#Seeds of the Past // War Front

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave {{Because Tumblr}}

{this is a joint post written by Fane and Keni's mun. Finding Pe-Tyr, part I.}

She can almost feel his antipathy radiating off him like winter's chill. At the same time she understands that it is perhaps her own disquiet that provides what she sees as motivation for that sigh. The ghost of admonishment silent on his lips that does not come to fruition, and so just this once she affords him the courtesy of not lashing out. "I…I do not know where such places could be. What I fear is that the lower one goes into the city, the more terrible and varied the dangers. He could be hurt, or worse. But I need to find him before they mobilise Sentinels for a search. How do you propose getting those records without leaving one of our own?" He shifts, then rises to his feet and offers her an open hand. He is not particularly chivalrous, and he knows she is perfectly capable of getting up on her own, but neither is he discourteous. "I think it's a mistake to assume the worst has happened. We should remain calm," he advises. "You know Pe-Tyr better even than his own instructors. If he were in need of help, how likely is it he would really choose not to reach out to you for it?" He takes her question into thoughtful consideration for a long moment. "A favored instructor… perhaps even a knight? Someone who wouldn't fear for Pe-Tyr, but would understand the need for delicacy and discretion. Who do you trust that would first help us at this hour, and then allow us to proceed unobstructed?" The moment that her fingers ~ribbon thin~ slip into the waiting cusp of his own there is no way to hide the turmoil within her. It is a tempest of doubt and fear and palpable grief only barely postponed and just as quickly as she accepted his courtly manners does she rescind that touch. Withdraws the hand and its mate into the confines of the sleeves of her outer robe which she presses then before her. It is a symbolic bulwark that retreat. You do not know the lower levels like I do, she wants to say, but doesn't. "I am calm." And there are no such things as the dead that walk, too. It is all she can do not to pace their tiny confines. "I would sooner swallow glass than ask my Master." She calls up every Master she can think of in her mind. She would trust Anakin. She would trust Tzekal. And that….oh. "Thank you," she murmurs and turns sharply on her heel. Starts to make her way toward the door without so much as a by-your-leave. Fane knows Melakeni to be headstrong and willful, even proud, in a way that goes unrivaled by their fellow trainees in the Force. He knows that is as much a product of her upbringing as it is her confidence in her own acumen; she is not like most other Padawans who were brought to the Temple in infancy, and her emotional output was not modulated or sculpted by the practices and disciplines of the Jedi. Hers is a far more colorful history, of which she shares little, but he has heard enough bits and pieces to assemble the image he knows she prefers most here to have of her. She has reason to be headstrong and proud. If it were not so, she would not be permitted to get away with half the things she does. In that respect, she is not entirely unlike Skywalker. And that is a far safer comparison, in her auditory range, than any which would line her up with Master Windu -- notwithstanding their identical lightsaber hues and combat techniques. In fact… Fane would be more likely to draw parallels between Melakeni and the nameless 'dark woman' that seems to make appearances only and purely at her own discretion… oftentimes when she is least expected. So to detect the apprehension within Keni now is a thing most unusual, and gives Fane pause enough that she both mulls and appears to have her answer before he can even summon up the words to assuage her. And maybe that is for the best. Whenever Keni feels a thing, she feels it with all of her being, and he knows she has never been someone to dismiss a concern upon the bidding of another, no matter how serene and rational that person might be (even Masters Gallia, Unduli, and Yaddle combined might not be able to banish emotional upheaval from Keni).

[gureumz]

wide open

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

premise: forced to marry a dictator king of a nearby kingdom, you're advised to shut up and take whatever king heeseung gives you and give him everything you have in return. in truth, you'd rather kill yourself than be married to this monster, but he has a way of changing people's minds

notes: fem!reader, dom!heeseung, royalty au, very slight angst, marriage of convenience/forced marriage, hate-ish sex, breeding, mentions of impregnation, use of pet names, unprotected sex, strangers to sort-of-lovers, mentions and descriptions of death and injury, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: sixth and final entry for my 1k follower special! this is the end for my two-month 1k event! i'm so thankful for the love this received and i'm excited to start my new series/anthology! i can't wait to write your other requests as well and bring you more stories you can enjoy!

it's making your stomach churn.

the way your father looks at you right now, as if he's sorry but not really. apologetic only because shouting in delight would hardly seem appropriate at a time like this.

you can practically see the sparkle in the East king's eyes.

"the decree says so," your father says with a sigh like he regrets to inform you of such news. you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from flinging the pewter cup filled with wine in front of you at him.

"the decree can say one thing but we can do exactly the opposite of it," you challenge, balling your fists in your lap. your father turns to you sharply.

"and then what, my love?" your father coos condescendingly. "race to see which one of our heads rolls off the gallows first when the new king of the West chops them off?"

you stare at your father, clad in his deep velvet garb, the lines on his forehead pronounced in the flickering firelight in his solar. you feel your whole face stiffen as you stare back at the spitting image of yourself, the exact source of the flame raging within you. you love your father and you know him. know him enough that it's no use arguing with him now. he would fling whatever words you had right back at you with double the force.

"you're lucky he didn't snatch you in the dead of night once he proclaimed victory," your father presses on. "you're lucky he's being diplomatic about it, issuing decrees so that all the four kingdoms are bonded legally to his whims."

"it hardly feels lucky being the sole maiden of royal blood fit enough to wed him," you spit back, turning away.

you hear your father lets out a breath and you can feel him walk away towards the large window that adorns the north side of his solar. you watch as he gazes out the glass panes, his back to you.

"he's a strapping young man, a talented general as he's proven, and truly the royal seed of his father before him," your father says, something unfamiliar in his voice. he turns back to you and you see, for the first time, the fear in his eyes.

"he turned on his own father, just as his father did with his father, took over that poor dead man's kingdom, and waged a war against his neighbors."

your father's voice trembles now.

"refusal would not only mean death, my rose," your father points out quietly, slipping in the endearment he so often used with you since you were a child.

"he would make sure you wished you were dead," he warns.

you swallow, letting his words sink in.

you think back on the past year, the months of hiding, the weeks spent banged up in the highest tower of your castle, the days of weeping as you waited for your father to come back, the minutes of terror as you were told the West king had emerged triumphant.

the second you saw your father, the Almighty Blessed King of the East, staggering through the palace gates, bloodied and broken.

that wretched tyrant from the West almost took your father away from you. giving yourself to him willingly hardly seems like the right move. but not doing so would mean a fate worse than death.

"is he really that terrible?" you ask, almost in a whisper.

your father walks up to where you're seated at his dining table. he reaches down and takes your hands in his calloused, war-scarred ones.

"i couldn't give you an answer to that if i tried," he explains. "i surrendered before i could get the chance to meet him."

"then how are you so ready to give away your only daughter, your only reminder of the woman you loved?" you implore, looking desperately into your father's eyes.

he shakes his head.

"this is how i want to remember you before you're whisked away into that cruel man's arms," your father says tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"feisty, with the zeal only your mother could pass on to you."

your eyes sting with tears at hearing your father mention his late queen.

your own mother feels like someone from a dream to you. she was there one moment and gone the next. much like yourself.

you let yourself cry silently, rising to let your father hold you in his arms.

---

the trip from the East to the West typically took a little over two weeks if no hiccups are encountered along the way. but you realized, merely two days in, that this whole marriage was cursed from the beginning.

it's as if the whole world conspired against this union, and you would have been grateful for it, but after days of running into problems (thieves and hunters and sudden thunderstorms and a pack of wild boars), the only thing you wanted was to be sheltered inside a warm castle room with a cup of spiced wine on your bedside.

so unbridled was your happiness when you heard a sudden shout from outside your carriage announcing your arrival at the gates of the West Kingdom castle. your two ladies-in-waiting riding with you had equally relieved faces, your hands immediately reaching out to grasp theirs.

"we're here, your grace," the younger of the two, yuna, whispers excitedly.

olivia, the older and more cynical one, swats at yuna's arm.

"don't sound so happy," olivia berates. "this is a dictator's castle we're entering."

yuna shrinks back in her seat and you reach over to clasp her hand reassuringly.

"i'm the only one fit enough to marry him," you remind. "he should know better than to lay a single finger on me."

olivia eyes you worriedly while yuna nods in agreement.

"i'll be alright," you say. whether it's to them or to yourself, you're not entirely sure.

the entirety of your royal party comes to a halt after what you felt was an hour's worth of treading on a steep incline and only then do you allow yourself to peek through the curtains of your carriage.

you gasp as you see the fog all around. you're aware that the West was the mountainous region of the four kingdoms but seeing the clouds form beneath the castle grounds made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"let's hope he doesn't throw me down the ravine," you mutter quietly. olivia and yuna exchange looks before giggling quietly.

you alight from your carriage a few more minutes later, the sudden light nearly blinding you. the sun is covered in dark clouds but the lack of any greenery to shield your field of view has you squinting to see in front of you.

"good morrow, your grace," a voice greets. you turn and see a smartly-dressed man approach, bowing deeply. he's adorned in the West king's court colors and it's then you notice the pin affixed on his chest.

"i'm lord jake, the royal chamberlain," he adds, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your skin. he straightens up and gestures behind him.

your eyes follow where he's pointing and you see a grand staircase leading up to the heavy wooden doors at the entrance to the castle.

"let me assist you to the throne room," jake offers, holding out his arm to you. you take it, fixing a firm grip on his bicep.

"the king is waiting," he adds.

---

you let yourself be pulled through the towering hallways, resisting the urge to gape at the lavishly adorned walls. portraits of Western monarchs, legendary shields and swords owned by said monarchs, heavy purple drapery. jake seems to understand, walking at a pace that hardly indicates that you're in any rush.

you turn behind you to see olivia and yuna following dutifully, your other ladies and servants following close behind, flanked by guards both from your party and from the West King's.

you turn back ahead of you, catching sight of the heavy doors to what you can only guess is the throne room.

"if i may speak freely, your grace." jake turns to you slightly. you return his gaze and nod.

"of course," you say.

"you need not be nervous," jake reassures. "i know of the tales you might have heard about our king. but i've been a companion of his since we were boys. he does not hurt those who are not deserving to be hurt."

you remain silent for a few seconds as you continue to approach the throne room. after a while, you respond to jake.

"i appreciate the words of comfort, my lord," you begin. "but what indication do you have that i'm nervous?"

jake smiles warmly at you just as you reach the doors.

"you've been squeezing my arm since you've arrived, your grace," jake points out.

a pause. your face breaks out into a smile and jake mirrors your expression, both of you allowing yourselves a moment to laugh.

the guards by the throne room doors heave them open and you stand, stiff but adorning your face with a look of resolve. jake pulls his arm away and steps in front of you. just as the doors fully open, jake bows to the throne and then to you.

"my most revered King of the West, this is Princess _________ of the East and her royal household," jake announces in a booming voice that startles you slightly.

"princess," jake continues, turning to you once more.

"i present to you, the Most Royal King of the West, King Heeseung,."

---

everything was a blur after that.

you do, however, remember the silver shock of hair atop the king's head. the deep purple of his doublet. the tight black breeches and black boots laced up around his ankles.

you could see King Heeseung's lips remain unmoving as you curtsied deeply in front of him. you remember the feeling of fear, humiliation, and embarrassment at having to bow in front of a cruel tyrant.

you remember the hint of a smile grace his mouth as you straighten up. you remember the sweat gathering on your palms.

you remember muffled words being exchanged between the king and jake. you couldn't make out what they were saying with the blood rushing in your ears. you remember curtsying one more time before jake takes your hand and leads you and your people out of the throne room.

now, hours later, seated in front of a mirror in an airy room somewhere on the north wing of the castle, you remember to breathe, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"your grace, are you alright?" olivia asks from behind you, her hand pausing mid-brush as she gathers your hair in her other hand.

you meet her eyes through the mirror and nod.

"yes," you answer. "just a little...tired."

"i would assume so," yuna speaks up from the other side of the room, her slender figure bent over the numerous chests containing your belongings.

"i asked and it turns out we traveled close to a month," yuna rambles. "a month! who takes a month to get from the East to the West?"

you smile at yuna's shrill voice, a comfort from the eerie silence that seems to surround the castle.

"how are you two liking it here so far?" you ask, addressing your two ladies. a palpable pause comes over the room as you wait for their response.

"it's...alright," olivia begins. "better than i expected. i pictured brutes and barbarians to litter the halls but that's a misjudgment on my part, your grace."

"everyone seems kind enough," yuna chimes in. "the king barely said a word so i'm not sure how to feel about him yet."

"better to hold your tongue when speaking of the King of the West, child," you lightly berate. "we don't know who's listening."

olivia and yuna both nod in understanding.

a knock from the door to your room interrupts your discussion.

"come in," you call out. you turn to see another one of your ladies poke their head in before straightening up and bowing.

"your grace," jen, a sprightly lady-in-waiting of yours addresses you.

"i've been informed that the king asks for your presence in his study," jen relays, hands folded in front of her.

time seems to stop as you hear these words. you feel olivia grip your shoulder and you hear a clatter of something as yuna drops it. jen avoids your eyes as the four of you soak in her words.

"well," you say after a moment. "i better make haste, then.

you meet olivia's eyes through the mirror once more and she smiles encouragingly.

---

you ask jen to accompany you this time to give olivia and yuna time for their own personal needs. jen readily agreed, not more than five paces behind you as you make your way to where you were told the king's study is.

the castle is bathed in late afternoon light, a gentle breeze fluttering through the hallways. hardly any noise can be heard save for the occasional footsteps of servants and soft chatter from some of the rooms. your heart hammering against your chest is the only thing that fills your ears constantly.

"this is it, right?" you turn to ask jen. she nods as you two stop in front of an intricately carved door with a heavy golden stag knocker.

"you may take your leave," you tell jen.

"your grace?" jen asks, voice meek. "should i not wait for you out here?"

you shake your head. "i have a feeling neither of us knows how long the king will keep me in there."

jen opens her mouth as if to say something more but she stops, sighing. she nods and bows to you before starting down the hallway.

you turn away from jen's disappearing form, hand grasping at the stag knocker. you pound the heavy metal against the door three times before stepping back, waiting to be let in.

"enter," comes a voice from inside.

you swallow, reaching for the door handle. you give it a turn, the door easily swinging inward. you step through the gap, pressing your lips in a thin line as you anticipate what you might see.

the study is a respectable size, with bookcases adorning nearly every wall. a fireplace crackles with flames at the far left end of the room and a large desk rests in the middle of it all.

hunched over a stack of parchment is King Heeseung himself, a quill twirling lazily between his fingers.

your eyes meet and the king straightens in his seat.

"your grace—"

you pause, having both said the same thing at the same time. to your surprise, King Heeseung offers a smile. not knowing what else to do, you force an uneasy smile back.

"sit with me, my lady," he says, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you gather your skirts and perch yourself at the very edge of the seat.

no one speaks for what feels like an eternity. the king has paused in his perusing of the parchment in front of him and you've busied yourself with staring at your hands resting on your lap.

"there will be a welcome banquet tonight," King Heeseung's voice cuts through the silence.

"to celebrate your arrival," he continues.

you dip your head low.

"you have my gratitude, your grace," you say mechanically.

King Heeseung clears his throat. "i also arranged for the wedding feast to take place a week from now."

you allow yourself to gaze upon the King of the West, your eyebrows pinching together.

the king sees your expression and pauses.

"but if you wish to either hasten or push back the ceremony, then i'll take it into consideration," King Heeseung hurriedly adds, his sharp eyes rounding into a softer form.

you realize that sitting here, eye level with the king, that he's merely a man like any other. a man who smiles and startles and laughs.

your mind flashes back to your father's beaten and bruised face. your expression falls.

"no, your grace. a week from now is fine," you concede.

a long stretch of silence follows. you avert your eyes to the window to your right, gazing at the vibrant sky painted in the colors of the sunset.

"heeseung," comes the king's voice. you turn to him, a questioning look on your face.

"you can call me heeseung," he clarifies.

your face must have been of utter confusion because the king smiles again.

"we are to be wed, are we not? i would assume that you'd prefer a much more relaxed method of addressing each other." heeseung leans back in his plush seat, awaiting a response.

"of course," you agree. "and you may address me however you wish."

"my betrothed."

the two words roll smoothly off heeseung's tongue and a strange tug pulls at your chest. you nod silently as if to grant permission.

heeseung clears his throat again, pushing himself off his chair. you rise as well but you make no move to look at his face.

you see from the corner of your eye his hand reaching out to you.

"come. the banquet should be starting soon."

you shakily place your hand in his and he gently wraps his fingers around yours.

"after you, my dear betrothed," he says, motioning towards the door.

---

it turns out, a week flies by extremely fast.

you've managed to meet all of the people of importance in heeseung's court in that time, memorizing names and faces and feasting with a number of them.

heeseung hovers around, greeting you as you go about your day but ultimately keeping his distance. you wonder if you should be doing more to prepare for your wedding but you don't dare question any of heeseung's or his council's plans.

in a blink of an eye, the week is over and you're standing in the throne room, draped in your finest garments, practically glittering from head to toe with the jewelry you've brought from home.

heeseung stands tall and regal beside you, his hair perfectly done and his royal regalia adorning his broad frame. strangely enough, his face is what you anchor on for most of the ceremony—a blur of vows and prayers and oaths and finally, a restrained brush of lips to make things official.

the feast may as well have not happened with how blurry your memory of it is. you sat at the high table, watching the festivities but not really seeing anything.

that is, until a particular loud courtier knocks over a chair, bringing down plates and utensils as collateral damage in his drunken state. the noise jars you for a moment but heeseung lays a warm hand on yours to steady you.

and now, sitting on the edge of your bed, stripped down to your undergarments by your reluctant ladies, you shiver at the thought of what your wedding night may bring.

you've heard stories from your ladies and you've been taught enough by the tutors you've had over the years. but to lay with a man such as heeseung, it chills you down to the bone. would he hurt you? would he demand things from you? perhaps kill you?

you shake your head. it would do no good for him to kill you now. you're both in dire need of heirs for your respective domains, him especially now that he's deposited himself as the supreme ruler of all the kingdoms in your land. and even without taking children into consideration, would he really drive in his image as a tyrant? slaying his wife on their wedding night?

your thoughts are dissolved when you hear a knock come from the door. a second later, heeseung walks in, his cape and gloves amiss, and so are the tightly-laced hunting boots, leaving him in his doublet and breeches, wool boots covering his feet.

he almost looks...nervous.

"my b—"

heeseung pauses, taking in a sharp breath.

"my wife."

your head spins as heeseung says these words. you can physically feel the color draining from your face. when heeseung says it like that, it makes it more real, your fate looming over you like an impregnable fortress caging you in.

"yes, your grace?" you respond, trying to sound composed amidst your anxiety.

heeseung studies you for a second before sighing. he tugs his boots off, undoing his doublet right after. he shrugs the garment off, leaving him bare from the waist up. you gasp softly, abruptly turning away.

"you need not address me like that, remember?" heeseung reminds, trudging carefully before coming to a stop in front of you.

he reaches a hand out, attempting to hold a side of your face but you flinch, your whole body lurching at the feeling of his skin against yours.

your heart pounds as you quickly realize the fault in what you just did. you peer up at heeseung, eyes shaking with fear.

you expected anger, annoyance, or even confusion.

but all you see is a pair of despondent eyes looking down at you.

"why are you afraid? why do you fear me?" heeseung asks, voice quiet, defeated.

your insides churn as you try to find the right words. in a moment, the whole ordeal comes crashing down on you, the day's events flashing in your mind, a reminder that this is your life now. you're married to a dictator for the rest of your days.

"shouldn't i be?" you reply, voice stony. "i'd be a fool to not be scared of someone who murdered their own father and waged a war against the entire world."

heeseung remains silent. he heaves a sigh, turning away from you.

"it seems as if it was a mistake to ask for your hand in marriage," heeseung says.

a flicker sparks inside you.

"you didn't ask!" you cry out, voice accusatory. you stand, pulling yourself to your full height. this outrage has sprung from nowhere, seized you fully, summoning all the anger within you.

"you commanded me here, you took me away from my family, my home! i came all the way here to marry an evil man and he suddenly decides that marrying me was a mistake?"

"i gave up everything i had to fulfill a duty i was called to, that you called me to," you continue, placing yourself right in front of heeseung.

"i need you to prove to me that all this is worth it. that i did not come here to be some poor slave to a tyrant! show me and prove me wrong that you're not just some monster that nearly killed my father!"

you feel the air knocked out of you as a pair of lips press against your own. you cry out in surprise but something snaps within you, the final branch needed to let the fire catch and spread.

heeseung is kissing you and you're kissing him, your hands clawing at any part of him you could reach. his own fingers tug at your chemise, pulling it down your shoulders until it slips off your body completely.

"you're sick, forcing yourself on your wife like this," you pant against heeseung's mouth. he undoes his breeches, letting them fall.

"my wife is free to leave if she pleases," heeseung retaliates, kicking off the last of his clothes.

both of you are stark naked now.

you stand there, breathing heavily as you look into each other's eyes.

"your wife will not leave until you've bedded her and put an heir in her womb," you seethe. "that's all she came here for, after all."

heeseung grunts lowly, attacking your lips once more. he shoves you down on the bed, caging you in easily with his firm body. he runs his hands up and down your sides, squeezing and fondling at every piece of flesh he can dig his fingers into. you moan and squirm under his touch, an ache growing between your legs.

"you'll give me as many heirs as i wish," heeseung says as he kisses his way down to your neck. he suckles on a spot just beneath your jaw and the sound of defiance that you originally wanted to let out is caught in your throat.

"of course, so they can usurp you when it's your time," you say through your teeth.

heeseung says nothing, only looks at you, his face pulled down in an angry frown.

"listen here, darling," heeseung commands, voice dipping even lower. he pulls you by your thighs to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs open.

he glances down and you stare at his face as it turns into a look of intrigue, his eyes transfixed on your core.

you're soaking wet, clenching around nothing as your husband continues to survey what's between your legs. he looks back up at you, a hand reaching over to grasp your jaw in one large hand.

"my father was a madman and so was his father before him," heeseung begins and you feel something prod at your entrance. you gasp as half of him is pushed in with a single swivel of heeseung's hips.

"maybe i'll turn out to be one too, but right now, all i did was clean up the mess he made," heeseung continues, fully burying himself inside you. your legs tremble at the painful stretch and all you want is to hide your face away in the sheets but heeseung's firm grip on your face won't let you.

"he started this war," heeseung says accusingly. he draws back, allowing you momentary relief before thrusting back in, a half cry, half moan escaping you.

"yeah, my sweet?" heeseung pauses to address you momentarily, his eyes dark and evidently hungry.

"feel good?"

he doesn't wait for an answer as he lets go of your face in favor of holding your hips tightly between his hands. heeseung sets up a ruthless pace, mouth hanging open as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

you grit your teeth and refuse to look away yourself, gazing upon the face of what might be another in a line of mad kings. your husband, half of who you are now, half of what your children will be.

the thought sickens you to your stomach.

but the delicious fill of his cock deep in you has you quivering with want, breathless with desire. if this is how good it feels to fuck a mad king, then maybe you are the perfect maiden to wed him.

well, not so much a maiden now that he's buried in you to the hilt, one of his hands grabbing at your breast.

his words 'he started this war' echo in your brain, but a shift of heeseung's hips has your eyes rolling back in your head, that thought forgotten momentarily.

"come on my sweet, look at me," heeseung pleads gently. he leans down, nearly flattening his form over your own. he continues to fuck you, thursts shallow in this new position

you hook your own arms around heeseung's neck, meeting his eyes.

"you don't fear me, do you?" heeseung asks laboriously through heavy breaths. "you never did."

you withhold an answer, leaning in to press your lips roughly against heeseung's instead. he growls low in his chest, his hips moving even faster than they already were.

you keep your mouths together, tongues lapping over every expanse of each other. a shiver runs through you as you feel the friction against your core increase, turning rougher and rougher as heeseung seems to lose himself in you.

you pull away, running your fingers through the hair on the back of heeseung's head. you tighten your grip on the strands and heeseung hisses.

"no," you finally answer. "i'm not scared of you so fuck me like you mean it."

the world seems to give out from all around you as the last words escape you, your hips pinned down painfully against the bed. your legs quiver as you feel heeseung pound into you, faster, rougher, harder. you let a sob rip out of you, your whole body seizing as your release slams down on you.

heeseung looks at you and only you, eyes wide and ravenous.

you clench around heeseung and he collapses over you, hands braced on either side of your head, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you feel him throb deep in you. you feel his thick seed warm up your walls and you gasp softly, your body finally relaxing.

you lay there, weak and unmoving, as heeseung pulls out and rolls off you. he comes to rest on one side of you, his hair tickling your shoulder. without another word, heeseung pushes himself up and retrieves his discarded breeches off the floor.

your heart sinks as you think that he's about to leave. your throat tightens, the thought of being used just like that, despite being his wife, his queen, repulsing you so badly.

but heeseung doesn't walk out the door. he loosely strings up his breeches and walks over to the vanity on the other side of the room. you failed to notice when you came in the first time the bowl of water and washcloth resting beside it.

heeseung wets the cloth, wringing it momentarily before walking back over to you. you've propped yourself on your elbows now, watching his every move.

"sit up, my sweet," heeseung implores gently, seating himself beside you.

you oblige, wincing at the slight sting between your legs as you shift into a more comfortable position. heeseung starts with your face, smoothing over your cheeks with the cloth, the cooled water bringing out a sigh of relief.

he moves to wipe at your neck, then your chest. he peers down at you, laying a gentle hand on your thigh.

"let me clean down there too," heeseung says. you nod, feeling vulnerable under his watch. you part your sore thighs, letting heeseung swipe away at the stickiness.

heeseung finishes and returns the washcloth to the bowl. he picks your chemise up on the way back to you, placing it in your hands. you wordlessly stand, pulling the thin fabric over you, overtly aware of heeseung watching you from where he sits on the bed.

you turn back to him and he's gazing up at you, expression softer than all of the other times. he reaches a hand out shakily, as if hesitant, and you take it, stepping between his parted knees.

he places his hands on our lower back as if to cradle you. before you could stop yourself, you let your hand smooth back some of his silvery locks of hair.

"he—my father—sent those decrees of war out when he realized i was on to him," heeseung mumbles.

you nod gently, signaling him to go on.

"i found out he'd been plotting this war for years right under my nose. i was brought up to command my father's army but i never knew it was for this," he continues.

"i begged him to stop but you can't reason with someone mad," heeseung says, voice shaking.

looking at him now, eyes so doe-like and piercing straight through your own, you realize that underneath what you called a tyrant, he was just a boy willing his father to do right.

"i had to end it one way or another," heeseung continues, head bowing.

you pull him to you, cradling him against your chest. you feel heeseng's arms tighten around your torso.

"but by the time i had dealt the final blow, it was too late. the decrees were sent and i had no choice but to fight the war he left me with."

your chest constricts.

"why not just take the decrees back, admit surrender?" you ask quietly. heeseung looks up at you and you're struck by how handsome he looks when he's not acting like the king he is.

soft lips, the delicate turn of his nose, fluttering eyelashes.

"i was already a kinslayer and a kingslayer. i couldn't lose everything after that," heeseung whispers, brows pinched together as if begging you to believe him.

a flurry of emotions course through you. despite this, you smile apologetically.

you bend down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on heeseung's forehead.

"i don't fear you," you whisper against his skin. you feel him deflate beneath your touch.

"but there is so much more i need to understand about you, husband."

heeseung pulls away and nods. he takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"and i'll try my hardest to make you understand. i don't expect forgiveness, just your open heart and open eyes to see who i really am."

you afford yourself another smile. you lean down once more, kissing heeseung softly.

"they're wide open, my King."

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐁𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 8: ROLEPLAY

könig x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat.

cw: f!reader, roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (könig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating. 

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 9: WITCH!READER ⇾

The answer is unyielding and finite; ❝ no ❞. 

König was consistent in his promise to separate work from pleasure, so to speak. He refused to amalgamate something as pretty and delicate as you with something as ruinous and hideous as war— as his job. 

KorTac and Task Force 141 were unaware of your existence. König assured you it was for your protection. The less his allies knew about his valuable and beloved, his adversaries knew little still. Despite this, he offered you insight into his hostile world through a minute embrasure; the Scottish bomb disposal expert, Soap, the handsome Gaz who König colloquially named ‘helicopter boy’. Ghost. 

Still, he insisted upon keeping you pure. Scratch free, barren from the agonising shrapnel of grief and the devastating shells of brutal warfare. 

So when you pose the idea, quiet and shy in your approach, of König wearing his tactical uniform and treating you like a captive… The ‘no’ is adamant. However, as with everything you do or say to König, the idea worms its way into his mind. 

Days pass, but the thought seems to stick with König. He’s unsettled, fidgety almost. You suppose he thinks he’s being subtle, but with a frame as enormous as König lugs around, it’s almost impossible for the pitiful giant to do anything indistinctly. One nervous bob of his knee appears to set off avalanches in Tibet. 

When you return from work, everything is still, and abnormally quiet. It’s unusual for the house to be vacant upon your return from work, König always at the door as if ready to spring and remove the damn laptop bag that threatened to pop your shoulder from its socket as though it were an incendiary with a lit fuse. Nevertheless, the lights are off today, and the TV is silent. 

Creeping forward into the apartment, the door slowly swings shut behind you. The click of the lock setting into place isn’t alien to you– but neither is it, it seems, to your attacker. Poised and lethally swift, your assailant leaps from the shadows of the dimly lit apartment and smothers your mouth before a scream can even bubble past your trembling lips. Soft hushes breathe against your ear before terror can truly kick in, a familiar lilting accent turning your knees soft beneath your weight.

“You are to do as I say when I say it, Meine Perle.” König sounds so relaxed, as though he’s not breaking a sweat beneath the tactical vest you can feel digging into your shoulder blades. With a fizzling arousal skittering up your vertebrae and trembling beneath his touch, you nod your head slightly. It earns you praise, whispering a quiet ‘good girl’ against your hairline. 

So in tune with König’s non-verbal commands, you kneel as though he had barked the order when you feel him tap your shoulder absentmindedly. It’s foreign, the disregard König shows to your knees by making you settle on the hardwood floor in front of the entrance door– usually he would situate a pillow beneath you to ensure you didn’t bruise. Not today. You were his hostage. His plaything. 

Gazing up at the startling bulk of the behemoth standing before you, a thrill prickles at the nape of your neck when you watch him unzip his camo trousers deftly. It’s as though your taste buds tingle with anticipation as König pulls his already leaking cock from them, the leather of his gloves protesting quietly as he grips his length hard. 

“Open your mouth.” It’s an order. A threat. Excitement rouses between your thighs as you do just that, gazing up at your captor demurely and situating your palms on your lap. He’s unforgiving, winding your hair around his fingers and violently pulling your mouth onto his twitching cock. 

You barely register what’s happened before the rumble of his groan reaches your ears. A quiet ‘fuck’. 

Then he’s pushing, using the heel of his palm on the curve of your skull to sink you down his length before you’re ready. Firm, velvety flesh hits the back of your throat and sends you reeling, tears welling in your eyes as you gag around him, attempting to draw back. 

“Stop,” he barks, the frigidity of his tone triggering sparks in your abdomen– so unlike König. He halts your retreat, shoving you forward onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thatch of dark curls at the base of his shaft. Salt burns in the back of your throat, and tears spill down your cheeks. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells you he’s grinning. 

“If you value the air in your lungs,” König murmurs, voice sticky and thick with arousal as he rocks his hips slightly, your nose bumping his pubic bone and the head of his dick nudging your at your gag reflex, “it’ll do you good to stay put.” 

Heaving breaths through your nose, you flinch as König raises his leather-clad palm. It strikes downwards, connecting with your cheek harder than you suppose you’d both anticipated– because König lets out a sadistic groan of bliss, head lilting to the side slightly as he tries to bury himself further down your throat. It crushes your nose into his abdomen, and you feel the skin stretched above the bridge wrinkle. 

“Shit–” you hear him heave, the fingers in your hair tightening mercilessly, “I felt that in my cock.” The murmured admission, a slight deviation from that character König was attempting to play. Glee buries itself at the base of your spine, pulses in your clit. 

“Again,” he snaps back into character, with his dick buried as far down your throat as possible. Again, he lifts his wrist, bringing it down with a brutal smack against your cheek. The skin prickles, and you heave against the intrusion of his cock until tears spill down your cheeks. 

König’s lungs rattle with the force of his growl. His eyes are dark behind the mask, pleasure swallowing the pretty jade-green of his irises and he watched you choke on his length. 

Of course he’s getting off on you kneeling in front of him, dick buried in your throat and making a mess of your work makeup— but he can feel the vibrations of his slaps in your mouth around him. It’s making his nostrils flare; you can hear it. 

“A-gain.”

The crack that sounds against your cheekbone this time makes you whimper with the pain that follows. König loses control of himself, it seems, grasping desperately at your skull to hold you in place while fucking into your throat wildly. His head rolls back, grip bruising as his whole body seems to seize. 

Cum spills down your throat, heavy and thick and plentiful. König sounds almost pained by the force his orgasm is ripped from him, groaning loudly and high pitched to your ears as you gag around him again, the squeezing of your throat muscles adding to his bliss. 

“Hah—“ he gasps, pulling himself from your mouth to allow you to breathe. It’s not pretty, the ridiculous sounds of your frantic breathing, but when König kneels in front of you and cradles you in his massive arms, you feel precious. Priceless. 

König presses kisses to your temple, pushes your hair from your face and tells you just that. 

“Meine Perle.” 

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 16

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I didn't sleep very well but I'm here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you move North, the sunlight fades sooner and rises later, the nights cooling with each mile. Nearly a fortnight on the road, and you return to the service of the queen. Bryce escorts you between the carts, gesturing in passing to his comrades, other times letting past another body on their own mission. You reach the front of the train where men with swords pace and keep watch over the surrounding lands. 

“Evenin’,” Bryce greets the guards outside the queen’s tent and they grumble back. The weariness of travel has overcome many of the travelers. 

You dip your head down and approach the tent flap. Before the card can pull it back for your entrance, it sweeps open from the other side. You step back as another figure falters before you. The king keeps hold of the silk and his eyes skim over you. He tilts his head and moves to hold the fabric open, beckoning you through with his large hand. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

His jaw squares but he says nothing. As you enter, the fabric falls heavily behind you. The king’s expression lingers in your mind, his silence even more. The tick in his cheek was hard to miss and you can hear his heavy footfalls as he stalks off. 

Within, the queen sits on a bench, playing with the tassel of her belt. Her father, Lord Dustan, stands to the side, arms crossed as he makes small steps back and forth. He tuts and chews his thumb. 

“Your husband does not behave as son-in-law,” the duke gripes lowly, “he would have let Debray fall to those vandals. He cares only for his frost lands.” 

“Father, he is only eager to be home. As much as I dread the cold, I cannot help but feel as such. I tire of this endless road,” Queen Jazlene yawns into a cupped hand. 

“Ah, but you must be a loyal wife. What of mine? What of your mother? She was alone in the castle.” 

“And you rode out to save her, didn’t you?” Jazlene prompts. 

“I am a lord of the summer lands, I am past my warring days,” Dustan snarls, “he would risk my flesh on an uprising he could crush with his left hand. He tests me!” The duke circles around as he jabs his finger in the air, “I deserve more dignity, more respect. I delivered him his kingdom.” 

“Yes, father, he is a frigid man,” Jazlene bemoans, “as icy a husband. He does neglect us both.” 

“Neglect?” Dustan faces his daughter, “does he not see to his contract?” 

She frowns and bats her doey eyes as she looks away, “it isn’t that he doesn’t fulfill his duty, it is only... how might I get an heir if I lie with my husband only once in a moon?” 

“Does he mean to deceive us? A son will bind us. A son is what we need. Does he think the summer lands will follow a king who does not sow his seed?” 

“I do not know, father. I... I have tried all I can think of.” 

“Mm,” the duke hums darkly, “that won’t do at all. Not at all. When I married your mother, she was swollen with you almost as soon as the vows were said. No, no, it won’t do. I will have word with the king, make certain he does not treat my daughter, his queen, so coolly.” 

Dustan stop and twiddles his fingers. You try to imagine him confronting King Geralt. Surely it is bluster for the sake of his daughter. 

“...we are ruined without an heir...” he mutters. 

Jazlene sits forward on the bench, “ruined, father? I am queen--” 

“Yes, yes, you are queen, but a queen has her duty too,” Dustan insists, “and it cannot be done with a negligent king. Leave it to me, daughter. The next I see the king, I shall handle our business. As I have ever done. Do you believe in me? For I did deliver you a fine marriage, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, father.” 

The duke goes to his daughter and rubs her shoulder. He leans in and you shrink against the tent wall, making yourself small. 

“Should it prove poor judgment,” his whisper scratches from his lips, “I will figure a way out.” 

He kisses her hair and turns to march out. He takes not notice of you though that is expected. Jazlene sighs as the flap falls and she leans back on her hands, swaying her leg. 

“Ah, the maid,” she cheeps, “you will fetch hot water for my feet. They ache.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

She grins, a catlike expression and sits up straight, “yes, that is right. I am a queen and soon, the king will be certain to treat me as such.” 

You flit off to your duty. As you emerge, your chest stirs with unease. Something about their conversation has you unnerved. Though they said nothing outright, it feels as if there is more laced between the words. The queen and her father hardly sound as allies to the king. 

You try to wipe the apprehension from your mind. You are but a maid and not so well-versed on noble matters. It isn’t your place to unpiece their declarations or untangle their riddles. You are to get the water to sooth the daughter of Debray’s feet, it may yet save you a box to the ears. 

⚔️

You shiver as the cart bounces over the hard ground. You count a month or so since your departure from the capital though the days blend in a fog. The gradual creep of the chill has advanced upon the part, slowing the wheels, and sending the riders to pause and cover their horses. You keep the fur cloak over your lap as you lean into the corner of the cart though Bryce seems enlivened by the atmosphere. 

The dim sky harkens the crossing of the intangible barrier between the summer and winter lands. Sprawling plains and rounded feels give way to rocky passes and jutting mountains, interspersed with lumpy tundras speckled with patches of mud. Several times, your soldierly escort has had to help yank free the wheels from some rut or another. 

“Are we there?” You ask through as chatter, blowing into your hands. “The Hinterlands?” 

“Mm, by my guess, we are at the Fox’s Tail. You see, it is the little strip of land where no man lives, summer or winter,” he explains, reaching to scratch his beard. You envy the warmth it must give to his cheeks. “Isn’t so cold yet, mouse, better brace yerself.” 

You nod and look ahead at the grey, brown expanse. There are dustings of frost but not snow, only on the distant caps of rugged mountains that shadow the horizon. You hug yourself as Daisy’s breath plumes in misty clouds around her head. 

“Why does no one live here?” You ask. 

“There are no trees, no grass to feed the livestock or game,” he shrugs, “it is barren...” he sucks his teeth and thinks, “there was a war. Hundreds of years ago, maybe more. The summer folk spilled upon the winter lands, some squabble over a slain lord... they put salt to the earth. They did not only want vengeance on the living, they wanted their descendants to suffer for their misdeeds. Starve out an entire people.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “what the summer people didn’t understand is that the winter skinned do not stay still. They move with the winds. You’ll see, mouse. You haven’t done the last of yer scurrying.” 

You huddle down as another cold breath sweeps through the air. You’re not used to it but you will be. That’s how it always is. You just have to take what you get and make it work. You can’t complain for what you have; a warm cloak, a cart, and a kind companion. 

⚔️

Your teeth chatter as you hold closed the front of the fur cloak, the hood over your head as you walk the frozen earth. More often than not, you’ve left the prized cape in your cart for your return. It is too heavy to wear while serving the queen but the weather permits you no mercy. It is far too bitter to forgo the extra layer. 

Bryce is unbothered in his mail and the simple fur trim the collar of his wool cloak. He only seems to thrive in the dipping temperatures, stoking a fire for your nocturnal return so that you may sleep in its warmth. His constancy keeps you from mourning the lost summer sunshine. 

He stands behind you as you cross to the queen’s tent, now raised with several layers to insulate the walls. You enter as you do every night, unnoticed as Queen Jazlene mindlessly stares into the pages of a book. She’s grown quiet these last weeks as the travel wears on her, even her wardrobe showing the effects. 

You feel a gust from beneath the tent wall and step away from it. You watch the queen, huddled beneath a blanket on a stool, shaking as she tries to warm her hands in each other. She wears several satin cloaks layered over each other but the fabric is too sleek to garner much heat. 

She puffs into her palms and groan.  

“Damn this cold,” she mutters, then sits up, “maid, tea!” She demands, “Something warm! Anything!” 

You utter a small “your highness” and spin away to your task. You step out into the cold and go off to find a fire and a pot. The queen has some berry tea in her chests.  

You acquire a cup of steaming water from a cluster of servants around a flame. You linger for a moment to absorb some of the fire’s haze then set back toward the royal tent. As you near, a shadow nearly collides with you. You keep the cup balanced as you scramble around the figure. The torch light catches the king’s golden eyes as they meet yours. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

He grunts as he stops fully. He stares down at you wordlessly. You cannot read his expression as shadows dance around his features, flickering various emotions across his face. He bows his head and presses on. You turn to watch him go as concern rolls up your throat. 

In those last weeks, months you believe, you’ve not seen much of the king. You’ve wondered after his elusivity. At first, you thought it might be due to the combat at Debray, perhaps he was disheartened by the last act of resistance. Then you surmised it might be evasion of his own wife. Alas, you could not guess and fathomed it was not your place to do so. 

This brief encounter further perplexes you. You can’t help but question if it is you. You recall the last day in the capital, the grit of his voice casting you out. Go. The memory ripples through you. 

You think much of yourself. It wouldn’t be anything to do with a paltry maid. You focus on the hot water in your hand and continue on to the queen’s tent. 

You enter and wrap the dried berries and leaves, steeping them in the steaming water. You hover over the cup, waiting for the water to deepen in hue and cool enough to drink. When you bring it to the queen, you feel her gaze upon you. 

“Your highness,” you hand her the cup. 

She hesitates to take it, only doing so after deep consideration. She holds the tea in one hand as her other tugs on your cloak. She makes an ugly noise. 

“And where did you find this, maid?” She sneers. “Hmm, I sit her in my summer garb and you wear a bear’s skin?” 

Your lips part and you raise your shoulders. You look at the tent wall and frown. You poke your hand outside the cloak and touch the soft fur.  

“Your highness,” you look down at the cloak then at her trembling grasp on the cup. “Would you like it? You look awfully cold.” 

“Yes, I want the damn cloak!” She yanks it hard, “I am the queen and you did not think to offer me a proper cloak? How stupid are you.” 

You bow your head and reach to unbuckle the cloak. When it is loose, you shrug it off and hand it over. You will find a spare blanket. There must be some left among the luggage. 

She shoves the cup at you and stands. She swings the cloak around her and hums as she pulls its snug around her figure. She sits again and rubs her chin against the fur. 

“Much better,” she says, “I’ve been suffering this damnable place for far too long.” 

She takes the tea back, spilling a drop on your hand. You back away, the liquid cooling and sending a new chill through you. You cover one hand with the other and clutch tightly, locking your jaw against the tremor that crawls up your spine. 

The queen slurps from the tea and makes a face. She sneers, “I want wine,” she pouts, “how long must I be deprived? Wine!” She snarls down at the cup, “but I must drink this bile. Oh, but the king bids it,” she raises her voice mockingly, “you must obey your husband.” She shakes her head and takes another gulp, “at least it is warm. At least--”  

She holds the cup away from her suddenly as her face twists. She drops it and recoils, panic washing over her. She keels forward, holding her skirts out of the way as she spews onto the rug spread over the hard ground. She wretches loudly, spasming with the horrid sounds snagging in her throat. 

The smell of her vomit permeates the tent. She stays bent over her lap as she pants. You come forward and offer her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She sits up and gulps tightly, her features drawn. She pats her lips. 

“Well, clean it up,” she turns her feet away from the puddle between them. “Stupid maid.” 

She pokes a sharp nail into your arm and you wince.  

“Your highness, are you unwell?” You ask, “shall I fetch a physician? Or some ginger?” 

“No, you stupid cow, I am not unwell,” she flicks her fingers at you before waving away the stench of her bile. She stands and walks away from it, her hand settling on her middle. She faces you and smiles broadly, “I am carrying the king’s son.” Her face darkens as she wrinkles her nose, “I told you, you twit, to clean that up. You best do so before I make you eat it.” 

You nod and bend your neck, “yes, your highness, I will fetch water.” 

“I don’t care, just do it,” she snaps and rubs her stomach. She lets out a shuddery groan and turns her back to you. You watch as she draws tight the cloak and sways with a trill, “I will be a true queen now. He cannot deny me any longer.” 

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Moon

Summary: Horus learns that Lorgar has a daughter. The thought of his own child takes over his mind.

Horus/fem!OC, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic), Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping

Word count: 1002

Song: The Cure - Lullaby

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

The Warmaster looks at one of the many contracts and freezes, unable to sign. Memories of brighter days on Terra capture Horus. The primarch simply cannot, cannot sit behind the documents. The title of Warmaster weighs heavily on his shoulders. The responsibility of continuing the Crusade as a leader weighs heavily. He wants simple human affection.

Horus loved his sons. Everyone was dear to him, especially the members of Mournival. Yet they were war machines. Perhaps much better than ordinary people, but the primarch was connected to them only by gene-seed. Pure science and controlled selection.

It was not the same as the childhood of the primarch himself. When his Father taught him astronomy, the art of war and told him stories of the past. It’s an unforgettable feeling to look at the man in front of you and listen to his every word. While you yourself are still a boy who has not seen the world and has not known its taste.

Neither brother could understand Horus. Couldn't take the place of the Emperor's favorite son. Because that's how it was. The Warmaster was found before anyone else - and therefore Terra is not just a home by name. No matter how hard some of them, especially Lorgar, tried to earn the Emperor's love. All their attempts were doomed to failure.

Even worse, the primarch of the Word Bearers had caused real anger with his behavior. Horus thought that everything would end with the burning of the Monarchy. Until he was told interesting news. Lorgar had a wife. One of the civilians of Colchis, with whom he... fell in love. And he took her to himself. But that was not all.

She was pregnant with the primarch's child.

Something clicked in the Warmaster’s head and he decided to visit the Imperial Palace. Discuss new trade routes, diplomatic meetings, military tactics. Horus did not want to show his excitement. But he so wanted to see a new life. From his primarch blood.

***

“Her name is Erda.” - The Emperor cooed over the cradle with a toy in his hands. A sight unusual even for Horus. - “Unlike all of you, she grows much slower. Even than an ordinary person. But this has its own joy. She will stay this small longer. Isn’t she a beauty, my son?”

It is difficult to discourage a primarch. But little Erda did it. Unfortunately for Lorgar, his daughter will remain on Terra with the Emperor forever. Daughter. Horus says the word again in his mind, tasting it. It sounded like family; love is hidden behind this word.

She is very small, half asleep, but still carefully watches the wooden horse that her current father carved. The girl was bathed in love from birth. And although she was surrounded by the gold of Terra, her lullaby, soft blankets and toys emitted a moderate light. Gentle. Almost lunar.

The girl reaches out and grabs the horse. Smart eyes wait expectantly for some action. Until the Emperor, with a smile that even Horus has not seen, begins to squeeze her. Erda bursts into laughter - the most beautiful melody the Warmaster has ever heard.

"Yes. She's a beauty."

 And Horus can't help but want to take her. But she is still not his child.

***

There is a stir in the chambers and Horus looks up. A smile spreads across his face by itself. The serf girl cleaned his armor with zeal, wanting to scrub away the hardened dirt. The primarch liked best when it was she who looked after his armor and cleaned his room.

At first, the primarch thought that the reason was that she was the best at performing her simple duties. But no, other serfs did a better job. The man had to admit that he simply enjoyed her company. She was nice. A pretty and kind girl - her quiet presence was calming.

Everyone had to look at him with adoration. The Warmaster deserved it. And the serf was no exception, but her devotion was more tender. As if she was always nearby, as if it should be so. If Horus had any tempting thoughts, he suppressed them.

But now... they came out again, taking over his mind. Lorgar was not afraid to admit that he had fallen in love. He lost his wife only because he was terrible at his duties. His pathetic brother incurred the wrath of the Emperor only because he could not renounce the senseless traditions of Colchis.

But Horus was the favorite son. Horus was the best among his brothers, a magnificent warrior and politician. Everyone loved him and everyone wanted to please him. It was not for nothing that his Father gave him the title of Warmaster. The primarch worked as hard as he could, couldn't he take some nice little liberties?

The girl stops and looks sharply at the primarch. Apparently she felt someone else's gaze. Horus can't help but stare at the way her cheeks grow warm and her hands clutch the rag to her chest. So fragile and tender compared to him. She needs only the best care. Especially when her belly will be filled with new life.

"My Lord?"

Even though she is a serf, Horus wants to do everything right. The girl was already amazed by the primarch’s aura. There was no point in putting pressure on her or forcing her to do anything. A man could be a Warmaster not only on the battlefield, but also in romance.

And he really wanted to win such a little heart. Besides, then Horus will have a story for their child about how he met his mother. Omitting details about the imbalance of power.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a mother?”

The last word permeates the entire essence of Horus and he can barely restrain his carnivorous smile. Soon, very soon, his Luna Wolves will be holding a little brother or sister in their arms. It just needs to wait.

And then a lullaby will also appear in his chambers.

[welcomingdisaster]

years of the trees tumblr dashboard simulator

🦜filitárifinds Follow

second mingling soft mouse

🌸 drunkinalqualonde Follow

second mingling soft mouse reblog for peace and comfort always

🌧️ hailxrainxstars Follow

i can't scroll past the mingling mouse

🪻dancer_spirit Follow

guys it's literally opening hour

🦦 whatabotterit Follow

opening hour will end but mingling mouse is forever

#sighs #i suppose i must reblog #second mingling soft mouse

( 12990 notes )

🌻sweetflowersofspring Follow

spilled all the seed pods at yavanna's temple and accidentally sa-si'ed in front of my crush (who only ever uses Þ 😭) and now i come home and learn the hounds have come loose and run off to chase the wild hunt... can i just get whatever queen miriel died from it's too late for me now folks

🔥lordoflight Follow

Explain to me how and why you think it's okay to joke about that.

#idiots online #disrespect #upsetting

( 12 notes )

🌳 twotreesdaily Follow

Yet another image which fails to capture the majesty and beauty of Laurelin, yet in its imperfection reveals the grandness and completeness of that design, which none shall surpass.

#perfection #beauty #tree #merging of light and life #the valar #gold #symbol of eternal youth and the divine feminine #wow

( 299 notes )

🐾 awwooooo Follow

join the wild hunt we've got deer jerky

🐾 awwooooo Follow

also orgies

🐾 awwooooo Follow

but seriously so much deer jerky there's too much someone please take some

( 188 notes )

🪺 maidenwithoutacause Follow

normalize taking naps and being so so sleepy

🗡️fireson5 Follow

That literally kills people.

🪺 maidenwithoutacause Follow

that was ONE time

#sorry op but it's literally 100% of our mortality rate he's got a point

( 355 notes )

🦢 silversmith Follow

"nolofinwë's right" this "curufinwë's right" that ... do we ever talk about how arafinwë just fucked off to to drink cocktails on the beach in alqualondë and married the hottest elf-maiden in all of aman? icon for this

( 82 notes )

Based on your likes!

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

any girls want to go to the macalaurë feanorian orchestral and exchange kisses under the starlight....

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

perhaps tenderly grasp each other's hands

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

... unwed

#not safe for tumblr #horny posting

( 19 notes )

🕊️ justsomevanya Follow

okay wondering if i'm weird

#polls #haha is it just me

( 58 notes )

🎶freepeoplefreesong Follow

gotta be real it's sad to see cancel culture coming for melkor he's done his time let him live

🌄 smithworkirl Follow

bestie he's a war criminal

🎶freepeoplefreesong Follow

he's coming to my house party tomorrow ✌️ peace and love

#seriously tho unfollow me if you think people can't change #the light is healing and cleanses all #don't you believe in redemption

( 31 notes )

⛰️ 12elves3kings

prince turukáno house of nolofinwë. you agree. reblog.

( 67 notes )

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 26. the athenaeum

JAY HAD GONE THROUGH NUMEROUS INTERVIEWS IN HIS LIFE; THIS WASN'T ANYTHING HE HADN'T EXPERIENCED BEFORE.

The Athenaeum, which was the building designated for the Order members, looked grand on the outside, but it was even more magnificent on the inside. The living space was adorned with decorative sculptures and Corinthian pillars, and a spiraling staircase led to several upper levels. Jay swallowed hard when he realized that he would be living here if he was selected. That would surely make it harder to hide that he was only here for his assignment.

He walked in at 8:06 p.m. on the dot, hoping he had made the right decision, and a little anxious knot unraveled in his chest when Kim Jennie approached him with a pleased smile.

"Right this way to your interview, Jay," she said in a sweet voice, although her smile dropped as she tried to maintain a stoic expression.

In retrospect, the interview itself didn't sound too intimidating. A thirty minute interview with several people asking questions would go by quickly. But a room's worth of eyes were on him, and he felt his throat closing up. Surely, there were scarier things in the world than fifteen pretentious college students sizing him up, but Jay couldn't seem to think of anything but how stuffy the large room seemed to feel.

They were all sitting high above him, circling around the one chair in the middle of the room like a committee of vultures. They were all wearing dark cloaks with a golden wreath adorning the tops of their heads. It looked a little silly, but he tried not to stare too long at the headpieces.

Park Sungjin, Sunghoon's older brother, was seated right in the middle, eyes flitting between Jay and the sheet of paper in front of him. Jay looked around the room for a brief second, making eye contact with Jeonghan, who nearly cracked a smile before returning to looking impassive.

"Welcome to your interview, Jay," Sungjin began with an overwhelming air of authority, motioning for him to sit down. Jay cautiously took a seat, but he immediately felt swamped by everyone's gaze. "We've spent the past semester getting to know you and your accomplishments. All of us are quite familiar with your merit, but this interview is for us to get to know you on a deeper level to see if you have what it takes to be part of our next delegation."

Before Jay could even open his mouth to respond, Sungjin turned to the member to his right, asking, "Baekhyun, would you like to start us off?"

Byun Baekhyun nodded before leaning forward on his forearms. "Jay, if you could be president, during which historical event would it be?"

Jay almost gawked at him. Almost.

He treated the question as if it was any other professional interview question, though. If the Order was taking it seriously, then he had to, as well.

"Probably during the Great Depression," he answered after a few moments of pondering. "I would've done the opposite of whatever Hoover did with his laissez-faire approach, meaning more government intervention, more relief efforts, and less tariffs. Without the Great Depression, Germany probably wouldn't become fascist, so they would have no reason to form a huge army and start the second world war."

"Nice answer," Sungjin praised, which left a surge of relief flooding Jay's chest. "Jisoo?"

The pretty senior smiled coyly, scooting up in her seat to ask, "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"

Jay seriously thought this was all some sort of sick joke. What kind of question was that? Had he been taking all of this way too seriously?

"Maybe one of those Moon Trees," he said. "I think it's pretty cool that the seeds were still viable after going to the moon and back."

Kim Taehyung was next to ask a question, clearing his throat loudly to cover up Jeonghan whispering to Xu Minghao about where they could find a Moon Tree seed.

"Jay," Taehyung started, "if you could slap any person—living or dead—who would you slap?"

Jay leaned back in his chair, taken aback by the question. Was there a correct way to go about such a question? Could he really just list any person? He could perhaps say Hitler or Stalin, but that was stupid; anyone would slap those two if they were given the choice.

He could go for a more entertaining route, but Jay's mind was currently blanking and he could only think of one person that would have been completely inappropriate to blurt out. He knew you told him to be honest, but honesty would probably do him more harm than good.

However, the seconds were ticking by, and Jay was suddenly overly-conscious of everyone's blank stares. His heart started to beat faster when he realized that everyone was waiting for him to respond.

"Park Sunghoon."

Jay didn't even realize the words actually came out of his mouth until he noticed that the room was dead silent. As if he wasn't nervous already, his blunder made his heart beat against his rib cage like a drum while his palms grew clammy.

It was over.

There was no recovering from such a royal fuck-up. Jay had to find another way to go about this mission. He would have to tell his client that he failed. Maybe he would finally be let go, but then he would have to leave—

A snicker. Then another. And another.

Soon, the entire room had burst into laughter over Jay's answer, including Park Sungjin. Although most of them still looked as if they were in disbelief, they found it absolutely hysterical.

Kim Doyeon, who was currently wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, fought down giggles as she said, "We need you to elaborate."

"Looks like your brother pissed someone off again," Oh Sehun joked, nudging Sungjin from behind.

Sungjin returned a half-grin before folding his arms across his chest and looking down at Jay. "I'd like to hear why, too."

"Uh..." Jay was floundering for an excuse, buying himself time by rubbing his nose. He surely couldn't mention anything that had gone down between Sunghoon and you, so he thought back to a previous memory with the junior. "He puked on my new shoes last semester and never acknowledged it after that. I had to clean them by hand, and he puked on them again."

More laughter chorused from the fifteen of them, and Jay felt a little relieved that he managed to come up with a believable excuse to throw them off. As dumb as their questions were, he almost got himself into trouble there.

Once Sungjin managed to calm down the rest of the members, he shot Jay an apologetic look. "Sorry about them. This is supposed to be a professional interview." He shot pointed looks around the room, but even he wasn't taking his own words seriously. "None of us have ever laughed this hard over an interview question. How about we move onto Minghao?"

Minghao, who Jay couldn't tell was smiling because of his answer about wanting to punch Sunghoon or because Jeonghan had finally shut up about the Moon Trees, straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Jay, how would you describe the color yellow to someone who's blind? You can take your time to think about this one before you answer."

Jay frowned as he thought long and hard about Minghao's question. It wasn't that it was anything challenging to answer, but he was never really a big fan of the color yellow in the first place.

Sunshine. Dandelions. Canaries. Sunflowers.

Sunshine—but he wasn't really keen on bright, blinding sunlight. Jay more so enjoyed the yellow hues of a sunset or a sunrise. He supposed people associated the color yellow with happiness, but he couldn't really see it.

And then he thought harder about those bright yellows, wondering what it was about the vibrance that made people feel so much joy. He furrowed his brows, and then it came to him all at once.

It wasn't the sunshine itself. Sure, maybe it was a contributing factor, but he remembered that hike he went on while he was back in Washington for winter break. You were standing on a large tree root with your hands on your hips, squinting up at the brilliant sun before nearly tripping over your feet and then laughing hysterically. Something warm and joyful exploding in his chest back then, making him wish he could freeze time.

Maybe that was yellow.

"When you're sad, you say you feel blue," he responded, "so I'd tell a blind person that yellow is their happiest memory. It's like that feeling you get when you look up at the sun and feel its heat on your face, or seeing someone you care for smile really big."

(He swore he could hear Bae Joohyun cooing at his answer from the left end of the room.)

"I think we'll have to wrap this up soon because the next interview is gonna be soon," Sungjin said. "Jennie, would you like to take this one?"

"I can," she said with a nod. "Jay, can you tell me your interpretation of how the name 'Order of Kryptos' came to be?"

Rather than his mouth going dry this time, Jay was more than ready to answer this question—a real question, unlike the previous icebreakers he had been getting. He had done his research far before he even started going to networking events for the Order.

"If I remember correctly, Kryptos is in reference to the sculpture by Jim Sanborn—the one outside the CIA headquarters. It contains four messages, the first three being solved and the fourth remaining one of the most famous unsolved codes in the world," Jay explained. "The name 'Kryptos' itself is the ancient Greek word for 'hidden,' so I believe your society's goals revolve around seeking intelligence and discovering the unknown."

"And what do you think the number 786 signifies?"

"The passcode to the building?"

"Correct."

"Seven-eight-six..." he mumbled, trying to rack his brain for an answer. "The sculpture contains a total of 1,800 characters and only 768 of them are decoded. That's the only connection I can make in my head that relates to 786. Other than that, I don't really know."

Jennie smiled. "Thank you, Jay."

He swallowed thickly. Did he mess up? No, he couldn't have. Jay had been on thin ice when he said he'd punch Sunghoon, but everything else, for the most part, had gone smoothly. There was no possible way he had any idea of knowing what the passcode was for.

"That concludes your interview, Jay," Sungjin said. "We are still deciding on when we're starting Tap Week, so we'll reach out with more information once we've solidified plans. Thank you for meeting with us today."

"Thank you," Jay echoed through the dry mouth and slack tongue.

He went around giving everyone firm handshakes before walking out of the Athenaeum. Although he didn't feel like his interview went terrible, Jay had a sinking feeling that his answer about Sunghoon was going to come back to bite him.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ SORRY WILL ANSWER ASKS WHEN I WAKE UP! so eepy rn

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[makingqueerhistory]

I'm from the USA and am trying to take hope and inspiration from our queer predecessors who faced dark times in the past. How did they keep going even when it felt like the world was ending?Do you have any recommendations for queer historical essays, poems, books, anything to find comfort and hope for these dark times?

Yes, I have a couple of stories for this.

Claude Cahun

A queer surrealist photographer from 1920's paris, Claude was Jewish and recognized the rise of antisemitism in their home country and watched it become fascism. Here is a quote from their article:

"In 1937 Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore cut off many connections because of the war and ran to Jersey to avoid anti-Semitic violence. Upon arrival, they went back to using their birth names and laid low until the Germans took Jersey. Moore and Cahun set to work. They used their experience with art and disguising their genders to create works that spread misinformation, seeds of rebellion and implied that there was a large-scale resistance happening when in reality, it was just the two of them. Though some of their work was based on confusing the soldiers, they also translated and transcribed BBC transmissions into German, detailing the war crimes that were being committed. They would have these translations on pieces of paper that they would slip into soldier's pockets, matchboxes, and anywhere a soldier may stumble across it and possibly read it. An investigation was started, and Nazi authorities believed there to be a group of people doing this. When the two were discovered to be behind the actions, Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore were sentenced to death. Fortunately, the sentence was never carried out because the island of Jersey was liberated from German rule only a year later. Claude took a picture upon their release in front of the camps with a Nazi eagle pin between their teeth."

And Jarosław Iwaszkiewicz

who wrote:

"Poetry readings and concert attendance—and often a chat over vodka—were not only forms

of escapism, but also a search for better, more substantive aspects of human beings, a search

which would end, more often than not, in complete disillusionment. If it could be possible, to

discern, in these notes even if only for a moment a measure of humanity in that time of

inhumanity, the goal of this publication would be fulfilled.”

I think his whole article is worth reading.

Also here are some books to read:

Your Art Will Save Your Life

Beth Pickens

Double Cross: The True Story of the D-Day Spies

Ben MacIntyre

Nepantla: An Anthology Dedicated to Queer Poets of Color

Christopher Soto

The New Queer Conscience

Adam Eli

(Some of the links are affiliate links)

[justmymindandstuff]

Desire - Robb Stark X WifeReader

summary: Your life is perfect. You are happily married to your husband Robb Stark and gave birth to your first son a few moons ago. But since then things have changed between you. You miss your husbands touches but after you told him about your worries he shows you how wrong you are.

words: 6.132

warnings: self-doubt, discomfort, smut (oral f receving, fingering, p in v sex), pregnancy Kink (kind of/ mention), Porn with Plot ,fluff, 18 +,MDNI

as always english is not my first language, no beta reader so all mistakes are mine //No use of Y/N // Hope you have fun with this // AO3

requests are open // main-masterlist // GoT-masterlist

You sigh and look back in the mirror in front of you, you turn to the side a few times to look at yourself from as many angles as possible. Then another sigh. Your son babbles in his cradle next to you. You give him a smile. He would soon see his fourth moon. You can't imagine what life was like before him, or maybe you don't want to. The last years have been marked with war, loss, mourning, fear and suffering. First the Lions, then the Others. But you've been through all this, you and your husband, Robb Stark, King of the North. You wipe your black hair out off your face.

The minute it was clear that you are a girl, your father, King Robert, engaged you to the heir of his best friend. You knew all your life that you were going to be Robb's wife, and at age seven, you were sent to Winterfell to live here as Neds ward. You were supposed to become Lady Stark of Winterfell, but then your father died, the truth about your (half)siblings came out, and for Robb and you all this brought the crown of the North. You were dragged into this terrible game of thrones, had to forge alliances, foresee the intrigues of your enemies, and were faced with so many impossible choices. Who do you trust? Who can help you? Who will betray you? You remember with an unpleasant feeling the cold night in the harbour, the wind blowing outside the windows and in a few hours you would sail off to Dragonstone. "Do you want the throne my love?" Robb had whisperd into the night. You lay naked and tightly wrapped around eachother in the uncomfortable bed, his seed was still sticking to your thighs, and when he asked, everything in you was drawn together. You are the only living, legitimate child of your father, his throne, the Iron Throne, is actually yours. "No. Give it to the Dragon Queen, for her help and the independence of the North." The Dragon Queen accepted your offer, and when all the armies of the North and the Riverlands, the Unsullied, the Droharki and three Dragons stood before King's landing, it was over. The city had already opened the gates and ringed the bells. Tywin Lannister could do nothing but lose his head. Then you have turned your armies to the north, just in time to defeat the Night king.

A knock at the door trear you away from your thoughts of the past. "Come in." the door opens and Catelyn enters.

"Hello, Dear," she says in a warm voice, smiling at you. "How are you?"

"Good," you answer, and it's not even a lie. You have a perfect husband, a healthy son and a great family. What more could you wish for? Your mother-in-law is smiling at you.

"Robb is back soon the banners are already on the horizon," she tells you.

You can feel your heart beating faster when you think of your husband. After all these years, mentioning his name is enough, and you feel like a love-sick teenager again. Robb had been in Karhold to attend Lady Karstark's wedding. The journey would have been too long for your son, and you didn't want to be separated from him for so long. So Robb left with a heavy heart without you.

"Finally," you say, and then you take Catelyn's hand. "Thank you again for helping me so much over the last few weeks. I know I have neglected my duties as a queen."

"You're now a mother Dear." her gaze goes to the crib and a sparkling enters her eyes as she looks at her first grandson. "Of course, there are shifts in priorities. That's normal."

You nod, even if you're feeling bad anyway. During Robb's absence, it would have been your job to take care of the North and Winterfell, but your thoughts are always with your little son.

"If you want I can take little Ed for a few hours?" your mother in law asks. "You and Robb were separated for a long time."

Your ears are getting red because you know exactly what she means. "That's not necessary." you say and smile. It's not like you don't trust Catelyn with Eddard but it's really not necessary.

Catelyn smiles. "I was once young and in love too." she says. You try to smile, but instead you sight. Catelyn shrinks her eyebrows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I can see in your face that something is wrong."

Your gaze goes back to the mirror. Your marriage to Robb is perfect, he's like one of the heroes from the songs, one the best men in the Westeros, trusting, loving, honest. Everything you can wish for in a husband. God, you love this man with all your heart and you know he loves you too. Nevertheless, your heart is getting heavy. During your pregnancy you have gain weight and have not lost the soft pads on your hips, even though you had a wet nurse, your breasts are not quite as tight as before, besides that you have stretch marks over your abdomen and breasts. You look backt at Catelyn suddenly tears come into your eyes. She overcomes the distance between you in a few steps and pulls you into her arms.

"What's going on?"

It's uncomfortable for you to share these thoughts with her. But why? It was Catelyn who told you all about moon bleeding, marriage, the marriage night and birth. Your mother came to your wedding, but you were so alienated by then that you asked Lady Stark for advice. She was always like a mother to you. You get out of her hug to look at her.

"I think..." you start and swallow hard bevor you speak again. "He doesn't want me anymore," you answer. "Not since Edds birth, even in the time before. He doesn't desire me anymore."

You don't want to think about these thoughts at all, and most importantly, you do not want to keep thinking. If Robb doesn't share the bed with you anymore, who does he do it with? Only the thought that he is lying with someone else causes nausea to rise in you. But he'd never do that, you know, he would never shame you like that, never hurt you that much. Even if you're so sure, there's a voice from the corner of your mind screaming: every man has needs and you obviously can't satisfy his anymore. Everyone would let him in her bed, he always has women around him who want to seduce him. Younger than you, more beautiful than you. Virgins, whores, everybody. He's the king.

"Nonsense!" you're surprised at the sharpness of Catelyn voice, but she keeps talking. "Have you seen how he looks at you, sweetheart? That's not the way men look at women they don´t desire. He's crazy for you. He loves you."

"I didn't say he doesn't love me. I know he does. He just doesn't want me anymore, that's something else."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, we have." you interrupt yourself, but then you throw all the shame overboard, it doesn´t help. Catelyn held your hand during the birth of your son, shame is absolutely unnecessary in this place. "We haven't shared the bed with each other since Eddard's birth. He didn't make me feel like he wanted that."

You think of the time after your wedding, sometimes you didn't even get to your cambers, he was too eager to take you. Even during the war, it was hard for him to stay away from you for more than two days. Only the memory of the gazes that he has cast on you over the battle plans in the war council, makes your cheeks glow. But since the last third of your pregnancy, he's begun to retreat from you. Not emotionally, but physically. No more hot kisses in dark corridors, no more hands wandering over your body, no longer whispers of dirty thoughts as he passes by in the corridors.

Now Catelyn sigh too. "I can only give you one advice I've learned in 16 years of marriage," she says, and you look at her curiously. "Speak with him."

You grimace, that's exactly what you didn't want. You don't want him to think he's a bad husband or that you miss something. But if you're honest, you miss it, your miss your husbands touches.

Catelyn looks at you determinedly and smiles. "I'll take Edd tonight, I want to spend more time with my grandson anyway and you talk to your husband." her voice does not allow contradiction, and even if you would want to contradict, a horn rings loudly through the hallway and over the courtyards of the castle. Robb's finally home. When you think of seeing him again, your heart beats faster, you missed him so much. You take Eddard carefully out of his bed. Fortunately, he won't wake up. You're just taking him with you because you know that Robb had a hard time being separated from his son for so long and that he really wants to see him.

In the evening, you sit on your bed and open your braids , so that your hair falls open over your shoulders. You've already dismissed your maids for the evening. The crip is now empty and you already have the need to run through Winterfell to your son. You always thought you couldn't love anyone as much as Robb, but then you held your son in your arms for the first time and your heart almost broke from love. You don't love Robb less now, it's just more love. The room door opens and Robb enters the room. When you see him, a smile comes to your face.

"My Lady Wife." he says joyfully and closes the door behind him. He comes over to you, puts a kiss on your lips and sits on the bed next to you. Then he looks at the crip "Where is Eddard?" he asks.

"With your mother, she wanted to take care of him tonight. So we may have a little rest." you answer him. He looks back at you, his gaze becomes troubled.

"Was it too exhausting to have Edd alone? Shouldn't I have left? Do you need more maids?" he asks and takes your hand in his.

"No. No, with Eddard, everything was perfect, he's perfect. The perfect little prince." you calm him down quickly. "Your mother helped me a lot with government affairs." Robb breathes out relieved.

"Good." then he stands up again and starts getting undressed. As he pulls his shirt over his head, you observe the play of his back muscles and you feel a flattening inyour abdomen. You're watching Robb change his clothes, you can't turn your eyes away from him. Then he comes back to bed, he smiles at you from above and caress you cheek, you lean into his palm and close your eyes. Then he squates down in front of you to be on an eye level with you. Your legs lie to the left and right side of his body while your bare toes slightly brush over the soft carpet on the floor.

"I missed you." you say and kiss his palm.

"I also missed you. I wanted to turn around the first day and come back to you."

You laugh quietly and start playing wit the curls in his neck. He closes his eyes and groan quietly. The familiarity you two have grown over the years fills your heart with warmth. You grew up together, were best friends for years, and you never feared marrying him. You slightly pull at the curls in his neck to get him to put his head in the neck. He opens his eyes again and looks right into your eyes, you bow down and put your lips on his. You lean into the kiss, bury your hands in his hair, but before you can intensify the kiss further, Robb pulls away.

You can't help but sigh. You could just turn around now and crawl under the soft blankets and fur, but then your worries would still be the same tomorrow. Catelyn is right, the only solution is to talk to him. You're searching for the right words, but you don't really know what to say. Robb's eyes hang on your face, he's pulling his eyebrows together.

"What's going on?" he asks.

You still don't know what to say, you can't find the right words. So you just decide to speak out. "Why don't you desire me anymore?"

Robb looks shocked at you. "What do you mean?"

You take a deep breath. "Since I was pregnant, since we had Edd, you don´t desire me anymore."

"No, that's not true," he said, shaking his head. Is he just saying that to not hurt your feelings? You know it's true, you feel it, you noticed the change in his behavior.

"Is it because I'm not as thin as I was before? Or the scars on my stomach? Because I'm a mother now? I can understand that you withdrew from our marriage bed during pregnancy, but Eddard is now four moons old, the maester said weeks ago that I´m healed, Nevertheless, you don't even touch me anymore! I can be happy if you kiss me." the words just sprinkle out of your mouth.

Robb's just looking at you for a few moments. "What are you talking about?" he asks in a quiet voice. "You think I don´t want you? You think I would not longing after you every second oft the day?"

There's something flashing in his eyes and he's moving so fast that you can't even react. Suddenly you lie with your back on the bed, Robb over you. You can feel his body on yours, but you know that he holds most of his weight on his knee between your legs. On his face appears the trace of a smile.

"My queen," he whispers in your ear and then places a kiss right below your earlobes. You shiver slightly and bite your lips so you not let out desperate moan. Gods, you missed his touches. Your hands lie around his body, caress the muscles of his shoulders. "I let you down, made you feel like you weren't desirable. I'm sorry, wife, forgive me." his words are followed by a series of kisses, over your neck, your cheek and finally your lips. When his tongue slips into your mouth, you can't help but cry out. Your body bends toward him and you can feel the pleasant poaching between your legs.

He separates himself from you, rests on his elbows and looks into your eyes. You bend up to feel his lips on yours again, the familiar feeling of his lips allowing heat to flow through your whole body. But again Robb doesn´t let you intensify the kiss an pulls away.

"Wifey," he says in a dark voice with a hint of his northern accent. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to feel like I woun´t desire you." his lips goes back to your neck, first he places light kisses and then he begins to suck. A whimper comes over your lips. Robb's hands wander over your body, you wish your thin nightgrown wasn't between you. He lets go of your neck again, and you know you're gonna have his mark tomorrow. But you doesn´t care. Your hands wander over his shoulders forward to his chest and you draw on the fabric of his shirt. You want to feel his skin under your hands, but Robb grabs your hands and pushes them with one hand on your wrists over your head into the mattress.

"I forgive you." you say, you can hardly forme a clear thought, it's all about Robb and your desire for him. "Please, Robb." you don't know exactly what you're asking him for, you just want the burning desire in your body to be fed. A deep groaning comes out of his throat, but he won't let go of your hands. You push your hips against his, you feel his body and his hard member on you. Robb and you both moan at the little friction. He caress with one hand over your body, circles around your chest and lets his thumb run over your nipples. You try to suppress a moan, you don't want to look as desperate as you are. Gods, you missed your husband's touches.

"Did you want to know the truth? Why I have withdrawn from you?" he says, bowing down slightly to kiss you, your tongues are playing with each other. Robb finally releases your wrists, you immediately bury your hands in his curls, while Robb puts his hand on your cheek. The gentle stroking of his hand doesn't quite match the hot intensity with which he claims your mouth as hi. You keep pressing on to him. You want to feel every inch of his body against yours. You know you're incredibly wet, almost embarrassed how little it took.

Robb's hands wander over your body, he gently pushes your nightgown up above your hips, finally his warm hand touches your thigh.

"I could hardly be near you without going completely mad." he starts kissing your neck again, going slowly over your collarbone. You slightly pull his hair to get him to kiss your lips again, but he only bites swiftly, then kiss the place again. His hand goes higher and higher under your nightgown until it finally reaches exactly where you want it to be. In the next moment, he pushes a finger into you and moves it slowly. You inhale sharply, bend your hips towards him.

"I had to keep thinking about the fact that you were carrying my child in you. Gods, you thought I don´t want you anymore because you were pregnant? On the contrary, I wanted you every second. I would rather have you locked up in this room. Every second I could only think of pushing you against the next wall and taking you right there."

His lips find yours again, you spread your legs further for him, make room for him and bow toward him. Your hands wander over his neck, his shoulders, to his muscular upper arms. You need something to hold on to. Robb squeezes his thumb into slight circles over your clitoris and your legs start to tremble.

"Fuck. I could no longer have a clear thought, could not concentrate, could hardly be a king, because my thoughts were constantly circling around you. I had to stay away so that I could function at all, so I would not fall over you." he adds another finger. A wet sound fills the room as you are still trying to understand his words. He starts kissing your collarbone again. His lips wander deeper and he starts kissing your breasts over your nightgrown. The movement of his fingers becomes faster, he curves them slightly and increases the pressure on your clit a little. Then he'll start sucking on your nipple.

"Robb," you cry out. The feeling of his lips, his fingers, of him is strange, but simultaneously so familiar. Your whole body is trembling. His teeth brush against the fabric of your nightgown as he intensifies the movement of his fingers and the stimulation of your clit. Your fingers scratch over his skin as you come around his finger with a moan.

Robb waits until you have calmed down again and then gently removes his fingers from you, in the light of the flames you can recognize the glitter of moisture on his fingertips. Robb takes them into his mouth and the sight alone almost makes you moan again. Your breathing is still a little fast, Robb gently kisses your cheeks and smiles at you.

"You taste as sweet as I remember, even better," he whispers in your ear before his lips find yours again.

You bit him slightly in the lower lip, causing him to shudder. You want him. You have to have him. You want to feel him. You push your hips forward, make them slide against the center of his body. You feel his hardness. Robb groans in your mouth, then place his hand at your hips and he pushes you back onto the soft mattress.

"Not so impatient, my queen." he says, and a slight smile appears on his face. He's driving you crazy. His lips wander over your neck, your breasts. Your nightgown is in his way. "Are you hanging on this night grown?" he asks you quietly with a rough voice.

"No." you say confused about his question, and at the next moment he tears your nightgown of your body.

"Robb, I liked it despite that." when the cold air hits your body, your nipples arise, and the next moment his lips surround your nipple, while his hand embraces your other breast, he rubs his thumb over your nippel. Your protest immediately disappears from your lips and is replaced by a moan. You throw your head back into the soft pillows. Your body burns from craving and you give yourself to it. "Robb, please. I want you." you beg him, you want to finally feel him inside you again.

"Let me take care of you first. " he says, his eyes sparkling in the light of the candle, his gaze is full of desire but he holds back. On face appears a smiling, more wolf than man. His lips find yours again, for a fast and hot kiss. Robb's hands wander across your body, his touches are tender, you get goosebumps all over your body. His hands seem to be everywhere on you, sliding down your arms, cupping your breasts, trickling along your waist. His lips followed them down. He kisses ever centimeter of your body. Quiet praises falling from his lips.

"My beautiful wife. My queen. You're perfect. Never think anything else."

And you believe him. With every word, every kiss, the self-doubt disappears. Your body stretches toward him and you feel like the blood in your veins is replaced by fire. Robb's lips slowly wander over your belly, his beard slightly tickles on your skin, his hands move along your sides, laying on your hips.

Feather-light kisses wander over the stretch marks on your belly. "You're so beautiful. I didn't deserve you." Robbs hands slip over your hips down to your thighs, and he slightly pushes them apart. You gladly give in and open your legs for him.Robb makes himself comfortable between your legs, kisses the inside of your thigh, you wimper as his beard strikes over the skin. Anticipation runs through your entire body and you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

"Robb, please."

"Gods, since when have you been so impatient Love?" you can hear the laughter in his voice.

"I have waited months for..." your sentence ends in a cry as his tongue slides through your folds up to your clit. He moans as he tastes you an the vibration sends sparkling through your whole body. Your hand is buried in his curls, your nails scratch slightly over his scalp. You're pressing your hips against his mouth, wimpering desperate. His tongue rotates over your clit. He alternates between sucking and licking. You groan. His beard lightly scratches the skin of your thighs. His tongue slides from your clit through your folds. Robb moans as his tongue presses into you. Your legs are starting to shake again. He rolls his tongue slightly. Hot pleasure runs through you. You twitch against his mouth. Your body shudders and the familiar knot forms in your abdomen. Robb eats you out like a starving man. He licks up every drop of your wetness. His tongue skilled switches back and forth. He feast on your cunt, licks over your folds and your clit. Then he sucks lightly, making you scream. For a moment you're worried that the guards in the hallway will hear you, but when Robb drives back inside you and rolls his tongue every thought flies out of your mind and all you can do is moan for him. Your fingernails scrape across his scalp. He groans and this sound is enough to make you clench again. Your hips rise towards him. Robb laughs darkly and pushes you back onto the bed with one hand. He is enjoying himself a little to much. His tongue doesn't stop for a second.

"Robb I." you start but can't finish your sentence. The pleasure he gives you makes your whole body tremble. You notice sweat forming on your forehead. You shift back and forth in his grip. Can't decide if it's too much or if you want more.

"I got you my beautiful wife." his voice sends vibrations through your core and you flinch away slightly. But Robbs immediately pulls you back onto his mouth. "Come for me." his tongue slaps against your clit. You moan and your orgasm washes over you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you writhe back and forth on the sheets. Your body pulsates pleasantly as your pleasure takes over you. Robb carefully kisses your middle, your thighs, tastes your wetness on his tongue. Robbs fingers caress your legs.

You're slowly coming back to reality. Your skin burns under his fingers. Your breathing is heavy and you have to blink a few times before your vision becomes clear again. You lean slightly on your elbows and look down at Robb. His eyes are on you, he is watching you. There is a satisfied grin on his lips.

"Your are a sight for sore eyes Wifey." his voice is now heavy with his northern accent. His eyes dark with lust and pure desire in his gaze. The hunger in his eyes makes you blush like a maiden and at the same time sends hot shivers through you.

With a smile on your lips your roll your eyes. Your heart is full of love for Robb. He places another kiss on your center. You twitch away from the overstimulation. You whimper softly. Robb sits up again. His hand wipes your wetness from his beard before letting his lips wander over your body again. He knows well that you can´t stand the cold feeling of his wet beard on your skin. He, on the other hand, loves it when the evidence of your desire for him runs down his chin.

Your lips meet for a kiss, you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan and lean into his touch. Your hands wander down his body impatiently,your hands paint over his hardness, his hips bend forward and he groans in your kiss. Suddenly your hands are pushed away and in the next moment Robb pushes his pants from his hips. His cock is hard and stretches toward you, the tip red and dripping with precum.

"I know I have a lot to make up for but I can't wait." you giggle softly at his words and open your legs for him again. His gaze lingers briefly on his wet middle and he takes a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck you look like a goddess."

"Stop with the compliments and finally take me." you say impatiently. New desire burns within you. You can hardly wait to finally feel him inside you again.

Robb positions itself at your entrance, your lips meet again for a passionate kiss. Your husband pushes himself inside you with one quick thrust. Your scream is swallowed by your kiss. Robb pauses, pressing his forehead to yours. His body is shaking. Sweat forms on his bare chest. You raise your hands and scratch lightly over your muscles. But you also need a moment too to get used to the feeling of fullness. Gods did you miss this. You push your hips towards him as a sign that he should move. Slowly he pulls back just to let himself sink back into you, making you feel every inch of its length. You throw your head back on the pillow and moan. Your legs spread further, allowing him to go a little deeper inside you. Pleasure runs through your entire body. You wrap your legs around his wais,push yourself towards him. Robb moans in your ear before he curses quietly. He's so deep inside of you, his body heavy and warm on yours, right now there's nothing for you but him. The sky could fall down and you wouldn´t notice.

"Fuck. I missed you so much." you moan. Enjoying his thrusts and the pleasant pulsation in your center.

"I missed you too. I´m so sorry Love. Don't ever doubt me again. I will never let you doubt again how much I desire you. I promise." he kisses your lips, you open your lips a little and his tongue slips back into your mouth.He doesn´t stop his thrusts for a second. Each of his movemens is precise and lets you see stars. Robb takes you slowly, enjoying every second.

The knot in your stomach is starting to build up again as he rolls his hips, grinding over your clit. Your hands wander over his muscular body as your hips meet each of his movements. Your legs start shaking again.

"Fuck Robb."

His hand is on your cheek, and he gently caress you. His lips never leave yours for a second, your tongues dance around each other. He bites your lip. You moan in response. You lean your head back a little, gasping for air. Robbs lips immediately attack your neck again, he sucks dark marks on your skin.

The knot in your body becomes more intense gets stronger with each of its shocks, you can feel how you pulse around his cock "Please don't stop."

"I could never my sweet love." he whispers, hot breath on the skin of your neck. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

Your bodies melt into each other. Robb takes your hand, intertwines your fingers with each other. All our thoughts are just Robb, his body on yours, his cock inside you, his sent around you, the feeling of his warm skin on yours. You clench again around him, make him shiver.

"It feels so good." you moan.

Robb smiles, catches your lips in a kiss. "I know Love. If you ever doubt again that you are not the most beautiful woman on earth to me, say a word and I will fuck that nonsense out of your pretty head." You whimper at his words. His thrusts become harder as he gets closer to his own orgasm. Rapid breathing mixes with your moans. "Have you understand me?"

You nod and Robb stops in the middle of his movement. His cock slips almost out of you. You want to scream in frustration.

"Words. You know that."

"Yes, I understand." you say breathlessly.

He rams himself back with one thrust. "How about I keep you full of me. I'll give you another child. So everyone can see how much I love you. This time, I'm doing it right. I will not depart from you, I will tell you every day how beautiful you are."

Your pleasures pass through you like a storm. Heat runs through your veins as your legs start to tremble again. You interlock your ankles behind his lower back and press him closer into you.

"Please." you whisper and you barely recognize your own voice. You pull his head on his hair from your neck back to your lips and kiss him passionately. Robb's moans in your mouth. A dark, animalistic tone that causes a shiver all over your body.

"God, you're gonna look so good, full with my child." Robbs voice trembles. He is lost in his lust and in you.

"Yes, please give me another child Robb." you want a second child, and a third and a fourth. "A whole bunch of wolfpuppies."

Robb laughs quietly, you stretch to kiss his cheek. His beard picks slightly on your cheek as your lips wander over his cheekbone to his neck to spread kisses there. His laughter becomes a moan, his grip on your hands become stronger, as his strokes become faster. Again, you can't suppress a moan, your free hand goes over his arm and you sink your nails into his shoulder, you need something to hold on to. Hot waves of desire pass through your body and you feel your next orgasm approach. You are not sure if you can come again. It´s to much and at the same time not enough.

"I'll share every thought with you, I'll whisper to you in the council meeting that I'd rather would like to bend you right over the table. And when they're all gone, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I don't care if anyone can hear us. Let them. Let everyone hear how much I love you. How much I long for you. You'll get sick of me."

You shiver at his words, your whole body cramps and in the next moment your orgasm breaks over you. You can feel your nails crawling into the skin of his shoulder, and Robb moans when you clench around him. Uncontrollable and overwhelming, your pleasure drowns you and makes your vison blurr. Robb's name falls from your lips like a prayer. Robb is slowing down his strokes again as he leads you through your orgasm. As the first waves weaken, you feel Robb's thrust get faster again, you throw your head back as you cry out loudly.

"You're doing so well. Milking me so good. Gods I would die for just one second longer in your sweet cunt Love." he praises you, thrusting harder into you. Only now do you realize how much he has holding himself back all this time. You whimper and tremble under him. You can't do anything else but take it. Enjoying the feeling of him losing himself inside you while chasing his own orgasm.

Robb's hand goes between your bodys and starts rubbing fast circles over your clit. In the same second he bites your collarbone, as he sinks even deep inside you. With a groan he comes inside you. The combination of his twitching cock inside you, the skillfull circles around your clit and the slight pain at your collarbone pull you over the cliff again and you scream out your lust. Tears flow out of your eyes and your whole body trembles around him.

He moves carefully for a few more moments before stopping. You're both gasping for air. You have to blink before your vision clears again. Your gaze finds his. His eyes are full of love for you. For a moment you're just looking at each other. An exhausted smile spreads on your faces. You whipe a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead and kiss his lips. Then you put your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. Robb lets his weight fall on you, you can feel every inch of his body on your heated skin, but it's not uncomfortable, it makes you feel safe. You feel warm, loved and happy. Everything is as it should be. Not a single thought of self-doubt is in your head. Robb spreads light kisses on your the skind of your neck. You're scratching his neck wraping his damp curls around your fingers. He sight and close his eyes and buries his nose in the crook of your neck. You stay for a few minutes just lying like this, enjoying each other.

Robb kisses your forehead, then gently rolls down from you. As he slips out of you, you immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.

"Are you all right?" he whispers.

"Yes." you answer in the same volume. "You?"

"Of course." smiling, he turns to his side, pulls you in his arms and kisses your cheek. "I mean what I said. There's no one else for me. I love you. With every fiber of my body, I love and desire you. Always. Please don't forget that. I'm sorry you doubted me. That's never gonna happen again. I swear. I love you so much."

You slide closer to him and paint small circles over his chest. "I love you." you kiss his naked chest and caress over his arm. Then you shigh satisfied and cuddel closer to your husband.

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, I'm not done with you jet." he whispers in your ear with a rough, deep voice, and you have to bite your lips to suppress a whimper. Gods, how could you ever doubt him?

[viktorscane]

🐦‍⬛👑

‘in the bedroom after the war’

when technoblade left the dream smp. phil adjusted relatively quickly. after all, the two had spent plenty of time away from each other in the past and he knew it was only a matter of time before they would see each other again.

one thing he would never quite get used to though, was the quiet. while techno was never a super talkative person the creaking of the wooden floorboards, the mumbling to himself, the front door opening and closing often as the piglin hybrid went about his daily chores, the dogs barking, the scribbling of quill on parchment. all sounds that were inherently technoblade were suddenly gone.

the first few days were hard, a grief settling over phil’s heart as he tried to navigate the silence and understand why his closest companion left so suddenly. on the fourth day, though he awoke to the usual caw-ing of his crows outside. he rolls over, the sun streaming in through the window bathing the room in a beautiful pink and golden glow. it was peaceful and quiet as his new life typically was.

he stirs more and finally pushes himself up out of the large, empty bed. pushing himself down the stairs to the still smoldering fire. he throws a few logs on top, adding water into the kettle perched atop it. reminding himself to add only enough for himself, as he had been making enough to serve two the last few days.

he rubs his eyes sleepily, giving a crow a light scratch on the head as he passes it. it caws shrilly, staring pointedly at the seed bag in the corner of the kitchen. “i know, i know.” he mutters. “let me make my tea first, mate.”

he opens a cabinet to grab a mug from the shelf, he notices that most of the clean mugs were on the highest shelf. most of them being varying shades of red and pink, belonging to techno. phil sighs and pushes himself onto his tiptoes and reaching almost blindly to get one. the shelf buckles a bit under the weight and the closest mug tips and down it goes.

it hits the ground with a loud thud, phil swears and rubs his temple with annoyance.

dropza LOL dropza dropza OLD AGE LOL fallza E

he pauses, quiet voices echoing around his brain. he takes a step backwards looking around the room to find the source of the voices. only being met with more quiet chants of ‘PHIL!’

it took a moment for his tired mind to process that these voices existed in his mind, but were very much real. he wracks his brain for some sort of explanation, he hadn’t hit his head recently right? was the events of the last few weeks finally taking a toll on his psyche?

he listens to the chants for a second longer, the mumbling blended together mostly but some things stuck out to him. one phrase in particular was very very familiar.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!

it was a phrase that techno mumbled to himself often and had mentioned that the voices in his head spoke that phrase like a mantra. from his understanding, when technoblade had ascended to godhood the voices were a side effect. they mostly rambled about whatever he was doing in the moment but they also helped him during combat to give him information about the other party. they were bloodthirsty and violent but techno always regarded them as a part of him.

phil bends down and picks up the mug, it remarkably hadn’t broken in the fall. he turns it over in his hands brushing the dust off of it. he runs his fingers over the crown that had been carved into the front of the clay. he remembered techno sitting down with his dagger on the steps of their home and working at the clay. it was clumsily made and the crown was crooked, lines shaky and uneven. but it was so inherently techno that it made phil smile fondly.

the voices rumbled on about what felt like nonesense in the background as phil sets it down on the counter, bracing himself against it.

he could only take this as a sign from his long time companion, friend and ally. sending his greatest assets to phil as if to tell him that he’s okay. his heart ached but he persevered, tipping the boiling water into the mug and adding the tea bag in. he pushes open the curtains, staring out the window towards the brilliant pink and gold that was slowly fading away from the sky as the daylight began to filter in.

“hello there, old friend.” he says softly.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave​  {who liked for a small starter}

It is called The Room of a Thousand Fountains. The name hardly does it justice. It sits at the base of the Temple’s northwestern side and rises seven stories high, unheard of for a greenhouse on Coruscant. For Keni the chamber is as close as she gets to come to in regards to her home-world. Once the short pathway behind the huge wooden doors that gate-keep the space is traverse there is a platform from which several stone and dirt paths emerge. Each winding path cuts through plants and large displays of exotic foliage from every nook and corner of the galaxy. Little bridges curve over streams that flow from unseen sources. Benches line some paths, welcoming meditation and reflection. Fountains can be heard trickling from everywhere in the chamber, along with the roar of the waterfall at the centre-point of the room.  All ranks of Jedi from youngling to grand master are encouraged to spend time in here, whether to contemplate the Force or to practice sabre technique. The only time the room is barred is when the Jedi Councils come to meet so they might be surrounded by peace and serenity.

Keni is one of the privileged few who has been given the task of helping cultivate and care for the greenery, she has a talent for that they say. She is almost embarrassed by the richness of gifts on display, such as the stand of Hylaian marsh bamboo, the Assari trees, the Bhanshrek bush grove. Nature is not the only bounty here, but technological wonder also exists. In the rafters of the room is a large collection of lighting banks that disguise the ceiling as an outdoor sky. A combination of light and canvas complete the illusion that gives the room a sense of being a completely separate environment from that of Coruscant. 

For now it is empty. Most of the Temple residents are about their own affairs, whether it is studying, practising, or indulging in what limited free time they are given. Keni is one such of the latter group and with Anakin once again off being brow-beaten into doing who knows what... she’s taken some respite in the expansive gardens. Her boots lie near by in a pile that consists of them, her belt and kit, her sabre, outer robes, and her pants. Her under tunic frees her arms and falls just short of her knees. She longs to feel bare earth and water beneath her feet. She longs to lie amongst the grasses in only the skin she was born into, soaking up every ounce of sunlight she can manage. In lieu of being able to fulfil those desires, she dips a foot into one of the deeper streams. Careful so as not to disturb anything else. Unfortunately though, not so careful to do so unseen. His presence in the Force was quiet. Perhaps deliberately so. It gives him the rare opportunity to sneak up on her, close enough to reach out and touch her exposed flesh if he wanted to. She can only turn her head, an expression of mixed emotions tinting her face with pale shades of green, and a faint catch of her breath somewhere behind the sharp little teeth finally beginning to come into her mouth in place where once there were only gaps. Emerald eyes blaze keenly in the counterfeit light. “I was not expecting you.”

[rosegoldenatlas]

Odysseus from Epic the Musical has two major character flaws. The first one is one of the more common ones in Greek myths- pride. This is shown in multiple songs but the first time I really noticed was during 'remember them' and 'my goodbye' for obvious reasons. He not only went directly against the advice of his patron goddess Athena, but implies that he doesn't need the aid of a literal goddess. Of course during the time he is in very intense emotional distress and Athena isn't helping. But buddy.

His second flaw however, is in my opinion much worse. He cannot find a middle point when it comes to anything. Like in 'luck runs out' when Eurylocous tells Odysseus that he's being kind of stupid.. in front of the whole crew. When he pulls Eurylocous aside instead of telling him 'hey next time you have any comment or complaints just pull me aside first please' like what would be a good compromise. He tells his brother in law that he should comply with everything he says and to stop talking about his opinion because its making people doubt him. (I can't have you plating seeds of doubt. I can't have you disagree each rout. I need you to always be devout an comply with this)

This flaw is shown beautifully in 'Monster' the act one closer when he lists people and their way of seeing I guess. (Begins on 'is the cyclops struck with guilt' ends with 'or does he throw away his remorse and safe more lives with guile') he will give an example of a way that could be seen as more human (cyclops is guilty, Circe saving her nymphs pain) and one more monstrous (cyclops avenging friend doesn't feel bad, Circe just being insane) he sees two polar opposites and nothing else.

Then he mentions Poseidon this is where Odysseus leans into the idea that one can't be a man in some regards and a monster in others. Poseidon's example is all more monstrous because he is a God. Odysseus then looks back at the war on troy and both justifies and does not justify his past actions. The end of the song reflects on how Odysseus believes he cannot be a man and a monster and uses his last two examples as how being the monster works (Poseidon and war of Troy)

[emeritusemeritus]

Hey Little Train 5 [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Series Masterlist

Title: Hey Little Train 5/5 (5 part mini series)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader {Established Relationship/ Engaged}

Timeline: Set immediately after the war up to 4 years later.

Summary: The memoirs of a broken woman after the death of her beloved.

Warnings: SAD FIC. This one will hurt. Mentions of death, grief, depression, suidical thoughts. Suicide. Loss and pain, a lot of crying. Smut, sexual references, graphic sex. Dreams. Female reader.

Word count: 1.1k

Heavily inspired by Nick Cave & the bad seeds’ O Children’, the unofficial song of Harry Potter.

Hey little train!We are all jumping on

The train that goes to the Kingdom

We're happy, Ma, we're having fun

It's beyond my wildest expectation

Bright white lights surrounded you, brighter than you'd ever experienced but by some miracle it didn't hurt your eyes nor make you want to shy away from the brightness. Your eyes were wide open, fixed to your curious surroundings as you tried to make sense of what you had walked into. It reminded you of King's Cross station, the brick support arches all around though they were near translucent, camouflaged into the white Misty background that seemed to go on forever.

You were walking forwards but you felt like you were floating, with no sound from your footsteps and a complete stillness that made you realise that you weren't breathing, your chest not moving and the familiar feel and sound of your thumping heartbeat no longer permeating through your body.

Your entire soul felt free, no longer burdened by the pain and the grief you'd carried like a curse for these past 4 years. There was no pain here, no sadness and at last you felt a glimmer of hope that you'd be welcomed into paradise having endured your purgatory.

You searched around in the calm stillness for a sign of anything to guide you when a sudden anxious thought overcame you. It had been four years since Fred's death, four years that you'd continued to live and age whilst he had not- if you were fortunate to see him again, would you look old to him now? Would he still want you? Would you ever even see him again?

You looked down at your left hand and smiled seeing that your engagement ring was still proudly sat upon your finger. Only, your hand looked different in some way, the thinness and the toils of grief no longer present upon your skin- you were younger.

You breathed a sigh of relief and once again smiled, more hopeful than ever that you were now completely unburdened.

"Fancy seeing you here, princess."

You spun around faster than you thought possible, almost stumbling as you followed the sound of the once familiar voice, the exact one you'd fought so hard not to forget.

Fred was leaning against one of the brick support arches over to the side and the sight of him made you want to weep, to fall to your knees and scream out in elation, the sheer emotion of seeing him again too much for you to handle. He had the most gorgeous smirk upon his face, arms crossed with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and it brought a wider smile to your face seeing him so casual, so happy. His hair was fiery red just as you remembered and his hair was spiky at the front, exactly styled as you last remembered it to be.

When he moved towards you, your knees almost buckled but it gave you the shock you needed to snap back to reality.

You ran, as quick as your feet would allow, desperate to feel him again. You jumped into his arms like a child, the solid wall of his body flush against yours once more as he wraps those big arms around you tightly. You could hear his chuckle, it permeated through your mind and your soul and you clung closer to him than before. His scent enveloped you completely, the comforting and oh so familiar blend that you knew to be so specific to Fred that filled your nostrils and anchored you back to happier times. You'd have sobbed with relief if you could have, but there were no tears here.

Frantic words fall from your lips but they are mostly unintelligible, more like sounds of relief and of love intermingled as you cling to him, praying they he wouldn't disappear again.

"I love you," he says, the relief clear in his voice as me of his hands wraps around the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as you hold on to each other. Your feet are completely off the floor, secure in his hold and you both laugh in sheer delight as he moves his hands and spins you both around by holding your waist.

You bend down, for once it's you doing the leaning, and you press a kiss to his full lips. You place both hands on the sides of his face and dedicate your entire attention to the kiss, trying to spell out how desperately you'd missed him with your lips. His hands scramble on your waist, clearly itching to hold you elsewhere and he places you down back onto the ground before dominating the kiss whilst keeping you close. His left hand wraps back into your hair whilst his right holds your hip tightly as he walks you back two steps until you're pressed against the brick pillar. Time doesn't seem to exist here, or maybe you just don't care about it, your entire focus on Fred alone.

You both pull apart eventually with matching dazed eyes and soft smiles, hardly able to let go of each other as your hands remain entwined.

It's everything you wanted, better than you could ever have imagined, better than your wildest expectations of how this would go. You feel complete again, finally a whole person.

He rests his forehead against yours and you savour the moment, committing it to your memory incase you're ever separated again.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you again baby," he says softly and you almost laugh at the ridiculousness of his words.

"I think I have an idea," you say with a slight hiccup, hardly able to think of the pain from before.

"You should have, you didn't have to," he says gently, stumbling over his words in a rare occurrence. "You had a life to live."

"Without you?" You counter, understanding now what he was saying. "Without you, it wasn't a life worth living."

He pulls you in for another kiss, this time it's equally as heartfelt but not as blistering, conveying the love that was shared between you.

"What happens now?" You ask once you'd pulled apart, a little afraid of what he'd say. You hadn't really consider what happens after this.

"Now we have forever," he smirks, chuckling as your face erupts into a beaming smile. "But first, this."

He pulls you by the arm and holds you closely with his right arm before linking your left hands together, just as you had all those years ago at the Yule Ball.

"There's no music," you laugh as he begins to sway and spin you wildly.

"Don't need it Mrs Weasley, we can make our own!"

[artistsmellslikeunemployment]

Things that natla did do:

- Katara stealing a water pouch from a merchant shop at night

- zuko draws!

- include pieces from the books and comics (mother of faces, Kyoshi‘s personality,

- „water the most promising seed“

- Katara standing by and smirking as Sokka flounders trying to impress Suki but her not buying any of it

- Katara never letting anyone talk over her once diplomacy fails

- Bumi‘s armpit hair

- Zuko talking about Lu Ten

- Azula learning to use a blue flame and failing

- what can I say, the actors make the show very enjoyable 🤷🏼‍♀️

- Kuruk refusing to take possession over Aang‘s body/ Avatar state

- overall I think they drew info from the books about the other eras

- the sound of Iroh‘s firebending reminding of a dragon‘s growl

- Avatar Roku making fun of Avatar Kyoshi

- Zuko basically enthusing about Kyoshi‘s strength only to then get his ass kicked by her

- Suki (and mom) gushing over seeing their role model Kyoshi in action

- random woman with broom and Zuko letting her hit him

- Aang running away at the end, after the battle. He might not have run from his responsibility but he ran from the consequences

- „have you seen my flying bison?“ which is way better because even less believable

- Katara being bold enough to train her waterbending in the abandoned fire navy ship around Wolf Cove

- emphasis on Sokka‘s inventory skills and by elongation his bad ice dodging skills

- Zuko deciding to stay with/ look for Iroh instead of chasing Aang twice

- Lu Ten‘s theme playing every time Zuko and Iroh confess their love for each other

- Omashu‘s part of the earth kingdom being India coded

- Zuko so specifically being triggered by the word „compassion“ but not „empathy/ emphatic“ because he actually does believe in kindness and much like Azula is still trapped in the pressure of having to represent all his father believes

- Zuko looking disgusted all the time

- 41st division bowing to their prince

- I had fun watching it and most of it makes sense tbh.

What I don’t get (logic mistakes):

- Mai being too openly anti fire nation by saying she wouldn’t ever come back if given the chance

- Iroh finding the Blue Spirit‘s mask in Zuko‘s pile of clothes but maybe that’s not even a negative.

- no talk about the meaning of the necklace

- Gyatso Living in the Spirit World (doesn’t Aang have enough guides with all his previous lives?);

- that assassination attempt on Ozai and Azula infiltrating the plan? Was this meant to show Ozai‘s cruelty and Azula‘s strategic thinking??

- what was Bumi‘s point exactly?

- Yue being a spirit fox. Why? It added nothing.

- „i bet you taste like chicken“ no opossum chicken. just chicken.

- Kyoshi being the narrator

- Aang being able to communicate with his past lives only by visiting their shrines and not in the right order (usually the avatar has to contact every avatar before him in the order of their lifetimes before he can get through to the next)

- Aang being shamed and gaslight by everyone

- confusion over what happened to the villagers as well as Katara and Solla by mixing Hei Bai‘s and Ko‘s stories as well as the Fog of Lost Souls and creating a new loophole into the spirit world when people stand too close to Aang while he meditates? Also, Ko‘s „Magic“ with individuality and his reason for stealing faces when showing emotion is lost.

- with all due love, what was Suki‘s mother for?

- Wan Shi Tong randomly sitting at some wayside

- Why wouldn’t normal people understand Wan Shi Tong? How are they planning for Team Avatar to find out about the solar eclipse if not through Wan Shi Tong‘s library later?

- Iroh suspecting Ozai behind the apparent assassination of Zuko so openly in front of Zhao

- Iroh justifying his war crimes with „I was a soldier“??

- Iroh „sacrificing“ himself in Omashu when the earth kingdom forces were looking for the firebender even though they both would’ve gone undetected otherwise

- Iroh killing Zhao

- does Momo carry the spirits‘ life now?

- the fire nation inventing a solar system model to predict Zosin‘s Comet and potentially the eclipse as well

[zablife]

Tachipen (Part 6)

Part 5

Tommy x female reader

Summary: John reacts to the news of his betrothal and Y/n finally learns of his true feelings. Seeds of a rivalry are planted between the two brothers. In 1924, the jealous actions of their past come back to haunt them as the vendetta begins.

Author’s Note: Tommy meets y/n in 1919 and the story goes thru present time which is the year of the vendetta, 1925. I'm borrowing some events from canon S3 & S4 with a few changes and condensed storyline.

Warnings: language, violence, arranged marriage, mention of arson, kidnapping

1919

"You've done what?" John asked, blue eyes narrowing in the dim light of the parlor. Tommy only nodded in confirmation and John looked away in disbelief. "Christ, Tommy!" he exclaimed.

"It's the only way forward, John. You can end this war," Tommy stated, eyes darting to John's clenched fists. The anger beneath the surface was threatening to spill over as it always did when he was being told what to do. His younger brother abhorred his sense of authority.

"A war you fucking started when you brought Y/n here!" John shouted, the toothpick in his mouth wobbling precariously. Then he stopped short, staring ahead as he remembered your offer to talk to your aunt. "Is this why she took you to see Zilpha?" he asked, voice now eerily calm.

Tommy swallowed thickly, recognizing a look of hurt wash over his brother's face. It might have been a shift of smoke from the fireplace, but he swore he saw John's eyes turn glossy as he awaited an answer. "Tommy?" John insisted.

Tommy let out a frustrated sigh in response. "You didn’t ask for Y/n to come live with you. What's the difference if it’s another girl now?” he reasoned. 

John clenched his jaw as he turned his gaze toward his brother. "You have no idea what I want because you never ask. Did you ever think I might care for Y/n?"

"So much you were fucking Lizzie last week?" Tommy retorted.

John lunged toward Tommy and Tommy grabbed him by the shirt front, slamming him against the wall. 

On the other side, you jumped at the sound of the commotion, one hand coming to rest over your heart. The voices of the two warring brothers carried through the thin walls loud enough for you to hear in the kitchen and you stopped to listen despite your better judgment.

"What the fuck are you doing, eh? Do you love Y/n?" Tommy asked, searching his brother’s face for the truth as John pushed against him.

John gulped, fight leaving his body under Tommy's firm grasp. "I've loved her since she arrived, but Pol said to let her alone," he confessed, hanging his head when Tommy’s hand fell away from his throat. 

Tommy stepped back, tugging his shirt sleeves back into place as John staggered along the wall to stay upright. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tommy sighed with exhaustion, knowing there could be no other outcome once a pact had been made.

He opened his eyes to find John leaning over the sofa, plucking one of your discarded hair ribbons from the cushion and clutching it in his hands so tightly his knuckles began turning white. He stared at Tommy with the desperation of a man who still held out hope, despite already knowing the verdict.

“Doesn’t matter now, it’s done. The Lees will hold us to it or there will be bloodshed,” Tommy warned as he approached his brother cautiously.

"It's what the Lees want or you, Tommy?" John asked, as he caught his brother gazing at your black, velvet ribbon.

"It's what Y/n wants. She made the deal with Zilpha, not me," he confessed in a low voice.

"She did?" John asked with a loud sniff, hand brushing his nose harshly as he tried to keep emotion at bay.

Tommy confirmed with a nod. 

John pitched forward, allowing his head to hang low and breathed deeply, the thought of your rejection stinging far worse than Tommy's betrayal ever could. After a few moments, he stood to his full height and addressing his older brother in the same flat tone he used during the war, he repeated back the orders given to him like a good soldier. "I'll marry Esme Lee."

"Good," Tommy agreed.

You held your breath as you listened to John leave the house, the door crashing against the frame forcefully as he went. A single tear slid down your cheek as you whispered, "I'm sorry, John. I love you too."

——————————————

On the morning of John’s wedding, you helped the children dress and you took special care with Katie, braiding her hair and intertwining wildflowers you’d picked together as an added adornment.

“All finished,” you proclaimed, attempting an encouraging smile as you turned her to face you. There hadn’t been many words exchanged, a tinge of sadness around the edges of the day where happiness ought to have been.

As you held her small shoulders, you felt an almost imperceptible shake, then you noticed her lashes dampen with tears threatening to overspill her deep blue eyes.

“Why do you have to go?”  she questioned, a few tears escaping as she furrowed her brow in a mixture of confusion and anger as if she might force you to stay by her will power alone.

“It’s time,” you answered simply, reaching up to dry her damp cheeks gently with your fingertips.

“Because you and dad have been fighting?” she asked, looking up at you with sorrowful eyes.

"Oh, Katie...," you exclaimed, inhaling sharply, knowing she had probably overheard more than she should have in recent days as you and John sniped at one another under the stress of making new arrangements and the dreadful ache of emotion left unspoken.

“Your father is remarrying so I have to go live with Aunt Polly and help your Uncle Tommy in the betting shop,” you began, but you knew she was a clever girl who would need a bit more than that.  “But you’re right, we haven't been getting on as well as we should. Things will be better with your new mum. You'll be happy, you'll see,” you promised her, reaching out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. As an afterthought you added quietly, “I hope your dad will too.”

She threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly as though she’d never let go and you patted her back comfortingly. “I’ll be mad at him if you want me to,” she offered between sniffles, voice muffled by the thick material of your dress.

You laughed silently at her act of solidarity before answering, “I’m not mad anymore, just a bit sad like you, but I’ll be alright. Come on, we have to go or we’ll miss the ceremony.”

——————————-

The deafening crack of fireworks exploding overhead woke Henry who had been peacefully sleeping in your arms since the dancing began. Blinking in confusion and rubbing his eyes with chubby fists, the toddler immediately burst into sobs. You tried to quiet him with gentle rocking and his favorite lullaby, but nothing seemed to help.

No one paid much attention as the party was well under way and most everyone was too drunk to care about a crying babe. You scanned the crowd for Polly, hoping she would be ready to leave, but you couldn’t find her as you dodged whirling skirts and men shooting celebratory gunfire up to the sky.

Pressing your hands to Henry's ears, you sought peace and quiet away from everyone just as a soft voice called out to you. “Would you like me to take him?” You turned to find John’s new bride with her arms outstretched toward you and you nodded hesitantly. Feeling as though you couldn’t deny her, you passed the child to his new stepmother and much to your astonishment, he stopped crying long enough to capture her veil between his fingers, rubbing it against his cheek as she giggled. 

“Looks like John, don’t he?” she remarked, stroking Henry’s blonde curls. You nodded again, unsure what you should say to her. Did she know who you were? It seemed foolish to explain now if she didn’t. 

Before you could say anything more, Tommy strode toward you from the dark shadows between vardos, eyes fixed on you determinedly as though he’d been searching you out for some time. “Y/n, may I have a word?” he asked.

Seeing Henry babbling away happily to Esme, you crossed to join Tommy by a large bonfire.

“Enjoying the festivities?” he asked, fishing his cigarettes from his pocket.

“I was thinking of leaving actually,” you said, pulling your arms into your body as you realized how chilly the night air had become.

Noticing your shivering form, Tommy removed his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. As he came close, you breathed in the scent of tobacco and whisky, so like John, but with a tinge of something earthier as though he’d just come from the pasture. It was oddly comforting and you focused on the scent to calm yourself, feeling a rush of emotion return to you as you watched John approach his new bride and place his arm around her with Henry squealing in delight between them.

“I know why you proposed that particular strategy with your aunt,” Tommy said, interrupting your thoughts. He looked down at his cigarette before daring to find your eyes in the glow of the firelight.

You swallowed harshly thinking about where your fit of temper had landed you, watching the man you loved speak his vows to someone else. “Maybe it wasn’t the right thing,” you mused, your whispered regret carried away on the wind to Tommy’s ears like the closely guarded secret it was. 

He shook his head softly, “No, this was meant to be.”

Your turned to look at Tommy with trembling lower lip, but no words would come out. 

He stepped closer to you, rubbing his large palms up and down your arms soothingly. “Hey, look at me,” he instructed and your heart skipped a beat as you found the courage to look into the hypnotizing blue of his eyes, like a tide drawing you inward. “You did what was best for the family. I know you were angry at the time, but what you did took courage and sacrifice. I won’t forget that.”

“And John? Will he forgive me?” you asked, blinking back tears.

“He’s gained a good wife in Esme. I’ve no doubt he’ll thank you for it in time,” Tommy said, reassuringly. It seemed as though he wanted to add something, but stopped himself and you stood together for a moment in awkward silence before he dropped his hands to his sides and shoved them back into his pockets.

You dried your eyes and shifted the coat around your shoulders as Tommy led you to his car, offering a ride home. He said he didn’t want his newest employee wandering the streets of Birmingham alone in the early morning hours, but you had to wonder. His protection over you seemed like more than a formality. 

----------------

1924, The Grace Shelby Institute

"You alright?" you asked as Tommy guided you toward the room where tea and cake were being served after his speech.

"I fucking hate speeches," he muttered as you passed a group of ladies associated with his charity. "Grace was better at this sort of thing," he mused.

You nodded in understanding as he fidgeted with his tie nervously. You pressed a hand to his shoulder, stopping him before he entered the room. "Let me," you offered, shifting Charlie to your opposite hip and reaching up to straighten the silk knot to your satisfaction.

Tommy grasped your hand in his, searching your eyes for a moment before admitting, "I'm sorry about the other night. It won't happen again."

Feeling a heat rise in your cheeks, you bit your lip unsure of how to respond. His advances hadn't been unwelcome, but you wondered if it was merely the grief causing him to act.

"Don't be sorry," you said with a small shake of your head. Just then the door swung open and your eyes locked onto Linda, standing in the corner and surveying everyone with a judgmental stare. "It's just...what would your family say?" you asked, hesitantly.

Grasping your chin and turning you to look at him, Tommy stressed, "We haven't done anything wrong, eh?"

You nodded, wishing you could agree with his sentiment, but you knew no one would ever believe that. "Maybe it's too soon though," you suggested with soft eyes, hoping he would trust you in this.

Tommy studied you for a moment, unsure if you were in need of more reassurance or distance. There had always been a fine line in your relationship, your agreement with one another shifting over the years until he could no longer think of the right word to describe exactly what you were to him.

Rushing toward you with a giant smile on her face, Ada triumphantly proclaimed, "Tommy, there's a woman who wants to discuss a two hundred pound donation with you."

"Go ahead, I'll entertain Charlie," you assured him.

However, the task grew more difficult as the afternoon wore on. The child was growing more restless by the minute as ladies gathered to coo at him and pinch his cheeks adoringly, taking turns to express their condolences or offer praise for Tommy's parenting.

When it was clear that Charlie needed a nap, you excused yourself and weaved through the dense crowd in search of Finn who was supposed to drive you home. Struggling to hold an ill-tempered Charlie, you suffered his kicks and jabs as he refused to be contained within your embrace. Finally, he pushed against you with the strength of ten children, suddenly sliding down your body and hurrying off on chubby little legs before you could grasp him. He toddled away precariously in between people’s legs as you rushed after him, calling his name.

“Charlie, come back!” you cried, but he only squealed excitedly at your game of chase and ran faster. With no other family members in sight, you hurried after him on your own, wishing you'd chosen more sensible shoes.

As you rounded the corner toward the empty offices, you heard his tiny shoes squeaking against the polished floor and heard his giggles as a door opened suddenly. Perhaps he was finding a place to hide to try and continue this little game, you thought, but that particular activity would have to wait. You were determined to get him home.

“Please, Charlie!” you called a bit more softly, hoping he would peek his head out and come running back to you upon hearing your distress.

“Sound so sweet when you beg,” a low voice rumbled behind you. The imposing figure removed his fedora and you gasped when you recognized one of Angel’s men, Enzo, looking down at you in amusement.

Your heel wobbled under you as you tried to back away from him and you stumbled in your hurried attempted to regain balance. “What do you want? Did Angel send you?“ you gulped, trying and failing to conceal your fear.

Your reply only infuriated the man. He captured your arms in a painfully tight grip, pulling you into his large frame, before leaning down to hiss in your ear, “Angel’s dead, you fucking puttana. You ought to know, you started all of this.”

You felt your mouth go dry and your hands began to shake as you thought back to the night John set Angel's restaurant ablaze. There had been no peace with the Italians since, only an escalation of violence. In the wake of Grace's death you should have known the Shelbys would retaliate and now, according to the tradition of the vendetta, they would pay dearly in return. It was in this moment that you remembered Charlie and prayed he was hiding himself well as Enzo slowly dragged you toward the exit.

To your horror the empty hallway soon filled with the sounds of a screaming child and the sight of a second man holding Charlie’s wriggling body in his arms.

You thrashed wildly against Enzo to reach the boy as you pleaded, “Take me and let him go. Please, he’s just a child. Don’t hurt him!”

Unwilling to hear any more, Enzo silenced you by placing his large hand over your mouth and nose. You continued to struggle until you could no longer breathe, the room spinning around you and black spots dancing across your vision before you gave into the darkness.

---------------

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[darilarostarg]

HOTD Season 2 Review

Now that we have the season in its entirety, I just wanted to put my thoughts down on paper - likes and dislikes. End of season yapping basically.

Things I Liked/Enjoyed   

The acting this season was outstanding from all fronts, especially from our actors that were given some of the best material to work with - Emma and Rhys are my standouts for this season (Mentions also go to Matt, Tom and Jefferson).  

I loved all our newcomers this season - Freddy, Gayle, Simon - They all did an incredible job and their characters had some of the best characterisation this season imo.

Production/filmography/lighting/costuming etc have all been either massively improved or have exceeded season one.  

Both dragon action sequences (Rook’s Rest & The Sowing) were remarkable. They did a fabulous job in terms of visuals and the practical side - it makes me look forward to the battle and action scenes going forward. 

I am very happy that the show runners ultimately did not hide away with dream sequences and gave us a haunted Harrenhal.  

I loved Rhaenyra’s cult leader/messiah complex in episode seven and I hope they reintroduce that in season three and beyond - I think as it’s seemly confirmed that  Nettles has been removed, this will serve as a great way to push Rhaenyra’s state of mind/paranoia when they dragon seeds betray her.

Matt Smith 

Things I Disliked/Unsure Off  

This is probably partly due to budgeting, but I honestly do think the writing team is having a really tough time coming up with meaningful arcs that push the story forward, given how much time/’nothing’ happens in between events in the books. A lot of this season was in limbo, and it did feel stagnant. A lot of events had no effect on the overall story, or did briefly, and then quickly forgotten.

As much as I hate to say it, I do believe it has fallen into the ‘evil men start wars, and women just want peace and are too gentle/delicate for it’, and by default it has made Rhaenrya and Alicent seem like incompetent rulers, that do not understand that their past actions have had there part in causing this to happen, or are completely naive to the realities of their current positions.

The Greens being in conflict with each other makes sense, but the conflict within the black camp did not. Showing Rhaenyra to so secretive and hostile towards her own faction (especially Jace), and so gracious toward the greens, the people that have genuinely harmed her, was a really bizarre choice. I really do hope not receiving Aegon when she arrives to KL will be the final blow.

I did not like that Daemon’s core journey this season was him deciding that he did not want to be king. It was a rehash of part of his season one arc that should have concluded with him crowning Rhaenyra. I don’t think there was an issue with him doubting Rhaenyra as a ruler I was at points honestly, but him wanting to be king was never on his cards. The visions could have been a shorter arc and the rivermen arc could have been bulked out more i'm not too up his ass I’ll admit when its not working. I could change my mind on this in season three, depending if they do show the growth Daemon has gone through via his relationship with his girls, Rhaneyra etc

Alicent was a struggle this season. I think she could have been so much fun, so it’s disappointing that they have watered her down so intensely. Perhaps they thought ‘a woman will do anything for her children, to keep them alive, no matter the cost’ was too similar to Cersei? But I wish they had gone that direction, and gave Alicent the guilt Cersei never had, that that ultimately is what drives her ‘mad’. I just think it is such a jarring contrast on the amazing characterisation they did with her in S1 episode six through eight. Going from forcing your son onto the throne in fear for his life, to giving his head on a silver platter to the person you usurped… is certainly a choice. By going and ending Alicent's 'arc' this season they way that they have, they have made her as a character, dare I say pointless? Where does Alicent go from here, if you really think about it? The war has barely started, all her children are alive and she has already given up? You cannot retcon the damage S2 has done to her, they have given her nothing to work with going forward. Absolutely nothing. And the rest of the story has and will suffer for it.

Just ultimately frustrated we will seemingly not get ‘bastard blood shed at war’ conversation - the impact a Rhaenyra and Alicent reunion would have had had they waited until season three, with two of Rhaenyra’s sons dead, would have been incredible and actually felt earned, and I’m sad we will not get it. 

The fact that show runners, writers, directors and even some of the cast contradict themselves from interview to interview, really makes it seem none of them have agreed on characterisation or arc, and I feel I can see that within some of the writing and decisions. I feel like I could ask one of them, ‘Is Daemon in love with Alicent?’ and they would respond with some yes/no ‘don’t rule anything out’ answer.

They need to stop cutting pivotal moments to leave up to interpretation. This audience has proven time and time again, it cannot interpret the most basic scenes logically, never mind moments that are actually up for interpretation. It didn't work in season one, it didn't work in season two. It just comes across as the writers room could not agree.

I think I speak for us all when I say cutting Black Aly, Sabitha, the Lads, Nettles etc. is heartbreaking.

At this point I’ve decided ; HOTD as an adaptation of the book is awful - it’s a bad adaptation, “unreliable narrator” or not. But as a stand alone show, it’s fine. Not outstanding, not terrible. Season one had is small issues, season two had some bigger ones, but I am hopeful that they will stick the landing. Season three will be the real test.