#he could only be attacked while praying to his Lord

[rose1water]

تهدمت والله أركان الهدى...قُتِلَ علي المرتضى

The Earth trembled and the seas surged, A heart wrenching cry from the angels in the Heavens emerged, “By God! The pillars of guidance has been destroyed! The stars of the sky and the flags of piety has been obscured! The beloved of God has been struck! The guardian of the true faith has been struck! The prince of believers, the father of the orphans, 'Ali Al-Murtadha has been martyred!” Drops of sacred blood fell from the poisoned sword; and upon the stained prayer mat, he made his final prostration to his Nurturing Lord. The orphans were left waiting, but all they could hear were the sounds of anguished cries and wailing.

Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 42, p. 282

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Part 2)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1

Y/N wakes to a knock at the door. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sits upright. Aegon is still there, unmoving beside her. “Come.”

“Good morrow, your grace.” Her lady in waiting, Chérie, bows her head upon entry; a powder blue gown draped over one arm. “You must break your fast.”

“What ungodly hour is it?” The Queen grumbles, stretching both arms above her head.

“Nearly midday, my Queen.”

Y/N nods, taking her hand. “I need a favor of you.”

“A bath?” Chérie smirks.

Y/N stares down at herself, nightgown stained with blood and gods know what else. She huffs a laugh, “that as well.”

“I will ready the tub.”

“Chérie?”

“Are you seeking comfort, your grace?” She has lost her grandmother and her husband’s good health, “I could tend you.”

“No.” Y/N stares down at her hands.

“Forgive me for assuming.” She takes a step back, “I only want to help.”

Y/N moves forward, closing the space between them. “It was kind of you, Chérie. I appreciate your devotion, more than you know. There is something different I need of you.”

“Name it.”

“You know things…I must know them.”

“What is it you need know?” Chérie wonders.

“The truth of what happened at Rook’s Rest. I do not pretend to understand Aegon’s motivations. Gods willing, I may be able to ask him one day. But for now, I need know what befell him. Cole dances around it, the Hightowers will never be truthful with me.”

“Is there anything you do know? A talking point that might be of use as I consult the servants?” Chérie wonders.

Y/N leans in. “Helaena and Aemond stood at the foot of his bed last night. She asked if it was worth the price. Aemond denied any knowledge of what she meant. Still, Helaena does not speak to cause upset, she speaks when she has something to say. If he’s done this…the whole of our line may be in danger.”

Chérie sighs, “somedays I am glad to’ve been born a commoner.”

“For that I do not fault you.” Y/N forces a smile.

Chérie steals a glance at the king. “Will he live?”

“We’ve no way of knowing. I pray to the gods for his recovery, but it is a long road. He will never be as he was, so long as he lives, it matters naught to me.”

————————————————————————

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra’s head snaps up.

“Aegon has fallen, the stranger looms over his head. With Vhagar weakened in the attack, now is the time to act.”

“And what of my daughter?” The Queen ticks a finger against the table. “Has she been spotted since Aegon’s coronation?”

“We believe the princess lives, your grace. But upon second hand testimony, smallfolk in the streets, we cannot say for certain.”

“What was she doing?” Rhaenyra wonders, “my girl, when they saw her in the streets?”

The lords look to each other, “she marched beside the carriage with Aegon’s body.”

“That is proof enough. I must send word to her, she cannot think we have turned our backs on her. With Aegon gone, she may very well be Aemond’s next attempt.” Rhaenyra is sick over it.

“You must trust, as we have, that Aegon will care for her.”

“He cannot care for her, upon his deathbed. Should he pass, we leave her to whom? Aemond and Alicent? She will be put to the sword.” Rhaenyra shakes her head.

“Meleys was our largest dragon, your grace.” Ser Alfred reminds her.

“Which is why I must go.”

“You cannot, my Queen. You are the crown.”

“I will go.” Jacaerys fists the hilt of his sword.

“No,” Rhaenyra scoffs. “It is out of the question. You will be taken or slain.”

“Would you rather my sister or me?” Jace squares his shoulders. “Those are your choices.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N forces her meal down, spending the evening in her children’s rooms.

“Mama,” Visera calls to her, “I’ve made something for father.”

“I helped!” Dahlia chimes in. “Laenor wanted to, but he rubbed his hands all over it. The painting was nearly ruined.”

“Say it isn’t so, my loves.” Y/N lifts her eldest son onto her hip. “Shall I kiss his head off?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

Y/N smiles, peppering Laenor’s sweet face with kisses as he squeals, thrashing wildly in her hold.

Dahlia and Visera giggle, entertained for the moment.

“And you, my prince, best have learned your lesson.” Y/N says, releasing her son onto the floor.

He scampers away, still screeching with glee.

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her mother’s skirts.

“Yes, my darling?”

“When will we see father?”

Y/N sighs, “come, sit with me.” She pats the cushions on either side of her.

Her daughters look to each other, then join her on the settee.

“Do you remember what Papa told you about sickness? How it is a war we wage alone, within our bodies?”

“Is he ill?”

“Not exactly,” Y/N explains, “nevertheless, his body is at war now. Battling to repair itself from great wounds, some we cannot see. Every hour, he is fighting his way back to us. But he must remain abed for now, in a state of sleep.”

“May we watch him sleep?” Visera wonders.

“I fear you might be saddened by it.”

“Why, Mama?”

“He looks a bit different, on the outside. But on the inside he is the same.” Y/N says, fighting for composure, “we mustn’t touch him, lest we cause more pain. And it is hard to keep our distance, when all we truly want is to wrap him in an embrace.”

“Mayhaps when we see him, we might hold each other instead.”

Y/N looks to her eldest daughter. “On the morrow, after his bandages are changed, I will bring you. And if it is too much for you, there is no shame in saying so. We love him dearly and he knows it.”

“That is what matters, I think.” Visera says, “if I were waging war, I would want to know someone loved me.”

————————————————————————

Y/N sneaks down to the kitchens for a bit of cake, heading to Aegon’s apartments to eat it. The doors open onto Aemond, leaning over Aegon’s body.

“What are you doing?” She has no weapon, if she’s to kill him now, it will be with her bare hands or a serving spoon.

Aemond turns to her, with sly smile. “My brother was asking for you. He woke in pain, I was merely supplying him with milk of the poppy.”

Y/N forces her mouth to turn upward, “very kind of you, I thank you for looking in on him.”

Aemond nods, setting the empty cup on the bedside table. “Of course.”

“When he asked for me, what did he say?” She wonders, lying her plate of cake beside it.

“Only your name.”

Y/N nods.

“You have been a good and faithful wife to him. Aegon is blessed to have you.”

“Aemond,” Y/N breathes, “might I ask you something?”

His eye flickers about her, “of course, sweet niece.”

“What do you think was his undoing?” She motions to Aegon, “if you had to say?”

“Vanity…pride.”

“It would be suited,” Y/N forces the awful words past her lips, “for someone to take that from him.”

“You should not say such things, my Queen. The thought alone is truly depraved.”

“Of course, forgive me.”

“What befell my brother is nothing short of a tragedy.” Aemond purrs, “you must keep your wits about you.”

“Were they locked in battle?” Y/N asks, “when my grandmother gave Meleys the order?”

Aemond purses his lips, “when dragons fly to war, it is men who burn. Aegon is not the first, he will not be the last. You should be grateful he returned to you.”

“I have lost a brother to war.” Y/N says, as if he needs reminding. “I know its cruelty.”

“A shame, indeed.” Aemond hums.

“I hope it was worth the price.”

“Y/N.” Alicent calls, “Aemond, what are you doing here?”

The prince looks to his mother, “I was merely checking in on our king.”

“You are kind to do so,” Alicent swallows, “as his wife is now here, you are relieved of said duty. Unless you wish the three of us to hold vigil.”

“Perhaps another time, mother.” Aemond nods, “I’ve more pressing matters to attend.” He brushes past them, closing the door to Aegon’s bedchamber behind him.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent demands, in a hushed whisper. “My son pleads for your life and you stand here tempting the very man who-”

“The very man who what?” Y/N dares her to say it. “Killed my brother? Or are you referring to some other atrocity I am not privy to?”

“Your children are in danger, my grandchildren, let me help you.” Alicent reaches for her.

Y/N bats her hand away, “don’t you touch me! My children are in danger because of you.”

“You know what Aemond is.” Kinslayer. Alicent swallows, hard. “My only concern is keeping you safe. What is to stop him from taking out the whole of Aegon’s line to make room for his own? The smallfolk riot in the streets, demanding we open the gates. Even they wish to flee, it is all going to ruin. They need to see you.”

“They will see me as you parade my body through the streets after my murder, not a moment before. I will not betray my mother or her claim.”

“I am not asking you to stand against Rhaenyra, I am asking you to stand for my son. Before it is too late. You owe him this. You forced him onto that saddle as much as I forced him upon the throne.”

“I?” Y/N snaps, “I am the one you blame for this? You think I would have my husband reduced to ash over a fucking chair?”

Alicent presses her lips together, “all Aegon has done is in your name. He rose and he fell for you alone.”

“I wanted this to be peaceful, you know. I truly did and my mother did, then again and again I was taken for a fool.”

“Aegon loves you. He went to meet Rhaenys for you, in hopes of creating new terms with your mother. Mayhaps others have used you, like a pawn to carry out their own agenda, but not Aegon. He never plotted, he never wavered, even in his condition, you are the agenda.”

“And I love him for it, but please know I did not ask him to meet with her. I would have gone myself rather than risk his life. That is why I have not fled, or stole away with my children to Dragonstone. Aegon is equally important to me.”

“You must ready yourself then, in the color of our house.”

“No,” Y/N narrows her eyes, “this is for my husband, who hangs precariously in the balance of life and death. I will attend this procession in the color of mourning, not Hightower green.”

————————————————————————

In the absence of Daemon, Rhaenyra turns to Mysaria for counsel. “You know the ins and outs of King’s Landing better than any. I need an in.”

“Criston Cole made a mistake, parading a dragon’s head through the streets, like a prize of war. The people see an ill omen.” Mysaria tells her.

“Yes, as do I.”

“They are afraid, bread is scarce. The king has fallen, they whisper to each other that when Viserys lived there was peace.” They question the succession.

“But will whispers tear down stone? Break shields?” Save my daughter?

“Do not underestimate them, to the discontented, rumors are feed.” Mysaria continues. “What you cannot do, let others to do for you. There is more than one way to fight a war.”

Part 3

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

[cosmic-whispers]

Control - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel attacks you after being mind controlled by an enemy with daemati powers and struggles to grapple with the guilt that follows. 

Warnings: angst, violence, reader being strangled and attacked, mind control 

Words: 6.0k

A/N: Hi everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, life has been crazy lately and writer’s block doesn’t help. I missed writing and was finally able to get this out. Hope you all enjoy!

Your breath came out in heavy pants and your legs burned as you ran through the thick foliage of the jungle. Eldric, the daemati high fae you and Azriel had been tracking for the last week, turned a sharp corner and you pushed your legs harder, ignoring the burning ache in your thighs. You groaned in frustration after his image disappeared around the corner. He had evaded you again. 

You slowed to a stop, knowing the pursuit was pointless. Your shoulders slumped and you ran a hand down your face. The sound of flapping wings filled your ears as Azriel broke through the branches hanging overhead and descended near you. A soft hand landed on your shoulder, the thumb rubbing soft, comforting circles in the fabric of your leathers. 

“Should we look for him again?” you asked, looking up at him. 

He shook his head, disappointment and frustration shining in his hazel eyes. 

“We’ll find him again,” Azriel said. 

“He’s good,” you said. And he was. He was cunning, fast, and endowed with the same, rare power as your High Lord. He could be standing right in front of you and you would be none the wiser if he was able to break through your mental shields. He was nearly unstoppable. After a failed assassination attempt on Rhysand—where the male had gotten entirely too close—Azriel and you had decided to hunt him down and eliminate the threat. 

“We’re better.” You looked at him. Despite his obvious annoyance, he was confident in his words. You smiled softly at him, admiring his unwavering determination. 

“Getting cocky?” He smiled at you, his features lightening up, and he winked at you. You laughed, nervous as your cheeks heated up and your heartbeat increased. You looked away, hoping he did not notice just how flustered he made you. 

“I enjoy the challenge. Things were getting too easy.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. 

“I have a shadow tracking him. This is his home, we have him cornered. We’ll get him soon.”

Despite his comforting words, the brief thought that you were on Eldric’s playing field crossed your mind. That perhaps he was toying with the both of you. You didn’t dare speak that into existence. You nodded at Azriel and you turned, retreating together through the thick underbrush until Azriel was able to fly the both of you out. 

The small inn you were staying at was stationed near the jungle's edge. The flight there was short and you relished being in Azriel’s strong arms as long as possible. 

The room was small, the single bed pushed against a wall and a tiny restroom where Azriel’s wings barely fit in off to the side. 

“You can freshen up first,” he offered and you smiled, grateful to get the sweat and grime off your skin. 

You walk into the dingy, cramped room, grimacing at the tiny tub you had been forced to squeeze into for the past week. You closed the door behind you and your face heated at the lack of a lock. The only thing separating your body from his was one thin piece of wood without a lock. You prayed to the Mother that he could not scent the sudden arousal that flooded you in unrelenting waves, surprised at your own self-control for the past week. 

You forced yourself through the aimless bathing, preparing yourself for bed, and trying to distract yourself from the indulgent thoughts of him. You blushed as you slipped the silk nightgown Mor had packed for you over your head, wondering if Azriel had taken notice of the contour of your figure through the thin fabric. 

You stepped out of the restroom, eyes immediately finding Azriel’s. His gaze trailed down over your body and you felt every cell in your body ignite. He was silent for a few seconds, causing butterflies to erupt within you. 

His eyes met yours once more, intense and unreadable, and heat crept up your neck and face. 

“The restroom is free,” you said, needing to break the heavy silence. Your voice was quiet and you hoped he could not hear the quiver when you spoke. 

He nodded, gaze still unwavering from you. You stared back until he cleared his throat and made his way into the restroom. You let out a heaving breath, hoping to shake the tense nerves. You distracted your thoughts away from him as much as you could, getting ready and climbing into the bed. The bath water ran muffled through the door and your thoughts wandered. He was naked, with just a wooden door with no lock in between the two of you. You felt your body heating and hoped that sleep would overtake you soon. 

The water shut off after some time and he exited the bathroom. He was shirtless, tan skin glistening from the steam of the bath and the hot climate. Your breath caught at the sight of his defined, rippling muscles and the swirls of tattoos adorning his skin. No matter how many times your eyes were blessed by the sight, you found yourself struck dumb every time.  

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking at you with his brow furrowed. “You seem flushed.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you hoped he could not notice the bashfulness that filled you.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired and it’s warmer here than I’m used to. I’ve been away from home for too long”

You quickly faced away from him, laying on your side and moving as close to the edge of the bed as possible. You focused your thoughts on your breathing rather than the male, trying to calm yourself. There was shuffling behind you and you felt the bed dip as he laid down next to you. Your heart was racing and it nearly beat out of your chest as he shuffled closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, pinning you against him. Your skin felt electric, set alight by the feel of his rough hands and the weight of his arms around you. 

“Good night, sweetheart,” he murmured, his gravelly voice close to your ear sending rippling shivers down your spine. He had to be doing it on purpose. He was the most observant person you knew. How could he not realize the effect he had on you?

You gulped and gently cleared your throat. “Good night, Az.”

Neither of you had ever spoken about it. You were the one that was able to pull him from the dark crevices of his mind. And he was the one who was able to comfort you when no one else could. He was your safe place when your walls crumbled around you. You trusted him more than anyone. The lingering tension was always heavy, but your friendship was sacred and you had formed an impenetrable bond you were unwilling to break. 

His arm tightened around your middle, pulling you tighter against his warm body. His shadows swirled around your hands, softly tickling your skin and you sighed, content and finally relaxed as his soft breaths lulled you to sleep. 

————-

The bright moon shined through the window, illuminating the dark room in a soft, silver light. His thoughts raced through his mind—barely forming before another took its place. Between the feel of you in his arms in that damn nightgown and the elusive daemati, he knew it would be another sleepless night. 

Despite the comfort of you safe in his arms, Azriel couldn’t sleep. The taunting, smug smile of the daemati male haunted his mind and he simmered in anger. It shouldn’t be so hard to catch him. It shouldn’t have taken him this long. The male should never have gotten that close to Rhysand in the first place. He should have never let it happen. 

He needed to prove himself—to redeem himself. After centuries of honing his skills, Azriel had an appreciation for his powers. He was confident in his ability to serve his court. He was a capable spy, his shadows giving him an edge over most adversaries. But the whispers in his mind would never be fully silent—he would always be that scared little boy, desperate to prove that he was good enough to deserve everything he had. 

And after a week of tracking Eldric, he was still nowhere closer to catching him. It felt like he was chasing smoke. It felt like he was failing. 

You sighed softly in your sleep, turning in his arms to face him and you snuggled your face into his chest. His eyes turned to you and softened at your peaceful expression. Your presence always calmed him, centered him. 

His heart beat wildly in his chest and soared at having you like this. He smiled softly, memorizing the feel of you and your soft breathing in his ears. The past week had been bliss—sleeping with you in his arms and having you so close to him. 

Your sweet scent drifted toward him and he reveled in the essence of you—his best friend. He trusted you like no one else; he was able to confide in you with secrets that not even his brothers knew. He found himself falling for you more each day. He knew that friends don’t look at each other like you did. Deep down, he had strong suspicions about who you were to him, but he never dared to think about it too much—too afraid to be wrong and disappointed. It was wishful thinking to believe that you were fated to him. 

He sighed, knowing he was too strung up to fall asleep. He gently moved you to your side of the bed, making sure you were comfortably tucked in. His scarred hand tenderly caressed the side of your face, your soft skin feeling delightful against his. He admired your features for a moment, wondering how someone could be so beautiful. He shook the thoughts away, making sure you were safe and snuggled before he stood, slipped into his leathers, and left the room. 

The darkened halls of the inn were eerily quiet, the patrons and staff asleep. His siphons cast a light blue light, guiding his way outside. He was too restless and needed to leave, to do something useful instead of lying down and being consumed by his thoughts. He could get some work done. 

He made his way through the dense undergrowth, footsteps silent and shadows shrowding him in darkness. They easily guided him closer to where he knew Eldric tended to camp, to where his gray shadow had followed him. He secured his mind shields, building them up, ensuring that the male would not sense him. The moon had shifted in the sky and Azriel estimated he had been walking for nearly an hour when he found the secluded campsite. It was almost impossible to see, his belongings nestled at the entrance of a tunnel in the ground, covered by leaves and branches. He hid in the darkness the massive trees provided, his shadows helping shield any part of him that light would reveal. 

It was dark, but Azriel could make out light smoke from a small campfire, and the scent of cooked meat permeated the air. He had been there recently. He watched the entrance to the tunnel intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. Was there another entrance he could use to ambush Eldric? He sent a shadow to investigate and continued his surveillance. He stood silently and immobile for over an hour without even a hint of the damn daemati anywhere near. 

The shrouding silence of the night was interrupted by a shrill scream coming from somewhere behind him. His heart leaped into his throat, beating wildly as panic crept up in his chest. He knew that voice. 

It was you. 

His mind emptied of all thoughts as he took off in the direction he heard you from. Why were you here? He had left you peacefully sleeping in bed. He was panting hard, heart nearly beating out of his chest as pure fear spread through him. His body was sweating and he found it increasingly hard to take a deep breath in as if he was being suffocated. 

His legs wouldn’t carry him fast enough and his wings kept getting in his way. He screamed in frustration as he twisted in between a thick gathering of trees. Was he even heading in the right direction? His shadows had been dispersed to search for you, but it was taking too long for them to return to him. 

“(Y/N)!” he called out. He knew it was risky and that his position would be revealed if Eldric was anywhere near him. But he was desperate to find you. 

“Azriel!”

He bolted to his left, your voice guiding him to you. He reached a small meadow, the lush ground free of trees and sprinkled with vibrant flowers and rock formations. His eyes immediately found you, tied to a tree at the other end of the clearing. Your shoulders shook as tears ran down your face as you looked at him and smiled in relief. 

“You found me,” you said softly, teary-eyed and vulnerable. 

“Always,” he whispered and rushed to you. His shadows appeared, swarming around him, whispering frantically. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, voices becoming deafening and he ordered them away as he reached you. He kneeled and his hand lifted to where thick rope held your wrists together. As his skin was about to brush against yours, you vanished like mist in his hands. He choked on air, distressed, and confusion filled him as you disappeared from right in front of him. 

“It was really too easy.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold and his muscles clenched. He turned, finding himself face-to-face with Eldric. He reeled his shadows close to him, preparing for a fight against the male. Eldric was relaxed, his shoulders slumped slightly and he leaned casually against a tree.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Seems like I’ve found your weakness, Shadowsinger.”

Rage was a burning, eviscerating fire within him and he snarled at the daemati, like a wild animal. The male laughed, smug and taunting. 

“Where is she?” 

“I’m not quite sure. I assume asleep at the inn, right where you left her. Or perhaps she’s woken up and decided to follow you into the jungle. Would not be her best idea–but I suppose that’s why you like her so much. You’re both fools.”

“I will kill you if you hurt her. And I’ll make sure it’s slow.” His fists clenched at his side, his nails leaving deep imprints on the palm of his hand. He fought to stay in control and focused.

“Me? Hurt her?” Eldric laughed, acting offended at the accusation. “I think the one you should be worrying about is yourself.”

In a split second, Azriel had the terrorizing realization of what was about to happen. What he might be forced to do. And no training with Rhysand could prepare him against someone who had honed his abilities for centuries and was willing to destroy his mind. 

He tried to resist with every ounce of strength in him, but the talons shredded the shields protecting his mind like a knife through butter. A sharp pain exploded in the forefront of his mind and he screamed in agony as it spread across his entire skull. He was barely aware of falling to his knees and his hands clutched his head, pulling tight against the black strands. His mind was being invaded, the parasitic presence tainting his memories and thoughts and he sobbed. His last thought before the darkness set in was of you. 

—-------------

One Hour Earlier

You paced the length of the dark room for the hundredth time, it seemed. You were surprised the ground beneath your feet did not catch on fire. You had awoken almost an hour ago, a brief moment of panic and disappointment filling you as you found the space beside you empty. You cursed the innkeeper for not having a bigger room with another bed. Despite relishing in the feeling of being in Azriel’s arms, you had grown accustomed to his presence and comfort and now were having a difficult time sleeping without him. 

You realized pretty quickly that the Shadowsinger had probably gone looking for the daemati alone. He had tried numerous times throughout your stay to go out on his own, claiming he was protecting you or not wasting time. Stubborn Illyrian baby. He was going to get himself killed. 

You wished you had daemati powers at that moment. You needed to speak with Azriel, see him, and make sure that he was alright before lecturing him about being reckless. He meant well, you knew that. Yet, the frustration settled low in your chest and you wanted to rip your hair out in distress as your mind dwelled on all the negative possibilities. 

You knew him better than anyone. You knew he felt defeated and wanted to catch the damn fae. You knew he felt like he needed to redeem himself, like somehow everything that had happened was his fault for failing to protect Rhysand. He failed to realize that he did protect Rhysand. He stopped Eldric before he could get to the High Lord and has been chasing his tail ever since, getting closer and closer to catching him. Your exasperation with the Illyrian grew like a tightening noose, its relentless grip clutching at you. How could he not see how wonderful he was? Why did he feel like he needed to throw himself into these situations without any backup and risk his own life? 

You decided to go looking for him, dressing quickly and grabbing a lantern to light your way. You had to make sure that he was safe.

You hardly knew where to begin searching and figured retracing your steps from earlier in the day was a good place to start. You walked through the dense trees, hoping that a predator was not stalking you in the dark of the wilderness. The soft light from the lantern illuminated the space in front of you and you kept your eyes peeled for anything dangerous you might run into.

You traveled for over an hour, each step spiking your anxious heart and you prayed to find him soon. You find yourself in a clearing, dappled with the flickers of moonlight. Small wildflowers littered the ground, their bright summer colors illuminated by the shining moon above you. You took a moment to admire the scenery before your eyes caught on the soft blue shimmering light emanating from Azriel’s siphons. He faced away from you, but you knew that he was aware of your presence. His spine was straight, body tense and unnaturally still. 

“Azriel?” Your voice echoed lightly in the silence of the night, the answering chirps from the bugs and grasshoppers deafening. 

He turned to you, steps slow and deliberate. 

He glowered at you, a predator locking in on its prey, and you stalled. Fear lit up inside of you for a moment and you took a step back, away from him. You had grown accustomed to his gaze being filled with warmth and softness and the sight of his icy glare sent tremors down your back. He didn't seem to recognize you, his large frame completely still and not a wisp of his shadows anywhere near him. 

His gaze remained unwavering, pinning you to the spot for a few more moments until he snarled at you. 

“You,” he growled, like a feral animal, his voice dark and coarse. Your eyes widened as he began sprinting full speed towards you, thundering footfalls on the ground bringing you back to reality and you gasped as he reached you. You thought back to all the Valkyrie training and the practice sparring you and Azriel would often engage in, hoping against hope that it was enough to keep you alive. 

You swerved to the left as he reached you, using your smaller size to avoid the direct impact from Azriel’s body. While Azriel’s brute strength would easily overpower you, you were agile. He regained his footing, swinging at you and you barely managed to block his arm. Shooting pain radiated down your wrist, and you realized that he had never truly used his full strength against you in training. You would not be able to take him. You knew you couldn’t keep up the cat-and-mouse game for much longer. His Illyrian instincts were intact and he was quick on his feet as he charged at you again, and you were able to avert him once more. 

He was much closer to you now, and you took a tentative step away from him. From that distance, you could see his features twisted in rage and the dazed, cloudy look in his hazel eyes. The realization rushed over you like ice water. Eldric. He had broken into his mind. Pure ice filled your veins—his mind was being controlled to hurt you. Your heart clenched and you prayed to the Mother and any gods in the universe that his mind was not lost. That there was still hope of getting him back. 

His shadows suddenly appeared, and fear filled you for a brief moment until you noticed they swarmed around his face, momentarily blinding him. He wasn’t using them to attack you–they were attacking him. They were helping you. 

You took advantage of his momentary distraction, using the lantern you still had in your hand, and swung, the impact of the metal on his skull echoing in your ears and you smelled the hint of metallic blood. He was still standing upright, trying to fight off the blinding shadows. One wrapped around your wrist, trying to pull you away, but you stood your ground. You could not leave him like that. 

You swung the lantern again, hoping to knock him out with the impact, but his large, scarred hand flew out and wrapped around your wrist, the tight grip making you whimper in pain as he squeezed harder. You tried to shake him off, aiming a kick toward his groin, but he growled and blindly tackled you to the ground before you were able to get another hit in. 

You heard–rather than felt–your head smashing against the hard rock underneath you. Your ears began ringing, the deafening sound and painful pressure building in the back of your head making you delirious and your vision began to blur. You were going to pass out and that realization made you panic. 

You knew he was significantly stronger than you, his Illyrian genetics making him near indestructible. You had no hope. You yelled for Rhysand in your head, praying to the Mother that he could hear you from Velaris. Azriel’s large hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing. You looked up at his face–gorgeous, despite the frigid fury that lingered in his features. His empty eyes looked into yours, unseeing and frightening. 

The air was trapped inside you, your lungs burning as they begged for air. A stabbing pain spread across your neck as he squeezed harder and tears escaped your eyes. You wanted to beg him to come back to you. You felt your face heat up as the pressure began building further and further in your head. The pulsing pressure intensified and your vision narrowed, a rushing sound filling your ears like a crescendo as darkness greeted you. 

———————

Flickers of light danced across your vision. You felt yourself slowly awaken. There were soft, silk sheets beneath you, the air smelled like the cinnamon buns Elain was so fond of baking, and a soft voice drifted near you, reciting lines from a book you had recently read. You forced yourself to blink your eyes open, the light of the window causing them to ache. You groaned and shut your eyes tight in discomfort. 

“(Y/N)!” You squinted your eyes open, thankful for the curtains that had just been drawn. You looked up at Feyre as she approached you and grasped your hand. 

“We were so worried!”

“What happened? Where’s Azriel? What about Eldric? How long have I been out?” Your voice was raspy, and it felt like needles scraping against your throat when you spoke. You coughed, the burning intensifying, and a sharp headache began forming. Feyre’s hand supported your back as she helped you sit up on the bed and passed you a drink of water and a vial of medication you assumed Madja had left for you.

The cool liquid felt heavenly against your throat and you sighed in relief as the medication began coursing through you, helping clear your mind of the pain-infused fog. 

“Please drink it all,” Feyre said. “You’ve been out for two days.” She took the empty glass from your hand and placed it on the nightstand next to you. 

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked you carefully. She looked at you, eyes soft and brows creased. 

You nodded, Her hand tightened around yours and you swallowed the knot that rose in your throat. “Azriel?” you rasped out, your voice weak and thin. 

Tears filled Feyres eyes as she looked at you and your heart raced in your chest as dread filled you. 

“Rhys was able to get there in time. Eldric managed to break down Azriel’s mind shields and essentially took control of his mind. His goal was to infiltrate Velaris and go for Rhysand using Azriel. Rhys was able to break the control away from his mind and killed Eldric.”

You stared at her, eyes wide and the blood in your veins had gone cold. You knew damn well the damage that daemati powers could cause. His mind could be obliterated. You quickly shook the thought away, desperate for any indication that was not the case. 

“Is he alright?”

“He’s…as fine as he can be. He hasn’t left his room since we returned.” Your heart broke for him–for the selfless, kind male you knew who was being consumed by guilt. You rose from the bed, and Feyre startled, gently forcing you back onto the bed. 

“What are you doing? You need to rest,” Feyre said. 

“I’ve rested for days. I need to see him.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It might not be safe.”

You looked at her incredulously. How could she ever think that Azriel would hurt you on purpose?

“How can you say that?! You know that if he was in control, he never would have hurt me. He’s not some rabid animal you need to keep away. He’s my best friend and I want to see him. It’s not his fault this happened.” You broke into a coughing fit again and she handed you another glass of water. 

“I know that; I do. I just worry about you. At least heal up first. And then we can go see him.” You didn’t miss the fact that she said we.

You sighed, your body exhausted and in pain, and decided to follow along for now. “Fine.”

Madja soon made her way into the room, happy to see you awake and you went through her examination without complaining once despite the haunting thought of Azriel in your mind. You fell asleep early in the afternoon, your body and mind fatigued.

—------------------

You heaved a sigh of relief as you found yourself alone for the first moment since you had awoken. Feyre had stayed by your side, perhaps thinking that you would try to sneak away to see the Azriel. The rest of the Inner Circle trickled in and out until Rhysand had to gently persuade his wife to join him in bed. 

As dusk settled and darkness started to take over, you gently rose from the bed. The rest you got during the day did you good, you felt stronger. You opened the door slowly, sneaking your head out to make sure that no one was keeping watch of your room. You quickly walked the length of the hallway, making your way to Azriel’s room.

You stared at the wooden door, feeling anxious and scared of the state in which you would find your friend. You took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door. Silence greeted you and you tried again. 

You slowly opened the door and looked inside after there was no answer. The room was pitch black, with no slivers of light making their way through the heavy, dark shadows that surrounded the space. Only a soft blue light emanated from the corner of the room–his siphons. You made your way to him, making your footsteps loud and deliberate, although he probably already knew you were there. He sat on the floor, his back resting against the wall. His shoulders were slumped and wings were pulled taut against his body. He had never looked so defeated. 

“Azriel.” You managed nothing more than a small whisper.

He turned his back to you and tears began to blur your vision. He didn’t want to face you. “Why are you here?”

His shoulders slumped and they shook as he took a quivering breath in. His shadows swarmed around him, trying to shield him from you. Or perhaps it was the other way around. 

“You shouldn’t be here. If you had any self-preservation, you would leave.”

You shook your head, taking a step closer to him. Your hands longed to reach out to him and comfort him, but you didn’t dare touch him, fearing that he would close himself off more. “I needed to see you. To make sure you’re alright.”

He let out a cynical laugh and you frowned. “I almost killed you, and you want to make sure I’m alright. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You knew he was upset and angry at himself over what happened. You did not doubt in your mind he was trying to push you away. And you’ll be damned if you ever let him do that. 

“Azriel, I know that wasn’t you. I’m so sorry for what he did to you.”

He shook his head, still refusing to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t want to see you, (Y/N).” The tears escaped your eyes, your heart breaking a million times over. 

“Well, too bad. Because I want to see you,” you insisted. 

His spine straightened and he turned to you, eyes full of rage and pain, and glistening with unshed tears. There were bags under his eyes, pronounced and dark. He had not been sleeping. “How can you stand to look at me?” he growled at you. “What I did to you–it’s unforgivable. I’m not good for you. I hurt you. Just leave.”

His eyes traveled down your face and stopped at your neck. You heard the breath catch in his throat, and his eyes widened, face growing ashen and he took a step back from you. Shit. You should have checked for bruises and tried to cover them up. Being so preoccupied with thoughts of the Illyrian before you, the thought had not occurred to you. 

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, his hands coming up to cover his face in shame. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stepped away from you, silver lining his eyes. You took a tentative step towards him. 

“Az, you’re not going to drive me away. You’re my best friend, I’m never going to abandon you. I want to be here for you.”

His eyes blazed as he glared at you and you could almost feel him vibrating in unbridled rage. 

“I almost killed you! How can you not understand that?! I almost—“

You cut him off before he had the chance to continue. “You didn’t, though. I’m still here. I know that you weren’t in control. It’s not your fault, Azriel. I could never blame you for what happened.” 

He shook his head, dejected. “Why are you here?” His voice was quiet and small, and you had never heard him speak like that. 

“You already know,” you said slowly, your voice steady despite the tears flowing down your face. He stared at you, silent and stoic. He was waiting for you to take it back. To turn away and leave him. He knew why you were there despite what he had done. It was the same reason he had promised to always protect you. It was the same reason why you were always so comfortable with each other and why it was always so easy for him to let his walls down when he was around you. 

“No,” he whispered, eyes unwavering from yours. “I’m not good for you. And I certainly don’t deserve you. You shouldn’t want that.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and slowly walked towards him, closing the distance between the two of you. He didn’t step away, but his eyes followed you, flickering down to the floor in shame when you got too close. Your hand raised, hovering over his face and you paused, giving him the time to pull away if he wanted to. He stayed still and you pressed your palm softly against his cheek and he sighed, closing his eyes. 

“You’re not a monster, Az. I know that. You’re a good male—the best kind there is.”

He shook his head and a tear escaped, trailing down his tan cheek and you gently brushed it away. 

“The things I’ve done…” He trailed off, unwilling to put his sins into words. 

“You’ve done difficult things for your court, but I know that you don’t take any pleasure in it. You do it because it’s what’s best for everyone. To protect the people you love. What happened was not your fault. Someone took control of you—please don’t blame yourself for that.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes slowly moving up and meeting yours. His gaze flickered back to the dark, hand-shaped bruises around your neck. Your fast healing was already starting to fade them. He raised his hand to touch you, but he pulled back quickly. Your other hand grabbed his, intertwining your fingers and you squeezed his hand in comfort. You brought his hand up to your face, pressing a soft kiss against the scarred skin of his knuckles. 

He let out a sob, grabbing you and pulling you tight against him, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame and enveloping you in the scent of mist and cedar. He dug his face into the crook of your neck and his arms tightened around your waist. 

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, and you hugged him tight, trying to comfort him as he cried. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you whispered, caressing the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He shook his head, weeping as he tried to calm his heaving breaths. “Yes, there is. Please.” His voice trembled as he pleaded for your forgiveness and you tightened your arms around him. There was nothing you had to forgive him for, but you knew that he had to hear it. You knew it would help him start to forgive himself.

“I forgive you. I know you would never hurt me.”

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, so low that you almost didn’t hear him. “You’re everything to me. I will never let anything like that happen again, I promise.”

There was something so astoundingly comforting about being held by Azriel, chests pressed together and arms wound around each other. The fact that he let you hold his hand, the feel of his flushed cheeks against your hand. He thought so little of himself and your heart clenched in sorrow for him. You wished he could see himself how you saw him. He brought you peace and relief. He meant more to you than you were ready to admit out loud. 

“I know. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be with you.” 

It would take so much for him to be able to forgive himself. There was so much you needed to talk about, but you knew the right moment would come along. Azriel needed your comfort and you needed him in that instant. 

[marthawrites]

Bloodlust

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: Aemond, unable to leave you behind in King's Landing on his way to Rook's Rest, returns to you after a successful scouting mission.

Includes: Contains future Fire and Blood spoilers (prelude to battle at rook's rest and a couple of the events leading up to it - mentioned, but not heavily described), and SMUT. Featuring murder (no descriptions of it), blood, Aemond's slightly (?) unhinged, blood eating (this is a fantasy in a work of fiction - please do not do this irl), reader is hot for Aemond's gloves, blowjob, rough Aemond, minor praise, unprotected vaginal sex, brief degradation, creampie, and reader and Aemond say 'i love you' at the end. Whew! Apologies if I missed anything!

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is pure filth. Sorry for the grainy header photo. This specific gif is still driving me insane and was the whole inspiration for this fic! As always, reader is non-descript and I hope you enjoy it! ♥

With Lucerys’ death, the war of ravens came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began.

Prince Aemond Targaryen, your lord husband, barely allowed you from his side much less from his sight. 

Kinslayer everyone called him. In fear, in awe, as a curse. 

After the murder of the King’s princeling son, Jaehaerys Targaryen, King Aegon II would no longer fight this war with quills and ink. He meant to win it with swords and blood. An eye for an eye. A son for a son. King Aegon dehanded his grandsire, Otto Hightower, as Hand of the King and gave the pin to Crison Cole instead. Criston was ravenous for it and immediately began planning an attack against the Blacks.

Duskendale would likely stand little chance against the Greens who were three-thousand men strong. If by some miracle they were able to defend their city, Aemond upon Vhagar and Aegon upon Sunfyre would overwhelm them from above.

Despite the odds being in your husband’s favor, anxiety still gnawed at you from the inside. The hour was late and sleep evaded you at every chance inside your martial tent. War was hardly the place for a woman, but Aemond refused to let you stay behind at the Red Keep while he marched to battle. He trusted your safety to no one except for himself. He deemed there wasn’t a safer place in all of Westeros than with him. You believed him.

You weren’t the only woman traveling with their army. There were other lady wives in similar positions to your own, a few cooks as well, and medics. Judging by some things you’d heard along the way, you weren’t too sure if there wasn’t a gaggle of whores somewhere too. 

The company of other women made you feel significantly better–whether they were whores or healers alike.

No one was allowed in yours and Aemond’s tent, however, and everyone knew that. Regardless if you and Aemond were inside or not, a pair of guards stood watch outside at all times. Tonight, a third armored man joined.

Criston, Aemond, and a small group of soldiers scouted ahead to gather what information they could on Duskendale’s defense. Hours had passed since they left. Ideas, scenarios, and other horrible images filled your brain on what might be happening. The entire scouting party was extremely skilled; the rational part of your brain knew they’d be able to handle anything that crossed their path. Yet… what if Duskendale housed monsters like the Targaryens housed dragons?

There wasn’t any room for a fire inside the tent. Nor was it safe. An oil lamp sat atop a makeshift desk and a few scattered candles lit the darkest corners of the space. Laying on your side, you watched all of the little flames and prayed for your husband’s safe return. 

Perhaps you dozed off, or went into a sort of prayer-induced trance, or simply lost track of time, but a clattering commotion outside seized your attention. Fight, flight, freeze: the instincts of any animal. Leaning up you grabbed a dagger from the makeshift nightstand. You held it in front of you, ready to defend yourself if need be. Fight. You would go down fighting. 

Aemond’s soft voice whooshed inside on a rush of cold night air. “Ābrazȳrys.” wife

“My love!” You said with an exhalation. You laid the dagger back down and stood, stepping to him with hurried strides. “Blessed Seven you returned! I’ve been so worried.”

He walked towards you as you came to him, long steps slow and sure. If he had taken note of the dagger in your hand he made no mention of it. His silence was almost as unnerving as the glint of his dilated eye in the low light.

You meant to throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him against you so you knew him to be real and true, right here and now, rather than a ghost summoned by your worst nightmare. But, something stopped you. You stared up at him, doe-eyed.

The blood splattered across his alabaster face spoke more words than he could vocalize. The smell of him–metallic and heavy–sent your own blood rushing. Even his hair was matted by thick streaks of dark blood. “What happened?”

A serpentine grin slid across his chiseled face and his seeing eye lit with deranged lust. His gloved hands gripped around your forearms, squeezing. “They’re dead.”

“W-who?”

“Duskendale scouts. We found them, questioned them, and killed them,” he answered with  soft-spoken intensity, gripping your arms tighter. “Cole’s speaking with Aegon now. We attack tomorrow. Duskendale will fall, and Rook’s Rest after. We will cripple my half-sister and uncle’s strategy before they gain it.”

Your pulse hammered against your chest. Behind your ears. You weren’t sure if Aemond realized how harshly he held your arms. It hurt. “Th-that’s wonderful news,” you stammered, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and creeping fright. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head and let go of your arms. Then, he held your face as he crashed his mouth down to yours, kissing you with victory that smelled, and tasted, of copper. “My brother will have his throne,” he rasped against your mouth. “My whore of a sister and her bastard horde will never claim what is Aegon’s by right.”

You whimpered against his mouth, against his words, melting into him as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hip. Lifting your hands to grip onto the front of his dark green doublet, your breath caught in your throat. Blood stained the white of your chemise where he had squeezed your forearms. It looked nearly black in the tent’s candlelight. Leaning back half a step, you looked down your body and saw the front of you stained as well. Not only was his face and hair speckled with blood, but his new military garb was covered in it. “Aemond…!”

“Shh, my sweet wife,” he said against your neck, nipping the sensitive flesh.

Confusion, elation, and lust roared through your body, all of them trying to outdo each other. None of the emotions won. They only succeeded in tightening the muscles of your belly and making your entire nervous system quiver. Why were you like this? Why did your prince husband covered in other people’s blood make you yearn with dark desire? Goosebumps rose on your skin as Aemond nipped, kissed, and sucked all along your neck and shoulder. On instinct, you began to work open the buttons on his overcoat; you’d only seen him in this garb a few times, and your fingers fumbled with inexperience over them.

“I’d do it all again,” he said by your ear. “I will do it again. All across the Seven Kingdoms.”

You understood his meaning. You heard what he left unsaid. Pulling back, you peered up into his seeing eye. A hundred emotions lay bare for you to see: rage, satisfaction, confidence, hunger. “Who are you doing it for?” You asked softly.

“For my brother. For my hatred of my half-sister. For you.”

Aemond’s leather glove was warm when you grabbed his hand–the blood on it slightly sticky to your bare touch–and you nuzzled your face into it. “My sweet, dark prince,” you cooed, kissing his palm. His fingers. Languid. Dizzy on the intoxicating aura radiating off him. You bit the tip of one finger, sly; blood that certainly wasn’t your husbands smeared your mouth.

Witnessing your reverence had Aemond groaning in low inaudible High Valyrian. His soft raspy voice praised you in words you didn’t know. With his free hand he pulled you against him, his hard cock pressing firmly against the soft span of your belly.

You moaned behind his hand. “You will win this war for your brother,” you said adoringly. “Not Crison, not Rosby, or Stokeworth, or anyone else. You and Vhagar.” The feeling of him against your belly had embers searing your senses. Without allowing yourself to think twice about it, you licked one of his gloved fingers. The leather was smooth beneath your tongue, and your tastebuds exploded with the coppery taste of some man’s blood.

Aemond fucking groaned. 

You did it again.

Tension sparked down your spine like lightning and that delicate space between your thighs clenched around nothing. Despite the barriers of clothing between you two you swore you felt him throb. “You are the only weapon Aegon needs.”

He watched in fascination as you shamelessly licked the bloodshed from his glove. He nearly spent in his pants as you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking. “My filthy wife,” he hissed, pulling you further into him. He kissed you again and this time he tasted blood. He licked into your mouth, seeking it deeper. 

Each little moan his passion coaxed from you, he swallowed whole. Once again you began fumbling with the front of his attire, working the buttons open until you were able to push it off his shoulders. Beneath he wore a simple linen shirt, and you helped tug that off, too. With one final nip to his bottom lip you began to sink down to your knees before him.

Aemond watched you hungerly. 

You could unbuckle his belt behind your back by now–it stood no chance as you deftly slid it open. The front of his pants didn’t fight you as his tunic did. You pulled them down enough to free his cock, and you wasted no time in pressing deliberate, hot, open-mouthed kisses along it. You didn’t care that he was unwashed. If anything, the scent of leather, sweat, and battle on him made your desire boil over. Saliva instinctively collected in your mouth, and your eager kisses soon had your tongue sliding along him. By the time you wrapped your soft, lovely mouth around him it was lewd, and wet, and slow. You looked up at him, watching him unravel as you made a sensuous show of swallowing as much of him as you could.

Aemond’s eye hooded as he watched you. He would never fucking tire of watching you take him whole–your mouth or your cunt. Blood still streaked your exquisite features. It made the whole thing obscene. Blood from men he killed to protect his brother. To keep the throne for him. To protect you. “Fucking hells–,” he hissed. “There… yeah, oh yeah, hold my cock in that little throat of yours.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you held, drool already threatening to dribble down the swell of your lip onto your chin. You knew your husband liked it slow and messy like this. You knew he’d have the muscles of your throat flex around him until your head became dizzy from lack of air. You loved it–and he knew that. You held onto his thighs for support, cunt soaked and throbbing between your legs.

He pulled back slightly, before pushing forward, giving your slobbering mouth deep shallow thrusts. “I love how you sound gagging,” he praised, threading his gloved hand into your hair.

You nodded, tears still threatening to leave your eyes, moaning deep in your throat to his lecherous praise.

With a handful of your hair your prince husband bobbed your head along his cock for his pleasure, fucking into your mouth with perfect timing. He tipped his head back. He could never get enough of this.

His strokes were getting longer and quicker, now, a sure sign that he was getting close to finishing. You held on all the while, savoring the rough treatment as much, or perhaps more, than he was.

Finally, he stopped. Looking down at you again he said, out of breath, “I want to fill your cunny tonight, not your mouth.” Then, he clicked his tongue and said, “up.” He helped you stand, and before he could stop himself he was kissing you again, wild and voracious, licking away any trace of blood he had left on your face from earlier. He walked you backwards to the bed all the while and only stopped when the backs of your legs bumped into the cot. Smirking, he helped you out of your shift. He pushed you back onto it before finally stepping out of his pants and boots. 

Below him, you didn’t even care that his Targaryen hair was clumped with dried bits of blood. No, all you cared about was the weight of his cock as he settled it against you. Hot, heavy, smooth. He was perfect. All of him was perfect.

He squeezed your breasts in his hands–he was still wearing those fucking gloves! Of course he took everything off except for those!–rumbling his appreciation at the softness of them. His cock lined up with you effortlessly. With a push of his hips, he sunk into you. 

The stretch of him, the fullness of him, the sensation of being as close to him as you ever could be, had your eyes rolling closed and mouth parting open. In that same effortless manner, your legs wrapped around his trim waist. You were so wet that your body immediately yielded to him. You bit back a moan, not wanting to draw attention from anyone who might be in earshot of your tent.

Above you, Aemond smiled a dark smile. Shadows danced across his features and made the angular lines of his face sharper. “How does it feel to be right where you belong? Under me, full of me, wet as a maiden and hungry as a whore?”

Your legs flexed around him tighter. Heat bloomed beneath your face. “S-so fucking good..!”

He could see you holding back your sounds of pleasure. “Let them hear you,” he said, thrusting into you harder. Deeper. “Open that pretty mouth and let them hear.” Fingers pinched your nipples as he plunged into you again and again, filling you to your body’s end.

Even if he wanted you to stay quiet there was no way you could. Your sounds of pleasure spilled from your mouth as he nearly fucked you through the cot. It was as divine as it was harsh. Rough as it was loving. You weren't going to last long. Aemond wouldn’t either. “God–! Aemond..!” His name left your mouth in a wanton gasp, back arching.

With your mouth hanging open, he pushed two fingers inside to muffle some of those beautiful noises. “My pretty wife overwhelmed with bloodlust,” he crooned, tilting his head as he watched your fucked-out expressions.  “Come with me,” he rasped, cock swelling impossibly harder. “Come with me.”

You did. The tension in your belly snapped, and any restraint you were holding vanished. Your thighs quivered around him. The emotion and sensation that overcame you was intense and all consuming. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. You’d give him a babe tonight. You knew you would.

He throbbed inside your flexing and relaxing walls, his seed filling you past the brim of your cunt. It dribbled out of you while his thrusts slowed. His breath came heavy and labored, face finally softening in the orange glow of the tent. “Vok. perfect You are so perfect,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours as you both came down from the heights of shared orgasm.

Your legs loosened around him until they lay open, allowing him to slip out from the cradle of your body. “Duskendale will fall tomorrow,” you said to him, kissing him gently. “You will be the victor.”

He laid beside you, then, and pulled you against him so you were laying on your sides face to face. “Anyone who dare face me will fall. The entire realm will fall before me,” he answered with the softest utmost confidence.

Nodding, you smiled and kissed him again. “The world is yours, my prince. With fire and blood.”

“With fire and blood,” he proclaimed, hooking your leg over his waist. Then, he whispered, “I love you.”

And you said it back, meaning it wholly.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

Masterlist

See comment section for my main taglist and Aemond taglist! To be added or removed from either, please hit me up!

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[etherealeowyn]

"It's going to be okay" - Elrond (Rings of Power) x Fem Reader

When taking a walk in the woods surrounding Eregion, Elrond and Y/n come face to face with danger.

Angst + Fluff

Word Count: 863

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

As the sun regressed behind the dark, billowy clouds, the once-vibrant hues that decorated the lands appeared dull. Everything was still, unnaturally still. It was bizarre for a riparian environment, such as the one the elves were occupying, to be so devoid of life. The birds were not chirping, and Elrond noted there wasn’t a single fish that could be seen in the river as they had followed it to their destination.

“Something is off,” Elrond spoke, turning his head towards Y/n. “I’m sure of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she responded uneasily while moving closer to him.

Just when those words had escaped her lips, the heavens decided to open and drops of rain began to fall upon Middle Earth. Briefly, they stopped in their tracks and gazed up at the overcast sky, feeling the sensation of the cold droplets hitting their faces. Elrond gently pulled Y/n’s cloak over her head, preventing her hair from getting soaked, before raising one of his hands and wiping the water off her face with the pad of his thumb.

Interrupting the moment, the cacophonous cawing of a crow cut through the silence, making Y/n tense up and stare at Elrond with worry prominent in her eyes. Similarly, he looked at her, both aware the crow was a sign that orcs would be there sooner than they would like.

Distorted voices began to sound from the tree line, and an arrow whistled past the couple, lodging itself in one of the oaks behind Elrond. He didn’t get the chance to say anything to Y/n, rather he just grabbed her hand and began to run with her through the forest. She didn’t hesitate to follow Elrond’s lead, for she trusted him with her entire being, and she knew he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Y/n would certainly do the same for him, though her skills with the blade were considerably worse than his.

Suddenly they stopped, and Elrond pulled her underneath a fallen tree that he prayed would be completely and utterly invisible to the orc’s eyes. He grabbed his sword and tightly gripped it, desperately hoping that the orcs wouldn’t get close enough where he would be forced to use it. Elrond attempted to push away the guilt that was currently rising within him, when he had first embarked on this walk with Y/n, it didn’t even cross his mind that they would come face to face with danger.

Though she was filled to the brim with fear, she knew good and well that the more afraid she appeared to Elrond, the worse he would feel about the situation. The last thing that Y/n wanted was to be the reason why his mind was clouded and unable to function to the best of its ability in the case of an attack.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, reassuringly placing her hand on Elrond’s thigh.

“Yes, it will,” he responded, his voice sounding shakier than he had planned.

She grabbed his free hand and began to rub it with her thumb, and she could see the elf become visibly less tense. Y/n didn’t say anything else, fearful words would only worsen the situation. Plus, she didn’t want any orcs to hear them and find their location.

A mixture of harsh voices and footsteps could be heard semi-close to where the pair were hiding, and neither made a single sound. Even their breaths taken were hushed fearing that the orcs' ears would be attentive enough to find where they were even from that slight sound.

Elrond watched as Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, blocking the unfolding situation from reaching her. Instead of closing his eyes, he stared at her, tracing every inch of her face with his grey eyes, knowing that it was the best distraction in Middle Earth.

When the rustling of leaves and other things around them had stopped, Elrond figured that the orcs had left, but just in case they were still close, the pair sat under that fallen tree for about an hour. Verbally they didn’t say anything, but the way their bodies were pressed against each other said more than words could convey.

When the rain had lightened, Elrond felt as if the coast was clear to try and escape back to the city of Eregion.

“Y/n, it should be safe to head back now. I haven’t heard anything in a while,” he whispered, watching as she opened her eyes, relief replacing the fear that was once hidden within them.

She nodded in response, still nervous to speak, since they weren’t certain that all the orcs had retreated from the area.

Elrond got up and scanned the tree line around them, not seeing anything unusual. He let out a sigh of relief before stretching his hand towards Y/n, who immediately took it and let him pull her to her feet.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his body, nestling her head into the crook of his neck, deeply thankful for all he had done for her. He returned the hug, letting some guilt he carried dissipate now that they had made it through the worst of the situation.

[ellitx]

Chapter 19: The Lord's Will

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

previous || next

art belongs to: srr_yo

word count: 3.9k

           The storm was strong, harsh, and maddening. The tempestuous wind annihilated the entire city— from a strong wind to a ferocious cloudburst. It was similar to how the blue dragon attacked the city and everyone presumed that was the cause, but their assumptions drowned upon discovering it was not the Stormterror causing harm to all but Barbatos the Anemo Archon.

           Aether wondered if Jean was aware that it was Venti who was causing all of this. And if she did, did he see him as Venti the Bard or Barbatos the Anemo Archon during his rampage?

           Everyone cowered in fear witnessing the strong aura of an enraged unknown being. From the center of the plaza stood a young man clad in green carrying a damsel in his arms.

           A pair of large angelic wings sprouted from his back, fluttering as feathers fell off and lifted him off the ground. Had he been the angel destined to calm the tempest storm of Mondstadt, everyone would have cheered. But that was far from Celestial.

           His figure loomed. The moon’s radiant glow cast his youthful features yet all was daubed with nothing but fury. No one can approach or stop him. Not even the Knights of Favonius.

           Not even Aether.

           If one dares to approach him, they’d be thrown away like a measly rag doll. Aether could clearly see how his once bright eyes had turned dark and sinister. All that anger was pointed at him, warning him: “If you take a single step and take her from me, I will slaughter you.”

           The crowds cowered, parents holding their children close and shielding them from the sharp gales, while others bowed, kneeling even, to honor and welcome the overwhelming presence of the Anemo Archon.

           Aether, with his restricted strength and movement, turned and saw Jean from the distance. Her face was pale, her hands shaking and clutching tightly on her sword grip. He had never seen her so scared before. No, scared was not the right word.

           She had mixed feelings of confusion, fear, and uneasiness.

           But even as the Acting Grand Master, she’s ready to charge if the archon were to burst into another outrage.

           But how ironic was it that she'd attack the nation’s god who protected them for thousands of years?

           Everyone was scared, some were shocked. Not a single soul has the courage to speak.

             “O winds that sweep o'er Mondstadt's land, hear my words, my fervent command. In the realm where skies and earth collide, a love blooms fierce, none can deride.” The archon’s voice was soft yet thundering, his words echoed and reached the city’s ears.

           “This woman in my embrace, through day and night, she's my true lover, my cherished wife. A bond unbreakable, forged for life. So heed this warning: all who dare to cross the threshold of our lair, for should you trespass, face my might. Anemo's wrath shall take its flight.

           No mercy shown. No quarter given. By my hand, your fate be driven. For love is fierce, and love is strong. And for her, I shall right all wrongs. Let these words echo through the skies, a proclamation, a love that ties. Respect our realm, and you'll be free. But disturb our love, face destiny."

           With these proclamations, Venti's voice rang clear.

           A declaration of love and fear. His power as an archon was blinded with love and obsession.

           A warning to all who dared to defy.

           Pray and obey. That’s the only rule if they wish to be alive.

           And with those words, he vanished into the dark night sky, with only a few feathers left behind. The rain continued, pittering and pattering on the muddy floor. All sounds were muffled except Paimon’s cries which were crystal clear. Afraid and petrified by what happened, he mustered the strength to hush her cries. The only protection and safety he can offer from the god’s wrath.

  —

             “Is there a doctor here? Someone please help my brother!”

           “There were so many casualties… Is this still a safe place for us to live?”

           "I heard the Anemo Archon's wrath spared no one. The Knights of Favonius are overwhelmed, and there's chaos everywhere."

           “Even the Church can’t help us…”

           "I never thought I'd see the day when the Archon's protection turned into a storm of destruction.”

           In the hallowed halls of the Knights of Favonius' headquarters, poignant cries of pain and resilience played out. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and hushed murmurs, as the knights moved with purpose, tending to the myriad wounds inflicted by the recent upheaval. In makeshift infirmaries, the wounded lay on cots, their faces etched with the agony of recent events.

           Amidst the sea of suffering, the children and families sought refuge within the sturdy walls of the headquarters, clinging to one another for solace.

           The knights worked tirelessly to mend both the physical and emotional wounds inflicted by the recent chaos.

           “How are you doing, Aether?” Jean asked while washing the dressings that needed to be disinfected.

           “I’m doing well, but it still hurts like a brick…” he offered a wry smile to her while his fingers caressed his bandaged neck.

           “Please don’t push yourself. Rest as much as you can in here, however, the city is not in the best of state and our supplies may not be enough for everyone…” Jean heaved a sigh, putting aside the disinfected dressings.  “It seems our headquarters won’t be able to accommodate any more patients. The Knights of Favonius and I are trying our best to find a secured shelter.”

           “That bad, huh?” Aether frowned and leaned in, his torso bending forward, while his arms relaxed on his knees.

           Jean nodded slowly, staring out at the grim surroundings.

           "If we're lucky, perhaps when everything calms down, we'll rebuild the city..." she closed her eyes tightly, willing her thoughts away from despair.

           “I’ve already sent the emergency message to Grand Master Varka,” a familiar voice popped into the room. They both turned to see Kaeya emerging from the door holding two cloth bags. “He has decided to send three teams to bring more rations and resources on their way back. He will also come with them on their journey back to Mondstadt.”

           “Thank you, Kaeya.” The Acting Grand Master nodded appreciatively, taking the bag that had been placed on the bed next to Aether’s. He sat down, handing a portion of rations to the boy.

           As dawn painted the sky in hues of hope, the headquarters stood as nothing but a shelter. Mondstadt was in a complete disaster. Multiple houses were destroyed, the plaza was a mess, and even the villagers living outside the city were affected tremendously.

           The blonde traveler’s eyes flashed to the small figure lying on the bed. Recalling the previous night seriously made his head ache. Aether opted to take a good night’s rest.

  —

             A week has passed and the day is still the same. Rubbles and debris are still within everyone’s sight and it’s far from finished cleaning all the mess. All of the Knights were doing labor— not only that, but they also temporarily banned travelers from stepping within Mondstadt’s borders until further notice.

           It’s too dangerous for non-citizens to visit when the catastrophe is still imminent. As much as Aether wants to help, Paimon and Barbara would scold him for his recklessness, urging him to prioritize his own safety over assisting others in such perilous circumstances.

           He grouchily grumbled to himself, letting his mind drift somewhere else and possibly hoping an idea would flick the switch for him to do something. Laying on the bed will do no good, and he’s getting tired of nestling on the bed all day.

           Although he could always fall asleep if he just stayed put and waited for his eyelids to droop. But he knew deep down inside, that waiting for this catastrophe to be over wasn’t the best way to go about things either.

           Letting his mind meander in his headspace, he recalled Jean informing him of an update from the Grand Master. She was told their estimated time of arrival would be a week from now. They have contacted merchants from neighboring nations who will bring more rations to them so the knights can use them to sustain themselves while they wait. Some gave anonymous donations, gifting medicines, herbs, and bandages to aid in recovery efforts.

           Since a week had already passed, he was certain more rations should arrive by tomorrow or maybe even today. At least there won’t be any hunger pangs for these people anymore. To witness the Grand Master still aiding the nation despite his lack of presence caught Aether’s interest. If he’s able to live up to those standards, then there’s no doubt he’ll do great things once he comes back. A flash of hope filled his heart, giving him a feeling of motivation. Hopefully, the news about the arrival of the Grand Master will lighten up everyone’s mood.

           As much as he wants to join in helping the knights, he can’t neglect what is important to him as well. He knows Barbara nor Paimon wouldn’t approve of his idea. But if no one sees him, then there wouldn't be a problem.

           It’s almost night time and everyone’s too preoccupied with healing the wounded.

           Aether stirred from his bed, the call of restlessness drawing him. With quiet determination, he quietly left his room, ensuring his steps wouldn’t make a noise. Once he got through the front door, he made his way through the sleeping city streets, guided only by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds. His destination: the bell tower of the church.

           His silhouette moved against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. With practiced ease, he scaled the rough walls of the church, his fingers finding purchase in the worn stone as he ascended higher and higher.

           The chill of the night air brushed his skin as he continued climbing, each foothold bringing him closer to his destination. At last, he reached the towering bell tower, its shadow stretching out like a dark sentinel against the starry heavens. With a final push, he pulled himself up onto the narrow ledge, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

           Leaning against the pillar to take a breather, he wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead and turned around to admire the night sky. Though the past few days were packed with dread and anguish, the luminous light of the crescent moon almost had him forget his purpose for climbing all the way here to the top.

           From his vantage point high above the city streets, he could see the familiar tower in the distance, its ominous presence casting a long shadow over the land. Aether’s golden eyes narrowed, searching for any signs of the god and his “lover” he claimed. The distance between them stretched out so far that his hope for spotting you from where he was was futile, just as he suspected.

           Forcing away the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he turned his attention to the watch tower from the Knights’ headquarters. A silhouette moving caught his attention and Aether decided to return to his room lest he’d be caught by the knights lurking in the bell tower in the middle of the night.

  —

             Two weeks after the catastrophe, there was a small progress within the city. Several are still wounded yet they’re gradually recovering. The Knights utilized the Church for civilians who lost their homes and few kindhearted volunteers assisted the Knights and members of the Church to feed the displaced families.

           Aether’s neck had already recovered, the mark was gone but the sensation of his perpetrator’s fingers still haunted him till this day. Caressing his neck brings bitterness within him he wasn’t able to save you from the god.

           What if Venti, in a fit of rage or madness, had done something irreversible, something that could have harmed you irreparably? The mere thought sent a shiver down Aether's spine, and he vehemently shook his head, trying to dispel the dark imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.

           "No," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Venti wouldn't do that. He couldn’t."

           But deep down, beneath the layers of denial and hope, Aether harbored a nagging doubt. Even if Venti wouldn't physically harm you, the emotional toll of his actions could be just as devastating. And that was a truth Aether couldn't bear to face.

           With a sigh, he stood up from his bed and began pacing around the room. He spotted some villagers going in and out of the city gate behind the thickly curtained windows. What struck his attention were the carriages loaded with debris, and people carrying some vegetables and fruits. Perhaps to make soup for those who are still recovering.

           Somehow it stirred his heart a little to see the citizens still helping each other even after being scarred by disaster. Maybe they know it will bring more danger to move away from their homes right now, but they’re hoping for a miracle where everything will return to normal.

           The majority of the food supplies were already eaten during the crisis and a lot of residents are starving. Yet there are still people who have gone through so much more difficult hardships than what he has to go through.

           Staying inside will do no good. Aether strode to the door and opened it with determination, but the purpose of venturing crumbled to dust when a deaconess’s familiar blue optics glared at him.

           “Where do you think you’re going?”

           Aether swallowed the lump sitting in his throat, a cold sweat threatening to unveil, as he evaded her skeptical glare. “Just going outside to take a breather,” he answered immediately.

           Barbara’s frown wouldn’t expunge and he stood firmly in his place. When she took one big step, he panicked and backed off a little. If she continues walking forward, then there’s no turning back.

           Thankfully, she stopped before him. She looked annoyed and then glanced at Paimon standing beside the door, munching on a piece of bread. Was she with Barbara all this time?

           “He’s been stuck inside for a week. As long as he doesn’t do anything reckless, Paimon’s sure it’ll be fine.”

           Barbara heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose at Paimon’s nonchalant and indifferent behavior. Deciding to give in, she allowed Aether only on the condition he’d be back before it set.

           She sure has gone stern with him but the kindness within her still remains pure. It didn’t take long for Aether to prepare. He only needed his sword and his flying companion. Barbara told him to bring some medicines in case he got wounded, but she hoped he’d return unscathed.

           As Aether stood at the city gate, Paimon floated next to him, her eyes scanning the lush greenery beyond. The landscape seemed unchanged, yet subtle alterations were evident – barricades now dotted certain sections of the road, blocking any passage beyond the city limits.

           The crops at Springvale Village lay sparse and withered, stark evidence of the devastation wrought by recent events. Despite the desolation, however, the villagers toiled tirelessly, their hands calloused and backs bent as they labored to revive the once-lush fields and replenish dwindling supplies. With each passing day, small signs of progress emerged amid the barren earth, a small glimpse of hope amidst the ruins.

           Aether’s feet controlled his body, aimlessly wandering the prairie of the nation of the wind. Paimon was silent, quite unusual of her, but he didn’t ask her. She was lost in thought and so was he, but his mind drifted to the abducted maiden.

           Paimon followed him along, sometimes leaving a few comments here and there not to go to the forest lest they’d be attacked by hilichurls.

           He hadn’t realized they stopped at Stormterror’s lair. Before him was the ever-so-familiar wind barrier. It still kept him from entering further, a warning that the Anemo Archon and his dragon inhabited the empty land.

           His body took over before his mind could stop him. He rushed and slammed his hand against the barrier, screaming at an empty space. “Venti, please! You don’t have to do all of these!! I know you’re a good person but if you lock [Name] there, it’s no longer freedom!”

             No response. That couldn’t mean anything good. He pounded his fist again, the barrier rippling from the pressure, yet he felt nothing in return. Oddly, he heard something behind the barrier… But what?

           Over and over, the traveler kept on banging, crying out for Venti to release you. Paimon watched in silence, her eyes darting to him and the tower as she feared what would happen next. The pain and the stress his actions brought into the fairy's mind might make her stop him at this instant, another unintended consequence that could lead them down a different path.

           She closed her eyes, blocking out the reverberation of Aether's yells. He needed to be calm, she knew. All of this chaos and emotion were only building up more anger in Venti and she wouldn't want that.

           They were starting to disturb the wind spirits who lived nearby. Eventually, the cry ceased after a long while and the emptiness returned. His palm burned red where it touched the barrier; only moments later did he realize how close he came to harming someone.

           If only he wasn't damaged greatly, he'd still have time to save you. No, even if he was wounded, he should have been able to bring you back. How had things turned out like this? He wasn't prepared for anything of this sort. This... is not what you deserve.

           "Aether… we should just go. Venti won’t even spare us a glance." Paimon pleaded.

           "We can’t just leave [Name] there! What if something happens to her?" He shouted in return, glancing back at the pillar. It almost seemed as though she was holding her breath now, but she finally exhaled, turning to face him once more. "Stepping in again will make it even worse! Paimon will be devastated if Paimon loses you!" Her voice cracked, quivering and wavering betraying the fear and concern she struggled to contain.

           She sniffled, averting her gaze as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with her arm. They know Venti has his own reasons for keeping you in there with him, but is that really the right way to treat you? More so, he abandoned his people after the mess he made.

           Nothing will change if he stays in the tower and keeps you locked there with him.

           Aether's hands slipped, knocking his forehead on the barrier’s surface. It was too much for him, trying to figure out what to do when he should be doing his best to stay alive himself.

           There's nothing Venti will gain from it if they did so; perhaps nothing except for their— or worse, your— demise.

           “Pardon me, but are you here to offer your prayers to the Anemo Archon as well?” A voice joined in, halting his silent mourns.

           An old man who appeared out of nowhere drew near, seemingly unconcerned about their whereabouts. But they did not expect to see behind that man a flock of people holding bouquets of flowers, wines, and baskets of bread. Despite how dangerous the area is, they radiated in contrast to the gloomy atmosphere surrounding them.

           "What the...?" Paimon muttered as one of the old men set down his offerings near the barriers. He made eye contact with Paimon and she offered him a wry smile, watching everyone follow along the man's gesture to place down their gifts on the other side of the wall on what seemed to be like a shrine. Was that there all along?

           A robed priest walked towards the shrine, chanting and making prayer gestures. It was clearly evident from their actions that these were believers, using the lair as a sacred place of worship that those who visited hoped to receive some form of blessing.

           Aether had multiple questions he wanted to ask the old man, but for now, he kept quiet while everyone prayed and whispered their wishes.

           It was strange watching the group of believers praying in front of the gates, with little awareness that the person Paimon and Aether were talking about was on the other side, practically begging for the god these believers were praying for to free the girl he took.

           It seemed as though the old man sensed their watchful and peering gaze. "Please do not anger the Anemo Archon... for he may be merciful to some but harsh to others..." he said.

           "Harsh to others?" Paimon spoke aloud. The man stared back at her for a moment before answering, "Lord Barbatos is a benevolent archon, but witnessing his wrath during the Ludi Harpastum left many an unfortunate soul destroyed and exiled forever from his land."

           It sounded familiar, a promise, that would let people make offerings in exchange for good luck. The air was tense between them and Aether was at a loss for words.

           “We only wish for peace and harmony. People deserve to live their lives freely with no worries of imminent danger or threat.” The elder answered, tightly holding the cross hanging on his neck to seek guidance. “But if we worship and follow the Lord’s will, he might become merciful. It’s the only way for everyone to be saved.”

           “Will?” Paimon echoed.

           “Lord Barbatos added a will that will significantly change the scripture and history of Mondstadt,” the robed priest added. He stood up and brushed away the wrinkles of his clothes and took out a thick book from his robe. “We found this book on the altar while sheltering everyone. The Church has yet to read the full scripture but we can discern it’s about his spouse.”

           “The night after the festival was already a warning to us,” the old man’s voice trembled. “We dare not to anger him. So please, Honorary Knight, do not accumulate Lord Barbatos’s wrath.”

           Numerous times he encountered you, it always didn’t end well and the archon is always there to step in.

           He frowned and bit his lips. His fingers dug through his skin. It made him uncomfortable that the church never dared to question the sudden addition of sacred scripture and the will of the Anemo Archon.

           Perhaps because he is the archon, they obeyed his orders.

           Sighing heavily, he turned back to the barrier and placed his hand upon it.

           Under his breath, he whispered his prayers for your safety. The wind may have brought it to Venti, but the wind may have not. And regardless if it angered the archon, he’d still find a way to get you out of there.

taglist: @trust-the-oxygen @so-uncute

sorry for the very long wait for an update >.> this chapter and the next one have been sitting on my drafts for months and I didn't have the time to edit and fix it. but I finally have done it!

the next chapter was supposed to be the chapter 19, however after I reread the story, there was a big plot hole and it'd be very confusing how it got there so I had to add this chapter to fix the plot hole lol

also!! i did major edits on the previous chapters regarding Decarabian. i changed his title from “previous Anemo Archon” to “God of Storms” since he wasn't technically an anemo archon back then

[dipperscavern]

hello, it's me again!! (sorry if I'm sending to many requests) could you make a potion brewing for robb preparing to became a father?? reader is pregnant and it's like 3/4 months in it already and Robb is getting things ready for the baby while also taking care of his wife ofc

sorry again if I'm sending too many I just really love your writing and this 1K celebration thing is really fun ❤

you’re all good, thank you for requesting!! starks won/robb is the lord of winterfell AU

• robb would definitely pay attention to a lot of the more intricate details when it comes to preparing for the babe. you’re more focused on how the room will be prepared during the birth (aka which servants, what towels, what furs on the bed etc) and the birth itself, and while robb would definitely help you in that aspect too, he’s more focused on the smaller details most may not think about.

• meeting with the master at arms about if a boy, when they’ll begin training, the master of horse about riding, septa/septons about schooling etc.

• you gave him the honor of choosing the room they’ll reside in once they start growing/unlatch, and he takes great pride in that as well. would commission a small tapestry with the direwolf sigil to wrap the babe in/hang in their room

• when presenting the babe to his men/winterfell/its people, you can best believe that babe is wrapped in the tapestry

• would also put a lot of importance on security. positioning the most guards in the hall of the birthing room, and doubling them all around winterfell itself. you’ll be at your most vulnerable, and he & the entire castles focus will be on you and the babe, and robb knows this. he’s a foot battle strategist, and this would be an opportune moment for someone to attack — so he makes sure that’s taken care of. as soon as you begin your labors, he needs only nod at his commander of guards, and winterfell is on lockdown.

• praying. he would spend a lot of time in the godswood, kneeling to speak to the gods or his father (assuming ned has passed). praying for your easy labors and that you make it through the birth without hiccup, praying to be guided through fatherhood, and (secretly) praying that the babe has your eyes <3

• and he speaks about your birth plan so many times you’ve begun to get sick of hearing about it. he will be alerted when you start your labors, and if you want him with you, it shall be so. you’ll have an army of midwives, maesters, and your usual ladies in waiting. the ladies in waiting will prepare the room, maesters their medicines and herbs, and midwives will be attuned to your every move. you will have your every wish and desire, and naught is to be done regarding you and your babe without your command.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (24)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

As he left King's Landing his heart was breaking − he left his wife a letter with words of repentance and a request that she pray for him while he was away.

He could not forgive himself for what he had said to her and for abandoning her, leaving her with his brother. He told his mother to guard her and not let Aegon touch her, but he knew that his brother was now insane.

They arrived in Harrenhal after two days; plunged into his own gloom and desperation, he burned everything he saw in his path, not caring whether he was burning warriors and knights or ordinary folk.

All that was left of it was ashes.

He wanted to deal with the uprising as quickly as possible.

He condemned those who remained to death − children, mothers, husbands, old men, one by one. He watched as they walked in columns to the scaffold, weeping and wailing.

He felt nothing.

He was a fire and burned everything in its path.

At the very end, however, a woman remained.

She stood before him in her servant's attire − her raven black hair and piercing green eyes making her look downright dangerous, demonic. She did not lower her gaze, standing before him.

There was something about her that intrigued him.

There was a darkness in her similar to his own.

One of the captains dared to approach him and whispered in his ear:

"This is the Witch of Harrenhal, my Prince. Alys Rivers. Rumour has it that she murdered her own mother and is the bastard child of the Lord Strong. She can supposedly see the future and can heal." The man said and he raised an eyebrow.

He looked around, seeing his men lying on cloths with no hands, no eyes, with cuts and wounds, moaning in agony.

He couldn't kill a medic.

"Take her inside and guard her like a prisoner. She is to treat our warriors day and night." He said dispassionately, turning away, heading towards the fortress.

Several troops of the Princess's henchmen hid in the nearby woods, attacking them every night − despite him burning this area again and again, they still managed to protect themselves, coming out at night like rats.

The battles was prolonging, and he was already losing patience.

He spent most of the time alone in his chamber − his wife had not sent any letter to him and he feared that this was a bad omen. He guessed that she still did not want to speak to him, that she had not forgiven him.

He squeezed his eye shut at that thought, grabbing at his eye patch, feeling a burning, powerful pain pass through him − without his maester at his side, his sapphire was rubbing his skin, creating small bleeding wounds in his eye socket.

He shuddered when he heard a knock on the door of his chamber and looked towards it from the map that he had just been looking at.

"Come in." He said dryly.

He furrowed his brow as the woman, the bastard child of the Lord Strong, at least ten years older than him, walked inside.

She held a vessel of ointment in her hand.

She bowed before him meekly, her scent reaching his nostrils, a mixture of herbs and something else that he could not identify.

He knew she was a wet nurse, her breasts were full with milk, hidden just beneath her thin green shirt, her curves feminine, pleasing to the eye.

He pressed his lips together, feeling lust at the thought.

The lack of closeness to his wife for so long made it impossible for him to turn his attention away from such details.

"I have brought an ointment to apply to your eye, Your Grace. One of the guards conveyed me you were in pain." She said softly, her tone low, mysterious, filled with promise, something dangerous burning in her green eyes.

He thought she was made of fire, just like him.

He wasn't sure if he should agree, but the discomfort and pain he felt were unbearable.

He slipped his eye patch off his head, looking at her expectantly, curious about her reaction − the woman approached him slowly, placing the vessel on the table. She leaned over him, his gaze again involuntarily escaping to her breasts.

He saw that she smiled with the corner of her mouth and he realised that she was teasing him; the thought aroused and frustrated him at the same time.

Alys Rivers did not even flinch at the sight of his empty eye socket − she gently removed his sapphire eye and placed it on the cloth that she had earlier spread out on the table. She put the ointment on her finger and began to spread it gently on the sore skin of his eyesocket.

He realised that he had longed for that touch.

Her touch would be different, he thought.

Her hands would be smaller, her fingers longer; her lips would not curve in a lustful, confident smile, her eyes would be filled with attention and care.

She would have smelled of flowery, fresh oils.

She would be focused on her assignment, her warm breath would envelope his face − he would grasp her soft, plump breast in his hand, peeking through from under her thin nightgown, and she would giggle sweetly, asking him to let her do her task properly.

He would draw her onto his lap with impatient gesture, let her feel how much he craved her, and she would blush surely, speaking affectionately about how impatient her husband was.

He felt like crying at the thought.

Everything about his daily life was marked by her presence.

And now she was not by his side.

He shuddered when the woman's touch snapped him out of his reverie and he felt her hand on his palm − he took his hand from hers, looking away, filled with lust and desire, but no longer because of her.

If he didn't have a wife, he would have told her to stay, to be comforted, to experience at least a moment of solace.

But now, if he did, one important detail would frustrate him.

She wasn't her.

"You may leave." He said dryly, no longer bestowing his stare on her.

"I could give you an heir, Your Grace." She said, and he felt a shiver run down the back of his neck.

He looked at her, shocked by her words − she stood over him, a calm, sensual smile on her face.

She would give him an offspring.

A bastard child.

One like Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

One just like her.

Insolent whore.

"You may leave." He hissed, looking at her impatiently.

Alys took his words with surprising calmness.

"Your Grace." She said softly, bowing to him and turning away, heading towards the door in an unhurried motion, closing it behind her.

He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, realising that he was on the verge of doing something that he would deeply regret.

Being separated from his wife for so long was affecting him worse and worse, the weight of his sins crushing him more and more.

He needed consolation.

He placed the precious stone in his eye socket again, but no longer put on his eye patch; he took the parchment and quill and wrote a message, which he rolled up. He called out to his servant, tying up the letter and gave it to him, telling him to send it immediately to King's Landing directly to his wife.

He wrote just one sentence inside.

Join me in Harrenhal.

He had been waiting impatiently ever since, elated at his own decision − he wasn't sure if Aegon would agree to her leaving, or if he would want to keep her in the Red Keep.

He felt uneasy at the very thought that his brother might have wanted to claim her for himself.

What frightened him the most, however, was the thought that his wife would not want to see him at all.

That she still hadn't forgiven him for his cruel words.

That he would never get her back.

When he didn't receive any message from her after a few days he became afraid − he avoided Alys like a fire, yet she appeared where he was like a shadow.

He felt as if she was a reflection of him, his animal brutality, all his primal desires.

He felt that just as in the presence of his wife he was regaining consciousness and peace of mind, with this woman he was getting closer and closer to madness, his heart as black as her hair.

He knew that she desired him and there was something about her that attracted him too − a need to self-destruct, to destroy himself and everything in his path.

He prayed every night to the Seven Gods for his wife to arrive, to save him, to light up the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that kept him from thinking he was mad was his faithfulness.

He was faithful to his family.

He was faithful to his wife.

He fucked himself with hand almost every night, seeking fulfilment, imagining that it was her soft fingers and lips touching him, that she had returned to him, that she forgave him.

That she loved him.

Completely immersed in his thoughts, he could no longer even focus on what Cole was saying to him at the daily councils − he fought strenuously against the desire to fly to King's Landing.

One night he was awakened from a restless sleep by a knock on the door − a servant walked into his chamber saying that a woman claiming to be his wife was waiting downstairs in the main hall.

He had never dressed so quickly before, not even allowing himself to be helped by a servant − he left his chamber, running down the cold stone stairs, full of desire and hope, praying that it was true.

He saw in the dim light of the torch a small figure dressed in a travelling attire − a simple grey cloak, white shirt, a black corset and breeches. He froze, stopping in place − she heard his footsteps as she turned immediately, her face pale and terrified.

Her eyes wide in fear, her braided hair wet with rain, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her sweet lips parted at the sight of him.

It was her.

She looked just as she had when he first saw her in Storm's End.

Pulsating with life, delicate, soft, warm.

His.

She had arrived.

She had forgiven him.

His wife.

He looked at her face, not knowing how she would react to seeing him, but she smiled so wonderfully, that he felt his face contort in pain and relief.

She ran towards him and he threw himself at her, grasping her in his arms, pressing his yearning lips, throbbing with desire to hers with a low moan of despair and relief.

He pushed her aggressively towards the wall, making her take a couple steps back, clamping his hand on her soft hair. They panted into each other's mouths, kissing greedily, sucking and brushing each other's puffy lips with a sticky click, his fingers nimbly untying her corset, spreading it apart. He took a firm hold of her soft breast covered by her thin shirt and they both made a sound of delight.

He paid no attention to the fact that all around them were guards and servants who didn't know where to look.

Let them watch, he thought.

Let Alys Rivers look at what she was trying to win with.

Let them know what happens when fire and water come together.

"− get out − all of you −" He commanded in a low voice hoarse with desire, kissing and sucking her long neck, her hands clenched in his hair, as her fingers traveled down his back, holding him close.

He needed to feel her, right now, right here.

The guards and servants obediently left the hall, followed by a silence broken only by their panting and moans. Their fingers quickly began to untie their breeches, impatiently trying to deal with the material that stood in their way.

"− forgive me − I didn't mean a word − I swear −" He exhaled, caressing her with his swollen, moist lips, her hot cheeks, her long neck, unable to decide what he wanted to feel more, what he longed for more, her scent filling his lungs like the freshest night air.

"− forgive me, my sweetest − it's all well now −" He said in a voice trembling with despair and desire, lifting her up in his arms, pressing her against the cold stone wall.

She sobbed loudly as the pink, swollen head of his cock forced it's way between her fleshy, slick folds, her legs entwined around his waist, her hands clenched in his hair. She pulled off his eye patch, kissing his forehead and he groaned low, his hips with sure thrust sinked deep into her yearning, hot walls, so wet and tight for him, sticky with her moisture, welcoming him home.

"− I know − I'm here −" He panted into her ear, resting his forehead against the wall, her hands sliding down to his buttocks, clenching her fingers on his skin, seeking her own fulfilment, her whining echoing around the room as he slammed into her again and again, spreading her wide on his fat, throbbing cock.

"− don't leave me − ah − please, don't send me back −" She mumbled, her head tilted back, her breasts wonderfully bare before him − his lips grasped her nipple and began to suck on it greedily, drawing a wonderfully sweet moan of pleasure from her chest, their bodies bumping against each other with a lewd, wet slaps.

"− never −" He exhaled loudly, speeding up his pace, rooting into her so brutally and quickly that he felt like they were both almost screaming, hot and sweaty, so close to their peak.

"− I'm going to fuck you all night − tonight − tomorrow − fuck − the day after tomorrow − do you understand? −" He hissed in her ear, pounding into her with all strength he had in his hips, his fingers clenched painfully tight on her buttocks, her fleshy, slick insides clenching against him, making him groan with pleasure.

"− yes − please − please − please, fill me −" She sobbed helplessly and he hugged his face to her cheek, feeling he was about to cry out with happiness, praying it wasn't a dream, moaning helplessly along with her, his hips slamming into her with deep, sure, desperate thrusts.

"− g-gods − yes − please − ah! −" She mewled, tilting her head back, startled by the wonderful, powerful fulfillment that ran through her body like a storm, her loins trembling in convulsions, the sound of his name rushing out of her mouth like a whimper again and again.

"− that's it − your husband is close −" He whispered tenderly into her ear and clenched his eye with a low, helpless groan when he felt his hot spend finally spill inside her again, relaxing him so wonderfully, giving him pleasure from which he felt like he was about to faint.

He fell to his knees with her, and she squealed loudly, locked in his embrace, panting with him − they sat like that on the floor, shocked at how intense the closeness was.

They both swallowed loudly, breathing heavily, his face snuggled into her neck, inhaling her scent, filling his lungs wonderfully.

He thought that he could fall asleep with her like this on this uncomfortably cold stone floor if she wanted him to.

Her presence was enough for him.

He decided, however, that he would take pity on her.

He had plans for her.

"− we will finish in my chamber −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

[apomaro-mellow]

Demon Eddie is based. But did we think to incorporate priest Steve ?

OOOOOOOHHHH

Steve was on his knees, prayers muttered under his breath. He kept his eyes closed. If he didn't seem him, then it didn't exist.

"I don't go away just because you ignore me~"

It was right into his ear but Steve had learned not to flinch. If anyone had learned he was being haunted by an actual demon-he'd never seen an exorcism up close but they didn't sound fun. This apparition had appeared to him suddenly one night. Steve had awakened in a sweat, body warm yet unsatisfied with just the whisps of a dream when he saw red eyes in the dark.

"What delicious desperation..."

Steve had started to tell his elder that a demon walked among them but quickly found that he was the only one who could see and hear it. This evil meant to consume him personally and he wouldn't let that happen. It had been triggered by a moment of weakness. By thoughts of depravity.

So he prayed harder. If he proved his faith, he would honor his Heavenly Father.

"If it's a daddy you want-"

"Leave me alone!", Steve hissed. Thankfully he was alone at the altar right now but people came and go. He didn't want to appear a lunatic or worse, marked by the devil. He got up and walked out, seeking sunshine. It seemed cruel that his demon would also enjoy bright sunny days, basking in the bench next to him.

Steve didn't have to guess how his devil was made. It was unfortunately very clear to him. He had been tasked with taking over Father Brown's duties while he had been under the weather, which included sharing the good word with the inmates of the local prison. He thought he'd been unaffected by the lewd catcalls thrown his way and the prying eyes, but apparently not.

The men had all looked different but there was something about their intensity that had intrigued him. Steve had only gone once he found it hard to forget their features. It only made sense that his demon would be an amalgamation of them all. Dark, curly hair that was too long for a man nowadays, an attractive nose, deep brown eyes when they weren't glowing red in the dark.

Steve might've been able to appreciate his handsomeness in a completely normal way. But the curved horns and pointed tail showed what he really was. That and the visions that haunted him at night revealed the demon's true intentions.

Every night was the same. He'd wake up with a start at the first rays of light, left with just the ghost of sensations and the vague memory of the dream. Hands adorned with rings, touching him in ways no one ever had. A voice, a familiar once now, whispering sweet nothings.

Sometimes Steve wished he remembered what he said. But then he reasoned that not remembering was a blessing that he shouldn't take for granted. He was still being shielded by the Lord's light, even if a tiny sliver of darkness got through. It was Steve's fault, it had to be.

He worked with children sometimes and it was a little amusing how most of them imagined a literal fistfight with the devil. How could he tell them that the devil didn't attack that way? That it all came down to mental fortitude?

His demon never left him, even at night as he settled in for bed. Oddly enough, he was courteous enough to give Steve privacy as he dressed down. Perhaps because he's already seen everything Steve had to offer. But he never put laid a hand on him, at least not while in the waking world. He laid his head down, rosary clutched tight in his hand.

Tonight would be the night. This time he would overcome his impure impulses. He'd dream of something else, he'd be sure of it. This demon would bother him no more.

"You can just call me Eddie, sweetheart. That suits me just fine. Sweet dreams."

Steve rolled his eyes but kept them on him as he sat in a chair at the edge of the bed. He never imagined it would have a name but he didn't care. This demon, this Eddie, would be gone before morning.

When instead, he awakened, a moan on his lips that sounded suspiciously like a name, well that was just another secret he would keep to himself.

[kawaiianimekitten]

Obey me x MC/reader

He scares you/ accidentally-ish makes you fear him

Pt 1 of Lucifer

Warnings: anxiety attack, angst

Note: this will be a hurt comfort, but this part is only the hurt. I didn't expect it to be so long. I hope to do the comfort part soon, when I do I'll link it here. I also plan on doing all the brothers.

Pt 2 here

_________________________________________

(2nd person)

You go into Lucifer's office with some tea, a snack, and some papers for him. He's been in his office all day, like usual, but hasn't even came out to eat or talk to you. So, you thought he was probably stressed and hungry. Plus, you found some papers he forgot. You were just trying to be helpful.

You set everything down on an open space on his desk and go over to him and give him a hug from behind, careful to not get in the way of his work.

He hums, acknowledging your presence.

You give him a small kiss on the cheek then go to sit on the couch in his office, picking up one of the books Satan lets you keep in there to entertain yourself during times like these.

After a few chapters, though, your phone starts going off. You panic for a moment cuz you thought you silenced it, and you forgot where you set it down.

Lucifer glares over at you as you clumsily find your phone to silence it.

"The hell are you doing MC?" Lucifer's voice deep and cold.

You find your phone and silence it quickly. "Hehe, oops, sorry, I really thought I silenced it."

His glare gets colder as he stands up and walks over to you.

If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under; and with the look in his eyes, you think you might end up there anyways. You've seen that look in his eyes before. Never directed twords you, though.

"MC. You know how much work I have to get done, yet you can't seem to stop bothering me. First you come in here, breaking my consideration, with things that are distractions, then you decide to look over my shoulder and distract me by being so close, and now you decide to break my consideration again. If I had the time currently, I'd give you a lecture, but I don't." His voice raising little by little as he gets closer, finally blocking you in once his statement is finished.

How he's looking at you and boxing you in makes you feel like cornered pray. Yet you try to stand your ground, cuz you don't want him to think it's ok to speak to you that way. "Y-You say it as if I ment to." You stand up, crossing your arms and look him dead in the eyes, shaking a little cuz damn that look is terrifying- "I was just trying to be helpful. I knew you were stressed, so I brought you some tea. You hadn't eaten, so I brought you some food. You left some papers lying on the kitchen counter this morning, so I grabbed them so no one would ruin them. I was careful to not get in the way of your arms or sight while hugging you and I thought my phone was silenced. I get that you're stressed right now, but I was trying to help, so I would appreciate it if you would take a deep breath and loose that attitude because I refuse to be treated this way."

He now looks amused. Not in the good way though. This change has you even more on edge than before.

"Ha! 'helping'. You aren't helping. You can help by leaving me alone." He slowly backs you up into a corner. "I don't need your so called 'help'; and I don't need you. You are just a human. A nuisance. You can't tell me how to act, especially not when you're so weak and useless."

By now you're trapped in a corner, with Lucifer in his demon form speaking so loud you think the whole house could hear.

(first person: MC/reader)

"L-Lucifer, p-please step back a bit." It's getting so overwhelming. I don't want him to think it's ok to act like this, but I just needa get out of here. If I don't leave, I might end up dead again.

He gets even closer, his face only inches away. "Or else what. You're just a human. If it weren't for Lord Diavolo, I would've killed you and given the bones to Cerberus by now."

His words hurt. A lot. I try to hold myself together, not wanting him to know he's getting to me.

I shove him out of the way and start walking twords the door, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. "Who give you permission to leave?!" He yelled. The tears spill over and I can't control my breathing anymore. I don't feel like I'm getting enough air. Everything is starting to feel fuzzy.

"what's happenin in 'ere?" Mammon pops is head through the door.

"What's with all the yelling, I was napping" Belphie comes in, rubbing his eyes.

"And I'm trying to read." Satan says right after.

They all freeze for a moment when they see what's happening.

Then they all rush over, taking Lucifer's hand off my wrist and moving me away from him.

As soon as I'm out of his grasp, though, I curl up, into myself, covering my ears with my hands. There's a jumble of words, but I'm not able to decipher them right now.

Someone picks me up, I'm guessing it's probably Beel.

Everything is just a blur. I end up on the couch, curled into Beels side and Asmo frantically worrying about me and talking about how 'all this stress is gonna make him break out' or something like that.

Beel holds me close, and it's the perfect amount of pressure to be comforting but not suffocating. It definitely helps calm me down quite a bit. My breathing isn't quite back to normal and I still have tears running down my face. After a moment Belphie comes in and lays down on the couch with his head on my lap, wrapping his arms around me. I gently rub my hands through Belphies soft hair.

The mixture of Beel holding me, Belphie with his head on my lap, and giggling at Asmo being Asmo, all has helped me calm down.

I'm still pretty shaken up, but all that has taken a lot out of me. I yawn and cuddle closer to Beel and lay my hand on Belphies head while closing my eyes, just listening to Asmo.

I wake up with Beel still holding me and Belphie in my lap. Asmo and Mammon are now sitting on the floor, Mammon clinging to my leg and Asmo is right in front of me, sitting on a cushion. Satan is sitting on the edge of the couch reading a book. Levi is also here now, leaning on the leg opposite to Mammon, playing on his switch.

"You hungry?" I look over to Satan and see he's lowered his book and looking at me. I nod and he gets up and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with a big bowl of popcorn and some water. "You needa hyradte as well. Beel, don't eat it all, MC needs food too." I giggle at Beel, who already had a handful of popcorn.

"As you say MC, 'hydrate or die stright'" Asmo smiles at me.

I giggle, replying. "Well, I can't have that, now can I?" Before drinking some water.

As much as I'm scared to bring it up, I have to ask. I've been putting it off for 7 episodes and it's starting to get late, meaning everyone will start heading to bed soon.

"H-Hey... What happened with Lucifer? And where is he? I haven't seen him since I woke up."

Everyone goes silent, making my nerves spike again.

"Obviously in his office. Where else would he be?" Belphie groggily replies. "And since you're up, run your hands through my hair again, already." I do as requested.

"You don't have to worry about anyone being hurt, if that's what you're concerned about." Satan says.

"Mhm, we just played an uno reverse on him and give him a lecture." Mammon says, smiling, happy with himself.

Everyone heads off to their room after a few more episodes and it's now down to me and the twins.

"Wanna sleep in our room tonight?" Beel asks.

"I'd like that, if it's ok with you both..." I don't want to intrude or be a bother, but I would feel more comfortable not being alone right now.

Beel picks me up and puts me over one shoulder before putting up Belphie over the other one.

Once in the room, we all pile onto a bed. Beel has me laying on my back with his arms around me, while Belphie's using my stomach as a pillow. Surprisingly, I fall asleep fast.

_________________________________________

I don't usually write first person, so I hope I did ok. I hope you liked reading this, and I hope you have a good day

[luniibelieves]

God Saved Me

Looking back, it's incredible to consider how much turmoil entered my life through those who opposed me, challenging my faith. I've faced many trials, but it was only a few months back that I was hit with intense depression. The combination of being overworked, facing deceit, lies, and the loss of a loved one all at once was overwhelming. One day, this culminated in a panic attack while I was in the back room at work. Suicidal thoughts started creeping up on me. Telling me, "Everything will be easier if you just end it here and now."

But that "end it here and now" wasn't the conclusion of my tale. With every ounce of breath and strength remaining, I clasped my hands together and prayed.

"God, I'm struggling to breathe. Father, I beg you. Help me to breathe. Lift this weight from my chest so, I may breathe freely once more. In Jesus name I pray, Amen."

As I wiped away my tears and took a deep breath, a profound sense of relief swept through me. The weight on my chest lifted, freeing my breath once again. It was as though the chaos had never happened. I was surrounded by a sense of freedom, peace, and comfort. God not only eased my pain but also sent someone to my workplace. Coming up from behind, she tapped my shoulder gently and said, "I don't know what you're going through, and there's no need to tell me, but may I pray for you?" Looking up with hope, I agreed, "That would be lovely." She hugged me close and prayed aloud in front of my boss, my coworker, and other clients, as I found myself weeping on her shoulder. This marked the beginning of my complete faith that God was present, saving and protecting me. It was at that moment I chose to dedicate my life to Christ.

Since that time, my life has overflowed with joy, peace, and happiness, even though the enemy occasionally tempts me to revert to my old ways. As I strive to draw nearer to God and strengthen my relationship with Him, I witness more of His blessings in my life. No number of thank-yous or hallelujahs could adequately express the glory of His amazing presence. His love, patience, kindness, grace, mercy and so much more are unparalleled. All I can offer are my stories and testimonies of the greatness he has brought into my life, with the promise of more to follow.

The client who prayed for me left a Bible scripture to help me through life's trials and struggles, which I will share here for anyone in need.

Psalms 91:

"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Surely, he will save you  from the fowler’s snare  and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent. “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

[sunnycanvas]

Could you write a story about Salah ad-Din's daughter and Baldwin?

After surviving the disastrous seventh crusade, a weary and battered crusader found himself lost and alone in the aftermath of the war. He realized that God had spared his life for a purpose: to reclaim Jerusalem from what he saw as heretical hands. With great effort, he limped along, using a makeshift stick as a crutch and desperately in need of medical attention.

As he trudged forward, rain began to pour from the heavens, soaking him to the bone. Exhausted and seeking refuge, he came upon a modest house and decided to take shelter beside it. It was at this moment that an elderly man appeared, recognizing the crusader's attire and his own past as a fellow crusader.

"Ah, a fellow crusader," the old man began, a wistful smile forming on his weathered face. "I, too, used to be one of your kind. But age eventually forced me into retirement."

The crusader was taken aback by the old man's revelation, realizing that he must have served during the era of King Baldwin's reign. Reading the young man's thoughts, the old crusader continued,

"I have seen a time when King Baldwin of Jerusalem, the one who was a leper, beat Saladin although he only had 300 armed men against Saladin's 3,000. But now your sins have come to such a pass that we round you up in the fields like cattle."

The bewildered crusader couldn't fathom the reference to "sins" made by the old man. Confused, he inquired, prompting the old man to knowingly explain, "Your sins date back to the first crusade, where innocent lives were brutally taken, staining the streets of Jerusalem with so much blood that it reached ankle-deep. It was during that time that two souls, (Y/N) Salahuddin's sister and King Baldwin IV, fell in love. Their affection for each other was evident in their eyes, but it's a tragic tale of love lost amidst the chaos. Few dared to speak of their love within the palace walls, as the nobility largely despised them."

The crusader was taken aback by the old man's sympathetic view of (Y/N). After all, he had always heard rumors accusing her of using witchcraft to seduce King Baldwin IV. The old man, sighing, seemed to understand the young crusader's inner turmoil. He retreated into his house briefly and emerged with food and medicine, tending to the crusader's wounds with care.

As the old man tended the crusader back to health, the old man nostalgically reminisced about his own youth. He began recounting his own story:

Year 1180

"My memories take me back to my childhood, where my parents spoke passionately of the Holy Land and the divine duty to protect the birthplace of our Lord from heretics. Back then, I longed for adventure and dreamed of becoming a Knight Templar, wielding wooden swords while my parents toiled and prayed. I proudly proclaimed myself a future knight to my friends. While my friends mocked me my parents encouraged my aspirations. I soon fulfilled my dream and became a knight to say I was sad would be understatement leaving my hometown especially my friends and parents would be understatement. Alas! there was nothing to be done

"As a young adventurer in the Holy Land, I served as a Knight Templar under the command of Reynald de Chatillon, a notorious warlord who was a Crusader lord based in the Kerak castle known for his ruthless raids. Some claimed his actions were meant to tarnish Salahuddin's reputation in the eyes of the Islamic world. However, his actions took a grave turn when he captured Salahuddin's sister, who was traveling in a caravan from Egypt to Syria .Salahuddin was furious when he learned of the attack. He saw it as a personal insult, as his sister was among the prisoners.

The old man's voice held the weight of history as he recounted these events. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

Reynald looked at me and said "You, new comer" I nervously pointed to myself and he said "Yes, you. Go and inform Guy de Lusignan about my capture of prisoners especially our enemy's Salahuddin sister". "Be quick as possible before the news reaches the king" he commanded. I hurriedly mounted my horse and raced toward the palace. Sadly, I arrived too late. The news had already reached the castle, and they were embroiled in heated discussions."

I was afraid to turn back and face the wrath of my lord, for the failure of my work.

"My friend, recognizing my predicament, suggested I join the Knight's Templar during the discussion.

"The king will appreciate your presence, it will show him that you are loyal to crown not your lord"

"Besides lord Reynald is going to be punished" Heeding his advice I entered the room and saw the hall was already dissolved in aggression.

The old man's voice grew intense as he recalled the heated debate within the castle's walls.

The king who was patiently listening to all arguments noticed me entering and nodded as if to acknowledge my presence

“Guy de Lusignan and Reynald de Chatillon, with the Templars, have attacked a Saracen caravan" exclaimed my friend entering first and I followed behind him

“It was no caravan. It was an army headed for Bethlehem to desecrate our Lord’s birthplace.” Guy defended himself

“Reynald, with the Templars, have broken the King’s truce. Salahuddin will come" Tiberias interrupts

“Tiberias knows more than a Christian about Salahuddin’s intentions.” Guy challenged while Tiberias says “That I would rather live with men, than kill them. Is certainly why you are alive.”

“That sort of Christianity has its uses, I suppose.” Guy mocked with his followers in the army who laughed along with him

“We must not go to war with Salahuddin!” Tiberias exclaimed. “We do not want it, and we may not win it.”

 ‘Blasphemy!’ Knight Templar yelled with protest and fought with Knight Hospitallar who were arguing back as well.

"There must be war, God wills it!" Guy agreeing yelled as well "God, wills it".

"Amidst the heated discussions, there were clashes between Templars and Hospitallers. Some cried out for war, invoking God's will, while others, like Tiberias, urged restraint. The King Baldwin IV, sat patiently while reading letter."

The old man's eyes sparkled with memories of that fateful day. Suddenly Baldwin IV raises his hand Tiberias noticing yells

"SILENCE"

Making the whole hall quite. Baldwin IV looked at the crowd and spoke in his raspy voice "I had sent a word to Reynald to let go of prisoners but he refused" As he said this the king tried getting up from his throne. Tiberias offered his hand worried about the king. However Baldwin IV raised his hand to as if signal he is capable of this much. As he got up the King whispered in his advisor’s ear. "We must be quick as possible before news reaches Salahuddin or else there will be war"

“My Lord, if you travel you will die" Tiberias voiced his concern

“Send word to Balian to protect the villagers.” the King in commanding tone yelled “Assemble the army.” which was followed by cheers of the knights

The king arrived to the place where Reynald had supposedly taken Salahuddin's sister. King displaying extraordinary dignity ridding in his horse went forwards my lord. As he got down his horse he headed towards my lord. Reynald went pale in fear. When the king reached him he took off one of gloves and extended his leprous hand and declared,

'I am Jerusalem, and you, Reynald, will give me a kiss of peace.' Reynald kissed the King's hand desperately, knowing the gravity of his actions. But the King, without hesitation, began to administer punishment. After he was done the king asked "Where is the princess?". A knight informed him that she, along with others, was held in prison. The King nodded and headed toward the castle, but suddenly, he stumbled. Several knights, myself included, rushed to his aid. Despite our pleas for him to rest, the King was determined."

(Y/N) was there in the cell crying but she got quite when she heard footsteps coming towards her. "No, matter what I won't allow you to hurt me"

"Princess" Baldwin IV said in his gentle voice. Realizing it was not Reynald (Y/N) came out of the dark and went into the light

I looked at the king and saw he seemed to be smitten with the girl but also had hint of pity in his face. "She must be truly terrified" I heard him mumble

"Princess, I apologise for the conduct of my knights". "May I please get the pleasure of knowing your name". (Y/N) who was surprised at gentleness of king mumbled her name in whisper "It's (Y/N)". Baldwin IV nodded at her and commanded the knights to treat the prisoners with outmost respect. "The princess shall get her own residence in palace" Baldwin IV commanded but the princess yelled "And get assaulted by your fellow murderers!" "I would rather live and die in prison than to submit to you and besides" (Y/N) face darked in anger and she leaned forward and said with outmost animosity "Flee from the leper as you would flee from a lion". "There is no way I would stay in the palace of leper". The place had gotten awfully quite . You could fear the sound of drop of water easily until a crusader shouted "You ungrateful wrench, how dare y-" but the king lifted his hand shutting him up. The king turned towards (Y/N) and said

"People said that the diesease is the punishment for the vanity of the kingdom, if it's true I call it unfair" As the king said this he quietly laughed at the end of the sentence. The king suddenly seemed lost in thought and (Y/N) noticed how beautiful his blue eyes were and got lost in them. The king then said "I am aware of the sins commited I can't change what happened but I can change what will happen" "Please come and live in the comfort of the palace"

The crusader looked at pity at old man as he looked at the old man who appeared to be on the brink of death. Death had been a familiar companion on his crusading journey, but this stranger had stirred something within him in the short time they had spent together. The old man managed a feeble smile and softly spoke, "I wish I could share more with you, but I can feel my time has come."

The crusader responded, "I believe you've been a good man, and I have no doubt that our Lord will grant you the kingdom of heaven."

The old man's eyes twinkled as he continued, "When I first saw you, you reminded me of the king. Gentle, non-judgmental, and wise. I'm grateful I trusted my instincts and shared part of the story with you. There's much more I could have shared, but alas, my time has arrived."

With a tinge of sorrow, the crusader whispered, "Don't worry; I believe. I believe that (Y/N) and King Baldwin IV were good people who became victims of their circumstances."

As the old man heard these words, he seemed to find peace, a burden lifted from his weary soul. He must have carried these stories with him for so long, yearning to share them but having no one to confide in.

In the fading light, the old man slowly passed away in the crusader's arms.

The old man slowly died in crusader's arm and the crusader felt the rays of sunshine on his face. "The heavy rain had stopped" he thought. In that solemn moment, the crusader felt a rush of warmth and energy. He knew this day and the stories he had heard would remain etched in his memory forever.

Fast forward to present day:

"Both Christian sources and Arab sources have hostile opinions of Salahuddin's sister (Y/N) and Baldwin IV respectively, William of Tyre was said to be trusted resource but historian like Bernhard Hamilton spent lot of time proving otherwise. Now it's a well known fact that William of tyre work is biased with political agenda" (Y/N) said excitedly. "You are such a history nerd" your friend teased. "King Baldwin IV was said to understand the concept of chivalry" (Y/N) replied dreamily. "Of course, you like chivalrous knight while I like rough and aggressive man like my boyfriend" your friend said lost in dreams on her boyfriend.

"Are you borrowing that book, I need that as well. I am searching for this book for so long". Baldwin IV mumbled hesitantly.

"Isn't it Baldwin IV? He is said to be sickly but popular among his peers" Your friend giggled leaned down near your ear whispered "He is said to be gentle man, perfect for old romantic like you". You playfully shoved your friend.

"BEEP". You turned towards the sound and saw your friend's boyfriend with his bike. Your friend giggled "I gotta go" "Meanwhile you enjoy your date with your new boyfriend" and rushed away

You playfully rolled your eyes and turned towards the boy and said "Sorry about that"

The boy gave a bright smile and said "No worries. It's refreshing to meet someone who shares my passion for history." "How about a cup of coffee and a discussion on the history of the crusades?

[drakaripykiros130ac]

https://www.tumblr.com/thesunfyre4446/737006979789275136/baela-being-fostered-at-driftmark-instead-of-luke

What do you think about this ? Nothing against Baela, but I'm tired of being called the rightful heir of Corlys... She's not even a Velaryon. She's a Targaryen. Corlys did not choose her as heir. So she was never the heir. As simple as that. Also, Luke could start learning, he was still young.

I was blocked by that TG user a long time ago. Poor guy/girl couldn’t handle the truth.

I have gone over this subject so many times, I feel like I am speaking to walls at this point.

1. Corlys is the Lord of Driftmark. Rhaenyra is not the Lady of Driftmark.

2. Corlys, as the Lord of Driftmark, is the only one who can decide his successor. He chose Lucerys over Baela and Rhaena. And then, after Lucerys’ death, he asked Rhaenyra to legitimize his bastard sons (Addam and Alyn), and name Addam the heir to Driftmark, which she did. He once again passed over Baela and Rhaena. But I suppose that’s once again Rhaenyra’s fault, right?

3. Rhaenys chose to take Baela as her ward while Corlys was incapacitated. This wasn’t his choice. It was Rhaenys’, who clearly favored her granddaughters (at least in the show). As if Mr. Mysoginist, Corlys Velaryon, would ever agree to foster Baela instead of Lucerys.

4. Rhaenys helped reaffirm Lucerys’ position as the future Lord of the Tides, as long as he married Rhaena. She cares about her husband’s wishes but also ensured that Velaryon blood would continue on the Driftwood throne. Two birds, one stone.

5. Corlys’ decision is somehow once again Rhaenyra’s fault in the simplistic nut-sized minds of these TG stans. How, pray tell????

6. Rhaenyra doesn’t know anything about commanding fleets, that is true, but she does have experience in ruling. She ruled Dragonstone for years. So there are certain things she is able to teach her son.

7. I am beyond confused how TG stans, who preach that tradition and precedent favors male primogeniture, claim that Baela is the rightful heir to Driftmark, and not Vaemond. It’s Vaemond who they should be supporting, because otherwise, they look like crap. The only thing that this confirms is that they will use anything and anyone (including the Velaryons) to attack Rhaenyra.

[wellthebardsdead]

*The emerald grove devil Au, where Lûnes life started off filled with love*

———

Keldran: *travelled all the way from baldurs gate, holding a basket in his hand with a tiny baby nestled within, unable to bring himself to kill him, but unable to obey Selûnes demands to keep him imprisoned, never mind so close to where so many cultists of the lord of the 8th could easily find him. Now walking through the empty streets of moonhaven, no signs of life beyond borded up windows of a village that never fully recovered from a century of assault, and heart heavy knowing he only has one option left before him and hoping natures chosen will find mercy even his own goddess feels unwilling to give* shhh… *sits down on a rock and lifts the baby from his basket, giving him his bottle and rocking him in the night air. His mind clouded and unable to see him as his own son despite having his eyes, unable to forgive the fact he’d been tricked by the spawn of Mephistopheles into siring him, but in this life deciding not to blame him for it* shhh… this is for the best child… *looks over at the wall barely hidden behind the rocks* …May silvanus have a kinder heart than our lady of silver… *looks down at him as he finishes the bottle and settles back to sleep* May you be given the love that I cannot give… *places him back in his basket and walks to the gate of the old oak grove, setting him down with a note pinned to his blanket, before casting blessing over him and praying Selûne will have mercy on him* good luck, Falûne… *walks off into the night leaving him there*

Falûne: *blinks awake slowly no longer sensing the swaying of his basket or the soft hum Keldran sang to keep him calm* h-heh- Heeeh!! *starts to cry and scream his little lungs out, trembling in the darkness of the dim moonlight, his shrieks so loud they cover the noise of the gate opening, only silencing as he’s lifted into two large hands* h-hweh! *looks up to see two warm eyes and a scarred but gentle face*

Halsin: oak father preserve me… where did you come from little one? *looks down at his blanket and sees the note, a long warning written on one side of who he is and who made him, of the ruin he will bring if not raised with care, and on the front, his name* Moon flower… Falûne. *smiles* hello little one… You can call me papa… *picks up his basket too and carries him into the grove*

*20 plus years later*

Falûne: *hanging upside down by a tree branch* you mean none of you smelt them? Only me? A bunch of funky smelling rats turn up at the grove and nobody bats an eye?

Rath: none of us expected them to be shadow Druids! *sighs* no matter. Khagas facing her punishment. I can only thank silvanus your nose picked up something off before they could do harm.

Falûne: hmph. Papa should’ve never let her reach the position of arch druid to begin with, she treats anyone different to her like salted earth…

Rath: she’s just-

Falûne: a racist. *jumps down* and I’m tired of everyone pretending she isn’t. *trots off across the bridge leading to the gate and the hollow, only to freeze as he sees Halsin guiding several wagons and other Tieflings into the grove, all of them exhausted, battered and weary* papa? *walks over and looks up at him* who are these people?

Halsin: refugees, from Elturel son, I found them while out scouting, they were attacked by gnolls and goblins.

Falûne: more attacks, I can hel-

Halsin: No. I won’t be having this conversation with you again either son. For the time being you stay within the grove unless you leave with me.

Falûne: but I can fight! You taught me-

Halsin: … *folds his arms*

Falûne: *bristling to argue but holds his tongue and pouts, hugging his staff* yes dad…

Halsin: good lad… *pats his hair* why don’t you help the refugees settle in? I saw a few around your age who could do with a friendly welcome.

Falûne: huh? *looks at him then at the caravans, catching the eyes of a certain blacksmith and a sulking wizard* I- *visibly blushing dark blue before hiding behind halsin*

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 5

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Secondary character has mild panic attack | Brief mentions of bruising

Wordcount: 1.6K words

Summary: Y/n and Nitiel talk while preparing dinner for themselves and the other servants.

Minors DNI

A/n: This is more of a filler chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it.

A/n 2: the previous chapters can be found here Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Y/n POV

The crown prince did not seek her out, but he kept to his promise the few times they did come upon each other. Thranduil was more courteous and respectful, even going so far as to instruct Feren to discreetly see to her welfare.

Feren called on her whenever time permitted, always asking brief questions about how she found life in the palace and how she was being treated by the others. Y/n answered as honestly as she could, and then the crown prince’s steward would take his leave of her before others saw and tongues wagged. One day, he even asked to see the bruise along her wrist. His lips curled in distaste upon seeing it, but he said not a word. Y/n considered it strange but kept her own counsel.  

He called on her again tonight, and he departed only after pressing a glass phial containing a thick, pale ointment into her hands. Nitiel had seen them, and the phial that had been placed on the little table that was used for the cutting of vegetables and herbs and fruits. She swore to guard her tongue.

“Arnica.” She removed the cork and breathed in the scent after Feren took his leave of them. “Comfrey.” She smelled it a second time, and a third. “Yarrow. For bruises.” The cook put the cork back in the phial and regarded y/n with barely disguised curiosity. “You are full elf. Your parents were born in the Blessed Realm, no less. Why would you need such a thing?”

I suppose my secret would not remain a secret for long, y/n told herself. She lifted the sleeve covering her left arm and revealed the still-healing bruise along her wrist. It was now a strange shade of yellow, but y/n considered it an improvement on the black and blue and purple from before.

“This is why,” she replied, sitting down on a chair. 

Nitiel took her hand into hers and hissed softly. “How did you get this?”

“I… I would rather not say.” Y/n thought it would not be wise to reveal what took place between her and the crown prince that day in the gardens. Nitiel had proven herself to be a kindly woman, but y/n believed the revelation could still go badly against her if she said anything. Thranduil was well loved by his father’s people.

“You would rather not say,” Nitiel repeated. She studied y/n keenly, determined to learn more. Then she sighed and let go of her hand, as if she had changed her mind. “Well, this ointment is not going to apply itself. Give that clean cloth to me; we need to get this done before anyone else sees it.”

It did not take them long to apply the ointment and cover it with a thin strip of dressing. They talked while Nitiel went about her task, and they talked while y/n helped her make supper for the servants. The others were away, clearing the dishes in the great feasting hall above them, leaving them alone. The cook had so many questions about life before the War of Wrath, about life in Nargothrond and Himring, and about the sons of Fëanor themselves.

“They say your father had hopes of you marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons.” Nitiel dusted flour onto a thin slab of wood and rolled out the dough she had prepared for a wild-berry pie. In the hearth nearby, a stew bubbled away in its copper pot. The pie would be brought to the table much later, but the stew would be served as soon as it was done, along with thin, flat disks of bread and muled wine. Even in the kitchens, everyone ate and drank well. “They say you even met some of them. Pray what were they like?”

Y/n reached for a sharp knife and began to peel new potatoes for the stew. “Lord Maedhros was everything the songs made him out to be,” she began. Peelings fell without a pause onto a kitchen cloth she had laid out on the table. “But he looked so worn, as if the burdens of the oath were beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Lord Maglor looked no different, but his eyes were softer, and kinder. Of the twins, we saw little. They were always abroad, hunting, and had little time for politics or council meetings.”

“Lord Caranthir?” Nitiel asked, crossing to the other side of the kitchen. She reached into a cupboard that had been mounted onto the wall for a pie pan. 

Y/n stopped peeling. “He kept to himself mostly, and he always looked so angry with the world. Lord Curufin, on the other hand, did not keep to himself.” She returned to her task—wild carrots this time. Thin orange flakes fell over thin brown ones, and she found the sound of it all rather soothing. “And his tongue was as deadly as a scorpion’s tail. Many took care to avoid its sting.”

Nitiel shivered. “And Lord Celegorm?”

Y/n stopped again. Out of all the brothers, Celegorm stood out the most in her eyes. Almost as tall as Maedhros and just as fair, he was a maiden’s dream-made flesh. More than one lord’s as well, if the rumors of his many appetites were true.

“Captivating,” she said. “Others would gather around him at many a feast like moths drawn to a flame. He knew how to drink. How to eat. How to laugh. No matter the hardship, Lord Celegorm always knew how to laugh. He was an elf who was as wild and free as the Vala he once served. And he was dangerous. Yes.” She carried the vegetables to a clean bowl of water to wash. “He was dangerous. More dangerous than all of his brothers put together.”

“You make it sound like he was comfortable being drenched in blood and gore.”

“That is the thing. He was.”

“And it is best if the two of you are not heard discussing them.” Angon stood by the open door, his arms crossed, his countenance full of worry. The women were startled. They did not know he was there. Y/n bowed her head out of respect. “Not even here. Not even amongst yourselves,” he continued. “These walls have ears. Do you understand?”

The king, thought y/n, he must have spies everywhere.

And y/n believed the need for hidden eyes and ears may have been due to her. Still, she decided not to dwell on it, for it would only distress her if she did. She smiled and lifted the lid of a glazed jar instead, saying, “Came for more tarts, my lord?”

Angon threw his head back and laughed. “You know me so well.” He joined them and made himself as comfortable as possible in the chair Nitiel pulled out for him. Angon was every inch a warrior, all tall and proud and fierce, and the chair only helped emphasize his great height and size. Today he was garbed in the deep forest green robes he often favored. Nitiel once said the color brought out the green in his eyes. “Yes. I am not ashamed to admit that I have indeed come in search of more sweets. Though I must confess, my fair lady’s kisses are far sweeter.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love,” Nitiel countered, blushing. “But I suppose it would serve just this once. Now stay here and make yourself content with what I place in front of you.”

They talked again, this time of Angon and Nitiel’s plans for the future and of Nitiel’s new role, now that she was the wife of a high-born elven lord. There was no queen for her to serve as a lady-in-waiting; Thranduil’s mother, along with many others, departed for the Blessed Realm after the Elder King’s herald, Lord Eönwë, invited them to do so. There was no princess, either. Thranduil had no sisters, or brothers, for that matter. Oropher, Angon said, had decided that Nitiel would aid his own steward until Thranduil took a wife. Then she would serve her as a lady-in-waiting. 

“Father and mother have also come around,” he announced, his eyes filled with a great sense of relief. Marriage without the blessings of either side of the family was always received ungraciously, and this was a good sign. “They agreed to welcome you properly into the family. Three nights from tomorrow, my love. Many of our kin are gathering for a small feast. The king agreed to attend as well, along with the crown prince.”

The pie pan and all that it held shook in Nitiel’s hands. She barely held on to it, saving it from falling and spilling its contents all over the polished stone floor. 

“Oh,” she began, flustered. “Oh dear. Your parents… your kin… all those nobles, the king… his son… Y/n, you must help me. Please. My clothes, my hair… so much… so much…”

Angon was the first to reach her, leaving his seat without so much as a sound. “Sit here, my love,” he said, guiding her to the nearest chair and taking the pan out of her hands. “And breathe.”

“Should I fetch her some wine?” Y/n asked, equally as concerned as he was. Nitiel was pale and was clutching desperately onto his hand while she tried to compose herself.

“Wine is the last thing she needs right now,” Angon returned. He left the pan on the side and began to rub Nitiel’s shoulders. “Fetch her some water, my lady. Or that chamomile tea, if there is any of it left. Nitiel needs a little time to rest. That is all.”

“I will help you,” y/n promised. She prepared a fresh pot of chamomile tea while Angon fussed over his wife. “With your hair, your clothes, everything. Now drink this,” she urged after she came back to them, and pressed a warm cup into Nitiel’s hand. “You will feel much better after.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe@lemonivall@coopsgirl@tigereyesf@thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error@asianbutnotjapanese