#cole talks into the void

[oddbunny]

It's that time of year again! My city has its lights up again, so I walked my dog to town hall to see them.

He actually sat down to allow some halfway decent pictures! It's a Christmas miracle.

It was also still about 80 degrees on our walk. Christmas in Florida. 🙄

[sequentialprophet]

So, I get why people are confused by the Adam Cole reveal, disappointed even, but here's the thing. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was making you believe he didn't exist? Well, this is evil Adam Cole. I don't know what sorcery he possesses, but I have never seen a man so thoroughly good at making everyone forget how evil he really is.

You see, with Adam? It's not about beating someone. It's not even really about belts, although sure those things are nice. Adam wants unconditional love, not because he wants you to love him, but because it'll be more effective when he breaks you. And make no mistake, he wants to break you. (Just ask the Bucks - more than once - or Finn Balor or Kenny or Kyle O'Reilly or Roddy Strong or - or - or - or ... )

The thing about Adam is that he doesn't want to just beat you. He wants to crack the very foundation of who you are. Sure, he'll take your wins and your friends and your belts, but what he really covets? He wants to take the peace from inside your head. He wants to rock you so thoroughly that if you come back, you're going to be so fundamentally changed that everyone will see it and know it was because of Adam.

And that's why I think, if AEW commit, a heel Adam/heel MJF feud is going to fuck.

Everyone else Adam betrayed eventually took him back because they loved him. But we know Max doesn't play like that. We know Max. Adam doesn't, not really.

I know we'll have to wait for it but I truly think, if AEW let both men do what they do best, the back half of 2024 is gonna go down in history.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself. 

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment. 

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void. 

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged. 

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

 “Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.” 

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come. 

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped. 

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually. 

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone. 

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there. 

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people. 

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same. 

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering. 

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain. 

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open. 

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you.  The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

 “Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay. 

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand. 

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.” 

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production. 

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever. 

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably-  I should be inside. But, I’m just…” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off. 

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it. 

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other. 

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern. 

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.” 

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?” 

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This  was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend. 

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap. 

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain. 

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking. 

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” 

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street. 

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.  

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say. 

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen. 

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars. 

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament. 

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.” 

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh. 

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?” 

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant. 

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side. 

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning. 

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help. 

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing. 

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong. 

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.  

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so  and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to. 

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.” 

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit.  “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...” 

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

 “After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…” 

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however,  was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names. 

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet. 

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit. 

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar. 

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth. 

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again. 

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away. 

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you. 

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction. 

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow. 

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act. 

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps. 

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties. 

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you. 

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

------------------------------------

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[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter I

𐙚 Following Aegon's crowning of King, you attempt to settle into your new reality, with absolutely idea of what is happening around you. Your only company? The one eyed Prince himself.

𐙚 Aemond Targaryen x Reader (tw: manipulation, slight non-con, incest)

The nights following Aegon’s coronation were chaotic, whisperings of Rhaenyra’s claim lay about plainly as others argued the whore was not the rightful heir after all. Doors remained closed tight, no one talked too loud, servants kept to themselves. War was brewing, that was for certain.

You remembered the night your father died, your mother had snuck into your room and had gently woke you up. Cradled you as she gave you the news, you being the only Viserys doted on after Rhaenyra. And in some sick way, Alicent was sure you were her favorite too.

At first you did not comprehend how he was dead. He was not in good health, but to die so suddenly had left you confused.

‘My sweetling, he was not well. You saw. So weak, so poor in health.’ she spoke as she pet your hair.

Tears caked your face, hair matted to your skin, ‘I just don't understand.’

She sighed, ‘My poor girl.’

When Alicent had left that night, you had felt a void inside. Heartbroken and scared at the news. You found yourself in a familiar place, slipping out of your own chambers and into Aemonds. You wouldn't bother Aegon at that hour, him too drunk to even wake or want to comfort you. So instead you slipped into your more understanding brother’s space, the one who gently held you when you were scared and kissed you so gently.

But now, everyone's attention had been guided to Rhaenyra and her war. Everyone in the keep insisting she would come with fire and blood. And where you would seek Aegon’s affections, it would now be shunned upon. He was married after all, with two children and now king. He could no longer lie in bed and keep you entertained with his flea bottom stories.

✮⋆��

“He's too busy now brother, too busy for me.” you complain, stitching at Aemond’s ripped attire. “He drinks a lot, I know this. But never stops by my chambers anymore. He must be so occupied with being king.”

Aemond doesn't reply, just makes an agreeing sound as his one eye watches you sew.

“How is Helaena? I know you two spend time together, she will not speak to me either. I wish she would, I get so lonely.”

“I talk to you.” Aemond reminds you.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile, “You’re always so good to me brother.”

His hand finds your arm, gently rubbing you to calm you.

“No one tells me anything. It’s…” tears form in your eyes.

“My love…”

“No!” you slam his arm away, getting up and begin to pace. “You are not to call me that! You are gone for days, on that beast you claim to be a dragon. Mother will not come visit me, Aegon has completely shunned me. Cole will not look at me and my dear sister will not speak to me. I am going insane in my room. Please. Please, what is happening?”

Aemond studies you for a moment, as if he were examining your outburst.

“I’ve never known you to yell. At all people, me.” he finally speaks.

It hurts you. The pain that settles in your chest after his words are enough to make you sick.

“I did not mean-” you return to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Please forgive me. I cannot stand if you are mad at me. I am losing my sanity. I'm so lonely.”

“Am I not enough to keep you happy?” he questions.

“I miss our mother, and our brother.” you admit. “When father was alive I wasn't so…lonely.”

“Because he kept you company.”

“I just want Aegon to visit again. Or mother. Or even Haelena. Please just ask them. Ser Kavvin does not let me leave ever. It’s like I am a prisoner.” it’s almost as if you were praying to the gods. Gentle and begging. Please please please.

Aemond is silent again, until he rises and kisses your head, “I’ll tell mother and brother to visit you my sweetling, it must be so awful for you to be cooped up in here, I am sorry Vhagar has my interests as of late. My priority has always been you.”

You beam at his words, the remembrance of your outburst a memory it seemed. Although the court was terrified of Aemond, you were not. Perhaps some of you was, but he was gentle and sweet to you, you almost had no reason to be scared. He took care of you, bringing you jewelry and new gowns, dining with you in place of your mother. He was the only human interaction you had gotten as of late, everyone else so preoccupied with Aegon.

“Is it?” you ask. Out of place, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself.

“I always thought we’d marry. Aegon had Haelena, but who has you, but me.” Aemond begins to cup your face. “I enjoy our time together, but there are matters I must attend to this afternoon. But don't worry, I will have mother or Aegon visit you.”

You struggle to understand his words, “What do you mean. Have me?”

He smiles and shakes his head, giving you a kiss on the lips before finding himself out of your chamber.

✮⋆˙

If anything Aemond does well, it's keep a promise. As he said, Alicent finds herself in your chambers a little after nightfall. She had maids run you a hot bath, your white hair gently slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.

“Why haven't you visited me?” you finally ask after too much silence.

“Aegon is being prepared to finally rule, I have been attending to it.” she says. “I am sorry, I haven't seen to you. I do feel bad.”

“Why must I be confined to my chambers.” you turn to her, violet eyes looking up at her.

“I do not trust…” she tries to collect her thoughts, not sure how to word it for you to understand best. “Aegon thinks it’s best if you are under protection. He thinks you might be a target for Rhaenyra’s anger.”

“Rhaenyra.” you say your sister’s name. “Rhaenyra is upset that father replaced her as heir?”

“Yes my sweet. She is upset that your father changed his mind about the succession. He decided he wanted Aegon on the throne after all.”

“I miss him.” you say after a while. “He was very sick…but he kept me company.”

“I am sorry, I am. I know it is no excuse but you must forgive and understand how daunting this has all been. So much has been done and needs to be done, the realm may be at war soon-”

“At war?” you interject, worry in your tone. “War? Why war?”

Alicent catches herself, she has slipped.

‘Do not mention the mess with Rhaenyra to her, I would not have her worry’ Aegon’s voice played in her head.

“No war my sweet, I only forget myself. I am sure Aegon will come to peace with Rhaenyra, and maybe she will even be seen back in the keep. You’d like that, right? I know you were fond of her son, Jacerys, I know you two were close.” Alicent goes back to braiding your hair, scared her words have put unrest in you. You did scare rather too easy.

“I don't want anyone at war.” you murmur.

“No war.” Alicent nods. “Aegon will be a good king, and make peace. I know it.”

✮⋆˙

If you were honest, you were close to Jacerys, spending time in the garden together and studying. Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you, mostly due to your shared father also taking a liking to you. You were not close with Lucerys, you did not know him well. You did not spend time with him nor were you very thoughtful towards him. No time truly spent between you.

So news of his death broke the in the red keep, you found yourself indifferent. No tears were shed, but your heart hurt for Jacerys.

Aemond had returned from dragon back, Aegon so delighted of his brother's victory, the murder of a child, that a feast was thrown. You were allowed in your finest green silk and finally allowed out of your chambers, where you sat among several counsel members and your family along with some court attendees. Aemond had been silent for most of the feast, ignoring the praise he had received, most of them insults for Rhaenyra. You watched him closely, hoping, begging he would make eye contact with you. But he did not.

For hours it went on like this, Aemond slowly sipping and eating at the feast presented in front of him, not truly present at the party that was all for him and his victory.

Aegon, ever drunk, was quite present. Too present.

“My sweet sister!” his voice calls, and you turn to him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“My chambers, on your ruling.” you murmur.

“My ruling? Why would I ever…” he hiccups and slams himself down in the chair beside you. “I have missed you soooo much. Your absence has been noted, why do you scorn me so?”

His words don't make sense to you. Your mother’s words and now his, dancing in your head. You hadn't noticed, not truly noticed, until you briefly look at him, that Aemond is staring at you. For the first time in the entire night, he simply stares. But his gaze is far from comforting.

“I’ve been in my chamber, lonely.” you admit, looking back at Aegon.

“Well…I have missed you my girl, so much. It's so lonely…” he whispers the next part, “my bed… has been rather lonely.”

Aemond stands, everyone quickly glancing at him. He excuses himself from the table, with Aegon’s hand on you all you truly can do is watch.

“He’s upset” you mention.

“Ah yes. He’s been so moody since that business with the dragons. Don't know why though. They're all traitors. I’ll have all of their heads.” Aegon smells like alcohol, a smell you’re familiar with but still sensitive to.

“Aegon!” your mother’s voice rings. “I do wish you would not speak of such things with her, you know better.”

Alicent attempts to pull Aegon up from beside you, but he is quick to shove her away. You stand, shocked at the whole ordeal.

“I think I will head to bed.” you insist.

“I think that would be best, sweetling.” Alicent nods.

When you enter your chambers, you don't notice Aemond at first. He's facing the bookshelf, one your late father filled with stories of old and history. The one thing you both bonded over.

When you do notice him, it’s when you're half naked, pulling your sleeping slip on.

“Your skin is always so beautiful.” his voice startles you.

“Aemond!” you jump, clinging to your fur blanket, attempting to cover yourself.

“I've seen you already, have you forgotten me already?” you're not sure if he's as drunk as your other brother was, but his voice is calm and almost soothing.

“You should be in bed, the hour is late and I know you are upset.” you try to reason with him, knowing that when he is upset he is easiest to get to.

“But you always grant me so much comfort.” Aemond steps towards you, allowing his hand to cup your face, thumb lining your lips. “Do you remember the night I lost my eye. I was in so much pain. And you found me, alerted the guards to me. And that night, before we left, you let me in your bed for the first time. And we laid there together in peace.”

You watch his face as he talks, there's always been a certain amount of devotion you showed Aemond. That night you had found your cousins and him, screaming at the top of your lungs that alerted the guards to the situation. And he was not wrong. That night Aemond had been restless, in pain over his lost eye. Where your mother usually slept beside you, she had taken a leave of absence from your bed that night, allowing Aemond to replace her.

“You were always so sweet to me, where they laughed, you had always welcomed me. For dolls, for tea…for anything. So gentle. So kind.” Aemond sounds breathless, like he was praying.

“Aemond-”

“Shhhhh.” he licks your closed lips, causing you to gasp.

Aemond was always strict with the affection he gave you; always keeping his hands to himself, always to be careful that your mother did not catch a glimpse of how hungrily he would stare at you. But never this brazen. You did not know what to make of it.

“Please.” you beg. “We can't-”

“Can't what. You have no husband, and I have no wife. This is right. We were born to be together.” Aemond presses his forehead towards you. “Ever since that night I lost my eye, and you welcomed me so warmly into your bed I have wanted you since. Why won't you let me take you?”

“We can't…Aegon…he-”

Aemond’s face twists in anger, “Don't mention him! Do not speak of him!”

The outburst scares you, taking a step back and clutching your fur tighter.

“Drop it.” his face changes, as does his voice. His entire demeanor shifts. He unclips his cloak from his armor, letting the fabric fall to your chamber floor. “I said…drop it”

You drop the fur immediately, standing there almost bare for him. He looks over body, with a hungry gaze and a curious eye. Your slip was a thin silk, something your mother would die if she ever found you dressed in. But the sun had been hot as of late, and her nightgowns were too heavy. The several slips had been a gift of Aemond, now you had known why.

“I have waited years for you. Years for you to come to your senses of what I am to you. What you are to me. I am sick of waiting my sweet, I need you now. And I will have you now.” Aemond’s hands gently pull your slip down, allowing your naked body to be in full view for him. “You’re mine. You always have been. I just need to prove it to you."

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (20/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, soft dirty talk, targcest stuff, the angst, manipulation, nightmares ]

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

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

There was darkness all around her.

It wasn't the darkness of night, the kind when the sun had long since set behind the horizon – then she could at least recognise the shapes around her.

Now, however, she could see nothing but a black void – she tried to focus, wondering where she was and how to escape from the place she was in. After a moment, she realised that although her sense of sight was completely helpless, she could hear something in the distance.

At first she thought it was the rustling of leaves, but then the sound became louder and the hum of the water around her almost deafened her. A cry of surprise and terror stuck in her throat when she suddenly felt some cold, wet hand grab her arm.

When she opened her eyes, it was already dawn – the rising sun outside the window was obscured by heavy grey clouds. Her heart pounded hard for a long moment more before she realised it was just another nightmare.

The arm that embraced her was warm and familiar, her husband's calm, quiet breath enveloped her neck with every movement of his chest. She knew he was already awake because his thumb was stroking her wrist – she closed her eyes, focusing only on that.

On his closeness, his tender touch, his presence.

She wasn't sure if what she had experienced with him that night had really happened – it seemed unreal to her – but on the other hand, the burning discomfort between her thighs told her that it was true.

They were closer than ever, and that made her even more afraid.

Her lord-husband was not thrilled with her idea of speaking with the Witch of Harrenhal. She knew, however, that this woman certainly had the answers to many of her questions – she just had to convince her that she was not her enemy.

Criston Cole led her into the dungeons, which reeked of dampness and rodent excrement – she swallowed hard, trying not to show on her face the discomfort she felt as she heard the moans of the people behind the iron bars, their pleas for her to have mercy on them.

They finally stopped under one of the cells – the light of day fell on the figure of a woman sitting on the ground, with her wrists tied and her mouth stuffed with some dirty cloth. It was a pitiful sight – her gaze was tired and bored, her pupils bright green, her raven-black long hair flowed gently down her shoulders.

She nodded to Criston Cole to open the lock and stepped inside.

"Leave us alone, Ser Criston." She said calmly.

There was an expression full of discomfort on his face, surely because her husband had given him completely opposite orders.

"Our Prince has commanded that I am not to leave your side and to see to it that no harm comes to you." He replied matter-of-factly.

"No harm will come to me. Leave." She said a little cooler.

She crouched down in front of her as Ser Criston closed the door behind her and walked away with a loud clatter of his armour. Once they were alone, she removed the material from her mouth with a gentle, slow motion – she reached back to the short dagger she had strapped to her belt and used it to cut the ropes that tied her hands.

The woman massaged her wrists, where she could see the long blue marks, her mouth dry with thirst. She handed her the cup of fresh water she'd been ordered to bring with her, and she drank slowly of its entire contents, looking her straight in the eye.

"I know what you want." The witch finally said, setting the steel cup down on the ground without even waiting for her to let her speak. "I know what you're trying to prevent."

She swallowed hard, looking down the corridor from the corner of her eye, hoping Criston Cole was standing far enough away not to hear what they were discussing.

"What's your name?" She asked finally.

The woman sighed heavily and leaned back, resting her head against the cold stone wall.

"Alys. Alys Rivers."

A bastard.

"We were greeted in the fortress by blue holly. Is that your creative invention?" She asked softly, sitting down opposite her on the hay.

Alys grinned, watching her figure from top to bottom with her gaze.

"You're smarter than him. Your father didn't even notice." She hummed with some kind of mockery, from which an unpleasant, cold shiver ran through her.

"You wanted him to daydream? Did you succeed?" She asked further.

The woman smiled broadly hearing her questions.

"He saw, heard and experienced some things. Peaceful sleep didn't find him day or night." She concluded.

They were silent for a moment, her gaze full of self-satisfaction.

"You said you know why I am here. So you also understand what I want." She said, looking at her hopefully.

I want him to survive.

Alys was silent for a long moment, looking at her with a kind of boredom, as if disappointed by her attitude.

"In a way, I pity you." She muttered at last, making her feel a strange, disturbing sting in her heart.

"Why?"

The woman sighed with a smirk of amusement and looked to the side, as if she were musing.

"If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night. Your husband. He would have cuddled up to my bare breasts. He would have sucked the milk from my nipples. He would have left his legacy, his son in my womb." She said lightly with a quiet click of her tongue, stroking her lower abdomen as if she could see it in her imagination.

The shame, pain, disgust and grief she felt deep inside her was indescribable – a previously unknown feeling squeezed her throat, her eyes filled with burning tears of rage that she refused to let flow.

Some part of her knew she was telling the truth.

He was incapable of being alone, incapable of facing the reality around him on his own.

He needed a mother, a mistress, a whore, a servant, a witch, any warm body with soft breasts that he could snuggle into and hide.

You are his favourite toy, but you are not irreplaceable, she remembered Gwayne's words.

She lowered her gaze, knowing that Alys had told her this to hurt her, to gain a mental advantage over her, to destroy what was between them and watch with satisfaction as the lives of the people who had imprisoned her burned.

If you weren't here, he would have taken me the very first night.

If I had not been here, she thought, it would have meant that I had refused to come with him to Harrehnal – I would have failed his trust, his hope, our pledge that whatever happened, we would remain by each other's side, like brother and sister.

She realised after a moment that Alys was trying to manipulate her: to make her imagine things that she knew would cause her pain.

She came to the conclusion that if it had been her husband speaking with her, she would have done the same thing: she would have planted doubts in him.

She would convince him that his wife would sooner or later give herself to his mother's brother and betray him anyway, and that he could have her, right here, right now.

Drop by drop, she would let the poison into his mind and heart.

She had to be wiser than she was, to believe what was real, not the visions she wanted her to imagine inside her head.

"I took this cloth out of your mouth because I was hoping we could have a conversation like two mature people. I can shove it back down your throat and let you die here. My husband, who might otherwise be cuddling his face to your chest right now, from my current observations doesn't care much about you or your fate. As you yourself rightly noticed, I am here."

Alys looked at her for a long time in silence, as if wondering what to make of her words.

"You don't resemble him at all. Your father. But the resemblance to your mother is not in you either. As if you were not their child." She replied finally.

For some reason what she said pleased her.

"I am my brother's sister. My husband's wife. A dragon rider. But I am afraid that, like you, I am no one's daughter. The names Rivers and Targaryen mean as much to me, though I'm sure if my lord-husband heard my words, he would burst with rage." She replied, turning her head towards the small window from behind which the sun shone.

Alys laughed at her words.

"You are what he wants you to be. He created you anew." The witch stated without thinking, and she, for some reason, smiled.

"Yes. Although violently, he gave my life meaning. Had it not been for him, I would never have tamed my dragon. I would not have experienced the deep and mysterious feeling that fills my whole heart." She confessed finally.

The woman sighed heavily, twisting in her seat, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Men fail us all the time, and yet we still put our hope in them."

She nodded at her words.

"I'll ask again. Blue holly. Was that your gift to my father or to us?" She continued, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

Alys looked at her, a smile on her lips that only pretended to be cheerful.

"For all of you. As I said, Daemon didn't even notice them. His fiery temper did not allow him to connect what hung over his head with the nightmares and visions that haunted him day and night. They haunt you too. What do you see?" She asked, changing her tone of voice, looking at her in a way from which an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.

She was silent for a long moment, wondering if she should tell her.

"I see my husband drowning. He grasps my hand, but I am unable to pull him out of the water." She whispered.

The Witch of Harrenhal looked at her with piercing gaze, wrinkling her brows, as if something in her words intrigued her, and then her eyes looked lower, at the height of her stomach.

"It is he who sends you these visions. Not me." She said softly.

Her hand involuntarily clamped down on the leather material at the height of her lower abdomen, her heart beginning to pound like mad in her chest.

"Who?" She mumbled.

"Your son. He sees things. And you see them with him."

She lowered her gaze, looking at her stomach, stroking it with her hand, as if trying to reassure herself and the being deep inside her at the same time.

Had Helaena seen him because she was already with child at the time?

"What was my father dreaming about?" She muttered, looking at her uncertainly.

Alys grinned broadly, but her eyes remained blank and wide.

Dangerous.

"About you. About his wives. About his brother. Remorse is consuming him from the inside." She replied with amusement.

"What does he want?" She whispered, breathing with increasing difficulty.

"Forgiveness. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change."

She thought for a long moment about what she had said, involuntarily stroking her abdomen.

He knows he doesn't deserve it, and that is why he will never be able to change.

"Can I save him? My husband?" She asked finally, lifting her gaze to her.

Alys snorted.

"You can try. The question is, is it worth it? If they were both gone, you'd be free at last."

Alys couldn't or wouldn't tell her anything else, and she knew that torture in her case wouldn't do any good. She ordered food to be served to her, and then that her mouth would be stuffed and her hands would be tied again, knowing that she could not be trusted.

As she climbed the steps to the top of the fortress, she felt that her legs were shaking all over, her breath deep and uneven – Criston Cole froze at the sight of her and swallowed hard, shifting from foot to foot.

"My Lady. Something happened?" He asked, but she only shook her head, having the feeling that the corridor she was walking down was spinning around her.

As she stepped into her husband's chamber, she saw his silhouette standing by the window – he turned immediately upon hearing her footsteps, as if he had been waiting for her not for hours, but for days.

"And?" He asked.

"The herbs hung all over the fortress are her doing. They were already waiting here for my father and drove him to a state close to madness." She said, watching him carefully.

He was pale and his mouth had taken on the shape of a thin line, as if he wanted to say something – he nodded and looked out of the window again, his hands clenched into fists.

Only after a moment did she see that in one of them he held something that looked like a crumpled piece of parchment.

Was it a message from King's Landing?

"What's it?" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound hard in her chest.

She saw that he hesitated – he simultaneously wanted and didn't want to tell her, so he remained silent, as always finding this state safer.

As long as nothing was said, nothing was a foregone conclusion either.

"Aemond."

She wasn't sure she'd ever called him by his name outside of bed before – then, when she'd felt him deep inside her, it had been a moan of delight, a proof of her affection and devotion, of pure desire.

Now, however, it was an expression of who he was to her – she was not addressing him as husband, cousin, lover, prince, but as a man – a man who was dear to her.

He looked at her in a way she hadn't seen before – he was tense, the tip of his thumb scratching the cuticles around his fingernails in a subconscious, nervous reflex.

"Tell me."

His lip twitched, and then a single word left his throat.

"Daemon."

She swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant clench in her stomach, a cold drop of sweat trickling down her back. Her husband tossed carelessly the piece of parchment he held in his hand onto the table, looking at it as if he had seen something disgusting.

"He challenged me."

"Us."

He looked at her grimly, as if her remark irritated him.

"This is my battle and my victory to achieve." He said dispassionately.

"This is my father and my revenge. Which makes it our cause to solve. Isn't it?" She asked coolly, feeling her hands involuntarily clench into fists.

They looked at each other for a moment in a silence full of tension, fighting with something that was happening deep inside them.

"He wants me to face him like a man. Alone." He said finally.

She was only able to snort at his words, the wide smile on her face proving that she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Of course he wants you to come alone. He knows your nature, your pride, and he's counting you won't take me with you out of fear of his judgement. Me, your biggest negotiating card in a confrontation with him that could make him hesitate, make him lose confidence, make him make a mistake. This could be a battle of two dragons against one, and you think of your image in the eyes of others as one of those vain, conceited lords you so despise?" She asked, feeling that she was speaking louder and louder with every word – the expression on his face told her that he was enraged with the way she spoke to him, his posture erect and tense, his hands clenched.

Her words frustrated him, but he listened, so she continued on even when he turned away and began pacing around the room, clearly not knowing himself what he thought about it.

"You told me yourself that Helaena ordered you to keep me close. You abducted me from Runestone to turn me into a weapon against Daemon, and now, when the opportunity to face him comes, your pride is more important to you?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together as if her words made him uncomfortable.

"I didn't know at the time." He said regretfully, running his hand over his face in a gesture of helplessness, as if he himself did not believe he had said it.

"You didn't know what?" She asked dryly, completely without strength.

"I didn't plan…this." He muttered, pointing at her with his hand as if trying to show her what he meant.

And suddenly she understood.

He hadn't planned for what they had become to each other, the closeness that had brought them together, the bond that was out of his control.

"This is what keeps me here, fighting for your cause." She said with pain.

"If he says he regrets everything. That he will be the kind of father to you that you have always wanted him to be. How can I be sure you won't flee with him?" He asked.

She stared at him dully, slowly understanding how deep his suspicion ran, how fragile and volatile his trust in her was despite the fact that she had never given him reason to doubt her.

"Do you think it would have made a difference? That a few of his empty words would make me abandon someone who gave me a reason to live? That I would run away with a stranger for whom my person has so far represented no value?" She asked in a breaking voice, feeling a growing panic rising inside her.

"We crave the love of our parents no matter how much they hurt us. That's just the way we are." He said lowly, as if he were stating some known, universal truth.

"Speak for yourself." She hissed coldly, exasperated and embittered. "If your trust in me is dependent on your mood, it means that our marriage is a mere fiction without foundation, and I remain your slave. You may command me as your prisoner to remain in Harrenhal for fear of my desertion, but do not count on me continuing to warm your bed."

Her feet carried her to the door herself – it seemed to her that her words and behaviour had shocked him so much that he was unable to get anything out, much less stop her.

Never before had she so clearly and firmly shown him her displeasure and disobedience.

After all she had done for him, all she had sacrificed for him, how could he still look at her as if she were his enemy, someone who could stab him in the back?

On the one hand, she understood his fears, that surely his outspoken tongue and what he said were expressions of his terror and uncertainty, of how he feared that the person he had allowed to get close to him could decide the fate of his war.

On the other hand, her every breath and deed was proof of her bravery and devotion, her fidelity, and he, seeing this, allowed himself to be blinded by a childish conviction that if he did not risk her betrayal, he would not be disappointed if it actually happened.

Her husband didn't go after her – she knew he was furious and, according to himself, was showing his power and dominance to her by doing so. She didn't care too much about that, instead thinking about how she could defeat her father.

Lying on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of the wooden construction with her hand placed on her stomach, she found that the child growing in her womb, of which her cousin was not yet aware, might have been her advantage, if her father had any conscience.

On the other hand, Daemon himself had killed Aegon's innocent son, she reminded herself and sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

She knew that her presence could have made a difference.

She felt it.

But how?

Convinced that her cousin was still offended by her outburst, she wasn't particularly surprised that he hadn't come to her chamber during the night – she guessed that they would spend that time apart, and decided it would do them both good.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock at her door – she thought at first that it was him, but after a moment she opened her eyes, half-sunk in sleep, reminding herself that, after all, if he had wanted to, he would have simply come inside.

"My Lady! My Lady, open the door! The matter is urgent." She heard Criston Cole's voice.

She rose quickly and ran to the door, opening it hurriedly – Ser Criston was pale, his gaze panicked.

"Our Prince set off for Vhagar's lair in full armour. Alone. Did he mention to you that he would be patrolling the skies tonight?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Wait here. I'll go after him immediately."

Ser Criston and she, dressed in her leather riding attire, armed with bow and arrows, ran arm in arm down the worn stone steps of grim Harrenhal, conversing in between.

"Daemon? Gods, what drove him to such madness to try to face him alone?"

"You know him best, so you should be able to guess. His fucking pride. Like any man, he's a fool." She hissed with rage on the verge of crying, feeling that she only half understood what was happening around her.

"I will move after you. I will gather our army." He said, and she laughed out loud, seeing that, like her, he was not thinking logically.

"To be burned alive? This is a battle of dragons, not men. Pray that Rhaenyra does not attack you in our absence, for you will be completely defenceless." She said in a trembling voice, pulling on her leather gloves.

As soon as they left the gate of the fortress, she immediately jumped on her mare, Ser Criston's voice echoing behind her.

"May the Seven protect you!"

Even since she had met him, she knew that she was a better rider than her cousin – looking at his technique from the side, she knew that the horse was only an indirect form of travel for him, as he obviously considered his dragoness to be the highest and most important one. It was for this reason that he lacked the lightness and confidence in the delicate movements of the body that formed the bond between mount and its rider.

That's why she galloped between the hills faster than she had ever done in her life, breathing heavily, hoping to catch up with him.

After a moment, she noticed Vhagar's large silhouette lying on the ground, and then his – he was most likely preparing for the exertion of climbing onto her back in heavy armour. He stopped in mid-motion when he heard her horse and turned towards them, surprised.

She had never seen him in an armour before – apart from the helmet that lay beside his feet, his body was protected by polished steel gleaming in the moonlight. All of his snow-white hair was tied up with a black ribbon at the back of his head, and there was no eye patch on his face.

When she jumped down from her mare he simply stared at her, as if he didn't believe that she had followed him – he only made a move when she rushed at him and swung, intending to slap him across the face with all her strength – he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, her body slammed into his.

"You fucking bastard! How dare you leave me behind!" She hissed in a breaking, childish voice, trying to free herself from his grasp.

His lips clung to hers in a sudden, aggressive act, as if he wanted to devour her – she moaned with rage and squealed as his arms locked her in an iron grip, as their heavy breaths mingled in the moist, sticky chaos of their tongues and teeth.

They took their faces in each other's hands – the steel of his armour was unpleasantly cold, but she didn't mind – her fingers sank into his soft hair with his loud grunt of pleasure, the tip of his slick tongue ran over her palate.

"My armour got unpleasantly tight. Right here." He gasped out in a trembling voice, rubbing the part of his armour against her lower abdomen, behind which his manhood hid.

She ran her hands over his cheeks, shaking her head, unable to sympathise with him now for such a trivial reason as lust.

"Take me with you." She mumbled, looking straight into his eyes – one alive, filled with passionate affection and pain, the other empty, dead, shining with an unnatural, sinister glow.

"I want you to live, even if I'm gone. Daemon, if he succeeds in defeating me, will not kill you. You will tell him that I forced you to marry me." He said softly, as if he was telling her a secret he had kept deep inside himself for a long time.

Her thumb ran over his sharply outlined jaw, making him close his eye, trying to focus on how pleasant and gentle her touch was.

"You promised me something then, under a starry sky, like the one spreading over our heads now. You said: tame a dragon, and your place will always be by my side. It was not to be my punishment, but my reward. So reward me, for my devotion, courage and faithfulness. Let me spend the night with you." She whispered.

He opened his eyelid and stared at her for a moment with his lips slightly parted, breathing hard, as if he couldn't believe what she was saying – she had the feeling that his healthy eye had glazed over from emotion, his hands wandering along her neck, to her cheeks and hair.

He kissed her again and that was his answer – she knew it and she could feel it in his sigh of relief, in his realisation that if he was heading for death, he would not face it alone.

They embraced like a pair of lovers, letting their lips, swollen with desire, to join again and again in a sweet, wet caress – the quiet clicks of their saliva and their ragged, loud breaths made her feel the sticky arousal between her thighs.

His hands were everywhere – on her ass, her waist, her back, her breasts and she knew that he regretted wearing his armour at the moment.

If it weren't for it, he would have fucked her here and now.

But he couldn't do it and they both knew it, so when he pulled away from her, he just pressed his forehead against hers, panting hard.

"– hāedar (little sister) –" He whispered.

For some reason, this word meant more to her than any declaration of love.

She smiled, and he pressed his lips together, as if something about the sight caused him pain – she wiped a tear from his eyelid with her thumb before it could run down his cheek, and he snuggled his face into her palm.

"– lēkia (big brother) –" She hummed sweetly, placing a warm, tender kiss on his cheek, from which he sighed softly.

"– promise not to leave my side –" He mumbled in a trembling voice, as if ashamed that he was afraid to die.

She nodded, pressing her nose into the smooth skin of his clean-shaven face.

"– I promise –"

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Embers of the past. // Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: ANGST, war, grief, loss, major character death(s), hurt/no comfort, tragedy + not proofread

WC: 1.1k

A/N: first time writing pure angst IDK 😭 I couldn't sleep and I wrote this short fic so uhm 😀

He reminisced about you quite often, about the moments you both spent together; in youth and in adulthood.

“Aemond?” You call out his name and he wakes up from his slumber, your face hovering over his as the sunlight scatters around your form because of the way you blocked it with your head.

“Y/N?” He groans, rubbing his eyes as he properly sat up, fully awake now, “Yes, It is me, The septa is looking for you at the request of Ser Criston Cole” You tell him, and he looks around, “You know how she is, He will say how un-princely it is to fall asleep under the godswood!” You pull him by his arm, rolling at the thought of the septa lecturing you both, and he gets up, before brushing off the dust from his clothes.

“Let us go now, otherwise You'll be late for your training.” You quickly urge him, dragging him along by the arm and he stumbles forwards but immediately picks up pace. “Will you be watching me train again today?” He asks and you nod eagerly, “I love seeing you train.” you reply, causing him to blush before locking your arm with his and moving to the training grounds.

He remembered how in his youth you used to stare at him in awe whenever he trained, that stare never changed, it felt as though you always saw a side of him that no one ever did, your eyes filled with pure admiration, solely for him alone.

He admired you as well.

His admiration grew with age, as you both grew up, it turned into an emotion that would soon engulf you both into pieces, burn you both alive in its flames of passion. Love.

He loved everything about you.

The way you spoke, the way your voice would become a pitch higher whenever you talk of your interests, the way your eyes would gleam with brightness as you stared at him, the way your face would brighten up when you would see him.

He adored you so much.

So why is that your eyes which once beamed so brightly seem soulless? Your face is void of any expression which was once always smiling, your body so cold to the touch, no longer providing the warmth he once basked in. Why?

His grip on your body tightened as he was lost in thought, “My prince…” Ser Criston's Cole’s voice was filled with nothing but pity, but why was it filled with pity anyway?

He remembers now.

You had died.

Taken away from him, a cruel punishment for his action of accidentally slaying his own nephew, his own kin. He couldn't save you in time as the men sent by Daemon Targaryen had arrived before he could even reach out.

He walked into a room where the floor was covered in blood, your body lying amidst it with your gown stained with your own vital fluid.

He thought he had lost a part of him even forever when he lost his eye, but the day he lost you was the day he lost himself.

He became a ghost of a person he was before, his mind filled with nothing but grief and sorrow, Did he truly deserve it? You had done nothing wrong to be the victim of such a crime, it should be him that should be dead because of his own actions, not you.

Yet the gods were cruel.

Aemond, turned mad, unable to deal with the grief that weighed upon him so heavily which he turned to endless training and bloodshed, venting his frustrations out in such a way.

Till he met Alys Rivers.

“I know of the troubles you suffer from my prince, I can help you.” She had told him the moment he met her, and he scoffed, almost chuckling at her stupidity, “I know the sorrows that weigh upon you, my prince, the way you dearly miss her.” It was what caught Aemond's attention, how did she know of you? The only ones that knew were the ones closest to him.

“I can help you avenge her, but…” Those first few words were enough for Aemond to agree with Alys, she need not say more, in return, he helped her live a secure life than before, providing protection to her while she exchanged the visions she used to see.

It was all what led to the moment.

Him facing off his uncle above the God's eye.

The dragons roared as the fight begin, attacking one another for few minutes, struggling to gain the upperhand until Vhagar caught Caraxes by the neck, causing the dragon to panic and yank Daemon off, but Daemon held on tightly, his plan changing, jumping off his dragon in a suicide-mission to deliver the final blow to Aemond.

Yet he failed and fell to his death.

Aemond thought he had won, and that he had finally avenged you.

But he plummeted from the skies, watching both the dragons fight above him, he was knocked off from his dragonback when Caraxes lunged at Vhagar in order to avenge his rider,

As Aemond descended through the air, he had remembered what Alys had said to him. “You will see her once again after defeating your uncle.”

He understood what it meant now.

He reminisced about everything, everything leading up to now, each and every moment he spent with you, suddenly he felt alive as each second passed on and time moved forwards, how ironic as he was falling to his death. Yet it did not feel that way to him, he did not feel the doom anyone would feel nearing their death, instead he felt more alive than he ever did in the days he spent living without you.

Even as the air felt like a million spikes being shoved into his body, he found peace in it, the way the harsh air penetrated through his clothes and hair felt anything but terrible, contrary to it, he oddly found solace.

The waters welcomed his body as though they were waiting for him, Aemond found it harder to breathe, yet he did not struggle; simply closing his eye and welcoming death, accepting his fate. He felt as if he was only mere moments away from you.

Maybe in death, he won't be separated from you.

Even in his final moments, his mind refused to wander off to anywhere but you.

As the life left his body, he had only one thing in his mind.

Your face that smiled ever so brightly and warmly at him, just as the way you used to.

[simmyfrobby]

The Pugilist

Joe Nelson, Fan films unreal view of Vancouvers Kyle Burroughs hammering Wilds Brandon Duhaime | Ariel Glucklich, Sacred Pain: Hurting the Body for the Sake of the Soul | Canucks Army, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Mikki Tuohy, NHL Trade Rumours: Will the MN Wild Trade Brandon Duhaime? | René Girard, Violence and the Sacred | Kayla Hynnek, Brandon Duhaime Brings It Every Night For The Wild | Max Bultman and Dan Robson, The mental toll of hockey fighting goes beyond getting ‘punched in the face’ | Joel Auerbach via Getty Images | Anne Sexton | Kayla Hynnek | 1 Corinthians 4:9 | Bultman and Robson | Catherine of Siena, The Prayers of Catherine of Siena (trans. Noffke) | Tyson Cole, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew (c. 1599-1600) | Bultman and Robson | Joe Smith, ‘Vintage Flower’: Behind the scenes of Marc-Andre Fleury’s emotional night in Wild’s win | George Bataille, Guilty (trans. Bruce Boone) | Toni Calasanti, Feminist Gerontology and Old Men | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime via YouTube | Cole | Eimear McBride, The Lesser Bohemians | Cole | Vitor Munhoz, NHLI via Getty Images | Elly McCausland, 'Mervayle what hit mente': Interpreting Pained Bodies in Malory's "Morte D’Arthur" | Capfriendly: Brandon Duhaime Injury Updates | Calasanti | McCausland| Kenneth Hodges, Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte DArthur | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime | Dieric Bouts, Christ Crowned With Thorns | David Berding via Getty Images | Bataille | Brandon Duhaime vs Will Borgen Feb 24, 2024 | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Brandon Duhaime traded by the Wild: Why they moved him, and what he adds to the Avalanche | The Winter House (2022) dir. Keith Boynton | Joe Smith, Wild’s special teams deliver, Fleury exits early on ‘Fight Night’: Key takeaways vs. Panthers | Vibeke Olson, Penetrating the Void: Picturing the wound in Christ’s side as a performative space | Joe Smith, What Brandon Duhaime’s deal means for Wild salary-cap situation and Filip Gustavsson talks | Girard | Ocean Vuong, Devotion | Caravaggio, Sacrifice of Isaac (1598) | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Amelia Arenas, Sex, Violence and Faith: The Art of Caravaggio | Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov | Girard | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild GM Bill Guerin working phones ahead of trade deadline, no regrets over training-camp extensions | Concannon, “Not for an Olive Wreath, but Our Lives”: Gladiators, Athletes, and Early Christian Bodies | Matt Blewett - USA Sports | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild trade tiers: Who is on the block? Who could be dangled? Who is untouchable? | Thornton Wilder, Our Town

[lustrexia]

im definitely interested in the Jude and Pablo drabble... please post it😫

tw: nsfw, size kink, hate sex, rivalry, rough oral sex, minors dni.

— “Size does matter” Jude Bellingham and Pablo Gavi

It’s probably not his fault. Not entirely, anyway, it’s just that it’s too obvious. Too noticeable.

Pablo, he means. Barcelona’s golden boy. The title didn’t mean too much to Jude, he already won that award last year, pretty easily so if his ego permitted him to admit. Madrid’s marketing did really go far long, didn’t it?

But that wasn’t really what made Jude feel bad, really. It’s Gavi’s height. And his body. And everything.

It became almost overwhelming to him when he noticed it; Pablo was really small. Hell, he could totally beat him up and the guy wouldn’t stand a chance, but that’s not what he really wants to do with him.

It’s almost funny, Jude notes. He’s so small, but so full of energy and will, it’s like his body was made of seventy percent determination and twenty percent water, albeit one or two percent of that had a little bit of poor emotional regulation.

Maybe that’s what made Gavi so endearing to half of the population. That he wore his heart on his sleeve, that he presented himself quite authentically, just as he was on the interior.

His chest too small for his big heart to fit into. It’s not saying much though, Jude snorts dryly, Gavi was really small. Wasn’t even like the guy was skinny or anything, the barcelonista stole the attention of his eyes plenty of times, his body was toned and his skin seemed just so soft.

But he wasn’t thin at all, even Pedri was way thinner than him.

Maybe he’s overthinking. Obsessed with the entire image of Pablo’s body even. He shouldn’t even be thinking about another man like that, he’s got a career and priorities that he has to take care of, like his younger brother throwing a little bit of a fit because of some girl. Or the fact that he just lost the European Championship to Spain.

He can’t. He can’t stop thinking about it. Because that’s all his male brain spits at him when he sees Pablo at the other side of the stadium, celebrating his win.

Smiling, like he ever did something to deserve that happiness.

He avoids Cole Palmer’s look when the blond straight up ignores his handshake. He’d talk about it later, when his own emotional block stops and he can start actually feeling anything other than ‘void’.

Jude walks just beside the trophy, that’s already decorated with Spain’s ugly colors, just tacky red and yellow. His steps feel heavy, even breathing is hard for him. He can sense his own lungs contracting and letting loose one again.

Losing takes the form of a bitter taste on his tongue. It’s ugly, it’s accompanied of despair and it’s everything he didn’t plan for.

It’s everything that Pablo Gavi isn’t feeling at that moment. He can almost taste the victory from the pretty boy’s mouth, and now he’s getting closer and closer. Jude feels in a trance, he can’t make something of whatever Pablo is saying at him, some bullshit about second place in Spanish, probably.

He doesn’t care. He never cared for what being a madridista meant for the blaugrana men. He’s English, he recognizes that he doesn’t feel the rivalry as his own, but he can empathize with the fear of losing, so there’s that.

And it’s so stupid, how Pablo looks at him triumphant, like this is such an important moment for him, like this means something. Like he’s Cristiano at forty with his career ending right now. He’s not. He’s a talented twenty something with lots of projection for the future. Gavi is a failure of La Masía, injured and barely walking like a normal person.

Jude is getting mad, mainly at himself for not hating the gorgeous boy that’s looking at him through his lashes, teasingly demeaning him with an adorable Spaniard accent. He should be disgusted, should push him to the green hard ground of the field.

He doesn’t. Jude looks at him in the eye, with curiosity, like he’s watching some scientific experiment with a really stupid rat lab, fixating on every move that Gavi makes.

“And you’re second! I can’t believe it! Joder, que te hemos ganado!” He says, his hazel eyes glowing in the artificial light of the stadium.

Jude feels drunk in a bad way, time is slowing down like he smoked something thirty minutes ago and Pablo’s monologue is getting slurred.

He can’t stand it. Not like this. Not with how easy he could grab Pablo’s arm and throw him around like he deserves to. Jude’s sanity is clearly disappearing, he can feel it sliding down his spine, pinching him. Gavi’s densely annoying rich boy accent doesn’t help him either.

It’s not his fault. Pablo is annoyingly pretty, and totally crushable, like some insect he can get rid off easily with the sole of his expensive sneakers. It’s childish, but the need is clearly there.

So he indulges into it, posing his big hand on the back of Pablo’s neck, pushing him to walk forcefully at his side, like they were friends; resembling a bond that was not there, just for the cameras.

He could see how Gavi tensed and changed his facial expression to something a little bit uncomfortable, his eyebrows were almost knitted to each other and his lips formed a nervous curved line.

And it was exactly as he thought so, Gavi was weaker than him, couldn’t fight or back off even he was in serious danger.

“M’sorry” Gavi said, “I was just teasing, it’s just banter, sorry”.

Fucking brat, Jude didn’t respond. He just continued to guide Gavi’s body towards the hallway of the stadium, searching for somewhere more private.

The cameras didn’t even flinch at them disappearing, the public was more focused on celebrating the win or just taking pics of the actual players on the pitch.

Jude scanned through the doors and stairs of the space, finding in some barren corner a door with the ‘storage’ sign in a foreign language. Fucking Germans and their weird wording.

He lowered his hand now that the cameras weren’t looking, placing his calloused fingers on Gavi’s waist. So tiny. Jude heard the other man’s breathing hitch almost whimper airily.

So this was affecting Pablo at the same intensity as it was affecting him. News flash. The insanity of this exclusive situation altered the cute midfielder too.

God, so maddening. He squeezes the curve of his waist, reminding him of how useless fighting back is going to be. Someone of his size couldn’t possibly get him off in a real struggle. Gavi whimpers, biting his lip.

“Whore” He whispers into Gavi’s ear, his hot air hitting him. “I’m going to break you in half”.

He’s almost sure Gavi is pretty entitled and possibly did refuse to learn English in the past, but he can see that he understood what Jude told him right there. His face, now totally bewildered, exploded in pretty pink colors. He was blushing.

They entered the storage room, it was small, closet-like, just enough space for the two of them to breathe in each other’s faces. He pushed Gavi’s body towards the cold surface of some shelf, looking down at him, noticing just how frail he really was.

It made him so hungry. Like he was king starved and now there was a big plate of his favorite meal in front of him, just waiting to be sexually cannibalized on. The air hung heavy on them, the realization of what they were really going to do was now crawling under their skins.

He pushed through it, through whatever this meant for Pablo. It wasn’t his place to care for it, he just had an itch he needed to scratch badly.

“Take your jersey off” he commanded to him, already pissed off at how red looked amazing on Gavi.

White would look more elegant. More classy.

Gavi did, he took off the garment, not breaking eye contact if possible. Venomous.

Jude aggressively took his own jersey off and grabbed Gavi’s neck with just one hand. His long fingers made a good collar for the barcelonista’s neck, pressing lightly. Pablo moaned, his eyes half closed, full of incomprehensible lust.

“Put it on, quickly”.

He released his grip on Pablo’s neck and threw the shirt at him, watched how Gavi’s pathetically small hands trembled while putting the piece of clothing on.

Holy shit.

“¿Qué?” Oh, maybe Jude said that out loud.

“Nothing,” Jude went back to his stoic look, “White looks good on you”.

Pablo’s look, full of empty hatred fueled his own lust. Culé at heart dressed in white. Humiliation must be burning in his stomach.

But Pablo was hard, the tent of his shorts showed him just that. Was he really into the whole being the bitch of a madrid player thing? That was a new low, it made Jude smile.

Gavi was just as pitiable as he thought. Could bark and try to bite as many times as he wanted to, that wouldn’t change the fact that he’s weak in physicality, biologically inferior.

“Get on your knees”.

Jude didn’t wait for Gavi to move, he shoved him down, using little force. Pablo’s little prince hairstyle was now messy, his curls running wild because of the new hot boiling temperature. He was sure Gavi could feel how warm his bulge felt, even when his face was pressed against it with shorts on.

He couldn’t possibly get harder, the view was amazing, Pablo’s face length matched the length of his clothed dick, that Gavi was caressing with his cheek.

“You’re so big, joder, qué pollón” Gavi whispered, and for some reason, Jude thought that would probably be the dirtiest thing that someone could ever be able to say in Spanish.

Goosebumps ran all through his pelvis, electricity burning high. Not wanting to wait any longer, he pulled down his shorts and boxers, his cock jumping back lewdly to his stomach hung heavy.

It’d be impossible for Pablo to take it all in. It was probably like nine inches. Almost as long as his face. He compared the size of his cock to Gavi, pleasantly surprised about how pliant the man was being with someone who was spreading pre cum on his nose and cheek.

“Yeah, fuck that’s it, lick it. That’s what you want, right? Some good dick to keep you calm” He groaned, rubbing the fat tip of his cock into Gavi’s mouth.

Pablo gave his dick kitten licks, almost scared of the girth. It was so thick, Pablo would have to open his mouth completely to take it in.

Jude was not a patient man with people he hooked up with. He opened the other’s lips with his middle finger, forcing him to suck on the metaphorically offensive digit. Once he got tired of the sight of Gavi’s little mouth struggling, he lined up his cock with his mouth, grabbing Pablo by the back of his head.

There was no running back now.

Not when Pablo had his shirt on, looking absolutely oversized on him, with a hard on between his legs just by the proposition of sucking some madridista off in a storage closet.

Slut.

“Wait, no, it’s not going to fi-” Gavi choked on his cock, closed his eyes and tried to get Jude to back off.

He couldn’t. Bellingham was already fucking his mouth now.

Pablo’s mouth was hot and wet, his tongue laid flat at the bottom, just taking that dick like he could. His lips were made thicker rounding the thick girth of him, stretching his jaw painfully.

Jude sighed blissfully, the tight feeling felt amazing for him, like he was consumed by a pool of wet heat. Inch by inch, he pushed his cock inside, deeper and deeper, totally fixated on how overwhelmed Pablo appeared below him.

Where he belonged.

Pablo’s little hands rested on his thighs, trying to push him back. Didn’t work, he was already swinging his hips back and forward, chasing the high of Gavi’s mouth.

Gavi was gagging, making choked sounds every second, and his eyes were crossing towards his the bridge of his nose, disassociating a little.

Was he passing out? Jude could not care less. Maybe he’d use his mouth better that way. He looked dumb and out of it regardless.

But now that Gavi’s characteristically present strength was just shining by its absence, Bellingham could force him to deep throat, feeling his nose brush against his lower stomach, making it even harder for him to breathe.

Jude fucked his mouth roughly then, not pulling more than one inch out of his mouth, content on how Gavi’s uvula grazed his cock. The back of his throat felt amazing.

Gavi was struggling, trying to pull back, but Jude didn’t let him, cupping the back of his head forward with his arm.

“Take it, shit, don’t fucking pull back, yes, that’s it, good boy” He praised when Pablo stopped moving his head back.

Tears were forming in Pablo’s eyes. But he didn’t look sad, his honeyed eyes were full of lust, apparently he did have a thing for praise.

Something hot boiled inside of Jude exponentially, growing more and more, tensing the elastic until it was just about to snap.

He was so close. Gavi was now looking up at him, wet lashes, face dirty with pre cum and drool, tears too.

Every time Pablo moaned the vibrations went to his dick, stimulating him more and more. He wasn’t fighting anymore, his arms, like some sex doll, went down, letting Jude do whatever he wanted with his mouth.

Jude let out a grunt, rapidly increasing the rhythm of his hips moving, just abusing Gavi’s mouth. Pablo’s gagging sounds echoed on the walls, lewd symphony that Jude loved.

Loved how this was the right sequence of events that should happen. This was what he needed. To remind Pablo what he was really useful for, instead of some stupid tournament where he didn’t even play.

So, so close, he could almost taste the glory that was robbed out of him before on the pitch.

Jude Bellingham felt his orgasm all through his body and right out of his dick, felt how the cum spilled out of him in the most intense way that he ever experienced. The elastic band snapping inside of him, leaving his legs feeling like jelly.

He rode his climax with his cock bottomed out in Gavi’s mouth, his cum spilling right inside of his throat.

He quickly pulled out of Pablo, letting him finally breathe. The blaugrana player coughed roughly, almost throwing up all of the cum that he had inside of his stomach now, hands resting on the ground, not looking at him. Still coughing, tears came out of his eyes, Gavi was crying.

“Thank you, thank you, mnh” Pablo tried to say, his voice was completely destroyed and he was still almost about to vomit. He didn’t, he swallowed most of Jude’s cum back.

Pablo was a mess, his face full of fluids, puffy eyes and a fucked out expression, he was totally out of it.

Jude pulled his pants back up, grabbed a pen that was on the shelf and wrote his phone number on Gavi’s arm.

He took Pablo’s Spain jersey, put it on, and left him, to be found in that state.

(…)

A/N — Hi! I hope you liked this! I usually don’t write a lot in English because I don’t feel confident enough so I’m really hoping that this felt natural! If you have any feedback please let me know <3

[callahanisms]

inquisition companions react to the inquisitor missing half their arm

because bioware didn’t wanna give it to us, i decided i’d just do it myself. (insert thanos meme) even though i am like years late to the hype.

the game is like 9 years old at this point, but spoilers ahead.

do keep in mind this is my own personal interpretation of each character. it may not be accurate to your own interpretations. (also i know leliana is technically not a companion in inquisition but i included her anyways)

cassandra pentaghast

if cassandra could plunge a knife into the heart of solas, she would. she would not let him get away with betraying you and taking the anchor along with your arm. you had basically fallen into her arms when you emerged from the portal and she had to carry you back to halamshiral. for the days you were unconscious, cassandra was anxious and extra prickly. there were many times where cullen would have to talk her down from her anger. even varric did too.

dorian pavus

the first thing he did was crack a joke. the atmosphere was tense and it just slipped out. “i asked you to come back in one piece, not missing one.” safe to say, the other companions did not approve of his joke. dorian was set to return to tevinter after being notified of his new position as a magister, but he delayed the return to his homeland for you. he sat in your room as you lied unconscious, barely breathing, leg anxious bouncing up and down. when you awoke, you were immediately met with a large and tight hug from him. he knocked the air out of your lungs from that.

blackwall

blackwall admires you. in fact, everyone would go so far as to say he adores you. he thinks of you as strong, capable, almost infallible. you closed rifts, you closed the big green tear in the sky, and you defeated corypheus! what couldn’t you do? all your feats proved to him that you were the strongest leader he could ever know. and yet, you were still mortal. you left the eluvians mortally wounded and exhausted beyond belief, your eyelids so heavy and ready to close so you may drift off into the black void of sleep. blackwall would not let you, not until you were taken away to be cared for. you found him sitting besides you, awake and on guard. your mortality was his reminder that you and him were the same, even if your lives appeared to be completely different. and he understood that the world would need a leader like you and that is dangerous.

iron bull

the bull could feel a stronger kinship with you that day. it appears that the both of you lost something. he betrayed the qun for the inquisition, thus losing a part of himself, his people. you lost a literal part of yourself, something you had to come to terms with after having the anchor for two years. to say iron bull was shaken up would be an understatement. he was getting cassandra to hit him with sticks for days on end while you lied unconscious. he wondered what would’ve happened if he was with you, if maybe...he could’ve stopped solas. but reminiscing never did anyone any good.

cole

as much as he wanted to help you, cole couldn’t. he also understood that you wouldn’t accept his help, no matter how much he insisted. so instead, he did the best thing he could do: help tend to your injuries. what was curious was that he could feel very little of your pain. when he felt your pain two years ago after forming the inquisition, it was concentrated in your hand and forearm. with it gone, you felt at peace. the primary source of pain for you had been washed away. perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, he thought.

sera

sera’s immediate reaction is, like dorian, to crack a joke. everyone is used to her eccentricity. but it felt different this time around. while you laid unconscious, recovering from the long battle, she occupied herself. she had to busy her hands and her legs, keep moving, keep her mind busy. because if she sat too still for even a second, then her mind would think about the worst outcome. she would get images of you, dead, because solas had betrayed you, betrayed her, betrayed the inquisition. hell, he betrayed the world! that knob! thinking he knew what was best! sera’s all the more relieved when it’s revealed you survived. she bursts through the door to see you and hug you tightly, complaining about how much you scared her.

varric tethras

in all honesty, varric should’ve been more prepared to expect...well, the unexpected. he had expectations of you coming out unharmed, untouched. obviously, that was not what happened. and he wondered if he was responsible for this. he had been one of the many people to support you as the inquisitor two years ago, suggesting it. he wondered if he made the wrong decision. but also, part of varric was relieved. he lost someone close to him two years ago. he didn’t know if he could handle losing you too.

vivienne de fer

the court would devour tales of the eluvians and how you managed to survive. that was vivienne’s first thought. people would be talking about you for centuries to come, certainly. and yet, she knew in her soul that was not what you would want. she does her best to minimize what rumors spread when you first emerge from the eluvians and help give you privacy. behind closed doors, vivienne checks on your injuries. part of her is amazed that the anchor was removed so cleanly.

josephine montilyet

josephine has seen many things ranging from serious to just plain absurd. when she was alerted that you had returned with many serious injuries, including the loss of half your arm, she sent messages to get the best possible doctors in all of orlais to help attend to you. the woman was definitely stressed beyond belief. but when she wasn’t trying to get everyone from backing off from you or getting people to look at you, josephine was attending to you herself. you awoke to find her wiping some sweat off your face and when she noticed, she muttered about how great andraste was and embraced you tightly.

cullen rutherford

your knight-commander appeared to take the news very well, much to the disapproval of cassandra. but the moment cullen was alone, in private, he flipped a table, causing everything to crash. all he could feel running throughout his body was regret, guilt, and anger. regret and guilt for not having gone with you. he should’ve. because if he did, maybe you would have came back alright. anger directed towards solas because the apostate had betrayed you, the inquisition. and everything you and him had worked towards was going to crumble. all of his hard work, leliana’s, cassandra’s, josephine’s, it’d all be for naught. cullen ends up spending a lot of time alone while you’re unconscious. he prays to andraste and the maker to distract himself from any wandering thoughts going towards lyrium. certainly the new mabari hound he decided to adopt on a whim helps with distractions at least.

leliana

the woman has seen many things in her lifetime, having experienced the fifth blight itself and been part of that fight against the archdemon. still, things aren’t easy when you come back from the eluvians missing half of your arm. even if it goes against all her duties, leliana stays with you until you wake up to make sure you’re alright. you’re the inquisitor after all and it’s vital that you’re still alive.

solas

he’s the one who took it. you think he cares?

in all seriousness, it gave him no pleasure to remove your arm for the anchor. even if his plan was...well, shoddy we should say, the anchor was going to kill you. he had no choice. carrying your hand and forearm around felt heavy. he could carry it just fine but what made it heavy was the burden that came with his plan to tear down the veil and bring doom upon the world in a desperate attempt to bring it back to what it once was. and also, the burden of having harmed you.

[oddbunny]

A small thing. I love the way the curtains look in my kitchen when the early morning light hits them. It makes the whole kitchen pink/red. Might be slightly portal to hell looking to some, but I think it's pretty. 😆

Also, took a photo of the sun gleaming through this spider web a few minutes ago. Cell phone camera hardly does it justice.

[sequentialprophet]

Look, did you see the way he looked at Kyle when he was coming into the ring? Adam I Love To Gloat And Also Kick People In The Ribs Cole? Gave Kyle nothing?

Also also Roddy having his own backup that isn't beholden to Adam first has got to be making him nervous.

[undertheorangetree]

How to Improve HOTD S2

This is truly just me feeling frustrated with the second season and screaming into the void. Feel free to ignore it I wrote it at 10pm in a hater spiral and probably have some information wrong

1. Shift away from the Alicent vs Rhaenyra thing and highlight Aegon vs Rhaenyra. It would be hard when zero relationship had been established in season 1 but after Jaehaerys’s murder it would have been SOOO easy to shift the focus of Team Green on to Aegon and make him really want to take Nyra down.

2. Speaking of Nyra I’m begging them to give her some agency. Her son was MURDERED. She spent TEN DAYS SEARCHING FOR HIS BODY. She should’ve been ready and raring to go to war at the end of episode one!! She should be doing everything she can to destroy those who took her baby boy from her!! Instead they had her crying about going to war and no one taking her seriously for 5 episodes. Let her be morally grey I’m begging you she is not a saint nor should she be

3. Introduce Ulf and Hugh WHEN they claimed their dragons. No one cares about their lives yet. Regular viewers don’t know who they are. They can talk backstory once you’ve shown why they’re important

4. While we’re introducing characters GIVE US SOME TIME WITH DAERON. Non book readers have no idea who he is. Establishing his place in Oldtown, the fact that he has a dragon, the dichotomy between himself and his brothers all would have been GREAT to see before they started throwing his name around.

5. More screentime for the younger generation! Helaena lost so much of her arc due to them removing her fall into madness (which I’m not mad at btw) but showing her grief would’ve still been nice. Baela is ride or die for house targaryen and that’s about all we’ve seen from her, plz give my girl some agency. Rhaena is angry about being cast aside and that’s got so much meat for character motivations but EVEN THE WRITERS ARE IGNORING HER AND GIVING HER ONE 30 SECOND SCENE EVERY OTHER EPISODE. Jace is also being done dirty, they should be establishing reasons why we should care about him and why he’s such a good heir before the battle of the gullet (which in an ideal world would’ve been where we ended season 2 but).

6. ENOUGH WITH THE HARRENHAL ARC!! The first few scenes were fine but now it’s just repetitive. Daemon wanting to be king in his own right came out of nowhere and will have zero consequences when we all know Nyra is just going to take him back when he’s done pouting. He’s literally just wandering around Harrenhal like a freak. That arc needed 3 episodes at the absolute max to establish the castle and Alys and the river lords and then he should’ve come back. I hate him but they’re wasting his character.

7. Aemond turning into a super villain?? After we established he regretted what he did to Luke?? Trying to take out his own brother for power is fine and I support you if that’s what you want king but maybe give us some more context other than “brother bullies you in front of his friends”?? Maybe my sister was just mean but that’s an average sibling experience as far as I’m concerned. It would have made more sense with the characterization they had already given him if Aemond had been given no choice but to burn Aegon in order to save him and take out Rhaneys and Meleys. The 180 into anime villain felt way too abrupt (like dany going mad sorry)

8. Alicent and Cole………… as much as I fly the Alicent is gay flag it could’ve made sense if they didn’t just immediately beat us over the head with it. We were immediately thrown in the deep end of them having a sexual relationship with zero context other than “everything you feel for me… as your queen” PERHAPS GIVE US SOMETHING MORE. I actually would have loved Alicent reclaiming her sexuality after 20+ years of having to fuck her rotting old husband but they went about it the wrong way.

9. Speaking of Alicent, I feel like they truly do not know what to do with Alicent. They took away every ounce of agency she could have had in order to make her a victim and now they don’t have anything for her to do. They just keep taking everything from her in a way that just shoves her character in a box while also trying to maintain her as one of the main characters?? It’s just all very odd to me

10. In that same vein, I feel like they don’t really know what to do with ANYONE honestly. Game of Thrones also had a big cast following multiple locations but somehow juggling between them all felt much cleaner than it does here. It’s as if they lose track of their characters and forget about them so they throw in a quick 30 second scene to be like “btw they’re still here!!”

11. I need more character interactions. Aegon/Helaena. Daemon with his children. Just people you expect to have some kind of relationship. I don’t think any of those characters have ever actually had a significant interaction with each other which feels absolutely WILD to me but

12. STOP WITH THE TEAMS!!! STOP IT!!! There is no good guy and bad guy here and there shouldn’t be. It’s a monarchy, a whole ass empire that has its roots in an even worse empire. None of the Targaryens are good. They aren’t gods. Rhaenyra has been completely screwed over due to the patriarchy but being a victim doesn’t make you a good person. She’s still sacrificing the country for her birthright. Let her be evil, morally grey, ANYTHING is better than her pushing against common sense in order to seem like a good guy. Aegon and co as well shouldn’t be portrayed entirely of super villains and victims. They’ve also done a shitty thing but at the very least give us some nuance no one is entirely good or bad.

13. This is nitpicky so it’s at the end but it’s called house of the DRAGON. I wanna see more rider/dragon interaction. I shouldn’t be introduced to a dragon the same episode it’s maimed (Sunfyre). You shouldn’t be telling me one of the main characters has a dragon when we haven’t so much as heard her speak about it (Dreamfyre). If a bond is so important between a dragon and it’s rider I want to see that bond

• IN THAY SAME VEIN why was vermithor letting nyra and daemon get all up in his grill?? They’re bonded dragonriders they’ve got their bestie, he doesn’t. Shouldn’t he have lit them up for that?? What makes them so special?? He’s barbecuing Targaryen bastards left and right but these two get a pass?? Why??

And now for some general overall complaints����🏼

1. Fix your pacing I’m begging you. They could have made 8 episodes work if they had let us move through the plots faster but instead there’s so much dead air. After Jaehaerys was killed we should’ve been FLYING through plot points. Two child murders are enough to declare a war started, but we still hadn’t seen any battle until episode 4 and then it stalled out again. Harrenhal doesn’t need this much screentime. You don’t need to hint at Rhaena claiming Sheepstealer for 3+ episodes. We don’t need to hum and ha about going to war for 4 episodes. There should be fewer long shots of the actors faces simply reacting and more SPEAKING. More PLOT. MORE OF ANYTHING TO MOVE THE STORY FORWARD

2. Stop repeating information. Characters constantly beat you over the head with the same information over and over again. One character will tell a person something then a second character tells that same person almost the exact same thing an episode later it’s like no one proofread the script.

3. Why are you having your actors use giant words in order to sound more period accurate?? You don’t need to repeat lickspittle every five seconds. You don’t need to use gainsay or comportment. I promise your audience knows it’s a medieval setting, put the thesaurus down you sound like an idiot

4. It’s almost totally inaccessible for non book readers. I watch with my mom and sister, neither of whom have done any research about ASOIAF but have seen GOT, and I’m constantly explaining shit to them. The showrunners rely too much on people having read them that they don’t explain anything. I know Helaena has a dragon, but they don’t because NO ONE HAS MENTIONED IT BEFORE!! BY THE SECOND SEASON!!

5. This is just a me thing but I would’ve LOVED more regional costuming. We got a hint of it with Sabitha Frey wearing a headpiece when treating with Jace and I love the idea of each region having their own specific fashion trends. The costumes are fine, some are even great, but most are lacklustre and feel too fantasy to me. I’m a history girly I want to see more hoods and headpieces and different shapes in the dresses etc etc.

Despite all this there are still some great scenes!! Aspects of this season were awesome and I think the first two episodes in particular were really strong, there is just so much lost potential this season and it has been really disappointing. I’m still gonna be sat for the finale this week but I hope that they really up their game in season three

[scytheaudio]

Round 2!

Same rule but with your characters. Magic is allowed, along with one weapon of choice. No tapping out.

Which of the boys is coming out alive?

I think Demon hunter would immediately walk out of the ring just because he has more important things to do than fight a bunch of guys.

aaaaah you know, I've been racking my brain about this since you asked 🤣

There's soooo many factors to consider...but if you ran the lads through an automatic fight predictor thingy ma jiggy then Atrocity would probably win most times.

Dark would have the most destructive magic and would reduce most to waste...but characters like Atrocity and Abomination can rabid heal and come back for another go...Dark is brittle as fook in physical confrontation, so if they get a claw on him...hes bollocksed.

Hunter (non god form), Blaine, Cole, Sylus, White, Creed, Marcus would all be lethal all round fighters but probably wouldnt come out on top against the true monsters in the group (Maverick, Feral Alpha, Atroc etc)

Void Hunter is disqualified because his power is literally "DELETE!...DONE"

Alpha would be lethal as himself, but in feral Alpha form he'd stand a good chance at winning...it hasnt happened yet, but he's like the Hulk (non butchered by recent marvel films) and gets bigger/stronger the more angry he gets WITH CLAWS N TEETH but he may just go insane and destroy everything around him which other characters could work their way around if tactical.

We've seen what Maverick can do...we wont talk of original body Maverick since he hasnt happened in my stories...just jayjay maverick, and as we see...there are the likes of Atrocity who match him but dont have limits. Maverick is limited by Jayjays limits and relies on fear and misery to fuel him.

Dominic with Rot merged with him would have a good shout since she can blocked most attacks and then attack with soul sucking tendrils and zombies and Dom has a Huuuuge hammer...but some characters such as Dark and Advocates magic could probably find a way to deal with this...and the bruisers like Atroc, Kairon, Abomination would most likely be able to smash their way through his defences.

Advocate would win on many occasions since he can jump through times and space and rip ya soul out....but as stated in the xmas special years back...characters such as Bomo and Atroc may not have a "soul" in a way that we imagine and may be able to close the distance before he could.

OG Kairon would take down most, but would ultimately lose to some of the biggest boys in the game.

In the end...its hard to say....many would snatch a win under certain undercircumstances....Atrocity/Advocate/Bomo/Alpha would probably snatch victory most the time. Void Hunter would win if allowed to play.

But well all know one thing

They'd all fall easily to THE MIGHTY THERIAN

For he is the floofiest...and the woofiest

[destinygoldenstar]

Worst ways to describe Ninjago to people

(Let me know if I should turn this into a series, or if you come up with any)

(These are all jokes)

"This is a show about how plastic makes tornadoes"

"That's Jay, the blue guy. His special power is screaming at the very top of is lungs"

"That's Kai. He's an anime protagonist. His special power is getting sidelined in everything he's ever been involved with"

"That's Cole. Best hair. No criticism" (Quote my GF)

"Society hates and torments a ten year old because he's a brat"

“See, his father is a tired old man who wants to be a better father, it’s hard when you’re an evil terrorist trying to turn the world into your personal zombie land”

"And then the child slipped on ice and fell into a snake pit, and then he was a KING"

"So there's this purple snake. He eats purple snakes. That's how you know he's a good friend"

"Also there's a pink ninja. Yeah. We don't talk about pinkie no no no no no-"

"He's always wondered who he was on the inside... turns out he's a bunch of wires"

"If he could get someone to fall in love with him, the curse would be broken. But who could ever learn to love a snake?"

"His dad didn't say NO MUSIC, he said YES MUSIC, ONLY MUSIC"

"So they have the devil himself living in their boat, and they all think he's a really good neighbor who wouldn't try to kill them while they're sleeping. Except for this one guy who is suspicious. What a hypocrite he is, am I right?"

"Do I save the entire world or do I have this one child? I'm gonna save the child, c'mere child"

"'No destiny, I AM the Green Ninja' 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-'"

"And then the emo child became god"

"So he died. Then he died. And then he died again."

"A machine told her that cheating was okay"

"To save her life, he gave her a piece of his heart. Literally"

"And then they were yeeted into space"

"The Flash is in this show"

"You know how they say the cake is a lie? Wrong. It's the noodles"

"The best way to make things right with your friend is to try to strike them with lightning"

"I must fulfill my daddy's wishes to start up the evil empire-but wait, why is this fire boy so pretty? I think I'll side with him"

"Dude was drunk on power holding a stick, don’t worry he’s fine, they just had to slap him with a jet”

"He was born a devil in a human's body. Then he became a devil. Then he became human again. Then he became a snake. Then he became a dead person. Then the devil again."

"Dead people are deadly allergic to water"

"What do you do when you don't know what to do with a character? MURDER THEM... and then bring them back as a ghost. Problem solved"

"A thousand year old genie wants to marry a teenage girl"

"You ever heard of Romeo and Juliet? Well Jay just said NOPE"

"A young boy became the father of an elderly man"

"Oh Lloyd, if only there was someone out there who loved you"

"And then his dad was brought back from hell to drag him along"

"They didn't die, they were transported to the middle of nowhere"

"A child grew up with his four dads, and then became thousands of years older than said four dads and tried to become a counselor to their rocky marriage"

"Cole fell into the void"

(Come up with your own when reblogging)

[arabian-bloodstream]

OK, so, I've been reading a lot o' comments about how Rhaenyra is so different from Young!Rhaenyra, and things that Rhaenyra is doing now is so stupid and/or OOC. And I'm like, nuh uh! Like, no. What we've been seeing this season just follows the same exact pattern as Young!Rhaenyra. Let me elucidate:

Scenario 01: Dangerous situation, Rhaenyra wants to avoid bloodshed, menfolk tell her nope, nope, nopeity-nope!, Rhaenyra ignores them and runs off in secret to handle the situation herself. Why? Because she has a connection with this person. Even if they are not exactly on the best terms right now, there is still a connection between them bred over many years and she truly believes that she, and she alone, can get through to them and avoid bloodshed. So, she goes.

Dangerous situation =

- (S1) Dragonstone mini-armies facing off when Daemon stole Baelon's egg

- (S2) King's Landing under TargTower rule

Person she has connection with/not on best terms =

- (S1) Daemon

- (S2) Alicent

Was it stupid that she went into King's Landing to speak to Alicent? Yes! Could she have gotten herself killed? Yes! Against the counsel of all those around her? Yes. Did she not do the exact very thing in S1? Yes, yes, she did! It was a bold, reckless move. It paid off in S1. Had Alicent ANY power now, it *could* have paid off in S2. Unfortunately, for Rhaenyra, Alicent has zero, nada, zip power.

Scenario 02: Rhaenyra is abandoned by Daemon. She gets her groove on with someone else.

- (S1) Criston Cole, Harwin Strong

- (S2) Mysaria

Ya'll want Rhaenyra to act like Young!Rhaenyra, and yet when she does, you cry foul. Noooo! But, my Daemyra fam, THIS IS RHAENYRA. She's a royal who gets what she wants, and when she doesn't get it, she fills the void. It doesn't mean that she doesn't love Daemon with all of her heart. It means that she's not perfect. It means that she has lived a certain life, a certain way and right now she is frustrated beyond all measure because like when she felt suffocated when she was younger, she wants to break out, break free.

Daemon gave her a window briefly and then left her. Mysaria is giving her that window too, but Rhaenyra doesn't love her. She loves Daemon, so Mysaria is her Daemon-substitute. I've talked much of Daemon's journey/arc this season. Well, Rhaenyra has her own arc. She's been sitting around, suffocating, and waiting for Daemon to come home. Like she waited for him when she was young.

Well, maybe her journey is that this time she's not going to wait. She's going to break her pattern and go after him. Instead of replacing him, she's going to find him and put him in his place.

We'll see.

[allkordelia]

Keep Me in Your Thoughts (1)

[King's Landing - Heir's Tournament]

You held your dress as you walk down the steps and took a seat on the first row with the king and otto, your curly hair was pulled into a high bun with your white streak loose making you put it behind your ear. You held your child in your lap as you waited for this barbaric sport to start and be over with so you can go back to your chambers, you saw the knights lined up one by one as your eyes carry over them.

You tare your eyes away when the king stood tall and announced that his wife the queen has gone into labor, you along with your family clapped at the joyous knews even through you didn't feel any joy, he proclaimed the start of the tourney before taking his seat making you watch as the knights rode around the grounds as the man in red called their names and the house they served. The first person up was your cousin, boremund baratheon, and some new knight from dorne.

"Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of the Queen Who Never Was." You glared at the man for the unnecessary nickname he called your mother, you locked eyes with her making you gave her a look only for her to give you one back before she grabbed her flower crown and get up.

"You could have Baratheon's tongue for that." You heard otto say next to you.

"Tongues will not change the succession. Let them wag." The king replied, making you roll your eyes at him, the amount of times I heard him talk about how family is important and how should never be divided, he certainty have no care that his own flesh and blood was disrespected. What a hypocrite, you thought. You watch the exchanged between your mother and cousin as she wished him luck only for him to give her a impertinent answer, he glanced over at you as you gave him a void look while your eyes was slit with fire making him cowered away as he took his post.

"Mother! Who do you think will win?" You eldest son asked turning in his seat from the second row making you shrug one shoulder leaning in a bit.

"The dorinish lad. That's only because he looks fit unlike boremund who looks like he ate a whole goat..." you said with a slight smile as everyone in the box laugh including your sweet child on your lap.

"I have to agree with you on that one." The young boy said laughing before turning around to see the two knights, you sat back in your seat noticing viserys and otto looking at you before muttering.

"And if I'm lucky he eat dirt and maybe that would bring down a peg," Otto gave you an unamused look.

"Must you speak like that infront of the child." You rolled your eyes with your lower half of your face in your son's white curly hair before pulling away to look at Otto.

"It's not like I'm saying anything lethal, and if I did he wouldn't mind...wouldn't you my sweet seahorse." The young boy wasn't paying no mind to what his mother was saying as he watch boremund get knocked off his horse, this made you smile as you clapped along the others at the knight who did it.

As the dornish knight called Cole and Boremund make their way off the grounds drums sounded off as the crowds in the stands cheered when they see the one and only, prince daemon targaryen, you could see from your seat how he smile boastful as everyone cheered for him. His eyes looked up at the bo, to anyone else it looked like he was staring at his brother or his neice, but in reality he was looking at you making you stare back at him with an unamused look before he gave you a smug smile as he went and picked the knight he was going to joust. Your heart fell to your stomach when you saw daemon point his lance at gwayne, you held your child close to your chest as gwayne stepped forward you looked at alicent who turn to you worried making you give her a reassuring smile as you squeezed her shoulder in comfort. The young girl gave you small smile before turning around you could tell she was worried about her brother, and you can't blame her knowing daemon he won't show any mercy. As daemon took his post gwayne made his way towards the box, he took off his helmet and look up as he held his lance high.

"My lady Rhaelle. It would be an honor to ask for your favor..." Gwayne said, you smiled softly getting up with your flower crown in one hand while you held your son on your hip, you walked over putting the crown on his lance.

"I wish you much luck, ser gwayne." You smiled down at him, he bowed his head.

"Thank you, stepmother." You rolled your eyes at him as he gave you a cheeky smile before putting on his helmet and making his horse back up as you took your seat next to your husband again. You looked over at daemon who was watching the whole interactiong with a bitter look before he turned his attention to gwayne, you said a quick prayer in your head before hearing the horn and you watch anxiously as they changed each other in all honestly you didn't want neither man to be hurt. You flinch when gwayne got daemon in the chest causing otto to look relieved and placate, but that was short lived when daemon circled back and aimed for gwayne's horse leg. You covered you son's eyes as the horse flipped over crushing gwayne and injuring his face when his helmet fell off, you turned looking back down to see squires carrying gwayne away before removing your hand from your son's face as the people cheered for daemon and his ignoble action.

The tourney continued on like this for about another hour until you had enough violence for today, you decided to stand up with your son in your arms, making otto look at you as everyones else was watching the next competitors.

"Where are you going?" Otto asked looking up at you.

"I have grown a headache from all this noise, I will be returning to my chambers." Your son, Baelor, whined lowly at this choice before he spoke in a shy voice.

"No, mama I wish to watch the tourney." He said looking at you with a small frown as you gave him a look of pity.

"You can leave him with me, lady-wife. " Otto says, you glanced at him in surpised he usually doesn't like being left alone with the kids, so you conseplated on leaving baelor or not until the young boy started getting fussy making you rock him and press a tender kiss against his cheek before handing him over to his father.

You moved down a step looking at your childern and step-daughter telling them you be gone for a bit causing them to nod before looking back to the grounds, you held your dress as you walked up the steps to the entrance. You look back at your son seeing him smile and laugh as otto played with him, you looked away staring at the rest of your childern as they watch the tourney. Your eyes moved over to the grounds and over to daemon who looked up at the box again at you, he held eye contact with you for a split second before you turn and walked away not giving him a second thought.

You walk through the halls not feeling up to going to your chambers, so you ended up at the queen's chambers seeing all the female servants around the bed with the maester. You saw aemma twist and turn moaning in pain, when one of the servant girls went to get more water aemma saw you standing in the doorway.

"Rhaelle! My sweet girl...ah come...come here and hold...mmhm–hold my hand." Aemma called out weakly in pain making you grimace and slowly walk further into the room.

"How long has she been like this." You asked, standing by the queen's bed, her hand grasped your hand quickly and tightly making you scrunch up your face a bit as you look at the maester.

"A few hours..." he came closer moving towards you to whisper as you turned a bit to look at him, "...it seems the baby has been breach and it's not good, I'm sending someone to receive the king now." You sigh looking down at aemma as she laid there sweaty and pink in the face, one of the servants brought you a chair making you take a seat next to aemma as you held her hand.

"...rhaelle.." your head bowed when you looked up at aemma, "...I must tell you something–" your hands were holding her hand rubbing your thumb against her palm.

"Don't speak. Save your energy for the babe." Aemma shook her head before she could say what she wanted to say to you the king walked in with otto behind him, you looked at aemma squeezing her hand gently before moving aside for her husband to take your place you move to your own husband side while the maester, you, and otto watch the king and queen.

"How is she?" You glanced at Otto and gave him a disappointing sigh.

"Not good. She's in a lot of pain only pray that the gods have mercy...on both of them." You said, before you and the other two men looked away from one another to see the king walking up to three of ya.

"Aemma wishes to speak to you." He said solemnly looking at you with heartbroken expression, you nodded walking away from the man before walking by to aemma's side.

You took your seat again as the older woman turned her head weakly looking exhausted at you, "Rhaelle...my sweet cousin, my sweet girl." Aemma moved the back of her hand to graze your cheek you grabbed it linking your hands before planting a kiss on her knuckles.

"I am so sorry." You looked at her confused making you shake your head slightly.

"For what, my queen." You could see the pain and regret in her eyes as she stared at you with tears.

"I failed in protecting you...I was so tired of losing babe after babe that...I told him him..." your widen at what she was talking about when you looked at the servant girl who was standing on the other side pouring water into a glass, the servant glanced at you when she was finish with a look before walking away.

"Aemma. There's no need–" you started.

"No, I...I have to tell you this because I know I won't make it....not this time." You shook your head at her as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to her.

"You will make it. You will because you are a dragon, my sweet cousin. You are strong and you have fire in your veins." Aemma shook her head closing her eyes as tears slipped down her face, no matter how fucked up it was for what happened to you here you still couldn't hate aemma for what happened.

"I don't deserve you and you didn't deserve what happened to you, I'm so sorry..." aemma weep making you turn away in pain can't standing see her like this as you looked toward the maester and the others you heard mellos say something about the queen, your eyes caught otto before turning your head quickly before back at the queen.

"Aemma. I need you to listen to me very carefully...I need you to push." You knew what mellos was talking about with the king you heard the stories and you heard the malpractice the maesters did to those woman, you know that if she push there a chance she might live but there's a chance she might die but aleast it she will die quick and painless.

"Aemma. You need to push." She said hastily turning to see otto coming this way.

"...promise me. You look after rhaenyra, rhaelle."

"Aemma–"

"Promise me! Please, protect her from these vultures. Make her know shes not alone." You looked at her for moment before nodding.

"I promise...i promise I look after her but you need to push–" she cut short as otto pulled you away from the bed.

"Aemma! Let go of me. Aemma, push." Otto held your arm as he dragged you out, the last thing you saw was her giving you a small smile before viserys blocked your vision and you were out of the door.

"Unhand me." You snatched you arm from oot's grip and stood outside in the hall.

"You should return to the tourney–"

"No! I'm not leaving...you know this is wrong, otto." He looked at you with a ashamed look.

"The king has made his decision, now please return to the tourney–" his voice was cut off by aemma's screams, you look at the door in horror as your hands went to your stomach feeling sick.

"Rhaelle, please." You move towards the door as you heard her begging them to stop, otto caught your waist stopping you from going inside you struggled in his arms for but before there was a silence. You twist out of his hold and barged through the door, you almost threw up bile when you saw the scene in front of you. An unmoving aemma in pool of her own blood but that wasn't that made you sick it was the servants who was there to make her comfortable and look after her that were moving away after holding her arms and legs down, your eyes looked to viserys to see him holding his child he before turning to you and otto with teary smile.

"It's a boy." He spoke brokenly before looking down at the babe again, you stepped back in shock and disgust.

"Monsters." You croaked out, "...fucking monsters!" You snapped pushing past otto as you stalk out of the room.

You looked down as you twisted the flower in your hand...the queen's favorite, moonbloom, it only grows in old town but the king have them send to the red keep every few weeks as a gift to the queen. You remember how her face will light up when she saw them at feasts as decorations on the tables or just around the castle, she would always say that it was viserys way of telling her how much he loved her. You thought it was sweet at the time, it sounded like something you would dream about when you were a little girl hoping that one day your future lord husband will do the same, but life had other plans. Cruel and unfair plans that cause you to resent the very people you trusted. You side eyed otto who bumped your shoulder with his own taking you out of your thoughts, you lifted your eyes up to him, look at you with a sorrow expression as he spoke in a low voice.

"Maybe you should say a few words, lady-wife." You gave him a look of uncertainty before you glanced around, rhaenyra was far away from her father with daemon amd alicent near her, you could still see the tears that slide down her face from your spot here, you turned your eyes to viserys who stood there like a ghost staring into nothing.

"No, I rather not." You crushed the flower in your hand as rhaenyra's dragon cremated the queen and the prince, you reopening your palm again as the wind blew the ashes of aemma and her son waft away to the sky like the petals in her hand.

The night air was cool against your skin as you leaned against the stone rails outside your large balcony, the city of King's Landing looked peaceful and calm today not like last night. You turned your head into your chambers to check on baelor, who was under your covers with his thumb in his mouth, a small smile made its way onto your face as you walked back inside you took a seat on the edge of the bed as your fingers rake through his hair, it made you sad at times that he looks more like his father than you with his alabaster skin and silk white hair but he did have your nose and your soft eyes. You frown when you heard a knock on the door a feeling of dread sets in as you sat up the knock came again making you move off the bed, you took slow steps to the door before your hand rest on the knob making you slowly turn it and opened it a few centimeter wide.

"What is it?" You snapped.

"It seems like your special treatment here has made you forget how to address a prince." Your head snapped up to see daemon giving you a small smile, your shock evaporated into irritation.

"Belive me, cousin. There's no such thing as special treatment in this prison." You chide, a quick hum was his only response as he looked down at you.

"May I come in?" He asked, you looked at him for a minute.

"No." You closed the door only for him to stop you with his hand, you glare at him while he only smirked as he didn't need to use much strength to push open the door making you stumbled back.

You looked to your child to found them still sound asleep, you turned back to daemon to be blind sided by his lips you move your head back but he moved his hand behind your neck to keep you in place. You didn't realized he was steering you until you felt your legs hit the outside arm of the couch and felt his other hand pull up your nightgown you scratched his neck causing him to pull away from you, moving like a bat out hell you stood on the other end of the couch with your back to the balcony you watched daemon draw back his hand from his neck and smirk at you with lust in his eyes.

"You gotten feisty since I been away, I kinda like it." You gave him a hard glare as he came closer.

"You need to leave." You said stern as every step he took you took two steps back.

"But, I missed you so much, dear cousin." He held you trap against the wall making you push at his chest as his head leaned against yours before whispering, "And all I want now is to bury my face in your sweet cunt." His hand massage your breast through your thin nightgown, a moan broke free as your swollen breasts were sensitive as he played with them he left love bites on both sides of your neck.

"...no...daemon, not in here..." you clench your jaw trying to stop another moan from slipping out, daemon growled in your neck before bending his knees a bit before picking you up and carry you outside to the balcony. After, placing you on the banister he pecked your lips a few times before he kneeled in front of you, he pushed the gown up making you shiver at the cold air you moved your leg to rest on his shoulder as he kissed your inner thigh getting you wet.

You gasped slighly feeling his lips against your folds as if giving them a kiss before feeling his tongue swipe over your folds, you tilt your head up to the stars as daemon's warm tongue lick your cunt before his lips sucked on it making you roll your hips against his face while your hand grasped the back of his neck. His hand moved to your breast pinching your nipple causing a sharpe inhale at the overwhelming pleasure, you held on to the banister for dear life as you arch your back you fear if you leaned any further you might fall to your death. You jolt slightly feeling daemon's tongue explore your insides making you feel a bit dazed by the way his tongue work in devouring you, he had his arm over stomach keeping you still and from falling as you pulled his hair at the back of his head causing him to moan against your wet cunt. Your body erupted in goosebumps as he made you cum you let out soft hum as he continue to lick your folds and tender sweet spot, he finally pulled away his hand left your breast to your throat pulling you into a heated kiss while his fingers massage and circle your entrance before pushing in making a throaty moan against his lips.

"You still taste sweet." He mumbled against your lips your arms went around his neck pulling him closer, "...oh, how I missed your taste, your smell, your lips, your body..." His face move to the crook of your neck inhaling your scent as he crane his two fingers inside of you making you whimper at his touch.

"You have no idea how much I missed you." He mutters, leaving sloppy kisses on your cheek and jaw.

"Oh, how I missed your touch, daemon." You sighed blissfully as you started biting his neck leaving your own love bites around his neck.

"I can only imagine, my sweet qēlos. I wager all the gold in the kingdom that otto haven't been giving you the special attention you need with how needy you been acting since I walked in..." you pulled back looking at him your hands on his chest as he looked at you with his lips red and glistening in the moonlight while his hair was a mess and his face was flustered

"Why must you bring up his name in such a imtimate moment?" You asked.

"Why must you feel ashame when I do?" He ask back looking at you in question.

"I do not–"

"Do too." You scoffed, as his fingers slipped out of you when you pushed him slightly as you got off the banister.

"How can I be so foolish to think you came here to be with me–" you rolled your eyes turing away from him.

"I did–"

"But, yet here you are bringing up my husband while all I want to do is be with you," you turned back to him with a hurt and annoyed look, "...you should just leave the moment has past and I do not wish my child to wake up to found you here." You walked past him only him to grab your arm he looked inside his eyes going to the little boy in your bed.

"I saw him earlier at the tourney, you imagine my surpised when I was saw he doesn't have the similar streak in his hair like you or the similar green eyes like your other childern, why is that?" He asked turning his eyes back to you as you looked at him with a blank expression shrugging.

"I don't know, maybe my targaryen blood is getting stronger with each child I pop out."

"Or maybe my brother's seed finally gave him a son, pity that he can't put him on the iron throne though. " He gave you a fake pout making you clenched your jaw.

"That's a vile allegation." You snapped.

"Is it though because while away I heard some distasteful rumors about you, so tell me how long did it take for you to become my brother's whore after I left." You snatched your arm from his grip and push at his chest not moving him one bit.

"How dare you I would never–"

"Fuck my brother to benefit your husband?" You glared.

"You know nothing...and how could you after abandoning me here. " You hissed, daemon smile disappeared before looking away.

"I didn't abandoned you."

"Really? What do you call it when you up and leave out of nowhere with no explanation." He snap his eyes at you with a look that you couldn't cipher.

"I had to leave."

"Why?" You pushed wanting an explanation.

"Just know that I had to." He snapped making you purse your lip in a thin line.

" I had to leave you...after that night. I just had to leave, I knew if I didn't...you grow to hate me and I didn't want that." You looked up at him, before putting your hand on his chest where his heart was, he put his hands over yours looking down at you.

" I can never hate you," she sighed as he thumb rubbed the top of her hand, "whatever you thought could have happened to make me feel that way, couldn't be as bad as the pain my husband put me through these last few years."

"Than say the words and I will kill him. I'll make sure he suffer greatly and finally put a end to this miserable marriage." He said, daemon words made your heart flutter but you knew nothing good would come out of it and nothing can erase that sullied feeling inside you.

"And what than, daemon. " He step closer cuddling your cheeks in his hands.

"We'll marry and I'll take you as my second wife, your childern will have my name. We will live on dragonstone and raise our childern there." You looked into daemon's eyes and you similar words he told you long ago and remember how you swoon when you got back to your chambers, and he gave you hope you believed his words then like you do now. Daemon love you and you love him but you knew better, you took his hands and held them in front of you as you knew what you were about to say would break his heart.

"Your brother will never allow you to take another wife, and I fear the consequences that may take place if you do this..." you sigh with a small frown, "I feel the gods do not wish for us to be togther." He snatched his hand from your grasped as if you were a hot stone taking a step back from you making your heart ach.

"I'm sorry but it is true, if otto's dies I will just be sold off again like cattle to the next lord, it's not worth you getting in trouble." He huff through his nose, you could see he was growing angry and you know thats only because he doesn't want you to see him heartbroken.

"I'm giving you a escape. I'm giving you the life you truely deserve, and I'm willing to destroy my life and my relationship with my brother for you. Only for you to say no." He hissed out, you gave him a penitent look as you step closer only for him to move away and walk back into the room.

"Daemon, wait–" he caught your wrist after grabbing his arm you both stood in the hall just meters away from your chambers.

"No, if you want to continue living your life as a cum bearer for your husband go ahead I do not care," he roughly let go of your wrist making you hold it to your chest as you massage it, he stepped closer making you look up at him with regret.

"Issa dōna zaldrīzes darilaros, I did not mean to hurt you–" he cackled in your face making you close your mouth. My sweet dragon prince.

"Hurt me? Don't be stupid...you don't have that power over me...your nothing to me anymore." He look down at you as if you were least than him.

"I know that's not true....your just trying to hurt me," you said quietly, he looked at you for a moment as you stare into his lilac eyes seeing the storm you cause brewing inside.

"No, I mean ever single word of it, I see you for who you really are now, " you frown at his words, you turn your head away when he lean his face closer to yours, "A pathetic little girl with no real purpose except for laying on her back," he scoffed.

"what a waste of a evening. " He spat stalking away from you as you stare after him with tears, you sniffled wiping your face hearing your son call for you, you walk back inside closing the door as you tend to your youngest.

Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @beggarsnotchoosey