#back in my dragon era with these guys :)

[soni-dragon]

another gawain and the green knight dragon piece

[gaysparkler]

Ara Ma'Athlan Vhenas

Yes okay it's my turn to post Solavellan. I'm late to the party but it was going to happen eventually... Read on AO3 Title from the lullaby "Mir Da'Len Somniar" Nialen Lavellan is non-binary and uses she/they interchangeably!

They must have been at this for well over an hour at that point, long enough for the sun to begin its descent and dip into the horizon. Nialen had enough physical strength and energy to keep running after that damned halla in rocky terrain all day, but she wasn’t sure about her companions—notably, Dorian had complained a few times already about rocks in his boots and flies refusing to leave him alone. Nialen only had eyes for the golden fur ahead of them.

“Why don’t we just kill it?” Iron Bull whispered during a short break for everyone to catch their breaths a moment.

“Hanal'ghilan is sacred,” Nialen hissed back before stretching a bit and resuming their jog. “You can go back to camp if you wish.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Dorian sighed. “Be careful, and all that.”

Iron Bull chose to follow him, but Solas remained with her, and her heart beat faster, not just because of their running—which if they were not currently doing, Nialen would have reached for his hand. In any other circumstance, this would have been quite a romantic affair, but as it was, she was growing somewhat frustrated and tired, and though they did enjoy Solas’ company, it would have been more enjoyable if they hadn’t spent a ridiculous amount of time chasing a stubborn halla who refused to be herded. Still, Solas kept up, and did not complain.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Solas’ voice appeared right by their ear, warm and teasing. Nialen could practically hear its accompanying smile.

“I’m a hunter,” she said as she brushed away a lock of hair that escaped from her braid. She could feel Solas’ eyes on her, following the movement of her hand.

“Is this not like a hunt?”

They turned their head to glare at him, and there was that wicked and lovely smile, the one she always looked at a little too long, this time enough to lose track of Hanal'ghilan—again. She swore under her breath and picked up the pace and followed its tracks until she could see it once more, its fur almost glowing under the setting sun. Over the tall rocks was the orange and red sails of the aravels. Just some more gentle coaxing, and—

“I can track, which I have done, since we found what we were looking for. I never said I could shepherd. There’s a reason I wear Andruil’s vallaslin and not Ghilan’nain’s.”

For a second, a deep sadness veiled Solas’ eyes, but it was gone before they could reach for him, or ask about it, or anything at all. It was around the same time that they finally reached the Dalish camp, Hanal'ghilan well ahead of them, already settling with the clan’s herd. Nialen took Solas’ hand, now that she could. It seemed to surprise him for a second, but again, that look quickly vanished from his features. Nialen deliberately bumped into his shoulder, which he did as well, keeping their fingers intertwined.

“Ma serannas,” she said. “For staying.”

His smile was kind, but the sadness was not fully out of his eyes. Perhaps it would never truly leave. Nialen could only tighten their grip on his hand, for now.

“Of course, Vhenan.”

There was that word again, from his mouth, setting her heart ablaze, and it still felt so surreal to her. She leaned closer, hoping for a kiss, and he obliged, dipping his head down to press his lips to hers. When they parted, Nialen noticed that Solas’ eyes lingered on her vallaslin. On their walk back to camp, they couldn’t help to think of Solas’ lack of one, despite his knowledge of their culture—

“You have done a lot of good today,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “Helping them.”

“I couldn’t—” they stammered. “It hurt when Keeper Hawen said he couldn’t trust me. Like I wanted this title. The shems decided I was their god’s chosen.”

Solas wrapped his arms around them. “These names are never kind.”

“No.” Nialen tucked their head under Solas’ chin. “I was happy to do this. Even herding Hanal'ghilan, annoying as it was. It felt like I was back home.”

Solas hummed in her hair and rubbed her back in their embrace. His hands were cold.

“You must be tired,” Solas gently led her the rest of the way to their camp. “Come, I will help you with your braids.”

Nialen followed Solas to their tent, which recently had become shared. With a quick flick of his hand, the small lantern in the corner flickered alight. After shedding their armour and weapons, they sat cross-legged together on their bedrolls, Nialen’s back to Solas, who deftly began to unravel her tightly braided hair—a ritual they both came to relish. Solas’ cold fingers were a balm against Nialen’s scalp as he meticulously untangled the curls at their root before separating them in strands and re-braiding them in a simpler fashion for sleep. Nialen had only shown him once, but he seemed to remember every detail of the routine perfectly.

Now done, Solas ran his hands down Nialen’s back, settled them at their waist, and leaned forward to hook his chin on their shoulder. Nialen reacted in kind by pressing her cheek against his.

“Thank you, Vhenan,” she said quietly, as to not disturb the peace in their tent, purposefully using the name Solas had given her—not all were kind, but this one was. Solas slid his arms around their midsection and pressed himself close. Outside, crickets chirped their tune, the Inquisition field agents on their watch paced and whispered stories of their day to each other, and a not-so trained ear could pick up the Iron Bull’s snoring.

“Sleep, then?” Solas asked, as quiet as them, his voice low in their ear.

Nialen just hummed against him. For a moment, in the dim light of the tent, surrounded by nature, it was like they were home again.

[renarots]

I need him so dearly I might just sell feet pics again

[limelocked]

ocean and cod empires....the silurians/sea devils do you see the vision????

I do see the vision anon, I’m not sure it would have much relevance in hermit who specifically because it’s s1 empires, but I do see it perfectly 20/20 vision

[astrangerfromastrangeland]

wow!

[adoresia]

guys is my aura back yes or nah… im gonna say yes HYKTIPPED TYAYAYAYAYAYAAYAYDTWYAYSYFIWNS im giggling and smiling and jumping or whatever

hi fav dragon *peeking from behind the corner btw* i hope im not too late for this valentines event 🫴🏾🫴🏾🫴🏾🫴🏾

MY FAVOURITE BEEEEEEE ADORESIAAAAAAAAA 🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺

first things first i love u... crazy how we've known each other for only under a month??? thats crazy... it feels like way longer so when i was scrolling back i was like "huhhh??? did some get deleted?" CRAZYYYY!!! youre one of my first moots as well... sniff... i feel the tears coming 😢 lwk breaks my heart when i see youre active at ungodly hours... i shouldve been there or whatever 😕

you genuinely are just really cute. i feel like i mention this a lot but you are!!! seriously!!! i cant even explain it but whenever youre in my notifs i cant help but say it 🤭 i ghink its the bee vibes.. i wanna give u a hug and put you in my pocket and profect u from the world 🫂🫂 i get the vibes that ur not short but i can still dream </3

im even like reluctant to change my theme bc the idea lowkey came from you 😭 i always think "but its sia approved..." and now i havent had the urge to change it since. mayb like a lil, but that was only to make it better. I CANT LET GO!!! + the helpy gifs are actually so entertaining...

je t'aime, belle 😼(french rizz) <- so proud of myself because i spend a solid minute debating where rhe the the the the whatdoyoucallit... where ' goes... dont be surprised if i start spilling french compliments left and right because i am practicing 🫵 this is a threat.

roses for my favourite bee!

[cinnamonest]

Female-Targeted Doujin Masterlist

Thank you anon! Sooooo, I have decided to compile a female-targeted/yumejoshi masterlist, I'll add this post to my main masterlist soon.

These were the one I could think of from memory, I’ll come back to this list and add to it if I get more, I'm sure I missed a few from my bookmarks. Feel free to add to it in the comments, and I'll try to find and update it! Also, several of these were recommended from anons in the past, so thank you all <3

FYI several links lead to nh*ntai dot net, so be aware of that.

Umekoppe

As per the post anon is referencing, Umekoppe is a doujin group that consistently puts out exclusively good content!

“The Yandere Prince Won't Let Me Slip Away”

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: Isekai/pseudo-reincarnation trope, premise basically explained by the title, MC is isekai'd as prince's lost lover.

"The Sacrificial Maiden Corrupted by Coupling With an Oni"

(Link)

Premise: Historical Japan setting, the "MC is an offering sacrifice to the Creature, but the Creature chooses to keep her instead" trope.

"Until the Trashiest Boy Toy Exorcist Ren-kun Crushes Me in His Embrace"

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: MC is a girl that attracts malevolent spirits, exorcist-kun is obligated to help her ward them off (with orgasms, naturally).

"The Spy Who Ravished Me ~Reborn As a Mafia Princess in a Deadly Game~"

(Link)

Premise: Isekai, MC reincarnated into a game where she knows who the guy who is most likely to kill her is, but in her attempt to avoid getting killed by him, ends up taking actions that make him grow into an obsessive love-hate instead. Top tier, this boy is probably the worst (in a good way) of how all the Umekoppe love interests treat the girl.

"Heibon Onna wa Downer Kami-sama ni Izon sarete Modorenai" (this one didn't have a translated title, sorry)

(Link)

Premise: MC discovers her friend is a shrine god and wolf-boy. Wolfboy fun times ensue (and in the end she's apparently unknowingly trapped into being with him forever, so that's nice).

You’re Cutest When You’re Pathetic ~Obsessed Golden Retriever Boy Haru’s Disciplinary Sex~

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: Softboy™ neighbor finds MC's phone with lewd stuff on it, gets her confessions in drunk conversations, turns out to not be so much of a Softboy behind closed doors.

Oniben Katze

Another group that also does a lot of fem-targeted stuff.

Serious Sex with my Brutish Boyfriend

(Link)

Premise: MC's lover gets mad over rumors that she's a slut, decides to get possessive and rough over it.

Dog Eat Dog Era

(Part One)

(Part Two/Extras)

Premise: a personal favorite, an isekai'd witch adopts two dragon boys who grow up to have a strong fixation with her and noncon ensues.

Parasite Garden

Makes notably darker stuff that contains more controversial subject matter/themes, so be warned.

The Corpse of a Goldfish is at the Bottom of the Swamp

(Link)

CW: INCEST

Premise: possessive brother wants to corrupt/mindbreak sister to keep her forever (spoiler: he succeeds)

The Neighbor in Room 203 Disappeared Leaving their Keys Behind

(Link)

Premise: stalker girl meets her match, as it turns out the boy neighbor she's stalking pulls a spiderman pointing meme and has actually been her stalker for even longer and to a much greater, darker, and more more extreme extent, and is intent on not letting her go.

My Sweet Bunny Cage

(Part One)

(Part Two)

Premise: tiny girl is kidnapped by a crazed guy convinced she is the reincarnation of his lost pet rabbit.

Other

(artist listed below titles)

If you wish, hypnosis ~Maki-san's secret love therapy~

(Link)

Artist: Meeo

Premise: pretty straightforward, after she doesn't believe it's real, MC's coworker uses hypnosis on her for Certain Specific Purposes.

Sakaki the Lazybones Shows His Talents at Night

(Link) (Contains all chapters' links on the page, you might have to scroll down on the chapter list to see chapter one on some phones)

Artist: Potsunen Jin

Premise: (Another personal favorite) MC's younger coworker, peak innocent idolizing softboy, is in love with her and takes advantage of a situation while she's drunk after watching porn to "learn what girls like." Clingy, possessive relationship ensues.

Lady K and the Sick Man

(Chapter One) (site's menu is a bit awkward to deal with, but you have to click in the corner to view the menu to go to other chapters).

Artist: Rororogi Mogera

Yet another personal favorite, this one does have slight male gaze to it in that it focuses on the girl quite a bit, but it still focuses on the guy way more than the average doujin. Also the guy is an older bigger guy, if you ever tire of the twink/twunk standard in yumejoshi stuff.

Premise: guy moves into an apartment with a ghost lady and just kinda accepts it because he can't afford to live anywhere else, but quickly decides he’s down bad for ghussy.

I Became the True Love Object of Mr. Segawa, Who Has a Huge Attitude and Body

(Link)

Artist: Haruo Haruyama

Premise: very straightforward office coworkers to lovers, coworker is a big guy who turns out to be kinda sadistic, which is good for the masochistic MC.

The Man Who Saved Me on my Isekai Trip was a Killer

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

Artist: Ahan Horihori

Premise: this one got kind of infamous and shock-valued the mainstream crowd due to an animated advertisement I believe, it's essentially self-explanatory from the title: isekai'd lady gets saved by a guy who turns out to be a violent murderer, dark and sometimes pseudo-incesty plot twists ensue.

[rik0shii]

Hihi! Can I request an angst fic for g dragon and kpop idol reader and they broke up after a while of being together (they were like the IT couple of yg and the Internet) and haven’t interacted since but just stolen glances in public but then meet again after his comeback era (maybe reader was in 2ne1 group 👀)

Sorry if this isn’t specific enough ^^”

I'm so grateful and happy that you and the other writers decided to write for bigbang. AND NOT YOU SPOILING US WITH FICS EVER NOW AND THEN you eat everytime istg

Lysm <3

Lost in the Echo

Years after their breakup, G-Dragon and the reader reunite at a YG concert, exchanging stolen glances and unspoken words. When they finally meet backstage, the past lingers—but before they can confront it, they part ways once more, leaving everything unfinished.

part 2

hii tysm for requesting! im glad you enjoy my writing<333 reposts and comments are appreciated!

The energy inside the Seoul Olympic Stadium was buzzing. The YG Family Reunion had been years in the making—nostalgia wrapped in flashing lights, explosive beats, and voices that once defined an era. It was a dream for the fans, a moment frozen in time for the artists who had built their legacies under the same roof.

But for you, it was something else entirely.

It was a battlefield.

The dressing rooms were loud with stylists running back and forth, fixing makeup and adjusting outfits, but you barely heard any of it. The weight of anticipation pressed down on your chest, and despite the years that had passed, you knew exactly why.

Kwon Jiyong.

You hadn’t spoken to him in years.

Once upon a time, you had been inseparable—the golden couple of YG, the muse and the mastermind, the chaos and the calm. There wasn’t a headline you didn’t dominate, fan edits that didn’t romanticize your love, songs that weren’t indirectly about each other. You were the epitome of what it meant to be untouchable in the industry.

Until you weren’t.

The breakup had been inevitable. Too much pressure, too many expectations, too much everything. It had ended without a dramatic scandal, without a public fallout. Just an understanding—a quiet, painful one—that loving each other wasn’t enough anymore.

And since then, silence.

No texts, no late-night calls, no accidental run-ins.

Just stolen glances when fate was feeling particularly cruel.

But tonight, that distance would be shattered.

“Unnie,” Minzy’s voice pulled you back to the present. “You okay?”

You blinked, exhaling sharply before forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just nerves.”

Minzy gave you a knowing look but didn’t press. CL, on the other hand, wasn’t as subtle.

“He’s up next,” she murmured, handing you a mic. “You sure you’re good?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the cool metal.

No.

But that didn’t matter.

Because just as she said it, the stage lights dimmed, and the first beats of his new song Power boomed through the speakers.

And then, there he was.

G-Dragon.

The crowd erupted.

Dressed in all black, his platinum hair messy yet somehow intentional, Jiyong commanded the stage with an effortless arrogance that only he could pull off. He rapped with the kind of fire that made him untouchable, like he owned every inch of the stadium, every heartbeat in the crowd.

And then—he looked at you.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional, if he had known exactly where you stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for your cue. But the second his dark eyes met yours, the air shifted.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Not quite surprise, not quite pain, but something dangerous.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Missing you” started playing, your song, a song that between his powerful rap you can almost hear the laughs and “i love you’s” that you guys shared while producing it.

The song continued, the moment swallowed by the deafening cheers, but your pulse was racing. It felt like those stolen glances from across award show tables, those fleeting seconds in airport lounges where neither of you spoke but everything was too much.

Except now, there was no escaping it.

By the time his set ended, your heartbeat was still erratic. And before you could steady yourself, a staff member was already ushering you and the rest of 2NE1 towards the stage.

Your legs carried you forward out of habit, but your mind was somewhere else. On him.

On the way his voice had faltered for half a second when he saw you.

On the way he had smirked after, like the ghost of something familiar.

The music started. You went into autopilot, singing, performing, doing what you were meant to do. But you could feel his presence lingering just offstage, watching.

And the worst part?

You were watching too.

Backstage was suffocating.

After the final bow, after the encore, after the screams of thousands faded into the distance, you slipped away from the crowd. Your heartbeat hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d seen him again, and it was infuriating.

You had moved on.

You were supposed to have moved on.

But the past had a cruel way of dragging you back, no matter how much distance you put between you and it.

“Still running away from me?”

The voice stopped you cold.

You turned, pulse jumping, only to find him standing there, leaning against the dimly lit corridor wall like he hadn’t just ripped open every old wound you had carefully stitched shut.

Kwon Jiyong was a lot of things, but subtle was never one of them.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you met his gaze head-on. “I’m not running.”

He arched a brow, the corner of his lips tilting up in amusement. “You sure?”

You hated that he could still do this to you—make you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something intoxicating.

“You did well out there,” he said, after a beat of silence. His voice was softer now, lacking the teasing edge.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you nodded. “You too.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid, everything unfinished.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admitted, and for a moment, you thought you heard something real in his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of years pressing down on your chest. “Yeah… me neither.”

And there it was again—that flicker of something in his expression, something like regret, like longing, like the echo of a love that had never fully faded.

But before either of you could say another word, before the past could demand to be rewritten, the sound of approaching voices cut through the air.

The moment shattered.

Jiyong sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping back, retreating into the shadowed hallway. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart still racing, drowning in the echoes of what could have been.

[pandorasfavorite]

can u do a dom x fem!reader and basically shes an interviewer at wwe and dating dom and decided to try the pheromone perfume thing on him and it drives him wild and then smut 🤭

Perfume is Powerful

I'm clawing at the walls writing this.... and were pretending baby boy is in his Champion era.

You and Dominik have been dating for close to a year but no one knows. There have been rumors, but of course, there was no concrete evidence, you guys were careful. You hate to be a woman who is displeased by her boyfriend... the sex is great every time without fail. But part of you longs for something more feverish, quick, risky. Anytime yall fuck it's passionate and in bed, you want that movie type of sex. The kind that makes you throw your head back and have your mouth muffled by his big hands while he plows into you. Truly when Dominik steps into work he is instantly into character, but regardless his character is still in love with you....

You are dressed up in a business casual type outfit, a skirt that was a bit shorter than normal, that the cameras couldn't see. But your shirt was skimpy, covered by a coat that would conceal you during the interview. What brought the whole thing was the new perfume you bought, all the reviews say it makes their boyfriends go crazy, so you had to try it out. You roll the perfume onto the sides of your neck, your wrists, and just a bit on the insides of your thighs...just in case.

Dominik has yet to come to the interview but all the cameras were set up when it goes live. Dominik couldn't be around you before the interview otherwise his character wouldn't be as pronounced, and it would be too obvious. He walks in with that usual swagger his face etched with a frown, that mean look always gave you goosebumps in the best way. You couldn't help but smile and Dominik was holding back, his lip just barely quirked up at the sight of you before he suppressed it. The directors told you both it was time. You and Dominik stood nearly shoulder to shoulder facing the camera. "3...2...1...were live!" the director yelled.

You smile directly at the camera to start your introduction, "I'm joined by NXT champion Dominik Mysterio, who got a front row seat to his opponents match for tonight, that his father set up. How are you feeling going in?", you turn to ask him and immediately you are struck. Dominik looks bent out of shape all of the sudden, his jaw is tight as if it was wired shut and his fist is clenched to his side. He shakes his head and coughs trying to play it off, "Well, my back hurts from carrying this company on my back for past almost two years now. I already beat Dragon Lee twice with my dad in his corner". Dominik speaks to the camera but its clear to you that his mind is elsewhere, his hand is twitching at its side now...towards you.

You smile at his cocky response moving on to one more question with your own twist, "Standing here with Mr. 'Dirty' Dominik Mysterio has been a great pleasure, we have one more question for you.".

Dominik swallows and you noticed he has started to sweat, pulling at his shirt to get some air. "Yea".

Your directors nodded at you, they knew of this news, but Dominik is just now finding out on live television. "What is your advice for a new wrestler such as myself?", the roars of the crowd were booming loud enough for the cameras to pick up on. Dominik's eyes went comedically wide and he nearly dropped his belt right off his shoulder. He breathes shallowly, he gathers his bearing just enough to say, "You don't need any advice". This means Dominik had complete confidence in your abilities. You turn your attention back to the camera and you smile. The crew instantly packed up their things and rushed out of the room in a matter of 30 seconds, on their way to other segments.

The door clicks shut and you hear Dominik's belt smack on the ground. He unbuckles his belt, ripping it off of his body and he rushes towards you. His large hands grasp and squeeze your waist, his nose nustling into your neck, and then you hear a loud muffled moan. His mouth is open sucking on your neck while he takes deep breaths, inhaling the natural smell the perfume brought out. Your fingers run through his hair, and you giggle at his reaction, "You okay baby?".

Dominik thrusts your body against him, with no space left for yourself. "You smell good", he says in an uncharacteristic deep voice, your eyes light up. You kiss his cheek, "Don't I always?".

"This is different, mierda mami. You're driving me crazy", in a second you feel his teeth scrape across your collar bone. His hands work at the buttons of your skirt pulling it down till it falls to the floor. He tosses his shirt of quickly and sinks to his knees to connect his lips to the soft of your legs. You spread your legs just enough for Dominik to get between them and the moment he does the groans at the same smell, his hand falling from your leg to his cock. He lays his forehead on one of your legs and his eyes are squeezed shut, you rub his head trying to see what's going on. "Dominik? What's wrong?", your voice is overflowing with concern, you didn't think he'd react this strongly. "I think I'm gonna cum", he sputters out, his fingers leaving red marks on your thighs. You can't control the gasp that flies out of your mouth, you knew that was going to be burned into your mind for a year... maybe two.

You sink to your knees in front of him, your hands cradling his face now... not that it helped considering you put it on your wrists as well. "Do you need a minute?", you ask so sweetly. He answers with a deep inhale, nearly tilting his head back at the pleasure you bring to him just by your natural pheromones. God the way he was acting you didn't need any prep, he could slide right in. "I need it now hermosa, tell me you can take it, tell me mami", he looks up at you with wide, glossy, dilated eyes that take your breath away. "I can take it", you whisper to him trying to diffuse some of the tension he is feeling.

His face splits into a major grin and he pushes your thighs apart so he can get in between them. In that moment he gets close to you, only to push you back by the chest, a hand behind your head when it hits the floor. You lay on your back, your feet flat on the floor and your legs spread. Dominik pulled off your coat but simply unbuckled your bra from under the shirt, tossing it off to the side. His patience was wearing thin, he pulled your shirt just above your boobs and his hands instantly go to touch them. His mouth follows and the closer he gets to the smell of you he can feel himself lose control over again. Another groan of pleasure and a bit of pain from denial brings him back to his twitching cock. "I can't be easy, I have to fuck you-tell me-", you sit up on your elbows for just a moment to look at him. "Fuck me", you say with absolute certainty.

He follows your instruction, pulling out his cock quickly and pushing into you with one fluid motion, the girth stretching you in the most pleasurable way. Your mouth falls open with a moan/whimper. "I know mami, it's going to feel so good in just a second", he says like a promise, though he was feeling as if he was going to cum on the spot. You tug at his hair, your wrist right by his face, the smell driving him to a frenzy, he thrusts into you at a relentless pace. The sounds of his hips smacking against your ass was loud enough to echo, your moans come out loud and high-pitched... too loud. Dominik think the sounds from your mouth are the hottest thing he's ever heard but you both cant risk getting caught. His hand clasps over your mouth, his hair dangling in front of him, his hips working rhythmically, his body looking like a Greek god. He slows down and goes deep inside of you, groaning as you moan, "I'll give you some advice if you want to walk- don't wear this shit. My cock was hard the moment I got close to you", he rasped into your ear.

The sensation felt so good, his deep thrusts hitting the spot inside of you that only he could reach. Every roll and rock of his hips made your walls clench around him and you felt it coming before you even realized it. Your head just barely tilted back and your back arched, Dominik knew what was coming just by that. He pressed you back down harshly, pressing down on your stomach just to the point you could feel that pressure. "Cum. You know you go first", he grits out feeling himself getting close too. As you cum your pussy convulsed around Dominik's cock and the pleasure was astronomical for him. The wet slick and almost painful tightness brought him over the edge moments after you. He cums with a groan, his face falling into the side of your neck.

He inhales and pulls back with a groan, his face made as he glares at you. "You still smell so fucking good. I just came mami-", now he sounds like he's whining at the effect you have on him.

[diejager]

It has been in my mind these past few weeks and I just wanna hear your thoughts on it :3 but what would you think about Dinosaur! reader? Since Price is a dragon and in the other fics you’ve made such as the eldritch horror! And that dragons and eldritch horrors are up there being powerful feared/last of their kind creatures in your series, do you think reader coming from a bloodline of the Jurassic era would be considered highly feared/respected too? Especially since dinosaurs being long extinct/been there since the dawn of time.

Imagining the enemy firing at the taskforce and all of a sudden they see a big t-rex charging straight at them or a velociraptor pouncing on the enemy like the "Clever Girl" scene from Jurassic Park. Enemy is like "what da flip I thought you guys went extinct!" 🙉

Dinosaurs are relics, gone extinct since… practically forever, but they share a close genetic pool to dragons. So, on rare - extremely rare - cases where the genes of a dragon twists and turns, a dinosaur is born from such anomaly. A mutation, some would say. Dinosaur hybrids don’t have any distinct feathers like a dragon: they don’t have wings protruding from their backs, a big and pointed tail or horns growing like a crown. Some do, but it’s rare.

And it’s a joy to know one, to have one a part of their team. It just fulfils Soap’s wild dreams of riding on a dinosaur’s back. Satiates Price’s curiosity about a dragon mutation. Entertains Gaz’s small habits and need for a bit of fun. And probably works as a second deterrent towards unwanted stares for Ghost. But the best part? Riding a dinosaur into battle when they’re storming a base loudly and chaotically to seam chaos and destroy any means of escape for the enemy.

[luinquesse]

Dragon Age won the poll for this months fandom drawing. Sorry guy, you will not get anything new, because I'm currently in my "redraw my faves from the past era" apparently. This time we went as far back as 2016.

[snowywolf1005]

ASL X MOTHER READER

Sabo finds out his mother death.

Two years ago, Sabo and Koala came back from their trip, and they're returning to Baltigo. When they went inside, they saw people running in the hallways.

Sabo doesn't know what's going on. "Oh, chief of staff! You came at the right time!"

"Come to the situation room now!"

"The Paramount War between the Navy and the whitebeard pirate has ended!" Everyone was reading about the outcome of the Summit War of Marineford.

"A kaiju was Paramount War?!" Everyone was shocked, "it says shin godzilla, use atomic breath, and blast the war before disappear!"

"The navy has a lot of casualties, too. Seems like it was a hard battle as expected."

"What about ivan-san?! Is she alright?!"

"It doesn't say she died or anything"

"The one who died in the war is..."

"(L/N)... (Y/N)..."

Sabo heart dropped when he heard that name.

"What?! (Y/N) the devil child?! Nobody heard from her!"

"Yeah, it said... she died from protecting fire fist ace and Straw Hat luffy."

"But more importantly, Dragon-san, look..."

"Is it true?! Is straw hat luffy your son?!"

"Hm? Yes, he is." Said dragon, everyone was shocked. Sabo picked up the newspaper and saw her face, her smiling face. Sabo eyes went wide, and he began to remember.

"I'm gonna become a pirate... and defeat others and become infamous! It'll be the only proof of my life! It doesn't matter if all people in the world reject me or despise me!"

Sabo started to remember ace voice.

"A boy would be the son of royal. But you, sabo. Shall be mine."

He remembers his mother voice. He's remembers how she sang him lullaby. Sabo slams the desk as he begins to tear up. "Sabo-kun, what's wrong?! You're acting strange!" Koala asks.

"I can't believe that Ace was Gold' Roger's son... and (Y/N) was his step mom..."

"It says that luffy was also (Y/N) stepmother..."

"Did you guys know?! They say Akainu punched a hole right through her body! (Y/N) was the government want a hands-on."

Sabo cries and cries when he remembers another memory.

"We can become brothers if we exchange this cup of sake!" Said ace.

"Brothers?! Really?!" Luffy asks.

"When we become pirates, we might not be on the same ship, but our brotherhood will always be with us! So, from now on, we're brothers!"

"Yeah!"

"Are you alright, sabo?!" Hack asks, sabo still tearing up, then he let out a scream, yelling.

"MAMA!!!!!"

"Sabo-kun!"

"Sabo!"

'Now I know... the one who died wasn't some unknown person... she wasn't just a threat in the pirate era that needed to be eliminated! Or be the world government slave!' Sabo thought, remembering all the memories of his mother.

"Sabo, welcome home!"

"(Y/N) is my... mother!"

A few years passed, and sabo went his mother grave, with much flowers and notes on them.

"I finally... managed to get here... mom." sabo put the flower down, then he took out some newspaper. " Look at this. Luffy started to make his way to become the king of the pirate again. And ace join in, too."

"It's so ironic. Since you've been gone, the old memories keep recurring to me vividly. I now belong to the Revolutionary Army."

"My colleague, ivankov, told me what happened in marineford in detail. And... how... you sacrifice yourself."

"I guess you, luffy, and Ace are mad at me." Sabo started to cry, "I couldn't go save you... I'm sorry! I wish... I wish I could've seen you again while you were alive! I'm gonna inherit your will!" He said.

"Luffy and ace is our family!" Sabo, stand up and walk out.

Now, sabo knows about his mother past and her home. His goal is to find her home before the government finds it.

[ash-and-starlight]

Do you have any really specific and/or personal Zukka headcanons that you’d be okay with sharing? I eat up every hc you put into your drawings like they’re candy, I was wondering if you had any others :D :D

OH boii i sure have,,, nothing coherent is coming to mind atm so ill just expose my Extensive backstories of zukka bethrotal armbands that idk if i will find a way to sneak into art.

sokka’s armband for zuko is forged back at Piandao’s mansion, and it's one of the most fine stunning pieces of jewelry ever crafted. it’s not the usual southern ivory but metal, more similar to the armbands worn as an accessory in the fire nation. it’s made of intertwining bands of gold and black meteor metal, with patterns of waves and dragon scales that seem to ripple and move when the light catches on them just right. and the pendant is a traditional blue stone from the swt.

There are no particular engagement gifts traditions in the fn, so zuko goes on a deep dive into southern water tribe ones, asking sokka’s family and friends about jewelry making and learning to engrave over the course of several trips to the swt. He makes sokka’s armband with ivory from his own first (successful) solo hunt. i’m not sure abt the material of the pendant lmao maybe gold? but amber would also be cool methinks

as for the pendant engraving they display a unique single braincell moment (untrue i just want them to match). love the fact that both of them are sea savvy navigators, love to think that in their pining era they spent a lot of time watching the stars and showing each other the different constellations and navigation pointers of their nations, so in both of their armbands’ stones are depicted the constellation used to guide sailors back home, sokka engraving the swt’s one on zuko’s armband and vice versa.

if they were sun’s out guns out kinda guys before this only gets worse during the first weeks of their engagement. shirts are banned. everyone look at the bethrotal armbands NOW.

[lkaruss]

An extensive KFP 4 rant (spoiler heavy)

So, Kung Fu Panda 4 was… an experience. It took about 3 glasses of whiskey to get through it.

There is so much wrong with this movie, from the pacing to lore breaking issues. However, this is an attempt at trying to formulate my opinions regarding the film, and explain why certain story decisions were detrimental.

My live reaction to the film:

The movie makes it clear right from the start that it was made for very young children. It’s filled to the brim with jokes. If there is a chance to make a joke, then there is a joke. Regardless if it's appropriate or if it hurts the story/lore/characters. In normal circumstances, this would be offset by the fact that the jokes are creative and unpredictable, but they aren’t. I would say most of them can be seen either from a mile away, or they just fall flat. I think I only managed to laugh once or twice when Po’s dads were doing something, but outside of that, the film couldn’t get a chuckle out of me. On the contrary, I found many to be cringe, and some even made me uncomfortable.

But why am I talking so much about the jokes? In the previous Kung Fu Panda films, the jokes were used to break tension. The way the seriousness of the story and the jokes were in harmony is what made those films so memorable and impactful. The story (and films) took itself seriously, but it would sprinkle in jokes that fit the universe, the situation, and most importantly originated from the scene themselves. 

Compared to this, the jokes in KFP 4 are, unoriginal, forced, and usually can be traced back to pop-culture. The last one being important as the original Kung Fu Panda films stayed away from referencing pop-culture as it would break the immersion and authenticity of the setting.

This ties into the ERA that these films depict.

Setting

Based on my limited understanding, the original films have done an excellent job at depicting a world that is supposedly set in an authentic ancient China. From the way names are handled, to symbolisms, everything was well done.

The same cannot be said about Kung Fu Panda 4.

I’m not an expert on chinese culture, but from what chinese friends have told me, „Juniper” city doesn’t sound Chinese at all, or has a meaning in Chinese. It’s essentially a Latin word for a common plant that can be found all over the globe.

The architecture of the city is also questionable. It’s trying to give off a metropolitan feel, which doesn’t fit the ERA. Additionally, the architecture of the buildings is odd. It’s like a mesh of the architecture of several Asian cultures.

Then there are some of the names. „Steve” and „Scott” to be specific. These are the names of some masters and I don’t think I need to explain why these don’t fit the setting at all.

I was constantly questioning what movie I was watching as it was hard to believe this is Kung Fu Panda.

Identity crysis

What made me question the film’s identity the most however is the story.

This 4th film felt like a 1st installment rather than a sequel. It conveniently disregards everything from the previous movies that would contradict its plot and world.

The film immediately starts with Shifu coming out of nowhere and saying Po has to choose a new Dragon Warrior at that very moment. Not only did this feel incredibly random, but it’s also thematically incorrect.

First off, why is Shifu saying this? Why would he want Po to pass on his „title” if it's destiny? Why would he want him to do it now? Why did he not even consider ANYONE FROM THE FIVE and instead got 5 randos as candidates out of the blue?

The issue with the whole premise is incredibly flawed. Let me explain…

Po was chosen as the dragon warrior in the first film. There he proved his worth as such. The key to this is that he is the chosen one because it’s his destiny to deal with threats that no one else can. 

This doesn’t necessarily mean that he is the best. He is the guy who is and will be in the right place at the right time, with the right tools to deal with threats that no one else can deal with. But I digress, it's a different topic.

The point is that Po’s role as the Dragon Warrior is his destiny. The „title” merely represents that role in the world. So you can pass the title to anyone you want, but that does not change the fact that due to destiny, it’s still going to be Po’s role.

This is not just a coincidence though. Po has shown many times that he has a very open view of the world. This is then combined with his traits of being is warm, outgoing, energetic, friendly, goofy, and unorthodox. He represents the Dragon, Yang in the Yin Yang.

All of this is important to understanding why there is only 1 dragon warrior, and that is Po. End of the story.

The film however completely throws all of this out the window and goes with the new Dragon Warrior plot anyway.

That means the new Dragon Warrior is literally right there next to him. Master Tigress.

Now you might be asking why that would be the case.

This film, although throws out all the symbolisms of the previous films, still shouldn’t disregard the other characters that are around Po.

The 2 characters work like the 2 sides of the Yin-Yang, as complementary forces. They are opposite forces that need each other in order to create balance. 

Her influence is extremely necessary throughout the three films, particularly the second and third. It is her companionship, her support, and her constant push against Po’s natural instincts that lead to the best outcome.

Po has achieved a lot of spiritual enlightenment and character development. A lot of it through his own means, but without Tigress he wouldn't be where he is right now.

The Yang is the strongest when it contains the Yin, and the Yin is the strongest when it contains the Yang.

But this dynamic goes both ways. Although we mostly see the effects of this relationship on Po as the films focus on him, it has also changed Tigress. This leads to her opening up more and being more expressive as the films went on, giving us glimpses into the compassionate person she truly is.

While symbolically she is not the dragon, the 4th film establishes that it doesn’t care about the symbolisms or anything that the previous films have established. So naturally a character that compliments Po this well,  should be put into the spotlight and get the character development that she deserves. A character that went through serious changes, but is still left incomplete. You might as well make her the new Dragon Warrior then.

She - altough deserved the title the most even in the first film - lacked the ability to see the world from a perspective that's required to handle certain situations. The Dragon Warrior is way more than just being the perfect warrior. Po's presence was necessary for her to change her attitude. Leading to her slowly becoming her best self. Knowing all of this, it's not such a wild thought that if there has to be a new person who takes over that role, then Tigress would be a great choice for that.

But what is there for her to learn from Po? Spirituality.

Tigress has always been a grounded, by-the-book character. This can be mostly attributed to her upbringing. Her changing and becoming more open, seeing things differently would have been something interesting to explore, and this would also take care of the issue of the „new trilogy” copying the original trilogy’s main character development.

However, the film completely ignores her existence, and the new Dragon Warrior is instead a random Zootopia fox.

The (new) deuteragonist

There is so little to say about Zhen. The best thing I could compare her to is an untreated wooden board. 

It’s rough, full of splinter, and there are many like it. Probably one of the most cliché characters I have seen in a very long time.

She is generic, has an overused „misunderstood fox thief” trope, and a character arc that is so predictable that we all knew what was going to happen just from reading the film’s synopsis at the beginning of 2023.

Her backstory is a copy of Tigress’ except if Shifu was evil. An orphan who is taken in by a master who emotionally neglects her. Said orphan doing what her master wants in order to be loved/accepted by said master. Except that Zhen doesn’t seem to have any attachment or loyalty to the Chameleon. So the „Sad backstory” fails to garner any sympathy towards the character.

Her dynamic with Po is non-existent, which is why their „friendship” is forced. The creators tried so hard to make the two bond, that they forgot to give them time, shared experiences, or anything that would resemble an emotional connection between them. They just quickly went over everything that they have in common in a dialogue and that’s it. There was no prerequisite completed that would make Po care about Zhen or vice versa.

Furthermore, Zhen doesn’t fit the traits that the dragon has, she is not spiritual either or has an open view of the world. So why is she the new one then?

And I wanted to avoid talking about this, but the character is a textbook Mary Sue.

per wikipedia

Zhen is more than capable in a fight to keep up with Po, even though it was not shown why she is so good at fighting. One thing is for sure, she shouldn’t know Kung Fu as she certainly didn’t learn it from her „master” the Chameleon if the film’s plot has any consistency.

She is not only able to manipulate Chi, but also to use Po’s staff without knowing anything about either of those.

A previous character’s role being retconned so that she can take it for herself (See the rant about the Dragon Warrior title above)

She always gets along with characters that matter, getting what she wants. 

No real character drawbacks.

A throwaway character like this, should be a minor support character, not the new main protagonist for crying out loud.

Her inadequacies are so blatant as a character, that no wonder they didn’t even want to have at the very least Tigress in the film as Zhen would immediately become irrelevant to the audience. They put all the spotlight they could on her, at the expense of the story, and in the end achieved nothing in return.

Tell me with a straight face that a character that has an entire movie focusing on them - who still remains a generic, boring character by the end, without any story potential - should be the new main protagonist. The fact that most people don’t even refer to the character by her name, but by the actress’ name Awkwafina should tell you everything about how memorable she is.

Most new characters and animal designs don’t fit the KFP art style.

A good example of this is Zhen.

This is how a fox would look like in Nico Marlet’s KFP style:

And this is what we got:

Sorry, wrong picture. I meant this:

Now, I’m not a character designer, or a professional artist, I only draw a couple of his characters, but I can see that this is way too far off from his work. If not from personal experience, then from the interviews that Nico Marlet himself gave.

The same issue applies to the villain of the film, the chameleon, but atleast with her they tried (somewhat).

The Villain

They say a film is as good, as its villain. This seems to be true in the case of this film too.

The Chameleon sucks.

She has no connection to anyone from the cast. She has no emotional leverage or pressure on the cast. She is not scary or powerful enough to make the audience care about the cast. Her motivation is so terrible, it might be one of the reasons why the Five was kept out of the film because their mere existence single-handedly demolishes her reason for breaking bad.

Outside of this, the character is unoriginal and uninspired. She basically can “lick” people and steal their Kung Fu? I honestly don't know how to put this into words because it doesnt make any lick of sense (I did the funny). If anything it's a budget version of Kai.

They didn’t even bother to give her a name.

What I will say though is that Viola Davis did what she could with what she was given. I found it amusing that she managed to give the chameleon those serious villainous vibes, while at the same time, the character is a joke. If that’s not a testament to the voice actor’s abilities then I don’t know what is. She was definitely wasted on this role.

As for the “returning villains”. I knew they were only there for cash-grab from the moment they said that all of them would return. Shen, is dead. He is not a Kung Fu master, he doesn’t have any connection with Chi, and he hasn’t been banished to the spirit realm. Then there is Kai, whose soul/spirit doesn’t exist anymore.

The only one that could ever return was Tai Lung. However, due to the gravity of his character, if he does return it has to be done perfectly regardless of what direction his character takes.

Now, many of us knew from the start that whatever they were gonna do with him would be bad (I mean there is a massive beef between Tigress and him, and yet she is not even in the film), but I think I speak for all of us when I say that they managed to somehow lowball it even worse than expected.

Basically, the Chameleon brings him back from the spirit realm, licks the Kung Fu out of him, he says like 3-4 lines, and returns to the spirit realm…. what the actual f*ck.

I’m sure I don’t need to go into a 10-paragraph rant on how much storytelling potential was wasted with this, because everyone knows. From reconciling with his dad, to her little sister having a crazy beef with him, to having to accept all the wrongs he did, accepting that he is not the Dragon warrior etc. etc. etc…

There was always only 1 chance of bringing him back. If he came back in a new film or show (again) it wouldn’t have anywhere near the same impact as it should, and it would also feel weird to the audience.

DreamWorks, you had 1 chance to bring this guy back, and you wasted it all on this film.

The non-existent magic system.

Or rather, how this film didn’t care about it at all.

Kung Fu Panda has a relatively grounded world. It’s animals that do Kung Fu based on their natural abilities. The closest thing we got to supernatural was Chi, but it was well handled in the 3rd film in my opinion.

Chi is life force and not magic. This means if you use it, you are exhausting your own life force. This means you would only use it in certain situations, such as healing someone who is mortally wounded, or perhaps to enhance an attack in a desperate fight.

The film doesn’t care about this and handles it as just a regular, inexhaustible force of energy. This can mostly be seen with Po as he uses it whenever he feels like it.

The other type of magic is what the Chameleon is using. It’s not explained, or shown how it works. It’s just there to further progress the plot so that the character can take the Kung Fu from others. (Seriously, how does that work?)

The Kung Fu action

The fight scenes were also a downgrade compared to the previous films.

In KFP 4 they felt less energetic, less grounded, and overall too cartoonish. As an example, Po can jump ridiculously high because… I don’t know, I guess the film just ignores the fact that he is Panda who sometimes even struggles to pull himself up to a rooftop. 

The previous films incorporated the strengths and weaknesses of the animals that fought. Po is not very mobile, but he is very durable, and his fighting style compliments this. However, when he really needs to get somewhere, his lack of mobility is then offset by his friends, the Furious Five.

The Furious Five

Their absence can be severely felt throughout the movie. That is because in their place was a generic character that had forced interactions with Po.

They have great synergy with him, that cannot be replicated, however minor their role might be sometimes. They serve as a great way to fill in those empty spots in the story, and to elevate the villain. Additionally, their fight scenes are entertaining and help to spice up the choreography.

Although they are great companions, if the film really doesn’t have the time to spare for them, then it's understandable if they aren’t around. However the same cannot be said about Tigress.

A Kung Fu Panda film has to have Po and Tigress interact, due to the reasons already explained above regarding her, and also because of the following:

They are direct opposites, which is why their relationship is so entertaining, regardless if you look at them as platonic best friends, or as a potential couple. 

Po is warm, outgoing, brash, energetic, friendly, goofy, and unorthodox, however, he is also serious when needed. While Tigress is introverted, calm, calculated, passive, and intuitive, but deep down she is also a very compassionate and conflicted person that we rarely see. This is then in conjunction with the emotional bond that the previous films have built up between them. These are the reasons why just putting these two in a room is enough to create entertaining scenarios. They add a lot of fun, heartfelt, and emotional moments to every film.

Whenever Po is facing a problem, she is right there to help him through it, whether by talking it through or by beating some sense into him (literally).

She has always been quintessential in Po’s development and motivations.

Memberberries, Memberberries everywhere…

It was jarring to see the film disregarding the existence of the previous movies to justify its plot, but at the same time heavily relied on tropes, and scenes from said films. I’m not kidding when I say that there were moments that were ripped straight out of them.

One of those moments is the standoff between Po and Zhen before the final fight. Zhen wants to stop Po to avoid him getting hurt, but the fight ends with her hugging Po….

Yeah… it was a blatant copy of the prison scene from the 2nd film. However, I think the 2 scenes here perfectly encapsulate why the previous films worked, and why the 4th film doesn’t.

The prison scene in the 2nd film was essentially an emotionally unstable Po being held back by a caring Tigress. Po is so focused on getting to the truth that he forgets the reason they are there, and would put his and his friends’ lives in jeopardy to know what happened to him and his parents. So much so that Po was ready to get beaten to a pulp by Tigress instead of staying down there and waiting until the Five finished the task.

But instead of that happening, Tigress saw how lost Po was, and realized she needed to calm him down to help him understand their situation. And so the person who has always been portrayed as an unfeeling, hardcore, essentially perfect warrior gave Po an unexpected hug and told him he is too important for her to lose him.

This moment has gravity and weight, because of how she is perceived, because of how Po views her, and because Tigress was forced out of her comfort zone to emotionally connect with Po, to help him. It’s a moment of pure comradery and care towards each other that ascends the situation they are in. It’s a moment that in many ways defined their relationship going forward.

In comparison to this, the scene that copied this in the 4th film has none of the emotional underlinings that I discussed, and so it falls flat and feels cringe rather than heartfelt and warm. This is mainly due to Po and Zhen having no connection, bond, or reason to care about each other. But then there is the other element that I discussed when talking about the villain. Po is in no real danger, and it never felt like he was.

Production

From the early leaks, it was blatantly obvious that the production of this film was rushed. Between the artificially forced plot, the generic character designs, the non-existence of the Five, the lack of time, money, commitment, and care was apparent.

However, due to an interview that the Co-director did with some folks on the subreddit discord, light was shed on the nightmare that was the production. I won’t go into details, as everyone should read the Q&A for themselves, but I’ll touch upon a point that was brought up as an excuse for this film turning out the way it did.

(this is a real concept art from the production btw)

Some are saying the reason the film turned like this was due to the budget restriction. That they simply didn’t have the money to have characters like Tigress return due to Angelina Jolie costing a ridiculous amount of money.

But then I have to ask: They had the budget for characters like Shifu (Dustin Hoffman), Po’s dads (James Hong & Bryan Cranston), Tai Lung (Ian McShane), who in the end turned out to be completely irrelevant to the story, but not at the very least for Tigress (Angelina Jolie)?

I’m not saying that you cannot make a story with these characters, because you obviously could make a great one. What I’m trying to point out is if you have such a limited budget, are you really going to blow it all on actors who play characters that essentially add nothing to the story? This is why I call bullshit on them not getting at least Angelina Jolie back to play Tigress. 

Let’s not even mention how you could always recast these characters anyway (although it's clear that the execs are the ones forcing the use of A-list actors).

So for the sake of the argument, let’s come up with a story, that has a reason to exist, has characters that you can do something with, and fits the budget that you are given.

For me - considering that this film was essentially a buddy adventure film - it's an easy task. Just have Po help Tigress explore her origins. I know it's cheesy and basic, but at the very least you have what’s needed for a decent story that would be able to expand on a beloved character, and even help develop Po into a spiritual leader as he has to aid her best friend.

Another idea is what my friend and I had come up with. Have Po bring Lei Lei (now much older, and is a student under him and Tigress) on an adventure. You wouldn’t even need Tigress to appear in the film, because these characters would reference her many times. Lei Lei is a copy of Po in the sense that she wanted to do Kung Fu because she puts Tigress on a pedestal. Because of how influential she was in her life, Lei Lei’s personality is a copy of Tigress’.

I’m just shooting ideas here, but at least these wouldn’t ruin the continuity of the franchise and would be able to navigate the studio limitations that the creators had to face. (from the ones we know of).

"Limitation is the mother of creativity"

KFP 4 was a shallow, artificial story that didn't add anything to the franchise, only degraded it and stripped it of it's remaining value. It's missing the foundations of a KFP film, such as the heart, artistry, and warmth. It's not unexpected as none of the original brains worked on this film.

So what can be expected from this franchise going forward?

Well, not much honestly. It was a weak attempt by DreamWorks to continue the main storyline, not for the sake of the story, but to milk as much money out of it as they can. Even though with a little bit of effort they really could have at least made a good film in the end. However, between the incompetence of the decision makers, the rushed production, and the new people not knowing much about the franchise, that was never going to happen.

The only thing that we can hope for is a spinoff (which is about a decade late at this point), that focuses on Tigress. It’s the only way I see anything for this franchise going forward and hopefully, this film served as a wakeup call for the executives.

Thank you to those who had the patience to read through my inessential rant. Let me know what you guys think about the film.

[beartitled]

Did you play the pristine cut of STP? What do you think of Dragon, Cage and HappilyEverAfter if so?

Spoilers for STP pristine cut under read more (+ a lot of text warning)

Hehe I see STP ppl are excited and want more silly comics

Well there’s a lot of things to say tbh 👀

Overall really enjoyed new content so far

It kinda feels like a fanservice for the people who already played the game

Which is not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong ☝️

I just view the original game as a perfect instalment, which doesn’t really need a continuation

New scenarios is just a pleasant bonus

(I’m one shot/short story fan okay 👉👈)

I already saw Dragon and Happily After routes

Yet to see all the variations the Cage route has to offer (heard ppl said it’s the most diverse one)

The Princess and The Dragon

HEY REMEMBER HOW I SAID I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF CHANGING THE GENDERS OF THE CHARACTERS BC THAT WAY THE DYNAMIC WOULD BE UNSETTLING?

YEA SO THIS ROUTE EXPLORED THAT DYNAMIC GUYS

I enjoyed this route, bc again

It’s scary, uncomfortable, makes you feel unsafe and uneasy 👁️👁️

Awesome depiction of how scary this type of situation would be

And of course bonus points, we got to see the bird bois 🎉

(Opportunist go brush yo teeth, u spooky lookin ass)

Happily ever after

Ok

Noooow we’re talking

I love that route, it’s my favourite so far

The pain, the suffering, the absolutely devastated British crowman

Brilliant, chills

This one actually feels like a missing part of the og game to me

I wanted to go into details about my opinions on that route in the future post

But now I want to talk 😈

👏Smitten👏my boy👏how are you in your edgy villain era already omg

Can we just admit for a second how badass Smitten is for escaping protagonist’s body?

Like-💥

This was the first route I saw and was like “Ooooh that’s probably the new gimmick, every voice is doing to escape and shenanigans happen” AND NO Smitten is just that guy™️ absolute chad

Minus points for “we will give her something she doesn’t know she wants yet”

*hits Smitten with newspaper*

Bad voice 💥🗞️bad 💥🗞️ we listen to what 💥🗞️our queen 💥🗞️wants 🗞️💥🗞️💥💥

But it works okay

The atmosphere is immaculate, I was legit concerned for a moment

Ok now give me a moment to be a nerd ☝️🤓

I love how this route gives Smitten flaws

I think finally we saw that every voice has them, because voices are an isolated part of a person, a pure feeling if you will

And Smitten represents that naïve love idealisation/love obsession

The guy loves the princess, she is pure perfection to him

This feeling is blinding and honestly pretty toxic irl

During the whole og game Smitten was never conflicting?

He pretty much the comedic relief of the whole game (and least it felt like that to me)

I think he was kinda a missed potential

Yes, love is sweet

Crushes are can be funny, silly and overall just positive

But it can be so destructive, so painful and so so exhausting when it gets to the point of obsession

And that route gives you a direct illustration of it

Which is amazing

I honestly think we don’t have enough media just showcasing this feeling of obsessive love and how dangerous it is

(yandere trope doesn’t count 👿 this trope just kinda glorified the issue)

And the tragedy is SMITTEN IS TOO DELUSIONAL TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT HE’S DOING WRONG

My poor poor birb boy

He’s too focused on doing everything perfectly, to make princess satisfied, to make us satisfied, why isn’t it working? He does everything he can, why doesn’t it work? How doesn’t it work?

HE’S TOO LOVESTRUCK TO TAKE A STEP BACK AND REFLECT

AAAAAAAAA

God I’m insane about Happily ever after

As a person who struggles with this exact feeling of idolising and obsessing over ppl, I just really feel that route

Goth Smitten incoming *coughs*

Thanks for your question ❤️ hope you enjoyed reading my mess of thoughts💥

Share your thoughts in comments/reblogs if you want ppl

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt ix

Synopsis: in the aftermath of the Battle by the Lakeshore, the Dance of Dragons continues to rage on. Benjicot returns home and confides in his wife about the horrors of war as he prepares for another return to the battlefield and makes a plea to Rhaenyra. 

Content warnings: MDNI 18+ — adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation, mention of major character death, depiction of childbirth & mention of miscarriages (no depiction).

masterlist | audio playlist | backwards — 8 | forwards — 10

A/N: you guys are going to hate me but the editing on this was minimal because I am so burnt out it’s wild but I am working on it as we speak x

Word count: 11.6k

“And…deep breath, my lady,” the midwife softly instructed, her hand closing around her shoulder.

Serra winced, swaying from side-to-side in an effort to alleviate the unbearable pressure that rested in her pelvis and abdomen; the pain tore through her, radiating to every inch of her body as her head leaned back into the midwife’s shoulder in an effort to steady herself as she sat on her knees. A low groan of pain echoed through the room, cut off by a sudden sob as another contraction shot up her spine, every muscle in her body going taut while trembling hands gripped the stained sheet behind her. The mattress dug into her shoulders as she pressed into it — she could have gone a thousand years of not knowing this pain, but Serra found herself sat against her bed, crouched on the cold marble floor that tempered her feverish, sweat slicked skin, the fine hairs that rounded her hairline damp as it clung to her temples, “Again, push.”

She let out a whimper, chin dropping to rest against her chest as she bore down, the pain intensifying as she let out a cry, “Good!” The elderly midwife in front of her encouraged, a hand on her knee as she glanced up at her anguished face, “I can see the head! The head is coming through!”

She let out a sharp breath, having to pause and catch her breath that came in quick pants; a damp cloth being dabbed against her cheeks from the woman behind her who stroked her shoulder, “Almost there, my lady— breathe,” she instructed in a soft, soothing voice, “again, push!”

“It’s too early,” Serra had been weakened by the hours-long labour that seemed to have no end, slumped against the bed and writhing in agony as her expression crumbled in a sob, “please, it’s too early— ahagh!”

“Bring her, let’s get her on her back—” The suggestion was quiet, but quickly challenged as it reached her ears.

“No, please no,” She cried out, feeling as hands closed around her knees and ankles as they attempted to pull her forward — the midwife froze abruptly in response to her right foot flinging out and kicking her hand away, looking up at her young Lady who shook her head and pulled from her. She could not go through this again — she was overcome by a sudden anxiety and fear as she moved, unable to bear the thought of losing another.

Serra shoved herself upright and shifted back onto her backside, pressing further into the bed as another contraction tore through her as she then released a final groan, bearing down with the very little strength she still possessed. She writhed, her knees parted and chin resting to her chest as she pushed, barely present enough to feel the comforting hand on her shoulder from behind her; drowning out the soft voices that reluctantly encouraged her and overcome by an overwhelming sense of nausea that had followed every searing contraction that radiated to each and every end of her body. Every muscle clenched so tight she felt her bones might snap and each nerve pinched in discomfort that caused her to let out a, her hands releasing the sheets finally and finding rest against the floor at her sides as she arched back into the bed and let out a moan that resembled that of an injured animal that slowly raised into a whine — she was suddenly startled by the gush between her thighs, staining the floor as relief washed over her, paired with a sudden emptiness.

She was aware now as she tuned back into her surroundings at the feeling of a babe’s shoulders sliding past her thighs and letting out a high pitched shriek; she quickly reached down underneath her chemise and found the infant who squirmed, face scrunched up in a cry that echoed through the room. The midwife, too, reached for the babe, aiding them to her chest and wrapping a thin blanket around it as she finally slumped back into the bed again; a cry of relief leaving her.

“He’s here!”

Serra took a moment to collect her thoughts, seeking rest as her head rested against the bed and panting heavily, her eyes fluttering shut — her heart continued to race and she felt cold from the shock, numbed by adrenaline but faintly able to feel hands instantly pressing to her abdomen and palpitating while another pair of hands assessed the child in her arms. It was then that she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the midwife with tired eyes, “A boy?”

Serra looked down, admiring his small, rounded face that was framed by a familiar head of dark hair; using her left hand to wipe away some blood from his forehead as he squirmed, mouth open with lively screams that announced his arrival -- he was here, at last. She let out a weak, emotional sob and looked up at the midwife.

The elderly woman smiled wide and bright, with her rosy cheeks and eyes lit with excitement as she softly spoke, “A boy, my lady,” she said, “a fine, handsome heir for Raventree.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He could hardly hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears — the sound of blood thundering loud over that of the rain that poured down in sheets that made his vision blur, squinting to see his hand outstretched in front of him as he blindly pushed forward. The only thing that guided his movements was the sound of anguished outcries, grunts of exertion, and the harsh clatter of weaponry; swords clashing into one another in battle that had dragged on for hours — he did not particularly like battle, but it only felt necessary these days. There seemed to be no avoiding it. Perhaps he chose to no longer avoid it.

The sun had hardly risen, hung low over the horizon as it slowly crept high into the sky as the light of morning spread across the shores of God's Eye; no inch untouched by the already unbearable heat despite the treacherous rain, humid and thick as the men only found relief by the subtle breeze that blew across the sea and towards the battle.

Benjicot had not seen the early days of this battle -- a day late, but the carnage that already haunted the shores was undoubtedly beyond what he could have ever prepared himself for when he arrived that morning. With every step he took, there was a new body, slashed and bloodied — his boots sunk into the mud that had turned red with blood each step forward; soaked up to his knees and heaving for air as he found himself stumbling forward and twisting awkwardly into his right knee.

Faintly, he could see the knight in front of him — the familiar regal red and gold of his house colours, clumsy and equally blind as he stupidly swung his sword out at the sound of a grunt from Benjicot as he pushed up from the ground. His eyes narrowed, blinking harshly and trying to use his hand to wipe the water from them as they stung, struggling to keep his eyes open. He caught his balance, his foot coming free from the mud with a disgusting slosh and fumbling to readjust his sword in his hand — they were only inches apart, but the weather made it near impossible for him to move with any grace, his arm swinging out and catching the tip of his blade in an awkward clatter that felt far from deliberate — he heard a startled noise from the young knight who stumbled back, free hand flinging behind him in an effort to catch himself.

Benjicot lunged forward, moving based on hope alone and potentially false optimism that he wouldn’t miss — that he wouldn’t just crash into the ground, face first and put himself in a worse position. His neck and shoulder collided with the waist of the boy in front of him, losing his footing in the slippery terrain and lurching the pair of them forward as a hand slammed against his back in an effort to find hold on something, anything — instead, the collision was followed by the clamour of armour as they tumbled backwards. His brow slammed into his chin as the two men hit the ground, eliciting a pained help from the Lannister knight — Benjicot could have sworn his vision had given out entirely for a moment, pain shooting in behind his left eye and radiating until through his temple as a hand slammed into his face; shoving and fighting to get him off — his head jerked sideways, straining backwards awkwardly. He fumbled to shove his hand away, crawling up him like a struggling inch worm and punching his wrist as he reached for his sword that had been lost in the muck — the hand reached again, wriggling underneath him, and Benjicot growled in frustration.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the sharp sting of pain shoot through his body as the Lannister knight beneath him thrashed, desperately trying to dislodge him, but Benjicot's determination outweighed his exhaustion. His fingers scraped through the mud, finally closing around the hilt of his sword just as the knight's knee slammed into his side, knocking the air from his lungs.

With a feral growl, he pushed back, using the knight's moment of distraction to twist the blade up between them. The knight’s hand shot out again, grasping for Benjicot’s arm just a moment too late — the blade met its mark, driving into the gap between the golden lion’s breastplate and shoulder guard. Benjicot could feel the shock in the knight’s body as his muscles went rigid beneath him, his eyes widening as he stared up, mouth agape and frozen; a silence befalling them as his mouth opened and choked out a series of sounds, wet and coughing, his lips being stained by blood.

For a moment, the battle seemed to stop — the distant clash of swords and the roar of men faded into the background. Benjicot met the knight’s eyes through the haze of rain and pain, seeing the disbelief in the young man’s gaze, and something worse: fear. The kind of fear that a child experienced when they heard thunder and sought their parents for comfort, something boyish. Benjicot had never liked the killing — not like some men did — but war had taken that choice from him long ago.

The knight’s grip on Benjicot’s arm weakened, his body growing limp. He hesitated before he wrenched the blade free, the Lannister collapsing back into the muck with a groan that barely registered against the storm. Benjicot rolled off him, chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he lay in the blood-soaked mud, his back becoming wet as water seeped through the plates of armour; leaving the layers beneath clinging to his skin as his eyes closed. He did not know how long he lied there — it felt like an eternity, listening to the sound of death that surrounded him, his sword by his side and wracked by exhaustion.

“—halt!”

Footsteps stomped towards him, unwilling to move as he waited — waited for the inevitable and unwilling to fight more, he slowed his breathing and opened his eyes to look up at the grey skies that hung overhead, forcefully blinking through the relentless downpour, “Benjicot!” The voice shouted, coming towards him, “Ben!”

He registered the voice suddenly as Emrys, soon finding him at his side and dragging him up by the collar. A look of relief crossed his cousin’s features as Benjicot sat up, grabbing his shoulder and supporting his weight, “You had me worried there, my lord,” Emrys breathed out, a hint of forced humour in his voice.

He couldn’t even muster a laugh, finding the thought alone draining as he closed his eyes and slumped in relief, his own hand clinging to his cousin’s elbow, “I am still here,” He muttered, “you are not free of me yet.”

His cousin laughed, “There is plenty more to celebrate today then.”

Emrys stood, offering a hand to him -- his eyes darted to it, a dull ache settling into his bones at the thought of moving, “I cannot.”

“Yes, you can,” Emrys replied, a young knight being summoned forward from behind him, both men quickly taking either side of him. Benjicot let out a choked yelp, groaning as they dragged him up to his feet, stumbling a step and wincing as he struggled to remain on his feet; the adrenaline of battle had begun to wear off already, “Easy now…take it slow.”

His face screwed up in pain, letting out a sharp exhale from his nose and gritting his teeth as Emrys wrapped an arm around his middle and watched his expression with a clear look of concern that only reached his eyes, “Are you ready?”

Benjicot gave a short nod -- although his legs still felt weak, he did not want to appear vulnerable, his movements slow and shaky as he stood upright. He could feel as Emrys kept a hand close, hear the sound of his leather gloves as his fingers wriggled, ready to catch him, “What updates do you bring from the frontlines?” He quietly asked, his voice still possessing a weak tremor. His cousin hesitated, watching him a moment longer before he glanced towards the knight who looked equally as prepared to catch and break his fall.

“Lord Charlton and Lord Forrest Frey have too been slain,” Emrys announced, his eyes scanning his appearance as the young lord turned, limping on unsteady feet to achieve the task. Benjicot exhaled sharply, “As well as two thirds of the winter wolves, but there is more…”

The losses seemed to accumulate and with each man down, Benjicot felt a sense of dread grow heavier by each passing minute, resting in his chest and slowly sinking into the pit of his stomach and churning there. His brows twitched, worry lines etched deep into his young features as he sighed deeply and nodded as if to encourage him to speak; however, he was met by an optimistic glint in his cousin’s gaze as he shifted, “Both sides suffer heavy losses…”

“Why are you so smug about that?” He breathlessly asked.

“They retreat,” He suddenly interrupted, too excited for his own good. His voice lowered, watching as Benjicot struggled to process his words, “In exchange, your uncle has intervened in their efforts to summon for more men and we have slain Humffrey Lefford himself, leaving them crippled-- today, those who remain have begun to retreat. If they do not meet death by sword, they drown. Today, we celebrate a success for the Blacks.”

His gaze settled on him, his words sinking in finally. He glanced past him towards the sight of some remaining men, mounted on horseback that circled the grounds, rounding up some remaining men -- the distant clash of battle was lighter, the sound of an anguished shriek filling the field, a horse whinnying…it did not feel like a win, but his words sparked some hope, “This will be a success for our men,” Emrys repeated, “Raventree and its heir stand still, the rest of the craven Lannister men retreat, like a dog with its tail between its legs.”

“Lord Swyft? The men of Crakehall?” He asked, his blade being shoved into the ground and leaning into it for support. His eyes shifted again towards his cousin.

“Few remain,” Emrys replied.

“Have we accounted for Lord Reyne?” He asked, dismissing his celebration as he withdrew his sword from the mud and slowly pushed past him to ascend the field once again. He could still hear and faintly make out the bodies, the sound of battle reverberating from up the hill with the harsh clash of weapons; trudging through the mud. Pain tore through his ribs, sore as he moved and listened, his cousin in tow.

“Throat slit, he was found among a pile of wolves,” He replied quickly, glancing down at his own feet as he stepped over the body of the young Lannister knight -- Benjicot, however, avoided to dare look down; disregarding the sickening crunch beneath his right foot as he nearly tripped over the arm of another boy who lay only a few feet away, “I assume the poor fuck did not stand much a chance against them. Looked as though they surrounded him and took their turns apparently.”

The thought made his stomach turn, grimacing in disgust as a shudder ran through him, glancing over his shoulder to witness his cousin’s nonchalance on the matter. He understood that war was gruesome and violent, bloody and messy -- it had a way of bringing out the worst of men. But he could not help the inkling of sympathy he felt for Lord Reyne in that moment, repulsed by the image and fighting the urge to vomit as he hesitated, swallowing thickly as he pushed forward -- some sun had managed to peer through the clouds, his eyes narrowed as he let out a gruff hum in response.

He knew Lord Reyne had a wife and children back home -- two young boys that Benjicot had grown up alongside, having met them briefly in his childhood. He’d never considered them friends, and especially nothing anywhere close to the brotherhood he shared with the Tully boys, but he wondered how they would react to the news of their fathers passing. He had struggled with the news of his own father’s death and had been numb in the weeks afterwards, but he had been a man grown with his own responsibilities that forced him to keep moving forward — he couldn’t imagine still being a boy of what, ten-and-four? He couldn’t quite remember their ages, nor picture what time had done to change their faces, but he imagined they looked more like their father as the years passed — an idea that felt more daunting the more he pondered the thought, knowing that his wife would have to come face-to-face with that reminder every day of what they had done to him.

He sniffled, feeling the sudden sting of tears that welled in his eyes, pressing forward — blinking, he attempted to force them back down. Benjicot was horrified by the thought of things being reversed, imagining Serra being the wife to receive news that her husband had died instead. He was worn and exhausted, and he just wanted to be home and in her arms — he did not want to even entertain the image of her grief-stricken and left to raise their child alone. He let out a quiet sob, a choked sound that he attempted to conceal with a cough, clearing his throat as he was suddenly grateful for the rain.

Finally, he paused and scanned the shore. Benjicot's hand trembled as he clutched the hilt of his sword, the rain dripping off its blade like blood washed away by the gods themselves. He stared down at the bodies that littered the shore, the slain men no different than he had been mere hours ago — sons, fathers, husbands.

The stillness of death suffocated him, each face a reflection of what could have been, what still might be. The Lord Reyne he had struck down had not been so different from him — a man with a family, with duties, with hopes for a future that would never come. His chest tightened as the image of Serra’s face drifted into his mind again. He imagined her receiving a letter, trembling hands ripping it open to reveal the worst news a wife could hear. He pictured her alone in their chambers, clutching their child, eyes red from crying.

He shut his eyes tight, letting the raindrops mingle with his tears. Would she move on? Could she? Benjicot cursed himself for thinking it. He had been raised on the stories of glory and valour, where men died heroes and songs were sung of their deeds. But this, this was not glory. This was hell. The bitter taste of it was on his tongue as he swallowed hard, pushing down the emotions that clawed at his chest.

“My lord?”

He turned his head slightly, finding the young knight who had helped him to his feet — he recognized him from years of training alongside one another, a man only a year younger, looking at him with a subtle frown, “We must find Robb,” he thickly replied, avoiding his eyes as he sniffled again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Serra watched the babe in her arms with a look of awe, his face scrunched up as he awkwardly fumbled around, mouth open and growing increasingly frustrated as the moments passed. Her fingertip brushed his small nose, rounded and perfect as the room was filled by a soft shushing, attempting to soothe him when he released an angry whine, a tiny, clenched fist rising against her chest and bumping against her sternum; he squirmed against her body, “Patience, my little love…” she sweetly said, her voice quiet, “find your way.”

Serra quickly lifted her gaze to the wet-nurse who was silent throughout the whole duration of her attempt, her eyebrows tugging into a worried frown, “I feel as though he does not want me,” she sighed, “is it something I am doing?” She asked, looking down again at her son.

The wet-nurse watched from her place near the wall, eagerly ready to step forward and intervene at the first sign of distress as she held her breath — her hands anxiously twitched at her skirt, “It takes them time to find the breast sometimes, m’lady,” She finally spoke, her accent thick and voice soft and nurturing, “I have always found boys to be a little slower to take to nursing, they require a little more guidance. Might I?”

She let out a defeated sigh, giving a feeble nod as she allowed the wet-nurse to approach. The woman knelt in front of her, gently tucking the blanket down more from his face that had become red with frustration, letting out a cry that made Serra want to shrivel up and die, disheartened as she softly shushed him again and gently bounced him; his nose bumped her nipple when he turned his head, mouth opened and blindly seeking her, but only meeting flesh, “Bring him closer,” the nurse instructed.

She adjusted him in her arms, bringing him closer with assistance from the nurse, his arm outstretched against her ribs and wailing, “I know, my dear boy, I know…I’m sorry,” she softly spoke, anxiety beginning to creep up within her chest.

“Align his nose…” she instructed, “with the nipple, and bring him…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as she supported his head in her palm for a moment to fix his positioning.

The nurse withdrew her hands to her lap as Serra wordlessly obeyed, bringing her son into her chest and guiding him to her breast as she’d been directed — a wave of relief washed over her as his mouth finally found her, latching around her and reluctantly suckling, “There you go,” she whispered encouragingly. She looked up, giving the nurse a tired smile and letting out a soft laugh as she bowed her head with a warm smile of her own and stood to her feet.

The room was once again silent, filled only by the uncomfortable sigh from Serra after a moment as she was overcome by her let-down and her son’s breathing. The sensation was not one she had yet to become accustomed to, but one she welcomed as a means to bonding with the sweet boy who appeared content for the first time that afternoon. She withdrew a hand from underneath his back, still supporting him with her left arm in order to tenderly stroke his cheek as he fed, absentmindedly rocking him from side-to-side, “Is it normal…to experience pain?” She asked in a quiet voice that was barely above a whisper after some time had passed, finding that he had begun to nod off to sleep.

“At first,” The nurse replied.

“It’s been nearly two months, though.”

Her nurse hesitated, glancing towards the babe, “I can summon the maester if you would like, my lady.”

“I do not wish to bother him,” she said, shaking her head, “I can bear some discomfort, I just worry.”

The nurse smiled, “You needn’t worry, my lady. You are a natural, it is a gift from the gods.”

Serra wanted to laugh out loud, feeling like anything but after struggling with the simple task these past weeks, angry that her body seemed to fail where it should have thrived — something so natural did not come with ease, the way she had expected. She had not been prepared and that had become abundantly obvious when he had first been born, terrified of doing anything wrong and upsetting him; every cry made the hair on the back of her neck stand and she felt as though she had been on edge since his birth. There was no tea or herbal remedy that could have prepared her for the amount of anxiety that had flooded her body the minute he was born, and what came after, once he was no longer safe and protected by her womb. Her wet-nurse meant well, but she was bitter and tired, lowering her head to look down at her son again and watching as he suckled, even in his sleep; his eyes closed and fluttering, fine, dark hair curling into his forehead.

The quiet hum of the nursery lulled Serra into a brief sense of peace as she continued to rock her son, her eyes trained on the soft rise and fall of his chest. His dark lashes rested delicately against his cheeks, still flushed from the earlier ordeal, but now serene and undisturbed. Serra allowed herself a tender smile, brushing her fingers gently through the fine curls that framed his forehead. Yet beneath that fragile peace, the weight of worry gnawed at her. She felt it in her bones, an ache that ran deeper than the discomfort in her chest. It wasn’t just the challenges of motherhood that plagued her now—there was a tension she could not shake, a fear that had taken root since Benjicot had ridden off to battle. It was the not knowing, the endless waiting that frayed at her already delicate nerves. The thought of her infant son becoming the Lord of Raventree made her sick with nausea, debilitated by fear of the idea.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the fading light of day was giving way to dusk. The lake was out there, somewhere beyond the mist and trees, where her husband fought to protect their home and people. She wanted to be hopeful, to believe in his strength and the bravery that had always defined him. But every distant sound, every muffled voice beyond the nursery door set her on edge, her mind conjuring the dark possibilities.

The soft rustle of the wet nurse’s skirts drew her attention back to the room. The woman had moved to the corner, silently keeping watch, her expression one of gentle concern. Serra gave her a quick glance, but words stuck in her throat. Another sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her son slightly, cradling him closer against her body.

A soft knock filled the room, a pause following — her eyes found the nurse who immediately stepped forward and used her body as a shield, Serra’s hand reaching for the blanket that surrounded her son to lift it to cover herself as much as it would allow, “Come in,” Serra announced as the door then slowly edged open.

Grace crept inside, quickly closing the door behind her and keeping her head lowered as she entered the room, “I apologise for my disturbance, my lady.”

Serra tilted her head to look around the nurse, finding Grace’s eyes, “It is quite alright, Grace,” she assured, “what is it?” She asked, her eyes lowering to where her son shifted in his slumber.

Grace visibly hesitated, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her, “It is your lord husband, my lady,” she quietly said.

Serra felt herself tense up, her eyes lifting and clenching her teeth as she found her nurse looking at her — she had yet to hear the next words, but she was frozen in place as dread settled heavy in her bones, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she absentmindedly brushed her son’s cheek, “What of him?” She finally choked out after a moment, her voice low in an effort to sound steady.

She could hear the slow, hesitant shuffle of Grace’s footsteps that crossed the room until she was inches away; stopping so she could kneel in front of her, her gaze fixed on her face, “Many have been wounded in battle, my lady,” She said, her voice soft and warm, but holding a firm edge to it. Serra wanted to let out a cry, nodding stiffly after a pause, “But he has returned. The maesters are with him and his men as we speak…” She continued to explain.

Despite her words, Serra felt shame in admitting she did not care about the others -- she did not care that the other men had made it home, or that they were wounded -- she did not care for any of them at that very moment. The only thing she could focus on was the mention of her husband, hanging onto her words as she was overcome by a confusing slew of emotions, storming within her like a downpour of rain and thunder that enraged the seas, like the gods themselves had crafted it and taken vengeance out on the common and noble folk alike. Her relief was muddled by her sadness, her grief, fear of what almost was, still on edge and anxious like she was expecting to be told there was some mistake and that Benjicot had not made it home; that this news was some sort of miscommunication and that his body had been so mangled, they had mistook him for another man. Her stomach churned, clutching her son closer to her body and fixing his blanket with a restless, shaky hand as her eyes focused on his sleeping face.

“...Ser Henry was wounded but he is expected to make a full recovery...”

She wondered if it made her a terrible person to care so little for others in favour of Ben, as long as it meant he was unscathed and safe. There had been no doubt that the war would take, take, and take from all those of the realm as far South and North as one could fathom, and that nobody would be left untouched by the carnage and grief that would entail, but there had been no preparing for just how bare the battles would leave the realm in the aftermath -- with each battle, she felt as though Raventree became emptier and quieter than it had been all those months prior; once lively and full, she now noticed the gaps as time progressed.

She, too, still noticed her father’s absence.

It hadn’t yet been a year since his passing and the loneliness that had followed was not something she could have prepared herself for, either. She hadn’t seen her brothers in months and had been forced into mourning his loss alone whilst they were off to their own devices; she had sent ravens but only received three each in the time since they had left four months earlier. Kermit had since returned to Riverrun to take over as Lord Paramount, and Oscar was sent to the frontlines of battle and distracted by the new found responsibilities of Knightship. She found herself envying them for having something to distract themselves in those early days, while she had been ordered to bedrest almost immediately after she had found out she was expecting; news that, while good for Raventree and its future, she struggled to find comfort when she first felt the barely there little flutters and stirring in her belly. She had barely had time to mourn the first babe she had lost months earlier, only for her father to pass forty-five days into his ascension to head of House Tully; forty-five days after her grandsire. The past year had been a blur of grief and tears and anger that still lingered.

“…I can summon him, if you would like,” Grace suddenly said.

She was drawn from the thought, her eyes lifting to find hers; a greyish blue that Serra found rather pretty in the light — she was a pretty girl, she had come to conclude over the past year, but for once, she couldn’t concentrate on the thought. Instead, she silently stared at her, processing the suggestion and listening to the rhythmic, quick sound of her son’s breathing for a moment; deep and steady as he let out a tired whine, rolling against her as a small hand came up to rub his face. She looked down, catching his fist with her fingers and pulling it away from his cheek as tiny nails attempted to scratch at the delicate skin, leaving behind a faint red line from where he had made contact, “No…no,” she quickly replied, “I will not summon him like a dog to heel, I can go to him.”

“My lady?” The nurse asked.

Serra slowly stood, withdrawing her son from her chest and beginning to pull the front of her dress up and back over her chest; unsteady on her feet as she steadied herself against the chair briefly. The nurse quickly took the babe from her arms, a look of uncertainty being passed between the two women as Serra sucked in a shaky breath, attempting to straighten out her dress, “Help me, please— I cannot go to him looking a mess,” She instructed.

Grace snapped into action after a short-lived hesitation, coming forward and working quickly to straighten the low shoulders of her dress; she stepped around her to straighten the backing against her shoulders with swift, nimble fingers. Her hands rose to smooth out her hair, pulling it back from the loose hanging style after having eagerly torn out the pins from earlier; cascading down her back and curling around her face from the sticky humidity that trickled in through the window and left the air thick and hard to choke down, “Shall I braid…”

“No,” Serra sighed out, “no…it is fine. Just leave it.”

She felt a hand grab the back of her dress as she attempted to step forward, forcing her back again as Grace let out a soft breath, “Let me at least pin it from your eyes, my lady,” She quietly said, reaching up and beginning to pull the few stray strands that hung in her eyes back.

She wanted to protest further, but found herself unable to, settling into silence and allowing her to pin the hair back; secured by a pin at the back of her head with one final brush with her fingers, attempting to tame the curls. Her hands smoothed down the front of her dress as she leaned forward to press a final kiss to her son’s forehead, giving him one last look before she heaved out a sigh and hurried towards the door.

Grace stepped back as Serra adjusted the front of her dress one last time, her fingers trembling slightly. She cast a final glance at her son, now dozing peacefully in the nurse’s arms, the red mark already fading from his cheek. For a moment, her resolve wavered — the pull to stay, to hold her child just a bit longer, was strong. But she knew she had to see him. She had to see Benjicot.

With a deep breath, Serra straightened her spine and nodded to Grace. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she turned toward the door.

The cool air of the hall greeted her as soon as she stepped outside the room, the thick humidity fading slightly. Her heart raced in her chest, the familiar excitement bubbling up again. She couldn’t help it — the eagerness was overwhelming, nearly impossible to restrain as she heard an uproar of cheers from beyond the walls. Without thinking, Serra gathered her skirts in her hands and began to move, her steps quickening with each passing moment.

She did not mean to run but she could hardly contain her eagerness to see him, skirts gripped in her hands as she rushed down the halls of Raventree, eyes wide and turning her head to try and look outside through the windows; attempting to catch a glimpse out the window of the returning men and her husband through the yard, though unsuccessful. She could hear the voices, however, excited and clamouring to approach and congratulate the men on their success at Lakeshore outside the great hall, already picturing the council gushing over her husband, his face smug and probably just eating it all up. She could barely move fast enough for her liking, a handmaiden on her heels as she just about leapt down the stairs.

“My lady!” Grace gasped, reaching for her as Serra launched down the stairs, hand reaching out to grip the railing with her eyes cast down to wake sure she didn’t trip over her own feet; bare feet padding across the cold, stone floors.

She could now see the clamour of men, armour amidst the crowd but her husband was still hidden from view, wildly searching for him among the men. Suddenly, she noticed the councilmen huddled around a figure, clasping the man’s shoulder and nodding, pridefully beaming as they spoke in hushed tones, “You did good, my lord. A great success for Raventree and the Riverlands.” The old, balding man praised with a hand on the shoulder of her lord husband, whose back was turned to her.

She stopped at the base of the stairs, watching as he nodded, voice quiet in replying his thanks to the men, head turning slightly to glance at the men who were still buzzing with excitement over their win; bloodied and rowdy, though her husband was quiet, sighing as she watched his eyes scan the crowd. He turned slowly as though he was searching for someone, his mouth pressed into a fine line and eyes narrowing, the bags under his eyes signifying his exhaustion — he’d aged significantly these past weeks, exhausted by the war, evident even from afar. He looked the opposite of what she had imagined, something bordering melancholic appearing on his face as his gaze found her, expression softening and shoulders relaxing at the sight of his wife; his clenched fists wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword on his waist belt. He released his hold on the weapon for the first time in days as he started to approach her; shoulders bumping bodies, caring very little that he shoved men in the process as he moved towards her. He was just eager to be near her — another first in the past month, as he reached for her once he was close enough, his hand finding her waist and gripping the fabric of her dress to pull her towards him.

She clung to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as his arms slid round her back and reaching a hand up to press to the back of her head whilst burying his face into her hair. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her. They stood in silence like that, content with each other's embrace for the moment before he reluctantly leaned away, her hands cupping his cheeks to hold his face in her hands, still chest-to-chest as they stared back at one another.

Benjicot couldn’t find it in himself to do much speaking, silent as he withdrew at the sudden realisation that something had changed. His features pinched into a frown, confused as his eyes dropped to her belly, any signs of being swollen with babe fading as her body slowly worked to go back to what it had previously been and heal; one hand reaching out to brush his fingers down her belly, stopping just below her naval — a comforting gesture that Benjicot had gotten used to doing throughout the past several months, palm resting flat against the bump of where their child grew each day. Though this time, there was emptiness when his hand stroked over her abdomen, nearly flat and almost as though their babe had never even been there — though both her hips and chest were fuller, changed in order to support the life that grew within her.

Her hands moved to both cover his, taking his hand between both of hers and bringing the bloodied knuckles to her mouth in a sweet kiss, drawing his eyes back to hers. A feeling of dread settled deep into the pit of his stomach, bile crawling up the back of his throat and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, fearful of the worst as his fingers laced through hers, his mouth opening. Though he was left wordless and stammering stupidly as a small whine came from behind her as a wet nurse came down the stairs behind his wife, her arms filled by a wiggling bundle that reached up with small, chubby hands — both his wife and him turned towards the woman who approached them, her gaze down at the small face that peered back at her; small features screwed up with a cry.

“Here, I can take him.” Serra said, releasing her husband's hands to retrieve the infant from the wetnurse, slow and ever so cautious as she took the bundle into her arms; making sure to adjust her arms correctly as she then turned in the direction of Benjicot, who stepped forward, “Come meet your boy, Benjicot,” She softly said, voice barely above a whisper as she smiled, shy as she looked up at him.

He scanned her face, blinking before looking down at his son, hesitantly closing the gap until he stood over the both of them, his right hand lifting to gently stroke his son’s head amidst the blankets. Pride swelled in his chest at the sight of their infant son, letting out a chuckle that was more air, in awe as he then brought his hand to the cheek of his son, his finger stroking the soft, youthful skin, “A boy.”

“Aelor Blackwood.” She quietly said, his gaze shooting up to her face quickly in response to her words.

His other hand lifted to cup her cheek, a smile spreading across his own face as he let out a content sigh, “My beautiful wife,” he said, his voice laced with adoration as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. His gaze returned to the boy in her arms as he squirmed, face screwing up with a soft whine after being woken from his slumber — Aelor blindly turned towards his hand with an open mouth and attempted to bring the digit to his mouth for comfort, “and you my dear boy, you will make a fine knight one day,” He quietly said.

“Might I hold him?” He asked after a moment, looking up to find her eyes.

She seemed taken aback, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Of course. He’s as much your boy as he is mine.”

He felt foolish asking, he realised, as she was right -- from the curve of his nose to the dark hair that curled into his temples, his eyes aimlessly wandering to watch no particular thing as he cooed. He watched as his fists balled, gaze scanning his surroundings and briefly pausing to look up at him -- Benjicot swore his heart stuttered, softening immediately as he looked upon Aelor, who was so blissfully unaware of all that he had done or who he had been before that moment. He was innocent in all of this.

Benjicot slowly stepped around her, his head lowered and disregarding any further need for engaging with the council and their mindless chatter, praising him -- he didn’t need to listen to know what more they had to say to him. He felt as she clung to his side, her hand finding his elbow and following his slow pace up the stairs, afraid to disturb his son with any sudden jostles; his steps slow and cautious as they ascended the stairs, ever so grateful as the men remained silent behind him. There would be celebrations for days -- he knew that. But they could begin without him, only once he was nestled away in the safety of his chambers.

It would only be then that he could mend from the day’s events, and breathe for the first time in days. Feel safe for the first time in months.

Serra’s fingers brushed the back of his neck, her fingers carding through his hair and brushing her thumb along his nape; her wide, brown eyes watching him with a look like he was a living god among them, a shy smile threatening the corners of her mouth. Her hand dropped between his shoulders as they walked, finding his eyes when he slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The room was still filled by the soft coo of Aelor, while Benjicot sat on the edge of the bed and held him in his lap, cradling him to his chest as the babe sucked on his fingers. The bunched up blankets were loose, allowing him to freely wriggle as he dozed off, his eyes half closed already as the fire continued — Serra had been grateful for the extra hands, belonging none other than to her son’s father, rather than that of another wet nurse. She admired the women who committed their lives to raising noble children almost as though they were their own, and she could not have survived those early days without them — but she did not enjoy the practice of becoming so uninvolved with one’s children, that women would never hold their own child for years at a time; she could hardly fathom the thought of not having Aelor in her arms for more than a couple of hours, used to the weight of him against her chest and cradled into her like he was a piece of her that existed outside of her body.

Her mother had been so hands-on and involved with her and her brothers, having established a strong bond with her own children from birth — Serra wanted nothing less for her own children.

Watching Benjicot, she relished in the thought that Aelor would have exactly that — just as she did, content and knowing the safety of his parents arms as Ben caressed his cheek with a thumb; lulling him to sleep with quiet stories of his own youth, revelling in the fact that he was a Blackwood through and through. He was a spitting image of his father, and that of his before him — she could only imagine the relief that he had a piece of his father again, one to love and cherish and carry with him even in his passing. His adoration for the boy was already clear, his eyes softening and voice soft, quiet and loving as he spoke, unwilling to let him go; gently using his fingers to bring his hand down and away from his mouth as Aelor attempted to suck again on his fingers, his face scrunching up in a frustrated whine, head twisting to the side -- he let out a soft ‘sh’ in an effort to soothe him.

Serra watched from the fireplace, brushing out her hair as she sat on the bench in front of it, her eyes never leaving the pair. It warmed her to watch the interaction, a small smile on her face as she briefly slowed her pace in fixing her hair, pausing a moment as Aelor released a final whine; his eyes closed as sleep overcame him. It was a miracle, she thought, how he could find sleep even in his father’s lap so quickly -- there had been no buffer period in which he needed to warm to Benjicot, and seemed to instinctively already know he was safe and that this man was no stranger -- like he knew this was the man who had spoken to him for several months from outside the womb, whispering stories to him before he had entered the world.

She set down the brush, standing slowly and twisting her ring as she approached her husband, careful not to make any noise, too scared to breathe in fear of waking the raven-haired infant whose breathing slowed with slumber; his eyes fluttering with dreams of whatever peaceful things babes dreamt of. She planted a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, resting her chin upon it and looking down to where he was still hyper focused on their son, afraid to look away for even a moment; he quietly fixed the blanket, tucking it around him with cautious, gentle movements, “The ladies should be taking him to the nursery soon,” She softly said, her eyes on him.

For the first time in an hour, his gaze lifted to look up at her, “One moment longer,” he pleaded, his knuckles brushing underneath his chin and eliciting a slight twitch of his face as he looked down at him again, “I feel as though I have missed a lifetime already.”

There was a melancholic tone in his voice as he gazed at him, tugging at her heart and replacing her joy with an aching sadness. She couldn’t bring herself to summon the nurses and maidens who would soon take him away; knowing she’d had a month and a half with him, while Benjicot had only a few hours. Though she tried not to dwell on it, she was painfully aware that it was only a matter of time before he would be called back to battle, with no guarantee of returning unharmed and being as lucky a second time around. Serra let out a shaky exhale of air, lowering her head to press a kiss to the crook of his neck.

His head turned quickly at the sound of her sigh, searching for her face as she kept her head down and unable to meet his gaze. Benjicot’s eyebrows furrowed, voice softening as he attempted to beckon her attention back to him, “Serra,” He said, “Look at me.”

She slowly lifted her head, her bottom lip folded between her teeth as she forced a brave, nonchalant front, her eyebrows raising with a simple hum of acknowledgement. But he knew her well enough that he could see the tension that had become of her, her mouth a tight line as her fingers pressed further into his shoulder, holding his clothing tight within her fist as blinking unnaturally. Benjicot swallowed, looking down to her lap, “Let them bring him to the nursery now, it’s growing late.”

She nodded, unwilling to argue as she carefully scooped Aelor from his lap; his hands nervously following hers as he was lifted, cradled to her chest as he leaned forward to press a final kiss to his temple. Serra slowly walked towards the door, her exchange with the wetnurse who hovered outside the door brief and quiet to the point that Benjicot could not make out a word -- his eyes followed her movements as she leaned down to kiss his forehead, sliding him into the older woman’s arms and stroking his head as she turned and began to retreat down the hall with their son. Even then, she remained in the open doorway, leaned against the frame while she anxiously picked at her nails, twirling her fingers.

She closed the door after a moment, clicking it shut and turning to cross the room towards the fireplace where she abruptly stopped. Benjicot settled back on to the edge of the bed, beginning to shed his clothing in preparation for sleep, his eyes still focused on her and unable to tear away; he could make out the wringing of her hands, her shoulders tense and rigid as the silence dragged on, sensing that her thoughts were anywhere but there.

She moved finally, her head turning right slightly to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“What of my brothers?” She asked, referring to Kermit and Oscar. Her dear brother Oscar, who was barely a man-grown, his face still young and boyish when she had last seen him, eyes still possessing some trace of innocence having not seen war before. Her chest ached at the thought of him in battle, bloody and bruised — but he had their father’s blood in his veins, he was fearless and could fight hard, surely.

“Strong as ever.” Benjicot replied in a low voice, feeling as he approached from behind, having listened to the sound of fabric and clinking that dropped over the seat, until he was stripped down to his under layers. His chest pressed to her shoulder blades as he brought her towards him, an arm wrapped around her waist and secured her in place with a firm hold while the other trailed hand trailed up the length of her arm until his fingers wrapped around her shoulder. His forehead rested against the crown of her head, relishing in the warmth she radiated after being away from it for the past month and three weeks, his eyes closing as she let out a sigh, “Your brother has been rather busy with the responsibilities of his new lordship— but he is fierce, brave.” He mumbled into her hair.

Her own arms dropped to place over his own, her hand finding his at her waist while her eyes remained on the flames of the fireplace, emitting heat to the rest of her chamber. She was comforted by word of her oldest brother, a small, pensive smile coming to her face; Benjicot’s hand moving from her hold to press to her abdomen while a hand of hers remained overtop his, “Oscar is as equal a fierce leader,” He said, face moving from her hair to drop to her shoulder, his mouth pressing a kiss to the bare skin there.

It brought her some relief to hear that they were both safe and well, presumably having returned to their house by this point — relieved by the news that they were alive and otherwise safe. The war had already taken enough. Benjicot sighed, a defeated sound as his head twisted to press his cheek to the plane of her shoulder, both arms lacing around her waist. Her fingers absentmindedly traced along his forearm, “I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t apologise, Ben,” she easily replied.

She had counted every minute, every hour, waiting for the day she received word of his return — it felt pathetic at first, eager to receive news that he had come back. But time drew on, and as her anxieties grew, she cared little for how desperate she appeared — she was alone and terrified for six weeks, “I do and I’m sorry I left you to do it alone…” He said, voice small like a child, “I worried about you every day.”

Serra leaned further into Benjicot, relenting and allowing herself to melt into the warmth of his embrace, her eyes still fixed on the flickering flames. “You didn’t leave me alone,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion beneath it. “You were always here, Ben. In my thoughts, in every moment, you never left me.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “I should have been here. I should’ve seen him, held him...”

She turned in his arms, placing a hand gently on his cheek, guiding his gaze to hers. “You will. He’s here, and so are you. We’ve all had to make personal sacrifices in these times,” she quietly continued, her other hand bringing his face to hers and releasing a sigh through her nose, “I only worry about you.”

“Please don’t,” he replied, attempting to lean in and press a kiss to her mouth. She withdrew, leaning back and furrowing her brow at him — he hung there, halfway between them and lips still slightly puckered as he sensed her scepticism, letting out a sigh as his gaze scanned her face, “You do not have to worry about me.”

Her expression softened, once again dodging his lips as he leaned forward again, “I’m your wife. It’s my duty to worry about you.”

She offered a small, tight smile before leaning in and finally pressing a kiss to his mouth.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His fingers trailed up and down along her spine, her chest to his as she sprawled over him on her front, her cheek pressed to his collarbone as she nestled her face into his neck. Benjicot had found her to have dozed off to sleep some time ago, but had found it difficult to follow — instead, he’d found himself focused on the fields beyond the walls of Raventree, watching as sunrise slowly filled their room. The chill of the morning had crept in through a window that had been left ajar, a light breeze blowing in through the room and leaving goose flesh in its wake; only warmed by her skin, soft and possessing a comforting scent of lavender and roses.

He had tried to sleep, but it was useless he’d realised after two hours of trying. He wanted so badly to distract himself momentarily with sleep, but every time his eyes closed, he found himself back on the shores of the Gods eye — covered in dirt and overtop the Lannister boy whose name he’d never known. He wondered if they’d ever met before — if at some point in his twenty-one years, if they had met in passing, and if so, how old were they? Where had it been? Had he remembered him or were they complete strangers?

Serra had stirred against him, her head turning to face away from him, letting out a deep breath as she settled. He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, his nose nuzzling into her hair and inhaling the familiar scent that he’d come to associate with home and comfort.

He had startled awake after several attempts, his eyes burning with exhaustion but too panicked to find rest, finding that the night had since passed and morning was already upon him. With his heart racing, he accepted that sleep would not come to him — he wondered how long this would last. The night terrors and haunting images of his face, of his men, dead in the sands and leaving behind children and wives. How long would it be, before he found sleep again?

The thought was disturbed by a soft knock, his entire body going tense as Serra twitched, letting out a tired moan of complaint. He waited for a moment, his eyes on the door before a second knock followed after a minute, cursing internally as he peeled himself away from the bed; careful to ease her into the pillows and off of his chest. After he tucked the blanket over her, he sought his shirt amidst the floor and hurried to pull it over his head, hardly in the sleeves as he rushed to the door to open it with a scowl on his face.

Emrys stepped back quickly, giving him room to step out, his eyes widening for a moment and readily offering a quiet apology, “Good morrow, I…apologise for waking you so early, cousin.”

“Whatever it is, could it not wait until this afternoon?” Benjicot snapped, his voice a harsh whisper as he pulled the door against his back, leaving it slightly ajar as his hand tightly gripped the handle of it behind him. The wood pressed into his spine as he briefly twisted his head to glance back inside the room, his gaze falling upon the sleeping frame of his wife, who lay beneath the blankets, clutching to the pillow beneath her and unaware yet of his absence. His departure had yet to be noted, “We’ve only just returned, could you not have at least allowed me one day of rest before bombarding me with matters of council? Serra does not need this so soon.”

“You know I wouldn’t disturb you if it was not urgent, Ben,” Emrys quietly replied.

He turned his gaze back to where Emrys hesitated to say more, his mouth wordlessly opening before he brandished a letter from beneath his belt; still sealed and neatly rolled with the familiar symbol of House Chambers. Benjicot’s eyes flitted between his face and the scroll, his expression hardened as his mouth pursed with a frown, sighing and finally releasing his hold against the door to retrieve it from his grasp — he hands made swift work in cracking the seal and unrolling it, the sound of paper rusting in the silence of the corridor. It wasn’t lost on him that he wouldn’t receive news so soon after his return if it wasn’t something serious, but he’d been optimistic despite his fears that there would at least be a buffer period in which he could find rest, heal his body and soul before even considering the idea of returning to battle — as annoyed as he was, he was sad equally terrified, turning the paper to scan the words that had been messily scrawled across it. His head angled, craning to read it and silently reading with narrowed eyes as Emrys waited for some sort of reply, some sort of acknowledgment to its contents.

His frown mirrored that of his cousin’s, his head shooting up and lowering the letter, “They believe it is Vhagar.”

“And have they confirmed this?” He asked.

“No,” Emrys replied, “based on the reports, they are quite certain however.”

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, his eyes rolling as he quickly crumpled up the scroll and pressed it back into his hand, “I’d like to confirm the identities of the dragon and its rider before unnecessarily terrifying my wife and son,” he said, shifting his stance.

Emrys gave a curt nod, his gaze lowering — the two men were quiet, Benjicot’s shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh, “Have them write a letter to House Chambers to write to us as soon as they have confirmation, and what they would like for us to do— House Tully should be made aware as well,” He instructed, “have them draft a letter to Rhaenyra, requesting for a dragon for protection in the meantime. We cannot face Vhagar alone if it is true.”

Emrys muttered a soft, “Of course.”

He turned on his heel, attempting to walk away before he was grabbed by the neck of his cloak, pulling him back as Benjicot raised his eyebrows, “Bring the letter to me before it is sent, I would like to personally oversee the task.”

He nodded, “Of course.”

Benjicot released him, giving a singular nod before he allowed him to depart; his eyes following him down the hallway until he was out of sight. With a clenched jaw, he turned and quietly crept back into the room, suddenly overwhelmed and nauseous as he closed the door again behind him, his eyes finding Serra in bed as he did his best to prevent the soft click from drawing any attention to himself. Once he was in the clear, he tiptoed back towards the bed and hesitated at the edge of his side; his eyes downcast on his wife who had yet to wake, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks — he sighed, a hand reaching out to brush over her hair.

He chewed the inside of his lips as he slowly sank back into the bed beside her, her expression twitching as he nudged her back into him and against his chest — she blindly sought him, moving with a huff, “Sorry, my love,” he whispered.

“Who was it?” She asked.

Benjicot shook his head, not wanting to further worry her as her cheek pressed against his sternum, “Just…one of the guards,” he lied, “just some updates from last night’s patrol.”

She tiredly moaned, not seeming to process his reply as he settled back against the pillows. A silence passed, his eyes darting up to the ceiling of their bed before she spoke again.

“Whatever it is that plagues your mind, husband, do not feel as though you must carry its burden alone,” She quietly muttered, her face still against his chest and eyes closed as she spoke. His hand cradled the back of her skull, letting out a deep sigh that moved her, “it is ours to share.”

“This is not…” He began to protest, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Your scars are mine, it is as much mine to shoulder as it is yours,” She interrupted. Her head lifted finally, tired eyes watching him as he looked up at the ceiling, his jaw clenching, “What is it?”

He didn’t mean to sulk. He would argue that he wasn’t. Her index finger tapped his lips however, pursed as he let out a sharp breath, blinking rapidly and rolling his eyes as his head lolled to the side, while he looked out the window once again. Serra’s finger traced his jaw, brushing back and forth in a soothing gesture despite the internal turmoil he felt -- he soon sighed, any tension melting away from his shoulders as his chest rose and fell with a slow exhale from his nose, “I killed a boy out there and he is all I see when I close my eyes,” he quietly explained, “they haunt me. I see the faces of those I fought against, and the ones I fought beside. I see my mistakes… the ones I made when I was overwhelmed, and the ones I made when I was too calm, too sure of myself. But that boy…”

A silence befell them aside from the quiet sound of their breathing as she rested her chin against his collarbone, watching him as she then moved to sit up on her elbow, “He can’t have been older than five-and-ten,” Benjicot stated, a distant tone in his voice like he was not fully present.

Serra couldn’t have imagined what it would have been like to be his mother — what had he left behind? What life was waiting for him back home? Friends? A betrothed? She could hardly envision being that age amidst a war, a time when her only concern had been worrying over mastering a simple stitch as she embroidered a pillow. She had grown up strikingly different to these men, especially the women who were brave enough to fight alongside them — Serra had never held a sword for longer than a half second as a girl, much less a weapon, as she had been too clumsy to be trusted in their presence and just had never had that urge to fight or learn the craft. Her head turned, dropping her chin and pressing a kiss to his bare chest, she then allowed her lips to linger against his skin.

She could hold him at no fault though — war was a pesky thing that forced even the kindest of men to turn their cloak and embrace the worst, innately dark impulses within themselves. Her heart ached for the thought of the boy whose name she would never know, and the possibility of what he was leaving behind; despite that this was just the routine of war — young boys forced to kill on behalf of ageing men and lose their lives in the process, traumatised and in need of their fathers…she sighed against his skin, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t have done it if you’d had a choice,” She said.

“I did have a choice though, did I not?”

Her hand lifted from his jaw to brush across his forehead and brushing back his hair, scanning his features and taking the opportunity to refamiliarize herself with them; at the core, he was the same man who had left her two months prior, but as she looked at him, she could see the effects of war. A frown line had since etched itself between his brows, embedding itself into his skin that had become dull and dry in appearance, and his once soft lips now chapped. His eyes appeared sunken from the weeks of sleepless nights that she assumed had been plagued by nightmares of his battles — upon moving the hair out of his face, her index finger found a freckle on his forehead, brushing over it with a delicate brush of fingers, “And what choice might that have been, my love?” She asked.

His mouth twitched as though the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he’d yet to figure out how to give them life and say them aloud. His eyes darted around for a moment, “His death and its impact is not mine to understand, but you did what was necessary in that moment,” she softly spoke, “our son and I both needed you and you fought for that. Just let me help mend that wound, do not bear its weight alone and let it crush you, Benjicot— you are only a man.”

He hesitated. Benjicot did not like to lie and had been taught the honour of truth and honesty — but in that moment, he could not bear the idea of worrying her more with the thought of a dragon overhead. He wanted to blurt out the truth, but he knew better, “Okay,” he said, lifting a hand to catch hers and bring it away from his face to bring it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “okay.”

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