#eva green stories

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (3/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bed slave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline

Author's note: Short little chapter but at last, an update!

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< part 2 masterlist

By the time Aemond had made all his reports, listened to the yappings of all the council members and sat through hours of further strategy planning, he wanted to rip out each strand of his hair.

It was hard for him to focus already, the worries over his precious bed slave and her madness over their, over his, sons had all but consumed every part of his mind, and yet, odd stares from his mother and grand maester Orwyle made him all the more restless.

Finally, the council meeting was concluded and the Lords left the room. Aemond would watch in silence as Criston helped the struggling king to his feet and down the stairs.

Aegon had been burned and injured gravely during the battle at Rooks Rest over a year ago where Meleys had ingulfed him and his dragon in dragonfire, but he was growing more and more capable these days and managed to attend the council meetings from time to time.

Still, Aemond remained the prince regent, but would sit opposite of the king’s seat at the foot of the long wooden table whenever his brother was in attendance.

From there, he watches as neither his mother nor Orwyle made any attempts to move from their seats, just as he didn’t.

Sitting in tense silence for several moments, Aemond eventually fixates on the elder man to his right. Glaring at him, his voice is little more than a growl, he asks,

“Care to explain to me what is going on with my mistress?”

Orwyle takes a moment to answer, shifting nervously in his seat and glancing to the dowager queen sitting opposite of him before turning his attention back to the prince regent.

“Your mistress, my prince, would appear to suffer from some sort of birth induced mania. It happens from time to time, unfortunately.” He states before carefully adding. “Mothers of such circumstance… they should be separated from the child. They are unable to care for the babes and may harm them during manic episodes.”

Aemond’s face hardens, his jaw clenching. “She is perfectly capable to care for my sons. I have gone to meet her already. I do not believe for a moment she suffers from true madness.”

“She does.” Alicent speaks up. “She would chase anyone out of her room, preferably with the nearest sharp object in hand. Your whore is incapable of caring for your sons.”

“That is a lie!” Aemond snaps his head to her. “What would you even know of this? She and what I do with her is none of your concern, I have told you so a hundred times already.”

“I am your mother. Mind your tongue when talking to me.” The red-haired woman hisses before continuing. “I am also the dowager queen and queen mother. With the queen still occupied in her grief, the Red Keep is my responsibility in your absence. That makes your whore and her spawn my responsibility as well. I needed to deal with the drama she caused. Had she not locked herself away I can assure you, this matter would have long been settled already.”

“Settled?” Aemond scoffs. “And what would that have looked like? Taken my sons from her? And then what?”

“Most certainly. And she must receive treatment-“

“Treatment? What would your great treatment entail?”

“Treatment varies from individual to individual. It remains to be seen what methods work best on her. Is that not right, grand maester?” Alicent urges Orwyle to speak up.

“…yes. Yes, your grace. It is difficult to predict which treatments will work best on her.” The man nods softly.

Aemond was well aware of how maesters would attempt to cure madness. Their methods would be torturous. His own methods of bringing her into full submission when he first claimed her would seem tame in comparison. His stomach turns at the thought of what they would have done to her in his abscence had she not kept her door locked at all times.

“You will do no such thing.” Aemond growls. “No one but me touches her. No one but me will make any decision on any treatments. She is not mad. The babes are healthy. There is no need to intervene.”

“Now they are. But they weren’t always. Your children should be supervised by maesters not by some deranged lowborn.” Alicent retorts.

Aemond furrows his brows, looking at his mother in disbelief. His y/n hadn’t said anything of the sorts. “Now? Now? What is that supposed to mean?”

After another nod from the dowager queen, Orwyle explains, “It… appears we might have miscalculated the day of conception. The babes came early, it seems. Weak, very small, frail. It borders on a miracle the boys live, my prince.”

Aemond stares at him dumbfounded. He held his sons just a few hours earlier, they seemed well. Plumb, full of life. Not just that, he himself had been there when they conceived. He was sure his seed took the very first night that he dragged her to his bed near a year ago. He had watched her belly swell even before he brought her here to the Red Keep.

It made no sense the babes were born sickly when not a single issue had been encountered before. Not even when she was going about her duties of tending to him with little struggle. Well, as long as she could sit down, lay on her side and not have to bend over, that is.

The maesters voice brings him out of his thoughts. “It is best the babes be closely supervised by maesters and raised by experienced nursemaids and wetnurses. Your… mistress should not have them. Mad or not, she will not be able to provide your sons with the care they need to survive.”

Aemond had always been a stubborn man. Perhaps it was his thick head that made him refuse the maesters urging, or perhaps it was his trust is his little bed slave that did so. She was a pure hearted woman, her heart soft. She had learned her new place in life quickly, she had not once betrayed him or given him any reason to doubt her.

She had nothing to gain from lying to him but everything to lose.

She was so convinced of the maesters wanting to steal their children, it could not be a mistake. She would not beg him for help and forgo all formalities with him unless she was truly afraid.

Aemond’s thoughts and emotions were in turmoil now, struggling to discern the truth between y/n’s words, the words of his mother and the grand maester, and the facts he knew to be true.

Staring off at the empty king’s chair in the distance, his voice is little more than a murmur when he asks, “What do you even care for? She’s nothing but a whore in your eyes. You see my sons as bastards only. Why do you care for what happens to them?”

Aemond freezes at his mother’s following shameless reply. He can’t believe she would just state something like this as if it was nothing unusual. It would seem little more than an odd phrasing of words to some but with his suspicions in mind, it's all the confirmation he needs.

“She is a whore, yes. She has seduced you so she can live in luxury far above her station. You’re just a foolish young man with no control of his urges. But… the fact remains that you have no heir. With only a daughter and no sons, they could be of good use to you had you done your wife the courtesy of putting them into her belly instead.”

His gaze cold as ice, he stares at her, never once looking away as he growls. “So it’s true what y/n says? That you plan to steal my sons from her and give them to Floris?”

Alicent seems taken aback, her surprised expression shortly finding Orwyle’s startled one before quickly moving back to her son. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/n.” Aemond says firmly. “She says she has heard someone say it. That you tasked the maesters to take my sons from her and give them to Floris.”

Alicent remains quiet for a while before her own face hardens. Straightening her posture and keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her on the table, she begins to lecture her son.

“You have a lady wife, Aemond. A respectable, honorable lady wife of high birth. Princess Floris has given you a daughter already and served you faithfully.” She begins. “The only thing you still need is a legitimate son. With your wife’s recent stillbirth during your absence, it would be easy to arrange so. Give your whore’s sons to her. Or just one, even. You can pass him off as hers and have your-“

“ENOUGH!” Aemond roars, his fists slamming onto the table as he stands up, the chair loudly scraping across the floor. “I will not hear of this! How DARE you try and steal my sons from y/n!”

Alicent’s face remains resolute, her chin held up high in defiance, while Orwyle looks like he wants to vanish beneath the floor.

“I did what needed to be done. Stop coddling your whore, Aemond. Let her pay back for living on the crown’s cost and causing your lady wife distress. Let her produce the boys and you make them heirs, as the sons of you and Princess Floris.”

Mouth hanging open, Aemond can barely believe what his mother is saying. “If anyone has gone mad here, it is you, not her.” He says firmly. “I cannot believe you would betray me like this. Go against my orders, willing to harm my y/n.”

He glares down at his mother as he continues, “Floris will not have my sons. She does NOT deserve them. She has failed me. Failed as my wife, failed as a woman. My mistress has done within a year what that bitch of a wife could not manage in five. Y/n will keep my sons and all other children I will put into her belly and all of them will be made my heirs. Not as Floris’s children, but as y/n’s. I will legitimize them at once and have them declared as my heirs.”

“Have you lost your mind?!” Alicent is the one yelling now. “You cannot do that! Think of the shame that it would bring to your wife! Of how it will disrupt our ally with the Baratheon’s!”

“She is the one that brings shame to me!” Aemond shouts back, his face filled with pure rage and hatred. “It is her failing that has made me the laughingstock across the realm! Made me the maimed prince whose cock does not work! Now they will no longer laugh, now that I have my sons! Lord Borros praised me her fertility but delivered a woman unable to carry a child properly. It is his own doing our alliance has faltered. He will not speak against my y/n or our sons. He will accept them as my heirs. He will remain loyal to our side or I will personally fly south and turn Storm’s End into a second Harrenhal!”

With that, Aemond throws the nearest cups and parchments off the table before turning on his heel to make his way out the door, curses at his mother and wife flowing out his mouth as he does so.

In his rage, Aemond makes his way to the training yard, the urge to stab one of the dummies repeatedly or challenge one of the poor squires to a duel overwhelming him.

< part 2 masterlist

[lilyflowerhere]

Teachers, am I right?

[neverspoetic]

I'm literally a teacher's pet. this is beyond my strength

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Vanessa ives - where we meet at a ball and she ask us to dance, she never got our name and follows us home to find out we are the daughter of Evelyn Poole. So we start seeing Vanessa behind our mothers back and maybe if you could add some smut between us and vanessa?

Forbidden Love- Part 1- Vanessa Ives

A/N: Hey @wandamaximoff2823 thank you for your request, I'm so sorry for the long wait, I've been really struggling to get back into writing but better as never I suppose 😅, anyway I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait.

Warning(s): Scars, smut, mentions of neglect/abuse.

I was never one to be interested in the intricacies of the aristocratic ways of the upper class but mother had asked me to be here and what ever mother asked you to do was never a simple request but a very firm order.

I entered the lavish estate of a Mr Dorian Grey, unescorted of course, how scandalous. A butler or perhaps he was a servant came and took my cloak and directed to me where all the fuss and chatter was coming from, so I followed the sound of champagne induced laughter and discussion of who owned the most properties in the countries, which took me to a grand ballroom which was filled to the brim of upper class Londoners, an orchestra and the walls were completely lined with portraits, show off.

I weaved my way through the large doorway that lead into the ballroom a feat which would have been easier if everyone was deciding to take up the space. I'd originally dressed to blend in and not draw in to much unwanted attention, who would have thought that wearing dress of gold and white (the opposite of what my mother would have ever approved of) would have caught so many stares and glances.

A server came to me with a tray of champagne and though I was usually partial to a class or two I knew I had to keep my mind as agile as possible for the task my mother had sent me to do. I was told to not get to close to Miss Ives but just enough to use some effective Nightwalker magic on her mind, this should have been Hecate's job not mine but apparently according to mother "Hecate had her own tasks" I would have used the chores or enslavement but I'd rather not have a gash from the tip of my cheek to my chin so I kept my mouth shut.

For a moment as I was thinking a man approached me and I could already smell the alcohol from a mile, this would be wonderful not, I snarled for a moment at the thought but as the man was now in reach of me I returned my face to its natural composure.

"What's a charming dove like you doing all alone and without a chaperone?" This man, who looked old enough to be a someone who should start writing their will, asked me. Who looked like the usual upper class prick, my least favourite kind of mortal irritation.

"That is none of your concern sir, now if you wouldn't mind walking off to go and compare your assets, though I'm sure yours are lacking by the looks of things, with the other gentlemen I'd be most thankful." I said the man with my best 'I'm super important' voice but when the man didn't leave I know that my word choice may have been a little too much.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way," The man snarled at me and was quick to grab my upper arm harshly and with so many people in the room it would be easy to not notice or ignore what he was doing. "Now judging by your dress I'd say your still a maid, so why don't you be a good little heiress and have a drink with me on the balcony," Damn this dress I just wanted to wear something that was the opposite of the scars on back and now I was being mistaken for a maid because of it, just fabulous.

As more time passed and I hadn't responded, the man's grip on my upper arm was becoming painfully tight and even for someone like me, I couldn't hold back a wince.

"Ah cousin," I heard a feminine voice call out and upon hearing the voice my head turned abruptly to the direction of the voice and then I saw her. She had raven black hair, sky blue eyes and pale ivory skin and was wearing the most fabulous black and red dress I'd ever seen and she was walking over to me. Well that's half a job done and half a job failed.

Once she stood by my side she began to speak again, "Thank you for keeping my cousin company Sir," She spoke to the man who still had his hand on my upper arm, "But now that I am here I believe she is no longer in need of your company," Her voice which originally was soft and compliant of any woman in this room and now become more natural almost steely.

I could feel the man's grip tighten and I knew who was about to say something but for whatever reason after he made eye contact with my ravenette saviour he let go of my arm completely and walked off without another word. My first reaction was to rub at my arm, even if I knew it would heal within a minute or two.

"I Apologise for the cousin lie but I can tell when a woman is uncomfortable." She spoke to me with a kindness I knew would be there if she knew who I actually was. "My name is Miss Ives," She spoke again with a slight bit more formality, extending out a hand for me to shake and suddenly I was grateful to the creme gloves I was wearing because if I weren't she'd probably be able to sense exactly what I was.

"No apologies needed, It's a pleasure to finally meet you Miss Ives." I spoke with the same slight formality as she but then I soon thought of the implications of my words and I began to internally kick myself for making such a slip up, my mother was going to kill me if I messed this up.

"To finally meet me?" She looked at my with a smile and odd confusement in her expression. "Why have we been intending to meet one another before today?" She asked me curiously with a slight chuckle to her voice which was somewhere between being eerie and joyful.

"Not at all, I simply meant that," I paused for a moment to think of a better excuse for my slip up, "I've heard your name on people's lips before, it's nice to put a face to the name, Miss Ives." I said coming up with something that I thought was a decent enough excuse that would hopefully appease her curiosity.

"Oh, I didn't know I was a topic of gossip," She spoke again and though she was trying to feign ignorance I could tell she had noticed my slip up by the way her eyes looked at me and how her pupils darkened with triumph at her victory.

"Well anyway would you care for a dance?" She asked me her tone lighter with an undertone of something that was perhaps mischief, as she gave a slightly bow and extended out hand, facing upwards, to me.

"Well people do like to talk," I was very quickly scanning the ballroom for a quick escaped to the exit and when I found it I took my chances, "I must be going Miss Ives, good evening." I said the formal goodbye and quickly left through the small gap that had been left to the exit and retrieved my own cloak and quickly began to set off back up to the manor we were staying in that was slight ways away.

As I walked under the nights dark sky at a brisk pace, I thought of how I knew my mother would be anything but pleased at what she would see as a display of my incompetence at not completely her 'simple' task but I also thought about how what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, a policy I very much enjoyed using with my mother. Though if she were to ever find out I knew I'd probably be crucified upside down with no last words being allowed.

Not long later I made up back to our home, a manor that was slightly outside of central London. I walked up the stone steps that led to the large front doors which i opened with a heavy gust of wind which came when I turned my wrist in just the right way and I walked inside oblivious to anything else as I took my cloak off and threw it somewhere I didn't care to check.

As I walked further into the foyer at the front of the manner, I started ragging the gloves of my arms and unpinning the mass of my that sat atop my head. It felt euphoric when my hair cascaded down my back because finally all the weight was off the crown of my head and sighed out in a pleased way not caring for all the bobby pins that were fall the marble floor and making a clattering sound.

For a moment all I thought I could hear was the clattering of my bobby pins on the floor, which was a lovely relief because it meant that my mother possibly my sisters weren't in the manor or they were at least asleep, either way I was happy to not be bothered by any of them.

As I just about started to walk up the overly elaborate staircase upstairs, I heard a bang and then a mumble and quickly whipped my body around to the direction of the sound which just happened to be the front doors and then I saw her, Vanessa, well this is just fabulous.

"Miss Ives, what on earth are you doing here?" I asked feigning confusion and innocence as I walked down the few steps I had just walked up. I then walked over to where Vanessa was, in the middle of the foyer, taking in her surroundings of the dark and quietly frankly disturbing manor.

"You never told me your name," She began to say, the meaning behind her voice was obviously detached from what she was saying to me as she was to focused on surveying her new surroundings. "What possible reason do you have for being here?" She asked me finally making eye contact and her steely gaze was hardened and distrusting.

She must be able to feel the aura of the manor, Hell she probably had a pretty good idea about who lived here which meant she probably knew what I was. "Miss Ives I know how it may look but..." I began to say to Vanessa before I heard the creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs and as the noise grew closer the sound of footsteps accompanied it.

A horrible sense of dread filled my chest because I knew that it was just the wind or if it was a person, as I suspected it was, it wasn't one of my sisters, it was my mother. I didn't have much time to think and I'm not sure what compelled me to do it but I quickly faced Vanessa agin and twisted my wrist in her direction and a gust of with pushed her against one of the far walls and quickly I consumed her in enough mist to make her invisible.

Just as I turned back around to face the staircase but before I was able to regain my composure, my mother was at the top of the staircase in one of her robes and her hair pinned. "Oh mother, hello," I spoke trying calm my voice down as to not give anything away.

"Y/N you've returned, I assume the task I sent you on was a success then." She phrased it in a way that anyone would think it was meant as a question but I knew she didn't mean it as one, she never did.

"Yes mother," I spoke with my head bowed, lying through the skin of my teeth, praying she wouldn't notice my lie. "Lucifer's bride had a bit of a manic episode at the party and fainted," I explained to my mother whilst trying to come up with a believable lie, we were expected to refer to Vanessa as Lucifer's bride, the thought always made my skin crawl but I'd never let it show.

"Good, I'm pleased to hear," I eternally sighed of relief when my mother spoke like she had know idea that I had lied to her and I was grateful for it. "Well I shall retire for night now," She then finished saying as she walked back the way she came and the sound of her footsteps soon disappeared completely.

Once my mother was gone I couldn't even give myself a moment to enjoy my victory as I know Vanessa was still stuck the wall and covered in mist. I quickly ran other to where I cast her off and released from my nightwalker magic, to which she fell from the wall gasping for breath.

"Miss Ives," I quickly got down on the floor as she was still gasping, "Miss Ives you must leave, if my mother or sisters find you here you will never leave," I tried to encourage her off the floor and I eventually got her to her feet but she wasn't leaving. "Listen, I understand your in shock and still recovering but you have to leave right now," I kept urgently encouraging her to leave but it wasn't quite working. "Vanessa!" I shouted her name and this finally snapped her out of wherever she'd been in her head, she made eye contact with me once before running out of the manner and disappearing and all I could do was finally sigh in relief. What a night. __________________________________ So I've had to split this request into two parts because it was getting a little long. Anyway, thank you all for reading, I hope you all enjoyed and until next time fellow readers.

Tag List @ateliefloresdaprimavera @cissyenthusiast010155 @multifandomfix @multimilfs

[gothic-allegory]

Eva, my Eva.

Penny Dreadful

[inevitablemoment]

Canonverse!Post-Ghostbusters II!Egon and Cathleen Lives!Afterlife era!Cathleen are so "My Green Light"-coded.

@ariel-seagull-wings You need to listen to this song and you will know what I mean.

[gina-silvers]

Eva Green in Based on a True Story

[blogdemocratesjr]

Based on a True Story by Roman Polanski (2017)

[hostess-of-horror]

It's actually really hard to find a whole lot of pictures and gifs of a certain actress as reference for an irredeemable and disgusting villain when the actress in question is so fucking gorgeous in reality.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother of the Realm | (Daemon x f!noble!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: Left behind after the blacks take King's Landing, Aemond’s Lady-Wife finds herself striking a certain arrangement with the rogue prince to guarantee her and her children's safety, though strange occurrences should change the conditions of this arrangement drastically.

Warnings: dark!themes, dubcon/coercion, warcrimes, dark!daemon, age gap, time typical gender roles, lactation kink, breeding kink, p in v, throat fuck, canon typical behaviour, slight degradation, mentions of noncon/forced pr0stitution, mentions of violence, mention of arranged marriage

Non-Canon Storyline: : two years into the civil war, reader (young Lady of house Celtigar) married to Aemond, the war drags on for longer than in canon

Disclaimer: This Fic is written on the basis that most of what mushroom says is true! The story came to me in a fever dream and I felt like typing it out lol. This storyline is mixed of book  / hearsay / imagination; I tried to write it all out in a way that makes sense and is easy to follow.

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

my masterlist series moodboard series masterlist

It's the dance of the dragons, the war has been going on for two years and has escalated to new dimensions of destruction and violence, with the blacks now having invaded and taken over Kings Landing and the Red Keep where you, the lady wife of Aemond Targaryen, live as well.

Married a year before the dance of dragons began, you have given him two sons already; a young boy of 26 months old, Rhaegar, and a babe of 11 months, Baelor, and are with your third; four months along, the maester’s presume.

Most green supporters were now locked in cells while you and your children were imprisoned in your chambers; a privilege you received as you are the only daughter of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a loyal supporter of the blacks.

Who knows, had your father not been swayed by the sweet words and reassurances of queen Alicent, hadn’t fallen trap into accepting the marriage proposal to Aemond in an effort of hers to sway your house’s loyalty in favour of her side, perhaps then you would now be standing on the other side of this door as a free woman. 

Instead, your own husband had kept you surveilled at all times ever since the war began, in fear you would run away and join the blacks, and had forbidden you from leaving the Red Keep ever since his return from Storm’s End where he had gone to secure a betrothal for his younger brother Daeron to one of the Baratheon girls; an endavour that would end with the death of Lucerys Velaryon and jump-start the most brutal civil war seen to date.

Followed by at least one kings guard as soon as you stepped out of your chambers, the presence of your husband and the freedom to roam the gardens and halls had made it easy to forget your new house rules on most days.

With the confinement you had found yourself in ever since the war began you had turned all your attention and efforts into becoming the best and most loving mother you could be. A desire perhaps fueled by the clear preference of your own mother towards your brothers.

You wanted to be better than that. You studied books and listened to old wives' tales ever since you had flowered, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you would be wed off to fulfil your duty as a proper lady-wife.

And fulfil your duty you would. Unlike most other nobles you had taken to not employing a wet nurse or nursemaids at all.

Being made prisoner in your own home freed up all your time to be able to do so. Your sons would sleep in your chambers and be on your lap all day long. Both had only ever drank your milk, knowing no other chest but their mother’s.

And yet, what had once been a cage with thin, golden bars and a nice view, had now turned into one of thick stone walls, the confinement of your chambers only being eased by the presence of your two young children.

The days were long alone, yet more peaceful for you than you had expected them to be. Even if your father had not come to see you once, you did speak to your trusted servants, listening to the tales they would tell you about just what was going on outside the very wooden door you would stare at daily. 

And by the sevens, was it horrifying.

Rhaenyra, now dubbed ‘the cruel’ and ‘Maegor with teats’, had ordered the forceful taking of the two queen's Alicent and Helaena to a pleasure house, their services to be sold to whoever could afford it; at least those are the rumours that have been spread around the castle grounds.

Any woman would think this fate horrifying but even more so you: as wife of the prince regent at the court of the usurper you certainly were an easy target for the mad queen’s wrath. Worry of being made to share the same fate consumed you more with each day; a fear that would eventually make you request an audience with Rhaenyra.

Instead of her, you now find yourself with her husband the rogue prince – or now, the king consort – Daemon standing in front of you.

“I requested to speak to Rhaenyra.”

“Yes. And now you’ve got me. Speak before I change my mind.”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering how to ask the question. "Is it true what they claim? About Alicent and Helaena, the pleasure house?"

"Oh it is true," Daemon said, walking slowly towards you as he spoke, his eyes roaming you from your head to your feet. He stopped a few feet before you and looked into your eyes, the smell of sweat and ash surrounding the dragon rider. 

"Alicent is not a hostage nor a political ploy - she is a traitor, guilty of high treason, and will be treated as such. The usurper queen may say otherwise but we all know the truth."

“What about Helaena?” You say, almost pleading, Alicent and you had clashed often over the past two years, your differences in mothering and you not being devout to the faith being a frequent cause of argument; but Helaena – oh, sweet Helaena – is a different story.

Another victim of powerful scheming. You had to watch her suffer tremendously from the effects of blood & cheese, something that too shook you to the core. The son of your dear friend, slain so horrendously right in front of his mother and siblings. 

"She had no choice in any of it, she is innocent."

"Helaena," Daemon said, scoffing at the mention of her name. Of all the greens, Helaena was the only one that he didn't really hate. "She may be innocent, but she knows what kind of people her mother and brother are and she remains loyal to them. What does that say of her?"

"Helaena never had a choice, neither did I. We are not like your wife Daemon; we did not have the blessing of having a king as our father that would let us do however we pleased. We were all forced into this." You protest, frustration now evident in your voice. "You have already killed her son. Beheaded him infront of her own eyes. Is that not enough?"

“We did not kill him; we simply avenged our own.” Daemon's scowl deepened as you spoke, though he had to admit you were right, at least somewhat. "Fine. It seems you are the only one who wants to plead for her safety. I will speak to the rightful queen, perhaps she won't be entirely opposed to your request of freeing Helaena.."

Daemon paused for a moment, gaze lowering to your bump, before speaking again. "Tell me. Who is the father of the child you are carrying?"

You look down your small bump at his words, laying a hand on it reflexively. "My husband, Aemond, of course. Why?"

Daemon took note of your movements as your hand went to your belly, a flicker of hatred in his eyes when you said Aemond's name. "Just making an observation. How old are you now? 20? And already three kids at your heels…”

"I will turn 19 soon. Yes, I’m carrying my third child. What of it?" you tilt your head slightly, taken aback by his change of topic and his increasingly intrusive questions.

"Three children, at nineteen." Daemon seemed almost impressed. He looked at your belly again.

"I don't know of what concern my husband and I's private matters are." Your voice betrays you, sounding way more hostile as you intended it to.

Daemon looked at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. He was eyeing your body up and down, and his silence made you feel his gaze prickling your skin. "Does your husband like seeing you pregnant?"

You stare at him silently, mouth agape at the shock of such an intimate question. "Yes..." You admit reluctantly.

A smirk broke through Daemon's frown, as a low chuckle came from his lips, eyes still lingering on your stomach. "He keeps you as his broodmare. You're clearly a fine one as well; babes not even out of the cradle before you’re with child again. I don't blame him."

"He is my husband. It's his right to have children with his wife." You say defensively; repeating the words you have been taught all your life.

"It is indeed." Daemon said, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent. This close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes. "His right, and your duty. You must be a good wife to please him so thoroughly."

You stare at him silently again, before shrugging timidly. "He doesn't complain." You don't want to risk saying too much, so you continue with the question you had been planning to ask all this while.

"Rhaenyra... What is she planning to do with me? With my children? I heard she has rewards out for Maelor…"

"She has no intention of killing you or your children. Though you may still be stripped of your title as princess." Daemon paused a moment before continuing. "As for Maelor... There is a bounty on his head, yes. He is the only remaining son of the usurper. Since he is so young she will let him live; but only under her influence." 

He raises his hand to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. "She contemplated selling you to the pleasure house as well, you know? But since you're gravid and played no instrumental part in their schemes, I could persuade her not to do so."

You look at him wide-eyed, feeling a pit form in your stomach, as if your worst fears had been confirmed. "What- a-are you jesting?"

Daemon took note of your reaction. He was still close, he could see the outline of a dimple in your cheek and smell the sweet scent of your milk surrounding you; a smell still clinging to your body as you had just finished feeding your youngest before he entered the room. 

"Indeed. Rhaenyra is not like other women. Much less merciful and the men that surround her even less so." He said, still smirking. His hand had found its way to your waist now, his fingers running along your side. "But a good word from me and I could persuade her not to do so. You should thank me."

You stare at him, your hand moving to hold onto his arm, ready to push him away. You study his face, recognising an unsettling darkness in them. "You wouldn’t do this just because. What is it you want from me?"

"Hmm..." Daemon took another deep breath, your scent was really strong with this one. Different notes were in your scent as well. He wondered if those were remnant of your perfume you had applied in the morning or perhaps an oil youve applied to your hair.

He let out a sigh as he tried to keep it from affecting him. He lowered his head towards yours and spoke slowly, every word a whisper. "No, you're right. I wouldn't do it just because. But for you, I could make some exceptions. You've always had my attention, you know that? The pretty little thing that you are, wed to my maimed nephew."

"What are you saying?" You try to sound brave but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Daemon chuckled as he noticed your nervousness. He could tell from your shaking body that you were afraid. He put a hand under your chin, moving your head to look into his eyes. He spoke slowly and quietly.

"Let me have you and I shall guarantee your and your children's safety."

You stare at him bewildered, stunned silent for several long moments. "Are you mad? I will not betray my husband!"

Daemon chuckled, amused by your naivety and innocence. "Oh my sweet lady... Do you have any idea what you're in now? You're in war, taken hostage by your enemy. Your husband will be happy so long you don't die. I cannot sire a babe on you anyway, so there is nothing to worry about." Daemon smirked, looking at your stomach, and your body, that sweet aroma that surrounded you, drawing him closer and closer.

"Give yourself to me and I shall guarantee yours and your children’s wellbeing.” He doubles down.

You stare at him, trembling slightly in fear and anger, your voice growing quieter the more you struggle to contain your emotions. "You can't be serious. If... If my husband won't have my head for this, then your wife will."

He raised an eyebrow as you spoke, a smirk gracing his face. He was still holding onto you, close enough to kiss you if he wanted to. His gaze was fixed on your lips as well, and your scent was just so... Irresistible to him. 

"Rhaenyra won't care. In our marriage we are free to seek pleasure wherever we like as long as our loyalties don’t falter. The things I can do to you, you will enjoy them alright..." His voice became low and quiet again as he spoke the last words, the hand that previously rested on your waist now slithering around your back and ascending lower and lower with each passing moment.

You stare at him in disbelief, fear and anger boiling inside you. Just when you want to protest yet again, the loud sounds of something collapsing startle you, your head snapping to look around Daemon's wide frame with urgency.

Your eyes settle onto Rhaegar. The wooden tower he was building had collapsed, an inconvenience the toddler quickly moves on from by starting to build it anew. Baelor sits not far from him, abandoning his own toy to crawl over and investigate his brothers doings.

The anger you had been feeling subsides immediately, replaced by worry and an urge to cry as you worry for whatever their fate will be as this war continues.

You don't want this.

You do not want to let him touch you, but it might be the only way to protect your children from harm, especially considering how cruel rhaenyra has proven herself to be. Your stare is focused on your oldest still, watching as his tiny hands wrap around each block and meticulously place one onto the other.

So innocent, so fragile.

"What about them?" Your voice as soft as a whisper.

Daemon didn't take his eyes away from yours. His gaze burning into you as he studies every expression you make. Your scent, your warmth, almost driving him crazy. "They will be taken care of. I told you I wouldn't let them come to harm." He said as he ran a hand through your hair, the curls of your hair wrapping around his fingers. "Don't worry, sweet girl, all will be well. If you agree to my terms, that is."

He can watch your jaw clenching and eyes gloss over before hearing the ever so soft word he has been waiting for leaving your lips. "Fine."

Servants had been sent by Daemon to take your children to bathe them and play with them. You did not miss the sympathetic look they gave you. Perhaps being able to tell what will happen to you purely based on his instructions to not return until he tells them to. 

You’re standing at a window looking out at the city taking note of the sun lowering on the horizon, dressed in nothing but a simple silk robe, when the door opens and Daemon walks in without knocking.

He steps inside, wearing the same clothes from before; sword and dagger still at his side. He comes closer and takes in your appearance, pleased at the sight. He approaches you with a calm step until your bodies are mere inches apart, bringing his hand up to caress your arm.

"You’re trembling," Daemon spoke, his voice smooth and dark. His eyes were examining you again, taking in your appearance. You had changed from the last time he saw you, you looked more womanly now.

A mother to two already, with a third growing inside, the outline of your small bump visible through the loose fabric. His movements were precise and confident. You could tell he was trying hard to contain himself.

For now.

Your gaze follows the movements of his hand as it runs up and down your arm. You can feel his large calloused hand and cold skin through the thin fabric of your robe. It’s a stark contrast to your soft and warm skin, unmarked and unblemished from living sheltered all your life.

In a small voice, barely more than a whisper, you ask, “Can we just get this over with?”

Daemon nods, taking note of your trembling once more before he turns and walks over to a nearby table, taking off his sword and dagger and placing them onto it. His head tilted as he looked at you from where he is standing.

"You were quick to give into me so easily. Were you that desperate? Does your husband not satisfy you?" He said with a smirk, beginning to undo his tunic.

You tighten your jaw, upset at his words that, to you, sound accusatory of promiscuity - a sin for a highborn lady. A married one especially.

“Desperate to keep my children safe, yes. My husband always kept me well satisfied.”

"Hmm..." Daemon huffed. His body language shifted a little. He seemed more agitated and tense, not liking that you brought up Aemond's name, much less so that you praised him. He walked back towards you now, closing the distance slowly and taking a good look at you.

His eyes kept darting to your stomach as you spoke of your husband. With every movement you make you entice him even more. “I don't know what he does to you to satisfy you, but I assure you I can do it better."

You roll your eyes at his words; he had always been cocky.

"He and I are very compatible in that regard. Now, can you just do what you need to do? I'd prefer to get this over with soon." It was the truth. Aemond’s and your intimate life was very well. Three children in three years of marriage served as proof of that.

Daemon's blood was running hot at this point.

"Compatibilities. I see..." Daemon said, his words filled with mockery. "Well, there's nothing I'd prefer more right now than to be inside of you, so I guess we're compatible as well." He approaches you quickly, now dressed in nothing but his breeches, eagerly tugging at the belt holding your robe closed, watching as it falls open and reveals your bare body underneath.

He took a sharp breath as he took in your figure, almost letting out a moan of desire at the sight of your body, his gaze roaming your body eagerly.

“Gods, you’re stunning.” His gaze settles on your breasts, swollen from all the milk inside them. “I heard you don’t employ a wet nurse. Why is that?”

You stare ahead blankly, trying not to make any sound or expression when you can feel his hand rest on the curve of your waist. “I don’t believe its good for the mother-child bond. That mothers should nurse their own children, or they will bond with the wet nurse instead.”

Daemon smirks at your response, thumb caressing over your delicate skin as he now looks at your face. “Is that so? Does your husband enjoy watching you breastfeed?” He asks with a low chuckle before pulling you in, his hardened length in his pants now pressing against your belly as He holds you close with both arms wrapped around your waist. “Or does he enjoy tasting your milk himself? Do not lie to me, woman. You won’t like the consequences if you do.”

Your hands rest on his chest, you’re fighting the urge to push him away with every fiber of your being, your head hanging low as you do not dare to look at him directly. You take note of his skin; scars and healed burns covering his muscular form. The body of a battle-hardened warrior.

Reluctantly you admit, “Both…”.

“Oh… you’re even more of a little whore than I thought, aren’t you?” he whispers into your ear. “What an eager to serve little thing you are. You’ll make a good little toy for me after all.” One arm wrapped still around your waist the other moves to your front, his large hand stroking over that small bump of yours.

“Almost makes me sad you’re with child already. I’d have loved to pound my own into you.”

Your head snaps up at him now, huffing in offense you exclaim, “Daemon!”

He simply smirks, amused by your objection. Leaning in close he whispers into your ear, his hot breath burning on your skin. “You may be carrying my nephew’s child now but there is always a next time. A few more months and I could still make you mine.”

He turns around with you in his arms, leading you backwards towards the bed until you feel the mattress on the back of your legs. A small push of his makes you sit down on it. Knowing your duty, you take it upon yourself to scoot fully onto the mattress.

He watches with a smile on his lips as you do so, happy with your compliance before reaching down and spreading your legs open for him to look after he noticed you keeping them shut.

He takes a good look at the treasure between them, groaning out when his manhood twitches at the sight of it. He stands up straight again, taking off the breeches that held him contained until now as his intense stare moves up your body once more.

You feel so vulnerable and exposed for him, completely bare and spread wide open for him to examine as the intensity of his gaze only intensifies. He does not look like a man now. With his pupils blown wide he resembles more a predator ready to pounce its prey than anything else.

His gaze fixed on your cunt, as if in a daze, he reaches out tentatively, his rough fingertips grazing along the sensitive flesh for painfully long moments.

Tracing along the form of your fleshy lips again and again, your breathing is but nervous gasping as one shiver after the other runs over your skin.

Suddenly the sensation fades as he climbs between your legs, one hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for him as he starts pushing himself into you without any more preparation, blissfully surprised to find your cunt wet and welcoming for him.

He can’t hold back a low groan as he pushes himself all the way into you, leaning forward and lying fully on top of you. His face is mere inches from yours as he slowly starts to move his hips, deeply penetrating you at a slow pace while he studies your every expression.

Grunting, your hands move to hold onto his sides as his knees dip into the mattress on either side of you. You clench your jaw tightly, trying to stop any sounds from escaping your lips while you struggle to accommodate him.

Aemond was more than enough to satisfy you, but Daemon was a whole lot more man than him – in all regards.

He knows this, too. Its easy for him to tell by the way your nails dig into his skin as you struggle to get used to him.

“How come you’re so eager, sweet thing? Do you enjoy a man taking charge of you?” A wicked grin on his face his movements become more powerful, your body rocking back and forth with the force of it.

You want to say no, to deny every second of it and not give him the satisfaction of watching you enjoy his touch, but when he starts to hit an all too familiar spot inside of you, you crumble immediately. Not being able to hold back your moans anymore you can barely manage to answer him with a weak “…yes”.

“No wonder my nephew wouldn’t stop breeding you. You’re the perfect little plaything.” He pushes his body into yours, pushing you into the mattress while he whispers into your ear. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I will violate you properly and make sure you enjoy every second of it.”

With that, his thrusts quickly grow rougher, starting to pound you with such force the entire bed rocks with it, all while watching every expression on your face.

His breathing heavy and rasp he soon shifts his attention down to your breasts, that are bobbing up and down with each forceful clashing of his hips into your. He tried to control himself, he really did, but he just cant anymore.

A hand cupping your breast he leans in, taking the sensitive nub on it between his lips. Just a few soft movements of his tongue over it and he can already taste it. Feeling the warm and sweet liquid dripple onto his tongue makes him humm contently as he starts indulging himself in the sweetness of you. His hips grind into you deeply but at much more humane pace than before.

Your eyes shut in pleasure, your own hands moving by themselves as they embrace him, moving into his hair and caressing his back. This is what Aemond liked, your dear husband.

Oh, if you would ever see him again…

Daemon is surprised, you embracing him was the last thing he expected, even less so you pulling him in more, but he loved every second of it.

He would swear he is in heaven. The warm embrace of his cock while the sweetness of your milk covers his tongue driving him crazy. It could have been hours of him doing this or mere seconds, all he knows is he finds himself spilling his seed into you way sooner than he wanted to, his relentless thrusting an expression of his frustration as his loud moans fill the room, shameless and utterly unafraid of how much the guards outside your door will hear of this.

His slow and deep grinding into your cunt continues as he stays suckling on your breasts, his spend soon clinging to both of your hips and pulling long white strings whenever he pulls away only to push back in with even more force. His antics only cease when he is sure he has drank all of what you can give, both your breasts feeling comfortably light while a throbbing sensation in your cunt would stay with you until the next day, you're sure.

He collapses onto you, still deeply buried inside, squishing your breasts under his weight while his heavy breaths right in your ear send shivers down your spine. Your arms travel by themselves again, wrapping around him and holding him close. Just how Aemond has always demanded you hold him.

“You’re a very good fuck… really good.” Daemon growls right into your ear.

A few moments later, he rolls off of you onto his back, laying next to you and catching his breath while studying your side profile.

This quiet moment gives you the first chance to gain back your senses, a wave of guilt washing over you as the sensation of another mans spend spilling out of you and running down your skin onto the mattress makes you realise the severity of what had just happened. Eyes fluttering, trying to ignore the burning sensation in them, you say, “I think… I think you should leave now.”

Had you have looked at him, you would have noticed his smiling face turn to stone in an instant.

This was the worst thing you could have said.

To command the dragon to leave your bed. He could not leave that be.

“Stay quiet. You have no say in this.” His voice is stern now and he rolls onto his side, leaning over your body and staring daggers into your skull, his hand grabbing your chin harshly and making you look at him. “If I want to abuse your pretty little cunt all night I will do so. And you will take it.”

“Don’t... don’t you have somewhere to be?” Your voice is shaky, your fear heightened by the anger you can see burn in his eyes. A desperate attempt of yours to sound considerate for his valuable time is only pouring more oil into the fire.

“Don’t try to tell me what to do. I have all the time in the world to play with you.” His fingers twitch slightly, as if holding back the urge to choke you. “Stop acting like a baby. You know the way of our world. You know when a woman is better off just taking a cock and shutting up.”

“Damn it, I need a break.” He sighs, it sounds almost like a growl as he tries to control his anger. He lets go of you, shoving you away slightly, as he gets up of the bed and takes a few deep breaths. “You got me all riled up, whore.”

You sit up in the bed, hugging your legs as you look at him. His large frame, the burn scars all over his back, his temper flaring and the sheer power he holds over your fate make you fear for the consequences.

You didn’t mean to upset his highness.

“Don’t call me a whore…” It slips out quietly under your breath, yet he hears it anyway. You weren’t used to such language. Despite his acts, Aemond would never say a foul word to you. 

Oh, Aemond…

“Shut up, whore!” Daemons raised voice take you out of your thoughts. He barks, closing in on you rapidly and pulling your head back with a tight grip on your hair. “Would I send you to the pleasure house being called a whore would be the least of your problems! Show me some gratitude!”

Daemon‘s anger takes over, mixed with his still pressing need in his cock, he drags you off the bed and pushes you to your knees in front of it, the bedframe pressing into your back uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I was too nice to you.” He growls, hand still in your hair as he makes you look up at him, ignoring all your pleas and apologies.

“Let me show you your new place in life. Open wide.” He commands, his other hand having a firm grasp on his cock as he traces the form of your lips with it.

For the first time ever since his first visiy earlier today, genuine fear overcomes you. Not daring to oppose him, you open your mouth as commanded, gagging immediately as he shoves himself into your mouth.

Aemond enjoyed the mouth pleasures as well yet had been far gentler than he was. Your hands move to Daemons thighs on their own, trying to push him back just a little, but when his second hand too moves to your head and holds it in place, all hope for ease is lost.

Tears start burning in your eyes in an instant once the thick head of his cock hits the back of your mouth, even more so when you can feel it push in deeper, forcefully flattening your tongue underneath as he made his way into your throat.

The room fills with his sounds of pleasure, guttural moans and growls, your desperate gagging and struggle drowned out by the volume of his.

The bed behind you and his hands in your hair make any escape impossible and you thank the gods when after what feels like an eternity he finally pulls out of your throat, a string of saliva connecting him to you as you gasp desperately for air.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his voice is deep and raw with lust, “That’s a good girl, finally.”

The praise does little to make any of it easier as he thrust himself back into your mouth and down your throat before you even had a chance to wipe your now freely flowing tears.

Daemon soon loses himself in his depravities, the fleshy pouch on his stones slapping harshly against your chin with each thrust. Your face a mess of tears and spit you’re unable to do much more than dig your nails into his thighs and take all he wants to give.

By the time he shoves himself all the way down your throat, his hips flush with your face as he tightly holds your head in place and spills what else he had left in him into you, you’ve near lost all grasp on reality.

Your back and knees aching near as much as your jaw, you can finally breathe in relief once he separates himself from you once and for all, leaving you collapsing forward with heavy breaths as he stumbles backwards a few steps, groaning in satisfaction as he studies your pitiful state.

“This is where you belong from now on,” he says after a while, “On your knees for me, whenever I want. Do you understand this now, whore?”

On your hands and knees, still breathing heavily and coughing occasionally, you take a few moments to find your voice again. Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, “…yes.”

“That is no way to talk to your king,” he objects, “Speak properly, whore. You’re a princess, you know how to.”

Defeated, you make no more attempts to be willful. Looking up at him, you answer, “I understand now, my king.”

A wicked smile on his face he approaches you, petting your head a few times. “That’s a good princess. Now clean yourself up. You would not want your spawn to see you like this.”

Leisurely walking back to where his clothes lay discarded, he starts dressing himself as if this all had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Adding “I will be back for more once I feel like it.”, he grabs his swords and disappears out of the door just as swiftly as when he had arrived, shutting it with a loud thud.

You were still on the floor, your back now resting against the bed as you spread out your aching legs in front of you, hoping for relief in this much more comfortable position.

A thousand thoughts run through your head yet not a single one stays long enough to grasp.

With no idea just how much time has passed it is the sound of commotion in the halls outside tour door that draws you out of your blank stare. It was late in the day now and the sky barely lit. It was suppertime for most, and undoubtedly, the maids would soon return with your sons and serve your own meals.

You had hardly managed to throw your nightrobe back on, wipe away the remnants of him with the nearest piece of cloth and open the windows, hoping to ease the smell of sex in the air, before the knocks echo through the room.

Just as predicted, here were your sons, in the same carefree mood they always were. Happy to see their mother and now ready for a meal. Supper was served not long after.

While you had received only stew and bread before, the table was now set with the first mouth-watering meal ever since you’ve been made prisoner. While you sit there, little Baelor on your lap and Rhaegar on a high chair next to you, you watch them intently.

The way each of them indulges in their meals, digging into the food with their bare hands and making a mess that no doubt would require a second bath before bed, your heart aches and you struggle to hold back the tears.

They are so innocent, completely oblivious to the death and suffering surrounding them. Their helplessness stands out to you. Unable to even feed themselves without help, they very much depend on you.

As you go on about the evening, taking the time and enjoying the presence of your two loved ones, by the time you lull the little ones to sleep, you’ve made your decision.

You will do all it takes to keep them safe. All it takes to keep them from harm.

And if that means submitting to Daemon’s every vice without complaint, then so be it.

Authors note: This story is currently halted as I focus on my Aemond and OC works for a while but will eventually continue. Follow me for updates or comment to be put on the taglist for this fic in the future!

View this series masterlist and moodboard for extra content.

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Artemisia x FemReader

A Princess and a Commander

A/N: I haven’t written for Artemisia in a while and I missed writing for her, so when I saw a story that gave me the perfect inspiration I knew I had to give it a go.

Warnings: None

Persia was one of the greatest empires of its time and none could match it strength in battle nor its wealth in knowledge. As such like a great and successful things, there was always someone or something wishing to topple them.

Persia was ruled by the great King Darius he was your father and you were the Princess and Persia's greatest treasure.

There had been threats recently in the capital against your family, this wasn't an uncommon assurance though it seemed the threats were becoming more frequent and closer to home and suddenly the entire palace was on high alert.

You were currently sitting in court to your father's left, whilst your brother Xerxes was sitting to his left. Matters were being discussed and disputes were being settled but you struggled to keep your attention focused entirely on the matters at hand.

your mind drifted from the throne room you were sitting to the ports and watersides that surrounded your home, to you there was nothing more beautiful than the sea and if you could anywhere at that moment, it certainly wouldn't be sitting in a room discussing politics whilst sitting looking beautiful. Instead it would be sitting by the water's edge admiring the soft sounds of the water as it rippled and flowed.

"Y/n," a voice called out though it was faint and almost inaudible when it reached your ears, your mind still wandering by the sea. "Y/n!" The voice was much louder this time and it jolted you quickly out of your thoughts.

"Yes," You called out, head turning from one side to another unsure as to who spoke your name and trying to locate the disturber. It was clear though, when you meant the slightly annoyed face of your father, that it was he who was calling for you.

"Y/n, Why weren't you listening?" he asked you, his voice was stern and almost disappointed, though he could never truly bring himself to actually sound angry at you. Now you felt guilty for not paying attention and you worried that you may have missed something important, due to his tone.

"I'm sorry father," You began to answer, upset with yourself for ignoring him even though it was unintentional, "I'm not quite sure what happened, could you repeat yourself please?" You asked him kindly, giving a vague explanation as to why you hadn't answered.

"I was explaining that I've called a guest to stay at the palace for the indefinite future, they'll be assigned to yourself to keep you safe these next coming weeks." Your father kept eye contact with you as he spoke, leaning on the left of his throne to be closer to you.

"Why on earth do I need a bodyguard," You asked him, though it seemed you hadn't though your words through before you'd said them, as they came across harshly due to raised voice and unruly tone. You were no longer sat but instead standing as you looked down at your father annoyed. Why did you need a bodyguard, there were plenty of soldiers around the palace and you could take care of yourself, you weren't a child anymore.

"Y/n keep your voice down, I don't want any back talk. This is for your own safety, you know the threats that have been made, it's to keep you safe." Even now, after you'd raised your voice at him and stood taller them him, your father wasn't angry, if anything he was more concerned than anything, is eyes conveying enough sincerity to confirm the worry but even that couldn't defuse your anger.

"I bet Xerxes isn't getting a bodyguard," You argued, pointing at your brother that sat your father's left. He'd kept himself out of the conversation thus fair but now you'd quite literally dragged him into it and he seemed less than pleased with that.

"Of course he's not, your brother can protect of himself against a threat but Y/n you haven't had much training and can barely keep your attention on the matter in the room longer than five minutes," Your father began to say to you, deciding to reason with facts than scolding. "How do you expect to me leave defenceless when your life could be at risk and you wouldn't even notice.”

You knew he was only looking out for you, he was your father of course he was and it wasn't like he was making up these facts either. Each one had been true, though the attention span one was slightly dramatised, you could pay attention to things, if anything you had some of the best hearing you knew of it. You only didn't pay attention during court and other formal gatherings because it was always the same old story being repeated for the hundredth time and it got boring very quickly.

You could tell by the look in your father's eyes that there was no arguing your way out for this and as such you wouldn't waste your breath, so instead you hung your head low and asked "When will this man be arriving?”

"They, will be arriving two days from now, until then you'll have to palace guards accompanying you during the day." Your father spoke matter of factly and now you already hated this man that would be showing up and stealing away your freedom for the foreseeable future.

"Alright father," You responded disappointed with what you had been told and quickly you left the throne room, deciding to retire to your chambers for the rest of the evening but even then you heard two of the guards from room, following closely behind you and you already detested this arrangement.

The next morning followed a very uneventful evening, you hadn't dared leave your rooms because you didn't want to be followed by two men, so instead you lock your rooms doors and curled up by the window with a book, not retiring for the night until the sky was the darkest shade of navy and the stars were brighter than before.

You'd taken your sweet time getting ready that morning, if you were going to followed by to guards, then you were going to annoy the life out of them until they were begging your father to relieve them of the duties to protect you.

Then once this 'Bodyguard' arrived you'd do the exact same thing to him and even more and you just knew he'd be running to the other end of Persia driven into madness by his Princess and then your father would have no choice but to give up and return your freedom back to you.

You'd taken an extra twenty minutes longer then usual, though you'd actually spent some of that time reading and dancing about your room, since you already knew that you really couldn't take longer then half an hour to get ready, so you tried filling out the time by doing other activities.

You knew you'd already annoyed the two guards who were to follow you for the next two days, there annoyed grunts and heavy footing was giving their annoyance towards you away. Though they'd never dare saying anything directly to you as you were their Princess and therefore you held the power with the situation.

Breakfast was much different to usual, accept from the fact that you made more of a point to talk to your brother rather than your father, as you were still greatly annoyed by his decision to strip you of your freedom. People could call you childish for doing such a thing and in all honesty you knew it was but quite frankly you didn't care and quite frankly why would you call an adults actions childish because unlike a child, an adult would always have a reason to back up their decisions.

After breakfast had concluded you'd left with a simple glance and goodbye towards your father, you could certainly hold a grudge. You didn't have any royal responsibilities to attend to today so as you walked down one of the many corridors of the palace, your mind thought through all the things you could do.

After walking out of the dining hall all your ears could hear was the heavy foot falls of the palace guards following you but when you rounded a corner and began walking down a new corridor it went quiet.

You didn't care enough to stop and check why the noises had stopped, and quite frankly looking down at the floor and being in your own little world, was far more satisfying.

The only problem was that you because your focus was on the ground and not in front of you, you hadn't been watching where you were going and not long after the corridor had gone quiet, you knocked into something hard and had to stop yourself from falling to the floor.

Your quickly regained your balance and began to look up as you steadied yourself, you were now angry that someone had knocked into you but in reality you were really only angry with yourself for yet again paying attention to your surroundings.

"Hey! watch were your going," you exclaimed in a loud and very un-Princess like voice, your tone slightly angered as you looked upon the person who you'd knocked into.

You expected to be looking upon a servant at the very most some advisor of your father's waiting for an audience but you certainly weren't expecting to see a woman, dress half like a lady and half like a soldier and suddenly you had to stop yourself from gaping.

You'd never seen a woman like her, she had black hair and blue, though her eyes were a little hard to make out due to the black eye makeup she was wearing. None of the ladies a court ever wore anything but a gown and though you were always more partially in dress, you did enjoy something a little less feminine when down by the sea.

"I beg your pardon," This wasn't voice was heavier than your own, her tone wasn't angry like yours but almost surprised and amused at once, as if she'd never had someone talk to her like that and she found it amusing.

Not one to admit you were wrong in front of a stranger you continued with your annoyance, "You walked into me, the very least you can do is apologise." You argued against this woman's amused tone but it seemed your statement had only amused her more and endeared her on.

"Alright I'll play along," She whispered it seemed the comment was more to herself then you and then you could see how her demeanour changed "I'm so very sorry my lady," She began to speak and immediately you could hear her words dripping with sarcasm. "Whilst you have me apologising would you also like me to brush hair and tie your shoes.”

It didn't matter that your anger towards the woman before was fake and instead anger towards yourself, now you were truly angry with her, not only was her amused smirk and sarcasm deeply irritating but her words were down right insulting, either she didn't know who you were or she very clearly didn't care.

"How dare you," Your voice was elevated as you raised your head and began to walk past the crude woman, knocking her shoulder on your way past. "Arrogant arse," You mumbled under your breath not caring whether this disrespectful woman had heard you or not but unbeknownst to you she had.

Once you'd neared the end of the corridor you heard your guards running down to catch up to you, though you did wonder why they stopped in the first place, strange.

You'd decided to spend the rest of your day in the gardens, having your lunch being brought out instead of eating inside and then you'd tended to some of the plants had read some more of your book, before finishing the day of with some scripture writing.

Dinner was similar to breakfast, in the way that it was uneventful though you'd decided that you couldn't ignore your father for the rest of your life. So after being nudged and encouraged along by your brother, you finally cave and spent the last bit of dinner having a conversation with your father, that thankfully had nothing to do with your safety or guarding arrangements.

[galacticdesperado]

I'm not even gonna lie, this is relatable af. Also h(m)ilfs. Also I love you so much Farah

When they are heads of schools...

I feel very attacked in my sensitive spots...

[allgarbo]

From childhood on, she called herself “he” and “the boy”; she later called herself a bachelor. Her favorite pseudonym as an adult was Harriet Brown. “Brown” had no special meaning; it was a common, anonymous surname. But “Harriet” came from the Swedish poet Harriet Löwenhjelm, who thought she was male, not female. In Garbo’s favorite Löwenhjelm poem, the poet identified her lover as female:

The children of the world go dancing now, treading the boards of vanity, but I wind the yarn of dreams along with the roses and the lily I never did see my own true love save only in my dreams Green was the dress she wore green with rosy seams.

Greta wrote intense letters to Eva Blomqvist, a student in her confirmation class. She told Eva that “her heart was lost to masculinity.” She chided Eva for trying to take over her friends, describing herself as “haughty and complicated by nature.” Yet, she also wrote Eva that she yearned for her. “Eva child,” she asked, “what do you feel for me? Write and tell me your life story.” (Ideal Beauty: The Life and Times of Greta Garbo)

GRETA GARBO in QUEEN CHRISTINA (1933) directed by Rouben Mamoulian

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 1

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

“Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited. 

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression. 

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare. 

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.” 

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out. 

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home. 

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed. 

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee. 

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that. 

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late. 

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now. 

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired. 

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated. 

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it. 

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you. 

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy. 

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that? 

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit. 

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance. 

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo. 

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden. 

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress. 

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight. 

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye. 

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party. 

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG. 

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

masterlist / next

[rtfics]

Since there's a resurgence of readership of my Villy fanfic (V.A. Vandevere x Milly Farrier age 18 = Villy) Baby, Mine, I decided to reblog this.

I did hear from a friend who works media in L.A. that Michael Keaton had read something I wrote for him about V.A. moving like a snake. ( I can't give more detail because I'm anonymous). He loved it so much he brightened up during the press conference with the Dumbo cast that was filmed immediately after he read it. In the interview, Keaton said he wanted to be "the snake. Not the snake handler, but the snake." Everyone was confused and his comment fell flat, but I knew he was referring to what I'd written. :-)

It's in this clip at 4:09.

Keaton fans, there's some good crotch-watching in this video. ;-) @liquidloz @youkickedandcried @yunafire

My “Dumbo” art.

I was cleaning out my folders and found art I did of Dumbo 2019 and Villy.  I got into the fandom 3 years ago this month, before the movie even opened!

I was on Twitter in 2019.  I did cartoons of the characters reading for First Book’s Magical Adventure Sweepstakes (promo narrated by Michael Keaton).  First Book promoted these, and I received a nice note from actor Frank Bourke, asking if he could use the Puck cartoon as his avatar.  Of course I said yes, I was honored!  He used it on Twitter and Instagram.

I never did get around to doing a cartoon of Holt, I don’t know why.

Soon after I deleted my Twitter account, so all those posts are gone.

I didn’t have a scanner at the time, so all the photos were taken with a clunky old digital camera.

Nico Parker.

Sharon Rooney.

Roshan Seth.

Frank Bourke.

DeObia Oparei.

Danny DeVito.

Eva Green.

Michael Keaton.

Keaton and DeVito did this Dumbo promo:

so I tweeted this cartoon for First Books.

A Dumbo cast members told me both Keaton and DeVito loved it, but I can’t confirm that (I don’t believe it).

After reading bad reviews of Michael Keaton’s accent as VAV, I tweeted these.  A friend who’s an actor in L.A. urged me to send the art to Keaton’s rep agency.  For the hell of it, I did.  No idea if his rep’s office ever received them, of if he ever saw them.  Considering he must get bags of fan mail, I doubt very much he’s seen them.  Just as well; I drew the art fast, and it’s not my best work.

My first Villy art.

I drew these for Chapter 5 of my fanfic, Baby, Mine.

This scene from Chapter 5 kept getting fl@gged by Villy-antis because of the “explicit” parts, until finally my whole original blog went down.

Here’s most of it (explicit parts removed).

Before text:

After:

I saw lots of Disney Villains t-shirts, but none for my fav bad guys.  So I designed my own.

[shoujo-wizard]

Bewitched by Yuletide p.2 🍳

[Hallmark movie AU steddie A/B/O ft kitchen witch Steve & former rockstar Eddie, O!Steve/A!Eddie]

[some O!Steve pov & backstory as well as A!Robin backstory too]

🎸p.1

when Steve was 13 he went through his very first heat. when Steve was 13 his alpha father left him in the care of his grandpa for an entire summer that turned into an entire school year that turned into his father signing away his parental rights to Steve to his own parent in Steve's junior year at Hawkins High.

the adults never told him, but Steve deduced it was because he'd begun coming into his Talent. in the days after his first heat, before his father had driven him to Hawkins Indiana he would be completing his chores faster than he'd begun them. he'd know exactly who was about to ring the doorbell without ever looking out the window. Steve remembered the disgust on his father's face when Steve had correctly guessed what Richard Harrington had enjoyed eating most growing up without the topic ever being brought up. so Steve ended up raised by his remaining grandparent.

his omega grandpa Peter Harrington explained to him what was happening. he'd entered his 13th year, and that meant he began to be capable of things others weren't. apparently his grandpa's family, the Frumps, were a proud line of kitchen witches. Steve had evidently inherited the Talent. so as he grew into his Talents, Peter taught him everything he knew. Steve learned recipes & spells at his grandpa's elbow in the beautiful house his alpha grandma, the late Amelia Harrington, had bought just for her mate.

Steve learned how to start the autumn with a perpetual stew that would seemingly have no end till spring using the talents his grandpa helped him develop. his simmer pots only grew more fragrant as years went by. in the spring & summers he learned how to use his Talents in a way tht helped the vegetable garden flourish, even though neither were a green witch. his grandpa had beamed with pride telling him tht he was an even more powerful kitchen witch than his great-grandma Eva. as he got older, he was given more responsibilities in the kitchen. the different holidays became times for his grandpa to test his Talent as he neared high school graduation.

then the summer after he graduated, as he prepared to attend classes at the Roane County Community College, his grandpa Peter had a heart attack in his sleep. as the executor of estate Steve was in charge of too much concerning the death. he buried his grandpa five days later, many people who'd known Peter Harrington came to help Steve celebrate a life well lived, many people brought him casseroles, many people gave their condolences, many people told Steve stories he'd never heard.

Richard Harrington never picked up the phone or answered the voicemail Steve left him. Richard Harrington never responded to the second voicemail Steve left him informing him that Peter Harrington had written him out of his will, that Steve was now the sole inheritor of the entire Harrington fortune his grandma had worked so hard to build, and his grandpa had worked so hard to preserve.

his grandpa Peter taught him many things as a witch. that his Talent was his to manifest, his to explore, his to expand. that his heart was bursting with love, and that wasn't a weakness. he taught him that life continues on, time does not stop, the seasons will always change, and that the dead will never forget the living.

at his grandpa's funeral Steve met someone who told him stories about his grandpa when he was a Home Economics teacher at Hawkins High. Wayne Munson was a gruff alpha who looked stoic, but his manner of speaking was gentle. Steve could see the genuine kindness Wayne radiated, and he was grateful when Wayne came by the house that was now Steve's with ingredients for a sweet corn and cucumber salad. Steve sipped cold water with crushed mint while Wayne cooked. Grandpa Peter's favorite vinyl was playing in the living room, Cass Elliot's 1973 album titled Mama's Big Ones.

time went on, seasons changed, Steve started a weekly tradition of having Wayne over for Sunday dinner. he started classes at the community college, got very invested in a history class about textiles, and in the community college's library he always sat silently at the same table as another student. she was a trans feminine alpha who'd chosen the name Robin, she had moved to Hawkins for community college after graduating from high school a year early. they ended up locked in the libraries gender-neutral bathroom when the door got stuck, it was during finals and the library was open two hours longer. as they waited for the night janitor they bonded about grandparents, about parents that weren't equipped to accept them in their entirety, and Robin even confessed she only found other alpha women attractive.

Afterward they became two halves of a whole. Robin joined Sunday dinners. She spent more time sleeping over at Steve's home than she did at the apartment above her grandparent's bookstore. Robin told him that her family had owned the only bookstore in Hawkins since 1810, making it the oldest bookstore in the state of Indiana. when Steve told her he's a kitchen witch she lit up with questions after a moment of disbelief. Robin eagerly joined him in all the pagan holiday traditions his grandpa had taught him. they agreed their mutual favorite was Yuletide with Samhain as a close second. then when they learned they shared a birthday June 13th became a joint birthday celebration from then on.

when Robin's grandma died in hospice their final year at community college, Steve was the person she leaned on. she moved in with him, unable to enter the apartment without being overcome with paralyzing grief but determined to keep the bookstore going. when her insensitive beta mother came to town for the funeral Steve stood by her, helped her keep her ground against her mother's attempts to take control of the business and building left to Robin in the will. Robin's alpha father ended up being the one to silence Beatrice Buckley nee Smith by laying it out that Robin had legally inherited the building including the store as well as the majority of the contents of the apartment, that Robin might be young, but she had a good head on her shoulders. that they had no right to demand anything of her after how they'd reacted to her transition. George Buckley didn't chase after his wife when she stormed out, he apologized to his daughter for the way he shut down when she came out to them, he watched as his wife drove off back to their hotel, and after asking to rebuild their relationship he confessed he was going to serve Beatrice divorce papers. Robin cried as she hugged her dad, sobbed harder when he told her how beautiful self-love looked on her.

Wayne came by after the funeral, joined the three of them for dinner. he and George shared stories from high school. Wayne told Robin stories about the many times her grandparents had taken one look at him, a kid with two working parents, a kid who'd been charged with caring for his rambunctious rebellious little brother, and they'd given him books for half the price they were worth.

George Buckley moved back to Hawkins following the divorce. back into the apartment he'd grown up in, he worked in the store as assistant manager, he joined their Sunday dinners, and he made efforts to implement the vision Robin had of the bookstore being a safe space.

then one day while Steve was perusing the shelves of the bookstore even though it was his day off from the store. he looked out the store windows at the sound of Wayne's truck pulling up to the bank across the street. when he saw Wayne fall he let out a yell, and while Robin called for an ambulance he was running across the main street to sit with Wayne till the ambulance arrived. at the hospital he listened carefully to everything the doctor said about caring for the concussion Wayne had ended up with. Robin helped him take Wayne home to his tree farm filled with fir trees, the majority being douglas fir.

the day after he'd been home for a full day Wayne called to let Steve know his nephew had come to stay with him. Steve laughed when Wayne relayed the message to make sure he made enough for four for dinner that night.

Steve drove Robin and him to Wayne's after they locked up the bookstore for the night. George had to give their inventory orders a final review so he'd declined to join them. they pulled up, and Steve noticed the shiny red car that was left running with the driver's door open. as he cradled the ancient dutch oven in his hands, Robin turned the car, and shut the door. before they went inside Steve made a come hither motion with his hand at the car thinking how nice it'd be for the nephew's many bags to b unloaded.

upon entering Steve spared not a single glance for the nephew standing to greet them, determined to begin cooking because they'd stayed later at the bookstore than usual. he pulled off his scarf and coat. then pulled the canvas bags of ingredients out of the dutch oven. he heard Robin starting a conversation with Wayne. Steve was unpacking the ingredients when suddenly the smell of cedar and tobacco filled his nose. he looked up from pulling out the bread he'd made to go with the pumpkin soup he had planned, and standing in the doorway was Wayne's nephew.

Steve knew, he knew as soon as his nose had registered cedar and tobacco. Grandpa Peter told him that all witches would have one great love in their lifetime. Steve always assumed his platonic love for Robin was his, but he knew then he'd been wrong.

because as soon as the nephew introduced himself as Eddie Munson, Steve knew that this alpha was the man who would either cherish his heart or break it.

---

@lexirosewrites this is part 2 that i've written special for slick sunday this month. it was a wonderful distraction from, well, Everything TM. I'm thinking i'll keep adding to this every month on slick sunday till i feel this little ficlet series has reached a satifying conclusion. i think i'll even open myself up to creating a tag list for this series, spaces will b limited as my adhd can only handle so many details at once.

@manda-panda-monium @awkwardgravity1

yall get to b the first two of this tag list. write in the replies if you'd like me to tag you when i post part 3 next month. i will let the tag list get to 20 accounts & no more

don't let despair rule your life, going forward we have a lot of work to do, and we need a means to recharge as we fight to maintain our freedoms. idk what the future of fic in this country will b if project 2025 gets to censor queer media by banning ao3, but if it comes to it we can do as the fans before us did: mailing lists, zines, and more now that we have the internet.