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ruesol · 9 days ago

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A drop of blood (in milk) - chapter 3

(GOJO x READER)

PLOT:

You’ve always prevented your blind childhood best friend from fighting your battles for you.

That is until you find out he’s a dragon who refused to participate in a war until he had you safe and sound in his lair.

or: the dragon shifter x witch au

fanfic masterlist

—

No human, mage, elf, or anyone else, for that matter, has the ability to suppress draconic energy. Its source runs deeper than just the elemental energy that a dragon’s existence circles around. Emotions are the driving force behind their motive to protect the people below.

But what will a lone dragon do when the love for his mate compels him to villainize the same people he was created to protect?

The anticipation of learning about Gojo’s recent developments in performing his mission is quickly chased away when Yaga sees him standing at the castle's threshold with you passed out in his arms.

Gojo’s blindfold was abandoned, probably burned to ash in some corner of a forest. Cyan irises mimic the hottest flame with the way they shine under the grand chandelier. His clothes had burned in many places, too, mainly his sleeves and a few holes around the back of his shirt. The chrome scales on Gojo’s skin glitter when the light hits them, drawing Yaga’s eyes to the young dragon’s triceps. Claws drawn out, sharp, yet he’s careful enough not to pierce your sooty skin.

“I thought you were going to wait to tell her?” The mage master’s question sounds more like a forthcoming scolding.

You look peaceful, unconscious in Gojo’s firm hold as your head is cocooned by his arms. The young dragon worries about how you’ll eventually be pulled out of your dreamy microcosm when he finally spills everything to you, Ichor dripping from every secret exposed.

“She doesn’t know yet. I’ll tell her when she wakes up.” Gojo ignores Yaga’s following questions as he walks to his quarters, finally releasing a breath of relief as he lays you down on his bed. The shock of almost dying still hasn’t worn off on you. You look troubled even when unconscious. He asks one of the elves serving him to bathe you and give you clean clothes so you won’t be covered in soot and ash when you finally wake up.

“What is the meaning of all this? I thought we were going to kill the fucking King before you brought her here,” Yaga growled at Gojo as soon as he had returned to the great hall. The light shines down on the throne at the end of the room, where Gojo stands. When he sits, the light hits his hair like heaven has placed a halo on him. Ironic for someone who believed that a bit of violence was worth protecting the love of his life.

“I had to. They were going to kill her. Besides, she’s smart. She’ll handle the information just fine,” Gojo grumbles into the palms of his hands, rubbing away the exhaustion he had built up after entirely shifting into a dragon for the first time in years.

“Kill her? What the fuck is going on in that town?” Yaga walks over to Gojo and clutches his collar, yanking it to urge the dragon to look up with his slitted eyes at him. Gojo complies. Yaga was his guide in the mortal realm, after all. “She’s powerful enough to save herself, so why did you swoop in?”

“It’s the bond. I just can’t help it,” Gojo answers through gritted teeth–not out of agitation towards his heaven-made commitment to you, but agitation towards what would’ve happened to you if he hadn’t intervened. For all he cared, those people could’ve been burned to a crisp.

“Well, control it, scoundrel, because we have bigger things to worry about. King Zenin has been sniffing around some hidden elven territories, and I’m afraid they’re close to finding them. We have to–”

“Why don’t you care about what happens to her? You’re her teacher!” Gojo yelled. The echoes of his voice prompt multiple of his servants to pop their heads by the hall's entrance. Their allegiance to him still didn’t make any sense, but he appreciated the commitment.

“Because if you had simply whisked her away to this place, then she’d know nothing. She’d be useless. I have never, in my life, ever seen a witch with so much potential. Being in dangerous situations would be a great catalyst for her to grow even more powerful. It would make her a useful mate for you.”

Anger burns in his chest. Passion, fury, rage–they all come naturally to him. They carry the heat of his inner fire. Lava gurgles till he tastes its bitterness in the back of his throat. If he didn’t have so much respect for Yaga, then he’d have ripped his head off clean and put it up as a showpiece on his mantle, a trophy and a warning at once.

“Is that all you see her as? Some sort of weapon? A tool in my plan? She’s more than just a witch–she’s the woman I’d burn myself alive for, and that cursed town would have had a worse fate if she’d died today.” The dragon’s tone is menacing, not just for Yaga but for the haven that was the island he had brought you to. “The elves, dragonhood, fuck, saving the innocent–they mean nothing to me if she doesn’t exist–if I don’t feel her breath entwined with mine.”

“And what are you going to do if she hears this? If she knows that your heart welcomes destruction over humanity for her sake? She’ll blame herself for it for as long as she’s alive,” Yaga reminds him. Gojo seldom found any flaws in your judgment. You could say the sun was cuboidal, and he’d blindly believe you. But he never seemed to understand why you cared so much about the innocent. They were defenseless, weak, and overly dependent on beings like him to survive.

But alas, to keep you alive forever, he will do whatever it takes, even if it involves forcing himself to go against his own beliefs.

“I’d rather have her hate me for eternity than her rot beneath the soil with the rest of humanity.”

–

In his eyes, you’re no less than the morning sun–bright, blinding, and connected to him in a way that the universe intended since the beginning of time.

The elves have done a great job of cleaning you up. You’re wearing something customary to the elvish women–a silken gown that sticks to your body like a second skin, yet it feels like you’re wearing nothing.

It’s hard for him to take his eyes off your body as you drowsily stretch in his bed, arching as the sun bathes you in gold. You sigh deeply, trying to sink deeper into your slumber, but he can see that your body commands that you wake up. It commands you to see your mate in his truest form.

Your eyelashes flutter, and the first sight you see is the roof of the canopy bed, red satin with gold tassels on the borders. You’re still disoriented. The only thing you’re probably aware of is the fact that you have a sense of perception.

You look around first as your elbows help you rise. The exhaustion is still meshed deep in your bones, making you lean against the soft nest of pillows around your head as you look around.

Gojo finds your curiosity adorable, like a skittish kitten trying to familiarize herself.

A ghost of a smile emerges on his plush mouth when you finally see him, eyes widening when you realize you’re seeing his eyes for the first time.

“The village–there was a fire, and–your eyes? Where am I?” Your voice is hoarse. Three days of being unconscious had caught up to you. Discomfort heavy in your mind and heart, you crawl to the edge of the bed, legs trembling as your toes touch the cold, marbled floor, but Gojo’s at your side immediately, his large hand spanning the small of your back as he stabilizes you.

“Satoru, what is going on? We’re not in Rosenrot. We’re–where are we?” You can’t help but lean on him as he walks you to the balcony.

“I’m not cursed. I can see just fine.”

“I can see that. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why would you even lie about it? They look so–”

“So much like a dragon’s.”

“Yeah…” Your hands reach out to touch his face, hesitating until he leans. The slits in his eyes curve outwards, and a shiver runs down Gojo’s spine. “That’s because I am one. Well, I’m more of a dragon shifter. I have yet to ascend.”

You immediately pull your hand away, though you’re still in his hold. There’s a fold between your brows as you look up at him skeptically. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” you scoff.

But he stays silent. He pulls his arms away as he takes a couple of steps back. It’s hard to see past the sun's direct glare in your eyes, but you can see how his eyes are glowing.

Gojo feels the need to prove himself. Years of hiding himself from you have finally come to an end. He finally feels whole—Anima mundi. The energy of fire ignites his skin, and chrome scales slowly materialize down his arms. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows to show them to you, and your lips part, a breath of disbelief escaping.

His claws come easily with one swift flex, a red tinge at the tips. He grows bigger. Literally. His clothes stretch till they rip, the stitches splitting near his shoulders as his sleeves fall off, his pants growing shorter as his thighs expand.

Despite all the changes, his eyes convey everything they need to tell you: ‘I’m still your Satoru. The awkward, bullied kid you’d always stand up for. The blind man who was always taken advantage of.’

“Believe me now?”

He watches you with bated breath. He knows you’ll come to him sooner or later. The bond obligates you to. But it would still sting if you didn’t acknowledge him like this. He fears your rejection more than he does his fate if he doesn’t ascend to dragonhood like his fate intended him to. Anticipation sits heavy on his shoulders. It’s a burden he’s been bearing ever since he met you.

You sigh as you press on your temples. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I have so many questions, but I don’t even know where to start. I–you’re a dragon? Like, one of the most superior vessels of the elements?”

He gulps and nods as he walks closer to you, but you back away further. “NO, don’t come here. You don’t just bring me to some…I’m not even sure what this place is, but you don’t just get to drop all this information on me like it’s nothing.” He can see you trembling, and fear dawns on him. He can’t tell if you’re afraid of him or are just angry that he lied about himself.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m the worst. But I’ll explain everything if you just come here.” He brings his palm forward, and you take it cautiously. Gojo can see the look you have on your face. Cautious but still trusting because once upon a time, you used to be the one who was taller than him before his growth spurt hit.

Your hand is much smaller than his. It always was since the beginning because of his build, but his dragon form has turned him into a sinewy monster. Gojo remembers you telling him that Todo was probably the most swole man you’d ever met. Todo would sometimes help you carry your supply crates, and you’d think about how he could hurl the heavy crates across the room like javelins.

But this was entirely new for you. Gojo can sense it in the way your hand trembles ever so slightly in his grip. He knows there’s no point in asking you not to be afraid. He’ll have to prove himself to you.

That’s fine. The two of you have the rest of eternity for it, and only for you does he have the patience of a saint.

He walks you over to the marble railing, and you squint, the sun’s light hitting your eyes painfully. Seeing this, Gojo creates a visor with his hand as he holds onto your waist.

“What do you see?”

What stares back at you is a lush jungle concentrated in the middle of the landmass—waves skirt by the beach, a gorgeous aqua blue that rivals the beauty of Gojo’s eyes. “An island,” you answer dryly.

“Are you sure? Looks can be deceiving.”

You click your tongue and sigh as you look around more. “I’m not sure what you want me to see.”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

You want to smack him across his face. Your mind is beyond overstimulated with a thousand thoughts racing through it, and the man wants to play a match of “I Spy” with you.

Then all of a sudden, the jungle looks like it’s refracting. Greens, blues, and yellows bending and swirling into an odd pinwheel. The same occurs near the water, the waves almost turning into a viscous slime-like texture, clinging onto land the more it flows further in.

In the blink of an eye, the island in front of you turns into a settlement. Small buildings, along with hundreds, if not thousands, of people walking around.

“A glamor!” you gasp. “It’s my first time seeing one done on such a large scale! I’ve only ever seen them done over stuff like hidden doors, but this is insane!”

“I didn’t know that dragons had the same abilities as mages. This is so fascinating, oh my gosh.” The view came more into fruition, and you gazed in amazement. Creating a glamor, especially of this size, is a feat that not many can achieve. It takes a mage years to master the art of invisibility, let alone camouflage themselves in plain sight.

“That’s because they can’t.” You turn around when you hear the familiar sound and let out a noise of surprise when your eyes land on Yaga.

“I created it,” Yaga says from where he stands at the balcony’s entrance.

“You–You’re alive!” Gojo can sense the tears brimming in your eyes. He feels the hollow pain of mourning and confusion meld together. Now that you’re aware of his true form, the bond has made itself more apparent, making him feel inklings of your emotions. You probably do, too, but just can’t fathom it yet.

You turn to Gojo with a deep crease between your brows. Reality had shifted beneath your feet within less than a week. Life as you knew it was never going to be the same. You were part of something bigger than yourself. Bigger than anything you had ever imagined, “You have a lot to explain, Satoru.”

–

It all sounds too good to be true.

Your best friend was a dragon shifter who could only ascend if he did something for the world's greater good, which, in his case, was to protect the elves from disappearing.

“So, you’re telling me that King Zenin, the same man I had pledged my allegiance to, is murdering and consuming elves to absorb their powers?” You wished the cushioned seat of Gojo’s throne swallowed you up. You were sinking into its softness anyway. “This sounds like a conspiracy theory.”

But Yaga and Gojo look as serious as ever. Austere faces with their arms folded. You can feel the heat of the sun on your neck. The summer heat on Gojo’s Island, or Cinder, feels different compared to the heat in Rosenrot. Over here, it feels like a warm hug from the Sun. Like coming home after years of being at war.

Rosenrot was warm and humid. Debility and nausea were constant visitors. The rude townsfolk just made it worse. A shiver runs down your spine when you remember that it didn’t take them one second to nearly burn you at the stake.

“And I had to fake my death because the defenses here at Cinder were getting weaker by the day. The mages in Rosenrot seem to be progressing with the magic faster now that they’ve been concentrating elven powers into potions. I couldn’t play double agent for much longer,” Yaga continued. There are obvious elements of exhaustion on his face–dark circles, yellowing sclera, and his skin looks like it has aged ten years since his disappearance.

“That still doesn’t explain what the King plans to do with all that magic and what I’m doing here. Plus, Satoru still hasn’t told me why he chose to fool me all these years.”

“We have an insider at the castle, an elf we’ve glamored well. He told us they planned on creating a synthetic dragon through the King. They want to set off the balance of the hierarchy within the magic realm.” There’s a heaviness to Gojo’s answer that you feel deep behind your ribs, in the core of your chest. It’s odd; nothing you’ve ever felt like before. Empathy always came easily to you; it’s why you chose to become an apothecary anyway, but this was different.

It felt autoscopic. It felt like you were in someone else’s mind for a second. All too integrating.

“I’m sorry, but this is just way too much for me to process right now.” You tremble under the heat of Gojo’s gaze. There’s something beyond concern in it.

Almost like desire.

“I don’t understand where I come into this whole thing. Why’d you bring me here then?” you ask as you look up at Gojo. Yaga sighs, rubbing a hand down his face as he walks away. “I will not be explaining this part.”

Gojo gets on his knees and takes your hands in his, eyes staring up at you with the utmost sincerity.

“What does Yaga mean by that?”

The look on Gojo’s face is almost guilt-ridden like a thief who has snatched something from an innocent’s home. You can’t help but eye him with suspicion, which makes him tug your hands to his heart.

“Before I say anything, I want you to know that whatever I did was not only because of what fate has planned for us, but also because you are my friend and I care for you more than I have for anyone,” he prefaces with a gulp. “All this means nothing to me if you’re not beside me.”

“Satoru, you’re scaring me. Get to the point.”

“I lied to you about my identity to protect you. The villagers were about to kill you, and I wasn’t just going to stand and watch them take away the love of my life. My mate–we’ve been bonded to one another since our births.”

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 6 months ago

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Moonlight

-> a self-indulgent little Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader drabble

Warnings: reader watches Thomas sleep and contemplates biting him; mentions of mind control

He is so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Your undead heart, it seems, is still capable of aching in the face of beauty. It is a curious feeling you have not experienced in lifetimes, and are not sure you ever had, even when you walked still amongst the living. Your infernal nature urges you to sink your teeth into your unsuspecting prey, bite into his heart as you have done countless others... yet you are oddly compelled to preserve the sight before your eyes, caress it with your gaze as you would a most precious painting.

Thomas stirs in his sleep as you ease yourself onto the bed, but it’s not the slight motion of you sitting at his side which disturbs him. His dreams are tortured, leaving his skin aglow with perspiration. There is a shroud over his mind, equal parts his own terror and your dark influence crawling around within, ever since he set foot inside your ancient castle.

Slowly, you raise your hand, and his ragged breathing is soothed into a sigh as soon as the shadow of your fingers caresses his cheek. Your knuckles soon follow, an icy graze upon his feverish skin. Yet he leans into your touch, still fast asleep, lips slightly parted and—rosy, plump with blood you could bring rushing to the surface with but a press of your deadly sharp nailtip.

You shut your eyes, shuddering as you fight to keep at bay the hunger ravaging your senses. You must not give in now. You cannot. For if you do, if you were to throw yourself upon him and kiss his lips, and bite them open, there would be nothing in the world of the living or the dead that could stop you from draining him of every last drop he has to give. And if he were to die, the sweet torment of this desire he has awakened in you would die with him.

“My lady?”

His eyes have opened, you find as his murmur draws your gaze to him. Your fingers linger at his jaw still. They drift upward, sinking in his hair as you cradle the apple of his cheek. His breath quickens once more, lashes fluttering as though he is torn between remaining transfixed by your eerie beauty or hiding behind closed lids from a touch he feels to be his doom.

“My Thomas,” you whisper in return, overcome with an achingly tender craving. You watch as your other hand finds his chest, palm flattening over his heart. How quickly it beats beneath your fingertips. How strongly.

One bite, and it is yours.

You envision it—the tearing of flesh, the gushing of blood, the gasp torn from his throat—as Thomas brings his hand over your own. You raise your gaze and find his pleading. If there was any doubt left in his mind that the evil he feels in this place was you, it is now gone.

You could make him forget. You could make him do anything you wished, but it is of his own will that he turns his head into your hand that is cupping his cheek, brushes his lips against the heel of it. Then, lifting his gaze to yours, he breathes into your skin:

“Are you Death?”

You could be. You are.

Devourance is all you can think of as you lean down, your shadow falling over him as you bring your lips a breath away from his. They brush, not quite a kiss. Thomas releases the softest gasp. Shuts his eyes. Tilts his chin ever-so-slightly upwards.

More.

“No,” you rein in the craving in between you, as well as give the answer that he seeks. “Not tonight.”

When Thomas next opens his eyes, breathless and trembling, it’s as though you were never there. But he knows, by the ache of his need and the ghost of your touch, that indeed you were—and when the coming day has passed and night returns, so shall you. And though every inch of his being quakes with the certainty that you will bring utter ruin upon his body and his soul, he can’t help but think...

You are so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Next part -> Devourable

#thomas hutter x reader #nosferatu 2024

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shanastoryteller · 2 years ago

Note

Happy Christmas Shana! May I ask for some Merlin and Arthur? Maybe the time travel Ygraine one, or something else entirely 🎁🎄🎅🏻

Queen Ygraine is cursed to die during childbirth and the baby is stolen from his very crib that same night.

Uther rages. The grief and the fury of losing them both leave him a broken man and a broken king. The grounds of Camelot turn to mud with all the blood he's spilled and the air turns grey and harsh from the burnings. He sends knights to every corner of his kingdom, but his son remains missing, not even a body to be found.

Tristan and Agravaine de Bois send letters, blaming Uther for their sister and nephew's death and proclaiming they are subjects of Uther's no more. It's a blip in torrent of grief - Uther can't even pretend to mourn the loss of his brothers in law in the face of that of his wife and son.

"I still think we should have killed him," Tristan says, watching the servants pack up the contents of their manor with a scowl.

"He would have killed you and then I'd be stuck doing this alone," Agravaine replies, a blond, blue eyed infant in his arms. "So our revenge will have to wait."

"Alone?" Nimueh scoffs. "Thanks. Is this not revenge enough?"

Tristan softens, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against Arthur's chubby cheek. "He's not revenge. He's our nephew."

Agravaine briefly tightens his hold on the babe before relaxing. "Where are we going? I suppose Mercia is the obvious choice."

"That old man won't be able to help gloating to Uther and we don't want him giving us a second glance," Tristan says. "Cendred's kingdom is a better choice, I think. That's our where our grandfather's castle is anyway."

The two of them plus a sorceress should be more than compelling enough additions to his court for Cendred to relinquish it back to them. Or at least turn a blind eye when they take it back themselves.

Merlin is fourteen and standing by his mother's side, keeping his head down and not moving or thinking or looking or anything as the lords come to collect taxes.

No matter what they say, no matter what they do, he's not to move.

There's cries of pain from the smith as one of the lords kicks him down, shouting at him for how little they have. He's the most educated man in the village, he's the one that keeps track. He's the one that warns them how short they are.

They are especially short this year.

There's the sound of sword being unsheathed and Merlin resists the urge to bury his head in his mother's shoulder. He's not suppsosed to move.

"Oh, for goddess's sake," a new, young voice says. He doesn't sound that much older than Merlin. "This is a waste of time. If you cut off his head, will gold coins fall out?"

"We're here to collect taxes!" he insists.

The young lord scoffs. "And if we were sent to squeeze blood from a stone, how long would you spend with your hands pressing into bedrock? Look at them!"

"We can't just let them get away with it," he argues. "If you're father hears about this-"

"He'll hear about it because I'll tell him myself," he says, annoyed. "We could take everything they have and we'll still lose money when they starve to death and we have to send people to bury the bodies or risk disease settling in. The wages for those soldiers will cost far more than everything this little village has to offer."

"They're on our land, they pay the tax!"

The young lord's voice goes hard. "I think you'll see that they're on my father's land and it's ultimately his responsibility to collect taxes for the king. Which means this is decision, not yours."

"Yes, and he decided that-"

"Well I'm deciding differently and he can yell at me about it then!" he snaps. "Put your sword away before I draw mine."

There's a tense, heavy silence. Then there's the sound of a sword going back in its sheathe and, "Yes, Lord de Bois."

Lord de Bois sighs and then raises his voice so his voice carries travels to everyone standing there, to the whole village standing there and waiting. "I'll return within the week. If there's any sort of bookkeeping you have, gather it for me."

"Y-yes, my lord," the blacksmith stutters.

There's the sound of footsteps then hooves.

He lifts his head and only sees the back of the young Lord de Bois's blond head.

Merlin wonders if when he returns, he'll be allowed to look.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #merlin

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withbroombefore · 10 days ago

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The battle kiss drawing by @alightbuthappypen was very compelling, so here is a bit of fic to go with it.

It takes hours for Lan Wangji to realize that Wei Wuxian is not going to mention the kiss.

First, there is the usual aftermath of any battle to be got through. The instinct that this would be a difficult one—the instinct that compelled Lan Wangji to catch Wei Wuxian by the front of his robes and press their mouths together for a few brief wonderful moments before the enemy was upon them—proved correct. Time after time between the swords and screams, he felt a surge of sorrowful gladness that he had finally done it, for it seemed implausible that neither of them would fall for good. But though the blood that marks each of their robes when they return to camp is their own, it does not flow heavily enough to require anything but the kind of care they are all accustomed to managing themselves by now, so as not to overwhelm the healers.

Even minor wounds can fester without attention. Wei Wuxian stays quiet while Lan Wangji cleans and binds the cut across his forearm, then takes his turn on the awkward but not dangerous spot where a blade clipped Lan Wangji's shoulder. The silence itself is nothing odd; even Wei Wuxian does not chatter much lately. The kiss changed nothing about how naturally it comes to look after one another's bodies by this point in the war. It changed nothing about how the clever fingers brushing Lan Wangji's skin as they fix the bandages in place confirm to his body that the danger is gone, or about the way Wei Wuxian relaxes as Lan Wangji wipes his blood away. There is a reason Lan Wangji kissed him, after all. Well, there are many reasons, but this is one of them. There is nobody Lan Wangji feels this safe around save for his own brother.

Wei Wuxian was quiet earlier, too, making only the slightest sound—a faint sigh more than anything—even as he turned pliant under Lan Wangji's mouth, a ridiculous thing to do an instant before combat. There was no time then for anything but a brief searching look into Lan Wangji's face upon parting, a warmer and more open expression than Lan Wangji has seen on him for a long time. Perhaps ever, come to think on it. Even before the world turned vicious around them, Wei Wuxian's friendliness was not the same thing as trust.

With the both of them cleaned, to the extent possible in a war camp, and safely bandaged, the quiet turns odd. It is one of the most peculiar aspects they have been forced to discover about war: the empty stretches of time where they have little to do, not tired enough to sleep but too dulled by the violence to find any other activity. Anyone they might seek out is busy with strategy or caring for the wounded, and they are back in the familiar interstitial period of waiting.

If Wei Wuxian were going to speak of the kiss, he would have already done so. Perhaps that is reasonable; Lan Wangji, as the instigator, owes an explanation if one is to be given. This also means that he can opt not to. There is a flicker of temptation in that path, but one that snuffs itself out upon a moment's consideration. Not saying anything might be appropriate if it had been a mistake or a momentary urge spurred by adrenaline (which it was, in a sense, but not only that). Early in their acquaintance, Lan Wangji assumed Wei Wuxian to do such things with frequency enough that one more would be of little note on his side, however much it might mean to Lan Wangji himself.

But he knows better now. His Wei Ying is not a subtle creature. The mouth that Lan Wangji would very much like to kiss again remains silent as they settle beside their little fire, but he glances sideways at Lan Wangji's face—away again, cheekbones pinking slightly, when the look is met—back again an instant later, worrying at his lower lip. Lan Wangji watches steadily, his own hesitation shifting to amusement over the deep fondness that underscores everything else he feels regarding Wei Wuxian.

"Wei Ying," he says. Wei Wuxian at once orients so his whole being is focused on Lan Wangji. He had more words prepared, but becomes immediately distracted: in the firelight, lip caught between his teeth and eyes wide, Wei Wuxian is so lovely that Lan Wangji must simply look at him for a moment.

His own name is enough of an opening, apparently. "Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says in return, and he does not stop there. "Lan Zhan! You kissed me. Why?" Those clever healing fingers prod Lan Wangji's elbow. "Hey. Stop smiling at me, I can't form sentences when you do that."

"No," Lan Wangji says peacefully.

Wei Wuxian's face crinkles at him, though he cannot keep his own smile from flashing through. "Why not?"

"You make me happy," Lan Wangji explains. "That is why I kissed you."

"In the middle of a battle? That was horribly careless."

Lan Wangji feels his own smile fade. "I was afraid," he says. "If you fell, or I fell—I wanted you to know, first."

Wei Wuxian looks away, turning serious too as he watches the fire. They are sitting close enough, as they nearly always are in such moments, that he does not need to move in order to rest his upper arm against Lan Wangji's. "I'm glad you did," he says. They are both quiet for a while.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian angles his head to peer at Lan Wangji's face. "So was it just the one time? Do you want to do it again?"

"Do you?"

"It's only fair," Wei Wuxian informs him. "I didn't even get to kiss you back properly, since you didn't warn me. That's not right for my first. You've got to let me have a real one now."

Lan Wangji blinks, diverted from the obvious immediate answer. "Had you not?" He is certain he remembers—not recently, for the war and the things leading up to it filled their attention, but before—

The blush shows even in the firelight. "I mean," Wei Wuxian says, "well. I know I used to say things that implied—but everyone says those things."

"I do not," Lan Wangji points out.

"I know." Wei Wuxian's head flops against his shoulder; Lan Wangji pats his hair, now confident that the intimacy is welcome. "It's why you're my favorite. One of the reasons, anyway. There's so many to choose from." The tilt of his face turns inviting, hopeful; it is simple enough for Lan Wangji to cup his skull and lean down.

"That was nice," Wei Wuxian murmurs a little later. He is back to resting his head against Lan Wangji's shoulder, having also taken firm hold of Lan Wangji's hand in his own. "Your timing was very foolish for the first one, but even Lans do silly things sometimes. And the battle went well after all, so you should do it before the next one too."

#the untamed #my fic

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polo-drone-066 · 6 months ago

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RUBBERY CHANGE

After the final whistle blew, the stadium was filled with the lingering echoes of the match. The crowd's cheers were slowly replaced by the hum of the players' feet against the floor, heading for the locker room. Among them was Hunter—once a star on the field, now feeling the weight of years of competition catch up with him.

The locker room was heavy with the smell of sweat, liniment, and the stale air of recent exertion. Hunter wiped his brow, his mind already on the future. He had made the decision earlier that day. This would be his last game. The relentless pressure, the constant strain on his body—it was all too much. He needed out. He'd given it all for the game, but now it was time to walk away.

He quickly undressed, tossing his kit aside and heading for his bag. The pungent aroma of the locker room clung to the walls, and the sound of teammates chatting faded into a distant blur. He was almost ready to leave when he noticed a figure in the corner of the room, standing near the entrance.

A man, dressed entirely in black rubber—polo shirt, pants, even gloves—stood motionless. His presence seemed to draw the room’s damp heat closer, as if the air around him thickened. Hunter didn't know how he'd missed him earlier. The man was silent, and his eyes—hidden beneath a black cap—never wavered.

Hunter felt an odd chill run down his spine. Normally, he was quick to dismiss strange encounters, but something about this man unsettled him. The rubbery smell emanating from the stranger was overpowering, so much so that Hunter's breath seemed to slow as it filled his lungs. For a moment, it felt as if his thoughts were growing foggy, the world around him slowing. The man hadn't moved, yet Hunter felt an overwhelming pull towards him, an unspoken command.

The man stepped forward. There were no words exchanged, but Hunter didn't resist. Instead, he felt compelled to sit back down on the bench, his body heavy, as though the air had thickened with every passing second. The rubber man's presence enveloped him, drawing him further into some quiet trance. He couldn’t look away. He couldn't speak.

Without saying a word, the stranger reached into a black bag and pulled out a mask—just like the one he wore, made of sleek, black rubber. It gleamed in the dim light of the locker room, smooth and cold. He leaned in close, and before Hunter could even react, the mask was placed over his face.

The scent of the rubber hit him full force, and Hunter’s mind, already cloudy, seemed to slip further. The edges of his consciousness blurred, and suddenly, the sensation of the mask against his skin felt like an extension of himself. He couldn’t remove it. He didn’t want to. The room seemed to pulse with a rhythm now, a silent beat he was strangely in tune with.

As the rubber mask settled into place, Hunter felt himself shifting, his identity slowly slipping away. His body seemed to stiffen, his limbs growing tight in a way he hadn’t expected. The reflection of his former self, his face, was gone—replaced by the cold, smooth surface of the rubber. He tried to speak, to call out, but the words wouldn’t come.

His vision was clouded for a moment. When it cleared, the locker room no longer felt familiar. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but the man before him had now transformed too. The black rubber polo man was no longer a stranger, but a reflection of something he was becoming.

Hunter stood, now fully enveloped in the uniform, the mask—a complete transformation into the figure that had once seemed so foreign. The scent of rubber had fused with his own being, and he felt an unshakeable urge to conform, to fit into the role he'd just been given.

The rubber man smiled, though the mask made it difficult to tell. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the locker room, Hunter following him without thought, without resistance, the locker room behind them growing silent once more.

Outside, the world was waiting. But for Hunter, the game was no longer the same. It had shifted, and he had shifted with it. The game had always been about transformation—but now, it was about becoming something else entirely.

#golden tf #mental change #male tf #male transformation #dronification #drone tf #golden army #polo drone #polo drone hive #pdu #gold #rubber drone #polo #ai generated

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minafeu · 11 months ago

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I'm not the greatest at writing when tired and it's 11 pm before I got to school the next day but I thought I'd give a snippet of what I have so far. The chapter will be called "Girl, So Confusing" because the tension I've written is utterly divine and fits the title because the way Red be acting is so confusing to Chloe.( @uhhhh-em-draws-stuff this is for you pookie 😘)

Theatre class. A place where many don't have academic rivals but Chloe was unlucky enough to have her academic rival in her Theater class. Today they were doing line readings just to make sure the teacher picked the right people for the roles. Chloe reading for Juliet and Red reading for Romeo. An irony Chloe could care less for but still funny none the less. Red takes her hand as per the directions of staging "If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." Red had an annoying sly smile on her face, knowing she was slightly getting under Chloe's skin.

She take a deep breath and begins her line. "Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hands to much, which mannerly devotion shows this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch. and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." They make eye contact whilst Chloe recites her lines lines. It's obvious to Red that Chloe has honed the craft of theatre for many years which is almost impressive if it weren't for the fact she acted slightly cocky about it. It elicits a small chuckle out of Red, it being humorous that Chloe thinks so highly of herself.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?" Reds voice is soft but firm. Chloe laughs slightly and states "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." She give an unserious smile, emulating the character of Juliet. It's almost impressive how well Red is doing as Chloe has never seen her so theatre. Red simply brushes off the slight look of disbelief on Chloe's face and responds. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Her smile growing more cocky, her head tiltes slightly to the side as she watches to see how Chloe react. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake" Chloe speak softly, shaking her head lightly during my lines. She lightly looks Red up and down as she recites Red next lines.

Red steps a bit closer to Chloe. "Then move not while my prayer's effect I take." She takes Chloe's chin in her hand, just a few inches from her face. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged." Chloe rolls her eyes lightly, breaking character for but a moment. She clears her throat, takes a step back from Red and delivers the line promptly. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." Chloe's gaze is questioning with a hint of innocence, replicating how a child of Juliet's age would have said it. "Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." Red looks into Chloe's eyes, a mischievous smile on her lips. "And scene!" Their teacher calls out.

After a few moments, Chloe goes to her seat and grabs her things, intent on getting to her next class to have peace for just a few moments. The only bad thing about next hour being AP history was perhaps the fact that the seating chart just had to have Red sitting right next to her. It was the only class they sat next to each other and every moment felt like hell on earth. As the teacher begins to give Red compliments on her compelling acting Chloe checks her phone and texts back her mom. After about a minute, the teacher begins to compliment Chloe who dutifully takes them. Red simply rolls her eyes. Ah yes, little miss perfect taking compliments like it's nothing. It's almost as if she isn't Satan incarnate in academia clothing and a pretty smile.

(now published as a full chapter on ao3)

#glassheart academic rivals au #glassrose #glassheart #charminghearts #redcharming #chloe x red #red x chloe #red of wonderland #red of hearts #chloe charming

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aviofruin · 3 months ago

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who: open, but only (3/3) unlock the secret cutscene. everyone else gets a very confused and oddly silent avi trying to communicate via charades. see under the cut! where: khaos grand opening.

Avi can't feel his feet anymore. He's not certain if he's walking or just being carried by something otherworldly.

Which is fine. Who needs solid ground when you're the prince of the fucking world?

He drifts, half floating, half stumbling, a fancy glass dangling off his hand. He's fucked up out of his mind, all manner of inebriation squeezes him until the world tilts just right. Just right enough to finally properly let loose and dislodge his focus from showing up his old pack. traditional old-timey fucks don't know what hit 'em.

Avi crashes into the wall of masks and howls laughing. The masks grin back, simultaneous empty and knowing. He rolls messily along the wall until he looks up at one, then another. Then a step back so he can pin his eyes on all of them at once.

His gaze narrows suspiciously, "Are you judging me?"

He hiccups. "I'm fucking fabulous," he tells the masks. One mask gleams at him. Brighter, drawing and compelling him closer. THE VENGEFUL SONGSTRESS stares straight into him with her dark eyes. Through him. She calls him a farce. A fraud. She dares him. She dares him.

Avi answers the call. "You don't wanna see what happens when you flirt first." There must have been something else in all those drinks because Avi is 22 again and he's invincible. The wall shimmers under his touch when he leans in, and the mask breathes a sigh -- he's so sure of it. It's all it takes for Avi to surge forward and lay a kiss on her stained lips.

When he pulls back, the room sways sideways. He turns around victorious, laughing, feeling a torrent of everything tear up through his chest. There's someone in the sea of bodies looking at him, he sees them through unfocused eyes, and he grins.

The Vengeful Songstress— The first time the Songstress is kissed; the kisser is blessed with a hypnotic and irresistible voice like a siren. The urge to speak or sing impossible to ignore; they drawn the attention of the first three individuals they speak to, forcing them to listen, but to not necessarily obey. The second time the Songstress is kissed; the kisser is silenced. No sound, no scream, no whisper for the rest of the night; the voice comes back, when the club closes.

#this open is going to cause irreparable damage to my drafts #but fuck it we ball #event: khaos grand opening #cor.open

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danielwaldorf · 1 year ago

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hang on. your tags on the lightning arc post......my eyes are so open. they should have had buck join a cult!!!!!!!!!! like. even pre-lightning he was already part of the way there with the Happiness Convention (self-help conventions are basically low-level cults right) HE SHOULD HAVE JOINED A CULT.

they could have kept Natalia and made her his gateway into the cult. like im so serious i would have eaten this storyline up and im sorry but it does actually makes perfectly sense for his character.

And then everyone is like Buck i think you're in a cult. and buck is like no these are just all my cool new friends! And then they could have had their requisite copaganda episode and had Athena bust the cult for money laundering to get him out.

LITERALLYYYYY like okay the academic in me feels compelled to say that anybody might be susceptible to joining a cult and cults are good at providing people with what they need to draw them in etc etc all of that said. buck is absolutely the type of person who would So easily join a cult. ESPECIALLY when he's just had an insane one-in-a-million near-death experience and he's searching for meaning in life!

and like no natalia slander she seemed fine but you're RIGHT she could have made for a perfect entry point for buck to join a cult... the way buck was like She Sees Me literally lowkey the way somebody halfway into joining a cult talks about the cult members. if i ever get through my insane backlog of 9-1-1 fic ideas and get the urge to write something long i may have to give this concept a shot because GOD it could have been so good

EDIT: this also could have worked So well with like bobby and/or eddie exploring their relationship with their faith and like they could have asked the question of like When faith crosses the line from comfort to delusion when it is helpful vs harmful... leading into eddie gay realization..... i'm ruminating

#asks #em talks #911

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fanfictionstuff · 3 months ago

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Amaimon x Reader that Mephisto likes (part 3)

This chapter includes smut, pregnancy, and having a baby. The anon requested that I include the part about the reader going into labor, but I kept it very vague, only mentioning a contraction. Since it's a reader insert and a short story, I preferred not to concentrate too much on the pregnancy itself. Reminder: it's an AU where Amaimon is somewhat more naive regarding physical relationships and believes(ed) the only purpose of mating is to reproduce. So, he is learning a lot about his new urges while also being in a relationship.

Part 1 Part 2

The atmosphere in the office feels tense. Mephisto gazes at you, his expression clearly one of displeasure, while Amaimon takes a defensive stance, positioning himself as close to you as possible. “Miss _____. Do you have any knowledge of your family history?” Mephisto inquires, his fingers steepled as he fixes his intense stare on you.

“I’m not sure what historical context could be connected to the current situation.” Your family has a rich history, much like most families descended from a long line of exorcists.

With a puff of smoke, old, faded documents materialize on his desk. “I’d like to share something important with you. Over the years, it has become clear that your family possesses unique abilities that other exorcists do not have, or that your family’s powers are significantly stronger than those of others outside your lineage.” As he speaks, he flips through the pages of the documents. “This was first observed around five hundred years ago.” He presents detailed information about your family. “I wanted to have this tested.” Mephisto continues, revealing a separate document regarding the birth of a child. “I wanted to test what would happen to these powers if a demon were to be intermingled. So, I conducted the test; various family members with different strengths would reproduce with demons.”

“Oh.” It’s the only thing that escapes your lips as you find yourself too shocked to formulate a proper response. Mephisto continues to share information, pulling out various documents and sliding them in front of you. One document, in particular, displays your family tree, highlighting significant individuals and demons connected to you. “Over the centuries, I’ve collaborated with your family to create the perfect—” He glances between you and Amaimon. So far, it seems that Amaimon has simply referred to you as something that belongs to him. But Mephisto understands enough about humans to anticipate what you would desire, what you would prefer. “-partner for myself.” When your eyes widen, he knows he has you where he wants you. He can offer you the emotional relationship that Amaimon cannot.

“_____, your family and I have worked hard to reach this point. You are the right partner made for me, for us; together we could have a powerful child. Unfortunately, this not only affects you but also causes demons to become enchanted by you. Amaimon’s struggle to understand human emotions and relationships has led both of you into this unfortunate situation.”

Your stomach drops, but it somewhat explains why Amaimon suddenly became interested in you and desired to have a child with you. “What exactly do you want from me in terms of power? I understand some of it, but what powers are there that would compel a demon king to reproduce with me? As far as I know, I’m pretty…average.”

Mephisto shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but that information is confidential. However, I can tell you that the power within you has been sealed away for your protection. It’s crucial for you to lead a normal life without drawing too much attention.”

“You won’t tell me? But I’m having a child now. If my child is going to inherit some kind of power, I need to know—"

“I will ensure that their power remains sealed until the appropriate time. You will learn everything, but that time is not now. We must discuss something more pressing.” Slowly, Mephisto stands from his chair and walks toward you, while Amaimon narrows his eyes and positions himself between you and Mephisto. “Calm down, I’m not going to harm her.” He gives Amaimon a warning look to step away.

Amaimon tenses for a moment, glancing briefly at you and then at Mephisto before taking a step back while remaining close to you.

“I will allow Amaimon to continue playing this game – for him – until he grows bored.” Mephisto steps closer, gently cupping your right cheek. “The moment he loses interest, you will belong to me.” His thumb glides along your lower lip. “I’ll even be considerate and take care of both of you.” He casts a meaningful glance at your abdomen. “Keep in mind that Amaimon will eventually become bored. Try not to get too attached. When he departs, leaving you and his offspring…” Mephisto frowns, “I will care for both of you, and we can start the family we are meant to have.”

Slowly, you shake your head. “I don’t want that.”

Mephisto raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes-”

You’re interrupted when Mephisto pulls you into a kiss—one that your body responds to, even as your mind opposes.

Amaimon growls, his golden eyes flashing dangerously as he yanks you away from Mephisto. The force of his pull sends you stumbling into his chest, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist possessively.

"She’s mine," he snarls, baring his fangs at his brother. "I am having a family with her."

Mephisto merely smirks, straightening his white jacket with casual flicks of his fingers. "I'm merely showing her what awaits when you inevitably tire of your new toy."

Your lips still tingle from Mephisto's kiss, and you hate that your body responded to him—like some sort of primal recognition. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to erase the sensation.

"I'm not a breeding experiment," you say, your voice trembling with anger. "And I'm not a toy to be passed between demon kings when one gets bored."

Amaimon's grip tightens around you. For once, his usual bored expression has shifted to something darker, more intense. "You’re not a toy; you’re my mate. Let’s go.” He shoves a key into the door, opening it to your home, then pushes you inside, slamming the door behind him.

Mephisto lets out a sigh. "I suppose it doesn’t really matter; it will likely take her about three years to feel ready for another child. Amaimon should move on within a year, allowing her two years to become more comfortable with me and having my child.”

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

When the door slams, Amaimon stares at the ground. As he lifts his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions flashes through them. “Did you like it?”

Your first instinct is to ask, 'Like what?’ but you know exactly what he’s referring to. Your body deflates; you want to say no, yet there was something about the kiss. It wasn’t so much that you liked it—it felt as if a part of you, separate from your true self, enjoyed it.

"I-I didn't want him to kiss me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "My body just... reacted."

Amaimon advances toward you with a predatory grace. He halts just inches away, examining your face with an unsettling intensity.

"Brother said you were made for him." His voice is flat. "That humans dedicated centuries to create you."

You back away until your shoulders press against the wall. "I had no idea about any of this until today. I'm just as shocked as you are."

"You kissed him back." It's not a question; it's an accusation.

"I didn't mean to. It felt... strange. Like my body recognized something my mind didn't." You swallow hard. "Amaimon, I chose you. I'm carrying your child."

He reaches forward suddenly, making you flinch, but he only places his hand on your stomach. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Amaimon," you say cautiously, “is it true what Mephisto said about you getting bored?” He had mentioned during your night together that he wanted a long-term relationship with you, but hearing Mephisto bring it up frightens you.

"I don't know; I've never had a human before." His golden eyes fixate on you with an unsettling intensity. "I've never wanted one until you. Not just a human — I’ve never wanted anyone before you, and I’ve never wanted an offspring.”

You walk past him into the living room and sink into the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted. "So, Mephisto must be right. You’re only interested in me because I’m some sort of… breeding experiment for demon kings, with powers I know nothing about, and now I'm pregnant with your child. When you're bored, I'll just be passed on to your brother like an heirloom."

Amaimon's face twists into a grimace, and in an instant, he's kneeling before you, one hand resting on your stomach while the other holds your chin firmly enough to make you look at him.

"Do you think I'm like him?" His voice lowered an octave. "Brother is always playing games with humans, always coming up with schemes. But I don't scheme."

"But you do get bored," you reply, fighting to mask the hurt in your voice. "You admitted yourself that you’re not sure if I'll keep your interest."

Amaimon tilts his head, pondering this. "I get bored with things—games, places, even food eventually." He leans closer to you, his face just inches away. "But you're different. You smell different, you feel different."

You close your eyes, attempting to process everything that has transpired. "How can I trust this? Mephisto told me I was created to appeal to demon kings. I smell and feel different because I’m meant to attract you. What if that's all there is to it?"

Amaimon releases your chin and settles back on his heels. For a long moment, he remains silent. “He’s lying.”

“What?”

“Big Brother asked you to show me around because he knew I wouldn’t harm you; he wants you, right? If he believed you might consider reproducing with any demon king, he would never have allowed you to be alone with me. He was furious when I told him you were pregnant. You may be an experiment, but it wasn’t intended for demon kings; it was solely for Mephisto.”

You gaze at Amaimon, reflecting on his words. There's a certain logic to what he's saying.

"Do you really think he let me show you around just because he assumed you wouldn't be interested in me?"

Amaimon nods. "Brother always has a plan. He always thinks he knows what will happen. But he didn't plan for me to want you."

You press your palms against your temples, struggling to make sense of everything. "So I'm still some sort of breeding experiment, but solely for Mephisto?"

"Probably." Amaimon's straightforwardness is both jarring and refreshing, particularly in contrast to Mephisto's carefully crafted half-truths.

"What about the power he mentioned? The one that's supposedly sealed inside of me?"

Amaimon shrugs and says, "I don't know. I've never felt anything special from you, except..." He trails off, a hint of confusion crossing his face.

"Except what?"

"All I want is to be close to you, all the time." He frowns, frustrated by his struggle to express his feelings clearly. "I want to protect you and the offspring. I want you to be happy. These desires are new to me; I've never wanted these things before."

His admission sends a flutter through your chest. "Amaimon..." You gently cup his face, drawing him closer and pressing your lips against his. “When Mephisto kissed me, it felt as if something outside of me wanted it. But when you kiss me, the feelings behind it are genuine. I like kissing you, Amaimon.”

He nods and wraps his arms around your legs, resting his head in your lap. “I like kissing you too.”

You place your hand on his head, gently running your fingers through his hair. For another twenty minutes, the two of you stay like this, with Amaimon occasionally tightening his grip. He finally releases you when you remind him that it’s time for dinner and ask him to let go so you can prepare a meal for him. When you stand, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead against your abdomen for a moment before letting you go and standing up himself.

A week later, Amaimon stands in the middle of the kitchen, scanning the text in the book and then the fridge. “_____, we don’t have any chicken.” He turns his attention to you as you sit at the bar. “Then you’ll have to cook something else.”

After meeting with Mephisto, Amaimon never left; he basically moved into your apartment. Earlier today, when you made a joke about him needing to pull his weight around the place, he took it to heart and decided to start by cooking you dinner. “Are you sure you don’t want help?” You question as he starts flipping through the pages and comparing ingredients in the book to what’s in the fridge.

“I need to take care of my mate and offspring.” He answers without looking at you. “I don’t want your help.”

Amaimon sits across from you at the table, staring intensely as you take a bite. It’s good, much better than you had been expecting. “Wow, this is great, Amaimon.” You praise him. He gives you a pleased look before trying it for himself. “I am a better cook than Big Brother.” He keeps eye contact with you as he speaks.

You can’t help but smile at his remark. “Amaimon, you don’t have to worry about proving to me you're better than him. I only want you.” As you speak, his eyes drop to your abdomen. “I will take care of both of you.”

“I know, Amaimon.”

After dinner, you quickly shower and slip into your pajamas—a comfortable top and lightweight pants. Settling into the sofa, you find your eyes glued to the TV as you binge-watch a new show. As you lay back on the sofa, Amaimon sits at the end, holding your legs in his lap.

He stares blankly at you during the first three episodes before deciding to speak his mind. “_____?”

“Yes?”

His brows knit together in confusion, “We mated.”

“Yes.”

“You’re carrying my child.”

You frown, uncertain of where he is headed with this. “Yes.”

Gradually, he moves closer to you, his gaze lingering on your pajama set. “We mated; you are pregnant.”

“Amaimon… is something wrong?”

“Why do I feel the urge to mate with you again? You’re already carrying my offspring.”

Oh. Your eyes widen. Slowly, you sit up and stare at him. “Amaimon…people are intimate outside wanting a child. They enjoy being with each other,” you lamely explain to him. “It’s like kissing; we don’t have to kiss, but you enjoy it, right? People have sex outside wanting children because they enjoy it.”

Amaimon tilts his head, his golden eyes blinking slowly as he processes the information. "So, people mate... for fun?" He emphasizes the word 'fun' with newfound interest, as if he has just stumbled upon an exciting game.

"Well, yes. It's about pleasure and connection." You feel your cheeks warming. It's strange explaining this to a demon king who's lived for centuries yet seems to have missed some fundamental aspects of relationships.

He leans forward, studying your face with unnerving intensity. His clawed hand reaches toward your stomach, hovering just above the fabric of your pajamas. "The offspring is growing well. I can sense its energy."

"That's... good to know."

Without warning, he leans in more, his face inches from yours. "I want to try this 'fun mating' now."

"Amaimon, it's called intimacy. And it's not just about the physical act. There's emotion involved."

He blinks again, processing. "You don’t want to mate with me again?”

“That’s not what I said,” you sigh, pulling him closer. “I never imagined I’d have to guide my first partner in the ways of intimacy.”

“First?” Amaimon frowns, that makes it sound like you have plans to have others. “I will be your only mate.” Amaimon's golden eyes narrow slightly, a possessive glint appearing in them that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers curl around your wrist, not painfully, but with unmistakable firmness.

"I will be your only mate," he repeats.

You can't help but smile at his directness. "Yes, Amaimon. You're my only... mate." The demon terminology still feels strange on your tongue.

He seems satisfied with this, his posture relaxing slightly. Then, with the abrupt curiosity that characterizes him, he asks, "How many times do humans typically mate for... fun?"

You nearly choke on air. "That's not exactly—I mean, it varies. There's no standard number."

"Interesting." Amaimon leans forward, his lips pressing against yours as he pushes you back to lie on the sofa. His kiss is surprisingly gentle at first but quickly becomes more demanding, reflecting his impatient nature. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his jacket.

When he breaks the kiss, his golden eyes seem to glow in the dim light of your living room. He lowers his head, his nose trailing along the curve of your jaw. The sensation of his breath against your skin sends goosebumps racing across your flesh. He inhales deeply, a low rumble emerging from his chest.

"Your scent has changed since you've been carrying my offspring," he murmurs against your skin. "Sweeter. More... mine."

His lips glide over the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you find yourself unable to suppress the small gasp that escapes your lips. Sensing your response, Amaimon begins to explore your neck with slow, deliberate kisses. Each press of his lips feels like a brand, marking you as his own.

Amaimon's exploration becomes bolder as his kisses trail down your throat, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake. The weight of his body pressed against yours feels both comforting and thrilling, his supernatural heat penetrating the thin fabric of your pajamas. His movements possess a predatory precision, each touch deliberate yet curiously inquisitive, as if he's mapping every inch of your skin.

"Your heartbeat," he murmurs against your collarbone, "it's faster now." His voice carries that familiar detached fascination, but there's something else there too—a husky undercurrent that betrays his own rising desire.

You thread your fingers through his dark green hair, marveling at its softness. The lighter-colored spike brushes against your chin as he continues his downward journey. His golden eyes flick up to meet yours briefly, pupils dilated.

His fingers ghost over the swell of your breast, and burgundy claws trace along the delicate fabric. A shiver courses through you at his touch, and your body responds instinctively to his attention despite his clinical observations.

"Amaimon," you breathe his name like a prayer, and something flickers in his golden eyes—recognition, perhaps, of the power his touch holds over you.

He lowers his head with deliberate slowness, his breath hot against the thin material of your pajama top. The warmth seeps through, a stark contrast to the cool evening air that had settled in the apartment. His lips press against the curve of your breast, testing and exploring, before he begins to trail kisses across the sensitive flesh.

"You smell good," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin.

His nose traces a meandering path across your chest, inhaling deeply as if cataloging every subtle change in your body's chemistry.

His mouth finally closes over your nipple through the fabric, the heat of his breath seeping through the thin material. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. Amaimon's eyes flick up to yours, gauging your reaction with that peculiar mix of detachment and intense focus that only he can manage.

"Sensitive," he murmurs against your breast, the vibration of his voice adding another layer to the pleasure building within you. His tongue presses flat against the fabric, dampening it until the material clings to your sensitive peak. The contrast between the wet heat of his mouth and the cooler air when he pulls back slightly makes you shiver.

One of his hands slides up to cup your other breast; his touch is surprisingly gentle as he kneads softly, carefully, as if handling something precious and fragile.

Amaimon pulls back momentarily, tilting his head as he observes the darkened patch of fabric where his mouth had been. With curiosity, he traces a claw around the hardened peak visible through the damp material.

"Your body is interesting," he murmurs, his voice deeper than usual. "So responsive to simple stimulation."

Before you can respond, he lowers his head again, this time with renewed purpose. His mouth closes over your clothed nipple once more, the heat of his breath seeping through the thin fabric. He suckles gently at first, then with increasing fervor, his tongue circling the sensitive bud through your pajama top. The wet heat combined with the friction of the fabric creates a delicious sensation that has you arching into his touch.

His free hand slides up your side, fingertips ghosting over your ribs with surprising tenderness. For a being capable of such destruction, Amaimon treats your body with reverent care, as if aware of both your fragility and the precious life you carry within.

"Amaimon," you gasp as he grazes his teeth against your sensitive flesh, just enough pressure to remind you of their sharpness.

His eyes dart up to yours, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features as he registers the effect he's having on you. "Your voice changes when I touch you," he observes, his lips moving against your skin as he speaks. "Lower. Breathier." His tongue darts out to trace a lazy circle around your nipple through the damp fabric. "I like it."

"Humans are strange," he murmurs, pushing your top higher to expose your stomach. "So vulnerable. So soft." His lips press against where your child—his child—grows. "Yet you carry power within you."

He places another kiss just below your navel, golden eyes locked with yours. "Our offspring will be strong."

Your breath catches as his hands slide to the waistband of your pajama bottoms. He presses open kisses up your body until he reaches your other breast as his left-hand rubs you on the outside of your underwear.

A small sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a moan, and you feel his lips curve into a smile against your breast. "That sound," he murmurs, "Make it again."

His fingers press more firmly, finding your sensitive spot with uncanny precision. The pressure sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you can't help but comply with his demand, another soft moan filling the quiet room.

Amaimon lifts his head, his golden eyes now glowing with unmistakable hunger. "Humans have so many ways to express pleasure," he observes, his voice taking on that husky quality that makes your insides tighten. His fingers continue their rhythmic movements, each stroke building the tension coiling low in your belly.

"I want to see more," he decides, hooking his claws carefully into the waistband of your pajama bottoms. With surprising gentleness, he slides them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours, as if drinking in every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver. He tosses the pajama bottoms and underwear somewhere and pushes your legs open wider for him. Then just stares.

“Please stop staring.”

“But, it looks nice. I like looking at you.” He innocently responds.

You cover your face with your hands, mortified by his blunt statement. "Amaimon, you can't just say things like that!"

He looks genuinely confused, head tilting slightly as his golden eyes remain fixed between your legs. "Why not? It's true." His clawed finger traces a feather-light path along your inner thigh, making you shiver. "Humans are strange about stating facts."

Before you can formulate a response, he lowers his head, his breath warm against you.

"Amaimon—" Your words dissolve into a gasp as his tongue makes experimental contact, a slow, deliberate stroke that sends electricity shooting up your spine.

He pulls back, looking up at you. "You taste good.”

Without further warning, he dives back in, his tongue exploring with a methodical thoroughness that belies his usual impatience. “Take your shirt off.” He demands, then flattens his tongue against your clit.

You comply through a haze of pleasure, tugging your pajama top over your head with trembling fingers. The moment you're bare before him, Amaimon's golden eyes darken visibly, his pupils dilating until only a thin ring of gold remains.

"Better," he murmurs against your sensitive flesh, the vibration of his voice sending new waves of sensation through you. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, burgundy claws carefully avoiding scratching your skin as he kneads the soft flesh.

The dual sensations—his tongue working between your thighs while his hands explore your breasts—leave you gasping, your back arching involuntarily off the sofa. One of his hands slides down to rest on your abdomen, a possessive gesture that somehow intensifies your pleasure.

"Amaimon," you pant, tangling your fingers in his dark green hair. His hair is soft against your palm as you guide him, wordlessly showing him where you need him most.

He follows your lead with unexpected obedience, focusing his attention on your most sensitive spot.

His tongue moves with increasing precision, each stroke building the tension coiling within you. The juxtaposition of his dangerous appearance and the gentleness of his touch enhances the intensity of the experience. His golden eyes flick up, observing your reactions with that peculiar blend of detachment and hunger that is distinctively Amaimon.

"Your body is responding well," he murmurs against you, the vibration of his words sending shivers through your core.

You would laugh at his clinical observation if you weren't so absorbed in the sensations he's creating. Instead, you tighten your grip on his hair, guiding him closer. He seems to understand, increasing the pressure of his tongue, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate.

When he introduces a finger—having bitten off the claw at some point—the added sensation nearly sends you over the edge. He curls it inside you with surprising skill, finding that perfect spot that makes your vision blur.

"Amaimon, I'm—" you try to warn him, but your words dissolve into a gasp as the tension finally breaks. Waves of pleasure crash through you, your body trembling beneath his touch.

Amaimon watches with fascination as you come undone beneath him, his golden eyes tracking every flutter of your eyelids, every tremor that courses through your body. His finger continues its gentle exploration inside you, prolonging your pleasure as if conducting an experiment on how long he can keep you suspended in ecstasy.

"_____," he murmurs against your inner thigh, placing a surprisingly tender kiss there as your breathing gradually steadies. "Your entire body responds when you reach climax."

You're still floating in the afterglow when you feel him shift, moving up your body with predatory grace. His jacket buttons press against your sensitive skin as he hovers above you, his golden eyes now unmistakably hungry.

"I want more," he states simply, his usual directness somehow endearing in this context. His fingers work at the crossbones buttons of his jacket, shrugging it off with impatient movements.

You reach up to help him remove his black and pink shirt, revealing the lean, muscled torso beneath. Your fingers trace the contours of his chest. You pull him down into a kiss.

The kiss deepens as his body presses against yours, skin to skin, his supernatural warmth enveloping you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as it slides against yours, a reminder of his earlier attentions that sends a renewed flutter of desire through your core. His hands frame your face with surprising tenderness, burgundy claws carefully angled away from your skin.

His hands move to his remaining clothes, removing them with efficient movements until he's completely bare before you.

"You're staring," he points out, echoing your earlier complaint with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"It’s hard not to stare at someone as beautiful as you," you counter,

He raises a brow at that, then glances down at your body. “So, you can stare at my beauty, but I can’t stare at yours? That’s not fair.”

His words draw a laugh from you, the sound softening the heated tension between you. "sorry," you concede, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "We can both appreciate each other."

Amaimon leans into your touch, his golden eyes half-lidded as your fingers trail down his neck to his chest. There's something vulnerable in his expression now, a rare glimpse beneath his typically impassive demeanor.

The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter. There's something profoundly intimate about this moment—more so than your previous encounter. Perhaps it's the knowledge of the life growing inside you, binding you together in ways neither of you fully comprehend.

Amaimon braces himself above you, one hand moving to guide himself to your entrance. He pauses there, the tip of him just barely pressing against you. "The offspring won't be harmed?" he asks, a rare note of concern in his typically detached voice.

Your heart swells at his question. "No," you assure him, reaching up to touch his face. "It's safe."

He nods once, satisfied with your answer, then slowly pushes forward. The sensation of him filling you draws a gasp from your lips, your body stretching to accommodate him. Amaimon's eyes flutter closed momentarily, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth.

"You feel..." he pauses, searching for words, "different than before." His voice holds a note of wonder as he remains still within you, allowing your body to adjust to his presence.

"Different how?" you ask, your hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders.

"Warmer. Tighter." His golden eyes open fully, fixing on yours with that penetrating gaze. "Like your body knows mine now."

The observation sends a flutter through your chest. There's something profoundly intimate about his words, despite his clinical delivery. You roll your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.

"Move," you whisper, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "Please."

Amaimon complies, withdrawing almost completely before pushing back in with deliberate slowness. The friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching involuntarily. His movements are controlled, almost cautious, so unlike his usual impulsive nature.

"Is this... fun?" he asks between thrusts, genuine curiosity mingling with the tension in his voice.

A breathless laugh escapes you. "Yes, Amaimon," you manage, your words punctuated by the rhythm of his movements. "Very fun."

His lips curve into a rare smile, a flash of satisfaction crossing his features. "Good." His pace increases slightly, each thrust deeper than the last. The feeling of him moving inside you sends waves of pleasure radiating outward, building upon the earlier climax.

Amaimon watches your face with fascination, golden eyes tracking every minute change in your expression. His hands slide beneath you, lifting your hips to change the angle slightly. The new position allows him to hit that perfect spot inside you, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.

"There," he murmurs, voice tight with restraint. "Your body tells me when I do something right."

One of his hands trails up your side to cup your breast, his thumb circling the sensitive peak in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations—him filling you while his fingers tease your nipple—has you gasping his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Amaimon," you breathe, "faster."

He complies immediately, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. The controlled rhythm begins to falter as his own pleasure builds, his breathing becoming more ragged, his usual composure slipping. The sight of him losing control because of you sends a thrill through your core, tightening you around him.

His movements grow more intense, and the restraint he's shown is giving way to a primal need that matches your own. You wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, urging him on with breathy moans and whispered encouragements.

"_____," he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest. There's something possessive in the way he says your name, something that sends a thrill racing through you.

Your second climax builds faster than the first, tension coiling tight at your core. "Amaimon, I'm close," you gasp, your fingers threading through his dark green hair.

He nods once, understanding, and lowers his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips, one hand sliding between your bodies to press against that sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation is all it takes to send you spiraling over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

Your body tightens around him as you come, drawing a guttural sound from deep in his throat. His rhythm falters, becoming erratic as he chases his own release. When it finally claims him, he buries his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he shudders above you.

For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies still joined as you struggle to catch your breath while holding him close. Amaimon shifts slightly and rests against your chest, gazing at the TV.

“Amaimon?”

“Yes?”

“I think I love you.”

His grip tightens around you.

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

Amaimon wasn’t joking when he claimed that the pregnancy would progress faster than a human’s. Just two months in, and there’s already a subtle swell in your abdomen. While it may not be obvious unless someone knows you’re pregnant, it’s enough to catch Amaimon’s attention.

He is perched above you as you relax on the sofa, slowly lifting your shirt to expose your abdomen. His lips brush against your skin while he whispers something meant only for his child to hear.

“Amaimon?” you whisper, brushing a few strands of hair from his eyes as he looks up at you, his chin resting on your abdomen. “What?” he questions. “I was just wondering if you want a boy or a girl.”

He answers without hesitation. “It doesn’t matter. We are going to have more than one offspring. We’ll have both boys and girls.”

“Do you have names in mind?”

“Names for our offspring?”

You gently tug his hair. “Yes, names. You can’t just call them offspring one, two, three, etc.”

“Why not? It would simplify naming them.” He chuckles as he notices your widened eyes, then leans down to press his lips against your abdomen once more. “It doesn't matter to me; you can name this one. I’ll name the next one.”

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

“What are you doing?” You question Amaimon when you feel his hand slip between your legs.

“It feels good.” He answers bluntly while moving his hand past your underwear to play with the folds. “Warm and soft.” He moves not to bring you pleasure but rather runs his fingers over you for his own satisfaction, enjoying the way it feels.

"Amaimon," you murmur, your body stirring despite your initial surprise. His touch is more exploratory than purposeful, yet heat begins to pool in your core nonetheless.

Your breath hitches as his finger grazes a particularly sensitive spot. "It's a bit distracting when I'm trying to read."

He glances at the book in your hands, his head tilting slightly. "Is it more distracting than it is enjoyable?"

You can't help but smile at his directness. "Both, I suppose."

Amaimon ponders this for a moment, his fingers continuing their lazy patterns until he finally pulls them away to stare at his fingertip. “You’re getting more wet.” He casually comments, licking the tips of his fingers before going back to lazily running his fingers through your folds.

"You know," you say, striving to maintain a calm voice as his fingers continue their leisurely exploration, "most people would view this as foreplay."

"Foreplay?" He experiments with the word, his golden eyes locked onto the spot where his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear. "The activities before mating?"

"Yes," you manage, your breath hitching as he accidentally—or perhaps not so accidentally—brushes against your clit.

"Interesting." He pauses momentarily as he processes this information. "So, this would typically lead to sex?"

You laugh softly. "Usually, yes. That's generally the purpose."

Amaimon contemplates this, tilting his head in that distinctive manner of his. "But I'm only touching you because I enjoy the way you feel." His fingers continue their exploration, tracing languid patterns. "Does everything have to serve a purpose?"

The question is surprisingly philosophical coming from him, and it catches you off guard. "I suppose not," you concede, shifting slightly to accommodate his touch.

His lips curve into what might be the ghost of a smile.

You set your book aside, surrendering to the sensations he's creating. "You're very distracting, you know that?"

"Good." There's a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he slides his finger deeper, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. "Your body is changing."

"Does that bother you?" you ask softly, observing his face for any sign of discomfort.

Amaimon seems genuinely puzzled by the question. "Why would it?" His golden eyes glance down at the gentle curve of your abdomen. "The changes mean our offspring is growing strong."

His free hand moves to rest on your stomach, a gesture that has become increasingly common as your pregnancy progresses. There's something deeply intimate about the way he touches you.

"Are you happy, Amaimon?" The question slips out before you can stop it, vulnerability coloring your tone.

His fingers are still as he considers your question with unexpected seriousness. "Happy," he repeats, testing the word as if it were unfamiliar territory. "I don't know if that's quite the right word." His golden eyes meet yours, unusually intense even for him. "I feel... satisfied. Complete. I've existed for centuries, but this—" he presses his hand gently against your abdomen, "—is new. You are new."

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words. While they might seem inadequate coming from anyone else, from Amaimon—who finds it difficult to express emotions that most take for granted—they hold a profound significance.

"I think that's happiness," you say softly, placing your hand over his.

He considers this, then nods once. "Then yes, I am happy."

His fingers resume their gentle exploration between your legs, but there's a new tenderness to his touch now as if he's mapping not just your body but the connection between you. His thumb finds your sensitive bud, circling it with new purpose.

"Amaimon," you breathe, your hips shifting restlessly against his hand.

"I like it when you say my name like that," he murmurs, his golden eyes fixed on your face with intense focus. "Your voice transforms; it becomes softer and breathier."

The pressure of his thumb increases slightly, drawing a soft moan from your lips. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, desire coiling low in your belly despite the casual way this began.

"Should I continue this... foreplay?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice now, a rare playfulness that makes your heart race.

"Please," you whisper, letting your legs fall open wider for him.

Amaimon shifts position, kneeling between your thighs. With careful precision, he slides your underwear down your legs, discarding it somewhere on the floor. His golden eyes take in the sight of you, exposed and wanting.

"Beautiful," he says simply, his voice holding that straightforward quality that somehow makes the compliment all the more sincere. His fingers trace patterns up your inner thighs, burgundy claws carefully angled away from your sensitive skin.

"I didn't expect this when I began touching you," he admits, tilting his head as he studies your reaction. "But I like where it's going."

You laugh softly, the sound turning into a gasp as he lowers his head between your thighs. The first touch of his tongue sends electricity racing up your spine, your fingers instinctively threading through his dark green hair.

"You taste different every time," he murmurs softly against you, the warmth of his words intensifying the sensation. "It's sweeter. The pregnancy is transforming you in ways that humans often overlook."

Before you can respond, he resumes his exploration, his tongue finding that perfect spot that makes your back arch off the couch. His hands slide beneath you, supporting your hips as he draws you closer to his mouth. The sight of him between your legs—his unusual hair, his supernatural eyes watching your every reaction—is almost as arousing as his touch.

"Amaimon," you gasp, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more of the pleasure his mouth provides.

His response is to increase the pressure, his tongue moving with newfound determination. One of his hands slides up your body to cup your breast, his thumb circling the sensitive peak in time with the movements of his tongue. The dual sensations have you trembling, your body tensing as the pleasure builds within you.

When he slips a finger inside you, curling it to find that perfect spot, the added stimulation pushes you over the edge. Your release washes over you in waves, your body shuddering beneath his touch as you cry out his name. Amaimon continues his ministrations through your climax, drawing out your pleasure until you're gasping for breath, your hand gently pushing his head away when it becomes too much.

He sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he watches you recover. There's a look of satisfaction on his face, pride at having brought you such pleasure. "I like making you feel good," he states simply.

"Come here," you whisper, reaching out for him. He moves up your body with effortless grace, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

“Does foreplay have to lead to sex? I just like making you feel good. Was that sufficient? Or do you need more?”

“Amaimon, if you don’t want to continue, we don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to disappoint my mate.”

"I could never be disappointed by you," you assure him, stroking his face tenderly. "Whatever you want—or don't want—is perfectly fine."

“You are satisfied?”

“Yes.” You answer honestly. “I just want you to feel comfortable too.”

He studies your face with that intense golden gaze, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, he settles beside you on the couch, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness.

"This is enough," he decides, his hand coming to rest on the subtle swell of your abdomen. "For now."

You nestle against him, savoring the warmth of his body. These quiet moments have grown increasingly precious glimpses of domesticity with a being who has existed for centuries but appears to be discovering something new in your shared life.

"Amaimon," you murmur after several minutes of comfortable silence. "Do you think Mephisto will cause problems for us?"

His body tenses slightly beneath yours. "Probably." His blunt honesty is both refreshing and concerning. "Brother doesn't like losing."

"And he thinks he's lost me to you," you sigh, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"He has," Amaimon states frankly. His arm tightens around you possessively. "You're mine. Our offspring is mine."

His directness is comforting. "What do you think he'll do?" you ask, your hand finding his where it rests on your stomach.

Amaimon is quiet for a long moment, considering. "Brother plays games. Long games." His golden eyes narrow slightly. "He might wait. Watch. Plan."

"That's not very reassuring," you murmur.

"It's not meant to be." His bluntness makes you smile despite your worry. "But I'm stronger than he expects. And you—" his gaze drops to your abdomen, "—you carry power he doesn't understand."

"The power he mentioned... do you know what it is yet?"

Amaimon shakes his head. "No. But I can feel it growing with our offspring." His hand splays wider across your stomach. "Whatever it is, it's strong. Getting stronger."

A shiver runs through you at his words. "Should I be afraid?"

"No." The certainty is surprising to you. “I will keep you both safe. Our child will love you and want to keep you safe too when they are powerful enough to protect you and their younger siblings.”

The thought of having more children with Amaimon fills you with a strange warmth. "How many siblings do you think our child should have?" you ask, curious about his perspective.

Amaimon contemplates this with an unusual seriousness. "Demon kings typically don't reproduce, as it dilutes power." He circles his hand slowly over your abdomen. "But our offspring will be different. They will be stronger." His golden eyes lock onto yours. "Three. Maybe four."

You can't help but laugh. "You've given this some thought."

"I think about it often," he admits, his usual detachment softening. "Our family."

The word 'family' from his lips makes your heart flutter. It's such a human concept, yet he speaks it with genuine consideration.

"Do you think they'll have your green hair?" you grin, reaching up to touch the distinctive spike.

"Perhaps." A rare smile flickers across his face. "Or maybe your eyes." His finger traces the curve of your cheek. "Human genetics are unpredictable. Demon genetics are even more so."

Amaimon gazes deeply into your eyes, as if weighing his thoughts. "______, I think I love you.”

The words linger in the air between you, a confession you never expected to hear from him. For a moment, you're too stunned to respond, your heart racing in your chest. Amaimon observes you with those golden eyes, unblinking, waiting for your reaction with unexpected patience.

"I said it wrong?" he finally asks, uncertainty creeping into his voice—an emotion you've rarely heard from him.

"No," you whisper, reaching up to cup his face. "You said it perfectly. I love you too, Amaimon."

His expression doesn't change significantly—he's still not one for grand emotional displays—but something in his eyes softens, and his hand presses more firmly against your abdomen.

"Good," he says simply. "It would be inconvenient if you didn't."

You laugh, the sound brightening the quiet apartment. "Inconvenient?"

"Yes." He nods solemnly. "I want to stay with you and our offspring forever. If you didn't love me, that would complicate things."

"Forever is a long time.”

Amaimon nods.

"For a demon," you say softly, running your fingers through his hair. "For me, it would be a lifetime."

Amaimon's brow furrows slightly. "Human lifespans are brief," he states, his voice taking on an edge you haven't heard before. "I don't like thinking about that."

The reality of your situation settles between you—the vast difference in your lifespans, the centuries he has already lived, and the millennia he might continue to exist after you're gone. It's a sobering thought, one that casts a shadow over your shared moment.

"There may be ways," he says after a long silence, his voice unusually hesitant. "Ways to extend your life. Not forever, perhaps, but longer than a typical human."

"What ways?" you ask, uncertain if you want to hear the answer.

His golden eyes meet yours, unblinking. "Demon contracts. Certain rituals. Mephisto would know more." His mouth twists slightly at the mention of his brother. "But such things always come at a price."

You place your hand over his, where it rests on your stomach. "Let's not worry about that right now.”

“There probably is a way with your power. First we need to learn what it is.”

—————————————————

As the weeks go by, your body undergoes rapid changes, far exceeding the pace of a typical human pregnancy. By the fifth month, your appearance resembles that of someone entering their third trimester, with your belly now beautifully rounded. Amaimon's fascination with these transformations is truly heartwarming; he spends hours with his head resting against your stomach, intently listening to the life developing inside you. His eyes light up with joy when he feels them move, especially in response to his voice.

One evening, as you prepare dinner, a sharp pain makes you drop the knife you hold. It clatters against the counter while you grip the edge, breathing through the sudden sensation.

"_____?" Amaimon is beside you instantly, his golden eyes scanning your face with unusual concern.

"I'm fine," you assure him, straightening as the pain subsides. "Just a twinge—"

Your words fade as another, more intense pain radiates through your abdomen. This time, there's no mistaking it for anything other than what it is.

"The offspring is coming," Amaimon states, his usual detachment tinged with urgency. His hand moves to your stomach, golden eyes narrowing as he focuses on something only he can sense. "It's early."

"Too early?" you gasp, another wave of pain making you clutch at his arm.

Amaimon shakes his head. "No. Our offspring is ready." His voice is unusually gentle. We need to prepare."

Within an hour, he transforms the spare bedroom into a birthing space with surprising efficiency, gathering supplies you didn't even know he had obtained.

"You planned for this," you realize as you watch him arrange clean towels and bowls of water.

“Yes." He doesn't look up from his task.

Another contraction grips you, even stronger than the last, eliciting a cry from your lips. Amaimon is at your side in an instant, his cool hand resting on your forehead.

"Breathe," he says, his golden eyes locked onto yours. "I’m going to call brother. He’ll bring someone who has experience with humans having half-demon children.”

Mephisto calmly walks in around twenty minutes later, with an older kind looking woman behind him.

The woman approaches your bedside with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hello, dear. I've aided in bringing many half-demon children into this world." Her voice is soothing, and her demeanor is both professional and kind.

Mephisto stands at the doorway, his expression unreadable as he observes Amaimon hovering protectively near you. "I'll wait outside," he says at last, his emerald eyes lingering on your swollen abdomen before he steps out.

Another contraction surges through you, more intense than the last. You grasp Amaimon's hand tightly, squeezing it as you endure the pain. His golden eyes widen slightly at your strength, but he doesn't pull away.

"The child is eager," observes the midwife, her hands gently examining your abdomen. "Typically, demon-human births are faster than human ones. This little one might arrive within the hour."

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

Mephisto was sure that Amaimon would lose interest in you and the child before the pregnancy came to an end. He was prepared to step in, help heal your broken heart, take on the role of father to Amaimon’s child, and eventually, in a few years, have children with you of his own.

But for some reason, Amaimon decided to remain until the child was born, Mephisto was confident he wouldn’t linger much longer than that. Babies cry and require a lot of effort; not only do you have to keep them alive by feeding them, changing their diapers, and ensuring they get enough sleep, but they also need emotional connections. You can’t simply ignore them after they’ve been fed or had their diaper changed.

Even as you give birth, Mephisto has all his plans set up in the back of his mind. He wonders how long it will take for Amaimon to lose interest. Should he prepare a nursery soon? Although Mephisto is not fond of the idea of taking in a newborn, he knows he will do what needs to be done.

Amaimon doesn’t lift his head when Mephisto enters the room; his attention remains fixated on the infant in his arms. However, when Amaimon finally looks up and locks eyes with Mephisto, all of Mephisto’s plans come crashing down. The unmistakable love reflected in Amaimon's eyes as he turns his gaze back to his daughter is something Mephisto has never witnessed in his brother before.

Mephisto's smile wavers briefly before he skillfully masks his disappointment with his characteristic theatrical flair.

The Earth King sits on the edge of the bed where you rest, exhausted yet radiant. His posture is protective, creating a shield between his family and the outside world.

"What a beautiful little creature!" Mephisto exclaims as he approaches with slow, deliberate steps. "May I see my niece?"

Amaimon instinctively tightened his arms around the bundle, narrowing his golden eyes. "You can look from there."

From your bed, you observe the exchange, feeling exhausted yet keenly aware of the tension in the room. The baby's delicate, wispy hair carries a hint of green, and as she opens her eyes, they shimmer with the same golden hue as her father's.

"She has your eyes," Mephisto observes, noting the golden irises that blink up at the world with surprising alertness for a newborn. “Do you need help with that?” He motions to the demon heart above the baby. Very similar to her father’s.

“No,” Amaimon responds bluntly. “I don’t need your help taking care of my daughter.”

You chuckle slightly, sipping on some water. “Finally referring her to something other than offspring?”

Amaimon glances between you and the baby, appearing to struggle to find the right words. “______, do you have a name for her?”

“I don’t have a particular name in mind,”

“... can I name her?”

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #amaimon #blue exorcist x reader #amaimon x reader #blue exorcist fanfiction #amaimon ao no exorcist #amaimon blue exorcist #Amaimon smut

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gh0st-author · 1 year ago

Text

mastermind.

Pairing: William James Moriarty x Reader

Summary: What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Tags: fluff, a little bit suggestive but nothing much, Liam is a softie

A/N: so i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i just realized how much it fits liam, so this brainrot you see here was born. also this is set in america somewhere in those 2.5 years after the billy incident but before they return to london. my thought process was that liam and sherlock were doing some undercover work at this ball. additionally i decided to have Liam keep his eye here man's been through enough...

The moment was like something straight out of a fairy tale. An instant that you can't quite place; a dream that would unravel and slip from your grasp and glide through your fingers if you only tried to look too close at it. Gentle candlelight tracing abstract patterns over the entire hall, making the entire scene seem magical. Delicate music from numerous hidden instruments filling the air with yearning, so beautiful it could make your heart ache. The muffled sounds of secret whispers and the rustling of numerous exotic fabrics joining the cacophony of sounds, not to overpower but to add to the overall mystique and intricacy of the night. And him. Him— this radiant and golden being, akin to an angel, luring you in, stealing your coherence.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he'd entered the room, followed by another dark-haired man who you couldn't make yourself glance at for the life of you. Because doing that would mean taking your eyes off him. Elegant frame gliding through the mass of people, pale golden strands swaying with the movement, awakening an urge in you to trace your hands through them, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

This feeling washing over you, filling your every cell, clouding your mind more than the glass of expensive wine in your hand, was new. Completely and irrevocably unfamiliar. And that terrified you tremendously. How could one person have such an effect on you, before you'd even exchanged so much as courteous greeting?

He must've felt your attention on him— how could he not when you were burning holes in the back of his head— and his head turned towards your hiding place, the little nook you slotted yourself in as to avoid unnecessary prattle of the ladies around you.

Oh...

You felt as if all of the air had been leached out of the room in that one moment, then instantaneously rushed back in leaving you light-headed. Bewitching. That was the only word adequate enough to describe his face, his eyes. His features were timeless, elegant, touched by the innocence of youth but also impossibly wise at the same time. And when his sharp scarlet gaze connected with your own, what little thoughts you had— however trifle they might've been— evaporated into mist and smoke. Those were eyes that never missed anything, that appeared to gaze directly through your flesh and blood and straight into your soul, seeing every detail, every dirty little secret. Yes, this man was absolutely breathtaking; utterly captivating.

You averted your gaze, feeling exposed and not wanting to stare too hard. This night had just become infinitely more interesting to you. But, despite all of the stars aligning and conspiring to place you in the same room with such a magnetic and compelling presence, you had no conceivable way of conversing with him. In truth, you were only here in the first place because of your cousin, and this ball was nothing more than just a chore to you who was supposed to be her chaperone. You had no connections and no reason to seek him out, no matter how much your heart yearned for it. Even now, you could see his outline floating in the corner of your vision, surrounded by numerous important individuals.

You sighed, and deciding against hiding for now, you smoothed out your gown and abandoned your little nook. It was due time to try to mingle with the dense crowd.

Like his shadow, a phantom, you traced his steps around the room, trying to find an opportune moment to etch just a little bit closer. Wherever you went you glimpsed him from the corner of your eye, always near, but always just out of reach. As soon as one group had finished with him, he was already onto the next. He was everywhere— anywhere you looked— making your desperation rise. It was a known fact that our psyche worked in contradictory ways; the more one tried not to gaze at something or think of something, the more the mind made them a prisoner of exactly those thoughts. The echo of his silhouette followed you around, always just a tad bit too far away.

Positively exhausted by the constant ongoing battle between your mind and your heart, you retracted back to the faraway corner of the room, choosing instead to behold the art and numerous artifacts nestled there. What you needed was a chance— an opening. A cause to draw him out, to approach him. But that would be easier said than achieved. Impossible even.

Deep in thought, one painting caught your attention. It was a magnificent piece, truly, but you were not able to decipher what exactly about it ensnared you so. It appeared no more extravagant than any other painting in the room, yet you couldn't look away from it. It felt as if it was pulling you in, calling to you.

"Captivating work, is it not?"

The sudden voice to your right made you startle, and you were forcefully ripped away from your mussings. You almost didn’t need to look to know who the person who'd just spoken was. After all, your body was tingling in his mere presence, every cell coming alive simultaneously, vibrating with hope now that he was the one who sought you out first. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you pivoted to regard the stranger. "I'm sorry?"

"That painting." He flashed you a gentle smile, his unusual-colored eyes regarding you with interest as he approached to stand beside you. "It's a true masterpiece. The artist uses patterns and geometry to create a most aesthetically pleasing piece, painting illusions to trick the viewer into thinking they can actually step into a two-dimensional space. It's rather extraordinary."

His voice was soft and melodic, slightly amused. Your eyes caught at the slight upturning of the corners of his lips as he spoke, unable to look away. It was either that or get lost in his knowing gaze. "Are you an artist?"

"A mathematician, more accurately." You heard a wistful note in his voice. "I used to teach at a university in England, but sadly, I don't anymore." He gave you another smile, this one a little dimmer than his last one. "Some circumstances got in the way. But that is neither here nor there. I take it you are someone's chaperone tonight. If I had to guess, the young lady's over there."

You followed his gaze and saw your cousin a little further away, engaged in a conversation with some friends. How did he know that? "I am. Thank you for your insightful deduction Mr.–"

"Liam. Call me Liam."

"Liam..." You whispered his name like a prayer on your lips, tasting how it felt on your tongue. "No title? Is it short for something?"

"No... just Liam. Classes and titles mean nothing to me." You couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice as he said that, layers of something more— perhaps dejection— intertwined beneath a calm reply. "And what shall I call you, Miss–"

"Y/N" You held out your hand to him, and Liam, never breaking his eye contact with you, raised it gently to his lips, leaving just a breath of a kiss there.

"Y/N..." He too sounded like he was sounding out your name, familiarising himself with it as if he planned to continue saying it many times more. "The pleasure is mine."

That one touch, that one kiss against your gloved hand, was enough to light a fuse within you. You felt flushed all over, both too hot and wrecked with chills at the same time. You needed to know more about this man. He was like a Venus fly trap, a mystery you wanted to solve, an equation you wanted to assess. "Did you come here alone tonight?"

"I am accompanying my good friend on some business tonight. He is the black-haired individual currently giving us the burning stare." And sure enough, when you followed his gaze, you spied the gentleman in question, the one who followed Liam when he first entered the room, giving you both suspicious glances. Looking at him now, no longer blinded by the brilliance of the mysterious mathematician, he was a handsome individual, tall and all angular features, but that was overshadowed by the arrogant eyebrow he raised at you as if contemplating to terminate your further involvement with his friend.

"Have I done something to upset him?" You haven't even met him, yet he seemed to not be pleased with you.

"No, he's just paranoid. Unnecessarily." Liam narrowed his gaze at him, and they appeared to be exchanging a wordless string of arguments between them, after which the man shrugged his shoulders and flashed you both a sheepish smile, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away to talk to some other nearby attendant. Liam's attention was back on you now. "Excuse his behaviour, he has a lot on his mind tonight."

You, too, had a lot on your mind tonight— mainly, how to slip away somewhere where you could be alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone so you could continue your conversation uninterrupted. Suddenly, a thought permeated the fog in your brain. It wiggled through and lodged itself right in the forefront. An opportunity to get him alone... This was it. If you could use this to your advantage, you could make an unfortunate situation into something worth remembering. "Don't worry. I don't mind—"

You cut your sentence off, bumping into him purposely. Your glass almost slid out of your hand, deep burgundy splashing over his coat. He caught you, a true gentleman, as you widened your eyes and flew into a flurry of apologies, as you quickly set down your— now empty— glass. "Oh my God, I am so sorry! I don't know what happened, I must've been more inebriated than I thought. I'm so sorry!"

Liam was a picture-perfect opposite to your hysteria of movement. He calmly grabbed his coat and slid it off. The dark burgundy stain had bleed through the outer layer onto his white shirt beneath, and he let out a chuckle as he inspected his coat and the stain on his chest for the damage. "Don't worry, it was an accident. Such things happen." He sighed at the coat. "Although, I suppose I can't show myself in front of our business partner tonight like this."

"Please let me do something!" You pleaded, doing your best to show him how remorseful you were. It wasn't all for show, you did feel kind of awful for staining his clothes. "I have a handkerchief, I can help you. Please, follow me." If you fail to plan, you plan to fail— or so they said. Life was about making the most out of unexpected situations, and you were not about to waste this opportunity that had been given to you. You grabbed his arm and tugged him along with you as you slinked by the walls and made your way out of the hall.

You entered the first room you saw— a study, it appeared— and pulled him with you to sit down on the couch. Quickly taking out the handkerchief, you grabbed the coat from his hand and started dabbing the stain. Luckily, his coat was dark, so it wouldn't be too noticeable in the candlelight. All the while, Liam said nothing and just observed you with an unreadable gaze.

"I expected you to be more cross with me," you said after some time, finally daring to glance in his direction. You hoped he wasn't, otherwise, this plan was all for nothing.

That gave him a pause, and he blinked at you, as if you said something unexpected. "I am afraid I don't understand. This was just an accident that could happen to anyone. There is no reason for me to be cross. Were you, perhaps, afraid I would be?" He smiled at your frown, and you averted your gaze back to the task at hand. A contradictory enigma. This coat was of very expensive material, yet he made no complaints. Chose kindness, instead of anger. You were definitely right to get this mysterious man alone, even now you felt the inescapable draw of his presence.

"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both," you murmured absentmindedly while still gently dabbing away on the stain, doing your utmost to try to get rid of it.

"Oh, you are familiar with Machiavelli's works?" He leaned back, placing his arm on the armrest of the couch and resting his jaw on the back of his hand.

"I've read some here and there. Why? Are you an enjoyer of his books?" You raised the coat up to the light and observed it. This had to do for now until he could get it cleaned.

"I too have read them here and there." His gaze was sharper now, both cunning and amused. It made you shiver— but not unpleasantly, you realized with a start. "I find his takes on the authority and aristocracy most fascinating."

Laying the coat aside, you scooted closer to him, the couch making you all the more aware of your proximity, the dim lights making it all seem more intimate. This close you could even smell a faint tinge of his cologne, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol you spilled. This turned out to be a perfect excuse to touch him, to feel him. Everything went precisely by design.

Dizzy from the heat of his body, now so close to you, you slowly started to dab at the stain on his shirt. "You truly are an enigma, Mr. Liam, are you aware?" He only continued to observe you with his slight smile, the rising of his eyebrow the only indication that he was listening. Taking that as an invitation, you prattled on. "You seem like someone of noble birth, yet you appear to disprove of the class system and disregard any titles. You seem awfully intelligent, and yet I have not seen your name in any field of research, not even math." You took this opportunity to smooth out his collar, fingers gently grazing the skin of his collarbone. "And you approached me, and were able to accurately ascertain things about me I gave you no indication of." You looked up at him through your lashes, then quickly glanced down again, resuming your attempts at trying to clean up the wine.

You felt him let out a little contemplative hum, as he leaned closer to you. "You are an enigma as well, Miss Y/N. You have followed my every move since I appeared here, yet refused to approach me the entire night. You still don't seem to trust my words, but you have not yet inquired into anything I've said. It is almost as if you enjoy this little game." He raised his hand, and you watched with bated breath as he caught a strand of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Tell me, is it fun trying to uncover my secrets?"

Hands falling into your lap, the stain and handkerchief long forgotten, you felt light‐headed again. Like a snake dancing to the magic flute, both your body and your mind were charmed, following his every move. This little plan of yours might be working better than you anticipated. If you actually survived until the end of this game, of course, because if he kept looking at you like that, giving you his undivided scrutiny, you doubt you could last. "You followed me here without question as well." You managed to whisper out. "Did you perhaps have some ulterior motives with me too, Mr. Liam?"

He gave a little tug at the lock of hair wrapped around his digit. "I wonder..." His sharp eyes were now unfocused and thoughtful as if he himself couldn't really understand his actions. "Whatever compelled me to do that?"

You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, wondering if this was such a smart idea now. Maybe you shouldn't even be here, shouldn't entertain your wicked thoughts. Your draw to him was too powerful, dangerous even. It felt like too much and too little at the same time as if you could ignite and burn and blaze down to smithereens with a single word from him, drown with a single touch.

At that moment, the door slammed open with a loud creak, cutting off your train of thought. Both of you reflexively jerked back from your compromising position, the moment gone and magic ruined. The room now felt infinitely colder without his proximity, the couch impossibly wide. Your startled gaze fell on the culprit who had barged in so suddenly, finally able to breathe without Liam's cologne tampering with your thoughts. It was him, the man Liam introduced as his friend earlier. He glanced sharply at you both, eyes staying on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary, studying you. Contemplating. You could see the same mysterious intellect you saw in Liam in him, the same razor-sharp mind, the same murky and vague past. His eyes widened imperceptibly as if taken aback by your inspection, then filled with something akin to grudging understanding. Then he swiveled towards Liam and pointed behind him. "Liam we have to go. Work's calling."

A sigh, no louder than a disturbance of air left him, and he rose, giving you a remorseful look. "Sorry, dear. Seems like our time is up. Hopefully, I will see you again one day, under more fortunate circumstances." He quickly donned his coat, adjusting it to best cover up the stain, then with a hurried gait followed his friend out the door.

"I am sure you will." You whispered, as you watched him leave, him only turning back once to shoot you a conspiratorial grin. As if saying to keep what happened here a secret.

Checkmate, you thought. You will be seeing him again, you were sure of that. There was just something about him that sang to you, some kind of kindred warm flame, like fire burning in a hearth. But in his calm gaze, you also caught a glimpse of something else beneath, another fire, blazing hot, ardent, and dangerous. All of it made you even more curious, made you crave him more. You had to arrange a meeting with him again.

You couldn't lose.

Truly, nothing moved faster than time. It was outstanding, mind-boggling, how it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. And now, two years later, you found yourself with the hard wood of the door of digging harshly into your back as you leaned back to let Liam deepen the kiss. The soft rustling of clothes and your quick breathing were the only sounds permeating the room of Liam's and Sherlock's shared apartment in Brooklyn. Barely any light illuminated your two silhouettes, only the moonlight and a rare street light outside of the window providing any illumination.

Gasping for breath, his lips still chasing yours, you attempted to put some distance between you. "Wait, what about Sh—"

"Do not worry." He whispered, still eager to continue. "Sherlock is already on his way to London as we speak. So is Billy. No one will bother us."

"That means we have to leave for London soon, too." You gripped his shirt in your hand, raising on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. "How convenient that we are free to spend our last night here as we wish." Pulling back, you looked back at him, face full of mirth, lips splitting into a cheeky grin.

Cupping the back of your neck, he gave you one last kiss before leaning away. "Call me an opportunist."

Gently, his hand slid down to your waist as he moved you from the door and laid you achingly slowly on the bed. Your own hands moved from their position on his chest to intertwine in his hair. Soft and exactly as silky as you thought it would be two years ago. On that magical night. A night so much like this. His gaze was soft, and melancholy, as if he too was remembering that time. Most days, you were scarcely able to wrap your head around the fact that so much time has passed and that you've won the affections of such an ethereal being. That you yourself were able to set the wind to your sails that first night, to not just play the role of a pawn, but to be the king instead.

He regarded you in silence for quite some time, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your waist, your hips. His face was unreadable, haunted. "I would ask what you're thinking about, but I'm terrified to know."

He let out a quiet chuckle and rested his forehead against yours. "Oftentimes, I think night is purer than day; it is better for thinking, loving, and dreaming. Maybe I was always meant to dwell in the night, to plot. At night everything is more intense, more true."

"Enough of your philosophy." You grumbled. "If you wish to scheme and think you can do that with Sherlock." Using your hands in his hair, pulled his face closer to yours, your lips barely brushing. "I think, currently, your mouth could be much better occupied."

He gave you a deep kiss, making you forget how to breathe, then bit your lower lip teasingly. "I never scheme. You must be confusing me for someone else" So saying, he chuckled. "But I must admit, I enjoy seeing you so flustered for me."

Well, two could play that game. When his lips traced a path from your kiss-swollen ones downwards to your neck to shower it with countless marks you'll surely have to cover up tomorrow, you decided to entertain yourself as well. "What if I told you that none of this was accidental?" It was nothing more but a breathless whisper, a silky melody in the darkness of the room. His ministrations didn't stop, but you continued, eager to fluster him at least once, even if it meant sharing your biggest secret— a secret that you had sworn you would take to your grave. "Were you aware that the first night I saw you I decided that nothing was going to prevent me from getting closer to you? You were like a blazing flame and me but a simple moth drawn to your brilliance. So I conspired to get you alone." It was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts when his kisses felt so hot, almost burning and branding your skin wherever they landed, but you persevered, tightening your hold on his hair and enjoying his slight shudder. "I... purposely spilled wine on you that night." You swallowed against a sudden lump in your throat. "I knew I had to lay down the groundwork if I wanted to catch your attention, knew I had to set it all up like dominoes." A sudden nibble on the junction of your neck and shoulder made you gasp.

"I was aware."

You were so thoroughly distracted by the feeling of his lips on the skin of your neck that it took a few seconds for his words to register, and when they did your whole body froze. "Wait... You knew?!"

You felt his lips pull into a smirk against your skin and he slowly pulled away, his eyes dancing with barely concealed mirth. "Darling, I knew the entire time."

You were rendered speechless. Shock. Disbelief. The feeling of the world freezing in its tracks. That's all you felt as you stared wide-eyed at the man above you. Your body felt weightless and stone-heavy at the same time. What does he mean: "He knew the entire time?" Every encounter that you two had raced through your mind as you tried to remember if he ever showed any indication of being aware of your little game. There were none. "You're lying," you stuttered out through your suddenly dry throat.

His smirk was downright devious now. "On the contrary, dear. Not only was I aware of your schemes— I was the one who orchestrated them. From the very start, this has been a chain reaction of countermoves on both sides."

"But then-" Every world felt like sandpaper as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Steering Sherly in your direction under the guise of talking to some aristocrats the first time I saw you, just so I could be in your field of vision the entire night. Purposely asking around about that painting I knew nothing about to start a conversation with you, then letting you bump into me so you could have an excuse to talk with me in private. Accidental meetings. All actions of a desperate man, who had been completely and utterly enamored ever since he first laid eyes on you." Each sentence was followed up with a kiss— to your neck, to your cheek, to the corner of your lips. One of his hands slowly made its way upwards towards your face from its place around your waist. Still in shock, all you could do was lean into his hand when he gently cupped your jaw. "But it was incredibly enjoyable, this little game of ours. I never believed that there would be someone who would go to such lengths for my affections." His gaze softened and he traced your cheek with his thumb. "My sweet, vicious mastermind."

You felt your chest squeeze under the crushing wave of pure love that washed over you. This man— this brilliant, extraordinary, incredible, magnificent, breathtaking man— he was yours. And he had been from the beginning. Or, more accurately, you'd been his. For you weren't the one who had been setting everything up since your first encounter– you were the one being strung all along. Happy tears prickled at the corners of your vision and you couldn't help but beam up at him. "I guess this is checkmate. It's my loss."

With a matching smile of his own, the hand on your cheek then slowly moved down to your chin, and he pulled you into another kiss. You closed your eyes and melted into it. It was painfully sweet— maybe the sweetest kiss you two have ever shared.

Looks like you were no match for the former Lord of Crime after all.

#ynm #william moriarty #william moriarty x reader #mtp william #fanfic #fluff #sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #mtp x reader

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baldudiable · 6 months ago

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Sun opposite Moon in the natal chart: An inner battle

Sun opposite Moon is an astrological aspect formed when the Sun and Moon signs are in the same polarity. This aspect can cause internal tensions since the two signs operate differently. While they are alike in certain ways, the sun's ambitions can sometimes conflict with the moon's emotional needs. Having this aspect can lead you to adopt certain habits or attitudes that don't align with the person are learning to become. Below are some potential manifestations of this aspect for each zodiac sign.

Aries Sun, Libra Moon

Having these two placements in a natal chart is tricky. The Sun is the ego. Aries, as the first sign of the zodiac, represents the self. Having an Aries Sun naturally makes you centered on your growth and self-actualization. Being self-centered sometimes means going your own way without considering the needs of others.

On the other hand, a Libra Moon craves harmony and is deeply influenced by loved ones. As a sign of relationships, Libra is conditioned to make decisions with others in mind, often prioritizing how those decisions will affect people around them. This placement can make you inclined to put your needs aside to satisfy others.

However, your Aries Sun urges you to prioritize yourself, even if it goes against others’ expectations. Aries is an independent and driven sign, which aligns with the sun being exalted here, granting you the determination to achieve your goals and get what you want with greater ease. Yet, the Libra Moon’s desire to please others may hold you back from fully pursuing your ambitions, as you often feel compelled to put others’ needs first.

Taurus sun, Scorpio moon

The tension here arises because of Taurus's quest for stability and the Scorpio's perpetual need for change. Taurus is known for its stubbornness and tendency to remain in places that provide comfort or security. You may struggle in times of change because it means altering your habits or ways of doing things. After all, why change something that already works? Change also implies starting anew after investing significant time and energy into an endeavor.

This pursuit of sameness, however, can hinder your evolution in the eyes of a Scorpio. While your Scorpio Moon also seeks stability, it cannot help but involve you in complex, emotional situations that force you to transform what no longer serves you. Scorpio's archetype is that of the alchemist or healer—it draws wisdom from positive and negative experiences to give birth to a new and improved version of yourself. This water sign is associated with death and rebirth, symbolizing the transition from one state to another.

While Taurus uses its foundations to build upon them, Scorpio destroys them to begin again on a new slate. The moon falling here, your emotions, even the most difficult, can feel magnified. This placement may even create a desire to provoke intense feelings, feeding Scorpio's desire for intensity while challenging Taurus's need for peace.

Gemini Sun, Sagittarius Moon

Gemini is an air sign ruled by Mercury, the God of knowledge. As such, it has an insatiable thirst for stimulation. This sign can jump into studies and research to satisfy its need for stimulation. But this desire for knowledge can often be superficial. Gemini seeks to know simply for the sake of it, and that knowledge is not always applied in practical ways. More than any other sign, Gemini is likely to change roles multiple times in life. Its mutability makes it highly adaptable, viewing change as a form of growth.

Sagittarius, on the other hand, seeks knowledge with purpose. It needs to feel that what it learns can help expand its worldview and benefit others. Ruled by Jupiter, the celestial body associated with philosophy and religion, Sagittarius finds meaning in its explorations. While Gemini seeks to know, Sagittarius seeks to understand.

Cancer Sun, Capricorn Moon

While its cardinality makes Cancer ambitious, this sign is deeply emotional and focused on building meaningful relationships. Ruled by the moon, Cancer embodies the mother archetype—nurturing, feeling, and forming strong attachments to people, places, and things. Cancer needs significant relationships not only for emotional support but also to provide it to others. However, this desire to care can lead the native to take on the burdens of others, often at their own expense.

A Capricorn Moon, on the other hand, is associated with heavy responsibilities. It often absorbs the problems of loved ones, pushing the native to exhaust themselves in their efforts to help. When paired with Cancer’s altruism, this moon can stretch the individual’s emotional limits, especially considering that the moon is in detriment in Capricorn.

This Saturnian Moon represses emotions, making it a counterproductive force in the emotional realm. The native may immerse themselves in tasks and duties to avoid confronting their unhappiness. This dynamic contrasts with cancer’s emotional and vulnerable nature, which requires the ability to express deep feelings to maintain balance and well-being.

Leo sun, Aquarius moon

Leo is known for being passionate. It rules romance, flings, and childlike play. Everything a Leo expresses is grand, urgent, and dramatic. As a fixed fire sign, Leo seeks intensity in experiences to feel alive.

An Aquarius Moon is the opposite. The moon governs emotions, while Aquarius, the last air sign of the Zodiac, is the most rational of them all. This combination gives the native great intellectual clarity, as Aquarius Moons are rarely overtaken by their emotions. They believe strong feelings can cloud their ability to make logical decisions.

While your Sun's warmth attracts many people, you might find it hard to attach to people who don't match your intellect. Air signs need relationships that stimulate them mentally and offer new perspectives. This creates an interesting dynamic: the Leo Sun, which naturally craves the spotlight, may feel uncomfortable in it due to the Aquarius Moon’s tendency to focus its attention outward, prioritizing others over personal recognition.

Virgo Sun, Pisces Moon

Virgo is an Earth sign that finds comfort in routines and daily tasks. Pragmatic and grounded, Virgo knows that hard work is necessary to improve one's conditions. This sign takes pleasure in repeating actions because it knows the results they will produce. And results are what Virgo seeks most. Perfectionistic by nature, Virgo is quick to notice flaws and to improve them.

As a mercurial sign, Virgo can struggle to express sentimentality. Though sensitive, it strives not to let emotions interfere, focusing instead on its duties. This placement values control, not only because it ensures that things will be done perfectly, but also because it helps ease anxiety.

This contrasts with a Pisces Moon's ability to go with the flow. Pisces, a spiritual and intuitive sign, accepts life's circumstances and makes the best out of them. In the eyes of a Pisces moon, everything happens for a reason. This Moon is content to let the universe take over, trusting it to provide a better path forward.

To Virgo, this carefree approach may appear irresponsible, leading them to bury themselves in constant activity to quell their own anxieties. As a result, Pisces’s natural capacity for dreaming and enjoyment may feel threatened in the push for structure and control.

Libra Sun, Aries Moon

Libra Suns are tasked to instill harmony in environments and prioritize others' needs before their own. Many Libras grow up in families where closeness and mutual support are emphasized, fostering their deep desire to remain surrounded by loved ones. however, this inclination can sometimes lead to an expectation for Libras to suppress their needs or desires to accommodate others.

Libra’s generosity, attentiveness, and listening skills are often overlooked or taken for granted. The Aries moon in these individuals may feel frustration or resentment, but such emotions are rarely expressed directly. Instead, they may surface indirectly or passively, as confrontation is not typically in Libra’s nature.

The Aries Moon encourages the native to prioritize themselves, but it can also leave them feeling guilty for doing so. While this moon is usually a strong placement, its energy is weakened here, as the sun is in fall in Libra.

Scorpio Sun, Taurus Moon

We grow into our sun sign through time and experience. Our sun sign shapes the experiences we encounter, often pushing us into situations we may wish to avoid. These experiences are frequently uncomfortable and seem to repeat themselves, yet the sun demands that we learn and grow from them.

Scorpio, more than most, may wish to avoid certain experiences. this is tied to Pluto, the ruler of the underworld. The name "Ploutōn" translates to "wealth-giver" in Greek; Scorpio draws power and depth from their emotionally complex and dark experiences. While this sign seeks evolution, it can grow weary from the constant battles and crises it faces.

This weariness may be amplified when the native’s Moon is in Taurus, a Venusian sign that craves calm, peace, and the ability to savor life’s pleasures. A Taurus Moon feels uneasy in emotionally charged situations, as they threaten the stability they work to achieve. While this Moon's avoidance can prolong difficult situations, its exaltation in Taurus allows the native to handle challenges with grace.

Sagittarius Sun, Gemini Moon

Sagittarius seeks to live without limits. It’s a sign that thrives on exposure to foreign ideas, cultures, people, and landscapes to expand its mindset. As a free spirit, a sagittarius needs the space and freedom to grow.

On the other hand, a Gemini Moon prioritizes learning but also craves connection. This Moon needs to relate to others, confide in close friends, and exchange ideas with like-minded individuals. It is a highly social Moon, but not necessarily comfortable in every setting, taking time to form meaningful attachments.

This dynamic can make relationships challenging when the Sagittarius sun is always on a mission. As a fire sign, Sagittarius prefers first-hand experiences, learning through action, and spontaneity. Gemini Moon, by contrast, is more intellectual and indirect, relying on understanding how things work before taking action. This nervous, Mercurial Moon often hesitates to apply its knowledge and skills, which can slow down Sagittarius’s quest for exploration and teaching.

Capricorn Sun, Cancer Moon

Capricorn is on a mission to achieve success and recognition. Represented by the goat, this earth sign is constantly climbing, never stopping until it reaches its targets—and even then, it aims higher. Having endured the horror of lack or failure, Capricorn works hard to ensure they never face such hardship. It overloads itself with work and duties to bring something tangible home, completely overlooking its emotions.

This tendency is amplified when the native's moon is in Cancer. The Moon here heightens emotional sensitivity and the need for care. While Capricorn is usually independent and confident in its abilities, this combination introduces a layer of vulnerability, making the individual more prone to insecurity.

Knowing where to direct your energy also becomes more difficult. The Capricorn Sun is driven to accomplish and become known for its achievements, while the Cancer Moon longs for an uneventful and predictable family life. However, even if they differ in many ways, they seek longevity and stability.

Aquarius Sun, Leo Moon

With the planet of ego in detriment in Aquarius, the focus often shifts to the group's needs. As the water-bearer, Aquarius nourishes and uplifts those it encounters. This sign frequently finds itself leading groups, striving to make decisions that benefit everyone. Highly social, this air sign has a keen understanding of what others need and acts as an advocate to provide it.

This dynamic contrasts sharply with the Leo Moon’s self-centered tendencies. Decisions influenced by this moon are often driven by emotion and serve to satisfy the ego. Aquarius’s rationality and innate sense of justice are put to the test in this combination. Remaining in the background becomes particularly challenging when Leo’s energy demands to take center stage and call the shots.

Pisces Sun, Virgo Moon

The Pisces individual is deeply spiritual, carried by the flow of life. Its motto is "I believe," though it could easily be "I dream." Pisces believes in miracles and has faith that everything will work out. This water sign is highly creative and capable of producing works of immense beauty, yet its emotionality can make it unstable. For Pisces, creativity is a form of emotional release, but it cannot be forced—it ebbs and flows on its own terms.

The Virgo moon, on the other hand, brings structure and consistency to Pisces’s energy but often at a cost. This moon tends to be critical and demanding, particularly of itself. Virgo craves perfection in its creations, while Pisces finds beauty in imperfection. This dynamic makes it harder for the individual to feel satisfied with themselves or their work.

While Pisces trusts that everything will fall into place and often finds a way to make things work, the Virgo moon may overthink circumstances, introducing doubt and potentially sabotaging opportunities.

#insights #sun opposite moon #astro observations #astrology placements #astro community #astrology aspects

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nerdraging4point0 · 1 month ago

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Blood of Eden // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy AU (Chapter Eighteen)

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

The three of them found themselves nestled within the confines of a dilapidated shed that stood at the rear of the house, a secluded spot that was conveniently distant from the prying eyes of the night watch and the other guards. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of damp wood as the darkness enveloped them. Oli, restless and on edge, paced anxiously just outside the doorway. His claws scraped against the hard ground, sending tiny pebbles skittering with each deliberate step. The rhythmic sound of his movement echoed in the stillness of the night, a constant reminder of his presence and the tension that filled the air.

It had been an unusual request for her to summon Joshua and Jolly to the shed, but she had her reasons, ones that weighed heavily on her mind. Instead of lying down on the cold, rough wooden floor, she chose to sit cross-legged in front of Joshua, her posture reflecting her resolve. Jolly, ever vigilant and supportive, perched directly behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled or lost her balance.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Joshua asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Without a doubt,” she replied, her voice steady and resolute.

He didn't voice any further doubts; instead, he reached out, his hands extending toward her. With deliberate care, he placed one hand on each side of her head, his fingers resting gently near her temples. As he did so, she noticed a soft glow emanating from his skin, a faint shimmering light that hinted at the power coursing through him.

Almost immediately, she felt the pressure of his magic as it seeped through her skin and infiltrated her mind. It was a disorienting sensation, a wave of nausea washing over her as a torrent of memories flashed before her eyes. Joshua was diving deep into her subconscious, searching for something elusive. But rather than letting her memories overwhelm her, she took control.

With a determined movement, she reached up and grasped his hands, anchoring herself in the moment. She focused intently, feeling the delicate thread of his magic and holding onto it with all her strength. Instead of letting it spiral out of control, she nurtured it, allowing it to blossom within her mind.

Slowly, a singular memory began to take shape, vivid and clear. The familiar surroundings of the room in England materialized before her, and she honed in on that image, concentrating with all her might. Drawing upon her own magic, she sought to balance Joshua's energy, asserting her will over the vision that unfolded. She felt an exhilarating rush as she took command, guiding the memory into clarity and bringing it into the forefront of their shared experience.

She caught a glimpse of the shadow from the corner of her eye, but each time she turned, she could never quite see it clearly. The same voice echoed in her mind, insisting that she wasn't strong enough.

Bullshit.

She was more than capable, and she was determined to prove it. She felt herself lean into Benjamin's hands, urging him to amplify his magic; his fingers throbbed beneath her, somewhere distant as he fought against it, yet she compelled him to persist. The shadow was alert again in her peripheral vision, but this time, instead of twisting her head to catch it, she concentrated, forcing the shadow to move forward and into her line of sight, separating her old self from the new. Suddenly, she found herself standing beside the bed, gazing down at the person she had once been in a bygone era. She observed her memories unfold like an out-of-body experience, as if she were watching someone else concealed in the shadows.

"I certainly didn't see that coming."

She turned quickly to find the same woman who had been lying in bed, now standing in a light golden dress, her hair cascading down, her skin even paler than before, with a faint red mark on the lower right side of her abdomen where the lace was dark, revealing a small hole.

“I-I don't understand.”

"Not surprising," the specter replied with a hint of condescension.

They remained quiet for a moment, with Rosa attempting to comprehend everything as the memory she had previously witnessed replayed before her eyes. She turned when the nobles re-entered the room, eavesdropping on their discussion. This time, she could actually grasp the details of their argument.

“M’lady, you cannot keep him with you,” one of the lords implored.

“Says who?” her former self mocked.

“The law,” another gruff lord asserted. “The rules are clear: if you intend to marry a human lord, you must relinquish all magic and magical beings.”

Her guardian tumbled from the bed, transforming back into his four-legged form and growling at the lords.

“I believe you can see he would disagree.”

"How can I lift this curse?" Rosa's voice was resolute as she turned back to the golden-dressed specter, who gazed at the memory with glistening tears in her eyes.

"This was the night everything changed," Selene replied, her tone tinged with sadness, lost in her own reflections.

"What happened?" Rosa asked, glancing down at the dark tear in her dress. What had they done to her?

The surroundings faded away until it was just the two of them in the shed, with Jolly and Joshua absent.

"We’ve been devising a plan to rise against the lords. They believed our magic should remain confined to their Circle. They opposed my desire to marry a human. Initially, they intended for me to wed one of their highest lords, which would have amplified my magic for generations, but I would have been utterly miserable." She clasped her hands together and began to pace slowly in front of Rosa. "I turned down his proposal, sticking to my original marriage plans, when I learned from one of my spies that they were plotting to kill my fiancé and coerce me into marriage. For months, there had been whispers that the lords were trying to oust many of us from the seated council.”

“That's when you fought back.” The spectra nodded.

“We had gathered many of our faithful, easily bringing them out of the city and into a safe space. Thomas, my guardian and I were planning to leave that afternoon and head to the safe haven.” She choked back tears, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thomas had gone ahead of me, I was set to ride on horseback with my fiance. When I made it to the stables I found him dead.”

“It all unfolded so fast. I use the bond between me and Thomas to warn him to bring more back to fight. The circle took me as prisoner that night telling me that they would spare my rebellious friends if I were to accept their peace offering and marry the Lord that they had chosen. I had received confirmation from Thomas that he had gathered several guardians and only a few of our soldiers but they were hours away. I had to stall. I accepted the marriage to have a lady prep my hair and put on my finest dress.” Selene played with the thin layer of lace on the dress she wore.

“I managed to kill time and as we went through the ceremony I could only hope that they were moving fast. It was not soon enough.”

She must have seen the confused look on Rosa's face. She sighed, shaking her head as she dropped her shoulders. “Sacred marriages between celestials is a power bond, magic forever linked to one another. If one were to die the other would accept all magic that their partner had. One of the few reasons we celestials take marriage very seriously.”

“Could your human husband take your magic if, God forbid, something had happened to you?”

“If that was part of my marriage bargain, yes.”

“Wouldn't you think he would have betrayed you for that? Only married you for your magic!”

“Seems you know very little about love.” The spectra biased. “You have a guardian and a mage who love you, would you not think the guardian would lay down his life for you? That your mage would surrender all magic that he has in order to keep you alive?”

“I've never asked.”

“You need not ask. It's in the way they look at you. I have seen your memories just as you have seen mine.”

Rosa stood frozen, she'd been putting up walls, keeping her distance for fear that if she died this time around Jolly and Noah would be spared of the heartache.

“My guardian was too late.” fainted whisper broke their silence.

“As soon as they breach the castle walls I was stabbed, my magic lost. Taken.”

“That doesn't explain the curse, why must our lives continuously do this?”

“There is only one reason it would.”

The shed once again faded away and they were in the middle of a grand throne room. Rosa saw her former self standing in the same golden dress hand in hand with a man next to her. She watched as they exchanged vows and then a loud crash rumbled the castle walls. The man standing next to her brandished a dagger and stabbed it through her belly, her knees giving away and collapsing onto the floor. Rosa stated hard at the face of her betrayer, and her own breath caught in her throat.

Standing there a sneer on his face, younger than he was now, not as many wrinkles, not as much evil plastered into his features.

The Magistrate.

Blood of Eden // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy AU (Chapter Seventeen)

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noahsebastian fanfic #joakim jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fanfic #blood of eden #urban fantasy

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crimsoncold · 1 year ago

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AEMONDSA: A crack ship with unexpected depth and appeal

A treatise (in four parts) on the intriguing parallels and complementary contrasting of Aemond and Sansa and the subsequent allure of them as a romantic pairing in Fanfic

- from the perspective of a sansa-stan, jonsa + sansa-centric multishipper, and someone who is generally Targ critical

Now while my general stance of "ship and let ship/don't worry so much about what other people in fandom focus on or ship/etc" still stands i wanted to do a little write up on what I've found so appealing about this particular crack ship.

Not to justify it (again fandom and shipping in general is just about enjoying/thinking about fictional characters and scenarios... no one needs to justify why their imagination likes to think about two characters interacting romantically) but because there isn't a ton of metas addressing the interesting parallels between these characters and the appeal of them as a ship so I wanted to make one so the handful of people who do ship it get to see some more positive engagement/responses to this pairing.

I just unexpectedly ended up loving this pairing so much and I always have a particularly strong urge to contribute to fandom content on the rare pairs/crack ships that I like....So here have a deep dive into the parallels, and contrasting but complimentary aspects of Aemond and Sansa, and the unexpected appeal of Aemond x Sansa as a pairing in fanfiction...

PART 1: MY EXPERIENCE WITH ASOIAF/GOT & HOTD FANDOM AND WHY AEMONDSA IS A PLEASANT SURPRISE

So I'm going to be drawing from both book and show elements when I consider and compare Sansa and Aemond's characterization and plot arcs (particularly since this tends to be how they are handled in fanfic- which all have differing combinations of book or show canon for both characters)

(this is a HOTD S2-free zone though... HOTD's writing has certainly not improved and it's inconsistencies even compared to their past writing and characterization of many characters including Aemond has made such an absolute mess so for this post I'm ignoring the worst part of HBO's attempt at making hotd fanfiction i.e. S2- and I am basing my understanding of Aemond on a combination of what can be gleaned from book canon and s1 because that was what initially interested me AND because that is what the aemondsa fanfic I've read has also been based on)

Now Just to set the scene for my journey as a stark fan, jonsa shipper, and generally targ critical person to become an appreciator of aemondsa...

GOT had a steep decline in quality in the later seasons and HOTD despite the incredible effort of the actors/sfx people was not particularly good to start with in terms of writing/storytelling...yet disappointing or poorly written shows are not without their appeal for participating in fandom and reading/writing related fanfiction, particularly when there is a handful of interesting characters-looking at you stark kids who suffered through the writing of GOT's later seasons and HOTD's team green-that fans want to rescue from the terrible writing/butchering by the showrunners and to explore alternative stories/endings for them... sometimes it is even one of the most appealing sort of set up for fandom/fanfiction to take over and fix things.

I was already a huge Sansa fan, and she was the original draw for me towards asoiaf/got fandom and fanfiction, and while jonsa has been and remains my favorite pairing for her I've always been open to dabbling in various other sansa pairings/crack ships.

(While the parallels don't take the exact form as the ones between Sansa and Jon- and obviously aemondsa isn't accompanied with the incredible foreshadowing and potential that jonsa is- this pairing still feels similarly compelling due to the sheer amount of parallels between the two characters and for the fact that its a ship that is appealing and seems quite fitting without fanfic writers having to stray too far from canon personalities/back stories to make them work as a romantic pairing- beyond you know the obvious aspect of them being alive at the same time)

When HOTD first came out and before i discovered Ameondsa was a thing I was staying away from HOTD fanfic for the most part despite my interest in a few of the characters

HOTD's most predominant focus in both it's fandom and fanfiction seemed to be Rhaenyra/Team black/ Daemyra centric- all of which I was at just personally not drawn. Aemond (hot dramatic anime antagonist transported into hbo's HOTD and personal favorite of mine) centric fics unfortunately tended towards shipping him with various TB characters or TB OCs but both as a concept and due to the handling/set up these fics were generally not appealing to me (more on this later).

Furthermore hotd fandom itself seemed to be shaping up into a new edition of targ stan centric fandom- specifically a new "team black only" brand of stanning... which is definitely not something I am interested in.

Being someone admittedly anti targ/targ critical in general who just happened to be more intrigued (and sympathetic) to the greens in HOTD it did seem that the bulk of hotd fandom was probably going to a similar if even more extreme form of what I encountered with targ-stan segments of the GOT fandom as a sansa-stan/jonsa shipper (ie. Less posts/fanfic that i would personally agree with or be interested in from these fans and potentially hostile and unpleasant responses or takes from the majority of these fans)

As a result of my general avoidance of hotd (i.e. the very pro targ/pro TB fanfiction that hotd fandom offered) Aemondsa, already an extremely rare pair and crack ship, wasn't even a pairing on my radar until one of the authors i was subscribed to started a hotd time travel fix it aemondsa fic...I have an appreciation for well written crack ships, and I am willing to give most pairings or fandoms a chance when I'm already a fan of either the story's main characters or of the author specifically ...but I was actually incredibly suprised how compeling Aemondsa was as a pairing in this story..as well as how much I enjoyed the other Aemondsa fics that I checked out afterwards..it seemed this was a niche segment of hotd fandom that i was going to absolutely obsessing over.

There was a lot of depth to them for a crack ship, which was achievable without altering their personalities and backstories very much from canon (dont get me wrong I love crack ships even ones where people and the plot are altered significantly to make a ship feel possible but there is something uniquely compelling when characters fit together without having to be too ooc) so I just wanted to write a bit about what is so fascinating about this ship since it's such a new rare pair that hasn't accumulated a massive audience or a ton of discussions or write ups yet.

PART 2/4. THE SURPRISING AMOUNT OF PARALLELS BETWEEN SANSA AND AEMOND (FANDOM, PLOT-WISE, but most of all regarding FAMILY)

(Uh ....Brace yourself? this section ended up way longer than expected)

For me the initial appeal comes down to intriguing Character parallels between Sansa and Aemond which fanfic at least offers the opportunity to explore in a story format ....

On a surface level they are (in the shows particularly) both intelligent and underdog figures with fantastic little sassy moments - true queens of dealing out backhanded and cutting compliments, or being unapolegetic critical towards some of the flawed and extremely privileged individual's they encounter who are used to receiving only coddling and fawning worship.

Both characters seem to get shit treatment, sometimes from the fandom other times due to the terrible choices/handling by the writers/showrunners.

Both were characters I personally found interesting and sympathetic despite how fandom- some of it for aemond and a significant amount of it for sansa- had deemed these essentially young and still innocent characters worthy of being reviled and harmed for the ways the adults in their lives had set them up for failure or abuse. Forever dismayed by the way they (unlike certain fan favorites) were somehow never deemed by fandom as deserving of sympathy for the horrible things that happened to them, and how notably they never recieve the same feverent forgiveness/understanding/support for their more dangerous or dark actions the way other characters did

Looking at the difference in fan responses to show!Arya or Dany compared to Sansa- though when it comes to the sheer amount of violence, destruction, and murder or the act of threatening their kin obviously despite what Sansa-antis say Sansa is the only one who should not even be part of the discussion, and how Dany or Arya always recieves excuses, sympathy, forgiveness, or outright praise from the core audience for their more questionable actions while somehow Sansa is deemed as the unforgivable, dangerous, evil, traitorous, and foolishly reckless character

How Aemond (and all of TG really) are set up and considered by TB stans to be unworthy of their house/rightful inheritance and the ones most at fault for the onset and destruction caused by a civil war... never victims mistreated or endangered by the more privileged and powerful members of their family... just the people who only ever deserved what was inflicted on them by TB for the crime of being forced to wed a disgusting and neglectful King or for being threats to Rhaenyra's family or throne simply by existing? How the morally questionable or violent actions of Rhaenyra, her sons, or more particularly her uncle-husband will always be seen as either justifiable, in the right, excusable, or literally worthy of praise the way Aemond's and his family's actions will never be viewed by this core audience

I think about how much like segments of asoiaf fandom bash Sansa by deeming her too southern/too Tully/Too Catelyn-like to be a real Stark (unlike her "truly northern" siblings) their are also segments of hotd fandom that have chosen to see Aemond and his full siblings as only Hightowers who are wrongfully stealing from TB/the "true Targaryens"

But there were even more striking parallels when it came to their characterization and plot.

Both younger (non heir) children, presented as being intelligent, incredibley dutiful and studious, with a very close relationship to their mother, in a sort of intense people pleaser manner - trying their best to excel at all the skills/duties that their parents/society deems necessary for their position and sex because that is the way they receive acceptance, attention, or praise from their family/the adults in their life

Aemond and his studies, his apparently dedication and success in training with the sword despite his own disability, his determination and recklessness to finally become a dragon rider like the rest of his Targaryen family- as it is what is expected and what he has long been mocked over by some of his targ kin, how despite his own ambitions and the way he thought himself particularly suitable for rulership he remained the dutiful and loyal younger brother who served as regent for his gravely injured older brother but did not attempt to stylize himself as King and steal Aegon's throne.

the way that Alicent seems to be the only family member he allows himself to be vulnerable with, the one with whom he turns to for consolation and comfort, Alicent being absolutely devastated and incensed over the loss of Aemond's eye and the lack of punishment for the assault on his person, the only one to demand recompense, the only one to raise a knife to the blacks when she is denied, how Aemond is the one person who tries to console his mother in the aftermath, how despite having just lost an eye he is the one who actually tries to sooth his mother to bring a stop to the increasing and dangerous level of tension and conflict that had erupted between the blacks and greens at driftmark, Aemond's own longstanding protectiveness of and devotion to his family- most especially his mother- that lasts until his own demise.

Sansa and the way she thrives and enjoys the type of world and training that is more of a noble woman's or specifically her mother Catelyn's domain- unlike her wilder other siblings she is generally a steadfastly proper and gentle girl- no doubt a comfort to her mother not just because she is generally so well behaved but in the fact that unlike her siblings she is not shown to be obviously or very publically close with Ned's illegitimate child- who for Catelyn would be the literal personification of Ned's infidelity, the disrespect and humiliation he puts her through by raising him in their house along side their children, and her deep seated fear that he loved and will prioritize another woman and her child more than his own wife and family.

Sansa is the child who seemed to love all things "southern" the most (though undeniably despite how Sansa is looked down upon for her love of romantic stories and song her other siblings also certainly enjoy legends and tales of Knighthood or Southern Princes and warrior Princesses) and to be fascinated by the environment her mother is from, the one who is drawn to and practice her mother's faith in addition to keeping to the old gods,

How Catelyn though she truly grieves letting her daughter go seems to accept it not just because her belief that Sansa would excel as a princess and future queen but because she thinks Sansa would thrive simply through getting to experience the south...Catelyn seems to grasp the things Sansa dreams about and unlike many other family members she does not view Sansa and her interests with the same condescension, dismissal, or disdain.

Catelyn loves all her children immensely but there is something so tragic and beautiful in her love for her daughters, the desperate lengths she is willing to go to to ensure the saftey of both of them while the lords/males in her family have already given them up as a lost cause and inevitable and necessary casualties in their war for vengeance and northern independence

Despite this affection though there is a lot of pressure on both of them... almost to the point that their treatment by the adults in their lives has a bit of a "parentification" dynamic- a manner that sometimes puts the onus on them to be a support and a comfort to their mother amid any tension in the family/marriage (Aemond) or to be the perfectly behaved role model or minder for their less dutiful siblings (Sansa)

Sansa, in everyone's eyes a lady at three and a queen destined to be, the determined effort she puts into excelling at being studious, accomplished, proper, and ladylike, how much she tries to exemplify the behavior praised and exemplified by her mother and her septa

set up by the adults in her life as a go between for the stark sisters...used as the benchmark for their demands and expectations of Arya, being held up as the bar for perfect, proper, and praise worthy behaviour that Arya is presssured to also attain, the daughter who gets censured on the few occasions she acts out while her younger sister typically gets away with her poor behaviour (at least when it comes to their parents)... Sansa isn't just under the pressure of the exacting expectations for a lord's daughter she also experiences the stress of being put in the position of exemplar for her wild untractable younger sister.

Aemond, apparent dutiful student in many areas expected as a child of nobility, who is expected to support Aegon in his rulership and war and (in the show) even takes responsibility for trying to keep his older brother in line, the one who after losing an eye takes the effort to comfort and console his mother's grief and rage when their father does nothing in response to an attack on Aemond other than threaten and intimate his wife and his children with Alicent in order to support his firstborn daughter, who becomes the human equivalent of not just a wrecking ball but a literal weapon of mass destruction sent out on behalf of the advancement of his family or later to enact terrible bloody vengeance on his family's behalf, his life his purpose and his death is all for his family's sake more than his own.

They put so much effort into being well behaved, to reach the exacting standards for a child in their position, setting an example for the less obedient/well behaved sibling(s) all of which in turn adds to significant strain or conflict between said sibling.

Sansa and Aemond are the sibling expected to and determidly striving to live up to the high expectations that the adults in their life put on them and to survive the extremely dangerous and high stakes scenarios they are put in (as a lord's daughter, prince's betrothed and future queen, a hostage and target for the machinations and ambitions of others, the older sibling, a ruling lady, and elected queen; a prince, dutiful son and brother, ruthless and dutiful defender of his family, and regent)

Meanwhile they have other siblings who struggled to meet said expectations or have given up attempting to all together (Arya, Rhaenyra, or to some degree Aegon)

Siblings who must from the perspective of Sansa and Aemond (who are still young, inexperienced, and have had a great deal of conflict with said siblings) seem to flaunt all expectations free to rebell, flaunt the rules, and generally ignore the high pressure expectations that children from their class face.

Undoubtedly frustrating since, much like their more rebellious siblings have failed to sympathize with the more responsible ones, Ameond and Sansa too have not (yet) been able to recognize the ways their less successful/dutiful siblings also suffer under the highly restrictive expectations of their class and position even if they do not choose or succeed in conforming to them.

They see that despite how they may excel in studying, striving and succeeding in their roles, and ultimatley exemplifying the high standards they were raised to it is these other siblings who seem to get rewarded (experiencing in their eyes at least what appears to be more freedom, less pressure, minimal censure or punishment for their misbehavior... while simultaneously receiving the bulk of the reward in terms of their inheritance, the attention they recieve, or even with regards to the amount of affection given by some of the authority figures in their lives, i.e. their fathers)...

To them it must seem that these siblings get to be not just easily forgiven for their mistakes and misbehaviour, but accepted as or outright adored simply the way they naturally are, whereas dutiful and non problematic children like themselves tend to be overlooked or underappreciated, and quickly criticized on the rare cases they misbehave... the acceptance and affection they recieve appears far more conditional on them behaving well according to the expectations of their family or various instructors/minders... whereas the affection their siblings receive, from say a certain parent, is show to be rather unconditional

Seriously they both give me such severe "easy" (i.e. overlooked) and "gifted" child trauma vibes... how much of their behavior is simply in their nature and how much is what they conform themselves to to make the adults around them proud... because as the quieter child or apparent outsider amindst their family/siblings this is the only action that comes natural to them and gets them some (hard earned) attention/praise in a rather large and loud family they otherwise seem a bit lost in... how much of their striving to succeed is dependent on the sincere belief/understanding that their saftey and potentially the future, saftey, and wellbeing of their family depends on it.

They both have a far more distant relationship with their fathers who favoured another sibling- a sister over them... father's who either didn't seem to know how to connect with them - Ned- or never really bothered to try- Viserys...

while i do believe Ned loves his children and they adored him in return i feel its obvious that he neglected in preparing any of them for the true dangers and realities of the world away from the satey and protection of winterfell and their Stark family, and he absolutely dropped the ball on keeping either of his daughters safe and supervised when he took them along into a very dangerous situation in kingslanding

Furthermore Ned never quite seemed to connected with or pay attention to Sansa they way he did with Arya... just something about the fact that when he follows the orders of his king/supposed best friend to kill Sansa's direwolf (the very symbol of their house) it is in replacement for Arya's Direwolf who was allowed to escape the cruel wrath of the Queen and Prince...and how he continues to fail Sansa in the aftermath

It's something about the gifts he gives his very angry and traumatized daughters to comfort them after- in lieu of truly trying to actually connect with and console both of them or to even properly mediate their increased fighting.

Arya (in the show and book) is given lessons with a "dancing" master who teaches her swordplay/water dancing, she was so excited and she always wanted to be outside learning to fight like her brothers got to, in this moment to her understanding she is not just seen by her father she is accepted and supported (a careful reader may see that Ned's attitude appears to be slightly condescendingly indulgent on the matter of her learning swordplay... but Arya gets the chance to do something she loves all the same)

Meanwhile (in the show) to try to console Sansa Ned gives her... a doll? (Honestly I can't recall any equivalent gift from Ned to Sansa in the books? the mention of her possibly getting harp lessons in Kingslanding was actually a promise Catelyn made to her on Ned's behalf rather than his own effort... and was something that Ned didn't actually ever arrange in the books)

But is this doll meant to be an appropriate gift to make up for the death of her direwolf? Is this gesture enough to comfort her and make amends after Ned killed her direwolf (notice its not exactly as spectacular, meaningful, or comforting a gift as arya's "dancing lessons"... certainly there is no indication that he has any particular understanding of Sansa or has given much thought into her talents, interests, or personality beyond the most shallow perusal)

In the aftermath of Lady's death Ned does nothing to truly protect Sansa or keep her away from the obviously dysfunctional and dangerous family he has promised her away to.

Yet he can take the time to comfort and have a frank conversation with Arya about how important staying together and supporting eachother as family is- especially when they are amongst dangerous people who mean to harm or separate them- and the specific importance her and Sansa will have to one another as sisters who share the same blood... further explaining how just as they will need eachother Ned needs them as well

Ned has no such comforting or distinctly meaningful exchange with Sansa... he doesn't explain the reality of the Lannisters/Joffrey/Robert (i.e. the truth of the people he has agreed to give his young daughter away to despite the fact that he either personally has no respect for most of them or has not been around them long enough to know anything about their true nature)

Yes it is the risk to his daughter that makes him willing to falsely confess to treason, yes eventually he decides its best to send his daughters back to winterfell, yes he finally wants to break the betrothal and he makes a beautiful promises to make her a match with "a high lord who's worthy of [her], someone brave and gentle and strong" ... but he is much too late to get both of his daughters away from the lannisters/kingslanding, way too late in his attempt to keep them safe, and he fails to handle Sansa with age appropriate respect and frankness and to actually tell her how dangerous things are in kingslanding and why joffrey (false prince -bastard born of incest) is such an ill suited match.

Maybe if he had put any effort into explaining things to her...or simply spending time with her, speaking to her, trying to understand her, comforting her amidst the loss of lady and the increased fighting with Arya, or doing literally anything other than just neglecting her and her saftey Sansa would have actually trusted his decision and seen it as him wanting what was best for her.

Maybe if he had been more proactive and focused on his daughters well being he wouldn't have brought both of them south after the altercation over their direwolves... or maybe he could have been successful at getting both his daughters out of kingslanding before everything went to hell.

Its almost like the whole point of the Ned/Arya/Sansa and the Ned/Cersei/Sansa dynamic isn't to show that Sansa is a naive girl who betrays her family for the lannisters but is instead to show that when you neglect your child emotionally they will turn elsewhere for comfort and will be particularly vulnerable to being manipulated or abused by other adults... its almost like this part of A Game of Thrones is more about the way even someone like Ned- a man who does strives to do what he thinks is right and a parent who does loves his children- can still fail.

Ned's treatment of Sansa is specifically intriguing, though i don't know if it will be addressed specifically since her relationship and dynamic with Ned is one that much like Robb ended with his tragic and unjust murder (leaving behind a grief stricken Sansa helplessly longing for the return of her family and home, grieving with a near devotional regard for her lost father and brother)... Sansa will never get to confront or reconcile with them over the many ways she was let down and left unprotected by her male relatives- and who knows if a traumatized and grieving Sansa will ever even recognize and admitt to herself the ways the people who she loved the most failed to live up to her expectations of them... how clearly that despite their love for her she was rarely their first priority ... how they both seemed to fail to follow their family mottos ... the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.... family before duty or honor... she was family yet duty and honor came before her in Robb's eyes... she was part of a pack but through Ned promising her to a marriage in the south, in him taking her and Arya away to kingslanding, in him failing to prioritize her saftey until they all were practically already on the chopping block, and in Robb abandoning any hope or plan of rescuing her she truly was abandoned by them ...to be a lone wolf without a pack to help her survive

Then there is Viserys who at the very least had a much stronger regard for Rhaenyra than all the kids by his second wife ...but can also quiet easily be accused of outright neglecting and mistreating them

The lack of guidance holds true for all his children really but with Rheanyra at least it is accompanied by an (ultimatley harmful) spoiled indulgence that he offers only to his eldest daughter- covering up her obvious blunders and threatening anyone who would speak the truth of her questionable actions and her children's legitimacy including his own wife and sons ... going against traditional succession not because he wants to promote first born succession/succession by "merit"/or treating daughter equal to sons in terms of inheritance or anything like that but because of guilt and unashamed favoritism.

Viserys refuses to give to his son what westeros society at least would deem as Aegon's birthright, while also failing to make arrangements for any his non-Rhaenyra children to have a future and saftey separate from the throne.

He doesn't arrange matches with other kingdoms and give them allies, protection, family, independence, or a power base independent of the crown/hightowers instead leaving them dependent only on the crown, vulnerable targets to be handled (i.e. no doubt killed on the orders of Rhaenyra and/or her uncle husband Daemon) as living they would remain the most significant threat to the legitimacy of their rulership.

Viserys looks the other way when Aemond specifically is permanently maimed by Rhaenyra's son...his only action after his son loses his eye is to threaten his second family, to intimidate them into staying quite on the topic of the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children before he deems the matter concluded... as if the worst part of that altercation was Aemond calling them bastards rather than say four children ganging up against one and how one of these children attacked using a knife and cost the other their fucking eye?

That for Aemond more than anything must cement his understanding of his father's feelings about Aemond and his full siblings and mother. To Viserys they simply matter less than Rhaenyra and her children.

In fact their well being or saftey matters less than even an offense made to Rhaenyra's reputation... which shows Alicent and her children without question that they are in danger from the blacks and the King will do nothing to prevent the blacks from trying to severely physically harm Aemond or his siblings, and in fact that there will be no punishment for the blacks when they succeed in doing so.

A civil war between the blacks and the greens was inevitable... Viserys actions of protecting and favoring Rhaenyra while also not ensuring she is instructed on and practices/proves her ability to rule, willfully ignoring that she violates her own vows and that she passes off her obviously illegitimate children as trueborn heirs, of permitting her not just to inherit (and position her illegitimate son as the next heir to) what most considered the birthright of her brother but also for her to steal the birthright of her own cousins by supplanting them with her other bastard and demoting them to being simply their brides/consorts, him keeping her as heir not just after he has multiple trueborn sons but also after Rhaenyra gets remarried to the exact violent bloodthirsty man that so many feared and Viserys himself had previously removed as his own heir in favour for Rhaenyra.

Viserys doing all of this while still choosing to remarry and have MULTIPLE children with his new wife... the neglectful and disrespectful way he treats his second family... all of this ensured that the death of some (if not all) of his children, via either assassination or in outright civil war, would always have been inevitable.

There is so much hatred, fear, distrust, and tension between Viserys' family members... and not only did he fail to intervene or improve things he was the one most responsible for it ....so much of the environment Alicent lived in and Aemond and his full siblings were raised was permeated by not just a sense of deep injustice (particularly in Aemond's case with his treatment by not just the blacks but his own father) but also an undercurrent of desperate fear over what will happen to them and their family in the wake of a brewing succession crisis

The mommy, daddy, and sibling issues are so strong with these two and I'm so obsessed with how the complicated family dynamics and tragic family losses that Ameond and Sansa experience echoe one another in so many ways...there is just so much love, grief, rage, unpacked trauma, and hurt in them and I am always obsessed with stories that allow the narrative or characters to address such trauma.

PART 3/4. THE CONTRASTING AND COMPLIMEMTARY ASPECTS OF THEIR STORIES (SUFFERING AND GRIEF)

They were both were so young when they became targets of the wrath and dislike of powerful and corrupt "Queens"

Sansa who loses her direwolf at the demand of Queen Cersei, a queen who after long being abused by her own husband sees a perhaps more extreme form of that sort of violence in her own mad son being directed at Sansa, who rather than expressing or experiencing compassion or sympathy instead takes the chance to revel in the destruction of Sansa's innocence, to mock and emotionally abuse Sansa when she has lost her father and her only protection in Kingslanding, leaving her a hostage of war at the mercy of a violent and corrupt royal family

Aemond who after losing his eye to an attack instigated by Rhaenyra's children receives no apology or recompense...instead his own sister asks for her mutilated little brother to be tortured sharply questioned due to the offense he caused by accusing her sons -accurately mind you- of being bastards... Aemond and his siblings who were never truly ever treated by Rhaenyra as her siblings only ever the offspring of Alicent and thus obstacles and threats for her (and her uncle's) right to the throne.

Both were physically harmed or tormented by (or with the approval of) young members of royalty, with very little being done to intervene, stop, or punish those involved despite their own highborn status- which would generally deem them unacceptable targets for such abuse.

Young Sansa a hostage but still a high born daughter descended from two of the seven ruling houses in westeros, The Warden of the North and the Lord Paramount of the Trident, and niece/cousin to the rulers of a third kingdom, the Lord Paramount of the Vale. Who while under the "care" of the crown is tormented, stripped, and beaten in open court at the behest of a mad boy king... forced to look upon the severed heads of her father and household, forced into being an unwilling child bride to the house of her family's enemies, who is molested and threatened with sexual assault on multiple occasions

Prince Aemond son of the King who is mocked by his brother and nephews (or his king and father in the books) over the fact that he hasnt yet claimed a dragon, and when this makes him reckless enough to approach and claim the largest dragon in existence the torment doesn't stop it gets dangerously worse as the tension between the children of the blacks and greens escalate to the point of a violent confrontation between Aemond and his nephews and cousins... and the resulting loss of of his eye when one of his attackers brings out a knife. None of the children who banded together to attack Aemond would face any consequences, only Aemond himself and his mother and older brother would censure and outright threats from their King Father and Older sister. Whose earliest sexual experience- done at the behest of his older brother- was implied to be at the very least coerced, traumatizing, and humiliating- if not outright non consensual on his part.

Both Sansa and Aemond face a terrible sort of loss when they begin losing their family members to mass civil war ...often in a manner that is distinctly horrific or against all laws of decency in the 7 kingdoms

her father Ned unjustly executed for treason and whose decapitated head is displayed and used to torment her, her younger sister Arya gone missing for years and long thought dead, her home sacked and younger brothers Bran and Rickon supposedly murdered by her family's ward- a boy who grew up alongside the stark children- the burned/mutilated heads and bodies of two young boys being being put on display at winterfell, her older Brother and Mother slaughtered when their traitorous allies and bannermen men break sacred guest rights at a wedding, both their bodies desecrated in a mockery of their houses... Robb decapitated his direwolves own head placed ontop of his body while his enemies parade his remains around, her mother Catelyn's throat slit and her body dumped naked in a river and left to rot.

(In the show) Rickon being cut down before his siblings eyes by a madman who betrayed their house and had tortured Sansa herself, her "half brother" Jon betrayed and murdered by his men and later sent off into a lonley exile away from his family and home for the "crime" of taking out an invader who had just committed mass murder... Sansa being left to rule the north all alone with many of her family members long dead and the surviving ones being set on a path away from the north/winterfell while she is left to handle rulership in isolation

Aemond who after commiting the first Kinslaying of the "war of dragons" by attacking his own assailant and nephew Lucerys proceeds to lose all of the family that he loved.

Starting with the tragic murder of his innocent young nephew at the behest of his elder sister/uncle- who arranged for his mother Alicent to be attacked tied up and forced to bear witness to the gruesome murder of her grandchild,

His sister Helaena -who plead for her life to be taken to spare her son- forced under the threat of the rape of her young daughter to choose which of her young sons will be murdered. Only for all of them to be traumatize further when they kill Jaehaerys and leaving Maelor the son she "chose" to die to survive with the message that his own mother wanted him dead... the emotional torment this caused the whole family but most of all his sister who refused to eat, bathe, or look upon her remaining son due to her immense feelings of guilt

his older brother Aegon who has lost his son and heir, and whose sister/wife is in a grief so deep she cannot care for their remaining children, who is attacked and maimed but survives to live on in total agony,

the murder of Maelor, Aemond's remaining nephew at the hands of a mob

Aemond's last stand, sacrificing his dragon and his own life to take out his Uncle (the biggest threat to his family and the orchestrator of Jaehaerys' brutal murder)

The many tragedies that continued after Aemond's own death- his sister's eventual suicide, the death of his younger brother Daeron, his oldest brother outlasting all of his siblings and his own two sons only to be taken out by poison once the war is over, his mother spending the last of her years in confinement until she passes from sickness,

His niece Jaehaera, after the loss of her entire family, married off as a child in the name of "peace" and dying young and alone- of suicide or murder

There is just such fascinating potential when two characters would have so much mirroring grief and trauma ...there is such an undercurrent of helpess rage, guilt, and grief to them in their youth and a undoubtedly a feverent desire for either vengeance or justice against the many people who harmed them or slaughtered their family...

And here is where things begin to differ between the two in interesting ways

with Sansa who has these violent wishes/impulses but is not in a position to see them fulfilled herself- her desire to push Joffrey to his death even at the cost of her own life, her wish that someone will throw Ser Meryn Trant down and cut off his head, her hope that various people will fall/be unhorsed...

Sansa who recieves a direwolf, Lady, the very symbol of her house and potentially a companion that would have offered a connection that was an extension of her own soul only for Lady to be cut down so quickly and unjustly... Sansa who loses not just the connection/companionship she recieved from Lady but also the protection such a bond would offer her ... she is left vulnerable in so many ways and has no promise of reuniting with her own direwolf later on... that will never be a comfort or form of security offered to her after all the danger and trauma she experiences

While Aemond, who spent much of his young life similarly helpless to act or respond to insults and assaults on his own person or immediate family, (that his father/king either never deemed worthy of interference or punishment... that is when it wasn't the King himself who was the perpetrator of such offenses) unlike Sansa experiences a change of fortune in the form getting to bond with the symbol of his house

He gains (and gets to keep until his own death) a bond with a different sort of mythical beast companion... a dragon and as a result recieves all the potential for power and destruction that comes with being a dragon rider

By claiming Vhagar Ameond is the closest he will ever be to untouchable, not just from the harassment he personally experienced from his family but with regards to how grave and dangerous a threat/target he had now become for the blacks during the dance of dragons

Aemond now a dragonrider of the largest living dragon, a child and later teenager who is in control of the narrative equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction, and he is no longer held back from acting on his anger once the rule and interference of his neglectful father king is over,

he is in control of the most massive beast of pure destruction and unlike Sansa, who for now in the books- or for much of her story in the show- remained an unprotected hostage or pawn in the hands of those who mean to harm or use her... who handles her trauma very internally as she is not in a position to fight back, and must rely on her words, intelligence, and ability to read and strategically interact with people as a way of defending and keeping herself safe, Aemond is now in the position to enact every bloodthirsty impulse of revenge he ever experienced

He was held back from enacting vengeance only through his own will, which ultimately proves not enough- he commits the first kin slaying and soon the actions of each side escalated into a horrific bloodbath where nobility and small folk alike suffered or die en masse

While Aemond's story may be one of family devotion and loyalty, mistreatment, injustice, and suffering that ends by showing the terrible outcomes of revenge and uncontrolled cruel brutality Sansa's story feels like one where grief, rage, and mistreatment exist but where family, love, compassion, kindness, justice, and integrity will win out in the end.

Sansa was certainly developed into a more discerning strategic and ruthless figure in the show but justice, duty, and forgiveness were still very prevalent in her storyline

she does have ramsay killed in a fittingly horrific manner, but she later holds a public trial for littlefinger- who was responsible for much of her familys suffering, the death of her father, and her own torment and rape- before she has him executed,

She feels compassion and forgiveness for theon the man who had betrayed her family and drove her young brothers out of their home, who only after experiencing significant torture himself became devoted to protecting the remaining starks and was able to find the courage to disobey his own torturers in order to help Sansa escape,

She possessed a concern for other people that few ruler do in asoiaf/got... speaking up against Joffrey's cruelty even as a powerless hostage, being the person concerned with the more practical matters of caring for and feeding their people during a harsh winter- a notable development in comparison to say everyone else just focusing on battle tactics and the upcoming battles (as though feeding an army is not an essential part of warfare), and the invader who just burned westeros' food stores en masse and now expects others to feed not just her armies but also demands that her dragons be fed "whatever they want"

I think in the books however that despite Sansa's internal grief and rage and her burgeoning political acuity there will be a gentler end to her arc where her own innate sense of duty and her (now more discerning) sense of compassion will win out in the end when she takes back her name, identity, and birthright ... that she along with her surviving family will have justice administered in the name of their lost family and people... efficiently bringing down righteous and necessary judgement on those that harmed and betrayed them rather than simply dealing out some form of mass, bloody, cruel revenge on her enemies (I'll leave that for lady stoneheart) ... and that a satisfying ending for her and the other starks will balance them realistically addressing the dangers and betrayal they faced with their own personal resolve to hold true to the values imparted to them by their parents.

... yet after all her suffering (and the frustrating lack of trust, consideration, or support she was given by her own family in the later GOT seasons) there is something darkly appealing to the idea of her getting (not a hero precisely) but a ruthless and devoted sort of monster to support her and bring down unholy vengeance on her various tormentors

PART 4/4: THE RESULTING DRAMATIC AND EMOTIONAL APPEAL OF AEMONDSA FICS

This after their many parallels and complementary contrasts is what intrigues me the most...the interplay of a potentially wary, cautious, traumatized but still duty and justice oriented person and a companion or lover who is comparatively more ruthless, unhinged, capable of atrocities, and who is more equipped to dole out violence en masse... (guys the pipeline from dark jon/dark jonsa to aemondsa just makes so much sense)

the question in Aemondsa fics of what will win out in the end- the shared grief and rage or them both controlling/channeling such impulses into strategic righteous fury and justice is always fascinating... and most of all the idea of Sansa (after all the trauma mistreatment and grief she has experienced) attaining the interest and eventual devotion of someone who despite being capable of monstrous actions is also incredibly loyal, devoted, and ruthless in the pursuit of their loved ones interests ("I want you to put out your eye ... plan to make it a gift if it to my mother" indeed) is just as appealing as the idea where an isolated, lonely, traumatized, grieving, and dangerously angry young man like Aemond gets to find acceptance, affection, companionship, and belonging with an intelligent strategic but more importantly an exceptionally compassionate person like Sansa.

Its just a dynamic far too intriguing to ignore especially for someome who already loved Time Travel/Reincarnation Fix IT AUs in fanfiction

While emotional catharsis and Sansa returning home and having the dreams she had wrote off as impossible be fulfilled (i.e. building a loving partnership and marriage, having children with someone who loves and wants her more than her claim itself, reuniting with her family) is something I love- and what I want to happen in canon (hence my otp being Jonsa)- there is always an interesting/guilty pleasure aspect of fanfic where Sansa (or the Starks in general) get to wreck terrible bloody victory and vengeance on those who betrayed and butchered their family and people (not really the ultimate message or point of the book but definitely emotionally satisfying in fanfic)

Just like there is a sort of appeal that exists in hotd fanfic that is sort of the opposite ...ones that alter the violent senseless and tragic trajectory of the dance of dragons... to either change the course of a brutal civil war or prevent it all together

and the Aemondsa pairing's time travel or reincarnation fics provide an opportunity to explore both of these diverse dynamics.

Sansa will always deserve the world... in canon and in fanfic i want to see all her dream and hopes come true whether it is with a truly good and just partner with whom she gets to build the life and home she always dreamed of or through her getting her very own devoted monster who would do anything to keep her safe from the scores of people who wish to misuse or harm her

and I always wish that hotd fanfiction offered more Aemond centric fics with a love interest that you know actually likes, sympathizes with, or understand him? He feels too tragic a character for me to want him to experience the typical hate and love (enemies AND lovers) treatment he tends to get in fanfic... its not really satisfying for me seeing his typical pairing up with whatever team black character (or really TB character rewrite) or some Daemon's or Rhaenyra's daughter OC that is the frequent choice for aemond centric fics...him being portrayed as some impusive awful and villainous love interest who changes sides and abandons his family just to be with his lover/obsession feels so out of character in a way that erases the best, most compelling, and sympathetic parts of his canon personality, motives, and actions.

Luckily Aemondsa fics seems to be a pairing that offers everything I like in Ameond or Sansa centric fics....

In conclusion Aemondsa is surprisingly compelling and versatile dynamic in fanfic and I think that is why I've become such a fan of Firesteel/Aemondsa fanfiction (in a way I'm NOT at all a fan of the actual HOTD show writing lol)

I'm a proud support of crack ships/rarepairs and I'm always willing to add to the fandom appreciation of pairings that gets less attention or fandom related works... so expect to see the occasional Aemondsa fanart/fic recommendation post from me amongst my typical jonsa content (in fact expect one in the next in a day or so)

Otherwise I just hope established Ameondsa fans (or people who haven't ready any aemondsa fics but are fans of either character/curious about this pairing in general) have enjoyed seeing me fangirl about these two characters/this crack ship and feel inspired to check out or even make their own Aemondsa content!

-Crimsom Cold

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