#but it can also be after he declared himself king)

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

In the books, a part of Sauron’s army also lays siege on Rivendell, but gets defeated by both Gil-galad and Elrond. I think this will also happen in Season 3, since it’s part of the “War of the Elves and Sauron” that started with the Battle of Eregion. In the books, Sauron wants the Three rings of power; he doesn’t know who has them, but he suspects Gil-galad might have one or two of the Three.

In “Rings of Power”, Sauron knows Galadriel has Nenya, so the show can go both ways:

Either Galadriel will be next to Gil-galad in Lindon; to be aligned with Sauron belief that the High King of the Noldor has “one or two of the Three” (but this would mean the Three are in Lindon, because Círdan has Narya);

Galadriel will stay in Rivendell and later find the way to future Lothlórien.

To me, the first option makes more sense with the lore. Sauron attacks Rivendell because he knows Elrond will attack him, not because he suspects him to have the Elven rings of power (his motivation in trying to attack Lindon).

I would argue, Season 3 should have Galadriel in Lindon, with Gil-galad. Because after 2x08, RoP!Sauron knows Gil-galad has Vilya and Galadriel has Nenya; this makes sense with his book counterpart suspecting two Elven rings of power are hidden in Lindon, and that’s his motivation to attack the kingdom.

As for your speculation on being Elendil to help the Elves fight Sauron, I agree. I think the show will probably go with this, because it wouldn’t make any sense for RoP! Ar-Pharazôn to provide military aid to the Elves.

Actually, he might even make their life harder, because he possibly believes the Elves are Sauron’s allies (because of S1 Galadriel). He will come to Middle-earth and arrest Sauron (who allows himself to get captured). In what context the show will make this happen, I don’t know. Maybe they will have Ar-Pharazôn march straight into Mordor, to fight Sauron’s armies. Because he gets envious and angry after Sauron declares himself “King of Men”, and Ar-Pharazôn wants that title for himself. Ar-Pharazôn also forces Míriel to marry him in the books, don’t know if they go with this on the show, though.

I also don’t know when the show plans to introduce the Galadhrim of the woods of [future] Lothlórien. They should have been a part of the Battle of Eregion, but the show didn’t went with that. In the books, they are also a part of the War of the Last Alliance, but Galadriel is not Lady of Lothlórien yet, by the way (this only happens at the dawn of the Third Age, when she and Celeborn take permanent residence there). With this being said, I don’t know if we’ll see the Galadhrim in Season 3 because there’s already so many things happening. Unless the show introduces them as allies to the Elves, and to kick out Galadriel connection to them. I have a feeling Arondir will end up in Lothlórien, actually.

So at the end of season 2, Gil-Galad hinted at Sauron attacking Lindon, which will undoubtedly happen in season 3, so as I haven't read all The Silmarillion yet I did some fact researches on the Internet... I found this :

Over the next six years, Sauron's armies overran Eriador and moved west, aiming to take Lindon and claim one or more of the Three Rings. By S.A.1699, Sauron has completely overrun Eriador and all its lands, save the Imladris and Lindon. However, Imladris was under siege and Gil-galad was barely holding the Line of Lhûn and the Mithlond. Sauron had summoned more forces coming from the South East, in the hopes of obtaining the Grey Havens.[source?] There, just as Sauron's victory looked secure, a fleet appeared in the north, carrying the forces of Númenor sent by Tar-Minastir, the heir[4][7][note 1] of Queen Tar-Telperiën. The Númenóreans, led by Ciryatur, forced Sauron's armies to retreat south-east with heavy losses. Sauron was defeated again at Sarn Ford, and was pushed out of Eriador, where he burned the forests of Minhiriath and Enedwaith. He had only a small fraction of his army left, although he was reinforced by his force at Tharbad. However, Ciryatur has sent a portion of the Númenórean army to Lond Daer, and Sauron found himself attacked from in front and behind in the Battle of the Gwathló, from which he barely escaped. An ensuing battle in eastern Calenardhon stripped Sauron of all but a tiny bodyguard, with which he retreated into Mordor.[2]

Source

Of course in the show, it won't happen like this. Numenor is currently led by Ar-Pharazôn, who hates the Elves so I doubt that he will send help when Sauron attacks. Tar-Miriel was put under arrest, accused of being Sauron's collaborator. I don't see how she could do anything while being behind bars. So it seems that it leaves us with Elendil? At the end of season 2, he takes Narsil and escapes from Numenor.

(we always joke about Halbrand's resemblance with Aragorn, but they really picked the good actor to play Aragorn's ancestor.... What a man *sigh*)

What I could see, and it's of course pure speculation, is Elendil hearing of Sauron's attack and gathering forces to help the Elves. It might help that he reunites with Isildur before, even though I don't think his grief would overshadow his sense of duty. There are still people faithful to Miriel in Numenor, who, I hope, won't believe that she was saved from the sea monster because of Sauron. Also, Elendil told Galadriel in season 1 that everybody in Numenor didn't hate the Elves, that she still had 'friends' there. So I speculate that we'll see more of these Elves' supporters in season 3.

I mean, the Elves will need to receive help, and I doubt that Durin IV can provide that again while there's a dispute regarding Durin's III's legacy. And would an alliance of Elves and Dwarves against Sauron's might and legions of Orcs be enough, anyways? The Dwarves saved the day in Eregion because there were only the Orcs to fight, Sauron being busy with Galadriel and Adar being dead (RIP). But this time he will be very much present, and he'll make no quarters. Help has to come from other parts of Middle-Earth, and right now I can only see Elendil provide that.

What are your thoughts about it?

[giantkillerjack]

Betty is so relatable I would do the same shit for my wife

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do aemond x reader x cregan ?? Reader has a thing with aemond b4 the dance, but after aegon is crowned, she goes with jace to the winterfell and ends up with cregan ?? 🖤♥️

Request: Cregan smut pleaaaaase

A longer fic for Cregan is in the work (Jacaerys twin!Reader), but these take more time to write...so be patient

Warnings: 18+, smut, implied cheating (sort of), oral (f receiving) 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Cregan Stark wasn't immune to your charms. It didn’t take him long to fall under the spell of the Queen’s daughter, captivated by your breathtaking beauty and fierce determination. 

Since the day you and Jacaerys landed in Winterfell, you and the northern Lord had many occasions of getting physically closer, but Cregan refused to engage in anything with someone who was already promised to another. He didn’t want that kind of trouble. 

Yet, he found himself drawn to your presence, unable to deny the stirring of emotions you awakened within him whenever you were around. He felt drawn to you in a way he had never experienced before.

But control was more difficult when he had a few cups of wine at supper. 

Cregan stopped at the junction of the guest wing and his private quarters, the flickering torch lights casting shadows on the stone walls of Winterfell. ‘’I should not accompany you to your chamber tonight, Princess,’’ he said, his voice thick with restraint as you walked through the corridors.

‘’Why not?’’ you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer to him. ‘’You agreed on a cup of wine.’’

‘’I did. But I'm afraid I will not be able to resist to temptations if I am alone with you,’’ Cregan admitted, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of desire and hesitation. ‘’And I cannot give in to such desires.’’ 

You chuckled softly, leaning against the cold stone wall and looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. ‘’And what’s so wrong with a little temptation?’’ You paused for a moment, your gaze wandering over his tall frame, taking in his rugged features and muscular build. You bit your lower lip gently before continuing. ‘’Is the Lord of the North not allowed to indulge in pleasure?’’ 

Cregan's breath hitched as he struggled to keep his composure. ‘’I am allowed to indulge in pleasure, Princess. But you are already promised to another man,’’ he said, the long silver hair and black eyepatch of Aemond Targaryen flashing through his mind. ‘’Giving in to my desires would make my people question my honor toward others.’’

Your feelings for Aemond had once been true and pure, which led to your betrothal. It was also a good way to unite the families. A date had been set for your wedding and ravens had been sent through the realms announcing the big day, but your grandsire died and Aemond became a traitor to the crown. It didn’t surprise you that he stood by his brother’s side. Aemond had always been loyal to his family, it was part of who he was. What surprised you was the raven the Greens sent to Dragonstone to summon you to King’s Landing and bend the knee to their new King. 

Saying goodbye to the person you once loved was difficult, but you could not see yourself at the side of someone who supported the man who stole your mother’s throne. 

‘’Aemond Targaryen supports the usurper. Our betrothal is no more. I belong to no man,’’ you declared. 

Cregan leaned closer to you, his body only a few inches apart from yours. His eyes roamed over your features, lingering on your lips before returning to meet your gaze. ‘’Does he know?’’ he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You slid your hand up the thick leather of his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. ‘’Who I bed is no longer his concern.’’

Cregan held his breath as you touched him, holding back from pressing himself to you against the wall and crashing his lips on yours. ‘’Gods, Princess, you drive me mad with your words,’’ he confessed, his voice a low growl.

You pushed your teasing further, feeling his self-control about to snap. ‘’Are you afraid of taking a princess to bed, Lord Stark?’’ 

The control he had tried to maintain snapped. Your words and touch awakened something within him, igniting a fire that he could no longer keep at bay. A soft gasp left your lips as Cregan closed the distance between you, pressing you against the wall and kissing you. His strong hands found their way to your hips, gripping you tightly, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, pressing you firmly against the cold stone wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, both of you lost in the heat of the moment, forgetting you were in a corridor where anyone could walk by.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt his body pressed against yours and tangled one of your hands into his dark hair, your slender fingers running through it as you held onto his broad shoulder with the other. Cregan’s grip on your thigh was iron strong and possessive. 

He wanted you. 

He pushed his body even closer to yours, his lips leaving your mouth and trailing down your jawline, to your neck, where he began to nibble and kiss the sensitive skin there. You wanted to tear his clothes — and tear your clothes — and see if wolves treated their women better than dragons.

‘’I think we should take this to your chambers, Lord Stark. How scandalous would it be if anyone were to their Lord with the Dragon Princess?’’

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Without losing any time, Cregan pulled you in another kiss as he began to disrobe. You unbuckled your own cloak, letting it fall off your shoulders, and helped Cregan with the buckles of his leather doublet. Why were there so many? 

Once you were both out of your clothes, he carried you to his bed. Depositing you gently on the soft furs before joining you, pinning you beneath him. The fire in the hearth was keeping your naked body from shivering, and casting a soft glow on your skin. You felt the press of Cregan’s cock against your thigh, hard and warm, and reached for it, air catching in your throat at the size. 

The Northern Lord trailed kisses on your hot skin and moved further down your body until he was lying on his stomach, using his elbows to keep himself upright. He gently parted your legs, his fingers brushing over the inside of your thighs as he took in the beauty of your pretty pussy, his mouth watering for a taste. 

Cregan placed a kiss on your mound, smirking when he heard you gasp softly. His lips moved lower, and his eyes drinking in your every reaction, the soft sounds of pleasure escaping your lips making him even more determined to drive you wild with pleasure. He was going to show you how men kiss their women in the North. 

Soon, you were mess on the furs as he tongue licked and teased your pussy. Your legs were folded to expose you more, and Cregan kept a tight grip on your trembling thighs. Your back arched from the bed, accompanied by a loud whine as you reached down to grab his hair and guide his face closer to you. 

‘’Kessa! Lua doing bona!’’ (Yes! Keep doing that!) 

The High Valyrian words had spilled from your tongue without realizing. Although Cregan didn’t understand a single word, he assumed he was doing a good job and continued working skillfully with his mouth to bring you to the edge of madness.

He swiped his tongue over your swollen clit, relishing in the sounds he was drawing from you. He loved hearing the moans and gasps that escaped your lips, knowing that he was the one causing them. 

You rocked your hips into him, practically riding his face, and Cregan moaned, his cock twitching — and leaking — between his stomach and the furs. ‘’Needy, are we, Princess?’’ he teased, his voice low as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. 

Pulling on his hair again, you forced his mouth back on you. ‘’No more talking.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

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[evilminji]

You know what I think would be neat?

Loki, the Sky Walker himself, when he fell beyond the trees branches but before that Purple fucker could get him... felt A path, much like the hidden ones he'd wandered for YEARS, and franticly tries to catch himself.

After all, he let go in a moment of incredible emotional distress. But that moment passes. The fear kicks in. The natural, strategist's, "survival at all costs" primal drive starts SCREAMING. You grab for the ledge. Try to STOP your fall.

But~!

What if? What he was FEELING?

Was a Natural Fuckin Portal.

And Loki is no slouch! He manages to change his trajectory. His mind is still in shambles, he's an emotional wreck, mascara probably running, just? Having THE WORST month or so of his life. He's too pretty for this bullshit, he would insist, if he wasn't FALLING THROUGH THE VOID.

He's made some choices.

They may have been ill advised.

Possibly even terrible ideas, actually.

But he's come too far to die NOW. And if his brother's insane adventures and hare brained schemes haven't killed him, then THIS sure as shit won't be putting him in an graves. He refuses to allow it.

He expects to slam face first into alien dirt. At speed. It? Is going to HURT, he knows.

But that is not what happens.

He passes through a yawning portal, into Veridian skys, and slams face first into the back of passing youth. Knock BOTH of them from the sky and through several nearby floating islands.

He nearly gets punched for it.

The boy only stopping, fist merely moments from his faces, when he seems to finally register the state Loki is in. The next thing Loki knows? He's being rushed off Yeti healers. A FUSS is being made.

The youth is strong arming him into being a guest in his... frankly ALARMING home.

Loki likes the Gothic one. She seems like she bites. But the boy's parents BAFFLE him. The boy, "Danny" just? Showed up with him? And declared he was a "visiting Fenton Cousin"? SURELY that can not WORK! Boy, they are your PARENTS, they know better then YOU who is and is not rela-.....

How did that work.

No, HOW DID THAT WORK? Child answer me. And explain the violent cold meats.

Just? Loki, intellectually stimulated, like a cat in a fresh new environment. Removed from stressors. Not the strongest being around by far, but enjoying the challenge none the less. Fulfilling his life long trained role of "king's advisory" in an almost relaxed Highly Sarcastic Uncle On Vacation Who Is Also A Semi-Feral Cat sorta way to this new Child King he found.

Loved and respected for Being Loki. Just Loki. No preconceived notions to fulfill, no roles he must play, just... Be Loki.

Best part? Asgard and Thor and such? Irrelevant! Their own closed system far, far away. He's finally FREE of the shadow Asgard casts. He's taken "starting over in a new country to escape a toxic home life" to a whole new weight class unique just to him. The dude is THRIVING.

And? I bet he REALLY enjoys tormenting Vlad.

@ailithnight @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @nerdpoe

[zyafics]

BROTHER'S RIVAL | 03

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — You and your brother were born Pogues, but once your family made enough to move to Figure Eight, you became a Kook. Unfortunately, Rafe doesn't welcome Pogue-born Kooks. It doesn't help that your brother is determined to steal the 'King of Kook' title from him. So, if your brother is attempting to steal something from him, Rafe will return the favor.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, and usage of drugs.

Rafe: i don't like being ignored after giving u the best orgasm of ur life

You didn't expect to see that message flash on your screen. Especially since you're with your brother, helping him load all the shit he bought from Heyward's into the back of his truck. You didn't even know he got a truck.

Lowering your brightness, you type back a haste reply.

You: don't type that shit Dean sometimes reads my text

Rafe: but it's true

You: that's an overstatement

Rafe: how about you come over here and we'll test that?

You: no, thanks i'm with my brother

Rafe: maybe he should fuck off

You roll your eyes at the message, just as your brother calls your name. Slipping the phone into your back pocket, where you are positive Dean won't be able to reach, you turn back to see him standing on the trunk of his truck with his arms outstretched.

"Did you hear me? Bring me the next case." He declares, his tone chipped with semi-annoyance at your distraction. You were about the grab the box, but with his attitude, you decided to put your hand on your waist and stare him down instead.

"Do I look like a dog to you? Say it nicer."

Dean sighs but doesn't argue back. Rather, he prepares himself to lunge through the next few words. "My dearest sister, the light of my life, the only person in the world who I would kill for, can you pass me the goddamn beer?"

Close enough.

You reach for one of the cases of booze set near your feet and hand it off to Dean, who easily takes it off of you and stacks it in the back of his cargo bed with the rest.

"I still don't understand the plan here." You confess, picking up another box and starting a momentum. "You're going to host a party, so what? What does that gotta do with anything?"

Your brother decided that he wanted to start hosting parties at your house. Since now he's intersecting himself into more Kook spaces, he wants to also start stripping away the pride of certain members too. According to Dean, Rafe is the top host for the grandest parties on the island—his containing a multitude of wild nights and adventures, all oozed out of his all-expensive paid amenities.

But you, for the life of it, don't understand how this has anything to do with his goals. Dean confirmed, after your little encounter with Rafe on the golf course, that he did have plans on taking the title of Kook King from Rafe. That Rafe's hatred of him was not unwarranted. However, he didn't tell you why.

All you know is that for the duration of this summer, your brother is going to do everything he can to convince the rest of the Kooks to follow after him.

Dean sighs, approaching you at the far end of the tailgate, crouching down till his face is to your level. "It's simple. Kooks are superficial and flimsy. They are only loyal to the Camerons because they have money. So, we need to shift the tides."

You are not getting in the middle of this.

"We—" you gesture to yourself, then to your brother, "are not doing anything. You are trying to do something with something we don't have a lot of. AKA, money."

While your brother does have a cushy job that pays better than most living in The Cut, and your mother secured herself as a respectable accountant who works with several high-profile Kooks—your family is nowhere at the levels that the Camerons is.

Dean chuckles. He finds it humorous that you're trying to distance yourself from this ongoing rivalry, drawing a line that you would not cross. Though, he knows, you would choose his side if it came down to it. "I know," he agrees with a nod. "But that's not the only way we can even the playing field. We can get power elsewhere."

"You do realize that this is just a meaningless feud between the Kooks and the Pogues, right?" You remind your brother. You know that he's competitive and stubborn; when he sets his mind on something, nothing you can or do can change it. "That it's not going to matter in the long run?"

His jaw locks and it takes several beats before he answers. "It matters to me."

Your older brother pushes himself back up to his height, jumping off the trunk onto the ground, and starts carrying the boxes himself. Without your assistance. You feel like you pushed a button you didn't know existed, and step back timidly.

"Fine, tell me," you announce after a few minutes of unbearable silence, trying to retain Dean's attention. "How are you planning on getting power?"

"No, you don't care."

You grab your brother's arm before he hauls the next case onto the cargo bed. Finally, he turns to you. "But, you care," you rectify, in a small voice, "so that means I care too. What is your genius plan, Lucky?"

Dean lights up at the nickname you used. An inside joke between the two of you. When you were children, you two were obsessed with the film Lilo & Stitch—so much that you had adopted the nicknames as your own. However, for the better part of your childhood, you had a difficult time remembering it was Lilo. You kept calling it Lucky. In turn, you kept calling your brother 'Lucky.'

"Alright." He sets his current case on the tailgate, turning back to give you his full attention. "Y'know how Kook doesn't just party? They do a lot of other shit too. They smoke. They do drugs. They fuck one another on the off-chance that they could gain something from it—a job, an inside scoop, maybe even the life of a housewife."

You raise your brow at his example. "Men can't be the sluts?"

"Can you let me speak?"

You raise both your arms in surrender. He cuts you a playful annoyed look before continuing on his mastermind.

"So, that means, Kooks change loyalty based on whoever has most access to the things they want. The drugs, the alcohol, the parties. Everything. If I can take that away from Rafe, they will shift their loyalty."

You cross your arms, considering his words. "You can't honestly believe that's true. They have more loyalty than that."

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, the firmness in his voice makes you wonder how he's so confident about it. "They're not like Pogues. Loyalty isn't the only thing they have left."

You don't respond. Instead, you remember. You can't shake off the rising guilt in your gut, knowing what happened the other day with Rafe—your brother's enemy—and how your brother still doesn't know. While you don't consider yourself a Pogue anymore, you know you are loyal to one thing.

Dean.

Your family.

This, you are certain.

In that moment, you decided that you need to put some distance between yourself and Rafe. That whatever happened that night was a one-time thing, a flunk in the system, a brief moment of vulnerability.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again and this time, you pull it out, expecting to see another text from Rafe.

Unknown: come on, don't ignore me

You swallow hard, clenching your phone in your palm. Dean has returned back to lodging his cases onto his trunk, picking up his own routine without you.

"Hey, Dean," you call out, to which your brother hums in response. "Have you talked to... him?"

It takes a moment for your brother to register who you are referring to, and his whole body goes rigid. "No," he says with gritted teeth, not bothering to hide his discontent. "I blocked that bastard months ago."

He glances down at your phone clutched in your hand. "Didn't you?"

You know you should. You know it would be better for you. But, something in you just doesn't allow it to happen. That you wonder, for a moment, if he would ever change and need help. To get back on his feet. To make amends. You couldn't let that happen without you.

"Yeah," you lie, "I was just curious."

—

The party is full of Kooks. You didn't expect this many people to show up, especially knowing that they're supposed to be resenting you and your brother, but somehow you were proven wrong. Perhaps it's because Dean went all-out that drove them, or because Kooks didn't like to miss out on something on their own street, but they're here.

You wonder, for a split moment, if what your brother said has some merit.

The party wasn't just Kooks. He invited the Pogues too. Unlike you, where your friends dropped you upon learning that you were moving to Figure Eight and you didn't care enough to keep in touch—Dean carefully kept in contact with his childhood buddies. Because, at heart, Dean still sees himself as a Pogue.

You didn't care. You took advantage of it. Dressed in your best party outfit—a skirt that barely covered anything, a top with such a large cut that practically revealed your cleavage—and a fuck-it attitude, you descended to the party and have fun.

You drank, danced, and even grind against a couple of guys on the dance floor.

That's when it hits you. Where is Dean? Usually, by the time the second guy got too handsy with you, he would appear out of nowhere to shove the guy off. An overprotective streak that you can't help but roll your eyes to, it's also a measured move that allows you to know when and where your brother is at all times.

Taking the final sip of your drink, the liquor of mixed fruits and vodka slipping down your throat with a burn, you separate from the guy to search for your brother. He wasn't outside, where most of everyone is, lounging around the lit pool; he wasn't on the roof, where Kooks were jumping off the ledge into the water below; he wasn't gone—his truck was still here. When you went inside, you searched the first floor to find him nowhere in sight. That's when you head upstairs. Opening the door to your room, you didn't find Dean.

You find Rafe instead.

"What the hell?" You exclaim, your words slightly slurred as you step into your bedroom and lock the door behind you. Rafe turns around, his previous attention paid to the various frames decorating your walls now pins onto you. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I heard there was a party," he shrugs, his demeanor completely casual while his hands rested inside the pockets of his khaki shorts. "Thought I'd check it out."

"The parties downstairs,"

"Huh," he hums, feigning innocence. "I must've gotten lost."

You aren't satisfied because, despite your intoxicated state, you can clearly see through his lies. Crossing your arms over your chest, you accuse, "thought you gave yourself a house tour the other night?"

"I did," he chuckles, closing the distance. His height towers over your own, and as he meets your gaze, a smirk rises over his face. "I got distracted."

You swallow hard, your heart skipping several beats knowing exactly what he's alluding to. It doesn't help that Rafe carries the same look behind his eyes—the same glint he had when he made you come.

"You know," Rafe begins, trailing down the length of your body, causing heat to bloom under your skin, before meeting your eyes again. "I talked to girls before and none of them has ever made me work as hard as you."

He's referring to the fact that, while you're replying to his texts, after your talk with Dean, they've been mostly monosyllabic answers. One-sided attempts at a conversation. You thought he would take the hint to leave you alone.

Once again, you're wrong.

You cross your arms and challenge him, "Go talk to one of your girls, then."

"Nah."

You don't know if it's the alcohol or his words, but your entire body is buzzing. You should leave, and go back to your search—what were you looking for again?—but something made you stay rooted in your spot. Rafe takes note of your internal battle and takes advantage of it.

Moving even closer, until he's nothing but a breath away, Rafe lowers himself to your level, his mouth right beside your ear. "You know what I can't stop thinking about?"

"How you can't seem to take no for an answer?"

"No," he chuckles, his breath fanning the crook of your exposed neck. "You and your little moans as you called out my name."

Your legs squeeze together, arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as your mind flashes to the vivid memories of that night. Of Rafe touching you and making you come with the skillfulness of his hands. You can't help but imagine what he could do with his tongue.

Pulling together whatever little restraint you have left, you set a hand on his chest. "Well, cherish it. Because it's not going to happen again."

You're proud of how steady your voice sounds. It's almost believable.

But Rafe doesn't look completely convinced. A cocky smile forms on his face, his eyes diligently scanning your features, picking you apart under his scrutiny.

"You don't believe that."

"I—" You begin, stuttering. Goddammit. "I do. I'm serious."

His hand raises to cup the side of your profile, the pad of his thumb drags across the plump of your bottom lip and they part unconsciously. His smirk broadens.

"Look at you opening up for me. Showing me how much you want me."

You internally groan. He's so infuriating, hot, and obnoxious, that you can't believe you're falling for any of it. You need to do something. Flattening both hands on his firm chest, you give him a light shove, forcing him to release.

Turning, you head for the exit when Rafe captures your wrist, spins you around, and crashes his lips onto yours.

Everything zeros into this moment. All those nightly fantasies of Rafe kissing you finally come to life as he groans against the taste of you. His hand travels to the nape of your neck and holds it tight, using it to steady himself as he presses closer, pulling you in, needing to feel nothing but skin-on-skin.

And you allow it. You don't know if it's because of the vodka mixers you had, or because Rafe is just an incredible kisser, but the way he sucks the plump bottom of your lips draws out a breathy moan, and your skin buzzes with fervent heat. His free hand descends down to grab yours, before placing it against the hard bulge under his pants.

"Do you feel what you do to me, princess?" He murmurs against your vodka-stained lips. "I fucking need you."

Your eyes connect with his, but meet nothing but the pitch-black of his dilated pupils. "You're drunk," you say breathlessly.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, leaving tingles in its place, before he confesses, "Not enough."

Then, his mouth meets yours again.

Without breaking for air, Rafe steps forward, causing you to step back. It becomes a two-person dance, and it doesn't end until the back of your heels hits the frame of your bed, tumbling you onto the mattress.

Rafe is immediately on you. Your back flattens against the sheets, your heart thundering, as Rafe parts from the heavy kiss to lay wet ones on the side of your throat, teasingly, nibbling the tender skin until he leaves a mark, before moving down to the valley of your breasts.

Half of you wish you weren't wearing such revealing clothes. The other half wished they were already gone.

Your core aches as Rafe's hands fall between your legs, skimming the short skirt, until he feels the patch of your panties. "You're so gorgeous," he confesses, before chuckling at the slickness collecting on his fingertips, "and wet."

He tells you to lift your hips and you oblige. Removing your skirt, he toss it to the floor, and his eyes zoom into the red pair of panties you decided to wear tonight.

"Did you know red's my favorite color?" Rafe asks. You shake your head softly. "Do you know why?"

"Anger issues?"

He grins, his thumb gently stroking the drenched spot in a way that causes your hips to buck off the bed. But he pins you back down. "It's because it's a good color to fuck to."

"Never knew you were the type of guy to set the mood."

"Didn't need to. You did it all for me."

You open your mouth to retort when his thumb massages your clit in such a sensual manner, a moan rips from you. Rafe watches the way your eyes flutter from the ounce of pleasure, how easily stimulated you are by his touch, and he revels in that feeling.

"You want me," he murmurs, full of confirmation this time, but you don't answer. Rafe watches the way your teeth sink to your bottom lip, embarrassment flushing your face as you refuse to accept it. "Say it."

"You want me," you correct, changing the subject as you arch into his hand.

His fingers stop their magical strokes, and you whine. "No, princess, you want me. I want to hear you say it."

Desperation seeps. Your core aching, pleading for stimulation, and he is right there. You have half a mind to push him off and finish the yourself, voyeurism included. But, you don't. As your eyes connect with him, you breathe out with reluctance, "please make me come."

It isn't exactly what he wanted, but he takes it.

His fingers slip under the band of your panties, pulling them off and discarding them. You thought he would do the same methods as the other night, his fingers finding your sweet spot, but he surprises you when he lowers his mouth and finds your swollen nub.

"Shit," you whisper breathily, his mouth suctioning the clit in a manner that causes your back to arch. Your hands go to find his hair, threading your fingers through his roots as you grind on his face. "That feels so good."

"You taste so fucking good," Rafe growls, the vibration of his words causing your stomach to tighten. When he sees how responsive you are to him, he slips two fingers into your pussy, feeling your walls immediately fluttering around his digits.

He fingers you, as he sucks on your clit. The double stimulation causes your head to spin and your heart to hammer out of your chest, your stomach coils with the familiar pang of pleasure.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you moan, gripping his hair tighter. For a moment, you're afraid of hurting him, but it's quickly dismissed when he flattens his tongue against your slit.

"Say my name louder."

"Rafe."

"Would you do anything I say to come?" Rafe asks, taking the opportunity to get something from you. And you're willing.

"Yes," you whimper, tipping your head back against the bed. "Anything."

"Moan louder for me, baby."

You do.

"Play with your tits."

Your hands push up your top till your breasts are exposed, using a hand to grope the flesh, brushing your fingers through your perked nipples. Groaning from pleasure, it arouses Rafe further, his fingers penetrating deeper and faster into your cunt, while his mouth returns to your clit.

"Oh, god," you moan, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your pleasure crescendos through your body. Your legs attempt to squeeze close from the sensitivity, to push Rafe out, but with one strong arm, he widens them instead. "Please don't stop."

Rafe doesn't respond but you can feel him grinning into your pussy, flattening his tongue across your slit as your core pulses around his digits. Nothing at this moment could be more perfect, the slow-burning building to your orgasm, the pleasure rippling through your veins.

Nothing can ruin it.

Until you hear your brother calling out your name.

"Shit," you swear, your heart rate spiking through the roof, and a hand slips between your thighs to push Rafe away. But he doesn't move. "Rafe—fuck," a clever roll of his tongue against your heat causes your mind to short-circuit, and you limp back onto the bed as Dean's voice grows louder.

Like he's outside your door.

"Rafe, please," you beg.

"Please what?" Rafe taunts, lifting his head from between your thighs, the lower half of his face dripping with your arousal, while his eyes gleamed that same mischief he had the other night. "Make you come? Or stop?"

You don't know what you want either, and it doesn't help that Rafe continues to stroke your cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit to make up for the absence of his hot mouth. Your legs twitch from the act, again, attempting to close around him, but he pushes them further apart.

Your door rattles. And Dean calls out your name again.

"Are you in there?" He asks, "are you okay?"

No, you want to rasp, but nothing comes out. Rafe grins devilishly, before lowering himself back onto your clit and sucks harder—quickening the arrival to your blinding climax.

"Rafe," you whisper roughly, your mind caught between two forces. The door continues to rattle as Dean tries to force the lock open, a protective trait of him needing to make sure you're okay, while Rafe has you in the most compromising position.

With the worst person.

"Go out with me."

"What?"

You think you heard him wrong, that Rafe definitely isn't asking you out while he's between your legs. But you didn't. Rafe lifts his head and repeats the question once more. "Go out with me."

"I—"

"Come on," Rafe soothes, his fingers fastening their strokes, your walls clenching around him. "Go out with me. Or else, your big brother's gonna come in and see you mid-orgasm."

"W–What do you mean?"

"I know you don't want me to stop," Rafe taunts with a smirk, "And I know your brother probably got some way of getting that door to open. So, you got two choices: either accept my date and come, or your big brother is gonna see me between your legs."

"I—" Your breath shudders as Rafe's signet cool ring presses against your heat. "You're despicable."

"Yet I'm here," Rafe lowers himself back on your clit, sucking languidly as if you don't have a threatening force outside your door, seconds from being let in. Your heart piercing out of your chest. "Come on, princess, go out with me."

Your mind is caught in a tailspin. Half of you want to tell him to fuck off, that you can't believe Rafe is using your moment of weakness to coerce you into a date, but the other part is wrapped in the absolute pleasure of your onslaught orgasm. The white-searing hot power that's coursing down your spine.

"Fuck," you say breathily, eyes fluttering shut from the way Rafe suctions on your clit. "Fuck, fuck, okay, okay. I–I'll go out with you."

You don't see it, but Rafe is grinning between your thighs. He goes faster, harder, pushing you over the edge as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud moans leaving your lips.

And just in that moment, the locks disengages.

With whatever mental capacity you have left, you quickly shove Rafe onto the floor and throw your blanket over your body. Dean barges into the room, blinking out his drunken haze, while his eyes scans the space for any disruptions.

"Did you hear me?" He asks with a subtle slur, scanning your face to see you comfortable in bed. He doesn’t know what got you here. "I've been calling out to you."

Your heart is hammering, and you pray that Dean doesn't approach the bedframe or look on the floor to find any semblance of his enemy hiding out. Rafe, thankfully, doesn't make a sound—though, you’d imagine he's hiding behind a cocky smile at the situation he's in.

"I—" you don't know how to answer him, "I was listening to music. Sorry."

"Oh," Dean says, taking the excuse as acceptable. He glances back at the door. "Why was your door locked?"

"It—it's a party," you explain, surprised at how easy the lie is flying off your tongue. "I didn't want drunk people to stumble up here and have sex on my bed."

"Right, right, smart," Dean nods, and he turns back around. "Alright. I'm going back down. Sleep tight."

You hum back in response as Dean stumbles out of your room, and you finally feel like you can expel a breath. The moment the lock clicks, Rafe lets out a rich laugh, straightening himself into a sitting position as he turns his head and connects his gaze with yours.

"Nice lie."

"Fuck off."

"Can't, you promised me a date," Rafe grins cheekily, pulling himself to his feet while he holds out something in his hand. "I think this belongs to you."

Your panties.

You snatch it from him, heat flushing your face as you want to nothing more than to bury yourself into your sheets. Well, you technically already did. Regardless, Rafe takes one final look around the room, at you, before he says, "I'll text you." And before he leaves, he gives you a sharp look and a reminder, "And actually respond."

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Navigation — Part 02 | Part 03 | Part 04

[entitled-fangirl]

Devotion.

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.

Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women

A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.

Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!

Masterlist

.............................................

"Benjicot!"

The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 

He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.

He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."

"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.

He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."

She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."

He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."

She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"

"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."

"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.

He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."

"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."

Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."

She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"

Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."

She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."

Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 

…

"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."

Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."

"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize-"

"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."

Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."

Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 

Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"

"What did you say?"

Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."

Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."

Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."

Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."

The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"

"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 

He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."

…

"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 

"Aye."

She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.

He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."

She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 

He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.

Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."

He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."

"Benjicot, please." 

"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."

She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."

When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."

And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.

"A- Aeron?"

Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."

Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 

She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 

She spun around. "Did you know about this?"

"What?"

Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"

Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 

She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 

The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"

"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."

Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"

She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"

Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."

Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 

He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."

Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"

Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.

"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Where you there when it started?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body. 

"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.

Benjicot's longsword. 

Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 

Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 

"You killed my brother?"

…

Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 

His sword collided with another and he looked. 

"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 

Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"

Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."

"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 

"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.

Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.

Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 

So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 

Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 

The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 

There it was.

Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.

Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.

But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.

Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to go into lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.

"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.

Benjicot snarled. "What?"

"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."

Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."

"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."

Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."

Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."

"I said shut up!"

Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."

Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 

He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.

"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."

…

Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.

He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 

"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 

"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.

She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."

He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 

"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"

He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."

"You've done enough, Benjicot."

"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."

"Leave, Benjicot."

He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."

She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"

"Not by will."

"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"

She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."

He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.

"You never wanted me."

Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 

The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.

He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."

"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."

"It's not that easy."

"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"

"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"

She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"

"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"

His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."

She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"

Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."

"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"

He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."

She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."

"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"

She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"

"-Shut up," he ordered. 

She looked up in shock. "What?"

"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."

She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."

She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."

He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 

They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-

He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 

He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"

She let out a whine.

He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."

She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 

"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.

"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.

In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 

"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.

"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 

"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.

She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."

"Darling-"

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 

"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 

"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."

He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."

"I don't think you mind."

He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."

"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."

His brows quirked up. "Will I?"

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."

He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."

…

Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.

The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.

Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."

Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 

Aeron Bracken was wrong. 

Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.

........................................................

[satoruhour]

Need sukuna in racer au 😩

REWARDS FROM A RACER

a/n: more of smut than him being a racer …. im not opposed to doing a ‘how they met’ ngl

wc: 2.1k

warnings: ooc sukuna, dom!sukuna, lewd declarations in public, he’s a little mean and calls you ‘whore’, ‘slut’, praise, degradation, pet names, car sex, semi-public sex, oral (m! receiving), light face-fucking, unprotected sex, riding, p → v penetration, clit stimulation, dash of daddy kink, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“doll, c’mon, we don’t have much time till the race starts.” 

“i know, ’kuna! give me a minute, ’m just tightening the screws on the crankshaft.” you already hear the joke from miles away, a soft chuckle comes after he mumbles “heh, shaft” and you resist the urge to roll your eyes while stifling a smile. it seems like sukuna had enough of waiting for you in the driver’s seat, so he meets you at the front of the car where the hood is popped.

if anyone told you sukuna was someone who would’ve made time for anyone else but himself, you would laugh in their face because when had ryomen “king of curses” sukuna ever thought about anyone but himself? he had all that he could have: a ’66 Ford GT40 (that he named king of curses — a tad bit goofy, he knows), girls on his arm, first place for every race he took part in. he was untouchable.

but during a night in the midst of a drag race he saw you outside a club, barely catching a glimpse of you shoving off a man who couldn’t take no for an answer. he wasn’t surprised to see kenjaku — another racer from another region and someone who he had an infamous rival with — laugh when he had come to your rescue, cut off when the king of curses landed a clean hit to the other’s face. sukuna made sure you were okay after the whole debacle, but he also fucked you silly to show you how a man should really be treating you.

it was the only race he ever lost.

“sometimes i forget how much shit you put up with when you’re with me,” sukuna grins, a sneaky hand moving from your waist to your ass to squeeze it, “fixing my engine like an obedient little girl.”

you simply turn to him with a bored expression, but you can’t deny the throb between your legs when he talks to you like that, “glad you’re self aware, ’kuna.”

“smart mouth you have there, hm?” sukuna pulls you even closer against his front and you can already feel the half-hard bulge there. he’s always hard before a race, too. that you know, because it’s an emerging characteristic of his that you’re not opposed to because sukuna ends up pounding into you in his driver’s seat once the race is finished. he just can’t help the adrenaline, can’t he?

“guess i’ll just have to ruin you,” sukuna cuts off your next reply with a messy kiss, swallowing the soft moans that leave your mouth at the temporary relief you’re getting from grinding on him, “later.”

you scoff, feigning annoyance, “yeah, yeah, i know. you never miss a race.”

sukuna just smiles, smacking your ass slyly and makes his way to the driver’s seat before you have time to gasp, simply raising an eyebrow (“don’t tell me you didn’t like that?”) when you slap his chest later in the passenger seat.

“oh god, he’s going to do that thing again right?” beside you are the other more prominent racers of tokyo, the famous four excluding sukuna. gojo is the one who asked the question, nudging you with a grin that’s got you groaning into your hands. slowly, you nod.

across from you is sukuna in his Ford GT40, shouting with his windows rolled down, “i’m gonna fuck you so good after i win this race, princess!” and while you’re turned on at the prospect, you’re also wincing at how everyone whoops and cheers because he does this in every race. it never gets old, though, just as the laughter of the other four floods your ears.

“do you really have to scream it every time?” you lean down to the window once the two cars are at the starting line, running a hand through his mildly sweaty locks. his perspiration is a little pink from the dye he’s used to top up the colour of his hair and you jokingly wipe your wet hands on his top.

sukuna grabs your wrist, pulling you gently to give you a noisy, sloppy kiss, his words whispered against your lips, “they have to know how you scream every night.”

you tsk with a laugh, hand reaching down to palm his dick that makes him grunt, “give ’em hell, baby.”

and he definitely makes the other wish he never was born. sukuna likes to play dirty, bumping into the rear of the other when he’s behind, sending a middle finger to the racer when he passes him, it’s part of why your boyfriend tends to prefer solitude because he’s not on everyone’s good side.

with skidding tires, sukuna finishes with a dashing grin, but he’s so focused on you that he doesn’t realise the crowd around him, some reaching forward to congratulate him, others wanting to touch his car. the racer barks out before anyone can violate his ride.

“oi, you fuckin’ idiots dare touch my car and i swear i’ll fuck up yours.”

beside you, geto mutters out a yeesh while gojo just giggles, patting your shoulder before you bid goodbye to the famous four. the crowd makes way for you, naturally, when you walk towards his car, because what kind of mental person willingly dates sukuna? they follow your figure as you make your way to him, swaying your hips for everyone to see, but you hardly care when all you can fixate on is his promise to you before every race starts.

and all he does that night is fulfil his promise, whisking you away from the cramped parking lot and into the late tokyo roads, whizzing past street lamps and cop cars and howling at the top of his voice. he loves it, he loves you and you see it every time he drives you home after a late night race and every time he noisily drives up to you when someone’s bothering you.

sukuna loves your body, too, because all you know later on is his cock in your mouth on a quiet, remote mountain used for drifting. with the winter season approaching, it was desolate, except for the way your head bobs up and down on his length, which hardens even more inside your mouth.

“that’s it, fuckkk yes.” sukuna groans, a hand clutching onto the leather of his seat while the other finds purchase in your hair, pulling on your locks till it hurts. with his hips moving erratically paired with the soreness in your jaw, it’s really the only thing you can concentrate on in an awkward position while hovering over the stick shift. “suck like the dirty cockslut you are.”

“’kuna, mmfhh—!” your hands rush to find his thighs on a particularly deep thrust, tip hitting the back of your throat and you look up at sukuna through teary lashes and breathe through your nose before he lets you off briefly. but your mouth is too warm just like how your pussy feels and sukuna forces your head onto him again.

sukuna groans when he lets you do your own thing, mouth taking half of him while your hands help you with the other, alternating between taking sucking the bottom of his cock and lapping at his tip, continuing to flutter your lashes at him.

“stick out your tongue f’me, doll,” he manages to choke out a moan, grabbing his cock to slap it on your tongue (it’s so heavy that you moan), making lewd sounds before he starts thrusting again, feeling every inch of your mouth with no time to warn you of his impending orgasm until the car is filled with his incessant groans and grunts, hips faltering at how your mouth just keeps sucking. “fuck— i’m cumming.” sukuna spills unexpectedly, shooting his cum deep down your throat and you moan around his shaft. he’s not laughing now, focused solely on getting every last bit of cum into your system as he tilts his head back in utmost pleasure. 

“take all of it,” his movements slow down, admiring how you look like you worship him with a lax mouth and pleading eyes, and he knows you do, but before that he’s ensuring you know that his worship of you overtakes yours by miles, pulling you impatiently to his seat before dragging your panties to the side. the other likes it when you wear skirts, easy access he says, licking his lips in anticipation when he sees how the fabric sticks to your cunt from how wet you were, leaving a string of arousal that snaps once it’s far enough.

“well? what’re you waiting for?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, a small chuckle leaving him when you mumble out a i’m getting to it! as you gather the slick leaking from your needy pussy. the feel of his mushroom tip against your clit is gratifying and you line him up before sinking down slowly. even after taking him multiple times, his size always makes your eyes widen and jaw drop at the stretch, incoherent whimpers leaving as he watches you take all nine inches of him.

“s’kuna, f-fuck…” you wrap your arms around his neck, suddenly shy at being so spread open for him to see, “s’big, you’re so big!” he hums, pressing little kisses down the side of your face while kneading your ass, plush thighs nestled around his pelvis so cutely that he appreciates your brief pause before you start riding him — because he can’t resist cumming when he sees you crying on top of him, trying his best to prolong the way you feel around him.

“i know i’m big, but you’re taking me so well, aren’t you, baby?” sukuna coos, holding your eyes that struggle to stay open as you bounce on his thick cock, ass meeting his hips in noisy pap’s as you flood his car with whining pleas of him filling you to the brim. there’s a white ring of pre-cum at the base of his shaft where your juices mix, dripping down the hilt and onto his balls, definitely soaking his leather seats. “just a whore for me to fuck stupid, yea?”

you nod frantically, babbling to no one as you throw your head back, pussy clenching when his lips meet your tits and he sucks hard on your nipples, flicking his tongue around your buds before moving to the other. “got so t-tight from me doing that,” sukuna laughs, wrapping a hand ’round your chin to force you to look at him. lips pursed, eyes blown wide from his cock in your cunt, hair sticking to your forehead, he swear he could cum deep in you right there and then.

“you love how i stretch you out?” he then yanks your head down to make you watch how your pelvis meets his, juices spurting in all directions by how wet you were. it truly was a sight, how his cock disappears into you and reappears, thighs burning from how fast you were bouncing on him.

“love it s’much, daddy,” you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you grab his free hand, bringing it to your neglected clit that’s been throbbing all night, “but i n-need you here, s’kuna…” and when he starts to rub circles into your puffy clit, you jolt at the feeling, screaming out obscenities at the sensations that overwhelm your body. he knows you’re getting tired and close, too.

so he shocks you by thrusting up, your body immediately halting to receive the way he rails into you and while your muscles are still cramping, it’s infinitely better than riding him. with his thrusts and his hand on your clit, you can already feel the coil in your stomach turning as your body slumps against him, “daddy!”’s spilling from your lips with mixed wanton moans. “that’s it, a good little slut who’s taking daddy’s cock, fuck—”

“so warm, and tight,” within seconds, his thrusts are irregular when you start to clench around him again, high-pitched whines filling his ears before you reach your high with a slack jaw and trembling thighs, body lined with sweat. but it’s the way your cum leaks down his length that gets sukuna releasing after you, the familiar pleas of wanting his cum deep in your cunt. he does just that, grunting into your neck when his hips thrust deeply before he releases his hot, thick semen into your pussy, gushing out because there’s just so much.

“love it when i breed my girl,” he mutters with a laugh breathlessly while you’re moaning softly at how he’s still spilling into you, overflowing cum leaking from your cunt even when he’s still inside. sukuna grins when your hips never really stop, still continuing to grind aimlessly.

“love my sweet girl who can’t think of anything but getting fucked stupid.”

[queers-gambit]

The Risk

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

prompt: after your wedding, you and Elrond embark on your honeymoon touring Middle-earth. your company is attacked on the road by Orcs. help comes from an old friend.

pairing: Elrond x shy!female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.1k+

note: internet researched Elven wedding customs, i don't want to hear it. keep the Elrond requests coming.

warnings: pre events of TROP, the "shyness" more so conveys as inexperience, romance, little bit of fluff, Gil-galad is a girl's girl, and Elven weddings! also cursing! violence! angst! character injury! Orcs! blood! literal hurt and comfort! emotions are hard! abrupt but happy ending, not edited, wonky brain went wonky, and intentionally misspelled words to indicate accent.

You spent a year and a half planning your wedding.

Due to your status amongst the Elves and their court, it was declared the event of the century and the High King himself demanded it be planned to the highest of exquisite detail. Granted, you and Elrond were content to marry in a quicker fashion, leaving it between family, but Gil-galad loved a good party and who were you to refuse your King?

So, you spent about 18 months (on and off) in Lindon, going over details and specifics with Gil-galad while Elrond did the King's actual work. You're positive Elrond was content to escape the wedding planning and honestly, you didn't mind as much as you feared you would because the King was opinionated, decently funny, and decisive. He spared no expense. He encouraged you to branch away from your usual humble taste. He wanted the whole of Elvendom to come together to celebrate. He wanted this occasion to be...his.

You had no objections.

You were honestly relieved someone else wanted to plan such an extraordinary event for you - but were beyond you ready to be married! Several times in the last several months, Elrond actually offered to elope - run away to the Gray Havens and marry before your beloved grandfather, Elrond's old master, Círdan - but the King was putting so much effort into your wedding, you didn't accept. It was nice, though, how mutually anxious Elrond appeared to be to marry you, too.

However, the past three moons, you've been absolutely inconsolable. Your wedding was only days away, Elrond had traveled to Eregion for "business" months ago, and Círdan had yet to arrive! You felt overwhelming panic consume your very being, becoming slightly more irritable as you couldn't help but feel (wrongfully) abandoned - should it not of been for your best mate, fellow Elleth, Bôril. She held your emotions in check, posed as buffer between you and emotional ruin, and was the voice of reason when your rationality vanished.

"What if something happened?" You worried during one of your late night, last minute sessions. "How would we know? What if - while traveling - something went awry?"

Gil-galad sighed gently, "Herald Elrond was sent with some of my most trusted warriors."

"Elrond is warrior enough by himself," Bôril smirked, "you worry for nothing - "

"I am supposed to get married in a matter of days and neither my grandfather nor my intended can be found. I think I have plenty to worry over!" Gil-galad and Bôril shared a knowing look while you wiped your face clear of frustrating fear. "I am not accustomed to not knowing. It's this unknown, the lack of answers that pushes me towards insanity."

"Well," Bôril smirked, her eyes casted towards the hall, "fear no longer, sweet friend, all your answers approach."

In confusion, you turned in the seat you had been slumped in, seeing Elrond and Círdan heading down the hall towards the room you were gathered in. With a gasp, you leapt from your chair and rushed into the causeway towards your dearest loved ones. "Thank the Valar! Elrond!" You gasped first, flinging yourself into his arms; which coiled around you tightly and lifted you, his face burying in your neck. "My love - where were you? What happened - why the delay?" Your voice cracked as your whispered, "You said you'd be only 6 weeks, you were gone twice that! I was so worried!"

"I'm so sorry for worrying you, my star," he whispered back; breath hot in your ear. "I'll explain it all," he promised, lowering you back to your feet to pull back only to instantly take your cheeks in his hands. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I promise, it was for a good reason," he told you softly, thumbs sweeping over the apples of your cheeks; then glancing over pointedly at your grandfather.

"And you!" You scolded playfully. "We expected you weeks ago! Yet you sent no word!"

"We were delayed," Círdan smirked, approaching you as Elrond released his hold; confirming they were together this time. "C'mere, sweet one," he chuckled, bringing you in for a tight embrace. After releasing, he gently tapped the button of your nose, "I am here now, ready to help where I can."

"Oh, please," you chuckled, taking a half-step closer to your betrothed, "there's nothing left to be done, our generous King has planned it all for us. I'm just relieved you are both safe."

Elrond smiled and wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you in to place a sweet peck on your cheek. "Come," your fiancé encouraged, and when you reentered the planning chambers, you realized others had followed you in.

Evidently, Elrond had gone to Eregion on "business", yes, but it was personal. He had gifted you a ring to symbolize your engagement; modest, silver, simple, gorgeous, and so perfectly "Elrond" - but he wasn't satisfied with it, apparently. As per Elven customs, the engagement rings would be exchanged at the ceremony for wedding bands, and Elrond was determined to give you something extravagant - to prove his adoration. So, he went to Eregion and forged with the Greatest of the Elven Smiths, Lord Celebrimbor, a wedding ring he thought suitable for your finger. Círdan met them to aid in the creation of this gorgeous ring Elrond crafted - insisting you couldn't see it until the ceremony. The trio also crafted Elrond a matching wedding ring that would only accentuate yours; another show of his devotion to you.

Hence their collective delay. Lord Celebrimbor arrived with them, greeting you with mirth; truly excited and honored to have been involved with your wedding band creation.

You were just relieved everyone finally safe and gathered in Lindon. That night, you laid in bed with Elrond; deflated by relief, just staring at him, hand on his cheek, caressing his flesh. "Next time, send word if you're to be late," you requested in a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "we were so focused, purely driven by creating something that you'll have forever - we lost track of so much time."

"How many rings did you make?"

"Too many. Though, Celebrimbor will have now options to gift others."

You both snickered, sighing with contentment. Then you whispered, "I fear I might owe a few people an apology..."

"Why? What happened?"

"I was... Operating on a short fuse while worried about you. Might've gotten a little snappy."

"You were rude?" He gasped comically. "I didn't know you even knew how to be."

"Hush," you breathed, leaning closer, "I was worried."

"But I'm here now," he promised, hand to your neck encouraging you to kiss him.

After that, the days passed in a breeze, as if a collective sigh of relief had been heaved by all of Lindon.

And then, the morning of your wedding finally arrived and it was like chaos struck. You never knew, but apparently, outside the chambers you used to prepare in, Gil-galad had everyone rushing around to perfect final details; prepare food, set tables, water and arrange flowers, retrieve whatever was requested by other guests. However, you were none the wiser (as he intended), being fretted over by all types of Elves who were impassioned to make you and your day as flawless as possible.

The High King ensured Elrond was taken care of, the young Herald quiet and seemingly concentrated on his thoughts; lips moving without words, repeating his vows to himself silently. Before it could've been questioned, Círdan arrived with a velveteen jewelry box; appearing ready for the day's events, as if awake for hours.

"Here," Círdan smiled, shooing away the attendants so he could sit beside Elrond, "this is for you, my boy."

"My Lord?" Elrond questioned softly, accepting the gift.

"It's customary."

"What is?" He wondered, opening the lid and revealing a gorgeous, glimmering broach. "Lord Círdan - "

"It's custom for the bride's mother to gift her new son-in-law a gem to be worn as a boastful show of the joining of two families," the craftsman explained. "This... This sapphire belonged to my daughter, and now, I'd like you to have it."

"I don't think I could accept - "

"It is customary," Gil-galad stepped in, seeing the refusal ready on Elrond's tongue.

So, Elrond swallowed his nerves and nodded to Círdan, "Thank you, my Lord. This stone is... Beyond words, surely, only it's previous owner could rival it's beauty."

The tears were bright in Círdan's eyes the rest of the day.

Due to the lack of conventional family, the ceremony was kept between only the High King Gil-galad as officiant and Círdan as witness. The King had designated a private overlook for your ceremony, standing at the cliffside under the golden glow of the Great Tree with Elrond in fine velvet tunics; gorgeous sapphire glittering on his chest, keeping his father's cloak in place as his own special tribute. Just as the sky turned heavenly, sun in position to set, Círdan began to lead you down the pathway - towards your forever.

Elrond choked on air, tears slowly filling his eyes.

You were draped in the finest of silks, a thin veil covering your face; hair in long ringlets, pinned back from your face in an elegant updo. It was like the Light of Valinor itself was shining through you, nearly blinding Elrond with sheer bliss. It was almost as if time slowed, nearly stilling completely; as if your form was moving in slow motion. Even under the sheer veil, Elrond could see your grin and suddenly, he couldn't hear, see, smell, feel anything but your love and light.

With a gentle sniffle, Elrond glanced at Gil-galad, who was beaming with pride already; his own growing, which nobody realized was even possible. Upon approach, Elrond instantly met you at the base of the stone stairs; watching Círdan give a watery smile while hugging you sweetly. He pulled back, gently lifted the veil to flip over your head, and sighed while caressing both cheeks.

In Sindarin, he whispered, "They'd be so proud of the woman you've become... And the man you're marrying. Just as I am."

Now, Elrond choked on his emotion.

"Thank you for everything," you managed to whisper, your grandfather sighing gently before guiding your hand from his into Elrond's. He joined Gil-galad on the platform, both watching proudly as Elrond was at a loss for words - only able to look you up and down.

Finally, he breathed in Sindarin, "Gorgeous."

Before the Elven High King and under your grandfather's loving eye, you and Elrond exchanged vows during sunset. It was intimate and private, either of you slipping your engagement rings off as Círdan presented your wedding bands. You gasped when you saw the ring Elrond crafted for the first time, looking at him with wide eyes, voice gentle as you asked, "You made this?"

"I did."

"For... Me?"

Elrond smiled, "Of course. A wife as beautiful as you deserves a ring that could only strive to embody your shine."

"Don't make me scold you for being so cheesy on our wedding day, my love, please," you giggled, Elrond chuckling while he took your hand to splay before him. He slid the ring onto your index finger, allowing you to do the same with his matching band. Neither of you were able to contain your glee when Gil-galad pronounced you officially as man and wife - Elrond all but lunging forward to hold your cheeks, swooping in to sear your lips with his kiss. You were just as excited, holding onto his biceps to keep him close; feeling warmth swell and burst in your chest as you realized... You were finally married.

After, at the feast Gil-galad had planned, the whole of Lindon was decorated and celebrating your union; hosts of food on long banquet tables, live bands entertaining the crowds, lanterns and candles glowing, conversation turning boisterous as Elves indulged on the castes of wine gifted or collected by the King.

Who, if you were wondering, was hosting the entire affair and having a splendid time as Bôril danced with Camnir - seemingly to Vorohil's chagrin, which Elrond pointed out to you first.

You were just happy to bask in your husband's glory; unable to believe he was yours, that you get to spend your life with him, that you were bound together. He seemed... Youthful in this setting; a young lad that was forced to grow up too quickly, finally able to appreciate the attention directed at him while gracefully accepting words of congratulations everywhere he turned. It was so simple, something decently mundane, but you found it impressive; the way Elrond could accept conversation from just anyone.

It simply intimidated you; content with your written letters and accounts, never truly needing to interact with people on this level. You were better, not quite as shy as before, but old habits die hard and overcoming social anxiety was a lifelong profession. Speaking of, your anxiety spiked from the sheer number of attendants, but Elrond was both sword and shield - intercepting people left and right, saving you from any "on the spot" moments.

The party went deep into the night, and while it was a fun time - complete with Bôril challenging the High King to a silly drinking game, Celebrimbor teaching the steps to an old dance, and Vorohil getting shot down by several Elleths - you were beyond exhausted. Perhaps you didn't hide it as well as you thought because Elrond slid into his empty seat and instantly leaned into your ear to ask, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah, 'course," you answered, setting the glass of First Age wine (a gift from Celebrimbor) aside to focus on him. Gently caressing his chin, you asked, "You all right?"

"Perfect, actually, just look at my wife," he mused, "though, you look tired, my star."

You hummed, "Can't fool you, can I?"

"It's my job now," he chuckled, letting you lean in gleefully to peck his lips. "How about we slip away? Hm?" He whispered softly, glancing around dramatically - like he was conducting a secret mission.

"Yes, please," you hissed, both snickering lightly. Like a couple of randy youths, you stood with the gifted First Age bottle, hands tangled together, 'sneaking' away to your rooms; thinking you were pulling it off, being so sneaky.

"Oh, bless their hearts, look. Look! I love those idiots," Bôril giggled to the King, "they're so obvious! Look at them go!"

"They're in loooove," Gil-galad teased, refilling his goblet.

"Guess they just can't wait to consummate their marriage, huh? Good for Elrond," Camnir snickered, freezing when Círdan's blank stare registered. "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord, I did not - I misspoke - I didn't think you, uh... I'm sorry."

Círdan just groaned lightly, his friend, Lord Celebrimbor, leaning over to top off his glass and encourage it closer to him; patting his shoulder in sympathy. Bôril and Gil-galad truly tried to hold back, but the scene was truly comical to witness and the two laughed so hard, they ended up leaning on each other and slumping in their chairs.

The party continued without you and Elrond, but it's safe to say, you were engaged in a party of your own.

"You've been quiet, love," you noted softly, one hand held tightly by Elrond's, the other holding your horse's reins; walking to give them a break on this leg of the journey. For weeks, you've been on the road together, touring Middle-earth as part of your honeymoon.

Never having been anywhere other than the Gray Havens and Lindon, you were like a new born fawn in the wilderness - but it was exhilarating to travel.

"Hmm?"

"You're pensive," you amended.

"I am simply in thought, my star, nothing of concern," Elrond assured.

"You're sullen."

"I don't mean to be," he sighed.

"What's troubling you?"

Elrond was quiet for a long moment, stepping carefully as neither of you noticed thick, dark clouds beginning to fill the sky. Finally, he admitted quietly, "We are not far from Khazad-dûm."

You hummed in understanding, then pondered while stepping around overgrown tree roots, "Remind me why we did not extend Prince Durin a wedding invitation?"

"We did," Elrond informed, sighing deeply, "he just... Did not respond..."

"That does not sound like him, based on your account."

"No, it was truly... Odd," Elrond admitted, "perhaps being why I feel strange being close to his kingdom now."

"Do you wish to visit?"

"We don't have the time - "

"We can make time, Elrond," you insisted, squeezing his hand with a grin. "And as far as anyone is concerned, the great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm is part of Middle-earth, and therefor, part of our tour. I'd like to meet your friend, my sweet. Now, which direction?"

"We don't have time, starlight, we are expected by Lord - "

But Elrond came to a sudden halt, pulling you into his side as both your horses stamped and whinnied loudly; tossing their heads and snorting, the whites of the eyes flashing as ears flattened as they suddenly stopped in place. You flinched into your husband's side, the horses restless, guards circling around the pair of you quickly. Darkness descended.

"What is it?" You asked in concerned confusion.

"Something is amiss," Elrond rushed, looking confused and concentrated. "I-I do not know what, but the shadow has stretched. C'mere, mount up, my love, quickly, please."

"My Lord," Vorohil, one of your guards and a friend to your husband, directed his horse between yours while Elrond ensured you were safely seated, "there's a darkness to the path ahead, the horses - they are refusing to go forward. It grows darker, my Lord."

You had to reseat yourself as Elrond mounted; the horses backing away as there sounded a ghostly moan from the woods surrounding you.

"This darkness?" Elrond repeated, "Where did it come from? 'Tis midday - "

"Look around us!" Vorohil barked, Elrond sending him a sharp look before looking up - realizing there seemed to be a sort of dark cloud covering the sun, your path, and the woods surrounding you.

You gasped when there came a sudden, horrendous, guttural screech in an echo, making it impossible to locate the origin; and suddenly, a force bodied into your side. It knocked you from your horse, but due to the sudden nature of the attack, also took your beast down with you.

You were lucky your leg didn't shatter on impact.

You heard Elrond scream your name; body hitting the dirt and rolling a few feet before being halting by a boulder. Your sight cleared, evened out, gasping again and shoving yourself against the jagged rock in an attempt to create distance when you saw the horrid, gangly creature made of pure, tangible darkness - pure evil - muddy and growling while surging towards you with gnashing teeth.

A sword decapitated the creature before it could reach you, making you flinch at the show of violence. Your name was spoken in a rush, but you couldn't comprehend hearing words yet; staring at the dead creature, twitching from the severed nervous system at your feet - spewing black blood. Your eyes caught sight of it splattered up your skirt.

Boots hit the ground, a pair of hands caressing both your cheeks and making you gasp in panic. But Elrond's worried face was in front of yours, speaking soothingly in Sindarin, "Easy, easy, be calm, it's me, my love, it's just me. I'm so sorry, but we have to go - now, my love, please, get up for me, come with me - "

"My Lord!"

"Elrond!"

Elrond was forced to stand over you and use his bloody blade to defend you both; choking back tears as you realized this was an ambush by Orcs, creatures of pure hate; something Middle-earth thought extinct after not having been seen in an age. And you were defenseless.

"NO!" You gasped when a hand came around your throat, hoisting back into the boulder; holding you in place as two Orcs ravaged your body for anything of value they could've taken. When they tried taking your wedding ring, you fought back harder - struggling in their putrid arms, sobbing, trying to stave them off. "ELROND!" You begged, gagging when the hand around your throat constricted to close your airway.

"Just cut the bloody thing off!"

You whimpered when you were overpowered, hand flattened to the rock forcefully; fingers spread, the Orcs snarling as a dagger was brandished and stabbed directly into the boulder through your pointer finger.

"Y/N!" Vorohil was heard struggling, your cries muffled from the lack of air and tight hand. The gem-glittering belt you wore was yanked from your waist just as the Orc holding you hostage was ripped away, making the other react by stabbing your lung with his dagger between your ribs.

After Elrond killed the first Orc, he instantly engaged the second; only Vorohil catching sight of you freezing before slowly collapsing against the boulder and sliding down it. He noted the smear of blood you left on the rock before the blade protruding from your ribcage.

You were in shock. The pain was insurmountable, yet you felt nothing at the same time. Numb. Confused. Overwhelmed. Paralyzed.

The fighting lasted several long minutes after that, your dress now properly saturated as you knew enough survival skills to not pull the blade free of an injury; it acted as a plug to keep the blood from pouring OUT of your body. You were left on the ground, slumped, weakly holding your wound and feeling unable to react when an Orc leered closer to you.

Elrond's blade emerged from the Orc's chest and was yanked free, the body dropping to reveal your husband; bloodied, panting, caught off guard, but obviously fairing well enough. He was in the heat of the moment, battle turning his blood hot, eyes catching something glittering in the mud and only thinking how out of place it looked. When he blinked, Elrond realized it was your wedding ring - complete with your severed finger still in it.

Elrond snatched the digit from the mud, eyes raking over you, needing to do a double look when he realized the extent of your injuries. Your finger was lost but your ring was secured in your husband's belt.

"No," he whimpered, rushing forward and dropping his sword to take hold of your cheek; blood gently leaking from your nose at a slow but steady pace. "No, no, no, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, stay with me, stay awake for me," he begged, sniffling emotion as his other hand laid over yours around the dagger's handle, "just let me see, let me see the damage, my love, c'mon, I've got you. I need to see to help."

You were too weak to fight him anyways, letting his muddy hand pry yours away to reveal the weeping wound. His eyes widened, nodding as he assessed the situation; wanting to get you out of here, but the Orcs weren't yet vanquished.

In fact, Elrond was tackled off you by another Orc, crying out when the momentum yanked the dagger free. Ironic timing, perhaps, because an injured Orc was clawing at your legs; biting at your flesh; making you grit your teeth, pick up the dagger, and drive it into the Orc's eye. You were relieved when the creature stopped moving; adrenaline instantly draining and making you slump back once more.

You didn't notice when the Orcs were fully killed off until Elrond was propping you up again, sprayed in blood and mud, tears in his warm brown eyes. "No, my starlight, no, you have to stay awake, you must," he reminded, getting one arm around you, the other first laying to your openly bleeding wound, then shoving the dead Orc off your legs. Elrond cursed in Sindarin when he noted the bite marks, how dirty nails left deep streaks after clawing up your body. "Please, stay awake," he hissed, cradling you into his chest before calling out, "Vorohil!"

"My Lord!"

"We need to get her to a healer - where? Where?" He begged, sniffling as you were shifted into his arms and lifted; few surviving horses being wrangled in.

"I don't - I don't know - "

"You are the cartographer!" Elrond snapped, "Tell me where to take her, where are we closest - !?"

"My Lord," Vorohil sighed, "t-the closest civilization to these parts is-is Khazad-dûm - "

"Hurry!" He barked, situating you sideways on his horse before swiftly mounting; settling you into his chest with a secure hold. The others were left in the dirt as Elrond spurred his steed onward, knowing the way to the Great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm.

Upon arriving at the gates, he was a frenzied mess. Elrond doesn't even remember the procession of events; he just knows his men showed up at his flank, he was holding your limp body, begging for aid, and someway, somehow, was then lead into the Kingdom's healing quarters.

"Elrond?" A voice questioned softly, a few nurses and healers checking over the remaining company as you were laid on a surgical table. "Is tha'... You?"

He looked over, eyes void, dead, still splattered in the blood and grime of his enemies. "Durin," Elrond whispered.

"What happened?" The Dwarf Prince asked carefully, taking a slow step forward.

"We... We were..." Elrond looked back at you, hating how many healers surrounded you, "We were attacked - just less than a league from here."

"I see. Who... Who attacked you?"

"A pack of Orcs," he whispered, stumbling back into a wall as his breathing turned ragged, "while we were on the road."

"She's not breathing!" It was announced, Elrond sliding to the floor as horror struck his face. Panic seized his heart, short circuited his brain.

"Elrond?" Durin worried, Disa rushing into the room after him. "Hey? Can yah hear me?" The ginger asked, hand to Elrond's shoulder. "Elrond? Elrond, can yah - "

"I need help! Hold here! She's bleeding!"

"I can't see the wound - cut the corset!"

" - the finger's been lost - "

"She's got bruising on her neck, help me save her windpipe!"

Elrond's breathing became erratic, knees pulling into his chest as his men stood firm in support. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, Durin asking his name again, then, "Who is she?"

"M-My wife - she's my wife, Durin, she's my wife - "

"Okay, okay, okay," Durin comforted, kneeling to the ground at Elrond's side; keeping themselves separate as Disa neared them slowly. Durin shot her a look, silently saying 'close enough', and she stopped - heart aching for the devastation on the Elf's face.

"What's this? An Elf!?" Another Dwarf was heard barking.

"We do not deny aid!" A different Healer Dwarf barked, quickly shedding your dress and revealing your wounds to the room; making a few avert their eyes and hiss as ebony poison had taken to the veins around the wound.

"Do what needs done!" Durin barked, "To save her life! Use any means necessary!"

"You heard your Prince!"

"C'mon," Disa encouraged the Elves, "we should let the Healers work, we do not want to get in their way."

"Is there... Somewhere we can wait, nearby?" Vorohil asked nervously, glancing at you, who was being fussed over as blood splattered onto the ground; wound raging, blood covering your side as they seemed to aggravate the wound in order to clean it of the infection. "What if they need us?" Vorohil whispered.

"We have somewhere close-by for yah's," Disa assured. "Durin?" She asked, "Perhaps Elrond would like t'wait with us?"

"We'll be along," he agreed, knowing Elrond was like a rock in that moment. Disa lead the others away, leaving Durin to sigh and take a seat beside Elrond; just watching the Healers at work. "So, uh, how long yeh been married?"

"We... We sent you, um, a, uh..."

"Oh, right, yeah, yeah, of course. So... Only a couple months, then?"

"Seems like no time at all."

Durin chuckled, "Nah, two months in? You's two are still in that blissful state."

"And when it ends?"

"Oh, yeh'll see, married life becomes all yah know." Durin sighed, hating himself but needing to ask, "What happened to her, Elrond?"

The Elf shook his head, the tears never ending; suffocating him. "The horses," he managed to choke out.

"What of 'em?"

Elrond gulped. "They picked up on it first - that's what I noticed. They didn't want to go down the path, then this sort of darkness came... It was quick... It happened so quick, Durin, I did not - I did not see nor hear them. We were unprepared."

"What else?" Durin was unusually soft.

Elrond shook his head, "I got her on her horse, something didn't feel right. I thought - I just thought to get her out of there, get to safety - you know?"

"Just in case?"

"Yes. But the darkness - it brought them, let them move in the daylight. They tackled her from her horse - I tried to get to her. I swear, Durin, I tried, but it was all so fast - I didn't even see her get hurt. I just found her like that, holding on. What kind of husband can't even defend his own wife? By the end... She was... She wasn't..."

Elrond melted into sobs, folding in on himself, Durin's frown deep and concerning. Despite his own feelings of malcontent towards his old friend, he reached out and let his arm wrap around Elrond's neck. This allowed the Elf to lean into the Dwarf's neck and absolutely lose his shit. Not like anyone heard him, though; the Healers all yelling over one another as they rushed around in an effort to pull the blackened poison from your body.

You don't remember much. Just pain.

Then you remember voices. They were all around you, yet hazy; like you were underwater.

You remember smells - like alcohol and disinfectant.

You remember warmth in your hand; a weight, a constant presence that you squeezed when you felt ready to open your eyes. The twilight had passed, you were awake, a soothing voice cooing and encouraging you back into reality. It was just hard to pull yourself out of the tarpit your mind was seemingly lost in.

Upon regaining consciousness, you were greeted by Elrond's tearful expression of relief. "My love," he spoke clearly, "can you hear me?" You nodded, trying to open your mouth, but he rushed, "No, no, do not - don't do that, don't try to talk. Save your strength, please. You're okay." You nodded again, watching his watery smile warble before dissolving into sobs. "I thought you wouldn't make it," he admitted through his emotional breakdown, hovering close to you if only to feel your warmth and be assured that blood still pumped freely through your body.

"I had reason to come back," you whispered, earning a stony look of reprimand before he sighed and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

"Here, I have something for you," Elrond sniffled, reaching for his belt, "and I cannot keep it any longer." Your brows furrowed when your husband retrieved a bright gem, quickly realizing it was your wedding ring. Elrond saw your confusion, lifting your hand to place the ring on your pointer finger - making you lift the other, finding it bandaged with only four fingers. Your head snapped towards Elrond, but he begged, "Please, just rest, my star, you've been through enough - "

"What happened?" You demanded in a gravely voice.

"Do not - "

"Tell me."

Elrond sighed and situated himself at your side, careful not to jostle your form. "Well, first... We are in the Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm." He descended into the tale of how you lost your ring and obtained further injury, then rushed to get help, being reunited with Prince Durin, and ending on how you've been asleep for 'too long'.

You croaked, "I'd like to thank our hosts..."

"That can wait until you've rested longer. You've been unconscious for days."

"Then I've rested enough."

"I almost lost you," Elrond growled, "you will not move, not until you are cleared to do so. And I have the best authority to ensure you follow the rules."

You chuckled, "Oh?"

Elrond went to answer, but frowned in a panic when you started coughing from the dry prickle in your mouth and throat; quickly fetching the cup of water from the side stand. "Easy, my star, here, carefully, carefully," he whispered, holding the back of your neck, helping you sit up only slightly as to not irritate your abdomen, and tip the cup to your mouth to fill it with cold, fresh water.

"How's our patient doin' today, Elrond?" A voice asked cheerfully, "I'm tellin' yah, I can feel it, she'll be awake in no time, real soon, and then you'll actually sleep - "

"You have not slept!?" You asked sharply, looking to Elrond and noting the contradiction to his flesh; how pale he appeared with dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sunken.

Yes, Elves didn't need sleep like humans or Dwarves, but still, they needed some - and it was evident Elrond had none.

The Dwarf gasped and whirled around to spy you awake and conscious on the stony bed they had layered with fluff, furs, and blankets for your comfort. She dropped the tray of nutrients to another table, looking like she wanted to rush you. "You're awake!" She squealed.

"Disa - "

"DURIN!" She bellowed, hiking up her skirts and rushing from the room, "SHE'S AWKAE! DURIN! DUUURIN!"

You couldn't help the laughter that burst forth, wincing when your side seared in pain - making you choke on air. Elrond muttered to himself in Sindarin, finding a wet cloth and approaching your injury, carefully lifting the thin sheet covering you and peeling the bandage off. You heard Elrond hiss between his teeth, you trying to glance at the mark - but your husband would not let you. "Just stay still, my love," he whispered, "this won't take long, but it might sting - "

You grunted and whimpered when Elrond began soaking your wound; the cold water feeling nice in the hot infection, but making you squirm from discomfort. "Elrond," you begged, hand slapping to his wrist, "please."

"I know, but it needs cleaned - it won't hurt forever, my love."

"Oi," the Dwarf, Disa, snapped as she reentered the room, "get away from there, Elrond, go, go, go, shoo, let me through."

"Disa - "

"No," She now scolded Elrond, pushing him to stand straight and take the cloth from him, "your only job is to be a husband, not Healer - that's my job. You stand over there, hold her hand, and - DURIN!" She suddenly shouted towards the door, where a ginger Dwarf revealed himself sheepishly.

"Oh," you breathed in interest, trying to sit up a little, "Prince Durin, what an honor - "

"Oh, no, no, you don't, lassie, you lay back - just lay back."

"Listen to Disa, starlight," Elrond worried, both their hands reaching out to try to gently encourage you back down.

"It's customary to greet royalty on your feet - "

"Not in yer state, dearie," Disa comforted softly, patting your shoulder; Elrond gently caressing the top of your head. "Just rest - Durin will come to you," She shot her husband a look, who slowly entered the room.

"I just - I want to thank you, Prince Durin," you stuttered, wincing as Disa started tending to your wound again. "For saving me - or saving us, so I hear."

"Ah," Durin cleared his throat, nodding with pursed lips, "'twas nothing, uh, my Lady, we just... Couldn't say no to the state of things."

"Still. Thank you," you breathed. "And for your friendship to Elrond, it's been - "

"Starlight," Elrond quietly discouraged you with a small head shake, looking just as uncomfortable as the ruddy-faced Dwarf.

"What? What's wrong?" You asked, but neither man could meet your eyes. So, you looked to Disa, "What did I say?"

"Oh, you said nothin', dearie; 's just two stubborn mules refusin' to speak of the boulder in the room," she tisked with a small smirk.

"Do you think this boulder has to do with your absence from our wedding? I must admit, I allowed myself to feel excited, thinking we'd finally meet; and was entirely saddened by your lack of attendance."

"I know, sweetling, me too," she assured with a sigh, "but their boulder is truly suffocatin' - prevents them from speakin'."

"Oh-hhhh," you hitched the word to exaggerate, both your husbands stunned into silence by the quickly casual conversation, "so, like most men?"

"Mhm," she hummed sassily. "Friends for decades, Durin even considers Elrond a brother - "

" - So does Elrond - "

" - And yet, the fools cannot bear t'speak few words t'mend the bond! Oh, it's absolutely pigheaded!"

"What exactly needs mending?" You pondered softly. "I thought..." You looked over to see Elrond's head bowed, both hands resting in your single one; looking ashamed. "Elrond?" You asked, squeezing his hand.

"It's nothin' of note anymore, my Lady," Durin stepped in, making your suspicion grow, "just... A little, uh..."

"Distance," Elrond supplied finally, lifting his head and nodding, "our tension stems from a matter of distance."

"Hm," you noted, turning to Disa - who was already offering you a tired, pointed look. "What do you know of this boulder?"

"Oh, aye, it's distance," she nodded, frowning, "some... 20 years of it? Or just about."

"Has it been only 20?" Elrond questioned softly, looking earnestly to his friend; who stiffly looked away, but you saw the cracks in the ginger's foundation.

"'Only'?" You repeated, Disa sending her husband a look. "Prince Durin, my Princess, you must forgive my husband - he can forget how... Long life is. 20 years is a mere blink to an Elf, but to the other races, Elrond, it's a lifetime."

"I did not mean to offend," Elrond told you.

"I know, love, but you speak to the wrong person - I am not the one who deserves to hear your apologies," you said, pointing at Durin with your wedding ring firmly in place.

Elrond agreed and turned to his friend, admitting, "I'm sorry for the offense I've caused. I did not realize so much time had passed." Durin scoffed, Disa growling his name. "Is there more I've done? I do not understand, I have missed my friend - "

"Missed!? Yah missed my weddin'!" Durin snarled in a shout, your head resting on the pillow under your head and deflating in pain as Disa worked to fix one of the stitches.

"You missed ours - "

"And the birth of my children! Two of 'em!" Durin tacked on. "You cannot barge into my mountain and demand I welcome you with open arms! You cannot claim that which you discarded! I did yah this favor because of the obvious threat to life, and I comforted you in the wake of yer wife's injury! I ignored my own woes and bygones because that was the decent thing t'do! I mean," he chuckled without humor, "even when yeh wrong me and refuse to even take ownership - accountability - for yer wrongdoings, I still comfort yah!"

"'Discarded'? 'Refuse to take'..." Elrond repeated, "Durin, I - "

"It's as yer wife said!" Durin growled, "20 years might be the blink of an eye to an Elf... But I've lived an entire life in that time!" Emotion caked Durin's tone. "A life you missed! So, yeah, yeh know what? We missed yer weddin', yeah... But you've missed the past 20 years..." There came an awkward sort of silence, the group stewing in their tension. The Dwarven Prince scoffed a couple times as Elrond processed his words, asking with attitude, "So what do yah have t'say to that... 'Friend'?"

You smirked gently as Elrond did not respond, instead slowly approaching his friend as if a skittish, injured deer. Slowly, in a fluid movement, Elrond laid his hand to Durin's shoulder, squeezing as he spoke with sincerity, "Congratulations." Disa laid her hand in your bandaged one, both smiling as she paused her cleaning session to watch and listen. "On your wife, your children," Elrond elaborated. He slowly retracted his hand, "And thank you for your help, the aid that saved my wife's life. Thank you for comforting me, too; I hope you can come to forgive me."

You cleared your throat, the two turning to find their wives watching them smugly. "I think you might owe someone else an apology, my love," you whispered.

"Disa - "

"Don't even," she beamed, "yer already forgiven."

"Ah, don't let him off easy," Durin grumbled.

"His wife almost died in front of him, I think that's reparation enough."

Durin paused for a long moment, then nodded, "Yeah, all right, fair enough."

"Now," Disa announced, standing, "I think the Lady's wound is as good as it'll get for now - it's up to you for the rest of the healing," she patted your shoulder.

"On the morrow, we shall - "

"Oh, no, you mistake me," Disa smirked to Elrond, "there's no leavin' yet. She's not ready - she can't sit on a horse, one awkward bump on the road and she'll pop a stitch, start bleeding, risk worse infection - "

"How long?" Elrond worried, magnetized to your side again with one hand in yours, the other caressing the top of your head to stroke your hair in calming motions.

"Just a few days, until the stitches come out," Disa assured. "Yeh'll stay with us!"

"No, they will not," Durin argued.

"They're staying."

"They're leaving."

"They're staying!" Disa scolded her husband, who huffed and shook his head before pacing in a circle. "Now, yeh wanna try t'move around a bit, love?"

"Please," you begged, "losing my mind just sittin' here."

"All right, just be careful - your legs took a beatin', too. Them buggers got you good with their teeth - easy, easy, there's a good girl." Once on your feet and both hands in Disa's, she distracted you from the pain by asking, "So, go on, lass, tell us 'bout yer weddin', hmm?"

You chuckled, stumbling a little into her arms before rightening yourself while answering, "Oh, it was lovely. 'M pretty sure my best friend hooked up with the High King, too."

"No!"

"I know! I knew the King wanted the party of the century, but there's other ways to achieve such status."

Durin snickered, thinking Elrond looked like he was going to have a stroke as Disa helped guide you around the room to earn your bearings. Behind you, Durin's hand held Elrond's shoulder to keep him in place; letting Disa assist you as the two men appreciated the obvious relationship blooming before them.

And years from now, when your daughter rescued the Ring Bearing Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, your husband would heal him; a direct result after nearly losing your life that caused him to study the art.

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[bluerosefox]

Hmm

Another deaged or reborn Danny idea

But also Danny is Jason plotline. I've seen a few Danny is/reborn Dick, Tim, and a few rare Damian ones but I feel like we don't see a lot of Danny as Jason.

After being deaged by Vlad in another failed attempt to make Danny his son, he decided to try raising a deaged Danny instead because the boy would have no memories of his past, however during the struggle between Vlad and Team Phantom, Danny is sent into Vlad's lab portal and into the Zone, only for another random portal to open up and drop him into the DCverse and into a Gotham alleyway.

He is found by Shelia Haywood and well, we all know the life of Jason Todd after that.

Or he dies due to like the GIW, or bad Vlad, or bad Fenton Parents (Not picky on which) and is later reborn due to the damage done to his core.

It isn't until he dies and returns that Jason Danny feels like its something familiar, something is itching in the back of mind as he mindlessly wonders around Gotham after digging himself out of his grave.

And it only becomes more and more familiar when he is later found by the LOA/Talia and tossed into the Pits. Even the rage he gains feels familiar.

Later he becomes Red Hood, and that timeline happens.

Jason Danny doesn't find out the actual truth until one day the sky is ripped open by a glowing Lazarus green portal and a large armor covered being steps out, declaring he is there to fight for his crown/throne against the one that bested him last time and to bring forth Phantom for their battle.

And he had less than a few hours to come forward or else he will rip this world apart. (Pariah Dark may be a Tyrant King but he wanted his throne/crown back along with revenge against the one that stole it in the first place legitimately so it couldn't be denied)

A huge JL and JLD meeting is held and no one can find this 'Phantom'

So someone in JLD has a suggestion to summon someone from the Infinite Realms who might be able to help them locate Phantom (or maybe summon Phantom himself since he's technically the Ghost King.)

If we go with summoning someone other than Phantom, they manage to summon Jazz (whose acting as Queen Regent at the moment since Danny went missing)

And the moment he see's Jazz, Jason Danny feels his head and soul start to hurt. And memories he's sometimes see's in his dreams start bubbling into the surface.

[gingersnap-17]

Unexpected (Sukuna x Female Reader)

Hello everyone! Okay, I know that Sukuna literally reigned terror over practically everyone when he was a human in his human form. BUT, I feel like he is just a softie towards his lover and child. So that is pretty much what I wrote today! I also tried to find the artist to give them credit for the cover art, but I couldn't' find anything. Full credit goes to the artist of course! I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: After being Sukuna's preffered concubine for almost a year now, Y/N starts to notice some changes going on with her body. She knew what this meant, and knew she had to tell Sukuna about what is going on.

Word Count: 2052

In the dark and twisted world where sorcerers and curses roamed, Y/N found herself in a peculiar and perilous situation. She was a concubine, living a life of luxury within the grand, ominous palace of Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses. Sukuna was feared and loathed by all who knew of him. With his two faces, four arms, and a mouth on his stomach, he was a symbol of terror on Earth, known for his merciless cruelty.

Yet, Y/N was different. She was his favorite, though no one could ever understand why. Sukuna would often call her to his chamber, spending hours in her company. It was as if a glimmer of humanity remained buried beneath the layers of his demonic exterior. Y/N knew better than to resist her role as his favored concubine, for disobedience often meant death. But as the weeks passed, Y/N felt a strange and sudden unease.

The first sign of change came when she realized her body was not quite as predictable as it had been. The morning sickness, the fatigue, and the subtle changes to her body all pointed to one conclusion – she was with child, and the father was none other than Sukuna himself.

As she ventured into his chambers one evening, her heart pounded with anxiety. He sat on a lavish throne, crowned in arrogance. His red eyes met hers, and he noticed the worry etched across her face.

"What troubles you, my dear?" Sukuna inquired, his voice as cool and dangerous as ever.

"I... I have news, Lord Sukuna," Y/N stuttered, attempting to maintain her composure. "I am with child." Sukuna's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his monstrous features. The room seemed to grow colder as an eerie silence settled over them. Y/N couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine.

For a moment, she feared the worst, that his anger would flare up like an inferno, that he would blame her for this unexpected turn of events. But then, something unexpected happened. His lips, both the one on his face and the other on his stomach, twisted into an unsettling smile.

"You're carrying my child?" Sukuna's voice held an inexplicable mix of amusement and curiosity.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, my Lord. It is your child, a gift from our time together."

Sukuna's laughter echoed through the chamber, a haunting sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, well," he mused, "this is most intriguing. It seems fate has woven a different path for us, my dear concubine."

She couldn't fathom his reaction. What did he mean by "a different path"? Did he intend to harm her or the child? The rumors about his cruelty raced through her mind, but his next words caught her off guard.

"From this day forward," Sukuna declared, "you shall no longer be just my favored concubine. You shall be the mother of my heir, and my wife. I will get rid of the other concubines as soon as I can."

Y/N was stunned, her mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what Sukuna had just said. Becoming his wife and the mother of his heir was a fate she could never have imagined. She had heard of the power and ruthlessness of the Cursed King, but this turn of events was beyond her wildest dreams, or nightmares.

"Lord Sukuna, I... I am honored by your decree." Y/N managed to say, her voice quivering. Her thoughts raced, and she couldn't help but wonder what had brought about this dramatic change in the notorious sorcerer.

Sukuna's demeanor shifted as he looked at her, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "You are different from the others, Y/N. You possess a unique strength that intrigues me. You've not only survived but managed to capture my heart in your own way. I am curious to see how this new chapter in our lives unfolds."

As Y/N tried to wrap her mind around the astonishing twist of fate, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. Fear still lingered in her heart, for Sukuna's reputation was not one that could be easily forgotten. His sudden declaration to make her his wife and the mother of his heir was both a blessing and a curse. She knew she had gained a measure of protection, but she also recognized that her life had become infinitely more complicated.

Over the following months, as her pregnancy progressed, Y/N's relationship with Sukuna underwent a gradual transformation. He showed a surprising tenderness and protectiveness toward her, which left her both relieved and confused. The other concubines, who had once been her rivals, were swiftly removed from the palace, their fates unknown. Sukuna's sole focus was on Y/N and their unborn child.

Not only did she recognize his change, but she noticed a change in herself towards him. She had fallen for the strange man. Obviously before she became pregnant she had some sort of feelings for him, but this was different. She felt that this could have been love. Was it even possible to love the king of curses?

_

_

_

As the months passed and her belly grew round with the child of Sukuna, Y/N's feelings for the Cursed King deepened. She found herself captivated not only by his power and enigmatic nature but by the glimpses of vulnerability he occasionally revealed. Despite his terrifying reputation, she saw in him a complex soul, and she couldn't help but empathize with his struggle to balance his monstrous identity with the spark of humanity that still flickered within him.

Their relationship became more than a mere arrangement of convenience. They spent hours talking, sharing their hopes and fears, and gradually, the walls that had separated them began to crumble. Y/N saw moments of gentleness in Sukuna, moments when he would softly caress her growing belly, whispering endearing words to their unborn child. She realized that, like anyone else, he longed for connection and love, something that had been denied to him for so long due to his horrifying appearance and terrifying powers.

Y/N's once-terrifying life as a concubine had turned into something unexpected and complicated. She was no longer just a plaything of the Cursed King; she had become his confidant, his companion, and now, the mother of his child. As she considered the strange turn of events, she wondered if her love for him was mutual. Did Sukuna truly care for her beyond their unborn child, or was this newfound affection merely a consequence of her pregnancy?

One fateful night, as they sat together in his chamber, Y/N decided to broach the subject that had been weighing heavily on her mind. She watched him, her heart racing, as she gathered the courage to speak. "Sukuna, I can't help but wonder about your feelings for me. This change in our relationship, it's... unexpected. Do you love me, or is this solely because of our child?"

Sukuna, the Cursed King, regarded her with his distinctive dual gaze. His red eyes bore into hers as if searching for something deep within her soul. The room was bathed in an eerie silence, broken only by the distant howling of the wind outside.

Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that she had never heard from him before. "Y/N, what we have is complicated. I am not like other men, and you know that. But since the moment you told me you were carrying my child, something has awakened within me. I can't deny that I feel a connection, a bond, that goes beyond mere duty or convenience."

Y/N's heart leaped at his words, her eyes glistening with a mix of hope and uncertainty. She had never expected to hear such vulnerability from the feared sorcerer.

Sukuna continued, his voice softening even further. "I may not fully understand what love means, for it is a concept foreign to my nature. But I do know that I care for you deeply, Y/N, and I want to protect both you and our child. That much, I am certain of."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she heard his heartfelt confession. In that moment, she realized that the man known as the Cursed King, feared by all, had a heart that could feel, even if he struggled to comprehend it fully. She leaned in, her hand gently reaching for his, and their fingers intertwined.

"Thank you, Sukuna." she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "I care for you too, and I want to be with you, not just as the mother of your child but as your partner, your confidant, and your love."

Sukuna's dual-faced smile returned, a rare and genuine one. He brought her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on it. "Then, my dear Y/N, let us navigate this strange and perilous world together, as partners, as parents, and perhaps one day, as lovers. If that is what we become at some point." Those words gave Y/N hope for the future with him.

_

_

_

As the last few months of Y/N's pregnancy approached, the bond between Y/N and Sukuna only deepened. Their love was a complex, extraordinary force that defied the dark and twisted world they inhabited. Their child was a symbol of hope, a testament to the possibility of light even in the darkest of places.

On a stormy night, Y/N went into labor, and the estate was in chaos. Sukuna, who had never witnessed such an event, stood by her side, both anxious and determined. The sound of her painful cries filled the room, which worried Sukuna as her labor progressed. He was used to the sight of death, but the sight of life happening before his eyes, made him awestruck at the beauty of labor. 

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N sighed in relief as the cries of a newborn filled the air, echoing through the chamber. Y/N held their child, a tiny being that was so fragile and new in the world.

She looked up at Sukuna who had stayed almost silent during the whole thing, hoping he would say something.

Sukuna, the Cursed King, gazed down at the child in Y/N's arms with a mixture of awe and tenderness. His four eyes, were fixed on the newborn, and for a moment, it seemed as though the world had disappeared, leaving only the small family in that chamber.

For all his terrifying power and monstrous appearance, Sukuna was utterly captivated by the sight of his child. He carefully reached out to hold the child, and Y/N gently handed their son to him. The baby grasped one of his father's finger with a tiny, delicate hand, and the Cursed King's lips curled into a rare and gentle smile.

"He has my extra pair of arms." Sukuna said, releasing a soft chuckle, his voice filled with wonder. “He does seem to have my hair, but he does have your face.”

Y/N watched the father and son with tears of joy in her eyes. It was a moment of profound beauty in the midst of their dark and twisted world. She had never imagined that she would be sharing such an intimate and heartwarming moment with Sukuna, the most feared sorcerer of their time.

As the hours passed, Sukuna and Y/N took turns cradling and caring for their newborn. Their love for each other and their child grew stronger with each passing moment. They named their son Kaito, signifying a new beginning, a departure from the cursed legacy of the past.

As the two raised their child overtime, Sukuna was technically a changed man… for them at least. He still killed and reigned terror as he pleased, but the second he would return home to his wife and son, he showed his deep care and genuine love (as much as he hates to admit it) to them. Sukuna might be the king of curses, but he has a special place in his heart saved for who he calls his family.

[inbarfink]

I have… so many little thoughts about Simon’s shift in the climax of ‘Prismo the Wishmaster’. He’s so ready to give up, to resign to Death By Interdimensional Beetle Cop. And the thing that pulls him out of it, gets him to see a purpose in his life again, is seeing Fionna cry.

And this moment is so important for Fionna and Cake because this is their first moment to really process the Implications and Consequences of their magical adventure. You know, it’s not just a dream you can wake up from - this is actually a matter of life and death and the fate of their entire world.

And it’s actually, also kinda the same from Simon’s perspective? Even if he was already told they are real and have been real all along a while ago - I think seeing Fionna break out in tears is really the moment where he processed her not as a manifestation of Ice King’s madness, not as yet another way the universe is kicking him when he’s down, not as a cruel joke at his expense. But really actually as people, who need his help.

And, I think about this, also in context with this moment?

Simon Petrikov is… a dad at heart. Simon’s first focus episode in F&C starts with a prologue of him and Marceline surviving in the wasteland. Showing that despite being under much more miserable circumstances

he still seemed to hold himself together far better than present-day Simon. 

Because the need to protect Marcy and keep her happy was giving him purpose and a motivation to hold himself together. 

And this desire to help and nurture and protect is clearly still deep within him. It’s just that now he feels incapable for doing so. In both body-

And spirit -

But now, suddenly, he is once again the Only Person Who Can Help this younger person in distress.

And I think that is a huge part of his motivation to keep on going right now. I mean, just look at how quickly he goes from dismissing Fionna and Cake - into basically declaring that he has to protect them. And fully willing to sacrifice his own identity and sanity to bring magic back to their world because he knows it’ll make Fionna and Cake happy. Because the moment he saw Fionna tear up, he basically decided to Adopt her.

And that’s, you know, technically a step forward - but it is a very very imperfect step. 

Like, at the very least he’s not drinking his sorrows away while waiting for death out of pure despair and spite. At least he has a sense of purpose and a reason to open up for others again and bond. And we’ve seen how much this has been a great coping mechanism for pulling himself together through difficult times.

My guess is that after two episodes of only seeing Simon Petrikov at his lowest and very worst - Fionna and Cake are finally going to get an understanding of Simon’s actual positive qualities as his dad-instincts are going to bring them up to the surface again. 

Buuuuuuuut….

You know, tying your sense of self-worth and motivation entirely to how well you can Dad is not particularly healthy in the long run either. And it’s going to cause problems both for Simon and for F&C.

Looking at it from what's best of Simon, for the sake of protecting Fionna and Cake and making them happy by bringing magic and wonder back into their world - Simon is willing to throw himself right into the suffering and trauma that he’s been fearing all this time and has been trying so hard to get away from. I mean, it’s also about how Simon has started to miss being Ice King in a weird twisted way and how he resigned himself to being miserable in general. It’s also about that, but the part that he actually says out loud is that he’s doing this to protect Fionna and Cake.

So that’s, you know, still very Not Good. Simon can’t hang his entire ability to properly function on there being Younger People who need his protection. He can't actually move forwards by trying to relive the Better Times of the Horrible Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland. That's not a sustainable coping mechanism. And it’s an incredibly unhealthy amount of self-sacrifice. 

And on Fionna’s side… she never said she wanted Simon to protect her.

She might want a useful teammate or a helping hand, she might need a friend. But I don’t think she needs a Dad. Simon is surely old enough to be her father (even just counting his age biologically and not the fact he’s 1058 years old) but Fionna’s not a Literal Child like Marcy was. Fionna Campbell is a grown-ass woman in her early 30’s (Finn is 29 years old right now and there was always kinda the implication that Fionna was a bit older than him). 

(And, heck, if she IS the daughter of a gender-flipped Minerva Campbell, she is probably not in the market for a new overprotective dad. She’s fully booked out on that.)

AND while Fionna does not possess full memories of her magical-adventuring-self, she clearly retains some of her fighting and athletic abilities.

Meanwhile Cake is clearly an adult in cat years and is just as much of an insanely powerful shapeshifter as Jake was.

So where does this middle-aged scrawny nerd get off, acting like it’s his job to sacrifice his mind in order to protect them?

And Fionna very much wants to be the hero, she wants to be at the center of the action. It is no coincidence that her own idealized version of Ice King/Simon is a Tuxedo Mask.

Someone who can give her a helping hand and words of encouragement when things get rough - 

But still lets her be the main hero of the story.

And you know, right now Fionna and Cake have not fully processed the implications of Simon choosing to become Ice King… but once they see a bit of who Simon really is at his better moments. Yeah, they’re probably gonna have some objections to the idea that he should throw his entire identity away just for their own sake. 

Back when Simon allowed the Crown to slowly consume him so he could protect Marcy, it felt like a noble sacrifice. It really seemed like he had no other options. But now he has the entire multiverse on his disposal and two serious badasses on his side. Simon has to learn to see the difference between a codependent senseless self-sacrifice and something that will actually help Fionna and Cake.

So if Simon is really going to lean too hard on his Dad aspect, it’s actually going to cause some really big problems down the line. For his own mental well-being, and for Fionna and Cake. It is in a way, a step in the right direction. And I think it’s going to lead to our main trio finally becoming closer and understanding each other - but unless Simon learns to temper himself, it’s going to cause some serious interpersonal conflicts.

At least this is my thoughts about these interactions right now. I know they’ve been really short but I think they’re really full of Meaning and Emotions. But really, we’ll just have to wait and see.

[kingdomaddiction]

Cumplane friendship, maybe a more idk hear me out—

Shen Yuan knows Mobei-Jun hits Shang Qinghua. He has seen the bruises. He also knows this is supposed to be a normal behavior amongst demon kind.

Call him stupid but for a long time he thought Airplane had no issues with it. I mean, they are cultivators, right? They can heal fast. It’s nothing. Also, Airplane told him it was fine. Mobei-jun and him went way back. It was the way things were.

Mobei-jun was a King. Qinghua was his servant.

Simple as that.

None of the other cultivators seem to worry either, so why should he? Everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Until today.

It began as a simple meeting. The demon lords were discussing the recent changes in politics as Binghe and Mobei listened to their complaints. Then Airplane intervened, made a few comments and next thing Shen Qingqiu knows his friend is lying on the floor shaking.

None of the demons bat an eye, not even his darling husband. Why should they? Shang Qinghua is nothing more than a servant.

But Shen Yuan…

He’s heard about it, has seen the bruises already but it still shocks him to the core. Witnessing in person the abuse… Shang Qinghua didn’t even try to stop it. He just closed his eyes and let Mobei struck him.

Qinghua lays on the floor. Shaking, rapid breathing. He looks so scared and heartbroken. But mostly humiliated. The way he lowers his head as if trying to seem smaller and puts his arms around himself trying to protect his body as if expecting another vicious blow it’s too much for him.

Shen Yuan hates it.

Without thinking he takes his fan about and sends a strong and quick wave of power that knocks Mobei. The King taken by surprise is unable to stop the attack and hits the wall.

“Airplane!” SQQ calls as he rans towards his friend. He kneels beside him and delicately touches his cheek.

Shang Qinghua looks at him with tears in his eyes and it only fuels his anger.

“Shizun!” His husband calls no doubt running after him like a puppy. Shen Qingqiu does not turn away from Qinghua.

“Shen Yuan? Why… why did you..?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“But my King…!”

“No longer will be your King.” He declares and his tone is so final that SQH can’t find the words to fight against it. There’s a unspoken understanding.

Mobei Jun finally gets up and approaches them with a snarl on his face. Before he could get closer Binghe steps in between and lets out a terrifying growl. Mobei stops, but looks directly at SQQ as he speaks.

“You dare—!”

“Yes, I fucking dare! You can’t hit this royal consort shidi and expect no consequences.”

“This king can do whatever he wants with his property!”

“Well, this royal consort has decided he does not belong to you anymore.”

“He’s my servant—“

“And you are my husband’s servant. Therefore you will obey me.“

.

That’s all I have but yeah the general outline is SQQ takes SQH with him and LBG is pretty confused? Jealous? But also aroused because his shizun looks so damn hot when he acts protective and strong around Shang-shishu, and maybe the other peak lord is not so bad ???!! On the other hand MBJ is losing his head. He wants, needs SQH back. In his eyes he was just treating him as any other demon. LBG then helps him understand the cultural differences. Now he wants to make amends but in order to get closer to SQH he needs to win SQQ approval first. And no, he won’t make it easy since he has being working hard to help SQH earn some fucking self respect and maybe falling a little in love with him.

Yeah this ended up being a poycule lol.

((Anyone can use this idea if they want just leave me the Ao3 link lol ))

[anghraine]

I know this has been noticed before, but Glorfindel delivering a prophecy about the Witch-king's destruction does not mean that Glorfindel is laying down the law about the Witch-king's vulnerability. Glorfindel in no way has that ability. He's struck by foresight about how the Witch-king will eventually fall and knows it won't be by the hand of "man." This doesn't mean any non-man/Man on the battlefield could have done it, or that Merry or Éowyn have some special "not a man" powers or abilities vs the Witch-king, but that Glorfindel prophetically knows the person/people who are going to end up doing it will not be men in any sense.

The ambiguity of Glorfindel's use of "man" here works really well for the English text, I'd say. In Tolkien's usage especially, "man" can mean "the species of humanity" or "adult male person," allowing for Glorfindel's prophecy to refer to Merry or Éowyn or both, but definitely not to Eärnur (an adult male and a human, however special).

BUT ALSO to be a pedantic nerd (when am I not?):

In-story the direct context of Glorfindel's prophecy is Glorfindel trying to convince Eärnur of Gondor not to pursue the Witch-king in Gondor's campaign against Angmar after the destruction of Arthedain. Glorfindel held him back at the time by telling him that he wasn't destined to defeat the Witch-king. But Glorfindel is a High Elf out of Valinor and Eärnur is a Númenórean prince of Gondor. Even by the end of the age, it's still very likely that a conversation between two such people would be in Sindarin or Quenya, and this interaction happens long before then.

This matters because, while the man/Man ambiguity works really well on a literary/meta level in English with what ends up happening, in the world of the story it wouldn't have been delivered in a language that actually contains that ambiguity (even Common may not, for all we know, but is unlikely to have been used here anyway). So, for instance, if Glorfindel was speaking to Eärnur in Quenya, he would have likely used either nér (adult male) or atan (human being), depending on which he actually meant.

From everything I've read of Tolkien's thoughts on the defeat of the Witch-king, I personally think it's likely that the prophecy would have referred to Éowyn rather than Merry, instrumental as he was.

But weirdly, this actually makes a lot of sense for the characters as well, IMO. Given how extremely unusual it appears to be for women of any species to be in direct combat in the regions where the Nazgûl are mainly active in the Third Age, it fits the Witch-king's overconfidence if he understood it to refer to gender and regarded himself as no more likely to be slain by a male Elf or dwarf or wizard than by Eärnur. And that would also fit with the uncertainty that strikes him when Éowyn declares that she's a woman.

So, in-story, I think the prophecy actually is about her and, more broadly, about gender.

[sunnycanvas]

Hello, can you make one of what Baldwin would be like as a husband, boyfriend or during married life and as a father?

As a lover:

Baldwin IV already has very low expectations when it comes to love. You might also call it non existent

In case he has a crush on some one Baldwin IV would be quite about it and perhaps give prolonged glances to his crush.

Unless he gets a push or you don't approach him. The king will likely won't approach you as well preferring to stay in solitude not wanting to bring you in his "curse"

In case he gets a push to talk to you or you talk to him. Baldwin IV would be happily chatting with you. Trying anything and everything to prolong the conversation as long as he can, he will try not be obvious about his intention

Baldwin IV would reluctantly let you go once your conversation is over and will go back to how it was, so mainly as his s/o you has to take initiative to talk to him

Once you start getting close Baldwin IV would be very fond of your company. Which certainly won't go unnoticed by others and they will try taking advantage of it.

Baldwin IV would try to make time for you out of his tight schedule. Although leprosy has taken away his sensation he will still adore holding your hand or try trancing his fingers on your skin.

Baldwin IV believes he is unfavoured by God so he will have conflicting emotions about being in relationship on which he will confide in his s/o . Once assured Baldwin IV would be very grateful to finally have some one. Who loves him for who he is, doesn't judge him or use him for power. The king surrounded by ambitious people can be lonely at times

Being thrifty Baldwin IV will give expensive gifts to his s/o but upto limitation. His s/o being demanding will quickly turn him off.

He will certainly gift jewelry, dresses etc but his gifts will mainly be personal. Handwritten love letter with passionate declaration of his love for you. Baldwin IV will certainly cherish his s/o handwritten leters treasuring your declaration of love and keeping it safely

Whenever he feels lonely and you don't happen to be there, Baldwin IV will read your letters gently stroking your handwriting. He will also carry small gifts from you. When he leaves for battle or has to travel outside where you can't accompany him

Baldwin IV is aware that people wish to overthrow him and take away his crown so an ambitious s/o trying to find position in court won't won't be helpful. He might get paranoid that his s/o is using him for power or have others get him paranoid about his s/o

However, that doesn't mean Baldwin IV dislikes intelligent women. In fact he loves them. Baldwin IV would love to depend on his s/o about the matters of Kingdom and be his closest adviser but try not be ambitious about power.

Baldwin IV believing that he was cursed by God might feel guilty in being in relationship and will start having thoughts that his s/s deserves better. So he might try to push himself away or slowly form distance with you

You will have to very patient in relationship and be his biggest emotional support. Despite his attempts Baldwin IV will end up failing miserably. He can't see you upset after all. He thinks he is being selfish asking for your company but he can't help it

Baldwin IV loves hugs and kisses. You will find yourself often cuddling him or have him in your arms as he sadly talks about his duties and how he wishes he could retire and run away with you.

You both will often talk about "intelligent conversation". Baldwin IV absolutely adores learning lots of new things from his s/o.

Baldwin IV would love a s/o who would be dependent on him especially when it comes to physical strength. He loves feeling powerful and dominant one in relationship

Husband:

Baldwin IV would be absolutely be expected to marry someone in west or in Byzantine for aid

In case court agrees for him to marry someone else and Baldwin IV would have given up altogether about marrying a noble lady then he will marry you

As his wife Baldwin IV will feel even more open about showing his vulnerabilities. He is a strong commander defending his army but he will be a soft husband who cuddle you at night describing his insecurities and burden of his kingdom

Amount of declaration of love you will be getting would be limitless. He will constantly remind you of it day and night. Even send you handwritten letters about it

Since, he is married to you. His trust for you will be greater. He no longer worries about some random women who might leave him. You are now married to him

Baldwin IV might ask you to accompany him to court meeting and even ask your decision regarding the matter. He might even ask you to join him in military campaign

However he mainly prefers you to stay and protect the kingdom while he is out for military. He will ask you to be regent for the kingdom while he defends it. You will have the maximum amount of time command the kingdom in his absence and even when he is back you will certainly have strong influence on the decision on who gets to stay and who gets what position

Baldwin IV knows people hate you because of how much power you hold as his consort and won't take kindly to anyone talking ill about you. One complain from you will be enough for him to find someone and find an excuse to demote that person. After all an insult to you will be insult to him and Baldwin IV doesn't take well to disrespect

Baldwin IV would now openly gift you from whatever he gets from spoils of war

Both of you will often have books you both share with both of your initials with it

Baldwin IV loves hearing stories be it historical, literature etc. After war when he comes back he will be delighted to find his s/o waiting for him outside. Baldwin IV will go on fondly talking about his military expenditure

He will like talking about historical events or have his s/o talk about historical events or anything else informative and interesting

Baldwin IV would love to fight in your name and honour. He will often carry your favour with him. Your favour be it handkerchief or small personal item gives it immense strength. He will fight for his god, kingdom and you

You will often take care of his health. Many times personally participating as well. Baldwin IV will look at you with absolute adoration as you apply medicine and help him get better believing that God is finally showing him favour by winning war for him and by giving you to him. You will often find Baldwin IV often giving you an intense state while you take care of his wounds

Father (contains slight NSFW):

Baldwin IV really wanted a family with you

His nephew being sickly. He knew he might not survive for long after his death

With your patience and encouragement also with his health drastically improving he will believe in plans of God and have sex with you

His favourite position will be missionary and doggy style

He either gives orgasm denial or overstimulation since he loves you begging him. He loves when his s/o is absolutely submissive in bed moaning and begging him

In fact he loves your moan . Purposely stimulating you to moan and scream his name despite your embarrassment

He will never hurt you of course and will often be gentle but with your permission and can go super rough. You will end up wondering if this is the same man

Once you are pregnant Baldwin IV will over the moon. He will try to come off reserve but will easily give himself away

As a father he will be strict and expect obedience from his children

With his son he will more strict about his education since he will heir to the kingdom. With his daughter, although she will be educated he won't be as strict with her as he won't have much expectation. After all her main job is to marry and secure alliance.

He will absolutely gush about his children in private and public. Any children from you will be absolutely loved by him. He will strive to provide best for the children.

He won't take well if his kids or their mother are being ridiculed for being related to leper. As as result he ends up feeling guilty about starting his family and will end up confiding his s/o about it. He might also try to purposely marginalize the nobleman who dared to upset his family. You might end up intervening, Baldwin IV values your opinion a lot. So he will stop

He absolutely trust you about you taking care about everything including education about his children so he often doesn't intervene unless his s/o asks for it. You mainly need to ask what you need regarding children and he will provide without a second thought. Perhaps one or two questions but that's it

Baldwin IV would often take the main part of scolding the kids especially if they disrespect you or him

Overall he will try to be strict parent

[laikabu]

re: my thoughts on laios’s sexuality (long post ahead lol)

let me start this post with this. first, this contains a lot of references to the new adventurer’s bible world guide book released last february. i can read japanese, but i’m sure they’re translated somewhere. general spoiler warning in case. also… i am ESL, so sorry for any grammar errors

second, if you’re on the team that insists laios doesn’t care about humans enough to form relationships, either read the manga again or at the very least read this thread.

last, please don’t chime in with your acearo headcanons on this post. there’s already a majority of posts here that insist laios is acearo and that anything else is impossible. i don’t like it the same way i don’t like when someone declares they hc marcille as bisexual to a poster who reads her as lesbian. i already have enough people here who declare he’s ace on my own art. at least people on twitter of all places don’t do this sort of thing to me. nothing in this manga is canon, you can headcanon anything i won’t get mad if you hc him as bi or something. just. don’t be weird on my post.

okay. trust me, i love women, and i love the idea of making my favs women lovers but the idea of laios being gay really appeals to me because of his background. this isn’t fueled by yaoi since i don’t even ship the only m/m relationship i bring up here, i just think it adds a nice layer to his disconnect with his own humanity

i do think laios has a very abstract relationship with his sexuality for a multitude of reasons. he grew up in a very conservative backwater village. he has a hard time recognizing his own feelings towards others just as much as vice versa. i don’t really care for the “laios is a monsterfucker” agenda people are pushing but i do think he’d engage in sexual thoughts in his own weird way, i won’t deny his deviantart fetish shit

as an autistic person myself, i relate to how he’d prioritize his special interest over social interactions. after all, he was fixated on monster food so he’s distracted from dark thoughts. he’s not an actual glutton

he’s shy around women, but i don’t think it’s out of attraction. i just think it’s because he’s awkward and doesn’t want to be seen as a threat. there’s a couple of times when, out of armor, he deliberately tries to make himself look smaller and nonthreatening.

he didn’t show any interest towards ashivia (the hubby hunter girl marcille replaced) and just humored her because she wouldn’t leave him alone. his other party members thought he was giving her special treatment so he had to tell her he “doesnt want to give her special treatment anymore”(even though he never did), so she left

ashivia did her best to butter herself up to laios and he didn’t care, but laios thought shuro was his bestest friend in the whole world because he was too much of a pushover to reject him. ironically… what ashivia did to him parallels what he was doing to shuro

also… yeah sorry i keep bringing up that one comic of laios saying if he were falin he’d marry shuro and then begging him to take him back to his country, or that comic of laios wondering why he doesn’t like him(and then the first two questions he asks the magic mirror was what if he or shuro were women). i don’t even ship them! but it’s not a reach to assume that he likes men because of this, even if it’s kinda played like a joke(after all,a lot of people like chilshi even though their ‘shippy’ interaction was played as a joke)

of course, given the setting, i don’t think knows he’s gay, he wouldn’t have the vocabulary to label himself. i do want to dance around with the idea of him forcibly confronting his own sexuality after years of yaad pressuring him to produce heirs lol. laios might not be cishet but he’s a king so he rdgaf about that right now. i’m open to him having female consorts for political reasons, but i don’t think he’s into women, is all.

before anyone brings up his succubus… god forbid an author makes hetbait. a part of the plot twist was that not-marcille wasn’t the only succubus enticing laios, his other party members were copied too. she was the only one who approached him. also… succubi aren’t always inherently romantic. once it realized marcille didn’t work, it switched to appeal to his desire to be a monster.

[novaursa]

heyy

Can you make a Jace x twin sister x aemond

She was very close with aemond when she was younger coz she didn’t have any dragon. And she was even engaged to him but after he loses his eyes their engagement went off.

She still had feeling for him and they often exchanged mail but Rhaenyra chooses to married Jace with her.

time pass she is now with Jace, but when her grandfather died she was sent with her brother Luke, aemond see her and want her for himself again.

he chase her in the sky (obsession like not to arm her) and he almost kill her but he rescue her just in time.

Aemond took her to king’s landing to be with him, and when Jace know he become furious

Stormbound

- Summary: You and Aemond were promised to one another since childhood. And when Aemond lost an eye, he also lost you. But the dragon doesn't deal with absolutes.

- Paring: Aemond Targaryen/velaryon!reader/Jacaerys Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded reader with Grey Ghost, so this plot makes more sense. Also, Lord Borros can read in this one.

The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and wildflowers as you wander through the gardens of Driftmark. Though it was a somber day—a funeral of your aunt Lady Laena Velaryon. You walk beside Aemond, the soft grass beneath your feet muffling your steps. Though just children, you feel the weight of your family's history and the expectations placed upon you. The lush gardens are a refuge, a place where you and Aemond can escape the ever-watchful eyes of your elders.

Aemond’s hand brushes against yours, his fingers briefly lingering before he pulls away, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink. You glance at him, noticing the way his silver hair catches the sunlight, shimmering like the scales of the dragons you both so desperately wish to ride. But neither of you has yet bonded with one. It's a shared pain, a bond that sets you apart from the other Targaryen children.

"I will have a dragon one day," Aemond declares, his voice full of determination. He always speaks with such confidence, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. "And when I do, I will take you flying above the clouds, where no one can reach us."

You smile at the thought, imagining the two of you soaring through the skies together, free from the burdens of your families and the complex web of alliances and rivalries that bind you. "And what if I get my dragon first?" you tease, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

Aemond's expression softens as he meets your gaze. "Then you will take me with you, won't you? We could fly to the ends of the world, just you and me."

The wind rustles the leaves around you, creating a soft, whispering sound, as if the garden itself is urging you closer to each other. You feel a warmth in your chest, a comfort that only Aemond seems to bring you. You've known him all your life, and though the world outside may be full of uncertainty, when you're with him, everything seems to make sense.

You reach a secluded spot, hidden away from the rest of the world, where the flowers bloom in vibrant colors, and the trees form a natural canopy above. Here, in this little haven, you can be just children, free from the expectations of your titles.

Aemond stops suddenly and turns to you, his expression serious. His violet eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Do you know why I spend so much time with you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head, curious. "Because we are friends," you reply, though you sense there is something more he wants to say.

"Yes, we are," he agrees, taking a step closer. "But it's more than that. You are... you're my future."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest, one that you haven't felt before. "What do you mean, Aemond?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly.

He takes a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say what has been on his mind for a long time. "My father and your grandsire, King Viserys, spoke to me not long ago. He told me that I am to marry you one day. Our families have agreed upon it. He said that when we're older, we will be wed."

The revelation leaves you momentarily speechless. You knew that your future would likely involve a political marriage, but to hear that it had already been decided—and to Aemond, of all people—feels both overwhelming and strangely comforting.

Aemond reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours again, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. "I know we're still young, and maybe you don't think about such things yet," he continues, his voice soft and earnest. "But I want you to know that I look forward to it. Being with you, as your husband. Protecting you. Caring for you. I want to make you happy, as you make me."

You stare at him, trying to process his words. Aemond has always been there for you, a constant presence in your life, and the thought of him as your husband... it doesn’t frighten you as much as you thought it might. In fact, it feels right, as if it were meant to be.

"And you," he adds, his voice trembling slightly with emotion, "you will be my wife."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you duck your head to hide it, but Aemond gently lifts your chin, his touch tender. "You don't have to say anything now," he assures you. "I just wanted you to know. So that you never have to wonder where you stand with me."

You nod, your throat tight with emotions you don't quite understand. "I... I don't know what to say, Aemond. But I do know that you're important to me. You always have been."

Aemond smiles then, a genuine smile that lights up his face in a way that you rarely see. "That's all I needed to hear."

For a moment, the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this hidden corner of the garden. As you stand there, hand in hand, you know that your bond will only grow stronger with time.

The sound of distant laughter breaks the moment, and you both turn to see Jacaerys running towards you, his smile wide and carefree. He calls your name, beckoning you to join him, and for now, you allow yourself to be a child once more, running through the gardens with your brother and Aemond.

But in the back of your mind, you carry Aemond’s words with you, feeling a small spark of excitement for the life you will one day share with him.

The journey back to Dragonstone feels longer than usual, the silence within the ship heavy and suffocating. The waves crash against the hull, the only sound breaking the stillness, but even that seems muted, as if the sea itself is mourning the events at Driftmark. You sit in your small cabin, your fingers tracing the edge of a folded letter hidden within the folds of your dress, close to your heart. It’s from Aemond, a hastily written note slipped to you in the chaos after the fight. His words are brief, but they carry the weight of all that was left unsaid between you.

"I did what I had to. I hope you can understand one day. I still care for you."

You read the letter again and again, memorizing the loops and slashes of his handwriting, the way his words seem to tremble with emotion. But each time you read it, the image of Aemond’s face, twisted in pain and anger as he lost his eye, looms larger in your mind. The boy who once held your hand so tenderly now seems like a distant memory, replaced by someone hardened by the cruelty of your shared world.

A knock on the cabin door startles you, and you quickly shove the letter deeper into your dress, your heart racing. When you open the door, you find Jace standing there, his expression a mix of concern and something else you can’t quite place—something heavier, more burdensome.

"Mother wants us," he says simply, his voice strained. There’s no need for more words; you know what this summons means. It’s time to discuss what happened, to face the reality of the fractured alliance between your families.

You follow Jace up to the deck, where your mother, Rhaenyra, and Daemon stand together, their figures silhouetted against the stormy sky. The clouds above Dragonstone are dark, reflecting the mood of the conversation that’s about to unfold. Your brothers are gathered around, their faces drawn and serious.

As you approach, you catch the tail end of a heated exchange between your mother and Daemon.

"Alicent has gone too far this time," Rhaenyra hisses, her voice sharp with anger. "Breaking the engagement without even consulting us—after all the promises made!"

Daemon scoffs, his expression cold and calculating. "She was always going to break it, Rhaenyra. Especially after what happened with Aemond. It’s better this way. That boy is dangerous, and his ambitions will only grow."

Your heart clenches at Daemon’s words. Dangerous? Perhaps, but Aemond is still the boy you grew up with, the one who spoke of your future together with such hope. And yet, as you recall the events at Driftmark, you can’t help but feel a pang of fear. Aemond had changed in that moment, his desperation leading him to claim Vhagar and then fight with your brothers. You know that things can never be the same between your families, but does that mean your bond with Aemond must be severed as well?

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts to you and Jace, her eyes softening for a moment as she looks at the two of you, standing side by side as you have so many times before. There’s a deep sadness in her eyes, a weariness that seems to have settled into her bones.

"It should have been different," she murmurs, almost to herself. "But now we must think of what’s best for our family. For the realm."

You and Jace exchange a glance, both of you sensing that something significant is about to be said. Rhaenyra’s grip tightens on the railing of the ship, her knuckles white, as she turns fully to face you.

"The bonds between our families have been strained to the breaking point," she begins, her voice steady but filled with sorrow. "Alicent’s actions have shown that she no longer honors the agreements made your grandsire. The betrothal between you and Aemond is no more. It’s been annulled."

Your breath catches in your throat, though you knew this was coming. Hearing the words aloud feels like a blow to the chest. You instinctively touch the hidden letter in your dress, as if seeking some comfort from Aemond’s words. But your mother’s next words leave you reeling.

"To strengthen our house, and to protect our claim, I have decided that you and Jace will marry. It is what should have been from the start. It’s what’s best for all of us."

Jace stiffens beside you, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. You feel the world tilt beneath your feet as you try to process what your mother has just said. Marry Jace? Your twin, your closest confidant? The idea feels foreign and unnatural, even though you’ve always known that your future would be tied to political alliances.

Daemon steps forward, placing a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder in a rare gesture of solidarity. "It’s the right move, Rhaenyra. The Hightowers have shown their hand, and we must be ready to counter them. A marriage between the two of them will solidify our position and keep our enemies at bay."

"But—" you begin, your voice trembling. "Jace is my brother. We’ve never... I never thought..."

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she takes a step closer to you. "I know, my dear. I know this is difficult. But we must think of the greater good. The two of you are the future of our house, and together, you will be stronger. We cannot afford any more divisions, not now."

Jace finally finds his voice, though it’s thick with emotion. "Mother, is this truly necessary? I would do anything for our family, but to marry my sister... it feels... wrong."

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with determination. "You are not just brother and sister, Jace. You are heirs to the Iron Throne. And in our family, such unions have always been a way to keep the bloodline pure and our claim uncontested. You must trust me in this."

You look at Jace, seeing your own turmoil reflected in his eyes. You have always been close, sharing everything, but marriage? It feels like a betrayal of the bond you shared, something that could change the dynamic between you forever.

Daemon’s voice cuts through the tension, his tone commanding. "This is not just about love or comfort. This is about power, about survival. The Hightowers will stop at nothing to see their line on the throne. We must be prepared to meet them with equal strength."

Rhaenyra nods, her resolve hardening. "Jace, Y/N, you must do this. For the sake of our house, for the legacy of our ancestors. You are the future, and together, you can secure it."

There’s a long silence as the weight of her words settles over you both. You can feel the eyes of your younger brothers on you, their innocent faces not yet fully understanding the gravity of what’s being decided. You feel torn between duty and the remnants of your childhood dreams—the promise of a future with Aemond, now shattered, and the new path being forced upon you.

Finally, Jace speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "If it is what must be done, then I will do it."

His words hang in the air, final and resolute, and you know that there’s no turning back now. Your mother’s expression softens, and she reaches out to touch your cheek gently.

"You are stronger than you know," she says, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "And together, you and Jace will be unstoppable."

You nod, though your heart is heavy, and as the ship finally docks at Dragonstone, you feel the weight of the future pressing down on you. The letter from Aemond still burns against your skin, a reminder of what might have been, but as you step onto the rocky shores of your ancestral home, you know that you must let go of that dream.

The path before you is set, and though it’s not the one you envisioned, you will walk it with your head held high, just as your mother taught you.

The air over Dragonstone is foreboding, filled with the weight of a war that has not yet begun but feels inevitable. The sky is a dull gray, heavy with the promise of rain. You stand on the edge of the cliff, the sea crashing against the rocks far below, the salty spray mingling with the mist. Beside you, Grey Ghost shifts restlessly, the massive dragon sensing your unease. His pale scales shimmer like ghostly silver in the dim light, his deep rumbling breaths a comfort in the otherwise oppressive atmosphere.

Your mother’s words still echo in your mind: "You must go to Storm’s End with your brother. Deliver our message to Lord Borros Baratheon and secure his allegiance. We cannot afford to lose the Stormlands."

You turn to your brother, Luke, who stands a few paces away, his face a mask of determination. He is trying to be brave, trying to embody the strength that your mother has instilled in all of you, but you can see the fear in his eyes. He is still so young, and the thought of him facing whatever awaits at Storm’s End fills you with a dread you cannot shake.

Before you can speak to him, you feel a presence at your side. Jacaerys, your twin, your closest companion in all things, steps close to you. His dragon, Vermax, waits nearby, his golden eyes watching you both with an intelligence that never fails to unsettle you.

"Are you ready?" Jace asks, his voice low and filled with a mix of emotions—concern, affection, and something deeper that has grown between you in these past months.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with love and fear all at once. "As ready as I’ll ever be," you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Jace reaches out, taking your hand in his. The touch is warm, grounding you in the moment. "I don’t want you to go," he admits softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Not to Storm’s End, not anywhere dangerous. But I know you must."

You squeeze his hand, drawing comfort from his presence. "And I don’t want you flying to the Vale or the North, but you must as well. We both have our duties, Jace. We have to do this for our mother, for our family."

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and in that moment, it feels as though the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, standing together on the precipice of something far greater than yourselves. "When this is over, when we’ve secured our mother’s throne," Jace begins, his voice full of conviction, "we will be together, as we’re meant to be. We’ll marry, and nothing will ever separate us again."

You smile at him, though tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I look forward to that day more than anything," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Jace steps closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His touch is tender, and when he leans in to press his lips to yours, the kiss is gentle, filled with all the unspoken words and promises that have passed between you. It’s a kiss that speaks of longing, of a future that both of you desperately want but cannot fully grasp yet.

The wind picks up around you, tugging at your hair, but you don’t move away from him. His lips linger on yours, and for a moment, all the fear and uncertainty fades away, leaving only the warmth of his love.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you close your eyes, savoring the closeness. "Come back to me," he whispers, his voice a plea that echoes in your heart.

"I will," you promise, your voice barely more than a breath. "And you come back to me."

He nods, and with one last kiss, he steps away, his hand slipping from yours reluctantly. The loss of his touch feels like a cold void, but you force yourself to remain strong. You have to be, for your family, for your future.

Jace turns to Luke, his expression becoming serious once more. "Take care of her," he says, his tone protective.

Luke nods, his face pale but resolute. "I will, Jace. I promise."

With that, Jace mounts Vermax, the dragon’s scales gleaming like emeralds in the gray light. You watch as they take flight, the powerful wings beating against the wind, carrying them up into the sky. For a moment, your heart feels like it’s being torn in two, but you push the feeling down, focusing on the task ahead.

You turn to Luke, offering him a reassuring smile. "We’ll do this, brother. We’ll make sure our mother’s claim is secure."

He nods, and together, you mount your dragons, the beasts shifting eagerly beneath you. You can feel Grey Ghost’s excitement, his connection with you strong and unwavering. With a final glance at Dragonstone, the place that has been your home and your sanctuary, you urge Grey Ghost into the air.

The wind rushes past you, the world falling away as you soar higher and higher. Below, the sea stretches out endlessly, the waves rolling in constant motion. You and Luke fly side by side, your dragons’ wings cutting through the sky with a powerful grace that fills you with a sense of invincibility.

But as you draw closer to Storm’s End, the storm clouds grow darker, swirling ominously. You can feel the tension in the air, a warning of what’s to come. You steal a glance at Luke, who meets your gaze with a determined nod. Together, you dive towards the fortress, your hearts heavy with the knowledge that this is just the beginning.

But through it all, you hold onto the promise of Jace’s words, of the life you will build together when the war is won. For now, that hope is enough to carry you through the storm.

The storm rages as you and Luke descend from the skies, the wind howling around you, and the rain pelting your faces like cold needles. The once distant silhouette of Storm’s End grows larger and more imposing with each passing second, its dark towers outlined by the flashes of lightning that split the sky. Grey Ghost’s massive wings beat powerfully beneath you, his body shifting with the wind as he angles towards the courtyard. Beside you, Luke struggles to keep Arrax steady, the young dragon’s movements more erratic in the harsh winds.

As you approach the ground, your eyes catch something that sends a jolt of dread through your heart—a massive shape looming in the distance, just beyond the castle walls. Vhagar. The ancient dragon sits like a shadow in the storm, her vast form barely visible in the driving rain. A surge of fear and unease washes over you, your mind flashing back to that terrible night at Driftmark, to the boy you once knew and cared for so deeply, who now rides the beast that haunts your nightmares.

You turn to Luke, his face pale but resolute as he prepares to land. You force yourself to push down the rising panic, knowing you must be strong for him. "Be brave, Luke," you call out over the storm, your voice barely audible above the wind. "We’re here to do our duty. Mother is counting on us."

He nods, his jaw set with determination as he brings Arrax down beside Grey Ghost. The courtyard is a whirl of activity despite the storm—guards and stablehands rushing to secure the dragons, their movements quick and practiced. You dismount swiftly, your boots splashing into the puddles that have formed on the stone ground, the rain soaking through your cloak almost immediately. The cold, damp air clings to your skin, making you shiver as you look around, your heart pounding in your chest.

The guards approach, their expressions stern as they motion for you and Luke to follow them. You fall into step beside your brother, your heart tightening with every step that brings you closer to the castle’s great hall, closer to the man you know is waiting inside. The memory of your last encounter with Aemond, the tension and hostility that had hung in the air during that fateful dinner after your grandsire proclaimed Luke the heir to Driftmark, is fresh in your mind. And the memory of Daemon’s blade severing Vaemond Velaryon’s head—another reminder of how fragile and dangerous your world has become.

Your mind races with the possibilities of what awaits you in the hall. Aemond’s presence here is both expected and dreaded. How will he react to seeing you again? And how will you maintain your composure in front of him, knowing all that has transpired?

The guards lead you through the corridors of Storm’s End, the stone walls echoing with the roar of the storm outside. Every step feels heavier than the last, your heart thudding in your chest as you approach the doors of the great hall. Luke glances at you, his eyes wide with anxiety, and you give him a reassuring nod, though your own nerves are frayed.

The heavy doors swing open with a groan, revealing the low lit interior of the hall. At the far end of the room, Lord Borros Baratheon sits upon his seat, a large and imposing figure, his expression unreadable as he watches your approach. And standing off to the side, his figure partially hidden in shadow, is Aemond.

Your breath catches as your eyes meet his. He is as you remember him, yet there is something colder, more dangerous in his demeanor now. The eyepatch he wears does little to soften the sharpness of his gaze, which is fixed entirely on you. The air between you feels charged, electric, as if the storm outside has found its way into the room.

Luke clears his throat and steps forward, his voice steady as he addresses Lord Borros. "Lord Borros, we come bearing a message from our mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

He extends the scroll, and one of Borros’s attendants takes it, bringing it to the lord. Borros unrolls the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents, but you can feel Aemond’s gaze never leaving you, the intensity of it almost unbearable. You force yourself to stand tall, meeting his stare with all the courage you can muster.

Borros reads the letter in silence, his expression darkening as he takes in the words. When he finally looks up, his eyes shift between you and Luke before settling on Aemond. "So, the whore’s son comes to Storm’s End to call upon the loyalty of House Baratheon," Borros says, his voice a deep rumble. "And what does your mother offer me in return for this allegiance?"

Luke stiffens at the insult, but before he can respond, Aemond steps forward, his focus solely on you. "She offers nothing that we cannot take by force," Aemond says smoothly, his voice low and dangerous. He moves closer, his gaze never wavering from yours. "You should be on your knees, begging for mercy. And you"—he nods to Luke—"owe me an eye."

Luke flinches, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, but you step forward, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. "Aemond," you say, your voice trembling slightly, though you try to keep it steady. "We are here as envoys, not as enemies."

Aemond’s lips curl into a cold smile. "Are you?" His gaze flickers over you, lingering on the pendant around your neck—the one you’ve worn since childhood, a gift from him when you were both younger and the world was simpler. "You should be by my side, as was always intended. Come with me to King’s Landing. Leave this farce behind. It’s where you belong."

His words cut through you like a blade, stirring up a mixture of emotions—anger, sadness, and a deep, unspoken longing that you’ve tried so hard to bury. You stare at him, struggling to find the right words. "I am where I am meant to be," you reply, your voice firmer now. "My place is with my family."

Aemond’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. "Your place is by my side. It was decided long ago. If not for your mother’s ambitions and your brother’s blade, you would already be my wife."

The tension in the room is shimmering, the storm outside seeming to echo the storm within the hall. Luke looks to you, uncertainty written on his face, but before either of you can respond, Lord Borros rises from his seat, his patience clearly waning.

"Enough of this," Borros barks, his voice commanding attention. "I will not have my hall turned into a battleground for your family’s squabbles." He turns his gaze to you and Luke, his eyes narrowing. "You come here, expecting my loyalty, offering nothing in return but the word of your mother. I am no dog to be called when she whistles."

You feel a sinking feeling in your chest as Borros continues. "Tell your mother that House Baratheon will not be swayed so easily. My daughters are of age, and I will choose the best match for them—one that will bring strength to my house."

Your heart sinks further, knowing that this means Borros will likely side with Aegon, who can offer a marriage alliance. Luke’s face falls, his youthful optimism crushed by the reality of politics and power.

Borros waves a hand dismissively. "You may take your leave. But know this—if you try to force my hand, you will find yourself on the wrong side of Storm’s End’s walls."

You feel a chill run down your spine as you turn to leave, but Aemond’s voice stops you in your tracks. "You’re making a mistake," he says, his voice low and menacing, though it is directed at you rather than Lord Borros. "You cannot escape your destiny."

You meet his gaze one last time, a thousand words left unspoken between you. But you can’t afford to falter now. With a final nod to Luke, you lead him out of the hall, your heart heavy with the weight of what has transpired.

As you step back into the storm, the wind and rain battering against you, you feel Aemond’s gaze still on you, burning into your back. You don’t look back, even as your heart tightens painfully in your chest. You force yourself to focus on Luke, on getting him back to Arrax and out of this place safely.

You reach the courtyard, the storm raging even fiercer than before. Grey Ghost and Arrax wait anxiously, their eyes glowing in the darkness. You help Luke onto Arrax’s back, your hands shaking with the cold and the tension that still thrums through your veins.

As you mount Grey Ghost, you cast one last glance at Storm’s End, feeling Aemond’s presence like a shadow over your heart. Then, with a firm command, you urge Grey Ghost into the sky, Luke following close behind. The wind howls around you as you soar into the storm, the castle disappearing into the mist below.

The storm has swallowed the world in darkness, the sky an unrelenting swirl of black clouds and driving rain. You push Grey Ghost harder, his wings beating against the gale-force winds as you and Luke streak through the stormy sky. Lightning flashes, illuminating the rolling sea far below, the waves crashing violently against one another, echoing the tumult in your heart.

But then, through the roar of the storm, you hear it—a deep, guttural sound that sends a jolt of terror through you. You glance back, your heart leaping into your throat as you see the enormous shadow emerging from the clouds. Vhagar. The ancient dragon cuts through the sky like a nightmare come to life, her massive wings nearly blotting out the sky. And on her back, you can just make out the figure of Aemond, his silver hair whipping in the wind, his single eye locked on you with a frightening intensity.

“Luke!” you cry, urging Grey Ghost to fly faster, but the storm seems to conspire against you, the winds shifting, making it impossible to gain speed. You can see the panic in Luke’s eyes as he glances back, his young face pale against the dark sky. “We have to split up!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the storm.

He nods reluctantly, his face set with determination. "Be careful," he yells back, veering Arrax to the left, disappearing into the churning clouds.

But Vhagar does not follow him. Instead, the enormous dragon continues to barrel toward you, her focus entirely on Grey Ghost. Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the gap between you and Aemond closing with terrifying speed. You glance back again, and in that moment, you catch Aemond’s gaze, his face contorted into a fierce determination. His eye is no longer on the hunt; it’s on you.

"Fly, Grey Ghost!" you urge, leaning low over your dragon’s neck, your voice tinged with desperation. But you know it’s futile. Vhagar is too large, too powerful, and even Grey Ghost, swift as he is, cannot outrun the monster that bears down on you.

In a flash of lightning, you see Vhagar’s enormous maw open, and Grey Ghost lets out a furious roar as he attempts to dodge the attack. But it’s too late. Vhagar’s jaws snap shut just behind your dragon, her talons lashing out to catch him. There’s a sudden jolt as Grey Ghost is wrenched out of the sky, and you’re thrown against the saddle, your grip slipping as you fight to hold on.

Vhagar’s claws dig into Grey Ghost’s side, pinning him against the rocky cliffs below. The impact is violent, the ground shuddering beneath you as Vhagar slams Grey Ghost down. You feel the air rush out of your lungs as Grey Ghost lets out a pained roar, his body pinned under Vhagar’s immense weight. The world tilts dangerously as you realize you’re about to be crushed beneath the two dragons.

With a surge of adrenaline, you unbuckle yourself from the saddle and leap off Grey Ghost’s back, hitting the ground hard. You roll to avoid being caught under Vhagar’s claws, the rough stones scraping against your hands and knees. Pain shoots through your limbs, but you force yourself to stand, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you look up at the towering form of Vhagar.

Aemond is already descending from the saddle, his boots hitting the ground with a splash of rain-soaked earth. His face is shadowed by the storm, but the determination in his single eye is unmistakable. His presence feels like a force of nature, as unstoppable as the storm itself.

Before you can even think to run, Aemond is upon you. His hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a grip that is firm yet surprisingly gentle. His touch sends a jolt through you, a confusing mix of fear and something else—something deeper, something you’ve tried to bury.

"You’re coming with me," Aemond declares, his voice low and unyielding. The rain cascades down his face, mingling with the strands of his silver hair, but his eye never wavers from yours. "This is where you belong, with me, in King’s Landing."

You try to wrench your hand free, but his grip tightens. "Let me go, Aemond!" you shout, your voice raw with anger and fear. "You can’t just take me like this!"

He steps closer, his body towering over yours, the heat of his presence cutting through the cold rain. "You were promised to me," he says, his voice a growl, filled with a barely controlled fury. "Before your mother, before my mother, you were promised to me. That was the true path, the one that should have been followed. I’m taking back what was stolen from me."

Your heart races as his words sink in, the sheer intensity of his resolve leaving you breathless. You can see it in his eye—the same desperation you felt that night in Driftmark, the desperation that drove him to claim Vhagar. But this is different; this is personal.

"I am not yours to take!" you shout, your voice cracking under the weight of the emotions roiling inside you. "I’m not some prize to be won!"

Aemond’s grip on your wrist loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that is somehow more terrifying than his earlier anger. "You’re wrong," he says, his breath warm against your ear despite the cold. "You’ve always been mine. From the moment we were children, we belonged to each other. I knew it then, and I know it now."

You shake your head, tears mingling with the rain on your cheeks. "No, Aemond. We were children then. Things are different now."

His expression softens just slightly, and for a brief moment, you see the boy you once knew, the boy who held your hand in the gardens of Driftmark and promised to protect you. "Things don’t have to be different," he says quietly. "We can still be what we were meant to be. I will make you my wife, back at the capital. No matter what Rhaenyra or Alicent say."

Your breath catches in your throat at the intensity of his words. You feel the world closing in around you, the storm raging, the dragons snarling in the background, but all you can focus on is the man before you, the man who is both your past and the future he so desperately wants.

But you know you cannot let him take you, not like this. Not as a pawn in the game your families are playing. "Aemond, please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn’t the way."

He looks at you, his eye searching yours, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of doubt, a hesitation. But then it’s gone, replaced by the fierce resolve that has always defined him. "It’s the only way," he says, his voice final. "You’re coming with me, and together we’ll make our own destiny."

Before you can respond, he pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist with a possessive strength. The proximity sends your heart into a wild rhythm, confusion and fear tangling with the old, familiar feelings you’ve tried to deny for so long.

"Aemond—" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"We’ll be together," he says, his voice a vow. "I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. You’ll see, this is the only way."

The crackling fire in the hearth does little to warm the cold stone walls of Winterfell's great hall. The North is a place of enduring chill, where the warmth of the flames fights a losing battle against the ever-present cold. But for Jacaerys Velaryon, standing before the fire, the cold within him is not merely from the Northern air. It’s a cold that has settled deep in his bones, born from a letter that trembles in his hand.

Cregan Stark watches him, his gray eyes sharp and perceptive, though he says nothing. The Lord of Winterfell has seen many men face terrible news, and he knows better than to push too quickly. But even he cannot help but feel a flicker of concern at the way Jacaerys clenches his jaw, the muscles ticking with restrained fury.

Jacaerys reads the letter again, as if hoping the words will change, but they do not. They remain as damning and horrifying as the first time.

"My son, upon your return from the North, you will not find your sister here at Dragonstone. She has been taken, stolen from us by Aemond Targaryen. He has brought her to King’s Landing, and there are whispers that he intends to wed her against her will. I fear for her safety and what this means for our cause. You must return to me as swiftly as you can, for the time to act is upon us."

The parchment crumples slightly under his grip, the tension in his body vibrating with barely controlled rage. He can hardly breathe, the thought of his sister—your sister—in Aemond’s hands making his blood boil. The fire within him threatens to consume him, but Jacaerys knows he must keep his head. He must think, must plan.

But all he can feel is the roaring in his ears, the overwhelming need to fly south and tear Aemond apart with his bare hands.

Cregan steps closer, his boots barely making a sound on the flagstone floor. "Jacaerys," he says, his voice a deep rumble that commands attention but carries no judgment. "What has happened?"

Jacaerys clenches his fists, trying to force the words out without letting the fury consume him. "Aemond," he grits out, his voice low and dangerous. "He took her. He took my sister."

Cregan’s eyes narrow, understanding dawning in their gray depths. "Took her?" he echoes, his voice calm but laced with a growing concern. "Where? When?"

Jacaerys swallows hard, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass. "After Storm’s End. I knew she was heading there with Luke, but I thought they’d return. I thought—" He stops, his breath hitching as the weight of his failure presses down on him. "I should have been there."

Cregan places a hand on his shoulder, a firm yet comforting gesture. "You couldn’t have known," he says quietly. "None of us could have. But tell me what you know, Jacaerys. We can’t act without understanding the full extent of the situation."

Jacaerys forces himself to breathe, to push through the fog of anger clouding his thoughts. He straightens, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "My mother’s letter," he begins, his voice still rough with emotion, "says that after they left Storm’s End, Aemond pursued them. He chased them on Vhagar and... somehow, he managed to catch up with them. He—" Jacaerys’ voice breaks for a moment, but he grits his teeth and continues. "He took her. He took her to King’s Landing."

Cregan’s expression hardens, his hand tightening slightly on Jacaerys’ shoulder. "And what does he intend to do with her?"

The question is a knife to Jacaerys’ gut, the unspoken implications clear between them. He can hardly bring himself to say it, but he knows he must. "There are whispers," he says slowly, the words heavy with dread, "that he plans to marry her. That he’ll force her to be his wife."

Cregan’s jaw clenches, and he nods, his mind already turning to the potential consequences. "If that is true, it would be a bold move by Aemond," he says, his voice measured. "He must know it would enrage your mother, perhaps even push her to act more recklessly than she might otherwise. But if he succeeds... it could strengthen his claim, and by extension, Aegon’s."

Jacaerys’ heart pounds painfully in his chest, his mind racing with the possibilities. "I have to go after her," he says suddenly, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. "I can’t just sit here while Aemond—while he—" He can’t finish the sentence, the thought too horrifying to voice.

Cregan’s grip on his shoulder tightens, grounding him in the present moment. "And you will," he assures Jacaerys, his voice steady and firm. "But you must not act out of rage alone. We need to think this through. If you fly south now, without a plan, you could be walking into a trap."

Jacaerys shakes his head, his frustration and anger boiling over. "I can’t just sit here!" he snaps, pulling away from Cregan’s grasp. "I won’t let him do this to her! She’s my sister—she’s everything to me! And Aemond—he can’t—he won’t get away with this!"

Cregan watches him with a calm, steady gaze, letting Jacaerys vent his anger. When the younger man finally stops, breathing heavily, Cregan speaks again, his tone measured. "I understand your fury, Jacaerys. I would feel the same if it were my kin. But I also know that anger alone will not save her. We must be smart about this."

Jacaerys turns back to Cregan, the fire in his eyes now mixed with desperation. "Then tell me what to do," he demands, his voice shaking. "Tell me how to save her."

Cregan’s face is grave, his mind clearly weighing the options. "First, we must send word to your mother," he says. "She needs to know that you’ve received her message and that we’re preparing to act. Second, we must consider how to approach King’s Landing. Charging in with dragons might provoke a response that puts your sister in greater danger."

Jacaerys opens his mouth to argue, but Cregan holds up a hand, silencing him. "But we cannot wait too long," Cregan continues. "Aemond’s intentions might not be clear yet, but the longer she remains in King’s Landing, the harder it will be to bring her back safely."

Jacaerys feels the weight of those words, the cold reality of the situation settling over him like a shroud. Every moment that passes could bring more harm to you, the sister he loves more than anything in the world. He looks down at the letter in his hand, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

"I can’t lose her, Cregan," he whispers, his voice cracking. "She’s... she’s everything to me."

Cregan’s expression softens, and he places a hand on Jacaerys’ arm. "You won’t lose her," he says with quiet conviction. "We’ll get her back. But you need to keep your wits about you, Jacaerys. For her sake."

Jacaerys nods slowly, trying to push down the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume him. He has to be strong, has to think clearly if he’s going to save you. But it’s hard, so hard, when all he wants to do is fly south and tear Aemond apart for daring to take you.

Cregan steps back, his expression becoming more focused, more tactical. "We’ll start by preparing our forces," he says, already moving towards the door. "And we’ll send ravens to your mother, letting her know what we plan to do. We’ll need to coordinate our efforts if we’re going to succeed."

Jacaerys follows him, the anger still simmering in his chest, but now tempered by the need for action. "And then?" he asks, his voice rough.

Cregan pauses at the doorway, turning back to Jacaerys with a look of steely determination. "And then we’ll go to King’s Landing," he says. "And we’ll bring her home."

The words are a promise, one that Jacaerys clings to as he prepares to face the storm that lies ahead. No matter what it takes, no matter the cost, he will save you. And Aemond will pay for what he’s done.

But even as he steels himself for the battle to come, the fear lingers in his heart—the fear that he might be too late, that Aemond might already have taken something from you that can never be returned. It’s a thought that fuels the fire within him, the need to protect you from the man who has already taken so much.

As he follows Cregan out into the cold, Jacaerys vows that he will not rest until you are safe again, until you are back where you belong—with him, by his side, where no one can ever take you away again.