspecified but implied 21+

GN reader

“𝔏𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢. 𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰.”

Gojo satoru: some things about him-

6’5

28 years old

The first to be born with both limitless and six eyes in centuries.

His eyes are blue, he loves sweet food,

And he fucks the same way he talks.

Cocky, smart, and always knows something you don’t.

He can read you like an open book, except that book is on a lectern with a light shining down on it and the pages move on their own so he doesn’t even have to try to look through it.

You weren’t allowed to have secrets around him. Not when his fingers danced across your body in a way that you would’ve given anything to him. He expertly picked all your locks as if there was no reason for them to even be there.

Recently Gojo Satoru had become the only staple in your life. The only familiar thing, only comforting pattern and recognizable face.

So when you just fucking went for it and kissed him, you barely even thought twice.

Worst case scenario you blame it on the alcohol-

But then his hand slid up to the back of your head and held it like precious pottery.

Sacred, unique, and incredibly valuable.

You let out a groan of frustration after the second kiss that was much more needy and your forehead clinked against his glasses.

“What’s wrong?”

“Damn glasses…”

He chuckled at you before taking them off and reaching past you to put them on the nightstand

“Like to see my eyes?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Right.”

He said cockily

“Just shut up and keep going, You’re less handsome when you talk.”

His hand flew to your waist and he dug his slender fingers in causing you to let out a crude moan, which he cut off by pressing against your face again.

You almost couldn’t keep up with him, it wasn’t that he was desperate- he was just that good.

You were frenzied in your effort to not be left behind, you wanted to be someone that he would remember if this was going to be a one time thing.

A one time thing…

You didn’t want this to be. You wanted to be with him like this again, and again, and again. Until your body remembered his shape.

You didn’t like how fast you were falling for him, but you decided to not think about that right now. And instead focus on how you were going to fuck him tonight.

Tunnel vision was set straight onto him. You were mid kiss and his hand was becoming eager, searching and squeezing across your lower torso. But not going higher or lower than that

With one hand you put on his should you mounted his lap and put your thighs either side on his

You did so clumsily, but before you had the chance to mess up he guided you with his hand on the small of your back

You were holding yourself up by your knees, trying to cater to his comfort.

He caught wind of that quickly and wrapped his arms around your waist slamming you down on him.

“Don’t hold back on me. I am the strongest after all.”

You didn’t even care how much of a narc he was being.

One of his hands remained on your hips, and the other began to slowly trail its way up to your shoulder. His delicate traces leaving goosebumps where he ghosted your skin.

You two started making out again, growing more and more impatient.

His fingers were cold, and they teased the entrance of your clothing fiddling with the hem.

Sukunas fingers are warm.

A memory that wasn’t yours suddenly invaded your mind. It was fuzzy and convoluted. A parasite had planted itself into your brain and was saying things that weren’t true. Were they? How would you have any way of knowing what he felt like…

Where did it come from?

You must not have been as inconspicuous as you thought, because you were suddenly snapped out of by the sensation of cool air hitting your exposed chest.

“Don’t lose interest now.”

He smugly said while shamelessly staring at your chest.

“I’m.. im not.”

You whined.

“Not what? Sorry babe couldn’t hear you.”

“I’m not losing interest!”

“Mhm. Good.”

With a satisfied hum he pressed the pads of his thumbs against your nipples, the sudden cold feeling perking them up effective immediately.

“Ah! Shit…”

You stifled a moan as he began rubbing slow circles and pinching one

“Now you’re back. Thought I lost you there for a sec.”

You whined as he started kissing down your neck, delicately at first. But then as he worked his way down and abandoned your chest along the way, instead moving his hand to your lower back, bucking your hips into him.

He worked his way back up to your mouth for a sensual kiss.

You both let out an involuntary groan upon feeling the sensation of grinding against each other, pressure finally being somewhat relieved.

He left your mouth much to your protest and latched onto your collarbones, suckling on the sensitive skin. You felt his teeth graze against it and that slight pain made you bite your lip.

He worked his way around your chest, nibbles, suckles, kisses, and love bites.

You just couldn’t get enough of him, Drunk on the high he gave you.

He separated himself from you and whispered in your ear.

“Where do you want me?”

“Fuck… I don’t know satoru.”

You whisper shouted in frustration. You didn’t have a plan going into this, you just wanted him to fuck you!

“Here, then?”

He tapped a finger between your legs at your arousal.

Your body jumped at his impact, So sensitive- so ready.

You nodded your head yes.

Without warning he shifted his hands under your thighs and seemingly effortlessly manhandled you onto your back. He had his hand on the back of your head as if you were precious pottery.

So pretty, so special, so valuable.

he was straddling you, his legs on either side of your body, trapping you in.

“What kind of mood are you in tonight babe?”

You looked up at him, previously avoiding his gaze.

You really didn’t care.

“Any.”

“Any?”

He slowly moved a hand down your body, until he reached your needy hole.

“Yes!”

You said desperately between shallow breaths.

He prodded the tip of his finger through the fabric of your clothes at the entrance.

Both of you were shirtless, but annoyingly still had pants on.

“Focus on me.”

You gulped but obliged. He moved his head down your body occasionally leaving sweet kisses against your exposed skin, never breaking eye contact.

You elevated yourself up by your shoulders once he went farther down.

He reached your legs, the bottom half of his face was gone past the view of your body. His eyes still never breaking away.

He held his hands to your hips and pulled them into his face. And with one swift lift of the hips and tugging of the clothes, he removed the rest of your bottoms minus the underwear.

He threw them behind his head without a second glance.

You threw your head back with a muffled “fuck” when he gently bit the inside of your thigh.

“You watching?”

He looked up at you again, and with some sloppy kisses worked his way up to your hips. Then, in one fluid motion his teeth latched onto the edge of your underwear, and he pulled them down your legs, letting them dangle from your foot and fall pathetically onto the floor.

And there you were, in a state of such vulnerability that you couldn’t help but shy your head away. You didn’t even want to imagine what you looked like right now. Hair a mess, tear stained cheeks, puffy lips, and sore injured body.

You bet you looked pathetic. You suddenly became insecure and moved your arms over your chest and body.

“What’s wrong?”

He rested his head against your inner thigh and gave you puppy dog eyes.

“Jus’ cold.”

Leaving one hand on your hip, he reached out to the other and grabbed a soft fluffy blanket and graciously draped it over your legs. You pulled it up a little to cover your chest.

“Thank you…”

With this newfound screen of privacy, he couldn’t see your face anymore. But you also couldn’t see his. You only saw your knees, and a blanket covered protrusion between them.

One hand smoothly worked up your thigh, slipping underneath it and pushing your legs back. Now he had full exposure to all of you.

You were so glad he couldn’t see your face, because you knew whatever face you didn’t hold back your flustered expressions anymore.

You couldn’t see only feel. And what you felt started off with one finger slowly entering you.

“You look so pretty like this.”

“You look so pretty like this…”

You were bouncing up and down another man’s cock. You couldn’t see his face. Just a fog of skin and sweat.

Deep talons of nails were sunken into your hips, certainly breaking the skin. But he persisted, not giving you a chance to recover as he mercilessly pounded you in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Bliss and torture.

He handled you roughly. So rough you’d think he didn’t care, but you knew he did. He was doing it just the right amount you liked it.

“If only they could capture memories. Id save this image and paint it on every wall.”

Walls. The walls around you were tall, lanterns lit up along them revealing a series of paintings. Traditional Japanese style paintings… you look around to see it’s an old building. Well- it looks new but this type of architecture doesn’t exist anymore except in historical temples and older homes.

He pulled your face towards him, back hunched to be closer to you. His force was tough, but controlled.

“What are you looking at, Angel?”

You were snapped back into your reality when Gojo’s fingers reached up to your G-Spot.

You moaned from the sudden shift in sensation.

Your heart was beating fast. You couldn’t tell him what you just saw- what would you say? “Sorry I just had a vision of me fucking another man.”

You tried to rub away the memory but everytime you closed your eyes it flashed back to you like fragments to a picture. Trying to piece itself together but you didn’t let it.

“Fuck… Satoru!”

You needed a distraction and you needed it now,

“Fuck me.”

He came out from under the blanket. Cheeks flushed from the heat, sweat glistening his forehead and he sported a shocked but grinning face

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You said pleadingly.

You knew you weren’t entirely ready. But maybe the shock would get out of your fucking daydreaming.

You had the most beautiful man alive sitting between your legs and you were zoned out thinking about…

You shuddered. You didn’t even let his name leave your thoughts.

“Alright Angel.”

Angel.

He stood up from between your legs a visible but subtle boner hiding beneath his buttoned pants.

He reached over to the nightstand to take out an open box of condoms.

Open. He had used this box before.

No- you had no right to be jealous. He doesn’t belong to you, you knew the type of man he was the first day.

He sat next to you giving you one last kiss before unbuttoning his pants and resting against his headboard, Sitting upright. He began slowly unbuttoning his pants, savoring your reaction. He was moving too damn slow.

You moved yourself to be sat on his thighs, waiting impatiently for him to finish. With slow and torturous movements he opened his pants and pulled his cock through his boxers.

You sat up to help him quicken the process, he tore it out of the package and you helped him roll it down his insane length. The contact from your hands made his thighs flex under you. A subtle but noticeable reaction.

It wasn’t a surprise but you were still out off guard at how long he was. Of fucking course he had to be packing. No one that confident is walking around and isn’t hung like a goddam horse.

You had to just sit back to admire him for a minute;

White strands of hair fell over his face, it just looked so soft. His cheeks were dusted pink, and eyes half lidded. As much as he had been holding out on you, you knew he was still horny too.

It was average width, and a good 7-8 inches. The tip was pretty pink, he had two small but noticeable veins running along both sides.

He must’ve been tired of your gawking because he leaned forward and grabbed you by your hips, adjusting you so you were hovering over him.

“Impatient.”

You grinned at him

“Guilty.”

He teased

You moved one hand on his shoulder, and the other holding his cock still beneath you.

You were nervous, but you couldn’t show it. With one deep inhale you began sinking yourself onto him.

His hands gripped your hips harder, he looked at you patiently and with that same smirk.

You felt a sharp pain when he went in. And even though you were taking your time, he never bucked his hips up, he just sat there waiting.

You had stayed still for a moment. Chest heaving in deep breaths as you tried to steady yourself.

You ignored the pain, forcing yourself to adjust onto him, and slowly pushing yourself farther down until you bottomed out, involuntarily taking a sharp moan and hissing from the pain.

He let out a deep breath. Eyes closed, he was keeping his composure for you.

You moved your hands to his chest. The stinging sensation was still there, you felt like a fucking Virgin with his monster cock.

“Are you sure you want to be on top?”

He whispered.

“No…”

You just wanted to mount him as soon as possible.

“What do you want?”

“You always ask that.”

“It’s important!”

You took a few deep breaths from your nose, moving your hips in little circles getting adjusted to him.

His eyes clenched back shut, he sat up and dig his face into the crook of your neck.

When he finally settled in, and you had been ready- the tip of him kisses the end of you so sweetly.

A perfect fit.

(With foreplay)

The temporary sting subsided, and you began to clench around him. Now you were the one teasing

You felt his hair tickle your shoulders and back. You couldn’t see his face but you wished, when you moved your hips ever so slightly in shapes and you heard him take sharp inhales each time. You could tell he was growing more sensitive with each passing second. But he still refused to give up.

One particular clench, made him gasp then suddenly reach his hand up towards you but he stopped himself before it reached anything.

You were pretty sure you knew what he wanted.

You moved his hand up your chest, he snuck in some squeezes and punches along his way up until you settled it at your neck.

He moved to look up at you. His eyes had uncertainty in them, but you reassured him with a comforting shoulder squeeze, sweet smile, and affirming nod. You trusted him

“I’m ready.”

Upon saying that you started to rise up and sink yourself back onto him again.

Slow, painful motions not nearly enough for either of you.

“Stop that…”

“Stop what?”

You gave him innocent doe eyes.

“Being a fucking tease.”

He grinned at you, but lust was laced in his words and glazed over his eyes

“What are you gonna do about it?”

You tested the waters.

“Being a brat huh?”

You shrugged with a malicious smirk.

“Want me to fuck you silly, huh?”

Something in his demeanor shifted, his grip on your neck finally had some pressure applied into it. He squeezed in the sides, not hurting you by actually choking you.

You clenched around him when he did that; leg muscles flexing and a small moan leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna regret teasing me, Angel.”

With a swift motion and no warning, he had you flipped over in seconds. Doggy, your elbows almost buckled from the sudden shift in weight. But you managed to keep yourself up.

His hands moved to your hips, and he started to slowly fuck you. He was in the depths of your body, reaching all the right places

You couldn’t hold back the moans and whimpers with each of his thrusts.

He started off rough and slow, taking himself so far out you thought he was gone and then he would slam himself back into you balls deep.

“Satoru!”

You loved this, but you became needy and wanted him to go faster. Each time the head of his cock grazed that spot inside you, you clenched around him.

“What is it?”

In a husky voice he lowered himself down, and grumbled it into your ear.

“You gotta tell me what you want.”

You whined. You didn’t want to talk, want to think. You just wanted him to fucking you faster

“Want me to do fuck you dumb huh? Make you drunk off my cock.”

You gulped and started to moan in response.

You still didn’t know the extent of his powers, and you may never know- but a picture was painted with the way he slammed your hips into his like you were nothing. You had no control over the situation at all, he set the pace, he picked the speed, and he had your hips.

His pace picked up to a more desperate speed, but not once did he ever falter from pure skill. Bo matter how fast he became, each thrust had meaning- each movement had purpose.

All you could do was keep yourself upright. Elbows trying to buckle and betray you at every point.

Eventually you could no longer feel each thrust, no longer feel the stretch and shape of his cock. It all meshed together in one painfully pleasurable blur. You were totally opened up to him, skin against skin became numb. All that was left was the feeling of the nerves inside of you knotting into a breaking point.

You tried reaching down to touch that part you needed most between your legs, but when you lifted your arm you threatened to collapse. He put an arm around your stomach and hips, keeping you upright. You succumbed to your weekends, arms failing you and face pressed against the mattress.

One of his hands reached down between your legs and began taking care of your most sensitive spot, his fingers moved skillfully and with purpose, but started to become less coordinated.

He was close. And so were you.

He bent his head down and whispered into your ear with a clean rasp.

"You take me so well."

"You take me so well..."

It felt like hours that he had been fucking you. The word "Limit" was long gone from your vocabulary.

That's how it had to be with Sukuna.

As he was in the battlefield, he was in the bed.

Merciless, rough, passionate.

Sukuna was flying too close to the sun until you fell into the ocean.

Lighting a candle but the flame touches your fingertips and burns you.

Standing in the summer heat too long until you grow tired.

Being with him was dangerous. You're a skydiver, a risk-taker, or maybe just an idiot.

But it was easy to forget about those things when he was so good at making you deny yourself time to think. Any time he'd see you dozing off he had no hesitance to remind you of who you were with.

A sharp pull of the hair, slap of the ass, a bruising grip of the thighs.

Or when he would fuck you throughout the night, and your whole body was sore.

But then there were those moments of tantalizing touches and wordless whispers.

You sat between his legs, and he traced a finger along your shoulders down to the new silk robe he got you. Expensive and intricate, in deep red. His favorite color. It was funny how much effort that would be made into the creations of these, perfectly stitched together thread by thread by the finest artisans and craftsmen. Just for it to be ripped in half later, one of his favorite games.

You were his most prized possession, his little trophy. Tucked away into the corners of his temple, hidden beyond sight. No one deserved to see you anyway.

Gojo fell on your back holding himself up with one arm, running kisses down your skin between labored breaths.

He had finished, and you didn't even remember.

You let out a shaky sigh.

He tied off the condom and tossed it in the trash, then he flopped over next to you, sitting upright on the bed.

You were still starstruck by everything that just happened. You laid yourself down, wincing as you did from the growing sore spot between your legs. Of course he left you sore.

You wanted to say something, but the silence was deafening.

You looked over to the sound of the sheets moving.

Gojo had gotten up, put on his pants and went into the kitchen. you sat upright, still dazed. Sukuna, you, these memories.

Gojo came back in with a glass of water and your clothes.

"Thanks..."

You mumbled.

You were confused, tired, and disoriented. but above all else, Guilty.

You weren't together but you felt like you had cheated. The image of someone else fucking you continuously popping up in your mind.

Sukuna.

"Youre quiet."

Gojo was smiling at you, buttoning up his pants.

"That good huh?

You scoffed

"Shut it."

you started sipping on the water he brought to you, your mouth was surprisingly dry. The water helped you clear your head.

Sukuna.

You shut your eyes as you gulped down the rest of the cool fluid. Your hand was involuntarily shaking.

"How are you feeling now?"

"I'm alright. Just tired."

"I'll let you sleep then. Don't forget to pee!"

"Where are you going?" You muttered quietly.

"The couch."

You stared at him with a blank yet annoyed expression.

"So, you'll fuck me but won’t sleep in the same bed as me?"

He chuckled at you.

You didn't want to admit it to yourself or him, but you were clingy, and still scared, and you wanted someone close to you.

Sukuna.

He laughed you off.

"I just think it's more polite to have my guest sleep on the bed and I sleep on the couch is all."

You huffed.

"You're cute when you pout."

He easily dodged a pillow thrown at him and laughed.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

"Yeah..."

And then, it was quiet.

Sukuna.

Gojo thought about saying something.

He looked up at the dark ceiling, laid back on his couch.

He couldn't sleep, the rhythmic sounds of the vent and cars driving by kept him awake because he was hyper-vigilant. Something about you had him on edge.

He nitpicked every detail of you and memory with extreme precision.

Another thing about Gojo Satoru, was that his own greatest weakness was himself.

Since he was born his fate has been defined by his abilities. He was always exceptional and gifted, so he never had to be anything more than that.

He always had everything. Love, adoration, power, strength, persistence, money.

He got whatever he wanted and always had what he needed.

Until he met you.

Do you want to know something else about Gojo Satoru?

He doesn't know who he is. Because as he's walked through life- the road was always smoothly paved before him, never having to do anything except lift his feet and move them.

He didn't have the privilege of ever receiving a challenge. And while that may sound great for some people, it leaves those who always had the answers before, behind.

He shifted himself upwards, he needed a distraction. He put on his shirt, his glasses, and went to one of the few things that brought him comfort.

When Satoru didn't know who he was, or ever had doubts- he went clubbing.

Some nights were for dancing, some for drinking, and some for debauchery.

Tonight was anything he could get his hands on. And right now, that was a hot brunette wearing two pieces of fabric leaving so little to the imagination she shouldn't have even bothered wearing anything at all who looked just like his celebrity crush.

But even with his tongue down her throat, he knew he couldn't do anything about it- because someone else was already in his bed tonight.

The way everyone threw themselves at him always made him feel better. Because no matter what he loses, he'll always have his looks.

The way he was fawned over like a celebrity made his confidence begin to rise again. He had one person stroking their fingers through his hair, another in his lap as he laid his head back sipping an expensive drink.

How?

Then, he had someone grinding against him on the dance floor. The bass from the speakers reverberated through his body. The music was almost enough to clear his mind- almost loud enough.

Why you?

He had some hot blonde pinned against the bathroom wall, kissing down on his neck as they desperately grinded against his thigh.

He barely even sensed cursed energy on you the first time you met.

He was doing a body shot on a topless woman, licking the salt off her stomach as he held down her hips. Some lime juice dribbled down his chin, quickly another person turned his face to lick it off. The bitter taste of alcohol on his lips mixing with the tartness of the juice. He smiled against their lips as they pressed into his.

Why don't you know anything?

He leaned against the cool brick outside, checking the time to read it was already past 5 am.

His head was spinning, he may have overdone it last night- and worse- he had work in a couple hours.

"Shit..."

Your eyes fluttered open to light peaking in through the blinds and the sound of morning birds. The setting was peaceful, the bed was comfy, and you were no longer sore- but you did have to pee.

Overall, physically you felt great, but there was an all too familiar feeling of loneliness in you.

You went to the bathroom, grateful that you didn't have a UTI even though you forgot to go even after Gojo reminded you.

Gojo. You painfully remembered how you woke up alone.

You had to convince yourself that you were okay. After all, you knew the type of man Gojo was. You consented; he didn't owe you anything.

When you were in the bathroom you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You had a big shirt on that you didn't remember putting on.

Did he dress you? Or were you that drunk? either way, embarrassing.

But one thing especially caught your attention.

Your bruises were gone. The only thing left were... Hickeys and bites.

You put your hands on your face. So last night did happen.

In a desperate attempt to try and forget all the embarrassing memories, you went to the kitchen.

Making yourself some coffee and breakfast- alone.

Gojo was gone. But there was a sticky note pasted hastily on the fridge door.

Meet at school when you're awake :D

-G

You were indubitley pissed off.

At first, his leaving you cold turkey post-hook-up was something you ignored. But then you had too much time alone. His fancy shower, eating breakfast, navigating through Tokyo to find the school with his cryptic ass instructions, you two having literal sex but him thinking that sleeping in a bed with you was where he should draw the line.

Him not being here. You were more upset at yourself for putting yourself in this situation, but Gojo was just so easy to be annoyed at.

When you made it to the school, you could've sworn that the buildings were in different places, somehow always getting lost.

He didn't tell you where to go, just to be there. So, you went where you wanted to go. You explored the gardens, the old architecture, and then you settled for sitting down in the training field. The grass was soft, the sun was out but gentle against your skin. Brief moments like these in silence where rather than being stuck in your own head you were content were precious, sacred, and also uncomm-

"Y/NNNNNNN!"

Interrupted by Gojo.

"Stop you don't have to yell at me I can hear you!"

He was running towards you at an alarming rate, which caused you to in turn also scream at him to slow down.

He almost crashed into you, and you braced yourself, but before you knew it you were standing up because he had thrown you over his shoulder.

"What the hell Satoru?!?!!"

You shouted in his ear.

"Today is your first day of training!"

"Training?!"

You were going to say, "Training for what?" Before he started to book it across the campus.

You weren't given time to react as you instinctively clutched onto his shirt, a driving force from your hands almost tearing holes into the fabric.

You couldn't even see where you were going because the speed at which you were moving made all the buildings a blur.

You were abruptly set down in front of a door of an unfamiliar building. tears pricked your eyes, and you were shaky and disoriented from that complete assault.

You almost fell over but stabilized yourself on him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Why didn't you just tell me where it was?!"

"it's more fun this way!"

You were going to face him but before you could he shoved you into a dark room with... A couch and Itadori.

What kind of training is this? An intervention?

"Oh, Hey!"

Yuuji sat on the couch holding a stuffed animal, surrounded by DVD cases, soda cans, and a variety of snacks.

You awkwardly waved back at the optimistic Yuuji.

"you're more useful to me if you stay alive this time."

Sukuna.

Yuuji held Sukuna.

"I can see your confusion. This training is to learn how to control your cursed energy!"

You gave him a look of confusion, one eyebrow up and the other furrowed with a "that doesn't help" look.

He pulled out of his jacket pocket a small rabbit that had comedically large red eyes, and monstrously sharp claws.

"What the hell is that thing?!"

"This is the principals cursed technique, as you can see, Yuuji has one."

So that's what that was. You looked closer and it was breathing.

"Yuuji do you mind demonstrating?"

"Aw man, do I have to?"

Yuuji sighed at Gojo's silence and lifted his hands from the... bear puppet. And braced himself like he was about to be hit.

And then he was hit. It decked him square across the face.

He retaliated holding his nose and doubling over in pain, It went to get him again, but Gojo quickly intercepted it. The second he touched it; it went to sleep.

"Trained jujutsu's sorcerers can constantly emit a stream of cursed energy, and that's how you learn to start using it in fights."

"In fights? Youre not expecting me to regularly fight, are you?!"

"Of course not. You're going to be a teacher!"

"What are you talking about. I have a job already, Gojo."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, you got laid off."

You stared at him blankly, Yuuji could read the room and slowly slunk into the couch, looking away with a nervous expression.

"You're joking. You better be fucking with me Gojo."

He simply looked at you.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh my god. You're not joking. Haha..."

You put a hand to your forehead

"We sent in your letter of resignation a couple days ago."

Yuji sank down into the couch, staying completely silent as the awkwardness grew. The tension in the air was so thick it might've well been smog.

"Are you okay?"

"NO I AM NOT OKAY!"

"Why? You can have a better job now!"

Yuuji let out a slow shaky exhale. Cringing audibly each time his sensei spoke.

"You can't just fucking do that SATORU!"

"I understand it's pretty messed up I forgot to tell you but..."

Yuuji perked up upon hearing you use Gojo's first name. were you two close?

"YOU THINK?!"

And then he sunk back down.

"This is too fucking far. You don't just get to come into my life and tell me you're taking care of it, and then leave me unemployed. You really are such a conceited douche, and I cannot believe that for a single second, I thought there was a redeemable quality about you!"

You stormed out.

You had come off as angry and unreasonable, but the truth was you were terrified.

That all too familiar feeling of your breath becoming shallow and lungs becoming heavy hit you the second you reached outside.

Alone, you needed to be alone.

You frantically searched around clawing at your shirt where your heart was. You couldnt breathe.

Your breaths became frantic and desperate. Tears pricked your eyes.

You felt the control of your own life slipping through your fingers. And straight into the hands of someone who most would still consider a stranger.

What hurt most was that he was right, your job did suck, and you had wanted to leave for a while. Your life was mediocre, but it was still yours.

You were completely helpless.

You had sunk against the wall, hoping no one would see as you tried to ride out this wave of panic.

You let a few moments passed, trying to calm yourself and rationalize the situation- but it was just so hard when your brain kept pushing intrusive thoughts into your mind about how bad this was. He didn't even give you the option, you just had to do what he said now.

Slowly, that fear warped into anger.

A downside to being at a Jujutsu Sorcerer academy, is that everyone nearby could sense Cursed energy. Think of it like smelling smoke in a house of firefighters.

And you reeked.

How could one person be so entitled. So oblivious to the consequences of his actions?

Your life was in the hands of an academy you had never heard of before.

“Hey…”

You whipped your head around slightly relaxing when you noticed it was Yuuji, in one hand holding his boxing glove endowed bear, and the other the creepypasta looking rabbit.

You let out a deep sigh.

“He’s not in there anymore.”

You tched. Of course he bailed. Wouldn’t even apologize.

“Thanks.”

You looked side to side awkwardly, clearly not knowing what was right to say in this situation.

“He really likes you y’know…”

You perked up a little

“How do you know?”

“He talks about you a lot.”

Oh god. What does he say? Maybe that you snore in your sleep, or when you cried all over him, or maybe-

“If you come inside I’ll tell you.”

He gave you a reassuring smile. You realized how ridiculous you must’ve looked and got up. Being angry won’t do anything for you right now, and if you really were stuck in this, might as well embrace it.

You wanted to yell at Satoru and unload all your anger. And Yuuji didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that.

He smiled lightly when you sighed and got up. Holding out the rabbit to you.

You hesitated, looking at its claws.

“He said not to worry, and we’d just have to figure out for ourselves.”

With great reluctance, you picked it up.

It didn’t do anything. Which was a great relief.

Then, you headed inside.

Yuuji was surprisingly good to get along with, he had character, and heart. You two argued over which genre of move to watch. Until you eventually settled on your second favorite, seeing as he wasn’t in the mood to watch what you wanted.

“This one looks interesting.”

You popped in the CD, and the credit scene rolled for a movie you had never seen before.

You and Yuuji settled on opposite ends of the couch, both of your odd companions next to you.

You had gotten through about twenty minutes into the movie, your focus was fully shifted onto it.

And then all of a sudden, a blood curling scream was let out beneath you.

The sound was so shrill you jumped, also screaming. And with the two screams combined, Yuuji screamed.

You almost went into full panic mode until you realize it was the rabbit. Rushing to pick it back up like a stray alarm in a silent classroom.

“What was that?!”

“This damn rabbit!”

You shouted over its screech.

Once your hands pressed onto it, it still kept going.

In a moment of panic, you thought of the only thing that you could think of that would produce energy.

And that was recollections of the night before

You imagined the way that his hands caressed you, ran along your skin and navigated you like an open sea.

And then it became quiet.

“Woah, what did you think about that made it work all of a sudden?”

You widened your eyes and awkwardly smiled.

“Nothing… Just focused.”

This was so embarrassing.

How come the only time you could muster anything up was when you were about to die or were horny?

That has to be the most impractical and ironic combination ever.

Everytime the sound of a tornado siren went off underneath you, you had to think of fucking to get it to shut up.

You needed to find another method for this.

“How do you do it Itadori?”

“Huh? Oh, I dunno. It kinda just happens I guess.”

“That doesn’t help at all.”

“You’re doing pretty good!”

You couldn’t tell him why it worked. So you had to settle for a half truth.

“Yeah but it doesn’t happen unless I think about… something specific.”

“Like what?”

What were you expecting. Of course he would ask.

“Um. Romantic cutesy stuff.”

You scratched your chin and looked away.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s cool! Usually sorcerers have to think of bad things to get it to work. I bet it would be a lot nicer if everyone could think of something sweet like that.”

“I guess you’re right.”

You looked back straight ahead to the movie. It was a Disney movie, and a romance one- Yuujis pick.

“Oh I never told you!”

“Told me what?”

You raised a brow and tilted your head slightly.

“About what Gojo Sensei says about you.”

You didn’t even know if you wanted to hear. But Itadori took your silence as a means to continue

“He says you’ve got some of the best potential he’s ever seen. And to look out for you.”

“Really?”

“Is that hard to believe?”

“I just can’t believe he wants someone to look out for me. And that I have ‘potential’.”

“Yeah, he says that you’re special..”

“He says that about you too, and Megumi.”

“Really?”

Itadori’s eyes lit up. He clearly looked up to him, and it was cute to see him so excited.

“And he says you’re full of heart. Which I can see, you risked your life for everyone back there during our mission.”

“I mean you risked more, you left yourself alone with Sukuna.”

Your breath hitched.

You were told that you had gotten out before sukuna did.

Suddenly you felt ice shoot through your veins, and your heart rate picked up.

“You okay?” He looked at you concerned. The shock prevalent in your face.

“I- oh yeah I’m good…“

“You were super cool. I can see why they like you so much.”

“Who?”

“Gojo sensei and Sukuna.”

And sukuna.

Sukuna.

“How do you… how do you know Sukuna likes me?”

“Sometimes he talks to me about it when we’re alone. He says stuff about everyone. He tries to mess with me sometimes and it’s super annoying-“

You stopped breathing. Your heart rate picked up, and a sinking feeling overtook you.

Gojos hiding something from you. They all are. Why is it that you’re the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on with everything in regards to yourself?

“Oh… you don’t have to worry or anything! I can control him he’s not gonna hurt you or anyone.”

Poor Yuuji thought you were scared because of Sukuna, but the truth was you were growing increasingly more scared of Gojo.

He looked concerned for you, and the feeling of guilt overtook you more than the strong emotions from the events in your life right now. So? You managed to breathe and push them down.

“Itadori…”

He had a mouthful of soda.

“Can I talk to Sukuna?”

He no longer had a mouthful of soda.

With several coughs and punches to his own chest, he looked at you.

“I’m not sure I’m allowed…”

“I did it before right? He’s not interested in hurting me. I was alone with him once.”

You still saw his hesitance.

“One minute. Okay? Then you can come back out. I promise. If anything happens I’ll text Satoru.”

You knew that if something happened then you wouldn’t have time to text him, but you were desperate.

“Please Itadori…”

He looked you in the eyes, seeing the genuine sadness and feelings in them.

“A lot of things have been crazy recently, and I just need something to go right. 45 seconds?”

He was successfully guilt tripped. You weren’t proud of it, but it worked,

With a drawn out sigh, he nodded.

Pt.4