#She is very down despite having had children without her consent

[starlytenight]

Galacta and Orion's bio-mother, Cosmina! Yes, they're half Fecto! :D

She also has an older brother named Loki who basically works in the upper power of Fectos, his wife Lamia, and their daughter Selena. Lamia and Selena are "Flora Fectos" being more plant-based than mammalian.

Oh and small bonus.

[glasscandlegrenades]

Children of the Empire

a/n: finally finished my aemond x strong!reader fic, only took me two years and 350k words so i thought i'd share it here in celebration

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Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, and twin to her heir, Prince Jacaerys. When your younger brother assails your uncle in a childhood squabble, your grandsire, the King Viserys, offers your hand in marriage as payment for Aemond's lost eye.

Plighted in a match that is beheld by many and desired by none, you find yourself alone in a nest of vipers, forced to watch as your mother and the Queen maneuver and vie for influence within the court and the Realm. Despite your youth, fears, and insecurity, you know you must apply your will and wits to one claim or another, but this choice becomes more and more difficult as you find yourself further entrenched within the family who would see your mother and siblings fed to the flames.

Aemond x Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, non-con, abortion, suicide, depression, grief, unwanted pregnancy, childbirth, motherhood, toxic relationships, dubious consent, traumatic birth, i promise some good things happen too tho

Word count: 350k

Chapter One: Without Love

“I am so frightened.” 

You whisper it as your mother leans over your shoulder, fastening a pearl earbob to your lobe. 

You whisper it like a prayer for only her ears, for mothers have more sway than all the gods put together, or at least yours does, her noble brow wrinkled in concern all morning as she has pushed through your trousseau and sharply directed the servants who hustle about your chambers with swaths of linen. 

You have avoided pleading; your mother and stepfather have both met with the King already, suggesting matches that may strengthen ties to other houses, but the King has been insistent. 

He appears to have very little energy for anything anymore, but he has thrown himself into planning your wedding with great vigor, and the feasts and tourneys of the last week have rivaled those that the Queen had held for her two eldest children’s wedding three years past. You suppose it should feel an honor.

It feels like an insult.

Your mother releases the pearl, a great sigh escaping her lips as you feel her hand fall to your shoulder and squeeze gently. 

“My darling, would that I could spare you this,” Rhaenyra says, her lips turning down in worry. She steps around to face you, giving your white gown a once over before taking your hands in her own. 

“I was loath to marry your father, but my King commanded it.”

Your mother’s voice is deep and quiet. She reaches forward and tucks a loose mahogany curl behind your ear as she gives you a wan smile. “In the end, Laenor and I shared many happy memories. I am sure that you both will find a way to share in your own joys.” 

You blanch at the thought of your one-eyed uncle. “He questions our legitimacy, Mother. He hates me.” 

Rhaenyra’s smile falters and she releases a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry.” 

She looks across the solar, past the balcony and across the city towards the sept. You feel an immense wave of guilt at how quickly she has turned despondent.

Neither Jace nor Luke ever cause her such anguish. You have no wish to, either. 

Rhaenyra twists the rings on her left hand. “I feel that I have failed you.”

“No, Mother, I-” but she gives you her look, the one that silences you immediately. You haven’t received one so severe since you and Jacaerys returned from Spicetown, drunk and stumbling, on your fourteenth name day. 

Your mother continues, her expression solemn. “How, my darling girl, how can I make this better for you?” 

You press both hands to the bodice of your gown, trying to tamp down the queasiness that bubbles in your stomach. 

“Do you think it will do any good?” You hate the childish note in your voice, craving her reassurance that your suffering will not be for nothing. “Do you think the rumors about us will stop if I wed one of them?” 

Rhaenyra’s gaze chills as she observes you. “We are Targaryens. There will always be whispers, and sometimes our presence alone is enough to fan the flames. It does not matter what anyone thinks but you, my sweet girl.”

She smiles, then. “I hate the thought of leaving you, but perhaps instead of remaining here as his wife, you can think of yourself as my envoy here at King’s Landing. Make sure that the wishes of Dragonstone, and not those of Oldtown, are given their consideration, hm?”

You try to smile, but you can feel it falter on your face. Your mother’s brow creases with worry again, and you feel guilty at upsetting her, especially when being in the capital already causes her strife.

She once more pushes some of your unruly curls behind your ear. “What ails you, my sweet? I know I may have been a - well, an indulgent parent, yet I also know that I never promised that you would be able to marry for love alone,” Rhaenyra sighs again. “Mayhaps you and he might work out some arrangement - one where you are able to do your duty to the Realm, and then-” 

“That’s just it,” you groan miserably. “My duty, let us name it for what it is: to be a mother to his children! To grow fat with Targaryens over and over, to give endless heirs to a pompous, proud, arrogant man who has only looked in my direction with scorn.”

Your mother purses her lips. You look over her shoulder, to where one of the maids arranges a bouquet of sugarbushes. The Queen’s favorite flower. 

“You thought you deserved more?” Rhaenyra’s voice is quiet. 

“I did not think of it at all,” you fiddle with the lace on your sleeve. “I certainly didn’t expect to be offered up in payment for a debt, but even after Grandsire betrothed us... I didn’t realize, not until now, how oppressive it would feel. Like my life is ending; that after this evening I will never have a chance to see the world outside this Keep again.” 

Rhaenyra’s mouth turns down, and she reaches up once more to cradle your cheek, pecking it three times.

“I understand,” your mother sighs. “When I was your age, the prospect of marriage, of motherhood, it was stifling, overwhelming. Terrifying, actually, after how I lost mine own mother. I avoided it with every ounce of will I possessed. But…” 

She trails off, looking rather misty, and it shocks you, for your mother is in turns proud, stern, warm, jubilant, defiant, but rarely weepy. She turns away from you, her voice low. 

“The moment you and Jacaerys were placed in my arms was the greatest of my life. I - I cannot - there are not even words that I can lend to describe it.”

Her emotion discomfits you, and you cast your eyes around her chambers. The old ones from your youth. They have been cleared of all of your old toys, redecorated in various shades of Hightower green.

Your mother follows your gaze before speaking again. “Motherhood - that which I feared the most... my love, you and your brothers are my greatest joys. And you - you have a warm heart. Any child you have - regardless of who sires them - they will make your world far larger, I am sure of it.” 

You nod, despite still feeling unsure; though, to be fair, you are always unsure, and it is hard to imagine your mother being afraid of anything.

Your mother rode a dragon for the first time at age seven; you yourself had a dragon hatch in your cradle, and yet you have always preferred your feet planted firmly on the ground, leaving Mhyrax to take riderless to the skies. 

“Do you-” your mother interrupts herself, clearing her throat. “Do you know what to expect tonight? I don’t - I wouldn’t wish for you to be surprised, or uncomfortable….”  

You blush slightly, looking down. “Gods, Mother, you sound like a septa. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Rhaenyra chuckles lightly, before frowning once more. “I’m sure you will, my girl. It’s only,” she takes a deep breath, and your stomach sinks. “The King has commanded a viewing of your bedding.” 

You pinch your neck with how quickly you snap your gaze back to your mother’s. 

“A what?”

Rhaenyra blanches. “They were more common in the days of the Conqueror, to ensure consummation, prevent annulments, but I fear my father believes the Queen may also try to undermine your union, as he believes Daemon and I have-”

“How long have you known?” you interrupt, and that she does not immediately reply makes your blood boil. “Mother!”

“I did not wish for you to dwell over that which you had no control - I know how you worry-” 

You are shrill. “How long?”

“Since we arrived,” your mother admits. 

“Who?”

Once more, Rhaenyra begins fiddling with her rings. “The King, the Queen, the Grand Maester, the High Septon was meant to attend, but he is too frail, so Septon Eustace-” 

“You?”

“Would you like that?”

You hesitate, unsure if it would be better or worse.

You think of your twin. Jacaerys would find it uncomfortable, to be sure, but he would likely pinch the bridge of his nose, shrug it off, and give them a show. He certainly wouldn’t make Mother endure his discomfort. 

“No,” you say. 

“You will have ladies to attend to you,” Rhaenyra says, and her dry tone hardly makes it sound reassuring. “The Queen has apparently hand-selected them.” 

You narrow your eyes at her. If Alicent has chosen your ladies, they are certain to be uninspiring. Your mother purses her lips, rolling her eyes. “A great honor,” she finishes. 

“Oh, delightful,” you groan. “They can gather around my marriage bed and say prayers for my discarded maidenhead.” 

Rhaenyra laughs aloud at this, and you chuckle too, only remembering the pit in your stomach as your mirth subsides. 

“It’s only - I am very afraid,” you murmur. “I wish I could be brave like you.” 

Your mother purses her lips and angles her chin down, her eyes bright. “I know that you are too wise to mistake bravery for the absence of fear.” 

“Very cowardly, then,” you say, your stomach roiling.

Your mother gives you a small smile. “I have yet to know a coward who jests over her fears.”

The door opens, and your aunt’s head peeks around, her brow raising slightly as she takes you in. Her silver hair has been braided away from her face, and she wears a dress of an earthy green. 

“Princess Helaena,” your mother sighs. 

Helaena is paler than usual. There are whispers that Prince Aegon has put another child in her, but it is as yet confirmed, and there is not enough closeness between your two sides of the family to make delicate inquiries.

You try to inspect her midriff, curious, intrigued. This is your fate, after all. 

“It is time,” she says softly, and behind her, you see your cousin, the Lady Rhaena. The closest thing you’ve had to a sister on Dragonstone these last years, she gives you a reassuring smile. Together, they will carry your train.

You feel dizzy. Your mother will ride with the King, the Queen, and the rest of her siblings in one wheelhouse. Daemon, who will be removing your maiden’s cloak, will be accompanying you to the Sept. 

You glance to the corner of the room, where the sea green cape rests, the delicate silver embroidered seahorses shimmering in the sunlight that streams in from your solar. Helaena follows your gaze. 

“The seahorse trips the light, and the dragon is set aflight,” she murmurs, before glancing back towards you. “You look nice, in your dress.” 

“Thank you, Aunt.” Warmth is not what you expected. 

“Come,” Rhaenyra’s voice cuts severs the nice moment like Dark Sister. She yanks the cloak up and drapes it over your shoulders, pulling your curls forward over your shoulders, ensuring all of the front tendrils of your hair remain twisted in your tiara. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, and then she is embracing you, pressing three small kisses to your brow. You stare at her in agony as she releases you. 

Helaena moves from the doorway so that you may pass through, your heart pounding, your head spinning. 

You know not where to look as you approach the grand staircase of Maegor’s Holdfast; you are terrified that you will trip, and walk with exceptional slowness. It is quiet in the Keep, and you know that the courtiers must already be at the Sept; your footsteps echo, as do those of your mother, and Rhaena and Helaena’s too, trailing behind you as they silently carry the corners of your cloak. 

You fear that you need the privy, and you do your best to allay your own worry without giving voice to it - who has ever heard of a bride announcing she may shit herself on her wedding day?

Once beyond the steps, it is easy enough to reach the main gates where the wheelhouses wait. There: your stepfather, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he speaks idly with the King.

Your grandsire is more emaciated than ever, his flesh disappearing. You hate looking at him; you hate the knowledge that this can happen to a body, that this could happen to your body. Your mind grapples with what he may have possibly done to bring this affliction upon himself. 

Still, Viserys smiles as he sees you, even as the queen glances you over, her nostrils flaring slightly as if you have brought a terrible smell from the Holdfast. You drop into a curtsy as you reach them. Aegon, standing as far from his mother as he can while still looking decorous, sways slightly and scowls. Helaena drops your cloak and moves to stand by him, her hand smoothing the front of her gown.

“Granddaughter,” the King says. You stand, looking upon his pockmarked face. “What cause for celebration. To see this rift within our family finally healed.”

Alicent scoffs at this before turning away. 

You nod, attempting to look gracious, or at the very least like you’re not about to be sick on your own shoes.

Daemon steps forward, opening the door to the wheelhouse and looking at you expectantly, a small smile playing on his own features. You clamber inside, his hand offered in aid, and then you are seated, your mother and Rhaena folding your cloak gently around you, the latter pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

Daemon sits across from you, crossing his legs at the ankle and stretching as the wheelhouse lurches into motion, the smell of the city soon reaching your nose. You grasp for your pomander. 

“How did you spend so much time with the City Watch?” You immediately regret breaking the silence.

It is not an uneasy one; you are often in Daemon’s company, and you often speak little. He is not necessarily terrifying, he is too warm to your mother to be so, but it is clear you are dear to him not for yourself, but only as an extension of her. You have never felt like an actual person to Daemon Targaryen, let alone a daughter - not the way you did with your own sire, Ser Laenor. 

Not like you did with Ser Harwin Strong, your mind voices treasonously. 

Daemon shrugs, chuckles lightly, and then pulls the screen away from the grated window, gazing out to Flea Bottom. 

You reach the Sept in little time, and as the wheelhouse door is pulled open and sunlight pours in, you see your new ladies tittering anxiously before the stairs.

Daemon looks at you again, a small grin playing at his countenance, before he steps down from the carriage and offers you his hand.

You climb out with as much dignity as you can muster, releasing Daemon’s grip as soon as you can, and then grasping the cuff of his doublet when he offers it to you. Your handmaidens, still whispering among themselves, form around you, two of the older ones taking over the handling of your cloak. 

The sun is reaching the center of the sky behind the Sept, and it is momentarily blinding, but as you blink you see the High Septon, so stooped and frail he looks as though a strong breeze may carry him away, flanked by the Hand of the King.

You feel Otto Hightower and Daemon sizing each other up, and try your best to bear it little mind. You move fluidly up the steps, and realize the finality of this moment; the last threshold you will cross an unwed woman. 

You nearly laugh as you walk through the Sept, trying to ignore the courtiers flocking the aisle, and approach Aemond. He stands with his hands crossed behind his back, his stance profoundly, obnoxiously wide.

Who could he be squaring up against at this moment? The world was Aemond’s enemy, and yet here, before the altar in his leather doublet, it looks as though he is willing to fight the very gods.

Daemon is casual, caustic, as he deposits you at the Septon’s feet with little regard for your dignity; you stumble slightly as he tugs the Velaryon cloak from your shoulders. 

It is impossible to find an adequate place to divert your attention. Aemond stares at you with freakish regard; you wonder how someone with naught but one eye can go unblinking for so long. 

The High Septon is enough infirm that he can barely speak; your hand grows sweaty in your uncle’s as he clasps it tightly. You look over his shoulder.

Viserys is smiling in his familiar, dotard way, though your mother would have your hide for considering it such. Alicent scowls. Daeron has but a mild expression on his face, and Aegon and Helaena look akin in their misery. You wonder what expressions your mother and brothers share behind you. 

Jace. 

He had been livid at the news of your betrothal. Not willing to blame the King, believing, for his own sake as much as any others, that a King’s word is inherently just, he had fought with Lucerys at first, saying that you would’ve never been traded away had he not been so foolish as to maul Aemond. 

Luke had stammered that he was merely defending Jace’s life when he took Aemond’s eye, that, in fact, Jace should be grateful.

No one, neither of your brothers, nor your cousins, had guessed that you would be the price to pay for Luke’s impulsivity. 

The boys had mended their bond soon enough, but neither knew what to do with you.

You had hardly known what to do with yourself. You grew up on Dragonstone with the lot of them, on eternally borrowed time. 

The Septon finally pauses, and you and Aemond murmur the words to one another; those that you have heard a thousand times, as the ribbon is wound around your wrists, about you being his possession, and bafflingly, him being yours. He sweeps his cloak over you. It itches. 

And then his mouth, pursed and muscled and hesitant, is on yours, and bizarrely you find yourself thinking of Queen Alicent, and what guidance she offered to this boyish man, or mannish boy, to reassure him, for he must find himself as unwitting and unwilling as you.

Your heart is filled with anguish and you can only gape at him as he pulls back, his face angular and cruel and determined as he shakes his head slightly and looks away. 

The Septon proclaims you man and wife, and the ribbons are unwound, and you wish you could turn, turn to look at anything that isn’t Aemond’s family, all clutching their bodices and picking at their doublets. 

You and Aemond leave the dais side-by-side, not touching, not speaking, and make your way to the wheelhouse, where you spend another brutal part of an hour not speaking or touching. 

The feast is grand, and Jace and Luke, to their credit, swap chairs and swivel around aunts and uncles to reach you, doing their best to make it better for you. Your mind can hardly think of anything but the bedding. 

The mechanics are clear; Aemond will put himself inside of you. Likely, it will hurt. Children will result. They may kill you in their efforts to get out. Luke sniggers at something and you are seized with the urge to slap him. 

“Do you think he removes the patch when he’s with a woman?” Jace asks Luke.

“Oh, shut up,” you say, reaching for your goblet for the umpteenth time and taking a hearty swig. You glance to your mother, who has spent most of the evening deep in conversation with Daemon. 

“Have you heard what he keeps under there?” 

You glance from Rhaenyra to Alicent, who reclines in her chair, scowling eternally, before you process your brother’s question. You bristle. “Shut up, Jace!” 

Luke is pale as he glances towards Aemond, who has moved down the table to speak quietly with Helaena. “Mayhaps it’s best we don’t discuss it-” 

“Do you think the troubadours will play the Ballad of Simeon Star Eyes if we asked?” 

You groan. “Do NOT, Jace!” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s my nameday,” you grumble, drunk. “You have to do as I say.” 

Luke laughs aloud. “What?” 

“It’s not your nameday, crazy girl,” Jace is guffawing. “It’s your wedding day.”

“Who cares? I hate that song.”

Your twin brushes against you as he stands and leans forwards, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “What would you prefer? We can dance.” 

Before you can think to answer, Jasper Wylde stands, looking right at you as he shouts: “We’ve had the wedding! Now let us see the bedding!” 

Jeers break out from across the hall. Noble ladies dressed in the off-shoulder florals of the Reach swarm your husband, while the man they call Ironrod charges the head table. 

You look to Jace, startled, but he merely shrugs, and then you scan the room for your mother, whose mouth is open as she regards you being lifted onto the shoulders of the realm's Lords. 

“You are in luck, Princess!” Jason Lannister cries. “You need not two eyes to know where to stick your cock!” 

You look across your torso at your bobbing slippers, nearly falling off your feet over the shoulders of the lords, just in time to see a ringed hand, one you can tell belongs to a Tully based on the fish embossed upon the signet, rip your bodice from your breast.

You cry out and are met with a burst of laughter; you flail wildly, hoping that mayhaps you might even slip from their arms as they turn a corner. You look back to the hall and are surprised to see Aegon staring at you solemnly as he leans in the doorway. 

The apartments you and Aemond have been gifted are humble, standard fare for a second son of the Realm, and therefore on one of the lowest levels of Maegor’s Holdfast. The Lords jape and jest all the way to the bed, tearing at your gown until you are left in the shift that covers barely your breasts and sex, and deposit you as such. 

You scramble up to the head of the bed as the men leave, and suddenly you are confronted with an open door from which the Grand Maester, the Hand, and Septon Eustace leer at you. 

“What is happening?” you slur, drunk.

The Queen enters the room and sighs as if this is some great struggle for her, before looking at you. “The bedding, dear.” 

There is a great clanking and Sers Arryk and Erryk are guiding the King into the chamber now. You are struck with the realization that this bed, the headboard of which you cling to in the filmiest of linens, is where you are meant to sleep every night from here until you pass into the embrace of the stranger. Your stomach roils once more. 

You glance around the room. The furnishings are dark, rich, damask. An honor. It has been beautifully kept. There will be a solar adjoining, and rooms for Aemond. A bureau, perhaps. Rooms for children who outgrow the nursery. You glance around wildly as Grand Maester Orwyle approaches you. 

“Princess?” he asks. 

You turn towards him, your drunken gaze fixed in question. From near the doorway, the Queen clears her throat. 

“You must be examined, Princess,” she says, her tone edgy and clipped. “For virtue.” 

The wine dulls your reaction to this, thankfully, while also making your head twist unevenly as you try to understand. “By the Maester?”

The Queen nods. 

“Oh.” 

“It will be brief,” Orwyle explains. “But your…. Princess, your positioning is not conducive. I would see - I would see you supine with your legs spread.” 

In the haze of your intoxication, you are forced to look down at your squatted limbs. One of your feet is pressed to a bolster pillow. Your toes look unnatural, like something belonging to another's body. You swear you were wearing slippers in the hall. 

You look back to the Maester, huffing so that your hair billows from your face. You debate telling him how frightened you are. The maester on Dragonstone, Gerardys, is a gentle man, always offering sageness and wisdom in your bodily qualms. This Orwyle does not seem as amenable. 

You release your grip on the headboard, the carvings imprinted on your palms as you grip at the hem of your shift and pull it down towards your knees. You sidle yourself past the pillows and press your rear into the mattress, sliding your heels down towards the footboard and spreading them slightly. The Grand Maester nods, approaching the bed so that he made sit with his boots planted on the flagstones as he places one hand on your knee and reaches another beneath your skirts. 

His touch is cold. You flinch as it seeks, objective and uncaring in its pursuance. You grit your teeth, fingers flexing, air pushing from your nostrils. You glance over his shoulder towards the Queen, unabashedly seeking sympathy.

It is the King’s doleful gaze where you find it.

“I would examine her thoroughly, Grand Maester,” the Queen says, her mouth turned downwards. “She was late to bleed; if she is barren we’d be better to learn of it now; an annulment will be more difficult to procure after the consummation.” Beside her, the Septon nods solemnly. 

You grimace. You were, in fact, not late to bleed at all - you bled at three-and-ten like most healthy girls of your station. Your mother managed to hide the fact from the King for several years, until six moons past, when your grandsire threatened to send the Grand Maester to examine you for signs of infertility - word was sent to King’s Landing within the fortnight that you had miraculously flowered. 

“Try to relax, Princess,” the Grand Maester says from between your legs, prodding a bit. You clench harder in response, and the man sighs, pulling back. 

“I see no reason why the consummation should not take place. The Princess appears intact.” 

The King nods, sinking into his chair bedside the Queen, Ser Criston and the Septon lingering behind them. Two servants walk in carrying a screen, and you stay where you are, further reclined on the bed.

Aemond follows them, looking as profoundly abused as you feel. You crane your neck to view him, and then decide it will cause you little comfort and naught but a crick.

You lie back, fists clenched at your sides, as your husband comes to stand at the end of the bed. Someone behind the screen coughs.

You try to look anywhere but at Aemond, who kneels on the bed, crawling the few paces towards you. He moves slowly, and when you glance back to see how much space still stretches between you, you are mortified to see the look of utter revulsion in his eye.

He turns away, his long hair creating a sheet between you both, and spits into his hand, shoving it under his billowing shirt.

You watch in a combination of horror and fascination as his arm moves, his hair shuddering with the motion, and when he turns back you can see his cock jutting towards you from under the hem of his shirt. You swallow audibly as he crawls forward, so that he looms over you, for there is no mistaking that he is huge, and you are not convinced whatsoever that he will fit inside you with no small amount of discomfort.

You slide further onto your back as Aemond places one hand on either side of you, his elbows extended as far as they will go so that it is only his hips brush tentatively against your thighs. His shirt falls over you, and you suck in your stomach in avoidance. 

Aemond hovers, his hair creating a shield as he turns to the right and grasps himself once more. You swallow, sweat beading on your forehead as you register little but the brush of his muslin shirt against your arms and chest.

He shudders as he sinks heavily; his chest presses into yours and you are pushed down into the mattress, fixing your gaze on the scar that hovers inches above your face.

His teeth grit as you feel first his clenched fist against you, then the dull, throbbing heat of him as he presses against your entrance. 

First it stings, and then it pinches, and then you’re gasping, trying to angle your hips to accommodate something that feels endlessly foreign.

You wish he would stop moving for a moment; give you a chance to adjust to a level of discomfort that you could at least stomach, but he keeps pressing forward, forcing you to screw your eyes closed and breathe out through your nose to avoid crying out.

Everything about his presence feels intrusive; Jace once described this act as natural, and you couldn’t think of a more inaccurate description.

Aemond begins breathing heavily as he draws back, providing you with momentarily relief before he invades again. 

You can hear more heavy breathing, not Aemond's, behind the screen and you open your eyes, trying desperately to find anything to focus on beyond the dull weight of your uncle above you or the rattling, wheezing, musty respiration of your grandsire to your right. 

The bookshelves to the left of your bed are full; they must be Aemond’s, you think wildly as he presses into you again.

You clench in a horrifying, miserable, unwilling response. His shirt covers your face; you cannot see for a moment, cannot breathe. You groan, not in pleasure, but in anguish, and close your eyes once more.

Someone in the room coughs. 

Aemond snaps his hips forward, and the angle he hits within you causes your whole body to spasm in response; the discomfort abates for a moment and you gasp, your hands reaching out and groping blindly at Aemond's shoulders. He flinches, you can feel it beneath your palms and within you, and you move your arms back to your sides. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your eyes still pressed closed.

Aemond releases a sharp breath through his nose, and then picks up his pace, hammering into you relentlessly. It sears horribly.

You try to focus on breathing, but it is hard to muffle the whimpers that slide from your lips as Aemond grunts softly above you. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, your husband releases a great huff of air that pushes your hair from your face as he stills above you. This is followed by a groan, not audible, but felt as he trembles slightly, and then the throb of him as you are flooded with warmth. Aemond pulls from you, the sticky gush of his seed following him, and you feel the weight of the bed shift as he steps to the floor.

You open your eyes slowly to see him looming above you, his singular eye fixed on the spot between your legs, an inscrutable expression on his face. You blush, moving to clench your knees together, but before you can Aemond reaches forward and grasps the sheet, tearing it from beneath you with a harsh rip that echoes through the otherwise silent chamber.

He pulls away, and you see the red spots of your blood marring the white linen as it dangles from his grip. 

You sit up slightly, trying to ignore the sticky warmth dripping from your sex. You watch Aemond, his legs long and muscular beneath the hem of his shirt as he walks to the screen, pulling it back to reveal the audience behind. You grip the bottom of your shift and drag it down so that it covers you. 

“It is done,” he says, holding up the bloodied sheet before tossing it at one of the maidservants lingering near the doorway. She catches it and scampers, the door clanging shut behind her. “You may see yourselves out.” 

The Septon clears his throat. “There will need to be another examination of the Prin-” 

“It is done,” Aemond interrupts, even as he turns and stalks off towards the doorway in the corner, his voice echoing behind him. “I wish to bathe; you may leave.” 

The King sighs before attempting to stand. You are still lying supine as two Kingsguard rush forward, grasping him by his elbows. The Queen rises, throwing you a look made of pity and disdain before sweeping her skirts towards the antechamber into which Aemond disappeared. 

The door creaks open, and a small parade of pubescent girls rush forward, eagerly dodging the screen that the pages carry from the rooms that are, from this moment, to be yours. 

One of the girls, with ears so large she can be nothing but a Florent, comes to your bedside and takes your hand. 

“Oh, Princess,” she sighs daintily as you gape. “The Queen sent for us; your husband has taken your innocence, as the Seven require of him, but we will pray to the Father for his glory, and your continued virtue, and mayhaps the Mother will give you a child.” 

Drunk still, you scoff slightly even as the indignity of Aemond’s seed drips from you. The Florent girl gives her companions a look, and they flock to you.  

“A child,” one of them smiles at you. “Can you imagine anything more lovely?”

Another one, dull in only the ways that a Tarly can be, places her palms out even as her eyes well tragically with tears. “We have yet to pray to the Maiden for her lost virginity.” 

You giggle at that, and even as your new ladies look upon you, scandalized, you think of your mother and laugh abruptly aloud. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵✵

Keep Reading on AO3: 2. Farewells  3. Young Blood  4. Visitors 5. Breech  6. Aemos 7. Moderation  8. Sapphire  9. Whispers  10. Blight 11. Stitches  12. The Lord of the Tides 13. Aeyla  14. Shield  15. Interlude - Storm's End  16. Luke  17. Sanguine  18. Ascending  19. Guilt  20. Wrath  21. Rook's Rest  22. Prince Regent  23. Jace  24. Fall  25. The Black Queen 26. Interlude - Alys Rivers  27. Ashes of Roses  28. Heirs  29. Mhyrax  30. God's Eye  31. Interlude - Strong 32. Unconditional  33. Ivy Inn  34. Second of His Name 35. Dragonstone  36. Home  37. Alys  38. The Hour of the Wolf  39. The House of the Dragon  40. Epilogue - The Dragon in Winter 

[labeteenmoi]

Past tense

Part 1

Fandom: Reacher

Pairing: Reacher x OC

Warnings: none (for now)

Summary: Midwest’s peace and quiet are never certain when a disproportionate stranger appears in your life unannounced and with more baggage than meets the eye.

Note: my muse has been on vacation somewhere far from me (a sunny place I hope) for some months now. In the meantime, not knowing when she's coming back, I’m posting this without her consent. Hopefully, it will trigger some reaction from her.

Nothing uncommon about the calm, continuous shrill of the cicadas at nightfall in the plains of the Midwest, at the start of the summer season. In such a sparsely populated, almost secluded place, it is not surprising to hear only the dull song of these insects, never interrupted. 

Despite the narrow road passing by her inn, which Ava nicknamed the path to civilization from its link to the south west road leading to Wellington or South Haven in the opposite direction, visitors were rare and she was pretty satisfied with that. Far from advertising much, she had placed a simple sign announcing the presence of her establishment on that sole lonely path, too low to be visible from a passing car. 

She liked to think that only connoisseurs knew her place; an old two-floored farm house now turned into a sort of bed and breakfast place where the lucky ones could have a balcony in their room, even though most of the customers she had appreciated the isolated and discreet location for extramarital activities, but who was she to judge.

Shutters and curtains already closed, only the fading of the cicadas’ song warned her of the complete disappearance of the sun and the entry into the complete darkness of the night.

“Time for bed, sweaties!” The woman summoned, loud enough to be heard through the thick walls and open doors between the kitchen she was tidying and the living room being ravaged by her two children in an enactment of a fierce cushion battle. 

Nothing unusual in the following routine of kind yet firm handling to get the two over-excited boys to sleep. They didn’t mind the guests, as their mother called them, but they sure rather have the whole place to themselves to play around, run and shout like they did that evening. What a shame to leave all that behind for the sake of what? Sleeping?

“Last school day, buddies! Hang in there!” Ava had exclaimed, also gladfully contemplating the coming couple of weeks of complete and serene solitude that awaited her while the boys would go on holidays at their father’s home. 

Those were her holidays in a way, no kids, no guests and no other responsibilities for a little while except for herself — and the house, what a breeze.

Not quite there yet, however: still one morning to make a school drop, prepare their clothes and stuff, and take them to their father, and that was on top of the whole usual maintenance of the place. No guests didn’t mean nothing to attend to, and living in an old big house meant that there was always something to repair.

As she was mentally listing all the things she wanted to get done the next day while finishing picking up the mess the boys had left behind, the bell rang.

All in her list, barely giving it a deep thought at first, Ava rushed to the small lobby before slowing down when realizing that that was very unusual. It wasn’t like she had neighbours close around, nor friends coming over, and definitely not guests scheduled.

The bell rang again. But no impatient knocks on the door, no urging bumps following it. In the strangeness of the situation, that was still a good sign. Behind the counter she had installed at the end of the room, facing the front door at an enough reasonable distance to have a good complete view of the persons entering her house, she threw a look at the camera watching the outside porch and froze. 

What the…

The black and white image showed a 45° side view of a huge single man in jeans and a light jacket, standing steadily in front of the door, right in the beam of the porch light. That camera angle, discreetly installed in the corner of the porch ceiling, was perfect to see the whole porch and beyond it. Well, usually, but the view was now almost completely blocked by just one dude.

Ava pressed the green button below her screen:

“Evening, sir,” she resolutely addressed the microphone.

The man barely flickered, raising his eyes in the direction of the sound.

“Evening,” he responded vaguely, his eyes still searching the dark corner until his glance finally settled, looking straight into the camera.

“Can I help you?” Ava kept on, dismissing her surprise at him finding it so quickly.

The man’s stare wavered slightly as he paused before answering, visibly searching for his next words.

“I saw the sign on the road. Do you have a room available?” he finally responded. His voice was assured, his words concise and straight to the point. No smile on his face, not even the ones you fake for politeness, just a neutral look over a tall and firm stand, not tensed in the least. For a second, Ava expected him to ask for a Sarah Connor at some point.

However, he seemed… reliable. How odd. Not the feeling Ava usually got from strangers at first sight and that made her even more troubled.

“Where is your car, sir?”

“I don’t have one.”

Checks out, on foot he could have seen the sign.

“Coming from Wellington, are you?” she kept on interrogating.

“South Haven.”

Still correct, the sign is only on that side of the road.

“I just need a night or two, if possible?” he asked the camera, softening his tone to make it sound like a slight plea.

Ava thought for a moment. If she had learned anything from her past life, it was to trust her gut, and her gut was telling her “go ahead, baby, he’s alright”. That did not coincide at all with the tingling sense of danger that was buzzing in her head; he looked fine, more than fine, and his attitude clearly evoked some kind of military background, which was no less reassuring for her, but the situation was unconventional. His very presence at night on this lost part of Kansas, on foot and all by himself surely meant some kind of trouble. Also, she had plans, relaxing plans, so on top of supposedly being in a fishy situation, his timing was seriously shitty.

Ava pressed the button with a determined pout, forcibly ignoring the trustworthy feeling the man’s eyes gave her.

“My apologies, sir, we only take advance reservations.”

A slight disappointment fluttered over his face before fading quickly under a thoughtful frown. The man definitely seemed to be under the impression that a careful choice of words in this situation could get him what he wanted. She wasn’t one to deny it, she was never insensitive to the capability of reading the room.

“I know it may seem suspicious of my being here at this time, empty handed and alone…”

And he could read minds too…

“... but I can assure you, ma’am, I’m not a criminal. I’m travelling across the country on my own and couldn’t find any transportation in South Haven. I found myself in total darkness quicker than I had anticipated. Since there was a smaller road, I thought I might find some barn or so in that direction to wait for the daylight when I saw your sign.”

Again, no turning around the bush, clear and factual. Impressive, but not enough to shut down her acquired wariness. Silence was often the most effective tool to obtain the truth, or at least genuine reactions. It wasn’t as effective without her distrustful mommy look upon the person of interest, but it still usually worked. Still looking at the camera, the man did not flinch despite the silent pressure, did not grimace or smile anxiously, he seemed to simply be waiting for an answer in his still rock solid stance.

She sighed, shaking her head in inner disapproval for the surrendering she felt arising.

“Mister err…”

“Reacher.”

“Mister Reacher,...”

“Just Reacher.” he cut, mechanically.

“...alright. How empty handed are you exactly?”

A light smirk grew on the man’s lips, a bit of a cocky one she would say, before she saw him reach for an inside pocket in his vest and take out a toothbrush that he held in front of his face.

An amused sneer passed her nose.

“Does that stand as a credit card as well?” she ironically asked.

“Hmh,” he smirked again, “I also have cash.” He searched the other side of his vest and took out two hundred dollar bills for the camera to see.

Damn it…

For only response, a metallic click emanated from the door that he pushed with caution, entering the lobby with unthreatening slow moves before closing the door in his back.

The camera did not even do him justice after all, he was even bigger face to face. Hiding her astonishment the best she could, she slowly but not so discreetly moved a hand below the counter, and noticed he had caught her move.

“You won’t need that, ma’am,” he let out with a calm confidence.

Ava refrained a smile: 

“Need what?”

“The gun you’re pointing at me below your desk,” he retorted with a glance at its supposed direction.

The woman intensely narrowed her eyes at him for a second.

“Let me be the judge of that, Reacher.”

“Sure, ma’am.”

“Ava.”

“Ava,” he repeated with a slight nod.

“So, now that we are well acquainted, I have a personal question to ask you.” she resumed with a straight expression, her hand still overtly holding the short-barreled shotgun strapped below the counter.

Reacher started to slowly step towards the counter, cautious of his moves, and stood before her with an unthreatening posture despite her having to look up to hold his glance.

“What’s your purpose here, Reacher?”

“Sleep,” he let out with a light smile, “and eat, maybe?”

Her eyes traveled down his whole torso and then back up to his face before humming, of course he needed to eat, such a composure needed fuel to function.

“Meals and rooms are payable upfront,” were her words of agreement.

Cautiously moving his arm, he reached for his pocket and took out the bills he had shown before, landing them on the counter.

“Just let me know when more is needed.”

“For one night, it’s more than enough.”

“Guess I’ll make it two then.”

“And then you'll leave, right?” it may have sounded like a question but he knew better.

“Like I said, I just need to crash down for a little bit, I won’t bother you more than necessary.”

She sighed softly with irony: “Too late for that, mister.”

As she finally let go of the butt of her gun, she grabbed the bills and started typing on the laptop the registration of her guest.

“Are there other customers here?” he casually asked, looking around.

“Of course,“ she lied with a suspicious frown, but one look at him and she knew his sharp looking eyes could see right through it, but just smirked in return.

“I’ll need an ID, please.”

The man obliged, handing her an ID card where she could read that he indeed was named Reacher, but also Jack.

“Lucky you, sir, you get the room with the balcony!” she forcibly exclaimed, covering the fact that it was the only of the four rooms that was decent enough to be occupied at the moment.

“Are all rooms on the second floor?” Reacher kept questioning.

“The guests’ ones, yes.”

“What about the ground floor?”

“Kitchen, living room and staff only rooms.”

“The bathroom?”

“A private one, in your room.”

“Hmh.” Reacher reflectively pondered. 

Ava narrowed her eyes at him with a disapproving frown, hopefully making him understand that he wasn’t actually in a good position to be difficult about anything.

“Okay.” he simply agreed after holding her glare.

Smart.

“I'll show you to your room then,” she declared, heading through the closest door into a corridor with a staircase. As she held the door, he followed behind.

“You don’t take it with you?” Reacher asked, looking back at the counter.

“The gun? No need.” Ava stated.

“Trusting me already?”

She smiled from the dripping irony in his tone.

“Trust? What is that?” she jokingly retorted.

The stairs led to a corridor with four closed doors, two on each side of it. The wooden floor looked almost as new but winced at every step one made. It cracked more than winced under his footsteps however. She stopped by the second door on the left side and opened it, entering the room before Reacher and turning on the light.

“There, the bathroom.” Ava said, pointing at the only other door in the room, ���The towels are in the wardrobe.”

Reacher stepped further. The room was nice, tidy and lightly decorated. Beige curtains on the French window that probably led to the balcony, a beige bedspread on the bed, a TV opposite, placed on a piece of raw wood furniture similar to the wardrobe and the two bedside tables. Nothing fancy, Ava liked minimalism, it was way more practical to keep clean anyway. 

Reacher seemed to agree from the approbatory expression on his face. He went into the bathroom and took out his toothbrush that he placed on the sink before coming back without a word.

“Well, if you need anything else, my number is on the phone on the bedside table. Also, if you want to eat, let me know soon enough so I can plan for the necessary…”

“How soon is now?” he interrupted.

“... for when?” she suspected she knew the answer already.

“For now.”

Of course.

“I thought sleep came first in your list...”

“It works better with a full stomach.” he retorted, with a faint smile at her annoyed expression that was already turning into resignation.

“Come with me.” she muttered in a sigh.

Back downstairs, Ava led him past the staircase this time and through another door that opened into a wide living room, then through a corridor on the left and into the next room, there was the kitchen.

“Here’s the restaurant,” she declared ironically, “it’s currently closed but the microwave can be used anytime.”

“Okay. What can be done with it right now?” he questioned.

Ava glared at the man with his even-handed face, unashamed of messing up the tidiness of the room at a late hour and unaware that he should apologize for it, and took a deep breath. He’s not doing that on purpose, woman, suck it up.

Bringing a forced smile to her face, she opened the fridge and took out two covered bowls that she displayed in front of her.

“Chicken and potatoes, fresh from today’s dinner.”

“Perfect,” the unannounced guest simply stated.

“Have a seat, then,” she requested more than suggested while preparing him a plate and heating it.

Her chairs had never seemed so small than with that beefcake sitting on them. These kinds of proportions surely couldn’t live only on potatoes and chicken, there had to be some bull, or bear in the mix too, she thought while placing the plate before him.

“Thank you, Ava.” he said, with a new expression on his face that she would have qualified as… satisfaction?

“Hope you enjoy it, Reacher.” she retorted with a cynical frown.

As he started forking great chunks of food, the woman reached for a couple of beers in the fridge and uncapped them, before handing one to the man with his mouth full that welcomed it with a silent but grateful nod.

She leaned against the sink and sipped a few gulps of beer while observing him with  curiosity when he finally dared making a little pause in his munching.

“Do you always watch your customers from afar like this?”

“Oh, I can watch you from a closer distance if that’s what bothers you.”

“Yes, please do.” he jested with a sip on his beer.

With a bravado look on her face, she grabbed the chair in front of him and sat with her elbows on the table. Reacher’s smile widened at the attitude and that amused her in return.

For some minutes they somewhat defiantly stared at each other, their looks shifting or narrowing in sync, attempting to grasp what could be on each other's minds and how to respond to it, with for only sound some light chewing noises and gulps. 

A light crack emanated from outside the kitchen and before it became perceivable by the hungry man, Ava had already turned her head towards the doorframe.

“I don’t remember inviting you to this party, boys…” she had playfully declared with a frown towards the empty space when two little disheveled heads suddenly appeared.

“We heard the door…” said the taller little human, as innocent as he could.

“It’s a guest?” asked the second.

“Yes but-”

“Why is he so big?” the younger interrupted.

“Well, er, because he ate a lot of soup growing up…” she addressed a clear help me look at Reacher who nodded silently, “Aaand… he also slept a lot, sooo… You want to be this big, sweetheart?”

Both boys nodded frantically, their little eyes lighted up with admiration at Reacher.

“Then say goodnight and off to bed!”

With a relieved sigh, Ava listened to the kids running up the stairs before turning back her attention to Reacher who had emptied his plate in the meantime.

Leaning back on his chair, he held his beer almost casually with a smirk.

“The staff ?” he taunted.

Ava sneered softly, biting her lip with embarrassment.

“They’re still quite inexperienced, got to be cautious…” she jested.

“Why did you let me in then?” Reacher asked more seriously.

Ava shook her head with an indecisive pout:

“Poor judgement?”

“Hm… I doubt that,” he retorted with a soft smile, “Anyway, I won’t let anything happen to any of you, rest assured.”

“Well, that makes two of us then!”

[vxsellie]

okay so i talk abt loving hozier all the time but i never rlly delve into how fucking significant his music is. and i think, in light of the recent election, it’s time to do so

so here’s my analysis on hozier’s song “swan upon leda”

(ignore if some things are worded weirdly, this was initially written for my sister & my sister only. so it might seem like i’m talking to u as a friend, that’s why!) also if there are any inaccuracies in the myths' interpretations, PLEASE lmk!

anyway here it is!!!

So, before we get into the lyrics themselves let’s take a little peeksie at the song’s background!

Not only is this one of his most political works, but it was also published three years after he literally ghosted the world. And that only makes its debut so much more significant seeing as he’d taken the time to make sure he’d have everyone’s attention when releasing it.

Also, the title is so so so fucking important to take into account when studying this piece of fucking ART. It’s based off of the Greek myth ‘Leda and the Swan’. In this tale, Zeus is heavily attracted to a woman named Leda and transforms her into a swan before raping and impregnating her.

In turn, Hozier connects this story (and also the overarching theme of Zeus being the most powerful god despite being a rapist and child predator COUGHTRUMPCOUGH) to the way women are denied their reproductive rights & how these horrid occurrences effect all of those involved, not just the woman who bears the burden.

A husband waits outside A crying child pushes a child Into the night She was told he would come this time

He paints a picture here, putting an unnamed protagonist into a modern-day tale of patriarchally inflicted torment. The waiting husband symbolizes Zeus in the ancient context as well as an unnamed rapist in modern context. He waits and waits, never acting. He stands outside, so very close to where the problem lies and yet does nothing.

The crying child is inspired by Leda & made into the song’s protagonist, depicted as underage and therefore not able to give her full consent to this outcome. The child she pushes is the one that had been forced upon her, it going into the night symbolizing an untold future. Something she hadn’t asked for and yet is thrusted into doing. Her fear means nothing to the waiting husband & means even less to society as a whole. So, she does it scared. She does it with tears streaming down her face because deep, deep down she knows she has nobody to aid her in this despite having been promised to have help; having been promised that he would come this time.

Without leaving so much as a feather behind To enact, at last, the perfect plan

This illustrates the parallelism of Leda having been turned to a swan and the unnamed child having been forced into the life of a mother. Not leaving a feather behind, to Leda, represents the lack of proof she’d had to Zeus’s cruelty. He’d simply found her, transformed her, impregnated, transformed her back, and left. Now, had a feather been left, she’d have had proof. She’d have been believed. But that kind of miracle never happens for rape victims, now does it? No, instead she was forced to carry a ton more children by a husband that didn’t believe that she’d been raped by Zeus. This, in many ways, connects to real day occurrences that I don’t believe I need to digress on each individually. Though, I happily would if it proves my point mores.

The perfect plan he speaks of is the men getting away with it. In every tale, in every real-time situation, the men get away. They get what they want from the woman, leave her (and their newly formed fetus) to rot, and leave to return to their wives. The perfect plan, is it not?

The gateway to the world Was still outside of reach of him Would never belong to angels, Had never belonged to men.

This. This is why I love Andrew Hozier-Byrne, ladies and gentlemen.

As he speaks of a “gateway to the world”, he’s referring to childbirth. To bring a child into the world is a gateway, correct? It’s a bit of inexplicable divinity, pregnancy. To create an entire being with naught but your own bodily organs and cells? Those of which had been made by a woman before you? Yeah, it’s pretty fucking insane to me. Anyway.

Okay back on topic. The point is, this amazing occurrence he discusses is said to still out of reach to “him”. This unnamed male figure can be both Zeus in the myth or the husband in the modern altercation. This means that, despite them having forced themselves upon these beautiful souls, they haven’t a say in gateway. They don’t have a single fucking important role to play in the birth itself. They’re just the sperm.

And then Hozier goes even further. Not only does he say that the rapists are unfit for the sanctitude of childbirth, but heaven itself is unfit. The angels up above. Zeus. God. Whatever religious aspect you want to praise; it doesn’t hold a candle to the divinity that is a woman. As are the men. All men. Mankind itself, if you will. Regardless of your role or title or holiness, you’re all fucking useless when it comes to the sacred act of conceiving, creating, then bearing another human.

After the first chorus, the image alters to another scenario:

A grandmother smuggling meds Past where the god-child soldier, Setanta, stood dead Our graceful turner of heads Weaves through the checkpoints like a needle and thread

This shows a grandmother stealing medicine for an abortion, likely for a daughter or granddaughter. This shows the generational struggle to make the right choice. As it feels both revolutionary and also something she’d been doing her whole life. Fighting for rights.

Now, Setanta, as referred to in the song, is based off of an Irish myth. In this myth, Setanta is the name of a child who had killed Culann’s guard dog in self-defense and therefore felt guilty. In a fit of grief for the life he’d stolen, Setanta offered to take its place and thereby became known as the “Hound of Culann”. His story is actually really interesting to read about, but I won’t go into too much detail on every depicted myth. As Hozier refers to the checkpoint soldiers as Setanta, he claims they’d “stood dead” at their watch — which goes to show that these soldiers are young (as Setanta had been) and he therefore protests against the way they’re surrendering their full lives to this ruined system of oppression that they enforce.

Someone’s frightened boy waves her on She offers a mother’s smile, and soon she’s gone. The gateway to the world The gun in a trembling hand

This right here is absolutely fucking amazing. Hozier connects both oppressor and oppressed, humanizing the grandmother to be retrieving meds for an unplanned pregnancy & also personifying the young boy as someone’s child who needed something so simple as a mother’s kindness to keep him going.

The way he does this goes to show what a talented person he is. Being able to make your audience sympathize with both the boy and the grandma is fucking magic. Rather than making the soldiers wholly evil and merciless, he made them children. The same children the lady is trying to prevent bringing into this world.

When nature unmakes the boundary The pillar of myth still stands The swan upon Leda Occupier upon ancient land

While the first chorus is a reminder of childbirth’s right to be protected and not put in the hands of religion or men, the second chorus ties it all together by showing the repetition in history and how it’s bound to repeat itself so long as man remains lustful for power. This shows that greed and brutality is an undeniable way to keep this horrid pattern living on. He laments that nature did not intend to have one rule over another (men over women; society over youth). And yet, somehow, it’ll forever remain unavoidable.

The pillar of myth still stands. That crumbling foundation it had been built o remains, standing tall as more and more men come to repeat it. And, in all honesty, I doubt it’ll ever end. The child will continue to push the child. The husband will continue to wait. The grandmother will continue to smuggle her rights. The boy will continue to tremble. And mother nature will continue to watch with a frown on her face as mankind sets more pillars atop her divinity.

All in all, Hozier is awesome sauce!!!

[showakyonen]

ON THAT "GOOSEWORX" DOCUMENT:

I THINK THE INTERACTIONS WITH THE ONE GUY LISTED FIRST ARE WORTH AN EYEBROW RAISE. SOME OF THE ART BEING POSTED AND REPLIED TO IS RIGHTFULLY UNDER CONSIDERATION, ESPES SINCE THE GUY WAS 17. HOWEVER, SINCE THE "VICTIM" DID NOT PERSONALLY SPEAK UP THEMSELVES, I'M INCLINED TO BE A LITTLE... EH. SKEPTICAL ISN'T THE WORD, MAYBE HESITANT? DESPITE SUCH INTERACTIONS BEING PUBLIC, I HAVE TO WONDER IF THE CREATORS OF SUCH A DOCUMENT GOT INTO CONTACT WITH THE NG ARTIST MENTIONED IN THE FIRST PLACE. I WAS PUT IN A CALLOUT DOCUMENT PAINTING ONE OF MY CLOSE FRIENDS AS HARMFUL WITHOUT MY OWN CONSENT OR THE ABILITY TO SPEAK UP ON MY OWN, AND IT FUCKED ME AND MY FRIEND UP HEAVILY. BUT I WILL SAY NOTHING ELSE ON IT

HOWEVER, THE OTHER POINT IN THE DOC IS... REALLY FUCKING STUPID. SORRY. GOOSEWORX HAS A FOLLOWING OF OVER 350K AND IT'S UNREASONABLE TO EXPECT SOMEONE TO VET THAT, AS WELL AS CHECKING THE ACCOUNTS OF ALL OF THE PEOPLE THAT REPLY TO HER. NOT TO MENTION THAT IT IS HER PERSONAL TWITTER ACCOUNT, IT'S NOT GLITCH'S AND IT'S NOT AN OFFICIAL TADC ACCOUNT.

HER AUDIENCE WAS MATURE PRIOR TO TADC. TADC WAS NEVER INTENDED FOR CHILDREN, THAT WAS JUST THE AUDIENCE IT HAPPENED TO ACCUMULATE. HER ACKNOWLEDGING AND SORT OF POKING FUN AT THE YOUNGER FANBASE OF TADC ON HER PERSONAL TWITTER ACCOUNT IS NOT AN ADMISSION OF GUILT. THAT CONTENT, AND CONTENT MUCH MORE EXTREME THAN IT, IS RAMPANT ON TWITTER. I DON'T DESIRE TO GET INTO THE DISCUSSION OF "PARENTS ARE LARGELY RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTROLLING WHAT THEIR CHILDREN SEE ONLINE AND WHAT SOCIAL MEDIA THEY HAVE", BUT THAT'S WHAT IT LARGELY BOILS DOWN TO. SOME OF THE SCREENSHOTS IN THE DOC ALSO DATE BACK TO 2022, WHEN GOOSEWORX WAS VERY VERY FAR FROM THE PUBLIC SPOTLIGHT SHE'S IN NOW, SO THE "LE MINOR FANBASE!11!11" THING KINDA... FALLS FLAT.

THE INCLUSIONS OF HER TWEETS ABOUT "DRIVING AWAY THE FANBASE" AND WHATNOT ALSO FEEL VERY INGENUINE, CONSIDERING THE FACT THEY'RE OBVIOUSLY JOKES. GOOSEWORX HAS SAID THE WRITING IS SET IN STONE AND SHE ISN'T GOING TO BE CHANGING IT

AND, MAN, I FEEL IT SHOULD BE VERY OBVIOUS THAT SHE DOESN'T HANDLE THINGS LIKE MERCH LISCENSING OR THE OUTSELLING OF THE IP TO BE MADE INTO MERCHANDISE. GLITCH IS CORP. THEY HANDLE THAT. I WAS LEGITIMATELY UPSET WHEN I FOUND OUT THEY HAD COSTUMES MADE IN CHILD SIZES BECAUSE THAT. GOES AGAINST HER VISION ENTIRELY. BUT WHATEVER

EDGY BULLSHIT IS EDGY BULLSHIT. EDGY BULLSHIT IS ALSO FROM 3 YEARS AGO.

TL;DR: SEEMS LIKE A LOT OF OTHER RANDOM SHIT IS BEING SHOEHORNED ALONGSIDE THE ORIGINAL POINT TO MAKE THINGS SEEM WORSE THAN THEY ACTUALLY ARE. READ CALLOUT DOCUMENTS WITH NUANCE AND DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH PLEASE I AM BEGGING WOW!

[sanityshorror]

Heyyy, I'm not the person that send the original ask but I'm really curious as to why Julius is so against kids.

Hope ur doing well!! ^^

[Part 2] A Summary of Why Julius Hates Babies and Children:

[Read Part 1 First] The number of the explanation correlates to the reasons listed in Part 1:

1.)

His confusion comes from Julius having no concept or understanding of childhood. At only four years old, the following all began: working in the coal mines (keep in mind Julius was born in 1874), neglect resulting in him having to fend for himself, severe, constant abuse and trauma of every kind.

This all accumulated in Julius having almost no memories prior to the age of 13, and even after he has a very foggy memory of his life. He does not understand children or childhood at all, let alone a happy one.

The ultimate result is confusion, that quickly turns into Julius becoming extremely distraught, leading him to lash out about something unrelated to disguise his true feelings, then run off and self-destruct.

2.)

Julius becomes extremely jealous seeing happy children and families because he never experienced a semblance of a childhood and he was raised in an incredibly abusive and toxic environment. He doesn't understand why some children seem so happy yet he couldn't have that.

His logic just makes the jealousy escalate to rage, his thoughts being, “The world – all of reality – revolves around me, right?! My upbringing was normal, right?! So why the fuck do these people with such a strange, abnormal life get to be so happy?! Why aren't they miserable and suffering and being hurt?! Pain is perfection, right?! How the fuck can things be so perfect without pain?! It HAS to be a facade like it was for me! …Right…?! Why are their smiles real but mine never was?! Why did I never get that childhood when I'M supposed to be the center of EVERYTHING?”

Julius can't handle thinking about it further, a mental block goes up, he forces a convincing and warm smile but quickly retreats – unable to stand thinking any longer and either destroys things in a rage once alone or more likely …finds some poor undeserving random person to take his rage out on.

3.)

I've never released this information before despite it being part of Julius’s canon for well over a year now. This is the reason Julius was so traumatized by having his children with Emily.

When Julius was 15 in the asylum, he wound up having a 16 year old girl as a roommate due to the only bed being open – and Julius being admitted in an emergency – the two wound up being roommates despite different genders.

To make a long story short (Hellbound gets much deeper into this however and explains everything, including why she had the thought process), he did not consent to her climbing top of him nearly every night for months. As we all know, bodies react beyond our control and very commonly happens to AMAB folks during unwanted sexual contact. Julius had that experience of his body reacting despite him not wanting it - which only made it more traumatic. His roommate very wrongfully had the interpretation Julius enjoyed it and she was making him happy.

Killian is the only one who knows and only because he saw the interaction. Bringing it up to Julius is just an absolute no, under no circumstances.

When Julius was 17, she showed up at the pub he was working at…with a baby. Memories came flooding back that Julius had suppressed because Julius had developed the automatic coping mechanism of shutting down and dissociating the second he was touched in an unwanted way.

Understandably, he flipped out and said she had the wrong person. Unnecessarily, he threatened to end her and every person she cared about if he ever saw her again, and flashed his pistol. Then immediately ran off to the place he always went when he was upset.

The experience was so traumatic especially due to all the abuse by Lucien he'd been put through while at the asylum as well was just too much to handle. The fact there was a living person out there – and now likely descents of the person – is a constant reminder of that time.

Julius lived in fear of ever seeing her or the child ever again – and now fears running into descents. He never did see her, the child, and to his knowledge has never seen any descendants of said child. All babies and children remind him of all this all too vividly.

• Again, I need to specify a few things:

And now you know!

A.) Julius doesn't hate teenagers; therefore this does not reflect how he feels about teenagers. He mainly just finds teenagers annoying and avoids them because of this.

B.) Julius doesn't target children or teenagers as victims. He avoids even being near children (as I'm about to explain) and avoids teens as I mentioned above. Additionally, they just are utterly irrelevant to his MO as a serial killer.

C.) This doesn't mean he cares about them at all.

D.) During his time as a human, he was psychologically and physically abusive towards his own children – though he was absent and negligent more than anything. He has not intentionally and/or directly harmed any other minors (excluding when he was a minor himself).

[uefb]

Chapter 7 of Older, or Two Brothers and a Train Station up now :)

Summary: In which the Scamander parents get a bit too busy for caretaking; the extended family proves themselves rather useless at babysitting without inflicting borderline-trauma; and Theseus finds himself handling the unwieldy consequences (e.g., Newt). (yes, this is the lull before the storm...)

Excerpt:

In retrospect, Theseus maybe should have noticed earlier than he did that he had been very seriously tasked with watching his little brother on and off for the majority of the summer, far more than his usual elder brother duties. And it wasn't like he was tasked with it because he did not have anything else better to do himself , but because, by July, their parents—almost overnight—became truly and impressively and inordinately busy. 

…Really busy.

With Muggle London’s recent fascination and consequent reliance on the electric tram [4], Helios was dealing with an influx of opportunistic magical troublemakers that pulled him out on investigations and into raids at every hour of the day and night; while Rowan had become rather single-mindedly preoccupied with several of her hippogriff mares (who were having a difficult laying season), all on top of her other preexisting business and family commitments [5]. 

At first, Rowan had roped her younger sister Willow—a mediwitch at the St. Mungo Children’s Ward—into helping Theseus with Newt a few afternoons and evenings a week, but after several attempts at having him stay over at hers entirely on his own (particularly on the nights before his appointments), that method quickly proved disastrous. Newt apparently did not like that he was unfamiliar with Aunt Willow’s flat and customs; and Aunt Willow was disturbed by waking up every morning to a childless cot, which forced her to search Newt out in a state of panic until she stumbled upon wherever he had tucked himself away the night before [6, 6a]

(Theseus never really thought he’d have to listen to anyone receive a lecture on why sleeping in the broom closet or the bathtub or on the floor behind the wood-stove instead of a perfectly suitable mattress was inappropriate, but Newt did a lot of things that made him question his previous understanding of the world.)

Before Helios and Rowan consented to explicitly using Theseus as a full-time third parent, however, they had tried Helios’ siblings. Both sets of grandparents were out of the question because Grandfather Ptolemy was about as warm with Newt as their father’s brother Hesiod was; and Rowan’s mother was frailer even than their Longbottom great great grandparents—even Newt seemed to tiptoe about her house (even if he did so exceedingly unsuccessfully) whenever they visited…

And that left only Helios’ older sister Hippolyta, down at the border of Devon and Cornwall at Rame Head [7].

Theseus knew the very moment his parents decided to ask her that sending Newt there would absolutely not work (which was unfortunate, for Newt could have been very entertained on the Sound under different circumstances)... But, because Aunty Hippa had always adored her youngest brother, she immediately said yes anyway, despite the fact her formerly aristocratic husband Arundel Helston Mount-Edgecombe was—according to Helios—a “piece of work” [8]; and even though Theseus and Newt’s only real cousin Eloise (a very pretty, very poised, and very disturbingly intelligent nineteen-year-old witch) was almost always in as much trouble as Newt was, if for remarkably different reasons… 

Not the ideal location for an inquisitive six-year-old with very little regard for hierarchical respect or social niceties, Theseus personally thought.

But, because Theseus was just fourteen-almost-fifteen, he could only watch as Helios and Rowan approached Newt where he sat on a small boulder near the treeline, gently tugging the illustrated copy of Black Beauty out of his hands—(a book which Aunt Willow had bartered for him at a Muggle Curiosities shop while he stayed with her, in an attempt to bribe him into compliance)—and nudging him until the he’d made room for them to flank him on either side [9, 9a]. They explained in clear and calm language that Aunty Hippa had asked for his company for a few weeks, after which Newt asked if they still lived near the sea, and, upon hearing the answer—while still looking minorly concerned—nevertheless leapt off the rock to tear past Theseus and disappear into the house, where he proceeded to scour every shelf and trunk for "the book about oceans!" and Theseus' now-too-small bathing costume, from when they'd still lived in Dorset [10].

It was very clear his little brother was under the impression he might get to meet a sea serpent, and Theseus wasn’t cruel enough to disavow him of that belief if it made him happy enough to venture off the farm without complaint. Neither of their parents did anything to dampen his spirits either. In Newt’s wake, in fact, Rowan simply caught Theseus’ eye with a wink and a shrug, and then turned back to Helios briefly—letting him tuck an errant curl behind her ear—before rushing off after Newt to supervise his attempts at packing.

Newt was gone the next morning. Beaten-up binoculars hanging off his neck—a crab net woven through the front straps of his pink linen dungarees [11, 11a]—he had tolerated Theseus’ affectionate attention for a full half minute, even promising to write (with Eloise’s help, of course).

Not that the child even had time to fulfil that promise, though, for the owl Theseus received from Eloise six days after his little brother’s departure only proved his initial instincts unfortunately correct… 

[corner-master]

people in the comments be saying "she was 16, she didn't have parental consent, so the contract was null and void", but that's a relatively modern thing (as in, within the last century and such). In the time period this movie was set in,->-> if Ariel had been born a human woman, <-<- she wouldn't have had the right to do anything her father didn't allow her, not because he was a king, but because as the male head of the family Ariel would have legally been considered his property. Even if she was of legal age, she would have still been his property until she was married... then she would be her husband's property.

couple of important notes before I continue:

1)In the states, the Married Women's Property Acts, which allowed married women to keep their own wages and to own property in their own name, only really got started in New York in 1848. Prior to this in 1839, Mississippi allowed women to own property with their husbands permission.

2a) in 1875, Minor vs Happersett, the Supreme Court declares that despite the privileges and immunities clause, a state can prohibit a woman from voting.

2b) 1890, Wyoming becomes the first state to allow women to vote in all elections.

3) 1981, Kirchberg vs Feenstra overturned the state laws designating a husband "head and master" with unilateral control of property owned jointly with his wife.

This, and many more laws and acts and declarations that gave and took away rights, is just what happened within the US. Which I'm pretty sure is not where the little mermaid took place, but I also don't have a clear view of other countries women's rights laws, so this is what you get. Point is, it wasn't until certain points in history that women gained specific rights equal to men. And it took a hella long time to get there.

The only way she could have circumvented this and made her own discissions was if she abandoned her home, forfeiting all rights of protection and safety that came with belonging to a family... which she did.

Ariel gained her Legs because she wanted to go to the surface and, under the romantic reasoning pushed by children's movie logic, be with the prince. Big Problem here is that Love had very little to do with marriage back then. If your parents genuinely cared about you and your thoughts and feelings, they would take your declarations of love into consideration but still have to weigh whether such a union would be beneficial to the family as a whole. Eric, being a prince, would have already had an arranged marriage with someone of presumably equal standing to strengthen his Kingdoms ties with other nations. This is supported by the original Little Mermaid where the prince had to refuse Ariel's advances and she pretty much dissolves into sea foam.

Given this was set in a fictional world with fictional ways of life, you can't really apply more than the pretty basic laws and rights attributed to those settings. Only the narrative really gets to tell you how things are and how they will go. So in the original, Ariel was denied true love so she shriveled up and blew away in the wind. In Disney's version, she married the prince.

Now, How does all this apply to Ursula?

In the Disney Version, Ursula was undoubtedly the Villain. She used predatory tactics to lure Ariel into signing a contract without understanding entirely what she had done, and then tried to hedge the deal in her favor. All of this under the premise of gaining ownership of Ariel to get back at Triton.

The problem with all this? As scummy as it was, it was all Legal. Whatever laws that may have existed in that world- in Triton's domain- meant in this instance, Ursula was in the right.

Triton literally tried to strike Ursula down, but the contract itself shielded her from the trident's power. The most powerful weapon at his disposal could do nothing against the power of the contract. The King of Atlantica, presumed ruler of the entire sea, didn't have the ability to break the contract. The only thing he could do? Was make another deal to pay the price himself.

Which was a monumentally stupid thing to do given he had six other daughters who were now also in as much danger as his 7th, let alone his kingdom and the numerous denizens that resided within the sea. Hate to break it to you all but Triton was not a good or wise ruler because he put his family, his interests, before the safety of his people.

The only reason they defeated Ursula was because Eric was able to murder her. Not sure if it was because it was a mundane object (the ship) instead of a magical one, the contract wasn't big enough or present to save her, or because Eric himself was outside the terms of the contract (meaning Triton and presumably anyone affiliated with him couldn't retaliate against her under the binding of the contract).

So what can you take away from this spicy take?

Ursula was a business woman that used cut-throat tactics to get what she wanted. It may have been morally wrong but legally she was in the right?

Society as a whole should strive to better educate themselves and their children on the risks and dangers of entering predatory contracts without looking for and understanding the hidden stipulations within said contracts and what consequences may then befall them? Especially when that deal is made with a shady woman living out in the boonies with clear signs of horrific moral integrity?

The Monarchy of the sea was ruled by a man who often made impulsive and careless decisions that negatively affected his people's lives and should not have been allowed to retain his position?

Triton was the King, But I sure didn't vote for him.

[barnulv23]

She said yes

Story :   The surprise was well planned. Søt was very patient, but that didn't stop him from being overexcited. He had prepared his most wonderful plant-based meal for his beautiful ladylove. Vegan (in this world, meat comes from human beings) and very respectful and concerned about the living beings around him, he prepared everything with care and love. Kjeare didn't suspect anything. She had prepared her gifts for Søt with great attention as well, hiding her ideas throughout the year, which might please her boyfriend. After enjoying their meal together, and washing the dishes for his girlfriend, Søt made her a coffee and ordered her to go rest on the couch while he finished. She couldn't wait to open her presents, and so did he, but when he returned and sat down next to her, in front of their window where it was visible that the landscape was covered in a snowy white sheet, under the lights from their plastic tree, decorated by them, Søt took Kjeare's hand. -We have been together for 5 years, said Søt, 5 wonderful years that I will never tire of remembering. He smiled at her, which earned a small laugh from Kjeare. -And despite the world we live in, with all these environmental problems...it's hard sometimes to find a smile or to be happy. But I'm only happy by your side. He reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a small red box. -So I would like to end my life by your side. Would you marry me? Kjeare's heart began to beat so fast that she thought she would faint, before she said: -Of course I want it ! The two kissed, before the Border Collie put the ring on his beautiful amber-haired girlfriend. She couldn't believe her eyes or her ears. She who was only a dancer in a cabaret where she met Søt. She never imagined she would find herself here today. Søt placed the box on the sofa and gently caressed the hand of his fiancée, who began to sob as she was overflowing with happiness. She said yes.

Commentary :  

Here is your Christmas drawing with a small surprise ;'D Søt was my first official original character, when I was younger. He spent his life in school with me, where I was drawing him on every pages of every book. I was imagining what life he could have, where he would work, what he would love.  The more I drew him, the more I thought maybe he deserved company, and so he got friends, ennemies, but especially...a love.  Kjeare was one of the last one from that world that I created and boy I'm glad I created her.  I hoped for Søt to grow up incredible journeys, getting married, getting children, living the perfect life. The most stable and happy character I could ever have.   And so let's say for Christmas he finally decided to take Kjeare's hand. :3   I'm really happy for them, look at them ;-;

Character (c) : BarnUlv23 ​Art (c) : BarnUlv23 © copyright BarnUlv23. You may NOT use, post, replicate, manipulate, or modify this image without my explicit written consent.   

Tumblr : Youtube : ToyHouse : Alternate ToyHouse : Selling Account : ​Interested in a commission ?

[thelightofthebane]

through the good and bad and all in between

Summary: Magnus was born a warlock. Magnus became a mundane for love and by self-sacrificing tendencies. Magnus turned into a vampire after an act of spite and revenge.

A story about survival, new identities, love through adversities, and accepting changes.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e17 Heavenly Fire, Vampire Magnus Bane, Turned without consent, Major Character Undeath, Immortal to Mortal to Immortal, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Boyfriend Alec Lightwood, Soft Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Cat & Alec friendship, Domestic Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending

Rating: E

Chapters: 10

Words: Around 23k~

This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Mini Bang 2023: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver

You can read it on AO3 or the last chapter below ~

Chapter 10 - I need you here 'til the very end

Seven years later

By some miracle, things settled for a long time.

No more catastrophes. No more Greater Demons or madmen. No more jealous ex-girlfriends. No more near-death experiences.

Jia and Lydia had become a refreshing powerhouse for the Clave. A rewriting of the Accords was even in the plans, and this time there would be more Downworlder representatives than before.

Alec had been helping Lydia with a project that would spread the idea of Downworld Cabinets for all Institutes, as well as some really needed reeducation regarding Downworld culture. Surprisingly, Alec chose Clary to be aboard in the project, and her suggestions of Mundane culture have been really interesting and useful for once.

The New York Shadow World was thriving too. Alec not only reformed the Institute and made sure no one under his leadership would mistreat a Downworld ever again, but he also put into action new ideas - like a mixed school for Shadowhunters and Downworlders’ children to learn together.

Magnus was…

Magnus was much better. His nightmares were still present, but few and far between. He seemed more settled in his new role, and despite missing his magic a lot, he could now think about it with fondness instead of grief.

They had married two years after Alec’s proposal. Jace and Clary married a year later. Simon and Izzy, four years later.

Jace and Clary became parents around the time Alec and Magnus celebrated their 5th anniversary. It also lit up a tiny flame inside Alec’s chest that wished the same with Magnus. Maybe it was time to have the adoption talk.

Well, if another disaster wasn’t about to happen, but judging by Izzy’s serious face, Alec didn’t want to push his luck.

“Please, don’t tell me you found out about another secret experiment by the Clave.”

Isabelle cracked a tiny smile, shaking her head.

“It’s something personal, actually.” She closed the door and went to sit on the chair in front of him.

“Are you okay? Did you and Simon fight?”

“No, although it has to do with him.”

Alec frowned in confusion. She smiled a bit more genuinely this time.

“I bet no one could’ve ever imagined that us both would end up in a committed relationship with vampires.”

Alec snorts. 

“Understatement.” He went back to write on a report mission, letting his sister to take her time to tell him whatever has been bothering her. However, when after ten minutes nothing more was said, he decided to push her a little bit. “What’s your point, Iz?”

“Have you ever thought about staying?”

The pen halted on the paper, and Alec needed a moment to comprehend what Izzy was saying. When it finally hit him, he put the pen down and looked at her.

“Yes,” he croaked, his eyes automatically straying for a drawer containing books and years of research. “Since Magnus was turned.”

“Did you find something?”

“Besides becoming a vampire? No.” Alec huffed, frustrated with the lack of alternatives.

“And that would be too bad?” Izzy mumbled, but her brother heard anyway and looked a bit spooked.

“W-What?”

“Look, it was one thing before when Magnus was still an immortal warlock. But he’s a vampire now. Would it be that bad to be the same as him?”

Alec’s frown only deepened.

She… had a point.

He was so worried looking for answers, he had forgotten that Magnus changed. He was still immortal, but a different kind. And if Alec did become a vampire, the only thing he would be sacrificing is food. He was sure that if he asked Jace, his brother wouldn’t mind giving him his blood, too.

“Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.” Izzy smirked, but it was slightly shaken.

“Is this what you want?”

The woman released an equally shaken breath and looked directly at her brother’s eyes.

“I do. Simon is… Simon is right. You know I’ve never cared much about love, but something in him makes me dream about things I didn’t dare before. He makes me happy in a way that hurts, you know? A good hurt, the kind that fills me up and makes me stronger and braver.”

Alec smiled, his eyes now finding the photo frame on his desk. Magnus and he were holding each other under a Sakura tree in full bloom, petals falling over them in a pink rain. They were both laughing, blissfully happy.

Yeah. He knew perfectly what Izzy was talking about.

“Besides, it’s not only about him. I… There is so many things I want to do now, and I think a single lifetime will not be enough. The project draft I showed you last week regarding more secure and efficient weapons, as well as high-tech shields… It’ll take years to heave at least one prototype done. I want to see this to its end, big brother.”

Alec hummed. Getting up, he got around the desk and crouched next to her. “Let me ask you again. Is this what you really want?”

Isabelle straighted up her shoulders and nodded with a fierce glare, full of determination and stubbornness that was practically a Lightwood trait at this point.

“Yes.”

“We have a lot to plan, then. But first, we need to talk to our parabatais, then our family. Simon and Magnus should come last, because they’ll be the most difficult.”

“I know… But you’ll be with me, right?”

“Always, Iz.” Alec grinned then. “Forever.” 

~*~

As Alec expected, talking to Magnus didn’t start well.

“Absolutely not! If… If I were still a warlock or you could stay as a Shadowhunter… But a vampire? No. Never.”

“Why not? You’re one!”

“You’ll have to die, Alec!”

“You died!” Alec yelled and suddenly a heavy silence wrapped the room, only their gasps filling the air.

Then, Alec sobbed, frustration and guilt still weighting his heart.

“You died… And I couldn’t do anything.”

But Magnus was equally stubborn.

“I can’t stomach the idea of you dying. Even if your intention is to come back.” He shook his head, shuddering. “Alexander, we don’t know if it works for Nephilim. Mundane blood is one thing. Even if you derune yourself so the runes won’t interfere, we don’t know what your angel blood might do. What if doesn’t work?”

“It does. Izzy and I researched. There are some cases of Shadowhunters who were attacked in patrols and turned, and some that turned willingly.”

They spent a couple of minutes just staring at each other, neither of them willing to back down.

Until Magnus deflated at last.

“You’re really serious about that, aren’t you?”

Alec nodded with certainty. Soon enough, though, his forehead creased in concern, a huge lump in his throat.

“Unless… Unless you don’t want me forever. Unless only a mortal lifetime would be enough–”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare imply that I wouldn’t want you for all eternity. I’m not ready to lose you now, and I’m sure I’ll never be. But I don’t want you to regret this, Alexander. Immortality is a curse. I… I don’t want you to resent me over time for this burden.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure.”

“But I am, Magnus.”

“How so?”

“Because there isn’t a lifetime or universe where I would regret choosing you, Magnus Bane. You’re it for me. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Magnus’ eyes fluttered, his eyelashes already damp although no tears had fallen yet.

“What about your family? Your parabatai?”

“I’ve already talked to them. Jace gave me his blessing, Max was totally chill about it, and my parents struggled a bit but agreed in the end without any fuss. And Izzy… Izzy will stay. With us. For as long as I live, I’ll have the love of my life and my baby sister with me.” Alec smiled.

“And Simon?” Magnus tried to joke, but his voice cracked with all the emotions currently overwhelming him.

“If it’s the price for Izzy’s happiness, I can tolerate him.” Alec shrugged. “He is your family, too.”

“I can deal alright with Sherman.”

Alec grinned, approaching Magnus and pressing their foreheads together.

“I promise I want this, Magnus. Trust me.”

“I do… It’s just… I’m afraid. You know how become a vampire is like a gamble. You either turn or your soul is trapped forever at the in-between.”

“I know. So, will you be my sire?”

“Oh god, I forgot about that. Yes, of course, but…” Magnus bit his lower lip. “Should I look for a way to…” He choked. “...to kill you quickly and painlessly?”

At that, Alec stepped back and looked horrified at him.

“Are you crazy? I won’t let you kill me! You already have enough nightmares for many lifetimes, Magnus. I won’t give you one more.”

“You should not die alone, Alec! It’s awful, believe me. I can’t let you take your own life either. I won’t!”

“Magnus!”

“Alexander!”

.

.

.

The immortality talk was never an easy one.

Even if they were sure about the ‘why’, they argued for weeks about the ‘how’.

It was Catarina who offered them a solution.

~*~

“Oh wow, we are going to be four!” Simon blabbed, all excited like a kid at a candy store. “We can already form our own club, The Daylighters.”

Magnus cocked an eyebrow and Alec narrowed his eyes. It was the same bullshit from his wedding-that-wasn’t with Lydia.

“You’re so lucky that Izzy loves you.”

“Of course I am. Actually, talking about her, what if we went on double dates after you two turn? I heard about this blood bar near Times Square that sells these cocktails with different blood types, and they have this tiny umbrellas made of-”

“Oh my God! I’m going to look for Jace and spar with him.” Alec groaned and left before Simon finished.

“He still hates me, doesn’t he?” Simon chuckled, this time without much humor.

Magnus’ eyes softened.

“Relax. You know how Alexander is. He might not say out loud, but he already considers you family.”

“Really?” Simon’s whole face lit up. “Then, we’re not going to be just a club. We’re going to be a family of Daylighters!”

And wasn’t that a whole concept?

Sometimes Magnus couldn’t believe that despite all the suffering, all the pain, all the choices taken from him… He could still have this.

A big family.

At first, it was only him, Ragnor, Cat and Raphael.

Then, they lost Ragnor. And Raphael was now a mortal, so their time together was limited.

But for the centuries to come, more people became part of their small, special bunch of immortal troublemakers.

Madzie, Simon.

Very soon, his husband and sister-in-law.

Maybe in the future… Their own kids.

Jace and Clary were okay with their mortality and opted to die as Shadowhunters. Furthermore, considering their extra angel blood, neither of them wanted to gamble with a high probability of failure. What if their super angelic blood burned the demonic virus and they remained dead? No, it was too dangerous to even try. But the Herondale-Fairchild clan would forever be assisted and protected by them, never letting Jace and Clary’s legacy to be forgotten.

They would all be okay.

“Yes, Simon. We’re really going to be.”

~*~

It took a couple more of years before they went forward with it.

Alec still had some last arrangements to do before retiring from the Institute and starting his new life as a vampire. Isabelle had already gone through the process, and it was her former parabatai's blood that turned her into a Daylighter.

Now, in his late 30s, it was Alec’s turn to take this unchangeable step.

They went back to Ragnor’s home, where everything has started. They dug a hole right next to Magnus’ grave, and stocked the place with bags of blood. Cat was there too, but this time she would wait inside the house until it was time to bury Alec’s body. They all agreed that, no matter the end result, it was better to not leave Magnus alone. What they were about to do wouldn’t be easy for either of them, but Magnus refused to let Alec be by himself.

“Do you think Ragnor would mind having me here too? I know you three agreed to be buried together, but maybe a Shadowhunter would be too much for him.”

Magnus smiled softly. “It was Ragnor that actually convinced me to fight one more time for us on that day of your wedding with Lydia. I’m pretty sure Ragnor would allow you here knowing you are the one whom my heart belongs to.”

Alec flushed, a boyish smile adorning his face. Oh… It was going to be the last time Magnus saw that pretty pink color on Alexander’s cheeks.

Well, it was okay, he thought.

Alec was still full of things Magnus absolutely loved. 

Under a big oak tree at Ragnor’s garden, they shared some more words and kisses, showering each other in promises and love.

They kissed for a long time, until Magnus slowly started a trail of open-mouthed kisses down to Alec’s neck. He licked and nibbled the sensitive skin around the deflect rune. Then, without holding himself any longer, he bit hard, breaking skin and making his husband bleed. Latching at it, Magnus drank the Nephilim blood, losing himself for a moment.

Alec tensed, feeling pain and fire and death under his skin, but soon his thoughts halted and his mind went numb.

Magnus was delighted, feeling how that was better than any blood he has tried. So delicious and addictive and his, only his.

“M-Magnus…” Alec whimpered, enough to break through the fog on Magnus’ mind. Alec’s blood dripped from his lips, the marvelous taste still exploding on his tongue. “I- Your… I need your blood…” Alec was paler, but he held himself with the determination of a man in a mission.

Magnus nodded, and using his fang, cut his own wrist and put it near Alec’s lips. A bit sluggishly, he also drank Magnus’ blood, grimacing at the metallic taste.

“There, you are doing great, my darling,” Magnus cooed, nuzzling Alec’s cheek until he reached the other side of his neck and bit there too, drinking more.

A moan and weak tap on his arm forced Magnus to stop again and look at his love. Alec’s eyes were glazed, half-hooded and dull. If Magnus still had a beating heart, it would’ve certainly stopped for a moment.

“Now… please…” He could see that Alec was barely holding up now. Quickly, he fished out from his pocket the potion Catarina made especially for that occasion. It would accelerate Alec’s death while he slept. Quick and painless.

Magnus helped Alec drank the murky green liquid, and soon enough the Shadowhunter’s eyes were dropping.

“L’ve… you…” He forced a breath. “See’ya… soon…”

“I love you too. I will be here, I promise.” Magnus took Alec in his arms, holding his husband with all the care and desperation in the world.

Alec’s heart started to slow down, the beats stuttering.

Please…

Slowly, slowly stopping.

Come back.

His breath turned into tiny huffs of air until it was gone.

You have to come back to me, Alexander.

A last beat.

Please.

Silence.

Please.

.

.

. 

Later, while waiting beside Alec’s grave, when a hand with a beloved and familiar wedding ring emerged from the dirt, Magnus knew everything was going to be all right.

They were going to be all right.

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Hi! Can I request an Alicent Hightower x female reader imagine? Someone to hold her and comfort her ❤️ Do you do headcanons, and can you include a NSFW section? ❤️

(Gifs not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, dni unless 18+, oral, female!receiving, fingering, mentioned sa, female masturbation, thigh riding

A/N: Ohhh Nonny you've unleashed something I've been dying to write. Seven blessings to you ✨️

~~~

SFW:

You first met Alicent after she had been crowned Queen Consort to Viserys.

Your family, wanting to gain favor with the Crown, sent you to King's Landing to become one of Alicent's ladies-in-waiting.

So sweet and innocent, Alicent was graceful, pure, and beautiful to the public eye. And even though you agreed with those statements, you quietly observed that behind closed doors, she was merely sheltered and oblivious.

Under her father's watchful eye, you easily deduced that she was a pawn in a bigger game that was completely out of her control, but that didn't stop you from trying to disuade her from the dark path she was no doubt going down.

Out of all of her ladies-in-waiting, you pushed yourself into close contact with her out of all of them. Whether she knew your intentions or not, she only pretended to entertain the idea of being friends.

At least at first. Over time, you both actually grew to become close and entrusted friends, especially after Alicent became pregnant for the first time.

You were very supportive throughout her whole pregnancy. Despite the Grand Maester and the midwives trying to dismiss you, Alicent demanded that you stayed by her side as she went into labor.

Alicent began to notice her heart speeding whenever you were around and the feelings drove her into confusion. Ashamed of her feelings, she tried pushing them down at first.

But it's hard to do that when you were there for all of her pregnancies and spent more time with her children than anyone.

Even though it was your duty, you took great care in tending to Alicent. Her heart would race as you brushed her hair, her face turns red when you help her dress/undress. If you stood too close and she could feel your breath on her skin, her legs squeeze together without her consent.

She wanted to believe it was a childish, innocent crush. Something she felt when she was still close friends with Princess Rhaenyra, but this was much more than that. Alicent always wanted to be in your presence, to make you laugh, to talk to you with confidence, or even cry in your arms. She trusted you full heartedly. 

Alicent would touch you whenever it was appropriate, but tried to linger as long as she could.

You first assumed that Alicent was just lonely. She didn't have any friends and she was still young. Your hugs would last longer than expected, your scheduled tea time just as long.

When she started asking you to read to her as she settles down for her afternoon nap, you began to suspect that this was something more.

Alicent needed an excuse to watch your lips move and listen to the sounds of your voice, so she started asking you to read to her. That way, you would never notice her staring.

Out of the corner of your eye, you started to notice her stares, and the back of your neck began to feel warm. The days pass, and you continued to read to her every time she laid down to rest, until one day you tried to place a small kiss on her forehead when you thought she was asleep.

She wasn't, and the kiss ignited a fire inside her instead of quenching it. Now knowing how you felt, Alicent began to sneakily return the favor. She began to brush your hair after you did hers, listening to your own troubles, walking the gardens with you, and sticking flowers into your braids while muttering ‘beautiful’ under her breath.

To the public eye, the two of you were just close friends. Young women confiding in each other. Behind closed doors, Alicent has started asking you to lie next to her in bed as you read out loud. 

After a few more weeks, she grew bolder and would tell you to lie still as she experimented kissing you.

Knowing what she's been through, you let her be in control of her feelings and what she wanted to do. You didn’t respond to these otherwise small and innocent kisses, per her demand. You didn’t dare refuse her, not because she was the Queen, but because you didn’t want to frighten her. One day, she asked you to kiss her back and that sealed your fates.

It wasn't like you need to meet each other in secret. You were her lady-in-waiting and her best friend. All you had to do was wait for the other servants to leave the room before you could be left alone. No sneaking around was needed.

NSFW BELOW THE LINE

NSFW:

You know for a fact that she's never had a proper orgasm before you're a shitty husband, Viserys, I'm glad Aemma no longer has to deal with you.

At this point, you knew you loved her, and you also wanted her to feel relief for once in her life. One particular night, you decide to take the next step in seducing the Queen when she returned to her chambers, irritated and heartbroken about how Rhaenyra lied to her about losing her maidenhead. Even though she didn’t lose it to Daemon like she was originally accused of, it still hurt Alicent when the princess lied to her face.

After a glass of wine and venting her frustrations, Alicent consents for you to touch her, and you slowly guide her dress down to her feet while keeping your eyes locked, waiting for her to tell you to stop. But it never happened.

When she’s fully undressed, you show her how sex can be enjoyable for a woman. Being one yourself, you know just how to make her writhe and sigh in bliss.

After your very first night together, Alicent forgot why she was angry with Rhaenyra in the first place. With her sexual desires now forming in her mind, she understands that Rhaenyra was equally just as young and wanting to explore her urgent needs.

Almost every night after the first, you and Alicent make love, trying new things to heighten the pleasure.

Knowing that she has the worst experience being on her back, you positioned yourself on yours, practically begging her to sit on your face. You made a snide comment about your face being her rightful throne and you watched as her blush ran from her face and down her chest with amusement.

It takes some coaching, but eventually she lowered herself onto your face and although it felt strange for her at first, in minutes she was clinging onto the headboard with her head thrown back, moaning up at the ceiling.

With all embrassment thrown out the window, she rode your face for multiple orgasms, finally letting you properly breathe when everything becomes too sensitive and she collapsed in bed beside you.

Knowing she was still exhausted, you finished yourself off while staring into her eyes. Your back arched from how fierce your climax approached.

The start of your sex life was still rocky, with Alicent feeling too new and embarrassed by all of it. It didn’t help that once in a while, Viserys would summon her late at night to his chambers, and you’re forced to dress Alicent into something seductive and rub perfume onto her shoulders. 

On those particular nights, you’d kiss her until her lips were swollen, trying to melt the memory of you into her skin so those nights with the King are bearable.

When she returns the next morning, you draw her a warm bath and treat her like glass, her walls closing back up and not wanting to be touched.

But you take your time, and neither of you push each other into anything you’re uncomfortable with.

As years stretch on and Alicent comes out of her shell, she starts dropping her feigned love for her husband. She stops pretending to love Viserys and spends her time either raising her children or being with you.

She also becomes a little more demanding in your sex life.

If she asks you to go to her chambers and lay naked on her bed until she can join you, by the gods you better do it.

It doesn't matter whether she's top or bottom. Once she's comfortable and more outgoing, she's going to tell you what to do.

"Flip onto your front, my love, and spread your legs."

You did so obediently, and nearly let out a squeal when she grabbed your hips and lifted them up into the air until you were on your knees, spread open and exposed to the cool air. With one hand, she continues to push the top half of you into the mattress while the other hand trails shapes into your lifted ass and down your inner thighs. She teases circles around your clit until you're wet with anticipation, then her fingers go agonizingly slow into your fluttering pussy.

She ordered you to stay in that position despite making you orgasm three times, the oversensitivity plus your exhaustion driving your legs to shake uncontrollably, your face pressed into the pillow to muffle your screams of ecstasy.

She finally lets you collapse onto the bed but doesn't let you fully rest. She flips you over onto your back and pulls you down until your legs hang off the side of the bed. Being already wet and aching from torturing you with orgasm after orgasm, Alicent grinds onto your thigh through completion, both of her hands holding your breasts as she cries out.

Alicent becomes a lover that needs to be in control, for once in her life. To have a partner who will gladly hand her the reins because you trust and love her helps her remember that she’s more than just a pawn. Now, she’s the Queen.

Woo, be still my beating heart. It's been a while since I wrote smut so I hope it's okay. Hope you enjoyed!

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Could you maybe write something with dark dark Steve who has a huge size kink and crying kink and loves to humiliate?

School Days

Note: sorry it took so long. been kinda down. also hope i did OK with humiliation.

Summary: Co-worker makes you feel uncomfortable.

Warning: 18+Only, short reader, size kink, crying kink, humiliation kink, non consent, forced fingering and cock warming i think

Dark Coach Steve x Short Teacher Reader

📚

You had always had a love of teaching. Growing up your friends would always groan when it was your turn to pick what to play, because you always chose to play school.

You knew exactly what you wanted to do when you got to college. You wanted to shape young minds. It was fascinating watching them grow and learn right before your very eyes.

Shelby elementary hired you two years after you received all of your certificates. Replacing their beloved Mrs.Pepper Potts after she moved out of town with her husband.

You taught first graders. You preferred teaching the lower grades. The higher grades were a bit difficult. Competing for attention when most of the students where dealing with raging hormones proved an exhausting endeavor. Your short stature became a reoccurring issue too. During your student teacher days you realized the taller they got the more they seemed to not take you seriously.

At least working with the lower grades you were less likely to be confused as a student. You had lost track of how many times you were stopped in the hall by a colleague. With the lower grades you towered over your class and commanded respect with little effort.

📚

You felt exhausted. Your first parent teacher meeting was over. It was endearing and encouraging that so many parents had so many concerns about the development of their little ones. But their critiques on your credentials didn't fail to strike a nerve, an issue new teachers faced all the time. You smiled through it as you normally did. Letting them have their back handed remarks as you answered and waited out the clock.

When it was all over you needed a drink. You cleared up the mess they left for you, a preview of what to expect from their spawn.

When everything was in its place you tackled the blackboard. Taking out your stool you stood on tip toes erasing. You had the bright idea of outlining your curriculum on the board for all the parents to view. It was hard getting it all on the massive board, but with your step stool you got as high as you could go.

"Hey! Whoa you know that's dangerous." A voice rushed to your side as your stool tilted.

"Are you OK little one?" he asked helping you down.

God he's tall. You barely came eye to eye with his chest. You tensed in his arms and when he realized his mistake he released you.

"Oh sorry" he rubbed the back of his head slightly embarrassed. "I'm Steve Rogers." He reached out a hand for you to shake. You took it and introduced yourself. His firm grip swallowed your hand, when he squeezed you held in the hurt from the pressure.

Steve's presence was intimidating despite the smile he wore. When he released your hand, you took as step back, but he stepped forward.

He is just a close talker. Don't over analyze.

"Sorry again with your clothes I just assumed you were..." He motioned at your clothing.

Taking inspiration from Ms Frizz, your favorite animated teacher, you always wore colorful puffy skirts that depicted various things related to education or fairy tails. The look kept the attention of the youngsters, but it certainly didn't look childish.

"It's OK, but I am afraid you are a bit late for the meeting."

Spinning away you move to the other side of your desk to give yourself more space. "If you wouldn't mind filling in your information, encase of emergencies or special needs. I know you probably filled it out for the front office, but I like to have my own copy." You explained as you handed him a pen and the piece of construction paper with the other parents info.

He took it and filled it out. "I just erased the curriculum, but I can email you a copy."

"Did you also used to teach at Camdien?" Steve inquired, bending over your desk as he wrote. While you waited you packed up your belongings.

"Um yes I was a student teacher there. Did you have a child there too?"

"I coached there actually. Well was." He rose and approached you. Slipping your purse straps on your shoulder, you tried to remember if you seen his face before. You didn't recognize it. As striking as he was you doubted you would forget it.

But the athletic department lived in a world separate from the teachers. Their multiple championships brought in funding that went to their brand new athletic facility. The highly coveted building allowed them to live above the peasant class of the faculty. You had even heard a nonsensical rumor that they even had a Starbucks and onsite masseuse.

When he handed it back you reached out, but Steve pulled the paper just out of reach. Hovering it over your head like a bully playing keep away. You huff and frown after two attempts. You were not a child and would not be treated as such. Pursing your lips you made a move to leave. You would just go through the admin office to get the information.

"Aw don't pout, but I must say you do look adorable when you do." He smiled down at you as he blocked your retreat. His wholesome grin did not match the darkness in his eyes. There was a disconnect somewhere. You felt like a mouse before a lion. Were the other teachers like this? You were so eager to get started working you did little research in the school that so swiftly hired you. "Here you go."

Snatching the paper away you say, "thank you." It sounded slightly annoyed, but you did your best to choke down the edge.

Unhooking the lip of your bag you placed it with the others as his shadow clouded you. Ignoring it you side step him.

"Yeah I remember. I used to see you at Camdien." Steve recalled, blocking you once more. You stopped just short of bumping into him as you closed your bag. "Cute little thing, roaming the halls." Steve informed you, stepping closer once more, making you take a step back. The alarm bells blared in your head at that comment.

"Boy wasn't I relieved I wasn't crossing the line with all the thoughts I had." He chuckled as your back hit the chalkboard. You had to strain your neck to look him in the eye this close.

The principal was making his rounds soon. He wouldn't try anything right?

"Mr. Rogers-"

"Coach" he interrupted. He didn't touch you but that fact gave you very little relief. You felt your nails dig into your palm as you gripped the thin strap of your bag. Your arm the only barrier between you two. "Just call me Coach."

"Rogers!" Your saving grace, Principal Barnes, exclaimed from the door. Steve's body blocked you from James. "There you are. Nice to see your getting to know your colleagues."

"Yeah, just sharing stories from Camdien" Steve stepped aside to greet Principal James. His hand landed on the top of your head, messing your hair as he patted you playfully like a dog. You swallowed the discomfort as he moved to talk to James. You gathered the rest of your things as they focused their attention on each other.

"Oh yeah I forgot you both came from their."

You took that opportunity to make your exit. Walking fast mumbling a 'goodnight,' you bolted toward the door. They replied back, but you ignored it, allowing their chatter to fade the further down the hall you got.

📚

The first week of school was hectic. Lost students, late students, little accidents here and there, it ran the gambit. But nothing worried you more than P.E. period.

Steve was listed as your classes gym teacher and made the drop-off a chore. It surprised you how increasingly inappropriate he was becoming. Always stretching out your name flirtatiously in front of the children causing them to taunt you with 'OOO's, and pepper you with questions about the nonexistent relationship until you departed.

They stayed in line as you approached the double doors that led to the gymnasium. He was there, dressed in his sweat pants, gym shirt and the whistle dangled from his lips.

As you ushered them inside he caught site of you as he wrangled another group and smirked. It was unnerving especially when your students egged him on by making kissy noises loudly when they noticed him too. On one occasion he sent a note with one of your students asking you out. You ignored it.

You should've reported him you know, but what would they say 'Oh he was just being friendly' or any number of things to justify his behavior. You'd been in enough situations to know without evidence that met their standards nothing would happen.

📚

In the teachers lounge Steve made his presence known. You stared at your custom coffee mug as it sat high on the edge of the third shelf. You had half a mind to take and break his, as it taunted you from the first. You were growing more and more tired of his antics. This wasn't the first time and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

Two arms planted themselves on either side of you as something rested on your head.

It was him you knew it. Who else would it be?

"Need some help little one?" He hummed.

"God damn it Steve get off me" you barked You elbowed him, but the mountain of a man didn't budge.

"No need to be nasty."

You felt him push you into the counter, crushing you against it as he reached for your cup on the high shelf.

"Here you go" he said placing it daintily in front of you.

Calm down don't blow your lid he is doing this to fuck with you.

"Shouldn't you be watching my class?" You asked as you waited for him to move out of your way.

"Student teacher got me covered. You remember what that's like? Give them the work while we teachers kick back and relax."

He backed away allowing you to get the coffee, but stayed glued to your side. You ignored him, pulling out your phone and flopped on the couch, waiting for gym time to end.

Steve of course sat next to you crowding you into the corner. He boldly placed a hand on your thigh, you brushed it off, cursing at him to 'go away'. If you got up he would only follow so you crossed your legs and leaned into the arm of the couch. Don't let him get to you.

Steve stretched out his arm on the back of the couch. Even sitting next to you he towered over you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you in snugly. Your head resting against his tone chest. "God your so adorable."

"Steve!" you almost shriek at him as his other hand slyly crept under your skirt. "Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you."

You try to stand suddenly, but get jerked back down. Landing in the same awkward situation as before.

"Fuck you let me go" you hissed at him. He only chuckled as you tried to stop his hand from advancing up your skirt again. You became panicked the further he got.

Clamping your thighs tightly together as he wedged between your crossed legs. Your eyes shifted to the door before you, the couch sat across from the only entrance. If anyone came in they surely would be under the wrong assumptions.

His arm refused to budge as you attempted to pry him away. Steve was nothing but muscle, struggling was getting you no where, each shift pressed him hard against your sensitive area.

📚

"You know I've been nothing, but nice to you" Steve sounded disappointed.

"Stop please" you sounded panicked and desperate. Your nails dug into his arm as you tried to fight back an ache that taunted you as he teased.

"But you always give me attitude." He stated casually.

You slapped him. The sound loud in the empty room. Your eyes blurred with tears of frustration. Your hit did nothing, only leaving his cheek red, but from the smile on his face he liked it.

"And violent too. Hope you don't act that way around your class" he tsked while poking hard at the growing wet spot. You felt your spine curve and breath become heavier, your toes curled in your shoes as he increased his friction.

"Oh look at you. You like that don't you" he teased rubbing circles after noticing the tension in your legs relax. You cocked back to slap him again, but stopped when you felt his other hand at the back of your neck. It squeezed softly, but it was a warning nonetheless. You felt defeated. Not only was Steve bigger than you, he was stronger. Tears of frustration finally fell as you lowered your hand and let him do as he pleased.

"God your even cuter when you cry." He preened. "Tell you what. Since we don't have that much time....Kiss me and I will stop." You bristled as you felt him peel your panties to the side.

He didn't wait for your reply. Steve crashed his lips on to yours without warning. You flinched expecting pain, but it was soft. It was so tender that with anyone else they would given and close their eyes, accept it, but you couldn't.

"Stop..Steve.. Please" You panted over his lips, pushing at his chest as his fingers pushed into you. He didn't stop, the kiss only embolden him to go further. You whimpered and moaned as he took from you.

"Give me your panties" he asked pulling away from you, but his fingers still curled inside. "You promised you'd stop" you remind him, wiping away tears.

He wasn't going to relent, you could tell by the determination in his eyes. You felt exposed and embarrassed. Anyone could walk in at any moment and he knew it. He would probably get a slap on the wrist while you would need to find employment else where to escape the shame.

"I promise this time" he said lowly. "No tricks."

Swallowing your pride you lifted in your seat, he moved just enough to let the fabric pass. Rolling them down your knees quickly you hand them over. His hands slipped from you as you pass it. He held them up to the light and examined the wetness he created. Wiping away tears, you stood and bolted toward the door, but stopped when Steve whistled loudly.

"I think you forgot something."

You turned to find him pointing at your discarded mug.

"If you leave it, I leave this in it", he waved your shame in the air.

"Don't forget to wash it....don't want it to leave a stain" he ordered from the couch. You walked back on edge. Snatching the mug from the other side of the table. You rushed to the sink and rinsed your cup. More tears fell as you felt the wetness between your legs. The mirror mounted above the sink allowed you to examine yourself. Your mascara bled a bit and lipstick smeared, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a dab of a napkin.

You swore to never step foot in the lounge ever again. If you needed to eat you would do it in your car or at your desk. This was supposed to be a magical time for you, but with Steve it had turned into a nightmare.

You sniffed as you blinked away the tears, forcing yourself to stop crying. Gym time was almost over and you needed to pull yourself together and collect your class.

"You know how often I wonder about you" Steve said rising from the couch, you watched him carefully from the mirror. You fumbled your mug, the water splashing back at you.

"Steve you promised" you said meekly, utterly defeated. He stared at you through the mirror, you felt his eyes watch your discomfort as you picked up the cup.

"What would the parents think if they knew their kids teacher walks around the class with no panties on" he tutted. You hung your head low and noticed your panties balled up in his hand as he rested it on the counter.

"I also wonder" He said pressing you into the sink. You felt his resolve through his sweat pants. "Do you fit?"

Fit?

Then it became clear. You felt his cock against your backside. You tried frantically to flea, but Steve caught you by the neck.

"I'm willing to bet you can't even fit half of me inside" he whispered in your ear as he bent you over the sink, crushing. "If I'm wrong I will let you go." Your eyes rounded as he hauled up your skirt. You whimpered as the cool air of the staff room tickled your exposed rear.

Steve was really going to fuck you in the staff room. These walls were paper thin and he knew it. Your head swirled in panic as you pleaded with him to stop. He only chuckled and shimmied down his sweat pants as you swatted back at him.

He angled and aligned himself as you sobbed. The tip slipped through your wet thighs, finding the target of its need.

You choked down a guttural moan as he breathed out 'good girl'. He watched your face as every inch stretched through your insides.

"Its is too much" you gasped out, trembling from the pressure, dancing on your tip toes as you adjusted around him.

"Its all inside" he praised the accomplishment. Forcing you to look at the mirror. "You fit me so good...see."

The mirror reflected your assault to your horror. "All cute holding me inside, taking everything I got" he said while stretching you.

Shooting pains radiated from your core as sharp breaths escaped you.

"Look at you" he taunted "coming apart just for me.... "

You heard the door to the room open and close quickly as you panted wildly. Steve didn't pull out, unabashed, letting whomever take in his pale ass as he continued to stuff you.

You didn't know who saw you, you only hoped his massive body hid you and your shame.

📚

[opinated-user]

I heard in this blog that lily is aphobic, Could I see how? since she's now mention sex repulsed people and asexuals in her anti kink discourses

if you had read this blog then you'd know why already, but assuming this is still being asked in good faith. off the top of my head: -disrespecting canon ace/aro characters. Elethyn is an ace character that Lizzy made and LO comissioned to have SA by dogs behind Lizzy's back. she ships Lilith from the toh with Hooty, a bird like demon creature. see a pattern of her putting these ace women in sexual situations with non human creatures? -for years she didn't tag her nsfw content until she was nagged enough to do it. for years she has openly spoken about her sex life, her sexual practices and kinks without any warning. three times this woman was stripped on youtube without a proper warning. even after supposedly getting over her kinks because of the miraculous work of her supposed therapist, she still talks incredibly gross and vomiting inducing sexual jokes involving underage characters. this is the same person who said she wanted her brownfacing avatar to be sexualized while she talks about cartoons for children. this is not a woman that has ever cared about people uncomfortable with sex or didn't consent to be a witness to it. -the only ace character in pokemadhouse that doesn't represent a real person is G. G, the character that has been call out countless times for taking advantage of a sleeping child as a full grown adult, a pedophile in fact, only to later keep chasing that child into adulthood to reciprocate her romantic feelings despite being turned down multiple times. LO wrote this pedophilic groomer and then, to try to downplay it, said this same character was an sex repulsed asexual all along as if that it's meant to make the grooming and pedophilia any better. do i need to explain how terrible that is? -the fiasco romancegate. LO attempted to scam her audience into doing free labor for her as usual, asking for a very specific kind of story she could have commissioned if she wanted to, without any mention of an actual prize. when people started questioning what were exactly her expectations, it quickly became apparent that LO was only interested on a very specific kind of identities to be represented. not non binary women, not trans women and definitely not ace or aro women. she made people with these identities feel like they weren't good enough and she has never owned up to it. -the only times she even talks about ace/aro characters is to say that representation isn't good enough... without ever bringing up "good" ace/aro characters as any alternative, either because she actually doesn't know or doesn't care. in any case... why does she even think she has any authority to define for ace/aro people what is good representation for them? -(allegedly, i wasn't there for this so take it with a grain of salt) she went to stream to claim that another youtuber was lying about being LGBT, despite never claiming as such, and about only ever feeling attraction towards his wife because, quote, "everyone wants to fuck."

i'm sure there are more examples someone else can bring up, but these are the one i can immediately remember.

[killed-by-choice]

Dawn Ravenell, 13 (USA 1985)

Dawndalea Ravenell, who went by Dawn, most likely would have had a bright future. She was a 13-year-old musical prodigy on the honor roll at school. She loved to sing —especially gospel music— and sang with her school’s glee club. Her parents were the pastor and minister at their church and had a family singing group. With her love of music, Dawn was the lead singer. She had parents who loved her dearly and was very close to her family. She had 3 biological siblings and 2 adopted siblings. The family of 8 was very happy together. Dawn’s mother remembers that Dawn would help with the cleaning and helped take care of her younger siblings.

Up until her death, the only real issue between Dawn and her parents was her relationship with her steady boyfriend for the last part of her life. He was 15 years old. Mrs. Ravenell was concerned about their relationship, which seemed more serious than she would expect from a couple at that age, but Dawn thought her mother was being old-fashioned. Eventually, her parents dropped the subject because there didn’t seem to be any problems with the two teenagers.

But when she was in 8th grade, Dawn got pregnant. She was too embarrassed to tell her parents, so she turned to a school counselor. Under New York laws, the counselor was not even allowed to give a student an over-the-counter pain medication without written permission from their parents, but it was legal for the counselor to secretly arrange for a 13-year-old girl to have an abortion.

Dawn was 21 weeks pregnant when she and her boyfriend took the subway to an abortion facility called Eastern Women’s Center (EWC also killed Dawn Mack and Venus Ortiz). The young couple didn’t know the danger Dawn was in and did not have informed consent for the risks. They were two minors alone in New York City, their parents didn’t even know where they were and Dawn was about to have an invasive operation.

Dawn’s boyfriend used a relative’s credit card to pay the hundreds of dollars to the abortion facility. Apparently nobody cared that a teenage boy was using someone else’s credit card to pay for an operation. Even though Dawn was terrified, the abortionist inserted laminaria dilators and told the children to return the next day. When they did, the abortion facility didn’t bother to record her weight or age. Despite the fact that Dawn was 13 years old, they made her sign a consent form to be put under general anesthesia and have a second-trimester abortion. Dawn was also not told in advance not to eat or drink, which is crucial for anyone about to be put under general anesthesia. As attorney Thomas Principe suing for Dawn's estate, later told the jurors, "This child was just another piece (of meat) on the assembly line."

Dawn’s abortion began at 1:10. She was given only half of the anesthesia needed for a 10 to 15 minute operation. Only 5 to 7 minutes after the abortion started, Dawn woke up on the operating table.

The poor girl was terrified. Because she was not given any instructions on what to do before the anesthesia, her stomach was full. She choked on her own vomit, which aspirated into her lungs. The abortionists quickly gave her a higher dose of anesthesia and shoved a 75 cent plastic tube down her throat. It would later be discovered that body parts from Dawn’s baby were left inside of her after the abortion.

At 1:25, Dawn was placed in a recovery room and left completely unattended. Nobody even bothered to remove the plastic tube from her throat.

Soon, Dawn woke up again. She was once again left choking and gagging on the plastic in her throat and the stomach acid in her lungs. This time there was nobody there. The terrified 13-year-old choked on her own vomit, literally drowning in it. In the process, she suffered cardiac arrest and extreme brain damage from oxygen deprivation.

Eventually, a nurse noticed what was going on and called 911. It was much too late.

Dawn was rushed to the hospital and put on a respirator. Then she was transferred to St. Luke's Hospital, which contacted her family.

Dawn’s parents were never even told that she was pregnant until the hospital called them and told them that Dawn was in the ICU. The family rushed to see her. At St. Luke's they encountered Dawn's boyfriend, who was scarred for life and sobbing uncontrollably. The traumatized 15-year-old had not had any warning that Dawn could be killed.

Even though Dawn was placed on a respirator, it was too late to save her. She was brain-dead. After 18 days without the slightest response or brain activity, she was removed from her life support.

Her heartbroken family sued for Dawn’s painful death. The trial was painful for the Ravenells. One of the more horrible bits of trial testimony occurred when a lawyer cross-examining Klein(one of the abortionists), asked whether Dawn's age bothered the abortionist. Klein callously replied, "Oh, no. I've done 13-year olds before. When they're 10, maybe I'll notice."

Although the Ravenell family originally asked for a verdict in the amount of $1,000,000 against defendants Klein and Augente (the two abortionists who killed Dawn and her baby), the jury declared Dawn's death "an abomination," and returned a verdict of $1,225,000. Klein was held liable for 20% of the award and Augente for 80%. The jury award was also the highest amount ever won in the state of New York for a wrongful-death abortion case, eclipsing the previous record by more than a half million dollars.

Unfortunately, the trial judge felt the amount was excessive and reduced the award to just $400,000, which the bereaved parents decided to accept instead of enduring another trial. Unlike the abortion clinic itself, Klein and Augente both carried malpractice insurance and their insurers paid the damages.

Dawn Ravenell was killed by an abortion done without her parent’s knowledge or consent. Parental consent laws and restrictions on abortion could have saved this bright young singer from an excruciating death choking on her own vomit.

[wri0thesley]

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns. 

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

[merv606]

Hello! (>o.o)> ❤️

A/B/O Silverusso Matchmaker Au!

So Omegas of any gender are the lowest of the low in Society, and have very few rights. At the age of consent on their birthday, their picture/information are posted on the only Matchmaking site, essentially putting them up for auction to a Beta or an Alpha of they are desired enough. But the best Omegas are always claimed/reserved for an Alpha of any social standing, but the better an Alpha has done in life, the better the Omega they will get.

Alpha!Terry has done very well for himself - filthy rich, businessman, fit and handsome etc. - but has been searching for an Omega for a while as he wants to settle down, get married, and start a family. He goes to the Matchmaking site and no one catches his eye. Bored and annoyed, he goes to the Discount Section for Undesirable Omegas to amuse himself. This is a section for Omegas who have had a failed Match with a Beta/Alpha, who are older, plain, emotional issues, etc. That’s where Terry comes across Daniel.

Omega!Daniel is 20. At 18 he slept with another Alpha, but didn’t mate or scentbond with him, and the Alpha left him - and their daughter, Samantha, now barely 2. Daniel is poor, and with the few rights given to Omegas, struggling to make it with Sam. An Omega who isn’t a virgin, had a child without being Mated, didn’t scentbond, and is now without an Alpha is considered deeply shameful in society, little more than a common whore, an absolute pariah in every way.

But none of this deters Terry, who is immediately attracted to Daniel - the big dark eyes, fluffy brown hair, small build and sweet smile. Sam is very adorable too, and Terry finds himself looking at their pictures on the site, seeing from the pictures and blurbs how deeply Daniel loves his little girl. But Terry also picks up on Daniel’s personality - he comes across as very affectionate but also feisty. Kind, but proud. Poor, but determined. Most Omegas are so downtrodden, but Daniel is full of life and not shy. Terry doesn’t even realize how hard he’s falling - it’s happening so quickly. Terry also discovers that he and Daniel have things in common: an interest in karate, family life, being parents, etc. 

Terry immediately tells his secretary Margaret to set up an appointment. She, and many others, think Terry has finally lost it - why get a used no-longer-pure Omega with a child when Terry, considering his high social ranking and pure Alpha bloodline, can get any Omega he wants and have his own biological children? But what Terry wants, Terry gets.

Bonus points if Terry buys Daniel after only meeting him once because he’s fallen so hard for him. He has Daniel and Sam move in with him, but Daniel plays bratty and hard to get despite both of them immediately scentbonding with each other because he’s  frightened that Terry will abandon him and Sam. Terry’s not evil in this AU, so he waits for Daniel to come to him, knowing Daniel will fall for him and beg to be mated with him knowing Daniel is very attracted to him in every way. Meanwhile, Terry and Sam grow close, and Terry is deeply amused (Daniel horrified and embarrassed) when Sam innocently asks one when she’ll be getting a sister.

“S-Sam!” Daniel says, blushing furiously and looking so adorable that Terry just wants to knot him then and there.

“A sister? What about a brother?” Terry smiles

at Sam pouting on his knee, while Daniel continues to turn more red nearby.

“No, boys are gross,” Sam says frowning. 

“Really?” Terry looks over her head towards Daniel. “I find some boys to be very nice, you know. I like those boys very much.”

Daniel just looks away from Terry, cheeks red, pouting, and dangerously pretty. Terry just smirks, sniffing confusion, annoyance, and arousal from the Omega. Any day now.

HI ♥️

Honestly - sat on this for awhile and I have to admit, I have nothing to say to this that could possible add to it.

It’s perfection.

The idea / their personalities - 10/10 would recommend and read.

Imagine the reaction too - people are absolutely gobsmacked with how whipped Terry is - that an omega like Daniel managed to wrap Terri around his little finger without even really trying.

All the “better” omegas of good breeding - the ones who were told they’d get the best alphas - the ones who tried to shoot their shot with Terry and were rejected.

The scandal - the gossip.

Terry probably spends his time buying and shutting down any tabloid that bad mouths his mate 😂

Terry being equally charmed by Sam - Daniel’s mini me.

All of it 😻