#and whom he raised his daughter to be for some reason

[3liza]

not sure this extremely popular and influential show really needs to be relitigated or subjected to apologia but I was struck by the pervasive anti-technocratic themes and continuous, pointed critiques of media/America/internet/americans. i mean I was there I'm old I was at Occupy Wall Street while this show was airing etc. but what struck me about it wasn't the fact that we've been saying the same shit for ten+, almost twenty years but more like how it feels like so much "has happened" since 2009 and how much "is happening" right now when actually there has been a sort of treading water in some respects. most episodes of Parks and Rec could be shown to an 18 year old and told it was a currently-airing show on Prime and I think most 18 year olds would just believe you, because there are very few tells. maybe we owe Francis Fukuyama an apology after all

Chris Pratt came back from one season break on parks and rec having lost 50 lbs for whatever his first marvel movie was and the light was gone from his eyes for the rest of the show. i haven't looked it up but I assume he got into Hillsong around the same time. it's actually startling how stark the difference is before and after. it's such a tragedy too because chubby golden retriever jack black impersonation chris pratt was actually fun and charming and the marvel guy makes you want to peel your skin off

[eu-nicola]

one night

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: pregnancy, and idk you tell me

word counter: 8005

author’s note: english is not my first language

The night was charged with a strange electricity that you didn't know how to explain. It was one of those improvised meetings in the house of a mutual friend, where laughter and talk mixed with the low sound of the music. You had known Max all your life, shared years of friendship, confidences and mutual support. He had always been your refuge, the kind of person who could read you with a single look.

That night, however, everything felt different.

Max was sitting next to you on the couch, closer than usual, and you couldn't help but notice every detail of his presence. The way his fingers played with the edge of his glass, the sound of his deep laughter when someone told an absurd joke, and how his eyes seemed to look for yours more than necessary. You tried to ignore it, attributing everything to your imagination, but it was useless. There was something there, something that both seemed to feel but did not want to admit.

The night advanced and the hours became more blurry. Most of the guests had left, leaving only a small group of close friends. But even they began to disappear, until you found yourself alone with Max in the dimly lit room.

"Another glass?" he offered you, getting up to fill your glass of wine.

"I don't know if I should," you replied, laughing softly, but you accepted anyway.

The conversation became more intimate, the topics more personal. They talked about the moments they had shared, how they had changed on time. At some point, Max leaned towards you, his expression more serious than usual.

"Have you ever wondered...?" he began, but left the phrase in the air.

"What?" you asked, feeling how your heart was racing.

He shook his head, as if he had decided not to say it. But his eyes told you something he couldn't put into words. Then it happened. A moment of courage - or madness - led you to close the distance between the two. The kiss was unexpected, intense, full of years of repressed feelings that finally found a way out.

The night continued between caresses and whispers, the outside world disappearing completely. For a few hours, everything felt like it was fine, as if this was what both had been waiting for without knowing it.

But the next morning, reality struck like a bucket of cold water. Max was in the kitchen when you woke up, his movements tense, avoiding your gaze. They barely spoke, an uncomfortable silence that looked nothing like the dynamics they had had for years.

"Last night..." he began, scratching the back of his neck, "it was... unexpected.

"Yes, it was," you admitted, pretending to feel a tranquility that you didn't feel.

They both knew that something had changed, something they couldn't ignore, but they didn't know how to handle it either. So, slowly, they began to move away. Messages that were previously constant became sporadic, and then non-existent. The calls stopped. His absence hurt, but you didn't know what to do about it.

Weeks later, while trying to move on with your life, you realized that something was not right. Morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the absence of your period led you to buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, your hands shaking while you waited for the result.

Two lines. Positive.

Your mind was filled with questions, fears and doubts, but one thing was clear: the baby was Max's. And although your first instinct was to call him, reason prevailed. Max had been in a serious relationship with Kelly for a while, a woman who had a little daughter whom he had accepted as his own. You knew he was committed to that life, and you couldn't ruin it all.

You decided to keep quiet. You would raise your baby alone, without complicating anyone else's life. But deep down, you knew that this secret would not be easy to carry. The life you had shared with Max felt like a distant memory, a "and if" that would never have a response.

You refused to think too much about what it implied. The more you thought about it, the more you sank into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: fear, sadness, pride, and a kind of determination that you didn't know you had. You knew that your life would change drastically, but you also knew that you didn't want Max to be part of this new chapter. Not because you didn't trust him, but because his life was already defined, and you didn't want to be the person who broke it to pieces.

The decision was clear to you: you needed space, distance, something that would help you start again without Max's shadow and his responsibilities. So, little by little, you began to prepare your escape.

First, you stopped frequenting the places where you knew you might meet him. You changed your phone number, blocked almost all mutual friends on your social networks and pretended that you needed "time for yourself" when someone asked about your disappearance. Weeks passed, and your pregnancy began to be harder to hide. You looked in the mirror every morning, noticing the changes in your body and reminding yourself why you were doing it.

One day, after a visit to the doctor, you sat in your car and made the final decision. You looked at the familiar streets around you, the places that had always been your home, and you knew it was time to leave them behind.

London. You had always wanted to live there, and now it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start over. Without telling anyone but your boss, you submitted your resignation, packed your things and booked a plane ticket. The plan was simple: you would settle in an apartment, work in your family's company as they had wanted so long, and raise your baby away from any possibility of Max discovering the truth.

When you arrived in London, the city greeted you with a cold and humid air, typical of early autumn. You moved to an apartment in a quiet area, with enough cafes and parks nearby to keep you busy.

Then you had disappeared from the digital radar for months. Your social networks, which used to be full of spontaneous photos, updates and everyday moments, had been left in absolute silence. You hadn't posted anything for a long time, and although you kept looking from time to time, reviewing the stories and publications of others, you made sure not to leave any traces of your presence. It was as if you had become a ghost that I watched from a distance.

People began to notice your absence. You knew it because, when reviewing your old posts, you found endless comments asking you where you were. "Everything okay?", "We miss you", "Why haven't you uploaded anything?" some said. Others simply left emojis, hearts, or words of support. But even when nostalgia for your previous life invaded you, you still didn't respond.

It wasn't exactly fear, but a feeling of wanting to protect this very personal stage. The pregnancy had been a roller coaster of emotions: illusion, uncertainty, and moments of loneliness that you fought remembering why you were doing this. Your little world in London had become your refuge, and sharing it with the rest of the world still didn't seem necessary to you.

But everything changed when the month came in which you decided to know the gender of your baby. The doctor's appointment was marked on your calendar, and you couldn't deny that you were excited and a little nervous. It was a strange feeling, as if knowing the gender made everything even more real, as if the baby that grew inside you began to take the form of a person you would soon meet.

The doctor's room was lit with a warm light, and the constant sound of the monitor filled the air. You lay back on the stretcher, taking a deep breath while the doctor applied the cold gel to your belly. The screen in front of you showed the blurred silhouette of your baby, and you felt that knot in your chest that always invaded you when you saw it.

"Do you want to know the gender?" the doctor asked, with a smile.

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment they told you was unforgettable. A child. A child who would soon become the center of your world. You smiled as tears accumulated in your eyes. For an instant, all the doubts, fears and difficult decisions vanished, replaced by pure and simple happiness.

That same afternoon, while you were walking back to your apartment, you decided it was time. For the first time in months, you felt the impulse to share this part of your life with others. It wasn't out of pressure, or to please anyone, but because you wanted to celebrate this little miracle you were waiting for.

You took a couple of pictures, wearing a white dress that highlighted your belly. The brightness of your skin, the pride in your eyes and the shy smile on your face were more than evident. You weren't the type to plan great revelations, but you knew you wanted to do something special.

You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully selecting the images and writing a description that reflected how you felt:

"After months of silence, I finally want to share the reason why my world changed. I'm expecting a beautiful baby, a boy who will arrive soon to light up my life. I can't explain in words the joy and love I feel knowing that I will be a mom. Thank you to everyone who has been asking about me and worrying in silence. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time. 💙”

You took a breath before publishing it, hesitating for a moment. What would happen if this reached Max's ears? You knew I would do it but you pushed those thoughts away from your mind and pressed the publish button.

Within minutes, notifications began to flood your phone. Comments of surprise, love and congratulations appeared one after another. "Congratulations!", "You're going to be an amazing mom!", "A child? What a thrill!". The answer was overwhelming, and as you read them, you felt a warmth that enveloped you.

You allowed yoursellelless to smile again. For the first time in a long time, you let the world know a part of your new reality.

You didn't expect all that to go so far. After posting the news on your social networks, you felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability. You had shared your truth with the world, but you couldn't control who could see it, how they would react or what they would say behind your back.

Then Max's message arrived.

It was almost ten o'clock at night and you were on your couch, with your legs crossed and a bowl of ice cream in your hands, responding to the hundreds of comments that kept coming. Your phone vibrated, and when you looked at the notification, you felt how the air left your lungs.

It was a message from Max.

"Congratulations to you and the baby's father. I hope you are well. Really, I'm glad to know that you're happy."

You were frozen, reading and rereading the message as if you were unable to process it. How did he get your number? Who had told him? Why had I decided to write to you after so long? All these questions crowded into your mind, but none had an immediate answer.

You didn't know what to do. The most instinctive part of you wanted to ignore it, as if you had never seen the message. But another part, more emotional, I knew that would not be fair. He had been kind, had respected the distance, and had not hinted at anything that could complicate things.

You put the phone aside, squeezing your eyes as you took a deep breath. You had to answer, but what to say? You couldn't reveal the truth, that was clear. But you didn't want to sound cold or distant either. So you took your time, thinking about every word, every semicomon, before writing:

"Thank you, Max. I'm fine and so is the baby. I'm glad to hear from you."

You hit "send" before you could regret it, your heart beating hard while you waited, not knowing if he would answer. Every vibration of your phone made you jump, but the minutes passed, then the hours, and nothing else arrived.

Silence was a relief and torture at the same time. On the one hand, you were grateful that he didn't insist, that he didn't ask questions that you couldn't or didn't want to answer. But on the other hand, you wondered what he would be thinking, if he had really believed your version.

That night, before going to sleep, you thought about his message over and over again. It was so typical of Max: courteous, respectful, but letting out that closeness that had always existed between you. You knew him well enough to know that he must be curious, even if he didn't say it.

Max didn't write to you again. There were no more messages, calls or contact attempts. And although one part of you hoped it wasn't like that, another, more practical, deeply thanked him. The conversation had been at a neutral point, without complications or confrontations, exactly as you wanted.

The days passed with a strange tranquility. Since Max's message, you had not heard from him again, and life in London was on course. Your daily routines had become a kind of comfort: working from home, walking through nearby parks and mentally preparing for the arrival of your baby. But that calm was suddenly broken when your family called you with news that you did not expect.

You were lying on the couch, reviewing a list of things for the baby, when your mother called you. Her voice sounded excited, almost as if she was holding herst out so as not to scream with joy.

"We have something to tell you," he said, without even saying hello first.

"What happened?" you asked, anticipating that something important was coming.

“Your father and I have decided to go back to Monaco. The company is doing better than ever, and we believe it is the perfect time to return home. We've been away too long.”

The news hit you like a gust of cold air. Monaco Your lifelong home, the place where you had grown up, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you. But also the place you had left behind when you moved to London, in search of a new beginning.

"When do you plan to move?" you asked, trying to sound calmer than you felt.

"In a few weeks." We want you to come with us, of course. It's time for us to get back together, especially now that you're expecting a baby.

The proposal left you silent. You knew that your mother didn't say it with bad intentions; she was excited about the idea of having her first grandson around. But for you, the decision was not so simple. London had become your refuge, the place where you had managed to rebuild your life away from everything that tied you to your past. Returning would mean facing everything you had been avoiding, starting with Max.

Monaco was not a place where you could easily hide. Your family was well known, with important connections in the business and social circles of the city. If you came back, everyone would be behind you with questions. And even worse, there was a high probability that you would cross paths with Max during the Formula 1 break.

The following days were a storm of thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, the idea of being alone in London terrified you. With the baby on the way, you knew you would need support, and your family had always been by your side in important moments. But on the other hand, returning to Monaco meant opening a door that you had closed with so much effort.

You sat in front of the window of your small apartment one night, looking at the city lights while reflecting. You were mature enough not to worry about what people would say, but facing Max was something else. You knew each other, and you knew that his presence had an effect on you that you had never been able to fully control.

Finally, after days of thinking and rethinking, you made a decision.

You would return to Monaco.

It wouldn't be easy, but you were tired of living in fear. You didn't want your child to be born in a place where you felt isolated and vulnerable. Your family was important to you, and you knew you could trust them to support you, even if they didn't fully understand why you had made certain decisions.

The next day, you called your mother to give her the news.

"I'm going back with you," you said, your voice firm but with a touch of nervousness.

She couldn't hide her joy. He started talking about the plans for the trip, how they would organize everything so that you were comfortable. His enthusiasm made you smile, although a part of you was still restless.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye. You packed your things, silently saying goodbye to London and the small shelter you had built there. When the day of your departure came, you looked for the last time at the streets that had become your temporary home, promising yourself that, whatever happens in Monaco, you would be strong.

The plane landed in Monaco at sunset, and the view of the city filled you with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. It was as if a part of you had never really left. But you knew the real test was yet to come. Max was there, somewhere, and sooner or later, you would have to face him.

It didn't take long for that, "The event" as your family used to say was something typical: a great meeting in one of the most exclusive lounges in Monaco, where the closest families could live together. Your parents had organized it as a kind of welcome to resume old connections after returning to the city. From the invitation, you knew that it would be inevitable to cross paths with people from the past, but you didn't think too much about who might be. There were so many names, so many familiar faces, that you assumed you could stay on the sidelines without drawing too much attention.

You dressed up with care that night, choosing a simple white dress that enhanced your figure. The fabric flowed gently over your growing belly, marking it delicately without being too flashy. You left your hair loose, with natural waves, and applied light makeup. You wanted to see yourself well, but without trying too hard.

When we arrived at the event, the room was already full. Laughter and conversations filled the air, and the children ran back and forth while the adults met in small groups. There was something familiar in the atmosphere, something that transported you to the years when you had also been a girl in those meetings. It was at one of these parties where you met Max.

Years ago...

You were a restless girl, full of curiosity and not afraid to talk to anyone, even if they were older than you. Max, on the other hand, was more reserved, even a little grumpy for his age. However, somehow, you found a way to break his serious facade. With your energetic personality, you managed to let my guard down. To everyone's surprise, he, who always seemed uncomfortable in these meetings, got along with you from the beginning. In those days, both became inseparable, exploring together every corner of these events while the adults chatted.

Returning to the present...

That memory made you smile a little, but it also made you feel a knot in your stomach. You tried to shake the nostalgia and focus on the night. You walked among the guests, chatting with those who approached you, most of them congratulating you on the pregnancy. Although you felt out of place, you tried to stay calm.

That's when you saw it.

Max was standing near one of the tables, dressed in a dark suit that sat him spotlessly. He was accompanied by Kelly, and her little daughter. The air seemed to disappear from your lungs instantly.

He also saw you.

For a second, your eyes met, and his expression changed. He seemed surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but he immediately regained his composure. You, on the other hand, felt that your heart was beating so hard that it was hard for you to breathe. Instinctively, you turned on your heels, looking for a way out. You weren't ready to face him, even less with Kelly by his side.

But Max was faster.

Before you could disappear into the crowd, he and Kelly approached you. His every step made the panic inside you increase. You wanted to run, excuse yourself, anything to avoid that moment, but there was no escape.

"Hey!" Max said, with a smile that seemed contained, as if he was also dealing with something internal. His voice was warm, as if the months of silence between you had not existed. He pointed at Kelly and said—: “This is Kelly, my girlfriend.”

Kelly smiled politely and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Max has told me that you two have been friends since you were little.

Your mind was going a thousand per hour, but you managed to force a smile and shake his hand.

"Yes, that's right. For... many years” you replied, striving to keep your voice stable.

Max, as if he wanted to relieve the tension, added with a more relaxed smile:

"It's amazing to see you here, and congratulations again, both for you and for the baby's father.”

The words "baby's father" echoed in your mind like an echo. Kelly also congratulated you, and although there was nothing in his words that sounded malicious, you felt that your whole body tensed up.

"Thank you," you managed to say, nodding with a shy smile.

You couldn't take it anymore. You made up the first excuse you could think of.

"Excuse me, I need to go get something to drink." It has been a pleasure to see you.

Before they could say anything else, you walked away with quick steps, feeling the eyes of both of them fixed on your back. You didn't stop until you were far away, in a corner of the living room where you could catch your breath.

Your heart kept beating hard, and your hands were shaking. You had managed to get out of that conversation, but the meeting had removed all the emotions you had tried to bury. Max was there, and although you hadn't admitted it out loud, seeing him had made everything feel real again.

The night continued as a blur of superficial conversations and forced laughter. Every time Max and his little family appeared in your line of sight, you found a way to dodge them, pretending that someone else required your attention. You kept busy talking to acquaintances, checking your phone and serving yourself lemon water in an attempt to distract yourself. All in vain. His presence weighed like a cloud on you, a constant that you could not ignore even if you tried.

As soon as you finished pretending to be interested in a business conversation, you decided you needed a break. The bustle of the living room began to suffocate you, and the fresh air outside seemed like the perfect solution. You walked towards the gardens, feeling the relief of the silence as you left the music and laughter behind.

The sky of Monaco was clear, and the city lights were reflected in the nearby water. You recharged against a railing, closing your eyes and letting the breeze caress your face. For a moment, the world seemed calmer, less complicated.

Until you heard his voice behind you.

"It's not very typical of you to escape from the party."

You turned quickly, with your heart racing. Max was there, with his hands in his pockets and an expression that you didn't know how to interpret. He seemed relaxed, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel that he had come with a purpose.

"I didn't escape. I just needed a little air” you replied, trying to sound casual while your hands fiddled with the railing.

Max approached, leaving enough space between you, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

"It was nice to see you today. I didn't expect to find you here," he said, his words loaded with something you couldn't define.

"I say the same," you replied, looking at the horizon instead of him.

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Your family must be excited about the baby and his father too. I'm sure they're spoiling you a lot.”

You smiled slightly, although his tone made you feel a pang in your chest. You decided it was better to be honest before he continued to assume things.

"They are happy, yes. But my baby doesn't have a father.”

Max seemed to stop in his tracks. His expression changed, and for a moment he seemed to be looking for the right words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know."

You looked at him then, meeting his look that seemed sincerely hurt.

"Don't do it," you told him, your tone firm but without hardness. “Don't be regretted. I'm happy, Max. My family is happy. I can't ask for more. This child will be surrounded by love, and that's all that matters.”

Max nodded slowly, but his eyes continued to reflect something else, something he didn't say out loud.

"I always thought you would be an incredible mom," he said after a moment, with a small smile.

You forced yourself to smile too, although his comment stirred you inside. You wanted to change the subject, prevent the conversation from taking a more emotional turn, but Max was the one who spoke first.

"I want to be in your life again."

His words were like a direct blow to the chest. You looked at him, stunned, trying to understand exactly what he meant.

"Max..." you started, but he raised a hand, interrupting you.

"I'm not saying that I'm going to get into something that doesn't belong to me. I just... I want to be part of your life again, as we were before. I could be a good uncle for that little one," he added, with a smile that seemed sincere, although also somewhat sad.

That was too much for you. His words, his tone, the way he seemed so sure of wanting to be close but at the same time setting limits... It was a reminder of what had been and what it could not be. You felt your heart tighten, as if the air became denser.

"I would love to have you back in my life, Max. You've always been a good friend” you managed to say, although it was hard for you to keep your voice stable.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours for an eternal second. Then he looked towards the house, as if something was calling him back.

"I'm glad to hear it. See you inside," he said softly, before turning around and walking towards the living room.

You stayed there, watching how his figure disappeared between the lights of the party. You felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn't fully decipher. There was something reassuring in knowing that he wanted to be in your life, but also something deeply painful in hearing the words "good friend" come out of his lips.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump in your throat. You knew that the best thing was to return too, but before you needed a few more minutes to pull yourself together.

When the night finally came to an end, and while you were helping your mother say goodbye to the last guests, you felt the exhaustion creep into every fiber of your body. Between smiles, short conversations and the unexpected meeting with Max, everything had been a whirlwind of emotions. You went up to your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long sigh. You had succeeded. You had survived that night without collapsing, although the cracks in your facade were deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took off your dress carefully, letting the fresh air ease your skin. You put on a comfortable nightgown and got rid of the makeup with slow movements. Every step of your nightly routine was an attempt to distract you from the only thing that really occupied your mind: Max. The conversation outside, his insistence on wanting to be back in your life, his words loaded with a meaning that you refused to interpret... Everything kept spinning in your head.

When you got into bed, you took your phone out of habit, checking notifications and messages before going to sleep. That's when you saw it. A message from Max.

Max: "Good night. I liked seeing you tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat when you read it. You didn't expect me to write to you, not after what they had talked about. You thought about ignoring him, but you knew you couldn't. Something inside you drove you to respond.

You: "Simely. It was nice to see you."

You sent the message before your mind could stop you, and just a few seconds later his answer came.

Max: "I don't know if this sounds weird, but I feel like I've missed you more than I thought."

You bit your lip, your fingers floating on the screen as you decided what to say. Finally you wrote:

You: "It doesn't sound weird. I've missed you too."

The conversation flowed with a naturalness that baffled you. Talking to him was like returning to something comfortable and familiar, as if the months of distance had not existed. They talked about trivial things at the beginning: how he was, how you were, small anecdotes of the event that had occurred while you were escaping to the garden. But then he wrote something that made you stop.

Max: "We should have a coffee or something. Really catch up."

Your first reaction was to doubt. You knew it wasn't a good idea. Seeing him was to risk letting your guard down, saying something you shouldn't have, opening doors that you had closed for a reason. But, at the same time, the idea excited you. You wanted to see it. I wanted to see it.

"I'd love to," you finally wrote, almost with fear.

Almost instantly came his answer:

Max: "Tomorrow? I have something in the afternoon, but I'm free at night."

You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You knew you shouldn't accept, but your fingers were already writing.

You: "It's okay. Tomorrow night."

They quickly confirmed it, deciding the place and time, and after a few more messages, he wrote:

Max: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

"You too," you replied, even though you knew that sleeping was the last thing you would do. You put the phone aside, but your mind was still at full speed.

As you settled in bed, you looked at the ceiling with a sigh. You had done something you knew you shouldn't have done, and the anxiety of what could happen consumed you. But, at the same time, a small spark of emotion lit up inside you.

The idea of seeing him, of talking to him face to face after all, made you feel like you were playing with fire. And yet, you found yourself counting the hours for the next day.

The next morning the day began in a rather routine way, although you felt a slight tingling in your stomach when you remembered your plan for later. After a light breakfast, you made sure to review your to-do list, and among them was the doctor's appointment. Although all the previous reviews had gone well, it always gave you a little anxiety to attend. You wanted to make sure that your baby was perfect, that everything went as it should.

You put on a loose and comfortable dress, choosing a pastel shade that highlighted the shine that lately your pregnancy had given to your skin. You looked in the mirror quickly before leaving, noticing your already noticeably rounded belly. You had reached that point in pregnancy where it was impossible to hide it, and although you felt proud, there were times when that reality made you think about everything that was to come.

The clinic was calm when you arrived. After signing some papers and waiting a few minutes in the room, they called you to go to the doctor. She was a kind woman, someone you fully trusted and with whom you had developed a good relationship since you arrived in Monaco.

You lay down on the stretcher while they did the routine ultrasound. The screen lit up with the image of your baby, and as always, your eyes filled with tears of pure emotion when you saw it.

"Everything looks perfect," said the doctor, smiling as she checked the measurements and heartbeat of the little one. “He is growing well and has a lot of energy, as always. Have you felt good?”

You nodded.

"Yes, although he's been a little restless today. I don't know if it's me or him.”

The doctor laughed softly.

"Probably a little bit of both. They feel our emotions, did you know? If you're anxious or nervous, he feels it too.”

You were thoughtful with that comment. It was true that you had been nervous since you woke up. The idea of seeing Max again, of sitting in front of him after so long, had you in a constant state of anticipation.

"I guess he's right. Today I have... an important day.”

You didn't go into details, but she gave you an understanding look.

"Well, try to relax." He's fine, you're fine. Enjoy your day and make sure you rest.

When you left the clinic, the mid-morning sun greeted you warmly, but you still felt some restlessness in your chest. You knew there was no reason to worry about the baby, but the conversation with the doctor left you thinking. Your little one was connected to you in a way that no one else could be, and his well-being was completely up to you.

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of domestic activities and small errands, but your mind always returned to Max. You wondered what it would be like to see him again, this time in a more intimate environment. Would he be nervous like you? Would it still be as easy to talk to him as it had been last night?

As the afternoon progressed, you noticed that your baby kept moving. Every time you tried to sit down for a moment to breathe, he kicked or settled down, as if trying to get your attention.

"What's wrong, little one?" you murmured, placing a hand on your belly. “Are you also nervous about tonight?”

The thought made you smile, although you felt a knot in your stomach. You caressed your belly with gentle movements, trying to calm it down and calm yourself down in the process.

You sighed as you looked at the clock. Every minute that passed brought you closer to the meeting, and although you were nervous, a part of you couldn't wait.

The afternoon was sliding into the night, and with each passing minute, you felt how anxiety was taking over you. You repeated to yourself over and over again that everything would be fine, that there was nothing to fear, that it was only Max. Max, your lifelong friend. Max, who was now much more complicated than you had ever imagined.

When it was time to get ready, you went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you, a mixture of emotion and tension that made you feel like you were about to cross an invisible line. The dress you chose was simple but elegant, a dark blue tone that highlighted your skin and concealed your belly. You left your hair loose, falling in soft waves on your shoulders. The makeup, just enough to give a touch of color to your cheeks and highlight your eyes. You wanted to look good, but without looking like you had tried too hard.

While you were putting on the last touches, your phone vibrated on the table. You took it with slightly trembling hands and read the message.

"I'm outside. I'll wait for you."

You toom a deep breath before answering.

"Ok."

You picked up your bag, taking one last look at your reflection before leaving the room. You went down the stairs calmly, although your heart was beating hard in your chest. When he opened the front door, there he was. Max Verstappen, waiting for you next to his car with a smile that, despite all the time that had passed, was still the same you remembered.

"Hello," he said softly, his eyes running over you for a moment before returning to your face. “You look... good.”

You smiled a little shyly.

"Thank you. You too”

Max was dressed casually but flawlessly, a dark shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. I had always had that ability to look good without much effort. He opened the car door for you and, once you were inside, he circled the car and sat behind the wheel.

The journey was comfortable, although full of silences that spoke more than words. Through the reflection in the window, you watched him sideways. His firm hands on the steering wheel, the way he concentrated on the road, everything was so familiar and at the same time so distant.

Finally, they arrived at a small secluded, discreet and cozy restaurant, a place that Max had chosen carefully to avoid curious glances. Upon entering, you were greeted by a warm atmosphere, dim lights and tables separated enough to ensure privacy.

"It's a quiet place," he said while helping you sit down. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

You nodded, grateful for your consideration.

"It's perfect."

You both asked for dinner, and for a few minutes, the sound of the cutlery and the soft background music filled the space. But soon, the conversation began to flow.

"So..." you said, breaking the ice. “How is everything? Life, the team, your relationship?”

Max took a sip from his glass before answering.

"Life... is fine. Busy, as always. The team is doing well, although this year has been more complicated than I expected. And Kelly...” he paused briefly. “We're fine. Things are stable, which is good for me, for P.”

He mentioned his girlfriend and stepdaughter naturally, but you couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. You forced yoursellsel on your smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always wanted you to be happy.”

Max looked at you with an expression that seemed to contain more than he was willing to say.

"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. “Why did you disappear like that? One day you were here, and the next, you were gone. Without a word.”

You tensed up a little in your chair, fiddling with the edge of your glass. You had known that question would come, but you were not completely prepared to answer it.

"It was something... I needed to do," you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “London was an opportunity to start again. And... I didn't want to complicate anyone's life.”

Max frowned slightly, his eyes looking for yours.

"Complicate life for whom? To me?”

The air seemed to become denser between you. You avoided his gaze, concentrating on the napkin that you now held between your fingers.

"You already had many things in your life. You didn't need... more complications.”

Max was silent for a moment, but his eyes didn't turn away from you.

"We were always friends, remember? No matter what happened... that doesn't change.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed you, and for a moment, you felt that the weight of the last few months was about to collapse on you. But you stood firm, smiling softly.

"I know. And I'm glad we can talk like this, like before.”

The conversation continued, returning to lighter topics: childhood memories, career anecdotes, moments they shared before everything got complicated. But, deep down, they both knew that there were things that remained unsaid.

When dinner ended, they both left the restaurant, the night in Monaco unfolded calm and cool, with a gentle breeze that caressed your skin. You felt strangely light, despite everything that dinner had moved in you. You thought the night had come to an end, but Max, standing next to you in front of the car, seemed to hesitate before saying goodbye.

"Are you tired?" he asked, with a look that contained more than what his words said. “Because... if you're not, we could go for a walk.”

You were surprised by the invitation, but a part of you, the one that was still looking for any excuse to prolong the moment, did not hesitate to answer.

"No, I'm not tired. I would love to walk a little.”

Max smiled, a soft smile that lit up his face for a moment. He walked by your side, and soon they both left the restaurant behind and went into the quietest streets of the city. The night in Monaco was a spectacle in itself, with the lights reflected in the sea, the distant sound of laughter and music, and the constant murmur of the nightlife that unfolded around it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more than the presence of the other.

The silence between you was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt almost like a conversation in itself, a pause that allowed both of them to think about everything that had been left unsaid for so long. They walked at the same pace, their steps synchronized, and from time to time your fingers brushed his, which caused a small chill that ran through your body.

Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he feared to alter the stillness of the night.

"I like walking with you at night," he said, with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His eyes looked at you sideways, looking for your reaction.

Your heart turned upside down, and you bit your lip before answering, allowing a soft smile to form on your lips.

"I like it too. I enjoy it.”

And you meant it. There was something intimate at that moment, a connection that didn't need words. The world seemed to have reduced to you two, walking together under the dim lights of Monaco. The breeze was fiddling with your hair, and Max noticed it, because his eyes stopped a second longer on you, before looking away.

Both continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, until both of you reached a small viewpoint that overlooked the port. The lights of the yachts and the soft waves of the water created an almost magical atmosphere. You leaned on the railing, contemplating the landscape, but aware that Max had come closer, until he was a few centimeters from you.

"It's beautiful," you commented, trying to stay calm, although your heart was beating hard.

"It is..." he replied, but when you looked up, you realized that he was not looking at the landscape. He was looking at you.

The atmosphere became denser, loaded with electricity that seemed to envelop them. You felt trapped between the desire to maintain that closeness and the need to step back, to protect yourself from what that moment could mean. But you didn't move.

Max leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on the railing next to yours. His fingers brushed yours, and this time he didn't move away. Neither do you.

"I missed this," he murmured, with a voice so low that you barely heard him. “I missed being with you.”

His words disarmed you. You felt a lump in your throat, but you tried to stay calm.

"Me too..." you admitted, almost in a whisper. I missed this, you.

Both stayed like this, in silence, letting the moment last, feeling the closeness of the other. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had saved for months, but you held in. You didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.

Max turned his face towards you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His blue eyes, intense and full of contained emotions, met yours. The world around him disappeared, and all that existed was that look, that instant in which the past, the present and the future seemed to collide.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, with a softness that almost made you lose your balance.

Your breathing quickened slightly, and without looking away, you replied:

"To me too."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't uncomfortable or empty.

But before either of them could do or say anything else, Max took a step back, breaking the spell.

"We should go back," he said, his voice a little more controlled. “I don't want you to get too tired.”

You nodded, grateful and at the same time disappointed. Both began to walk back, this time more slowly, as if prolonging that walk could change something.

When both got to the car, Max stopped before opening the door for you. For a moment, he seemed to doubt, as if he was about to say something important. But instead, he just smiled.

"Thank you for tonight. I needed.”

"Yeah. Me too..." you murmured. “Thank u.”

He leaned slightly, as if he was going to say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but he stopped halfway. Instead, his fingers gently brushed your hand before opening the door. You got into the car, still feeling the warmth of his touch, and when he left you at home, they both said goodbye with a smile that said more than words could express.

That night, while you were lying in your bed, with the breeze of Monaco coming in through the window, you thought about every detail of that walk. In his gaze, in his words, in the touch of his fingers. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to dream about what could have been... and what it could still be.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (22/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: trauma, pregnancy-related conditions, some type of suicide attempt, dark visions, the angst, nightmares ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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"Rȳbās." Her father said. "Repeat."

She saw his face clearly – his narrow eyes, his short white hair combed back, his expression full of boredom and fatigue, which, however, she was not the reason for.

"Ribās." She mumbled, wiggling her short legs as she sat on his lap, looking at the large book in which were written a multitude of words in a language she had never seen before.

Her father sighed.

"No." He said, readjusting her on his lap, feeling her begin to slide downwards. "Rȳbās. Again."

"Ribās." She repeated after him, confident that this time she had said the word correctly.

"Who gave him permission to be with her? To cross the threshold of my fortress without my permission?" She heard her mother's enraged voice behind the wall.

Her father sighed heavily, closed the book and threw it carelessly on the table. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up, placing her on the floor; she caught his hand, refusing to let him go.

"Ribās. Ribās. Ribās." She repeated, following him, hoping it would stop him.

"Stay in the chamber." He commanded, so she let him go with eyes full of tears and turned back, bursting into sobs.

He had only just arrived, and was about to disappear again.

She hoped he would return and waited for him, lying covered in thick furs in her bed, however, eventually her eyes began to grow heavy and she fell into a deep slumber.

She thought she felt in her sleep as someone touched her head, someone's lips placed a warm kiss on her forehead, the smell of her father filled her lungs.

When she found out the next day that he had returned to Dragonstone, she burst out crying.

"You should be grateful to me, not wailing. I'm tired of your perpetual weeping. Perhaps you would rather he took you with him? Targaryens have many strange customs. Fathers lie in bed with their daughters, for example." Said her mother, busy eating the roast of a deer she herself had hunted the day before.

She closed her mouth at her words, quivering all over, staring blankly into her plate.

She was awakened by an unpleasant feeling – a spasm in her stomach and a sensation as if she were suffocating. She raised herself up on the sheets in the darkness, unconsciously reaching for the dish standing next to the bed. She only had time to lean over it when she vomited, panting loudly and coughing.

She shuddered all over, terrified, when she felt movement behind her, someone's hand touching her shoulder.

"Hāedar. Again?"

In response, she vomited again, louder this time: her stomach squeezed tightly, and she closed her eyelids, trying to survive it.

The silhouette of her father beneath the water, his white hair, his hand stretched towards her, her arrow thrust into his neck, his heavy armour pulling him down – when she grasped him, she had the impression that something had flashed across his face.

A mixture of regret, shame, pleading, as if he wanted to convey to her in that moment everything he hadn't told her over the years. Her heart squeezed at the thought that she saw tenderness in that gaze: that he recognised her as his child, and perhaps he always had.

Perhaps she had never truly understood why he had fled then until now.

And then he let her go.

She burst out crying and shook her head, leaning forward, breathing heavily through her mouth, overwhelmed by this vision, this memory, by the fact that she had been mistaken.

She didn't see her husband's death in her dreams, but her father's.

She felt his face pressed into her neck, his warm, moist lips placing soft, light kisses on her skin to comfort her, his broad hand stroking her arm.

"I'm here. I'm here." He repeated.

She wanted him to do something that would make her shout at him, take it out on him, hate him: she wanted him to say that it meant nothing, that she was being dramatic, that it was a simple, ordinary, feminine weakness that she needed to stand up to. This was what she had expected from him: this was how he always reacted to his own failings, being a harsh and unfair judge in his own case.

He, however, was quiet and calm, full of an understanding from which she felt a discomfort in her stomach.

She was sure that it was a mask and that it would eventually break: that her many days of silence and hysteria would eventually drive him mad, that, tired of her constant despair and the fact that she did not even look at him when he spoke to her, would make him finally descend into the dungeons and find relief in the arms of the beautiful Witch of Harrenhal.

Some part of her wanted him to do it: she wanted him to give her a reason to run far away from him, to abandon him and everything that came with him.

"The Maester has arrived in the fortress. I have ordered him to examine you tomorrow. It worries me that this keeps happening every night." He whispered, snuggling into her back at last, embracing her with his arms around her waist.

His hands did not reach her breasts – he did not try to take her or kiss her on the lips. He held her close and stroked her but did nothing more, as if he knew she would push him away.

She sighed and closed her eyes, knowing what that meant.

That he would find out.

She did not, however, have the strength to object.

"Your wife is expecting your child, Your Grace." Said Maester the next day after he had examined her body closely.

She saw her cousin twitch, his face, previously passive and calm, tense in shock, his eye open wide. He looked at her after a moment, in his gaze the question she had long known she would hear from his lips.

"Leave us." He said.

Her heart pounded like mad in terror as the Maester left the chamber – she played with the soft fur that covered her body clad only in her nightgown, wondering why she was afraid.

She had felt nothing but pain for days, so this sudden new emotion was shocking to her.

He's going to kill me, she thought.

"How long have you known?" He asked.

The tone of his voice was not aggressive, but she heard a hint of irritation in it.

She swallowed hard, feeling that she was having trouble concentrating, finding the right words.

How long had she known?

"The witch told me I was carrying your son, but I didn't confirm it." She muttered.

"But you had a premonition, didn't you?" He continued, a note of pain and regret in his voice.

She merely nodded her head.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you wouldn't take me with you."

Her husband let out a loud breath and turned away, pacing around the room as if trying to calm himself, overcome by many extreme emotions at once.

"How could you hide this from me?"

"You didn't ask."

He turned abruptly towards her and stopped, his lips pressed into a thin line with rage.

"It's my fault, then?" He hissed, clearly losing his temper.

She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze to her hands.

"That's not what I said. It's just that if you had asked me, I wouldn't have lied to you. But then you'd be dead and I'd be left fatherless and husbandless." She said dispassionately.

Her cousin looked out of the window – she could see out of the corner of her eye that his chest was rising and falling in heavy breaths.

"You made a fool of me." He said.

She did not answer him.

If he thought so, that was his concern.

She didn't have the strength to think about it.

She shuddered when he suddenly moved from his place and simply left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam of old wood.

She swallowed silently as she felt the heavy tears one by one begin to run down her cheeks, her breath stuck in her throat.

She knew it would happen sooner or later, and she was relieved to finally have it behind her. A crack, a rift between them, something that made him pull away from her – she figured he'd been looking for an excuse for this for a long time, and now he'd found the perfect one.

She lay back on the bedding and hugged her face to the pillow, staying in that position until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

When she opened her eyes, there was darkness all around her – she recognised in the shapes she saw before her her chamber in Harrenhal. Her bed was cold – a strange feeling of disappointment ran down her spine when she turned behind herself and saw that he was not lying next to her.

That he hadn't forgiven her.

Maybe he was with her now, she thought.

She felt an unpleasant discomfort in her stomach, from which she felt the urge to vomit again – she restrained herself and stood up, heading barefoot towards the door.

The stone Harrenhal was cold and dark – she was surprised that there were no torches burning in the corridors and no guards all around.

In fact, it seemed to her that the fortress was deserted.

She blinked, intrigued, noticing the warm light of the fire in the distance, coming from behind the door of her husband's chamber – some strange kind of relief spread through her heart at the thought that he had not abandoned her. Her quiet footsteps echoing around her, the dripping of water in the distance and the sound of the wind accompanied her on this short journey, but the closer she got to the room, the louder other sounds came from it.

His panting.

She would recognise it was him anywhere – she had heard it too many times – that distinctive heavy way of breathing, interrupted by grunts and low groans of pleasure. As she pushed gently on the door, just enough to see anything, she saw his body bare from the waist down, his nails digging into Alys' buttocks so hard they created bruises.

His thrusts were aggressive, brutal, deep, fast, devoid of tenderness or even desire.

Her green eyes found her in the darkness, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile, from which she felt that sickening feeling in her stomach again.

She stepped back and vomited – one time, then another – her hand found the wall to prop herself up, to escape, to get out, to disappear, whatever that meant.

She hated him.

She hated her.

She wished she had stayed with her father.

She was unable to find her way back to her chamber – instead, narrow, dark corridors led her outside, to a godswood, surrounded by a ruined stone wall. A red, contorted, tear-streaked face looked straight at her, as if it understood her. Her gaze fled to the side – to the space between the stone bricks which was empty, looking like a gateway to a black abyss.

She moved in that direction, thinking that this was what she wanted.

She knew he would betray her.

She knew it from the very beginning, and yet she believed him anyway.

After all, she had begged him not to take her as his wife only to humiliate her later.

But his pride, as always, was more important.

Perhaps their bastard child will rule Harrenhal, but my child will not become his tool, she thought, climbing higher on the remains of the wall that once stood there – looking down into nothingness, she felt terror – her heart pounded like mad, doubt flashed through her mind.

I don't want to die.

Why are they forcing me to do this?

My husband, my father, my mother.

Wasn't I worth being loved truly?

Didn't I deserve to be chosen by someone?

"Hāedar! Come back here!" She heard a voice behind her and blinked – when she looked around, she saw that she was not standing in a godswood, but on what must once have been a tower, standing at the very edge of it. The height from which she was looking down frightened and petrified her, her body began to tremble all over – there was nothing around her that she could grasp.

"Hāedar, turn to me and give me your hand." She heard his voice behind her again, this time pleading and breaking, as if he realised what was about to happen.

"I saw you. You and her." She muttered.

She heard his silence, his heavy breath full of consternation.

"What?" He asked.

"If I had known you would betray me so quickly, I would never have married you." She howled, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her face.

The wind around her was searing her body to the core, her legs scarred from the sharp stones.

Why hadn't she felt this before?

"You enraged me and I set off for a ride on Vhagar's back to cool off. Sheepstealer wailed from afar, so I returned." He explained, and she swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat run down her back as she heard a loud screech in the distance, and then her dragon flew over her head, clearly terrified of what she was about to do.

How could she not have heard him before?

The chaos in her head made her involuntarily turn and look at him over her shoulder, wanting to compare what she saw with his silhouette, his face, his expression, anything that would betray him.

He had his hands raised at the level of his chest, his right arm extending more towards her than his left, as if he wanted to grab her but was afraid to make a move – his healthy eye was open wide in terror, the other was covered by a black eye patch, on his body a long leather riding coat and gloves.

How was he able to change so quickly?

She felt her breath become laboured – she shook her head, taking an involuntary step backwards, towards the precipice.

"You are deceiving me. I know what I saw." She mouthed, and he drew in deep breath as she wobbled and squealed, struggling to catch her balance – he grabbed her by her nightgown and pulled her to him hard, so that she hit his chest with all his strength.

She wanted to push him away, but he wouldn't let her.

And then she felt it.

He didn't smell of intimacy, spend and feminine moisture.

He smelled of dragon and sweat.

He fell to his knees and she fell with him – his arms embraced her tightly, pressing her into his body, his face sinking into her hair.

"– gods – oh, good gods –" He wailed in trembling voice.

It was the first time she had seen him in such a state – he curled up like a small child, and she involuntarily embraced him.

"– I didn't betray you – ever – it's this place – these people – they are cursed – I can feel it in my veins –" He choked out with difficulty, breathing hard, shaking all over as she did.

She closed her eyes, feeling a strange kind of relief.

He wasn't here.

"So who did I see?" She whispered.

"I don't know."

Her husband wanted her to show him the way she had reached this place, but everything looked different. She couldn't recognise a single corner – the corridors were no longer cramped and dark, but spacious, full of lit, bright torches.

How could she have not noticed them?

She swallowed hard when she finally spotted the door she had opened then – it seemed to her that there were only a few steps from it to her chamber.

"We are in the other part of the keep. You may have seen a guard with some servant girl. It happens, hāedar. You are in mourning, in addition you are carrying a child inside you. You are overtired." He said, stroking her back.

For some reason, his calm voice, his understanding, the fact that he wasn't mocking her, comforted her.

She nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I want to sleep in your chamber tonight."

Indeed, when they arrived, she realised that their quarters were right next to each other and she didn't have to travel such a long distance from one door to the other – when she stepped inside, she also remembered that the furniture of his chamber was quite different from what she had seen.

It was as if someone had made her lose focus for a moment, hoping to let that cruel dream lead her.

"That witch. She said that if I wasn't here, you would have taken her the very first night. That you would have begotten a bastard child." She said dispassionately, walking around his room, running her fingers over the top of the table.

Her husband snorted.

"Of course. All that's left for bastards is to give birth to other bastards and hope that the rich father shares his golden coins with them." He grunted, tossing wood into the hearth, thoughtful.

"It must be tempting. The fact that every woman wants your child inside her, and you can have her." She stated.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"And what of it? Aegon begat bastards with half of the whores of King's Landing. If he had been by his wife's side instead of drinking when Daemon's men came to kill his child, perhaps Jaehaerys would still be alive. He blamed me in front of everyone, as if I was his father, because he couldn't look at his own reflection." He said with a disgust that sent a shiver along her spine.

"If you had married Floris. Would you have remained faithful to her?" She asked calmly, without irony or mockery.

Her cousin sighed, still crouching in front of the fire, lowering his gaze to his fingers.

"I would do everything in my power to keep her and my children safe."

"But you would have had lovers." She concluded.

She saw him shrug his shoulders.

"And you? If they forced you to marry some young lord. Would you have had lovers? Would you refuse me?" He asked with a kind of resentment from which she felt a sting in her heart.

She lowered her gaze, realising she didn't know the answer to that question.

"I wouldn't want to humiliate him. I guess I would try to stay away from you to avoid tempting fate." She whispered.

Her husband grinned.

"Big words. My mother used those too for many years." He hummed with mockery. "Either we want someone or we don't. I never wanted Floris. But I began to desire you very quickly."

"You didn't know what would happen to me then." She mumbled.

She heard with surprise that he laughed at her words.

"And what has happened to you, wife? You weep, you despair, you are silent? You have lost your father. Shall I require you to smile, to speak to me, though I myself, after I returned from Storm's End, sat locked in my chamber for weeks? I didn't want to see anyone, hear anyone. My grandfather showered me with advice I didn't ask him for. He called me a fool, as if he thought I didn't understand what I had done, how much I had destroyed. I wanted revenge on Luke, I wanted him to finally pay me for all of his doings, but did I want to kill him? I've been asking myself that question ever since. It occurs to me that when I realised I didn't, Vhagar's maw crushed him and his dragon. She felt my hatred, my bitterness, and devoured him against my orders, as if she knew I was lying." He said, staring into the flames, immersed in his thoughts and memories.

She stared at him in disbelief, silent, surprised that he had brought up the subject of his own free will – they had never discussed it, and she dared not ask, afraid of how he would react to it.

She didn't care if he wanted to kill him or not.

Time could not be turned back.

Nevertheless, the fact that he was using his experience to understand her made her feel a familiar warmth in her heart for the first time in days.

When he looked at her she swallowed quietly, as if caught off guard.

"Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you." He whispered.

She pressed her lips together, feeling tears under her eyes for some reason – they were not tears of sadness and grief, however, as they had been in recent days, but of emotion, of a sense of understanding, of knowing that he really intended to comfort her.

She wasn't ready to return to their intimacy, to this sudden act that was consuming her whole – something about the thought of it frightened her, the feeling that she would burst into sobs or change her mind in the process, leaving him with nothing but frustration.

"I'd like to lay my head on your thighs. I wish you would embrace me and stroke my hair." She mumbled in shame, for some reason feeling that what she said was pitiful.

However, she saw in his gaze that he understood her and that something in that thought pained him.

Was this what he was looking for in a brothel?

Was this what he needed from that woman?

He stood up slowly, pulling off his gloves and coat, placing them on the table top. He approached her, extending his hand to her – she took hold of it and allowed him to guide her towards his bed.

He sat down on it in a half-lying position, pulling his boots off his feet first. He unfastened his tunic and slipped it off his shoulders, laying it over his thighs so as to create something soft for her to lay her head on.

"Come here." He hummed.

She climbed obediently onto the bed and lay with her back to him, so that her spine snuggled into his lower abdomen and her cheek laid against the smooth leather material. He spread his legs so that her whole body fit between them – in some subconscious reflex she pulled her knees up to her chin, feeling safer in this position. She closed her eyes as his broad, warm hand combed through her hair in a gentle motion, repeating the movement again and again.

"Sleep. I'm by your side." He whispered, his other hand covering her with warm fur. She felt him lean in, his full, moist lips placing a kiss on her temple, his arm embracing her entire figure, locking her in a secure grasp.

All she could feel was his closeness, his calm breath on her face, his fingers playing with her dark curls, his gentle lips pressing against the skin of her face again and again.

"You are my only friend." She whispered involuntarily – when she heard herself say those words she felt a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

He was the only one she could speak to honestly.

Only he understood her.

Only he fought for her.

Only he believed in her.

Only he cared for her.

And although she loved him as a husband, a brother, a lover, he, another man made of flesh and blood, exactly like her, was the one she loved the most.

She was at the worst, most difficult time of her life, and he was there for her, patient and tender, full of an understanding she had not expected from him.

The cruel, cold man she had seen for the first time that day, locked in the dungeon, had shown himself ready for such deeds, such words, such sacrifices.

She felt his arm press her tighter against his body, his face sinking into her neck.

"And you are mine."

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leased Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 5 ✿:+ : Wild Fire

1-2-3-4-_-6

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: NSFW themes MDNI, afab reader, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage, mention of infant and parent death, blood, war, threats of violence, violence. 

Word Count: 3767

Since the riot the city was restless. 

You felt like the walls closed in on you, and for good reason. You understood the small folks' anger. You understood why they rioted. You understood why they threw shit at Joffrey, why they swore at him and his mother. 

But the constant threat towards Joffrey’s safety only grew. Making it near impossible for you to steal a moment with Sandor. And the eyes of your ladies made it even more impossible.  He was just as much on your mind as the Vale was. Although you never touched yourself at the thought of the Vale. 

Little had you known that Sandor had done the same. Spent any moment he could walking underneath your window. Checking if the candle light was burning still. Walking by your room more often, even when you slept. 

He’d stopped looking for any whores whom resembled you in the slightest. Although Tyrion might have picked up that habit. For Sandor, it was of no use even if the women looked like you, even if they looked exactly like you, they weren’t you. They didn’t have your scent, your softness, your sounds, or your eyes. He couldn’t do it, and his hand had not done justice ever since he felt the softness of your thighs gripped around his cock. Being away from you was harder than battle, but it was even more necessary to be away now that a battle was approaching. 

Most of the days were filled with women asking you about your engagement and avoiding everyone at any cost. 

You had gotten good at finding ways to sneak out of the sight of your ladies. You’d gotten even better at completely losing them. So that afternoon you decided to sneak away from them and get far enough anyway from them it would take them a good while to find you. 

With you newly regained freedom, you’d wandered the garden. You thought it might be the last time you could before it was a war torn battlefield.  

However your temporary isolation was soon disturbed by the voice of a man. 

“My lady.” Baelish greeted you.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You’ve no greeting to your uncle?” The title he bestowed on himself made you want to vomit. It was not incorrect, you supposed but it was chilling.

“Hello, what are you doing here?”

“Came to offer my support.”

“Your support? I see so have you turned my titles to me?” You raised an eyebrow and he let out a small chuckle,

“Afraid not, My Lady. But support your betrothal. It would seem your aunt, and my Lady wife, are not quite fond of the union.” 

“It is not like I’d a choice.” 

“Of course not. But when you are wed to the man who killed your father, what can you expect?” He said with a stomach turning grin

“What did you say?” You looked at him as if you dared him to repeat such nonsense. The man you were betrothed to would never have done such a thing. 

“Lord Tyrion stood trial for the murder of your father. Did he not tell you?” He said in a manner far too calm.

“You lie.” You said, almost like a hiss

“Never to you,” He had the audacity to touch your cheek.

“You would. You’ve stolen from me, who’s to say you’d not lie to me.” You moved backwards away from his touch.

“I am no thief, My Lady. Our King bestowed me with those titles. In times of war, the realm needs to have some kind of stability. A lady becoming head of such a great house? Well the lords of the realm might not be so supportive. Besides, your father would have wanted a man of experience to look after the Vale.” You scoffed at his insulting response and smiled at him with a furrowed brow, in awe of his audacity. “If your father had married you to myself, you’d still have your power.” Your smile was wiped away by that remark. But he walked off as two men walked towards you, 

One was tall, with dark hair and a beard, he was older and seemed much more confident than the shorter man next to him. A pale, brown haired squire who flashed a dimwitted smile your way.

“Lady (Y/N)?” The shorter man asked, 

“Who’re you?” You asked, your gaze fitting your unwelcoming tone

The shorter man's smile was gone in an instant and he stood up straighter as if to try to better impress you, “Pod-”

“Lord Tyrion wishes to be graced with your presence, my Lady.” The taller one interrupted. 

You huffed, then motioned with your hand to have them lead you. The taller man let out a dry chuckle whilst the shorter one’s lips pressed into a line and nodded as they led you on wards. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

As you followed them into a private room, Tyrion sat at a desk with lots of papers that were inscribed with meaningless knowledge of the Coin in the realm. 

“What is it now?” You said, now furious by the knowledge you’d just received. The only reason you didn’t leap over the desk and kill him then was because you did not trust Baelish enough to know he didn’t lie. And didn’t want to do it in front of his Sellsword and squire.

“Aye, you were right, as feisty as she is pretty.” The tall one said through a chuckle. Your head turned from Tyrion to the tall man, your face filled with disdain. 

“Shut up” Tyrion snapped at him, “I am sorry, please come in. And you two leave us!” As he commanded the men, the tall one was still chuckling and the small one shot you another quick smile. As soon as they left your attention shifted back to Tyrion.. 

“I wanted to tell you that there have been arrangements for you to be stowed away deep within the Red Keep when war comes. You’ll be there with other women and children.” You simply nodded though your face was harsh, and angry. “You’ll be safe there, I swear.” He attempted to reassure you thinking that was the problem. When you didn’t lighten up at all he asked “Have I done something to upset you, My Lady?”

“I spoke with Baelish.” Your voice is cold.

“And you’re upset with that experience? Seems natural.” He attempted to jest, which was not wise.

“Why did he tell me you were tried for the murder of my father?” You stepped closer to him, he looked guilty. “I am sick of being held blindfolded, Tyrion.” He looked down, as if he was disappointed with himself and angry at Baelish. “You know things, things I should know!” You said almost crying out.

“I was tried for it-” You let out a sharp exhale, feeling yourself about to burst into furious tears, to which he stopped himself and tried to clarify “But I was not found guilty was I? I am not lying dead at the bottom of the Eyrie.” He stopped himself again, calming himself to help calm you, “I didn't do it.” He sounded earnest, genuine. You were a good judge of it.

“Tyrion, if I am to be your wife, please. I beg of you this. Honest truth. What happened to my father?” You tried your best to hold your composure.

“Poison. Tears of Lys. It was speculated by a Maester.” He said his eyes filled with remorse for you.

“Who by?” Venom in your voice raised. 

“No one knows. Your aunt believed it was me, but it wasn’t.” He shook his head, “It was believed that I or another Lannister had it done due to your father investigating the very claims Ned Stark was. Claims of the legitimacy of my sister's children. A subject I strongly suggest you do not speak of. However, a beheading is not an easy solution to rumors, but it was one they happily took. So poisoning seems out of character.” 

“Who do you think it was?” You raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious of his opinion.

“I don't wish to put such things in your mind.” He said and you rolled your eyes. 

“Please.” You asserted,

“It would need to be someone with such access to such a poison, and potential to gain from the death. And that person, could only be one person.” 

“Petyr.” You said, finally realizing it. “I’ll kill him.” 

“Then they shall kill you, my lady.” He got up and walked towards you, “I have no doubt that is your wish, and I no doubt you have the courage to complete it. But you should know, if you’re caught they’ll cut that pretty head off. Doesn’t matter if you’re married to me or not.” He said but you were hardly listening as you paced the room, looking at the ground, piecing things together finally. 

“That’s why he said those things…” You said under your breath, unaware that he’d heard you.

“What things?” He asked you in a whisper but it sounded protective, and his hand reached for yours, his face was concerned. 

“I should have married him, I'd still have my birthright.” You summarized. 

“Well if he said that, he either wants to fuck you or kill you.” He said, you looked at him with a disgusted and confused look. “Think of it, he requested your hand long ago and was rejected. He wants your birthright so badly he killed the man who rejected him, so you’d be in line to inherit. As soon as you are betrothed to someone else he steals it from under you anyways by marrying your Aunt. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have married you just to kill you to have it all for himself.” He said with that natural confidence he always had.

“And which do you want with me, to fuck me or kill me? You’re father betrothed us together because of my birthright, that isn’t lost on me.”

“Well, I did promise I would never harm you.” He said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “You always were an observant girl. Just as smart as you are pretty.” He said softly. It made your stomach flip. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

“I don’t understand it.” You said, teary eyed peering into the fastness of the mountains surrounding your castle. 

“You will one day, long from now. When you are a woman grown, when you’ve a Lord husband and sons of your own.” Your father said with a smile. 

“I won’t. Not even then.” You said, your face remained stoic but your eyes teared, water falling out of them and off your cheeks with each blink you took. Your father sighed, it was always a fight with you. “I won’t ever have a child.” You said more sternly. 

“Now, you are speaking of nonsense.” He said growing more agitated. 

“How could you possibly even think I could, ever, after all I saw that day?” You said turning to face him. “The blood and screams. My mothers last breath was a scream, and my brother’s a cry!”

“She was my wife and he was my son, Y/N. Do you not think I grieve for them too?”

“No I do not. Not when you marry her sister.” 

“Your mother, and your brother have died. It is a tragedy- a nightmare I wish to wake us both from but cannot. My heart has broken, but our name cannot die with them.” 

“Is that all you care of? The name?” You raised your furrowed brows.

“Our history books do not tell a tale of blood but of names.” He said sternly.

“I wish I could’ve been a son.” You shook your head, 

“I’d not wish for you to be a son.” He tried to reach his hand out towards you. But you backed away from him.

“Not for you, but for my mother. She’d be alive if it wasn’t for your pride.” 

“You speak out of anger, daughter.”

“I speak out of disgust, father.” 

You turned away from him. You didn’t hear from your father until that very night. He let himself into your room as you laid in your bed just half asleep. He pet the side of your head softly. You opened your eyes softly.

“Before your birth. Your mother delivered three children. All were born without breathing. When You were still in your mothers womb, I prayed every night to old Gods and the new for you to be healthy, for you to be alive. When you were born, I thanked them everyday. I still do.” He said softly as if to not fully wake you from your sleep. “The vale, the east, the gates of the moon must rest in the hands of a leader capable of keeping it safe. Capable of asking hard questions, someone headstrong, and wise. Someone capable. And you my daughter you are capable.” He said, with such devotion and love you’d hardly ever heard from him before. “It is a heavy burden but you are my daughter. My heir. I shall not live forever. One day you shall be the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East. No son born shall challenge it.” He said in a lower voice. “You are my daughter.” He stated once more before rubbing his thumb on the temple of your head and leaving you to rest.

You’d not responded. You simply allowed your tears to fall down your cheek. You wouldn’t be able to forgive him, but you would still love him. You’d be eternally loyal to him, just as he was to you. 

That was when you woke up. You often dreamt of memories. Ones of your mother holding you as a young girl, singing sweet songs to you. Memories of the Knights of the Vale teaching you to ride Lika when she was still young, like you were. Even the memory of holding your brother as he took his last breath. 

But this memory made your heart ache harder after realizing the man who killed your father is now the head of his house. And now you know, you’d have to avenge him. First however, you’d need an army. 

That day however would not have been the day to plan it, as there was another army knocking on your cages door. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

That day you were taken deep within the keep. Tyrion’s men who you now knew were Bronn and Payne escorted you there personally. 

As you entered the deep underground chambers of the Keep, you were taken aback by how small it was. Crowded by women, children, and babies. 

“(Y/N)” Cersei called towards you, you obeyed her call and stood in front of her as she was being poured wine. “Pour some for Lady (Y/N).” She said to the maid behind her. You could smell the wine emanating off of her. 

You took the wine, and took a long sip. 

“Are you frightened, my dear?”

“Nervous.” You said taking a breath after your long sip. 

“Wine will help with that.” She said, “Come drink, sit.” She said, throwing a pillow down for you, “Whom do you fear more for yourself or my brother?” You were taken aback by such a question, but not surprised by how drunk she was.

“Your Grace, I-”

“You don’t have to act, anymore, I understand it. To be betrothed to a man you don’t love I understand that well enough.” 

“Your brother is a good man.” You earnestly,

“Is he?” She smiled condescendingly into her glass as she sipped from it. “My advice, if he survives this. Once you are wed, have his baby. It is the only happiness life will grant you.” She said looking over at a woman holding her fairly newly born child in her arms. You looked over at the same woman with her babe. You found yourself feeling strangely empty at the sight. 

“I think I could be a good mother.” You said, almost blurted out, as you looked at the woman and her babe.

“You’d be a fierce one. You’re already too fierce for your own good, if you’d a little falcon in your nest you’d be even worse.” She said with a drunken smile. 

The words rung in your head. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

Meanwhile, 

Sandor entered a small area, filled with knights, gold cloaks, city watch, kings guards, all the kinds of men he hated. Specifically one, Bronn, who had a naked woman in his lap.

“Welcome friends.” Bronn called out as if to gain good will. “This rounds on me,”

He ignored his greeting, only giving him a scowl. He sat as he got himself a cup of ale, he drank most of it down wishing that it was stronger, he chugged the rest of it. 

“I don’t think he likes me,” Bronn said to the naked woman on his lap.

Sandor placed his cup onto the table.

“It's warm in here, we've got beautiful women and good brown ale and all you want is to put one of us in the cold dark ground, with no women to keep us company.” Bronn jested, 

“There’s women in the ground. I’ve put some there, so have you.” Sandor said with annoyance.

“Aye, but you’ve saved some ‘aven’t ya? Like that little blue bird my lord loves so much. Aye?” 

Sandor felt a heat rising in his chest hearing those words, but he was unwilling to show it. “You saved that bird from the mobs didn’t ye’? What man would go against his own King's orders, and fight his way through an angry mob, just for a gal? Hm? That makes you a great hero.” Bronn said as he drank. 

He hadn’t thought anyone would have questioned what he did for you in such a way. Especially not in front of an entire room of men. It felt like a challenge. “You think you’re a hard man?” Sandor said back, 

“Oh I know I am,” Bronn jested as he patted the woman on his lap. The men in the room laughed, but soon were silenced by Sandor's scowl that spanned over the room like a flood of cold water. 

“You like fucking, drinking, and singing. But killing, killings’ what you love most. You're just like me.” Sandor stood and towered over Bronn, “Only smaller.”

“Is that what you love most?” He asked, no doubt drunk with confidence. 

“Your Lord Imp’s going to miss you.” Sandor said as his hand met the handle of his sword.

Bronn stood with a sigh, “Aye, I suppose he will some day.” He said as his hand met the handle of his dagger. 

Just before anything could happen, the bells of war rang. 

“One last drink?” Bronn offered, to which with a gruff sigh Sandor gave in and accepted. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

While war raged on, you were oblivious to the horrors happening outside the walls of the Keep. 

Loras barged in calling to the Queen,

“What is it!” She snapped, 

“The imp has set blackwater on fire. Stannis’s ships are burning, but-” Loras’s tone shifted “His fleets have breached city walls.”

“Bring Joffrey to his chambers, now!” She barked at him, as Loras stormed off, unhappy with such a cowardly choice.

Cersei sat back in her chair, “I lied to you. Ser Illyn is not here to protect us. You want to know the truth? Stannis might take the city but he will not take us alive.” She said into her cup. 

You placed your glass down, you glanced at Illyn Payne who scowled at you. You wouldn’t have that be the last face you’d see. 

As Ser Loras entered the room once more, you stood and rushed to him, your hand touched his briefly as you ran out of the room. You could hear Cersei yell out “Let her go.” As you ran down the halls towards your chambers. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

As you entered your chambers you were content to find a corner of it to hide in til the war was over. If Stannis took the city, maybe he’d help you if you pledged your loyalties to him.  That was until you were startled by a large man you saw in the corner of your eye. Your large man.

“I’m leaving, I can’t stay here.” He said as he drank from a wineskin in the corner of your room.

You were startled, but that feeling subsided soon as confusion set in. Why wasn’t he fighting?

“What’re you doing in here?”

“You always ask that.” He said as he took another swig. “The cities on fire. Men, burning.” You began to realize how truly frightened he was. He stood and walked towards you closer and closer til he towered over you. “Do you want to go home?” His tone, gentle

“I don’t have a home.” You looked up at him with big eyes, and furrowed brows.

“I’ll make one for ya.” He rasped. Your face heated up as you imagined it. A small cottage, a large farm, you and him in simple clothes, sleeping in one bed. Maybe, even a babe in your belly, maybe not. But, what of your duties? The promises you swore to keep.

“I can’t betray my name. I can’t leave my fathers death unjusted.”  Your eyes tearing up as you spoke, he could see the glimmer of water sparkle over your big eyes.

“Cant or wont?” He grabbed onto your arm and his voice was slightly harsher.

“Can’t” You almost cried out, but you being you, you were unwilling to cry. He let your arm go.

“I’ll keep you safe. Safer than the men here can, safer than the dwarf can. Anyone looks in your direction, I’ll hang them by their own guts.” It was as if he was pleading. 

“I made an oath, long time ago but I made it to someone I love. I can’t leave the Vale like this.” 

He sighed, “I’ll take you North. To the Starks. They’ll get you that army you want. I promise I’ll get you there.” He said softly, his hand now grabbing ahold of yours.

“You can’t promise such a thing-” 

“I can- I will.” He assured me. He knew he would do anything for you. Anything to be near you.

You looked into his blood covered face. How the light casted a frightening shadow over his horrific appearance. To anyone else this would have been one of the more terrifying sights they’d ever seen so close to them. But to you, you were face to face with an angel. 

“Alright then.” You whispered, 

You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a god

I'll destroy you like I am

I'm sorry I'm the one you love

No one will ever love me like you again

So when you leave me, I should die

I deserve it, don't I?

I can feel it gettin' near

Like flashlights comin' down the way

One day you'll figure me out

I'll meet judgment by the hounds

People always gave me love

Others were never to blame after all

You believe me like a god

I'll betray you like a man

NOTE: Now that was a whole lotta shit huh? The next one will be a lot better. This one is def gonna be a really good transition to the next stage in this story and believe you me - its gonna be nutty… k love ya bye.  OH also yeah I did add a mitksi song what about it? RIP Sandor Clegane you would have loved mitksi’s new album.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[therealcocoshady]

Eminem with a younger girlfriend - HCs

Hey guys ! Here is a little HC that popped in my head about Marshall Mathers dating someone significantly younger 😉. I hope you enjoy it 💕 it is directly inspired by my experience, a twentysomething who is roughly Hailie’s age, thirsting over him 🙊

- Marshall Mathers knows he’s got young ladies thirsting over him but he shrugs it off. Don’t get him wrong, he is flattered, but it makes him just a tiny bit uncomfortable. And when someone shows him some of these unhinged thirst tweets written by twentysomethings who are even younger than his own kids ? He is downright mortified.

- He doesn’t really get why people his kids’ age think he is attractive. Of course, music is part image and everything, but he’s got three daughters who constantly tease him for being a dork. Same for the younger rappers he works with. So he absolutely does not think of himself as a sex symbol or anything.

- He kind of figures people are not really attracted to him. That it’s more about the fame and the fact that pictures can be misleading. I mean, have you seen the way they photoshop his lines ? He really thinks people would come off it rather quickly if they saw him in person.

- Also, he’s young at heart, but he is very much aware of his « inner old man », who takes just as much space as his inner child. So, to him, no young lady in their right mind would actually be interested in him.

- By the way, he is more easily attracted by someone older than him than younger. And in the instances where he has dated younger women, a decade was the bigger age gap he would allow.

- Unless he meets you, that is. When you meet, the chemistry is immediate. He can’t even deny it. He is just attracted to you as you are to him.

- At first, he does not really register the age difference. But then, you say something like « oh, I remember when that song came out. I was eight ! » that has him in shock.

- He thinks you are absolutely stunning. And he knows he is allowed to. You’re over the age of 21, it’s not like you’re a teenager or anything. You’re an actual adult, mature and everything. But he is still weirded out. It doesn’t help that your personality makes you even more attractive. He is drawn to you and it kind of leaves him wondering if he’s being kind of creepy.

- As soon as he realizes how old (how young) you are he kind of stops flirting. « I’m sorry, i just- I thought you liked me ? » you say as you finally decide to confront him. « Yeah, I did. I do. It’s just… I’m 51 », he replies in an attempt to offer an explanation. « And ? » you ask with a raised eyebrow. « I hadn’t realized you were so young » he continues. « i didn’t realize i looked so old », you said with a pout. « No ! I mean- Look, I like you, you’re great. You look incredible. But I’m old enough to be your dad », he says. « I mean, I wouldn’t mind calling you Da- » you jokingly begin, but he shuts you up with a death stare real quick.

- You try the « come on, age is just a number argument » but it does not work as well as you hoped it would. « You know who would agree with you ? R. Kelly » he replies with a raised eyebrow.

- The two of you keep on talking and hanging out but he insists there won’t be anything besides friendship. Until, one night, your flirty banter finally earns you a kiss. « I knew you’d give in », you grin with pride and satisfaction. « I can still change my mind », he playfully threatens.

- The two of you start dating eventually but, in the beginning, he mentally slaps himself a handful of times. That being said, he absolutely can’t resist you.

- He wouldn’t go public with anyone, but especially not with someone with whom he has such a significant age gap.

- It’s also a reason why he doesn’t want to tell people about your relationship. He’s very reluctant to introduce you to his friends and meet your loved ones.

- He knows his friends would absolutely not leave him alone with the age jokes. You can count on his buddies to make jokes about you having a daddy kink.

- Speaking of which… You’ve got a Daddy kink ? Well that’s too damn bad. Because he will absolutely puke if you call him that. Nothing gives this man the ick more than the thought of you being with him because of some unresolved daddy issues.

- That being said, he will absolutely activate his « dad mode » in some circumstances. He doesn’t even do it on purpose. It’s in the little things, like the way he scolds you for not wearing anything warmer or how he reminds you to call him as soon as you get out of the club.

- He won’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t wear but he’s not a big fan of you wearing anything that makes you look younger than your years.

- Speaking of looks… dating someone younger definitely makes him more self-conscious about his own appearance. It’s already hard seeing yourself age when you’re a rapper but dating someone younger makes it worse. It definitely has him second-guessing his outfit choices.

- And even though you tell him you like his fine lines and graying hair… he is not having any of that. Look at him using (and abusing) the dye and skincare.

- With time, though, he doesn’t think too much about the age difference. At least, he doesn’t obsess over it too much.

- But he will absolutely throw it in your face in an argument, maybe using it to call you immature or something. (Even if he’s the one being immature)

- That being said, don’t you dare pull that shit on him and suggest that you might indeed go for someone your age. He is pretty confident but he is terrified to lose you to someone younger.

- Deep down, his biggest insecurity about your relationship is that your life plans might not align. And even if you assure him that you’re on the same page, he still braces himself for the day you decide to leave him.

- You might be self-conscious too, given the fact that he is usually attracted to women older than you. But he always makes sure to ease your mind.

- As the relationship progresses, he allows himself to be more committed to you but his reluctance to go « public » might cause some issues.

- Ultimately, though, people around you are supportive of the relationship - even though some of them might have some initial doubts.

- Let’s be honest : the most stressful part is not your friends or his. It’s family. He is terrified of introducing you to his daughters. And his stress is communicative. Also, he’s not too eager to meet your parents. Because he knows exactly how he’d react to his daughters dating someone his age.

- He is not one to give in to PDA anyway but it’s even worse when there’s family around. This man will not be caught holding your hand or even staring at you too intently. Even if people know you’re together. He is guarded like that.

- His daughters might end up telling him there were « signs » that he was dating someone younger : like some newfound interest in a particular TV show, more skincare in his bathroom…

- People around him aren’t specifically bothered by the age gap in itself. But you might be subjected to more scrutiny. They’d be quicker to assume you’re in it for shallow reasons.

- But once you’re in… you’re in. If anything, his whole entourage will be even more impressed. They know that dating Marshall isn’t a piece of cake and they’re really impressed that you handled the scrutiny they subjected you to so well.

- The more time goes on, the less of a big deal the age gap becomes, to you, to him and to anyone else.

- The only reminders are the little harmless jokes and Marshall’s celebration of anything that proves you’re aging. You might be a little self-conscious about your first wrinkles but he’s lowkey relieved. Maybe he won’t feel like a creep. 🙊

[spacerockfloater]

Every time Team Black stans talk about Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Dragon Twins as if they’re blessings upon this earth, an angel loses its wings.

Like, okay. They’re children, I’m excusing all of them up to a certain point. But they’re some of the most vicious, aggressive, cowardly, snotty brats we’ve ever seen in this franchise and pretending that they’re not is so foul.

Lucerys is a hypocritical twat that bullied the boy he grew up with because he didn’t have a dragon, but then he’s totally okay hanging out with Rhaena who doesn’t have one either. And then he pulls out a knife and blinds Aemond for no fucking reason, after his gang attacked him first, and faces zero consequences for his actions. He eventually grows up to become an even worse person by literally laughing in his cousin’s face, whom he disabled. And then he tries to boss lord Borros around by telling him that he’s obligated to ally with Rhaenyra even if there isn’t anything in him for it.

Jacaerys is also very two faced for the exact same reasons as Lucerys, with the addition of having anger management issues. Like, remember how he beats the living shit out of his little brother when they’re training at the beach, kicks him to the ground and grabs him by the throat because he is upset their uncles are better warriors than them? That’s the good future king you’re all talking about? He is already obsessed with the idea of becoming king, to the point that his own mother has to remind him that she’s actually alive and well and he would have to wait a good fucking while before his dreams come true. That’s actually so sick on his behalf. Not to mention that he very likely married Sara Snow, betraying his fiancée, in order to gain the Starks’ help, which is very dishonourable. At least Lucerys told Borros he’s betrothed and refused to marry one of his daughters to get his support, I’ll give him that.

Baela is a deranged evil girl who was ready to throw hands on sight, too. And have we forgotten that she becomes a drunkard and whoremonger who spends her money gambling in the rat pits, the places where children fight one another in King’s Landing, once she grows up, or is it wrong only when Aegon II does it?

Rhaena is an aggressive coward who seems more preoccupied with the acquisition of a dragon than her mother’s death. She didn’t have the guts to go and claim Vhagar, but she feels powerful enough to confront Aemond when she has three people backing her up.

Finally, even without taking all of their problematic traits into account, these people are so severely uninteresting and unimpressive. Lucerys does not convince Borros to side with his mother and drops dead like a fly. Joffrey gets shrugged off by Syrax and plummets to his demise. Jacaerys is immediately killed during his embarrassing attempt to fight the Triarchy, not to mention that he was the reason his youngest half siblings were captured and nearly killed because he had the brilliant idea of sending them away. Baela loses the only dragon fight she was ever part of to Aegon II and Sunfyre who were very injured by a previous fight already! And Rhaena is just… there. Doing nothing. Never avenging her husband’s death, eventually marrying a Hightower. Yikes.

Are there much more ill behaved children in ASOIAF? Yeah, for sure, but we actually acknowledge that children like Aegon II and Joffrey Baratheon are pieces of shit. But if we could like, stop glorifying these four mediocre and borderline malicious kids solely because some of you feel the need to ride the dicks of everyone who is part of Rhaenyra’s crew, that would be great. They might be children, but they’re children with shady, putting it mildly, personalities, wielding new-clear weapons of mass destruction who actively participated in a war, especially Jacaerys and Baela. They sure were victims of the world they were raised in, but they were aggressors as well. And like, this is the ASOIAF universe, nearly all of our protagonists are children. We can’t constantly apply modern day morals and coddle them forever because “OMG, they are just babies!”, unless we are ready to apply the same logic on the Targtowers, who were basically the same age as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children.

[bones4thecats]

Hello, can do resquest, Poseidon, Hades, Loki and Thor x Valkyrie reader, who is the mother of all Valkyries, This is what it looks like, https://es.pinterest.com/pin/890657263798502008/

❥· Nurture vs. Nature, Multi-RoR × F! S/O

Characters: Poseidon (🔱), Hades (💀), Loki (🐍), and Thor (🌩️) A/N: This is another favorite of mine. I love this thing so much, and I hope you like it as well, @zinnia1506! ✎ Summary: After the loss of your adoptive son, Zerofuku, you made your thirteen daughters, whom were named after your title of the 13 Valkyrie Sisters. But, after the setting of Ragnarok, your relationship molds over with hatred with your oldest.

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

Looking at the sky with an empty expression, you took each breath in slowly. You felt empty, incomplete, someone would say. But, in reality, you felt normal. This was your normal.

Each cloud moved by with each passing second. While other Gods and Goddesses would see this as useless, this was the only thing you wanted to do for your pass-time. It was quiet, peaceful.

Small footsteps behind you made your eyes open, there, standing behind you, was the young God you were in charge of watching. "Zero. Do show me, how would you draw that flower?" You asked. The young, child-like god, smiled and grabbed some nearby flowers, using them like crayons on the paper you summoned for him.

"This is how you do it, Lady Valkyrie!" He joyfully said. You watched as he used the flowers to color the pink petals, before searching for a green item for the stem and leaves. As he ran around, your eyes shimmered. For some reason, being around Zerofuku made your life feel more welcoming, open even.

Before you knew it, Zerofuku handed you the paper. You took it in your hands gently and looked over his work. Every detail was there, which surprised you. The way he highlighted the sun's rays hitting the petals to the shadows cast in opposition made your eyes widen slightly.

You breathed out and smiled gently, though it was covered by your mask. Zeroufku felt your mood lighten and he began to shake in happiness himself. "Do you like it?" He asked. "Of course. You did a wondrous job on it, child."

"Thank you!" He replied. "Would you like it back? I'm sure it would be a lovely addition in your home." You said. Zerofuku looked at you and shook his head, pushing the drawing back into your chest. "No. Go ahead and keep it! Besides, you seem to like it more than I do!"

That was when you knew it. You wanted to feel this all the time. So, you began babysitting Zerofuku more and more. But, you regretted the one day you didn't. That was the day he went to Earth and never returned.

Tears fell from your eyes as you sobbed at the same spot as you were that day. You never wanted this feeling again... you needed to find a way around this...

-

🔱 You looked at the aquatic animals swimming around. The blow-fish looked at your finger, following it as you lightly drug it across the glass keeping you separated. Poseidon observed you from behind, his trident on the ground as you observed the fish.

🔱 Poseidon sighed internally and walked up to you, and, once you heard the sound of his weapon, your branch-shaped hair moved slightly, much like the ears of an animal. You turned around and looked into the blue eyes of your husband.

🔱 "What did Zeus do this time?" You asked. He shook his head, "This was not Zeus' doing. Rather, it was your oldest, Brunhilde's." You froze, eyebrows furrowing as you questioned what he meant. After all, Brunhilde didn't speak out against the Gods that often. It was always with you when she did it.

🔱 "She declared Ragnarok. Zeus accepted and is currently scrolling through the nominees for the Gods' Team." He replied, eyes watching the octopus Göll, your youngest, affectionately named Ink. "She opposed the Gods and is fighting for Humanity, isn't she?"

🔱 "Yes." He said. Your eyes went to the floor. This was not something you wanted to happen. For years, you raised those girls to help the Gods. NOT help the humans. The humans that tore your once-beloved son from you.

🔱 "I would like to fight." Poseidon's eyes widened slightly, looking down at you with his grip tightening on his trident. "No. I will not allow it."

🔱 "Poseidon, it is my choice. I'm not fighting for the honor of the others, but for the honor of my son." You said, eyes darkening in anger. "Zeus already asked me to fight in Ragnarok. I will be taking your place. No matter the outcome, the girls will need you. Our boys will need you." He said, motioning to your five sons, Polyphemus, Triton, Orion, Theseus, and Aeolus, running around happily, unaware of the chat between their parents.

🔱 You looked back to the ground, sorrow filling your form. In the action of making your thirteen daughters out of enchanted clay, you wanted to feel the love you felt for Zerofuku, but, Brunhilde threw that away. Like a rag used up.

🔱 Just as Poseidon began walking away to grab your sons to bring inside, you grabbed his loincloth-like fabric around his waist and said, "Please. Just, don't hurt any of the girls." He looked into your eyes, blue into blue, and blinked.

🔱 "Alright." He said, leaning in and kissing your head, in a way to comfort you in this mind-racing time. "The boys and I will be inside soon."

-

💀 Your husband sat beside you in your bedroom. Tears were falling from your eyes silently. That day was horrible. You declared you weren't going to speak to your daughters until Ragnarok was over, saying you needed time to even out your situation during the battle. Hades, your husband, patted your back through everything.

💀 A letter had been delivered by Hermes to you from Brunhilde. In this letter, she declared she, and her sisters -- your other daughters -- would be performing Völundr with their assigned human fighters. You were in distress, you already lost your son, how could you lose your daughters too?!

💀 Hades leaned his head on yours, silently helping you. He could hear the first round of Ragnarok playing in the background on your holographic-television. It was when it was over, that you both heard the announcement of Lü Bu, the first human fighter, dying.

💀 The God of the Underworld's eyes widened in surprise, not at the fact that the human died, but at the fact that one of his step-daughters, that he loved just as much as you did, sacrificed herself for humanity. Were they really that amazing?

💀 "No... Randgriz... my baby..." You sobbed harder now, tears falling heavily as your hands covered your eyes. Hades' eyes began to water now. Randgriz was one of his favorite step-daughters. He loved the light and love she brought to the Underworld, to his life, and the way that she cared for everyone, no exceptions.

💀 A knock on the door alerted you, but, you made no effort to move. Hades, who wasn't crying nearly as hard as you were, stood up and answered. "Who is it?" He asked.

💀 "Papa?" A little voice said. Looking down, there stood your youngest child, Zagreus. He looked up with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. "Is Randgriz okay?"

💀 You ran up to Zagreus, and enveloped him in a hug. Zagreus, who was surprisingly smart for a child of his age, hugged you back, understanding what was happening now.

💀 Hades frowned and kneeled in front of your both, wrapped his arms around you two and began to cry. Your sniffs pained him, as did his son's. You made those girls to help with your emotions, to keep your happiness around. Yet, you neglected the thought of losing them like how you did Zerofuku. You protected them for years, and, despite all your effort, you were losing them all over again.

-

🐍 Loki knew your daughters well. He was around, what a human would say 20s, in age when they were sculpted by your hands by enchanted clay. You asked if he could watch over them for years when you were busy, and he did so pretty well. Sometimes, it felt like your daughters were babysitting him though.

🐍 You observed as Loki played with your three children, your daughter, Hel, and your two sons, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. Loki danced around them, Fenrir shapeshifted into his single form; a large wolf, while your other son became his only form; a large serpent. Hel just wrapped her arms around her father's neck as he flew around, playing tag with them.

🐍 "Come on, Dad! You're going to high up!" Fenrir called. Loki merely laughed and told them to try harder in catching him. Jörmungandr looked at you and silently asked for help. You smiled gently and called for your husband, making him freeze and call back to you.

🐍 Just then, your sons tackled Loki, making him yell and fall down to the ground. "Gotcha!" The boy-turned-serpent yelled. You kept a smile up, but it vanished when you heard your husband's name being called from behind you.

🐍 Loki looked up and put his daughter on the ground next to her brothers. "Let me guess, little old me is up next?" He asked Thor, who was tasked by his father, Odin, to retrieve his cousin. "Yes."

🐍 Thor looked at you and nodded back to you after you motioned for him to take your three kids away. They happily jumped with Thor, on their way to sit with their Grandpa and their Uncle. You then looked at Loki and then down at the ground, asking him if he was sure about doing this. "After all," you added, "Poseidon, Heracles, Hajun, Hades, hell, even Susano'o No Mikoto now... what if you're next?"

🐍 "Love. I know you lost five of the girls, but, believe me when I say this: I will make sure I get back to you, and... hopefully keep whatever Valkyrie chosen alive." He said, his hands holding your face as he stares into your eyes.

🐍 "I'll come back." He said. "I love you."

🐍 You smiled and kissed him, he hummed happily before taking your hand and walking with you back to his room to get ready for his round.

-

🌩️ Thor cared for your daughters. He was someone you cared for deeply, and, since he wasn't biologically related to them, it comforted you that he still put effort into acting like a father. Your emotions actually came out with him, and it did make your girls proud when you married Thor and not someone like Zeus.

🌩️ You've been married for years, and for those years, he and you parented Móði and Magni, your twin boys. As you raised your two biological children, Brunhilde began to separate herself from you, leaving you feeling a hole again. And, with no other ideas, you tried to connect with her again, only to be shocked when she told you she didn't want contact again.

🌩️ Odin told you it was most likely due to 'teenage-angst', but, after hearing she proposed Ragnarok, you were heartbroken once again. You looked at her, and, when she eyes connected with yours coldly, you leaned your head onto Thor's shoulder.

🌩️ You stayed with Thor the entire time, only being away from him due to the first round. And, after it was over, you tried talking to Brunhilde, only for her to ask if you were happy with yourself.

🌩️ "What are you talking about, Brunhilde?" You replied. "You know what I'm talking about! Your husband! He just killed your own daughter! How can you pick him over us?!"

🌩️ "I'm not picking him over you, 'Hilde! Do I have to spell it out?! I made you all because I wanted you guys! I wanted children to call my own!" She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. We're nothing but animated clay to you. You were never, and will never be my mother."

🌩️ Your eyes widened in shock as Brunhilde walked away. Shock was all you felt. After everything you gave her; your time, your care, you love, and she just says it was all nothing to you. Your boys just stood beside you, also shocked. You were an excellent mom, they've seen the photos and videos of you raising your girls. Why was she hating you so much?

🌩️ "Fine... have a good rest of the tournament, Brunhilde." You said, walking away with your boys trailing you. Thor, who was watching from behind a nearby pillar, was upset. He saw you care for Brunhilde and your daughters, you just struggled expressing emotions when it comes to loss. How does she not, in her millions of life with you, understand that?

🌩️ "Brunhilde." He said, causing the eldest Valkyrie to turn around and look at her step-father. "What?" She replied. "You've wanted to know why your mother made you, correct?"

🌩️ "Yes."

🌩️ "I think it's time I tell you."

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━☽【❖】☾━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine Aegon comes to comfort you.

Warnings: drama, angst because of reasons; fluffy though because we love writing fluffy Aegon. Long post.

***

What a strange bond you and the lord Aegon share. As the daughter of Ser Gwayne of House Hightower, you were raised as part of the Targaryen family since you could remember—but comparison, implicitly as it was, was always there.

You always aimed to please so what else could you do if not doing as told? You were raised to be like your royal aunt but your sweet nature prevented to emulate her flaws. Indeed your wit was as sharp as knife and your tongue could ricochet when provoked, but only your looks could tell what were you doing amidst an incestuous family.

Nevertheless, against all odds you did get well with them. How could it not be? You were raised with your cousins, but it was Aegon who climbed your walls and knocked them out.

Though he’s expected to marry his sister, it’s you whom he follows everywhere. There are whispers at court, but, as you told your aunt once, where there are tongues, words will be spoken.

Yet… now you are a young woman, in an age close to marry. You have no dragons to ride and all you can brag is about winning Aemond over poetry competition.

At times you are next to Helaena, but you feel outshone by your sweet cousin.

What is this, what is this that torments me so?

You have demons to fight underneath your mask of duty and you do not like when they crave their claws on your flesh. So today you withdraw, certain that no one is going to notice your absence.

When you do so, melancholy has you on its trap. You are swallowed by it, there staying whilst your footsteps automatically sway out of their view. You dissociate, rewinding the times you disappointed every one you know.

Perhaps what is worse is the day Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon’s betrothal is announced. You found yourself wishing to be in her shoes, the perfect Princess.

Disgusted by mundane sentiments you are suffocated when confronted by your imperfections. You need some air. Perhaps the gardens will offer some solution.

Barefoot, your Hightower curls are blown off your head the more you run into the labyrinth of green towers of leaves and pomades. Tears roll out, uninvited, as if the grip around them is now loose. Because at the center of this rarely visited labyrinth lies a cold stoned bench where you sit and burst into silent, painful tears.

*

Even a merry prince as himself needs some moment to himself. Regardless of how fearful he is of loneliness—which is usually mistaken as a moment of fragility—, Aegon feels in the air that not all is well as it should.

It takes no more than a few minutes to notice the lady Y/N Hightower’s escape of the court. He sighs. Thus the recollections begin as the silver haired Targaryen royal retraces your steps.

I remember well, my lady, when we bonded. It was odd that someone laughed at my sarcastic remarks; that a relative would appreciate my fierceness, or even compliment my efforts in reading messy words.

Whenever I was faulted for not being hard working like Aemond, or when envy consumed my poor soul for being overshadowed by Rhaenyra, you stood for me. You held my hand, dismissed my fragilities and reassured me I was as good as any of them. You encouraged me flying with Sunfyre when I was anguished before the Strong boys. You never failed to surprise me, a deed few—if any at all—accomplished.

But I was so selfish…. When you fell, where was I? When you wept, where was I? When your strength was shaken, I failed you. I blinded myself because I supposed you and Aemond were too bright to burn. I whored because the idea of you led me to believe I was unworthy—as my mother often remarked that she found our friendship rather unusual, uncommon, unmatched: you, the perfection; me, the broken man.

Indeed she has been correct in her judgement. But reason often tormented me because I am too weak to surpass myself. Where there are obstacles, I see an invitation to encourage my sins; where there are defiances, I convince myself I lack capacity to overcome them.

I am not brave. No, my precious lady. This errant prince is unworthy of your affection. Nonetheless… I will rescue you. You will see that I am capable of loving, even if this means to admit I cannot be loved.

The sight of you in complete distress makes him rush his steps. Part of him is relieved to see you haven’t done anything imprudent, but another prays anxiously for whatever deity that he is not the cause of your atonement.

“Goodness!”, you almost cry out when you see Aegon. You stand quickly, trying to recompose yourself. “A-Aegon! I mean, my lord cousin.”

You try desperately to omit your distress, to conceal your anxiety, but Aegon sees through you. The prince holds your wrists and pulls you against him.

“Don’t. Don’t do this, Y/N.”

Still holding a hand over your right wrist, he releases his free hand to gently brush away your eyes, after lifting your chin so he can read the pain in them.

“We’ve already surpassed this phase, haven’t we? It’s long gone since that day where… well, where we had mutual accusations of distrust”, says he, pleased to make you chuckle lightly.

“True. We are not children anymore”.

The distance is short. Shorter than what usually is. You can smell his scent, which only infuriates your racing heart.

“Then why are you running away?”

You sigh. Something about his long gaze at you, at the kindness behind his lilac irises, at the soft smile on his lips… is enough to disperse your insecurities.

“I am not running away.”

It’s a weak protest, a lie that Aegon knows what it really means. He once used it to shy away everyone who dares to approach him. For some reason, this old tactic never worked with you. It is only natural that it has no success with him as well.

“You are not well. What troubles you, my sweet? Always the dutiful daughter, always the merry one of us all, the prideful daughter of Old Town.” He strokes your cheek once more. “The stories we created, the past I was part of… cannot be just that.”

“We forged a very good bond, didn’t we?”

“Indeed.” Then a flash of hurt crosses his gaze for a moment. “Is it what it is, though? A good bond is what we have?”

And just like that you set yourself free of his touch. Where there was warmth, now there is cold.

“I cannot… Do not make me say what I may regret. Leave me to my pain, to be tormented by my delusions.”

“I may be many of the things I am accused of. However, to be careless is not one of them.” Aegon takes you by your arm, forcing you to turn at him. “Tell me I am only a memory, that we are nothing.”

“I was always yours, cousin. But you were never mine”, you burst out what’s been killing you. “I am not Helaena. Nor a Targaryen can I be considered! What am I? Who am I? Somewhere along the lines I became what is expected! But I lost myself in the process.”

“I will not sacrifice us for duty!” He holds you against him, your frame tied in between his arms. You find the same anguish in his eyes, the old desperation that equals yours, an entire ocean of profound sentiments that invite to an inevitable drowning.

Cupping your cheeks with his hands, he stares back at yours.

“It pains me that I am not able to take away your suffering. Miserable is the man who cannot uphold a sword to battle his damsel’s torments. For years I accepted that I failed before the world. But when it comes to you, Y/N, I am not afraid of the dark. I am not that fucking cunt. You never left me on my own. Unworthy as I am, hardly magnanimous as others might suggest to make me their jest, you remain.”

“I am a sinner, Aegon. Filth with…”

He covers your mouth, impeding words to come out of your disgraced soul any longer.

“For years we repressed it. Nay, Y/N. Do not make us miserable anymore. I shall make you mine at the cost of all.” And yet when battles seemingly obstinate at the cost of your breakdown, he holds you close. “Come here. Let us leave this world, uh? I know exactly what you deserve.”

You stay there for a moment, taking his words as what you need to hear. What you need to heal. Aegon is your balsam, and this is touching in many ways.

The rogue prince, rejected by all of those who, by blood, are moved by this familiar pretense of loving him, is someone else’s solace. You, often the strong one, so sensible and reasonable, rely on his feeble, meek prince whose divinity is nothing but a mask.

Thus you stay. And he loves you more than he can admit.

*

Sunfyre seems to smile at you when Aegon gleefully takes you to him.

“Come now. He won’t bite you!”, your rogue prince beams at you. He extends his hand at you. “Do you honestly think this is a privilege I give everyone I know?”

His golden scaled dragon seems to huff as if to say: “Indeed, my lady. Do you honestly think I would allow anyone to ride me besides Aegon?”

You giggle softly. Aegon sees you blushing, the idea of enjoying a privilege few would ever do makes you suddenly shy. Your face is adorably pink, a great sight to behold when adding to it your loose curly red hair.

“Well?”

“I do not mean to keep you waiting”, you take his hand, enjoying the warmth of your fingers locked. “Thank you for having me, Sunfyre.”

The winged creature looks at you pompously, a very adorable sight that makes you smile.

“How can one not smile before the most beautiful dragon there has ever been?”, says Aegon, resting his face against Sunfyre’s forehead. “Heavens know this is just… unmatched.”

“You have a very strong bond with this one”, you observe, smiling.

“He understands me like no other”, Aegon smiles as Sunfyre confirms him with its own way of showing tenderness. “We belong to each other.”

“Indeed. I am pleased he takes you as who you are. It is what it should have always been.”

“Come now. Let us fly!”

You take the hand offered even though you are not dressed for the occasion. As Sunfyre opens its wings and begins to fly, his hands around your waist ensure you that you are safe.

“You may be Targaryen in your own way, Y/Nickname”, Aegon whispers in your ear. “But I prefer you being Hightower. It has a better ring to it, hasn’t it? Lady Y/N Hightower.”

You giggle like a little girl. Oh, once upon a time you dreamed of this moment. It is unique, indescribable. He is so close to you, carefree and merry.

His arms around your waist as he leads the way when pulling the reins of Sunfyre, at the same time letting it be leaded by this beautiful golden winged creature.

Wind blows your hair, messing it all the way as you fly higher and maybe a choked sound comes out of your throat. Adrenaline runs in your veins and for a second you fear you are about to fall.

“Trust in me, my lady! You are safe with me!”, Aegon chuckles quietly.

You can only nod. Despite the fear, you trust your guts, and delegate all the power to him. Aegon’s face is close to yours so he can read your expressions, the subtle change in your countenance quite clear. And yet when you relax, when your shoulders are light again, he knows the value of your trust.

Taking the opportunity to surprise you, he is bold enough to press his lips against your cheek.

“Oh, Aegon!”, you blush, batting your eyelashes timidly.

“Are you enjoying this adventure?”, Aegon looks so content like he hasn’t been in years.

When your gazes meet, you forget that he is promised to another. You are led to believe he is delegating his heart to your possession. Against reason, you nurture hope.

“More than I deserve. Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Anything for my lady”, and even up in the skies he takes your hand and presses a kiss on it.

This time Sunfyre flies slowly, stable as it is up in the air. It is when Aegon takes his time to enjoy it with you.

“Aegon…”, you hesitate.

“Yes?”

He waits. When he does so, eyes are locked in a long gaze. He notices the color that paints your irises, the red that paints your curls, your long nose and heart-shaped face. Sweet features that mirror the kindness within. Your lips tremble and the prince is eager to hear those words.

Those three words that he too is eager to pronounce, tasting them for the first time in a lifetime of rage and frustration.

“I am scared to speak my mind.”

Aegon puts a hand over your chin, his callous hand moving higher to cup your cheek. To fight away the remaining shadows of your heart, right at the twilight, he knocks his pride down when choosing to be the one to say what must be said.

“Y/N Hightower, throughout these years my cold heart has been endeared to a new sentiment of a kind I never experimented before, often judged to never feel it because I was deemed unworthy of it. The root to my heart has been uneasy, I know, and yet you took it with the bravery of your gentleness.”

As the words come out so naturally, you blush deeper. You’d look away if he doesn’t make you stay and see the truth in his gaze.

“You, the very center of my heart, have grown more than a companion, a cousin, someone with whom I share blood. Nights grow cold without you, I sinned hopelessly because I thought…” Aegon sighs, impatient with himself. “All of this is to say that I love you.”

To his surprise, you cup his face with your hands and lock your lips with his. Right as the sun starts to go down, as the colors of twilight begin to paint the skies, every doubt is solved, every shadow dissipates.

It is a peaceful kiss, perfectly paired even if it starts sloppy. Sunfyre hums happily as if to put a soundtrack to this moment where Aegon Targaryen is genuinely happy for the first time in years.

“I love you, Aegon”, you rest your forehead against his. “Whatever it comes, never forget how endeared you are.”

He cannot argue when you say in such a sweet manner. You convince him that with patience and time, love flourishes.

And you stay like this for a while.

***

Aegon’s eyes are glued in you. Today you are dancing with Princess Helaena by her side at a feast that honours the king’s name day.

“Lady Y/N must be a witch”, muses Aemond out of the blue.

“What for?”, Aegon casts a frown at his younger brother. “Do not dessacralize her name like this, Aemond.”

“Oh. So you are far more smitten than I have assumed”, Aemond raises his eyebrows. “And here I was presuming you’d make her one of your mistresses…considering whom you are betrothed to.”

“Assume what you want. Lady Y/N is not a mistress, no.”

His brother cannot believe his ears. Is this an scandal in the making?

“You cannot be serious. Aegon…”

“What? All I can do is displease others as it seems. They are not content when I do as told. It is time to take my life with my own hands.”

“This will not end well.”

“We shall try and see.”

Aegon stands impatiently and moves to where you are. He knows all eyes are set on him: courtiers hold their breath when you come at his meeting. But what do they know when love is clear in the eyes of the Cupid’s victims?

Helaena, who knew from day one where this would go, smiles to you and excuses herself to Aemond’s side—which only served to leave Alicent astonished, but not entirely displeased since she likes you.

What indeed comes out as a shock is that Aegon has eyes to no other but you.

“We are making it obvious”, you murmur.

“Let it be so. I have no shame in showing my affection for you.”

“Aegon, but you are promised to another”, he sees the pain it comes when acknowledging this fact.

Hands are held and bodies dance when he says calmly:

“Betrothals are often brokered. It happens under uncertainties until marriages are certain.”

You cast him a long wide gaze.

“You cannot be serious..”

Aegon smiles at you in a way few have seen it. The dance comes to an end and he bows before you, lingering a kiss on your wrist without parting gazes.

“I am most serious in my intentions, lady Y/N.”

***

You are occupied with embroidery, lost in your thoughts by the time the queen comes to meet you.

“Y-Your Grace, my aunt”, you dip to a gracious curtsy, blushing as you do so, aware of the reason why she suddenly came to see you.

“No need formalities, child”, she gives you a small smile. “I came to talk to you. I believe you know why.”

As you mutter some answer, Queen Alicent is reminded of herself. You could have been her daughter had she been married off to a nobleman of a house like Tyrell. Not only that but some traits you possess makes her lament how she wasted her youth being a puppet to serve her father’s ambition.

Painful remembrances. And yet… you are tracing a better path than she ever did.

“I am not angry at you, dear child. I should have assumed any of this would result. To be honest, your grandsire was hoping to marry you to Aemond, seeing how similar you are.” Alicent smiles, clearly judging otherwise. “Well, Helaena was closer to Aemond than you in any case.”

“I have nothing to say against lord Aemond, my queen, but it is true that I am closer to lord Aegon.”

“I neglected to consider your sentiments in these matters much as mine were discarded by the time… Oh, never mind. It does little good to dwell in the past”, she now takes your hand. “Aegon surprised me for the first time. He is strongly decided to make you his wife.”

“Oh”, you cannot disguise your surprise. You have to put a hand on your heart as if to prevent you to pass out. “He actually means it!”

Queen Alicent chuckles at your reaction.

“I was shocked too myself, but the king and I are happy to see a change in his comportment. For which on behalf of the crown I thank you and officially welcome you to this disfunctional family, dearest Y/N.”

You laugh quietly. For the first time in a long time your demons are defeated and you taste a safe victory. This is not about comparisons anymore, nor to be gushed by insecurities. Aegon has helped you heal in many, many ways.

***

A few moons later…

“I thought I was not born for happiness”, you confide him right after you landed with Sunfyre.

Since the day Aegon and you were married, the king granted the newly weds a household so you could enjoy your privacy. Ever since this day, Springhall has been your home.

“Why would you say that, Y/Nickname?”, he holds your arm against him as you two walk side by side back inside. “Stealing from me the typical phrasing effect?”

You chuckle quietly.

“No, I mean every word I said. When circumstances forced me to acknowledge my feelings for you, Aegon, I never thought you’d correspond. I felt as if I loved a star too high to grasp.”

It is your way with words that move his heart. It is how these echo the sincerity with your devotion that bends a prideful man like him. Aegon stops the pace and turns you around.

“It pains me that you have gone through difficult months, withdrawn to a heavy pressure of expectations your mother and father laid on you. Even more that I disappointed you with my wayward manners”, he takes your fingers and kisses each for a long time.

Summer breeze blows his hair, and you seem to notice this day he is not dressing dark shade of green, but a light one instead, which matches yours.

“We tend to get lost in our way when we are not properly guided, I’m afraid. But I cannot excuse my past, when I was given the chance to write a better future. Your unending loyalty to me, Y/N… Gods. I could list to all of your virtues that charmed me… In fact, let me do it.”

He keeps his words. Your self esteem has never been higher. A man like him to praise yourself in this manner… Oh, how many skeptical persons would have mocked this possibility?

To be loved like a fair damsel in these stories you read is a reality you’ve thought impossible. You knew your dreams were prompted to be sacrificed by the duties to serve your family, but alas! The impossible is now possible!

“What a joy you give me to be your wife”, you say more tearful than you know.

“You are my heart’s queen, my heart’s gleam, light of my life, my sun and stars. I am devoted to you until the last breath of this body.”

You take his hands and plants a kiss on each, holding his fingers firmly as you look at him with a spark in your gaze.

“My best beloved, I could not find happiness elsewhere but with you. My soul rejoices when yours is close to mine, when day and night I can love you right. Oh, you light my life and lead the way to Seven Paradises!”

“My poetess!”

And saying so, he kisses you under sunlight.

***

• Epilogue.

Prince Aegon’s marriage has not only proven to be a great surprise to many and a true delight to all, but in many ways it was scandalous too.

Specially because he formally abdicated of his rights to the crown to spend his lifetime with you. By giving these to his younger brother, Aemond, well… Ser Otto Hightower might have to adjust his plans. And your sweet demeanor makes it difficult to be blamed for such a decision. Besides, you found in your father a good supporter at court so all is well that ends well.

Before the great series of events that are coming, you give Aegon a number of children to occupy yourselves to. These are:

1. Aegon, named after his father.

2. Rhaena, his twin.

3. Alysanne.

4. Daena.

5. Daeron.

6. Jaehaerys.

7. Maekar.

8. Daenys.

And two miscarriages. What is intriguing is that by the time King Viserys’ death, you and Aegon are found living your lives quietly in Essos.

So when war comes, Aemond starts to question himself.

Where is Aegon? Can he be counted on for this war? Or should he better be left in his domestic affairs?

But these speculations run out of this scope. Besides, it’s not as if Aegon and Y/N Targaryen would pose any danger to Aemond and Helaena’s inheritance… Right?

Whatever it is, some things are better left unsaid. And you and Aegon content yourselves with this very peaceful scenario…

[stitchyblogs]

my curse is that i keep falling in love with peacock shows that a) people forgot they have a subscription to, or b) keep getting cancelled- but if you DO have peacock and you want 20+ recs hit a stitchy up, yooooo

NUMBER ONE please watch The Resort. It’s about love and grief and going on a magical realism vacation in the mayan riviera and playing detective on some missing teen’s old ass pre smartphone cell phone 🤳🏼🌴

(definitely serves as a stand alone miniseries, but i’d love more)

Look at this cast and tell me you’re not like “ohh.” THE RESORT. NOW.

2!!!! WE ARE LADY PARTS

a comedy about a British punk rock band named Lady Parts, which consists entirely of Muslim women. One of whom is obsessed with Don McLean, which speaks di-fucking-rectly to teenage stitchy

threeeeee is BRILLIANT MINDS, the medical drama show i would make if you held me hostage. I would say “there are too many doctor shows already!!!” And youd’d say, “make one anyway!!! I have a weapon!!” But this doctor show is Special. It’s based on the work and character of neurologist Oliver Sacks, who i’ve been fascinated by since doing the opera adaption of The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat in college (brag). It’s kinda like if House had old school Quantum Leap levels of empathy and 🏳️‍🌈

gif by @pedro-reed THIS SHOW IS LIKE A HUG. Did i MENTION mandy patinkin cameo that rocked my world??? Btw???!

shuttup i fucking loved the treasure of foggy mountain. Its number 4. i said what i said

FIVE! Speaking of films on peacock, you know Conclave is on there right? RIGHT?! It’s the Mean Girls of pope movies. It’s everything to me, a cradle catholic who thinks canon Jesus was pretty lit, its the fandom I can’t gel with. And Ralph Fiennes has to care for his dead boss’s army of turtles need i say more

Okay back to tv series… MR MERCEDES! It’s stephen king doing some hardboiled detective shit that only baaaarely steps out of reality. Like. One toe. One and a half. Shout out to all my Brendan Gleeson fuckers, i know you’re out there.

Everyone else… You might not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like.

are we on 7? We’re on 7. It’s MRS DAVIS. Betty Gilpin is a nun raised by shady Las Vegas magicians who is Hot For Jesus and on a mission to destroy Artificial Intelligence and her mommy issues. My flabbers were gasted by this perfection.

(Complete narrative btw!)

EIGHT. Do you love Stephanie Hsu??? Do you enjoy Nahnatchka Khan’s other work? Check out LAID. A sex comedy that is very preposterous and if we do not get a s2 I will be haunted forever. my Number 1 nepo baby Zosia Mamet is also here and she is not playing around

NINE is a total left field premise. Claudia O’Doherty and Craig Robinson go into business hunting exotic pythons for cash. This might be the peak hustle culture show about a Tenuous Job. I have never touched a snake in my life and i’m gripping my guts from laughing like “so tru bestie!!”

TEN is a P.S.A. Friends, i need you to know Peacock has some golden oldies. Is Little House On The Prairie your show when you’re sick on the couch? Did you dad raise you on old Quantum Leap? Have you been meaning to meet my best friend Mr. Detective Columbo!? They are HERE!

awoooo!! 11 is WOLF LIKE ME. Josh Gad is an american dad living in australia for some illusive reason… idk… anyway his daughter has a serious anxiety disorder he is carefully managing, and uhhhhh guess what his new girlfriend Isla Fisher is a werewolf. LET GIRLS BE MONSTERS.

Uhm i think I’m gonna have to stop here and re blog to add more. Too many images! 😅

[live-fast-pet-frogs]

Helluva Dads, and why Blitzø is better than Stolas

This post is not a Stolas hate post in any way, I think this is just an interesting perspective on the main characters of Helluva boss as parents, mainly Blitzø and Stolas. If you want to avoid spoilers please skip.

The latest episode has brought up some speculations on how the trailer snippet from this seasons (meant for the next episode) will be about Octavia growing resentful of Stolas and thinking that he has abandoned her.

I have seen some posts claiming that Via is a spoiled rich kid and that she is demanding so much from her father, some posts even going as far as saying she is exactly like Stella. I disagree with these takes heavily because Stella is a one dimensional villain, portrayed to have no other function than to be Stolas' abuser. Octavia is actually extremely valid in her feelings and she has more than enough reason to resent Stolas.

If you noticed, every single Octavia centric episode portrays the same conflict between father and daughter: Octavia feeling like an afterthought and worrying that Stolas will leave her for Blitzø.

This has been featured in "Loo Loo Land" where Octavia is exasperated by the fact that even when Stolas plans a whole day for the two of them to spend time together (even by disregarding Via's feelings about the theme park), he still spends most of his time flirting with Blitz, whom he invited along just for the sake of it as there has been zero need for them. At the end of the episode, Stolas apologies for not hearing Via out, promises that he won't ever abandon her and the two head home with their conflict resolved.

Or not....

In "Seeing Stars" Octavia runs away to the human world because Stolas forgot about their promise to watch a meteor shower that they have been looking forward to seeing since she was a toddler. Stolas spends his day arguing with Stella over their divorce and ignoring his daughter. I just want to say it's not Stolas' fault that he is stressed because of his divorce and his ex wife is making the whole process harder for him but ultimately his daughter should take priority over anything else in his life. A parent should put their child first, always.

Enter Blitzø:

He has his fair share of faults, and he infantalises Loona often but at the end of the day, she know he will be there for her and she will be there for him. She knows Blitz cares for her a lot, and she never doubts that or expresses feeling neglected (i mean also because of her background).

Blitzø also puts his daughter even before Stolas, as seen in Western Energy. He has to take Loona to her doctors appointment and even though Loona is a grown adult at this point, he knows she gets super anxious around shots so he insists on accompanying her, even when Stolas tells him that he has been kidnapped. Blitz sends M&M in his stead, because Loona takes priority.

The main difference between Loona and Octavia is how much their parents wanted them.

Both Stolas and Blitzø love their daughters and want the best for them. However I can't help but think that the main reason in how they are treated is the fact that one of them was unwanted.

Stolas loves his daughter, that is undeniable and before Blitz re-entered his life Octavia was probably the only person in his life who made him happy. But he didn't want her. Everything in Stolas' life until the main plot has been decided for him, and he has done everything he did out of obligation: his job, his marriage and his heir. Paimon has decided that he will marry Stella when Stolas was a small child, and they were expected to produce an heir as soon as possible. Stolas most likely became a father against his will at an age where he was barely an adult and unprepared to raise a child. And that is not even mentioning the fact that he is gay.

This is not his fault, again. But it is the main reason why he always tries to escape his life and obsesses over Blitzø, ultimately including Octavia in the multitude of things he is running away from. Via is extremely entangled in the "list of chores" Stolas has to do, while Blitzø represents the freedom of choice for him.

Even so, it feels like Stolas is running the same circles around his daughter throughout the story, which is: Stolas neglects Via, Via feels sad and abandoned, they have a wholesome discussion that Stolas won't ever abandon Via and he loves her a lot, 2 seconds later Stolas is off chasing cock.

At the end of Mastermind, Via is seen visibly upset, probably thinking that his father left her behind for Blitzø again. She feels betrayed by him over and over again, and she is right because Stolas, despite making promises still disregards Via's thoughts and feelings at the end of the day.

Stolas is absolutely devastated when he realises that he might not see his daughter again, that he has lost custody over her. But it's too little too late, and while in this particular case it was completely justified that he went to save Blitzø from literally being executed, maybe Via would be taking it better if she wasn't left behind by Stolas over and over again.

Meanwhile Blitzø finally manages to connect with Loona on a deeper level by proving to her that he will always prioritise her safety and will die for her if it comes to that. It was the last push for Loona to completely lower her guard and actually allow herself to express outward affection towards her father.

And I think this progress could only happen because Blitzø has never given Loona a reason to feel left behind. This can also be a reason of introspection on Blitz' part as he adoped Loona after seeing himself in her. They had similar childhoods, full of abuse and neglect, and he was determined to make sure Loona won't have to feel that way with him around.

Unfortunately Stolas has suffered so badly from his depression and loneliness that even by trying his best he has subjected Octavia to the same loneliness he is desperately trying to escape. I hope that instead of resentment, he can learn from Blitzø on how to be a better parent, and also to take care of himself as well. I hope he and Octavia can reunite at some point, but Stolas will need to work more consciously on being there for his daughter.

[emry-stars-art]

Children of the Moriyama-Day thrones ✨

I’ve been putting off an explanation for the kingdom Evermore for FOREVER and honestly a lot of it is directly pulled from this post and some more chats with @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of (thank you ily you’re so smart)

So if you wanna know like 80% of the pre-timeline Moriyama-Day story, read on:

SO. In Evermore, at least amongst nobility, all importance is placed on direct descendants of family lines. Spouses to the royal family can claim titles if they so choose - the equivalent titles are reserved for that eventuality - but their children will always have higher titles than them (ex: the husbands of the Day line queens are not princes but instead something closer to dukes, while their children will be Day princes and princesses, as well as the reverse for the Moriyama wives). This means that every once in a while, if a spouse would prefer to live privately rather than subject themselves to the more stressful aspects of noble life, they remain only vaguely known by the public. This doesn’t happen often by any means, but it does give the royal family an excuse for why the father of Kevin Day has not made himself known.

Each generation has a shared title - the most fit and capable to rule will take the titles of kings and queens*, while their children are princes and princesses. The eldest of each family in the generation adds “high ___” to their title once a younger sibling is born. This is why even though Kevin is the younger between him and Natalie - the next Day generation - he is the heir to the Day throne because his mother was the elder sister. The names in pink are the highest ranking royalty of their generation, whom the throne is passed to.

*(Maybe Evermore retires their monarchs once they’re unfit to rule, or maybe the younger generations take them by force, thus proving they are fit for the throne. I could see it going either way tbh)

The Moriyama line here is continuing essentially as is usual and expected. There’s family members among each generation and the procession of power is in place. The Day family, on the other hand, has almost entirely crumbled.

Queen Shields left the throne of her own volition, taking her daughter Natalie with her. She left the throne and renounced her Evermore citizenship for reasons unknown to the public, though the Moriyama family brushed it aside as the whims of a young woman that clearly couldn’t handle the lifestyle. For this reason, even if she was to come back to Evermore, she would no longer be able to claim her place among the Day family. Her daughter Natalie Shields, on the other hand, was hardly more than an infant when she was taken, and so the Evermore nobility could not say she renounced her throne or her citizenship by choice. If Princess Natalie ever returned to Evermore and demanded her throne, she would have it.

High Queen Kayleigh, as we all know, has passed away. Her son Prince Kevin was raised beside Ichirou and Riko by the Moriyama family as the sole remaining member of the royal Day line. Though he and Prince Riko had always been close because of their age (High Prince Ichirou was at that age range and just older enough that he found littler kids and especially siblings to be “annoying”, the way kids do), as they grew up, Kevin realized that even if Riko was his best friend and brother, he himself had started agreeing more with Ichirou’s political views and ideas. Riko swallowed the Evermore ideals of “conquer and prosper” as any younger brother might. Kevin and Ichirou never had to fight for the power handed to them - they were beginning to see that those traditions were becoming obsolete, and there were better ways to expand and run a country.

Riko did not like the attention Kevin was suddenly getting from Ichirou.

So when Kevin said, suddenly and surprisingly, that he was going to travel before marriage - see what and who around them might benefit Evermore - no one could really stop him. He was by that point the Day crown. High King Kengo allowed it. (He wouldn’t have, had Ichirou not so strongly championed for the idea.)

Young king Kevin is not technically an Evermore deserter or traitor. The Moriyamas cannot prove that he is. But the longer he stays in Palmetto, the more suspicions arise that he isn’t there only on business, or even that he might never intend to return at all. The only way to take the throne from Kevin - destroying the Day line in Evermore for good - is for him to renounce his throne, or for war to break out between the two countries so that Kevin will be forced to pick a side.

(We know what side he’d pick, of course. His adopted brothers as well. The rest of the Moriyamas are fairly certain they know, and are growing severely impatient for the chance to label him a traitor.)

(This also leads to the idea that perhaps, if she found her way back to Evemore on an errand, all the lost princess Natalie would have to do is exchange her claim to the throne for a certain foreign prisoner’s freedom. Ichirou is always looking for ways to get rid of competition, and Riko’s lost plaything is not his to worry about. Kengo’s declining health makes it easy for Ichirou to pass off his word as the High King’s.

So the ex-princess is free to take Jean Moreau wherever he’d like to go. Or, when he says he doesn’t know, wherever she thinks is suitable.)

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

In his own twisted way: Prologue

So here it is! First part of my new daughter of Ares fic! I hope you love it as much as I do <3

Word count: 2100 ish words

Warnings: mention of character death

Fic masterlist here!

Ares hated children.

He hated their whining, their crying, their clinging. He didn’t care for the drawings they did, or their “cuteness” or their wonder for everything new around them, and he hated when they cried like babies because of a scrape on their knee, or when they had nightmares and wanted to be held.

He didn’t like them, not even his own.

He hated how they reminded him of his own weaknesses. He hated how they made him feel something other than anger, something he couldn't name.

But he couldn't hate her.

Not entirely. Not when she looked at him with those big eyes, so much like her mother's, and a grin every time she saw him at her doorstep. Not when she smiled at him with that gap-toothed grin, so innocent and trusting, a polar opposite as to how everyone else looked at him. Not when she held his hand with her tiny fingers, so warm and soft, completely trusting him to lead the way.

She was his youngest daughter. Her name was Emily, and just as his other children, he hoped she would grow up to be a troublemaker, a rebel, and a fighter. Someone like him. He had hoped she would make him proud, or, maybe more fitting for him, at least amused. Useful for his battles.

And at barely six years old, she was a true daughter of Ares: she loved adventures, exploring the wild, she didn’t mind getting messy or dirty, and she stood up to whoever opposed to her. However, she was also gentle, kind, curious. She loved nature, and stories, and the stars, and learning. Her little soul was still pure… something Ares bewondered, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

But she was a mistake. A mistake he had made with a mortal woman, which he had tried to ignore, and he almost succeeded at it; he had visited her very few times, enough for her to know who he was, but not sufficient for him to get attached.

Until the day he found out she was dead.

Her mother, not the girl. The woman he had once loved… or, more like, had had a relationship with, was dead. The woman who had birthed and raised their daughter alone, without his help, without his care. She was now gone, leaving their daughter orphaned, alone, and unprotected.

Ares had been fond of her. He hadn’t loved her, no, not really, or at least, not in the romantical way. She had been someone he shared interests with, with whom he formed a connection with, and as a result of that, came Emily. As an immortal being, he was more than accustomed to death (it kind of came in the job description for being the god of war), and especially the death of mortals; their lives were brief, like the blink of an eye, and it rarely affected him anymore, if ever.

But Emily was alone now, without any family left, and even if he was the god of war, and all the brutality and horrors that came with it, he wasn’t exempt of having feelings (on the contrary of what he said about himself). They were the reasons why he found new lovers from time to time, and had children with them every once in a while.

Even the god of war longs for some sort of connection and human emotion.

So he had no choice. He couldn’t have Emily live with him, for obvious reasons, and he also didn’t want that. No, he’d take her to the only place where she would be safe from the monsters that would end up eventually finding her: camp Half-Blood. The camp for demigods, where his other children were. The children he hated, and who hated him back.

He was sure Emily would end up hating him as well. They all did… it was only a matter of time.

So there he was, driving a car towards Long Island, with little Emily sleeping in the backseat, her head leaning against her teddy bear, breaths even and rhythmic. He tried to not pay attention to her wet cheeks, still glistening with tears shed for her mother, or how she had raised her arms up at him upon seeing him when he picked her up, wanting to be comforted by her father; Ares tried to not think about how much she trusted him, with his rough exterior, and without really knowing him, and most importantly, he tried to not think much about how moved it made him feel.

The car stopped in the middle of the road, not too far away from the entrance to camp, hidden in the heart of the forest. Ares reluctantly turned off the engine, and silence followed, only broken by Emily’s breathing, and the faint sound of morning rain falling on the roof of the car.

Ares took a deep breath, pushing back the conflicting emotions that surged within him.

He didn’t know why he was feeling like this. It made him extremely uncomfortable in his own skin, and that was something he didn’t experience often. Perhaps Aphrodite had played some trick on him… making him actually feel something at the prospect of leaving his young daughter all alone at camp half-blood. Something like… dread, and pain, and not the one he was used to. This was pain that came from other feelings he had, that usually blossomed in his chest the few times he visited Emily, or when he looked at her from the rearview inside that car, watching her sleep soundly.

But he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t know how to be a father, he’d never really had good role models to learn from. He didn’t know how to comfort children, talk to them… or hell, love them. And he didn’t want to even try to… because that wasn’t like him. He hated children. Why even care about his own? He was an Olympian, and Olympians didn’t do that.

When the rain stopped, Ares stepped out of the car, and went to the backseat; Emily only stirred in her sleep when he fumbled with the seatbelt, the unfamiliar task more challenging than he’d like to admit, and she kept on sleeping when he took her into his arms out of the car.

She had with her only her teddy and a small backpack filled with her essentials; Ares hadn’t grabbed more of her stuff when retrieving her.

On top of the hill, where the whole expanse of Camp Half-Blood could be seen for those who had divine heritage, Ares stood, listening: it was very early in the morning, the sun hadn’t risen yet, and the few people at camp were still sleeping; in a few weeks, most of the cabins would be full of demigod children, running around, training, and relishing in the beginning of summer. Emily would have settled until then, and she’d be ready to begin her training alongside her half-siblings to become a warrior, just as every Ares kid did.

His daughter woke up before sunrise, while he was still standing at the same spot. She mumbled something, her little eyes fluttering open, cheeks warm against the skin of his neck. She clutched her bear tighter, tired.

“Daddy?”

Ares hummed, not used to a small child talking to him in such tender voice. Like everything involving Emily, it made him feel that unfamiliar warmth he was uncomfortable with… but that he longed for when he didn’t have it, missing it.

Emily raised her head, slowly starting to look around, and at Camp Half-Blood. Her new home.

“This is where you’ll be staying from now on” he said, watching her. Her little eyebrows frowned, and then she looked at him, directly in the eyes.

“With you?”

“With people like you” he clarified, making sure she understood it “Demigods. Half-bloods. Remember what I taught you about the gods?”

“You are one. It’s your job”

She didn’t really get it, that was obvious. But she was still very young, and he didn’t really expect her to do so. Compared to him… well, his life had been already so long, that her presence in it was like a single grain of sand in the beach: small and imperceptible.

And yet, she was the only one of his children he had brought to camp himself. The only one who he had stayed around enough time for her to call him daddy to his face. The only, and first one, for many things.

At sunrise, a centaur emerged from the big house at camp, and noticed pretty quickly the silhouette of the god on top of the hill, and the small child in his arms.

Ares watched Chiron make his way slowly up to them, and he set then Emily down to the ground, helping her put her backpack on (which looked comically enormous on her little form); she grabbed his hand when she spotted the centaur, tiny fingers clutching his own, nervous. He couldn’t really blame her: she was facing many changes in a very short period of time.

“Ares” greeted Chiron, reaching them. The god acknowledged him with a nod, watching the centaur shift his gaze from him to the little girl by his side, trying to hide behind his leather coat “Hello there, young lady” Emily shyly waved back at him, and introduced herself after Chiron did “I assume… she is yours?”

“My flesh and blood” answered Ares “She will be staying at camp from now on, permanently”

Chiron nodded, and stretched out a hand for her; Emily, encouraged by a nod from her father when she looked up at him, went to the centaur, still uncertain.

“She will be taken care of here”

“I sure hope so”

Chiron looked down at Emily again, smiling at her, trying to ease up her nerves.

“Let’s go to your cabin then, young lady”

He gently guided her to the pathway that led to camp, Ares still standing there, watching them go. But Emily turned back around before leaving, searching for his eyes.

“Daddy?” she asked, with the same small voice from minutes before when she woke up “Aren’t you coming with us?”

He wouldn’t. He knew it from the beginning, of course, and Chiron also knew it. The pain in his chest, however, was unknown.

Ares told her no, and he bit the inside of his cheek when he saw sadness invading her gaze. She ran up to him, raising her arms up again, reaching for him with tears in her eyes. She was all alone, and he was abandoning her as well.

Chiron looked away, his heart breaking silently for the young demigod, while Ares stood there, conflicted by his feelings (those damn feelings he couldn’t handle).

“Listen kid” Emily still had her arms raised up, not budging, and he gave in, picking her up “You’re gonna stay here, you like it or not. Don’t go soft on me now”

Emily pouted at her dad, sniffling.

“But I want to stay with you”

“Yeah, but you can’t. You’ll stay here. That’s final”

She made a mad face at him (which made her look more like an angry kitten in his eyes, actually cute, but he wouldn’t admit that), frowning.

“You’re a meanie, Daddy”

There it was. She was starting to hate him too. Yep… All of them did.

“Sorry to break it to you, kid, but life isn’t fair”

He set her down, but she didn’t move, instead looking up at him with her big eyes. She looked like him, he noticed then, very much so in her way of staring at his face: she was fierce, but also vulnerable.

“Will you come visit me?”

Ares sighed, waving his hand as if to shrug it off.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Maybe sometimes. Now go”

Emily sighed, mirroring him perfectly, and obeyed, going back to the centaur. She did look back at him one time before leaving, though, waving at him.

“Bye Daddy. Love you”

Ares felt that uncomfortable pressure in his chest as a response to her words, feeling like his insides tightened, constricted, twisted and turned all over. He watched her go in silence down the hill alongside Chiron, and he dared to take one last look at her before leaving for good, having completed his self-imposed task of taking his daughter to camp.

“Goodbye, little warrior”

Tough exterior be damned, Ares cared for his daughter.

In the quiet of the moment, where no one was watching him, being completely alone, he allowed himself to hope: He hoped she would be happy. He hoped she would be safe. He hoped she would forgive him for leaving her there.

And he also hoped he would someday be able to forgive himself for doing so too.

***

Taglist: @strawberryys-stuff @ladysybilchronicles

[aliciavance4228]

Unpopular Opinion: Demeter Did Nothing Wrong

Alright, maybe the title isn't 100% accurate since she almost wiped the entire human race from earth, but you got the idea.

The thing with Demeter is that nowdays she is demonized/villainized all the time. And the most ironic part is that she is demonized by feminists, which leaves me quite confused, considering the fact that she would technically be a great example of female strength, especially when raporting to "Homeric Hymns to Demeter". But before discussing the myth of seasons, let's talk about her background story:

One thing that is certain about Demeter is that she had horrible experiences with almost all men from her life. Her father ate her. Poseidon raped her disguised as a horse. Zeus raped her as well (which led to the birth of Persephone). Iasion was one of the few men from her life who loved and respected her, and whom she lived with for a while before Zeus became jealous and killed him; yes, he is THAT much of a d-

The only one of her brothers who didn’t hurt her in any way at that time was Hades. And if you take into account the versions of the myths in which Hades was born before her that means that he was the one who took care of her as well during the time when they were trapped in their father's stomach. So it is pretty much implied that he was the only one of The Big Three whom she trusted the most, which makes the discovery that he was the one who kidnapped her daughter even more tragic.

Now, about "Homeric Hymns to Demeter": first of all I want to point out the fact that this myth isn't about Hades and Persephone. They are mostly mentioned in this story rather than actually playing an active role in it, because they have more of a symbolic value above it all. Wheter Persephone came to love Hades in time or despised him for the rest of her eternity is irrelevant, because this myth is not about her but Demeter.

Demeter had already faced some disturbing experiences even before Persephone was kidnapped. And considering the fact that her own daughter was a result of SA, it makes perfect sense why she would be protective towards her and raise her outside of Mount Olympus; every woman that was raped would fear that her daughter would face the same cruel fate.

About the abduction part: it is revealed to us at the beginning that Hades asked Zeus if he can marry his daughter, and he agreed. Hades only needed the approval of the father in order to wed her. Back in the Ancient Greece, especially in the Athens, people had a very patriarchal view on marriage. On short: the marriage would be usually planned between the groom and the father of the bride, her mother not knowing anything about what was going on until her daughter was already taken away from her. This myth is a representation of how the Patriarchy was a dominant system even among deities, with Zeus as its supreme figure.

At this point, the myth of seasons can be already considered a comfort story for mothers who had to endure the loss of their daughters either through death or marriage. This myth, however, has a lighter note as well, and that because Demeter, instead of accepting the fate of her daughter, left her anger free and did anything she could so that she would ultimately convince Zeus to give her daughter back, the last solution being leaving hundreds of humans dying of cold and hunger. This part basically shows how even a patriarchal figure like Zeus can be defeated by a mother's rage (or pure female rage, take it as you wish). Even though this myth is supposed to tell us just how seasons appeared, it can also be used as a moral lesson for men: it is better to consult with your wife and daughter before making a decision, or else there will be GREAT CONSEQUENCES.

And finally, one moment that is indeed very touching yet most people are ignoring for some reason is when her mother Rhea appears in front of her and starts to comfort her after she found out that Persephone ate the promeganate seeds, showing how a mother's mouring over her daughter was a common feeling among most female deities from Greek Mythology.

Now, is Demeter perfect? Absolutely not. And that is okay, because instead of that she is supposed to show in this myth a lot of humane and realistic nuances about what being a woman is like. She is a complex character, and completely demonizing her just because you ship Hades and Persephone is quite disturbing in my honest opinion. Wheter or not you like this couple (I won't condemn you because they are still one of the most stable relationships from Greek Mythology, but that basically shows just how f*cked up myths are in general lmao but anyway....), you have to understand the fact that the "Beauty and Beast" and "A mother's love will always conquer" are two tropes that can co-exist, and that things aren’t just black-and-white.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA if I actively worsen my family’s sanity as revenge for worsening mine?

My family is that if two parents and three children (all in our 20s).

Without getting into deep specifics, basically, I’ve lost all the patience I’ve had for my family. My mom who is manipulative, my dad who is neglectful, my siblings who are egotistical and dismissive.

because I’m the middle child and oldest daughter I’ve been the brunt of every negative thing you could think of, and I dealt with it for… 25 years.

but this year as my New Year’s resolution I swore to treat them worse than they treat me. So every time my mom tried to manipulate me into feeling bad for her and to love her and to do the house chores, I threaten to kill myself and tell her that she was an awful mother and that if she really cared for me she wouldn’t ask me for things. (She knows I have mental illness that makes it hard for me to do things)

and when my dad puts my pet in danger I slap him and threaten to take his pet to a shelter to have him euthanized and tell him he should die alongside his pet (he is in his mid 60s)

I don’t do anything directly to my siblings because our relationship honestly isn’t that bad, but I did make a fake Instagram account that I use to call out one sibling for all the stuff they do to keep their image up or whatever (some bullying might be involved in their part)

and for my other sibling, who collects vinyls, occasionally I go and scratch up a vinyl they have. Just enough to make it seem like normal wear and tear, they haven’t noticed yet lol.

whenever my parents try to bring up my behavior to me I start yelling at them about how I’m crazy and they raised a crazy daughter and that everything I do is a result of their own creation. And my dad has offhandedly said to let a (female) pet die after she got injured once, so I bring that up all the time.

I tell him that since he hates women so much he should just shoot me like I know he wants to.

Over the past few months I’ve noticed that one sibling has become extremely paranoid, while the other has gotten very frustrated. My dad avoids me now and my mom is very obedient and quiet.

I don’t feel bad about this, and I know there are other things I could have done, but I feel like this has been worth 25 years of repressed anger. Now that the year is almost over, I’m considering that my New Year’s resolution be to try to fix whatever shit show has become of my family, but that’s not the point.

AITA for taking this revenge, or am I justified in paying them back?

the reason I don’t think I’m the asshole in this situation is that at least for the first several months, they tried doubling down on their bullshit. My mom got more manipulative, pulling out everything she could to make me feel bad for her and to submit to her again. And my dad became violent toward my pet, whom I’m protective of to the point where I’ve told every single person I’ve met that if anything happened to her I would kill everybody and then myself. (Luckily I was able to prevent my dad from actually hurting her, but the fact that he tried drove my goal further).

honestly, my sibling probably didn’t deserve it because we all pretty much ignore each other, but I’m holding the grudges from childhood when they would beat me up and break my stuff.

and before anyone says it, I went to therapy for four years and it just made me more angry

What are these acronyms?