#especially when it’s night vale

[friendlyneighborhoodfirbolg]

I saw The Attic last week and it was FANTASTIC!!! This is definitely the best Night Vale live show I’ve seen yet!! This podcast means so much to me, thank you Night Vale for keeping me weird :-))

@nightvaleofficial

[oflorelei]

Whenever I read about the North I feel like William Wallace from Braveheart BC god damn do I want them to be independent, got me howling "FOR THE NORTH!!" like its 1300's scottland

[mudstoneabyss]

There was a phase in my writing where I was badly trying to ape WTNV by just stringing a bunch of vague eldritch-sounding bullshit with no purpose together and oh my god they are actually DOING that now. I should send them some samples

With more isolated episodes and/or segments I think they still hit that classic well-done Night-Valianism, for lack of a better word coming to mind to describe it, but overall there is a level in which it feels like the podcast has flanderized itself. That was a big complaint for Carlos in the last arc but honestly the "horror" part of 250, all the shit Lauren was doing to the town, was too.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Aegon is the best big brother to his sweet sister, who is in third trimester of pregnancy; not only does he help her relieve the feeling of her heavy breasts by sucking on her tits greedily like a babe, he sometimes helps the aching feeling between her legs by sticking his cock, tongue or fingers in her cunny

Such a good brother, especially when she’s not even his wife

Blood of my Blood.

PAIRING: Older!Brother!Aegon ii Targaryen x Little!Sister!Fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,715.

WARNINGS: incest to the max, implied affair [Aegon is the father of the child], age gap [reader is of mature/consensual age], lactation kink, pregnancy kink, slight reference to breeding kink, p in v sexual intercourse, possessive!Aegon, swearing.

A/N - now I NEVER write brother x sister tropes even in the ASOIAF universe just because it’s not really my cup of tea, but this ask sparked something very very feral in me. I might make a neice x uncle version of this or a Daddy Aeg x daughter!reader version.

credit to the owners of the images.

Curse the Gods who afflicted the journey of motherhood, for it could be such a gruelling thing... Heading into the final few moons of your first pregnancy, you had never felt such intense discomfort in your life. Your beloved mother, Queen Alicent, had informed you of such grievances, although with little empathy for her pregnancies had been quite embracing and facile. Your eldest sister, Helaena, having already given birth to a set of twins, now in the early stages of her current pregnancy with your elder brother, Aemond, could somewhat console you, becoming an anchor of support.

It was Aegon, your eldest of the siblings, that you seemed most attached to, for it was Aegon that granted you bliss in your pregnancy, more so than your absent husband, some delinquent lord of the Vale. You had argued your way with your mother, and batted your eyes to your father, begging you to stay in King's Landing, in familiar territory with the finest maesters at hand. More so, it was Aegon who had plotted with you this essential plan.

"Do you truly think that the maesters of the Vale and that imbecile you call husband will keep you safe and satisfied, dear sister? Not in the least... But I can."

Aegon's temptress of a tongue was convincing alone, although it had been his merciful gestures of chivalry that kept you sane and grounded. Easing your aches and pains of expecting, Aegon became your sole beacon of ease, like the formidable arms of a warrior and you, the damsel he heroically carries.

"Do they ache again, sweet sister?"

The softness in his husky, drowsy voice breaking the silence of the chamber, woke you whole from your half-hearted daze. You had both succumbed to slumber [often Aegon insisted that you remain closely by his side, even in bed] what felt like hours long ago, and yet through the ginger firelight, by the open window, night remained swallowing the sky.

"Mhmm-" You uneasily stir: weakly trying to muster enough strength to sit yourself upright: however, with the sheer, bulging mass of your grown belly you visibly struggled until Aegon's efforts of pulling you effortlessly upright ended your dilemma.

"Want me to help, princess?"

His calloused, thick hands began to rub small, soothing circles against your lower back, knowing the babe inside exerted much pressure on your lower spine: its weight growing more rigid with each passing month.

"You've helped me enough, Aegon. I mustn't ask more from you... If this state is any indication of me being a mother, consider me a terrible one," You defeatedly utter, one hand stretched from behind supporting your upright position, whilst the other softly caressed at the protruding temple of your clothed belly.

"Don't speak like that, Y/N, dearest. This is your first babe, you must understand your body is adjusting. Hel suffered a great deal with the twins also, and now, look at her... You are going to be a beautiful mother, indeed. I have no doubt...C'me here."

Lightly tapping at your exposed thigh, your night gown had been pulled up just below your way with all the commotion and movement. Obeying, Aegon summoned you onto his lap, shirtless he had entered the bed, however before you could even gather motion to straddle yourself atop: he'd managed to tear away his undergarments, leaving his exposed girth, reddened at the tip with excitement. Modestly covering himself with the sheer, ivory linen.

"Right now?" Your snappy tone vicious, however Aegon remained unfazed.

"Well, little sister, if I'm being quite frank it seems you've been dreaming quite vividly... Do you not hear the moans and pleas that escape your lips in sleep, crying out for me, begging... Want your elder to sate you, is it? Was that babe growing inside of you not enough, you wish me to spoil you some more, hmm?"

"A-Aeg- We shouldn't..." You meekly whimper, a surge of heat coursing through your face, certain your cheeks had grown scarlet with shame.

"All you had to do was ask."

His dark voice a low growl, like some concealed predator eager to ambush. Aegon's motions remained in contrast, tender and cautious, easing your delicate and sensitive frame over his wide, gelatinous thighs. A scorching sensational painfully heightened sent lightning bolts in waves throughout the entirety of your body, shuddering with excitement as your aching cunt eased itself over his pulsating cock. It had been a while since you had been intimate with Aegon like this, prior to the pregnancy in fact: the changes your body had undergone since were bracing and raw.

Feeling the tensity beneath and the heat as you began to bob ever so slowly and sensually over Aegon's tense, fat cock: feeling its hard tip hitting at your cervix [you had hoped rather than the babe]. Your tight walls overstretched, desperate to adjust to his girthy width, you swore to yourself it had never felt this stimulating ever before: every primal sense in your body, every fibre of your being resisting the urge to collapse into a faint against Aegon's soft chest, gripping onto the bare, pale skin of his broad shoulders for dear life.

"That's it, rūs [baby], doing so-so well. It hurts I know, but Daddy's gonna make you feel so much better. Keep going, princess."

Head rolling back in admiration, you felt the intensity from between your inner thighs beginning to lessen, a wetness pooling between, coating the friction to ease the motions. Your hands release their strong hold over him, as your eyes began to wonder over his body, you had immediately noticed the raw, reddened marks lashed across his ivory skin. To avoid any more damage, you guide your relaxed hands up towards Aegon's short strands.

Tugging and playfully pulling at the loose, platinum locks, whilst Aegon's face remained buried, eagerly lapping at your petal-like skin on the base of your neck. One strong arm snaked around your back, gripping you firmly by the neck providing some lumbar support, whilst the other strategically untied the knots of lace at the front of your night gown, exposing your voluptuously full tits. Hardened nipples raw and perky, even as Aegon teasingly flicked at your tit with this thumb, a grimace forming across his handsome face you felt against your skin: kneading the swollen, plump flesh with his palm, you instinctively squirmed and moaned with such debility.

"Seven Hells, you are so fucking full, dārilaros [princess]. This babe is going to be so spoiled. Such a good Mumma, already eager with milk for the bub... Could feed the an entire realm, Mumma."

"J-Just you A-Aeg. Only you get to taste this sweet m-milk before the babe. T-Tell me how good I taste," Stuttering whimpers mottled between mouthful of moans echoed between the dense walls of Aegon's royal chambers. His fat cock still buried and plunging itself deeply inside of you, penetrating against your already tainted and filled womb, Aegon's hand cupped at your breast from beneath. Lifting your tit upwards, latching his mouth tightly against its curvature peak.

"Mhmm- Keep going big boy... M-Making me feel s-so good, A-Aeg. H-Have your full."

The imminent relief your occupied tit began to succumb to, felt like a blissful dream. You felt your breath could finally release, not hitched against your throat from the sheer agony of feeling it was about to burst. The milk you intently sensed, lusciously pouring into Aegon's ravenous mouth, his plump, moist lips suckling at your skin, totally encompassing the nipple in its entirety. His teeth lightly gnawed at your flesh, however, it was a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

"So w-warm and fresh- Gonna f-fill me up so fucking much. P-Poor princess... The weight of these, the copious a-amount- I-I'm greedy for you. Sh-Should've fucked you earlier in your womanhood... Drenching your w-womb of my seed, till we fill the keep i-if need be. M-Mother would rather enjoy it."

Aegon, famished like a destitute of the realm, bathed his taste-buds of your milk from one breast and onto the other: regaining his breath between each as he felt inclined to credit your production. Descending his face down once more, he spared no further second wasting away, as he continued to fervently feed, like a man starved of pure water.

"Th-The el-eldest you may b-be, such a b-big baby y-you are. S-So needy for me, huh? A-Always needing t-to take me, m-make me yours. Every bit of me... Is devout t-to you, A-Aegon."

As if your breathless, sensual words had struck a chord in him, a man gone mad with a fever. His hold on you had tightened, his mouth suckled deeper, tugging at the flesh of your bosom, whilst his cock felt it had grown a size more inside of you. The wet mess coating between your inner thighs now glazed all over Aegon's plump lap, expressed no denial of his power over you, the purpose he gave to you. In theory and practice, you felt your body collapsing into a bliss, a shudder of ecstasy waved through your feeble body as you screamed for Aegon, a gush of your wetness coating all over his stiff cock buried inside. Only to be met with Aegon's mutual appreciation of your vulnerability and submission towards him.

"That's it, baby. Such a beautiful woman... Gevives [beauty]. You honour me with this holy act. You privilege me to your womb, your body and your life... Skorkydoso kostagon nyke mirre deny ao mirros? [How can I ever deny you anything?]."

Easing yourself off of Aegon, your limp, frail body tiresome and relieved of such exploits endured. Aegon knew better than to leave you to your own strength, as absent as it was: carrying you over towards your empty side of the bed, still laying you closely against his natural warmth.

"Continue to serve me, brother. And I shall pay it back 100 times over... And besides, if it had not been for your mischief many moons ago, I would not be in such a state. Although, I wouldn't have it any other way, Aegon... I love you."

"Avy jorrāelan [I love you], my dearest, sweet little sister. Continue as you are and I might have to fuck another babe in you once more to teach you a lesson or two."

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @zaldritzosrose

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe @callsignwidow

credit for divider - @/saradika-graphics

[whereslynx]

[PART 2] Stepping in for Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

pov: mothering a child who isn’t yours isn’t easy, especially if it’s the leader of the santos’ younger brother; you’d know, you’ve been doing it since the end of your high school years. but for oscar — god, for that man, you’d do anything.

PART 1 (LINK)

a/n: thank you for the support guys :) i appreciate it so much !!

☽✶•┈┈┈•◦❥◦•┈┈┈•✶☾

☽✶•┈┈┈•◦❥◦•┈┈┈•✶☾

God, you couldn’t have been any more wrong.

Everything wasn’t okay. Cesar wasn’t safer. In fact, within the short span of Oscar being home, he was jumped into the Santos, rolled up on, ordered to kill a prophet. And now, they beat him to a pulp and basically ejected him from not only the Santos, but from his home after Latrelle was found alive, resulting in the death of Olivia and injury of Ruby. Cesar’s life was falling apart fast and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first few weeks of Oscar getting released was filled with you smothering him with your love. Your undying loyalty for his�� your family was evident within Cesar’s healthy figure. He was beyond proud and grateful that you stuck around for something that you didn’t sign up for, and he made sure you knew that. But when the days went by and more and more unfortunate events preyed on Cesar’s life after he joined the Santos, it all pushed you to distance yourself from Oscar by the hour.

He still remembers the night you found out Cesar was jumped in. The two Diaz boys will never forget how only a shaken gasp just left your lips when you lifted up his shirt. You didn’t shout or cry when you saw Cesar come home with Oscar with a bruised stomach, only biting back a cry and slamming the front door behind you without a word. The silence in the house after you left was overwhelming, pushing Cesar to twist the doorknob with the intent to explain himself to you. “Don’t. I know how she is when she gets like this.” Oscar barked just as about Cesar was going to run after you, “She needs space. Leave her be, vale?” he said, not even turning to face him as he spoke. Almost as if he didn’t want Cesar to see his expression, afraid to show weakness or vulnerability. Cesar sheepishly nodded, “Claro.” he responded with a mumble before leaving quietly to his room. You didn’t return until hours later with a tear stained face, slipping into you and Oscar’s shared bed without a word. You didn’t know if he was awake or not, but you didn’t want to know because the rest of the night was filled with a consuming silence.

The life of being in a gang wasn’t foreign to you. You grew up in Freeridge and around Santos all your life, and your relationship with Oscar that’s been ongoing since high school allowed you to bear witness to the gang life. But seeing the boy you considered your baby live through it brought sorrow to your heart, especially when Oscar had kicked him out of the house. You were torn between the weight of understanding what Oscar had to do because of Cuchillos, and whacking him over the head for kicking your baby boy out.

You weren’t Cesar’s biological mother, but you raised him since he was a child whilst Oscar was locked up. He was your everything, he taught you what it was to be a mother before you even bared your own child. And you hated to admit it because you swore to love Oscar through everything, but an overwhelming sense of anger stirred in you. You were angry that Cesar had to be jumped into the gang, and you were angry at the circumstances that you and Oscar had to deal with.

Your late night thoughts were put on halt when you felt the other side of the bed slightly sink, telling you that Oscar was home. But you didn’t shift in the bed, you didn’t turn around and whisper a quiet hello with a sweet kiss like you always did— No, you stayed under the covers with your back turned on him. He must’ve known you were awake because you felt his eyes on you, the silence sewing tension into the atmosphere. “Damn. Got yo’ back turned on me and everything, ma.” Oscar grunted from the edge of the bed, “What’s up with you?” he asked, a tinge of frustration in his tone. When you didn’t respond, a ‘tsk’ left Oscar’s lips as his gaze fixated on the narrow shaft of the midnight sky that broke through the darkness. Its light slipped through the crack of the curtains, illuminating the dark room with a soft, silver glow.

With a sharp inhale of a ravening fury, you sat up in the bed and turned to Oscar with furrowed brows, “Fuck you mean what’s up with me, Oscar?” you hissed with an expression of anger, “Do you expect me to shower you with affection while the boy I— We, raised is out on the streets?” you shook your head, running a hand down your face.

Oscar would’ve been a terrible boyfriend if he hadn’t recognised that look on your face. That same look on your face, was the same look you had on the day he was arrested. It was a look of sorrow and anxiety masked and disguised with an unshaken wrath.

“You think it’s any easier for me to handle?” Oscar said with a frown, “I’m as fucked up over it as you are, mami.” he growled, his jaw tightening under the intensity before he stood up from the bed and began pacing around the room. You only scoffed a laugh, swinging your legs off the bed as your feet touched the cold wooden floor, “Then why did you jump him in!?” you yelled, the volume of your voice rising without care. Cesar’s absence from home was only a bitter reminder that there was nobody left to hide your guys’ arguments from. “It was to protect him!” Oscar yelled back, his hands balling into fists. “Oh please, Oscar.” A baffled laugh left your lips, “I didn’t know you were protecting him when he came to me, crying his damn ass off because you and your manos, took him to kill a fucking prophet!” you contested, pointing a finger at him from the other side of the bed. Oscar shook his head, “Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t do it.” he grumbled, “That’s what got him kicked out in the first place.”

“Do you know how much it messes with my mental seeing my baby go through that? To have to stand by and watch him get kicked out the house by his own older brother?” You said with a quivering bottom lip, your furrowed brows marking your forehead with creases. Oscar covered his eyes with his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You don’t understand, I had to. Cuchillos—“

“Fuck Cuchillos! She, outta all people should understand this twisted feeling that messes with my head every night.” You snapped, tears swelling your eyes, “Look, you did what you had to do. From a Santo’s perspective, it’s hard to do, but from a mother’s, it’s crushing. I only beg of you to see this situation as Oscar, not Spooky.” you muttered, your anger dissipating into a unresolvable state of grief once tears fell down your face.

The familiar sound of silence fell onto youse heavily, the two of you only staring at each other with broken expressions; a silent way of communicating how youse truly felt, without the burden of carrying it with words.

Oscar broke your mutual gaze, a deep sigh leaving him as he sniffled. Making his way to the other side of the bed, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your tear stained faced against his chest. It was a gesture that you two weren’t strangers to, but you still found yourself tensing up. It’d been so long since you two embraced with the same warmth that youse prided yourselves on. But tonight, the warmth of genuine love indulged itself into the embrace, allowing you to ease into the hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting a soft sob leave your lips. The weight of witnessing Cesar’s life fall apart wasn’t only dragging you down, but on Oscar as well.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar mumbled, his head leaned down to rest on your shoulder, “I have a plan. I’ll bring Cesar back, I promise.” he assured you, softly tightening his grip as a sign of his loyalty to his words. You could only nod silently, melting into his touch. “I love you.” He whispered, planting a soft kiss onto your shoulder. “I love you.” You said softly.

The life you two led was not a life of privilege, but it was undeniable that youse did find privilege in being able to walk through it together. Despite the losses that your journey might meet, with Oscar, you were sure that you would stumble, but not fall.

[arc-misadventures]

The Jackalopes

"Ba ba baa ba bahhh..."

"Bzzzt bzzit... bzz..."

"Ba ba ba..."

"Bzz... Bzzt... Bzzzt!"

"Do do dodoo..."

"Bzz... bzzt... bzz..."

"Hmm...? Yep, that otta do it."

"Click!"

"Alright... SALEM?"

"Yes, my Lord? "

"The last of the, 'Kings' are finished. Can my, 'Queen' uplink to the, Kings?"

"I can at once, my Lord. But, may you clarify a question for me?"

"Go ahead."

"If I the, Strategic Attack Logistic Engine Mainframe. Codename: SALEM. I am considered the, 'Queen.' And, these, Kings are the mobile command modules, what are you in all of this, my Lord?"

"Hmm... Well, not to sound vain, but since I created all of you you could call me a, God. But, I much prefer to be called the, Architect if anything. Since I built you, and all the various drones, and since I came up with this plan; Calling myself, The Architect is a more fitting name in my opinion. What are your thoughts, SALEM; Does that sound fitting, or does that still sound a little vain? "

"It does not, calling yourself the, Architect is a far more humble title. Although, others may still see you as vain, considering they will not know the history behind your new moniker, 'The Architect."

"Yes... Even more so if I said I was the, 'The Architect of Ozkin demise... Let us begin, SALEM. It is time for, Ozkin to remember that my family will always keeps their word..."

"Especially when it comes to dealing with those that break their word... "

~~~

Fire, explosions, and screams. On a night meant to celebrate the coming of four nations, a day of unity, The Vytal Festival. And yet, instead the of the city of, Vale being based in the light of neon light, it basked in the light of fire. Instead of the booming echoes, and multicoloured lights from fireworks being shot in the sky, explosions of cars, powerlines, and machines erupted in blazing balls of fire. And, instead of the cheers, and cries of a people celebrating together, there was the cries of the fearful, and the dying.

Vale was in flames.

The White Fang, Grimm, and rouge Atlasian Knights had flooded the city. Hunting, and killing all those that got in their way. Wrecking havoc all across the city. Hunters, both professionals, and trainees were running about, trying to save as many lives as possible, often in vain attempt. For there were too many, Grimm, and fanaticals among the, White Fang raising hell across the city, and too many people were dying. They were losing, Vale had fallen.

And, just like many others, May Zedong, a Huntress-in-training of, Shade Academy was about to meet a grewsome end, just like many others. At least, she thought she was.

~~~

"Fuck... fuck fuck fuck!"

May Zedong was panting as she tried to run, she had tried to fight off the, Grimm hordes, but there were too many, she had been separated from her team, she had been disarmed, and now she was the hunted, instead of the hunter.

Struggled raspy breaths escaped her lips as she tried to escape, but the gash on her leg was slowing her down as she tried to flee from the Beowulf's hunting her down for sport.

"Ah! Ah! Aaahhh?! Ophh?!" She fell, May had tripped over a piece of broken debris. She turned over to see a Beowulf slowly moving towards her. Tears ran down her face as she felt absolute terror in her very soul as this beast was about to charge her, and kill her.

"Please someone... Save me!" Tears fell down, May's eye as she closed it shut, not wanting to see her death coming. She heard the monster cry out, about to charge, and kill her, but suddenly silence.

May opened her eye, and instead of a group of, Grimm ready to take her life she saw a figure in white. It bore white armour, a large buckler shield that was two thirds it's height, and a long bladed spear, and most noticeably it had large white ears upon it's head. It looked similar to a...

"A... A rabbit...?" May gasped a she watched the rabbit stare at her for a moment before it, and several of it's kind jump away, and make it's way across the city of, Vale.

These white rabbits jumped across the city of, Vale, jumping down upon members of the, White Fang, and running them through with their weapons, or using their strong mechanical legs to jump high up onto ramparts, roofs, or balconies, and started raining down hell on, Grimm, rouge Atlasian Knights, and radical faunas alike.

Qrow Branwen watched on in bewilderment as several of these bunnies race about the city, slaying all those that stood before them as they went about.

"What the fuck...?" Qrow wondered aloud as he saw these bunny knights race about the city. He looked up into the sky to see several white Bullheads dropping dozens more of these bunny knights throughout the city. But, as he watched on, he saw where several of these crafts flying off into the air in a different direction.

"What... They're heading towards, Beacon...? I need to get their fast...?!" He was about to make a mad dash to find a way, any way to get to, Beacon. But, several of these rabbit knights surrounded him, their bodies standing perfectly still, all but one whose head was moving side to side as it looked at him.

"Uhh... You need something...?" Qrow nervously asked as the rabbits looked about him, until one of the rabbits spoke.

"Branwen. Qrow. Human. Gender: Male. Occupation: Huntsmen. Affiliation: Beacon Academy."

"Uhh yeah... Yeah that's me...?" Qrow was confused, he listened as the rabbit spoke in a low, soothing metallic voice, as it spoke several bullet points about him.

"Target identified. Surrender now. Ally of: Ozkin the Traitor."

The rabbit knights entered a defensive posture as they leveled their weapons at him. Qrow was taken aback, not by the fact several apparently, robot bunny knights were pointing weapons at him.

On second thought, he was taken aback the fact several rabbit knights that were as high as his chest were pointing weapons at him. But, it was the fact that they said that name, that they said, Ozkin, not, Ozpin. They called him, Ozkin which meant that whoever, or whatever had built these things knew exactly who, Ozpin was. And, whoever they are wanted, Ozpin's head.

Qrow drew his scythe as a sarcastic smirk moved across his face as he looked at these silly little bunnies.

"Yeah, I ain't going to do that..."

"So. Be. It." Echoed the metallic voice as they charged the veteran Huntsman.

"Rahh!"

The sounds of metal clashing against one another could be heard throughout the air. But, high above them in the clouds none could hear them. Especially atop a flying, Atlasian Battleship.

Upon the ship, a pair of criminals were gloating about their victory, but were preparing to make their daring escape as they had enough with their, 'business partners.'

"Alright, Neo! What do you say, we fake our deaths, and flee to, Mistral? Let's leave these fanatical dogs behind!"

Roman Torchwick, an infamous criminal of the city of, Vale said to his mute companion who nodded her head in agreement. The White Fang had forced them to partake in their schemes. Sure they had said they would be making a lot of money by doing this, but now that their work was done, they needed to get the hell out of here. Because, at this rate there would be nothing to rule when the, White Fang were finished.

"Alright let's get...?!"

The duo of thieves were about to make their daring escape, but they were stopped as a series of rabbit knights surrounded them. Roman, looked on them in utter bewilderment, Neo swooned over them at how cute they were.

"Torchwick. Roman. Human. Gender: Male. Occupation: Thief. Vanille. Trivia. Human. Gender: Female. Occupation: Thief."

Roman reeled back in shock as a robot rabbit thing called him out, but not nearly as much as, Neo did since it said her name, more so that it said her birthname. She looked on in fear as she saw the various weapons these rabbits were carrying.

"What the... How the hell do you bunny's know her real name?!"

The rabbit that spoke, walked forward, it was different compared to the rest of them, it bore a crown upon it's head with golden trimming. They watched the rabbit as it's eyes changed from a black opal to a ruby red as a new voice echoed through it's speakers.

"Roman Torchwick, and Vanille Trivia. Or, should I call you, Neoplitian?"

Instead of the low, soothing metallic voice, the rabbit spoke in a warm, motherly human voice appeared as they addressed the pair. Neo nervously nodded her head as she answered the robot bunny.

"Okay, so you know who we are... what do you little rabbits want?" Roman pulled out a cigar, trying to calm his nerves, and project an aura of control. He reached into his pocket trying to find his lighter, only to realize it was gone.

"Crescent Moon wishes to offer you a new business opportunity. One that I am sure you will be all too willing to accept."

Roman's eyebrow arched upward in shock, 'Crescent Moon' was a secret business partner he had had been working for, for years. Often, he acted as an information broker, or stole schematics, and raw resources for. And, working for, Crescent Moon always paid, it paid very good.

Roman eyed the rabbit knight as it walked forward, the tip of it's bladed spear started glowing red as, Roman felt heat emanating from it. He smiled as he walked over to it, placing his cigar on the blade tip, feeling the heat emanated from the tip before blowing a few buffs of smoke. He drew in a deep breath of smoke before letting it out, watching it fly through the air before looking back at the rabbits with a wide grin on his face.

"You've got my attention~!"

Roman laughed as, Neo started cooing over the rabbits. The rabbits swiftly took command over the, Atlasian Battleship as they charted a new course towards the, Amity Colosseum.

Several of the white Bullheads, Qrow Branwen had seen before he had been engaged in a fight against the white rabbits. Dozens of them were seen flying towards the, Amity Colosseum. Unloading dozens of these rabbits throughout the colosseum. Several of them landed by the docks, unloading their cargo of warriors before ushering everyone from civilians to, Hunters inside.

One such person was rushing over to see who these unexpected saviors were, hoping to gain any information on who, or what these saviors were.

"Who are you?! I am, General Ironwood, of the, Atlasian Military! I demand you identify yourselves right this instance!" General Ironwood ran over to the rabbits knights. Several of them stopped to stare at the, General before fanning out to block him from reaching the, Bullheads.

Ironwood stopped as he looked at the dozen, or so rabbit robots adopting a defensive position before him. Ironwood's grip on his pistol tightened as he watched these perfectly still robots stare him down.

"Ironwood. James. Human. Gender: Male. Affiliation: Atlas Military. Atlas Academy. Occupations: High General. Headmaster."

Ironwood turned on his heel as he heard his name, and a his position being called out. He turned to see another rabbit knight, this one armed with a longsword, and a crown with gold trimming. It was flanked by several other rabbit knights armed with what he assumed to be pulse rifles.

"You know who I am? They it would be best if you identified yourselves. Least you want to deal with the wrath of, Atlas!"

"Target identified. Surrender now. Ally of: Ozkin the Traitor."

"Ozkin the traitor...? How do you know that name, and what do you mean by calling him a trai...?!" Ironwood's breath fled his lungs as he saw an emblem etched into the shield, an emblem he had learned who it had represented, or more correctly, who it still represented.

Ironwood drew his pistol, and fired off two rounds; one round struck the head of the rabbits, causing it's head to erupt into a cloud of smoke, and metal fragments. The second shot hit the raised shield of the crowned rabbit knight. It didn't pierce the shield, but it left a sizeable dent in the shield.

But, before he could fire off another shot, the rabbit knights were upon him. Ironwood, could feel his body being pushed back as two blast from their pulse rifles hit him, despite their small size they packed a substantial punch, a punch strong enough to knock him to the floor. As he try to stand back up, several of the bunny robots bladed spears were thrusted into his robotic arm, and leg destroying the all of his cybernetics in an instant.

Ironwood screamed in rage as he felt his cybernetic limbs being torn bit from bit as he was dragged into a, Bullhead, and sent away.

As the Bulkhead escorting the prisoner rose into the sky, it passed several much bulkier air transports that were making their decent upon the battlegrounds of, Beacon Academy hell was still being unleashed.

Several Bullheads had landed, and unloaded their cargo, sending dozens, upon dozens of white rabbit robot knights across the grounds of, Beacon Academy. Hunting down any, Grimm that they came across. But, even more battles were happening within the halls of, Beacon Academy.

"AHHH!"

A scream of pain echoed through the ruined cafeteria of, Beacon Academy as a girl dressed in black cried out in pain as blade was ripped out of her belly.

"You have hurt me, and our cause my love… We were suppose to light the flames of revelation against humanity! And, yet you ran away? Like the coward you are..."

The girl placed her hand over the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding as the faunas dressed in black with a red rose across his back walked over her bleeding form, gloating his victory as the flames of revolution were ignited.

"Well, I could keep you alive, but I think I’ll send your severed head in a box to your parents, that would send a good message to you parents, to all faunas! Of, what should be done with traitors!"

"No! Adam, wait! Please no!"

The girl screamed out in terror as she saw her vengeful former lover raise his blade above his head preparing to strike her down.

"Goodbye, Blake... RAHHH!"

"NOOOO!"

His blade was about to fall, but was stopped when he saw several, white rabbit robot's enter the cafeteria.

"Wha...? What the hell are those?!"

The girl saw one rabbit turn to look at him as he screamed, it's head twitch to the side as they looked at him. Before speaking in a low, soothing metallic voice.

"Taurus. Adam. Gender: Male. Faunas: Bull. Affiliation: White Fang. Terrorist organization. Rank: Commander. Command order: Terminate on sight."

"What?! You dare think I will allow, Atlas's special little robots to kill me?! Bring it on you bastards!" Adam Taurus roared in rage as he charged the robot bunnies.

Adam slashed his sword, unleashing an energy blast cleaving two of the robots into pieces. But, several more darted around him slashing with their blades, slowly chipping away at his aura as he tried to block their attacks, but failing to do so as they quickly darted around him, faster than what he expected.

"RAHH! You dare think you pitiful bastards can stop me?! I will destroy you! I will destroy you all! I will... GAHCK?!"

Blake watched on in horror as a bladed spear erupted from his back, as his body was effortlessly lifted into the air. She watched as, Adam's body further slide down the bladed spear, coughing up blood before his body hung limb upon the bladed spear. His body was lifted up higher before being thrown off the bladed spear to land pathetically on the ground. Dead.

She looked at the robot rabbit, it's pristine what armour stained red from freshly spilt blood as it slowly slide off it's armour onto the ground. It turned to look at, Blake, blood dripping off it's face.

"Belladonna. Blake. Gender: Female. Faunas: Cat. Affiliation: Student. Beacon Academy. Former affiliation: White Fang. Status: Injured. Requesting medical support."

Several of the rabbit robots broke away from, Blake, and started making their way through, Beacon Academy. While three of them, particularly the one drenched in blood stayed behind. She watched on as her hand tried to cover over the hole in her chest as her blood continued to spill out.

Her breath started becoming heavy as she the adrenaline spike was wearing off as she continued to bleed out. She was starting to feel weary, and her vision bleary, but she could hear with her heightened hearing that something was coming closer. She turned to her side to see another trio of rabbits walking towards her, with the one in the center looking different that the rest of them.

This robot had a buckier body, a large backpack on it, with bulky gauntlets on it’s arms, but what stood out the most to her, was instead of the beady eyes the rest of these robot bunnies commonly had, this one was outfitted with focal lenses. It scanned over her before kneeling down besides her, placing it's hands over her wound.

"Analyzing blood. Analyzes complete. Blood type: B-. Minimal blood lose. No requirements for blood transfusion. Puncture wound. Cause: Blade. Lethality to patient: Minimal. Executing recommended treatment procedure."

Blake marveled as the evidently, 'combat medic bunny' started treating her injury. It first quickly stabbed her with a needle, causing, Blake to yelp in pain as she felt the sudden jab in her arm. But, her body slowly started to relax as she felt a warm current flow through her veins, obviously some sort of pain killer.

She watched in amazement as the robot pulled out gauze from it's back pack, and socked up some of the excess blood on her arm. She felt a spray, most likely a sterilizing spray over her wound, before she say it's fingers on it's right hand open showing a needle that effortlessly, within the time it took a person to blink stich up her wound. It cleaned up the wound one more time, before placing a patch over the wound.

"Treatment complete. Recommendation: No movement. Movement may result in stiches rupturing. Rest." The 'medic' spoke in a calm. soothing yet metallic voice before it turned to address it's fellow robot rabbits. "New call for medical treatment received. Departing imminently. Stay to protect patient. Recovery team inbound."

"Understood."

Blake watched as the medical team departed, she could feel her consciousness slowly begin to fade no doubt a result of the pain killers. But, she had to ask one more question before she succumbed to sleep.

"W-Who are you...? What are...?" Blake's voice was weak, straining to remain conscious as she asked the question that had been no doubt asked a thousand times today. She watched as the blood stained rabbit turned to face her while it's companions were keeping watch.

"We are the, Jackalopes. Servants of the, Architect."

"T-The Architect...?"

"The Architect of, Ozkin the Traitor demise."

"O-Ozkin... the T-Traitor...?" Slumber soon swiftly overtook, Blake as she faded into darkness. The robot rabbit knights, the Jackalopes watched over her resting body as others darted within, and without the halls of, Beacon Academy.

Within the many yards of, Beacon Academy the majority of the invaders had been dealt with by the, Jackalopes. But, still some of the larger threats remained.

Several of the stolen, Atlasian Paladins were still engaged in combat with, Beacon's students, and faculty along with an array of visitors. Unlike the previous one several students of, Beacon Academy had faced, these were the fully equipped, and armed, more than a match for even veteran Hunters. Particularly for, Glynda Goodwitch, Deputy Headmistress of, Beacon Academy.

Glynda kept creating glyphs to act as barriers to protect her precious students from the raging, Paladins attacking them. Blocking their fists, and heavy weapons form smashing them to bits. But, they were having a damnable time to break through these damned machines.

"Pull back! Take the wounded away from here!" She shouted as she saw several students pull injured their fellow classmates away from the frontline.

Glynda was struggling to stand as her aura was near depletion, and her semblance was barely holding back the vicious attacks from these rouge, Paladins. She was not willing to die here, she would not allow herself to fall down leaving her precious students in harms way. But, as another strike from a, Paladin broke through her barrier, sending her flying through the air she thought otherwise. She landed roughly on the ground, pulling herself up as she looked through broken glasses at the oncoming, Paladin.

Glynda cried out in despair within her mind as she stared down this hulking mech. She feared that she was going to die now. She feared that she would not be able to protect her precious students from harm. That she failed her duty as a teacher. And, as the Paladin hovered over her, and as she prepared for death an unexpected savior appeared.

As the foot of the, Paladin came down to crush, Glynda, she was swiftly grabbed, and pulled away. Glynda looked to her sides as she saw a pair of rabbits pull her away. She was shocked by what she saw, but more so by what she knew these rabbits represented.

"J-Jackalopes? When did you get here?!"

But, before, Glynda could gain an answer the pair of, Jackalopes let her go aways away from the, Paladin before rushing in to engage it in close combat. They darted around the, Paladin hacking, and slashing the armour of the, Paladin. They bounced off harmlessly of its armour, but their overall goal wasn't to destroy the, Paladin, but to draw it away from, Glynda, and her students.

Glynda watched as the, Jackalopes that had just slashed at the, Paladin run away as a series of explosions ripped across the back of the, Paladin. It turned to see a massive, Jackalope, only a few feet taller than the, Paladin making it's way towards it, launching several more rockets from missile pods across it's back.

The Paladin fired several rounds at the heavy, Jackalope, but it raised it's shield up blocking the oncoming missiles before bashing the, Paladin with it's shield, sending it reeling back. It threw a wide, wild punch at the heavy, Jackalope that effortlessly cut it's arm off with it's sword lance. As the, Paladin's severed arm still fell the, Jackalope thrusted it's bladed spear through the, Paladin running it clean through. It's super heated blade ran through the mech like a hot knife through butter. Is placed it's foot upon the, Paladin, and kicked it off it's blade. Letting it fall upon the ground with a dull thud.

"Since when did...?" Glynda watched as hundreds of Jackalopes flooded across the grounds before darting into the forest surrounding, Beacon. Glynda watched as several more, Jackalopes came rushing forward, only this time with several, Jackalopes equipped with large backpacks rushing over to check on the injured students.

Glynda then turned her head to the side as she saw a trio of, Jackalopes rush over to her, only with the figure in the center holding a war hammer instead of a bladed spear, and a gold trimmed crown upon it's head. As it neared her it addressed her in a calm, soothing metallic voice.

"Goodwitch. Glynda. Human. Gender: Female. Affliction: Beacon Academy. Deputy Headmistress."

Glynda looked at the, Jackalope as it rattled off information about her, before stopping, and it's eyes delved into a ruby red shade, and adopted a more warm, human motherly tone of voice.

"Greetings, Lady Goodwitch. We have been searching for you since entering, Vale airspace."

"My apologies, SALEM. I haven't reached for my scroll since the attack started. I've been focusing on protecting my students, but I thought the plan was to invade after the, Vital Festival?"

"That originally was the plan. But the, Architect deemed it an opportune moment to strike while the, White Fang, and the Grimm were invading the city."

"Because it would make the, Jackalopes, and subsequently the, Architect look like the saviors of the day. And, while that is happening, you can make it look like, Ozpin and all those that stand besides him died during the liberation..."

"Precisely." The ruby eyed, Jackalope replied as, Glynda let loose a heartly laugh as she ran hand through her disheveled hair, as a vindictive smirk spread across her face.

"Finally! After all these years, our family will be avenged! You will find, Ozkin... Ozpin at the top of his tower! Find him, and make him pay for what he did to us!" Glynda yelled in a bloody rage at the, Jackalope. As a mad delight echoed in her voice. She had been playing the faithful follower for that bastard for years now, and now it would finally, finally come to an end.

As, Glynda screamed her furry, she watched as the, Jackalopes eyes changed for a ruby red, into a deep vibrant blue. It spoke in a voice of a calm, yet vengeful fatherly tone as it spoke to the girl before him.

"That's my girl."

The, Jackalopes jumped away from, Glynda as they made their way towards Beacon tower. She laughed in amusement as she saw the little rabbits make their way towards the tower. She smiled, while today was going to be a painful day for her, no doubt a number of her students had been killed today. But, her family would have their revenge this day, and that's all that mattered.

As a dozens of, Jackalopes rushed up the stairway leading to the top of, Beacon Tower, Ozpin's office. Ozpin was looking over his desk, checking over all of contingency plans to help him deal with the aftermath from this attack. He would need to contact, Ironwood to help come up with plans to subjugate... liberate the faunas from the, White Fang.

Yes, he thought. This would help deal with the faunas, and bring the world to peace so the, Brother Gods would return, and that magic would return. Yes, this was the prefect plan to...

Ozpin turned around as series of smashing against the wall. He watched at the section of the wall where a hidden door that lead to the staircase that lead to the top of the tower was bulging outward as something was bashing it, tryin to get in.

Ozpin reached for his cane as the wall exploded as dozens of white rabbits flooded the room, surrounding him, cutting off any chance for him to escape.

"What the...?! Who are you!" Ozpin demanded as he saw another rabbit, only this one was equipped with a long bladed spear, and a white crown with gold trimming approach him. It had deep vibrant blue eyes as it looked at, Ozpin giving him the once over.

"Who are we? We are the remnants of a memory you sought to destroy. The essence of an ideal you thought was wrong. Embers of a legacy that refuses to go quietly into the night. A vengeful fury that will never be quenched. I am the, Architect, and the Reclaimer. I will have my revenge, I will reclaim what you stole for me, and I will ensure that you never forget what you did to me, and my family! Ozkin the Traitor!"

Ozpin's eyes widened in shock as he heard his old name being uttered once more. And, the way that his name was spoken spoke of a history, and a rage unforgiving in it's origin.

"Who are you, I demand that you reveal yourself!" Ozpin leveled his weapon at this, shouting as he demanded that they identified themselves.

"You tell me who I am? Let's see if you remember." The Jackalope King presented it's shield towards, Ozpin and he saw a pair of golden crescent arcs upon a white field. He recoiled in fear as he remember that emblem, and the fury that would soon be brought upon him.

"No... Nononono! You died! I made sure of it! You died along with your families legacy after the, Colour War! The Arcadia lineage ended!"

"And, yet, here I am..." The Jackalope King walked towards, Ozpin, its weapon being deagged across the floor, leaving groves in the ground followed by the sound of scrapping of metal upon glass.

"How! How is this possible?!"

"Wouldn't you like to find out..."

The Jackalope King lunged forward, smashing his bladed spear across, Ozpin's barrier. He smiled at the, Jackalope King's failed attempt to attack him, but that smile quickly fell when dozens of the other, Jackalopes attacked him, slashing away with their blades across, Ozpin barrier. They struck so many times that he lost count of the amount, he saw the cracks in the barrier form before it shattered into a million pieces. He was was going to cry out in pain, but felt hundreds of slashes upon his body, chipping away at his aura in a flash, it too breaking into a million pieces.

Ozpin was about to make a final attempt to escape to end his existence in this body before, jumping into a new one, but before he could he felt searing hot pain cut through his arm. He looked over to see his right arm from the elbow flying through the air, the superhot blade spear passing by in a red blur.

"RA-AHHHHH?!" Ozpin screamed in pain as one of the, Jackalopes severed his arm, his screams, and pain only grew louder as he felt his other arm, and then his legs being severed, and cauterized in a single instance.

Ozpin body effortlessly fell upon the floor like a sack of flower. He felt his heart was raging as raw unfettered pain surged throughout his body, he hopped that this searing hot pain would cause him to go into shock, and kill him. But, he felt the pain across his body slowly fade away as a cooling wave flooded across his body. He looked up to see a pair of, Jackalope Medics treating him.

"You really think I would allow you to just kill yourself, Ozkin? No, no I will not allow your death to come to you so easily." Spoke the, King Jackalope as it marched over, and placed it's foot upon his chest.

"GAH?!" Ozpin screamed in pain as the, King Jackalopes stepped on his chest, and thrusted it's bladed spear slamming into the ground inches from his face.

"Now then... You pledged your loyalty to me, and swore to serve me, and my family. And, yet you betrayed me, and my family. Destroyed my families legacy, and all we sought to build, and protect. You will now suffer for your crimes. I will uproot all that your treasonous hands have built. I will remind the people of this world who I am! That I am there lawful, King! That I am, Jaune Lunaria Arcadia! King of the Kingdom of Valaicia!"

The King Jackalope thrusted it's blade high into the air, followed by the rest of the, Jackalopes thrusting their blades into the air as well as a salute to their, King’s triumphant return.

But, as the King Jackalope, no. King Jaune Arcadia looked down upon the traitor, Ozkin. Even if his eyes could not express the slightest bit of emotion, Ozpin could feel the unbridled rage burning within them.

"But, before we do anything else. I have one question to ask you, and you will answer me this question!" King Jaune Arcadia placed it's face upon, Ozpins as he asked him the one question he'd been wanting to ask him for years.

"Tell me... Where is my queen?! Where is my wife?!! Where is, Queen Salem Arcadia?!!!"

///

Phew... This was certainly a long one... This was going to be a spinoff from, Hunter Drones. But, that story idea wasn't going anywhere. So, I started writing it as a, Jaune created the, Jackalopes instead of the, Hunter Drones. That wasn't going anywhere either...

So, I started writing it as if, Ozpin betrayed his, King. Jaune Arc, well Arcadia in the story, and it just lead from one thing to another as I was writing it.

And well, here we are.

And, it all started because I wanted to write a story based on this photo.

Consider this the, Jackalope.

And, yes I know there are two, Salem's in the story. They're different beings, and I'm too lazy to come up with a new one. Shut up.

[edenspoem]

okay hear me out right… horndog!farmellie thats so incredibly horny that she cums untouched in her boxers from you kissing her neck and sucking on her nipples 🤫

ughhh the usual horndog!ellie !! always so sensitive when the tables turn n she gets pleasured ౨ৎ MDNI !! very lovey dovey

setting the scene, night time, both of you reclined supine into the cushy nature of your bed, crafting a little gully in the mattress with your combined weight. a thin sheet wisped over the curvature of your bodies, rippling the material perfectly across your thighs– neglecting the toss so it leaves your loins and torso exposed to tottering candlelight, every groove highlighted and cast in umbrage, she looked of a delectable nature, lying flat to your raised–elbow poise. your index, soft as a plume, rides the fleshy rise of her bare breast and merry–go–rounds her bumpy nipple. she seizes up a breath, indenting the skin between her ribs lightly, mouthing, "fuck.." at the sensations. on the contrary, she'd be the one rousing every bit of your body to her relentless touch– but not tonight. in these little hours, these little, loveable hours, her flesh and bone would rather lie rot to your touch, an all–consuming caress. beryl eyes move to and fro, shimmy side to side, trailing after your encircling fingertips. then, her pupils dart, and find sightly purchase on your lips. how they curve, and flush a streak of pigment when you bite down with those pretty teeth of yours. a shared idea seems to floodlight the dark cavern of both your heads because as soon as a gasp flows down her gullet, it catches. hitched, like a mouse in a trap. your mouth hollows over her perked nipple, suctioning the flimsy nub between squeezing lips. every interval, you suck, wrinkle your lips to a pucker, and pop with a wet smack. it tasted of nothing but skin, and that wasn't an issue. the natural tang of skin was enough for you, and a lot for her. a coil begins to slink tighter and tighter, tickling the lubricous, aroused walls of her vagina. the irk a throbbing clit brings, comprised decuple the volume of sting it ordinarily would. for that sting, she clenches, like a string had attempted to flip her cunt inside out, drawing wads of frothy clear precum to dribble cold along her perineum, and far between the vale of her ass. the chopped whinnies of els' pitching suffrage all but clogged your skull, egging you on as those little noises stain your susceptible impulses, especially, certain words of,

"fuckkk you, god–",

"don't be gentle, fuck, please..",

"you' trynna make me ruin m'boxers? mhh–",

to be gentle with her was an anathema. she harbored a love–hate relationship with tender touches. the time it takes to tilt your partner over a climax cliff with teasey–tricks, renders it slow and painful, painfully gratifying. a cold thumb tamps her opposing nipple down, flopping the bundle of skin on all sides. that move? oh, that move was a curse, in fact. the time given, she tilts that blurred line between a rising climax and wetting up her boxers like a spout. and so, she cracks. "uhhn– fuckfuckfuck, mh!" she squeaks, pushing her shaken thighs harsh into the spongy bed as she cums. a gush of sticky warmth runs past her tremoring hole in lacy serum ejections, simmering a dark–hued splotch, taking a heartly shape on the plateau of her boxers, inseam tightening her fat pussy lips apart. a leak of it dribbles downward and makes merry with her smushed asscrack, smearing skin as she wriggles. you coo, "hmm, so sensitive– are we pretty girl?" as your lips drag off her suffused, swollen nipple, glistening with your bubbly saliva. a grunt grizzles in her chest, prior to her gripe of, "d–don't, call me that.." cause nuh–uh, she's 'spose to call youuu that. you chuckle, lips curling nasal creases, "hah– okay, how 'bout handsome girl?" and she just tosses her eyes off bounds, partaking her focus in the dramatic swell and heave her chest breathes, too embarrassed to gaze upon you. a smack of your lips, a rise of your body, and a stuffing of your head to her cuddled neck gets her talking again, wincing at the sanguine bite left in your rein of loving torture. one last gasp, she shudders, "f–ffuck, swear to god,"

"you make me crazy babe."

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter IV

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we are back! i really love where this is going, i hope you guys do too! feedback is very welcome as always (just don't be mean, i cry easily in case you can't tell from my writing). i have been to (the ruins) of the temple and the house of the vestals and have learned a lot about them so i hope i can strike the balance between making the fic intersting and adding some historic context, please let me know if this is working! also if you read this the day i post (december 3rd) happy bona dea hehe ���

Mola Salsa – Ointment used during religious sacrifices Vale – Goodbye Salve – Hello Sacrosant – Untouchable (by law)

Chapter IV

“Have they assigned you for Bona Dea yet?” Severa is walking beside you, carrying a jug filled with fresh water from the sacred spring. Her step is light, even after the many hours she has spent at the temple today. The upcoming festival has been the talk of all of Rome, as it frequently is during the season where the air becomes colder and the occasional summer breeze turns into full-on storms. On the third of the last month, women in Rome celebrate the night of Bona Dea, the goddess that symbolizes chastity and fertility. A rare occasion where attendance is forbidden to men rather than women.

You nod softly in response to her question, turning the last corner before you reach the round temple of Vesta. “Yes. I am to help prepare the mola salsa. And I have been allowed to aid in carrying–” You pause, recalling that you are still in public. “Carrying the items to the place.”

Severa gives a nod, understanding the almost cryptic words. No one outside the circle, especially no man, is allowed to know which rituals you and the other priestesses undertake during the December night. At the mention of the assigned tasks, she falls into a one-sided but comfortable conversation, telling you her plans of preparation, though always being careful not to get too detailed. When you reach the steps that lead up toward the temple, she hands you the jug of water and bids you goodbye before heading the other direction. With her shift ended, she may retire to her quarters or spend her time however she likes. For you, the day has just begun–despite the sun already being halfway across the sky.

The smell of smoke and herbs greets you as you slip into the building, the only temple in the entire empire that holds no statue of its god or goddess. The flame is the only representation Vesta requires.

You start by collecting the rags you keep in a small cupboard off to the side of the large room, soaking them with the sacred water before kneeling down to begin cleansing the floor. Purity is more important for Vesta than anything, meaning that every day, the temple is cleaned, usually towards the evening when there aren't as many citizens coming to pray.

You work in silence, ignoring the way the cold stone hurts under your knees. It is a shift that requires much physical labor, but you are content to have the room to yourself today, the only company the shadows dancing on the stone walls beside you. You watch as they change, creating pictures and silhouettes that are gone before you can quite figure out what they resemble.

Your drifting thoughts are interrupted by the gentle thud of the oak door, followed by a small gust of air blowing through the room. You look up from where you are kneeling beside the flame, expecting one of the women that frequently come to pray with you. Instead, you feel your breath hitch in your throat.

Acacius looks a little lost, his broad frame dressed in his shiny golden armour, one that does not quite fit the space. He gives no indication of recognizing you, instead heading straight for one of the benches set out for the citizens. With an almost quiet grunt, he lowers himself into a sitting position and bows his head, his lips moving without producing any sound. He is praying.

You're not sure why you are so surprised. Maybe because you cannot recall ever seeing a General in the temple of Vesta or because his comments a few weeks ago did not make him sound like someone who prays much.

I prefer to put my trust in people.

You don't quite realize how openly you are staring at him until he raises his head just enough to glance your way. You bow your head so fast that you feel your muscles protest, the noises of the cackling fire joined by the one of you hurriedly wiping the floor.

You do not allow yourself another second of looking at him. Not a single one. Even when you stand and return the rag and jug to their respective places. Even when you gather a few pieces of wood in your arms and carefully add them to the flame.

It is not until you are standing with your back to the hearth, sorting some of the smaller twigs, that you hear him move. His voice is low when he speaks, like he is trying not to disturb the place around you and what it holds inside its walls. “Am I disturbing you?”

You are almost tempted to keep your back to him and give your response to the firewood below rather than him. But even the high status of a Vestal Virgin will not save you from punishment for disrespecting the General of the Roman army.

“No, of course not,” you respond politely as you turn around. “But I am afraid I do not have your will here. If you'd like to make further adjustments, I can locate it tomorrow and–”

“I did not come for the will,” Acacius says quietly, his brown eyes flying over your face. Once again, you feel like he can read you, like there is an inscription carved into your features the way it is below statues or over doors. Names, places, entire stories told in stone. It’s like yours is spelled out in a language only he can understand.

You pause, a moment of near silence passing between you. You are close enough to see the shadows dancing on his face now, the flame reflecting in his eyes.

“Then what did you come for, my General?” Addressing him sends a shiver through you again, the same way it did the last time you said goodbye. Calling him yours when he is so far from it.

“To pray.” A tiny smirk appears on his face and he looks almost … satisfied with himself. “It is what one does in a temple, is it not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly, despite the fact that you try and will them not to. “It is.” The next sentence tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “You took my advice then.”

Acacius raises a brow and you involuntarily hold your breath, awaiting what you expect to be a rather unfavorable reaction–when he laughs. Filling the temple that holds the most important hearth of the roman empire with a soft and gentle laugh. It feels wrong. It feels shameful and unfitting and yet, you feel like something stir inside of you at the sound. Slowly, his laugh dies down until you are left with a mere, gentle smile on his face as he looks down at you. “You are not as timid as you seem, are you now?”

Your blush deepens at that but a shy smile creeps onto your face nevertheless. “I was just–observing.”

“Yes. And do you do that often?” At your confused face, he adds: “Do you observe people often?”

“I did not say I observed people,” you half-whisper, suddenly realizing where this conversation is heading.

Does he know?

You have never considered that the conveniently short distance between your homes works both ways. Mainly because you can't imagine a man as important as Acacius interested in what the Vestals do. Maybe because you also can't imagine him as a man who simply observes–no doubt he finds what he longs for and demands for it. He is well known for his conquering of the southern areas.

“It is an imposing atrium,” he mutters quietly, his eyes carefully tracing your face. Waiting for a reaction. He’s about to speak again when you feel it.

The movement in your chest that felt comfortable until a moment ago, turns to ice. A shiver runs over your body and you step back so violently that your back hits the wooden cupboard and the jug that Severa had carried earlier, begins to sway. You feel Acacius brush past you, attempting to catch it but he is too late. His empty hand closes around air as the jug hits the floor and bursts into small pieces.

For a moment, you stay exactly where you are, your heart thumping as you fight against the cold dread that still fills your body. Acacius shifts beside you and you can feel his brown eyes on you. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Let me help–”

But you do not let him finish the offer. Instead, you whip around and lean down, beginning to gather the shards off the floor. “It is late,” you press out without looking up at him.

Now it’s the Generals turn to look confused. He pauses, blinking a few times. Before he can ask the question already forming in his throat, you motion toward the oak doors. “The sun will go down soon. Men are not allowed in the temple at night.” 

It takes a few moments before Acacius nods, sending you a polite smile that feels very different from the one that decorated his face mere moments ago. “Of course. I do not wish to keep you.”

He turns swiftly, his uniform moving gracefully around him as he crosses the small room and slips out of the temple. The door falls shut with a thud, signifying once more how very alone you are.

You try to hold back tears as you fold your dress in your lap and begin to collect the shards in it. The salt water so dangerously close to high tide. It blurs your vision enough to grasp one of the larger shards the wrong way, a sharp pain searing through your hand as it cuts into your skin.

He probably only meant to pray.

He has a wife, a home. An army, soldiers and their families. A responsibility like that could make anyone turn to the gods, that much you know. And you scared him off, simply because your body had started acting of its own accord.

Almost as if in a trance, you fully sink to your knees in front of the flame, bowing your head so low that you can feel the coolness of the tiles below. Whispered words fall from your lips. But they are not merely just prayers. They are pleas for forgiveness. You cannot name what it is Vesta shall forgive you. You have done your duty, have not acted in any way that would not honor your vows. And yet, you feel that there is something you should seek forgiveness for.

When you stand again, you tread quietly, almost like you are tiptoeing around something. Balancing your weight on the edge of a bridge, trying desperately to stay still. The wind may not carry you away, no matter how tempting. You do not have wings. You will not fly. The only way off the ledge is the fall. One that you would not survive.

You shudder at the thought as you finish your duties as quietly and quickly as you can. You finish gathering the broken jug, wipe the floor once more and replace the wood. A small sigh of relief leaves your throat when you finally hear the door being opened again–and the eldest of the Vestals steps inside. She surveys the room, pausing as she spots the cupboard. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you answer quickly. “The water jug broke, I was carrying it. My apologies.” You bow your head, sending another silent prayer to Vesta to forgive you the lie. “I will arrange for a new one.”

She looks at you for a moment before nodding her head. “Very well. You may head back to the house. Walk by the potter and give word that we are in need of a new jug. I will stay until morning and have one of the girls pick it up in a few days time.”

“Of course. Vale.” Leaving a small bow and more whispered apologies at her feet, you step out of the temple, glad to put distance between you and the hearth.

It is by no means a far walk to the house of the potter that you task with everything the Vestals need. And yet, you'd much prefer to tread it while it is light. The city changes during the night, even in these safer parts of town. The streets are filled with those who wander the night and despite the fact that your palla demands immediate respect from those that cross your way, it is not a comfortable journey.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a few soldiers that seem to tail you and exhale a small breath, thanking the gods for sending men to protect you. You lose sight of them when you slip into the small alley that opens to the workshop of the potter. But the light inside is extinguished.

“Salve?” You give the door a gentle knock, waiting for a reaction from inside. But none comes.

With a resigned shrug, you turn to make your way back to the main road. It isn't until you have taken a few steps that you look up–and find your way blocked. The three soldiers have their eyes trained on you, their bodies wide enough that they cut off any chance of escape.

You feel your heart beginning to pound again but you force yourself to stay calm, giving a polite nod. They are soldiers. They are here to protect you. Then, the one in the middle opens his mouth.

“What business does a priestess have to be out at night all by herself?” He asks, cocking his head as his gaze shamelessly wanders over your body. The soldier to his right laughs in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Even standing feet away, you can smell the strong aroma of wine on his breath. There has not been any battle. Nothing has been won.

There is no reason for soldiers to celebrate.

“Why do they always pick pretty girls for Vesta?” The one with the foul breath complains. “True shame no one can touch them.” The other one laughs at the comment, taking a step toward you. You feel your back hit the wall. ���Oh, you can touch them. You just have to demand for them to keep their mouth shut about it. I would really like to–”

You are spared the details of what this drunk man would like to do to you. Because in that moment, a voice booms out behind the soldiers, echoing slightly in the small alley.

“Soldiers. Step back.”

They whirl around and you think you see one of them ready himself to fight–that is, until the man the voice belongs to steps into the light. They may not respect a priestess. But they will respect Rome's General.

Yet, when they don’t move immediately, he barks out: “That is an order!” Their reactions are surprisingly fast for the state they’re in, the one on the right practically crashing into the wall in his hurry to obey.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asks, his voice so much lower and demanding than it was earlier at the temple. Any hint of the gentle, soft man you talked to is gone.

“We were worried for her safety,” one of the soldiers blurts out. What a way to spin it, you think to yourself. The only threat of your safety tonight has been them.

Acacius's eyes briefly meet yours and his face hardens slightly. He continues moving toward you, forcing the man next to you to step away hurriedly. “Move. And get back to your barracks, straight away.” They are halfway across the alley when he yells after them. “If I catch you bothering her again, I will make the battlefield seem merciful!”

Your knees quiver as you watch the soldiers turn the corner and a choked sound leaves your throat as you stumble. Being sacrosanct does not save you from being a woman. Nothing does.

“Hey, careful now.”

Acacius is by your side in an instant, his voice back to the gentle one you have gotten so used to. He bows down slightly and, without thinking and at seeing you sway, he gently places his arm around your waist, steadying you.

You do not move away this time. Heat radiates from his bare arms through the linen of your dress, igniting your skin below in a way that makes you feel like you are burning. But it is not uncomfortable. In fact, you find yourself leaning into the touch slightly as you catch your breath.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks quietly, a hint of anger still present in his voice.

You respond with a small shake of your head while Acacius carefully watches your every move. “No. No, they did not get a chance to.”

“They are damn fools,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb. “To even think about bothering you like that. A priestess doing her duty–” He turns enough to let his gaze wander over the abandoned street around you again. “This is not a way you should be walking alone at night.”

“The jug,” you whisper quietly. “I was to ask the potter to provide a new jug.”

A sigh leaves the General's lips at that, his grip tightening absent-mindedly. “A piece of clay is certainly not worth risking your safety, my lady.”

You bow your head, unsure how to respond. His fingers are still placed on your waist, still drawing invisible shapes into your stola. “I am sorry about–”

“You do not have anything to apologize for.” He mumbles, soft eyes gazing down at you. “If anything, I owe you an apology. Clearly, the gods are more trustworthy than men.”

Except, the gods did not save you. For the second time, you have a feeling that the person answering your silent prayers is not an ethereal being but rather a man made of flesh and bone. You shift slightly at the thought–and feel Acacius tense beside you.

“They did hurt you,” he whispers, not once hesitating as he lets go of your waist to kneel down and reache for your hand, his gaze focused on the red line that runs across your palm. “Let me see, please.”

“Oh–” You hold your hand up for him but you shake your head. “It was not them. I cut myself on one of the shards earlier, in the temple.” But his focus rests entirely on your hand. You feel a blush creep up your neck as he turns your palm slightly, running his index finger over the freshly scabbed line.

“You should have wrapped it. It may get infected,” he adds quietly and before you can so much as protest, he has reached down and ripped a shred of fabric from his undercloth. His calloused hands are careful and gentle as he begins to wrap it around your palm, tightening it slightly. “Does this hurt?”

You feel like your entire body is vibrating under his touch. His skin on yours, no matter how little, no matter how briefly. It has a fire burning in your chest, threatening to spill out from between your ribs or travel through your throat. The smoke of it blocks your airways and your attempt to speak fails. Instead, you just shake your head and watch as Acacius, at your signal, continues.

“There. Much better.” Your hand is still resting in his palms and he bows down slightly, as if to kiss your fingers. But just before he does, he stiffens slightly and quickly pulls back.

One does not kiss a Vestal's hand. One does not even touch a Vestal. And yet, you can so clearly feel the fire burn on every inch of your skin where his body has met yours.

Acacius clears his throat and nods toward the main road. “I will escort you home. I may not offer the protection of the gods but I can offer that of my sword.”

“Thank you, General Acacius,” you whisper, bringing your freshly bandaged hand back down. You walk beside him as you slowly make your way through the night air, avoiding the busy roads slightly more than you have on the way here. He knows his way around.

You have already reached the Forum when you finally speak, watching as the smoke from the temple rises to your left as you turn onto Via Nova. “I would like to apologize, for before.”

Acacius cocks a brow. “Before?”

“Before. When I sent you out of the temple. You are welcome to come and pray of course. I was–” You shake your head softly. “I was merely surprised.”

You watch as his face twists into a small smile at that and he nods. However, you both stay silent as he leads you toward the house of the Vestals. When you reach the columns that line the front of it, he stills, leaning forward in a hint of a bow. “Thank you for allowing me to see you back safely.”

“I have to thank you.” You respond quietly, turning to face him. You feel like you want to add something else but the words get stuck in your throat. His hand hovers again, the same way it did the time he welcomed you at his home. Always careful to keep a small, appropriate distance between the two of you. What happened in a dark, secluded alley suddenly seems miles and miles away.

“Good night, my lady.”

With that, Acacius turns and continues up the road.

“Good night, my General,” you whisper only for the cicadas to hear.

notes: thank you for reading. feedback, reblog and comments all very, very welcome ♡

[yyuangss-main]

❝BAILAMOS JUNTOS — SPIDERVERSE HCS

summary ; the spider—men with a hispanic reader who loves to dance a lot and how they are at bailes.

pairings ; miguel o’hara, miles morales (wrote this with earth-1610 miles in mind), hobie brown, pavitr prabhakar, peter b. parker x hispanic fem!reader

note ; because i can’t find any hispanic reader fics for miguel and miles so i’m about to take matters into my own hands and no one can stop me ✌️🤩 added hobie, pavitr, and peter b because why not <3 vale if you see this hush and just read

• — miguel o’hara !

you found out he can dance and never stopped bugging him about it ever since. he’s somewhat rusty but give him a couple seconds and he’s ready to go. he’s really good, same par as you just not so enthusiastic about it. still, miguel loves that dancing is your favorite thing to do.

told you that he’s a romeo santos fan and you busted out laughing. to this day, seeing a romeo santos song in his playlist makes you laugh and he’s like “leave me alone”. you asked him if romeo was better during his aventura era.

yes, this also means he’s the number one bachata lover but keeps it a secret from everyone, especially you.

the first time you two ever danced it was to imitadora in his so called office. miguel had to make sure no one came in. he’s the type to have one hand on your lower back to pull you in and he has your other one in his, up beside of his head. whole time he’s dancing with you he’s telling you how much he loves you and has you like “o—oh okay 😳”

no space in between you guys whatsoever. he wants to have you as close as possible and sometimes rests his chin on the top of your head as you two dance to whatever song is playing.

he’s definitely an arm around your waist type of guy. you took note that it was his first instinct when dancing. whether it be when you are in la rueda together or it’s a dance that needs a pair, his arm instantly goes around your waist. also probably the kind of guy who dances with an arm around your waist while both of yours are around his neck.

you’re also an arm around the waist when it comes to this man. i mean, why else is he gonna have that slutty waist if you can’t have your arm around it? anytime you guys are dancing and his arm is around your shoulders, you take this into your advantage and hold onto his waist. he’s like “stoppp 🙄”

miguel is at the age where he just criticizes every song you guys are dancing to. do not look at him when a song he hates is on. he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye just saying ‘don’t you dare’ cause wym you wanna dance to prince royce with him?

makes compromises especially if you have told him you like that song or artist.

“que canción tan fea. no se quien le dijo a valentin elizalde que podia cantar.” (t: what an ugly song. i don’t know who told valentin elizalde he could sing)

“miguel, ya callate por favor.” (t: miguel, be quiet already please.)

most of the time, he doesn’t go in the center of the circle with you. not in a bad way, miguel just loves seeing you dance and capture everyone’s attention. he never gets tired of seeing that smile on your face when you’re dancing with your tias and putting on a show for everyone.

if you want him to dance with you for the entire night, he will. that’s no issue for him. besides, certain bailes he’s the one that’s glued at your side and takes you to dance.

bonus; miguel likes taking a break from all his screens once in a while and starts dancing with you. whenever this happens though, miguel prefers to play slower songs or anything where you two don’t have to move around as much. as long as he’s holding you, that’s all he wants. and he admits to romeo being better in aventura. last verse in ella y yo is all you need as proof.

his dance skills when you first started dating: nine out of ten

his dance skills presently: ten out of ten

his favorite genre and artist: bachata ; romeo santos

• — miles morales !

when you two first started dating, he knew how much of a dancer you were. you’d always post some videos of you and your cousins at quinces or bailes. so when you both were hanging out by yourselves in his room, you started playing some music to dance with him. then he just looks you in your face to tell you, “nah yeah i can’t dance sorry.”

you called him a “yo no sabo” kid and he was highly offended. regardless, he was very willing to learn because he doesn’t want you to feel like he doesn’t care.

you have so much stamina when dancing he cannot keep up with you. from the minute everyone is allowed to start dancing, you are the first one there and he’s along with you. miles decided to count how many times you sat down throughout a baile and it was three times. those three times were simply because the hosts asked the guests to sit down.

he doesn’t know how you can transition from one genre to another so quickly. half a second ago you both were zapateando together and now they have corridos playing. you were so fast to put you hand on his shoulder and reach for the other, meanwhile the poor boy is trying to process the new beat which is much slower and he trips on his own feet. he’s also very shy compared to the rest when it comes to dancing.

feel like he enjoys listening to female artists a lot more to the male artists.

miles is surprisingly good at tejano, huapango, and wepa. so much so you had to ask him to teach you and he was like ‘neehee what was that, you yo no sabo kid?’

he’s definitely more of an arm around your shoulder type of guy. it just makes it easier for him to pull you towards him and so you two take your steps together at the same time. likes it when you bring your arm around him too or if you hold his hand.

one time, you invited his parents to come along with him at one of your cousin’s quince. you found out miles’ dad is the exact same as he is. even when his parents were dancing, his dad was doing the same things as him. miles is just a carbon copy.

at that same party, miles left to the bathroom for a couple minutes and when he came back, his dad was sitting by himself at their table. meanwhile, you and his mom was nowhere in sight. he asked where you two where at and his dad just said, “on the dance floor,” and pointed to you and rio getting cheered on by your entire family while being in the middle of the circle.

it made him feel happy and once again, offended, because you were dancing with his mom and because you weren’t dancing with him. you and rio got along super well but the way she was having the time of her life with you made miles know he made the right choice.

offended for a third time because you took her to a birthday party you got invited to instead of him. it’s around ten pm when he gets a video of you and his mom getting cheered on while dancing to some cumbias and pulling dance moves he’d never seen before. his first thought once he’s done watching the video is, “yup. she’s the one.”

bonus; miles is really great at la quebradora. you can really thank his spider—man strength for most of it. it didn’t take you guys long to perfect it and once you guys show it off at a baile, his whole nervous demeanor is gone for the remainder of the night. he’ll constantly ask someone to record you guys when doing la quebradora and posts it whenever he can.

his dance skills when you first started dating: six out of ten

his dance skills presently: nine out of ten

his favorite genre and artist: tejano ; selena

• — hobie brown !

hobie’s really at bailes to eat. like. nothing else to it 😭 you’ll invite him and he’s already thinking of all the to go plates he’s going to bring back home. yes yes, he dances with you. why wouldn’t he? but that food?

hobie gets you in trouble every time with your tias. they baby him saying “mi pobre hoberto, verda que no te da de comer?” (t: my poor hobart, she doesn’t give you anything to eat right?”) and he’s like “no tia 😖” and they give him two plates he’s smirking at you talking about some, “grassy ass.”

off the bat, he’s already preferring corridos, norteñas, bachatas or anything you have to dance to as a pair because of the height difference. he loves being able to hold you close and just look down at you.

though even with songs you don’t need to be paired up with, he’ll do it regardless. hobie just loves the idea of being close to you even in your most favorite thing to do.

he’s one to stick to the basic dance moves and sometimes he doesn’t put much effort when dancing which makes you mad. he knows it does he’s just doing it on purpose because he’s evil.

hobie understands spanish to a good level thanks to you. he likes singing the lyrics with you as you guys dance together. you’re so passionate about it and sometimes he just stops to admire you, a smile on his face.

prefers a lot of the older artists compared to the newer ones. has a bit of a hate relationship with corridos tumbados. doesn’t really want to dance to those and won’t ask you. if you ask him, then he’ll go but you take note he sits there, judging the song as he eats his fifth plate of rice and barbacoa.

he’s an arm around the shoulders type of guy too. it’s just connecting back to the height difference. this makes it easier for the both of you as well so at least one of you can lead. easier for him to lean down and give you a kiss on the side of your head.

likes it when you tug on his arm, dragging him to go dance with him because a song you both like is on. he thinks it’s really cute how excited you get.

bonus; hobie knows which artists you like and the songs as well. he even made a playlist of it to listen to whenever you’re not around. pretends to be shocked when a song or artist you like comes on even though he requested it so he could ask you to dance.

his dance skills when you first started dating: seven out of ten.

his dance skills presently: eight out of ten.

his favorite genre and artist: corridos ; chalino sanchez

• — pavitr prabhakar !

off the start pavitr was so good at dancing that you barely had to teach him much. instantly, his favorite genres are cumbia and merengue. you’re both in your own world when they come on. he prefers them the most since he likes that you have to move around more to them.

the main thing you had to teach him was how to zapatear. pavitr had the most trouble with that since there were so many different versions of it. he quickly caught on though by looking at you and your family members dance it from the sidelines. he struggled a bit even after grasping the concept but now it’s in his favorites too.

more of a hand holder when it comes to dancing. he just finds it easier to pull you around and give you a spin. but also it gives him a bit of stability and that you both are moving at the same time together.

surprises you with some dances you didn’t even know he was practicing on. they played la iguana one time and pulled you to the center with him. next thing you know, pavitr’s doing la iguana and you’re just staring at him in shock as everyone’s recording him.

loves, loves, loves it when you tell him that everyone at el recalentado was talking about him turning up and being the life of the party. they had asked you if he was columbian and they began guessing what race off his dance skills. until you told him pavitr’s indian and they were so surprised. he got dubbed as a hispanic by everyone there. he feels so special when you tell him. it has him giggling and kicking his feet, “aw your family likes me :)”

pavitr loves doing el grito with los tios. he just likes feeling included in everything. he heard them do it once and just went along with it. you side eyed him wondering how more of a natural he is than you are. is he secretly hispanic? you’ll never know.

texts you one day saying, “your aunt is celebrating your cousin’s birthday. do you wanna go to the party with me?” and you’re like “babe wym?” yes, you saw that right. he gets invited now before you. pavitr is now immediate family. he’s legit the first one to receive an invitation now.

he’ll surprise you by taking you to some bailes he knew about. please do matching outfits with this boy when you guys go 🙏 he’ll dress in your culture’s traditional clothes. in fact, he even starts wearing them as an every day outfit. you find it cute and can’t help but give him a kiss.

that being said, you guys don’t come back home until after three from a baile. you always apologize to your parents but they know that you and pavitr are having the time of your lives. you both love dancing just as equally and you’re glad you found someone who loves it the same way you do. and you both complain about how your legs hurt the next day together.

i mean it when i say no one can take you guys off the dance floor for anything 🙅🏻‍♂️

menace to society when duranguense plays. society being you because he saw a video of this couple spinning really fast while dancing duranguense and they called it “el tornado”. he started doing it every time the genre comes on. turns out he just thought the video was hilarious and loses his mind over it.

bonus; he was one time blasting la mama de la mama at the max volume with hobie driving an old honda civic, driving at full speed down the streets chasing an anomaly in their spider suits. no reason for them to even be in a car, they just wanted to jam to the song.

his dance skills when you first started dating: nine out of ten.

his dance skills presently: gets snatched up by your tias to dance with instead of you.

his favorite genre and artist: merengue ; k—paz

• — peter b. parker !

first time he ever went to your family party early stage of you guys dating and everyone was like, “how did you two get together?” he’s like “haha yeah i don’t know myself.” when he literally bagged you like this except he said his name instead.

he’s actually standing with los tios as they all watch their wives get down on the dance floor and they’re stuck recording the entire thing for el facebook live. except unlike los tios he’s over there like 😃🤳🏻. he is your top supporter and then tells one of them, “yeah that’s my wife :)” as if they didn’t already know.

his icloud hasn’t been backed up in six years and finally asks you why it keeps saying it. turns out he has over thirty thousand videos in his phone of you at parties dancing. refuses to delete any of them.

he wasn’t the best at dancing when you guys first started dating. okay he was terrible. there was no saving him. which was such an issue for peter because you were always dragging him to bailes and he would have zero rhythm. of course, you started teaching him whenever you guys had time. he practices on his own sometimes just to save you the trouble.

peter tries his hardest to learn because it always makes you an extra amount of happy when you two are dancing together. just do not take him when merengue comes on. he refuses to go.

for one, he’s too stiff dancing it but his legs? how do you dance this every time it’s on let alone continue after the songs change? he’s in pain and had to sit out for the rest of the party the first time he danced merengue. to this day, peter still feels the burn in his legs.

also an arm around the waist type of guy. he loves it a little too much. he likes having both of his arms around your waist while you guys dance to norteñas. he never takes his eyes off you and he likes to give you kisses during the songs.

dumbass accidentally dedicated a narco corrido to you meanwhile you just had to smile and nod at him.

you don’t leave him with los tíos for a long time anymore because he ends up becoming a whole new person. he got drunk with them and all of a sudden, peter just magically knew how to dance. he was having a whole dance battle with one of your tios and won. he’s like, “ya viste? 😃 dicen que gane!” (t: did you see? they said i won!”) where the hell did you learn spanish from? has no recollection of him speaking it the next day.

in fact, he’s actually a whole new persona when tierra caliente music comes on. you still don’t know why and won’t ever find out. the roles end up getting reversed and now you’re dragged to dance with him instead.

needs about two to three weeks to recuperate. what do you mean you guys are going back again? begs you to let him stay home and sleep so he doesn’t need to go to el recalentado.

bonus; definitely said big booty latinas was his weakness to you thinking you were his favorite tio when he was drunk at one point. cried the entire way home because you “kidnapped him from his big booty latina and she was gonna beat both of you up.”

his dance skills when you guys first dated: zero out of ten.

his dance skills presently: eight out of ten.

his favorite genre and artist: norteñas ; seto vargas

[slavicdelight]

EPHEMERAL

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Targ!Royce!f!reader

Summary: Your father, Prince Daemon Targaryen never ackowledged you. Your mother, Lady Rhea Royce passed away when you were little, which leaves you to be raised by your uncle - King Viserys Targaryen, and his wife - Queen Alicent Hightower. As you grow up in the Red Keep, you grew close to the kings second son - Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Warnings: cursing, violence, canon divergence

A/N: part two is here HIRAETH

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

Being the daughter of the infamous Rouge Prince was not easy, especially when your mother was a woman he despised up until her death or after that. You were not even supposed to exist, as your parents held such resentment towards each other, that their union was not consummated for a very long time, before one fateful night, when Prince Daemon was exiled from King’s Landing yet again by his brother, King Viserys. Your maid mentioned to you that your father was extremely enraged and got drunk inside the walls of Runestone. Your lady mother was also having an exceptionally bad day, and so she joined her husband in consuming a ridiculous amount of wine. One thing led to another, therefore you were conceived, and the Targaryen man fled the very next day.

You were born the same year as the eldest son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, growing up in the Vale with only your mother there, as your father, upon hearing the news of your birth did not even acknowledge you as his child and flew away to fight in the Stepstones. He could call you a bastard of his “Bronze Bitch” all he wanted, but even though you had brown hair, no one could deny the fact that you have the blood of the dragons flowing through your veins, for your eyes were the gorgeous shade of violet. Runestone was your home. You loved running in its halls, playing with various servants and guards, but your most favourite part was learning everything you could from your mother. Sadly your childhood joy did not last long. When you were two name days old Lady Rhea passed away in what was called a hunting accident. People of the Vale did not believe that story and were spreading rumours that it was her husband, who murdered her in cold blood.

Queen Alicent, after learning about your misfortune, convinced her husband to bring you to the Red Keep to be raised among your cousins. She mentioned a well-known saying going around the Targaryen family: “A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing”. And so, as a result, you were brought to Kings Landing and raised along with the queen’s and Princess Rhaenyra’s children. You got on with Helaena and Aemond pretty well. The princess was your closest friend, you spent most of the time together, because you were the only two girls among the royal family residing in the castle. You did not mind her riddles nor her fondness for small creatures, quite the opposite, you found it fascinating how smart Helaena is. Aemond was a slightly different story. You remember being drawn to him, something inside you did not let you pull away from the prince. For him you were his light in life, the only person he did not mind the company of. You both were polar opposites. You being very kind, talkative and a ray of sunshine, him being closed off and quiet. You disliked Aegon, even though you were the closest in age, because of his vile language and inappropriate behavior. He was also a bully and liked to tease you and Aemond for not having dragons, dragging the sons of Princess Rhaenyra into it as well. When it comes to Jace and Luke, you found them pleasant to be around when they’re not doing Aegon’s bidding. Your life in the Red Keep was going well and you thrived in this environment, but what you did not know, is that it would all soon come to an end.

time skip to the funeral of Laena Velaryon

After Prince Daemon won the war in the Stepstones, he came back to his brothers’ side once again, but it did not last long, as he left following the wedding of Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor. During his presence in the castle, he was set on ignoring your existence, and you only saw him once, when he strolled through the gardens, where you were sitting with Helaena. He wed the lady Laena Velaryon soon after and left for Pentos abandoning you again. Now, you are all standing on Driftmark, attending the said lady’s funeral. Once again your father has paid you no attention and you decided not to let it bother you. After the coffin was laid down into the sea everyone started conversing amongst each other. You decided to stay close to Aemond, due to not feeling confident and you knew that he was the only person who could bring you comfort. As you headed to where the green siblings stood, you heard Aegon talking.

“We have nothing in common.” he said, clearly talking about Helaena, who sat on the ground playing with a spider. As you walked closer you heard her muttering one of her riddles. “She’s our sister.” defended her Aemond, right when you appeared next to him and took his hand, sending a small smile his way, which he returned. “You marry her then”. Lately, it has been revealed that the two eldest children of Queen Alicent are betrothed. You pitied your friend, Aegon was probably the most horrid person you have ever encountered.

“I would perform my duty, if only mother had only betrothed us. But I am to marry someone else.” with that he looked at you. “I am happy to be marrying you, as you are the best possible choice.” you said to him, squeezing his hand tighter. The small council also decided on a marriage between you and the King’s second son.

“She’s an idiot.” said Aegon and your blood boiled. “At least she’s not a complete moron and a drunk.” you bit back and Aemond had to fight back a grin. “Oh you little witch.” said the boy and tried to advance towards you unsuccessfully.

“She’s your future Queen” said the younger brother. It was a known fact that the Queen and the Hand wish to put him on the throne instead of Princess Rhaenyra. War was inevitable. “We do have something in common.” said Aegon, when a maid came over with a tray of wine. “We both fancy creatures with very long legs.” and with that he strolled away in search for more alcohol.

That left you alone with Aemond. Suddenly the pair of you heard unmistakably a roar of the dragon in the distance. Vhagar, the she-dragon of Queen Visenya, that recently became riderless. You look at your companion and noticed the longing look in his eyes. “Aemond. What are you thinking?” you said to get his attention. He turned to you for a second before continuing to stare in the direction of the sound. “She’s hurting, mourning the loss of lady Laena. I always wanted to see her, after all, she is the last living symbol of the conquest. “ you kept going. “Hmm. Maybe we should go and see her then.” you looked at him as he said that. “Tonight, after everyone’s asleep so that no one stops us.”You were used to sneaking out, as you both often did so to spend time together in the keep’s library late at night, to read all the books you could find. After small moment of consideration, you nodded to let him know that you agree to the plan. Up untill the night, you spend time with each other exploring the Drftmark castle.

Soon enough it started to grow dark. You and your best friend stood next to the flight of stairs leading to the beach, looking at drunk Aegon. Just as you were planning to sneak off, the boys’ grandfather, Otto Hightower, came into view, grabbing the eldest prince to drag him to his bed. Aemond looked at you as they left and motioned to follow him, which you did without any worries. Both of you walked towards the place Vhagar nested in, and once the mighty dragon became visible, you were amazed. She was so big, that she did not need to open her mouth much to swallow the two of you. “Fuck” muttered Aemond. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” you whispered and couldn’t tear your gaze away. And with you saying that the white-haired boy proceeded to move closer towards her. Your brows furrowed at the act and you asked “My prince? What are you doing?”

Aemond turned to face you and said “She is unclaimed and she’s suffering. I can’t let it go on.”. You then understood what he meant and the idea of your betrothed going straight into the jaws of the biggest dragon alive made you uneasy. “Aemond. This is a bad idea! She could burn you! Or eat you!” you argued. “It is my right, both of our right, to claim a dragon.” you knew that, but there were so many dragons without riders. Surely you could make a trip to Dragonstone and try your luck with others, nonetheless, you knew that once Aemond set his mind on something, there is no changing it.

“Just please, be careful.” you muttered into his ear as you hugged the boy. Unwanted tears gathered in your eyes, as you saw him approach the animal. You were pretty far away and too lost in your own mind to hear him say anything. When Vhagar opened her mouth to breathe fire, you almost fainted from worry, but you believed that he could do it. And he did it, the dragon accepted him as his rider, letting him climb atop her for their first flight. You were so proud of the prince and you beamed into the sky screaming “Yes Aemond! You did it!” and laughing. Once the flight was done and he climbed down, he called you to his side. You came over slowly, wary of the dragon, as you knew, they don’t like the presence of people, who aren’t their riders.

“I did it! Did you see? I was flying!” Aemond became a ball of energy at this moment and you couldn’t help but grin. “You did it. You’re finally a dragon rider.” and with that, you hugged him. “I’m so proud of you.”. He gave you a beautiful smile, but it slightly fell, once you said “But scare me like that ever again and I will kill you.”. Taking his hand, you both started walking back towards the castle and Aemond told you all about the experience, and how freeing, yet terrifying it felt. Neither of you expected to encounter a problem once you walked inside.

“It’s them.” said one of your half-sisters. In the entrance stood the daughters of the late Lady Laena, along with Jace and Luke. “It’s us.” confirmed Aemond when you both emerged from the darkness. “Vhagar is my mother’s dragon. She was mine to claim.” exclaimed Rhaena and you could clearly see rage overcoming her. “Dragons aren’t possessions to be passed down, dear sister.” you told her and everyones eyes turned to you. “Aemond had the right to claim her and she chose him. It is done.” you defended your prince and he gave you a small smile before saying “Perhaps your cousins would find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.” Not that long ago Aegon, Jace, and Luke pulled a prank on Aemond, dressing up a pig in wings, calling it Pink Dread. With that Rhaena tried to hit him, but he dodged the attempt and pushed her away, making Baela strike him on the nose. With that, all hell broke loose and you knew that it will not end well. You tried to stop them “No! Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything wrong!”, but someone pushed you away and you banged your head against the torch on a wall. You could feel the bleeding and the ache, but you ignored it to observe what was happening in front of you.

Aemond was holding Luke by the neck, while in his other hand he gripped a rock. “You will die screaming as you father did. Bastards.” he said and you were shocked, not because you didn’t believe it, but rather because he said it out loud. Everyone knew Princess Rhaenyra was having an affair with Ser Harwin Strong. How else would anyone explain the certain resemblance he has to the “Velaryon” boys? They do not look anything like their supposed father Ser Laenor. The King Viserys was conveniently blind to it, but everyone knew that he just prefered to conceal the truth to protect his “only child”. “My father’s still alive.” said Luke and you watched a smirk appear on the white-haired prince’s face. “He doesn’t know, does he? Lord Strong.” he continued and you had to intervene. “Aemond stop. That’s enough. Let’s finish this madness.” you tried to convince him to let the younger prince go. He looked at you and that’s when Luke broke free and both he and Jace attacked Aemond. Before you could comprehend what was happening you saw a flash of knife and blood chilling scream of your betrothed.

You ran towards him and saw him clutching his eye tightly. The bastard took his eye. “Aemond!” you screamed. “Guards! What are you waiting for?! Get help!” you yelled at your sisters and cousins, while trying to soothe Aemond. Soon enough guards poured in and one of them pulled you away from your best friend, much to your protest. “My prince. Let me see.” The guard turned Aemond around and saw the wound. “Gods be good” Gods be good indeed. You were all taken to the hall and the adults were called. By that time you felt very faint from the blood loss and passed out. You didn’t hear the exchange between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra as you did not wake in time, but you know, as did everyone in the realm, what transpired there.

You woke up two days later, and you took time to recover. It did not stop you from visiting Aemond in his chambers or going to the gardens and spending time with Helaena. One day as you were walking to your rooms, you overheard a conversation between Queen Alicent and Lord Larys Strong. They were discussing the issue of your father marrying Princess Rhaenyra and the scandal it caused. Both believed they had a hand in Ser Laenor’s murder, but what was said in this conversation rang in your head for days. “I would not put it passed Prince Daemon to murder the princess’s husband. After all, nothing stopped him from killing his first wife.” Your mother’s death wasn’t an accident, because it was Daemon who murdered her to finally be free of marriage duty. Since that day you hated your father even more and you promised yourself, that you would avenge your beloved mother.

time skip six years later

You and Aemond have been married for a year now and you recently welcomed a child into the world, a beautiful girl named Alysanne after the Good Queen, who looked like exact copy of the prince. Your husband a wonderful father and lover. Since the day your daughter was born he has been spending all of his free time tending to you both. Even though the Driftmark accident caused the prince to be colder and more intimidating, he was very caring and soft towards you, your daughter, his mother and his sister. Only the women of his family were privileged to see this side of him. After your wedding you relocated to Runestone and you took over your responsibilities as a Lady of the house. Aemond unsurprisingly thrived in the Vale as the Lord of Runestone, as he was dutiful, smart and formidable. You were content there, but you visited the Red Keep as often as you could on your dragons. Yes, you heard correctly. Dragons. About two years after the loss of Aemonds eye, you stumbled upon a dragon of your own. It was one of the wild ones, that terrified anyone who heard his name. You claimed the notorious Canniball. During the last visit to King’s Landing, Helaena gifted you both a dragonn egg from Dreamfire’s latest clutch to put into Alysanne’s cradle.

Just last night the three of you arrived at court for the Driftmark petitions, that are being held in approximately three days. Corlys Velaryon suffered a terrible injury during his voyage and no one could be sure if he will recover. This plundged the succession into question. Lord Vaemond Velaryon publicly questioned Lucerys Velaryon’s right to become the next Lord of the Tides. King Viserys has been bedridden for a long time now, and the realm was placed into the hands of Hightowers, who ruled in his stead. Princess Rhaenyra was informed of the petition and was to come to the Red Keep to defend her son, and along with her will come the whole black fraction of Targaryen family. You weren’t keen on seeing any of them again, especially Prince Daemon, as you held strong resentment towrads the man.

On the day of their arrival you and your daughter were on the country yard watching Aemond train with Ser Criston Cole. Soon you saw the two eldest sons of heir to the iron throne and smirked at their terrified expressions, while they realised what formidable fighter your husband was. With a few more strikes of the blade Aemond defeated Cole. “Congratulations my Prince, you’ll be winning tourneys in no time.” said the knight. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” you beloved answered and directed his eyes towards the boys. “Nephews. Have you come to train?”. In that moment the gate opened and in walked Vaemond Velaryon, advancing towards the keep, he casted the nastiest look he could muster towards his “nephews”.

After that Jace and Luke scurried away inside, probably in search of their mother or Daemon for protection and Aemond walked up to you and took your daughter into his arms, while she blabbed excitetly at her father. “It seems, my love, that you scare them off.” you said, smilig at him. “Hmmm. Good. It is best they learn their place. I am not so easily defeated now.” and with that he placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you in direction of your chambers. When you walked inside, Aemond placed your daughter in her cradle, while you sat next to the fireplace. “I wish for you to behave today. I know that their presence irritates you, but it is not for long and we don’t need any fights today. Gods know my father is only waiting for a reason to kill us all, so it will be best not to give him one.” Aemond only hummed at that and went to stand behind you to massage you neck. “You’re tense.” he stated the obvious. “Of course I am. It is stressfull enough to be in one keep with him. Seriously Aemond, do not do anything to cause a fight today, I beg you.” you truned to look him straight into the eye. “For you, my darling wife, I will be civil, but don’t expect me to be nice.” he answered. You nodded in confirmation. That was all you needed.

Finally it was time for the petitions to be held. You stood between Aemond and Heleana, looking straight into the eyes of Prince Daemon Targaryen and he held your gaze, as if it was a staring contest. Lord Hand stood before the Iron Throne and declared the petitions to be open. First one to make his was Ser Vaemond. His statement was going all about the Velaryon blood, and how his supposed nephews did not have a drop of it in themselves. Princess Rhaenyra tried to intervene, only to be stopped by you mother-in-law. At the end of his petiton he put himself forward as the successor of his brother. It was now the turn of your stepmother to defend her son’s right. She walked gracefully towards the throne and started to say “If I have to grace this farce, I must remind you, that yearly twenty years ago in this very room..”

She was interrupted by the doors swinging open as the knight announced “King Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”. Everyone couldn’t hide their surprise, after all, the king hasn’t been seen in a long time, too sick to even get up from his bed. And yet here he was, walking to the throne with a golden mask covering half of his face, leaning on the support of a cane. “Father has once again come to defend his only child.” sneered Aegon. You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, it was true, he never shown any care to anyone other than his eldest daughter, and for that you hated the man almost as much as you did your father. In your eyes he was a weak king and even a weaker man. Disgraceful.

In that moment everyone knew that Driftmark will be going to Lucerys, no matter how wrong it was and how many people protested against it. Luke was a sweet boy, but he had no right to the Driftwood Throne. “I don’t understand why are we discussing a settled succesion.” the king said after finally settling on the throne. “The only one, who could offer keeper insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”. The said princess took a step closer before answering her cousin. “Indeed Your Grace. It was in Lord Corlys’ wishes for Driftmark to be passed to his grandson, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor my support of him. Princess Rhaenyra offered to betroth her children, Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” You all knew that is was pointless to argue now. Viserys affirmed Lucerys as the future Lord of the Tides, but it wasn’t acceptable to Ser Vaemond as he openly declared the sons of the heir as bastards. “I will have you tongue for that” rasped the king, but it wasn’t necessary. Prince Daemon Targaryen unnoticed by everyone sneaked behind Vaemond, Dark Sister in his hand, and cut off his head in one strike. Everyone in the hall got startled at that and the petitions were over. The King had to be carried out of the hall as he suddenly fell down.

“Did you see them? Flaunting their privilege without a care in the world. It is horrible how they think they can get away with everything.” you spoke on the way back to your chambers with Aemond trailing behind you. “Darling. Do not worry, it will not last long anyway.” your husband tried to coax you to calm down. After walking into the room, you headed straight to the cradle where Alysanne laid awake, playing with a dragon plushie you made for her during your tea with Helaena. The prince dismissed the maid who was watching your daughter and walked over to you two. “I’m scared Aemond. You saw what he did there. He has no restrain, I fear what he would do to us, to her.” you said and looked at the babe. “He will do nothing, for he would be called a kinslayer. And I shall protect you both with my life. Nothing will happen, I promise you.” That made you hug him and bury your face in his chest. Everything has to be alright.

The night came, and with it the dreaded family dinner, which was demanded by Viserys in honor of his family being all in the same place for the first time in six years. You were talking with Helaena about setting up another playdate for your kids, while your husbands stood to the side talking Gods know about what. Eventually, everyone took their seats. You and your husband were at the end of it, exactly in front of Lucerys and Rhaena. You all stood up when the King was carried in and so let the game of pretending begin. “It is good to see you all, together” Viserys started and Alicent proposed to say prayers. The King stood up for a speech. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was” he revealed his full face, which was missing an eye. He looked more like a skeleton than a human. “But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father.” he looked towards Rhaenyra, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond. “your husband” he said to Alicent. “and your grandsire who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.” Everyone’s faces displayed something else, but what they all had in common, was pain of seeing him suffer. “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”. After his speech, Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent made toasts to each other and the atmosphere became lighter. Everyone were enjoying themselves, the room was full of music, laughter, dancing, and pleasant conversations. It was all going smoothly until the pig was brought to the table and set directly in front of your husband. By that time Viserys was carried out as he felt worse. That made Lucerys chuckle, as he was reminded of Pink Dread, and send a smirk Aemonds way. This was his mistake, as the older prince suddenly slammed his hand onto the table, grabbed his cup and made the final toast of the night.

“Final tribute.” with saying that he had everyone’s attention and Aegon raised his cup in support of his brother. “To the health of my nephews: Jace…Luke…and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” every person in the room held their breath as their waited for inevidable. “Strong.” “Aemond” you and Alicent said at the same time, but he did not listen and he was not about to stop. “Come…Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.” that made Jace mad and he went to retaliate. “I dare you to say that again” the bronze haired boy said and everyone stood up from their seats in case a fight erupted. “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment” continued your husband. “Enough of that” you said at the same time Aemond aksed “Do you not thing yourself Strong?”. Jace came over and hit the elder prince straight on the jaw, but it did nothing for Aemond only laughed and shoved the Velaryon onto the floor.“Jace!” screamed Rhaenyra. Lucerys tried to join the fight to help his brother, only to be stopped by Aegon, who slammed him on the table. “That’s enough” said Alicent. You were mad and decided to storm out of the room.

Not much later you husband stepped into the comfort of your chambers where he found you staring outside the window. He walked closer but you immediately took a step back and hissed at him “I asked you not to do anything today. But as always you had to let your pride ruin everything. Now you put a target on our backs. Daemon won’t let this go.”. “My love…” he started only to be cut off by you. “No! I do not want to hear your pitiful excuses.” Aemond scowled at you and you could see him getting angry. “That bastard dared to laugh at me. AT ME! Because of that fucking pig! I was only defending myself!” you only scoffed at that and walked towards the fireplace, further away from him. “If you had any decency you would have ignored it. But you didn’t! Instead you behaved like some peasant and started throwing insults and then began a fight”. “Jaecerys hit me first! He began the fight!” your husband defended himself but his look softened as he saw how worried you were. He kneeled before you and took your hand in his placing a kiss atop of it. “I’m sorry darling. I should’ve composed myself and ignore him. You are right. Please forgive me”. You looked at him and pulled the eyepatch off his face. “I just worry. I don’t want anything bad to happen. We should probably head back to Runestone. I think we overstayed this visit.” Aemond agreed and you decided to set back to the Vale in a couple of days.

But what you didn’t know, is that you wouldn’t be able to return to your keep, as for when you were sleeping, King Viserys drew his last breath and told his lady wife the dream of song of ice and fire, which was interpreted to put Aegon on the throne. War was on the horizont and no one was safe. Your and your family’s happiness and peace is about to become EPHEMERAL.

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A/N: My obsession with Aemond Targaryen and Ewna Mitchell reached to the point where i decided to give it a try and write something. Anyways, English is not my 1st language, so there may be some mistakes in writing. If you would like a part II of this story, please let me know in the comments. It would mean the world to me if you decided to leave a heat here ♡

[ai-manre]

Reread Sansa's sample TWOW chapter today after very long, and I enjoyed it so much! I had totally forgotten how much I like book!Sansa. Especially her Alayne chapters are so good, where she is teasing knights, gossiping with Lady Myranda, and having fun in general.

I see fans often claiming that Sansa is going to be Queen eventually because she has a leadership/ruler arc. This is flat-out wrong. She does not have a ruler arc, in the Vale, Sansa is learning two things:

Being a Lady of the House. She is doing all the household management, organization, image politicking, handling the guests and house members in the appropriate manners etc. She is also playing at being the proper Westerosi maiden, flirting with Harry and other knights, and acting the scared damsel in distress when needed. And what's more, she is good at it and loving it.

Scheming. That's what she is learning from Littlefinger. To be a political schemer, playing the game of thrones and manipulating things behind the scenes. Littlefinger is no leader by himself, he's a player.

In other words, she is following in Catelyn's footsteps of being a lady with political acumen. Fitting the mold of the society but also exceeding it. Only, Sansa has the advantage of a teacher like Littlefinger (I'm only talking about his scheming skill which he is teaching), so eventually she will get to succeed where Catelyn had failed.

This is why I don't see any chance of her being a ruler in her own name, because till now, Sansa's arc has never been about ruling. In the Eyrie, her role and thoughts are myopically focused on the household, the guests they must entertain, coaxing Sweetrobin, the schemes to play, the right image to project, which servants are suited to which task and such. It's never about how winter impact will impact the kingdom how much food is in their granaries, how the smallfolk are faring, how well she thinks the existing governing systems are functioning, how well justice is being done, how to benefit the kingdom as a whole.

This is big picture stuff, elements of ruling a kingdom or an institution, not just a household. These are all elements very strongly present from the beginning in the arcs of the leaders: Dany, Cersei, Jon, Tyrion. The difference is noticeable especially in the case of the main budding leaders of the story: Dany and Jon, where such qualities had existed in them even before actually becoming leaders. For example, Jon spends AGOT gaining a leadership position among the new recruits of the Night's Watch inspiring them, he assesses the existing institution and framework of the Night's Watch and finds it lacking when someone like Sam is not utilized, negotiates with Maester Aemon based on his argument that every tool has its place, gets himself into a position where he's groomed for leadership. Dany spends AGOT learning to command, first by rightly assessing Viserys and ordering him punished, then proactively taking the Lhazareen women under her protection against Drogo's wish, then inspiring the rest of her khalasar and Ser Jorah to become hers, her men. Those traits had to be planted very early for both Dany and Jon to become such competent leaders at their young age. In each book, they encountered leadership challenges, they led people, negotiated deals, showed military prowess, administrative actions, had clear visions of what they wanted to change.

[lagunaseca2013]

can’t sleep bc I’m stressed about going into the office tm and I’m deeply dreading it so instead I’ve been maladaptive daydreaming about my rosquez one-sided-bond horror-disguised-as-a/b/o universe where marc goes into heat the night of crazy murder race at the ranch and it triggers vale’s rut which leads to him losing control and biting marc but then not letting marc bite him back which leads to. obvious misery.

marc is like on cloud nine at first bc even tho they never discussed it he wanted it (was obvi begging for it the whole time even if he only vaguely remembers) and definitely thinks it’s like fate or whatever happy accident etc. there’s like hand wavey world building omegaverse lore/logic/whatever you wanna call it so you can only mate when ur in rut/heat and vale just had his rut and fully suppresses them during the season so they’ll have to wait a while to complete the bond anyway.

cue vale’s descent into madness. it’s definitely gradual at first bc they’re still fucking for A LOT of it (the sex is even crazier now bc marc can like feel him through the bond but it’s all very fuzzy bc it’s only half a bond so it’s more like….idk emotional impressions or whatever but it definitely makes sex way more intense on his end). this of course freaks vale the fuck out bc he doesn’t like that marc has access to him in a way that he doesn’t have access to marc (omegaverse is genuinely the most fun way to push all vale’s control freak buttons btw) which is like….okay man there’s an easy solution to that but whatever u say.

uccio is off uccioing and waving his idk ipad telemetry around and also feeding vale’s crazy delusions like convincing him that marc triggered the heat on purpose to seduce vale and make him lose control to……..get an emotional ?? advantage over him ?? but like….marc wasn’t the one who bit him……..so vale isn’t even affected by marc’s emotions………it’s exhausting. vale is looking for outs atp bc the mating stuff has 1) majorly triggered his crazy committmentphobia (huge thanks to stefania and graziano for never mating) and also 2) exacerbated the championship issues bc like vale voice I don’t think someone who claims to be my [omega] would race me like that blah blah blah

anyway vale sets omega rights back one hundred years etc w his presscon rantings. marc is like nauseous w bond rejection and also feeling vale’s hatred AND guilt, bc he can literally feel impressions of his emotions. also this whole time marc’s been walking around all season with the largest most visible and grotesque mating scar on his neck and coyly dodging questions about it and vale is obviously. mark free as the day he was born. so even tho they’ve been all over each other the last two years and also for parts of the season no one is really accusing them of being secretly one-sided-bonded, which is actually really frowned upon anyway in their society ESPECIALLY if the omega is the one bitten.

vale is really banking on 1) no one believing marc if he tried to out them, 2) marc not even considering it as an option. both are true, honestly, but marc is having the equivalent of getting served divorce papers on live tv and also going into bond rejection and ignoring it so he has a lot of other stuff on his plate.

and then his alpha knocks him off his bike and he goes into a stress heat (hand wavey omegaverse rules, it happens with bond rejection to entice the unmated one to get with the program). it’s horrific, of course, alex goes to vale’s motorhome in tears prepared to beg on his knees and uccio doesn’t even let him in. they have to take marc to the hospital bc his fever is so high he’s going to die and then he spends three miserable days crying out for vale. on the fourth day his doctors are like. he’s not getting any better in fact it might be getting worse is there really no way to get his alpha here? vale (or uccio, idk does it matter?) has blocked both of their numbers, alex has been texting franky but that connection is still nebulous at best at this point in time so his responses are sparse and extremely vague (vale is obviously going through a stress rut as well and it’s like all hands on deck rn bc he’s getting violent).

well anyway. they put marc in a medically induced coma to ride it out and he literally doesn’t wake up for like two weeks. (yay more medical trauma for the medical trauma guy yippee) (also idk if I could even fit this into the story bc I haven’t even gotten to the plot yet this is still the extended backstory context but I think after the whole ordeal he’s basically terrified of going into heat again and for several years lies to everyone that he spends them at one of those like omega care facilities where you pick an alpha that’s been vetted out and deal with it that way but he ACTUALLY goes to a hospital and gets put into a coma again to ride it out bc he genuinely can’t deal with how it feels to need vale when he can still deep down feel all of his alpha’s resentment)

I imagine eventually alex finds out (maybe during arm misery when marc is like between surgeries two and three and alex is like hey isn’t this messing with your cycle and marc, high on painkillers or just delirious w pain is like nah they can put me out whenever) and then they have a blowout fight about it and alex cries a lot and marc is also crying but he absolutely cannot ever feel that way again or he will off himself so then they compromise which means marc just never comes off his suppressants but does start seeing a therapist. (he hates her and she tries to make him go to like bereaved omega support groups which he doesn’t even pretend to consider)

um okay so we’re getting to the part where the story would actually be set which is marcnaia 2025 teammates lol. while marc has been experiencing the horrors vale has acquired an entire pack. okay yes the academy was loosely around for the events of 2015 but after vale has his insane response rut where it takes like basically all of them to make him calm the fuck down things are a little different. it was much more familial at the beginning bc most of them were unpresented so it was more of a like adopting pups crisis for vale. when they’re all older and presented and adults they make it official and he (checks notes) bites their wrist scent glands which is for like pack bonding. they spend heats and ruts together as a pack, not all of them all the time (and luca and marta are mated in this one, rip pecco, so it’s really just a family thing for him) but it’s nice. harmony. whatever. as is popular around these parts, I do think bez is the only omega in the pack. more on that later.

okay NOW we pick up the plot. vale is an idiot and also has been trying not to think about marc for the last nine years so he doesn’t know that marc can actually feel it every single time vale adds a new member to his pack. he still can’t feel everything you’d usually be able to feel with a mating bond bc it’s one sided, but adding pack members definitely leaves an impression. alex has to like train marc to stay away from academy members bc he has like pack omega urges to bond w them and be near them (this fic would have gratuitous touch starvation etc) and it’s painful to ignore his instincts

alex in this universe should be granted sainthood, seriously.

vale voice allora where were we. okay nothing good can come of marc and pecco sharing a garage right? if vale was serious about staying unmated and hating marc he would probably spend a lot less time lingering around the ducatis. gigi makes several biting jokes about how vale didn’t seem to like the team this much when he was driving for them! which. well, double edged sword to neg him about, no?

basically marc has felt less and less from vale over the years bc of distance and like sort of trying to get over it (thank you alex for psychologist ultimatum) but renewed proximity stirs everything back up and suddenly his suppressants are failing him and for the first time in like a decade people can like actually catch slight traces of his scent. marc, also a notorious control freak (made worse by everything that’s happened to him in this universe) is having a category eleven panic attack about it, like calls his favorite hospital and asks if they can put him in a coma again, etc.

vale meanwhile is like falling in love with marc again and hiding it badly. getting distracted during pack orgy bonding time bc he’s missing the insanity that he and marc used to get up to (which, if it happens during bez’s heat, sets him up for a nightmare scenario of omega infighting……..you know….if he was considering trying again w marc. but he’s not. so)

ummmm wow okay this got extremely out of hand. idk where any of that came from. I only vaguely know how it ends so if you have any thoughts about that lmk lol. I have to get up for work in four and half hours so I’m gonna send this into the void and probably delete it in the morning lol.

[thesixthruin]

i don't fandom post here but. currently obsessed with welcome to night vale again and can't stop thinking about episode 221 (glow cloud, explained). keep thinking about dr. janet lubelle "explaining away" things as acts of both a disruption of collective faith and a killing of creativity.

we (as the audience) have witnessed cosmic horror as the everyday in that town for a whole decade. we, just like the citizens of night vale, take it as normal, or as adaptive to be normal. and then lubelle comes in and disrupts it to the point of death. she rendered a god useless. she killed a sentient river rock. even when cecil tries to chant all hail, all hail the glow cloud, the magic is gone. the faith is gone. it's been explained, unravelled, revealed to whatever kind of truth "science" has applied to it.

also, it serves as an allegory for how, when you try to explain your work to an audience, it kind of kills it? especially any writing that is absurdist or surrealist. explaining why the glow cloud even exists, or trying to pick it apart, renders it and the magic of night vale (both story and podcast) useless. the glow cloud is fun because it is a glow cloud that drops dead animals! we found out it was a god too! it has a child! isn't that whimsical and horrifying and brilliant? does it need explaining? no! and it's heartbreaking when it is! it's such a staple of the series and it's smart of joseph/jeffrey to play around with this after 10 years of creating and writing for this beloved show.

(also, if you decide to engage with this post, please do not share spoilers for future episodes, i am still playing catch up).

[kingofthecotas]

paperweight pt.4 | ao3

for the sake of my sanity the 2027 race calendar is entirely unchanged from 2025

——

The gravel in Qatar doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, the stones no longer large and bruising, but the slide, the roll, knock the wind out of him. He lies there for a second, staring into the scorching brightness of a floodlight, before heaving himself to his feet. 

Not a crasher. That’s what they say about him. Not a crasher.

When Joan was especially frustrated, wounded and lashing out, he would sneer that Luca never rode to the limit, never tried hard enough, but Luca would finish races with data and points, and Joan would finish races with tattered leathers. 

He watches Pecco win the sprint from the marshal post. 

——

Marc is grinning at him in the Honda trailer, and Luca really has no time for his shit today, except Marc leans forward and says, “Well done.”

“What?”

“You found the limit.”

“No,” Luca says. “I lost a podium.” Maybe not; Fermin was fast, and Pecco was uncatchable, and Marc is Marc. But—maybe.

“Remember what that felt like,” Marc says, instead of anything actually helpful, but it seems like he means it. Or like he wants to mean it.

——

Luca rides to sixth in the sprint.

Each lap, he comes a little closer to crashing, a little closer to his front tyre giving up the way it did yesterday, but never too close, because he remembers how it felt. 

Marc is fourth in the end, and his frustration is a heavy blanket over the garage, but their fucking straight line speed—

And Luca hates it, because he remembers how it felt to finish at the back, for his engine to give out beneath his thighs. He remembers his first point. Marc is demanding, a driver, a pusher. A crasher. Because for Marc there is no limit of the bike. There is only the limit of what Marc can hold together between his hands, between his legs.

——

Sometime in May, between Le Mans and Silverstone, he finds himself in Turin cradling Pecco’s four month old daughter. She sleeps easily in his experienced arms, and the conversation threads, with an air of inevitability, towards the championship. Towards the battering Pecco took in Jerez. Towards Marc.

“I liked him slowly,” Pecco says. “Domizia took longer, but—”

“I liked him all at once,” Domizia laughs. 

Luca raises an eyebrow, asks the silent question.

“About this time last year, actually.” Domizia rubs her stomach, almost subconsciously. “I was so ill. I didn’t know why, but I was in the room behind Pecco’s box, and I was just—throwing up. Marc heard me, he helped me back to the motorhome, he made sure no one saw, he messaged Pecco. He made me a ginger tea.” She laughs again. “Then he said ‘congratulations’. I cried. He panicked. I—I know now there are two of him. I like him when he does not have a helmet on.” 

Pecco hums. 

“But I have noticed Valentino is not in our box so much this year.” Her eyes gleam. “Have you seen him?”

“Of course I have,” Luca grumbles. “It’s terrible.”

“Do they speak?” Pecco says. 

“Only to say hello, but they watch—they watch each other. I want to lock them in a room until they talk.” 

“I told you.”

“I know you did,” Luca sighs. “I know.” He just—it’s ironic, maybe, that he threw himself into the chasm left by Marc to escape the shadow of Valentino, and now—

Well, perhaps it was stupid to expect anything else, when Valentino and Marc seem intent on chainlinking their legacies. Choking each other like ivy, twining, inextricable. 

“It is always about them, really,” Pecco says, far away, as if he can read Luca’s mind—they have known each other long enough, Luca supposes. Turbo rolls over on the floor between them with a content sigh. 

——

HONDA HOMECOMING HONEYMOON: has the shine faded for Márquez? 

Luca catches the headline on his brother’s laptop screen when he stumbles into the kitchen for a late-night glass of water; Vale is, and has always been, a shit sleeper. He’s reading over Valentino’s shoulder as he scrolls, so he can’t see his face, but he knows the way his lips are pursed.

Luca had read the article himself, because the media team had included it in his FYI email that week; he gets a mention near the bottom, noting that his contract is up again this year, and although the threat of Toprak had essentially solved itself—or BMW had solved it for him—there is always the question of how he is performing beside Marc. 

Marc, who is getting frustrated. Marc, who had won both races in Germany because he is Marc, and not because he had any other advantage. Marc, who is trailing Pecco in the championship and making stupid mistakes because of it. It’s a different Marc than the one Pecco had warned him about, because Pecco had a Marc who was close, even as he learned the bike: a Marc who always had a chance of winning. This Marc is aggrieved, visibly so, and capricious with it, but he is always spectacular, one way or the other, which is an accusation Luca has never found levelled at him. Marc may be phenomenal, but Ducati have a clear advantage, even if Fermin is not close enough all the time. Pecco has a wheel ahead going into the second half of the season.

None of which, however, explains why Valentino cares to read this article at half past midnight with a track day planned in the morning. Luca makes sure to scuffle about in the kitchen, enough so that Valentino won’t be startled by his appearance. It works: when he reemerges, Vale has closed his laptop and is twisting to lean over the back of the sofa.

“Sorry,” Luca murmurs, and holds up his glass in explanation. “Go to bed, Vale.”

“Finishing some work,” Valentino lies, and Luca would never have known if he hadn’t seen already. “Ah, have Honda said anything? About your contract?”

Luca chews the inside of his cheek. “They want a meeting when we get to Austria, but I think—they are considering options.”

They hadn’t said that, but he isn’t stupid.

“Okay.” It’s calm, easy. “Let me know if you need—if I need to get involved.” 

Luca wouldn't hate anything more. “Thanks.” He knows that seat is always open for one of them—he knows—but Ducati will always have an opinion, and Bez is still struggling on the Aprillia, and Luca is not supposed to need his brother anymore. “Not tonight, though. They are filming tomorrow. Go to bed.”

——

Summer break is a cauldron of rumours and articles and contract talk that does nothing to dispel the rumours, so Luca arrives in Austria in a foul mood, only to find that he’s being included in the Thursday press conference.

“I wonder why,” he mutters, and the comms team send him identical sympathetic glances. 

“Just say there is no update. No more detail than that.” 

Luca doesn’t have any more detail than that, so that’s no problem. 

They seat him on one side of Pecco, Marc on the other, which is lovely and symmetrical, as well as inviting Luca into a championship battle he really has no involvement in beyond mathematical possibility. Despite it, they do go easier on him than he was expecting, perhaps too busy casting Pecco in the role Dovizioso once occupied in their Ducati-Honda modern-day epic.

And then, once they have finished reminding Pecco what Marc can do with a Honda and a points deficit, they turn to Luca’s teammate.

“A question for Marc—looking at where Honda are now, compared to when you left, and what you were able to achieve with Ducati, would you say that you took an easy route by waiting for Honda to improve their bike?”

It’s one of those questions that sucks the air out of the room; Pecco folds his arms a little tighter, staring down at his knees. 

Marc’s eyes go empty, cheeks tight, head tilted just enough to be dangerous. “What was easy?”

“You went to the best team.”

“Not straight away. I took a big risk. I changed everything. Some of my team, they are with me since Moto2, and I left them. It was the biggest risk of my career—I do not think that it was easy. The easy thing would be to stay, and change nothing.” 

“I am sure Gresini will like that you call them the best team,” Pecco adds. “It was not for sure that he would join Ducati.”

People have short memories when it suits them, Luca supposes. He thinks of Valentino, smiling, telling him you did the hard thing. “Ah, the same for me, yes? The easy thing was to stay. I knew I would always have a place, but this is not what I wanted. And it was hard. I don’t think these years have always been easy for Marc, either.”

They are looking at him: the press in their close-packed chairs; Pecco; Marc. 

Luca has often felt like—like nothing more than a paperweight for Valentino’s legacy, the reliable solid thing that stops the last shreds of his brother from fluttering away in the breeze. He has never resented Vale for it, but everybody else—yes, they can get a flash of it, every now and again. 

It’s no wonder, really, that he tore himself away with such abrupt violence, that he ran as far as he could. And it has not been easy, but Marc is giving him a small, pressed smile over Pecco’s shoulder, and it weighs less. 

——

It perhaps shouldn’t be a surprise, then, that he finds Valentino in the garage on Friday morning: well-practised in subtle shows of support, when it suits him. Luca sinks into his chair, then levels a blank look in his direction.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He turns to Christian and tries to listen as he starts discussing the wind at the top of the hill.

Across the garage, Marc is leaning against the desk, chatting to Santi and his father; Marc’s arms are folded, relaxed, but Juliá, even from the back, seems agitated, talking in quick Catalan that Luca can only pick out the threads of.

“—always here, always—”

Marc shakes his head. Shrugs. 

“Marc—” and then something too fast for even Luca’s decent Spanish to take a guess at.

“It’s okay. Fine.” 

Not many people in the paddock would tell Valentino Rossi to fuck off, but Santi and Juliá would probably like to give it a go. 

“You are making them uncomfortable,” Luca murmurs to him in Italian.

“Should I—go?” And Valentino would never care what people thought normally, except for the bearing it might have on Luca now. Benefits to the team: owner of a Ducati-supported team in the garage is certainly not going on Honda’s wishlist for their ideal rider. 

Luca shakes his head. “Marc said it was fine.” It almost isn’t a lie, and he almost feels bad for it, but Valentino’s wonder-wide expression keeps the guilt fenced off. “Maybe leave before the practice session, though.”

He has not forgotten what dawned upon him in Valencia, watching Vale’s gaze linger after Marc, watching Marc’s careful smile. Watching them watch each other. 

Watching is all they will do, Luca thinks, unless someone suggests otherwise. Subtly, of course.

“Of course, of course,” Valentino says with all the ease in the world, and steals a glance across the box. Predictable, really, his brother. Luca doesn’t dare follow his gaze.

——

In the media pen after qualifying, waiting three paces behind Fabio, he hears his own name and hones in: it’s the British broadcaster, and they’re speaking to Marc.

“...talk that Marini’s seat is open. Is that something you want?”

He can’t see Marc’s face, but he can picture the expression: carved from stone. “Why would I want this?”

“There’s been some suggestion that having Valentino Rossi in the box has been an issue—”

“Nothing has been an issue for me, except that we are not fast.” Marc shrugs. “The Ducati have a clear advantage still, and we need to understand why. Luca and me, we are the best people to understand this, and working together—we are working together well. I have the knowledge from Ducati, and he has the knowledge of the development. It is good if we can continue in this way.”

“Quite a strong endorsement.”

“It is best for the team,’ Marc says, then repeats, “We are not fast,” apparently blissfully unaware of the irony of saying that with a silver sprint medal hanging from his neck.

If he is thinking about Luca, then he is thinking about how to beat him—and hadn’t Pecco been so adamant on keeping Enea as his teammate, so sure that he could keep beating him? Wouldn’t Marc do the same, play his precise cards in front of television cameras? Hadn’t he learned from Vale, after all? 

The meeting is set for Monday. There is no possibility that Marc knows this. And yet—

And yet. 

Marc Márquez is not selfless, but sometimes he will make a ginger tea. Sometimes he will be unthinkingly kind. Sometimes he is a bastard. Sometimes he will do whatever it takes to get the fastest bike—and Luca is finding he does not mind this so much, because that is all Marc has ever wanted. Just this.

[mariuspompom]

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.

Robert would swear undying love and forget them before evenfall, but Ned Stark kept his vows.

"Lyanna is a hypocrite for calling out chronic cheaters like robert and then running away with Rhaegar" this is truly funny, the fact that you associate a man who chronically visits brothels, fucks child prostitutes and leaves bastards all around, with a man who left his one (1) arranged marriage for another girl he fell in love with. Especially when Ned already makes this exact comparison in the very first book, first between Robert and Rhaegar and then between Robert and himself, just to showcase how fucked up in the head his BFF Robert was compared to both Rhaegar and himself.

And now I'm not saying Ned should be uncritically treated by the reader as this paragon of virtue and feminism. I'm saying, however, that Ned's standards of "decent behavior towards women" are pretty close to the writer's standards of decent behavior towards women, in universe, considering he has one of the healthiest marriages and probably the healthiest relationship with his daughters in the asoiaf universe and his one basic fatal flaw regarding his sister is precisely arranging her marriage with his BFF Robert, a decision that haunts him to this day considering he spends one whole book reflecting on and regretting his friendship with Robert and his decision to marry his sister to Robert. And this regret is now reinforced by every single one of Robert's actions during or prior to AGOT that Ned finds repulsive, aka his murderous obsession with Dany, his violent treatment of Cersei, his mistreatment of all these women/children and their kids, his approval of the murder and rape of Elia and her kids.

Ned now finally realizes what Lyanna already instinctively knew about Robert's nature from the get go (even if she didn't have all the data at the time). He should have known what she already instinctively knew, despite being so young, but he was too far gone into his delululand of sacred bromance with Robert to care. Now he knows precisely why his sister chose Rhaegar and now he reflects on all this and his regret and guilt run so deep but it's too late because Lyanna and Rhaegar are dead and there is nothing he can do about it. And the harrowing recounting of Lyanna's death in Ned's pov is something for sure, but let's not forget the understated yet still discernable regret and sadness in his visual memory of Rhaegar's death which is in sharp contrast with his complete apathy and emotional detachment towards his living breathing friend who is standing right in front of him:

“I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.” “You did,” Ned reminded him. “Only once,” Robert said bitterly. They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with his warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the hooves of their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert’s hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it. When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free from his armor. “In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.“ There was nothing Ned could say to that.

Ned's trajectory from being a victim of the evil targaryen dynasty and Robert's faithful friend to questioning the entire basis of his old allegiance and realizing that actually Rhaegar maybe should have been King and that his sister was right about Robert because he's indeed full of shit, his subsequent guilt, regret and disillusionment over the regime he enabled, and his inability to save his house from collapse are all core elements of his arc and why his character is so fascinating and tragic. Ned's gradual deconstruction of Robert and his friendship with him is the thought process that led to all of the above. Ned remembering Lyanna's quote about Robert is there precisely to reinforce his disillusionment with Robert and highlight his difference with Rhaegar, a recurring theme in his arc. And it is particularly funny that so many people that call themselves Stark Stans TM (!!!) just swipe away all of the subtext and actual text surrounding this quote just to prove a point that is directly antithetical to the quote, its meaning and its function in the narrative, while also framing lyanna as a hypocrite over it lmao.

[general-illyrin]

Plz,give me the list of ur favourite Tolkien fic.

Thank you so much for the ask; I'm happy to do so! I'll start with a disclaimer that I read almost exclusively Silmarillion fic. However, I have thoroughly enjoyed everything I've read from ceterisparibus on Ao3 as well as this Gimli and Legolas fic by @griseldabanks and the poem "To the Bitter End" by megSUPERFAN that I love.

For Silm-centered fics, here are some that I love:

"The Harrowing" by chthonion

"What the Hell is Happening" by Leader_in_Red

"When Alliances Fell" also by Leader_In_Red

"What Mercy Means" by @hirazuki (Ao3 link)

"An Evil Cradling" by theeventualwinter

"On Elrond Peredhel" collection of fics by leodesic

"Reunions" collection by JazTheBard (especially parts 3 and 4)

"Feanorian Week 2023" (day 6 here) collection by @dreamingthroughthenoise. (Ao3 link)

the Maglor acting as Celeborn AU also by @dreamingthroughthenoise

"ave atque vale" by @dialux (Ao3 link)

"The Night the Wolves Were Silent" by Lingwiloke

"and all his towers cast down" by oswinry

this Finrod fic by @that-angry-noldo

"Who Killed King Finwe?" by Lingwiloke

this Finarfin and post re-embodiment Finrod fic by @actual-bill-potts

this Finarfin in Angband AU by @that-angry-noldo

and "Never Sure of Who I Am" by @erdariel