#i know why war wives n all

[appri-dot]

why is cooking and cleaning the house a "woman" role. deadass? should I find a dirtyass home w only microwaved fastfood leftovers a "manly" trait?

[sunandsstars]

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 9

Tonowari x Ronal x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: With her arrival in Awa’atlu, reader seeks to find a sanctuary for her family, one that she may find in two particular individuals

Warnings: Mentions war, Pregnancy, Mean dad

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: thank you for those who have been patient with me! I know i abandoned you all for a bit but here’s chapter 9, i might rewrite it since the first bit seems a bit rushed but let me know what you guys think!

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr @mooniequeen @berrybluez @bajadotcom @alwaysinwritersblock @pandoragalora @perfectprofessorloverapricot @lvrcpid @answer-the-sirens @phantomalex14 @neteyamforlife @bat1212 @sadforeversblog @ducks118 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @1800imgay @soushswag @honeybxes @lola-bunn1 @alldaysdreamers @doggodorime @theesexystallion @scarlettwch @annamarieisbae @wallpaintt @zatarias-pandora @daoyus @ambria @simp-erformarvelwomen @simpliheavenli @tojidilfs @automaticwizardnerd @lexasaurs634 @symptoms-of-moonlight @avtprint

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The Metkayina pair became good mates for her, they were understanding, loving, protective, everything she had ever hoped for in the past, a dream she once had that now became a reality.

Tonowari hunted for the rarest of pearls outside the reef and crafted pretty necklaces and beaded tops for his new wife, his love was more physical, he enjoyed creating new clothes and loved decorating ___’s hair with small shells and sea glass, his wives only deserved the best after all.

Ronal showed her loved in different ways though, she cooked for the growing family, took care of any wounds, accompanied ___ wherever she went and taught her all she knew about being a Tsahík in hopes that she can learn and become one herself in the future.

Together the three thrived and eventually moved into one large marui with the perfect view of the sunset and sunrise each and every day. The house had much more space for their children too, who were all growing as the years went on, there were even new additions to the family, such as Tsireya, their first daughter and Ronal’s second born.

___ often thought about having more children, but birthing twins, especially in the circumstance she was in, was enough to put her off for a while. But with her new happy family, she continues to ponder what it would be like, she now lives in a more stable environment with mates who adore her and her boys so it was only right for her to think.

“Yawnetu, what is on your mind?”

Tonowari glanced up from the net he was weaving, cocking his head to the side and blinking, usually at this time of the day his wife would be chattering away about what she has been up to while he was hunting, but alas he was met with silence most of the evening. It was obvious something else took up her thoughts, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Snapping her head towards her husband, a purple hue took over ___’s pretty face “I am sorry, what was it you said? I was not paying attention”

Tonowari chuckled and put down the unfinished net, getting on his hands and feet and shuffling quickly next to her, cupping her face. “I know you were not, that is why I asked what you were thinking of” he leaned in and brushed his nose against hers, foreheads connecting.

___’s slightly larger ears twitched at his words, eyes widening, should she tell him?

Just as she was about to open her mouth loud shouting echoed from outside the marui, interrupting the couple peace. Tonowari leaned back and sighed, eyes closing and a hand coming to rub his temple, what could be causing such a racket late into the evening?

As the shouting drew closer it was clear to make out the voices and words, the concern that once appeared in ___’s yellow orbs died down into amusement.

“No! That is mine! I will tell sa’nu!”

“She will agree with me anyway, you must share! It is not fair you get to have this all day!” Two young na’vi scrambled into the hut, bickering and sticking tongues out at each other. One held an akula toy made out of mangrove wood, waving it around like a prize he had won. “Sa’nu! Tell this skxawng to share!”

Syatxì pouted at his greener brother, glaring daggers into bluer eyes, his yellow gaze fell onto his mother who hid a laugh behind her hand, frowning even more at the lack of help. “Mama, tell him off!” he pointed a finger at Ao’nung who stuck his tongue out once more.

“Now why must your mother solve all of your problems?” Tonowari stood up and crossed his arms, analysing his sons who quickly stood to attention. “You two are warriors are you not?”

“Srane!”

“Then you must fight your own battles. Your mother should not be doing so, instead of her looking after you, you must look after her” the boys were fast to nod intently, taking in the words like it was a quest they must complete, and in a way it was. “Warriors do not depend on the fight of others, you must think for yourselves, what would better the situation -“

“Tonowari” Another figure emerged from the entrance to their home, walking inside with the steps of a leader, behind her skipped in another two smaller figures, peaking out between the Tsahìk’s legs. “Must you do this now?” Ronal huffed and placed a few bowls down, squatting by her pile of herbs and sifting through them.

“Ronal, they need to learn”

“And they will, husband” the woman glanced up and offered a small smile, “in due time” she then moved to sit next to her wife, cupping the back of her head as an intimate gesture.

___ patted the space between her legs to offer her daughter a place to sit as the family talked, quickly getting to work adjusting her thick hair “my sons, fighting is not the answer. Sharing is what we do as a family, and Ao’nung, do not call your brother names”

It was Ao’nung’s turn to pout as his counterpart cackled in his face, snatching the akula toy and running away. “Hey!”

Happiness is simple.

That’s what ___ told herself as she watched her boys play, Sylwaì rushing to join in the fun as they soon decided to leave for the waters and explore before dinner.

Her family meant everything to her, she has a home now and has a life with people who appreciate and care for her as much as she does them. “I appreciate you both, I love you in ways i cannot express” she whispered, kissing the top of Tsireya’s head as she jumped up to follow her older brothers who called for her.

“And we love you yawnetu” Tonowari sat on her other side, kissing her shoulder. “You know, you still have not told me what was on your mind earlier, you were thinking very heavily”

“I want another child”

Ronal stopped poking the fire pit that was suspended above the water, inhaling a breath and turning her head to look at her mates with eyes that shined with growing glee. “You do?” her tail started swishing behind her, despite her best efforts to be calm and mellow.

“Srane. Maybe not right now, but at some point, I want children of your blood, and mine”

“It is decided!” The Olo’eyktan jumped and picked ___ up by the thighs, hoisting her up and she squealed, laughing at his joy. “When you are ready, we mate, again, and you will bear our next kin” he rubbed his nose against hers, placing her back on the floor by her feet.

Ronal soon joined and kissed ___’s shoulder sweetly, a small grin on her face “it was about time you said that, I was afraid ‘wari might explode otherwise”

“Ronal!”

Yes, happiness was simple.

It was times like these where Neytiri most thought of her, the beads in her hands resembled the amber of her eyes and the pattern of the bracelet reminded her of her hair.

___ never left her thoughts ever since she left all those years ago. The tsakeram has physically moved on, after her search for the women was left with no progress she decided to pray to Eywa to keep the small family of three safe on their travels to wherever they go and hope for the best. Mentally, Neytiri is sad, her heart still aches and yearns for her lost mate, and if she can turn back time she would, just to change who she was.

“What are you thinking of?” Jake put his bow away, finished with cleaning the exterior and replacing the string, his head turned towards his wife and cocked a brow, noting her silence.

“___”

Jake paused, face turning to look at the ground by his feet, ears going down, just like Neytiri he is haunted by his actions, but he tried to forget about them rather than acknowledge them. He was a brute, a shit ‘mate’ and abandoned his sons before they were even born. It’s thoughts like those that push him to step down from his mighty position as a leader, but the clan needs him, so he stays.

“I have faith that she is safe somewhere” Jake replied, nodding his head to reassure himself. ___ was strong, she would have found somewhere to be.

Neytiri sighed and tied off the bracelet, “and what if she was turned away, for her sons? What if she never found anywhere safe to begin with? what if -“ large hands cupped her face and a nose bumped hers, Jake smiled a little at her rambling, but it was a sad smile, he does not know how to answer those questions, he thinks the same as her deep down.

“The twins were born looking like true na’vi, there is no way they would find out about them without ___ saying so”

The warrior nodded her head, sighing in defeat and kissing her mates cheek, for now she would get on with her other chores, later she will ponder again. It was like a cycle she can never break out of, one that leaves her dreaming dreamless nights and going about her day on autopilot.

“Sa’nok!” Kiri jumped into her mothers lap, rushing to get away from the sticky hands of her brother, Lo’ak, who was chasing her with the intent of throwing tree sap in her hair. “Hide me from him! He will not leave me alone!”

Lo’ak roared and ran up to the pair, squealing when he was picked up and dangled upside down by his father, “Dad! Put me down!” he wriggled and tried to escape the Olo’eyktan’s firm grip.

Jake chucked and continued to gently swing him, “Kehe, what did I tell you about terrorising your sister? you worm”

“Not to do it in front of sa’nok!”

“Hey!” Jake bellowed a laugh as he put his youngest down, catching Neytiri’s judging face aimed straight at him and quickly stopped his laughing, pretending to act serious for the sake of his wife. “Kids will be kids” he shrugged, trying to play the innocent husband with a coy smile.

His wife just huffed, a grin stretching onto her face as she felt a kick in her stomach, hand instantly going to soothe the ache. “Little one wants to join in the fun, it seems”

Kiri gasped as she felt the slight pound on her back, turning to face her mothers bloated stomach and leaning down, smooshing her face against it “I want my sister out, I am tired of being the only true girl, there is only so much me and Lo’ak can talk about”

“Kiri! I am NOT a girl you turd!”

Kiri just ignored her brother in favour of focusing her attention on her new unborn sibling. “How do you know it will be a girl ‘ite?” the youngling shrugged and smiled a little.

“I just have a feeling” she sung. The marui entrance suddenly flapped open with force, another little boy rushing inside, panting slightly.

“Lo’ak! Stop running away from me!” Neteyam went and tackled him, dogpiling onto his younger brother who laughed loudly, the two wrestling for fun. Kiri snorted and rolled her eyes ‘boys’

Jake kneeled next to his mate, kissing the back of her neck and sighing quietly, his family bringing him the comfort he desperately needed, but yet he still feels incomplete. His heart yearned for the missing pieces, his missing sons and his missing mate.

One day he will find them.

A new star appeared in the sky. It was small to the naked eye, almost unnoticeable, but to someone who has studied the stars day in and day out for the past 14 years, it looked out of place, glowing brighter than the others around it, twinkling brighter and brighter as the minutes past.

“Hey” Jake nudged his wife awake from where she laid on his chest, still staring up into space. His distant look urged Neytiri to turn her head up into his line of sight, eyes widening and jaw going slack.

“No, this cannot be” In the far distance, the bright light zoomed down onto Pandora, red hot fire raging down onto the planet with a mission. Everything around the ships caught fire and the flames spread too quickly, the creatures of Pandora screeching and rushing to escape.

Neytiri ran to a higher viewpoint, jumping over logs and dodging yerik who fled in the opposite direction, a cry escaped her lips and she watched her home, once again, fall victim to the humans who once destroyed her planet in a time she thought long had past. The Na’vi crouched and sobbed, feeling the arms of her mate surrounding her who had his ears pinned back, watching the sight of the forest going up in flames.

His nightmares never seemed to end, Jake could only wonder if this was the great sorrow Moat talked about all these years ago.

A year passed from the return of the human race, the humans and na’vi who lived near hells gate moved up to the floating mountains for safety. Always preparing for war, always going to fight.

Spider was squatted over various bowls of blue paint, redoing the stripes that littered all over his body, sticking his tongue out in concentration. Behind him, Kiri worked swiftly and accurately, painting stripes in places he cannot see or reach.

“I still don’t understand why you paint yourself like this”

“I told you, it’s to blend in” Spider turned and faced the much taller girl, looking at the stripes on her body to try and mimic on his own. “When I do this, I look like one of you, the animals respect me more. Plus, I run faster”

“Sure monkey boy. The animals probably don’t want to taste the berries when they eat you” Kiri snorted, dipping her hand in more blue paint and going back to paining his biceps.

“Hey! I am na’vi, just like you” Spider scooped a large glob of paint, although still small compared to the amount Kiri had, and launched it at her face.

“Oop!”

Sudden footsteps interrupted their playful banter, little padding of feet getting closer behind the pair. “Spider! Kiri! The war party has returned! They are back! Come on! Come on!” Tuktirey rushed over and grabbed both of their arms, dragging her sister and friend along to the edge of high camp, watching as banshees shouted as they flew by and landed.

Shouting can be heard by the cliff, the evident voice of their father talking sternly to their brothers, Kirk’s ears went down and she sighed, going behind Neteyam and looking at his evident wounds.

“You spot bogeys! That was your one job! You spot them and you report them, from a distance!” Jake got up to the boys faces, waving his hands like a madman.

“I’m sorry sir, it was my fault” Neteyam lowered his head, disappointed that he let his father down again.

“When are you gonna stop taking the heat from this knucklehead?” Jake glared at him, eyes going to Lo’ak who stood silent, feeling his little sister moving his arms around. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Ma Jake. Your son is bleeding” Neytiri interrupted, eyes concentrated on her husband who was evidently stressed. Her tail curled in slight annoyance, heart pumping from the adrenaline she felt in the fight. Jake looked at his wife and sighed, hand going to his temples.

“Go to your grandmother. Now” As Neytiri took Neteyam by the arm and followed her daughters to her mothers tent, she turned around to observe Lo’ak who was left standing in front of her husband. “You understand what your actions caused?”

“Yes sir”

“You could have gotten your brother killed” Lo’ak’s ears went down, he hated disappointing his father. “No flying for a month. See to every ikran, get them taken care of” and with that Jake stormed off, shaking his head and muttering curses under his breath, the ringing in his ears won’t stop, and unlike Neytiri his heart pumps from fear not adrenaline.

‘I could have lost them’

“Yawnetu” Ronal stalked over to her wife who fed the young ilu in the pen, a deep frown on her face at the news she was about to deliver. “The Omaticaya in the forest, they are at war once again”

___’s ears twitched and pulled back, she knew that the star she saw a year ago was not from any constellation she has memorised since her childhood, she had a feeling that the tawtute have returned, but has been keeping her mind occupied to forget.

Her heart continued to hurt though.

“I know, my love. I worry for my family back home” especially Spider, who she prays to Eywa every night to keep safe. Ronal rested her hands upon her lovers shoulders, sighing deeply, she knows that her wife is hurting inside, but the tsahìk can only offer comfort, not truly in the midst of war yet. Somehow Awa’atlu has stayed away from the tulkun huntings, and she hopes Eywa can keep them safe for a little longer. Sooner or later though she knows that war will be amongst their side of the reef, it was only a matter of time.

Ronal then took her hands off ___’s shoulders and stood straight, “I must continue with my duties today, join me?” the forest na’vi shook her head, she was planning to join some of the women to go into the reef to pick some plants needed for food and healing.

“Not at this moment, I must join some of the divers today” the metkayinan nodded and smiled a little, moving away from the ilu pen to wherever she was needed. ___ went back to throwing fish at the creatures in the sea, giggling when the young ones brushed against her legs. The smile she displayed was hardly genuine, but it was enough to fool outsiders who do not know her well enough.

The woman soon slips out of the water, putting down the empty baskets to be filled later and moved to where she was to meet the other ladies. The day ahead was something that she would soon come to dread, unknownst to her the past she once sought herself leaving would soon come crashing into her life tenfold.

But being unaware for the meantime was bliss.

The ladies were kind to her and the job was easy enough, she finished within a few hours into the morning, deciding to rest by the edge of the reef chatting away with her friends of a few years now. Gossiping about their husbands, as wives do.

‘’Do not get me wrong, I adore my mate, but sometimes he is just so overbearing! Why do I need to take two spears with me when I am outside the reef! I can very much handle myself’’ Tayal huffed, tail slapping the ground in slight annoyance from this mornings hunt. She was a seasoned hunter, extremely skilled and praised by the elders for her work, but her husband was just too cautious.

Sayala rolled her eyes and smiled at her ‘’your mate just looks out for you, if you do not like his actions then it is best to talk to him. I, for one, do not have an overbearing mate but he does snore very loudly when he sleeps. So loud that it wakes me up sometimes! I wish that I had your problem’’ The group laughed, ___ patting her shoulder in pity.

‘’If Tonowari were to ever do that then Ronal would shun him to sleep onto the ocean floor. I am lucky that he does not pose any problems late at night’’ She giggled, catching the interest of some of the ladies.

‘’My Tsahìk! You have two mates, what is that like?’’ The question caught her slightly off guard until she remembered that it is extremely rare for Na’vi to hold more than one lover, even then it is usually preserved for important figures of the clan.

‘’Well, it is normal for me, I have had two mates ever since I came of age, they are wonderful to me and the kids, I am just thankful to Eywa for guiding me here to them’’ ___ rubbed her swollen stomach, thanking the great mother for what has become of her, Tayal hummed, basking in the light that is ___.

But the Na’vi cannot help but wonder, her Tsahìk has become of age long before she joined Awa’atlu and she could not have been mated to her leaders since then, not to mention her two sons who were not of Metkayina blood (although she did not bat an eye at the latter, sometimes women have children without mates). Is ___ hiding something from them? But before she could ponder any longer their conversation was abruptly disrupted.

A horn sounded through the village, reaching far to the Na’vi who sat at the edge of the reef. They all yipped and cried out at the warning signal, abandoning their chores and standing tall from their crouches. ‘Visitors? What could this mean?’

‘’Look! Up there!’’ One of the woman pointed to the sky where ikran glided through the air, on top sitting forest Na’vi shouting to each other in panic, not expecting a horn to greet them as they entered. It alerted the village to the visitors, and while it was inevitable, attention was not something that they wanted to bring towards them for the time being.

___’s breath hitched at the familiar ikran colours, if these are the Na’vi who she thinks they are then- ‘’___ come! We must see who they are’’. But the Omaticayan could only sigh, already knowing the answers to the question her friend seeks guidance for, ikran are unique in their patterns, there are no two banshees who look the same. The two large creatures at the head of the formation could only belong to the Na’vi she once ran away from.

Ao’nung stalked through the crowded beach, coming to the forefront of the commotion with hard eyes, Rotxo trailing behind him. His gaze caught the yellow orbs of the two Sully boys who watched him with slight wonder, having never seen another Na’vi race before the Omaticaya. Inwardly the boy cringed, seeing similarities between his brothers and these…people. This was going to be difficult.

‘’Is that supposed to be a tail?’’ His smaller companion laughed slightly, pointing towards the skinny appendage which curled in anticipation. Ao’nung averted his gaze towards it and scoffed, smirking when the older boy of the two brothers turned his head to look at him. ‘’How are they supposed to swim-‘’

‘’Do not, Rotxo, Ao’nung’’ a sweet voice called out, small hand hitting the back of her brothers heads and blue eyes rolling at their stupidity. They were trying to look intimidating and it was obvious, making fun of these newcomers who looked the exact same as some of their family members. It was rude, and extremely unnecessary, these people are guests here, and as the chiefs daughter, she will show them the kindness that her idiot brothers will not do.

Tsireya noted the absence of her mother and two brothers, being suddenly reminded that their presence would be appreciated, if not for the sake of her people then perhaps the sake of these newcomers. Her head moved to look at one of the boys face to face, dipping down and smiling apologetically. ‘’Hey’’ He tipped his head up and smiled a small smirk, trying his luck with making friends with the people who he would be potentially living with. Friends, or something more?

Tsireya grinned and chuckled at his awkwardness, finding it sweet that despite the predicament they find themselves in, he still shows kindness towards her.

Hoots and shouts alerted the clan that their leaders were in the vicinity, Tsireya’s father landing in the water nearby on his large skimming. He waded out of the water, eyes never leaving the newcomers and raised his brows as he got closer, it was Toruk Makto, whom he met during the great clan meetings.

“I see you, Jake Sully”

“I see you Olo’eyktan”

“Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite” they formally greeted each other, fingers to their forehead and dipping them in the accustomed manner of their people. ‘’What brings your family to our side of the reef?’’

Jake and his wife shared eye contact briefly, unsure on what to say and afraid of saying the wrong thing, they were tired of travelling, tired of war, they could not go on much longer. ‘’We seek uturu’’

‘’Uturu?‘’ a new voice called out, appealed and confused. Ronal sauntered up to Toruk Makto and sized him up with a glare, moving on to his wife who bowed in respect of the tsahik. Her blue eyes caught the sight of their children and waltzed up to them, moving around them like an akula and inspecting their aura.

‘’Srane, we seek a sanctuary for our family’’ Jake’s tail curled in nervousness, he hasn’t felt this scared since that day he had to prove himself to the Omaticaya, warning them and getting them to believe him when the skypeople were attacking hometree.

‘’We are reef people, you are from the forest, your skills mean nothing to us here’’ Tonowari announced to the family, voice strong and firm. He was wary about their arrival, it was sudden and unexpected. He knew of the war happening overseas, everyone does, but has it become so bad that they seek refuge in another clan?

Jake cringed at the harshness in the leaders gaze, so used to respect from his people back home that he forgets his place in others. His ears picked up the whimpers of his youngest as she clung to his legs, scooting away from Ronal’s piercing gaze and scalding touch. ‘’Their arms are thin’’ her voice rang through the crowd, stopping any chatter, ‘’and their tails are too weak, they will be slow in the water’’ she ignored Kiri’s small outcry when her tail was yanked a little too harshly.

But the Tsahik’s calculating gaze quickly turned to critique and panic once her eyes caught onto the girls hand, she snatched it from where it hung limp and brought it into the air to show her people, ‘’these children.. are not even true Na’vi!’’ She grabbed onto one of the boy’s hand with her free one and raised it too, to show who they truly are, ‘’they have demon blood!’’

Gasps rung out among the Metkayina, not expecting the very aliens to destroy Pandora to come across the sea to their island for sanctuary, hisses vibrated through some of them, hostility in their blue orbs. ‘’Yes we are!’’ Kiri snatched her hand back and glared, subtly moving closer to her mother who narrowed her eyes, not liking the way this woman, clan leader or not, spoke about her children.

Jake felt panic course through him at the judgemental gazes being directed to their small group, this was not going to plan. ‘’Hey..look! Look at this! I was a skyperson but now i am Na’vi! We can adapt, we will adapt right?’’ He showcased his five fingers to the Tsahik who watched his pinky finger poke outwards curiously. Murmurs of small ‘yeah’s’ rung through the Omaticayans as they agreed with him.

‘’My husband was Toruk Makto. He brought the clans to victory against the skypeople’’ Neytiri stepped forward, trying to assert herself. She will not let her family suffer once more just because she was turned away by this disrespectful Na’vi.

Ronal scoffed, glare hardening. Eywa so help her if this outsider continued to scorn her and her position in her own clan, ‘’is this what you call victory? Hiding, among strangers’’ her eyes flicked from Neytiri to her husband and back ‘’it seems Eywa has turned her back on you, chosen one’’

A sharp hiss interrupted her sentence, sharp teeth obstructing Ronal’s vision. On instinct she hissed back, ears flattening to her skull, unaware of the worried look her mate shared with Jake.

Tonowari decided to put an end to this feud before the women fought with spears, ‘’Toruk Makto is a mighty warrior, all Na’vi people know his story. But your people are at war and us Metkayina, we have stayed away from the conflict. We do not want you to bring this fight to us’’

‘’I am done with war’’ Toruk Makto picked Tuktirey up who clung to his neck like a lifeline ‘’I just want to keep my family safe, please’’

‘’Let them stay’’

The crowed parted once more to reveal a dark blue figure emerging from a sea of green, pearls dangling delicately on her heavy figure. ‘’Let them’’ she repeated, eyes darting from Tuktirey to the other children, and then to her mates, ‘’they come from a place of war, ‘wari. That is no place for children to live’’

‘’___’’ Ronal snapped her head towards her wife, tail lashing in anticipation ‘’you do not mean that, look at them. Demons’’. The mentioned woman’s ears lowered and she frowned, opening her mouth to remind her partners of where she came from, where her sons came from, but instead of any words coming out, only a puff of air escaped.

She closed her eyes and huffed, opening them once again and looking up, yellow clashing with blue. ___ stared intently into Ronal’s eyes, hoping to convey the message she so wishes to speak aloud. Luckily, the pair have known each other long enough to be able to understand one another without words, they say that the eyes are the window to the soul.

Ronal conducted a slow blink and pursed her lips, nodding her head, partly in concern to what the future may hold if she let these outsiders in her home. ‘’It is decided’’ Tonowari began, turning to face the crowd and raising his arms to gain the attention of the Metkayina ‘’Toruk Makto and his family will stay, treat them as your brothers and sisters for they do not know the sea, they will be like babies taking their first breath’’

At that Neytiri looked towards the sand, a sudden memory popping into her mind, her ears lowered and frowned, only straightening up when feeling the hand on her shoulder being squeezed. Kiri noted the sudden tenseness in her mother’s posture as soon as this third mate of the chief appeared in front of them, she was as blue and as slim as them, same tail and large ears. The girl recognised the familiar beads and weaving patterns on her clothes, despite the difference in material, this stranger was from the Omaticaya clan.

‘’Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless’’ the large man huffed, turning to make heavy eye contact with Jake, the rider of shadow dropping his youngest onto the ground and smiling in gratitude, patting Tuktirey on her back.

‘’Well what do we say guys? Irayo’’ The Sully’s coreoused, some more enthusiastic than others, Kiri rolling her eyes and sighing. Her father straightened up from his slight kneeling position for his daughter and nodded his head to his new chief, then turning his head to acknowledge his wives with a swallow, afraid of the Tsahik’s each for entirely different reasons.

___’s breath hitched when yellow clashed together, tail curling upright in anticipation, her old mate then nodded to her like he did her husband out of politeness and notably swallowed, averting his eyes back onto the sand, afraid that if he were to look into her eyes any longer he’ll get swallowed into a pit of shame, one that he wont ever crawl out of.

‘’My son Ao’nung’’ Tonowari gestured towards one of his boys who decided to show up, mentally going through the scalding he will carry out later ‘’and daughter Tsireya, will show your children what to do’’

Ao’nung’s ears flattened into his skull, not liking the idea of being buddy-buddy with these weirdos ‘’but sempul-‘’ a large blue hand rose infront of the boys face and he immediately paused his speaking in respect.

‘’It is decided’’

That respect was soon lost.

Ao’nung rolled his eyes and glared at the sand beneath his feet, tempted to kick it out off frustration but not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the people. Luckily, Tsireya felt the anger that radiated off of him and decided to speak up, ‘’come, we will show you our village’’ she waved them over in the direction of their new home, once they acquired their things.

This was going to be a long day.

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[aemondwhoresworld]

JACAERYS VELARYON IDEAS RECCOMENDATION!

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!tarlarys! reader x baela targaryen (*) | angst to fluff, happy ending, jace has 2 wifes (you can add more to it)

*MUST READ: reader is also have Valyrian blood and she also rides a dragon. the Tarlarys and Targaryen families are great-distant relatives, so in this plot, there is no incestuous relationship between Jacaerys and reader! lady Baela Targaryen is already pregnant in this idea/story.

mae: yea i know i made up the tarlarys noble house but you can change it to your own noble house name ⭐️ i wish my english is better, or maybe more about the vocab 🥲 literally wanted to write a fiction myself 😭 anyways most of my ideas are suitable for like a series/ multi-part kind of.

warning: this is just an ideas, not a full imagine/ fic/ one-shot so if any writers here want to write a fic base on this idea, all name can be change to fit your story, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO USE IT! 🤗✨| i wrote this idea based on this scence 👇

! A FEW SMALL NOTES :

rhaenyra being a kind mother-in-law

no hate relationship between baela and y/n

in this idea the friendship between y/n and baela is a good friendship, but in terms of closeness, it is only at the social level, helping each other when needed.

the way y/n treats jace and baela’s two children also comes from her love for children. maybe y/n often spend a lot of time embroidering for their kids. because she also wanted a child herself so that’s why

of course there will be intimate between both jace and y/n on the wedding night.

- 1 MONTH BEFORE THE BATTLE BETWEEN TEAM BLACK & GREEN HAPPEN

in this story Jace marries 2 wives, the first wife is Lady Baela Targaryen married out of love and the second wife is Lady Y/n Tarlarys out of duty.

at this time, Baela and Jace already had 2 daughters (both inherited all the beauty of both targaryen, strong features). Jace and Y/n still haven’t had children yet, of course Jace has no intention of giving his seed to his second ladywife.

talk more about y/n's personality, i potraits her as a strong women who does not show how her feeling outside, but is a bit humble and y/n also has a personality abit weird like Helaena, a bit strange, but overall she still has her own unique characteristics because she has pure Valyrian blood.

the story will begin when team black is negotiating (like the scene in the GIF), then y/n steps in, instead of the person riding on dragon's back to go into battle is Rhaenys, the one who volunteers to go into battle is Y/n. because she thinks she is an ‘not so important’ person in this family, but then also come from the pressure from her own family, the Tarlarys caused after a long time of marriage, Y/n still has no news anything about having Jace’s child in her womb, or Jace's heir. therefore, it led to an argument between Jace and Y/n about this issue, when Jace said harsh words to Y/n such as "You will never have a chance to get carry by heir, only Baela". that’s why she think the best that she disapear or maybe dead

i will go through the scene of the battle between the dragons, and in this situation Y/n did not die but was only slightly injured but not significantly. when Y/n returned to Dragonstone, she didn't want to meet Jace or anyone, perhaps in this moment when she spent all her time on herself, thinking for herself, she somehow decided to end this marriage and she also asked her father not to try to withdraw his alliance because of her respect for Queen Rhaenyra and also because of she think Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the iron throne, not Aegon.

while waiting for a response from her father, there was a cold war between Jace and her as things gradually became more tense not a single word between them, but at the most devasted moment, Y/n finally found comfort when she became pregnant, when she learned about the babe, that the only person that Y/n told was Queen Rhaenyra, Y/n also told the truth about the absent marriage between her and Jace that only happened in 1 month like that with Rhaenyra.

maybe after their talk, Rhaenyra has told Jace about what Y/n has said and from there Jace realized her sacrifices for this family, although at this time Jace still saw her as redundant but because of her, being pregnant, Jace has gradually spent time with Y/n, although not too much, but still has time for her during the day or night. in addition, Jace also wrote a letter for the crow to send to the Tarlarys House with the hope that Y/n's father would not accept her request to annul this marriage, because Jace knew that if her father agreed and didn't know about her pregnant, when the child being born this child of his might be called 'Bastard' and of course Jace didn't want any of his children to be called that because he himself had been be like that before.

gradually, as Jace spent more and more time with Y/n, it was time for feelings to blossom, but when Y/n just felt the love from Jace, that small hope was turned off when Jace learned about Baela was also pregant with their third babe, from then on Jace seemed to disappear from Y/n's sight until Y/n went into labor and gave birth alone, after giving birth to the child. Rhaenyra came to meet Jace's first son with brown hair, slightly curly, holding the child, looking at the child with love and affection because when Rhaenyra looked at the child him she remembered her late son, Lucaerys. Jacaerys late younger brother (possibly naming the child Lucaerys Velaryon after Jace's late brother)

time passed when Lucaerys was now 3 years old, there were times when Jace would spend with Lucaerys, it could be said that for 3 years, the feelings between Y/n for Jace were always the same, always loyal towards Jace, and Jace gradually fell in love with Y/n but he never told Y/n, thus making Y/n misunderstand that Jace only cared about her because of Lucaerys. Maybe when one time while having dinner with the family, Lucaerys just ask Jace about why he don’t have any siblings, which make him feel bad so that’s when Y/n decided to sit down and talk clearly, about everything, everythings that had happen in the past 3 years, all about her loneliness and also to admitting her feelings for Jace, and maybe Jace also told her the truth. followed by days when Jace always tried to make up for Y/n about all the time that he treats her.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Ābrazyrys (Aemond x Reader x Daemon)

Summary: Daemon arrives at Riverrun. Pt 2 to this.

Warnings: Daemon’s usual disdain towards his wives. Smut with dubious consent. Angst. A lot of swords. One missing accent on the title because Tumblr.

A/N: So. I have always wanted to write a threesome, even since Lamb. And however fucked up you think this is about to be, I promise it’s worse.

YOU FEEL LIKE you are suffocating. As you try to sit up and scream, you find out you can’t. Nor can you breathe.

You scream, then. But the sound comes out muffled. What a terrible nightmare, you think, as your lungs burn. I have to wake. This is a dream. I have to wake. And you open your eyes, but instead of the peace and quiet of your bedroom, or even one of the demons that are said to frequent maiden’s dreams, you get something else.

“There you are.” You would recognize that voice anywhere. You think, sullenly, you would have preferred the demon. “I see your cunt missed me.” He gestures with his head to Aemond, sleeping soundly by your side.

You scream loudly, but no sound comes out. Daemon’s hand is clamped tight around your nose and mouth, allowing you to barely breathe. He is kneeling over your body, pinning you down with his weight.

“Shh. Don’t wake the babe, wife.” Daemon laughs, surely thinking himself the pinnacle of wit. You glare. You begin to trash wildly under him, kicking and pounding him with your fists. It’s useless. You may as well be punching stone with your bare fists.

The Seven favor you. One of your kicks lands not on Daemon, but on Aemond. He stirs, confused, and begins to sit up.

“What…?” Hope swells on your chest. Perhaps he can make good on his promise and rid the two of you of your bothersome husband. Aemond can get him off you, and protect you. He is as naked as you are, no weapon near, but there are two of you. You could try to overpower him.

But as always, Daemon kills everything he touches. Even hope. As Aemond’s eye widens, noticing exactly who has you pinned down in the bed, Daemon moves. He rolls the two of you to the side of the bed, and sends you tumbling over.

You grunt in pain, elbow slamming against the stone floor in a most unpleasant manner. Naked as you are, it scraps your back and makes you cry out.

Daemon is ruthless, and fights dirty. You have always known it. It is why it doesn’t surprise you that he grabs you by the hair and pulls you to your knees, cold steel kissing your throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He says, to Aemond. Your lover is reaching for his sword, not having even bothered to pick up his breeches. Not that it would matter. The two of you had undressed in the stairs, and not even made it to the bed before rutting against each other like animals. Both of you had been ravenous for each other.

The memory makes you smile. If you are about to die, you will do so with a pleasant ache between your thighs.

Aemond freezes at the sight of the dagger against your throat.

“Let her go.” He barks. Daemon laughs.

“Youth these days…” He mocks him, whispering in your ear. “Impudent little brat. You do not give the orders here.”

“Let us all calm down.” You try to speak in your most even tone. It’s difficult to do when you know you are doomed, but you need to give Aemond at least a fighting chance. He is too important to the war effort to die here, naked in your chambers. And perhaps you care a bit too much for him. “We can talk, Daemon. Aemond will leave.”

Daemon laughs again. He sounds hysterical.

“I am curious.” The dagger digs just a tiny bit harder against your throat. Aemond stands there, seemingly frozen, but his eyes are calculating. He is inching closer to his sword. You just need to buy him time. “What did you think would happen? Huh?”

You do not answer. Daemon’s grip on your hair turns a bit more punishing, forcing you to arch your back.

“Did you think I would let you make a fool out of me?” When you do not answer, he presses the dagger against your throat harder still. Blood begins to bubble up to the surface, dripping down your neck. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, but it does sting. Unwillingly, you let out a cry of pain.

It makes Aemond lose his head.

“Stop that!” He shouts, grabbing his sword in one swift move. His tone turns smug. “The lady is pregnant. My seed has taken when yours never could.”

Of course he taunts Daemon with that. Of course.

The words make you flinch minutely. To any other observer, it would be nothing. A shift on your breathing or a slight tension of your shoulders. But to Daemon? Daemon, who has made torturing you his favorite sport? Daemon, who delights in humiliating you? He knows it right away.

This time, when he cackles, it’s not hysterical but full of joy.

“By the Seven Hells!” You can feel his chest against your back, shaking with genuine amusement. “How naive. You Hightowers barely know where to stick your cocks, and you think you have left her with child.”

You feel an embarrassed heat begin to bloom on your cheeks. You avert your eyes from Aemond.

“No, you see. When you were learning your letters, I was already married to her. She is up to her usual tricks, aren’t you, ābrazȳrys?” And because Daemon is a prick, he gives your hair another tug, forcing your back to bow. It has the unwanted consequences of thrusting your chest and hips out. “Such a pretty picture.”

He lowers the dagger to one of your nipples. It makes you stiffen in his grasp, as he thumbs it idly and presses it to the blade’s edge.

Your breaths become more shallow. Daemon is fucking insane. All Targaryens are. You do not think him above cutting it off.

Aemond should really seize the chance, now that your throat is in no danger of being slit, and lunge at him. You wouldn’t even miss the nipple, truly.

But instead, he flounders around.

“You are not pregnant?” His voice is disappointed. While Aemond had voiced his desire for seeing you with child, you had always thought it was another way to best his uncle, and not out of an actual desire to be a father.

“I have been drinking moontea.” You confess, guiltily.

“And why in the..?” Aemond rubs his face. He looks cross. He looks like he could hit you. Without noticing, you shuffle back against Daemon.

“We are at war!” You plead, trying to talk him down. “I am married! To your uncle!”

“Cold.” Daemon snickers against your hair. His hand wraps around your waist, as if he owns you. Aemond’s face contorts into murderous rage.

You realize this is not a good position to be in. Nothing good can come out of two dragons playing tug of war, not when you are the thing caught in the middle. You will either burst from being stretched taut, or snap in half when one bites too hard.

“What do you want, Daemon? Beyond causing trouble?” You whine, tiredly. Overwhelmed tears are beginning to gather in your eyes. Daemon ruins everything, always. He delights on crushing you under his heel, on making you feel small and hopeless. It’s a talent of his.

“You see, I have been learning a great deal from Dalton Greyjoy.” Daemon’s voice is almost conversational. Were it not for the fact that he is dragging the dagger between your breasts, drawing circles with it above your heart, placing it again at your throat, you might believe him speaking of the weather. “About war prizes.”

“War prizes? You have won nothing.” Aemond scoffs, lowering his sword once more.

“Drop the sword, boy.” Daemon orders. “Or the whore loses a teat.”

Aemond looks at you. His face is conflicted. On one hand, he is furious with you and your lies by omission, but on the other, you have a common enemy. One currently threatening to slit your throat. Again.

You nod at Aemond. He understands without you needing to say a word.

“You are getting reiterative, Daemon.” You feign to yawn. “Uninspired even.”

Daemon grabs your hair.

“You little..!”

But before he finishes, you pinch his inner thigh, hard enough to make him let go of you. You fall to your stomach, crawling out of the way, just when Aemond lunges at him.

Steel meets steel. You curl into a small ball, covering your ears. You wonder where in the Seven Hells your guards are. They were supposed to patrol the outskirts of the castle, but somehow, Daemon slipped their notice.

The more you look, the more horrified you are. Because while Aemond fights with intent to kill, Daemon is simply toying with him. They are not as evenly matched as you had hoped. While they both fight dirty, Daemon’s experience gives him an edge Aemond doesn’t have. He waits for the younger man to tire, before using Dark Sister to disarm him and nearly behead him.

“No!” You shout. Aemond stumbles. Daemon pounces. He grabs him by the hair, and forces him up, the same dagger that he had used on you now at your lover’s throat.

“I see I have been going about things the wrong way.” Daemon smirks at you. “Come here.”

Aemond struggles against him, silver hair disheveled.

“Run! Run!” He orders you. “Get out.”

You do not dare obey him, but you do glance at the door.

“Or do that, and I behead pretty boy here.” Daemon agrees, evenly. “Saves you the moontea, even. Abstinence is the best way to avoid pregnancies, after all.”

You step closer to Daemon.

“Come on, ābrazȳrys. Don’t tell me you are shy. Closer.”

You obey, getting close enough to touch him.

“In my pocket.”

You reach inside his cloak, making a face. Your fingers meet something cold and unyielding. Metal. Circular. Manacles.

“Put them on him.” He orders you, before addressing Aemond, mockingly. “Hands behind your back, sweetling.”

It prompts another round of cursing and struggling from Aemond.

Daemon tuts. He digs Dark Sister in.

Your hands tremble, but you place the manacles on a struggling Aemond. It takes quite a bit of effort.

“I am sorry.” You keep repeating, as you do. “So sorry.”

Daemon smoothes Aemond’s hair down. Annoyed, the younger man jerks his head away.

“Look at you. Pretty as a maiden, were it not for that gnarly scar.” Then, because it’s not enough to make a dig at Aemond, he turns to you. Daemon has a pathological need to hurt you. “Even looks like Rhaenyra in the right light.”

You roll your eyes. Daemon does something and Aemond squeaks like a girl. You cannot see where his hand is, where you stand, but it looks like he spanked his arse.

Unlike Aemond, you are aware your husband uses sex as an intimidation method. The lecherous expression he wears is part of it, probably. Or so you hope. He can’t possibly want his nephew, right? You grimace. You are also aware Daemon beds both men and women when it suits him to do so, and has never been put off by familial ties.

Daemon reaches for your hip. He forces you to twirl, in a motion that would be enchanting were it not for the fact that it comes from him. You jerk back, annoyed.

“Stop that.”

“Why? I am curious.” He pulls you in, hugging you from behind. Aemond stares, sullenly. Daemon ignores him, hips nestled tightly against your rear. He sways you from side to side, soothingly.

You understand now why he is so popular with maidens. Were you a few years younger, and lacked your history with him, you would fall for his tricks too. Give him your maidenhead, and hope he would marry you.

Aemond seems to fear that exact same thing, bound hands tensing behind his back. He refuses to say a word, but you can tell. Aemond is like that. If his leg was trapped into a bear trap, he would rather chew it off himself instead of showing any vulnerability.

You wish you could tell him he has nothing to worry about. You are no maiden, and you know Daemon. Yet, you find yourself too preoccupied to reassure him. Daemon is kissing your naked shoulder, lips leaving a cold path of dread in their wake.

“Why him? Out of all men?” He grasps your chin, and forces your eyes to meet Aemond’s.

Perhaps Daemon thinks he will shame you, forcing you to endure his caresses and stare at the man you said to love but could never own you. Perhaps, he thinks he can break Aemond by showing him that you didn’t only betray him through a lie of omission, but that you will fall into his bed without a second thought.

He is mistaken.

“I don’t know.” You say, straightening up. You look at Aemond. Naked, sapphire eye bared, mouth twisted into a grim line.

You are not much better. All your flaws are exposed too. The man who holds you is your husband, the one that never wanted to share your bed. He forces you to look at your lover, his younger nephew, proof that you are no more than an adulteress.

Daemon licks down your spine. You don’t feel any pleasure, just the usual apprehension for when Daemon is near.

“I just love him.” You say, eyes still fixed on Aemond. You hope he believes you. If Daemon intends to kill you, Aemond needs to hear it one last time.

“Hm.” Aemond averts his eye. You try not to sag in Daemon’s arms. You can feel him smirking against your skin, and it fills you with rage.

“Enough to break your vows? After years of solitude?”

Rage is a curious thing. It should energize you, make you fight hard to defend yourself. Yet, you have been told that it is unladylike to scream, or throw things. You are a woman. You can’t punch those that hurt you. And so, instead of yelling, your eyes just fill with tears.

“I just…”

Your soft voice breaks Aemond. He snaps out of whatever haze he is in, and lunges at Daemon. Unfortunately, it has the consequences of trapping you in the middle. Handcuffed as he is, you need to steady him so the three of you don’t topple over.

“You never fucked her right.” Aemond snarls, over your head. You wince. You know Daemon. This is not going to end well.

Daemon laughs.

“Now, you.” Daemon grabs him by the shoulder, delighted. “You, I can understand. She looks like her, doesn’t she? Put her in a green dress, and then…. Tell me, do you call her Muña too? Beg to nurse from her breasts?”

It is scarily accurate. But then again, when it comes to perversion, Daemon always is.

“Do you need a demonstration, kepa?” Aemond mocks, trying to play off the blush in his cheeks. “Need me to teach you to please your wife, old man?”

Despite the situation you are in, you cannot fight your smile. Nor can Aemond. And if there is anything Daemon despises, it is being made fun of.

“Teach me? You? I was already fucking whores when you were nothing more than an idea on Alicunt’s head.”

Aemond laughs. It’s a cold sound, one that usually indicates he is about to pounce. It’s terrifying, but not to you. To you, it only alights a ferocious hope.

“Whores. Not ladies. I suspect none would admit you into her bed, with your uncouthness.”

Daemon stares at Aemond. His mouth opens and closes, as if he cannot quite believe that Aemond dares speak to him so.

“Uncouth? Me? Women like nothing more than to be taken hard and without mercy. Ravished, really.”

“There is a difference between being ravished and being brutalized.” You mutter, without thinking. “Not that you would know.”

“So that is how the boy does it?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. “He mutters sweet nothings in your ears, tells you how beautiful you look? Bah. Any fool can do that.”

“Why couldn’t you, then?” Aemond taunts. You fight off the embarrassment starting to warm your face and ears. If there is something you would rather not discuss with your lover, it is the lackluster intimacy you had with your husband.

“How confident, Taoba.” An expert on building suspense, Daemon waits before continuing his statement. “Fine, then. Prove it to me and the two of you will be allowed to leave.”

You cringe. Is he suggesting you leave your people behind? That you just abandon Riverrun and run away?

Aemond looks at you. Your lower lip trembles.

“Now?” You squirm. The implication is clear, but you still dare hope you misunderstood.

“Here. Now.” Daemon wears a curious look on his face, assessing both Aemond and you.

You are suddenly aware of your nakedness, the confidence the months with Aemond helped you build gone. Your hands go to cover your breasts. It surprises you that he wants to watch you. He has always been a deviant, but you are still his ugly, unwanted wife.

The thought of doing anything intimate with Daemon in the room makes your skin crawl. You turn to look at Aemond, feeling helpless. It is a good opportunity to buy time, to figure out a plan.

You curse yourself for sending out most of your household to join the Green army. If your guards were not situated on the outside of Riverrun, if you had enough men to station some in your door…

Aemond meets your eyes. Trust me, his face seems to say, I’ll get us out. Even in cuffs, he is formidable. His eye pleads with you, until you are nodding.

Daemon might go back on his word. Or he might not. He has always been a rogue, this husband of yours. But the fact that his beloved Queen grows more unstable by the day hints at the fact that this is a suicide mission. It doesn’t look well for you.

“Alright.” You agree. “Let’s do this.”

Daemon gives you a small shove, towards Aemond.

“Kiss.” He orders.

You are gentle with him. You press a kiss to his cheek, very tenderly.

“He will have to uncuff me.” Aemond whispers to you, making you tense. “At one point he will. And I’ll kill him for daring to look at you again.”

It makes your stomach swoop. But not in fear, or dread, or anything that Daemon provokes. No. In genuine happiness. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of happiness. Coming from Aemond, it might as well be a love confession.

You kiss him, passionate and slow. He opens up for you beautifully, but you make a frustrated little noise regardless. You miss his hands on your waist, on your hair. His body pressing against yours, so close you feel every ragged breath he takes.

“Now, lovebirds. Off with the cuffs.” Daemon presses against your back, and reaches forward, to hand Aemond the key to his cuffs. You fight a smile.

Daemon presses the dagger back to your neck, and forces you to walk backwards. Never let it be said that Daemon Targaryen is not a risk-taker. When Aemond has gotten rid of his cuffs, he is already sitting in a chair, with you in his lap, dagger still on the hollow of your neck.

“Māzigon, taoba.”

Aemond does. He kneels between your legs, gently spreading them apart. He kisses from your ankles towards your thighs, but what normally would have you pleased, is doing nothing for you. You are self-conscious of Daemon’s eyes on you, on your soft stomach, on the breasts that now spill over your chest. You are not as pink and white as Valyrians are, and you had never minded, until you had been faced with bedding one.

He looks up. You stare down at him, wide-eyed and fearful. This is the part where he gets angry. Daemon is like that, too. No one wants a lover who spends so much time in her head, that gets distracted and starts thinking of chores during sex.

“Muña.” Aemond says, taking your hands in his. “You are crying.”

You had not even felt the tears welling up in your eyes, There is a hot feeling behind them, a knot in your throat.

“I’m sorry.” You sob.

“I don’t have all night.” Daemon complains.

“I can’t. I am so sorry, Aemond.”

“Shhh.” He says, whispering against your thigh. “I’ll make it work. Just focus on me.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You say, overwhelmed. “Why… I can’t.”

Daemon sighs.

“Fucking hell.”

“Shut up.” Aemond protests, starting to get up.

Daemon’s dagger turns towards him. He moves it down, sharply

“Kneel.”

There is a tenseness to his limbs, a tone to his voice, that speaks of imminent violence. He sounds ready to gut Aemond from navel to nose. You cannot allow it. The idea of him being hurt makes you ill.

“You are making me self-conscious!” You cry, bravely dragging Daemon’s attention from Aemond towards yourself. “I can’t! I am no whore, I don’t perform on command, it doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

Daemon has the same issues, after all. You wonder if he remembers the times he failed to perform, failed to put his cock inside you and a babe in your belly. You never told Aemond, knowing he would take delight in it. Even after all these years, you have kept Daemon’s secret.

“Me? You are saying that I am the problem?” The dagger turns towards you back again, his gestures wild. You shut your eyes, trying to keep calm and think. “That I what, disgust you so much you…”

“Do you remember what you used to say to me?” Anger turns you bold, turns your quivering form into pure stone. You sit up in his lap, and turn to face Daemon. How dare he victimize himself?

Daemon stares at you, lips set into a thin line. He then tugs the dagger away from you, avoiding spilling your blood. You wonder if that would make him harden more. He seems to be enjoying the power play much more than he ever did bedding you.

Perhaps his precious Rhaenyra cured him.

“You are insane. Stop nagging, and let the boy lick your cunt.” Daemon says, after a while of staring at your defiant expression. He turns you back towards Aemond, roughly.

You look at Aemond. His hands grasp your thighs once more, but he seems unwilling to go back to pleasuring you.

Stubborn as you are, you turn towards Daemon once more. He grabs your jaw, trying to move you to your previous position, but you resist. The ensuing struggle makes him harden even more under you, much to your horror.

“You said I looked like a cow. You called me frigid. You said my teats were sagging, that my cunt probably had teeth, that no man…” You spit at him, scratching his arms, his face, anything you can reach. Something snaps inside you, something that you had kept under and hidden through years of neglect and verbal abuse. “That no man would want me. Not even if I was the cheapest fuck in a brothel.”

Daemon flinches, as if startled. He doesn’t quite know what to do, when the meek little trout in his arms turns into a feral cat. He gets his bearings before Aemond, though, and hugs you to him, trapping your arms against your body.

“You said all that to a Lady? Your lady wife?” Aemond whistles. He rubs your knee, and you give him a sullen look too. He could have used the distraction to free you from Daemon’s presence once for all.

Thoughts of being made a widow disgusted you when you first met Aemond. Now, you might end up killing him yourself.

“Shut up.” Daemon looks at Aemond, eyes unseeing. His mind is elsewhere. “What would you know?” It’s a half-hearted quip, not even truly insulting.

You decide to press to your advantage. Whatever is going through his head, it doesn’t compare to the horrors he has put you through.

“I am not crazy. I remember. Each time I look at myself in a mirror, each time I think of you. I remember. Each time you came to Riverrun I had this feeling like I was going to throw up from panic because I knew you were going to say horrible things to me. ”

You punctuate each word with a harsh jab at his cheats with your finger. Daemon grabs your hand between his, and interlocks your fingers, making a mockery of it.

“You cannot be that sensitive.” Daemon scoffs, but his voice sounds strange. As if he is trying to justify to himself what he has done.

“It stuck. It stuck, and it hurts. I can’t. I keep thinking of you, hearing your voice say cruel things. When I look in the mirror, it is your voice I hear, I see every flaw and imperfection and I can’t stop it. The only times I forgot about them were with Aemond, but even that you wish to taint.” You sneer.

Aemond just watches the two of you, in silent fascination. He doesn’t seem inclined to intervene.

“And I will taint it if I very damn please! I may have been a cunt, but you are still my wife.” Daemon shouts, losing his temper. He grabs you roughly by the shoulder and shakes you as he speaks.

You hate when he gets like this. When he screams and gets in your face, and threatens you bodily. It makes you feel small, cower before him. You hate it.

“You cheated on her with Rhaenyra, and now you say that?” Aemond interrupts, perhaps sensing you need support. His hands on your thighs squeeze a bit. He can sense you are wavering.

The only way to survive dragonfire is to be made of Valyrian Steel. And right now, you cannot even pass for bronze, with how easily you are crumbling.

Daemon shoves you off him, enraged, and grabs Aemond by the hair.

“You love this, don't you? You love feeling that you had the power to take everything from me.” And it’s not about you, really. Or at least not only. This is about Lucerys, and the war, the witch queen of Harrenhal that Aemond killed. He places the dagger against Aemond’s good eye, making you gasp. It sickens you, that out of all things, he would blind him instead of killing him. It’s cruel. “You know nothing. I will rip out your remaining eye in return for this treachery. I let you continue your fun, despite half the realm knowing of your whoring. But I’ll be damned if I let a Hightower filth take my bride from me.”

“Daemon!” You scream, trying to get him off Aemond. His attention goes back to you, but instead of murderous, he looks broken. His shoulders slump, his mouth shifts into a small little pout.

Daemon grabs you by the shoulders, surprisingly tender.

“I fucked up. I know. I know I fucked up, but I don’t know how to make it right. Tell me how to fix it. Please.”

You know what he is doing. His whole life has gone to shit, so Daemon is trying to salvage what he can. The war has been moot, so far. They have only slaughtered each other and are no closer to any victory at all.

Another pair of hands grans your shoulders. Aemond.

“You cannot be thinking of forgiving him.” His grip is rougher than Daemon’s, knuckles white from the force of it. He is holding on too tight. He fears you choosing Daemon over him. “He has been fighting for that whore’s claim. He is infatuated with her. He sired her bastards!”

You remember the times you confessed to Aemond, limbs intertwined in bed, how hard you had tried to make your marriage work. How his eye darkened when you spoke of Daemon.

This should be all you ever wanted and yet, it falls short. You want Aemond, not Daemon, you tell yourself. But the sixteen-year-old married off to broker an alliance still feels elated.

Daemon finally wants you. Your husband finally wants you.

“I did. And I assure you, I loved Rhaenyra when we were both younger. But the war…” His words jerk you out of the haze. Daemon loved Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra, not you. It's heartbreaking as always, but you barely feel it.

“And this has nothing to do with her calling for your head?” You ask, sharply. The rumors say the Queen has gone mad, naming her closest confidants traitors. It is what Daemon deserves. He has never been anything but.

“She is calling for everyone’s heads. If you think you can still love someone who ordered your death…”

“If you think you can love someone who crushed your spirit and killed you in life…” Aemond mocks, letting go of you to pick up his sword. Daemon is too slow to react, and he can only raise his hands in surrender when he is the one being held at sword point.

His eyes, pleading, look for yours. You find yourself unable to look away.

“It’s true. I never appreciated you, and will not claim to love you. But you are my greatest regret. You are a sight for these sore, old eyes. I wish… I wish I had not been such a cunt, and we had built something.” Daemon pleads to you. Aemond scowls at him. “Give you children, raise them here. Settled down. You are not ugly or look like a cow. You are a pretty woman. And even if you weren’t, in a world as ugly and twisted as ours, your heart continues pure and beautiful. I think that a person who is so kind could never be ugly. Not in my eyes.”

The confession makes you sob. You turn away from both of them, grabbing a nightshirt and putting it on. You do not want Aemond to see you cry, less he feels betrayed because you are grieving Daemon and what could have been.

Daemon has always been good at surviving. When he thinks he couldn’t move you, he goes after Aemond instead.

“You have been good to her, nephew. Neither of us are good men, but my wife is a good woman and I suppose….” There is a pause. You can’t see either of their faces. Daemon is probably sneering at him. Aemond hums. “She deserves her treat. If she wants you…”

“How noble of you, stepping out. But don’t bother. I shall remove you myself.” Aemond’s tone is flat. His most dangerous. “Permanently.”

“You forget yourself.” Daemon drops his pretense of civility. His voice raises. “I have the legal claim over her, not you.”

“That is easily fixed.” Aemond laughs. He turns towards you, busy pretending you do not exist. “Wed me. Vhagar, you and me, in the manner my ancestors did.”

Daemon inhales, sharply.

“You dare! You dare, you… Green spawn!”

“Wed me.” Aemond begs. It sounds more like a plea for you not to abandon him. “Wed me.”

“Where in the Seven Hells would you go? You have torched half the Riverlands, they would never accept you wedding their Lady.” Daemon crosses his arms over his chest. He then turns towards you, cocksure as always, and not at all like someone facing imminent death. “Nor will they accept you for long, either.”

He is right. The torching of the Riverlands has happened despite you declaring for the Greens. Mostly thanks to Daemon taking Harrenhal, and enabling the Blackwoods. Mostly, because some of your lords still oppose a woman ruling.

You have brought on destruction to your own people, and you do not know how to face them. Once, you had sworn to protect them from the war, but you failed in a manner so spectacular things have turned into a civil war. There are two Riverlands now. The Blacks and the Greens. And it’s all your fault.

Running might be for the best. You have been an awful ruler. Perhaps, this way, your nephew might get your seat and do better for your tenants.

Shame, once again, burns hotly along your spine. You try not to let it show.

“They will if Aegon backs us.” Aemond sounds unconvinced of his own words. Your smile drops.

“I am sure your brother looks upon you very kindly.” Daemon mocks. “When you decided to play at being a petty King here, and left him and your family in King’s Landing as we torched it all.”

Aemond looks like he is half a second from beheading him. He even swings the sword back, preparing to strike Daemon.

“I will marry you!” You scream, distracting him. “And we shall follow Daemon’s plan.”

Daemon laughs.

“Why do you think I have one?”

“You always have hare brained schemes.” You roll your eyes. “I know you.”

Daemon stares at you. He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“I might have planned to take you to Pentos. I was always loved there.”

“Good. The three of us can go then.” You wrench the sword out of Aemond’s hand, who only stares at you, stunned. Then, you go to do the same to Daemon.

“If we must.” Daemon complains, letting you disarm him.

Aemond stares between the two of you. You stare back, until he is the one lowering his eyes.

“We will go.” He agrees, turning to Daemon. “But only because it will please me to see you grovel as a dog for her forgiveness. You and I have a score to settle.”

“Do not forget yourself, nephew. You are the one who owes me a debt.”

“Then we will settle it there.” Aemond answers, plainly. “I look forward to it.”

Daemon just smiles. A bloodthirsty, deadly smile. You already dread whatever he is thinking of.

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter Twelve - Toughening Up

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

Warnings: Death

1.9K words

Series Masterlist

The funeral service wasn't beautiful. It was sad. So, so sad. Every head of every family sat around the casket as it was lowered into the ground.

Hamilton sat in his black suit, black sunglasses covering his face. Y/N had met him for the first time that day, when he had shaken her hand and assured her that her father was a great man.

Lando sat beside Hamilton. He was stoic, even when his father's body was lowered into the ground.

Beside him was Vettel, and Charles Leclerc was beside him, attending in his brothers place. Carlos and Y/N sat beside Charles; her status as Carlos’s wife was all that mattered. Nobody cared that she was the daughter of the deceased.

Fernando Alonso, who had half of Spain as his territory, were sat with Y/N and Carlos. He was an incredibly kind man, who had pulled Y/N in for a comforting hug as soon as he realised who she was (but that had made Carlos literally growl at him).

Gasly was there. If it wasn’t for the meeting with the heads of family, he would have sent his son and his right hand man, Esteban, on his behalf. That would have been interesting to see, since Esteban and Pierre hated each other.

Sargeant was there with his son, Logan. Alex Albon (head of the Albon family), was there too. Although his territory was in Thailand, he had grown up in England and conducted most of his business from there, until just a few years ago. He’d been head of the Albon family since he was sixteen, the youngest head of family ever.

Jos Verstappen was there. He’d always been overly critical of Norris, especially when Max and Lando had become friends. He sat there, his expression unimpressed, his arms folded over his chest. He stared at Y/N, not taking his eyes off of her.

Y/N sat there in the rain, trying her best not to meet Jos Verstappen’s eye. She hadn’t had to see him at her wedding, since Max had come over to congratulate the couple instead.

Norris was buried between his wives. Lando’s mother was on the left, and Y/N’s mother was on the right.

After the funeral, the heads of family made their way back to the Norris house. Carlos tried to lace his fingers through Y/N’s and pull her back towards the house, but she moved away from him, wouldn’t touch him.

Instead, Y/N took a seat in front of her mothers’ headstone. The ground was wet on the bottom of her black dress, but she didn’t much care, not when she was finally with her mother. “If I could have had anybody at my wedding, it would have been you,” Y/N whispered as she traced her fingers over the letter on the headstone. Helena Norris. “I just wish you could tell me why. Why did you arrange for me to marry this man, mum? He's a monster!”

The rain hid the tears running down her cheeks. “I’m so unhappy,” she whispered and wiped at her cheeks. “I wanted the chance to marry somebody I love, but now I can’t. He hates me.” Y/N sucked in a deep breath. “I-I wish I was more like you. I wish I was strong enough to handle this.”

Y/N sat there for only a minute more. The rain soaked into her dress and she shivered, but that wasn’t enough to get her to move.

Suddenly somebody was standing behind her. He cleared his throat, digging the toe of his shoe into the ground. “You okay?”

“I don’t know, Lan,” Y/N answered. There was no point in saying ‘no’, what good would it do?

Lando stood at his own mothers grave. When Y/N’s mother first started seeing his father, Lando spent a lot of time out here. He missed his mum; she had been a sweet woman, she had a soft voice and was so, so kind. Now Lando thought about it, she was a lot like Y/N. It took Lando a while to get used to the thought of having a new mum. He was at an age where he didn’t understand why he needed to have a new mum, why couldn’t he just have his old one?

When he got older, he started speaking to her headstone. Especially after his father got sick. It got to the point where nobody knew more about Lando than his own mothers grave.

“When I got home from Spain, I realised I never got you a wedding present,” he said, tracing his fingers along the Norris insignia on the headstone. “I came out here to ask mum what I should get you.”

It didn’t get Y/N jumping up and asking him more, like he thought it would. So, Lando did the one thing he could think of. He crouched down beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You are Y/N Norris,” he began, and she didn’t bother to correct him. “You are the daughter of Helena Norris. You can take charge of the Sainz family, cuckhold him out of his own crime family.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. She stood up and dusted off her dress. “No, Lando, I can’t. I’m not Y/N Norris anymore. And yeah, I might be the daughter of Helena Norris, but she didn’t want me being tough and strong like her. She wanted me to be quiet and submissive.”

Lando shook his head. “No, she wanted you to be unassuming. She just never got a chance to teach you to strike.

The siblings headed back to the Norris house together. There was only a week until she went back to Spain, Lando had to teach her everything he knew before she went.

***

Y/N slept incredibly well in her childhood bedroom. It was cool, the sound of the rain soothing. Her husband was in the room next door, Y/N just wished he could have been further away.

Lando had set her alarm for five thirty. At five forty-five, he burst into her bedroom with toast and orange juice and handed it to her. “Get up, get dressed and meet me down in the gym,” he commanded.

Nodding her head, she ate.

Thirty minutes later Y/N was in the Norris home gym. Lando was her trainer and, boy, was he putting her through her paces. He had her sweating through her shirts as she used the machines.

It wasn’t just the gym that Lando was having her doing. He found his old Spanish text books from when he was at school and gave them to her. He let her lock herself in the library as she studied.

It was all a part of Lando’s plan to get Y/N on top. His want for her to take over the Sainz family wasn’t selfish, but it was the best way Lando could think of to keep her safe and happy. He taught her things that Helena Norris had taught him, ready for when he became the head of their family.

“It’s all about knowing when the time is right,” said Lando as they sat in his office. “Like, I took control once dad fell ill. I could have tried to take control from him much before that, but it would have fucked things up for me, for all of us,” he said. “I know the example doesn’t apply to your situation, but look at it like this: Sainz is the head of the family, not Carlos. If you try and take control from Sainz, he could have Carlos lock you away, never to be seen. But if you keep playing the weak little wife who’s terrified of her husband and wait for Carlos to be head of the family, he’ll never see it coming.”

Y/N stared at her brother. These men were terrifying to her. They still had guns, but probably had about twenty different ways to kill her with their bare hands anyway. There was no way Y/N could try and take their control.

“Lan, I just want respect. I don’t want to run the family, I just want my Husband to respect me,” she said. She didn’t care about Sainz, she cared about Carlos. Well, not exactly cared, but she was already sick of this marriage being miserable.

Lando sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re going to hate this, but you’ll need to stand up to him.”

For the week that they were home, Lando kept Y/N in the gym. For an hour every morning, he had her in the gym. It wasn’t about changing her shape or building her strength, it was about building confidence.

When she got a spare minute, Y/N sat in the library, at her mother’s desk as she read through the Spanish books Lando had given her.

There was a knock at the library door. Getting up from the desk, she walked over and unlocked it, letting the person it. It could only have been Lando or a member of the house staff.

It wasn’t. Her Husband strode into the library, kicking the door shut behind him. Upon seeing him, Y/N turned on her heel and returned to the desk, ignoring him completely.

“Your brother said I could find you in here,” said Carlos as he looked around the library. He’d been in here once before, but it was so long ago that he could hardly remember it.

Y/N let out a snort. “Did he now?”

“I wanted to see if you’d like to play some chess.”

She shut the Spanish book in front of her and looked towards Carlos. The husband, the man who had spent the last few weeks causing her such anguish. “You want to play chess with me?”

Carlos nodded his head.

But then Y/N smiled. She stood from the desk and walked over to where she used to keep the chess set, when she lived in the house. It was exactly where she had left it, a thin layer of dust covering it. She picked it up and placed it on the little round table in the middle of the room.

“Okay,” she began as she opened the case containing the chess set. She pulled out the board and laid it on the middle of the table. “We’ll play chess, but I have some conditions,” she said, placing down the white pieces. “Every time I take a piece, you have to answer my questions.”

“And what do I get?” Asked Carlos, watching as she set down the black pieces.

Y/N thought on it for a second. But then she realised she didn’t case. She didn’t care what Carlos wanted. And she told him exactly that.

Carlos smirked. This was a side of Y/N he hadn’t seen before. It was what she had tried to do while they were on the plane just a few days earlier, and Carlos could recognise that, but this was another level. He liked it.

“Okay,” he said, leaning forward. The white pieces sat in front of him, Y/N placing the black pieces in front of herself. “Let’s play.”

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Stranger’s Dance (1)

Summary: You have not seen Prince Aemond for many years and to his surprise and curiosity, you seem to have changed. 

I was listening to this song and couldn’t shake the idea of a woman being so engrossed in the dancing that Aemond just watches her in curiosity from across the room. why does it make me wanna cry tho, this sweet boi deserves love

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, kind of sexual words, mega fluff so you know i still have a soul after A Mother for a Son

A Stranger Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 

Aemond could only shake his head, watching his older brother from across the room, two goblets of wine in hand and each of them equally spilling over the top of the brim all over the floor. He let out an exasperated sigh, eye scanning as he watched his drunken King of a brother make his way across the floor, bumping into various dancing couples, sharing the wine in the form of covering them with it. But what could they say to their King? They could only idly watch and let out puffs of anger at the new stains down their fine clothes.

Aegon's obvious over drinking did not dampen the mood of the room though, it was hot and warm in the banquet hall tonight. Less formal than their usual and the various lords and ladies of the land had not dressed up quite as much for this event. It wasn't anyone's nameday, nor was it a special occasion entirely, but a chance for the lords to make their connections with other lords while their wives laughed with one another and drank copious amounts.

This was also the thing that separated this event from normal banquets. At the usual banquets, everyone was reserved and drank one, perhaps two goblets of wine.

Here, everyone was flushed with drunkenness and seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. And with the amount of people who were dancing with one another stretching all the way down the hall, it was hot and sweaty, but perhaps as happy as some had ever seen, certainly since the recent war.

Aemond was beyond these kind of events and did not attempt to hide his contempt for it, sitting at the top table and having a perfect view of everybody, he simply scanned everybody drinking, dancing, hugging, laughing. He simply sat there, watching other people have their fun, occasionally sipping his wine, progressively getting more tired as the night went on.

Even Halaena had joined in, leaving Aemond largely to himself at one side of the table, fingers impatiently tapping at the tablecloth. His mother, Alicent, had just excused herself to her chambers after feeling tired, no doubt wanting to be rid of the experience also.

Aemond was quite rudely snapped out of his trance by his brother Aegon almost launching himself across the table, reaching out for Aemond like a child.

"What is wrong with you…" Aegon slurred, picking his heavy head up from the table to give Aemond a half lidded smirk.

Aemond quirked a brow, "What is wrong with me?" he asked, finding Aegon's display less than funny. But what irked him more was his brother suggesting he was being spoilt sport for not joining in on the festivities.

"You're just so boring…everyone else is having a good time, hip" Aegon hiccupped. Aemond shook his head,

"I am not everyone else" he answered simply. This answer didn't seem to satisfy Aegon, who huffed and rounded to the back of the table to place a hard hand on his brother's shoulder. Aemond seemed to stiffen visibly, only turning his head enough to see his brother in his peripheral.

"Well, brother hip are you not going to guess what I heard"

Aemond's jaw tightened, not bothered with entertaining his brother, "What"

Aegon leaned in to whisper, "Guess who will be gracing us with their presence tonight"

Now he was just being annoying.

"Who"

"Y/n"

"Aegon…" Aemond answered, looking at him, "…why in seven hells would I care?"

Aegon feigned shock, "Well excuse me. I am only trying to introduce some female company into your life, brother"

Aemond could have rolled his eye. It was long known by now that Aemond had been pressured to court a woman to marry, as he had heirs of his own to sire. His own mother had recently said he should not wait so long before marriage and as a Prince he had duties to fulfil. And despite Alicent giving him the option of choose his own wife, he arrived at no options.

All the ladies at court were uninteresting and only desired to be married for the title of being Princess. This notion was extremely unattractive and, in a way, felt jealous of Aegon, for his situation had been placed before him without any effort.

Even if he attempted to court a woman, his confidence in himself had been something of a challenge since the incident. Despite not feeling as downtrodden as he had done when he was younger, there was still a lack of confidence that tugged at is heart.

"I had all but forgotten her" Aemond answered, barely remembering how you looked. It had been years and years since he had last seen you.

Aegon slumped in a chair next to his brother, pulling a goblet closer to him, listening to the loud music in the room, "Yes, she was a mousy little thing. Quiet, nervous type. She was the one with the…" Aegon pointed around his eyes and Aemond's eye met the table in thought.

Oh yes. He remembered you now.

You had indeed been a nervous, small child, who despite being aged about two and ten, looked a couple of years younger you were so small in stature. You had also been born with two different eye colours and while being reminiscent of a beautiful Targaryen Princess, you were neither a Targaryen nor a Princess, so the compliments never came your way and it was a point of bullying for some time.

The Prince could barely think of a time he had spoken to you, but he thought he must have done. He never remembered you speaking back to him either…where were these memories.

"She is coming with her father, they say hip Oh! There!" Aegon pointed to the corner of the room, where a man who was far past middle-ages had entered, weaving through the crowds, but he was alone.

With a huff he eventually made his way up to the top table, offering a bow to the King and Aemond beside him, "My King, your Grace" he greeted. Ah yes, Aemond remembered this man now. He was a very jovial man rarely without a smile on his face, unlike a lot of lords. Now that he was older, he had a well-groomed white beard, but his smile remained wide.

"Lord Highgreen, it is a pleasure to have you" Aegon replied, strangely cordially and holding back another hiccup. His eyes drunkenly scanned the room, "I was led to believe your daughter would be joining us?"

After taking Aegon's hand in a handshake, he smiled widely again, "Ah yes, she is already dancing, your Grace. I will go and fetch her" he turned and disappeared back into the sea of dancing bodies. Aemond watched him walked away, intrigued. Was she here dancing this whole time? He thought to himself. He wondered what you looked like after all these years.

"I do wonder what keeps him happy" Aegon started, Aemond's eye never leaving the back of Lord Highgreen's head, tracking him in his mind, "Poor bastard only had one daughter before his wife died, waste of a good woman"

Aemond had done a wonderfully good job of ignoring his brother's quips and watched intently as Lord Highgreen stopped before a young woman who Aemond could not make out very well in the moving crowd, only noting that she had dark brown hair that fell long around her shoulders. The music was loud now and the crowd reflected this as their dancing became faster and faster, their pink, smiling faces obstructing the view.

Aemond could see that he had been pulled into a dance with the young woman as the current song was nearing its end and he felt a smirk rise to his face as he watched the young lady dance around him, but he did not complain it seems, face as wide with laughter as ever.

As the song came to a close and every began clapping, awaiting the next, Aemond saw a part of her figure. She was smiling and bowing to her father, as if he were her dance partner only to immediately be pulled under his arm to be led to the table, once again disappearing amongst the people.

He only once got a good look as they both stepped up to the top table, a few steps above everybody else, she was saying something unintelligible to her father, her face pink with laughter. Lord Highgreen turned back to the men sat before them, bowing his head once more.

"Your Grace, my daughter, y/n"

It was only now that the young lady looked upon the two men, who were wordlessly staring back at her. It was true, she was the same person, but completely different.

She wore a sage green dress, decorated with golden detail and corseted at her waist, her neckline was slightly lower than a noblewoman's would be, with her straps handing delicately of her shoulders, exposing her flushed chest after all her dancing. Her eyes landed on Aegon first, immediately offering a curtsy, head dipping as she did so, her dark brown locks falling around her shoulders.

"King Aegon" she said. Her voice. Her voice was lower than you would imagine but soft and flowing. She no doubt had a lovely singing voice.

Her focus now landed on Aemond, who was inadvertently gripping the goblet in front of him with such tightness. Surely, he thought, this could not be the mousy child he scarcely once knew?

She nodded her head once more and Aemond could not help but look deep into her eyes, her right, a light green, her left a clear blue. In most lights perhaps you could not even tell they were different colours, but here it was clear. The sheer sight of her delicate face alone let a fluttered feeling in his stomach loose.

"Your Grace" she greeted Aemond, her gaze lingering on him for what felt like a lifetime.

"I do not blame either of you for not recognising her, she has outgrown me even" Lord Highgreen said suddenly, breaking this glance as you looked over at your father.

"Father, please" you said with feigned embarrassment.

Aegon, no doubt because of the wine, seemed to break out of a trance, "My lord, where in seven hells have you been hiding her!"

Aemond kicked his foot under the table, wordlessly telling him to be quiet, making you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. If you had been looking at Aemond, you'd find that he had not taken his eye off you.

"I had hoped to sneak her out of Green Hill to have her as one of Queen Halaena's ladies, my King" he answered smiling once again. This details seemed to peak Aemond's interest and he straightened up, pulling the wine to his lips, "to seek a husband" he finished.

Aemond pulled the goblet from his lips, swallowing hard, more interesting details demanding his attention.

"You are not betrothed" Aemond asked you, making your eyes land on him once again. His gaze over the rim of the goblet made it so you could not help but send him a smirk,

"I am not" you answered, "Your Grace"

Aemond did not know if he had misheard, but the way you had decided to leave the sentence to hang in the air made his curiosity peak again and he himself could not help the one-sided smirk that came upon him.

Halaena seemed to appear at your side all of a sudden, grasping your hand excitedly, "Y/n, come join me for this next song!" she said, a wide smile on her features. You looked over to your father and he nodded softly, you thanked him wordlessly and allowed Halaena to guide you back to the main floor. But not before catching eyes on the one-eyed Prince for a moment before turning and disappearing into the crowd, joyful, stringed music starting up once again.

After that meeting, Aemond could only see you amongst the crowds, dancing with his sister joyfully. Once her father had walked away after delivering his greetings, Aegon laughed drunkenly, gulping down one whole goblet before turning to his brother, "Brother, you will scare her away if you keep staring at her like that"

"She would be lucky to escape knowing your drunken eyes on are her"

Aegon leaned into his brother, "What a hypocrite you are, brother. I see how you look at her. Do not tell me you don't desire to bend her over this table and-"

Aegon had stopped as Aemond's eye looked slowly over, wordlessly advising him to quit while he was ahead. Aegon nodded and picked up two more goblets, "Alright then, just don't wait forever"

Aegon almost ran away from the table, only turning back to Aemond to mouth fuck her, making Aemond roll his eye in annoyance.

You twirled around with Halaena until the song ended, your experience of the Red Keep so far had only been good, although perhaps if they had parties like this every evening it would be even better. There was nothing better than a hot, drunken party to loosen up the average gentleman.

At this point you were a few wines deep, having a great time and once the song ended, you raised your hands to clap for the band. Turning quickly, you picked up another goblet and bought it to your lips, letting out a happy sigh as you leaned against the wall, watching as people ramped up for another dance. In the distance, your father was dancing with a widowed lady, smile wide with glee and it made you giggle to see him drunk.

You stood there for a moment to people watch before feeling a tall presence next to you, being slightly disappointed it wasn’t someone else.

“Evening, Lady Highgreen”

Internally, you rolled your eyes but forced a smile to come across your face.

Ser Tyland Lannister. There was no doubt in your mind what he wanted, he had taken no wife and had no children. His actions as of now were as clear as they could have been without him saying anything. He was a good decade your senior, but even when you were a child he bought it upon himself to isolate you from the other older children, were it not for him, they might have found it in their hearts themselves to be your friend. But he was a bored, single, twenty-something year old at the time, so pleased him to no end to see another creature in suffering.

“Ser Tyland, it has been years” you feign interest in some information from the past few years, his eyes widened with glee as if seeing something shiny,

“Yes, my Lady and how you have grown and, if I may be so bold, what a beauty you have become”

You raised your eyebrows, taking a sip from your goblet, emitting a small hm in response, finding it difficult to hide your disinterest. However, Tyland being Tyland did not pick up on the hint and moved closer, forearm leaning on the wall next to you. His lids looked heavy and he himself looked about ten glasses of wine deep.

"I hear you are in the company of Queen Halaena's ladies" he started leaning in closer, you instinctively moved your head away, a whisper of a grimace on your face, "Perhaps we may run into each other more often" he said lowly.

You opened your mouth to give some kind of charming quip back but before you could, a large hand had been placed on Tyland's shoulder in a fake friendly manner pushing him away.

"Prince Aemond" Tyland had his eyes wide open now, with a hint of fear that he had done something wrong. Aemond rounded him, now stopping to place himself in between the two of you, the fear on Tyland's face enough to make you bite your lip to stomach a laugh.

"Allow me a moment with the Lady, Ser Tyland" Aemond almost barked the command at him, so much so he may as well have told the Lord to fuck off.

Tyland with a messy bow of the head to you and the Prince shuffled away embarrassed, Aemond watched him walk away with his tail between his legs, turning back to give you a look as if to say thank me later.

You smiled up at the Prince in thanks, heart beating faster as he took his spot at your side where Tyland had been. The air immediately felt different with his presence, it felt calm but at the same time electrified, as if the Prince had plenty to say to you.

"I apologise for my brother's behaviour" Aemond said, you raised your eyebrows with a smile, pulling the goblet of wine from your lips to lick the wine there.

"On the contrary, my Prince, I was surprised to find him quite cordial. Despite his attempts to hide his surprise"

Aemond smiled, "His surprise?"

You cock your head in feigned annoyance, a smile still evident on both your faces, "Oh let us not pretend, my Prince-"

"Aemond" he interrupted, hands placed behind his back, clasped together with a faint nervousness. Perhaps he had not expected you to have changed quite this much.

"Aemond" you respond and he could not help but stare at the way his name passed your lips and the way you licked the wine from them every time you took a sip, "Let us not pretend that you are both not surprised at how I have turned out. Rightly or wrongly, I was a shy, reserved child, I am surprised you remember me at all"

"Rightly or wrongly it does not matter" he said quicky, surprising you, "You did not deserve that extent of childish bullying"

There was a pause and a silence in the air now, the laughing and music of the room becoming muffled for a split second as you observed each other. Your eyes scanned his body before returning to his gaze, you were not the only one who had changed.

"I confess, I remember very little of you…" he started, his gaze flicking to the floor every now and then as if in shame, "…and I do hope that I never said anything that would have offended you, my Lady.

It is no excuse that I only feel saddened by your situation having lost an eye of my own, knowing how cruel people, especially children, can be.

If it is any consolation, I never understood why you suffered the ridicule that you did" Aemond realised that he had been pressing his thumb harder into his palm behind his back the entire time, heart beating out of his chest with nervousness. Was the truth inside him that he craved forgiveness? That he felt bad he could not remember if he had offended you or not?

The pause hung in the air for a moment, and you gave him a small, albeit sad smile, nodding your head, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, "Thank you, Aemond…" you trailed off, placing a hand on his tense, leather clad arm, "…and for what it is worth, you never said anything like that to me.

On the contrary, I saw you read many history books, conveniently left on the pages of Princess Alyssa. She had the same condition, did she not?" you smiled, his eye met yours, but his emotion was difficult to read. You squeezed his arm, sensing that perhaps he did not like to be touched and pulled away, tucking your arm back underneath the other to take a sip of wine.

"I thought it quite beautiful" Aemond answered suddenly, not wishing to meet your eyes as he said this he feigned interest in the dancing crowd, but he missed the smile you hid beneath the rim of your goblet.

You pushed yourself off the wall to stand in front of Aemond now, looking up at him, he had no choice but to look down at you now.

"There is no need for defences now. I am happy" you say, letting that hang in the air for a moment. After a moment, Aemond allowed a small smile to pass. The air felt charged and you swore if you were to touch with skin, you would feel a burst of energy between you, but perhaps it was just your heart hammering in your chest.

The music suddenly changed to a slow stringed ballad, and you turned to see everyone had broken out into couples, you couldn’t help but smile as Halaena pulled Criston Cole into a dance against his will.

"Shall we?" Aemond asked, hand outstretched to take yours. You licked the wine off your lips and placed the goblet down on the table, letting your hand glide into his. You were right, you felt the energy between you as skin touched, hairs on your arm stood on end as you met his gaze once again and you found yourself wanting to know what was going on inside his head.

Hand in hand, you turned to make your way into the crowd, laughing lowly to yourself as Aemond stood tall amongst them, unable to disguise his height. You felt a ghost of his other hand at your waist, resting at the waistline of your dress as your own arm came to his shoulder in preparation for the dance.

You looked at your feet first before looking up at him, beginning to sway with the slightly slower music, a perpetual smile on your features as you stared back up at him.

"I forgot to thank you for ridding me of Tyland Lannister earlier" you say, he shook his head in dismissal.

"Tyland Lannister approaches anything that has a heartbeat. In fact, even now I see he has already moved on"

You stifled a laugh, "Let me see" you said quietly. Laughing lowly, Aemond twisted around as if you two were dancing to allow you to see what he had. In the corner of the room, Tyland Lannister was badgering your own father, sloppily drinking down more wine so that it ran down your face. It was not even the situation that made you laugh, but the look on your father's face of pure disgrace, a man who always wore a smile on your face.

You accidentally let a laugh loose which caught the attention of your father, who upon catching your gaze smiled widely as he realised who you were dancing with. You rolled your eyes and returned your gaze to Aemond who was already staring down at you longingly.

"Excuse me, I originally thought he approached anything with tits but it does seem like the standards have dropped somewhat" you reply, making Aemond himself stifle a laugh.

"Do not do yourself the disservice, my Lady. Any man who does not approach someone like you is a fool" Aemond said, like word vomit it just came out and he caught himself just as he said it. He felt like his brain was working a mile a minute and the tension it created caused him to grip onto your waist a little tighter, something that did not go unnoticed by you.

"How very forward of you" you respond, voice lower now. You saw his eye narrow slightly, becoming darker with a feeling that was not there before, "If I knew any better, my Prince, I would say any woman not to approach you is also a fool"

Your movements slowed somewhat, there was a different, heavy feeling now, but not a feeling either of you disliked. You could see how his gaze was focussing on all aspects of your face, hanging longingly on your lips most of all and then your eyes. You could not help but do the same to him, wordlessly studying every part of his features. The way his thick hair swayed with the movements of your dancing, the way his pupil had become larger and the violet ring around it shining brightly. As if he had been made by the Gods themselves, his face was angular, masculine with sharp angles, all you wanted to do was drag your hands across them.

You watched intently as Aemond seemed to lean down, closing his eye, the smell of your perfume invading his senses. His grip on your dress at your waist tightened and you realised now that he was annoyed at the fabric, tugging at it, as if wanting to see what had been beneath it this entire time.

You had only closed your eye for a moment before you heard him whisper against your ear, feeling his hot breath against your flushed neck and exposed skin of your shoulder. You thought you could relish in this feeling, his chest now achingly close to yours, and if you had pressed against him, you would have felt his stiffness bury into your leg.

"I cannot kiss you with your father in the room" he said quietly, "There are many other things I would rather do" pulling away slowly but still staying close, closer than he had been before as if wanting to drink all of you in.

You simple smile back at him, eyes glazed over in a new found desire.

"Like what, my Prince"

You could see his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, as if desperately trying to control his emotions.

"At your behest, I happy to demonstrate"

You could not help the feeling that took over you. You were acutely aware of where his hands were now, how he touched your hand and his thumb that was caressing it. How he fisted the cloth of your dress at your waist in need. How his broad and wide body seemed to envelop you completely. All of this sent a warm feeling that settled in your abdomen.

You realised that the slow dance has ended, and a new, joyful song had begun, you turned to the people in the room who were all jumping now hand in hand. You looked back at Aemond, smiling, "You don't strike me as the type to dance to this music"

Aemond seemed to playfully shake his head, "You would be correct in that assumption" he answered, making you laugh.

Halaena bounded up to you, taking your now free hand, a wide grin on her youthful face, "y/n! This is the last song, will you come dance with me"

Halaena seemed to look between you, seeing how close you were to one another and sent a smile to her brother. Aemond nodded and bought your other hand to his lips and kissed the delicate skin there, "Y/n" he simply said as he started to turn away.

"Brother, do not leave! You are more than welcome to watch!" Halaena said, making Aemond stop in his tracks, hands behind his back. He simply stood there smirking at you,

"Alright then" is all he answered.

You kept your eyes on him the entire time as you allowed Halaena to pull you into the crowd, only then engaging in the powerfully joyful dance. You jumped, skipped, laughed and danced, the hour was late and you were several glasses of wine deep, but you had never felt more alive. The room was warm with candlelight, hot with bodies. As you spun around, clapping at the music, your eyes landed on Aemond leaning against the wall, giving you a slow clap. And you just knew that he had been watching you the entire time.

It was true, Aemond had watched you dance your heart out with his dear sister. Watching as you laughed, clapped, and turned the most glorious shade of pink at your cheeks. His hands gripped at one another, feeling as if his stomach were doing backflips, not used to this genuine feeling deep inside his chest. Watching you enjoy yourself was almost as good as anything else.

And when your eyes finally met after the dance, he nodded his head to you in goodnight. 

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠

Summary: Being the director and also a single mum of 462818 people at the same time, being shown in Y/N. Y/L/N's newest Instagram post with some special guest

A/N: I really enjoy making these Instagram AU posts, and you will see my inner gremlin appearing lol and İ'll make a second and even third part for it!

Liked by benbarnes, jacktwolfe, aarontaylorjohnson and 5,897,476 others

Y/N Y/L/N: Did they force me to take them on a train ride? Yes. Did I loose a bet? Also yes. So, as a result, I'm broke now. Please start a campaign and funds.🤭🤗

Also, don't let Jack's innocence fool you, that man is a real life Wylan and is a menace to society. He ate 15 burgers. Fuck you 🖕😑

View 623,325 comments

User1: I love how Y/n is the sugar mommy of the cast djskdjsj

User2: The way she is trully the mom apart from being the director. They are like a family 🥰

Y/N: A family that uses me... Cruel, cruel kids. Look at their smiles! They know what they are doing 🥲

freddycarter1: you made us walk under extreme hot weather and left us to die in a desert! It's only fair 😌

Y/N: Shut up Kazzle Dazzle, and eat your burger! And I gave you umbrellas, ıt's enough.

Sab.Memes: Jack ate 15 burgers?! *Chokes on water* HOW CAN HE DO THAT?!

User4: I feel bad for Y/N, she earns money through them and still spend it for them 😂

Y/NFanforever23: She knows guys, she know the power the fans have!

Y/N: I watched people start campaign and cancelling celebrities, ending their whole life. FAN SUPREMACY IS THE ONLY TRUE POWER!! 🫡

Liked by benbarnes, shadowandbone, freddycarter1 and 3,789,968 others

Y/N Y/L/N: Here is a warning: I'm everywhere and I see all of you... Please keep doing God's work by making memes🤭

1. There is a reason why I chose Ben as Darkling, only one reason: He is the ultimate CEO of puppy eyes... A good way to manipulate people because I fell for it. And Leigh and I fought very hard for them to accept him already.

2. Apart from the fact that he killed innocents, manipulated kids and offered one to the Royal family, used many people and created the Fold alonsgide other War crimes... It seems my job is over *drops the mic and leaves the stage to go and write the New script,crying*

3. Real applause for Alina because I would have folded and accepted immediately.

P.S: Ben is getting ready to defend Darkling in his Insta story while avoiding me... And laying over my lap and making me play with his hair.

View 456,982 comments

kittheyounger: When exactly are you going to stop sharing memes of us?

Y/N: Never? You should be grateful I'm not sharing every one of your's fetus photos and the ones I took to blackmail you later :)

archierenaux3: Couldn't be me hehe

Y/N: Keep living in your dreams :) @archierenaux3

User7: She is so real for the third slide 🤣

User9: Ben is so babygirl for her I can't-

User3: The way Y/N just terrorizes the entire cast with those childhood photos is too funny to me 😂

User6: That's some Queen behaviour... another day another slay from Y/N 💯

User1: She is known to have a talent for taking photos when no one sees and notices her so... For all we know, she could take photos of us and we still wouldn't know.

User5: And she only annoys the male cast members... 😌🤔I wonder why she doesn't do the same with others?

Y/N: They are my little babies and precious wives, they could do no wrong 🥰

Benbarnes: Talk about favouritism... And I'm her boyfriend.

Y/N: And they are my wives, so? 🤗

Liked by benbarnes, tchalamet, lilyjcollins, kit.connor and 6,243,125 others

Y/N Y/L/N: Oh, the amount of chaos here... *Sips wine* 🤭🍷

P.S: He came to me crying and asking what was wrong with the fans... I said he was so hot for his own good and now, he refuses to meet my eye because he blushes too much... Sir, you are 41 not 15! Either way, what a cutie 😌🤭

View 746,923 comments

benbarnes: you promised to not share these!

Y/N: Haven't you learnt nothing is safe with me?

BenandY/N.mommy: I CANT- Y/N IS FEEDING US AND I LIVE FOR IT

User5: Poor Shadow Daddy... Show us more.🫣

User3: The cast once said that Ben blushes the most when Y/N is near or the one who compliments him... My heart can't take it!

User6: I want what they have! ❤️

User3: They both had become so good to each other, especially Y/N... Seeing my baby happy makes me cry tears of joy 🥹

User6: I hope they will get married already! We need little Y/L/N- Barnes in our lives 🥲

User4: When can I get a Y/N or Ben in my life?

User2: And just like that, I'm scared for what's waiting for us and Matthias in SaB season 3...

User1: ıf people doesn't know... Y/N is very good at drama and slicing our hearts and squeezing it painfully with her emotional scenes and talent for shooting those scenes just... Diferrently.

User3: We are doomed... Like girl, who hurt you that much?

Y/N: Trauma, tears, sadness and more trauma are what's waiting for yall probably... Sorry🫣 And I love watching and reading heartwrenching things in general, no one hurt me so don't come at Ben😄😇

benbarnes: Thanks love... Your fans scare me...

User1: Suddenly, ıt's a need to see Kaz and Monopoly together

Y/N: You wouldn't want that... Freddie gets too absorbed in his character and we thought it was a good idea to do this... It didn't turn out well

User5: The way Ben is scared of Y/N's fanbase is very funny... *Evil laugh* Sir, you are dating our girl, millions are after your ass as soon as we see a tear on her pretty face 🙎🔪

Liked by benbarnes, kittheyounger, amitasuman_, freddycarter1 and 10,895,675 others

Y/N Y/L/N: This cast had become my everything, all these amazing people changed me in the best way possible and I'm grateful to have met them. I'm known to always share funny things but today, I wanted to show my love and appreciation. I'm thankful for accepting the offer to direct and also take a role in this amazing job. Thank you for inspiring me to be a better version of myself, thank you for changing my life for the better and thank you for trusting me. shadowandbone :)

Thank you for the backstage workers who always gossipped with me and did their very best and made me fangirl at their job

Thank you for convincing me and holding a gun to my temple to accept this job and also writing this amazing book universe @lbardugo 🫡❤️ I'm hoping to talk to you soon again!

But the biggest thank you is for my dear boyfriend @BenBarnes. Thank you for always supporting me and loving me. Thank you for holding me when I needed, trusting me when I didn't and lifting me up with your dad jokes and thank you for being you. I'm the most grateful for you, and that won't change. I love you and your goofy personality even though you ate my last cookie 🥲❤️

Oh and a final note? These people and these pictures? Let the Fold take me :) shadowandbone

shadowandbone: A toast for the best director ever! We are glad to have someone like you! And there is no way out of the Fold :)

User6: The way she always includes everyone, down until the very last person in backstage is... Her heart is so amazing and her soul is so pure🥹

User2: You just know that they all love her so much.. Thank you for accepting and thank you for bringing our dream book to life Y/N 🥹

lbardugo: I wouldn't want anyone except you to this! You have so much potential and I was at ease knowing that the show was in good hands... Love you so much and İ'll eagerly wait for your other projects 🥹🥰 And I'm waiting for that meeting to, love! Just don't forget to spend time with Ben, he sulks like a puppy later 😂

Y/N: Thank you so much... OMG I'm crying at all the sweet messages now but you can be sure I'll spend all my time with him!

amitasuman_: We love you, Y/N! You are the best and thank you for always making sure we were fine and comfortable! Now, I'm off to cry🥹

Jessie_mei_li: Thank you for being you! I wouldn't have gotten a bestfriend like you if you hadn't accept!❤️ Thank you for assembling all of us, Queen of Fantasy!

freddycarter1: and also accidently adopt all of us in some ways...

User5: the whole Shadow and Bone cast looking at their director with heart eyes are making me jdkshdqkvwu🥰💞❤️😍🥺

User4: YEAH, THEY ARE SO LOVELY WITH EACH OTHER! BUT! Have you seen how Ben looks at her? I have been manifesting a man like hım over a decade now...

User1: Do you think she saw that fifth slide on Ben's Insta??

User4: Definetly! I wonder what her reaction was like...

Y/N: I was a Darklina hater my whole life until Jessie and Ben ruined it for me and made me just turn a blind eye... I regret making them shoot that scene but also not.

User2: OMG SHE ANSWERED

User1: she always does, another reason to live, laugh and love Y/N. Hı, Y/N!

Y/N: Hi, love! And btw yes, that video woke something in me... Which payed off iykyk 🤭

User6: when I learnt the whole cast, mainly Ben, was begging her to make a Marauders series is just... Wow... I hope she does that, she is the only one who could pull that!

User1: Remember when she said she would break the Net when the time comes? Might be it, who knows?🤔

User3: She also said she wasn't letting any of the cast go like that and had plans for every one of them... And that they were her slaves and had to do anything she told them lol

User4: People trust her with book adaptation because she always stays loyal to it, while also adding something from herself. It's normal everyone wants her to work on every book adaptation possible

User2: I wonder who she prefers the most: Kaz or Darkling?🤔

User5: Ben is her boyfriend so I think she would say Darkling because he would pout otherwise

User6: But she also said she often giggled and blushed while reading Kaz's point of view and specifically begged Freddy to audition

Y/N: The true question is: Are you a fan of terrifying blue eyes or deep, empty black eyes?

benbarnes: I'm forever lucky and grateful to have met you and be your boyfriend. I can never be proud enough of you since you have a habit of always exceeding yourself. I'll always be by your side through thick and thin, just as you do every day. You are my beautiful and succesfull girlfriend, my rock when I need you, my bestfriend when I need a good laugh and my other half and there is no enough words to explain my feelings but I'll stick to this one: I love you always. liked by Y/N Y/L/N

User1: And that's how you get away with eating a lady's last cookie 😂

User3: I'm not crying ıt's just their love in my eyes that stings 🥹

User5: I swear there is nothing I want more than see them getting married 😭

[aviawrites]

a winter’s dragon: flying

!s: aemond targ x reader, northern!reader

summary: Princess Auriela hasn’t known a day of happiness since she was arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. In her pursuits to take control of her life so far from her home in the North, Auriela only stirs the pot of the already war stricken kingdom, pointing knives in her direction. Accompanied by her common folk, Auriela intends to dig herself out of her green hole. [9.9k]

a/n: i’ve been writing a game of thrones fic for a year and a half now (i can’t seem to finish). in the meantime, my most recent hyper fix has been aemond so i hope this story does him justice. part two may come in three days or three years depending on my mood. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, death, violence, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: auriela dustin

hey! read part 2! -> a winter’s dragon: burning

The Red Keep has been a cold place, the walls going bare and air flowing frigid since the departure of Rhaenyra. In the two short years since the Grand Maester wed you to the queen’s second born son, you’ve quickly come to realize why your neighboring Northern house, Stark, happily bent the knee to Rhaenyra when she was named. 

Much has changed since then, your already feeble relationship with your husband has grown ever weaker. You’ve become a solemn woman since your last days in your home of the North, your only friends in the Keep being your handmaiden, Vialy, and your goodsister, Helaena. Sinless, virtuous women in the crossfire of the vicious infighting that has fallen upon the kingdom as of late. You spend your days with them, caring for Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, and strolling with Vialy as the royal family immerses themselves in their own politicking. 

Your husband, Aemond, seems just as apathetic to you as you are him. The only conversations you have consist of him relaying cold messages from his mother, the majority urging you to produce her son heirs in order to strengthen their line. Save those, you and your husband have virtually no interaction at all. Even the consummation of your marriage has been put off, neither of you wanting to face the reality of your relationship.

Now, in your bedchambers, you wince, blood drawing from where you’ve pricked your finger with the embroidery needle. Just as you go to soothe it with your mouth, a knock comes through the door.

“Come.” You call, sucking your thumb.

“Lord Larys Strong, my Lady.” Vialy’s voice softly whispers as she opens the door, the clubfoot coming into view. She closes it behind him.

You set aside your hoop and fabric, smoothing your robe as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Please, Princess,” he holds a hand up. “No need.”

You nod, putting your legs back under the covers. “What is it, Lord Strong?”

He stalks closer, his eyes switching from the silhouette of your legs and back to you.

“Women,” he begins, “are the most overlooked assets in the kingdom, my Lady. Good queen Alysanne’s Women’s Courts brought to light many of the injustices our mothers, sisters, and wives stumble upon in their ranks.”

“I know my histories well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Is that of relevance?” 

He glares at you, that sorrowful look forver behind his eyes.

“May I speak plainly?”

“Please.”

“…I understand that you’ve taken notice of your Lord husband’s absences at night. One seldom may find him abed, where he’s expected, in the hour of the wolf.”

Your brows thread together as the Lord teeters on overstepping. Though you’ve wisened to the fact that the clubfoot has a gift for speaking ugly truths with no consequence falling upon him.

He continues. “I can’t help but wonder if the Princess ever longs to know where he spends his nights.”

You sigh. “I have no doubt that you possess such knowledge.”

“I do…but I shall hold my tongue, should it displease you to know,” he remarks, cornering you into the allusion of choice, wanting you to beg at his feet for the miraculous information that he seems to have an endless supply of.

“No, pray tell me where Aemond goes in the dead of night,” you relent.

Lord Larys goes on to tell you nothing short of a tale. He speaks of a pleasure house that your husband frequents, along with a madam. Thrice his age she’s said to be, the first and only woman he’s laid with. That is where he chooses to spend his time, throwing dirt on the name of his wife in exchange for a whore in a pleasure house.

You dismiss the Lord, but can’t help the spark of fury rising in your stomach. Aemond is the son of the Dowager, he’s brother of the King, he’s a Targaryen, and he chooses to fill his time shaming his name and house in such a place. The issue hardly lies with his choice of establishment and more with his status. He’s promised to you, wed to you. Even if the two of you have no love for the arrangement, at least you honor it. But because he is a man he can conduct himself as he pleases?

You quickly change out of your robes and into a plain featured gown, making sure that a hood is on the collar. Swinging your door open, you grab Vialy’s hand and pull her down the corridor.

“Where are we headed?” she asks, struggling to keep up with your pace.

“We’re going out,” you whisper.

“What for?”

“If my husband can spend his nights on the Street of Silk, so can I.”

“The Street of Silk?” she raises her voice as the two of you rush down the stairs. “What business could you possible have there?”

“Shh-“

“Auriela.” you hear a familiar voice at the top of the stairs.

The two of you freeze, slowly turning to face your goodbrother, dimly lit by the moonlight.

“Aegon.”

“Where are you off to?” he asks, a cup of wine in his hand and a tipsy droop to his eyelids.

“To the city, my King,” you say truthfully, assuming he won’t remember the conversation come dusk. “We won’t be long.”

“Well…Wait there, I’ll get someone to escort you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for hassle, brother. I’ve got Vialy-“

“Your handmaiden is not a knight,” he rolls his eyes, ever vigilant of how attached at the hip the two of you are. “You need a swordsman, stay there.”

Aegon stumbles as he walks toward his chambers in search of a guard. You look at a wide eyed and terrified Vialy. You briefly ponder on your next actions, though not long enough before you pull your friend with you, sprinting down the stairs and toward the side doors. 

“Ella!” she whisper shouts as you run away from the castle.

“I’m not being chaperoned on a visit to my own city. Especially not by some stuck up white cloak.”

“The King commanded you, I- We’ll get in trouble!”

“The King’s drunk, he probably never made it ten steps before collapsing.”

…

You finally slow down, looking in upon the vibrant Street of Silk, colorful creatives and laborers alike lining the street with their gifts. A great smile grows on your face, never having seen such savage freedom in your life. Nothing of the sort could possibly take place in the snowy streets of Barrowtown, nor the guarded streets of the Keep. But the smallfolk, the lucky majority, see such liberty all their lives.

You and Vialy stop at the tallest and most decorated brothel on the street, men and women pouring in and out.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?”

“No more of that, Via,” you tuck your hair before pulling your hood up. “We no longer have status. Not here,” you grin before pulling her in.

What you can only imagine is the smell of ravaging sex fills the air, the temperature rising as the two of you cowardly enter the pillow house. 

“This is not a place becoming of a royal, Auriela,” Vialy whispers.

“The King and his brother attend such places all the time,” you mindlessly remark, looking around at all of the frivolous and free fucking in every direction.

It’s only when your eyes scan a private room at the back of the house when you see a sight you don’t expect. 

Green eyed, olive, and tall, a roughly dressed boy sits alone on a floor mattress, looking out at the pursuits around him.

“Via…” you keep your eyes on him.

“If any of them were at the wedding they’ll know who you-“

“Vialy, look.” you point.

The two of you stare on as he obliviously looks past you, his carefully molded face glistening with a sheet of sweat in the humid atmosphere. 

“I’ll see you…” you walk toward the boy.

“What- Don’t leave me, Ella!”

“He isn’t your taste anyhow, find a maiden to entertain.”

Vialy turns red at your observations, never secure in who the gods made her attracted to. You never minded though, the realm knows the same of Rhaenyra’s late husband, Laenor. It never cast as dark of shadow on house Velaryon as Vialy believes it shall cast on her.

“Princess.” she nods, leaving you to it as you approach the boy. 

You draw closer. His emerald eyes look up at you as you close the curtain behind you, sitting criss cross in front of him.

“How much for your favors?” 

He remains relaxed, slyly leaning back on his hands. “How much do you have?”

You smile. “I just want your time.”

“I have little and less of it as of late, Princess.”

You catch a frog in your throat as your smile drops, sitting up straight. 

“…You know me?”

He leans forward, stroking the arm of your gown. “Nobles frequent here…No common woman has frocks of such tulle.”

Your face goes a little hot as you examine his…examining yours. The man is young enough, though older than Aemond, only by a few years. His loose blouse nearly slips off of his thin frame as a mischievous smirk grows on his lips.

“I’ve never served a highborn woman before,” he mimics your position, his hands in his lap.

“And that way you shall remain,” you assure him. “Who have you served?”

“Many out of the Red Keep. Beneath their cloaks of righteousness all men wish for the same thing.”

“Is it only highborn men that you’ve served?”

“Highborn…lowborn…any willing to pay their dues.”

“Hm,” you hum, wondering if he knows how much you envy his autonomy of his own endeavors.

“And what of you? What business does a Princess have in a place like this?”

“I heard I’m free to be who I wish as long as I’m here,” you say truthfully. “Free to do as I wish.”

“That is true…Though I’d imagine you’d much better enjoy the freedoms of the safe castle.”

You scoff. “I know none of the freedoms you speak of. I’m just as chained as the prisoners I walk above every day.” 

“You resent what most girls would kill for.”

“Let them,” you shrug. “I’d give my station to the lowest of women if it meant I could go back home.”

“And where is that?”

You pause, wondering if such information can be trusted with this man. But as he so prettily awaits an answer, you can only think of the web of truths your husband has likely spun to his paramour.

“Barrowtown.”

“A Northerner,” he smiles, “I should’ve known.”

“And where is your home?”

“Is it not clear?”

You furrow your brows.

“Gods, the sun really has been seized from my skin,” he chuckles. “Dorne, Princess. Starfall.”

“Starfall…” you recall your lessons with the Septa. “Are you a Dayne?”

He hums. “You know your histories, Princess.”

“Call me Auriela, Lord Dayne.”

“Lord,” his body shakes with an erupting laugh, his smile brightening your mood even more. “I’m no Lord, Princess Auriela. I’m called Lucan, or Deephide.”

“Deephide?”

“They say I’m too dark to be a hart but too light to be a crow. The company I keep isn’t too creative when it comes to names.”

You laugh. “I think Lucan is a fine name alone.”

You and the boy talk well into the night, your sitting positions morphing into lying side by side on the mattress. Groups of buyers trot in and out of the pleasure house, though all of Lucan’s are rejected in your presence. 

In one of the long hours of the night, or perhaps an early hour of the morning, Vialy emerged from behind the curtain. A girl was treading on her heels, her hair darker than yours and skin paler than salt. Your heart warms as Vialy’s rare smile grows upon her face, locking hands with the girl. Alice, she’s called. “I never want to leave, Ella.” she remarks before giddily running back off with her doxy.

It’s only hours later, when the patrons thin and the sounds of pleasure cease, that you and Lucan finally egress from the small back room. There, you see slithers of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the door. 

Vialy rushes up to you, her eyes wide.

“Princess,” she urges. “Princess, we must go.”

On the other side of the door, you hear an array of hoof beats against the cobblestone street.

“They’re looking for you, Princess,” she frantically pulls you toward the door.

“Wh- Who?”

“The City Watch.” vialy heaves, her panic only growing. “We’ve overstayed, it’s well past the hour of the Nightingale. We must return.”

“Wait, wait,” you pull your arm from her. “Why must we go? Aemond doesn’t return for days at a time.”

Vialy stares at you. “We are not men, Princess.”

“Why rush?” you giggle, Lucan joining your side. “You were just having so much fun.”

“That was before I knew that Gold Cloaks were searching for a Princess that I’m meant to tend to. Please,” she pulls you once again, “please, let’s return to the Keep.”

“No,” you turn her to you. “The Gold Cloaks will cast around for a while before they return to the Keep empty handed, as they do with my husband.”

She frowns. “Ella…”

“We will return,” you assure her. “Only a little longer, okay? We as women don’t experience this freedom often in our lives, allow me this one day.”

Vialy’s expression says all you need to know. Nevertheless, she bows her head as she does in the Red Keep.

“Princess,” she mumbles before weakly returning to the dark haired girl.

Lucan turns to you. “Do you often evade the law enforcement of your castle?”

“Not nearly as much as I wish to,” you smile.

“I have yet to meet a noble woman who’d rather spend her days in a pillow house than in her palace.”

“Spend your time locked in the Keep and see how long before you run back to freedom.”

He examines the near empty premises before pulling you toward the door.

“Once the Watch leaves our street I’ll be happy to show you the finer things in your city,” he suggests. “Much prettier than here…”

…

Your hood stays up as Lucan pulls you by the hand, holding tight so as not to lose you in the sea of smallfolk at the Blackwater docs. Your mouth hangs agape as ships sit idle in the port, hundreds of men laboring on and around them. Grand green and gold flags hang from many of them as cargo is loaded.

“Are these all from Essos?” you ask Lucan.

“I thought you knew your histories.”

“Lands and lords, I know well. Maritime traffic was never a subject my septas lingered on.”

“Hm,” Lucan nods, watching as you admire the great ships. “Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.”

“And those?” you point to the green bannered vessels. “Are they our royal fleet?”

“Some are,” he shrugs. “Others come from lands across the Narrow Sea or the Sea of Dorne.”

The two of you finally depart the docs in pursuit of your next expedition. Lucan plays the jester, forcing so many laughs from you that your stomach burns as the two of you explore your sacred town for hours. Plays in Flea Bottom amuse you more than any fool in the Keep has, beautiful musicians bring you to tears, and incredible tailor-ship lines the streets as the sun begins to fall. The two of you see flashes of gold throughout the city, signaling the second round of searches. Lucan leads you back to the whore house that is once again bursting at the seams. You head to the familiar and quiet room, though you pause when you see Alice, alone.

“Where’s Via gone?” you ask, Lucan’s hand still in yours.

“Forgive me, she’s left.”

A small beat skips in your heart as you examine the room.

“Has she?”

“Early this evening, says she was too afraid of the Gold Cloaks to deliberately elude their efforts.”

“Hm,” you nervously bite your lip. “Well I shall await her return, even if she may bear the company of those I avoid. When they come, I shall be ready.” 

Alice stops you when you attempt to pass her, holding something out.

“For when you see her next,” she places a fine necklet in your hand, a handmade red pendant in the center.

You nod, noticing the matching one she wears around her neck. With that, you and Lucan leave Alice and enter your room.

“Do you imagine your husband worries for you?” Lucan asks as you both sit.

“He’s never done so before, it’d be a shock if he began now.”

“He surely has some love for you, Princess. It must not be that he’s a cold as you say.”

“Colder,” you assure him, your knees touching his as you lean toward him. “We hold the titles man and wife but we couldn’t be further from it.”

“…Does he please you?” 

You scoff. “Not in the way you’re asking.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I like how you speak plainly,” you smile. “Aemond seems to prefer a more…seasoned woman.”

Lucan laughs. “Really?”

“Thrice his age his lover is said to be,” you reveal before you can stop yourself.

“May I say it as I see it, Princess?”

You nod, paying more attention to his lips than you are his words.

“I think the Prince knows not of what he fails to seek out. I have no doubt that he’d find satisfaction in pleasuring you. His wife is a maiden yet he fucks a crone…a fools choice he makes.”

“Precisely, Lucan,” you argue. “It matters not whether I’m a maiden if at the time of the deed, I have no knowledge of what I’m to do. By all accounts I’m meant to lay there as he impales me until I bear his plain featured sons, I want no part in it.”

“I can show you, Princess. When done the way whores are taught, coupling isn’t an act of duty but a mutual act of pleasure. For both lady and lord.”

You think on his words, your attention now on those rather than his mouth. You ultimately agree, some hidden and repulsive side deep in you wanting to be desired. Wanting to be able to please Aemond.

Lucan smiles, lying on the mattress. He pulls you onto him, a flash of hot warming your face.

“He’ll never allow me atop him like this.”

“Perhaps no. But minds will change once he feels what happens when you are.”

He places his hands on your hips, rocking them back and forth as he instructs you as to where to put your hands. His chest, his neck, your hair, your palms roam every inch of your bodies as he instructs you further. Even when he flips the two of you, hovering above, he tells you how to stay in control. His bottoms stroke against your dress as your hands travel once more to Lucan’s orders. 

The two of you continue until you’re sweaty and worn out, falling asleep with many and more ideas on how to touch your husband, should the time when you wish to ever come.

✺ ✺ ✺

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” Lucan looks around the crowded fighting pits. “He’s not ours to take.”

“Would you rather him in there?” you ask as you pick up the tiny, hooded, silver haired boy, looking down at the feral children.

Lucan stays quiet, following after you as the boy keeps a hold around your neck. You make it all the way back to your room in the whore house before being stopped.

“You can’t bring a child in. Leave him outside,” a brothel madam commands at the door.

“They’re with me,” Lucan insists. 

“Outside,” she commands.

You sigh heavy, reluctantly lowering the boy’s hood to reveal his indisputable Targaryen hair. The madam’s eyes widen as she more likely than not imagines how much a Targaryen would sell for, even if he’s only young. She lets you in, smirking at Lucan as if he’s brought her a gift. 

You arrive back to the room. “He’s not Aemond’s,” you tell Lucan. “My husband’s a fool but he’d never do this.”

“Aegon’s then,” he watches as you sit the child in front of you two.

“One of many I’d think.”

The boy is slow to speak, making you wonder if he knows how. You can make out that he’s about Jaehaerys’ age, no older than seven. 

It’s only after much unanswered questions and empty silence that the boy finally speaks. Maeserys, he’s called.

“Whoever his mother is,” you whisper to Lucan, “she knew what he was.” 

A name fit for a decendant of Old Valyria. He uncovers the little of his past that he remembers. No brothers, no mother, only fighting pits and scavenging. He speaks with a lisp and knows few words, only enough to keep him alive in a city such as this one. You can’t help but feel sad for Maeserys, he’s your kin by law yet has been living as a commoner since he can remember. 

Lucan relieves the boy of the heavy interrogation, delivering him to his close friend working a nearby tavern, Pate. As difficult as it is to separate from the neglected boy, a tavern is a much more fitting environment for someone like him.

Alone again, you and Lucan sit knee to knee, your hand in his. He traces the lines of your palm, a trick he says he learned in Dorne. “Each trunk is how many sons you’ll have, each branch is how many daughters.” According to this, you’re meant to have three of each. 

Simultaneously, you trace his palms back. You sit in silence, the ambience of constant foot traffic outside humming lowly. Lucan lifts your hand, pressing a kiss into it. You’re entranced, sensuality sparking through you as you look over to him.

“Every woman is an image of the mother,” his face nears yours, “to be treated with reverence.”

It’s not a thought out action when your lips meet. It’s slow, it’s passion filled. A small smile grows on your lips as you truly taste your newfound freedom, finally being liberated of the dread that comes with your husband in the Red Keep. Lucan’s lips travel downward to your jaw, then to your neck. You stroke hair, small breaths escaping you. His hand is making its way up your thighs and to your waist when the curtain cover of the room is ripped open.

There, standing taller than you remember him, your husband stares down at you. His old ladylove of which you’ve heard so much about stands behind him, both of them stripped and bare. Aemond’s face twists in a mix of anger and humiliation, staring at both you and Lucan before rushing away. 

You’re left frozen, silent as Lucan stumbles over his words.

“I-“ he stammers, “I’m sorry, Princess. I knew not that he’d be-“

Your eyes stay wide, tears beginning to line them as you think of all of the grave consequences that you’ve invited upon yourself. You never had a plan, at least not one that you’ve thought through. Sure, you were awaiting the Gold Cloaks. But the idea of your own husband catching you in such a compromised state sends shivers down your spine.

Though, there was no time for shock. Aemond comes barreling back in, now fully clothed and alone. He says nothing, only tightly grabs your arm and drags you to your feet, away from Lucan.

✺ ✺ ✺

Water fills your eyes as they stay glued to the floor. You stand in the center of a secluded room, the furnace behind you heating up your body. In front of you, a council of those you wished to never lay eyes on again stare at you. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the Maester, your husband, and the King all sit behind a long table, interrogating.

“What for?” the Queen Mother asks, stern and angry.

“I- I don’t know, Your Grace,” you mumble, hiccuping between your tears. “I wanted to see beyond the walls of the keep.”

“Three days, Auriela,” she reminds you. “You ‘saw the city’ for three days whilst the Watch was searching endlessly?”

You’ve concluded that she’s the most fearsome woman the Gods have yet to make as you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, barely able to croak out words.

“…I was exploring.”

“Exploring, you say,” she nods. “In a brothel?”

You shake your head, assembling a feeble lie in the seconds you have. “I was only chasing hound, my Queen.”

“And the boy?”

Suddenly, the air escapes your body as you look up for the first time, your eyes shooting to Aemond. He was angry with you, rightfully so. But you hadn’t expected him to tell his mother the true details of how he found you. For some foolish reason you thought the two of you had that understanding.

“I- He means nothing we…we did nothing. I swear it.”

Your husband for some odd reason feels the need to speak up.

“That’s not what the madam told me.”

An anger rises in you that you weren’t sure was accessible to you at such a time as this. Only in the face of directly speaking to Aemond did all of your fear cease. 

“And what were you yourself doing in a brothel, Lord husband?”

He smirks, recognizing this side of you. “Searching for my Lady wife, of course.”

“Searching,” you scoff. “Is that why every whore on the Street of Silk knows you by name and face? Because you go searching so often?”

“Hm, watch your words, wife,” he bickers back, his smirk turning into more of a sneer.

"Your words are wind, for I am innocent of any crimes,” you speak up, face hot with fury. “Why am I standing trial when the Prince runs to the same place every night? Fucking old rotting whores instead of tending to his wife-“

“That is enough, Auriela!” Alicent demands, pounding her hands on the table.

Aegon finally acts, placing a hand on Alicent’s. “Mother…”

Remembering he is here, you bow your head. “My apologies, my King. That was beneath me.”

Otto Hightower sighs, breaking the silence as the table ogles his daughter. "It brings shame to your house, Princess; to your family, when a Lady such as yourself is seen in such an...implicative position. We only ask that you not be seen conducting yourself in such a manner again.”

You nod at the Hands request, slight shame warming your face.

“Command, he means to say,” Aegon corrects. "It is a command by word of your King that you never leave this keep again if not attended."

"I was attended-"

"By a member of my Kingsguard." 

Once again, you nod, though you’d much rather roll your eyes in the face of this shameless usurper.

"A clement constraint, wife,” Aemond adds. “It wouldn't be so were I King."

If only you were King.

✺ ✺ ✺

“One day I’d like to see the city,” Helaena remarks as you sit beside her, playing dolls with little Jaehaera.

“One day you shall, my Queen,” you assure her.

Behind you, the door opens. Vialy enters, her presence suddenly reminding you of the new life that you lived for a short three days. 

Only, Vialy looks grievous. A black and purple ring forms around her eye, bruises and scars littering her neck and chest. You drop the dolls, running up to her. You frantically turn her jaw, examining. 

“What’s happened!?” 

“I’m alright, Princess-“

“That’s not what I’ve asked you.”

She sighs, knowing well that you won’t let this go. “The King’s Justice didn’t like my arrival unaccompanied by my Lady.”

Your lips part, regret washing over you. “Wh-“ you stare at her. “Did he take you to the dungeons?”

“Only a few short hours,” she shrugs, “and a few short beatings.” 

“Vialy,” you shake your head. “Why would he torture you after you’ve said all you know? It’s not sensible…”

She chuckles. “My Princess, I said nothing.”

Your face drops, staring at hers. A small and proud smirk rests on her lips as a frown forms on yours.

“You fool!” you reprimand. “You should’ve told him all you knew of me, down to the room I resided in!”

“I am loyal to you-“

“I would never ask this of you, Via!” you stress. Her beaten down, yet gratified expression evokes a crossness in you…along with a hint of reassurance. Nevertheless, you sigh. “I’ll take it up with Aemond. The king as well.”

“It’s truly not needed. For my devotion to the Princess shan’t be swayed by a few hits.”

You sheepishly smile, giving her this small victory. Though, you have no intent of letting this happening go unspoken of. But as of now, you drop it, bringing Vialy to where you and Helaena sat with the children. There, you hand her the wooden spun necklace that Alice gave you, a warm smile growing on her lips as she thanks you.

…

“Clement,” you burst into your husband’s bed chambers, slamming the heavy door behind you. “A clement King you called him.”

Aemond can barely turn around before you shove him, forcing him to catch himself on his table.

“I know not what you speak of,” he looks at you wildly before regaining his composure, “but I suggest you keep your head about you.”

“Did you see what they had done to my Handmaiden? A woman, an innocent!”

He scoffs. “She was the last to see the missing Princess, it is the Justice’s work to see to any leads.”

"To what end, Aemond? The girl said she didn't know, what more must she say?"

"And that was a lie,” he corrects you. “Lying to an extension of the crown is treasonous, Auriela. Punishable by death."

"Death…” you stare, eyes burning with fury, “all for not revealing my whereabouts?"

"If only you had come home."

You roll your eyes, sighing as you debate saying what the both of you already know. The image of a weakened Vialy smiling through her pain encourages you to express on the whole of you and your husband. 

"...Why this farce, Aemond? Why must we continue this? We fail at up-keeping the appearances of our marriage…why not just end it?"

"End it...” he furrows his brow, “you have yet to mention this before."

You do the same, silently begging for him to just admit it. "Need I? You know as well as I that we shall never learn to work as one."

"Actually I ever learn that I know little and less about my Lady wife."

You shrug, knowing he’ll never cease to dance around the cold truth of what the two of you have been and will always remain…strangers. You accept defeat and land on compromise. 

"Just have Aegon allow me leave. I will arrive back as needed,” you truly ask. He looks at you so intently, the last time he’s done so being on your wedding day. “I will do my duty and produce you heirs, and we shall live our separate days."

“Hm,” he thinks, scanning you up and down in that cold stare before nodding. "And would you be asking leave if I were that brothel boy?"

You scrunch your face, the conversation seemingly taking a turn in a different direction. 

"What?"

"The boy, Deephide."

Regrettably, you almost scowl, feeling strange toward your husband’s mention of Lucan. Your days on the Street of Silk seemed like a separate reality completely, one that Aemond has no knowledge of. Now, you feel a small sense of territoriality of those few days, and all personnel that they entail.

"Aemond I'm married to you, what-  How can that not be enough?"

"But you chose him,” he continues. “Is it because he's older? Or lowborn?"

"Husband, leave this.”

“Do you like Dornish men?”

Perhaps I do, you think. 

"You've always seemed most uninterested in what l like.”

He continues to pry. "Why do you want him?"

"Why do you want women older than your mother?” you snap, his perseverance on the matter seeming all too personal. "We all want things in our lives, Aemond. There's no reason, we just do."

“Those are wise words,” he remarks, still staring as if he wants to see through you. "…Did you bed him?"

“What do you take me for?” you deride. “I am wed, that may mean little to you but it's an ever growing shadow upon my name. I am not like you, I am not a man, I cannot give my maidenhead away freely as you can."

A small grin sneaks on his lips. "I am glad."

"Excuse me?"

"That you've remained a maiden,” he departs from leaning on the table and pursues you, his tall frame towering over yours. “Despite your...excursions.”

The closer he gets the smaller you feel, his eye still treading on yours.

His voice lowers. “Our marriage must be consummated one day, Auriela. Some don’t consider us legitimate at all so long as you remain unsullied.”

Aemond’s breath heats your skin, the two of you closer than you’ve been in years. Your eyes flicker from his own to his lips, refusing to believe what he’s asking of you. 

Your breath shakes slightly. “That I know…”

He bites the bullet, moving before he can think. His hand rests between your collar and jaw, keeping a firm grip on you. You shudder as he pulls your mouth to his, a hunger in his kisses. The rough and sudden clash has your mind racing a million leagues a minute. The two of you have had your fair share of kisses, all of which being to please the eyes of his mother and council. Aemond has never desired you, never looked in your direction, never spoke of or to you unless forced to. Where this abrupt change in passion comes from, no man can say.

You don’t realize the way your hands seem to pull him closer until you’re interrupted, a knock at his door. Aemond pays it no mind, continuing to overwhelm you until three knocks ring out again. 

He lets out a frustrated growl, keeping you in his hands as he looks over your head. He gives you one more glance before releasing, walking over and opening the door.

“The King requires an audience, my Prince,” the unmistakable voice of Criston Cole says.

“Tell my brother I’m occupied, Ser Criston,” Aemond brushes him off, shutting the door.

Cole holds it open. “Forgive me but it’s a command. He asks for your wife.”

Your husband grunts, slamming the door and turning back to you.

“He truly always finds a way to steal my joy.”

Standing opposite a mirror, you smooth your dress down. “Ser Criston?”

“Aegon.”

“Hm,” you hum. Aemond stands behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you ready yourself for the King you so despise. 

Neither of you dare speak a word of what may have happened had Ser Criston not intervened. You just stare into the mirror, a rare sight, the two of you looking like a proper pair.

You snap out of it, heading toward the door as Aemond holds onto your waist for as long as he can. When he finally lets go, you scurry out of his chambers, a breath finally escaping that you were unaware you were holding. Ser Criston leads you to the chamber of the Small Council.

…

“No, my King,” you plainly state, wanting nothing more than to leave his presence, “I have yet to bear a Princeling.”

Aegon sits at the head of the empty table, sitting you at the corner as he asks perpetual and aimless questions.

“My brother is a cunt but I always thought he’d know his way around one,” he smirks, staring at you with an all too fake quizzical look. “May that be yours or an old hags.”

You stay silent, imagining you were anywhere but in this chamber with this boy.

“Have you at the least lost your maidenhead? I’ve heard whispers of you and the Dornish boy-“

"Is the King this engrossed with his own wife's affairs? He seems to be most interested in my fucking and fooling."

“Ha,” Aegon tsks, "you may soon find that Northern mouth getting you into trouble, goodsister.”

You eye him impassively with a demeaning tilt of your head before making the mature decision to back down.

 "Right, Your Grace,” you adjust. “I forget myself, I shall hold my tongue before my King. I only wish to ask what this meeting may be about."

“Much better,” he smiles before standing up, heading toward the board marked with houses, pins, and landmarks. “You know as well as anyone that the North is a hard cart to heave. They swore fealty to the pretendor of Dragonstone years ago, I need you to ensure that they now know who their trueborn King is.”

You stifle a laugh, the sight of Aegon trying to rule being nothing short of a jest. In this prospect especially, where he’s sure to fail before he’s even begun. 

“And how would you have me do that, Your Grace?”

“By traveling to Winterfell and promising your firstborn daughter to second of Cregan Stark’s sons,” he blurts out, a proud smile on his face telling you that he’s come up with this plan all on his own…evidently.

“My King,” you begin, not sure which of the hundreds of flaws you should bring attention to first, “I suggest we send a raven to scope how far Winterfell is willing to stray from their oaths foremost. As you said, we aren’t easy to sway, the North does remember, Your Grace.”

“They may not be easy to sway,” he emphasizes the detachment of the North and yourself, “but I send you because you know the North. It was your home, you’re more familiar than any of us.”

“Yes, and because of that I know that Cregan is slow to waiver and quick to call his banners.”

“Shall he support the cunt of Dragonstone, let them come.”

You scoff. “You don’t want war with the North, Your Grace. Cregan will never bend even with Sunfyre himself at his gates. Lucerys wasn’t far from Lord Stark’s own dead brother’s age, all the more reason to sympathize with the Velaryons. And who’s to say he hasn’t already been preyed upon by the blacks?”

“The North is closer to us than to Dragonstone.”

“They’re ahead of us in that sense,” you remind him. “While our King thrust us into war and bloodshed, Rhaenyra took a steady route; collecting her allies and seeking her foes.”

Aegon wears a frustrated scowl at your reprimands, coming back to the table and standing over you, his hands resting just in front of yours. 

“Do you mean to doubt the King’s ways?” he asks, his voice low and warning.

“I mean to do no such thing,” you assure him. You look toward to door. “May I ask why my husband isn’t privy to this discussion?”

He looks you up and down, minorly offended before he retakes his seat. “I heard that you disagree with some of my methods of questioning.”

Vialy. Your heart skips a beat, knowing that the only people who knew about your feelings on the matter were Helaena, Vialy, and Aemond; all of which were consulted within the hour. Was he eavesdropping on your conversations?

You stay fairly quiet on the matter. “I just wanted my handmaiden to feel safe and at home in the Keep.”

“Mm,” he nods, placing his chin on his fist, “and do you feel safe and at home, sister?”

A small wrinkle forms above your brow as you fail to decipher what he could possibly be getting at. You smooth it out, knowing better than to hurt a powerful man’s confidence beyond the grounds of small jabs.

“…Am I free to go, Your Grace?” 

He lingers on you, close to how his brother does, before waving his hand. You stand, walking toward the door not knowing whether you’re still expected to go North. If the King says it, so it shall be. Though, you’re not sure how welcome you’d be back home after your time here. As you exit the room, a pit forms in your stomach at the thought of it…

✺ ✺ ✺

Later

The night replays itself in your head relentlessly. Aemond seemed like a new man. He was careful, gentle even as he undressed you, cradling your head as he laid you upon the bed. The consummation wasn’t witnessed, though you’re sure Ser Criston could assume the activities at hand from what he heard at the door. Many of the things Lucan taught you worked ably, one of them sending your husband over the edge. 

You shan’t complain about the experience, for you expected much worse and are painfully aware of how much worse women before you have had it. However, as you laid in Aemond’s bed, his arms wrapped around you as he softly snored, you couldn’t find sleep. You contrite the thoughts that kept creeping into your head. Alice, Maeserys…Lucan. Your mind refused to rest even as the night grew late. 

You cannot deny that Aemond was good to you tonight…which makes the fact that you’re presently lying naked next to Lucan even more regrettable. You didn’t mean it to happen, but as your feet continued tip toeing away from the Keep and toward the whore house, you found yourself justifying what you intended to do. My maidenhead is gone you thought, bedding two men within the hour only counts as one. 

“I have to return…” you sit up, Lucan’s fingertips tracing your spine.

“Must you?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, standing and stepping into your dress. “I was only meant to visit you.”

He grins. “It gladdens me that you did, Princess.”

You say your goodbyes, deciding to leave the act as it lay and not speak of it again. Lucan seems to understand the arrangement you’ve made, just for the night. 

The cool of the night stings your eyes as you exit the buzzing pleasure house. You nearly trip when your foot is caught at the door. Snapping your head down, your gaze quickly softens as you see what’s grabbed you. Maeserys’ sad violet eyes stare up at you, his hood draping over his brows as his tiny fingers hold onto your dress. You contemplate rushing back inside and cursing whoever left him out here in the cold, then you contemplate doing the same to Pate for not keeping an eye on him. Ultimately, after a brief brainstorm and scan for witnesses, you pick him up and whisk him away. 

You don’t consider what you’ll do with him until you’ve snuck back into the Keep, his arms latched around your neck. Small pattering footsteps ring out as you hurry to your chambers. Though, you find you’re not quick enough as a you hear a familiar clanking round the corner…A knight. You freeze in your spot as Ser Criston Cole nearly walks into you. 

…

“You’re exactly what I thought you to be,” Aemond stands across the room, his volume rising, “heinous…whorish,” he shakes his head.

Your eyes turn a watery red as you silently hex the Lord Commander for delivering you to your downfall.

“Aemond I…” you shake your head, “it was below me, I admit. I-“

“You shall address me as your Lord,” he points a finger in your face. “After all we built, Auriela…Just to throw it away on the morrow, I-“ he scoffs, pacing the room.

“I was thinking of the boy…” you admit truthfully. Of the few victories you’ve won, sneaking Maeserys out of Ser Criston’s sight before he could be he seized was certainly one of them.  

“Who is none of our fucking concern!” Aemond hurls a goblet at you, it clattering onto the floor. “I put my trust in you…I put my my cock in you. Just for you to…” he struggles to normalize his breathing, “just to dispose of me as if it meant nothing.”

Sorrow fills your heart as you see water lining his eye as well, suddenly regretting ever leaving the Keep.

“Husband…” a tear falls down your cheek as you walk toward him. 

You reach for his face, he hesitates before dropping to his knees. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his head as small sobs escape him. It breaks you, feeling only remorse and shame as you cradle his head, softly weeping with him. 

You and your husband stay this way until you have no more tears to cry. No words are spoken as you leave his bed chambers, retrieving little Mase and returning to your own.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 moons later

The unfamiliar smell of dragon breath seeps into the cool air of the North as you stand atop the wall, Cregan looking over the snowy forests with you. 

“If you’ve only come to make me bend the knee to the Usurper then you’ve wasted your travels, cousin.”

“I figured as much,” you admit, “I only ask that you consider it before you open yourself to a war that the North can avoid.”  

“You may be committed to the tyrants by oath and for that I don’t fault you, but the North still remembers their own oaths. If that sends us to war then we welcome it.” Cregan shrugs, his thick accent feeling like home. 

“I’ve heard that,” Aemond’s voice emerges from behind you. The two of your turn. “That the North remembers.”

He steps out of the lift, animal skin draped over his frame. “It’s funny though, as no Northerner seems to remember that your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to mine own, Aegon the Conquerer.”

Cregan glances over to you, then back to Aemond before letting out a laugh. The Prince uncomfortably shifts his position.

“That’s right,” he nods, challengingly getting closer to Aemond. “But you’re no conquerer…you’re just a boy. A craven kinslayer at that.” 

“Hm,” Aemond looks down at him, “watch your tongue, Northman.”

“I suggest you do the same…your royal status doesn’t protect you this close to death,” he gestures beyond the wall.

“My position may be weak here, but my dragon is not.”

“When that fat old lizard is brazen enough to fly over this wall maybe she’ll finally instill some fear in my heart.”

The boys face off, both of their hands resting on their daggers. You step in, placing a hand on Cregan’s chest.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Aemond returns to his place beside Vhagar and his knights, staying there as you return to Cregan, Mase in your arms.

“…And you’re sure he’s Aegon’s?” Cregan examines the boy, stroking his hair.

“Can’t you tell? I only ask you watch over him until the war subsides, cousin. He’s an innocent.”

He nods, the memory of his small brother pushing his yes.

“I shall protect him like he were my own,” he agrees.

You thank him. “Next time I see you I hope it to be on kinder business.” 

“As do I.”

…

Your husband, at the cost of your dignity and stiff lip, allowed the Starks a time free of war and calls of banners for now, even if they didn’t particularly bend the knee. You and Aemond are leagues ahead of his royal host as you fly on Vhagar. Reluctantly, you make a stop to your home of Barrowtown, seeing your father and sisters for the first time since your father promised you to Aemond. That, you haven’t yet put past him. But the Seven ask you to be forgiving, so forgiveness you shall seek.

✺ ✺ ✺

1 moon later

You feel like a rat beneath the feet of the royals as you peek into the Small Council chamber, silently watching. A hand hovers over your belly as a table full of men discuss the matter.

“I am confident that the child is mine.”

“How can you be so sure, Aemond?” Alicent ridicules him. “The girl has no respect for you or our house, who’s to say she hasn’t fallen pregnant at the hands of a whore in the city?”

“She spends more nights with me than she does in the city, mother. Certainly after Aegon tried shipping her North in the dead of Winter, she wouldn’t be so reckless.”

“But she is reckless,” Aegon speaks up. “I commanded her to stay in the castle, she leaves again that same night. I command her to get Lord Stark to bend the knee, she convinces you to join her on some holiday to the North, accomplishing nothing. Your wife is disobedient, she recognizes no authority.”

“And if the child is not mine?” your husband asks. “If he comes out with dark hair and olive skin, what then? Will you have my child murdered for her crimes.”

You furrow your brows, never considering Aemond to be one of your allies in the castle. After the insults you’ve heard him hurl toward Rhaenyra’s children, you were certain that any child that was not true born was, in his eyes, undeserving.

Lord Wylde eyes him. “You certainly aren’t suggesting we house a bastard in the Keep, my Prince.”

Aemond shrugs. “I only mean to raise the question.”

“There should be no question,” Alicent rubs her temples. “Your shameless wife parades around the castle, bowing to none and seeing no consequence.”

“If she is to be executed for the crime of not living in fear then let you pike my head beside hers-“

“The history of questioned legitimacies is a long and bloody one, my Lords,” Otto breaks the bicker. “Let us not plan for such wickedness and instead bend our knees and bow our heads to the Seven and pray that the Princess bears a true born son of her husband.”

With that, the council moves on to other matters. Though, the sneers on Alicent and her oldest son’s faces don’t cease so quickly, their abhor for you only growing stronger.

…

“Watchers always find a way to seek each other out,” Lord Larys creeps on you from the corner of your bedchamber. “I saw you watching, Princess.”

You sigh, shrugging. “Is it wrong to wish to know the rulings of my own family?”

“Oh, far from it,” he assures you. “But when the queen speaks the bees listen…They question your morale.”

“They question my very being, Lord Larys,” you admit, not in the mood for his riddles. “Speak what you mean.”  

“…I fear that the water is rising, my Lady. Tensions run high and blood runs deep in the Red Keep, I can see as well as any that your welcome here is nearing an end. What they plan to do with you when the grim day comes, I cannot say I know. Though, I do not wish to see you perish, Princess.”

You tilt your head. Larys has a way of rising perspectives that you otherwise would’ve never imagined. He means to say you’re in trouble, you’re in danger in the Keep. The harder you stare the more it all falls into place. They forbid your leaving, they torture your handmaiden, they question your spirits…You begin to feel their ropes of fire tightening around your cold and snowy neck.

“…What do you suggest I do?” you ask, doubtless that he’s thought of an array of plans.

“If all were to come to turmoil here,” he begins, “the Princess is not without a place to turn.”

You shake your head. “My father wouldn’t take me back, he only wishes to keep his ties to the Targaryens.” 

“Not the North…I propose you look across the bay.”

“…Dragonstone?” you ask. 

Larys nods. “The black Princess has no reason to turn you away.”

“None save the fact that I’ve sworn myself to her enemies and sleep in her stolen castle.”

“A commitment not made by your hand,” he argues. 

You think back to the few interactions that you have had with Rhaenyra, all of which taking place when she returned for the brief period following your wedding. You recall her and her children showing you nothing but kindness, a warm feeling in contrast to the everlasting silence you experience here. Rhaenyra spoke to you as if you were a person, an equal; she talked about histories, asked about your life in the North, introduced you to Jace and Luke.

“So I flee my husband and my duties?” you query, contemplating both sides of the coin. “Leave the land I’ve always known to seek refuge with Rhaenyra?”  

“A cautious, yet judicious arrangement,” Larys remarks. “If my Princess wishes…it shall be done.”

Rhaenyra’s an acquaintance, a relative at the greatest; but as you weigh the odds, warily looking at your lawful family, the ancestral seat of the Targaryens begins to look like the more favorable position.

A knock rings at your door. Both you and the Clubfoot look at each other, then toward the knocks.

You clear your throat. “Come.”

Vialy opens the door, behind her, a serpent.

“The Dowager Queen, Princess.” your handmaiden announces, giving you a worrisome look before shutting the door behind Alicent.

“Queen mother,” both you and Larys bow as Alicent eyes you. 

“I wish to speak to the Princess alone, Lord Larys.”

He nods before tottering his way out. 

“How can I serve you?” you ask.

Alicent huffs, sitting at your study and looking out of the window.

“You’re with child,” she states.

“Yes, my queen,” you smile. “I ask the Seven for a healthy boy.”

“As do I,” she looks back at you. “Did you want for children before this, in the North?”

“Um,” you stammer, “I want whatever makes you and your- or- my house happy.”

“We’re alone here, you may speak truly.”

The Dowager’s words slide off your back, knowing better than to ever speak plainly to her.

“I was never good with children. I had only my sisters at home whom were one and two years my junior,” you shrug. “But the time I spend with the Queen’s children gives me hope that I may be a sufficient mother.” 

“Mm, and do you fear for your child? For what people will think of them?”

A frown forms on your lips. “I do not,” you lie. “Have I reason to?”

She scoffs, standing. “You have all the reason to, Auriela.” 

Alicent nears you, inspecting your face. Her breath tickles your skin as she strokes your braid.

“We birth children knowing the horrors they’ll face and the suffering they’ll endure,” she says. “I only hope that a mother’s shameful acts don’t add to the weight upon their tiny shoulders…”

She looks you up and down, your mouth slightly agape. No more words are spoken as she releases your hair and heads to the door, leaving you dangling.

You cannot say if she meant to scare you or threaten you, perhaps both. But the overpowering spark in your stomach is what you can only recognize anger. Angry that she feels she can scare you in a castle that she ordered you to, that she could frighten you when she arranged your marriage…Alicent is the shameless one, stalking and harassing you as she soils the Lord Commander’s white cloak nightly. 

You sit in the chair that she did moments ago. You retrieve a quill, ink, and scroll, addressing your letter:

‘Dear sister…’

✺ ✺ ✺

1 Moon Later

“It was the Strong,” Lucan says, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I know it.”

You hold Vialy tight in your arms as she weeps, Alice’s cold slain body lying in the middle of you, a sheet draped over her. Lucan’s words are senseless, blaming Lord Larys, one of the few you consider your ally, of ordering their deaths.

“Not Larys,” you shake your head, “he’s a friend.”

“He’s a snake who weasels his way into all things,” Lucan grits his teeth, staring at Alice. “The people talk, Auriela...His servants say he did it for you.”

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

Lucan stares back, his eyes numb and voice low. “You think he’s a friend but so does the Queen, and the King, and your husband, and the Dowager. He cannot be trusted, he ordered me dead, Princess.”

“Why would he do such a thing, Lucan?”

He sighs. “I adore you, Princess, I do…But you’ve been blinded. The Lord speaks with two tongues. He tells you to estrange yourself from the crown, on the morrow he tells the crown that you’ve become reckless…treasonous.”

Vialy buries her head in your dress, still sobbing. 

“…Have I no one in the whole of King’s Landing on my side?”

Lucan grabs your hand. “The smallfolk are a greater force than you take us for. Your handmaiden is loyal to you, you say your husband is loyal to you, even the Queen across the bay.”

You groan, tears collecting between the four of you as your escort, a Knight, stands over you out of earshot. Suddenly, it becomes very clear what you must do. Though, you no longer intend to take up the mission with Lord Larys.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 Weeks Later

You seize the first opportunity get. After a week of pent up emotions and grim planning, you and your allies in the City are prepared to make the escape that Lord Larys spoke of. 

The Dowager and guards believe you’re meeting with the King tonight, the King believes you’re with Aemond, Aemond believes you’re with Helaena, and Helaena cares not. When you begged her to stay tight lipped as you escape the castle for a brief night of living before your return, she gave you no more of a sweet nod before returning to her twins. 

Now, in the hour of the wolf, the blackest hour of the night, you board a ship; one that is said to fly a false green banner, as the crew are all holding steadfastly to their true Queen. It’s meant to be bound for Dragonstone if the whisperers of the city speak true..and there’s a spot waiting for you. 

“Ticket,” the inspector stops you. 

You look at him through your lashes, retrieving seven coins from your bag. Holding his hand in yours, you set all seven golden dragons in his palm, closing his fingers around them. 

“Seven blessings,” you nod. 

He looks at the money and then to you, realization hitting him. He nods as well, almost a bow, as he registers who you are. The doors are opened and you enter the boat, followed by two of your favorites.

“Honor means little to him,” Lucan says, “obviously.”

Vialy clings to your arm as the three of you thread through the crowds, searching for a compartment to sleep you on the journey to Dragonstone.

You correct him, your brows low and head lower as the cogs turn in your mind. “These men have got more honor in their cock alone than any in the Red Keep.”

You wonder how the Queen will accept you after your history, if she’ll see that you’re just as spiteful of the greens as she is. Though it matters not, for as the ship departs, the three of you are seated, prepared to do what it takes to never return to King’s Landing so long as a green sits on the throne.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 9,001 (yeah, she's a beast!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria S9, post-Negan war, before the bridge Warnings: language (duh, it’s me), violence (no sexual violence), injuries to main character, blood, some kind of dark Saviors shit (not like line-up level dark but kinda fucked), mild angst, Protective!Daryl, hurt/comfort Summary: The war is over, but it isn't all peaches and cream. The Sanctuary struggles to function and Daryl and Y/N struggle with ghosts of their pasts after Rick asks them to take things over there. Deciding they've had enough, they decide to depart for Hilltop but Y/N stays behind for a couple days to help Carol get started taking over. The past comes back to rear its ugly head... A/N: This is an epilogue to the Sacrifice series, but you don't necessarily have to have read all 29 previous parts to appreciate it (though you def should!) [Spoilers (or reminders) for context start here -> -> -> The war is over, Y/N was once one of Negan's wives in order to protect her brother, she went back to Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, Daryl ends up shooting Negan to protect Y/N when a plan of theirs goes awry and the war ends, Y/N was also shot in the process but survived]

_ _ _ _ _ _

You and Daryl stood off to the side, watching the group of people gather around Rick, flooding the open space on the Sanctuary’s factory floor. You gently touched him on the arm and his blue eyes landed on your face. “Are you going to talk to him tonight?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I gotta. I can’t—we can’t stay here any longer. I dun want you here either. Bein’ in here, in these walls again, it feels like it’s slowly poisonin’ us…” He glanced at the fresh graffiti someone had sprayed on the wall. We’re still Negan. Saviors Save Us

Your hand slipped down his forearm and you laced your fingers with his. “I know. It’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “Ain’t sure Rick’s gonna agree though…”

“Rick isn’t the one here dealing with all these people, reliving everything every day. It’s too much,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” Just then, Rick finished talking to the gathered group and there was a smattering of applause and murmuring. You gave Daryl’s hand a gentle squeeze as Rick wandered over. “Good luck,” you murmured.

Soon, various business that needed to be discussed was concluded and the already dim torch and lantern lights on the Sanctuary factory floor were all but put out. Daryl and Rick retreated up to the catwalk.

As they stood side-by-side, looking down at the shadowy, rundown building below them, Daryl sighed heavily and Rick could feel the tension between them. Rick broke the silence first. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

Daryl gulped and straightened up, looking his friend in the eye. “I don't wanna be the one leadin’ these people anymore.”

Rick’s expression was impassive. “Okay... Why?”

“Bein' here, behind these walls again... It just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been. And I’ve got Y/N to think about. After what happened to her in here—with him—”

Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Things happened to you in here too,” Rick said, perhaps realizing for the first time what he’d really asked of his friend, his brother…

“Yeah, well I care more about her than I care about myself. This is where her life was a livin’ fuckin’ nightmare. His wife…” he murmured under his breath. “She wasn’t his wife. She was his damn property. Her brother died here. He destroyed her group just like he destroyed ours. What d’ya think this place reminds both of us of?” He asked, turning sharp eyes to Rick. “Hmm? Did ya even think ‘bout that when ya asked me to come back here? Didya stop to think that ya might be askin’ us to relive some of the worst shit we’ve ever gone through?”

Rick hung his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. A wash of guilt and shame came over him. He hadn’t considered the full extent of it, no. But there was no one else to do the job and so he’d asked too much of Daryl, too much of you. “But you and Y/N have kept this place together. You’ve kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened,” he said.

Daryl shook his head and paced a small, agitated circle. “Man, s’gonna fail anyway. Nothin’ grows here. It's a damn factory, man. Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothin's changed,” Daryl argued.

“It's different now. We give what we give willingly,” Rick retorted.

“And how long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another.”

“Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work,” Rick said, leaning forward on the rail again.

“Man, there ain't no ‘us’ anymore. Everyone's everywhere,” he pointed out. “I feel lucky that Y/N and I are even in the same damn place.” He let out another weighty sigh. “That small group we had back in the beginning... plus a few more of the people we picked up along the way, we could do anythin’. That was right. That’s what I know.” Daryl leaned forward beside Rick, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way.

“Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?” Rick asked. “You and Y/N?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. We'll go back to Hilltop, check on Maggie and the baby.”

“Well, you go, someone's got to take your place here. Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home.”

Daryl only let out a small huff.

“We're not together because things have changed,” Rick said again.

Daryl stiffened. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed. His blue eyes turned to Rick again and they were intense. “The thing is, you changed ‘em, Rick.” The tension felt hot and pulsating in the air like liquid mercury. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “But I get it.” And then Daryl took his leave.

On the staircase, Carol backed away as quietly as she could, only to be startled by your voice softly behind her. “Well, that didn’t go great,” you whispered.

Carol turned to face you, her face drawn. “Daryl is right though. Rick shouldn’t have asked that of the two of you after—after everything you went through here. And he should have known Daryl would have a hard time saying no to him.”

You nodded and straightened up, stepping toward her. “Rick’s his brother,” you agreed. “And there really was no one else. But Daryl’s right. We can’t stay here anymore. It’s—it’s wearing him thin.”

“And you?” Carol asked, worried.

You gave her a tight smile and shrugged. But when you spoke again your voice broke. “I’d almost rather be anywhere else…”

Carol nodded knowingly and then grabbed you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. her mind drifted back to her own abuse at the hands of Ed and she felt a swell of affection for you and for Daryl, for both of you taking this on at all after everything… When she pulled back, she cleared her throat, pushing her emotion away. “I’ll—I’ll take over here a while. You and Daryl need to get out. I want to help.”

“Carol—”

“Don’t argue with me. My mind’s made up,” she said firmly.

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” you said. “I’m—I’m gonna go talk to Rick,” you said. “Make him understand.”

Carol nodded. “I’ll check on Daryl. Let him know what I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Good idea… Hey—Carol. This is—what you’re doing to help, it’s huge for us. So, thank you.”

She gave you a warm smile and you passed her on your way up the stairs to find Rick. He was still leaning heavily on the railing, clearly in deep thought over his discussion with Daryl. But he turned at the sound of your steps on the metal catwalk and straightened up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted him stopping beside him and also looking down over the factory floor. No one was milling around anymore. Most people had drifted away to bed. “You okay?” you asked, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.

Rick laughed a little wryly and nodded. “Yeah… Just—tryin’ to figure out if and where I went wrong,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Things I’d do differently now…”

You nodded. “You have a lot of weight on your shoulders. Daryl knows that.”

Rick met your eyes again, clearly realizing you’d overhead their conversation somehow.

You straightened up and tilted your head toward the hallway down the catwalk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Rick followed you as you stopped to grab a lantern and then led him down the hallway. This part of the building was mostly empty these days, except for a few people who had carved out some private spaces for themselves. The warm orange glow flickered past many doors and other halls before you turned right and came partially down the next corridor. The nauseous feeling and the heavy pit in your stomach grew as you walked, and before you knew it, your hand was trembling slightly holding the lantern. This place was full of ghosts.

Rick looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tremble in your hand translated to a shakiness in the shadows cast by the light on the walls and it was easy to see.

“We’re almost there,” you said softly.

You walked in further silence for only another half a minute before you stopped in front of a gaping dark space in the wall, barely bigger than a closet. Rick gave you a questioning look and you lifted the lantern to illuminate it. The floor was filthy with layers of smeared dirt and who-knows what else. “This is where they held us. Me, when my brother and I were captured, and Negan singled me out from my group. And Daryl after the line-up with Alexandria.”

Rick stared at the dirty, dingy space and he could almost see Daryl huddled there in his mind’s eye, wearing that filthy sweatshirt. His brow furrowed and his face contorted.

You pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your head felt a bit light and foggy. “I—I had the doors that used to be on the cells removed, because—I just couldn’t stand the sight of them closed up like that. I kept—kept imagining Daryl was still in there every time I had to walk past. Or that somehow, I was going to end up back in there.” You glanced over at Rick who was staring straight into the darkness. He watched as you raised your free hand to rub at your bad shoulder, the one Negan’s bullet had pierced. “They took all his clothes at first. Left him in there naked. Cold. Shot. Hungry. Wondering what happened to the rest of you. And the thirst… Then, Dwight humiliated him and they fed him dog food and blasted music to keep him awake. The same song, over and over. Then, they made him work outside in the heat and humidity in that filthy sweatsuit, chaining walkers to the fence for Negan or doing whatever awful chores they could invent. He had to clean up after Negan punished someone, mopping up shit or piss or worse… Dwight made him look at pictures of—of what happened to Glenn and Abraham.” Tears burned in your eyes and Rick’s shut and he dropped his head.

He lifted a hand to wave you off. “I—I understand,” he said in a low voice, his heart breaking. He’d been careless to ask Daryl to come here, too focused on his beautiful dream in the memory of Carl to realize what this would do to you and to Daryl.

“He didn’t want to say no to you when you asked him to come back here. You’re like a brother to him. He didn’t want to let you down even though—it’s literally the last place either of us wants to be.”

Rick sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I don’t have an excuse… I—I shouldn’t have asked it. Of either of you… I just—I was tryin’ to make this all work.”

You nodded. “I know. So does Daryl. But that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been… We’ve both been reliving our trauma having to be back here. And we’ve hit our limit. That’s all.”

Rick met your eyes again. You hadn’t even talked about yourself, about what you’d been through here in the cell and with Negan after, not really. You’d mainly focused on Daryl. But Rick could guess well enough what it would have been like for you being one of Negan’s wives and living in that constant fear for your brother and yourself, what you’d had to subject yourself to.

He glanced again at that dark space in the wall. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Carol said she’ll take over here for a while,” you said, turning away from the cell and starting back the way you came.

Rick looked surprised but nodded, walking along beside you.

“I’ll—I’ll stay a couple days to get her going here and up to speed. And then I’ll go meet Daryl in Hilltop.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded. “It’ll have to work for now. But I can’t help thinking it’s a patch on the issue and not a fix.”

You laughed wryly again. “Aren’t most things these days? Rick, Daryl wasn’t wrong about The Sanctuary. It’s a resource sink. It doesn’t produce anything. You’re still going to have to square with that one day. I get what you have been trying to do, making peace with the rest of The Saviors, and not all of them are guilty of the awful things that happened during the war. But things are still festering here under the surface.”

Rick looked over at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, about ready to part ways with him on the catwalk again. “You saw the graffiti. Negan might be dead but for some of them, it’s not over.” You gave him one last look. “Daryl and I know you have a lot on your plate, but it’s time for us to get the hell outta here. If we don’t… this place will consume us. We can’t move away from what happened while we’re here. It’s like—it’s like having it shoved down our throats every day.”

You took your leave from Rick then, leaving him again in deep thought. You knew where you could find Daryl, at a spot outside he liked to go where most people wouldn’t be able to disturb him. It happened to be someplace the two of you sometimes went to watch the stars. When you got there, stepping just one foot outside the building, you had to smile to yourself. Daryl and Carol were just sitting together, side-by-side, enjoying a moment after being apart for so long. You decided to leave them to it.

You made your way back to the room you and Daryl had claimed together in a different part of The Sanctuary. You hastily changed your clothes and got ready for bed, knowing he’d come find you there when he was ready. And it wasn’t long before he did, coming in to see you already cozied up in the bed you shared, reading a worn paperback.

You smiled as he came in. “Hi,” you said.

He stopped in the doorway and took you in, giving you a small smile back. “Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Daryl drawled, sinking down beside you on the mattress. “I was out sittin’ with Carol.”

“It’s alright. I know you were. I didn’t want to interrupt,” you said, reaching for a strand of his wavy hair and running your fingers down it gently. “You haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his boots. “Get this. Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” he said, giving you a conspiratorial look.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand. “Oh my God!” you burst out.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Well? What did she say?!”

“Ah… She ain’t ready yet,” Daryl explained.

“Wow.” You thought of Carol and Ezekiel together after the close call at the museum. They were good for each other. “Maybe someday?” you asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” His hand came to rest on the graceful curve of your neck. It was cool from the nighttime air. He leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling back just slightly to study the colors in your irises. “Listen—I told Rick—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted him gently. “I could hear the two of you. And Carol talked to me too. She’s gonna take over here for a while.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. So, we can go. We dun have to be here anymore. Figured we can head to Hilltop tomorrow. Check on Maggie and Hershel.”

You nodded and then ducked your eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna stay here with Carol for just a couple more days. Help her get started and settled. Then I can meet you. I’ll take one of the horses.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. You could see that he was getting ready to argue.

“It’s just a few more days,” you whispered, gently grabbing onto the front of his vest. “It’s the least I can do since she’s doing this for us, leaving her family and world in The Kingdom.”

Daryl’s stomach churned a little, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous. “She’ll have Eugene,” he pointed out.

“Barely. He and Rosita are heading to Oceanside next to get the fishery going.”

Daryl sighed heavily and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped. He was chewing on his bottom lip. You knelt behind him and draped yourself against his back, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the curtain of his wavy hair, breathing him in and leaving a kiss on his neck. “It’s just a couple days,” you said again.

He gulped. He didn’t know why, but there was a pit in his stomach. “I dunno…” he mused aloud. “I dun like ya bein’ here without me. Here of all damn places.” His mind went back to that graffiti sprayed on the wall.

“I know. I don’t either. But I want to help Carol as a thank you. And then I’ll come straight to Hilltop.” You moved around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “Hey—Look at me,” you urged him. “I can handle myself. Or did you forget?” you teased him, bumping into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know ya can handle yerself. It ain’t that… Somethin’ just—I dunno. Somethin’ dun feel righ’.”

You sighed and nodded knowingly. “It’s never felt right being here.”

“Yeah… maybe tha’s just it. I dunno,” he said finally, but you noted that he still looked slightly troubled. It had been a long day, and his talk with Rick was intense. He stood up and started getting ready to climb in bed with you. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, crisscrossed by his scars, as he pulled off his shirt. You crawled back beneath the sheets and waited until he slipped in beside you.

“C’mere,” he murmured softly to you as he settled into his pillow. You moved into him immediately and he pulled you against him. You tangled your legs with his and gazed into his bright blue eyes. He draped an arm over you and his hand moved to find the hem of your t-shirt before slipping underneath it and pressing against your bare skin, tracing absent patterns on your side, your hip, your back. Daryl leaned in and kissed you, one that was deep and full of wanting.

You felt a pooling of heat expanding in your chest as his lips moved to your neck. Daryl listened to your breathing hitch as he kissed your pulse point and grazed the shell of your ear. His hands wandered over the shape of you beneath the draping of your shirt. In no time, the two of you were completely lost in each other, melting into sensations and quiet gasps of pleasure, bounding hearts and heaving chests, skin on skin. Daryl’s fingers laced between yours, his other hand firm on your hip. Then, after you both reached your blissful highs, you fell asleep in his arms and neither of you woke until the sun was coming up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You walked with Daryl to his bike and stood beside him as he strapped down his gear, giving him a smile when he looked up at you again.

“Are ya sure ‘bout this? Ya dun have to stay. Carol will be fine,” he said in a low voice. That pit in his stomach had returned almost immediately when he awoke and thought about separating from you.

You gently rested your hands on his sides, stepping in close. “Everything is going to be fine. Go help Maggie. Check on her and Hershel. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

He looked worried, but nodded. “S’yer call. Two days,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Two days. I promise.”

“Alrigh’…” He leaned in and kissed you deeply, clasping your face and pressing his other hand into the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. You kissed him back heatedly and hungrily and sighed when you broke apart.

“Miss ya already,” he said, breaking contact with you and getting ready to climb onto his bike.

“Same,” you agreed, giving him a tight smile. “Love you,” you added, waiting until the last moment of separating to unlace your fingers from his.

He nodded and studied you, drinking in the view. “You too.”

Then, in a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust he was on his way. You didn’t see him glance back at you over his shoulder before he completely lost sight of The Sanctuary.

You found Carol already on the factory floor standing with Eugene, looking over whatever list of action items were on his clipboard that day. You were absently rubbing your bad shoulder as you came up. It had been aching since the day before. Had revisiting the cell stirred things up? Probably. Carol noticed immediately.

“You okay? Shoulder bothering you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Just a little. The old war wound acting up a bit,” you said with a wry laugh.

Eugene looked up from his clipboard. “I could potentially formulate a topical balm that may relieve some of your chronic pain symptoms, though most ingredients would not sufficiently penetrate the muscle in order to reach the origin of—”

You cut him off with a smile and a laugh. “It’s okay, Eugene. I’m fine. It’s not too bad. What do we need to tackle today?”

The three of you chatted briefly about what needed to be done urgently and then each picked your tasks to start with. Several hours later, you were nearly done trying to treat the small number of plants that were still surviving in the raised garden beds for some kind of insect pest when you were interrupted.

You turned at the sound of footsteps to see one of the Sanctuary residents approaching. You stood and dusted the soil from your gloves. “Hi. What’s up?”

“The guys getting that scrap metal from the upper floors found a water leak. Can you come take a look at it? We might be able to fix it, but we’d probably have to shut the water off completely for a while.”

You sighed heavily and pulled off your gloves. “Always something new, isn’t it?” you said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll come take a look now. Lead the way.”

You passed through the factory floor, noting that the graffiti discovered the day before had been freshly painted over as Daryl had demanded. Carol and Eugene were bent over a table in deep discussion over some new plan. Your stomach flipped as it always did as you passed the oven where Negan used to heat his iron or branding rods. You turned your eyes away.

Soon you were on the upper floors, walking through the dim hallways. It always felt eerily quiet up there. The resident you were following pointed ahead to the next doorway and then stopped to grab some work gloves from a pile of gear set in the hallway. You passed him and stopped in the doorway, expecting to see the group of other people working, but the room was empty. And there was no sign of a water leak. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “Hey, are you sure this is—”

And then everything went black.

Carol was walking somewhat aimlessly back and forth across the factory floor, weaving through the supplies and little bunched groups of people. She craned her neck trying to see if she could spot you anywhere. The two of you had planned to meet for the evening meal after everyone was done for the day but Carol was suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen you since that morning.

Her stomach began to churn. She bolted toward outside where evening was beginning to fall. The garden beds cast long, deep shadows between them, but she didn’t find you crouched among them. The final place she checked was the room you shared with Daryl, now mainly bare of your items since the two of you had begun packing your belongings to leave. Daryl had already taken his few things away on his bike.

There was no sign of you.

Her heart started to pound. She’d questioned everyone she could think of as to your whereabouts. Where could you possibly be? An anxious thought flitted into her mind. Her stomach tightened into a fist. It wasn’t like you not to arrive somewhere you said you would…

The last thing to do was to search the rarely used upper floors. She knew a crew had been working up there earlier in the day, collecting and hauling scrap metal to be reused to patch the roof and fences. Perhaps something had come up and you were still up there assisting with a problem.

Her boots made a lonely, echoing sound as she rushed around corner after corner. There was a weighty silence and the farther up she wandered, the sicker she felt. Something was seriously wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She called your name out but it strangely didn’t seem to pierce the thick vapor of silence in front of her. Every step increased her heart rate and poured adrenaline into her bloodstream. She felt almost shaky as she loosened her knife in its sheath. Just in case, she thought. In case of what?

Another minute or two passed as she searched. Each moment felt excruciatingly long. And then all of a sudden, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Carol bolted toward the crumpled form halfway down the hall in front of her. “Oh, God…” The front of your shirt was soaked with blood and you were lying on the cold floor unconscious. Your face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts and smears of blood on your skin. But what held her attention horrifically was that whoever had done this to you had taken a knife and began to carve a word into your chest, just below your collar bone. SA and part of a V. Carol didn’t need to guess what they’d intended to spell. They were making a gruesome point. Her hands shook as they hovered over you for a moment. She said your name again and then gently clasped your face and gripped your arm. She jostled you a little. “Wake up. It’s Carol! Please, wake up!”

You began to stir a little and a grimace contorted your features.

“Oh, thank God,” Carol sighed, hanging her head in relief for a very brief moment before the nausea seemed to rise into her throat again at your condition. “Y/N? Open your eyes, hun!”

You let out a small pained noise and then your eyes did open blearily. You were immediately trying to sit up, pushing yourself up on the palms of your hands but your head felt split in two and your muscles felt rubbery and weak. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“Whoa—okay. Easy! Take it easy!”

You reached up and touched the back of your head. It was swollen with a lump and tender and your fingers came away slightly sticky. You looked down at them and registered the deep color of drying blood. Your chest burned. You looked down to see that the whole front of your shirt was stained crimson. Your body ached and panged with sharp pains. You could feel your heartbeat in your face.

“Is anything broken? Can you stand up?” Carol asked, her brow heavy over her eyes, but the light inside frantic and quickly turning furious.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” you said softly. Your jaw ached. You gave it an exploratory wiggle left and right and immediately regretted it. Your bottom lip was split and swollen. You winced again. “What the fuck?” you murmured. “I mean what the ever-loving, royal fuck?” you growled. The hot rage welling up in you was pushing some of the pain back.

“Let’s just get you up and off the floor, okay? Slowly.” Carol helped you to your feet. Your head swam and you squeezed your eyes shut, not letting go of her hands for a long moment until you felt steadier. Her expression said enough about what you must look like… “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?” she asked.

You shook your head a little, absently pressing a hand to the burning sensation on your chest, but you stopped as the burn surged when your palm landed flush on your skin. You took in a sharp intake of breath through your teeth. “No. Well—I saw one of them… they lured me up here. Told me there was a water leak they found while doing the scrapping and—and then someone hit me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. But I don’t know why. I mean, why me?”

Carol’s expression was taught. Anger swirled in her eyes. She knew exactly why. You couldn’t see it yet, but the word was partially carved into your chest. That graffiti on the wall out on the factory floor was just the tip of the iceberg. Things were rotting here just under the surface, and since you’d once been Negan’s wife, she imagined you were a perfect target for those who wanted to make a point. “Let me see the back of your head,” she said. There was a small split in the skin where you’d been struck, your hair stained rusty red, but she didn’t think you’d need stitches there and she was extremely relieved that it wasn’t worse... not much anyone could do from something like a skull fracture in the apocalypse. She sighed heavily as another flame of rage wicked upwards in her chest. “Okay… Let’s get you back to your room. Hold onto my arm. Can you make it?”

You nodded, gripping her to steady yourself on your shaky legs, and allowed her to lead you away. You glanced back over your shoulder and were sickened to see the smears of your blood shockingly deep red on the tile behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol had you sitting on the edge of your bed and she set down a first aid kit beside you. You were looking up at her from behind a wall of swelling and bruising on your face. You tenderly wiggled your jaw again, testing opening and closing your mouth. It felt ready to lock up. She could tell from the way you’d moved on the walk back and how you were slumped slightly forward now that there was probably substantial bruising beneath your clothes that she couldn’t see. Your movements were tentative and cautious.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. You were afraid to. The pain was bad enough. The fogginess in your head was bad enough. You were worried if you saw the results of the beating, it would only make it worse, more real.

Carol began unpacking supplies. “Tell me everything you remember,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “Not much. Like I said, I was out working in the raised garden beds and somebody came up to me.”

“Who?” Carol pressed you. “If you don’t know their name, what did they look like?”

“Uhh… his name starts with a ‘G’ I think… Give me a second.” You filed through names in your head until you got the right one. “Graham. I think that’s it… He’s tall. Long black hair past his shoulders.”

“Okay,” Carol nodded, opening an alcohol swab. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I could come look at a leak they found while they were moving all the scrap metal. He said they thought they could fix it but they’d have to turn the water off. I went to see and I was barely in the doorway of the room he pointed out. There wasn’t a water leak. I was just standing there, about to say something and—something hit the back of my head. I don’t really remember anything after that. Some foggy pain maybe but… mostly nothing.”

“Do you think there were others waiting up there? Or could it have just been him?” Carol asked, dabbing at a wound on the side of your face. You shut your eyes from the fumes of the alcohol. She was starting to worry about just how many traitors could be in the walls.

“There was at least one other person. When I got hit, I was looking back at him ten feet away from me down the hall.”

Carol sighed heavily and nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes drifted down to the cruelly carved letters on your chest. Your chin tilted down as you tried to look but her hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Hold on,” she said. Her face contorted with emotion she was trying to hold back. “Better you see this now. I’m so sorry.”

You gave her a perplexed look. You knew you were beat up but what was she—

Carol grabbed the small mirror off the little sink in the corner and held it up so you could see yourself for the first time. Initially, all you saw was the swelling and bruising on your face but then your breath caught in your throat. S-A- and part of a V, cut into your skin. The cuts were deep and she had already had to apply some butterfly bandages to hold certain spots closed. No wonder your skin had burned and stung there since you came back to consciousness.

You felt like you were about to be sick and Carol must have seen you pale because she hastily put down the mirror and gripped your shoulders again as if she was afraid you were going to faint. “Whoa. Deep breaths.”

Your eyes shut and you did your best to swallow down the nausea. “What the fuck,” you muttered, reeling. You blinked away angry tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I think I have some of my special ointment in my bag. If you apply it at least once a day it’ll minimize any scarring…”

You let out a wry laugh. “Minimize,” you repeated. “But I’ll still have half of ‘Saviors’ carved into me for the rest of my life.” Tears burned in your eyes again. It wasn’t bad enough what you had gone through with Negan, with his men, with the war—now this? Would it ever be over?

Carol winced. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea things were this bad here.”

You sniffled and mopped gently at the tears that had broken out onto your cheeks. “I knew they were pretty bad but—can’t say I saw anything like this coming.”

“Well, who could? It’s—horrific.” She gave you a sympathetic look and then surprised you by pulling you gently into a hug for a long moment. Her eyes were teary now too when she pulled back, but she pulled herself together quickly. Back to business, she returned to the first aid kit and continued her ministrations. Your mind was endlessly turning.

“I wonder why they didn’t finish,” you suddenly said softly.

“Mmm,” Carol hummed, nodding, tossing down another soiled gauze pad and reaching for a new one. “They must have gotten interrupted. Maybe heard someone in that part of the building.”

Your eyes lifted and met hers. She paused at the expression on your face. “Do you think they were going to kill me? Leave me there with—with this cut into me to make a statement?”

Carol’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone flat. Your question had been asked matter-of-factly and Carol was suddenly reminded of all you had gone through in the war and even before any of them had met you, when you’d just been a stranger with a mysterious backstory. “But obviously they knew they couldn’t take you in a fair fight. Fucking cowards,” she growled. “Had to ambush you to even have a chance.”

You sighed, shaking your head again, your eyes dropping to your hands. “They sure beat the shit out of me though,” you mused aloud. “It’s probably good Daryl isn’t here. He’d lose it,” you said, fiddling with another gauze pad which Carol took out of your hands and taped down over the now cleaned cuts below your collarbone.

She cleared her throat. “About that…”

You met her blue eyes again. “You radioed him? He’s probably way out of range by now. He’s probably already in Hilltop,” you said.

“Rosita rode out on the quad immediately to get within range. Eugene is doing a headcount as we speak to see who, if anyone, is missing…”

Another wry laugh left you and you nodded. “That’s why you took so long. And I just thought you couldn’t find the damn kit,” you said, shooting her a look, tears burning in your eyes. “Daryl is gonna go on a rampage,” you said softly.

Carol nodded. “Probably. But he should be here with you. And if I didn’t radio him, I’d be on the receiving end of that rampage. And I think we should focus it on the assholes that did this to you instead.”

You nodded and a sob tried to burst out of you. You suppressed it as best you could and it came out as a hitched breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little strained.

Carol quickly grabbed you into a hug again. “Everything is going to be okay. Daryl will be here soon and we will figure this out.”

You hugged her back and nodded into her shoulder, grateful again for your found family.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was there in an hour, stomping through The Sanctuary with Eugene at his heels, mostly ignoring the stream of words out of the mullet-headed Texan’s mouth. Rosita finally grabbed Eugene’s arm and stopped him, clearly realizing Daryl wasn’t hearing a word of it, didn’t give a shit about anything but going to see you. He was at the door of the little room the two of you had shared before anyone could come to tell you he’d arrived.

Daryl froze and made himself knock lightly, rather than barely in. The last thing he wanted was to startle you. His stomach turned as he waited to hear your voice on the other side, inviting him in. “S’me,” he drawled, the jittery feeling that permeated his body translating to an ever-so-slight tremble in his voice.

You sat up in bed. “Come in,” you said hurriedly, already feeling the tears burning in your eyes again. You were in clean clothes now and thoroughly patched up thanks to Carol, but that wasn’t going to change how rough you looked and how hard it was going to be for Daryl to see it.

The door opened slowly, measuredly, and he took shape in the doorway. He froze for only a split second as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the swelling and already deep purple bruises. Then he rushed to you and hugged you in against him gently. That was all it took for you to go to pieces against him, clinging to his leather jacket. “Jesus, what the hell did they do to ya? ‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I wasn’t here. I shouldn’ta left ya. ‘M so sorry, babe. I shoulda been here,” he said into your hair, kissing you on the top of the head, holding you gently so he wouldn’t hurt you but firmly so you knew you were safe.

You sniffled and mopped the tears from your cheeks as he clasped your face and brushed your hair back. “Don’t—don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” you said, looking up into his blue eyes. They were stormy and turbulent. “You couldn’t know…”

“Lemme see ya,” he said, looking you over. His heart ached as you showed him the bruising on your stomach and ribs. “Sit back. Rest,” he said, climbing into bed beside you where you were propped up against the headboard and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You tucked in against him. He left a kiss in your hair again.

“Did—did Rosita tell you what they—that—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell me anything specific except that some assholes had hurt ya bad, beat ya up, and that I needed to get back here,” he said. “Tell me what?” His stomach churned around a hard knot. His mind began inventing all kinds of horrific scenarios immediately. What did you mean?

You could see him whirling and quickly tried to explain. “I was unconscious but—” Your hand landed on the gauze pad taped over the wounds below your collarbone. His eyes flitted down to it. “They used a knife and—” You couldn’t get any more words out so you simply lifted the bandage to show him, gingerly peeling back the medical tape and bandaging. Daryl froze completely. Every part of him stilled. He stared at the brutality someone had inflicted on you and hot rage boiled inside him. More tears leaked out onto your cheeks as you saw what it was doing to him to see that on you. You hastily covered it back up.

He softened again, coming back to himself, letting his anger flow away, and wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Hey—it don’t matter to me what they—how they marked ya like that. Ya know that, right? Ya got every right to feel however ya feel ‘bout it. Ya do. But to me—” He shook his head. “It don’t matter, okay? I just see you. It’s all gonna be alrigh’.”

You collapsed into him again, finally letting yourself completely break down, wondering how the fuck you’d gotten so lucky as to find this man. He held you against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. He could feel the bump on the back of your head where they’d hit you. He could feel the swelling on your face and under your clothes, and he internally yelled at himself for leaving you behind, even if it was only supposed to be for a couple days, even though no one would have guessed that anything like this would happen, even though he knew how strong and capable you were. “‘M so sorry,” he murmured again. “I shouldn’t have left ya here… here of all places, with them.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’m gonna track down every one of these assholes and put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground,” he growled.

You couldn’t stand him blaming himself and you pulled yourself together. “It’s not your fault, Daryl. And—maybe… maybe I should have known something like this could happen…”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean?” He took a beat, his heart seemingly suspended somewhere in a gaping space that had opened in his chest. “Did somethin’ happen before this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your eyes still glassy. “No. No, not exactly. Nothing happened. I mean, people have—said things to me before. Made comments. I just—”

Daryl frowned, his brow heavy over his eyes, casting them in a deep shadow. “Like what? What kinda comments?”

You sighed and turned to face him more fully. You rested your hands on his sides. “Just—little shitty things. Because of what I’d been here,” you explained. “As Negan’s wife…”

Daryl was boiling again inside with anger. “Ya weren’t ever his wife,” he said. “That word means somethin’ else.” Your fingers went to touch the wedding band on your ring finger, the one Daryl had made with his own hands and given to you.

“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly. “I just wrote them off and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be a big deal and I knew how upset you’d get. It just felt like shitty people being shitty at the time. Mostly…”

“Mostly,” he growled.

“I never thought anything like this would happen. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

Daryl sighed and ducked his head, running his hands gently up and down the soft bare skin on your arms, marred with bruises and abrasions. “Don’t apologize. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I get why ya didn’t tell me… and yer righ’. I woulda beat the shit out of anybody sayin’ or doin’ anythin’ like that to ya. But tha’s my job. I wanna protect you.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve just had so much on our plate here. I didn’t want to add something else. And I never thought—I didn’t think—” You grimaced as a wave of pain and dizziness hit you.

“I know. I know. Hey—it’s okay. We’ve talked ‘bout this enough. Ya need to rest. ‘M here now. S’okay.”

“I am really tired,” you agreed, shutting your eyes and waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

He clasped your face again, his eyes flickering from this injury to that, and then he kissed your swollen lips as gently as he could. You managed to give him an overwhelmed, somewhat sad smile which he returned. “C’mon. Let’s lay down.”

Daryl helped you settle down on the mattress and fitted himself beside you. You tucked yourself against his body, breathed in his smell and safety, and shut your eyes. His fingers brushed through your hair, reassuring and grounding.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl was awake early while you slept on. He carefully, ever so slowly slipped out of bed and pulled a change of clothes on. He snuck out and headed to find Carol, Eugene, and Rosita.

He spotted Eugene first and nudged his head up in a nod as a greeting. “Well, what d’ya got to tell me?” Daryl asked hurriedly.

“We were short five of the former Saviors at the headcount last night, and five again this mornin’. Carol and Rosita have been questionin’ people all night. We don’t think anyone here knew anything about it. They weren’t exactly gentle with their lines of inquiry.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’. As I thought then... Cowards took off right afterwards.”

“Indeed. I suspect they knew Justice’s hammer would fall hard and swift on them once their atrocious deed was discovered,” Eugene agreed. “No way to know now where they’re headed.”

Daryl sighed. “Hopefully righ’ into a fuckin’ herd of walkers,” he drawled. “Alrigh’. Well, we need to send out runners to get word out to The Kingdom and Alexandria so ev’rybody can watch out for those pieces of shit... Y/N and I will take news to Hilltop today, and keep our eyes open for any sign of ‘em on the way. If I get sight of ‘em, I’mma strangle ‘em with my bare fuckin’ hands…” He sighed again, even more heavily this time. “Thanks. For everythin’ ya’ll did last night.”

“Of course,” Eugene said sincerely. “How is her condition today?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “She’s still asleep. She was exhausted. ‘M gonna get back up there. I dun want her wakin’ up here alone and ‘m still afraid there could be somebody in here—” he hesitated to speak his fear lest it become real. “She’ll be alrigh’. She’s tough. But she was shaken up pretty good and I can’t believe how bad they beat her up... and what they did,” he said vaguely, referring to the letterds on your skin. “But she’ll be okay.” He patted Eugene on the shoulder gratefully and headed straight back to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

With hasty goodbyes and thank you’s to your close, chosen family, still at The Sanctuary you departed for Hilltop on the back of Daryl’s bike. You held extra tightly to him the whole way, and often his right hand left the handlebars to smooth over yours for a moment. The Sanctuary shrank smaller and smaller behind you and then disappeared into a cloud of dust. Neither of you knew it at the time, but you’d never come to that place again while it was a semi-functional community. It would be only ruins when you sheltered there during the storm eight years after the war.

On arriving at Hilltop, Maggie threw her arms around you and tears of shock filled her eyes when she saw your bruised and swollen face. Enid insisted on checking you over again, but gave you the all clear after much expressed anger and concern. Maggie quickly carved out a space for you and Daryl to stay, close to the room she shared with baby Hershel in the big house up on the hill.

Your body had stiffened overnight and on the bike ride. Every movement caused aches and pains to shoot through you and Daryl was attentive and worried as you settled into your new home. When you settled into bed at first, Daryl kissed every part of you where he could see a bruise or injury. His fingers were light and gentle on your skin, and you were amazed as you always were that he could be so soft when he was so strong. Finally, the sun sank below the horizon and you were again laying side by side, your head tucked up under his chin, listening to the whoosh of air in his lungs and his steady heartbeat.

“I had an idea,” you said softly, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Maybe when I’m all healed up, if—if it scars bad, I can get someone to do a tattoo over it to cover it up.”

Daryl smiled. You were already thinking ahead to the future, thinking of solutions. That was a good sign. He hugged you more tightly against him. “What would ya get?”

“I don’t know. Something pretty… to cover up something so ugly,” you mused aloud. “Like, there are these flowers that only bloom once in their lifetime and it can take decades to happen.”

“Nah, tha’s no good,” Daryl said quickly.

“What? Why?” you asked, looking up at him with surprise from beneath your lashes.

“It don’t fit ya. Yer bloomin’ all the time. Every day. Ya always have been, even when ya couldn’t see it,” he drawled. He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead.

You smiled at him sleepily.

“Was that too cheesy?” he asked with a gruff laugh.

“No. It was just the right amount,” you said. “Okay… maybe I’ll just get ‘Property of Daryl Dixon’,” you joked.

“No good. Ya ain’t nobody’s property. Ya belong only to yerself. ‘M just lucky that you share with me,” he said, his fingertips tracing vague shapes on the bare skin of your hip, exposed from the way your shirt had draped.

You sighed and nuzzled in against his neck. “I was only kidding,” you said, closing your eyes.

“I know. But it’s true.”

You yawned. “Maybe. But I do also belong to you, by my choice. I have since that night you fell through that rotten floor,” you said with a laugh. Daryl’s chest moved as he joined you with a low chuckle. In another minute, you were asleep. Daryl whispered ‘I love you’ into your hair, and shut his eyes too.

He meant what he’d said—he’d find whoever had hurt you and end them if he could, but after that, he wouldn’t allow the shadow of the past to dim another day. He’d walk with you forward, facing the sun in the same way you’d been doing together since the end of the war. And he hoped this time all of it, all the Saviors, The Sanctuary, the fear and pain, was really behind both of you.

[gulnarsultan]

“I’m fine.”- says Modern Reader with bags under her eyes, sitting around the table with a pile of papers and letters. Modern Reader tries to get over with trauma (Aemma’s death) and since she can’t sleep at night due to the nightmares, she decides to spend her time with solving problems like building orphanage houses and schools for children from all classes (from peasants to nobles) so they could have a good future, or Modern Reader reads a lot of books of history of all houses, so she could stop the rivalry between houses. Or Modern Reader uses her knowledge from her (our) world, mostly medical knowledge like: anesthesia, caesarean section. And Modern Reader explains maesters and midwives how caesarean section works, so women and children could survive the labour. Also Reader explains the importance of hygiene and making sure there won’t be any infection or danger for women.

Thanks to this knowledge many women and children survive the labour, which means Laena could survive the labour when she’s pregnant with a third child. Although the child would be disfigured and would die unfortunately, but Laena would stay alive. That would also mean yandere platonic Laena, Alicent and Rhaenyra won’t feel any pain during the labour.

But that also means that Aemond won’t claim Vhagar, but Reader found a solution for this matter, she gave him a dragon egg that hatched or he found a dragon that accepts Aemond as a dragon rider. As for Alicent’s children, Modern Reader would show so much love and care towards Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron, the same goes for Rhaenyra’s children. And since Laena would be alive and Rhaenyra would want to marry Daemon, but Modern Reader says “Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, Maegor had six wives. I don’t see a problem for Daemon to take you as his second wife as well as Laena, since you guys get along pretty well.” And if Daemon takes Rhaenyra as his second wife, then I have no doubts that everyone would like to know why he did it. “I allowed him, I gave them my blessings.”- Modern Reader explains.

In other words Modern Reader won’t allow the war happen in her family. She’s also solving problems of Seven Kingdoms with Otto Hightower and Corlys Velaryon and other members of the Small Council. (Everyone in the Small Council thinks that Modern Reader has a lot of good ideas, solutions and which is great for a future Queen, but Reader would say “I’m not sure of it and I’m not interested in becoming a Queen, but I want to be able to help.”) So yeah, Modern Reader could become the Hand of the future ruler, but she would need advices, which everyone (Otto, Corlys, Rhaenys and Daemon) are eager to give.

Bonus: Modern Reader looks so sad and is about to cry.🥺😢

Yandere platonic Alicent: Y/N, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?

Modern Reader: I found a solution to make sure that pregnant women and children survive the labour. If I found this solution earlier, my mother could have survived.”😖😭 And more tears coming out of her eyes. Yandere Alicent holds Modern Reader close, saying that it’s not her fault.

Thanks to the reader, all pregnant women survive childbirth. Laenada survives thanks to the reader. Daemon, Rhaenyra and Laena are happily married thanks to the reader. Aemond gets his dragon and his eye remains intact. All of Alicent's children have a good life thanks to the reader. Reader Rhaenyra is close to her children. Alicent tries to console her reader. They both hug each other and try to pull themselves together.The realm is governed better. No fights between houses.

[codfanficedits]

Christmas Troubles.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley & Reader

Summary: Reader doesn't like christmas too.

Wordcount: 3844 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: talk about flashbacks regarding childabuse and child neglect.

A/N:

I have thought about not posting this, as this fic describes childabuse, however, I write to cope, so I decided to post anyway

If you are struggling at home too, know that there is a way out, and things will get better, the cycle can be broken, no matter how hard it is.

Give yourself the kindness your parents couldn't give you.

Merry Christmas to all the children, no matter how old, whose life will always be marked by their parents.

Very merry Christmas.

You’ve always loved Christmas, the subtle decoration on base, never a whole Christmas tree, but a few Christmas ornaments taped to someone’s door, a few tinsels draped around in the mess hall, a Santa hat being pulled over someone’s helmet.

But most of all, it’s the changing atmosphere. The weight of the war no longer weighing soldiers down fully. Excited faces when they all realize they get to go home for the holidays. Longing for their wives, their husband, their kids, family. For a brief moment all they are is human. Humans longing for the connection they have with those around them.

When the days come closer, the base gets more and more empty. More and more excited voices when they can finally go back to the people they loved.

You spot a piece of crumbled up wrapping paper, and suddenly you’re no longer the soldier you are today. You’re five years old and your ear is ringing from the slap you’ve received from your father, the skin feeling hot and you already know it’s turning red. It’s boxing day, and your reaction wasn’t happy enough. But you’re five, socks aren’t really your thing yet and you don’t understand why Santa would give you such a thing while you asked for a new stuffed animal.

You’re five and your father drags you up the stairs by your collar, screaming at you that ungrateful children will get nothing. And you’re ungrateful. You try not to be, you try to be a good kid, but it just happened without your control. You spent the rest of the day alone in your room, the few toys you own keeping you company, your own imagination being the escape you need.

Your eyes shift to your lieutenant. For the past two years you’ve spent Christmas on the base you share. No interaction, no words, nothing. But you know something haunts him around Christmas too. But it is not up to you to mingle around in old wounds. If he wants to tell you, he should do it himself. All you know is that the feeling of loneliness and grief hangs around him. Your own grief and loneliness dancing around his whenever your eyes meet, but the dance is brief, as if both of you are too scared to admit it.

When you moved out of your childhood home and joined the army, you made yourself the promise you’d do it different. You would never become like your parents. So the first time you could buy yourself the gifts you really wanted, you cried. Cried as you never had before, because being raised by cold eyes taught you not to cry. You held the stuffed animal you had gotten yourself close to your chest. You couldn’t celebrate Christmas that year, every little thing reminding you of the Christmases you had deserved in your childhood. Leaving you sobbing in your bed while your partner stroked your hair, understanding the pain that came with your childhood.

Next to the crumbled up wrapping paper is a Christmas ornament, and you pick it up. You stare at the Christmas ornament in your hand, and all of the sudden you’re no longer the soldier you are today. You’re seven years old, hiding on the top of the stairs while you can hear your parents argue. Your mother had decorated the Christmas tree wrong, and your father is fuming. You’re too young to understand what the problem is, why couldn’t they just decorate the tree again? You hold the stuffed animal you sleep with close to your heart, as if the toy is supposed to protect you against your fathers rage. The sounds of breaking glass no longer scares you, instead it is a sign for you to leave the top of the stairs and hide into bed. You know the drill, you know the routine. Like clockwork your mother barges into your room, demanding you get up and pack a bag, she is leaving your father and you’re coming with her. You’re seven, your biggest prized possession is your stuffed animal and a few books, so you pack it in a little suitcase, dragging it along down the stairs, while your father refuses to look at you, grumbling about the now bare Christmas tree.

You’re seven and our mother drags you along to the nearby park, it’s cold, you’re wearing your pyjama’s and a jacket, but it’s not enough to protect you against the cold, harsh December wind. Your mother smokes her cigarette, ranting towards you how horrible your father is. You know better than to agree with her, everything you say can and will be used against you, so you do what you do best, you stare at the grass beneath you.

Your hands begin to tremble when you’re no longer seven, but the hardened soldier you are today, the Christmas ornament snapping in your hands. You can hear the whispers, whispers about your hate for Christmas, your hate for the holidays, and those are the reasons your teammates believe to be the reasons why you prefer to stay on base.

But in reality you have no one to come home to. It used to be different. Your partner loved Christmas just as much as you did. Urging you to buy those little gifts for yourself, decorating the house with you, decorating the Christmas tree together.

Hell, the two of you even made your own little traditions. Sweet little dinners together by the soft candlelight, personal gifts the two of you had bought weeks before, just for the two of you, it was something that would keep you alive during the whole year, those two days were enough to fuel you, to heal the broken and wounded child you kept in your heart.

But your childhood taught you that all the good things must come to an end. And how could you blame them? You came with a suitcase full of childhood trauma, and your partner had no longer the strength to carry that suitcase with you. Leaving you alone on your base during Christmas once again.

As you sit inside the mess hall, next to your teammates, you can hear Gaz talking about his mother, how much he loves her, and much she is going to love her gift. Proudly he tells his team, and that includes you, that he got her a getaway to see the northern lights. Something she’d wanted for years, and now he could finally give it to her, a payback for how much she had loved him when he was growing up.

And you can’t help but feel that familiar pit in your stomach again, but you’re a hardened soldier, so your eyes don’t show the war within you. Because you love your mother, she is your mother after all, and that is what you are supposed to do. But you hate her at the same time. You hate her when you walk in on her emptying your piggybank, because she needs to smoke and your father doesn’t give her the money anymore. You hate her, when you overhear her complain about her children, and how they’re the reason why her marriage is failing. But the child inside of you wants to love her so desperate. It wants to cling on to the illusion of having a mother.

Brown eyes meet yours, and that same short dance happens between you and Ghost. Your soul leads while his tries to keep you at a distance. No longer than three seconds before he looks away, his attention on Gaz again. A comment about how lovely this gift to his mother is. A joke about Ghost hating Christmas. Loud laughter.

When you’re alone in your barracks, you stare at the wall. The burden of Christmas is weighing you down, it is drowning you, but you’re a hardened soldier, so you can’t let anyone in. You’re so afraid of losing something or someone you love, that you refuse to love anything again, including yourself. And you can’t treat something you don’t love in a kind way, so you shut everything and everyone out, while your heart is sick and tired of the loneliness you bring it.

A loud knock on your door. Gaz.

“Hey. I’m leaving for Christmas.”

“I know. Have fun.” A fake smile plastered on your face, you’ve mastered the skill of putting up that damn wall.

“Thanks. Take care of Ghost, yeah? Christmas isn’t really the time of year that makes him happy.” But how can you take care of Ghost when you can’t even take care of yourself? And who will take care of you while you drown?

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh and Gaz?”

“Hm?”

“It really is a lovely gift for your mother.” The smile on your face warms up to be a real one, you mean it, even when the little child inside of you is screaming at you, because what did it do wrong to deserve such treatment?

The excitement on his face is endearing, a bright smile and sparkling eyes when you mention his mother. God is that how you’re supposed to look when someone mentions her? All you can see while you look in the mirror and think of her, are your fathers eyes staring right back at you. It isn’t your fault that you have your fathers eyes, yet you hate yourself for it, because how can you be something you’re not when you look like him.

“I’ll let you know how she likes it!” And with those words Gaz leaves you alone, a spring in his step when he realizes that this family is within arm’s reach, the burden of being a soldier being left behind on your base.

You stare at the open door, not having the strength yet to get up and close it.

Brown eyes meeting yours as Ghost walks past your door. Your soul wanting to reach out to dance with his again. “Can take care of myself during Christmas.” He grumbles, as he had overheard your conversation with Gaz. Your soul backs off, taking a blow, making you feel unwanted. A short nod and he is on his way again, that lonely feeling taking over again.

And suddenly you’re twelve, and you’re dreading to go to school, because you don’t fit in. Your father had implemented a new rule. Showers were only allowed to be taken twice a week, a horrible combination considering you’re a teenager, your body needs to be cleansed every day, but he is unrelenting. Your body is burning with the shame of not belonging. Your classmates are quick to realise what is going on, the bullying is relentless, a never ending torture that continues the moment you arrive home. No safe haven on earth. You’re old enough to realize this isn’t normal, this isn’t the way normal people live.

And now you’re a hardened soldier, and you’re angry. Of course you’re angry. Because there had been so many opportunities where someone should have helped you, but never did.

Soap visits you the next day, because he too has a family to come home to. Something you’ve been craving ever since God has put you on this earth, you’re tired of longing for something that has not been written in your stars, but you’ve had a taste of it, and now you keep chasing a taste you can no longer remember, all you know is that you need it, the feeling of loving, of belonging, of being wanted. Soap is one of the last to leave, some soldiers leave together, because they too have no family to come home to, but they have each other. Because friends count as family too when Christmas is around the corner. Not for you, never for you.

“Oi.” The Scottish accent snaps you out of it. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Won’t be home until new year’s.”

“Aight. Have fun, and please don’t blow up your neighbourhood with firework.”

A small smirk tugs around his lips after your remark. “Can’t promise a thing. But if Price asks, you tell him I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Two arms around you when he pulls you in for a short hug. The smallest amount of affection brings a lump to your throat, and you need a few tries before you can swallow it down.

“Keep an eye out for Ghost, will ya?” His request is paired with his arms leaving you again, the loneliness seeping back into your pores, infecting your veins, reaching your brain.

“I will, if he lets me.”

“Aye, don’t take it personal.”

Every form of rejection is personal, no matter who it comes from.

“Sure, sure, sure.” It’s a mere mutter, you can’t even keep an eye out for yourself, how could you keep an eye out for Ghost? But you worry that if you admit you’re not up for the task, you won’t be needed anymore. Because what is your worth if you can’t be of service?

A rough hand ruffles your hair. “Take care, kid.”

“You too, Soap.”

Another one leaves.

Base is becoming more and more deserted, and the less distracting you have, the easier it is for the memories to seep to the cracks of the walls you’ve build to protect yourself, because trauma sends you letters, without warning for the rest of your life, usually disguised as something else.

You overhear a conversation about a Christmas dinner. And suddenly you’re eight again, your legs aren’t reaching the ground as you sit on the dining room chair, your gaze is fixed on your plate. Your parents are arguing about dinner, your mother under seasoned it, your father tried to fix it and now it’s a blend of flavours that do not mix together, and somehow it is your fault, because you dared to breath near them. Fear takes over your being when the cabinets in the kitchen get slammed shut, the loud footsteps coming closer. You flinch when he walks past you.

Mistake.

Because flinching means that you acknowledge that your father abuses you, and he doesn’t. He keeps telling you that and what your father says goes. He can’t be abusing you, because there are children in the world who have it worse, and you have a roof to live under, you are fed, what more can a child want? You are not abused, because the bruises are placed on spots on your body that no one sees, because the screaming, the name calling, the humiliating marks your brain, but never your body, because everyone can ignore your shoes, who are two sizes too small, your clothes being either too large or too small, there is no in between. You cannot be abused, because you still love your parents. And if you aren’t fed love from a silver spoon, you learn to lick it from knives.

A large hand grabs your hair, yanking it back. The chair you’re sitting on protests against the sudden movement.

You ruined Christmas dinner, and the both of them make sure that you know it. When you’re dragged to the stairs again, and you endure his punishment, your mind goes blank. You went to visit a friend from school, and her mother didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t call her names, and you cried in their bathroom, because this woman radiated a warmth you didn’t know you were craving. As you lay in bed, you can feel his feet stomping on your body again. The marks he left are a reminder that you were the one who ruined Christmas, again.

The feeling of being watched snaps you out of it, and as the trained soldier that you are, is the first thing you do controlling your breathing, your chest heaving just a little less when you finally look up.

His brown eyes meeting yours once more, and your soul doesn’t dare to reach out to his again. You can see the walls that he has put up, because they have the same structure as yours. If only he would allow you to seep through the small cracks between the stones. But he doesn’t, because Ghost too remembers his childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.

 You shift your eyes away again. Not ready to face him, not ready to see a glimpse of his childhood in his eyes. No, you wish to forget, to drown your demons with something that will kill them, to make sure that they will never come back. But you can’t, every attempt only resulted in them coming back harder, stronger. But you can try, right? So you find yourself on the floor of your room, a bottle of vodka next to you. You had been drinking too much, too quick, and now your body feels paralysed while snippets of your youth creep in again, and there is nothing you can do against it. You want to push the memories away, bury them in the dirt, a skill you had managed to master, yet you seem to have lost completely.

The familiar feeling of a burn starts in your throat and you make an attempt to crawl to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet. A wave of sour vomit leaves your lips, it splatters against the porcelain of the toilet bowl, staining the floor, and it brings a panic to your chest.

You’re nine, and you have a stomach flu, being woken up with the horrible urge to vomit. You try to run to the bathroom, your little legs carrying you as fast as they can.

But you don’t make it, instead you drop to your hands and knees and you can’t stop the waves coming out of you. You feel like you can’t breathe, and you’re afraid you’ll die, suffocated by your own vomit. Your father wakes up from the noise, and instead of a compassionate rubbing of your back, you’re met with a scowl on his face. His hands gripping the back of your neck. You try to mutter that you’re sorry, but before you can speak he presses your face on the floor, dragging you across your own vomit, the same way they used to drag dogs through their own urine in an attempt to housetrain them.

The alcohol in your blood makes you unable to supress your memories, and you find yourself sobbing on the floor, muttering that you’re sorry again and again. You flinch when an unknown man enters your bathroom, his large frame looming over you. You hold up your hands against your face, apologizing over and over again.

“Fuck, you’re a mess.” You recognize the voice, but you can’t remember if it is your father’s or someone else’s. You begin to cry harder when a hand grips your wrist, trying to pull you up.

“ ‘s okay. ‘s okay.” You hear the same voice mutter, before a damp washcloth is dabbed against your face, an attempt to clean you up. You’re pulled against a broad chest, your mind still way too fuzzy to comprehend who it is.

“I promise it won’t happen again dad, I’m so sorry.” You’re slurring your words, and you don’t notice the breath of the person holding you hitching in his throat.

“Let’s get you to bed, ‘kay?” He mutters as he gently yet firmly guides you to your bed, making sure that you’re tucked in under your covers before he goes to place a bucket next to your bed. Not that you notice. You’re drifting off to an empty sleep.

When you wake up the next morning your head is pounding and you let out an annoyed groan when you wake up. You automatically rub your temples in an attempt to make the pain pass a little. “There’s water and painkillers on your nightstand.” A gruff voice tells you and your eyes snap open, only to see Ghost sitting down on the chair in the corner of your room, his jacket put over him as a blanket.

“Dear God.” You groan as you spot him, so much for taking care of him. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know your father is an asshole.” His words make your blood run cold, you always had tried to keep your past, the abuse, a secret. You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you know?”

“You didn’t say what happened, but from the way you apologized and flinched.” Ghost shrugged after his words. “I know what it means.”

Is that his soul reaching out to yours? Is this his invite into your life?

“Does it get better?” You ask, scared for the answer.

“Not without hard work.” He answers you. “Have you tried therapy?”

“Have you?” You shoot back, not wanting to admit you haven’t.

“I have.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t easy, but once I was done after nearly two years. Shit that felt amazing.”

You scoff, not fully convinced. “And what did you get out of it?”

He looks at you, his brown eyes piercing your soul. “I can look at myself in the mirror, and I no longer see my father. You deserve that too.”

You want to stop the tears, you really do, but his words hit the right spots. You turn around in your bed, your back facing him as you curl yourself into a little ball.

Your bed protests when he comes to sit on the edge, his fingers running through your hair. “Listen.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m not here to scold you, but the team has been telling you that you need to look out for me, and while I think that it is bullshit, it is a nice gesture. But do you know why they asked you?”

You don’t respond, instead you stare to the wall, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Ghost decided to continue anyway. “They asked you, because I told them about my past, not much, no details, just enough to let them in, to let them understand certain behaviour. And I’m not telling you, you should do the same, but think about it. Maybe it’ll help.”

His words did make sense, you knew you had to do something, knowing that you couldn’t keep on going with the amount of flashbacks you were having lately. “Just tell something to Price, okay?” Ghost continues. “And if you want, I can pull some strings, get you on some easier missions for the time being. And I can hook you up with my therapist. You remind me of myself, so it has been easier to avoid you. However, you deserve some happiness too and I’m sorry for avoiding you so much.”

You look up at him, through your teary eyes. “Thank you.” You manage to mutter.

“Don’t mention it.” He answers, while his fingers run through your hair again. “Christmas will become fun again, don’t let them take that from you.”

He stays silent for a second or two. “You know what, do you want to make some hot chocolate? Make our own little tradition?”

[dr-chosenberg]

On my recent rewatch I felt the inspiration to design my headcanon for what Dr. Potterswheel's late wife might have looked like! Born Marie-Thérèse Praxineaux, her maiden name is based off of the Praxinoscope which is an animation device that came after the Zoetrope

Voice: https://youtu.be/2MaiJtecGmI?si=H6h5nLCUQsk9039K

CW: Dr Potterswheel's gore fetish, infection, death, miscarriage,

She moved to Moralton because you know The War and was shunned because of the rumors around town of her being a foreigner and France being a place of sin and lust. The librarian there gave her a job because she assumed no moralton man was going to be interested because of her reputation and took pity on her. Oh another reason the moraltons hate her lol, France is a majority Catholic country. Marie was part of the minority there that was Protestant but obviously the Moraltons didn’t care.

In comes a young Quentin.

He was studying for his medical school exams and often came in, staying the often inaccurate statesotan medical books for long hours. Sometimes when it was just the librarian and the two of them she would avoid him at all costs, not wanting to further her reputation.

He was aware of Marie-Therese, she was pretty and always helpful when she knew where to find a book he needed.

One day some kind of accident happened, not serious enough that she was in any real danger but enough that she needed medical assistance. Maybe a bookcase fell on her and she needed some stitches?

M-T was not one to speak up or make a fuss, but Quentin had a handsome deep voice and spoke with so much authority. He did his best to reassure her she would be ok and in a sense it coaxed the words right out of her. She had a way with words and could describe her pain like she was painting a picture, I like to think she enjoyed writing poetry, but you and I both know that’s not why it attracted him so intensely.

Despite the town doing its best to shun her she still attended church every Sunday and every Sunday Quentin would inquire about her wounds progress and ask to see it. One day a few weeks after her wound had healed they were conversing and Marie-Therese joked sadly that they could no longer be seen together as she didn’t have the excuse of being his practice patent.

At which point Quentin proposed. It wasn’t the most romantic affair to most, he said it matter of factly as he does most things. But that was ok, she would have the bedside manner and the way with words for them both.

Their relationship itself….well they had a foot up on many Moralton couples as they were truly in love. Many would consider Marie a fool as he was not the most romantic man. He was soft when she would fuss or worry (think about the way he spoke to Bloberta when she said her wound was bad) but when she really took issue with something he wouldn’t get more emotional, but even less, she found herself at times disheartened at the way he would dismiss her worries and talk down to her. She insisted to her newfound housewife friends that they just didn’t know him like she did, which was *sort* of true.

She honestly didn’t mind his “preferences” she assumed that taking charge was what a husband was meant to do in the bedroom, and that a “little” pain was just what a good Christian woman had to put up with after a life of chastity. When she had other wounds and he would take a bit too much of a vested interest she thought it was just his way of showing he cared. She never understood why he would discourage what he called “unnecessary” medications like, allergy meds, antacids, etc. always feeding her a line about the lord helping those who help themselves.

She tried her best to become more like the other wives of Moralton, she even took up sewing and embroidery. She made a comment once about how she was just like him, sewing up patients. He stroked her head and smiled, “How cute. You’d worry yourself sick if anything important was counting on your little stick ‘n’ pokes.”

Things got better when they got the wonderful news that Marie was pregnant. Her pregnancy was very rough, unlike anything Quentin had ever seen. He would comfort her by telling her of the many strong mothers he had seen in his career so far, if she couldn’t handle the pain of the pregnancy how could she handle the birth? The smile he would give her when she would nod in agreement was all the soothing she needed.

She was nearing the worst of it when she used the last of her energy to embroider a handkerchief for him, with his initials on it. Sometimes he would use it to clean her face when she would cough up one thing or another, or wet it to soothe her forehead.

Of course she wasn’t *just* facing pregnancy complications, she had caught a whole other sickness entirely, an infection. The days went by and Quentin got more desperate. Out of love for his wife? Out of a need to prove his abilities as a doctor? Who knows. He would never admit fault for anything let alone a patient, he sure as hell wasn’t going to take the blame for losing the woman he cares for. He tried everything, except actual medical science.

Finally he relented and began to give her painkillers. I believe it would be more in character if he didn’t tell her. Visitors from the town and a young Reverend Putty suspected it but she was none the wiser. She used to say things like, “Ma moitié having you pray for me and care for me is so healing, I am feeling better already.”

When she could form full coherent sentences.

With the way medicine was at the time while some painkillers are safe for pregnant women these probably weren’t, but they weren’t what took her. It got to the point that she wasn’t herself anymore but spent her days lying in bed in a haze, barely awake.

She swore sometimes that she could see Quentin there at her side, watching her, even feel him stroke her hand. But when she got her eyes to focus he wasn’t there anymore.

One day Quentin went in for a morning check up and the sheets were covered in blood. He had lost his wife and his child in one fell swoop.

It was a horrific scene but she looked so serene. So comfortable. She was clutching his handkerchief.

Notes:

This takes place with the assumption that Moralton is not modern day, I headcanon Quentin to be around 50

This was fun, nothing is set in stone truly as this was part of a stream of consciousness conversation with my friend @cheonsa-n I’m fully up for criticism if anything seems out of character. I’m also happy to explain the reasoning behind certain choices!

I don’t personally buy the idea that Quentin killed his wife on purpose, a man with Quentin’s disposition who actually committed a murder wouldn’t resort to almost stabbing the man who accused him of it, that’s how you get people to think you killed your wife on purpose lol.

I hope you guys enjoy what I came up with. Their relationship isn’t fully this way as he was attracted to her and subjected her to some of the same treatment we saw Bloberta go through, but their marriage in my mind had a bit of a Madonna-whore complex flavoring to it. I also believe this is somewhat of an origin story for his habit of treating everything with almost exclusively painkillers. Marie-Thérèse couldn’t be saved but she was, as Quentin puts it, very comfortable when she passed.

In the AU where she lives she still suffered a miscarriage and Clay calls Dr. Potterswheel a babykiller instead. She is still as sweet as the day she and Quentin met but she isn’t particularly keen on giving Orel the time and attention he needs either, it’s too painful. When she does give him advice she tends to advise him to wait things out and not rock the boat. She tells him that good things come to those who wait.

[clone-anon-after-dark]

So, can I get a Fives with an ace reader, the theme is up to you

Here we go!

Campfire

Fives x Asexual GN Jedi Reader

Word Count: 1199

Warnings: None really. The start of a queer platonic relationship with just a little hand holding and closeness.

A/N: I really wanted to show the start of a new relationship that isn’t going to include the usual romantic tropes. Some discussion of relationships versus attachment. Originally I wrote this for a male reader, but then realized that it doesn’t indicate the reader’s gender anywhere.

You watched the moon brighten as night overtook the planet.  Fives looked through the supplies you’d brought with you for this little scouting mission. 

“Found an ax,” he said as he walked back out of the small ship.

“Want some help,” you asked.

“I can handle it, general.” He struck a bit of a pose to make you smile.  He looked pleased when you let out a bit of a laugh.

You got serious for another moment and replied, “I told you, Fives, you don’t have to call me that out here.” 

Fives gave you a grin, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he approached a fallen tree and started cutting off large branches for some firewood and kindling.  You pulled out a pot and a packet of dehydrated soup from the supplies. It wasn’t the best food, but it was better than ration bars.  Fives made a fire and you heated the food. Dinner was quiet at first, but then you spoke up.

“I don’t think I’ll be a general in this war. I certainly don’t want to lead anyone into battle.”

“Why not? You’re a Jedi.”

“There are many ways to be a Jedi.  I’m better with jobs like this. Supporting civilians.”

“You’re good at it,” Fives replied. “You’re good with people.”

“So are you.”

You smiled at him as you finished your food. You liked helping people and you didn’t like war. You were grateful to have the ARC trooper with you. Rex had given him leave to help you after Anakin found out you’d be going alone. At first you thought this mission wasn’t going to need more than one person, but after seeing how complicated the situation had gotten, it helped to have Fives’ support. He was great with the little kids who were all still reeling from the recent attack on their community.  He spent a lot of time in the makeshift hospital. As soon as he saw the children, he went in to visit, telling them stories and reading to them from a small collection of books that had been donated.  Your heart warmed when one little girl crawled into his lap while he read.  Beyond this, he communicated needs with the 501st.  They were sending in more support and were to arrive the next day. The locals needed food, medical supplies, and support in clearing debris.  It wasn’t the first time you’d worked with Fives. You’d worked with other clones before and always admired them, but there was something about Fives.  He made you feel a way that no one else had.  You had a special place in your heart for him.

You cleaned up from dinner and Fives watched the sky.  It was clear he was deep in thought.

“What is it,” you asked.

He cleared his throat and said, “I was thinking about how I…” He took a breath and stared at his hands for a moment. You’d never seen him nervous quite like this.  “I was thinking about how I care about you, but I know you’re a Jedi. You can’t be in a relationship.”

“That’s not true,” you said.

“It’s not? But isn’t love and attachment, not allowed? Forbidden?”

You shook your head and sat next to him, scooting a little closer.  

“There are many ways to have a relationship.  I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to exploring what that might mean.”  You paused and collected your thoughts before continuing.  “With a few exceptions, we aren’t supposed to get married. Ki-Adi Mundi has multiple wives, but that’s because his species has few males. He says he’s unattached to them, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about them either.”

“So you can love but you can’t get attached. How does that work?”  Fives mouth twisted in a bit of frustration. He knew how he felt and it seemed so simple. Putting all of this into so many words felt like it could easily trap someone in a complicated mess.  You held out your hand toward his.

“Don’t offer me that if you don’t feel the same,” he said cautiously. You didn’t push. 

“I’ve always known I was different,” you stated. “I don’t feel attraction in the way that a lot of people do. I see beauty in the force, in the universe, in people, but I have never wanted sexual intimacy or anything like that. I realize that’s what some people would want.  Maybe to me this seems simple because for me it is.”  You left your hand out toward him and added, “I care about your Fives. I feel great love for you. Not being attached means that I know I can’t control you or the future. If you were gone, I’d be sad, but I would know that you’re now one with the force. The force is everywhere, so we will never be without each other. Being unattached means that we are free to do our duty. Don’t mistake my lack of attachment for a lack of caring or a lack of love. I love deeply even if I don’t act on it in the way most people would.”

Fives took in all that you said. He felt a comfort in how you put it. He wasn’t sure about all the details of the force, but he often felt like his fallen brothers were watching out for him. Maybe this was the feeling of someone being one with the force and always being there.  He liked that thought. It was comforting. He reached for your hand and interlaced his fingers with yours.  He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths.  He hadn’t felt this close to anyone.

Several minutes passed and you both felt a calm come over you.  You studied his face. Little muscles that were worried now relaxed. His beautiful brown eyes grew softer. The warm light of the campfire lit up his features. You could see every bit of wear on his armor. So many battles and so many stories and yet he was always ready to help and do his job. You admired him and felt your connection grow. You hoped he understood how you felt.  

Fives looked back at you. His kind smile was accompanied by some butterflies as he looked into your eyes.  He gently squeezed your hand.  You sensed his vulnerability and wanted to comfort him.

“I like spending time with you. I like you. Let’s just see where things go. That okay?”

He nodded.  “More than okay.”  Then, for the first time instead of calling you general, he whispered your name. 

You were both distracted from the moment when you heard a battle droid’s voice from the edge of town. You drew your lightsaber and he had his blaster out, each wanting to protect the other.  You walked around the ship, but put your weapons away with a sigh as it was revealed that the noise was simply a group of stray tookas play fighting on top of a pair of halved droids. You let out a sigh and returned to the fire together.

You sat shoulder to shoulder and he put an arm around you. You briefly rested your head on his shoulder before reaching for his hand and watching the stars.

Tagging: @dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @staycalmandhugaclone

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒

Tagging: @augustwithquills , @bloody-mf-bsc

Liked by freddycarter1, benbarnes, vancityreynolds and 5,897,655 others

Y/N Y/L/N: This man unsettles me. Why the hell do you smile at me like a proud kid looking at his mom for praise?

We filmed the most gut-wrenching, soul-wrecking traumatic scene for your character.

You just know what you will be doing to the fans. You know their pain, and enjoy it and they are gonna come after you for therapy bills. Hope you are rich.

View 657,564 comments

User5: Freddy is just a sneaky cat. That's it. That's my comment.

User7: I don't wanna know the scene... yet again I have a guess .

User9: There is water... And Kaz's trauma includes water... We are, guys, once again...

User6: doomed. As usual.

User4: It's usual at this point, like I can't go on with my day without at least one tiny bit of drama

User3: Once again, mother Y/N is right. We all hope you are rich ASF Freddy.

freddycarter1: I could make Y/N pay for them?? She is the reason you guys cry

Y/N Y/L/N: don't bring me into this, Freddy. It's your fault, you have to deal with it. Or... I can tell your wife that you are bullying me😎

freddycarter1: you wouldn't dare! My wife loves me!

Y/N Y/L/N: Maybe... Not as much as me tho😉

User12: the way Y/N doesn't just conquer the women cast members' hearts but the male cast's wives as well...

User5: Teach us where this rizz comes from Y/N!

User6: Just Y/N and Ben casually making us fall in love with them

Liked by benbarnes, freddycarter1, amita_suman, jessie_mei_li and 6,573,435 others

Y/N Y/L/N: More memes!

1. Freddy is my one true love, and more attentive and mature and cares more about me.( this is definetly not my amazing,handsome, attentive and bullied boyfriend whom I should pay more attention to.)

2. This is what I was talking about! Look at hım and tell me you wouldn't immediately accept whatever mindblowing War crime he wants to commit together?

3. The only surprise element here is that I paid for the tickets... Even if they were the ones who went to to cinema.

View 566,564 comments

User1: Ben is being a gremlin again by taking her phone... Again.

Y/N Y/L/N: See? Everyone else is very mad at you benbarnes 😒

User5: Y/N show some love to poor boi 😭

User9: Ben is struggling so much djsjsh

User8: he is like a puppy following her around dnjd Have you seen the BTS of shadow and bone? He is always looming behind her and looking over her shoulder to get a glimpse 🥹🤭

User4: We love men who respects and shows his love openly to their lover😎

User6: Istg they want me to put a toast in the tub and live there like that by how cute they are being... look at her giggles and wide smile through her Insta posts after they got together and say otherwise

User9: They really are the best for each other and they are so cute, so supportive of each other and you can also see the Ben's grin is wider and shinier too!

User14: Being the "sugar mommy" of them is Y/N's fate now...

freddycarter1: I didn't hear any complaints from her.

User2: She has all the tittles now, the only one missing is... The Milf 💫

User14: That could change at any moment and we wouldn't know...

User3: 😳

Y/N Y/L/N: First all, no one can be like me... Or else you would be in constant hunger because you two can't cook to save your lives.

benbarnes: my cooking isn't that bad... Right?

Y/N Y/L/N: Could have been worse.

User6: Y/N does he use that kicked puppy eyes on you too?

Y/N Y/L/N: Whenever he wants kisses... Which means all the time. But I have no complaints, I love kissing hım.

User6: So it works?

Y/N Y/L/N: It works wonders.

Liked by benbarnes, freddycarter1,zendaya and 6,899,790 others

Y/N Y/L/N: Not my fault that they are living moods

1: Me, when they show me the most shocking, spectacular,eye-burning, gut-wrenching,soul-wrecking, traumatic script ever

2. Also me, whenever I look at my boys. And yes, though I always say I hate them here, I love them all so much. I'd probably commit arson for them if they asked but... Yeah.

3. Yes, you saw it right. He took my phone again 😑Like,why do you have your's if you always use mine?

View 678,768 comments

freddycarter1: does that script include us??

Y/N Y/L/N: I don't know...😳🤐

jacktwolfe: I say we give her candy she loves so she can't resist and then take the script and run away when she isn't looking 😊

Y/N Y/L/N: Jack what the fuck? Get out of your Wylan head.

User5: I'M BEGGING IN THE NAME OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR, Y/N HAVE MERCY ON OUR SOULS😭

User8: indeed, we finally saw that she had a heart and It's full of love for the boys too... Just not as much as the women

freddycarter1: mind you, this is the best thing that had ever been told to me... I STILL prefer Ben tho

Y/N Y/L/N: All my hardwork was for nothing... But legit anyways, I'd choose my baby too

User5: does it ever bother how Freddy is just you in another font, Y/N?

Y/N Y/L/N: He can do all he wants... I'm the only one who sees Ben in... different light🤭

User6: HOLY SMOKES-

User9: Y/N just casually dropping hints on their private life is just... Golden djsndbdv

User1: Fr she and Freddy are fighting for Ben's hand jddjjd

User7: Considering the rest of the books and knowing all the scenes by heart now... And adding Y/N cinematography...

User1: we're doomed.

User6: Will go and make a confession to the local church now, for the person I'll become when that happens

Y/N Y/L/N: Calahan is keeping me in a headlock so that I would backdown from my heart-tearing plans... I HAVE YOUR PICTURES WITH A TIARA AND TUTUS, FREDDY AND CALAHAN! Don't make me share them

User5: Poor Y/N... Keep doing it Calahan, just a few more minutes, I live close to her. I can just grab that script and run away

freddycarter1: benbarnes please leash your chihuahua of a girlfriend before we spoil your plans

Y/N Y/L/N: what surprise? Ben is planning something behind my back?? benbarnes, what do you have to defend yourself? 🤨

benbarnes: I will kill you when I'm done running from my girlfriend, Carter...

Y/NandBen.fanpage: GUYS GUYS GUYS, I THINK IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING OMG-

Liked by benbarnes, shadowandbone, amita_suman, jessie_mei_li, blakelively, tchalamet and 9,896,798 others

Y/N Y/L/N: GUESS WHO IS BECOMING A BARNES?🤭

Oh, and @ user3? You are a Seer, that's for sure. Thank you for calling dibs on our marriage, lovie!

And to everyone who always said we were cheaters: İt must SUCK to be with yall because you don't trust your lovers! 😎🫳🎤

View 998,789 comments

benbarnes: You are so beautiful, my ex-girlfriend...

Y/N Y/L/N: Stop saying that, idiot... And, oh... I am beautiful? 🥹🤭

User6: OMG CRYING, SHITTING TEARS WTF THIS IS SO CUTE DJDJSJS

User9: Y/N and Ben are both melting for each other and OMG I'm crying too 🥹

User5: for a fact, I just know that these two cried and still is crying tons while cuddling and reading our messages

Y/N Y/L/N: Do you have cameras in our house??

User7: SOMEONE MAKE SURE USER3 IS ALIVE BECAUSE GOD KNOWS I WOULDN'T BE IF BEN AND Y/N MENTIONED ME

User3: I'M INDEED NOT OKAY I'M ALIVE BUT BARELY BREATHING WTF I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS

User6: YOU ARE LIVING OUR DREAMS!! *shake shoulder harshly* HOW DOES IT FEEL LIKE TO BE THE IT GIRL?!

User8: Someone keep that fucking hater away from here or else there will be millions, including celebrities, who will throw hands!

User2: I think they will not be here because if mother Y/N dissed me like that, I would have found a hole and never get out.

User5: When I tell you I am at my granny's funeral and trying so hard to control my giggles... THE FIGHT IS REAL

User8: We have a holy knight here, hang in there sis! We still need to see their wedding photos!

User10: what's even funnier is that "Ben Barnes I hope you can fight" tag is trending in Twitter lol

blakelively: look at that excited smile! Finally, you are joining the married life! Welcome to club 🤭

User4: Today folks, we all can rest in peace for we achieved what we always wanted for 3 years 😌

amita_suman: beautiful people ❤️ Love you both so much!

freddycarter1: Does that mean we call her Barnes too?

jessie_mei_li: Yes, since they are the mom and dad 😒 Is that even a question?

kittheyounger: we are all united under one holy flag: The Barnes' Holy Kingdom

User15: After 3 years, Ben Barnes finally put that ring on her finger. A day to celebrate for years to come indeed.

tchalamet: Congrats to my favourite director!

Y/N Y/L/N: Don't let Greta hear that Ti 😉

tchalamet: she would say the exact same

User17: DAYUMN THAT RING IS THE SAME SIZE AS MY HEAD HOW RICH ARE YOU BEN?!

User16: Just like that, we achieved it. Now, there is one last thing needed: A mini Ben-Y/N

[popefrancisimagines]

The pope taking y/n for a ride in the popemobile? I love this blog

Thank you, child of Christ. I'm sorry it took a while to respond.

----

You have been asking Francis about the popemobile for some time now. Each time, he becomes cagey and distant, like when you ask him about the Dirty War.

One day he asks, "Why would you want such a thing?"

The question takes you by surprise. It had never occurred to you that he might not enjoy riding in the popemobile, that tending God's flock might be frightening rather than invigorating. "I could help," you say.

Francis looks troubled, and says no more.

----

One Tuesday after Mass, Francis summons you to St. Peter's Basilica.

It is before visiting hours, before the masses of gathered faithful come to pay their respects, before the disorganized scene you've always seen. This is quiet, more peaceful, holy. You try to express as much to Francis, who says, "It is always holy, my child."

"I know. But..."

"One can forget how."

The two of you continue on, silent, thoughtful. He pauses occasionally to speak to a custodian or security guard in his melodic Italian, asking after their children, wives, personal lives. When you're quite sure none are listening, you ask, "Is this about the Popemobile?"

He smiles slightly, in the knowing way that lets you know you have guessed correctly. "Do you know its history?"

You shake your head. Briefly he tells you about the palanquins that used to carry popes, their replacement with standard cars, standard cars' replacement with bulletproof ones. Standing before the tomb of Pope John Paul II, you consider the full weight of what he's saying.

"The Romans, pagan though they were, had some wisdoms," he goes on. "The memento mori, among them. We kept some remnants from them, being as we are in Rome. The popemobile is one such remnant, a reminder that I will die, not that I am alive."

With that he leaves you in the silence of the Basilica, to ponder the echoes of his departing footsteps as he returns to his chambers to get ready for the day.

----

The next time Francis is scheduled to go in the popemobile, you beat him there by five minutes, managing to look calm and composed by the time he arrives.

He says nothing, though you can feel his smile gracing the top of your skull. With deep casualness, he informs the driver that there will be another riding with him today.

As you pass through street after crowded street, the bulletproof prism of glass concentrating liquid sunshine in the very air the two of you breathe, you get the deep sense that it might not be so horrible to remember death, if all of life is like this.

[rand0mfangurlstuff]

Sing Yourself to Sleep - Bucky & Y/N - Part One - Marching On

Hey everyone! Again, thank you so much for all the ove on my first fic, I'll Look After You. I've decided to try my hand at a new fic, this one will be more angsty. Each chapter will be loosely inspired by a song. Music really inspires me and I often think of different little scenarios when listening to my favourite songs. These are not stand alone chapters and will all accumulate into one story. This first chapter is inspired by Marching On by OneRepublic. Enjoy!

It had been a long, hard day. Y/N was still processing everything she had seen since first showing up at Thorpe Abbotts. The wife of Colonel Clarke, she didnt need to leave her home to live on the base, but she wanted to be close to her husband and help where she could. It was unusual, a Colonel's wife deciding to work in the kitchen of the base, but Y/N was a profound baker. Everyone and anyone who knew of her knew that her cookies, pasteries, cakes and anything else you could put in an oven was amazing. So when Y/N found herself at a lose end, she headed into the kitchen of the mess hall and asked the staff would they let her use the kitchen to make baked treats for the men. They agreed, mostly because they were afraid of saying no to her, being who she was.

Now she stood in the middle of the mess hall, looking at all the empty seats. So many good men lost, some of which she had grown quite fond of. It became suffocating, she needed to go for a walk.

She would herself walking towards the B-17s, or at least what was left of them. Some of them needed serious repairs, and she on Lemmons and other mechanics working on them. She looked over to the intact planes when movement caught her eye. There he was, Major John Egan, sitting on the wing of a plane with a bottle of whiskey. He saw her staring, and gestured the bottle to her. 'You thirsty?' he said. As much as she shouldnt, she felt a swig of whiskey was exactly what she needed. She walked over to the wing of the plane and hoisted herself up so she was sitting beside him. He passed her the bottle and she took a big gulp, enjoying the burn as it went down her troat.

Bucky was tired. Tired of missions, tired of the war, tired of his friends dying. They had lost so many today, including Curt. And there wasnt a damn thing he could do about it. So he did what he could do; drink. He saw her walking around the airfield like a lost sheep, she wasnt normally out here, she was one of the few wives living on base and of them, she was the only one to be seen outside their quaters or the officers club. She must have felt his eyes on her because she turned to him, a question on her face wondering what he was doing sitting there. He saw her eyeing up his whiskey bottle and thought that sharing it with a pretty lady might not be the worst thing in the world.

They sat in silence for a long while, passing the bottle back and forth until sadly, they reached the end. When Bucky put the bottle to his lips and was met with nothing he sighed, 'Great, first Curt, now my whiskey.' Y/N's eyes darted to him. 'Curt? You mean Curtis?' realisation dawned on her. 'Oh no, poor Curtis.' She had gotten to know Curtis Biddick well, he always complimented her baking; particularily her muffins. She found his thick New York accent endearing, and he always did his best to make her smile when they spoke. She was sad to know she would never hear his voice again.

'It's sickening' Bucky finally said. 'We keep losing our men, our friends, our brothers. And we just gotta keep going. Gotta get back in the sky and-' 'Keep marching on.' Y/N interrupted, lost in her own thoughts.

'What?' he asked, confused. 'It's something my mother always said. When something bad happens, and you feel like you cant cope, you keep marching on. I think thats why I go for walks when I'm sad.' she said with a slight chuckle. 'Your mother sounds a lot like your husband.' Bucky said dryly. Y/N then let out a rather loud laugh. 'She's no soldier, but she's tough that's for sure.'

After another bout of silence, Y/N felt the need to speak. 'You have to do it, for them. If you give up now they died for nothing.' Bucky sighed, 'I know, I'm not actually giving up, just fantasising about it.' 'You need better things to fantasize about Major.' she laughed. He smiled, the whiskey making him more improper than he should be around the Colonel's wife, 'Got any ideas? What do you fantasize about?' She feigned shock and disgust, hitting him lightly on the chest. 'A lady never tells.' He laughed again, it felt good to laugh.

The sun was starting to set, and she knew Albert would be looking for her soon. 'I better get going, Albert will be wondering where I am.' She made to move off the wing of the plane, but found it much more difficult to get down than it had be to get up, her fear of heights kicking in. Bucky saw her hesitation and jumped down, he held his arms out to her in a gesture for him to lift her. 'May I?' She nodded, and soon his hands were on her waist as he gently lifted her down. 'Thank you Major.' she said, blush keeping up her cheeks at his proximity and the intimate nature of his lifting her off the wing. 'Call me Bucky, please.' 'Thank you Bucky.'

She turned to leave walking back towards the quarters. Bucky started walking along side her. 'You dont have to walk me back.' she said. 'I'm not.' he said with a smile. She looked at him slightly confused, she knew that his quarters was in the same direction, as was the mess hall, but she didnt expect him to leave when she left. He looked at her with that signature devil-may-care smirk,

'I'm Marching On.'