#brother and husband and sister and wife and the horror of it all. what is love? i love you bc you are my sister but i cant love you bc you

[gojuo]

Proshippers be funny af. GoT opening sequence is nothing like hotd so that comparison they pulled up is false and desperate.

me: i want helaegon to be the deconstruction of targaryen incest that examines the psychological horror of a forced marriage to one's own sibling in which the full family is already hanging by a thread in a treacherous situation since there is no other targ couple in the entirety of canon perfectly situated to explore and dissect this horrific aspect of targaryen culture

#them: i want an incestuous love triangle (that is not canon) because incestuous love triangles is interesting writing or something

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[crossingthedreams]

no one else to turn to — aemond targaryen x sister-wife!reader

masterlist | day 16 (@angstober) — no one else to turn to

summary: in aemond’s mind, everything he did, he did to protect his family. what he didn’t realize was how much he was hurting them in the process. 

word count: 2.3k 

warnings: angst. targaryen incest (brother/sister). arranged marriage. sexism. reader is one of the greens (i’m not though). slight reader x aegon, if you squint. no use of y/n. not proofread.

You were more than somebody’s wife, somebody’s sister, somebody’s daughter or somebody’s grandchild. That’s what the men in your life constantly failed to understand. You were a person before you were, involuntarily, theirs. 

The matter at hand wasn’t your right to an opinion, but a right to your very own identity. 

Somehow, all of the sentences coming out of your brother’s mouth began with “as a child of…”, “as the sister of…”, always justifying how you should be by taking the men in your life and putting their wellbeing and their thoughts above your own. it was degrading and belittled you, not as a Targaryen Princess — which, make no mistake, you most certainly were — but as a human being worth of the same rights as any men. 

You stomped angrily towards your sister’s room, eager to share your frustrations. It wasn’t until you were inside that you were reminded she’d be very little conversational. All your worries faded momentarily when you saw Helaena curled up on the couch, a green duvet in her hands and gaze lost in the distance. 

It was only a few weeks since the terror she was put through with her children. She looked so small now, and she was barely older than you. 

You sat next to her, but didn’t touch her. Before the terrible events, Helaena already disliked being touched. Now, you didn’t even want to risk it. Poor girl, she didn’t deserve all this sorrow and stress. 

“Sister”, you called, quietly, trying to enter her vision camp. “Sister, it’s me”. 

“She won’t talk right now”.

Your mother’s voice came from the entry, and she was elegant as always. The grief clothing she wore for your father and nephew suited her. As you turned to look at her, your back straightened instantly. Your memory of tedious suppers during which she would tap your leg to fix your posture was immediate, and you didn’t want to relieve it. 

She approached the both of you, and sat near Helaena without saying a word. You wondered if this was her daily ritual.

“I believed you’d be at your brother’s side, dear”, the Queen Alicent said to you, without taking her eyes off Helaena. She passed her hands through the disheveled hair of the current Queen, and you realized you hadn’t responded. 

“I was”, you began, unsure whether it would be wise to continue. Not because of your family, but of the servants. Anything could go back to your brother and, depending on his mood, even the kindest words spoken about him would do you more harm than good.

Your mother raised her brown eyes to meet yours, “I see”. 

Your gaze moved from your mother to your sister back and forth, before deciding this room was much too crowded. You excused yourself, filled with a new sense of horror as you left the room. Even the Queen couldn’t be protected, so what hope was there for the common woman? 

You walked slowly back to your chambers, which were joined with your husband’s. You were just shy of six-and-ten at the day of your wedding, and your mother was adamant that there would be no bedding ceremony. 

Your husband, then, in an unusual act of selflessness and kindness, chose to wait a while, until it was you who came to him. The joined room’s were his idea after the first night you spent together. That way you could have your space and still come to him, and have him come to you, too. 

In that aspect, you were lucky. When Helaena was pregnant, she talked more, and she mentioned Aegon would be in and out of her in five minutes, and only every other night. What an awful relationship. 

Yet, Aegon was still your brother, and he was severely wounded after the Battle of Rook’s Rest that took Princess Rhaenys’ life. You weren’t close to her, but you knew her, and she was always kind to you. It was a terrible loss caused by this senseless war.

According to your dearest brother, though, you didn’t have a clue as to what was necessary to the Realm. 

The memory of it made you tear the necklace you were wearing and throw it against a wall. Your maid called your name, and she probably saw you as a petty, annoying Princess right now, throwing a tantrum like a child. 

You stilled your breath, and turned towards her. “Please make arrangements for me to see the King this afternoon”, you told her. You hated giving orders. That was something your brother Daeron wrote about to you constantly. 

Later that day, you still had your family in your mind. How did you all become such a mess? 

You practically tiptoed inside Aegon’s chambers, unsure to what he’d be, look or act like. You hadn’t seen him since before the battle, and all you knew your mother and husband had told you. Apparently, he looked terrible, felt a lot of pain and was but a shell of who he used to be. 

When you found his figure, laying on the bed, you realized they had been too kind in describing his state.

He was burnt in a way you had never seen before, and it went down to his body beneath the covers. His hair had mostly fallen, and his ear melted to his ear. The pain he must have felt… You felt awful. There had to be something you could do to ease him. He wasn’t a wise man, nor was he the most galant, but he was your big brother.    

“What are you doing here?”, he said with difficulty, before you could even open your mouth. 

You looked into his eyes, the violet of it paler than ever. Before you could speak, you decided to sit at the chair by his bedside, so you weren’t looking down on him. 

“I had no one else to turn to”, you decided to tell him the truth. He remained quiet, but you saw something shift in his gaze at the realization he was still needed, and not useless. You let your head drop to your hands, feeling ridiculous to be complaining to a man who had just survived dragon fire and the loss of a child. 

Still, the tears began to fall. 

“You may talk”. 

At his bed, burnt beyond recognition, without a crown — that was the first time you saw Aegon as a King.

Your head raised, and you wiped away your tears. Before you began, your back instinctively straightened. 

“Mother is… well, mother”, you both let out a breathy laugh. “She’s deeply unhappy, brother. Daeron hasn’t sent news in over a fortnight, and Helaena is…”.

“I think it’s best if we skip over my dear wife, sister”, his gazer turned away from you. You felt honesty in his tone in a way you hadn’t ever. “I don’t know, and never knew, how to comfort my wife”.

“Marriage is tricky, is it not?”, you tried to lighten the mood, making a small jest. However, Aegon didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn���t fight harder for you”.

Your confusion must have been clear, because he continued, even though it clearly hurt for him to speak. “You were just a child, and you were thrown into a man’s bed, which can be quite the insalubrious environment, as I have been made aware. It kills me to think what married life must be for you and Helaena”. 

“It wasn’t your fault”, you said, with sincerity too. “You were a kid, and you were thrown into all this. We deserved better, brother”.

You didn’t want him to cry anymore than you wanted to cry yourself. When you saw the tears in his eyes, you stood up and kissed the top of his head. A gesture of fraternity. 

A sound came from the door, and when you turned, you saw the man who was the object of many conversations you had lately. 

Aemond Targaryen was a complicated man, with more nuance to him than poetry, and sharper than a dagger. Your older brother who, at adolescence, took you as his wife before the Seven and, later, in a Valyrian ceremony for your family. 

The fear that emanated from Aegon as soon as he saw Aemond was perceptible. You had no idea what happened amongst them, and as much as you wished to find out, you knew some things were out of your reach, even with deep curiosity. 

“My love”, Aemond greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, as if nothing happened earlier. He then looked over to Aegon, taking his hands and kissing them gently. “My dear brother”. 

Aegon was quiet now, still afraid. 

Aemond’s hand found the small of your back as he guided you outside, not letting you say goodbye. He said it for you before the door slammed behind you, and Aegon was left alone inside once more. 

“What were you doing in there?”, he demanded to know, the hand that laid carefully on your back now grabbing your arm as he walked with you in the direction of your joined chambers. 

There was a part of you that refused to talk, whilst the other wanted nothing more than to rub his face in… in whatever that with Aegon was. Unfortunately, mysterious didn’t do it for you. 

“Conversing with my brother, the King, who is severely injured and in need of company”, you spatted.

“I know he is injured”, Aemond grunted. 

“Of course you do, after all, you were there”, you replied as coldly as you could. He turned to you immediately, his one lilac eye almost in flames. 

“What are you implying?”, he said between gritted teeth. 

“Absolutely nothing”. You moved your face closer to his, letting him see you smile.

You didn’t fight often with Aemond. He was your husband, your older brother and you loved him dearly… Most of the time. Today, though, today he pissed you off — and you had earned the right to piss him off right back.

“Certainly you do not think me capable of any sort of con or coup, my love”, the irony that flooded in your voice was unfamiliar even to yourself. “After all, I am but a woman”, you mirrored his words from earlier that day, when you were called upon by the Small Council to fight alongside your husband and brother. Your refusal made Aemond cruel towards you, battering words you’d never thought you’d hear from the man who shared your bed. 

His one eye closed, and he let go of your arm, that would surely be bruised for days from the sheer strength he held you. You let out a long breath as your husband approached the opposite side of the corridor, the one with a view to the Winter Garden. From the garden, you could hear your mother’s voice. The long sleeved black dress you wore, with gold, green and red details, was enough to cover whichever bruises you might have. From this ridiculous exchange with Aemond or any other affair. 

You sighed profusely, both from tiredness and to get Aemond’s attention. His head turned a little to look over his shoulder, but he didn’t make eye contact. 

“Am I excused?”, you broke the silence, annoyed still. “Or am I to watch as you pout like a child looking for mother?”

He turned so quickly towards you his hair made a whoosh sound. He pointed one finger at you, lips pressing against each other, and then threw his hands in the air. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman!”, he exclaimed, turning around once more so your eyes didn’t meet his. 

It was wiser to let him vent at this moment instead of making another remark, so you waited for him to continue. 

“All I do, I do for you”, he lowered his tone, still avoiding your gaze. “And yet, here you are. An unappreciative, ungrateful little girl”. 

“Mind your tongue”, you said, feeling your blood boil. You squeezed your eyes, hand still on the arm he handled with such force earlier. “I am not a whore you visit whenever you please and talk as you please, I am the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and sister of King Aegon Targaryen. You will not speak to me this way”. 

You’d never heard silence quite this loud. 

“If I cannot count on you, Aemond, then who will I turn to?”

“You can count on me to defend you, sister, but…”

“Who will defend me from you, brother?”, you interrupted him, letting the frown between your eyebrows grow. “Who will stand up for me when you bring me down in front of those pampered men thinking they can order me and my dragon around, not knowing the first thing from either me or Silverwing?”

Aemond straightened his back. He looked cold, distant at your firm tone. What an interesting sight it was for any servant who passed at the moment. The Prince Regent and his wife, in a staring match at the halls. 

There was an old saying that whenever a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin, and the whole world holds their breath to see which way would it land: greatness or madness. 

There was another thing about Targaryens, as you came to realize. The terrible loneliness. None of you had, truly had, one another. You heard the rumors about Daemon and Rhaenyra. You saw before your own eyes Aegon and Helaena. You knew the stories about what your father did to the late Queen Aemma, who was as much of a Targaryen as any of you. 

You loved your husband. That was exactly why it pained you so to realize you had no one else to turn to.

[peterparkersnose]

A Tale of Two Eyes

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: trauma, mentions of suicide, mentions of Helaemond, toxic marriage, reader has established relationship with Aemond and they have children, reader is pregnant, marriage of convenience, political marriage, arguing, undertones of an abusive relationship, selfish Aemond, hate on the Blacks (love Rhaenyra tho, just for the story themes)

a/n woah I wrote?!?! Happy birthday Ewan ily mwah

summary Aemond's son and heir just met the same fate as he did all those years ago with Lucerys.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 10 mins 11 seconds

That afternoon was a blur. Everything for Y/N has moved so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. She had asked Ser Criston to fetch her sons, ten-year-old Daeron and six-year-old Aerion, for dinner. They had been playing out in the courtyard for a few hours. She had her three-year-old daughter, Visenya, sat and prepared to feast for the evening meal. Visenya wiggled in her seat, anxious for her brothers to join her to feast. The morning was rough on Y/N, as she was currently seven months pregnant with her fourth child with Aemond. Visenya had been a terror as well, as she has now taken to escaping her caretakers and seeking out Y/N specifically. Y/N was speaking to Visenya, trying to distract her from her hungry stomach and practicing her vowels when her mother-in-law, Alicent, came rushing into the dining room. The Dowager Queen looked frantic as she quickly came to Y/N’s side. 

“It’s Daeron,” she spoke, out of breath. “Daeron?” Y/N asked. Alicent motioned for her to follow her, as she did not want to alarm Visenya. Y/N immediately left Visenya with their nanny and followed her mother-in-law quickly down the castle halls.

“What has happened?” Y/N asked, holding her stomach with one hand and walking as fast as she possibly could. “Aegon and Viserys…” Alicent paused. The names of Rhaenyra’s last two surviving sons. They have always quarreled with her and Aemond’s sons, and now she truly feared the worst. 

“They have taken Daeron’s eye just as Lucerys did to Aemond years ago.”

Y/N abruptly stopped in the hallway, grabbing the wall for guidance.

“Excuse me?” she blinked a few times, angered at her mother-in-law for just dropping this knowledge on her. For the sake of her unborn child, she tried not to let her emotions run rampant.

For her first child, her first son, heir to the Iron Throne, and the beginning of the new Targaryen age has just been permanently maimed or killed. 

Aemond never attended dinners anymore. The man Y/N knew when they were first betrothed was long gone after the results of the dance. Aemond could barely deal with the grief of his siblings, niece, and nephews. Y/N had always speculated a secret love affair with her husband and his now-deceased sister, Helaena, but she never approached the subject. He was never the same after Helaena’s suicide. Aemond had been a broken man since, even though he was living out his dreams. He was now the King. The Blacks were defeated, only leaving Rhaenyra’s two legitimate sons with Daemon, as they were too young to understand the effects of what they were born into. Alicent took them in against her better judgment. 

So now, he sat in his office alone like he did most nights. The candlelight was dim and his wine glass was almost emptied. He sat hunched over letters, writing them to various Lords around Westeros. Aemond often filled his time with work so he could escape the horrors of his true life. It was pitch black outside and pouring now, as it had been hours since dinner was supposed to have happened. He heard a knock on his office door.

“Enter.”

He didn’t expect his wife. He straightened his posture and took off his reading magnifier from the bridge of his nose. He took in her essence. She was beautiful, he had to admit. Their marriage wasn’t ideal, but she had been essential for the success of the Greens in the dance, as their marriage brought House Targaryen together with one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Aemond took a deep breath.

“My lady wife–”

His words got caught in his throat when he saw the blood on her hands. “Is the child all right?” 

Y/N nodded eagerly to assure him that this wasn’t a complication in her pregnancy. “What has happened? Is someone hurt?” Aemond eagerly asked, standing up from his desk and striding over to her. “I-It’s Daeron…”

“Daeron?” Aemond replied, relief running over him that the issue wasn’t the child. Yet he worried for his heir. Y/N was shaking, Aemond grabbed her hands. “You mustn't freak.” she asked of Aemond. His brows furrowed. “Calm yourself, woman. Explain what happened.” 

“Him and Aerion… got in a scuffle with Aegon and Viserys.”

Aemond’s grip tightened on Y/N’s hands. If it weren’t for the grace of her and Alicent, Aemond would have had those two children’s heads on spikes before they were old enough to realize their parents' crimes. “What prompted the fight?” he asked angrily. Y/N shrugged. “That–that is to be determined. I don’t want you to freak–”

“Do not tell me what to do. What is of Daeron?” he raised his voice to his wife. “He–”

Y/N took a deep breath and paused. She didn’t know how to approach this with her husband correctly and not trigger him from his past. Her hand moved to her husband's cheek, her fingers moving over the strap of his eyepatch slowly. “Do you remember?”

Aemond scoffed.

“Of course, I remember. You don’t need to remind me.” his lips pursed as he closed his remaining eye momentarily and sighed. “Why is this relevant?”

Y/N had no clue how to tell her husband this. She was expecting him to have the same reaction she and Queen Alicent were having. 

“Our son just met the same fate.”

Aemond pondered for a moment, then turned around and brushed Y/N’s hand off his cheek. He returned to his desk. He felt sick, he had to sit down. Aemond didn’t fully understand the situation yet but feared the worst. He was silent for a great moment, hearing a small sniffle coming from his wife brought him back to reality. “What happened to Daeron? Do you mean to tell me he’s lost his eye? Don’t tell me he’s dead…”

“He isn’t. But Viserys scraped it out like Lucerys did to yours.”

Aemond slammed his fist on the desk, making Y/N jump. Aemond seethed in anger, thoughts running rampant in his head. After a long pause, he spoke. “And did you tell my mother yet?”

“She is with him as we speak.” Y/N replied, anxiously waiting to see where her husband's emotions ran at that moment. “Where is Aerion? Is he harmed?” he asked of his spare, who could likely become his heir at any moment. “Aerion is fine just… traumatized. He tried to go after Viserys but Criston pulled him away when he got to the scene.”

Aemond seethed, then suddenly threw his wine goblet to the wall. It smashed and scared Y/N. “Aemond–”

“Send Daeron to my mother’s chambers. Tell her I’ll be along shortly, I have letters to write.”

He didn’t even look up at his wife as he put his spectacle back on. 

“What?” Y/N held her stomach with one hand, the other on her hip. She was confused. “You’re returning to your work?” She didn’t even get another word in before Aemond snapped. “Send Daeron to my mother's room at once!”

She was utterly shocked. How could he? Work? His son needed his father. The only person who could relate and help Daeron through this terrible time in his life… and Aemond chose to work? “Your son needs you!” 

Aemond growled. “I’ll tend to him later. He’s going to survive, and I have work to do.”

Y/N was flabbergasted. 

“You’re the only one who can help him understand. The boy is ten and just lost his eye! That is your son!”

Y/N knew she was fighting in a losing battle. But she had to plead for her son. He had been requesting his father for some time now. Aemond abruptly stood, walking to his door. He didn’t look at her once. “If you think talking to him will do him any good, I’ll do it. I’ll write my letters and come when I can,” he mumbled. When Y/N realized this was the best she was going to get, she decided to leave. As she was exiting the door, the child kicked in her womb roughly. She groaned and Aemond looked up to her, seeing her clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said coldly. He watched her exit. She wasn’t expecting another word from him. 

She could hear him before she saw him. Y/N entered Alicent’s chamber to see her son sobbing, clinging to his grandmother. Alicent brushed his hair softly with her fingers, her stare distant. Y/N could tell that Alicent had seen this story before, and she didn’t like the ending. The look of vengeance plagued the middle-aged woman's face. As Daeron heard someone enter the room, he spoke.

“Father?” Y/N’s heart simply broke then. Daeron was truly in a state of shock, he barely paid attention to anything but the throbbing sensation of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life on his face. “No, sweet boy. Your father…” Y/N caught herself. She couldn’t tell her son that his father refused to see him. No. It would simply break his heart and his spirit more than they already were broken. “I could not find him. The guards will notify him shortly when they find him.” Y/N moved to the bed, and Alicent moved so Y/N could comfort her son Daeron. Alicent gave her an honest nod and stepped into the hallway. Y/N embraced her ten-year-old in her arms, and he rested his head on the fleshy part of her arm. He was still holding a rag over his wound, so Y/N took the rag from his hand and switched it with hers so the boy’s arm wouldn’t grow tired. 

“What happened to me, mother?” Daeron spoke softly. He tried to look up at her but failed to do so. Y/N held back tears. “It wasn’t fair, my love. Viserys will pay. I will make sure of it.”

Daeron shook in her arms. “I-I’m scared.” he admitted to her. A sob finally came from the boy again, and he stopped crying when she entered the room. He was trying to stay strong for his mother. He was already showing such promising signs of a good King, even at such a young age.  “What will I do without my eye, mother? Do I still have a future, will the girls still like me? They’ll think I’m gross for sure, I just know of it–”

“My son.” Y/N cut off his rambles. “Of course not. We shall not worry about this now. You are a handsome boy, and already a great warrior.”

“But–” Daeron began again. Y/N shushed him. “No. Shh. You must remember your father has the same wound as you. And is he a great warrior?” 

Daeron nodded. “And is he married?”

Daeron nodded again. “My sweet son, my heir. Do not worry. You will be the greatest Targaryen that ever lived.” Y/N spoke. She moved closer to her son. “Don’t tell your father or siblings I said that,” Y/N whispered, managing a small smile trying to bring some humor to the boy. He desperately needed it. But it quickly faded, as the child inside of her kicked again. 

“Mother?” Daeron asked. Even in his pained state, he cared for his mother. What a good boy she had raised. “Do not worry. The babe is just wild during this time of night.” 

Y/N ran a hand over her son's bloodied hair which had now dried. She held him close until he fell asleep. Aemond never came. 

During the very early hours of that morning, Y/N had failed to find sleep. She paced her shared chambers with Aemond. He had yet to return. She grew angrier and more frustrated by the minute. And finally, as she was re-lighting the candles that should have been blown out hours ago, she heard the door of her chambers click open and then shut. She turned to her husband, who looked cowardly now, with an angered glare. “Where have you been?”

Aemond shrugged. Y/N scoffed. “Do not play this game with me right now.” Y/N approached him, he smelt of dragon sweat and the salty sea. “Did you just take Vhagar for a ride?” 

Aemond sighed. “Yes.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the angered laugh. “You’re kidding me right now.” Aemond threw his boots from his feet against the wall. “I have my own ways of managing my–”

“Your son has lost an eye. Have you no heart?!” Y/N interrupted him. Aemond seethed silently, pausing. He then threw his jacket on the back of the couch. “I will see him in the morning.” Aemond answered tiredly. Y/N stared at him in shock. “I have no words for you.” 

Aemond ignored his wife, moving to the closet. He changed into his nightly gown and his robe. He tried to get into bed, but Y/N was already sitting on the bed when he returned. “No. Not tonight.” she said sternly. Aemond scowled. “And why not?” Aemond asked with a sharp tongue. He was almost at his breaking point with her. Couldn’t she not understand his duties? His trauma from his past? How selfish of her… 

“Why not?!” Y/N yelled “Your son has just been maimed for life and you refuse to see him! What kind of father are you?” This statement set Aemond off. All the anger, hurt, and hatred boiled over within him. He tried to keep it in for the sake that he did truly love his wife, but she failed to understand him over the years like this. Aemond took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? I have been struggling for fucking years! Do you think I want to see my son, bloodied and broken as I once was at his age? No, you daft woman! I wish to be alone. You are incessantly bothering me and I am sick and tired of it!” he lashed out at his wife. Y/N sat in bed, tensed at his words. She didn’t know how to reply. The realization that the reason Aemond didn’t visit their son sank in; he simply did not know how to. “I cannot look at the mirror of my old self in him! For Gods sakes, he already is a copy of me! Now with this…” 

Y/N took in his words. She saw him tearing up. “Aemond–” she attempted to speak. He cut her off. “I will have that child sent to the wall along with his blasted brother,” he spoke angrily. “Do not try to talk me out of it either. I am King and I have made my final choice. I have spared their lives when they should join their bastard brother Lucerys in Vhagar’s belly.” 

“But your son–” “He will live. You cannot coddle the boy. He must grow strong.”

“How could you say that?” Y/N answered. Aemond shrugged. “My father did the same, and I will follow.”

Y/N couldn’t believe her ears. Viserys was a terrible father to Aemond and his siblings, favoring Rhaenyra. “You know damn well that if Viserys still lived, he would pardon Rhaenyra’s son and blame Daeron somehow–”

“THAT ISN’T THE POINT!” Aemond snapped at her. He knew how terrible Viserys was. He knew how damaged his father had made him. But he was the man he was now because of Viserys, and he would never be the same happy little boy he was before the loss of his eye. And now that the same had just happened to his son, his heir, he couldn’t deal. Y/N watched him in horror as he turned to violence, smashing one of the vases in the room. She held her stomach, fearing her husband in his rage. After Aemond realized what he had done and how he had scared his wife, he stopped. Aemond’s yelling turned into sobs. He collapsed on his bed. Y/N warmly opened her arms to embrace him, despite being terrified of him seconds ago. Aemond clung to her and her baby bump for dear life. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry…” he whimpered, burying his face in the crook of her stomach under her breast. He was shaking. Y/N was too stunned to speak, but she spoke softly. “I know.”

She was furious at her husband. But the effects of the dance had ruined him. This wouldn’t have happened twelve years ago when they wed. They both had to re-learn each other–him with his trauma, her with her dedication to being a mother and a Queen. They struggled too often. But at solemn moments like this, when Aemond calmed down, they just held each other. The truth was, they were just two scared kids in this world. Thrown into the grasp of something neither of them wanted or intended. And that is how they stayed the rest of the night–trembling in each other’s arms, afraid of what the future held for them. 

[missbunnybunny]

❛❛ 𝕴 𝖜𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖚𝖕 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖉𝖚𝖐𝖊 𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓.❜❜

B-day post, sorry it's a little late.

- Enjoy!

Not Proofread, Not spell checked, Manipulation, Yandere, False Imprisonment. «🛑𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸🛑»

Y/n stared at herself in the mirror. She touched her face in horror as she looked in the vintage mirror.

Running to open her window, she pushed it open, seeing that this was no way, shape or form her world.

For fuck sake, there was even a large gazebo in the backyard. That was rich people's shit.

There was a knock on the door, drawing her attention from the window view.

"My lady." a voice called.

" Come in!" Y/n yelled back as she stood in the middle of the large bedroom awkwardly.

A woman with tied black hair, and a maid's outfit enters the room with a wheeled cart.

" My lady, I came to bring you breakfast." the freckled maid smiled.

Y/n sat in her bed, distressed, what was she going to do.

Holding her head, Y/n looked at her maid, " I'm sorry, but what's your name."

" Oh! I'm Anny." the maid smiles, setting up the table for her mistress to eat.

" My memory is blurry, I don't remember last night." Y/n lies.

" That should be reasonable, you had a high fever last night," Anny explained, leading Y/n to the table.

" Would you remind me of everything? " You asked.

Anny clapped her hands smiling, " Yes."

Anny explained, that this was Frostfall kingdom. The royal family consisted of five members, the emperor, the empress, two princes, and the princess.

Mistress Y/n is a member of the Evergarden Duchesse. The family was constructed by, the duke, duchess, lady Y/n, her sister, and brother.

" And finally, I am your personal maid." Anny pointed at herself proudly.

After Anny explained everything to you, it dawned on you. This was Otome game! One that you didn't remember too much.

you had to go on pretending to be the daughter of the duke, but one thing you were glad of is that you will never meet the male lead. In fact, you didn't remember what they looked like.

Her mission for the time being was serving and finding a way out of this game.

" My lady. It's time to get ready." Anny announced, snapping you from your thoughts.

" Alright," Y/n responded back.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

After getting ready and doing all the tiring things a noble lady would do, you were making your way downstairs.

" My darling Daughter." Y/n heard an older voice calling out to her from behind.

The older woman hugged, Y/n before taking her face in hers and examining it. " Oh, dear. You have no idea how worried your father and I were." the duchess sighed.

" Sorry, Mother." Y/n apologized.

" No need, shall we go meet your father?" the duchess asked, taking her daughter's arm and walking away.

' Can't escape now,' Y/n thought, letting out a sigh. This was going to be a long day.

Making it to a large door, the duchess knocked on it twice, before receiving a response back.

Entering the room she spotted a man, covered in paperwork, with a man standing next to him.

" Dear, our dear daughter is here." His wife said.

The duke looked up before jumping from his seat and hugging Y/n.

It startled Y/n she thought this was a cliche, parents hate their kids and all but she was wrong.

The duke began to ask Y/n how she was feeling, if he could get her anything, almost spoiling her rotten.

The man still standing next to the duke's desk, clears his throat, " Your grace. The paperwork is not going to be doing itself." he warns.

This makes the duke have the face of a kicked dog as he reluctantly gets back to the workload waiting for him.

The duke is silently crying as he does his workload. He looks like a child doing his homework with his mom looking over his shoulder.

The duchess chuckles at her husband's antics before turning to her daughter.

"Dear, while your siblings are in the academy. Would you like to go out to town? This house can be stuffy." She sighs softly, placing her hand on her cheek.

" May I, Mother?" You asked, not hiding your excitement.

"Of course, dear, I'll have the butler ready a carriage." The duchess waves, a butler quickly leaving to comple his master's orders.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

— An hour had passed, and the carriage was ready. Y/n, with the help of the knight that was tasked with escorting her, enter her ride.

Anny had already entered, and she patiently awaited for her lady to enter so the journey could begin.

" There is a market in town and many wonderful places, my Lady." Anny smiled, listing off future plans.

The ride to town was uneventful. The sinery was peaceful and beautiful, and the trees swayed with the breeze.

The ducks and swans swam os the water as if they were dancing. The sunlight glittering their feathers like pears and jewels.

Anny was excited as she talked your ear off. It was pleasant, and you would indulge her in conversation once in a while.

The city came into view, with many colorful flags, stalls, and caravans. It was a sight to see, like a festival in your world but with the expectation of elves, witches, orcs, dragons, and so on.

Anny's eyes began to sparkle as she looked at the many things to partake in. And as soon as the carriage stopped she all but jumped from her seat.

She was more excited than you, making you smile at her antics.

There was a soft knock on the door, and the voice of her knight escort, " My lady, you can exit now." he was holding the door open, for both her and her maid.

" Thank you," You smiled kindly at the man and took his hand as you exited your ride.

Looking around you marbled, joy pumping in your veins as to the many things you could see.

"Ah, my lady! Look at the food stand. And that one selling jewels."

Anny pointed from one stand to the next, "Shall we have a look at the jewel stand over there." Y/n laughed.

Y/n's knight, Ray, nodded at her statement. Walking to the many stands Y/n felt drawn to one in particular, it was being run by an elf.

The kind owner smiled warmly like the sun, showcasing the many items they had. A neckless and a bracelet, called to you as if befallen upon a spell.

" I would like these two, please," Y/n asked, pointing at the wanted items.

" Ah yes, those are quite unique items." They said, taking the jewels from their case and giving it to them.

" How much would that be?" Y/n asked. The owner simply asked for two gold coins and she was happy to pay.

Y/n handed the bracelet to Anny, in a way showing thanks.

Anny took you and your guard around the town, walking for what felt like hours. When you asked your escort what time it was, he informed you that 2 hours had passed.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

Anny's stomach grumbled, making her blush and try to cover her abdomen.

This made you chuckle at how shy she was, "Anny, we can stop to get some food." You smiled, "Look that restaurant looks perfect."

Her eyes shined, and her smile widened before she shyly told you she couldn't ask for such a thing.

"Nonsense," you spoke. Taking her hand and sitting her down. A waiter asked how he could help you.

Anny ordered a small desert and a drink while you ordered your favorite cake and drink.

Your maid thanked you again, saying that you were a kind mistress to her.

Your orders had arrived by then, and the cake was delicious.

You didn't notice the clocked figure suddenly stopping in their tracks as they looked at you.

A smaller clocked figure ran up to them whisper yelling, " Your highness! Please wait."

"What is it, Alan?" They asked, still looking forward.

"The crown prince can't be wandering around." Alan scolded.

" I am not wondering around, I'm trying to find leads for the recent murders in town." He respondes, eyes fixed on the way your lips parted as you ate.

From what family were you? How could there be such alluring, mesmerizing beauty in such a person?

He reluctantly looked away from your smiling face and forced himself to walk away. He has a duty to uphold, for the kingdom

Looking around, you sighed, the sun felt so nice on your skin. The fresh air and the sweet pasty lifted your stress, but only for a while.

The sound of multiple marching steps made you look over Anny's shoulder, the kingdoms knight were on patrol.

They looked serious and professional. Anny's voice drew your view away, " Shall we take a look at dress shops, or would you fancy some shoes, my lady?"

Giving her a close eyed smile, you responded that sitting here for a few more minutes would be just fine.

A knight became slightly uncoordinated, your smile had his heart beating fast and wildly. His face became flushed pink, before he continued on his way.

What beautiful smile you had, blinding like sun and warm like the summer breeze.

He wanted to look at your beauty more so he could burn the image in this mind.

The dress you're wearing brings out your beauty, it suits you, anything that you would wear would look beautiful on you.

The thought of leaving his job to work as your personal knight, from what family are you? Is that your personal knight next to you?

Fuck, his superior is calling him out to pay attention.

Standing up, Anny and your knight follow closely behind. The sun was getting lower, and some stalls were closing.

A thought crosses your mind, you should get a gift for your 'parents.' Y/n made her way to a boutique. As you walked to one that caught your eye, you heard something fall.

A man with his arm full of books and other things rushed past you.

Looking down, you spotted what he dropped, a star shape battle it midnight liquid. It was pretty, but you knew it was important.

"Hey, wait!" You called out.

You run up to him, finally catching him, "Y-You dropped this." You huffed exhausted, lifting the bottle up to him.

He looked at you. You were pretty. Who were you? "Ah, thank you." He spoke softly.

"From what family are you?" He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

" Oh, I'm from—" "My Ladya we have to hurry." Anny yelled.

"Ah, sorry." Y/n bows before running off into the crowd.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

Your knight carried a couple of bags full of clothes or other things. You argued that you should at least carry some stuff.

You carried 3 boxes, one of jewelry and two of shoes. It might have been a mistake, cuz right now, you couldn't see where you were going.

And bang, your boxes fell, and so did you. An arm caught you, he was tall, " Are you okay?" He asked.

"Ah, yes." You smiled, trying to stand up, but you stumbled forward. He noticed your heel had broken.

"Sorry, " he says, embarrassed, your knight and maid are by your side worried.

He fixes his hood, " Please sit," he said, taking you to a bench.

He runs off, leaving you a little confused. Now you sat at the bench missing a shoe.

He dissappears off into a shop, you think. Before he returned with a box in his hands.

"I apologize here." He kneels, making you blush. He opens the box and changes your shoes.

Now you are the proud owner of a new pair of shoes.

Damn, princess syndrome is gonna hit you hard when you get home.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

Inside the carriage, you arrived at your home. You see a very handsome man outside your family door, seemingly being seen off by your father.

" Father," Y/n waves happy, as her knight helps her off.

Your father smiles, greeting you with a hug and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"Y/n dear, this is the duke." Your father introduced.

The Duke looks at you amused.

"H-Hello," you say, blushing. This man was making you nervous.

He smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it, "My lady," his voice was deep.

He chuckles, seeing your face burn bright red. You look at anything but him.

"I must say my goodbyes," he smiled, giving your father a handshake and your hand another kiss.

He leaves the state.

"Father, I have some gifts for you." You say happily.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

The party is in full swing. You most admit your father is a great party host. A beautiful woman dressed elegantly caught your eye.

The female lead.

The clock is turning, but this time, you don't know of the unknown route that the kingdom is walking into.

Can you survive?

Will you survive this new change?

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

[mer-acle]

Ok but now i feel bad for Hera, Zeus has had separations before with no drama so she assumes if it doesnt work out she'll be fine and years into her marriage the truth comes out that he did to his first wife and daughter what kronos did to her and the others😳😳💔💔💔💔that man is undivorceable for the danger it would be to piss him off😭😭😭💔💔💔💔 in a better world her brothers and sisters told her to leave him and go into hiding in their places💔💔💔😭😭😭

But also like....did no one know she was pregnant before she "moved away after the divorce"??? Like, she was showing and WAS THE QUEEN!!!! How come no one thought to ask "hey zeus, does methis not let you see the kid or smt??? Is it not yours?? What happened with that?"

yeah Hera has a lot of potential to be a tragic character (*glances at Slipping through my fingers*)

Especially if her initial reaction to Athena was pretty unfavorable and kinda mean, and then she learns what the kid's been through. That not only did she survive the absolute hell that is being inside someone else, she also had to leave someone behind in there. Imagine being Hera and realizing it's the equivalent of leaving Demeter or Hestia inside of Cronos. In some ways, it's even worse, bc Metis is Athena's Mom.

(so many good plot possibilities of Hera being like FUCK. Can you tell I'm in my Mom-Hera era rn? I want this so bad)

And then we have the absolute horror of realizing that's something your husband did. Did and doesn't even feel sorry for. Would do again if a prophecy arises. It could be your kid next time. It could be you next time. ahhh (poor Hera honestly)

I'd imagine Zeus would be like *lightning eyes* I don't wish to discuss Metis on this mountain. And everyone's like okay breakup must've been rough, let him get over it. After all, the baby is not in danger, they're with their mother, right? Right?

[lonniemachin]

I was asked to help share Omar's fundraiser. He is urgently raising money to evacuate he and his family or start rebuilding their lives in Gaza. He has only raised €822 out of his €50,000 goal so far! Please share and donate, and if you can't donate, please still share!

From Omar's GFM:

Hello, I am Omar, a Palestinian from Gaza.

I’m reaching out to you seeking your help for me and my family from the horrors of the relentless war that has been ongoing in Gaza for 7 months now. I would like to tell you a bit about my small family.

I am married and have 4 children, Leen, Lian, Mohammed, and a 9-month-old daughter named Lolo. My 38 years of life in Gaza is what I love all about. I love its beach, its streets, its life, its smell, I love everything about Gaza. I had a normal, quiet and quite happy life with my husband and daughter and with my parents and siblings until last October.

After the 7th of October, my whole life came upside down due to the war on Gaza. I first moved to live with my wife and children at my parents’ house due to the ongoing war and the fact that we needed to be evacuated across the Gaza Strip. I was afraid of not being able to save my family with bombs falling around, so the first displacement was moving to my parent's house. The war became fiercer and we were afraid, my little child was crying due to the continuous shelling and explosions.

Eight months pregnant, my brother's wife struggles to care for herself and her unborn child. The desperation weighs heavily on all of us.

A few days later, we were ordered to evacuate the building where my childhood home once stood so we had to quickly collect a few belongings and leave my parent's house. Me, my wife and our family moved to my sister’s house which was in a quieter neighbourhood and a smaller building. That was our second displacement. Shelling equally followed us to that area, so this time along with my sister, her husband and his family all of us had to move again. We had to split to 3 different places due to available places to shelter and thus with our 3rd displacement, the incessant bombing, lack of water, food, electricity and multiple communications blackouts we also had to endure the separation and the inability to communicate inside Gaza as well as being cut out from the outside world.

There’s no place safe in Gaza, we can be bombed at any time and anywhere across the strip. Displacement is hard on adults, so it’s unimaginably harsh on children who are not able to comprehend why they have to move from one place to the other, the reason some basic day-to-day things keep changing, such as water to shower, food, water, being enclosed without going out and of course the noises of the warplanes and raining bombs. Amid all of these horrors, we received the news that my parent's house, that place we used to call home where we lived our childhood, as teenagers and adults, that neighbourhood where we lived with our friends and neighbours for years was simply reduced to rubble. All 4 buildings and surroundings were wiped up from the neighbourhood. In a few minutes, a lifetime was lost. Home, savings, friends, neighbours, and memories, all vanished in a blink.

My greatest concern is children, their future, where they will live, study and grow up. There’s nothing left in Gaza, all life-sustaining means are now destroyed. The future became blurry and dark. We had dreams, me and my wife, for us and our children. We dreamt of a simple, peaceful and bright life and a successful future for the children. We all have the right to have a normal life and children deserve a normal childhood and a bright future like other children worldwide. We should be able to provide them with the essentials for a normal life, such as safety first and material needs such as food, clean water and clothing and also education. These are the minimum rights of a child.

I’m also concerned about my parents who dedicated their lives to me and my siblings to provide us with the best education and the possible comforts of life so we feel like we live in a place as in any other free country across the globe. At this age and within these war conditions, I would like to be able to provide them with a safe place and a decent life to give back a bit of all their dedication throughout our lives.

In case this war gets to an end, we need to restart our lives, in Gaza or preferably outside where we can find safety and peace. In Gaza, we have no place to live any more and the rebuilding will take years and a huge amount of money. Outside Gaza, we need the money to get out and a reasonable amount to start somewhere.

To be able to find a safe place for our children where we can have a peaceful future alongside her parents and grandparents, I would greatly appreciate your contribution to donate and share this donation request so it can reach the highest number of kindhearted people and we can get a good amount of money to provide the children with what they deserve.

From the bottom of my heart, I would like to greatly thank you for your support.

Sincerely yours,

Omar

[threepandas]

Bad End: Century Demons

The steam engine blasted vapor into the air. Cacophonous chatter from the crowds all around us, pressing like a physical weight. I truely did hate traveling. Granted, there was nothing for it, we were needed. Being their Majesty's Special Task Force and all. But STILL! Awful. Just, awful!

It was the pushing, really. The constant shoving. Flashs of insight into lives I wanted nothing to do with. That individual? Marriage was collapsing. This one? Had debts. The girl who just stepped on my foot, thought she was in love, but honestly? Any adult could tell you how badly it was going to end. He was using her.

Frankly, I wish we could walk. At this point? I would honestly take a flipping DONKEY! But nooooo! What has my husband decided to do? "Let's take the TRAIN, darling! It'll be an ADVENTURE! Save so much TIME!"

He's lucky I married him AT ALL. Fuck. I HAD options! Could have been a Baron's wife. Well-to-do! But NO, I wanted to HELP people. Like a FOOL. Gods, my mother was RIGHT! Cute air-heads WOULD be the death of-!

I finally spot Arthur, the sweet idiot, looking lost by our baggage. Map in hand. Like a confused puppy told to do arithmetic or be scolded, his anxiety is palpable. I gather my skirts and shove. Fuck being polite. Everyone ELSE seems to be fine, being stampeding herd animals. Why not I? Move!

"O-Oh thank goodness! Darling!" Arthur gasps, nearly dropping the map as he reaches for me as I get close. His eye are wide and his expression frazzled. Tone as though someone has been compressing his chest. "There are-! There are so many PATHS! I didn't-! And I-! Oh dear. W-what do we do? Darling, I can't-! It's so-!"

Damn it! I KNEW this would happen! This was an awful idea! Reaching for my husband's face, I cup his cheeks, propriety be damned. Pull him close to press his forhead against mine. Match my breath, dear. Focus, darling, just... focus. Close your eyes. You do not See. Curse crowded places and what they do to us. We should have moved to the countryside years ago.

But no, no Arthur would never leave his Sister. And I'll not leave him behind. Damn it all, why? WHY?

Why did she have to pick the Nobility Route?

It was bad enough, remembering this world "wasn't real". That it had a "plot" for Gods sake. Bad ENOUGH to realize that the monster under the bed very much WERE a real and present threat, that I SHOULD be concerned about. But fool that I am? Did I HAVE to fall in love with the Protagonist's brother? Sweet and foolish? A simple, if air headed man? Apparently!

All I could do, now, was try to protect him. Try and protect myself.

Ignore the nasty, judging looks, being sent our way. Piss off! The lot of you! I took no vows to YOU. Stood in no church! There us exactly ONE person in the train station I care about, and it is NONE of you, so keep your snide opinions to yourself! Breathe, Arthur. There we go, dear.

Pulling back slightly, I check his eyes. They flick and track things unseen. He is still unusually pale. He... he will be rather disappointed. He was excited to try the trains. To him? They are a bold new technology.

Maybe once we get farther from the city. Here, at least, he is drowning.

Then, a change. Sudden and swiftly building. Whatever Paths my husband traced were disappearing, narrowing, even as terror sweeped across his face. Only twice I had ever seen this before. Once, was an earthquake. The largest seen in over 400 years. The other? A bombing just before the royal wedding, we had been still engaged then. But the way he had frozen? Mid-sentence?

It is BURNED into my mind. Just like the horror that followed.

Bellowing, I command everyone to get out. Evacuate.

NOW.

But already... it is too late. Down the line of the train, terrible symbols flash into being. Molten red metal, on the side of the train cars themselves, instants before the BLOW. Unspeakable shrapnel bombs. Made of people and metal and MAGIC. The train cars lifted from the tracks by the knock back, smashing into fleeing crowds, even as the next car goes off. And then the next. And the next.

A writhing chain of death.

Like the dying spasms if a great snake.

My husband is frozen. No. As I drag him down? I realize with horror, worse. Seizing. It has NEVER been this bad! What is HAPPENING?! What Path is he SEEING that could cause such OVERLOAD? Terrified, I watch as thin trails of blood, seep from his eyes, his nose. Oh Gods. Oh GODS! Arthur? ARTHUR!

Love! Stay with me! Please! D-Darling, Please! Focus on my voice! You have to let them GO! Close your EYES, Arthur! Don't look! Please, DON'T LOOK! It's KILLING YOU!

"That's rather the point."

I stop. From on the ground, where I crawl. Dragging my unresponsive husband to safety. My gaze finally whips around to ahead of us. Amongst the chaos... stands a conductor. Pressed uniform clean and hair entirely too long. His eyes... oh Gods, his EYES. I do not need to touch him to know. That? THAT is not a human.

Not anymore.

Shrapnel flies harmlessly over us, but comes no where near him. As though where he stands is Forbidden to touch. All around him, those fleeing? Suffering? Do not notice him. Do not SEE. Yet, on instinct alone... avoid him.

Because, of course they do. B-because that?

That Is A Demon.

We weren't even remotely prepared for this. And even if we WERE. Everything is packed away. Pressed to the floor, all I can do? Is drag my husband close. Feel tear begin to fill my eyes and choke my throat, as I curse the Gods. Damn it. D-Damn it! I drag Arthur under me. A-as though... as though we were just... just resting at home. Cuddling, as we so often do.

I-It will be okay, darling. Come back to me. Arthur... Please...

(We promised to go together...)

"He really is useless, isn't he? Can't protect you. Couldn't warn you. Can't even die, where he's supposed to be. Really, how hard is it? To just get on the damned train? Quite inconsiderate, your worthless lump of a first husband. It really won't be hard, no doubt, to surpass him in every way."

I drag Arthur closer. Cradling his head to me chest. You'll have to go through ME, you fucking monster! It's.. it's a laughable defense. I'm tissue paper. We both are. With out supplies and the proper anti-demonics? H-he's going to SHRED us. But... but! I took a VOW.

Married this man.

I... I love him.

Even if he's not awake. Even if he's trapped in his own gifts by this BASTARD of a Demon. That's.. That's okay. I'm still here. W-We're still together. And I love him. Silly, ridiculous, air-headed fool that he is. My quite scholar. M-My best friend. I glare at the damnable creature before us.

"You really do have such lovely eyes." It notes, tilting it's head. "Does he appreciate them? Somehow, I doubt it. He makes you live in squalor, after all. Dresses you in rags and works you like an animal. You were meant for so much... more. I can feel it."

With a boneless grace he squats, bringing him closer even as I try to drag us away, he reaches out. One hand both perfectly human yet tipped with claws. In the distance, I hear doors being forced open. Commanding voices. Prayers and the glimpses of shining light. The Paladins are here.

Too late... I... I fear it is too late.

Demon skin touchs my face and I scream, as I am cast beneath the waves. It is so dark. Oh Gods. OH GODS. IT IS SO DARK. HELP ME. HELP ME! IT HURTS! It HuRtS! HELP M-!

"Shhh, drink deep and sink down, Love. I will be there to catch you. Forget about him. Forget about everything. You are made for so much more. We were meant to be together. Just let go, sweet."

"Just let go..."

[streets-in-paradise]

Tormented Longing - Maximus Decimus Meridius x Empress!Reader

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Warnings: Reader is in love in a devoted, frankly delulu way ( not exactly like Commodus, but you will see.). This may not make sense with the movie, in the sense that it doesn't follow the events strictly, but I love drama lol. It's one of those " doesn't make much sense, but wanted to see it written. " scenarios @wildsaltair and I were talking about.

Summary: Fate grants you a reunion with the great love you believed lost when you consult the school of gladiators searching to buy protection from the schemes of the loathed husband it enforced on you.

Note: Somewhere I can't remember, because my browser is a mess of history entries, I read of someone who wanted to have gladiators as personal guard and that triggered in my mind this concept.

As it would be expected, your visit to the school of gladiators could potentially cause a scandall. Following the disorganised style of the ruling of your husband, you guessed one more excentricity could not make more harm. After all, he was shaking the values of Rome from their very own foundations. No one escaped him, and the need for appearances between you was running out.

As the wife that Marcus Aurelius had once chosen for him, Commodus accepted your marriage of convenience with the hope of pleasing him. Your wedding was the only moment in which he recalled any kindness from his father, his approbation of you feeling his by extention. ironically, the moment that ruined your life was the logical consecuence of the failure of one of his masterplans. Scheming against the lover of his sister, your friend, he digged his own grave when the crave to get him out of her way brought you closer to his.

He knew of your tormented love for Maximus and tried to encourage you of betraying Lucilla to keep him for yourself. That brief instant of temptation was paid with the highest price, some curse from the gods unleashed a chain of events punishing you equally with your enforced union. Not long into the marriage you found out that your sacrifice had been in vain, given neither you or the emperor's daughter got to keep the man you wanted. You also discovered with horror what kind of feelings pushed Commodus to that unfortunate alliance with you.

Depraved desires, not the logical concern of a brother.

In his sick mind, he believed to experience the same kind of longing you did, and the only reward of your marriage for him was dragging you down to share his misery. If he would never have Lucilla, you would never have Maximus. Promise that he accomplished to the cruelest extent as soon as he got rid of his father. Your noble general, faithfull as he was to the murdered emperor, refused an alliance with his killer and paid with his life.

Knowing that you would mourn him like a widow, Commodus taunted you with the news as soon as he got the chance. With the grudges of the past long forgotten, Lucilla was your only comfort. Touched by grief as you both were, she still managed to remind you of your priorities. With his brother in power having no more need to cather the opinions of their father, your life on itself could be in danger.

Of course, you still were a working facade for the most morally deplorable aspect on the disgusting side of him, but power could make him question your uses. You believed Commodus wouldn't be foolish enough to make of executing his wife one of his first commands of his rule in Rome, but that didn't mean you couldn't expect some unfortunate accident to happen.

What you needed was protection, and his praetorians weren't going to grant it. There was nothing the Senate could do for you, so you had to act on yourself. With the announcement of the games in honor of the deceased emperor, a demeaning joke made in private towards your husband that slipped from you as product of your ragefull grief for Maximus making you momentarily careless of death brought you the solution.

You told Commodus that watching the matches would show him a bit of what a real man was, as if you played to replace him with one of the gladiators, and that gave you the idea of buying your own commitive of protectors. Unusual, maybe, but desperate times needed of desperate meassures.

If you wouldn't be the Empress of Rome, Proximo would have laughed in your face when you explained yourself to him.

" Lady, this men aren't guards. They are entertainers. Doing business with your husband will make me rich, ... why would I risk that? "

" I'm only asking for a handfull of them and I'm not even demanding your best." You argued in return. " I need a protective escort that would answer to me, for safety measures. "

He was terminant to deny your excentricity.

" That is not of my concern. "

" Can I at least take a look at them? It's all I ask, for now. "

With reluctance, your wish was granted. Guided towards the cages you advanced in pridefull strunt and the slaves raised following your eyes. Only one remained in his place, careless or perhaps resentfull of your attention. For him you stopped, intrigued by his attitude and perhaps something more.

" That one is off limits, empress. " His owner warned you, noticing the sparkling interest he had awakened in you. " The Spaniard is the most expected novelty I have to offer. "

His words fell on deaf ears, marvelled as you were with the resemblance with your first and only lost love. An authentic ghost of the past haunting you. Could the gods have made two men so identical, or were they fooling you? Was that man like the phantom Helen made of cloud that some said had followed Paris to Troy while the real remained in hidding? Or had the men of Commodus killed a phantom?

" Forget our deal, I will give you whatever you ask for a moment to speak with him. "

The gladiator kept his cold demeanour, refusing to engage in eye contact with you, untill your almost broken whispers towards him forced the situation.

" ... A man I once knew was from Spain. He never knew, but he was the love of my life. "

Only then, he stopped staring angrily at the ground so he could show his face to you.

" Go back to your husband, Empress. "

The utterance of your rank felt as a spit of disdain landing in your face, but the surprise overcame everything. You were smiling with tearfull eyes, ready to jump over him as a wife that welcomes her brave husband home from war.

Maximus lived and fate had brought him back to you.

His attitude was understandable, even if it was a bit unfair to you. Not only you have played no part in the complot against him, you remained pointlessly faithfull to his memory like a pathetic lapdog. Lucilla had once married a good man that left her with a son after passing, but you were entrusted to a monster you could never love. You were still his in spirit, even if you accepted long ago he could never be for you.

" He doesn't command in my heart, he never will. "

In respect of your rank, the meeting was allowed in the most comfortable settling the place could grant you. By your specifical request, and ignoring the safety hazard that a very angry Maximus implied, you tried to keep him free from chains.

" Claiming my life is not a suitable vengeance, you would be doing his work for him." You warned him as soon as you were allowed enough privacy. " He doesn't have the slightest care for me, I am only the facade of his sinister desires, but if it would please your rage I would gladly give my life for you. "

You exposed your neck, awaiting for some imaginary sword to slit your throat or his hand to squeeze your air out, but the confusion that your willingness to die upon him produced him was enough to make him desist of anything.

" How can you say such things so lightly, when so much between us has changed? You are not that sweet friend of Lucilla giving me lovely glances full of sorrow before I would follow her. My wife and son were tortured and murdered by command of your husband! "

His recriminations hurted you, but how could he had he reacted otherwise? He had no idea of what happened with you after life separated you.

" Can't you see it? Time stopped for me the day I married Commodus without facing your rejection for respect to my friend. The one thing we have in common is obsessive devotion, only never for each other ... I never stopped loving you, I would do anything in my power to make your suffering stop. I can't give back what he took from you, just as no one can return me the youthfull years of misery standing him, but before rushing into conclussions there is something you need to know. "

Falling on your knees before him, you exposed yourself completely in a heartfelt speech.

" You are my sun, the happy corner where my thoughts go hidding from the horrors of my life. Commodus lives frustrated on the impossibility to fullfill his horrendous wants, but all this time I had the comfort of knowing my love is pure. If i daydreamed of being your wife, I never wished any wrongs for the woman you have once chosen. "

The raw honesty left him with very little space for doubts. Fragility you have saved for years was tenderly left on sight for him to judge if your feelings for him were real.

Little did it matter to him at the moment, but that didn't mean it didn't give him new thoughts and couldn't yet inspire him any pitty.

" What am I supposed to say? Do you expect me to be myself or perform for your delusion now that I have no other choice? "

Having your ways get mistaken with Commodus' offended you, but you endured it.

" I want you to understand that all I ever wanted was your happiness. Nothing more, and nothing else. I want you to stop seeing me as your enemy, but can't find a proof of my sincere devotion to satisfy you. If of something I can be blamed, is of loving you more desperately than Lucilla ever did. She survived without you, but I made you a part of me. "

The part of him that felt your sorrow finally won. Lifting your chin delicately with a caress of his thumb, he granted you a first calm approach making you stare into his eyes.

" Keep this meeting as a secret and your loyalty will be proven. I need nothing else of you. "

It made you smile, hopefull to the small victory.

" That was already granted, my love. Nothing greater would you ask from me? If your presence in the arena wouldn't be so required due to the excellent fame you adquired, I would be already trying to buy you in order to find some way to release you. "

The extreme measure to save his honor was a considerable risk that would end bad for you, so a question wandering his mind came out of him without second thoughts.

" Is there anything you wouldn't do for me? "

The mockfull callout made you raise up, regaining only glimpses of your dignity.

" Do you want to escape? I would gladly run away with you. Do you want the head of Commodus, detached from his body? I have no idea of how that could happen, but I will find the way of getting it for you. I don't even need you to love me back, only to let me fill you with the affection I have kept for so long reserved for you."

He remained strictly indiferent to your provocations, but you left him few space for choice. Your hands were cuping his cheeks when you dragged him close enough to barely sense your lips against his. He kept his mouth closed, forbbiding you entrance for a full mouth kiss, but after three carefull pecks he realized you were about to cover his face with those short kisses and stopped you inmediately.

" What do you want us to be? The legendary tale of the gladiator that turned an empress into a slave? "

You wouldn't admit it, but you liked the implied epicity in his reprobatory replication.

" I endure Commodus the same way his father did: ignoring him and pretending you are mine. He wanted you for a son and I want you for a husband. Indulge me as you did for your emperor. "

[zanazirafanfic]

@agoldengalaxy, I wrote a second fic for your prompt yesterday too (surprise!) My brain went off on a more comedic modern-Charthur tangent while I was halfway through the first one, so I ran with it.

Two fics for the price of one! ��

(I couldn't send two answers to one ask, but the prompt was "🩸patching up a wound with charthur!")

~RDR~

"Charlie, I really think we should go to the hospital and get you checked out."

"No. It's just a little goose-egg, nothing serious."

Arthur frowned, dabbing gently at the gash just above his hairline with a cotton ball dipped in antiseptic. "If you could see the amount of blood in your hair right now, you might disagree."

Charles grimaced. Wonderful. And he had just washed it, too. Or, rather, he'd let Arthur wash it, the man carefully lathering every strand in Charles's favorite tea tree shampoo while the two of them worked themselves into a lather in other, more entertaining ways.

Shower sex wasn't something either of them had a lot of experience with, but they still indulged in it from time to time. And seeing as they'd had a little extra free time this evening, and the combination tub-shower in their new apartment had yet to be properly broken in... well. One thing very predictably led to another.

Everything had been going fine - fantastic, even, in Charles's opinion - until he lifted his foot up onto the soap holder embedded into the wall to try and give Arthur a better angle to work with. Whoever had designed this bathroom evidently never planned for the soap dish having to support the weight of a man his size, because the porcelain lasted all of about three seconds before snapping clean off, sending Charles toppling face-first over the edge of the tub with Arthur - and the shower curtain - close behind. The landing hadn't been gentle.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, you know that."

"Yeah, especially when you nearly brain yourself on a tile floor."

"Arthur," he huffed, glaring up at his husband through the wavy curtain of his still-damp raven locks. "I'm fine. I'm not seeing spots, I'm not dizzy, and I'm not vomiting. It's a cut, not a concussion."

"At least let me call Abigail."

"Hell no, that's even worse!" Charles cried, his voice rising an octave and a half in horror. "If I don't want to tell an ER full of strangers how this happened, what makes you think I want to explain it to your brother's wife?!"

"She's a nurse."

"An obstetric nurse."

"Yeah, and how the hell you think all those kids get made, if not for people doin' exactly what we were doin'? She ain't gonna care, Charles, she sees worse every day."

"Jesus Christ..." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the hot flush rising higher in his cheeks by the second. "Fine. Call Abigail, if it'll make you feel better. Just... keep the details to a minimum, please?"

Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes. "Nah, I figured I'd regale her with every detail of our sex life just for the hell of it."

Charles didn't bother to dignify that with a response. While Arthur dialed their sister-in-law's number, he went into the bathroom and ducked his head under the faucet, drowning out whatever mortifying things they were undoubtedly discussing in favor of rinsing the worst of the blood from his hair. He wrung it out and patted it dry, then combed and wove it into a loose braid, careful not to pull too hard and risk reopening the gash. After tying it off with his favorite powder-blue satin ribbon, he made his way back to the living room sofa and settled himself on the far end, legs tucked neatly beneath him and phone in hand.

He was still scrolling idly when Arthur walked back in, looking sheepish. "She didn't laugh, for what it's worth. Said you're probably fine, since you ain't dizzy or nauseous, but to bring you in if you get a bad headache or your pupils look weird. Otherwise she said you should just rest and keep the wound clean."

"So, exactly what I already told you," Charles huffed, not looking up from his phone.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," Arthur sighed, looping his arms around Charles's neck and pressing a scratchy kiss to his temple. "I was worried, alright? You know how bad I'd feel if you'd really gotten hurt just 'cause I wanted to get my rocks off in the shower?"

"First of all, yes, I understand you were worried. If the situation were reversed, I'd be worried too. But you've got to trust me when I tell you I'm alright. When have I ever not been completely honest with you about that?"

"... Never," Arthur admitted quietly.

"Right. So what makes you think I'd choose tonight to change that? And secondly, don't give yourself so much credit. You weren't the only one enjoying himself in there, cowboy. Considering the circumstances, death by shower wouldn't have been a terrible way to go."

"Not funny."

"I'm the one who almost cracked his skull open, I get to decide if it's funny or not," Charles chuckled, opening more tabs on his phone's web browser. "Now come on, stop stewing and help me narrow these down."

"Narrow what down?" Arthur asked, climbing over the back of the couch and plopping himself down next to Charles with a quiet grunt. "Gettin' another of those fancy collars for Taima?"

"No." He angled the screen to show Arthur the items in his cart. "Next weekend I'm putting in a reinforced soap dish."

[crimsonbastard]

Alright, might as well adress the elephant in the room:

- The absolute desecration of Alicent's Character is infuriating. Her straight up surrendering to Rhaneyra and throwing her sons to the wolves?? And betraying her own Father? Alicent HAS her issues with her family but there's no way that she's going to stoop as low as straight up giving them up. And oh, her saying that she was "fond" of Viserys?? Like what?? You mean the man who groomed you?? Put his rot in you and neglected you and your children??? What the actual fuck??? Was this the same woman who attacked Rhaenyra when her son got mutilated?? All of that for what?? Nothing! And what of your Grandson Alicent?? The little boy who was butchered?? Does his death mean nothing??

- Helaena's complete 180. Seriously?? Her guiding Daemon? The man who orchestrated her son's death? I understand Helaena not wanting to fight, and as Queen she has every right to deny Aemond, but her guiding Daemon towards his path?? Seriously?? And since when did her Visions get Lucid enough to pinpoint Aemond's grave?? Atleast Condom and Hiss had the courtesy of Helaena feel something towards her husband when she confronts Aemond about what he did.

- Oh Aemond, literally the only Green who (besides Cole & Daeron) who's fighting for his family. Him trying to force Helaena felt out of character, as, besides his mother it's her he cherishes the most. We see him lash out, that cold calculated mask finally dropping as he starts getting desperate when he lashes out on Sharp Point and it's innocent citizens as well as his sister. He still is that angry boy who lost his eye.

- We've got Rhaenyra openly admitting what Team Black had been denying all along. That for her to ascend, Aegon must be put to the sword.

- Cole finally being vulnerable and showing what's going through that head of his. How he thinks that this war is for nothing, and that whatever ideals he held onto before, have been let go of and that the only thing that keeps him going is Alicent. He knows that chances of him making out of this war are slim but he goes along with it, for her. Him admitting his hypocrisy, and that he has no shame was the cherry on top. A Jaime Parallel.

- Ah yes the Weirwood vision that conveniently removes any daemyra angst later on. Daemon realising how serious the upcoming horrors from beyond the north are, and that Daeneryes cameo is nothing but a cheap attempt by Condom and Hiss, just to:

a) Shoehorn Daenerys to appease Dany Stans

b) Remind the audience of the "divine right" of the Targaryens to rule westeros as only they can "unite" the realm.

c) Completely absolve all the future atrocities comitted by Rhaenyra and Daemon, as it is for the "Greater Good"

d) By doing so, they gave Daemon a convenient excuse to go on his "murder suicide" battle with Aemond other than abandoning his wife for one last girl he groomed, her being Nettles who is cut from the show, so as to not anger the Daemyra stans.

e) It doesn't even matter in the end, as it's Arya who kills the Night King.

- Alyn verbally decimating Corlys for abandoning him and his brother until his legitimate heirs were gone was satisfying to see.

- Aegon wanting to fashion himself as "The Realms Delight" Is interesting. Considering he will go down into the history books as the Rightful King whereas Rhaenyra goes from being "The Realm's Delight" to "Maegor with Teats". Aegon being negatively viewed by the smallfolk this season despite wanting to do good by them (to get their love and approval) whereas Rhaenyra leading innocent people to their deaths (by dragonfire) and watching from atop, and also sending a few "gifts" to the starving smallfolk, she herself being the cause of their starvation, via the blockade. If the writer's don't further fuck up, we might hopefully see the smallfolk shift their perception towards both rulers, with Rhaenyra being finally called "Maegor with Teats" and Aegon being somwhat looked at positively.

- Sunfyre cannot be dead. He's too important. I hope they made Larys mention that just to subvert our expectations.

- We finally get to see Tessarion, and she looks like a recolored Arrax. Hopefully with a bigger budget they'll give her a more fitting look.

[thoughts-and-ideas-and-reblogs]

Helen of Sparta: A Horror Retelling

I honestly think a story told from the viewpoint of Helen during the Illiad would be an interesting concept since it's written that she actually came to hate Paris and herself for their parts in the war and only wanted to go home by the end, and to me this feels ripe for a psychological horror story.

This story should be one showing how trapped Helen really is. Everyone in Troy blames her for the war, and there are constant riots that need to be suppressed as they call for her and Paris's blood, so she can't leave the palace without a full guard who secretly despises her as well. However, she also can't flee to the Greek camp because there's every chance they may kill her since she would be seen as an adulteress, willing or not, and those were punished harshly. Meanwhile, Paris is just a fool-hardy fop who claims to love her deeply but never really thinks about her. His words are all about what a beautiful prize she is, and he tends to ignore how heartbroken and miserable she really is with him and even acts annoyed when she tries to tell him. His sisters and mother are even less forgiving since they see her as a vile temptress who is leading them and their country to their deaths, and none of them are impressed by her abandoning her daughter, Hermione. The only reprieve she finds is in Hector, who understands the actual blame lies in his foolish brother's actions and that she has no way of fighting against the gods' judgment. An added benefit is that because Hector truly loves his wife, Andromache, he isn't attracted to her, and she feels she finally has a true friend in him.

However, despite her friendship, that does not wash away the guilt she feels for the many lives ended or ruined by her abduction, and this leaks into her life.

In her dreams, she sees the many soldiers on both sides who died in her name. She sees her sacrificed niece, Iphigenia, who coldly stares at her. She sees the faces of the women and girls who were ruined by this war and enslaved to be playthings.

She hallucinates her daughter, Hermione, who is still as young as the last time she saw her. She imagines her sister and brothers looking at her with disappointment. She thinks of the betrayal Menaleus must've felt and the many wives and families left in Greece while their husbands fought to retrieve her.

She remembers the many Trojans chanting derogatory names directed at her despite her divine and queenly heritage. Can they be blamed, though? She brought the war to their door and now they suffer for it. She knows of many women who have lost their husbands and sons who fought to keep them in the city and protect their homes from facing the nearby villages' fate.

I think these ideas are where the author or illustrator can go crazy with the imagery to show how horrifying and suffocating her situation is and make the reader sympathize with her plight. Of course, she is not truly to blame for the Trojan War, but this would give her a greater voice, humanize her, and give her some complexity lost in various adaptations of the Illiad.

[tickettride]

The middle of nowhere

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x wife!reader

in which you thought you could make it through the four-hour drive despite the growing contractions, but your baby had other plans. Stranded at a gas station, you have no choice but to put both of your lives in Johnny’s hands.

word count: 3,4k

warnings: angst, birth in the middle of nowhere, lots of cursing, the gruesome and pretty details of birth, blood, maybe mistakes and nonsense (it’s just fiction), body image issues

AN: you either find it gore or beautiful, no in between. I’d vote for the second, does that make me a freak or a romantic?

Johnny’s sister was slightly taller than him. You had expected her to be short, the exact opposite of him. But she’d been polite at first—too polite, nearly cold—and her hair was the same color. She’d worn a black shirt that looked masculine, with long, polished nails. Just like her brother, she had warmed up to you after some time, and you had seen the glint of disappointment in her eyes when you left her house, as Johnny was still chatting with her husband.

“Thank you for dinner again,” you’d given her a sincere hug, smiling as she rubbed your arm affectionately.

With a gentle goodbye to your baby bump as well, the Davis woman had told you to come back soon.

You wished you’d sounded a bit more enthusiastic when answering, but the four-hour drive had been exhausting, and you’d been close to throwing up about seven or eight times since that very morning. Maybe when the baby’s born. Or you can come down anytime, too. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to do all of that again. Promises were made and you'd waved goodbye to her through the car window, taking a mental picture of the place and the moment. A tall woman next to a slightly shorter man, new faces in your family.

“You think you can pull over soon?” 

Johnny had been driving for two hours, and you had been dozing off since then, waking every time he hit a bump on the road. Two more hours, and you’d be home. With a little luck, he’d even be kind enough to prepare one of the odd snacks you'd been craving lately. If you shut your eyes tight enough, you could practically smell the chocolate dripping onto fruit, peanuts, and some other disgusting ingredient that would have him staring at you in horror. He couldn’t refuse you anything, though.

“What’s wrong?” he sent you a quick glance, focused on the dark road ahead. 

“Been havin’ those cramps since this morning,” you admitted, shifting in your seat so your knee rested against the passenger door, the extra weight dragging your body down.

Your swollen ankles hurt. Places you didn’t even know existed hurt. It was exhausting. More than usual.

To be honest, you’d been tightlipped about the pain that had started about two hours back, which felt a lot like contractions. You'd told yourself it might just be the baby kicking very, very hard, excited to meet those strangers. But there was something unusual to it—some kind of instinct you didn’t really like.

“What d’you mean cramps?” Johnny asked, that confused frown drawn on his forehead.

“Well, cramps,” you repeated, pushing a hand on the side of your belly. “The baby’s been kickin’ a lot today. Way more than yesterday.”

You'd liked how small and discreet your baby bump had been until your sixth month. Then, almost overnight, it had grown to that final form, the finality of your evolution and transformation into a fat, heavy, being. You hated that part of pregnancy more than any other, although Johnny had made it very clear that he'd never loved you so much. He usually wasn’t big on compliments so it rang true, and he told you how beautiful you were ten times a day now. Eleven times when you wore a dress that accentuated every shape and the bump that held the baby you’d been waiting for years. How could he not, when you were carrying his child?

“You should’ve told me," he said.

That deep frown still adorned his features as he really looked at you this time, eyeing your belly as though the baby was about to pop out right there. It might as well, seeing how much it was moving and crushing your insides.

“I’m fine,” you tried to hide a wince as sweat gathered on your neck. “I’m due in two weeks.”

Through your high-pitched voice, you tried to convince yourself you were good enough to spend the next hours in that seat. The pain would go away if you ignored them hard enough, and the baby would know, by some natural miracle, that you weren’t expecting it to come here.  

But it got worse. So as soon as you caught sight of a flickering neon light in the distance, you brought a fist to your mouth, moaning as another kick jolted through your body. You wouldn’t make it. You had to walk somehow and let the fresh air brush over your shiny forehead. Like you'd seen Johnny do after a long night of drinking, back when you were strangers in love. A brisk gust of air was the solution, like a slap in the face.

Pain shot up again, harder this time, and your resolution began to crumble. In your brain, two words popped out. It’s time. It’s time. It’s time. Shaking your head at yourself, you inhaled deeply. It’d go away. Your friend Judith had had contractions for hours before it even began. It would be ridiculous. You’d know.

“Pulloverpulloverpullover.”

You counted up to five and gripped the door handle as Johnny took a sharp turn, the tires squeaking in the process.

“Oh God, don’t send us to the ditch,” you mumbled, so dazed you could barely make out the neon light again.

But it was there, right in front of you, blinding you both. You squinted in protest as deep breaths filled your lungs.

Concern engulfed Johnny’s face beyond anything you’d imagined as he parked next to the gas station, insignificant in the dark. And obviously empty. Above, the moon hung low and heavy.

“You stay here,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “I’ll go knock there just in case.”

“Wait. Help me get out. I need to stand.”

With a quick nod, Johnny climbed out of the car and went to open your door. Immediately, one of his hands went to your hip, the other under your armpit. You could see he wasn’t sure how to process it. He helped you stand and clasped your face between his sweaty hands, like he was trying not to show you how close he was to panicking. 

“Hang in there."

You gave a weak nod, leaning against the door as you blew out controlled breaths. It wasn’t like you could run off anyway. You wouldn't even make it two steps with such pain.

Having a baby in the middle of nowhere was ridiculous. You'd planned the delivery months ago, and the bags you'd prepared for that awaited day sat on the kitchen floor, next to Johnny's dirty boots. Those plans waited for you. The way you’d braid your hair and the way you’d breathe to make it as peaceful as possible. Johnny would hold your hand and whisper sweet words of encouragement in your ear as expert hands took care of you. That was how your baby would come into this world—not in a place that smelled like gas, with the hum of truck engines in the background.

And yet, another wave of pain hit and you cursed, releasing a long moan of pain as soon as you assumed Johnny was out of earshot, the cold metal of the car pressed against your forehead as you sucked in a shaky breath.

His frantic knocks echoed through the empty station, although there was no movement inside. He shouted for help, for anyone, for anything.

Two weeks left. Two hours left. It couldn’t be now. 

With a hand splayed over your belly, you started pacing against the car, keeping the other hand over the windows to balance you. Breathing didn’t seem to help. Nothing did. And no one would help. You’d have to have this baby in a fucking parking lot, only because you’d been too stubborn to tell him. 

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you muttered to yourself, hoping you could telepathically tell the baby to be patient for a little longer.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Johnny suddenly yelled, banging his fist against the glass door. 

Even if there had been someone inside, there was no way they would come out with a Vandal shouting curses at their door.

He walked back to you with a harsh sniffle, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He looked as wrecked as you did. Two survivors of a crash that hadn't happened yet.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, opening the back door as you watched him silently, tears brimming your eyes. 

Though you know he was mad at the situation and not at you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of guilt crushing you. Telling him before leaving could have prevented this. What if you lost the baby and no one came? You'd have to blame it on yourself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I thought it’d pass.”

Johnny slid closer, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face, his thumbs resting on your cheeks.

“Listen to me,” he tried to hold your hazy gaze. “It could have happened at home or the fuckin’ table. Don’t apologize.” 

You shook your head slowly. “We’re so far from home, and there’s not one goddamn car in sight.”

“It’s gonna be fine, yeah? I'm gonna drive 'til we find a house, and—”

“I’m not showin’ my bits to the first person we meet!” you yelled suddenly, so fucking overwhelmed by the panic in your veins and the contractions that came too regularly to be considered normal. 

The words cut through the silence, leaving nothing but the hum of the old neon sign and the distant rumble of thunder. In normal circumstances, you’d have burst out laughing at your own words and his face. But the thought of some random farmer helping you—touching you—like you were some goddamn cow made you want to scream. You hadn’t waited nine fucking months just to end up giving birth in some barn.

“Focus on me,” Johnny gripped your cheeks harder, forcing your gaze on him as your knees buckled. “I’m not gonna let ya suffer like this. And you’re not havin’ this baby here, ya hear me?”

“I won’t make it,” your shook your head as you clung desperately to his forearm, the worn leather of his jacket rough under your fingers. “I can’t wait, Johnny. The pain's too fuckin' much."

The fear in his eyes made your stomach twist. He looked around like something might magically appear, sliding your hand into his calloused palm.

“You need to look,” you said through a groan, bright red from the effort. 

Now was the time to put the embarrassment aside and be practical about this. Something your husband hadn’t realized yet. 

“What?” 

“I’ll lay down on the backseat. I need you to have a look, and tell me if you can see the head," you said as firmly as you could, pretty sure you were squeezing the life out of his forearms. "You shouldn't, but I wanna make sure we've got some time before us.”

Johnny swallowed hard, paling in just a second. “Nah... I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” you shouted. “If you see it, then… then we’ll have to figure somethin' out. It shouldn’t be―”

Right there, in front of the gas station, at eight o’clock sharp, wetness started trickling between your legs, soaking part of your legs and the shoes he’d offered you for your birthday. What should have happened two weeks later was happening now. The occasional car driving by was too far to stop, and even if someone did—what the hell could they do? That settled it. Whatever happened now, your child wouldn’t open their eyes in a white room that smelled of antiseptic.

Panting, you looked down at your feet—at least the bit you could see—and back up to Johnny's face, your eyes as wide as his. You didn’t need to say anything. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Johnny ran both hands down his face. 

“I need you to look.”

Through the unwelcome tears, you bared your teeth and willed yourself to be strong. 

Johnny stared at you for a while, his eyes drifting between yours. “Okay. Okay, I’ll uh, yeah. Okay, lay down.”

He helped you onto the back seat, facing him, and you braced yourself against the worn leather, your heart slamming against your ribs.

His hands trembled as he folded back your dress and removed your panties.

Another hard swallow. His jaw clenched.

“Fuckin’ hell, there’s the head.”

His words made you release a cry close to horror, your chest heaving as the truth settled between you. He looked up at you and saw it—the fear clawing at you just as fiercely as the contractions.

“No, no, no. I can’t do this here.”

“Listen to me,” his voice dropped lower, steadier. “I got you. I swear to fuckin’ God, honey, I got you.”

“I can’t," your voice cracked, your head hitting the seat as your nails dug into the leather. “I should’ve been at the hospital.”

Johnny’s hand found your hip, rubbing slow circles, breathless but determined. “That means we gotta do it, right?"

Your lack of response meant yes.

"We got no choice. The head’s right there.”

“I can’t.”

What if the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if something went wrong?”

One of his hands gripped your knee as the other hovered, unsure but ready. His words sank in. You had no choice. You had to have that baby there. The two reckless parents made it, the local newspaper would write.

A moment of silence passed between you. You thought about how to do this properly, remembering what items would be useful, praying that it would be alright. And Johnny seemed to be praying for that same thing, blaming himself just as much. 

“Okay,” you finally sobbed out. “You need to—you need to get the blanket from the trunk. Two blankets. Your knife. And—and the bottle of whiskey."

Johnny nodded so fast it was almost frantic. “Okay, yeah."

He scrambled out of the car, sprinting to the back. You let out a strangled cry as another contraction ripped through you, your whole body tensing. He was back in seconds, dropping the supplies beside him, more certain than before. More certain than you were. 

“The blanket,” you indicated and he moved quickly, helping you lift your hips just enough to slide it underneath.

You didn’t even have time to think of the possibilities—your own death, or what would happen if he lost the both of you. Now carried by a weak sense of determination, you blew out a shaky breath and parted your knees again. After all, you’d vowed your life to him years ago, knowing he'd sacrifice himself for you. You could do the same.

“Clean the knife.”

Johnny did as instructed, twisting the cap off with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor. He poured some over his knife, watching the liquid spill over the blade and onto his fingers.

“Keep it in your pocket, the blade up. Don’t touch it.”

He’d never listened so intently before. Again, he placed a hand on your kneecap, peeking between your legs. You didn’t want to see his expression, so you shut your eyes for a second and whispered to yourself. You’d have plenty of time to feel embarrassed the next couple of days. 

“Okay. I’m doin’ this. I’m doin’ this.”

“Breathe,” Johnny looked up at you, gliding his other trembling hand to yours. “You’re alright. You’ll be alright, the both of ya.”

“Our baby."

Johnny nodded, the apple in his throat bobbing with a tight swallow. “Our baby.”

Another contraction began, built and peaked, and you screamed out in pain again. Johnny placed his palms beneath your thighs and helped you through it, feeling your muscles tighten as you lifted. 

“You gotta push, honey. I don’t know how much time we got.”

“I know! God, I know.”

Beads of sweat stood on your brow as another pain arrived, and with it the sight of the baby's scalp.

“Fuckin’ hell—the kid’s here. Honey, the baby’s here.”

Your elbow nearly gave in. But with more faith than ever, you pushed again and another ragged screamed filled the air.

The baby’s head slipped through, turning to the side as it was supposed to be. You were so fucking thankful for that maternity book your sister had offered you. You weren’t sure what you’d have done without knowing all the gruesome details. 

“You—you gotta check the cord," you croaked out. "Make sure it’s not—"

Johnny’s fingers moved carefully, his breath coming sharp. 

“It’s not wrapped. You’re good, honey. You’re doin’ good.”

Exhaling in relief, you pushed with everything you had, a guttural sound tearing from your throat as it slammed into you again. Your hair was dripping wet, hanging in limp clumps around your shoulders.

“Fuck, the shoulders. There’s the shoulders.”

You could barely hear him and his soothing words of encouragement. Your world narrowed to this single moment, to your baby who needed out. Stopping only worsened the lingering pain, so you screamed one last time and prayed to hear the tiny cry, squeezing the life out of his hand. 

In a second, or maybe a minute, everything stilled. The baby was out.

And nothing was heard in the middle of nowhere.

Only the distant thunder and a car speeding past on the road.

Not a tiny cry or a tiny sound. 

Absolute silence.

Lightheaded and woozy, you lifted your head with an effort. Something was wrong.

Johnny was running his finger into the baby's mouth to clear it, the tiny thing so fragile in his hands. Too small, maybe. Maybe too early.

Your heart started pounding even harder.

“There,” Johnny muttered. “That’s better, ain’t it.”

“Johnny?”

“She’s perfect. She’s here, and she’s so perfect.”

Johnny choked on so many sentiments he pinched his reddened eyes for a second. When they met yours again, consumed by an earth-stomping joy, you burst into tears again. 

“A girl.”

“A girl. Yeah,” he nodded, staring right back at you.

And then her tiny cry reached your ears, and your trembling hand flew to your mouth. 

“She’s breathin’ alright?”

“She is. She’s got so much hair,” he chuckled breathlessly, sliding a soft finger on her tiny head. 

She did. Though your vision was blurry and you could barely keep yourself up, you knew she was the prettiest girl in the world. Yours.

Johnny asked for your guidance as he cut the cord with his knife, apologizing to your daughter a few times as though she’d remember. And when it was over, your abdomen contracted, the last wave of labor taking its course.

You fell back against the seat as Johnny wrapped her in the second blanket, rubbing her back to keep her warm despite the thick June air.

“Barely fits in my hand,” he murmured, in awe. 

The baby let out a tiny, startled wail, which made him swear under his breath, tightening his grip like he was scared she’d slip right through his fingers.

With glossy eyes, he managed to rest her on your chest. She was so small you had to check—bloody, wet, but whole.

Johnny was there, his eyes on you as the sight hit him like a truck.

It was real. He was a father now.

The memories of a failed pregnancy and the fears of this one were in the past. His girls were here, safe.

Near exhaustion, you felt bad for not being able to hold her better, for not getting a good enough look at her. Your first memories of her would just be the sight of that little head on your chest, and five fingers peeking out from the blanket. 

The shivers increased. You told yourself you’d gone through such a frightening ordeal, you could go through anything now. 

“You gotta push on my stomach. One last time.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched tight again. In his eyes, emotions flickered like distant lightning; exhaustion, fear, and a quiet, aching tenderness.

“Jesus, I thought we were over.”

You could barely manage a weak push, but it was enough. The last piece of labor passed, and you were free, delivered completely from the life you’d been supporting for nine long months. And you were so tired it felt like all of this was a dream.

“You’re good,” he murmured again. “Fuck, you’ve done it.”

“Hmmm.”

Careful not to hurt you, Johnny moved closer, his eyes flicking between his baby and your sweat-dampened face. He kissed the top of your head so softly you had to smile. 

“I’ve never loved anythin’ more than you and her,” he said through the sudden silence, watching as your hands relaxed against the baby’s back. 

You were shuddering, your exposed limbs damp, the blanket beneath you soaked. The only thing on your mind was getting to a hospital to get both of you checked out. Maybe even Johnny too, judging by his bloodied shirt and the messy strands of hair that had long lost their gel. Yet, you’d never felt so fucking peaceful and loved. 

“I love you, too,” you calmed with deep breaths, touching her tiny fingers. “And I bet she loves you already. For what you’ve done."

She clasped onto your pinky, and it was all you needed to cry again, this time with happy chuckles and a fading pain. 

Nothing could take this from you now. Nothing could keep you from happiness—not with this little princess in your arms. You knew, without a doubt, that the Vandal you’d married would spend his life giving you the best he could.

He rested his hand over yours, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the baby’s back. And he squeezed gently, a thousand thank yous in his eyes. For loving him. For giving him the most perfect little girl. 

You shut your eyes again as he arranged the seat and the blanket, asking if you were sitting alright. 

“I love ya,” he said against your forehead, leaving another kiss that made your head feel a little less cold. 

Johnny drove to the hospital while you held your baby in your arms, unable to tear your gaze off of her. So delicate and so soft. He talked to you to keep you awake and grounded, but you could barely say anything. In no time—just a short ride from where you’d been—he jerked the car into park, barely bothering to kill the engine before throwing the door open, looking for a nurse or anyone who could help. He’d never looked so lost.

The young nurse he’d caught cast you a concerned look as he stood there, fixated on your face.

She asked you questions you didn’t have answers for. Couldn’t believe you’d done it there. Then, she took your baby in her arms and a shiver ran down your spine at the absence of her warmth. That was the first moment you realized you actually loved her. You didn’t have to think about it. You just did.

But then you supposed it had been the same with Johnny.

“You okay?”

You tore your gaze off the middle console, looking back at him. His jacket was off, and he wouldn’t stop swallowing harshly, his chest heaving in deep breaths. 

No word came out, but the look you gave him was enough. Johnny nodded slowly, carefully, and then he gathered you into his arms like when the baby had slipped into his hands.

"You’re shakin’ like a leaf."

With long, steady strides, he carried you into the hospital, past the bright white floors and the blinding lights. A small scar from his last shave lingered beneath his chin, and a rough patch remained where he’d missed a spot. You brushed a soft thumb over it—maybe dazed, but still in love.

As soon as that distinct smell reached your nostrils, you turned your head from the white counters and white floors to the open car out there—the eternal spot where your first daughter met the world.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

How is Angel’s parents/family getting along with their newly adopted kids and “husband”

Angel's parents are going to LOVE the newfound family of +80 toys! I'm working on a small comic to show how their first meeting went before I write it post-factory arc, but although confused and extremely worried for Angel's one week dissapearance and experiences inside PlayCo, their family is, ultimately, extremely supportive of them. Angel really is their mother's kid, because Mrs. Oliveira is instantly head over heels for her surprise grandkids. Angel's dad is almost collapsing, and their brother is Very Confused. Sister-in-law is already reaching the #1 aunt spot, she's wasting no time.

The human family will be extremely helpful for Angel, helping them house hunt and get enough supplies and groceries for ALL the kiddos. They'll also babysit the kids for when Angel is away helping the Smiling Critters in the hospital, or having to run in order to talk to their lawyers and what to do against what remains of PlayCo. When Angel and the kids move to the farm house, they're there to help, and when they get better homes thanks to Angel's money, it's the toys' turn to help. I think they end up being a very close family, despite the initial distrust from the toys!

Now, for their reaction to the Prototype...

Angel's mother, Marlene, got herself mentally prepared when Angel told her about how there was one final experiment for her to meet. "He looks like an actual horror movie monster, mom. He isn't like Marie or Oskar". Marlene listened closely, and, when Prototype stepped out of his hut to say hi and introduce himself, she somehow managed to not stumble her words or look weirded out. Angel and her really are alike.

Angel's father, Roger, was way more prepared than when he first saw the toys. However, what he was expecting was for Prototype to be at least humanoid, not that centipede-looking thing. He could not look even more weirded out than he was, but he was still very nice to him, and probably asked a lot of questions before Angel told him to calm down a bit.

Angel's brother, Miguel, was a bit quiet the whole time, letting their mom do the talking and nodding along. Internally he's just "yeah, I thought he would look worse than that, but oh my God he looks this close to collapsing". Introduces himself before telling Prototype he better help Angel with the kids. Miguel can't do shit against him but he gotta protect his big sibling! Somehow!

Angel's sister-in-law and Miguel's wife, Amy, was lowkey a bit heartbroken as she thought about all the horrible things PlayCo. must have done to their first EVER succesfull experiment. She's a bit sensitive over the idea, having heard firsthand from the toys what living there was like, and gently slaps her husband's back so he can shut up. "Please ignore him, I'm very sure you are doing your best in there, you look very tired! I-I MEAN, you must be, of course you must, you-" and she goes on a rant before Miguel calms her down.

Eventually, they all get along just fine with Proto! They all have different reactions when they find out he was originally Elliot Ludwig, and as the years go by they just see him as another member of the giant household. Angel's brother, however, knows from a mile away a QPR is on the making just from the way Angel treats Prototype/Elliot. When Angel tells him about it he's just "well, took you long enough!". Angel is offended (affectionate). Amy is SO happy for them, also probably knew it since Miguel told her (he tells everything to her). Angel's dad is just "oh thank goodness you didn't get a weirder partner, I was worried someone would try murdering you for the money". Marlene was going to reprimand him but she's thinking the same.

However, when Angel and Elliot DO decide to get married on paper, Angel. Straight up forget to tell Miguel and Amy about it for a whole MONTH before dropping the info, thinking they already knew about it, before being bombarded with questions.

"Well, that's on YOU for forgetting to tell me you and Amy got engaged, Miguel!"

"TWO DAYS. I FORGOT FOR TWO DAYS".

"AND EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY KNEW. I TAUGHT YOU HOW TO FIGHT AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?"

"YOU FORGOT TO TELL ME FOR A MONTH! DO MOM AND DAD EVEN KNOW ABOUT IT?"

Angel pauses, trying to remember. Miguel is in shambles, Amy is trying not to laugh at how stupid this whole situation is. "I think I did".

Miguel looks up.

"You. THINK. You told our parents. About the fact that you are going to be LEGALLY MARRIED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR LIFE?"

"YOU FORGOT TO TELL THEM YOU EVEN HAD A GIRLFRIEND".

"I DID NOT FORGET, IT WAS A STRATEGY TO AVOID MY OWN EMBARASSMENT IN CASE SHE GAVE UP ON ME".

Angel points at Amy: "As we can see, that was for fucking nothing".

The sibling fight continues.

[o3o-aya]

Sneaky Sneak pt.11

:') this is very late

TW- Muzan eats a child, it's been like 12 years or some shit

"Don't be so sad my flower...~" Douma whispered to you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You could only watch as you watched in horror as the child you just birthed was eaten by the demon king.

You weren't really... Sad per say, but that was your child... You carried and birthed it.

"If it doesn't work... I will be taking the woman myself and making my own." Muzan said as he narrowed his eyes at you two, Douma's grip on your shoulder.

It took twelve years for this child to be concieved.

Part of you wanted to understand...

~~~~~~

"If only we had found the boy in time... Then maybe we would've been able to keep this one to make you happy." Douma said as he sighed and shook his head.

"Hiroshi... His name is Hiroshi." You said as you glared at him, Douma's eyes narrowing before he smiled at you.

"Whatever his name may be... Now master won't bug us!" Douma said as he clapped his hands.

"Especially during our acts as husband and wife...~" Douma said to you as he smirked at you, making you shudder in such a horrible way...

~~~~~~

"Hiroshi!" The twelve year old girl said as she dropped her basket of laundry, running to her dirtied and beaten brother.

He had returned safely from the final selection...

Hiroshi gave her a simple smile, placing his hand on her head as she hugged him. Even with the eye cover on, he could see her so clearly.

"I made it back." He said to her as he cried, now... All he had to do was wait for his sword to be ready...

"And father...?" He asked his younger sister as she looked up at him.

"Papa was called on a last minute mission for Oyakata.." She mumbled. "And Sabito is still trying to train his skills..."

"Let me help you.." Hiroshi said as he picked up the basket.

"But you're hurt!" The poor girl said as she went to grab it.

"It never does when I'm helping you Sayaka..." Hiroshi said as he smiled.

And Sayaka felt... Like she had seen that smile before... And not from him...

~~~~~~

Hiroshi had finally gotten his sword, bidding his siblings good bye, promising to bring back some gifts to them.

And he was off, women disappearing in a small town.

He was sure he would be able to take care of it! Yet... That was... Until the demon had him underneath him.

This demon was so curious aout his eye cover.

"Now... Let's see what's underneath!" The demon said with a smirk, pushing Hiroshi's h/c hair away from his face as Hiroshi struggled, trying to

The rainbow eyed demon removing his eye cover, his bright eyes slowly widening as he stared into Hiroshi's own bright colored eyes.

Brightly covered eyes that were glaring at him.

"You..."

[darkmodepls]

Selfish Heterodynes

And why that's a good thing for their people

One thing that is commonly known about Sparks is that they have extremely self centered worldviews and motivations.

Sparks find it very hard to care about other people, and when they do, they often treat them more as an object or a pet than as a sapient being.

It's the main reason why non-sparks are so afraid of them. If you are just another object, what's stopping the Spark from using you for spare parts.

So. What is it about Heterodyne selfishness that makes their people so fanatically loyal

to start with, Heterodynes are selfish about their people because they are people.

Any time Agatha is introduced to a new group of people, she goes out of her way to learn their likes, dislikes, and histories. While there is a Doyalist explanation for this (the audience needs the exposition) I believe the Watsonian explanation is that this is part of being a Heterodyne.

Heterodynes that grew up in Mechanicsburg probably knew the names and life histories of more than half the town. They would drink with their men and participate in festivals. *Even if part of the festivities included being chased by an angry mob.*

Because they care about the person, they care about their personality and goals. To damage a mind is almost sacrilegious to a Heterodyne.

One of the defining traits of Heterodynes is that they are vehemently against brainwashing and mind control. While part of it is the fact that such methods undermine any genuine loyalty, It could also stem from the way such things interfere with who the victim is as a person.

Think about how Agatha's horror over Dr. Vapnoople differed from that of other Sparks. They were mainly concerned with how it kept Dimitri from expressing his Spark, while Agatha was upset by what it did to his personality.

Heterodynes make space for their people to achieve their goals.

As small as Mechanicsburg is, it's divided up into a variety of districts where all sorts of industries take place. From medicine, to constructs, to engineering, and trade, if a citizen wants to work in a certain field, the town can accommodate them.

Additionally, the people have no fear showing their work to the Masters. The moment Agatha started Heterodyning, she had a crowd of people clamoring to offer her their skills and talents. There wasn't a any hesitation to brag about this skill or that talent or offer these services to their Master.

Why would there be? it was probably a very common sight to see a crowd of townsfolk proudly share their latest creations with the Masters, and the Heterodynes probably took great delight in their people's ingenuity.

Because the People, their Personality, and their Skill belong to the Heterodyne, any Outsider trying to harm a citizen is trying to Steal from the Heterodyne.

to the Heterodynes it's never just a servant or just a gaurd, or just a farmer. They know that the servant was named Molly and had 2 nieces and preferred cake to pudding. They know that Grant had been a Jaeger for 200 years and had been best friends with their grandfather's sister's husband. They knew the Farmer Mac was a minor spark who had been secretly crossbreeding orange petunias as a gift for their wife.

Every loss is personal, so that makes it vital that they protect their people with everything they have.

The core of my idea can be summarized with this Discworld quote:

"All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!I have a duty!"

Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men (Discworld, #30; Tiffany Aching, #1)

All that a Mechanicsburger is belongs to their Heterodyne, and the Heterodynes will protect them from all threats the way a dragon guards its horde.