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Okay so I have watched like, three Avatar live action episodes so far and here are some quick thoughts on it. (Spoiler alert this is a positive post, negativity DNA unless you want to make me sad)
- Right off the bat it should be noted that my standards for good tv / movies are pretty low these days. Due to the general state of tv / movies, I have been forced to place the bar of acceptability at « I can see what is happening on the screen and the characterâs costumes have colours ». NATLA passes both criterias with flying â well, colours.
- Secondly I actually like the way the show handles the character arcs. I feel like people who are complaining just noticed that they changed or toned down some aspects of the character arcs, and were so angry that they straight up stopped paying attention instead of noticing all the new and nuanced things that were added in. Every character is getting an interesting and intriguing storyline, they just donât look exactly the same as in the original. If that makes you froth at the mouth, may I suggest not watching any adaptation ever maybe? Because huh thatâs kind of what adaptations do.
- Unfortunately the pacing is kinda clunky and some of the dialogue is irritating, especially the recurrent thing where a character who would usually prefer to die before speaking about their feelings â or wouldnât have the emotional maturity to even realize what they are feeling â just turn to the camera and loudly announce « I am feeling this thing! ». However, those two issues are obviously a result of not enough episodes. They had to cram A LOT in eight episodes and that is Netflixâs fault, not the showrunnerâs. With eight episodes they basically had the choice between not having the time to properly « show not tell » and therefore having to cut out the characterâs more subtle emotional states entirely, or try to work in conversations and monologues in which the characters just straight up say things to each other. So you get Aang telling Appa heâs scared of being the avatar and Zuko actually admitting out loud that he has hope that he might get to go home. It is what it is.
- They clearly ran out of money for wigs tho. Gran-granâs wig is horrendous and the only thing I cannot forgive.
- Aside from some clunky pacing and gran-granâs wig tho, everything else has slapped so far. Sokka is PERFECT. Suki was great too. Sad that they didnât put Sokka in the full Kyoshi warrior getup but it does create an unintentionally hilarious moment where the kyoshi people are all like « um no we donât have any outsiders in our village, no sir mister fire soldier » and meanwhile this idiot is just standing there all dressed in BLUE
- Aang is also perfect. Zuko is perfect. Katara is doing that thing where you bottle up all your anger inside and never make it anyone elseâs problem and just keep smiling and being nice and polite and then you die, which unfortunately seems to make people think she just has no anger? Lmao okay.
- the cgi was hit and miss in the first episode but then got a lot better
- the fight choreographies are ON POINT OMG
- I didnât remember why I didnât like Jet (forgor most of his arc in the show) but just remembered I didnât like him, which made for an interesting ep 3 viewing experience lol
- also Kevin from supernatural?????
- would prefer it if my husband stopped saying « okay Anakin! đ » every time someone gets set on fire but I think that might just be an issue in my household
#natla#natla spoilers#atla netflix#avatar netflix#positivity tag#mature and respectful discussion tag
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Unexpected Affections
Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List
Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince.Â
Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ÂżSofter Aemond?, ÂżSimp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read
Word Count: 7,287
A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.
Heâs broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true himâ simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on himâ simply let him drown in his darkness, except you.Â
Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness.Â
âWho is that?â Aemond asked his familyâs most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. âLady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,â the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away.Â
The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.
Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about youâ more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him.Â
He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. âMy prince,â You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the princeâs lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. âAre⊠are you well, my prince?â You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well.Â
You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. âPerhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,â You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldnât even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. âDo you wish for refreshment, perhaps wââ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses.Â
You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. âI am fine; I apologize for theâ the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,â He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. âNo need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well⊠you look a bit pale, my prince.â You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concernâ this kindness that he was never the receiver of. âI am quite well; good day, my lady.â He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you.Â
The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitiousâ that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you.Â
When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you.Â
When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. âPrince Aemond,â You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. âI hope you are feeling better,â You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable.Â
âI am; I was simply tired,â He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not.Â
You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. âWhat business did you have here?â He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. âIf I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.â You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. âMy father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.â Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare.Â
âSo you have no purpose here?â He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, âI suppose not.â Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading.Â
âDo you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?â You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. âI do,â Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. âThen have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,â You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours.Â
You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. âI must take my leave,â he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about.Â
âOh,â You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? âGood day, my prince,â You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. âThank you for your explanations⊠they were quite enlightening,â You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you.Â
You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance. Â
Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. âMy lady,â He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, âMy prince,â Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt.Â
âAre you well?â This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. âI am fine, and you, my prince?â You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. âAre⊠are you certain?â Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. âY-yes,â You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye.Â
You sighed and placed your head on the ground. âI⊠I tripped, and I think my ankle is injuredâ but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.â Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. âWhâ My prince!â You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. âYou donâtâ I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,â You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. âYou are clearly in pain,â Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court.Â
Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you.Â
âI did not wish to bother you, my prince.â You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the princeâs presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours.Â
âWill it heal, maester?â He asked in concern, stepping forward. âYes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,â The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him.Â
âThank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,â You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. âI shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.â He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave.Â
Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted.Â
Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning.Â
The prince attended his familyâs supper in his motherâs chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. âWe apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.â The queen explained as she took her seat. âWhat matter?â Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. âThe crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell⊠it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.â The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror.Â
âSurely they could be reasoned withâ they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,â Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. âPerhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.â Aemondâs hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.
âI just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,â the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. âOffer me,â Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queenâs lips agape in shock at his words. âThe crown does not have money to pay our debtâ then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?â He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince.Â
âAemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.â The queen said. âBut it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdomâs security over this winterâ and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,â Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandsonâs words. âBut you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,â Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed.Â
âWe owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?â He asked, âLord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,â Aemond said, determined to see you once more. âThat is a most favorable solution,â The hand commented, quite content by his grandsonâs proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. âVery well then,â she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips.Â
âI shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,â Otto said in finality. âNo need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,â Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his motherâs eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him.Â
It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. âMy prince,â Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. âWhat business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?â They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity.Â
âIt is the matter of the crownâs debt,â Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an âoh,â clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. âIs the crown ready to pay us the price owed?â Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. âIn a way,â The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. âIn lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,â Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your fatherâs face.Â
âWith respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!â Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. âI believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughterâ an opportunity for your only child to be a princess⊠your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.â Lord Tyrell shook his head, âMy daughter is already bound to marry anotherâ titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.â Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your fatherâs words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone elseâs when you had consumed his entire beingâ when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his.Â
Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. âVery well then⊠a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,â Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. âI shall need time to reach a decision,â Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. âOf course,â Aemond agreed. âFor the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.âÂ
Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence.Â
You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an armâs length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. âMy prince,â You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king.Â
âHow⊠what brings you here, your highness?â You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. âBusiness for the crown,â He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. âOh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,â You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. âMartell? Are you not a long way from Drone?â Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the princeâs hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the manâs tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. âYes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,â He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words.Â
You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, âWould anyone like some tea?â You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoonâs refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyoneâs cup. âIf I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?â Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers.Â
âA proposal for House Tyrell,â he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. âWhat proposal, if I may ask,â Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. âA proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.â You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe.Â
Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. âIâ excuse me, my princes,â You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your fatherâs call.Â
âWhat is happeningâ the prince just informed me of his proposalâ in front of Prince Martell!â You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. âBold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.â You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance.Â
âWhere did this proposal come from? I⊠I do not understand,â You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable.Â
âThe proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us⊠instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,â The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. âOh,â Was all you could utter. âWhat is your decision then?â You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home.Â
âYour courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,â Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. âBut Sunspear is a long way from here,â Your father added, âAnd though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,â You twirled with your hair as you listening into your fatherâs musing. âBut this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,â You nodded along and waited for your father to decide.Â
âSo? Which one of them?â You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, âI shall leave that decision to you⊠it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concernâ it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,â Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task.Â
âCan I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I⊠it isâ I need to speak with him,â you say, and your father gives the nod, âI shall have him meet you in the drawing room,â You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first.Â
âI know this is quite abrupt,â Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. âIt is my prince,â You agreed. âCould I just ask why?â Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. âThe crown owes your house,â He said matter of factly, âI know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,â Aemond licked his lips, âAnd I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.âÂ
âIs this a rejection?â Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. âMore of a question,â Aemondâs brows raised at your words. âWell, itâs clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest⊠I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.âÂ
âAll marriages are business dealings,â You pursed your lips at the princeâs words. âI supposed they are⊠but not every marriage is just a business dealing.â Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. âI guess what Iâm saying is⊠I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,â You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity.Â
âMy lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,â You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation⊠isnât it? âNo one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mindâ IâŠâ Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. âI have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because⊠Iâ I want you. I want you to be my wife.âÂ
You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smileâ perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. âYou want me?â You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. âBut why? We barely know each other?â You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the princeâs cold ones. âWhy?â Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded.Â
âBecause I just do,â Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. âIâ Because you are pretty, overly pretty,â Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. âAnd because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,â Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown.Â
âAnd most of all, because you are kind. You are⊠you are not one to judgeâ you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and notâŠâ Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. âNot like a weapon?â You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more.Â
âYou want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?â You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. âIf that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest⊠am I simply to be set to the side?â Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. âWhat ifââ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut.Â
You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the princeâs thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. âI do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you⊠but you must know, I have never felt such a wayâ I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.â Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight.Â
âThe situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualmsâ but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,â You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the princeâs lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer.Â
Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. âAre you certain?â Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. âI am,â You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door.Â
Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this.Â
You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. âI am his, and he is mine,â You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemondâs turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. âI am hers, and she is mine,â Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise.Â
You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. âMy flower,â Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyesâ just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love.Â
You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast.Â
Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. âAemond,â You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. âYouâre all mine, my flower⊠forever bound to me, my kind little wife.â Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. âIâm yours, my prince,â You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. âI am your husband⊠you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,â Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips.Â
You nodded, âIâm all yours, Aemond,â You said and whimpered as your husbandâs eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him.Â
You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction.Â
âAemond, IâŠâ You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. âYes, wife?â He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. âI⊠Iââ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, âDo you want more⊠do you want to be pleasure, my flower?â He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head.Â
It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, âAemond! Oh, gods!â You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod.Â
As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cuntâ a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose.Â
âOh gods,â You say breathlessly as you feel Aemondâs weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. âW⊠will it fit?â You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so⊠large and appealing. âOf course, you were made for me, my flower.â Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt.Â
You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. âIt hurtsâ Aemond, I⊠itâs too much,â You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace.Â
Aemondâs found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. âAemond⊠Itâs too much. Iâ husband, I cannot,â You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, âJust⊠come for me one more time, my flower,â He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you.Â
Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. âOh⊠Aemond!â You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck.Â
Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. âI knew you were capable of it,â He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. âMy perfect wife,â he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile.Â
#aemond fanfiction#house of the dragon#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond modern au#prince aemond#aemond x tyrell reader#prince aemond x reader#prince aemond fic#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond x you#hotd fandom#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#house tyrell#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader
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if you read this and the first post, I sincerely apologize. youâre getting a hard look at the deepest recesses of my mind, open agape and oozing my most vulnerable thoughts I could ever reveal. theyâre words that I need to be said, written. I find I donât ever learn my lesson unless I talk about it. so, I hope those who care enough to read are receptive.
#she starts not responding as much#she gets a new job. sheâs getting busier#sheâs bad at communicating though. she told me herself#I respect it. I still text her but I donât expect a response right away. thatâs the mature thing to do right? weâre grown!#I wasnât sure to what extent she meant that. keep that in your back pocket for later in the notes#anyway flash forward to THIS WEEK. I see her post a tiktok of this guy who looked somewhat like her soon-to-be ex husband.#in the caption she calls him her handsome sweet boy and that she needed no one else#my heart: eviscerated. I am about to faint. I am serious as a heart attack in saying all of this.#regardless of whom I may have mistaken this man for. it wasnât me. and while we never made time to discuss what we wanted to be#or anything in regards to relationships#aside from us calling each other babe and saying we love each other. feel it needs to be stated: she started it. it doesnât matter much#I loved her too. I didnât realize how much I still loved her until we started talking again. it hit deep upon realization#on mobile so canât read the tags fully so idk where Iâm at. I confront her on it after she says sheâs been on a âaffection bender#crux of the whole shit is I told her I donât want a relationship if sheâs gonna post her side piece on tiktok. much less see other men#it hurts sheâs would do that. but. I extend empathy. I always will.#sheâs not in a great spot. she seems somewhat mentally unstable. sheâs on the autism spectrum I learned. manic depressive 2 if memory serves#I loved her all the same. I think I always will. itâs hard not to. Iâm convinced sheâs my soul mate#but how do I know that. thatâs just intuition. and what kind of soulmate? there are 4 kinds and she may be the type to teach me a lesson#anyway. back to being the lost soul I already was. time to snap out of my delusion and get back to the grindstone#maybe thatâs where Iâll find my purpose. and kindle the love for life that romance and partnership likely never will#it seems like a perilous journey. that didnât deter me before#I shouldnât worry so much#thereâs freedom in knowing it wonât get better. even more so Iâm letting go of expectation#Iâm fucking kidding myself. if I could Iâd spend the rest of my life with her and thatâs just how I feel. and Iâll love her and care for her#valiant efforts to do so at the very least.#I would dead serious uproot my life in Georgia and move to Cali to be with her. at the drop of a pen Iâll be going breakneck speed down I-10#just to feel her pelt my face with spit while she holds hands with the sweet boy she met.#I am a deeply depraven creature starved of any intimate connection. the one woman I know I could have that with doesnât want me.#and Iâll let it go. I have to. there has to be more. Iâm worthy and I know it.#itâs hard to internalize and know that. thatâs where the work needs to be done.
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The Serving Suitor .â
Ëâ⧠đČ â§âË â
⥠AU Pairing: servant!Logan Howlett/princess!Reader
⥠Word Count: 4.4k
⥠Rating: Mature (only bc of the discussion of sex)
⥠Warning/Tags: regency attitudes, suggestive language, but nothing explicit
⥠Summary: As a princess, you could almost have it all, especially if you wed. Almost. You could only find love with one of your servants, Logan.
⥠Note: this was just a cute thing I've vaguely been working on to avoid all my responsibilities of life (that's why I've posted two days in a row, i fear)
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow you will find a suitor after all these years.Â
Word of your ball had spread throughout many kingdoms. Your father promised only the best for you. He promised music, food, and you for the suitors traveling far distances. Suitors had visited and promised to be in attendance tomorrow. Not a single one interested you; you were sure most of them werenât even interested in you. Being titled and unmarried was uncommon for even men at a certain point; a proper heir would need to be born eventually. God forbid it was out of wedlock.Â
Many came off snobbish and egotistical. They werenât there for you; they were there to create a new heir to their throne. They had little interest in you; they had more interest in your birthing hips. Some came off as genuine and kind. Yet, you felt bored in their presence, longing to slip into conversation with another. You wanted more; you already had more.Â
James Logan Howlett.
Only you called him Logan. He worked as a servant like his father and mother before him. He was one of the younger servants and aid; he was older but not much older than the suitors coming for your hand. He was always gruff around the edges yet respectful. He was by far one of the most hardworking of your servants.Â
A number of years ago, it was your goal to break his serious demeanor, get him to laugh. You had only seen him smile a few times, yet the memories were imprinted among you. In order to capture more memories of that smile, youâd make snide remarks that only the two of you heard. He wouldnât admonish you nor remind you of your place as a princess as most would. Heâd just shoot you a knowing look or exhale a deep huff.
It took him a whole year before he made a snide remark back while at your eldest sisterâs betrothal ball. After watching a gentleman miss every turn and take almost every opportunity to step on your feet during a waltz, you immediately retreated to a place against the wall. Not far from Loganâs earshot but to yourself, you grumbled how thatâd probably have to be your last dance for the night.
Not missing a beat, Logan mentioned the man having the graces and footwork of an overgrown frog.Â
It was a small victory then. Snide remarks turned into short conversations. Those turned into deeper conversations in your garden under the cover of night. When no one was looking, he treated you like a real personâ like a friend, maybe more than a friend. Youâd both spend long nights talking about your dreams and fears in the garden, always hoping you could steal a little more time.
But the night he kissed you was unforgettable.Â
âAlright, but youâre not a princess,â Logan stated as you both laid in the grass, gazing at the stars. âWhat would you be?â He turned his head to meet your gaze.
You hummed looking into his hazel eyes. There was something about Logan tonight. Maybe it was his exposed arms or the sound of his voice when tired from the day. All you knew was that when he looked at you, you could feel your heart race. You almost forgot to answer the question.Â
âUmm, probably a baker.â Logan gruffly chuckled. You felt a little self-conscious by your own answer now.Â
âWhat? A life as a baker soâŠnice and quaint,â you smiled. âYour mother would make the best bread, and if she could have taught me how she did it, Iâd have the bakery in the countryside.â
âNo, no, I agree. When my mother would bake, sheâd make me help sometimes. My father would do a tasting. Something about the kneading was always relaxing,â he muttered. âMaybe once youâve grown wearisome of being a royal, we can just open a bakery in town.â
We. The sentiment of doing it together made your pulse pick up.
âWhy donât you do it then?â
âWhat? Build and open a bakery?â Your nod was met with Loganâs furrowed brows. âI donât know. This workâthis castleâitâs all Iâve ever known.. I was trained to do this since I was a kid. To leave would beâŠI mean, my mother left recipe cards for bread, cakes, cookies, butââ
You sat up and nodded, âI think it'd be worth it to be brave. As someone who doesnât get many choices in lifeâI didnât even get to decide on my outfit for today or the meals I ateâthereâs something about the freedom to be brave. And the number of building projects youâve completed for my family, I know the shop would be beautiful.â
Logan sat up too and nodded. He bit his lip and muttered under his breath, âBe brave.â You felt Loganâs hand on top of yours.
There went your heart again. You looked down at his worn hand on top of your softer one and then back at Logan. His features softened before his other hand moved to your cheek.Â
You swallowed with anticipation, hoping to push down your nerves, âLoganâŠwhat are you doing?â
He didnât respond. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat out of surprise, but you soon reciprocated. You had dreamed of this for years ever since you first saw him all those years ago. Your lips formed together perfectly and moved in perfect rhythm. Loganâs hand caressed your cheek, bringing you in closer. You instinctively moved your hand to his bicep, feeling every ridge and groove. In this moment, you wanted him to devour you.Â
Logan wanted the same. There had been other women Logan had been withâsubstitutions reallyâand with God as his witness, you were the sweetest one. You were the only one that he wanted.
He pulled away from you with his eyes still on yours. Your stare was dazed when Loganâs eyes met yours again. âYou said to be brave. And I know your the princess and Iâm jusââ
A small smile creeped your lips, âHey, Lo?â The sound of your sweet yet low voice silenced him immediately. He could mutter a word, only nodded. You tugged at his shirt, lining your finger against what you could already feel as a strong chest, âI think you should be brave again.â
That was two years ago. It was your first kiss. It was the first time you felt truly special in the eyes of any man. It wasnât the last either. Logan made sure of that.
After that day, beyond your royal life, your life became filled with stolen kisses, long nights, letters under your pillow. It wasnât something you expected from the gruff man that you saw everyday.Â
But when word of your ball started to spread, you could see Logan become distant. Conversations were short in public, the letters stopped, he stopped visiting at night, and there was even talk about him joining the military.Â
You were worried. Your mind had been racing for a number of nights. You didnât want to believe that Logan was abandoning you. On the other hand, neither of you were native to your present situation. The thought of him leaving tore your heart apart. Your memories with him put the pieces back together again. The cycle found you every night.
Maybe you could see tonight, but his quarters were outside the grounds. You couldnât make it there without being seen. Maybeâ
A small pebble knocked your window, catching you from your thoughts.
His usual sign.
You quietly moved off your bed to open the window.
âLogan?â Your voice was uncertain as you scanned. Once you saw the form that you recognized to be Loganâs, you couldnât help the smile that grew on your face. âI thought youâd never come back.â
Logan appeared to be slightly panicked as he looked around the garden. âI know tomorrow is...the day and I might not see you againâ he sighed. âCan we talk?â
As he had done for the last two years, Logan scaled the outer wall and climbed through your window. He had on a cloth top that exposed his strong arms, and you could practically see his bulging thighs through his pants. You were just in a white nightgown as you were just preparing for bed, but the sight of him was almost enough to make your mouth dry.Â
You were quick to pull him into a hug; the warmth of his body consumed you. Thinking heâd never get the chance to hold you like this, Logan pulled you in close. âI thought Iâd never see you up here again,â you muttered into his chest. Logan could hear the hurt in your voice. It was amplified by the simple notion that he had pushed you away.Â
âI know,â he muttered into the crook of your neck. You leaned back to look at him. His eyes obviously were panged with grief and regret.Â
âThen why?â Your words ranged in his head like a thousand church bells. All this time, he knew why. He regretted the reasoning, he still knew.
âWhen I heard about your ball a while ago, everything felt like it was coming to a head,â he admitted as he took a seat across from you on an ottoman. You sat on your bed. âI donât know what I expected to happen after the last two years, and I should have seen this coming. I shouldnât have neglected youâŠI never wanted you to feel neglected.â
âLoganââ
âSweetheart, we both know whatâs gonna happen tomorrow. Youâre going to find a prince, become the perfect queen one day, and receive everything you deserve. Things we both know I canâtâwill never be able toâoffer you. Like my parents who served yours, I serve you; thatâs the way it is. We both know that,â Logan tried telling you. His eyes were sullen and he looked defeated. Thatâs what broke your heart.
Logan was right. He was right but he was also wrong about one thing.Â
âLoganâŠâ you placed your hands in his, rubbing your thumb across his, âMy days with you, the mere minutes I got to spend with you everyday, was all I ever needed. You gave me everything I could possibly want. This place, these things,â you gestured to the room around you, âitâs not enough to make me happy; Logan, you were always enough.â
As much as it pained him, Logan kept his eyes on you. For all he knew, these could be his final chance to memorize the curve of your face, how your eyes gleamed when the light hit it just right, or recognizing attributes you considered imperfections that Logan simply couldnât fathom why you thought of them so negatively. He didnât want this moment to pass, no matter how painful it was.
You both sat there in silence for a bit, too scared to admit what this all meant. Logan was the first one to make movement, standing from the ottoman. You could tell that he was stressed. For a second, your heart fell when you thought he was going to leave. Your name graced his lips as he turned back to you, his hazel eyes glassed over.
âI love you,â Logan admitted. Your eyes widened at his confession. âI am hopelessly, desperately in love with you. When I wake up, Iâm disappointed that youâre not by my side, but I find solace in the fact that youâll grace me with your presence, maybe even give me the time of day after dark. Being with you, not even just intimately, just talking to you, is always the highlight of my day. I go to sleep, and I only dream of youârunning away with you, watching you learn how to bake in that shop you always speak of,â he breathed in a single breath; you werenât sure you caught it all, but every noise of the palace seemed to fall into the distance. âIâd never ask you to renounce your status as a princess, but I could let another day go by without letting you know.â
You felt your breath hitch in your throat. As the date of your ball began coming up, you could only dream about Logan, reliving the moments you had in the garden, especially Loganâs sweet words as his hands roamed your body, searching for new ways to make you gasp and smile. As of lately, you were having the same dreams. What if you ran away with Logan? What if he could put his hat in the race to be your suitor? Questions like these flood your head every night.Â
You stood up too, slowly approaching Logan. He was hesitant when you placed your hand on his chest, hoping you werenât kicking him out. Instead, you just wanted to feel him and his beating heart. He placed his hand over yours.
âEveryday, every single day, I wish to move to the countryside with you. Share a life with you. Have a few children, and build a life,â you whispered, smiling at the thought. The tears that brimmed your eyes were threatening to escape. âBut I canât abandon my country, Logan. As much as I want to be with you, I canât and that tears me apart every waking moment of the day because I love you, James. I donât want to marry anyone else because no man has ever cared about me the way that you do. Itâs not fair,â you sobbed in his chest. âI donât want to lose you.â
Logan couldnât help but to wrap his arms around you, pulling you in closer. He kissed your forehead wishing he could change the trajectories of both of your lives. But this was the best he could do at the moment.
âHey, hey,â he muttered, lifting your chin to meet your tear-stained face, âyouâre never gonna lose me, sweetheart.â
Before another thought could cross your mind, you brought your lips to Loganâs for what may be the last time. You became fully enveloped in the kiss when Logan reciprocated it fully. What started as a gentle kiss became desperate in nature. Youâve never shared a kiss like this before. His strong hands spread across your back, sending chills down your spine.Â
You tugged at the roots of his hair, receiving a moan from the servant. He moved from your lips down to your neck, careful not to leave any marks for your big day tomorrow. The gasp that left your lips was heavenly. Logan searched for it again with every kiss from your collarbone to your pulse. You couldnât help but to pants as Loganâs lips and tongue danced across your neck.
âPlease, Logan,â you quietly moaned out, âIâŠI want you to have me.âÂ
While you didnât quite know what that exactly entailed, yet you knew the significance. Your mother had only vaguely explained it to you a few weeks ago. There were many moments where you felt rather needy between your legs when you were with or thought about Logan. You pieced that those two things were related in some way. You affirmed that it was for your husbandâa man that you loved. At this point, those two criteria felt like they wouldn't encapsulate the same person.
Logan momentarily stopped and sighed in the crook of your neck. It was bad enough that he had ruined you time and time again already. This was something else completely. âIâm notâŠitâs not my place, sweetheart. As much as I would love to ravish your body until dawn, Iâm not your husband, youâre not my wife; itâs not right.â
Logan wasnât always big on traditions and doing things the right way. He complained a number of times to you about them. Youâd figure that it wouldnât be Loganâs first time; he had the opportunity to live a life outside of you. You vaguely heard how your brother spoke about women thatâŠthey werenât necessarily courting yet frequently visited. It made you want to scream the way he became traditional all of the sudden.
âI knowâŠâ You felt your stomach grow into knots, trying to verbalize concepts you only recently began thinking about. âI knowâŠyouâve been entangled with other womenâŠâ You couldnât help but blush and feel native in the moment.
Logan huffed as you were being more brash than usual, âThey werenât ladies, and most certainly not princesses.â
âYouâre right, but I donât care anymore, Logan,â you told him, fingers lining his chest. âNot only isnât there another man I want to be with but there isnât a man who deserves the privilege besides you, my love.â Your hand caressed his scruffy face, praying for the answer you desperately wanted. âI love you.â
âSweetheart,â You began lining his neck with soft kisses making Logan lose his train of thought. With your hands on his chest and lips on his neck, Logan wanted to cave, he desperately wanted to give in and have his way with you. âDammit, youâre making this hard, love.â
âThen say yes.â Your hand went under Loganâs cloth shirt, feeling the ridges of his abdominal muscles. âPlease just say yes.â
A pang of hurt hit Loganâs heart, stopping your hands from roaming his chest. âYouâre not mine to have.â Logan could see the pain in your eyes and immediately felt awful. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you; that wasnât his intention when he climbed through your window that night. âMaybe I should go. Iâm sorry.â
Your eyes widened as you saw Logan begin to leave. You felt panic settle in. Logan was already in the window about to climb down.
âLogan!â you almost yelled but you were quick to hush your volume. He immediately turned back to you with his brow furrowed. His name came out of your mouth before you could even realize what you were saying. âPlease donât go,â you choked out, âPlease.â
He wanted nothing more than to take you with him, show you exactly how well he could treat you.
âIâll see you at the ball tomorrow.â
âItâs been a pleasure speaking with you, sirâ you forced a smile before performing a small curtsey.Â
âIâm sure, princess,â the duke retorted before kissing the back of your hand. âI hope to grace your presence again soon. â
You nodded before the Duke of Goldigo went on his way. Internally, you gagged. The Duke of Goldigo was ignorant and a narcissist. Yet, he wasnât the worst of the night, and that was saying a lot.Â
Whenever you finished talking to a suitor, you would immediately look for Logan. Your eyes would quickly scan the room, hoping to still see him there serving. You missed him a few times but caught him talking and giving o'dourves to a few guests from time to time. You desperately wanted to talk to him, but you knew you would get wrapped up in conversation with him as you did on a daily basis in the garden. And you knew the both of you would get in trouble if you both werenât on your jobsâyour job being to wed.Â
But maybe grabbing an o'dourves wouldnât hurt, right? Of course, it would be Logan holding your favorite. Itâs like he knew you could eventually bring yourself over. You began your trek over to Logan who was just across the ballroom, and damn, he looked amazing in that white button up.
You happily nodded at the guest as you walked past other guests. A couple of the suitors you talked to earlier smirked or winked at you, some vying for your attention, but you pretended as if you didnât see them. As you neared him, Logan looked up and saw your eyes meet his. He gave you a soft smile.
âI didnât know they would be serving bruschetta at this event,â you smiled as you grabbed a piece.
âOnly the best for the princess,â Logan smiled, but you could tell that it wasnât fully heartfelt. You could imagine that he was still hurt after yesterday. You were still hurt too, but putting together a good appearance is something you were used to doing for these types of events.Â
âHow are you, Logan?â you muttered, attempting to keep your conversation low key.
He took a deep breath and sighed, âHonestly?â You nodded. âI wish I could take you out onto the floor and dance with you like a proper gentleman, actually vie for your handâŠbut I guess holding your favorite o'dourve will have to do. How about you?â
You slightly smiled and nodded, âWishing I could be anything but a princess right now.âÂ
All you wanted was to take Loganâs hand and run out of the dance hallâshow him how much you want to be with him. Logan wanted that too, and if he had the money and power the other men in this room held, he would have. He wouldâve whisked you away, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you were alone.
âThe fair and beautiful, princess,â another prince almost growled as he took your hand. You immediately felt uneasy; it was also obvious to Logan. Instead of giving the prince the face of disgust, you softly smiled. âCare for a dance?â
You looked back at Logan who looked like he was trying to keep his composure. You placed your appetizer back on his tray. âIt would be my pleasure.â
He led you to the middle of the floor, but you couldnât help but to look back at Logan as he went away to cater to the guests, his heart breaking in the process.
The evening was ending and many of the guests began their departures, even you had retired to your chambers. There were some suitors there, talking with your father. As Logan helped clean up the hall, he overheard conversation between the men and your father. He hated the way they talked about you. They didnât care if you were happy or not. Even your father seemed to be neglecting your happiness. They pondered if you were submissive, had a good body to bear sons, and so on.Â
They talked about you as if you were a piece of cattle at auction. In reality, you were everything to Logan. His entire world began and ended with you.
Heâd had enough.
Logan left his section to clean before heading down the hallway. He attempted to maintain his composure as he passed by maids in the hallway. But he was making a beeline to your chambers. He could feel his adrenaline ramping up as he got closer to your room. His heart could practically beat out of his chest. He finally reached your door. He took a deep breath before putting hand on the handle.
Before he could turn the handle, he heard a brief huff and then a sob.
You were crying.
Logan didnât even knock. He cracked the door open and saw your body leaned against the window, your hands covering your face. You were already out of your ballgown and in a simple slip. He quickly slipped in before anyone saw. You didnât hear the door close between the sounds of your sobs. He hated seeing you like this. He knew heâd do anything to make you feel better.
âSweetheart?â Logan sighed from across the room. You heard him, but you couldnât bring yourself to turn to him. He approached you from behind, wrapping your arms around you. âIâm here.â
You shook your head, âLoganâŠI canâtâŠâ you hiccuped. He turned you around to see your face. Your eyes were puffy and red, but you were still a beautiful sight to him. âWe canât keep doing this, seeing each other. It only makes this harder.â
âI know, I know, so if you want, I wonïżœïżœïżœt come to you like this anymore. I justââ Logan's voice drifted, yet he still appeared focused. He had firm hands on your hips while you laid your hands over his. âI know I said I couldnât ask you to do this, and I know you love our country, but I need you, sweetheart. I canât live knowing youâre married to some pompous rake who doesnât even respect you as the woman you are.â
You took a deep breath as your eyes widened, âLogan, what are youââ Before you could even finish your sentence, he was taking a knee. âJamesâŠâ
âI know Iâm asking a lot of you. Iâm asking for you to live a humble lifeâa life without the riches and spoils you no doubt deserve with a man who has only served you all his life. But Iâll be damned if a day goes by that you donât feel loved, respected, and cared for. And I wanna spend the rest of my life making sure you feel that way.â Logan pulled out a necklace from his pocket and showed it to you. âThis betrothal necklace belonged to my mother the day my father proposed. I was going to ask you last night, but you respect your duty, and I respect that. But after seeing and hearing how those men think of you, the thought of someone taking your handâsomeone who does not see you the way I doâI have to at least ask.â
You didnât even think you could produce more tears, but you felt more brimming. However, they were warm from hope, not hot from sadness.
âSo, ask me, James, you whispered as you fell to your knees to meet his eyeline. âPleaseâŠâ
Your full title fell from his mouth with an ease. Just sitting on the floor in your chambers out of the watchful eyes of othersâit was the most comfortable you felt all night. You hung onto every word. âWill you do me the honors of living a humble life as my wife?â
âYes, yes, Logan, yes.â Your words got stuck in your chest, but your confidence grew as you continued to speak. You quickly nodded and huffed, âOnly if we can leave tonight.â
âAnything you want, sweetheart,â Logan wildly smiled as he wrapped the necklace around your neck. You pulled him into a kiss that was more passionate than the one from yesterday. You felt your heart warm, and for the first time all day, you felt comfort, warmth, love. You prepared to leave. You left notes for your siblings and parents, praying theyâd understand.
You were going to miss your life; it was an easy one. Yet, a life without Logan would have been much harder.
⥠note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts
#logan howlett#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan x reader#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#hugh jackman#x men#x men fic#logan howlett fic#britt fics#logan smut#wolverine x reader#the wolverine#wolverine smut#wolverine x female reader#logan howlett x mutant reader#logan howlett au#au#logan au
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I do find it annoying how a lot of Zutara fans tweak the character's stories, personalities and even the timelines to suit their own needs.
Once again, there's nothing wrong with fanon and headcanons, however if looking through the lense of canon, you're objectively wrong.
I ended up stumbling on a post from a Zutara shipper. (At this point I'm regretfully considering not following the tags for Zuko or Katara because I get way too much Zutara content lol) I'm not replying directly to her because I don't want this to turn into an argument, and I know she doesn't take criticism very well.
Ok, So let's break this down.
The character who was first out of the group to trust Zuko?
I'm quite sure this is referring to the scene in Ba Sing Se's caves. And yes, that is a very important scene. I think it's a very important scene preceeding Zuko's 'relapse'. It shows how he's matured during his time in Ba Sing Se and therefore it serves to add to our dismay when he joins Azula. I adore the fact that Zuko's journey to redemption is not linear, it certainly adds a lot to the character and shows us how his trauma affected him.
It's also a horrific moment for Katara. To have her worldview on Zuko and firebenders as a whole challenged, and then for it to go blowing up in her face. It rips open old wounds of her childhood. It refreshes her resentment of Zuko and the Fire Nation as a whole. It parallels the death of her mother when Aang dies due to Azula's lighting and she is unable to do anything about it. It places her back in that spot of helplessness. Even though she's grown up, even though she's a master waterbender, she still comes a hair's breadth to losing one of the most important people in her life.
No wonder she hated Zuko so much after this.
It's an important moment for both characters, but I wouldn't say it is that in a romantic sense. It's a sweet, hopeful moment that then turns absolutely horrific and visceral for both parties.
I could argue that there are other characters who could be given the title of 'first to trust Zuko'. Funnily, Appa being one of them lol.
But other characters trusting Zuko dovetails nicely into the next point.
The character who emotionally connects to Zuko?
Well, technically, I'd argue that most members of the Gaang connect emotionally on one level or another with him?
But I'd argue that Aang is the person Zuko connected with the most. Aang is Zuko's parallel. Aang is the first person to reach out to Zuko. Aang is the person who showed mercy to Zuko, multiple times. Aang is the person who valued Zuko's life, the life of someone whose whole life goal is to capture him.
This was also an incredibly important moment to Zuko. This is the thing he brings up when trying to convince the Gaang to let him join.
Zuko: Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends. You know I have good in me.
The character Zuko feels safest letting his guard down around?
It's Mai. Love her or hate her, her relationship with Zuko is incredibly important to him. Maiko isn't my favourite Zuko ship, in full honesty. But even platonically, Mai and Zuko are one another's reprieve from their respective shitty lives.
People often talk about Katara touching Zuko's scar while discussing healing his scar, however one could argue that she did so as a medical examination. Mai touching Zuko's scar is a casual thing, neither of them really make a big deal of it and that's the beauty of it.
I'm mainly talking out of my own personal experience, as someone with a huge amount of burn scars, but there is a world of difference between someone inspecting my scars like Katara did and simply accepting them as a part of me, like Mai does for Zuko.
With Mai, Zuko isn't the scarred banished prince, Ozai's son or Azula's brother. He's just Zuko. And they speak freely with one another, arguing like real people do. Often, being comfortable having arguments is actually a sign of being comfortable with one another.
The character who helps Zuko heal from his trauma?
Once again, this is a bit of a flawed question. By the end of the show, Zuko isn't even fully healed, in my opinion. He has made leaps and bounds on the road to recovery, but when he will truly heal if ever is yet to be seen.
Zuko's journey to recovery includes plenty of people. This includes Iroh, Aang, Song and Jin. People who show him the error of his coping mechanism. Who challenge his worldview, who coax him out of the his shell of pain and anger.
The character known for showing most compassion to others?
Yes, Katara's compassion is a huge part of her character. Her need to help and protect those who cannot do that for themselves cannot be understated.
But Aang's compassion for others and all beings is just as great, if not greater than Katara's. Compassion and nonviolence are huge parts of his culture and his own philosophy.
Aang: Wait, we can't just leave him here. Sokka: Sure we can. Let's go. Aang :No, if we leave him he'll die. Aang airbends himself off Appa and retrieves Zuko, bringing him to Appa. Sokka: [Sarcastically.] Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.
Friendly reminder that Aang could've absolutely wrecked Ozai, but held back because his own moral compass was so powerful. Hell, he was friendly and nice to Azula, the woman who literally killed him.
This is why Aang and Katara work so well together. They're both incredibly compassionate people who will immediately jump in to help others in need. Like they did during the Painted Lady, destroying the factiry together.
The character who primarily bears the burden of having to step up into a parental role?
I think "parental role" is an incredibly vague term. There's a lot of things that go into a "parental role". Katara plays a stereotypically "maternal" role, while someone who plays a "paternal" one would probably be Sokka.
Katara deals with very "homemaking" tasks like sewing and cooking, etc. And Sokka often takes on the role of leader, hunter, gatherer and also protector, despite being a nonbender.
This coincides nicely with their core childhood traumas. The loss of Katara's mother impacted her greatly, leading her to have to step up into a motherly role. While Sokka was clearly heavily traumatised by his father departing and the crushing responsibility of having to care for his entire village.
Sexism also probably played a part in this dichotomy.
The character who represses their emotions to be strong for others?
I'd argue that this could apply to all the members of the Gaang in some capacity.
Aang's pain is something most of us will never experience and cannot hope to understand. The complete horrific destruction of his culture and home followed him through the entire show. He was entitled to his grief and rage, yet he supressed it. We see during Appa's kidnapping, how easy it would be for Aang to rage, to let himself be destructive. And yet, he wakes up every day and chooses to smile and goof off, because his friends need someone to remind them how to be children.
Sokka puts on a very impressive bravado, despite having a lot of insecurities. However, as the oldest member of the Gaang (pre Zuko) he puts on a facade of the confident and unbothered older brother. Even if he's the butt of almost every joke, he still keeps that demeanour up, letting it slip only a few times.
I'd actually argue that Toph is the person whom this label fits best. While we know Toph as witty, callous and strong, we have to remember that she kept up the facade of her parents' good, helpless little blind girl for no reason other than her mother and father's comfort. She actually hides a lot of her hurt, covering it up with a prickly exterior.
I want to do longer think pieces about Toph and Katara so apologies if this isn't complete.
I'm actually baffled by the idea of Katara repressing her emotions. She's actually quite straightforward and open about her feelings. She yells and feels a lot of emotions and lets them be heard. She gets angry and sad. She's actually kinda bitchy sometimes and that's honestly why I love her so much.
The whole inciting incident of the show was her getting so pissed off she somehow pulls a giant iceberg from the bottom of the sea.
She is anything but repressed.
She is angry.
She's angry at the fire nation, at Sokka, at her father, at men, and with good right to be so.
This is what makes her an amazing character and one who broke the mould of a lot of female characters at the time. Her anger and unrestrained emotions rang true with a lot of watchers at the time. I'm not sure why this is being taken away from her rather than celebrated.
I reiterate the point I made at the beginning of this post: there is nothing wrong with headcanons and fanon interpretations for one's enjoyment. I do find it a bit odd when it changes a character too much (because then, why not just create an oc?) but it's all in good fun. However, you shouldn't push that onto other people and how they perceive canon and you certainly shouldn't use it to take away from other characters. It's a very unfair way of entering discourse.
#look Katara is my favourite character. don't fuck her up. please#katara#zuko#aang#toph#toph beifong#sokka#uncle iroh#anti zutara#pro kataang#<ig this wasn't really a proper kaatang post lol#pro katara#katara deserved better#avatar katara#atla#avatar: the last airbender#the last airbender#avatar the last airbender#avatar#mai#pro maiko#maiko#kataang
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Withdrawal
Four days off your hormone birth control pill left you with one unexpected side effect.
Law x Fem Reader
Warnings: MATURE 18+, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS INTERACTING WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED, this is all smut like pureee smut, every generic smut tag needed is here, pinv sx, biting, dry humping, creampie, unprotected sex (dont), biting, wet and messy, etc etc bless
Also Posted on AO3
It had been a mere 4 days since you stopped taking a daily hormone pill to control your crippling period cramps. After all, it was near impossible to get a hold of the same medicines aboard a submarine that spent ninety percent of its time hundreds of meters below the oceanâs surface. As such, you exhausted the six-month supply of the tiny pills that you had brought with you when you joined the Heart Pirates, slowly counting down the days when you would inevitably run out.
You had discussed your waning pill count with Ikkaku on multiple occasions, and she relayed you with her own experiences in her teenage years.
âWhen I stopped taking hormone pills, my period lasted for, like, two weeks before it became regular again!â she had said, throwing her hands in the air in an exasperated display as she recounted her memories. âIt sucked. My cramps were really bad, too, but they got a bit better overtime.â
You had assumed, due to very little knowledge otherwise, that your experience would be largely the same. It made sense in the few biology books you had studied during your downtime spent on the floor in the crew library. You would cease taking your daily pill, your hormones would fluctuate as your body adjusted to the lack of a steady balance, and eventually you would go back to living life as you did years before you began your regimen. You read up on a few additional side effects along with heavier and longer bouts of bleeding and increased amounts of bloating and general discomfort. Mostly changes in body mass and occasional reports of differing mental symptoms, which you had readied yourself for as your supply turned into a week's worth, and then down to a single pill, and then nothing at all.
You had Law, your sweet, awkward, broomstick of a boyfriend, to pull on his metaphorical physicianâs coat and help you out when needed, as well. He told you, based on his own research (that he didnât start until after you told him you were down to only two months left of pills), that he could administer remedies if you had bad cramp flare ups or serious, debilitating bleeding. He followed his reassurance with a tender kiss to your cheek as you smiled at him, thanking him for his generosity and understanding.
You swallowed your last pill 4 days ago. So far, none of the symptoms you had prepared yourself for had made themselves known. No bloating, no period (yet), no fluctuating mental state, no change in weight.
Instead, starting 24 hours after your first pill-less day, you were plagued with intense, irreparable horniness, which had now gone on for 3 entire days.
Three days. 72 hours of a persistent wetness between your thighs, a constant warmth fluttering deep within the recesses of your gut that had you clenching around nothing at all hours of the day. You were able to perform your work just fine, but every time Law would pass by you in the hallway, his fleeting touches would leave electric sparks through your boiler suit, his metal-tinged smell lingering in your nostrils more than usual, his golden irises etching themselves into your eyelids. You were acutely aware of the sensation of dampness increasing between your legs whenever he made contact with you, which was very, very often.
You and Law had fucked before. You fucked as often as you could, which, given your respective roles aboard a pirate submarine, was only about once a week, twice if you were lucky (and this was already more often than Law couldâve ever anticipated). You were no stranger to the primal want that made you salivate, endlessly craving the calloused touch of your boyfriendâs lanky fingers against your hips.
But this, the unabashed depravity that started after you stopped your hormone pills, was on a completely different level. Each day seemed to get worse, more unbearable. It was as if your body was screaming at you to pursue your lover and beg him to dick you as deep into his mattress as he possibly could. The mere thought made your face flush with blood. During the times where you were left alone in Lawâs bed while he was out being a captain, you tried to tend to your needs with your fingers. You managed once to make yourself cum three times in a row without feeling any sense of relief. Post-orgasm euphoria would instantly be replaced with more intense lust and longing, leaving you frustrated and bewildered.
Had you told him about this? No, of course not. Had he asked you about your condition in the days following your cessation? Yes, multiple times. He was constantly pleased with your content, âI feel great!â responses, and didnât press the issue further, knowing you would come to him if you started to feel discomfort.
But this was a âdiscomfortâ that made your pride as a pirate, as a strong, semi-independent woman, waver ever so slightly. Simply because you werenât really keen to beg like a pathetic animal in heat. (That had only happened once in the bedroom between you and your stone-cold captain-turned-boyfriend, and not only had the words that left your mouth embarrass you to a previously unknown degree, but they left Law feeling unbelievably awkward. The two of you ended up not having sex and instead simply falling asleep.)
Unbeknownst to you, however, your inner, wet, sweaty turmoil started to be noticed by the crew due to your wavering performance. You were spacing out far more than usual, keeping your head bowed consistently, contrasting your former upbeat, hardworking, and friendly personality. Multiple times, fingers had to be snapped in your face to grab your attention from the clutches of daydreams that had your eyes glazed over.
And what the crew picked up on, Law would pick up on, if he didnât notice it first.
Four days. Four days of this.
Your watch shift had ended for the day, allowing you to retreat to the captainâs quarters that you shared with Law, shedding your boiler suit for comfortable loungewear, excited to get off your feet and relax in bed with a book you had started in an attempt to distract your mind from your perverted thoughts. You had just barely opened the page before the heavy steel door opened, revealing your boyfriend to you as he stepped into the room, closing and locking the hatch behind him.
âAre you okay?â he asked, plainly. His face showed no expression, which was usual, but the aura he radiated sent a nervous chill down your spine. It was somewhere along the tightrope between concerned and mildly frustrated.
âYeah, why?â you responded, a fleeting attempt to match his energy. You tucked your knees to your chest as the taller man approached the bed, flopping onto it and sitting cross-legged before you.
âIt seems like youâve been a lot more spacy these past few days. Some of the crew told me it appeared that your work has been lacking, and I was wondering if it had something to do with your pill withdrawal.â
You bit the inside of your bottom lip, anxiously digging through your scrambled thoughts for a proper answer. Before you had a chance to respond, however, Law continued speaking.
âIf youâre feeling any signs of negative mental health, I want you to tell me right away. Iâm being serious, any signs of depression, anxiety, intense stress, nightmaresââ
âIâm not depressed, Law, I promise,â you reassured. This wasnât a lie, you really werenât depressed. You were slightly anxious, yes, and definitely stressed due to the constant feeling of a throbbing pulse within your clit every single time you sat down, but you werenât depressed.
âSomething is clearly bothering you, though. Iâm here to help you.â
His affirmations once again made you falter. Your eyes stayed glued to his, afraid to look anywhere else.
âIâŠâ you began, voice low and wispy. âI donât really know how to say itâŠâ
Your response made Lawâs eyebrows cock in confusion. âSay⊠what?â
You finally discarded your book to the side table, leaving your empty hands to fidget with each other. âUhm⊠whatâs been bothering me.â
âIs it something that I can help you with, or is it something that you feel you have to manage on your own?â
Curse Lawâs analytical prowess. Sometimes you wished his rare moments of being a dorky airhead were more common, especially in situations like this. Swallowing your pride, you replied, âThe first one, I hope.â
âYou hope?â
âLawâŠâ you grumbled, dropping your head into your curled legs so that your forehead rested on your kneecaps. It really shouldnât have been a hard conversation, you knew Law would understand. But the four consecutive days of nonstop horny fantasy and masturbation sessions that only left you more desperate had officially started to melt your neurons into mush.
âCan you please tell me? At least so I know that youâre not in pain?â Law kept his voice low and calm, but his face clearly gave away his profound concern for your sorry state.
You drew in a deep, shaky inhale. Refusing to lift your head to meet his eyes, you finally swallowed your pride and revealed the truth. âIâve been hornier than Iâve ever been in my entire life for the past four days.â
Your confession was not at all what Law was anticipating, judging by his prolonged silence. You slowly lifted your head, apprehensively searching for his eyes, which, when you found them, were slightly widened. The tip of his straight nose was flushed a rosy pink color.
âOhhh,â was all he said in response to your confession.
This didnât instill much confidence in you. With a dry chuckle, you quipped back, âThatâs all youâre gonna say?â
Law rapidly backpedaled, shaking his head frantically. âNo, of course not. Your behavior just makes⊠a lot more sense now.â
Uncomfortable silence filled the space around the two of you. You could almost see the gears working in Lawâs head as he struggled to figure out how exactly he could best help you with your situation, without outright saying it. It didnât matter how many times the two of you connected between his sheets, the simple word âsexâ left Law flustered and fidgeting like an innocent schoolboy.
âIs thereâŠâ he began, voice low. âAnything you want me to do?â
âDo you want my honest answer?â you asked back.
The staring contest you were currently partaking in had both of your hearts beating a mile a minute. He simply gave you a curt nod as a reply to your question.
You lowered your knees from your chest slightly, still keeping your arms wrapped around your legs. âI want you to fuck me until I canât stand anymore.â
âDamn.â
âYou said you wanted my honest answer!â you cried out. You loved your boyfriend more than anything in this world, but his awkward, stubborn demeanor would really get on your nerves in the wrong circumstances, such as this very moment.
âI know, I know,â he reassured. He bowed his head away from yours, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat. âI just⊠didnât expect that.â
âIn my defense, I told you Iâve been painfully horny.â
Law pinched the bridge of his nose, once again repeating an exasperated, âI know.â
You lowered your legs further, keeping your hands on your kneecaps as you hunched your shoulders forward. âCan you please help me? Please?â Your voice was low, airy, almost coming out as a whimper. âItâs been four days, Law. Everything I try to make myself feel better makes me more and more uncomfortable.â
Your tone really did sound desperate, and Lawâs chest clenched at your demeanor. He glanced back up at your face, your eyebrows scrunched in an odd agony. He could almost feel the burning of your face from where he sat. Out of all the withdrawal symptoms the two of you had discussed before your medication ran out, this was the last one that he wouldâve expected, and clearly that was the same for you.
âIâll see what I can do to help,â he uttered.
âYou donât need to âseeâ anything, Law, I need your dick in me. Right now. You know I donât like begging, you have no idea how embarrassed I feel, but Iâm desperate, Law, Iâm desperate!â You were pleading with him now, officially losing your grip on yourself as you began to crawl towards him, placing your hand on his thigh and pushing yourself forward to bury your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. âI would rather be depressed.â
A dry chuckle from his throat broke the awkward, stifling atmosphere. âDonât say that, I donât want you to be depressed.â He rested his arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer to him. It almost didnât register how you were beginning to straddle his waist, your fluttering breaths ghosting over his jugular. Â
You let out a pathetic whimper, both of your arms now dangled over his shoulders as your hips slotted against his, an uncomfortable position on the bed for both of you, but you were clearly out of your mind as you searched for any semblance of friction to satiate the red-hot need in your core. Your muscles gyrated on their own, a weary moan leaving your lips, hoping to use the stiffness of his jeans to stimulate your clit from under your loungewear.
Law truly felt bad for your beaten state, and with your body pressed against his, he could feel just how flustered you really were. With a tender kiss against the shell of your ear, he pushed you back onto the bed, swiftly removing your pajama bottoms and underwear. A deep crimson blush spread across his tanned cheeks at the sight of you, a persistent, heavy, glistening moistness coating your labia.
âYou werenât kidding,â was all he muttered.
âYou thought Iâd make this up?!â you pleaded.
âNo, of course not.â He rubbed a calloused hand across your cheek, smiling sweetly as you turned your face to nestle into his touch. âIâm just sorry itâs been so bad.â
âApologize with your body. Please. Donât make me keep begging, Law, I canât take it anymore.â
Somewhere deep inside the stoic captainâs mind was a perverted beast that quite enjoyed the sight of you practically weeping and writhing under him as your body subconsciously demanded any stimulation as soon as possible. A sadistic side of him wanted to keep you begging, wanted to break you until you sobbed into his chest, losing your humanity to your instinctual, hormonal urges.
But he loved you too much for that, at least in your current worked-up state. He didnât want to prolong your suffering.
Without wasting any more time as you lay completely vulnerable and demanding beneath him, he took his hand and trailed two fingers through your folds, stifling a sharp breath at just how wet you really were. Sticky yet thin and fluid, your sweet, musky scent traveled to his nose and made his stomach clench. He bit back any other witty comments that sat on his tongue and instead slipped his middle finger into your cunt, using his thumb to stimulate your clit simultaneously. Your hands flew to cover your mouth, your eyes clenched shut as you involuntarily bucked into his hand, encouraging him to slip a second finger into you to increase the sensation.
âLaw,â you moaned out. One of your hands grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements. He gazed at you, waiting for your next move. âIâve been doing that to myself and nothingâs worked. I need you.â
The raven-haired man bit the inside of his cheek at your words. He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, haphazardly wiping your fluids on his jeans as he reached for his fly and tugged on the zipper, the metal button following suit. He slipped off the bed to let his pants and boxers fall to the floor before discarding his shirt. You salivated at the sight of him (you felt truly helpless in your hormonal, sex-crazed state). You tugged your own t-shirt over your head and threw it to the floor beneath the bed. Law once again positioned himself above you, an inked hand idly stroking his half-hard penis as he surveyed your pitiful form below him, sprawled out, legs spread, mouth hung open as you took in shallow breaths. He rubbed the head of his penis along your sopping pussy, rubbing your slick down his length with his hand.
âIâm gonna be honest,â he muttered, reveling in the scorching heat that traveled to his groin as his cock filled with blood. âI didnât think it was possible for a woman to be this wet.â
âHow do you think I feel?â you quipped back, your mouth curling into a meager grin. âIâve been constantly wondering if I pissed my pants without realizing.â
Your words made a bark of laughter exit Lawâs mouth, which eased your stress and made your own chest feel lighter. He continued stroking your fluid over his dick as he responded, âThis isnât going to help you, I donât think.â
You reached a hand forward and trailed it along his shoulder, tracing his tattoo in the process. âI canât even care anymore, really.â
Law supported himself above you with one hand, dipping down to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to deepen the exchange, parting your mouth and brushing your tongue along his lower lip. Instead of opening for you, he pulled back with a mischievous grin.
âYouâre already begging for this, youâre gonna have to wait for whatever sloppy kisses you want.â
âYouâre an asshole,â you retorted, but shuddered out a sigh at the feeling of Lawâs dick parting your labia and slipping into your opening little by little. The excess wetness produced by your own body made the ordeal much easier, which also made it much easier for Law to tease you in his own, stubborn way, finally looking past the awkwardness of your hormone-driven desperation. He removed the tip of his cock from your entrance, making you grumble under your breath. âYou said before you would do anything to make sure Iâm okay!â
âWell, youâre not in pain,â he responded, voice low and rough. The sound made your hair stand on end. âSince youâre not in pain, I feel a bit betterâŠâ he interrupted his sentence with another tease of his tip at your warm pussy, âdriving you mad.â
You groaned. âWhat do I have to do to convince you to just rail me already?â
Your man smirked above you. âYouâre getting bold with your language, sweetheart.â
Your shaking hands gripped his shoulder blades as you scooted yourself down the mattress in a feeble attempt to get his cock inside you on your own. Law merely chuckled, dipping his head into the crevice of your neck, leaving sweet kisses over your soft skin before using his hand to aid his dick in entering you completely, biting down on your skin at the same time. The doubled sensations made you wail involuntarily, one of your own hands slapping over your mouth to muffle your desperate noises as your eyes squeezed shut. Law sucked on the bite he made, gyrating his hips at just the right spot where his public hair brushed against your aching clit. The hand that wasnât covering your mouth raked down his back, making him shudder above you, detaching from your neck and licking his lips devilishly. Â
âFeel better?â he asked, voice completely casual as if he wasnât balls deep inside you.
âIâd feel a lot better if you justââ He cut you off with a sharp thrust, the sound of wet skin slapping making hot embarrassment rush to your face.
âJust what?â
âWhat happened to, âIâll see what I can do?â Or, âIâm sorry itâs been so bad?ââ you asked with a quivering voice. âNo more sympathy for your suffering girlfriend?â
âOf course I have sympathy for you, dear,â he replied, trailing the hand he had used to gather your slick on his fingers to rub down your cheek and neck, leaving a cold sensation behind. âBut when you use words like ârail meâ and âfuck me until I canât stand anymoreâ it gets kinda hard to not torture you a little bit. Makes it more fun that way.â
You couldnât fight the grin that crawled across your lips. âYouâre a sick, sick man.â
âAnd youâre a desperate, relentless woman.â
Your conversation finally halted with another deep kiss from Law as his hips began a steady pace, stroking into your cunt with deep, powerful thrusts that were as slow yet impactful and left your toes curling. Law, despite all his uncoordinated emotions, was very good on the backstroke. You didnât quite know if it was simply the way his cock was shaped, or his physique, or perhaps his unintentional movements, but each thrust sent shivers down your spine and caused your back to arch into the growing flames brewing in the pit of your stomach. His lanky arms allowed him to support himself while angling his thrusts to also brush along your clit, aiding in your euphoria. The mixture of the head of his penis constantly brushing against your upper wall and his coarse pubic hair and firm torso stimulating your clit was addictive and made your legs quiver. (If you ever told Law that he was, in your eyes, a âSex God,â however, heâd avoid making eye contact with you for at least a week out of sheer humiliation. You had to keep some things to your deranged imagination.)
Amidst Lawâs movements above you, you angled your hips upwards and wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping his thrusts deep and deliberate. Your attempts to keep your sounds to a minimum were futile when Law hooked his hands around the backs of your knees, removing your legs from his body and holding them up in the air. Your body curled for him and he kneeled above you, still fully inserted. The new angle was deeper than before and had your eyes glued shut, mouth hung open and lewd sounds escaping your lungs with every shuddering breath. You held your legs in the air while one of Lawâs inked hands traveled downward to your clit, resuming ministrations on your swollen nub that this new position didnât quite provide.
Law wouldnât admit it, but the absolutely depraved sounds of your wet pussy sucking in his dick with every thrust had him painfully erect inside of you. He was sure you could feel the way his cock twitched every now and then with the way your face would contort in immeasurable pleasure. Half of him was concerned that the soggy noises could be heard from outside the bedroom, either through the heavy steel hatch door or through the walls, but the other half of him was too focused on the electric shocks that sparked through his dick that craved for him to keep chasing his release.
Your own climax was rapidly approaching, Lawâs thrusts growing slightly unsteady as his own impending release slowly creeped up on him. His calloused thumb rubbing counter-clockwise circles against your clit was the perfect stimulation you needed along with his perfect cock, and before you had time to suck in another deep gulp of oxygen, your body was convulsing around him, hips gyrating around him as you desperately moaned, still trying to stifle your noises. The squelching sound that emanated from between your bodies only seemed to increase after your orgasm, more fluid from your seemingly endless arousal making Lawâs dick slip easier and easier through your tight folds. The feeling of your cunt clenching around him made his throat clench, swallowing tightly as a building pressure formed at the base of his dick. He felt it as deep as his vertebrae. Â
His calculated thumb never ceased its motions against your clit, staying consistent throughout your orgasm. Your fingers clenched the bed sheets beneath you as you pleaded with the man above you to slow down, that the pleasure from your clit was so good it was almost painful, but right as you began to release another moaning plead, a second orgasm washed over you, causing your muscles to rapidly convulse as your hips shook against his body.
âFuck,â Law groaned out, his own bubble growing closer and closer to bursting with each of your gyrations.
âLawâŠâ you heaved. âPlease come inside me. Please, please. I need you to come inside of me.â
Law swallowed thickly, eyeing your trembling form beneath him. âAre you sure?â The implications were slightly more concerning considering this had all started after you stopped a controlled hormone pill. Getting you pregnant wouldnât be ideal on a submarine, and there would definitely be a lot of discussion should that consequence happen, but at the same timeâŠ
He groaned. The feeling of your pussy keeping him glued to your body was too addicting to say no to. Law bit back his inhibitions and nodded his head. He could already tell his own orgasm was going to be one for the ages, your desperate horniness seeming to affect him as well. His hips were starting to stutter in their pace as his climax creeped up his spine and through his pelvis.
You covered your mouth as a sob left your throat, climaxing for a third time on the motions against your clit and G-spot. The involuntary gyrations of your hips finally did Law in. His hips snapped forward, dropping your legs to the bed and placing his hands on your lower stomach, pressing downward as he desperately rammed into you, moaning your name among a string of breathless curses as he released his cum inside your drenched pussy. You were in complete bliss, never having heard such noises leave Lawâs mouth during any of your other intimate sessions. You didnât think youâd be able to get off without his deep, gruff moans anymore.
Law finally stilled both his hand and his hips, leaving you twitching and completely fucked out below him. His aching cock slipped out of you as soon as he pulled away, leaving you both feeling cold and very aware of the crazy mess the two of you had made on his bed sheets. Â
âShitâŠâ Law groaned as he flopped backwards. His feet were up by your waist, while yours were still draped across his hips, both pairs of legs parted. The smell of sex permeated the air and you were positive youâd be able to smell it in the hallway if the door was opened.
You didnât respond for a while, only heavy breaths entering and exiting your chest as you fought to catch up on air that had been violently forced out of you.
âAre you okay?â Law finally asked, barely having energy to pick up his head to gaze at you.
âYeah⊠Iâm fine. You?â
âCompletely spent.â
You shared a breathless laugh that lingered in the air, a soft pink cloud above you.
âI feel disgusting now,â you finally said after some more moments of comfortable silence.
âGood disgusting or bad disgusting?â Law asked back.
âGood, I think,â you replied. âI donât think Iâll be able to fuck for at least a month now, though.â
âYou and me both.â Law finally mustered up the energy to sit himself up on his elbows. You did the same, though your arms were much more shaky than his. âHave I ever made you come three times before?â
âNever.â
Law pondered your response for a few seconds before flashing a roguish grin. âDamn, Iâm good.â
âYou can be prideful after you clean me up,â you groaned.
You wearily held your arm into the air, letting your hand flop back and forth as you waved. Law chuckled, tiredly swinging his legs off of the bed. He ignored your arm, instead choosing to scoop you up by your knees and shoulders, holding you close to his chest. Your head plopped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and breaths finally steady. Law gazed at the substantial wet patch that now tainted his white bed sheets, but kept his mouth shut. Maybe six months ago he wouldâve been disgusted at the mess you two had made, but with you fucked out and blissful in his arms and his own body tingling with a hot pink sensation that he couldnât get enough of, he didnât think it was very important.
With a hushed whisper, a blue glow enveloped the two of you and a swift hand motion teleported you to the bathroom. Where, despite your fatigue, your sex only continued in the shower.
#trafalgar d water law x reader#trafalgar law x reader smut#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law#law x reader#smut#fem reader#x reader#reader insert#law oneshot
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The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 16
Source for pic
The Great Pretender 16
Word Count: 4260
Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;
Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.
Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancĂ© cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your fatherâs procedure. So much so that when heâs invited to Baby 5âs wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.
Notes: The angst arrives in full force! How about that!? Come on, you had to be expecting that! Also, I'm thinking about two chapters left (well, one and the epilogue), so we're almost at the end! PS: This song fits the chapter like a glove! *chef's kiss*
|Masterlist| | |Chapter 15| | |Chapter 17|
The night is almost over. Just a few more dances before the guests send the newlyweds off to their honeymoon, and then you and Law can escape back into the safety of your room. Just one hour, tops. What could go wrong in an hour?
Even more so now that youâve finally confessed the three words that have been bothering you for a while. And they were reciprocated.
Youâre adamant about not letting go of Lawâs hand for the rest of the night. A feeling of dread still coils in the pit of your stomach, and you donât know exactly why, but youâre not about to let fate play a prank on you.
Except, fateâs got nothing on Donquixote Doflamingo.Â
âNephew, I need you. Itâs urgent.â Law groans, his hand tightening around yours, since this is clearly Doffy's last opportunity to feed some lie to Law and try to break you two apart. Youâre honestly tired of it all.Â
âTomorrow, Uncle. Iâm tired.â
âNow.â Doflamingoâs tone leaves no room for discussion, and Law clenches his jaw. Underneath it all, Law still respects his uncle. Youâre not quite sure why he still respects the man, heâs despicable, but you suspect itâs because he instilled in Law a deep-seated sense of family ties and loyalty. And Law wonât break free of his morals.Â
âGo. I have to freshen up anyway.â You whisper with a smile. Youâve confessed. He knows how you feel. Nothing will come between the two of you.Â
Law smiles at you, and with a last squeeze of your hand, he lets you go.Â
-*-
You purposefully take a while longer in the bathroom, fixing your makeup, your hair, and your dress. Unnecessary moves, really, since youâre about to leave to go to bed soon, and youâre actually craving that massage Law mentioned earlier.Â
That and⊠well, youâre craving Law. Period.
You exit the bathroom with a silly smile still plastered on your lips and almost bump into a chest. âOh, forgive me, Iâ... Ichiji.âÂ
Obviously.
âFancy seeing you here.â He begins.
âCut the crap.â You donât even let him say anything else, already pushing past him to return to the reception tent, but he halts you, a hand on your upper arm, and you seethe. âWhat did I tell you about touching me?â
He lets go of you immediately, taking a step back and sighing while passing a hand over his coiffed hair. âRight, sorry.â
Sorry?Â
You look behind you and around, trying to notice if something feels out of place. You might have entered a portal to some sort of alternate universe when you were in the bathroom because thereâs no way in hell Ichiji would ever apologise to you.
âWhat?â
âIâm sorry, Doll. For⊠wellâŠâ He sighs again, steps forward, and then back again. âFor cheating, for treating you like crap, for taking you for granted⊠I⊠well, I know now itâs too late, but seeing you happy with someone else made me realise what I lost and how I was the only one to blame.â
No, seriously, there has to have been a portal back there. Something, anything. This is not happening.Â
Your heart constricts in your chest. You lost count of how many times you dreamed about Ichiji asking for your forgiveness, to truly repent for what he put you through. But it happening here, in a place you'd never thought you'd meet him, and completely out of the blue?Â
What's his game?Â
âI don't think you need my forgiveness to move on. I know I don't need your apologies.â A heavy sigh parts your lips. âNot when you're delivering them far too late.â
You make another motion to pass through him, but he moves in front of you and whispers your name in a desperate plea. âI do need your forgiveness. I need closure.âÂ
What? You cock your eyebrow, your lips twisting down in a frown. âAfter all you've put me through forâ...â You wave your hands in the air. âIâm not even going to count the years we spent together. Just today is enough! After all the theatrics and the taunting, you expect me to believe you just want closure?â
The way he slumps his shoulders and downcasts his eyes reminds you of the first times you argued, back in the beginning of the relationship, when you actually believed his apologies, and your heart constricts some more at all the memories.Â
âYes, Doll. Just closure. I'm about to leave the party, and I know we won't meet again, unless it's by chance, and I don't want us to part on bad terms.â He takes a tentative step your way. âJust say you'll forgive me, please.â
You want him out of your sight, out of your mind, and completely out of your heart. You know you don't love him anymore, but you still hold memories and feelings of nostalgia, and when he's looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, you can't help but soften up a little bit. He does seem sorry.Â
âFine, Ichiji, fine. We can part ways on lighter terms. I don't completely forgive you for what you took from me or for how you made me feel, but I won't resent you for it anymore.â
He actually smiles at you. Not that conceited, smug smirk, but a genuine smile.Â
âThat's all I ask for, Doll.â
âGood. Goodbye.â
âWait, please.â Is that pain in his voice? Is he really sorry and repentant for everything? You donât say anything, but you donât move either, just waiting for what he wants to say. âCan I get one last hug?â
The face you make must have been something special to look at because he grimaces and chuckles softly, his hand passing through his hair again.Â
âA harmless hug? Please? Itâs just forâ...â
âClosure, right?â Should you? Heâs actually sounding human for once in all the time youâve known him, and he does seem sorry. Itâs just a hug goodbye. What harm can it bring? âFine. Make it quick.â
With a sigh, you let him bend down to envelop you in his arms, but then you actually smile. You donât feel anything. No rage, no pain, no hurt, no longingïżœïżœ itâs just a void. You know there used to be something there, but now youâre free.
Itâs a wonderful feeling, actually.Â
Until Ichijiâs hands cup your face, and he tilts your head to the side, doing the same to his and leaning in further, his lips inches away from yours. His taller frame engulfs you, and the lights are very dim near the bathroom. It almost looks as if youâre sharing a kiss.Â
âWhaâ...â
âI still win, Doll.â
A cold shiver runs down your spine as he shows you the same smug smile he always did, his canines almost glistening with glee. Youâre frozen in place. What does he mean?Â
And then he parts, leaving you open-mouthed, chest heaving, and cheeks flushed from trying to grasp what is going on. It doesnât take long for your eyes to adjust to two figures looming at the entrance of the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.Â
Doflamingo and⊠oh, no.
âLaw?â
Doffy is bent down, one arm around Lawâs shoulders, his lips moving fast as he mouths words into Lawâs ears. You can almost bet heâs spewing lies and deceptions about you, twisting everything to make Law doubt you. You know he has trouble trusting people, it would be so easy to make him doubt.
But what breaks you is Lawâs expression. His usually stoic face bears the signs of hurt, and heâs clenching his fists by his sides, jaw ticking, trying to contain his emotions and failing at it.Â
âLaw!â You try again, taking a step forward and see Doffy still speaking into Lawâs ear. Lies, all lies, for sure. Lawâs gaze falls on Ichiji and then back at you, and you realise that this was orchestrated. It has to have been orchestrated.Â
Ichiji holding you as if he were kissing you, Doffy bringing Law by the bathroom? It was their ultimate move.
âItâs not what you think, Law.â You take another step forward, and you can almost hear the shards of Lawâs flimsy trust being broken and shattered into pieces.Â
He shakes his head and takes a step back, hand flying over his head to tousle his hair. âI⊠I need some air.â Turning on his heel, he leaves you in a hurry, and you stifle a sob.Â
No, no, no.
You need to reach him, to speak with him and let him know what happened. That nothing actually happened! He canât possibly think you would betray him like this. Turning your wobbly steps into strides, you try to follow Lawâs retreating figure into the crowd, despair tugging at your insides, tears already threatening to fall.
And then youâre stopped by a strong hand on your arm. âWhere do you think youâre going, princesa?âÂ
An actual growl leaves your lips. âLet go, Doflamingo. I need to speak with Law.â Your tug does nothing to loosen his grip, and you seethe.Â
âThatâs where youâre wrong.â He tuts, his fiery eyes boring deep into yours. âYou wonât speak to my nephew. Not now, nor ever again. Youâll leave him alone to live his life and disappear.â
Shaking your head, you try again, but his grip is too strong. âHe needs to listen to me! Heâs going to be heartbroken. Itâs not what he thinks.â
âHeâll be fine. He has a family that loves him.â Doffyâs words sound melodic, but the melody is one of doom, not hope.Â
âOnly Cora loves him, clearly.â Your scoff comes accompanied by stubborn tears youâre trying to keep enclosed. âAll Iâve ever wanted from Law was love, all I have to give to him is love. Why do you want to take that away? Do you hate him that much?â
Doflamingo straightens his shoulders, and now he seems impossibly high. âOn the contrary, cariño. I love him dearly. And itâs because I love him that I need him to learn this lesson. I thought he had already learned it the hard way, but he didnât. Romantic love only brings weakness. It doesnât do him any kindness, and he needs to let that go. He needs to be strong and in control, not a fool in love.â
Finally, your harsh tug makes him release you, but his imposing figure is still blocking the way. You stamp your feet, much like a small child, and grit your teeth, anger making your eyes blaze red. âYou think that makes him stronger? Is that why you push the people that love him away?â
He shakes his head, those annoying tuts leaving his lips as he gives you a condescending look. âNot at all. Only those that do not.â
âThen you are a damned fool.â He growls at your disrespect, and you couldnât care less. He lost any small ounce of respect you mightâve still held for him when he pulled this stunt. âBecause if you hadnât interfered, I would still be by Lawâs side, and I love him!â
Doffyâs laugh comes in small waves, his eyes shining with amusement as he sizes you up with his fiery gaze. âAn admirable sentiment, mi querida, though I doubt it to be true.â You open your mouth, ready to be disrespectful again, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an all-too-familiar device: your tablet.Â
With a flick of his finger, he opens it to the spreadsheet you now know by heart: all of Lawâs likes and dislikes, every useful thing for your fake relationship, every piece of information you and Law gathered to make sure you were prepared for this event.Â
You canât help the stutter that leaves your lips, nor the red flushing your cheeks. âLaw⊠he.. Law knew about that.â Why does your voice sound so small? Is it because you were caught?
âIâm sure.â His demeanour contradicts his words. And then he hands you the tablet, a frown finally overtaking his mocking smile, and you almost shrink at how his aura suddenly feels very threatening. âYouâre done here. You will never speak to my nephew again.â
Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Doflamingo canât win this, not after what you and Law went through. Not after realising heâs the love of your life.Â
âYou canât do that.â Your voice comes out as a mere trembling whisper. âYou canât pull strings and control Lawâs life as if heâs a puppet and youâre his puppeteer! He has a say in his own life!â You try to take a step forward, but he doesnât budge. âIâll tell him what happened, and heâll realise I never meant to hurt him. Just let me through!â
âYouâre done.â
âLaw has a right to make his own choices. You donât own him!â The pesky tears start to stain your cheeks, you feel impotent and useless.Â
âNot choices that will end up destroying him.â
âThe ones you are making for him might do just that.â Your voice finally breaks, and a ragged sob leaves your lips with the weight and the helplessness of it all. âHe is not your pawn! You canât manipulate him like this! Please⊠please! Let me speak to him! Youâll truly destroy him with thisâŠâ
Law placed his trust in you. After what heâs been through with Monet, you know it must not have been easy to let himself love and be loved. And Doflamingo manipulated you both to an extent that will come with dire consequences. Law will be broken, and so will you.
âI will face whatever consequences come from my actions with Law. He might be hurt for a while, but he will emerge stronger. He has done it once.â
âBut at what cost?â You whisper, too drained to fight back. With a shaky inhale, you straighten your shoulders as your hands grip the tablet for some sort of grounding. âIâll speak to him later, then. You canât keep us apart. You will not ruin what we have.â
Pushing past him, you take one full step before Doflamingoâs words freeze you in place.Â
âI would rethink that if I were you, querida.â Something in his voice halts your breathing as you look over your shoulder and find him grinning. âYour father is still recovering from surgery, right? Some businesses collapse pretty quickly when something like this happens⊠no one would look twice.â
What?
âIs that a threat?â Doffy certainly has the power to ruin your fatherâs horse business.Â
Waving his hands in the air in a dismissive manner, his smirk returns to his lips, more menacing this time. âOh no, no. I donât make threats⊠theyâre too amateurish.â His laugh fills your ears, and the same shiver as before courses through your veins. âItâs more of a prediction.â
Gathering strength and bravado you do not have, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. âMy father is strong, and he has my help. Weâll manage.â Turning your face forward, you will your feet to move again.
âHow brave. So what about Lawâs clinic?â Your breath stops so suddenly that you almost think you have a collapsed lung. He canât be serious. âI wonât be cryptic, cariño, hereâs the deal: if you speak to Law again, Iâll make sure his clinic tanks. And you know how much he loves that little place, with his friends and helping people.â He tsks and waves his hand dismissively. âI would much rather he dedicated himself to the company, so perhaps you would be doing me a favour. Law, on the other hand? Now that would devastate him.â
âPlease, donâtâŠâ You donât know what else to do. Doflamingo is too powerful, too influential. He will destroy Law either way and claim to be helping him while doing it. You feel trapped, what can you do? âPlease donât do that to him.â
âI donât want to. I do love him. But that depends on you.â Doflamingo sets one hand on your shoulder to turn you back to face him. âThereâs a car waiting for you outside with all your belongings. You will leave the party immediately with Ichiji, as it will help sell the ruse.âÂ
Your legs start to wobble as breath begins to catch in your throat again. Powerless. Completely stripped of any will. Thatâs how youâre feeling.Â
âYou will not speak with Law today, nor ever. Not even when you both go back to your boring little lives. Heâll think you abandoned him, which suits me, really. No one needs a gold digger.â
âIâm notâ...â
âI donât care!â Doflamingo leans in, and his breath fans your face. Heâs as angry as youâve ever seen anyone, and you can almost see the veins pulsating dangerously in his neck. âYouâre a distraction and a liability. Law doesnât need any of that.â
âEverybody needs loveâŠâ Is this your last hail Mary? Because itâs not a very strong one.
âNot the Donquixote family.â He steps back and motions Ichiji forward. âLeave. Donât speak to Law. Itâs simple, Iâm sure you can follow that, princesa.â He chuckles again while fixing his tie and suit. âOr elseâŠâÂ
The words he leaves unsaid are a weight on your soul. You canât think, you canât breathe, you can barely exist. All you know is that Law is somewhere, hurting, thinking you betrayed his trust.
And the fact that you will leave without any explanation will only cement that feeling.Â
You thought youâd been heartbroken before - exhibit A is currently walking by your side, leading you away from the party with a hand on your back that youâre too tired to swat away - but youâve never been hurt like this.
This pain is visceral. It burns, it blisters, it festers, and it destroys.Â
Youâre not actually sure youâll ever recover from this.Â
-*-
Law was taken away from you by Doflamingo yet again, and as his uncle drones on about business and about the imminent merger, all Law can think about is you in his arms and the peace you bring him.
âAre you listening to me, Law?â
âNo, Uncle, Iâm not. Itâs late, and Iâm tired.â He yawns for effect and shrugs. âIâm going to bed.â But before he can retreat, Doflamingo sighs and slings his hand over Lawâs shoulder.
âFine, Law. But first, Iâve made some assumptions during this weekend, and I need you to tell me if Iâm right or wrong.â Law sighs and nods. Agreeing with Doffy is the fastest way to get rid of him. He starts leading Law back into the party, and Law follows without giving it much thought.Â
âI know you and the little princesa were not a couple before this weekend. Iâm actually doubting that you are a couple at this moment⊠and my assumption is: you told her you didnât want to come to my daughterâs wedding without a date because I tend to introduce you to a lot of respectable young ladies you donât relate to. So, to avoid that, she offered to come as your date. Am I right?â
Law already knew Doffy had discovered that bit of your ruse, so he doesnât act surprised, he acts resigned.Â
âAlmost. I was the one who asked her.â Law grins. âThe ladies you introduce me to are not respectable. Half of the ones I met proposed to do very salacious things to me in very public places.â
Doffy grins back at him, and Law sighs while shaking his head.Â
âYou got that half-right, Doffy. Are you happy?â
âNot in the least. You see, Law, what I think is that the young lady realised the family you belonged to and decided to take advantage of that fact by seducing you. Is that a correct assumption?â
âFrankly, Uncle, Iâm growing tired of that subject. We have already proved to you that we care about each other deeply. And even if we didnât, we donât have to prove anything to you anymore. This is my choice, and you will not interfere in it.â
Doffy tilts his head and nods, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he leads Law to the bathroom.Â
âFair enough. But⊠Nephew⊠do you truly believe she cares that much about you? Do you think she loves you?â A small chuckle escapes his lips. âI thought you were done with being naiveâŠâ
Law grits his teeth while his heart clenches in his chest. Doflamingoâs words always have a way of penetrating his skull and making him doubt everything. âShe loves me. I know that.â He didnât mean to sound so defensive, but then again, Doffy had no reason to attack him.Â
âI hope, for your sake, that you are right.â Doffy brings one hand to his chest and bows his head slightly. âI would hate to see you blindsided. Again.â His emphasis on the word âagainâ brings hurtful memories of Monet back to Lawâs mind, and he grunts.Â
âWeâre fine, Doffy. Thank you for your concern.â Law is about to turn and leave, but Doffy holds him by the shoulder and directs his gaze towards the dimly lit hallway of the bathroom.Â
âOh⊠would you look at that, thenâŠâ
Law instantly freezes, his brain showing him tricks. It has to be tricks. Thereâs no way thatâs you wrapped in Ichijiâs arms. Law can only see the back of Ichijiâs hulking frame, but thatâs your dress he sees peeking from the side, those are your hands holding his waist.
And now heâs cupping your cheeks, leaning⊠no.
A kiss?
Law shakes his head, denial, frustration, and⊠betrayal. Thatâs the word echoing in his head incessantly. Where once were your âI love youâsâ now stood that shadow of a word. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayalâŠ
âYou see, Law,â Doffy leans against Lawâs ear, his venomous tongue spewing hurtful words. Words that ring true, too close to Lawâs heart. Too at home with his pain. âSheâs no different from Monet, really⊠they both traded you, broke your trust.â
Lawâs throat is dry, and he feels little sweat beads trickling down his sideburns. The nails digging into the flesh of his hand cut little crescent indents, trying to ground him, trying to pull him back from the pitfall of despair heâs about to be sucked into.Â
âLove hurts, Nephew. Love tears and destroys. You can only trust your family or you should trust only yourself.â
Doffy keeps talking, but Ichiji breaks from you, and thereâs a mix of confusion and distress on your face as your eyes meet Lawâs. And then thereâs panic as you whisper his name.
This canât be happening. You wouldnât do this to him. Not you.
âLaw!âÂ
Your plea is clear, but he canât think straight. Itâs too much, itâs too painful.Â
âDon't believe her lies, Law. You know what you saw.â Doffy murmurs.Â
âI⊠I need some air.â Lawâs voice comes out as a mere whisper as he turns and disappears. The air suddenly feels rare, his chest too tight.Â
Thereâs not enough room in the world to harbour the size of this betrayal. Itâs too much.Â
-*-
The coolness of the outside air does nothing to soothe him. It still feels stifling, and the control is slipping away from his fingers. Running his hand through his hair in a desperate gesture only brings him more heartache.Â
Why?
Law keeps thinking about your pain and grief when you spoke about Ichiji. How could you return to the man who hurt you so?Â
Maybe you didnât.
No. Law knows what he saw. You were in Ichijiâs arms.
But he didnât see a kiss.
There was no mistaking it. He held your face andâ... and what? Could he have forced you? Were you held against your will? Law tries hard to unscramble his jumbled memories, but the pain in his chest is so heavy that he barely knows where to start.
He didnât see a kiss. Of that, heâs certain. Could he be overthinking it? What if it was nothing, or if he forced you? And instead of helping you or hearing your words, Law panicked? Hadnât he promised you not to listen to Doffyâs words?Â
Yet that was exactly what he did.Â
Fuck.
Did he get this all wrong? Law sighs and inhales deeply three times, trying to calm his ragged breaths and his uneven heart. He knows you. You wouldnât do that to him, let alone with a man who hurt you so deeply.
There has to be an explanation for what happened, and heâs ready to listen to it.
Turning around, Law returns to the party, hoping youâre still somewhere near so he can speak with you and listen to what you have to say, to what really happened, to the truth.
Heâs expecting to find you frantically looking for him, and his heart is already constricting from the anxiety you must be feeling. He shouldâve just stayed a while longer. You would have explained, and neither he nor you would have had to panic.Â
But what he wasnât expecting was to see you leaving the party. He wasnât expecting to see Ichijiâs hand resting against your lower back, silently guiding you through the remaining guests. He wasnât expecting to see you walking out with him.
Willingly.Â
So it was the truth.
Lawâs heart breaks completely, the full extent of your betrayal settling in, expanding, and commandeering all of his love for you. Doflamingo was right. It pains him to admit this, but he was.
Youâre a liar, and Law was foolish enough to trust you.
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|Chapter 17|
#the meet cute#reader x trafalgar law#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar d law#trafalgar law#reader x law#law x reader#reader insert#you x law#law x you#one piece#one piece reader insert
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|| Sanchez ||
Requested? âïž
Circa: October 1943
Summary: Upon being shot down on his last mission, Major Gale Cleven finds himself in the company of a female officer -and not one from the 100th. While already inclined to show solidarity, the increasing threat towards his fellow officer forces him to act. The jeopardy such action puts him in is more than he could have ever estimated, as is the fallout upon finding women he knows in the stalag
Cast: Cleven, Sanchez, Demarco, Brady, Egan, Kendeigh, Lu Smith, Ida Brady
Authorâs note: the first portion of this segment is in the immediate time frame of Gale being downed. The second portion follows the events of What Took Him So Long? the mirroring of both these segments will hopefully prove enjoyable but I worry perhaps confusing
Content Warning: due to the disturbing content listed below the cut, I understand some may choose not to read this segment. If youâd like an abridged summary of the events herein to keep up with the series, Iâd be happy to supply that đđč
Warnings: usual universe warnings apply 18+ additionally for this chapter there are warnings for depiction of rape. This entire arc was produced on popular request, i have tried to portray the brutal events found herein in the most elevated and respectful terms I found effective. I would not call it graphic, however, itâs not vague either. And itâs rape. Male and female. Depiction of rape and discussion of past rape. Violence as well, obviously, fucking Nazis, ptsd from said assaults, choking, hints of childhood trauma, mentions of medical experiments. General cloud of dread. With light at the end of the tunnel.
Note: my blog and writings are strictly 18+, this means that we are all adults here enjoying free connection and art. The themes of this particular story are mature, at times harrowing and for some, potentially intolerable. No worries if the latter is your case, feel free to move on or block tags. On the other hand, please take responsibility for your reading, I provide warnings as a courtesy but I cannot cover them all and if something doesnât sit right, please exercise adult autonomy and make your way to the nearest exit. Xo
When Gale extended his hand to aid the next prisoner up into the truck, he hadn't anticipated one so small or so brown. Busted knuckles that had rivulets of crimson pouring over copper flesh; he was mildly fascinated by it. His concussed mind flashed to âLu Smith and her shaded face, before belatedly realizing it was indeed a womanâs lighter frame he was hauling in beside him to the shrill insistence of German threats.
The woman who flopped on the bench opposite him, legs spread wide and boots braced with a brow like a thundercloud, was not Smith. And for that Cleven was relieved.
Last he had seen of Ida and Grahamâs fort, theyâd been carrying on over Breman, and while he had every reason to think few had made it back, whoâs to say they werenât lucky? And Ida could fly a tin can on the fumes of an alcoholic's breath. Smith wasnât here, Ida either, and he tried to arrange his mind to that, to not even let the doubt creep in, and instead took to studying the newcomer in between the passing of more downed airmen filling the benches.
The incessant barking of their dogs must have been half strategy, the throbbing in his back working its way into his head as the minutes went by. It had taken too long for them to be brought to Luftwaffe jurisdiction, he knew that much, even with giving them the benefit of the doubt for wartime communication failures and muddy roads. Heâd been well read and prepared and braced for the outcome of being downed since before they left the states, grilled his men on procedure, on their rights, their privileges as prisoners of war, also on their duties to silence. The fact heâd never truly thought it would happen to him didnât mean he wasnât perfectly knowledgeable about the requirements.
So far Cleven had managed not to say a single word to anyone, the farmer with the pitchfork probably didnât speak English and a wheezy âplease donât kill meâ seemed like a flaccid bunch of last words that Gale refused to let off his tongue.
Instead he let them haul him to the nearest company of Wehrmacht soldiers and had been marched for ages by them, had seen and given Benny a nod when his column of prodded, sheepskin wearing sad bastards merged with Buckâs column of the same. Kendeigh hadnât been there; crew get themselves killed in a hard landing as often as an exploded plane.
Cleven thought about breaking the silence now to ask the woman opposite where the hell she came from, her patches not what he was used to. But no, bad precedent, he stayed quiet and watchful as the Krauts pushed the last of the men into the overcrowded truck and snapped the tailgate shut. Someone could easily make a run for it by jumping out, but the jeep following behind at a steady few yards with a bristling assortment of machine guns suggested against it.
Once the truck began to move, Benny leaned forward beside him on their jostling journey and motioned in an ingratiating arc at the womanâs patches. âI donât know those.â he said what Gale had been thinking, half yelling over the clamor of voices and the roar of the truck engine, âLooks half like varsity shit.â
Gale wasnât sure his kindhearted co-Pilot meant those sorts of digs out of innocence or as a tactic to get reticent folks to defend themselves with the very information they might has previously withheld. As said, Gale didnât know, but he knew it never failed. The woman went from scowling at Cleven -a pastime she had set herself to with such diligence that every time he tried to make discreet observance of her she already had her eyes on him- and turned to Benny.
â201st, fighters.â well that explained nothing and everything. âSanchez.â she offered Benny after a beat, maybe knowing her name was hardly damning considering her looks.
Kinda like how Benny looked and sounded likely to have a name that started with âDe-â and a dog named meatball. âEagle Wings, huh?â Benny nodded at the patch. âAnd a uh, uh triangle.â he couldnât make it out all the way from his seat, but Buck could -the patch read âMexicoâ above a magnificent spread of Eagle Wings with a green triangle as the body.
They were all a long way from home.
âAztec,â Sanchez tweaked it, âAztec Eagles.â
âMexican?â Benny asked, the accent wasnât one he commonly heard in Philly but even crappy shows and movies got some things right, and Benny had seen his fair share of westerns.
âSanchez.â she repeated instead and was back to scowling at Buck.
They seemed to drive for all day, until the light began to dim and what was a pleasant day turned into a misty chill as evening grew near.
The truck came to a halt at last, barbed wire and mud about them and the painted checkpoint arm whirled by as they drove into the dulag and came to a final stop. In the quiet that followed the cut of the engines, the rain was suddenly audible, pattering on the canvas above them. At the resumption of barked order and harsh commands the prisoners stood up, gingerly hopping out of the truck with just enough quickness not to be hit and just enough slowness not to be shot. Didn't help much anyway, muzzles were pointed quite liberally around here and you just had to hope the trigger fingers werenât so generous.
The dulag guards turned away a good seven of those remaining after the packed truck had dispensed its human cargo. They didn't have enough room.
Go up further, to the next one, go to Frankfurt -those seemed to be the directions.
Directions their drivers and guards took poorly; it was late, it was drizzling and Buck could guess how little they enjoyed the on-edge detail of ferrying outnumbering prisoners around the countryside. They cut down on the number of guards, five to go with: a driver, two in the jeep, one more in the cab and another supposed to be with them in the truck back.
After a bit more haggling, the Dulag accepted three more prisoners. Cleven made sure to stay put, he didnât know the foreign arguments well enough to decipher all but half the protesting seemed to be over who got Sanchez. And he sure as hell wasnât leaving her here without a superior officer as defense. A dulag guard had hopped up into the truck and shined his flashlight at Buckâs markings, thatâs when he mentioned something about Frankfurt.
Benny didnât move without Cleven and so, when the truck took off again into the evening gloom, it was Buck and Benny and Sanchez and another hapless kid who looked all of fifteen and was, according to his over liberal offer of conversation, a scared shitless waist gunner.
âTheyâre arguing over you.â Cleven finally chose to speak up. It could get rough, the guardsâ distinction of her. He felt it with a premonitory dread that came from too many right predictions as a child. He hated this feeling, he hated how right it usually was, he hated how it was usually met with folks telling him he worried too much. Heâd taken to not saying much the older he grew, watching things play out, grieving over foreseen misfortunes all on his own. Until he met Bucky. But right now he had to speak up, this time he had to.
Yet Sanchez remained scowling, âThey argued over you.â she retorted.
Gale gave her a tight smile, âIâm a major.â
âIâm a lieutenant.â
âI can see that.â he proceeded cautiously, âBut they just took in a baker's dozen of lieutenants. No problem. But they didnât take you.â
âDidnât take him either.â she nodded to Benny.
âHis captainâs ass never left the seat.â Cleven said, âYou were on the ground, ready, they put you back. Iâm tellinâ you, if they canât decide who you are, where you go, Iâm gonna need your assurance youâll fight like hell with me. For recognition of it.â
-Just donât say I worry too much, Gale thought desperately, he could almost feel Buckyâs gentle squeeze of his shoulder, like shaking out the tension in a cat as he said the same; his back was so stiff he thought it might snap if Bucky did it now but -but John wasnât here. Thank Almighty God.
âYou know you look more German than most of our guards.â Sanchez replied and Benny suddenly snapped to attention beside him at that. âIâm not assuring you of shit.â
âHeâs not a damn spy!â Benny insisted, more loudly and vehemently than was maybe best with guards all around.
âYou know this how?â she asked, unmoved.
âHeâs my goddamn co-Pilot.â
âPilot?â
âYa think he just ripped his own cheek open for a part?â
Sanchez swayed with the jerk of a pothole and shook her head, âMaybe you both are.â
Smart, and a worse worrier than himself. Cleven liked her immensely and stared out the flap of the tarp, watching the rain pour down, dusk fully settling over everything outside and the trailing jeepâs headlights poured into their little haven, whiting-out his vision of the road.
âIâm not leavinâ this seat âtill a Dulag takes you.â he told her, it was all he had to give. For her part she seemed determined to wait and see before expending any thanks. He didnât expect it.
They werenât in any city when the truck brakes checked them in a squeaking lurch, followed by the sound of tires turning off gravel and into squelching mud and then the echoing silence of the engine being cut once more. This wasnât Frankfurt, and this was no engine failure. From the headlights of the following jeep, all Gale could make out was trees. So many damn trees. It had stopped raining.
âThis isnât Frankfurt.â He remarked to the guard sitting with them, the sullen fellow had not said a word for five hours and he didnât start spilling now.
The others made an appearance when they joined them in the truck, hopping up with muddy jackboots and the clatter of what seemed to be a portable camp stove, along with rucksacks, utensils and the like. They unwound rope from the cloth neck of one sack and poured out oats, and another seemed to have been wrapping some preserved sort of meat. Gale eyed the discarded rope where it lay on the floor with the lust of a man used to working with what he was given, while Benny stared with barely concealed longing at the now simmering concoction on the tin stove.
These guards made conversation, or at least they tried. But not even the scared little gunner was in the mood to reply, and so it remained one sided. His boys hadnât eaten since chow this morning at the crack of dawn, and Cleven didnât blame them for their hunger but his own stomach was in loathsome, uneasy knots, and by observance of Sanchezâs wary sullenness, he figured he wasnât alone in that. A dinner break for the Germans was one thing, he guessed, but the solitude was oppressive along with the forced proximity of all these grinning enemies stirring and chopping their porridge bits and laughing amongst themselves on the benches and floor next to them.
When they offered Demarco a hunk of whatever they had prepared, to his credit, Benny didnât even acknowledge them. Their offer had been mocking enough, even without understanding the language.
âYou must be hungry, ja?â The one with sergeant stripes cajoled, greasy teeth flashing, the muggy smells of rain and sweat and steaming food were all so noxiously trapped under the tarp, Gale had to bite his cheek to keep down the salient precursors of vomit.
The sergeant tried it on Sanchez next, insistently holding out a hunk of the meat impaled on the knife tip. She wouldnât even look at him and that was an admirable thing until it served to anger him, and the man reached out, hand snagging in her waistband and hauling her smaller body beside him on the bench with ease. Benny was almost to his feet when Cleven fetched him back with a grip of his own, sitting him down firmly.
He managed to keep his voice perfectly neutral when interrupting the manâs flashlight lit perusal of Sanchezâs frozen features, âHey, she doesnât mean any harm, you let her go now.â
The sergeant looked up, less surprised to have gained a reaction from Gale but maybe at hearing his voice at last. âOnly trying to be good hosts, ja? She vonât eat. Neither you?â
âJust not hungry.â Gale countered mildly.
âBut ve must thank you,â the Sergeant laughed, and Sanchez stayed stiff as board in his grip, shying away from the still offered meat as much as the touch âso many parcels of gifts you drop.â
âLet her go.â Gale insisted, gently.
âShe not drop zeez parcels?â The sergeant asked.
âSheâs not a bomber.â Gale grit his teeth, âI do the dropping.â
The sergeant pulled her jacket apart in curiosity, thumbing at the patches, âNotâz a bomber?â Cleven felt his tongue go numb as the man tugged at her clothes, it was a curious inspection so far and yet- âThen itâs you should be given meat, ja?â The man left off his tugging and rose from his squat on the floor to approach Gale, the man was huge upon closer acquaintance, âFor Hamburg,â he insisted through gritted teeth, his anger more palpable up close, and he pressed the meat to Galeâs tightly shut mouth, âand for ze little ones you turned to ash with your parcels.â
Gale kept his jaw locked and his mouth shut, eyes meeting the sergeantsâ, unblinking and unsorry.
âOpen!â
Gale didnât obey. The man sighed as if he were actually a host turned down. Gale could feel Bennyâs eyes on him, wary, careful, his whole posture shockingly good at blending in, a damn good man to have next to you in a place like this.
âWe have no beer,â the man confessed, knife and meat still pressing insistently, âor else we would offer it for such heroes. But not to fret, you have provided refreshment, ja? Full belly and beer iz ze best, full belly and a voman iz better.â
Carefully Gale turned his head away from the offered chunk, âThat's a prisoner of war, not a woman.â He saw how little effect that had and added for benefit, âAnd your superiors are waiting for her.â
The man scoffed loudly and turned towards his men who were, Gale could now perceive past his bulk, scraping the last of their tin plates without so much as looking at the bowls -they were eying her. With intent. The kind of intent Gale wished he didnât recognize but he did, carnival dins and race tracks after dark being hardly the best places to grow up unless you wanted to learn how often folks really would act on their worst impulses.
Not tonight, not if he could fucking help it. By Bennyâs taut posture beside him, he knew he had an ally in the assumption that this would end in a fight. He eyed the rope lying on the floor.
âEat with us.â The sergeant insisted, âShe vonât be alive to tell on you, prisoners make a run for it all ze time. Must be shot. Veâll let you fuck her too.â
Oh Jesus- âYour superiors know-â Cleven reminded, voice starting to shake in rage from the keyed up adrenaline he was barely keeping a lid on.
â-zey know emergencies happen.â The man snapped, almost annoyed at Galeâs persistence, as if he expected less protest from an airman at the prospect of one of his own being abused. âZey would send more guards if zey cared as much as you âsink.â
The men had finished their bowls, they set them aside on the bench, pushing the stove away as well. Clearing the floor.
âOr fuck, oh fuck.â the gunner kid, who Gale had almost forgotten about on his end of the bench, began to panic, sounding like he was retching his prayers.
Gale met Bennyâs eyes, then down to the rope on the floor, then back up. It was good to have a man who got it. Always got it, his Benny.
âCan I go first.â Gale asked, and held his breath.
âVat?â The sergeant lowered the knife in surprise, the meat chunk slid and fell to the floor but neither cared.
Gale let his lips twitch, his eyes conspired, âI donât wanna catch whatever shit you fuckers got.â
He could hear more than see Sanchez begin the thrash on her bench but she made no progress, maybe already being held. âAnd you vonât tell?â the sergeant asked.
Gale gave him a look that could be universally interpreted as âwhadda ya think?â and bent to retrieve the meat nugget from the muddy floor, right by the sergeantâs boot, the rope was just out of reach. When he straightened his back he popped the soiled peace offering in his mouth, he chewed it loudly, the rush of an imminent attempt thrumming so strongly in his body it replaced the queasiness for a moment. The sergeant clapped his hands together, once, in appreciation for the despicable deal.
Gale knew they wanted nothing more than sport of him, it was no comradely favor to allow him to go first, it was blackmail and it was likely something worse once he got his pants down. But they could all play along, he just needed to get close to her. They had her jacket off already, her boots, too.
This didnât really have a chance in hell but if she was like Ida, or Smith or anyone else, sheâd rather be shot barefoot than have this happen to her. Gale supposed dying with German ham stuck in his teeth was about a draw with being killed via pitchfork prongs through the belly.
He didnât process much when he stood up: not beyond the two paces it took to get to her, the men holding her on the bench seat and wrestling at her clothes, the way Benny didnât say a word. He really was thinking of Benny in those paces, hoping his co-pilot was ready -it didnât occur to him even once that Demarco might be as fooled as these sick fucks around them, letting go of her all too quickly at the prospect of a degrading show.
Cleven had his hand around her necktie, pulling her off the bench before heâd even really registered being close enough, heâd forgotten how to hold his face for this act but maybe the mad determination passed for lust, he didnât think of anything but yanking her up when he felt a sudden, stinging slice against his right cheek. Sheâd been waiting for this moment, smart thing had a penknife hidden somewhere, it was something one of the Banshees would have pulled, and the mirroring slice was disorienting enough that he wasted a good two seconds in smarting surprise as warm blood trickled down his chin and the guards began to shout.
Someone else wrested the knife from her grip, someone else held onto her wrist now, his moment of shocked pain wasted his fucking plan.
Still, he tried.
Cleven yanked her further toward the middle of the space, spun her around despite her incessant clawing -and maybe the actions seemed to the guards in accordance with his plan, plus some anger from the wound. He didnât know what they thought, he only knew that no one halted him, they just gathered closer to see, never expecting it, just as he didnât expect to manage it when he got her turned to the open flap of the tarp and bodily hurled her out its back, into the night.
Benny mustâve tripped the first one, a clunky helmet clattering as the guy fell flat at Clevenâs feet, right as he turned around to help. It wasnât ever gonna be a nice fight, or a likely chance for her to have even a ten second start but it was something besides sitting on a bench and watching them violate a fellow officer. Heâd have done the same for Benny. Just as Benny now looked pretty resigned to dying in this fight, getting in a couple of excellent, unapologetic punches with the next guard who manned up and realized what was what. -Itâs gotta be a let down to be keyed up for a nice orgy in the woods only to end up having to play guard again. Gale wanted to manage to kill one before he got shot, thatâs all he really wanted anymore.
And for the girl to get out, for all the girls to get out wherever they were.
He was grappling with the closest one, the guy nearest the flap who almost managed to give chase to her right away, when he felt something that gave him a chill of horror he never expected. Rope; he registered it slipping down his chin, making him let go of his opponent to try to slip his fingers between the twine and his collared throat -too late. He felt himself bodily yanked back, a burn in his throat all consuming and the sudden deprivation of air turning him into a desperate mess, nothing useful about his scuffing feet and clawing hands.
They were giving orders to go after her, and two men were scrambling out the back as Gale began to sag. From his new position gasping on the floor, Gale could see that they had a gun to Bennyâs gut, while the gunner kid hadnât needed such firmness, he was braced at the back of the truck in absolute terror.
Well this was over faster than desired but -to be expected. Fuck.
âHalt.â Cleven felt the sergeantâs boot kick at the side of his head, emphasizing his order to cease his struggles.
World grew fuzzy then, not at all like drowsy sleepiness in a hammock but instead like being caught in the river current when you thought youâd managed to strike the ford just right. Galeâs pulse thudded between his temples like the blows of a sledgehammer on his skull, his lungs burned, the cuts on his cheeks blared their pain like screaming infants demanding to be heard above the rest of the pain and terror and fury. He could taste the blood gushing out of them from the pressure, the cuts spurted and dribbled down into his already choking mouth.
What a way to go.
He felt cold air, he felt himself drug and a painful drop to what was likely muddy ground, felt himself dragged some more and his own finger -wedged between the rope and his throat- hurt him worst of all, that knuckle digging into his windpipe.
When some slack finally came, it was minimal, only enough for his body to heave and gag and try to force air into collapsed pipes, enough for sounds of cries and shots and clanking metal to flood into his consciousness. He was either at heavenâs gate or on the cold hard ground at eye level with the beaming jeep headlights -that would explain the blinding glow in his vision.
Or else, heaven wasnât half what it was cracked up to be.
Someone or a few someoneâs, were standing over him and he could see then that he was tied by the makeshift noose to the trailer hitch of the truck, tarp flaps widened far above him like stage drapes. Was Benny still alive in there?
âMaybe you defend her because you too are female?â One guard suggested while prodding at his crotch with a boot, and that made Galeâs frozen, sluggish, oxygen deprived blood begin to pound. âHĂŒbsch.â they complimented him repeatedly -pretty, so very pretty. Too pretty for a man. âWe should check, ja?â
He spared one single hope, that Benny wasnât watching. He didnât hope they wouldnât act on their threats, and he hadnât any hope left that he could actually save Sanchez from what they were even now wrestling her to the ground for. But it felt worsened somehow at the idea of his co-pilot seeing him this way, he yanked his head against the noose and regretted it after. The constriction made his eyes burn, and all his efforts were once again concentrated on grappling with his breathing as they tugged at his clothes and made sport of discovering he was not, in fact, lying about being male.
They laughed, they touched, they said he was some mistake. A face like that had no business owning a cock. He wished he knew less German, in fact he knew little but there are kindnesses and there are cruelties that need no articulation to be understood.
The earth beside him, the mud beneath Sanchezâs hands, was tilled up from her nails, like furrows for planting and her face was so near his when they threw her down, he could make out the spit and blood on her lips.
âShould I?â One was saying and they had their knife out, Galeâs panicked mind had a generous moment of hope that they would cut the rope, that he would soon be able to breathe again. Or else his throat, and heâd not breathe anymore. Both sounded perfect.
They cut open his flight suit instead, a hand heavy on the back of his head, turning him fully over, and then there was the feeling of a warm and sweaty body beginning to roll on top of him.
The mud was cold beneath his cheek, smooth on the forest floor, none of the rough gravel of that endless road, only mud and pine needles sticking to his face now, their knobby little ends roughing up the older wound on his cheek. Every time the guard pushed closer, it scraped him -that blade to his other cheek. The metal tip glittered in the periphery of his one good eye, shining from the headlights.
Sanchez had begun to scream.
Hoarse, wounded, fox like.
It felt very much like a demented dream, even down to the hunterâs attitude above him, the grunts, the prey-like waiting for the lethal blow. He wasnât sure how long he had floated with only her wounded cries as a grounding agent when he felt a splatter against his lower back and consciousness came back with a heave of his chest and a revolt so strong he fought again against the noose. Predictably, it only tightened. There was cold on his skin then, when the man drew away, fresh night breezes mocking the mess heâd made of Gale, kerosene and exhaust fumes ruining the smell of soil beneath him. Then the heat was back, someone else draped over him, and Gale dug his fingers into the earth too, readying for what the other had spared him. It didnât matter, if they tired themselves out with him, that was one less -now two less- to use her instead. There had been only five.
This one flipped him over, Gale went easily, both hands occupied straining to get even a finger between the asphyxiating pressure of the rope and his throat.
âHe is easier now.â he heard the man laughing, foggy, hazy, unfairly. âThe bitch has gone quiet, maybe he will make music, huh?â
Gale frantically turned his head to seek her out, desperate to find her alive -she couldnât be dead. Not just from this, surely not, what could they do to kill her?-but his own vision was spotting and his throat spasmed in protest. They surely could kill them this way, they could do anything they wanted because they could kill them. And no one would ever hold them to account.
His poor girls. What were they doing to his poor girls?
It burned enough to jolt him awake again, both the forceful entry and the smack to his cut cheek. They wanted him awake, aware, he refused to look at them. This was reminiscent, bright lights and unwanted hands and all but the carnival music missing. He kept staring to the side at her, and at her face, at the way the headlights lit them both up like a carnival spectacle and cast the shadows of their tormentors in looming, grotesque proportions against the treeline. She had her eyes closed, face almost suffocated in the soil, balled fist growing lax beside his own, just out of reach. She didnât even react when the next replaced the other. There were only five, Gale repeated to himself, there were only five.
No, no, no.
âSmith,â he begged her, âSmith donât fuckinâ give up on me now.â
His poor girls.
Galeâs own voice made him cringe, how hoarse it was, how young, what a beg it sounded like, how punctuated each word was with the winding pain of a fresh thrust. But her eyes flew open at his call.
Sanchez, her name was Sanchez, he reminded himself. And Smith was with Ida, probably throwing the ball at the flack house after making it back from Breman. She had to be. He didnât want to live in a world where Lu felt what he felt now as the man shuddered inside him, used him like a skein, a shell, a vessel, hot breath stinging at his cuts.
âStay with me Sanchez.â he muttered, wondering if he had it in him to do the same. He didnât have the luxury of ignoring his tormenter any longer, he felt his face gripped and turned, cuts smarting beneath calloused fingertips, cheeks being squished like Bucky used to do in play. The yeasty splatter spit landing on his own tongue was somehow more revolting than all the rest. He gagged, he struggled, his body was on fire.
Smith was screaming again.
There were only five.
He refused to remember more until there was a sudden absence of the heat and the breath and the tearing pain, and if he wasnât so drugged on misery he might have thought everyone seemed a little rushed at the end. Not how he expected them to be with all the time in the world to wipe their pricks, close their pants, pull out a pistol and deliver a headshot. One apiece here in the mud. See ya there, Benny, he thought dismally, not bothering to open his eyes.
But then there were sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines and the white bright glow behind his eyelids grew in intensity until he realized -in a fumbled state of what felt like being redressed- that someone else had pulled up to this horror show. Thereâd only been five and now- now, oh fuck, he didnât think he could, no, no, no, he yanked at his noose, half hoping to strangle himself or at least be caught fighting this.
If he didnât know much German when lucid and keen, he certainly wasnât adept at deciphering the angry babble above him when half dead, half uncaring about listening for an order to flip him over for the next or to blow his brains out. No, no he was far away in the Silver Wings and Maureenâs boot was dug into his shoulder as she turned himself and Egan into scaffolding, all to smoke the clubâs ceiling with testament of their survival for their 20th. No big bash like for 25 but it had been a milestone, as terrifyingly hopeful as it had been all too fortunate. Heâd seen her cry for the first time that night, hands shaking, admitting she felt in her bones theyâd not be lucky, that sheâd never really thought about this part, not when she joined up, about getting so close and now she wanted to see it through she was sick to death of the idea of seeing it though being a fiery death. Well, Gale knew now sheâd managed to jump, sheâd not known fire.
But what else, oh what else?
Next time Cleven woke he was face down on the same old bench seat from hours before, burning ribs nothing compared to the lapping flames below his waist. The truck beneath him was moving and his cut face was only partially gentled by the feel of someoneâs meaty thigh beneath him. Horrified, he startled up, hating the idea of being someoneâs pet after-
-but it was Benny, looking busted as hell but alive and holding onto him lest he jolt off the bench with the next pothole. As far as he could feel, Gale had his clothes on, muddy and cold and it was daylight and they were moving. A guard he didnât recognize was on the opposite bench near the flaps, watching them curiously with a rifle slung easily over his lap. He had wings on his lapel.
Sanchez was sat as far from him as possible near the front of the truck, alive and looking for all the world like she might kill the sniffling and unharmed gunner on the floor.
âLuftwaffe.â Benny informed him and Gale winced at their good fortune before giving his friend a pat and letting the sludge of insensibility take over again.
ââââââââââââââââ
âWhat was done to you: I am horrified.â Lt. Hausmannâs eyes were warm but his smile was cold, as cold as the holding cells, an odd dichotomy, opposite to most but not foreign to Gale. âI have heard they had intentions to hang you, yes? You, a prisoner of war. An officer. Horrifying, base, cowardly, I can only apologize for my countrymenâs attitude, they will be held to account. Was there anything else? I shall make a note. Are you well? Was there anything else?â
âThere was a fighter pilot with me.â Cleven did not miss the eagerness in the manâs body language when he let loose his voice at last, hoarse from the rope and suppression of his cries. Heâd been sat at this frigid desk with its proffered whiskey and smokes for half an hour already. âShe was brutally raped, Lieutenant. And it is my understanding she is under Luftwaffe command now. Held here. Iâd like you to make note of both, treat her accordingly.â
âAppalling.â Haussmann insisted, pen scritching away at his pad, âNoted, I-i will see that they are brought to account. Appalling. And you, Major, were you treated well? Besides your throat, I mean. Satisfactory? Honorably? I will make a note.â
The gnawed and broken thumbnail heâd bitten off hours ago slipped from between Galeâs molars. His teeth grated against each other for a split second. It was the only sound that filled the room. Thereâd been only five.
He passed Benny in the hall when they drug him back to his cell. But he never saw Sanchez again.
âââââââââââââââ-
He didnât see Sanchez again, not until a month later when she came with Smith. And all the others. Not until after a month of a John Brady biting through his lips with well placed anxiety over the absence of their female fellows. A month of Gale acting like he actually thought they were alright. As far as he knew, the boyâs sister was fine. Until she came through that gate, head shorn, cheek disfigured, half her buttons missing and a look in her eye that was half fury, half woe.
He was angry for Ida, but she didnât belong trapped in a dog run with all these men. So Gale protested.
âIf it can happen to you-â John Brady had the gall to suggest at the gate, to suggest something Cleven had never confirmed. But Brady was like that, and Cleven had stopped his fight against the girls' inclusion all the same. Perhaps his fight had been less about the rules being broken, and more at the idea of having to see any more of their mistreatment, being witness to it, his rank proving useless once more. Never again. Not if he had to barter the golden gates for their safety.
âââââââââââââââ--
âYou ok?â Cleven asked Brady on the second day after their arrival as he counted out the syringes on the rough hewn table, one by one. He didnât doubt the kidâs promise to get the supplies but instead the stalag doctorâs elusive provisions and willingness to comply. But sure enough, there was one for each of the girls, and a spare.
Brady gave him a tight lipped nod before expounding, âSunnuvbitch wouldnât dish on the iodine, I could see the damn relief package right there behind him but -no swabs. Dry stab. I guess.â
âItâs ok.â Cleven insisted, eyeing him still; he had his coat bundled about him even indoors but the buttons of his shirt beneath were redone, Gale knew that because they skipped one and started again wonky, wrong buttonhole, twice over. Like theyâd been redone in haste. It hadnât been that way when he left. âThese are what we need.â he glanced up from his task at Hambone who was animatedly informing Benny of his visit.
Cleven had tried at subtlety, listening in with discretion but he couldnât help it anymore, too curious himself. âYou went with him, yeah?â
âYes sir.â Hambone gestured to his newly smoothe cheek, stitches gone.
âSo, whatâs he like? The doc?â
Hamilton gave a signature sneer, âWeird as fuck and a little weirder than that. Wouldnât fuckinâ shut up.â
âYeah? What about?â
âYeah!â Hamilton insisted, pissed off by it apparently, âOn and on about psy- psycho -sam-â
âpsychosomatic.â Brady rescued him boredly.
â-reflexes and shit. On and on. Just want the stitches out, ya know?â
âYeah.â Cleven agreed. Waiting for the shoe to drop. He stared at the extra shot, his stomach curdling. âJust want some shots.â he added, eyes drifting up to land on Brady and his sightless stare at the opposite wall that bunked his motionless sister.
âYeah, that was a whole other debacle.â
âOh?â Cleven prodded, the picture of nonchalance as he started to divide the shots into groupings. He was seeing things, he was projecting, he was doing what Egan told him not to ever do -assume what has been is now what is. What heâs experienced is what everyone else has. He knew that deep down, but there was a brittle bravery to Jack Brady these days that reminded Gale too much of his own fraudulent brand of survival.
âHammy itâs- how about you leave off.â Brady muttured. âDonât bother the major with it.â
âWeird as fuck.â Hambone confirmed stubbornly.
âIâm the one who asked you if you thought he was weird.â Brady corrected, irritated enough by impression to continue.
âAnd it was! I said he was.â
âIâve been telling you guys.â When Brady said it, it was without heat. âHim and his stupid little hammers.â
âYeah what was all the hammering for?â
âReflexes, Hammy. Psychosomatic.â
âWeird as fuck.â
Gale bit his tongue so hard he hoped it cleared his head before daring, âHe make you take your shirt off for it?â
There was a pause in the slapping sounds of the card game ongoing behind him, Kendeigh and Demarco and Crank all freezing at the question.
âHe keeps checking the shoulder.â Brady finally said, it was admittance enough.
âAnd the fuckinâ knee.â Hambone chipped in.
He shrugged, meeting Clevenâs eyes stubbornly, âHeâs obsessed with reflexes.â
âYou hurt your knee landing?â
Bradyâs flat line of a mouth tugged up wryly, his eyes flitted over to his sister's motionless form. âA tad. Uh, the shots sir, he said they go in the hip. Didn't have the pamphlets, no instructions.
âI remember.â Gale had some knowledge of it, theyâd all gotten a few vaccines in training, and he knew enough to ask for them in the first place, to help with whatever the poor girls might have contracted. His own eyes skittered to Kendeigh who sat at the table, making a poor show of holding her deck of cards. âWell, you first?â he pleaded.
She looked a little cross but she didnât fight him, she rose from the table with stern imprecations on anyone skipping over her turn and cast about for a place. Gale put his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to a corner by the bunks, it was really all the privacy he had to give.
âYouâll have to undo my belt, Ida had to do it up-â she flashed her swollen hands again, â-my hands.â
âI got you.â he whispered, gently reaching around and loosening the belt so that her borrowed trousers sagged enough for him to get at the meat of her hip.
Johnny was rolling Ida over in their bunk beside him, and Gale wasnât sure who should give Ida her shot but he supposed her brother was the best candidate. Much as he hated the boy having to. But, perhaps, it wasnât the worst thing he had to do tonight, and that made Galeâs stomach sour. He willed his hands to steadiness and undid the cap off the needle.
âJesus Christ.â Johnny was suddenly exclaiming, hoarse and infuriated, Gale glanced aside and saw the boy had uncovered a hip alright, with his usual meticulous precision, and still, there wasnât a spot of skin on Ida not green or else blue or else near to black. Gale stared back at Maureen and the jagged little scratches on her hip, crescent moon ditches, the blooming bruise here and there and swore not to count his blessings.
What did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing about any of them really. Except he knew such injuries didnât have to show to hurt like hell. He drove the shot home with merciful force, squeezed in the stinging contents and retracted it, smooth and fast as anything.
âHell, fuck, damn! Son of a carpet wearing Methodist-â Maureen hopped around on her one good leg in barely contained frenzy at the sting.
Gale tried not to smile, âBad huh?â
She scowled back at him in between pained giggles, âIf I could give yours just for pay back, I would. Damn!â she held her hands up up once more and Cleven kept his eyes above, âBut I canât, sorry, canât help with the other girls either, fucking useless.â
Johnny was standing, straightened up again, syringe empty, sister still just lying there. Bucky Egan out cold beside her. Gale couldnât even allow himself to question if those two would be alright. They had to be, he didnât think he could make it without them, make everyone else make it along with him. âShe didnât even budge.â Jack muttered.
What was there to say to that?
âShe didnât make it all the way here just to fuckinâ die.â Kendeigh assured him while straddling her chair again, voicing her peculiar brand of kindness and her true opinion on Ida Brady, âSheâd never be so wet. They had a whole day to kill her on that train and they didnât manage to.â
A day? A train? Gale didnât know what to make of it; he was just glad that Bucky was dead to the world for now and not getting riled again by every new tidbit so that Gale would have to talk him down and also administer shots to a bunch of traumatized women.
âWeâll help sir.â Crank offered to him as he stood over the divided piles of syringes again.
âAlright,â Gale agreed, âbut some may wanna give it to each other instead, you let them. Give âem space. I donât think theyâll fight it, they know they need âem.â
Benny sauntered up beside him, flicking at the supplies, âThis one yours, Buck?â he asked casually, fiddling with the spare.
Gale glanced at Brady and found him looking back at him. âYeah.â He told Benny. âFor the cuts.â
âHere, let me-â Benny was already at it. Gale tugged his waistband down to assist, just enough to expose a sliver of pale hip and leaned a little over the table, there were bruises on his hipbones, he knew, but they could be from anything.
It did sting like hell.
âAlright you take those, and thatâs enough for, yeah-â Gale divided the supplies to each man, lingered just a moment as they went into the hall to brush by Brady, and murmured to him him lowly, âThat was real thoughtful, thanks. You need one?â
To the credit of his poker face, the boy didnât startle a bit, except for an infinitesimal flutter of an eyelid. âNo sir?â he asked as if that were an idiotic question.
It was the only way Gale knew to ask him: to ask about something more. -Tell me son, just tell me you need a shot and Iâll know Iâm not imagining shit. That Iâve not become paranoid and irritable and callous, too.
But then, âNo sir?â and that incredulous face that left even the strongest man feeling like a dunce.
Well, that was it.
âIâll help you tell them.â Maureen was by his side suddenly and Gale appreciated that, Smith was the only other female Lieutenant and he could use Kendeighâs unapologetic pragmatism. âIda told them sheâd ask for remedies. Think she meant for pregnancies but, this is a start.â
There really wasnât much of an announcement to be made; who didnât understand what penicillin was needed for? It was needed for the dreaded thing that was hung over every bathroom stall door at canteens and on the underground in London, warning of having too good of a time and catching something. No one needed explanations, even though Gale watched their faces as Kendeigh announced and helped distribute the shots one room after another, he was trying to detect if any were hesitant or unconvinced. He found none.
He did find Sanchez, across one identical wooden room and still in her jacket with the eagle patch. She must have washed her face with the others, the mud was gone. When they locked eyes he saw a hard and warning look harden her eyes further; it made his cheek throb. Stonefaced, she broke the stare after a moment and advanced to grab her allotment, even as her fingers dragged along his palm, even when she passed him, Gale could not get her to resume it.
In one of the last rooms he went in alone -Maureen was delayed with one of the girls doing poorly, one who was not well enough to rise from her bunk. âThey about drowned herâ Maureen told him casually, and that was something else he dreaded learning about.
âDrowned?â heâd repeated a bit dumbly, and he deserved her
annoyed face.
âTo get info from us.â
âUs?â he repeated again, low and slow, âYou too?â
She gave him another of those looks before nodding at the last parcel in his hand, âGo take care of Smithâs girls before Johnny gets to them first and helps them with all the tenderness of a mortician.â
When Gale had stepped back into the hallway, Johnnyâs voice could be heard still two doors down with Benny, fighting a fine line between helping and making themselves scarce. Personally, Gale felt Johnny was a gentle fucker when he needed to be. This wasnât one of those cases, none of the girls wanted pity from them. Or acknowledgement even, judging by Sanchezâs cautioning venom.
In the last room, Smith and Tong had the girls sorted efficiently, and it was a little thing to ask the ever obliging Graham and the other men to step out briefly. Same old script here as before, Gale felt in a numb sort of loathing for his lack of originality -he distributed a shot a piece and apologized for the lack of iodine to sterilize the injection site and they all assured him it was fine, and everyone knew he was apologizing for far more than the lack of iodine and they knew that theyâre assurances were more than about it either. Gale liked these girls for how well they knuckled under, it had made them pretty great in the crews after a shaky mission. They shoved a bad thing down as well as the next man, and if they punched their bed frames at night or cried in the showers, just like how it was for his men, that wasnât Galeâs concern.
Only Lu Smithâs face went off script when he pressed the needle and its cartridge in her hand, something besides tight lipped thanks or a nod of efficient understanding. There were questions in her eyes, dancing slow and swirly and blatant as sorghum specks in molasses. A rich dark pool of uncertainty. Some girls were already discreetly headed for corners of the room to make the stab or else rolling up a shirt sleeve and insisting to the giver that they wanted it given there. Lu glanced away from him only to watch these proceedings with something like fear and then she was looking back at him, a hesitant plea written on her face. He didnât know she was scared of needles.
âMajor, is Ida awake?â his lieutenant asked, voice scratchy and a little closed, like how it got when she tried her hand at professionality or had to present a solution in front of a crowd. âI need to ask her something.â
That was a remarkably vague sentence, not at all professional. âNo, sheâs not.â He told her, watching as the fear grew more pronounced around her mouth and chin, âYou ask me, Lieutenant.â
âMay I?â
âCourse,â Gale nodded his head toward the door, âstep out here.â
He strode down to the very end of the combine, by the locked double doors, just far enough away from the windows not to invite a guard to come in and give them shit about it. The bright orange lights of the camp came in from the general darkness outside, glowing through the always dusty glass and making Smithâs skin shine a pretty bronze, even with the dark spots on her chin. Those made his blood thud quicker. It was quiet down here, as private as he could get.
âWhatâs up Smith?â he urged.
âIâm sorry sir I-Iâve got a few questions.â
âTold you to ask, Lieutenant.â Gale reminded, âSo ask.â
âYes sir.â Sheâd developed a tick since heâd last seen her, an odd sort of hugging of herself, arm crossing her chest and hand gripping her opposite clavicle, fingertips curling just over her own shoulder. âItâs about the shots. Idaâs been teaching me but she never mentioned about those.â
Gale took a deep breath, only the faintest bit of mirth left at the reminder of the âcondom balloonâ incident. Ida had needed a stiff drink after taking her engineer aside and informing âLittle Luâ those were rubber socks men put on their members, and not in fact balloons. And yes, Benny had lied out of niceness, and yes menâs bodies sprayed things like cattleâs did when they got excited, and yes itâs for the purpose of making babies. Gale had heard all this from Ida after three stiff shots sheâd downed like medicine, sheâd relayed it in a perfect montone and Gale had not asked but she told him all the same, then said she needed to hit the sack and Ida Brady was gone while Gale remained at the bar with his cider and shaking shoulders. The memory had been amusing only weeks ago, when Douglass came to loot Bennyâs footlocker for more rubbers and theyâd all made a joke about Smith having beat him to them -for balloons.
âEveryone else seems to know and want them and Iâm the slow one again.â Smith was muttering, a petulant look of annoyance crossing her young face, angry at herself.
âItâs about the guards.â Gale murmured.
Smith looked so hurt by that he wasnât sure where heâd misstepped, but then, âIs it for what they did? Or is it such a sure theyâre gonna keep hurting us and these- how do these help, sir?â
Gale startled and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder out of pure, gut instinct to impress on her his next words, âNot a single thing is goinâ to happen to you again, not like that, you hear me, Lu?â he shook her a little and it dislodged her own hand from her chest.
âYes sir.â
âThese are for anything you mightâve caught.â he tried to explain, coming up short and he knew it. If Bucky were here heâd use all manner of crass slang and common vernacular phrases to jog the poor girlâs memory about magazine advertisements, the sorts that warned of âdiseasesâ, the underground posters and the bathroom stall flyers urging chastity or safety. Gale could not manage it back then and he couldnât now. âDiseases Lu.â he tried again, âMen who arenât- careful, or- disciplined, they, they spread diseases to the girl theyâre with. Uh, with- intimately. If theyâve been with other girls before.â
He hoped to God that Ida had used the word âintimateâ when educating Smith on these finer yet so utterly crude aspects of human interaction. âIntimateâ seemed like a word Ida Brady would use, he thought he recalled her accusing him of being intimate with Kendeigh. Maybe the accusation had been âfraternizingâ. Or âgetting familiarâ. Gale wasnât sure, he only recalled that it had not been complementary and he had blushed into the floor under her stare but her accusation had been vague. He knew Ida had been vague.
Was she equally vague with Smith? Did that mean Smith was as uneducated as sheâd been before Ida gave her an ineffectually Catholic lesson?
âThey can spread it with-â Smith paused only a minute before deciding to trust him, â-with their bodies? Like a wound?â
Gale gave her nod, trying to stay teacherly, âWith their bodies. Yeah. They donât need wounds it comes from- well, other places. Intimate places they- look, Smith if you werenât hurt that way, you donât need the shots.â
Grueling as this conversation was, nerve wracking as her dense innocence could be, it fed that traitorous bit of hope heâd been harboring since he lost all hope for himself that she mightâve been alright. It wasnât fair to Kendiegh or Ida or Sanchez or any of the others to hope for that, but none of this was fair anyway. Maybe her lack of comprehension was a kindness.
Smithâs eyes were latching onto one surrounding thing and then another, a good long beat between each new object, not darting but roving, now latched on the doorframe and now on Galeâs coat buttons and then on to the glass window panes beside them as if she could see through the bubbled glass out into the dark yard. He could tell by her change in breathing more than the light when she began to cry.
âI didnât want the girls to think Iâm stupid.â She admitted, and she was definitely crying, âIâm their officer, I should know these things.â she explained, lips going into a full tremble, all the harmless jokes of before suddenly not a bit funny, âBut I donât know at all, I didnât know theyâd-â Gale kept his hand on her now jolting shoulder, spending a little too much time thinking how to mould his own face to some correct expression for this as she began to crumble, it was better than watching too closely as she broke apart, âWhen they beat us and put the bags over our faces I- I expected it. It wasnât right, we werenât treated like prisoners but, I expected it. Ida had told us. Then they started saying things to her, the ones that could speak English and I-i really didnât know what they meant, not at first until they started- oh Major, they, they started touching her, like lovers in a movie.â
Lu had her eyes squeezed shut like that would get the image out somehow, one brief flash and Gale could remember everything about laying there and seeing Sanchezâs face -and he knew nothing wiped the image out. âThey had her chained to a bar and they kept doing that,â she went on, âIt was over her head, the bar was over her head and I could tell how much she hated it, and she couldnât do anything and they werenât hurting her anymore, they were- they were touching her. They stopped beating her and started touching her, sir and I- thatâs when I realized that, there could be something worse. They wanted us to start giving up ranks, and they kept doing that until we did and I wanted to give up then more than any time else. Just to make them stop doing that to her.â
Gale squeezed her shoulder and she jerked under it but cried afresh, she stayed still next to him and just kept crying. âSmith, right here and now I need to know if youâre alright.â he steered her away from memories back to now, as gently as he could, âIda is gonna be alright, and sheâs proud of you, and she expects you to take care of her girls, you hear me? And I need you well for that, Lu. I need to know if youâve been hurt.â
Smith pulled herself back into a shaky composure, her neck still trembling so badly her head made tiny little jerks from time to time. âThey did hurt me.â she agreed.
âHurt you where you need these shots?â he gently clarified, hoping she was catching on, dreading the confirmation all the same.
âThey put -they kept putting themselves inside me.â she got it out, her face dazed like she still didnât understand it even as her voice cracked from a soul deep knowledge of the wrong done, âI didnât know they could- they could use their bodies like that. I didnât know. They kept doing it.â
-There had been only five.- Gale felt his belly lurch, some bowel deep memory of the same torture taking over him, like a haunting he couldnât prevent. Heâd thought he had it locked far down enough, hardly thought on it these days, but maybe heâd shoved it down to where it hurt in the first place, with his belly in knots all again and Sanchezâs cold face sneering and Bennyâs worried eyes making his stomach shake and salt flood his mouth. He wanted to vomit.
âOh Lu.â he muttered ineffectually, âCâmere.â and he had her hugged and cradled to his ratty jacket before his ingrained and temperate habits could interfere. He had her turned to the doors, her sobbing eyes pressed into his sweaty layers and it was better that way. With his lips pressed to the crown of her head he watched the rest of the hallway go on without them, men going back into the rooms once the shots had been administered, Benny darting into one with a bucket in hand. Gale saw Brady as Brady saw him, only making a small pause in his stride as he watched Gale hold Smith before he turned away, face still a blank slate, the boy went back to his sister.
Maybe if Gale had been closer or the hallway brighter he mightâve seen the same hurt and tears there as he and Smith were sharing, but Brady wasnât close and he wouldnât say and maybe Gale was a fool to think his own experience wasnât a fluke. But Brady just went back to Ida, and Gale still felt the damning weight of the shot in his palm even as he hugged Smithâs narrow shoulders.
His own hip still smarted from the injection, -the shot for his cuts. Just his cuts.
âIâm sorry sir.â Smith was trying to say in between sobs, no doubt finding her emotions galling in the face of her prized professionalism.
âDonât be.â
âIâm sorry, Iâll be fine-â
âI know.â
âIâll be fine i just, I didnât know-â
âI know, Lu.â
âIt hurt so much.â
âI know.â
She pulled her face away, he was glad to see that while it was puffy and reddened, she looked far calmer. The suddenness of her recovery should have warned him. âDo you sir?â she whispered, pained.
âWhat?â
âDo you know, sir?â she asked again, harmless yet intent, âDid they hurt you that way too?â
Gale felt a rush of heat, heat and numbness where his hands fell from their grip on her and shook by his sides instead, and he hated his limbs for that betrayal. Heat, like she could see it so clearly on his face, like the harmless cuts on his face really spelled it out. Everyoneâs suspicion of them put him on edge, wondering what was wrong with his bearing, his walk, the way he took a seat, that somehow exposed him. With her dark, pitying, horrified little face staring up at him, he felt like he was back on the bench with Benny holding him there, knowing most likely why he had to lay on his belly and not his back.
âSmith you canât-â Gale sounded young again and he hated it, when he was ready he began again, and this time he sounded like Major Cleven, â-donât ever say shit like that again, alright? You canât say shit like that. Not about- men. Not about me.â
She looked affronted and close to tears again, but his tone couldnât be helped, last thing this stalag needed was news their Major had been so easily overcome. âI was just asking sir-â
âNot something you ask a man.â he informed her. âLike ya said, thereâs lot of things you donât know, itâs alright. But you donât ask that, Smith.â
Harsh but necessary, he told himself again. Except she looked less hurt now and closer to something like anger, if her kind self could be angry. Heâd seen her get angry when someone kicked a dog once. Heâd seen her angry after a shit mission. She looked close to it now, like some grave injustice was firing her up. âBut it can happen to men.â she was suddenly wise and he picked a cuticle bloody in trance-like distress, his face was motionless, âI know because they- they can put themselves both places.â
Fury took the place of numbness in his being and he grabbed her again, pulling her close and tucking her under his chin, she made a wounded noise when their chests collided despite the layers, but she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. âTheyâre never gonna do that again, Lu, never again. Iâm gonna make sure of it. Buckyâll make sure of it.â he swore, his voice gone so low it shook. âThey hurt you other places?â
Smith shook her head against his chest, âIâll take the shot, sir.â she murmured meekly. âWould you give it? I donât want the others to-â
âSure, Lu.â
He waited until she pulled away, her eyes downcast but the look on her face broke no argument that she wasnât in a humor to be less than her rank. Gale shifted the shot in his palm and bit his lip, willing away any sentiment about it.
âGoes in the hip. Mark my words, those bicep shots that Tong went for- gonna hurt for ages, you donât need that. Lemme put it in your hip.â
Smith nodded and cast a furtive glance behind her at the empty hall, only looking down again to undo her belt when Gale moved his body to block any hapless onlooker.
There were bruises when he gently aided her in tugging the drab olive aside, some nearly as dark as the ones on Ida and welts from what looked like a belt strap, even on the high swell of her hip. Gale knew the smarting bite of a belting.
âDid you wash these?â he whispered to her, crouching to better see his work as he made a harbor of unmarried muscle between his thumb and index finger, bunching up the meat of her leg and holding it for her to relax into his touch before he jammed the shot home.
âWhen we showered.â Lu wasnât crying anymore but her voice matched his in its softness, tense anticipation for the jab mellowing the longer he kept her staid under his hold.
âGood.â he commended her, voice muffled by the needlesâ cap between his lips.
She only stiffened when he drove it in, pressed down on the plunger with his thumb, kept his hand gripping her hip, shaking the muscle just so, âLoosen up.â he ordered, it would hurt less that way. Cleven heard her take a breath and try.
When he stood straight again he took the cap from his mouth and clicked it back on the needle, acting like it took great concentration and focus to do so, all while she pulled her trousers back up and refastened them discreetly. Her cheeks were wet once more, either from before or sheâd begun crying again.
âYou ok?â he asked.
She gave him a long series of nods as she got on top of the embarrassed anger. âYes, thanks Buck.â
âIâm right down there.â he reminded, thumbing at his own quarters. âYou feel the least bit sickly or- or anything, you come get me. Same for your girls.â
âYes sir.â
âAlright, well get in there Lu,â he patted her toward her room, âone thing the krauts are picky about here is bedtime.â
Smith sucked in a breath between her teeth, a shuddering thing, âAlright, Iâll remember. Bedtime.â
âSo youâre gonna remember bedtime and what else?â Gale catchized her.
âBedtime and thatâŠyouâre -right down there.â
âVery good, Smith.â
âNight, Buck.â
âNight, Lu.â
đ Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writerâs lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is âtoo dumbâ. Your thoughts mean the world to me.
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#masters of the air#those who can#mota#mota fanfic#mota fanfiction#Gale Cleven fanfic#Buck Cleven fanfic#gale cleven
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BG3 Fanfiction Statistics, Part 1
Iâve seen some discussions of BG3 fandom trends floating around tumblr that spoke from experience but lacked hard data to refer to. As a fan of Baldurâs Gate 3, fanfiction, and graphs, I therefore thought it would be neat and illustrative to go through AO3 and document some of the statistics this fandom.
I did a similar exercise back in January and posted the results here. However, I was a bit unhappy with this analysis â it was missing some data that I consider to be relevant, I didnât end up discussing the results much, and I only posted it to reddit. Most discussions for the creative side of fandom seem to happen on tumblr, so I made this account to post it here.
I will try and be as transparent as possible when discussing how I obtained and processed this data. A copy of my spreadsheet can be found here and contains all of the data I will be discussing. Most of the data I feature in this essay will be presented as graphs. Below each graph I will discuss the patterns shown in the graph and provide what I believe to be some relevant and/or interesting number values. If you want to see all the numbers, please refer to my spreadsheet. If you donât care about the numbers and/or my thoughts about them, feel free to skim through and just look at the charts!
A note before I start â I gathered this data between July 21, 2024 and July 24, 2024. It is out of date as of my writing this and will be even more out of date by the time you read it. However, I believe the general fandom trends will hold up over time â the same patterns that I observed in January are largely still present in July.
Due to the tumblr post image limit and my preponderance of graphs, I will be breaking this behemoth of an essay into two parts:
General Fandom Statistics, the Player Character, and the Women
The Men, a Character Comparison, and a Pairing Analysis
We are currently in part 1. Part 2 can be found at this link. The rest of part 1 is below the read more because this is very long.
GENERAL FANDOM STATS
This information was found by looking at the side bar when browsing Baldurâs Gate fics. Therefore, this data set includes fics from the previous two Baldurâs Gate games. However, given that the games were released in 1998 and 2000, respectively, most of the fanfiction for them was likely posted to FF.net and the error from including what little fic for them was posted to AO3 is likely small.
At the time of my data gathering, there were 31,043 Baldurâs Gate fics on AO3.
RATINGS
To the surprise of nobody in the BG3 fandom, Explicit fic is the largest category, at 38% of all fics produced. Itâs followed by Mature (24%), Teen and Up (20%), General (12%) and Not Rated (6%). Not all of the Explicit and Mature fics are necessarily horny â those warnings also apply to extreme violence (hello, Dark Urge). But letâs be real, most of them are tagged that way for sex.
WARNINGS
Speaking of extreme violence, letâs take a look at the warnings used for fics in this fandom.
Just about half (50.2%) of BG fics have no warnings at all. About 17.6% have warnings for graphic depictions of violence â lower than I would have expected, honestly, for a video game that features as much murder as this one does (at least, how I play it...). About 5.4% of fics feature a warning for rape, 4.7% feature major character death, and 0.5% feature underage sex.
CATEGORIES
AO3 allows users to select any categories from a list of possible options (F/M, M/M, F/F, Gen, Other, and Multi). F/M, M/M, and F/F are pretty self explanatory, Gen fics donât focus on a relationship, Multi fics focus on a relationship between three or more people, and Other is a catch all for fics that donât fit into any of the previous categories very well. For shipping with nonbinary (NB) characters, I have seen a variety of approaches. Some people select the category closest to the NB characterâs presentation, some select multiple categories, and some select Other.
One very useful tool that I will be introducing here is the use of âotp:true.â When âotp:trueâ is entered into the âSearch within resultsâ bar while filtering tags, AO3 will only return fics that have just one pairing tagged. This filters out all fics that have background pairings or multiple focus pairings. Results with âotp:trueâ are typically solely focused on that particular pairing.
With all that explanation out of the way, the results:
We can clearly see that the most common category for Baldurâs Gate fics is M/F, with 43.3% of all fics featuring a M/F pairing. 36.4% of all fics feature a M/M pairing, 10.6% feature a F/F pairing, 11.7% are more General, 8.0% feature Multiple people in a pairing, and 10.9% are Other. These percentages add up to more than 100% because a fic can be tagged with multiple categories.
Things change a bit when you filter for âotp:trueâ and only include fics that focus on just one pairing. In this case, M/M predominates, with a whopping 46.0% of fics. M/F follows with 31.2%, F/F with 11.1%, 7.7% are General, 9.7% are Other, and 3.0% are still tagged as Multi (presumably for fics where the only pairing is a threesome or such).
CHARACTERS
As a last look at more general content before I begin a deep dive into looking at the various characters, I took a look at the 30 most popular character tags.
This was a surprise to me the first time I looked at it in January. In the previous two video game fandoms I was in that had a player character (Mass Effect and Fire Emblem: Three Houses), the player character was the most popular character tag in that fandom. In this case, though, Astarion has the most fics that feature him, and by a pretty significant margin (~5,000 more fics than Tav). He appears in 63.0% of fics. Tav is next, at 46.7% of fics. Then we have the rest of the six Origin characters: Gale (34.5% of fics), Shadowheart (23.7%), Karlach (20.5%), Wyll (18.6%), and Laeâzel (15.9%), as well as Halsin (15.8%) and the Dark Urge (15.3%). That they all are next to each other makes sense, as fics that focus on one character or pairing will often tag the entire ensemble. Laeâzel only showing up 16% of the time seems low, though, for a member of the main cast. To me, this indicates that not many fics are true ensemble fics that include all of the main cast.
After this block of main characters, we drop a bit to Gortash, who shows up in 7.4% of fics. Heâs the most popular villain by far, followed by Cazador (4.7%) and Raphael (4.6%). Orin only shows up in 2.9% of fics and Ketheric is featured in only 1.1% of fics.
Jaheira shows up in 4.4% of fics, but her values may include fics from the earlier Baldurâs Gate games. Poor Minthara is the 16th most tagged character and only shows up in 2.5% of fics. Rolan (a tiefling NPC) shows up in more fics than she does.
Despite being featured in previous Baldurâs Gate game fics as well as BG3, Minsc does not seem popular â heâs #25, being tagged in 1.3% of fics.
One thing I did note was the comparative lack of focus on the overarching plot of the game in BG3 fics. Iâll use the Emperor as a barometer for this, as itâs inextricably interwoven into everything having to do with the Absolute, the mysterious artifact, and our protagonistsâ immunity to it. Yet, it only appears in 535 fics of over 31,000 â approximately 1.7% of all BG fics. This tells me that there isnât much engagement with the actual illithid plot of the game in most fics â at least not to the extent where major plot relevant characters are being tagged.
CHARACTER PAIRING STATISTICS
Most of my time for this analysis was spent collecting data for the various pairing tags. I went through the top 300 pairing tags by order of popularity (ending with Mystra/Cazador, of all things) and recorded how many fics each rating had and how many fics each category had both with and without âotp:trueâ applied. Coincidentally, this included all the pairings with 5 or more fics in them at the time â by sheer luck the 301st pairing tag had only 4 fics. I judged that I could ignore pairing tags with fewer than 5 fics without affecting the results of my analyses too much (also it had taken 4 days to get this far and I was tired).
However, a lot of authors tag their fics with both, say, Astarion/Tav and Astarion/F!OC. But for this exercise Iâm not really looking at how authors refer to the Tav/Dark Urge/self insert character in their tagging nomenclature. Iâm more interested in how many fics exist for, say, the pairing of Astarion and the player character.
To this end, I combined the numbers for Tav, Dark Urge, OC, F!OC, M!OC, NB!OC, Reader, and You for each character ship. In order to avoid double counting fics, once I had added the numbers for a particular tag I excluded that tag from all future counts.
[X]/PC = [X]/Tav + ([X]/Dark Urge with the [X]/Tav tag excluded) + ([X]/Original Character with the [X]/Tav and [X]/Dark Urge excluded) + ([X]/Reader with [X]/Tav, [X]/Dark Urge, and [X]/Original Character excluded) and so on.
This process dropped the total number of pairings from 300 to 162. However, it also introduces an error. Some fics ship characters with an OC who is not a Tav/Dark Urge/self insert. In condensing all pairings with original characters to the âPCâ supercategory, I am ignoring that and counting their original character as a Tav/Dark Urge equivalent. Unfortunately, this is just something I have to live with in order to be able to make the data more manageable, as there is no way to tell which fics are using the OC tag to represent a Tav/Dark Urge and which are not on a mass data scale. I donât think it will skew the results too much, at least.
I pulled out the top 20 ships for each major character in BG3 (Tav, Dark Urge, the PC, Shadowheart, Karlach, Laeâzel, Minthara, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin) before and after I combined the player character tags into the PC supercategory. For each character, I then determined how much of each fic category (M/F, M/M, F/F, Other, Multi) they had, both for all of their pairings and for their pairing with the PC specifically.
Let's start by looking at the player character and its two representatives.
TAV
Tav is in 71 of the top 300 ship tags in the BG3 fandom.
Astarion completely dominates Tavâs ships, with a whopping 9,235 fics (1,839 otp:true fics). In fact, in order to be able to see the tiny little boxes that represent everyone else, hereâs another version of this chart, this time with Astarion excluded.
There, thatâs a bit more legible. The next highest is Gale, with 2,909 fics (652 otp:true) â less than a third as many fics as Astarion. Halsin comes third with 1,304 fics (207 otp:true) and Shadowheart is the first canon woman to show up, with 806 fics (132 otp:true). Astarion has more than 11 times as many fics with Tav as Shadowheart does. Karlach comes next, with 724 fics (186 otp:true). Raphael comes sixth, with 176 more fics than #7 Wyll who has 442 fics (100 otp:true). Laeâzel is #11 with 300 fics, under Gortash, Rolan, and a threesome with Halsin and Astarion. Minthara is the least popular main character to ship with Tav. Sheâs #15 with 146 fics (33 otp:true), and has fewer fics with Tav than Zevlor, the Emperor or Haarlep. In a marked improvement from the state of affairs in January, however, she no longer has fewer fics than Karâniss.
Taking a look at the fic category breakdown, we can see that M/F and M/M predominate for Tav, while there is very little F/F. Dividing the values by the total number of fics, 59.8% of all fics and 50.2% of otp:true fics are tagged M/F, 35.6% of all fics and 34.9% of otp:true fics are tagged M/M, 7.6% of all fics and 4.4% of otp:true fics are tagged F/F, and 13.2% of all fics and 14.2% of otp:true fics are tagged Other. As the proportions of M/F and F/F fics drop when otp:true is applied, I assume that it is more common for M/F and F/F pairings to have background ships or be a background ship (remember that if it is not otp:true, we have no idea if the pairing with Tav is the pairing category being counted.)
THE DARK URGE
The Dark Urge is in 38 of the top 300 ship tags of the BG3 fandom, a bit over half as many as Tav.
While Astarion once again is the most popular character to ship with the Dark Urge (2,165 fics), this time he actually has competition! Gortash/Dark Urge comes in at a very respectable second place with 1,594 fics (about three quarters of Astarion/Dark Urgeâs total fic count) and actually beat Astarion by over 100 fics once you apply otp:true (562 fics for Astarion vs 691 fics for Gortash). But after Gortash we once again drop down to numbers we struggle to even see on the chart. Gale is the most visible with 402 fics total (Gale has fewer fics total with the Dark Urge than Astarion or Gortash have with otp:true applied). After that we have a group of Halsin, Shadowheart, and Karlach, all with between 120-150 fics. No other pairing has over 100 fics.
Dark Urge/Tav (99 fics) and Dark Urge/Orin (87 fics) have more fics than Dark Urge/Wyll (83 fics) or Dark Urge/Minthara (80 fics). For Wyll, this is a sign that his pairing with the Dark Urge is not very popular (he drops from #7 with Tav to #9 with the Dark Urge). For Minthara, however, this is a significant climb in the rankings â she was #15 with Tav and #10 with the Dark Urge.
But whatâs really interesting to me is the fic category breakdown for the Dark Urge.
The Dark Urge has noticeably more M/M content than Tav does (47.0% vs 35.6% for all fics, 56.9% vs 34.9% for opt:true) and slightly more F/F content than Tav does (10.2% vs 7.6% for all fics, 5.2% vs 4.4% for otp:true), and correspondingly less F/M content. At 13.4% for all fics and 12.8% of otp:true fics, the proportion of Other fic stays just about the same as for Tav.
THE PLAYER CHARACTER
The PC is a combination of Tav, Dark Urge, Original Character, Reader, and You. The PC is in 64 of the top 162 pairings of the BG3 fandom (losing 5 pairings from Tav as I combined Tav/Tav, Tav/Dark Urge, Tav/Reader and so on into one PC/OC category).
The player character was involved in 76.0% of all pairings and 62.1% of otp:true pairings (that is, if you add up every fic for every pairing which the PC is in and divide it by sum of all fics for all BG3 pairings I tracked). This means that over three quarters of shipping in the BG3 fandom is with the player character. Itâs not surprising, but it is notable â thatâs a very large proportion.
Holy smokes, Astarion! He dominates the rankings even more than before. This time, I was curious to see how much. See below for a proportional representation of all of the PC pairings (note: because many fics have multiple pairings, this circle does not represent the total number of fics but rather the total number of times any pairing with the PC has been tagged).
Astarion composes a full 45% of all pairings with the PC, Gale is bit over 13%, Gortash is 7.3% for all fics and 11.3% of otp:true fics, while Halsin has the opposite trend with 6.3% of all fics and 4.9% of otp:true fics. Shadowheart, Karlach, Raphael, and Wyll all are between 2% and 4% (with Raphael once again beating Wyll). Laeâzel is down at #11 with 1.4% and Minthara is all the way at #16 with 0.9%.
Out of curiosity, I went through all of the PCâs pairings and sorted them by the gender of the person being shipped with the PC.
Oof.
85.7% of all PC ships are with men, 10.4% are with women, and 1.9% are nonbinary beings (Haarlep, the Emperor, and Omeluum). When you apply otp:true, 87.1% of the player characterâs ships are with men, 9.9% are with women, and 1.3% are with nonbinary beings.
SHADOWHEART
Welp! Letâs take a look at that 10%, starting with Shadowheart.
If you add up all the fics for all the pairings that include Shadowheart and divide that by the sum of all fics for all 162 pairings I collected, you can see that she is present in 7.0% of pairings. Interestingly, this is true both for all fics and for otp:true fics. She is in 30 of the top 300 ship tags and 24 of the 162 pairings that remain once the player character tags are consolidated.
(I have shortened Shadowheart's name to SH and Shart in various charts to keep the labels from taking up too much room in the graph.)
Laeâzel/Shadowheart is in close competition with Shadowheart/Tav. When all the player characters are condensed into the PC, though, that gap widens.
Shadowheart has 980 fics with the PC, 694 with Laeâzel, 226 with Karlach, 111 with Gale, 61 with Astarion, 51 with Nocturne, 36 with Halsin, 26 with Minthara, and 21 with Wyll (her least popular ship with a main character, at #12). 7 of her top 20 pairings are threesomes â Aylin/Isobel/SH at #8 with 35 fics, Karlach/PC/SH at #9, Karlach/Laeâzel/SH at #10, Astarion/PC/SH at #13, Halsin/PC/SH at #14, Karlach/Wyll/SH at #17, and Gale/Laeâzel/SH at #18.
Laeâzel/Shadowheart has an unusually high number of otp:true fics â almost half of its total fic count. It seems more popular to ship Shadowheart with women than men â both her ships with Laeâzel and Karlach are more popular than Astarion, Gale, or Wyll and her threesomes with women have more fics than her threesomes with men.
The fic category breakdown for Shadowheart matches this expectation.
Boy howdy is Shadowheart fic gay! She has over twice as much F/F fic than M/F fic, just looking at raw numbers of fics. Looking at the proportions of her total fic count, F/F fic represents 71.4% of all of her fics, M/F fic is 35.2%, Other is 10.0%, and Multi is 18.8%. (These percentages add up to more than 100% because many fics tag multiple categories.) This also means that we canât know that these numbers necessarily include Shadowheart â witness the numbers of M/M fics. All it means is that these categories were on fics in which a Shadowheart pairing was also tagged.
Looking at the otp:true numbers gives us a better picture of what fics where only Shadowheart is in a relationship are like (though this not necessarily an accurate idea of patterns for her overall, as less than a third of her total fics are otp:true). 76.4% of otp:true fics are F/F, 19.8% are M/F, 3.8% are Other, and for some reason 1.2% (9 fics) are M/M. Over three quarters of Shadowheartâs otp:true pairings are femmeslash.
Shadowheartâs fics with the PC character follow pretty much the same pattern as her ships more generally, albeit with slightly less F/F (likely from the loss of the relative behemoth that is Shadowheart/Laeâzel).
32.9% of her pairings with the PC have the M/F tag, 68.1% are tagged F/F, 11.3% are tagged Other, and 18.5% are tagged Multi. Applying otp:true, 25.7% are M/F, 62.6% are F/F, and 12.3% are Other (this likely includes a substantial portion of nonbinary PCs).
KARLACH
Karlach is present in 6.0% of all fic pairings and 5.4% of otp:true fic pairings. She has 31 ship tags in the top 300 ship tags, which condense down to 26 pairings when all player character stand ins are combined.
Her second most popular ship after Tav is with Wyll, though unlike with Shadowheart the pairing is not popular enough to give Tav a run for his/her/their money. Condensing all the player characters widens this gap significantly.
The PC is overwhelmingly Karlachâs most popular ship, with 890 fics. Wyll is second, with 327 fics â less than half as many. Shadowheart and Astarion follow with 226 and 157, respectively. Dammon is next, with 91 fics, and then Laeâzel has 65. She then has a number of threesomes, Minthara (#9 with 32 fics), and Gale (#11 with 18 fics). Halsin is her least popular pairing with a main character, coming in at #15 with 11 fics.
Surprisingly, for all that Karlach is fairly butch, her pairings with men are relatively more popular than we see with the more femme Shadowheart. The category statistics illustrate this clearly.
Compared to Shadowheart, Karlach has a lower proportion of F/F and higher proportions of M/F and Multi fics. F/F is tagged on 51.8% of her fics, M/F on 42.5%, Other on 12.3% and Multi on 27.7%. (Remember that fics can be tagged with multiple categories and that just because a category is tagged doesnât mean that Karlach is involved in that category.) Looking at otp:true gives us a look at fics where she is the sole focus. F/F is 55.0% of her otp:true fics, M/F drops to 34.4%, Multi drops to 6.1%, and Other stays fairly high at 10.4%.
In Karlachâs pairings with the player character, things change significantly.
It immediately becomes clear that the large number of M/F fics in her general pairings were largely due to her relatively popular ships with Wyll, Astarion, and Dammon. F/F dominates Karlachâs pairings with the PC with 64.0% (67.8% with otp:true applied) of fics, which puts her at just slightly less than Shadowheart. M/F is tagged in 28.5% of her fics with the PC (14.0% with otp:true applied), Multi is tagged 19.4% but drops to 1.2% for otp:true, and Other remains high with 18.0% of fics and 20.2% of otp:true fics with the PC.
Back in January, I noted that of the main cast, Karlach had the highest proportion of ships with nonbinary OCs. I didnât track the breakdown of OC subcategories this time, but the high numbers in the Other category bear it out.
LAE'ZEL
Counting all fics for all pairings in which Laeâzel is tagged, she is in a mere 3.8% of BG3 pairings, though it rises to 4.5% when otp:true is applied. She is in 23 of the top 300 ship tags, a number that drops down to 18 when I consolidate the player character tags together.
Shadowheart/Laeâzel has twice as many fics as Laeâzel/Tav. Looking at the situation with the PC does not change this much.
Unlike any other main character, Laeâzelâs most popular ship is not with the PC but with Shadowheart. She has 694 fics with Shadowheart, 355 with the PC, 65 with Karlach, 26 with Gale, 26 with Wyll, 25 with Astarion, 16 with Minthara, and 12 with Halsin. She is in an unusually low number of threesomes â only 4. Itâs notable though how skewed her numbers are towards women â a threesome with Karlach and Shadowheart has more fics than any of her pairings with a canon man. The various whole team multiship pairings, none of which have more than 11 fics, comprise most of the tail end of her ship list.
Speaking of the tail end of her ship list, what happens when we condense the player character tags is that Laeâzel does not reach a full 20 ships â she drops to 18 pairings. She has more than this, of course, but my methodology ignores all pairings with fewer than 5 fics (which means that my friendâs Laeâzel/Astarion/Tav fic is not counted). Therefore, Laeâzelâs 19th and 20th most popular pairings have 4 fics or fewer. I have represented these missing pairings with little :( emojis, because this is a sad state of affairs.
This is a symptom of a state of affairs in which Laeâzel is just not very popular in the AO3 side of BG3 fandom. Her most popular ship is Shadowheartâs second most popular ship, and the numbers crater after that. No Laeâzel ship other than Shadowheart and the PC has more than 100 fics.
Laeâzelâs most popular ships being women is demonstrated clearly by the fic category breakdown.
Wow! At a whopping 76.3% of all of Laeâzelâs fics and 88.9% of Laeâzelâs otp:true fics, Laeâzel has a higher proportion of F/F fic than Shadowheart. Granted, theyâre both sizable portions of each otherâs total F/F count. 26.1% of Laeâzelâs fics have the M/F tag, though this drops to a mere 7.1% when otp:true is applied. Other is tagged in 11.6% of fics but drops to 2.0% with otp:true. 18.1% of her fics are tagged Multi but this likewise drops to 4.4% with otp:true.
The pertinent question for Laeâzel is how much of her F/F count is due to her pairing with Shadowheart? How gay are her pairings with the PC?
The answer is... still pretty gay! F/F is not quite as dominant, with 67.3% of all her fics with the PC and 80.0% of her fics where only Laeâzel/PC is tagged â but 80% is a still a really high proportion! This indicates to me that a lot of the M/F in the âAll Ficsâ chart likely does not involve Laeâzel. M/F is tagged in 33.5% of her fics with the PC, a number which is more than halved to 12.7% when otp:true is applied. 13.2% of her fics are tagged Other, which drops to 5.5% with otp:true â much less than for Shadowheart and Karlach. It seems either Laeâzel is not as popular for nonbinary OCs or that a large proportion of the Other tag is from mind flayer Tavs/Durges and people donât write Laeâzel with a mind flayer love interest.
One other notable fact is that Laeâzel is the only female companion without any otp:true M/M PC fic. It could be due to her low fic numbers in the first place, but I prefer to think that Laeâzel fans are simply more fastidious about correctly tagging fic. It certainly fits her character.
MINTHARA
Ah, Minthara. Unquestionably the least popular of the main romanceable characters in BG3, her pairings only comprise 1.1% of all BG3 fanfic pairings, a number that rises to a whopping(/sarcastic) 1.4% of otp:true pairings. She has only 14 ship tags in the 300 most popular ship tags for BG3, a number that drops further to a mere 9 pairings once Iâve combined all the player character tags.
Whatâs notable about Mintharaâs ship tags is the popularity of the Dark Urge relative to Tav. Minthara has 146 fics with Tav and 80 with the Dark Urge. This is a higher proportion than other main characters have. It may be because more people write her on evil routes (which likely disproportionately feature the Dark Urge) or because she has some very good lines for the Dark Urge and their Slayer form.
Another observation is the lack of primary non-PC ships. The other characters that I look at all have a major non-PC ship â Shadowheart/Laeâzel, Karlach/Wyll, Gale/Astarion, Wyll/Astarion, Halsin/Astarion. Minthara doesnât really have that. Her most popular non-PC ship is Orin, at #5 and with a mere 45 fics. This is illustrated clearly once all the player character tags are combined.
The PC dominates Mintharaâs pairings to an extent not seen with any other character, not even Astarion. She drops from 234 fics with the PC (65 otp:true) to 45 fics with Orin (26 otp:true), 32 with Karlach (16 otp:true) and 26 with Shadowheart (11 otp:true). Every other pairing has 16 or less fics. Tying into that, Minthara has very few pairings with 5 or more fics. She does not even have enough for a top 10! I have replaced her missing pairings with the :( emoji because this is sad.
Another notable thing about this chart, though, is how few fics Minthara has just in general. Laeâzel and Wyll, the other neglected companions, both have at least 500 fics with their most popular partner. Minthara does not even break 250. In fact, none of her pairings with someone other than the PC have over 50 fics.
Another interesting fact is that Minthara is the only character in this analysis to not have any threesomes or moresomes in her pairings with over 5 fics. She doesnât share, it seems.
For some reason, Minthara has 8 ships with Councillor Florrick of all people. And itâs not all by the same author, which is what I would expect for a somewhat out there pairing. Presumably someone out there wrote a really good fic which then inspired others to play with the idea. In a small fandom like Mintharaâs, one fic like that can make quite a difference.
As can be expected, Mintharaâs fic categories are pretty damn gay.
F/F is tagged in 79.0% of her fics (77.6% of otp:true fics). M/M is tagged in 21.3% of her fics (17.1% of otp:true fics), Other in 6.1% (4.6% otp:true), and Multi in 8.9% though it drops to 1.3% of her otp:true fics. With these numbers, Minthara is arguably the gayest major character in the BG3 fandom by fic count, though Laeâzel beats her when you take otp:true into effect.
This pattern holds true when looking at her ship with the player character. 77.8% of her fics with the PC are tagged F/F (73.8% of otp:true fics), 23.5% are tagged M/F (15.4% otp:true), 8.5% are tagged Other (10.8% otp:true), and 9.4% are tagged Multi (3.1% otp:true). The latter is a bit confusing given that she has no multiship pairings. It may include collections of Reader/[X] fics that include Minthara.
PART 2
Welp. Iâve run into the tumblr post image limit. For part 2 of this essay, which discusses Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin and then compares all 8 of the main characters against each other on a variety of metrics, see this link.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#fanfic#ao3#statistics#data visualization#tav#dark urge#shadowheart#karlach#lae'zel#minthara#fandom#mine#shipping
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The Dragon's Right (4)
-Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.
- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen
- Note: For all the parts and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Word count: 9 000+
- Previous part: 3
- Next part: 5
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff
As you and Rhaenyra entered the chambers of the small council, the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders. The grandeur of the room, with its high ceilings and long table, was a sharp reminder of the power that was wielded within these wallsâa power that you were now expected to share in. The members of the council, deep in discussion, turned their heads in unison to acknowledge your arrival, their eyes lingering on the empty seat that had been yours before you left for the Dornish borders.
King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, looked up with a mixture of relief and warmth as he saw you and Rhaenyra. "Come, my son," he urged, his voice filled with paternal pride. "Take your seat. It has been empty for far too long."
You nodded respectfully and moved to the vacant chair, the council members shifting slightly to make space for you at the table. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, stepped aside with a small, playful smile, taking over the duties of the cupbearer from the young boy who had been serving in her stead. The boy handed over the jug of wine with a shy bow, and Rhaenyra took it with practiced grace, moving around the table to refill the goblets of the council members.
As you settled into your seat, the familiarity of the room began to return to youâthe polished wood of the table, the maps and documents spread out before you, the faces of the men who had advised your father for years. It felt both comforting and burdensome, this return to the heart of Targaryen power.
Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, wasted no time in redirecting the conversation back to the pressing matters at hand. "Your Grace," he began, his deep voice commanding attention, "we must return to the issue of the Stepstones. The Triarchy grows bolder by the day, and their control over the shipping lanes threatens our trade and the security of our allies. We cannot afford to sit idle."
Viserys sighed heavily, clearly weary of this particular topic. "I understand the gravity of the situation, Corlys," he replied, his tone patient but firm. "But entering into a war with the Free Cities is not a decision to be taken lightly. The consequences could be disastrous for the realm. I will not risk open conflict without exhausting every other option first."
You listened carefully, understanding your father's concerns, but you couldnât shake the feeling that something needed to be done. The reports from the Stepstones had been troubling, and you knew that inaction could be just as dangerous as a full-scale war.
"Father," you interjected gently, your tone respectful but earnest, "I understand your hesitation, but we cannot ignore the threat the Triarchy poses. If we allow them to solidify their hold on the Stepstones, it could embolden them further. We must act, even if itâs not to declare war outright."
Rhaenyra, who had been quietly filling goblets, paused in her duties and spoke up, her voice confident. "Perhaps we donât need to send the entire fleet, Father. What if we sent dragonriders? Syrax and Silverwing could turn the tide, send a message that we will not tolerate this incursion."
Corlys nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The princess makes a valid point, Your Grace. The sight of dragons in the skies over the Stepstones could be enough to dissuade the Triarchy without the need for a full-scale engagement. It would show our strength without committing us to a costly war."
But Viserys shook his head, his expression tightening with concern. "No. I will not send my children into dangerânot again. You have just returned, Y/N, and I will not see you thrown into another conflict. And Rhaenyra⊠I wonât risk you either. The dragons are our greatest asset, but they are not tools to be used lightly."
You opened your mouth to protest, the words on the tip of your tongue, but Viserys cut you off with a wave of his hand. "I appreciate your counsel, but my decision is final. The matter of the Stepstones requires further consideration, and I will not commit to a course of action that could lead us into a wider war."
A tense silence settled over the room, the frustration palpable among the council members. Rhaenyraâs face had fallen slightly, her enthusiasm for the idea dampened by your fatherâs refusal. You could see the disappointment in her eyes, a reflection of your own feelings. The suggestion had been sound, and it was clear that both of you felt a strong desire to contribute to the defense of the realm, but Viserysâs protective instincts were overriding all other considerations.
Sensing the growing tension, Otto Hightower, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Grace, perhaps there is another matter that the princess could attend to, one that does not involve the dangers of war. Several knights have arrived in the capital not just for the tourney, but to present themselves as candidates for the Kingsguard. A new member must be selected to replace the late Ser Ryam Redwyne. Perhaps the princess could oversee the selection process."
Viserys seemed to grasp at this suggestion as a way to defuse the situation. "Yes," he agreed, his tone firm. "That is a more fitting task for you, Rhaenyra. The Kingsguard is a vital institution, and your judgment will be invaluable in choosing the right man for the position."
Rhaenyra glanced at you, her expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. You met her gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding how much she had wanted to be involved in the more pressing matters of the realm. But you both knew that this was how things often went in the small councilâdifficult decisions were made, and sometimes, the right course of action wasnât always the one taken.
With a small nod, Rhaenyra accepted the task given to her. "Of course, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the slight tension in it. "I will see to it."
Otto and Lord Lyonel Strong stood, ready to accompany Rhaenyra to the courtyard where the knights were likely gathering. As she turned to leave, you caught her eye once more, offering her a small, reassuring smile. She returned it, though there was a flicker of frustration in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment that the lords had effectively maneuvered her out of the more important discussions.
Once the three of them had exited the chamber, the door closing softly behind them, Viserys turned back to you, his expression softening. "I know you want to help, Y/N," he said quietly, his tone more paternal than kingly now. "And I know youâve proven yourself in battle, but youâve just returned. I have no intention of sending you off to fight in another skirmish so soon."
You looked at your father, the concern in his eyes evident. He was speaking not just as a king but as a father who had already lost too much. "Father," you began carefully, "I understand your concern, but the realm faces real threats. We cannot afford to hesitate, not when our enemies are moving against us."
Viserys sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression weary. "I know. But the weight of the crown is heavy, and I must balance the needs of the realm with the safety of my family. You are my heir, Y/N, and I will not risk losing youânot when there are other options we can explore first."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the tension of the earlier discussion still lingering in the air. You wanted to push further, to convince him that decisive action was necessary, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Viserys was a man who had already faced too many losses, and the thought of losing youâor Rhaenyraâwas something he simply couldnât bear.
"I will continue to weigh our options," Viserys said finally, his voice resolute. "But for now, we will not rush into a conflict. Let us see how the situation develops, and we will respond as needed."
You nodded, though your mind was still restless. The councilâs discussions had left much unresolved, and you knew that the challenges facing the realm would only grow in the days to come. But for now, you would respect your fatherâs wishes, even as you kept your own thoughts and strategies close to your chest.
Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat, signaling that he had something to say. The council members turned their attention to him, the discussions of strategy and diplomacy momentarily paused. Mellosâs expression was serious, his tone measured as he spoke.
"Your Grace," Mellos began, addressing King Viserys, "while the matters of the Stepstones and the Free Cities are indeed pressing, there is another issue that demands our attentionâone that is much closer to home. I am speaking, of course, about Prince Daemon and his continued⊠activities within the city."
Viserysâs face tightened at the mention of his brother. The strained relationship between the two was well known, and Daemonâs methods of enforcing his own brand of justice had been a source of tension for some time now. The King had hoped that his brotherâs appointment as Commander of the City Watch would temper his more reckless tendencies, but it seemed that hope had been in vain.
"What has he done now?" Viserys asked, his voice tinged with both weariness and frustration.
Mellos exchanged a glance with Tyland Lannister before continuing. "The Gold Cloaks, under Prince Daemonâs command, have become a force unto themselves. While there is no denying that they have brought a certain level of order to the city, their methods are⊠extreme. Reports have reached us of public executions, floggings, and other harsh punishments meted out with little regard for the law."
Tyland leaned forward, his expression stern. "Your Grace, Daemonâs actions are causing unrest among the smallfolk. His form of justice is seen by many as tyrannical, and there are whispers that he is using the Gold Cloaks to consolidate power in the city. If this continues, it could lead to greater instability, not just in Kingâs Landing, but throughout the realm."
You listened in silence, your mind working through the implications of this news. Daemon had always been a wildcardâbrilliant in battle, fiercely loyal to his family, but also unpredictable and dangerously ambitious. His actions as Commander of the City Watch were just another example of his tendency to push boundaries, to challenge the status quo.
Viserys rubbed his temples, clearly troubled. "I had hoped that giving Daemon responsibility would curb his more⊠destructive impulses. But it seems heâs taken it as a license to do as he pleases."
"Your Grace," you interjected gently, "perhaps a direct conversation with Daemon is needed. He respects you more than anyone, and he may listen if you make it clear that his actions are causing harm."
Viserys sighed, nodding slightly. "Yes, youâre right, Y/N. Iâll speak with him. But I fear that even I may not be able to fully control him. Daemon has always marched to the beat of his own drum."
The discussion continued, with the council debating how best to handle Daemonâs increasingly volatile presence in the city. Some, like Tyland, advocated for more direct intervention, possibly even removing Daemon from his position, while others, like Lord Lyman Beesbury, suggested a more diplomatic approach, hoping to rein in Daemonâs excesses without causing a rift within the royal family.
As the council deliberated, the scene shifted to the courtyard of the Red Keep, where Rhaenyra stood with Ser Harrold Westerling, Otto Hightower, and Lord Lyonel Strong. Before her, a line of knights stood at attention, each hoping to be chosen as the newest member of the Kingsguard. Rhaenyraâs expression was one of quiet determination, though there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes as she listened to the introductions.
One by one, the knights were presented to her. Ser Harrold described their accomplishmentsâvictories in tourneys, noble lineage, and years of service to their respective lords. But as Rhaenyra listened, her disappointment grew. These men, for all their noble backgrounds and polished armor, had little in the way of real combat experience. Their greatest achievements seemed to be catching poachers and excelling in jousts. None of them had faced true battle, the kind that forged a knightâs mettle.
She turned to Otto, her frustration clear. "These men have titles and tourney victories, but none of them have faced real danger. How can I trust them to protect my father and our family when theyâve never been tested?"
Otto, ever the pragmatist, offered a placating smile. "Your Grace, the Kingsguard is as much about the alliances it brings as it is about the skill of the knights. A knight with noble blood and strong connections to other houses could strengthen the crownâs position. Battle experience is valuable, but so are the ties that bind our allies to us."
Rhaenyraâs eyes narrowed slightly, her dissatisfaction evident. She understood the politics behind the selection of the Kingsguard, but she was not willing to compromise on something as important as the safety of her family. "What good are alliances if the men sworn to protect us fall at the first sign of real danger?"
Before Otto could respond, Ser Harrold spoke up, his voice respectful but firm. "Your Grace, there is one more knight to presentâSer Criston Cole of House Cole."
Rhaenyraâs interest piqued at the mention of a new name. She turned her attention to the last knight in the line, a man who, unlike the others, bore no signs of wealth or nobility in his appearance. Ser Criston Cole stepped forward, his armor simple but well-maintained, his face weathered and serious. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of purpose that set him apart from the others.
"And what experience do you have, Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but guarded.
Criston bowed slightly before speaking. "Your Grace, I have served in battle, fighting under the command of Prince Y/N against the Dornish incursions. Iâve faced enemies in the field, not just in tourneys. Iâve held the line in the heat of battle and know what it means to protect those under my care."
Rhaenyraâs eyes widened slightly at the mention of your name. This was the first knight she had heard of who had actual combat experience, and under your command, no less. It gave him a legitimacy that the other knights lacked.
"You fought under my brotherâs banner?" Rhaenyra asked, her interest clearly piqued.
Criston nodded, his expression respectful. "Yes, Your Grace. Prince Y/N led us with honor and strength. He was an inspiration on the battlefield, and I did my best to serve him and the realm to the best of my ability."
Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Ser Harrold, who nodded approvingly. This was the kind of knight she had been hoping to findâsomeone with real experience, someone who had proven himself in the crucible of battle.
"I choose Ser Criston Cole," Rhaenyra declared, her voice firm. "He is the only one among them who has faced true combat and proven his worth."
Ottoâs expression tightened, his displeasure evident. "Your Grace, while Ser Cristonâs experience is commendable, itâs important to consider the broader implications. A knight with noble blood could bring valuable alliances to the crown. Ser Criston, while skilled, lacks the connections that could strengthen our position."
Rhaenyra met Ottoâs gaze with determination. "What value are connections if they cannot protect us? Ser Criston has fought under my brotherâs banner, and I trust my brotherâs judgment. I stand by my decision."
Otto opened his mouth to argue further, but Rhaenyraâs tone left no room for debate. Lord Lyonel Strong, sensing the tension, subtly placed a hand on Ottoâs arm, urging him to let the matter rest.
"Very well, Your Grace," Otto conceded, though it was clear he was not pleased. "Ser Criston will be appointed to the Kingsguard."
Rhaenyra nodded, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she turned back to Ser Criston. "You have my trust, Ser Criston. Serve my father and this realm well."
Criston bowed deeply, his expression one of solemn gratitude. "I swear to protect the king and his family with my life, Your Grace."
As the selection was finalized, Rhaenyra felt a sense of accomplishment. She had asserted her judgment and chosen a knight she believed could truly protect her family. But as she turned to leave, escorted by Ser Harrold, she couldnât help but feel a pang of disappointmentâknowing that this task, though important, had been a way for the lords to remove her from the more pressing discussions of the realm.
The days following your return to Kingâs Landing had begun to take on a semblance of routine. The excitement and pageantry of your homecoming had started to fade, replaced by the day-to-day responsibilities that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. While the courtâs initial frenzy of attention had diminished, you still felt the weight of expectation pressing on your shouldersâa burden you had come to know all too well during your time away.
This particular afternoon found you in your fatherâs chambers, a place that had become a refuge for King Viserys in recent years. The room was dominated by the massive model of Old Valyria that your father had been painstakingly working on for what seemed like forever. The sprawling, intricate creation covered most of the table space, with towers, bridges, and spires crafted with a meticulous eye for detail.Â
Viserys was seated on a stool, carefully adjusting a small tower with a steady hand. You stood nearby, observing the model with a mixture of admiration and quiet concern. Your fatherâs obsession with this model had grown in tandem with the challenges of ruling the realm, and you wondered if he found solace in building something that, unlike the realm, he could control completely.
The conversation had started out light, filled with the usual topicsânews from the Reach, the latest reports on trade, and the progress of the model. But as the minutes passed, you noticed a subtle change in your fatherâs demeanor. His hands, usually steady and sure when working on the model, seemed more deliberate, almost hesitant. There was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that hadnât been there before.
You frowned slightly, studying him more closely. It wasnât uncommon for Viserys to lose himself in his thoughts while working, but today there was something different, something unresolved hovering between you.
"Father," you began, your tone careful, "I can see somethingâs troubling you. Whatâs on your mind?"
Viserys paused, his hand hovering over the model, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he let out a long, weary sigh and set the piece down carefully before turning to face you. His expression was conflicted, a mixture of frustration and worry, as if he had been wrestling with something that he hadnât yet found the courage to voice.
"Itâs the council," Viserys finally admitted, his voice low, almost resigned. "Theyâve been pressing me on a matter that Iâve been⊠reluctant to address."
You raised an eyebrow, sensing the gravity of what he was about to say. "And what matter is that?"
Viserys hesitated again, rubbing the back of his neckâa gesture you recognized as a sign of his discomfort. "Theyâve been urging me to remarry. They believe it would strengthen the realm, secure new alliances, and ensure that our house remains strong." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "But itâs not just that. Theyâve also been pressing me to find matches for you and Rhaenyra."
The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you werenât sure how to respond. The idea of your father remarrying wasnât entirely unexpectedâpolitically, it made sense, and you knew the council was always looking for ways to solidify the crownâs position. But hearing him admit it aloud, and then to include you and Rhaenyra in the same breath, caught you off guard.
Viserys continued, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. "They may be right," he said quietly, though his tone was far from certain. "Youâve been away for years, often in skirmishes and battles. If something were to happen to youâŠ"
He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. You could see the unspoken fear in his eyesâthe fear of losing you, just as he had lost Aemma, just as he had lost others. It was a fear that had haunted him for years, and now, with you finally home, it seemed to have taken on a new urgency.
Viserys placed his face in his hands, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to push the thoughts away. "You should marry, Y/N. You should have children. Itâs whatâs expected of you, and itâs what will secure our houseâs position."
You felt a surge of frustration, the words stinging more than you cared to admit. "Iâve only just returned, Father," you replied, trying to keep your tone measured. "Iâve spent years away, doing my duty to the realm. And now that Iâm finally home, you want to talk about marriage and heirs?"
Viserys looked up at you, his expression one of weary resolve. "I know itâs not what you want to hear, but itâs something you must consider. Youâre the heir to the Iron Throne, Y/N. Your duty doesnât end with battle. It extends to the future of our house, to the legacy you will leave behind."
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to process what he was saying. You understood the importance of your position, of courseâyou had been raised to understand it from the moment you could walk. But the thought of being thrust into marriage and fatherhood so soon after returning home felt overwhelming, as if the expectations of the realm were suffocating you before youâd even had a chance to breathe.
"And what of Rhaenyra?" you asked, shifting the conversation slightly. "She will hate this when she hears it."
Viserysâs face softened, a look of genuine concern crossing his features. "I know," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his own doubts. "And Iâm even more terrified to bring this subject up with her. Rhaenyra has always been strong-willed, and sheâs never been one to accept her fate without a fight."
You couldnât help but chuckle, despite the tension in the room. "Thatâs an understatement," you said, the image of Rhaenyraâs fiery spirit flashing through your mind. "Sheâll have more than a few things to say about this."
Viserys allowed himself a small, weary smile, though it didnât reach his eyes. "Sheâs my daughter, and I love her dearly, but this is something she must face, just as you must. The future of our House depends on it."
You leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms across your chest as you considered his words. The future of the houseâthose were heavy words, words that carried the weight of centuries, of dragons, of kings and queens who had fought and bled to keep the Targaryen name alive. But they were also words that had driven you away, into battlefields and borderlands where you could escape the suffocating pressure of the throne, if only for a little while.
"I understand, Father," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "But I need time. Iâve just come back, and I need time to find my footing again, to figure out what my place here is."
Viserys nodded, his expression softening as he saw the conflict in your eyes. "Take the time you need, Y/N. But donât forget that time is a luxury we donât always have. The realm will not wait forever."
You nodded in return, knowing that he was right. The realm, the throne, the legacy of House Targaryenâthey were all forces that moved with or without your consent, and sooner or later, you would have to face them head-on.
But for now, at least, you would take the time you needed to adjust to being home, to reconnect with Rhaenyra and your father, and to figure out what the future might holdânot just for you, but for the entire Targaryen legacy.
As you left your fatherâs chambers, the weight of his words still heavy on your mind, you couldnât help but wonder how Rhaenyra would react when she heard about the councilâs pressure to find matches for the both of you. Knowing your sister, it would be a conversation filled with fire and defiance, and you would have to navigate it carefully.
But that was a problem for another day. For now, you would focus on the present, on the here and now, and on the family you had fought so hard to return to. The future could waitâat least for a little while.
The gardens of the Red Keep were a haven of tranquility amidst the bustle of Kingâs Landing, a place where the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze offered a brief respite from the weight of courtly duties. Rhaenyra and Alicent often found solace here, escaping to the quiet paths and shaded alcoves where they could be themselves, free from the expectations that came with their titles.
This afternoon, the two friends strolled along a cobblestone path lined with vibrant roses, their conversation light and filled with laughter. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the ground as they moved deeper into the gardens. It was a rare moment of peace, one that both young women cherished in the midst of the growing pressures that surrounded them.
Alicent, ever the gentle and thoughtful companion, was telling Rhaenyra a story she had overheard from one of the maids about a particularly clumsy lord who had nearly tripped over his own feet during a dance at court. The tale had them both giggling, their spirits lightened by the absurdity of it all.
As the laughter began to fade, Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra with a playful glint in her eye, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "So, Rhaenyra, do you think your brother will ever find himself a lady as graceful as Silverwing to keep him company?"
Rhaenyra, who had been reaching out to touch a delicate flower, paused mid-motion, the question catching her off guard. She turned to Alicent, her brow furrowing slightly. "Why would you joke about that, Alicent? Y/N isnât even considering taking a wife right now. As far as I know, Silverwing is the only lady in his life."
Alicent noticed the slight edge in her friendâs voice and hesitated, her own smile faltering. She hadnât meant to strike a nerve, but Rhaenyraâs reaction had been stronger than expected. "I didnât mean to upset you, Rhaenyra," Alicent said softly, her tone apologetic. "I was only teasing. But⊠would it be so terrible for your brother to find himself a match?"
Rhaenyraâs initial irritation bubbled over into a snort, her gaze flicking away from Alicent as she tried to deflect the question. "What does it matter if he finds a match or not? He has more important things to think about than marriage, and so do I."
But even as she spoke, Rhaenyra felt the sting of the memory from six days ago, after she and her brother had raced their dragons. The moment when they had tumbled together on the ground, laughing until the laughter had died away and something far more intense had filled the space between them. The almost kiss that had haunted her every night since, replaying in her mind, tormenting her more than she was willing to admit even to herself.
The fact that her brother had never brought it up againâhad acted as though nothing had happenedâonly added to her frustration. Did it mean nothing to him? Or was he just as conflicted as she was, choosing to bury the memory rather than confront it? The thought made her chest tighten with an emotion she couldnât quite name, one that made her both angry and confused.
Alicent, watching Rhaenyra closely, could sense the turmoil beneath her friendâs words, even if she didnât fully understand its source. "Rhaenyra," she began gently, trying to ease the tension she felt growing between them, "I didnât mean to upset you. I just⊠I worry about you, and about him. Youâre both under so much pressure, and I only want to see you happy."
Rhaenyra forced a smile, though it didnât quite reach her eyes. "Weâre fine, Alicent. Truly. Thereâs no need to worry about us."
But Alicent wasnât easily dissuaded. She hesitated for a moment, then asked tentatively, "Has your brother ever talked to you about⊠about whether heâs interested in anyone? About what he might want in a companion?"
Rhaenyraâs smile faded entirely, replaced by a flicker of irritation. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her brotherâs potential romantic interests, especially when her own feelings were so conflicted. "I donât want to talk about Y/N anymore," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.
Alicent blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden shift in Rhaenyraâs demeanor. "Of course," she said quickly, her voice soft and conciliatory. "Iâm sorry, Rhaenyra. I didnât mean to pry."
Rhaenyra sighed, her irritation beginning to ebb away as she saw the look of concern on Alicentâs face. She knew her friend meant well, but the topic was too fraught, too complicated for her to discuss, even with someone as close as Alicent. "Itâs not your fault," she admitted, her tone softer now. "There are just⊠things I donât want to think about right now."
Alicent nodded, understanding that some topics were better left alone. She reached out and gently squeezed Rhaenyraâs hand, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Then we wonât talk about it anymore. Letâs just enjoy the gardens and forget about everything else, even if itâs just for a little while."
Rhaenyra returned the smile, grateful for the change of subject. "Yes, letâs."
The two friends continued their walk through the gardens, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as they moved on to lighter topicsâmemories of their childhood, amusing stories from the court, and plans for the upcoming festivals. But even as Rhaenyra laughed and talked, her mind kept drifting back to her brother, to the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them since that day in the Dragonpit.
She couldnât help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Was he as troubled by what had happened as she was? Or had he simply chosen to bury it, to pretend it never happened, as he seemed to be doing? The thought of him being so unaffected by it made her chest ache, though she wasnât sure if it was from hurt or anger.
As the afternoon wore on, Rhaenyra found herself growing more and more restless, her thoughts in turmoil. She knew she would have to confront these feelings eventually, but for now, she pushed them down, determined to enjoy the time with Alicent, to hold on to the simplicity of their friendship, even as the complexities of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
And though she didnât voice it, the thought of her brother finding a match, of him being with someone else, brought a twist of something dark and unwelcome in her heartâsomething she wasnât ready to name or confront just yet.
For now, she would let it lie, unresolved and unspoken, just as he seemed to be doing. But deep down, she knew it wouldnât stay buried forever.
The evening was quiet in your chambers, the only sound the soft scrape of cloth against steel as you carefully cleaned your ancestral sword, Blackfyre. The blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight, its edge sharp and true, a testament to the craftsmanship that had forged it and to the many battles it had seen. The sword had been by your side through countless skirmishes, a symbol of the legacy you carried and the duty that weighed heavily upon your shoulders.
As you moved the cloth over the blade, your thoughts drifted, as they so often did, to the burdens that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant need to prove yourselfâit was a weight you had carried for as long as you could remember. And now, with the councilâs pressure to find a match and secure the future of House Targaryen, that weight felt heavier than ever.
But there was something else, something that lingered at the edges of your mind, refusing to be pushed aside. It was the memory of that day with Rhaenyra in the Dragonpit, the moment when laughter had turned to something else entirely, something that neither of you had spoken of since. You tried to push it away, to bury it deep within yourself, but it kept resurfacing at the strangest times, like now, as you sat alone in your chambers.
With a frustrated sigh, you set the sword down on the table, running a hand through your hair as you tried to clear your mind. But the memory persisted, and with it came a flood of emotions that you struggled to contain. You knew you couldnât afford to dwell on it, not with everything else that demanded your attention, but it was easier said than done.
In an effort to distract yourself, your thoughts drifted back to a different time, to a memory that had been both terrifying and transformativeâone that had shaped you in ways you were only now beginning to understand.
You were seven years old, and your family had traveled to Dragonstone for a short stay. It was a place of ancient power and beauty, a fortress carved from the volcanic rock of the island, with the ever-present sea crashing against its shores. You had always been drawn to the wildness of the place, to the sense of freedom that came with being so close to the elements.
On that particular day, you had managed to slip away from your mother and your three-year-old sister, Rhaenyra. It wasnât the first time you had wandered off on your own, and it wouldnât be the last. Even at that young age, you had a restless spirit, always eager to explore, to push the boundaries of what was expected of you.
You had made your way down to the shores, where the black rocks jutted out into the sea like the teeth of some great beast. The waves were fierce that day, the wind whipping at your hair as you scrambled over the rocks, feeling invincible in the way that only a child can. The sea was both a challenge and a companion, its roar filling your ears as you ventured further along the rocky shore.
But then, in an instant, everything changed. Your foot slipped on a slick patch of rock, and before you knew it, you were tumbling down, down into the cold, unforgiving embrace of the sea. The waves, so beautiful and exhilarating from the safety of the shore, now became your enemy, pulling you deeper into the current, dragging you away from the land.
You struggled, panic flooding your young mind as the water closed over your head. You kicked and flailed, but the sea was stronger, relentless in its pull. Salt water filled your mouth and lungs as you gasped for air that wasnât there. The world above, the sky, the cliffs, everything began to fade as the dark, cold water claimed you.
In that moment, you thought you were going to die. The terror of it was overwhelming, the realization that you were utterly powerless against the force of the sea. You could feel yourself sinking, your small body growing weaker as the blackness closed in around you.
But then, just as the last of your strength was ebbing away, a shadow passed over you. You didnât see it at first, your vision blurred by the water and the darkness, but you felt itâthe rush of water displaced by something massive moving through the sea.
And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away (what little breath you had left), you were lifted from the water, the force of it almost knocking you unconscious. But instead of the crushing weight of the sea, you felt the cool, leathery skin of something far larger than you could comprehend.
It was Silverwing.
She had come for you, your bond with her stronger even than the pull of the sea. You felt her claws wrap around you, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you free of the waterâs grasp. She soared upward, her great wings beating against the air as she lifted you out of the depths and into the open sky.
The cold air hit your face, shocking your senses back to life as Silverwing flew over the beach and deposited you onto the shore. You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring your lungs and sending a rush of salt water spewing from your mouth. Silverwing nudged you with her massive head, her breath hot and insistent as she pushed you, rolled you over and over on the beach until you vomited up the seawater that had clogged your lungs.
You were coughing, sputtering, but alive, the blackness retreating as you drew in deep, desperate breaths of air. Your body was trembling, soaked to the bone, but the warmth of Silverwingâs presence beside you, her protective nudges, kept you grounded.
And then, through the fog of your disoriented mind, you heard voicesâfrantic, terrified voices, calling your name.
Your father, Viserys, was the first to reach you, his face pale with fear as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he checked you over. "Gods, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "What were you thinking? What were you doing?"
Before you could answer, your mother, Aemma, rushed forward, tears streaming down her face as she dropped to her knees beside you. She pulled you into her arms, holding you so tightly that it almost hurt, her sobs shaking her entire body.
"Y/N⊠my baby," she cried, her voice breaking with relief and anguish. "Youâre alive⊠youâre aliveâŠ"
You were too shocked, too overwhelmed to say anything, your small body trembling as you clung to your mother. The terror of what had just happened still lingered in your mind, the memory of the cold, dark water threatening to pull you back under. But the warmth of your motherâs embrace, the sound of her voice, and the presence of your family around you began to soothe the fear.
Ser Harrold Westerling and the rest of the Kingsguard arrived moments later, their armor clanking as they surrounded you, their faces a mixture of relief and concern. But all you could focus on was the way your mother held you, her hands gently stroking your hair, her voice murmuring reassurances as if to convince herself that you were really there, really safe.
Viserys, his own hands still trembling, placed a hand on Silverwingâs massive head, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank the gods for you, Silverwing," he said softly. "You saved my son⊠you saved him."
Silverwing, for her part, let out a low, rumbling purr, her eyes fixed on you as if she understood exactly what had just happened. She had always been more than just a dragon to youâshe was your protector, your companion, your bondmate in ways that went beyond simple words. In that moment, you knew that you would be connected to her for life, that the bond between you was forged in something far deeper than mere loyalty.
Aemma pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face hovering inches from yours as she searched your eyes, her own filled with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "Donât you ever⊠ever do that again," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I canât lose you, Y/N. I canâtâŠ"
You nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak, but you understood. The fear in her voice, the desperation in her eyesâit was the same fear that had gripped you when you were under the water, the same fear that had almost consumed you. But now, held close in your motherâs arms, surrounded by your family and the warmth of Silverwingâs presence, you knew that you were safe.
The memory of that day had stayed with you, a reminder of both the fragility of life and the strength of the bonds that held you to those you loved. It was a day that had shaped you in ways you hadnât fully understood at the time, but now, as you sat in your chambers, polishing your sword and reflecting on the past, you began to see it more clearly.
The fear you had felt that day, the desperation, the longing for safetyâit was something you carried with you still. But it was also balanced by the strength of your connection with Silverwing, with your family, with the responsibilities that had been placed on your shoulders. You had faced death and survived, and you had done so with the help of those who loved you.
As you set the sword aside, the memory of that day lingered in your mind, a reminder of how far you had come since then. You were no longer that frightened child, lost in the waves, but a man who had faced many battles and had come through them stronger.
But even so, there were still battles to be fought, both on the field and within your own heart.
The memory of that fateful day on Dragonstone still lingered in your mind, a haunting echo of a time when life had been simpler, when the weight of the world hadnât yet settled on your shoulders. You let out a slow breath, your thoughts tangled between the past and the present, when suddenly the door to your chambers swung open with a force that startled you out of your reverie.
Without so much as a knock or a word from the guards outside, your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, strode into the room with his characteristic swagger. He moved with the confidence of a man who had little regard for protocol or propriety, his presence filling the chamber with an almost palpable energy. Daemon had always been like thatâa force of nature, impossible to ignore and equally impossible to fully understand.
You couldnât help but smile, amused by his entrance, as you watched him cross the room without hesitation. Daemon didnât bother with pleasantries or explanations; he simply took the seat opposite you, stretching out with a casual ease as if this were his own chambers and not yours. His sharp eyes flicked over you, taking in your posture and the expression on your face, and you could tell he was sizing you up, as he often did.
"Brooding again, are we?" Daemonâs voice was laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity, his words half a jest and half a challenge.
You shook your head, still smiling as you met his gaze. "Just feeling contemplative this evening, Uncle."
Daemon snorted, a sound that was half-amused, half-derisive. "Contemplative? Sounds like any other evening for you, then."
You chuckled softly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Perhaps. But itâs harder than I thought, just sitting here, doing nothing. Iâm not used to it."
Daemon nodded, a knowing glint in his eye. "Aye, I know the feeling well. The silence can be deafening when youâre accustomed to action." He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning conspiratorial. "Tell you what, nephewâwhy donât we take a little trip into the city? Just the two of us, Targaryen princes lost to anonymity in the Streets of Silk. Could do you some good, get your mind off whateverâs plaguing you."
You looked up at Daemon, considering the offer. There was a certain appeal to the ideaâescaping the confines of the Red Keep, losing yourself in the bustling, chaotic streets of Kingâs Landing where no one knew your name or cared about your title. It was a temptation you had indulged in before, though not as often as Daemon.
But tonight⊠tonight, something held you back. Perhaps it was the weight of the thoughts that had been troubling you, or perhaps it was the sense that this evening needed to be one of reflection rather than distraction.
You sighed and shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I think Iâll have to decline this time, Uncle."
Daemon rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah, as usual then. Youâre acting like a prude, Y/N." There was no real malice in his words, just the familiar teasing that had defined much of your relationship with him.
You couldnât help but jest in return. "And youâre acting like a scoundrel, as usual."
Daemon laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound that filled the room. "Thatâs the spirit!" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief, but there was something else there tooâsomething more serious, lurking beneath the surface.
The laughter faded, and a more comfortable silence settled between you. It was a silence born of years of shared experiences, of battles fought side by side, and of the unspoken understanding that came with being part of the same powerful, often tumultuous family.
After a moment, you decided to steer the conversation away from the city and toward something that had been on your mind. "Shouldnât you be with your wife in the Vale, Uncle? Iâd imagine the Lady Rhea might be missing you."
Daemonâs expression darkened at the mention of his wife, and he scoffed dismissively. "My place is here, Y/N. By my brotherâs side, and yours, for that matter. My âBronze Bitchâ can wait. The Vale has no need of me, and I have no desire to return to that dreary place."
You knew better than to press him further on the matter of his marriage. Daemonâs disdain for Lady Rhea Royce was no secret, and it was a topic that never failed to put him in a foul mood. So you let it drop, focusing instead on the bond you shared as members of House Targaryen.
The silence stretched on for a while longer, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows across the room. Daemonâs demeanor shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words carefully, something that was rare for him.
When he finally spoke, his tone was serious, devoid of the usual sarcasm and bravado. "Listen to me, nephew," he said quietly, leaning forward once more. "If you donât take matters into your own hands, theyâll do to you what theyâve done to me. Theyâll marry you off to some woman of their choosing, bind you to a fate not of your making. The lords and the councilâtheyâre vultures, all of them. Theyâll pick at your bones if you let them."
You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Daemonâs warning was not without merit. You had seen how the council operated, how they maneuvered and manipulated to achieve their ends. And while you had always tried to walk the line between duty and personal freedom, there was no denying that your position as the heir to the Iron Throne made you a target for their schemes.
You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his warning. "I know, Uncle. I know."
Daemon studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge whether his words had truly sunk in. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, his usual nonchalance returning as he headed toward the door. "If you change your mind about the city, you know where to find me," he said over his shoulder, his tone lighter now.
You watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and resignation settling in your chest. Daemon had always been a paradoxâfiercely loyal to his family, yet constantly challenging the boundaries set by that same family. His advice, though often wrapped in cynicism and rebellion, came from a place of experience and hard-earned wisdom.
As the door closed behind him, the silence of your chambers returned, more profound now after Daemonâs departure. You sat there for a long moment, the weight of his words echoing in your mind, along with the memories and thoughts that had been troubling you all evening.
You knew that decisions would have to be made, that the future of House Targaryen rested on your shoulders in more ways than one. But for now, you let yourself sit in the quiet, contemplating the path that lay ahead, knowing that whatever choices you made, they would have to be yours and yours alone.
And as the candlelight flickered and the shadows danced across the walls, you couldnât help but feel the pull of destiny, the ever-present weight of the dragonâs legacy, urging you forward into a future that was as uncertain as it was inevitable.
The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as the night deepened, the usual bustle of the court replaced by the stillness that only came with the late hour. The tower of the Hand, where Lord Otto Hightower resided, was dimly lit by flickering torches, their light casting long, wavering shadows along the stone walls. Alicent Hightower moved through the halls with a sense of trepidation, her steps hesitant as she approached her fatherâs chambers.
She knew this conversation was inevitable. Her father had been pressuring her for weeks now, urging her to secure the attention of Prince Y/N, to make herself indispensable in the eyes of the Targaryen heir. But despite her efforts, the prince remained distant, polite but uninterested in anything more than the friendship she shared with his sister, Rhaenyra.
As Alicent reached the door to her fatherâs study, she paused, taking a deep breath before knocking softly. A moment later, Ottoâs voice called from within, stern and unmistakable.
âEnter.â
Alicent pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of the room hitting her as she crossed the threshold. The study was lined with shelves of books and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime spent in service to the crown. Otto Hightower stood by the window, his back to her as he looked out over the darkened city. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and Alicent could feel her fatherâs displeasure even before he turned to face her.
âAlicent,â Otto began, his voice cold and sharp. âIâm disappointed in you.â
The words cut deeper than any blade, and Alicentâs heart sank. She had always sought to please her father, to earn his approval, but tonight, it seemed she had failed once again. She clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers twisting nervously as she tried to find the right words.
âFather,â she said softly, âIâve tried. Iâve done everything you asked of me. But the prince⊠he doesnât seem to be interested in me.â
Otto turned away from the window, his expression hard and unforgiving. âAnd why is that, Alicent? Why does he remain indifferent to you when youâve had every opportunity to make an impression?â
Alicent bit her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor. She didnât know how to answer, didnât know what more she could do to capture the princeâs attention. She had tried to be charming, to be kind, to show herself as a worthy companion. But Y/N was always distant, always polite but never more than that.
âI donât know,â she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. âI donât know what else I can do. He seems⊠distracted, preoccupied with other things.â
Ottoâs eyes narrowed, his displeasure growing. âOther things? Other things? Alicent, you are not some ordinary lady of the court. You are the daughter of the Hand of the King, and it is your duty to secure the future of our house. If the prince is distracted, then it is your job to make him see that you are what he needs, what he cannot live without.â
Alicent felt a lump forming in her throat, the weight of her fatherâs expectations pressing down on her. She had always known that her position in court came with responsibilities, but the reality of itâthe cold, calculated nature of her fatherâs plansâwas something she struggled to accept.
âBut Father,â she began, her voice barely above a whisper, âhow can I force him to feel something he doesnât? Iâve tried to be everything youâve asked, but⊠he doesnât see me that way.â
Ottoâs expression hardened further, his patience wearing thin. He crossed the room to stand before her, his gaze piercing. âThen you must try harder, Alicent. You must be more than just a friend to his sister, more than just a kind face at court. You must make him see that you are the answer to the pressures he faces, the companion he needs to navigate the treacherous waters of this court.â
Alicentâs eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to show weakness in front of her father. She wanted to protest, to say that it wasnât fair, that she shouldnât have to manipulate someoneâs feelings in this way. But she knew it would be pointless. Otto Hightower was a man who valued results, not excuses, and his ambitions for their family left no room for sentimentality.
âI understand, Father,â she said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. âIâll do better. Iâll find a way to make him see me.â
Ottoâs expression softened, but only slightly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that was more commanding than comforting. âGood. Remember, Alicent, the future of our house depends on you. Do not let anything stand in the way of that.â
Alicent nodded, though her heart ached with the weight of his words. She knew what was expected of her, knew the stakes involved. But as she turned to leave, the coldness of the task ahead filled her with a sense of dread. How could she make the prince see her, when all she wanted was to be seen for who she truly was, not for the role her father had assigned her?
As she left the tower and made her way back to her chambers, Alicent couldnât shake the feeling that she was losing herself in her fatherâs ambitions, that each step she took toward securing Y/Nâs favor was a step away from the person she wanted to be.
But what choice did she have? In the world of the court, where every move was scrutinized and every action had consequences, she knew that failure was not an option. She would have to find a way to win the princeâs attention, to secure her place in his life, no matter the cost.
And as she lay down that night, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of her fatherâs words pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket, leaving her with a sense of foreboding that she couldnât quite shake.
#house of the dragon#hotd x male reader#hotd x y/n#hotd x reader#hotd x you#rhaenyra x y/n#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen#house targaryen
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the things about endos is
plurality is not a spiritual state of being
plurality is not a culture
plurality is not an identity
plurality is not social construct
plurality is a trauma response and a coping mechanism. to be plural, you HAVE to be psychologically damaged to where a body has multiple identities separated by dissociation and amnesia.
edit: i did forget to add, another reason i didnt tag this as anti endo was because i am very much open to having mature and respectful discussions of points of view or friendly back and forths. as long as you dont call me every slur in the book or harrass me youâre fine with interacting with *this post* specifically
#sysblr#not tagging as anti endo because i want everyone to see this#plurality#multiplicity#osdd#osddid#did osdd#did system#did#actually did#system#osdd system#pdid system#pdid#did community#osdd community#system community
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rock's thoughts on ivantill (nsfw edition)
trigger/content warning: open and uncensored discussion of nsfw content (smut specifically) I'm not tagging this as mature and leaving it up to the reader's discretion whether or not they're able to handle this. I'm not incredibly explicit but I am talking about something inherently nsfw.
the thing about nsfw is that, when it comes to fandom, it often is based less on the characters themselves and more on whatever the fans want to see. I say this about fandom in general, btw, not ALNST in particular- in my experience with nsfw (fanfic anyways) in fandom, is that a lot of it comes down to writer preference rather than the actual characters themselves. It's literally playing with dolls and this isn't necessarily a bad thing! It's pretty much what fan content is for, right? It's just something that doesn't sit super well with me and it's something I don't really understand- if you want to make a specific dynamic, why not just make ocs that can similar or the same personalities as the characters that you enjoy and yet their dynamic fits with what you want.
Like overall when it comes to my opinions (and these are opinions, preferences if you will), I might as well be up front- when it comes to the ships that are common in the ALNST fandom, I think that while mizisua and hyunamizi definitely switch, out of mizisua? Sua is the top imo. on the other hand, I think that it would be a lot more interesting if either hyunamizi were switch-centric or Mizi topped, just because of what that would say about her relationship growth as well as her character growth. With hyunaluka (which is not a ship that I enjoy but I respect those that do obviously) I think Hyuna tops mostly. With ivantill, I see Ivan as a bottom and Till as the top. Sometimes they switch, no one is exclusively one or the other- and I am fully in support of them being switches because I believe most relationships are fluid and have the inherent capacity for switching, top/bottom is about preference but I do think it's rare. I don't know, smut can be part of the relationship to me and the dynamic when it comes to sexual encounters is important to me with a couple.
I don't know, maybe it's because I'm one of those people where my headcanons have to be related to the text somehow (and I don't say this in a way that's derogatory to people who don't have that- honestly I kind of admire you guys, it seems freeing. I'm just extremely autistic about this) but idk the way people intrepret Ivan in the ALNST fandom is super interesting. This is mainly going to be talking about ivantill because to be perfectly honest, I think people are weirder about mlm ships than they are about wlw ships, when it comes to their characterization? But I haven't read as much wlw nsfw so I can't fully speak to this. But when it comes to Ivantill, I have found some people who's opinions I love. Some people I agree with even if I don't agree with everything. But then there are some folks that are so out there like I wanna study you guys underneath a microscope y'all are so peculiar. yeah yeah he's King Yaoi the Third, he's tall dark and handsome, whatever. he's a little freak, I want to put him in a jar and shake him up, I understand, but at the same time sometimes the reading comprehension with people seems not so bueno.
In the fandom overall, (not just on tumblr dot com) people like him as top and I think that, to a degree, that is supported by the text. At least, some of the additional art from Vivinos/Qmeng, thatâs supported
(^ the amount of horny comments on this image *sighs*)
But for me? I donât like that as much (even though Iâve read some fanfic with it that I liked just fine.)
This is because of the way that this interpretation of their relationship feeds into that surface level analysis of both Ivan and Till's character? Ivan is the violently jealous lover, the one who watches from afar and seethes with envy, heâs the unfeeling pretty boy who only loves one person, heâs willing to do whatever it takes to keep that person. Till is the tsundere, the person who plays at strength but weakens at the first touch of someone stronger, easily flustered and even easier to cow into submission- but the thing is? We know that's not true for either of them, it's not supported by their backgrounds, their other actions, the context of their trauma. which makes that characterization super funny (to me) when this series is kind of about peeling back the edges of outward perception, with Mizi, Ivan, Luka and Hyuna especially.
While top/bottom isn't necessarily a power dynamic, when in the context of certain relationships, it can definitely take on the connotations of power. In Ivan and Till's relationship, the person who has the power is Till.
Out of the two of them, Ivan is not the person with the power and that's honestly the main issue that I have with the way that people portray him. In the top Ivan fics that I actually like, he's not the one with the power, he is only where he is because Till wanted them to get this far, he is at Till's mercy and he's loving it. The issue I take with those who portray him as domineering and controlling is that he doesn't try to control Till in canon. He might have concocted the incident with the wagyein and Mizi but after that? Ivan isn't trying to force Till into anything, he isn't controlling the situation, he isn't even trying to get Till to do anything but react. Ivan would do anything that Till wanted him to, no questions asked. For those who take the possessive angle with Ivan, the problem I have is that Ivan has no desire to own Till. He's obsessed with Till, yeah, but it's in the way that you love your favorite band- you love them to bits, you listen to all of their songs, you go to a concert, you have their merch- but you would still respect their choices, right? You would be disappointed if they decided to break up but you wouldn't force them to get back together. That's the difference between Ivan's obsession and Luka's- Luka thinks that he deserves Hyuna's affection in exchange for loving her (it's transactional), whereas Ivan is under no illusion that he is entitled to Till's affections.
On the flipside, when Till is portrayed as the tsundere who cares but refuses to show it because of his pride, well, that one's a little tougher because the main problem is execution. Till does really care about people but his affection isn't shown out of a matter of pride- he shows his affection for Mizi quite freely, after all, if he was really worried about vulnerability, I feel like he might be a little more conservative with his adoration. Often times, he doesn't show his care for people clearly because he doesn't really know how, defaulting to blushing and stuttering, gifts and acts of service to get his point across. He's not a super verbal-affection oriented guy and I think this is actually portrayed pretty well in the gen fics but not so much in smut because it's not as applicable lmao (comes with the territory ig). When Till is written as really timid, fumbling, innocent (@bluemoonscape called it woobifying), I hate that with a passion because he might fumble and he might get shy sometimes but he is not a pushover. He is not meek and if he doesn't like something, he'll voice his complaints, he'll let you know. I mean why else would he yell at Ivan in their version of My Clematis when Ivan gets too close? Admittedly, Ivan doesn't listen, lost in his monologue, and Till kind of just accepts it- but I am certain that if they were even intimate with each other, that Till would object were he uncomfortable and Ivan would listen. Like, whether Ivan was top or bottom, if Till's not having a good time? Ivan is no longer having a good time. Ivan's pleasure is very much contingent on Till's pleasure, at least, in my mind.
That's all the characterization centered stuff and kind of the reason why I think their relationship just works better with this dynamic *but* one of the biggest reasons it's a preference for me that Ivan bottoms is because of the inherent nature of that dynamic- it's a lot harder to end up fucking someone unwillingly than it is to get fucked by someone. There's a far greater likelihood of reciprocated feelings or at least, consent, when it comes to this version of their relationship and that's what I prefer because I really do think that they love each other.
(tagging @atrophiedemotion because I asked him if he wanted to be and he said yes! Blue is already tagged above too so all of the known interested parties have been notified :D love you guys)
#alien stage#alnst#alnst analysis#ivantill#hyunamizi#mizisua#alnst ivan#alnst till#rocktalks#finally finished this Blue!! hope it lives up to expectations lmao
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Shadows of the Past
Chapter 7: Complications Abound
Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.
Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.
The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.
With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?
Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.
Word Count: 6.7K
Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.
Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]
Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.
** Warning ** This chapter contains implied/attempted sexual assault. Please be careful and read at your own risk.
The Sussur Bloomâs glow pours like a phosphorescent waterfall over the delicate blue petals. You can taste the honey-sweet aroma of the flower suspended in the air.
You observe it acutely, trying to figure out where the boundary of its effect terminates.
Aldous grins deplorably, âYou would not believe how much this cost to procure.â
Does he think that will impress me?
Drawing in a deep breath, you calm your rampaging heart and swallow the terror balled in your throat.
Adorning your face with an overtly sweet, innocent smile, you summon every snippet of charisma you possess, âA beautiful flower indeed.â
âNot half as beautiful as my current company,â Aldous winks.
Ew.
âWhere is your father?â your eyes flash around, assessing the surroundings for advantages you may be able to exploit, âI believe he should join us.â
âFather is away on business. He will not be participating in this discussion tonight.â
Convenient.
âPerhaps we should postpone this little discourse until your father returns.â
Aldous ignores you, âDid you know that the Sussur Bloom nullifies all magic in its vicinity? A useful item against an ornery sorceress.â
âAldousâŠâ
âAh, ah, ah,â he sneers, wagging his finger at you, âYou will give me the respect I am due.â
HA! A ludicrous notion.
You clench your teeth so hard that the nerves sing, âSaer, Iâd like to-â
âWhere is the man who was with you?â Aldous cuts you off, âThe Elf.â
The door lock clicks, and you nearly wince, but you keep your illusion of poise intact. A grin slinks across Aldousâs lips as he stalks toward you.
âThere was no other Elf. You were roaring drunk.â
He chuckles sinisterly, âYou may have been able to pull the wool over my father's eyes, but I am not so easily fooled.â
The distance between you and Aldous recedes as he continues his menacing approach. You take wary steps backward, striving to retain as much space as possible.
The poorly lit gloom only deepens as youâre pressured further to the rear of the shop.
Glancing at the door behind Aldous, you concentrate on the stained-glass window. Daylight is fading fast. You silently rejoice and then scold yourself harshly for it.
I shouldnât be counting on Astarion to save me.
You soak your voice in your most persuasive, candied inflection, âWe can sort this little mishap out. Thereâs no need to involve anyone else.â
âWho is he?!â Aldous rasps.
Anger. A weakness I can exploit.
âNo one.â
âDonât play dull, Sorceress. I will pry it out of you one way or another.â
âI donât know who youâre talking about,â you smirk patronizingly, âIt seems youâre seeing ghosts. Perhaps a visit to a healer is in order?â
Aldous growls threateningly at your taunting. His teeth scour together harshly, sending shivers rushing up your spine, making your stomach reel and pitch.
âHe means much to you,â he sneers, âYou protect him by putting yourself in harmâs way,â Aldousâs finger taps his chin, âI canât help but wonder why he would let you come alone. Perhaps you donât mean as much to him as he does to you.â
âPerhaps,â you shrug, âI donât."
âYou shouldnât settle for that, Sorceress.â
This little shit dares scold me? Â
âAs if I care what you think.â
âYou deserve someone like me,â his hand comes to his puffed-up chest arrogantly, âprestigiously bred of noble blood, wealthy, handsome, and influential. Someone who can provide you with a life of luxury.â
âGods, you sicken me.â
Aldous places the Sussur Bloom on a table behind him, but close enough that you are within the negating influence.
His face burns red, brows pinched in a nightmarish scowl, âYouâre going to have a very miserable night then.â
âIf you fucking touch me, I will kill you.â
Not a threat, a fucking promise.
âYouâre all bark and no bite without your magic. I will take my apology in whatever form I choose.â
Your stomach warps nauseatingly, and you swallow the bile that soars into your throat.
Grabbing the hidden dagger in your boot, you swipe at Aldous frantically, grazing a weeping cut across his pudgy stomach.
Aldous lunges at you with a howl, grabbing your arm and twisting it, slamming it hard against the corner of a towering bookcase. The dagger rattles to the floor, and Aldous kicks it away swiftly.
âYou miserable swine!â he barks, eyes savage and enraged.
Aldous pins you to the bookcase with a bruising grip. His chest puts so much pressure on yours that the air you inhale whines when drawn into your constricted lungs.
Gods, please, just a little longer.
Aldous wrenches at the high collar of your robe, and a snarling shriek tears from your throat. His forehead slams into your face, cutting off your scream.
Pain causes a disorienting parade of light to erupt behind your eyes, and your lip swells and aches furiously. The sharp, ferrous tang of blood coats your tongue.
You spit, and red-tinged droplets splatter across Aldousâs face, âI should have killed you.â
âMy, my, what's this on your neck?â he snickers while eyeing the bite mark marring your flesh, âIf you like to be bitten, all you had to do was ask nicely. I would have happily obliged.â
Your stomach churns with the insinuation. You yearn to see the little worm beg and plead for you to spare his life."
Pale hands rip Aldous backward.
Astarionâs voice resounds in the dark, âI hear you like to bite, but do you like to be bitten?â
Aldous shrieks as sharp fangs sink into the supple flesh of his neck. You stand, a wicked smile on your face, watching the life slowly drain from Aldousâs eyes.
You could ask Astarion to stop. You could spare the feeble runt his life. You could, but you donât.
I was never a hero.
Astarion releases him when his eyes are dull and listless, and Aldousâs body crumbles to the floor.
The door creaks unexpectedly, making you jump, and you grasp at the intrinsic magic usually ever-present, only to find a yawning void.
Right. Where is that godsdamned flower?
Gale jogs in, huffing harshly out of breath. Eyeing the Sussur Bloom sitting innocently on the table, you throw it down and grind it to nothing but a blue paste smeared across the floor with your boot.
Astarion and Gale study you with apprehension as if worried you may buckle and break apart. You cross your arms and frown at them.
How soft do they think I am?Â
âI donât need mollycoddling like a spoon-fed babe,â you tut, clearly vexed, âWhat are we going to do about him?â
Galeâs fingers his chin, âThis will certainly complicate things.â
âI will handle this,â Astarion concludes.
âNo,â you stammer, âI can help.â
Astarion shakes his head, âYou and Gale go for a lovely, very long, relaxing night stroll. Greet, chat, mingle with everyone you see, stop at a pub and drink; I care not, just make sure you are seen far from here.â
Gale nods, âWe must set the lanceboard in our favour, so to speak. Astarion can handle this. This is hardly the first body heâs had to make disappear.â
Astarion smirks, âFar from it.â
âI could simply set this whole place ablaze,â you muse.
An excuse, more than anything, to see this place eradicated from existence.
Gale pales, âBurn all these books?â
Astarion snickers and sighs dramatically, âTruly, darling, did you not consider the books?!â
You roll your eyes, âThey would make for fine kindling.â
Gale mumbles, mouth agape, âHow unseemly.â
Astarion giggles at the ill-humoured scowl darkening Galeâs face before looking at you, âStill that twitchy palm of yours. Nothing screams guilty like a raging, fiery inferno.â
âI suppose you are the expert in these matters, Astarion.â
âOh,â he grins, âPlease do continue showering me with your praises.â
âGood Gods,â Gale grumbles, âWe should not linger, my friend.â
âFine,â you throw your hands up, exasperated, âI will spare the damn books.â
Astarion snaps his fingers, âGale, the scroll, if you please.â
The scroll?
You cock your brow at him. Astarion unrolls the scroll, recites the incantation, and it vanishes.
The swell and tender ache in your lower lip dissipates. Astarion pulls a handkerchief out and wipes the leftover drops of blood from your chin that had dribbled down from the split in your lip.
âGood as new,â he purrs, but there is concern laden in his eyes.
âYour incantations need work,â you tease to relieve Astarionâs anxiety.
He grins but clicks his tongue in disapproval, âAs do your manners, it seems.â
Gale weaves you through small, dim alleys and paths while avoiding the populace until youâre far from the shop.
Once you can return to the main thoroughfare, Gale skillfully greets passersby, striking up mundane conversations to ensure youâre noticed and seen.
Neither Gale nor you speak of what happened until youâre safely back in the manor.
âFuck,â your fingers wrack through your hair, âIâm so sorry, Gale.â
âYou need not be,â Gale squeezes your shoulder, âIâm just glad youâre alright.â
âWe need a plan.â
Run. Run. Run. Take Astarion and run -Â your mind chants.
Hells. My inclination toward avoidance has gotten out of hand.
Gale pats your arm, âWhat have we always done?â
âOutflank. Outsmart,â you echo his words.
âSpot on,â he grins, âWe can delve further into the particulars come morning.â
âYouâre right,â you take a calming breath, âI think thatâs about enough excitement for today.â
âYou have a strange notion of excitement, my friend,â Gale chuckles, âNow if you will excuse me, I am in dire need of a bath. Hells. That vampiric bastard can move swiftly. Perhaps I have gotten indolent in retirement.âÂ
After bathing and changing, you sit on your bed and stare at the unfilled space beside you. Just this morning, you had awoken in Astarionâs room, and your eyes overindulged on the sight of him still peacefully at rest.
Can I go back to resting and waking up alone again? Moreover, do I want to?
No.
Your heart whimpers in your chest at the concept, sinking into your stomach with a quiver. The battle between your fearfulness and what you want continues to war on. Everything you crave is situated on the other side of your doubt.
Why do you keep yourself seated in the dark abyss you retreated to when he left when the light is right in front of you, and all you have to do is walk into it?
Iâm still running.
Coward.
Reprimanding yourself for being so spineless, you leave the emptiness of your bed behind and make yourself some tea. Sinking into the chair on the terrace, your legs curl up under you.
The waves flourish and flaunt in the inlet, making the boats dance in concert and the tangy brine of the sea wafts in the air. Coasting clouds cause the pastel glow of the new moon to wax and wane.
The fluttering beat of wings alerts you to Taraâs approach before you see her soar and land on the terrace with a grace only she and Astarion could muster.
The pitter-patter of her little paws on the wood boards makes you smile as she draws near.
Tara stretches her wings before settling, âWould you like some company while you await the vampireâs return?â
âTara, do you know the vampireâs name?â
âOf course,â she scowls, âYouâve been calling out to him in your sleep for months.â
OhâŠÂ
Right.
âWhy do you keep calling him vampire then?â
âHe calls me cat or cat with wings, does he not?â she huffs exasperatedly, âIt does not vex him as I hoped, though.â
You giggle at her, âYou must try much harder if you wish to aggravate him.â
She nods curly as if sheâs taken that into advisement, âI have not seen you out here recently. What is troubling you this night?â
Patting your lap, you invite her up, âItâs hard to find enough peace to rest when your heart is at war with your mind.â
Tara jumps up and lays down with a soft purr, âHave you always been so meek?â
Meek? Not a word I would have ever described myself with.
âNo,â you stare off into the distance blankly.
Her round eyes reflect what little light the moon provides, âYou have been lonely here, yes?â
How does she know these things?
The unmistakable glint of unshed tears brims in your eyes, âIs there a cure for loneliness?â
She cocks her head, confused, âYou do not seem lonely when he is near.â
âI-â your brows pinch together, sheâs right again, you think, âI suppose Iâm not.â
âThen he is the cure you seek.â Tara concludes, âMay I speak bluntly?â
Sheâs never asked before. This should be good.
âPlease do.â
âYou are being an idiot,â she says factually.
You laugh, almost spewing your tea at Taraâs curtness, âIâm sorry. Care to elaborate?â
âThe longer you keep yourself tethered to this unhappiness, the longer you will live a life not meant for you.â
I hate how right she is.
Your fingers tap the mug fretfully as tears tiptoe out of the corners of your eyes, âWhat if I canât get over my fear, Tara?â
Tara puts her paws on your chest, levelling her green eyes with yours with a stern yet empathetic glower, âThen you must do it afraid, Sorceress.â
She makes it sound so simple.
But it is really that simple, isn't it?
You stifle back a sniffle and scratch behind her ear, âStop being so smart and wise.â
âPerhaps when you stop being an idiot.â
Another strangled laugh escapes your throat as you stroke her silky fur, making her purr loudly. Resting your head on the high-backed chair, your eyes flutter shut.
âYou must do it afraid.â
I will.
I just need a little more time. Â
Tara leaps off your lap, and your eyes open sleepily to see Astarion standing before you. Dirt streaks the pale skin of his face and hands, and trails, where sweat rolled down his temples and forehead, are evident.
âWake up, sweetheart.â
You scan the sky as the haze clouding your vision disperses slowly. It must be only hours from dawn.
Your nose crinkles, âYou smell like dirt.â
âI thought I would try something new; groundskeeper with a hint of grave robber,â his brow cocks seductively, âIs it working for you?â
You giggle, âAbsolutely not.â
âWell,â he pouts with a dramatic sigh, âdonât be afraid to tell me what you really think.â
âI think you really need a bath.â
âI do love it when you sass me,â he tuts, âNaughty thing. What are you doing resting out there? Youâre shivering fiercely.â
âI was talking to Tara,â your teeth chatter together, âI must have drifted off.â
He kisses your forehead, âCome on. Letâs get you warmed up inside,â Walking through the kitchen, Astarion turns to you, âAre you gracing my bed with your delicious self again tonight, friend?â
Hells. I was heading to his room without even thinking about it.
âDo you want me to?â
âItâs up to you,â Astarion shrugs as if it doesnât matter, but thereâs a hint of hope reflected in the scarlet of his irises.
Gods, tell me we belong together. Please.
âTell me what you want, Astarion.â
âYou, my love. Always and forevermore, you,â he purrs, taking your hand, âMy bed it is.â
Astarionâs room is a chasm of blackness when you enter. With a flick of your wrist, you light the candles instantly with a smug smile.
He chuckles, âI forgot how handy you are to have around.â
âTruly indispensable,â you chime back in jest.
âBetter set that ablaze as well,â Astarion points to the fireplace, âYou get grouchy when youâre cold.â
You gasp, hand coming to your mouth theatrically, âIâm never grouchy!â
âOh, donât fret, my dear,â he glowers at you playfully, âYouâre adorable when you're grouchy.â
âGo bathe, you smell.â
He giggles with a shallow bow, âAs the lady wishes.â
You sit on the edge of Astarionâs bed, and a smile trails across your lips. These moments with him feel so familiar, so right, and they quiet the clashing present inside you.
Why are you making things so complicated for yourself? It could be as simple as telling him you want to be with him, so why donât you?
He would finally stop calling me âfriend,â at least.
Astarion returns with only a towel hanging loosely around his waist. He nudges your legs apart with his knee and leans in close. His hands slip up the bed by your sides, forcing you to lean back until youâre propped up on your forearms. Your heart parades in your chest, seemingly skipping beats the closer he leans into you.
âWell, youâre not wrinkling your cute little nose at me anymore,â Astarion taps the tip of your nose softly, âA good sign.â
Leaning in close, you kiss his shoulder while making a dramatic show of inhaling deeply, âYou stink⊠less.â
He giggles and gives you a gentle shove, âLess?! Darling, Iâm hurt,â he imitates shock with a sulky flair, âI smell excellent.â
Hells, does he ever.
âHow do you know?â
Astarion taps your chest over your heart in rhythm with the quickened pace with a sly, boyishly handsome smile, âYour body tells me everything I need to know.â
âPleased with yourself, are you?â
âIndeed,â he coos, âNow, to bed with you, sleepy love.â
Yes, rest. Gods, Iâm tired.
Astarionâs thumb sweeps lazily back and forth over your arm, and you lay your head on his chest. Your eyes feel heavy and sag closed.
Lifting your hand, you draw all the flames from the candles into an orb floating above your palm, extinguishing them. The flaming sphere winks out, bathing the room in darkness except for the glow from the ebbing embers in the fireplace.
Astarion kisses your forehead, âBraggart.â
You giggle, but your voice sounds distant to your ears as the current of your trance pulls you under. Astarion starts to hum while running his fingers through your hair.
âI love you,â you say in a whispering sigh.
Wait⊠did I say that out loud?
Astarionâs crooning hum cuts off, and his fingers come to your chin, guiding your face up.
The silky skin of his lips caresses yours tenderly, âI love you too. Rest, my only one.âÂ
Gale rubs his eyes, âWhere was Mr. Blackwell?â
âAldous said he was away on business,â your leg bounces nervously, âHe didnât elaborate further.â
Astarionâs hand slips over your thigh under the table, stilling the ferocity of its jostling.
âWe have some time then,â Gale concludes, âI have business in the city today. I could make some inquiries.â
âBloody Hells, you are terrible at this,â Astarion groans, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, âGale, if you go making odd inquiries, youâll implicate yourself.â
Gale scoffs, âOh, my deepest apologies if I am not proficient in the matters of covering up a murder.â
âApology accepted,â Astarion drawls, âWe could always kill Mr. Blackwell. Whatâs one more murder?â
âMr. Blackwell has a wife,â Gale scowls, âAldousâs mother.â
âYou say that as if itâs a problem, Gale,â Astarion shrugs, âThe wife as well then.â
Galeâs skin goes a deathly white as his mouth drops open, eyes round, âYou cannot seriously be suggesting we murder an entire family!â
You cut them both off, âAstarion is trying to get under your skin, Gale. Donât let him.â
âYouâre no fun,â Astarionâs lips purse into a pout, âI had the wizard going.â
Galeâs body unknots with relief, âVery funny, my sharp-toothed friend.â
You rub your temples to stifle the headache brewing, âHow well connected is Mr. Blackwell, Gale?â
Galeâs fingers tap his chin, âConnected would be an understatement. The man is friends with every high-ranking official in the city.â
Certainly a complication.
Astarionâs fingers drum on the table, âCould we not convince him that his son ran off with some trollop?â
âI could try,â you nod, âbut Mr. Blackwell is already suspicious of me. He will not make an easy target.â
âYou do have a very delicious silver tongue,â Astarionâs hand slips up your thigh and between your legs, âI have no doubt you could persuade him.â
You sit stiffly, trying not to expose the crudeness happening below the wood tabletop as Astarionâs fingers sweep over your crotch.
âI could try,â you choke out as you clench involuntarily at the sensation, âbut itâs not foolproof.â
Astarion scoffs, âIf you want foolproof, my dear, we better circle back to the murder option.â
âDo you not feel any remorse for what youâve done!â Gale explodes out of his chair, irritation creasing his forehead.
Astarion stands with bared teeth, leaning threateningly close to Galeâs face, âI feel only pristine satisfaction. You have NO idea what he was about to do to her, Gale.â
âStop it! Both of you,â you roar, slamming your hands on the table to get their attention, âI could have stopped Astarion, and I didnât. If you must hold someone responsible for this, the blame is mine, Gale.â
âEnough!â Astarionâs crimson eyes send shivers down your spine, âYou are not accountable for my actions!â
This is about more than just this event.
âGale,â you sigh with a forced smile, âGo make your inquiries, but be discreet.â
Gale bows shallowly and excuses himself, glancing between you and Astarion. There is a grim tension in the air.
Astarionâs finger taps rhythmically on the table, a telltale sign heâs upset with you.
âSpit it out, Astarion. What is really troubling you because it isnât this.â
Astarionâs forehead creases as his brows pull down low, and he shouts, âYou must stop holding yourself at fault for what Iâve done!â
âArenât I?â you scream back at him, coming to your feet abruptly, âThe night you left, I made you uncomfortable, and what happened? You fucking ran from me, from our life, from us!â
He left. Gods, he left, and it nearly killed me.
âIt-â Astarionâs eyes dart around, âIt wasnât because of something you did.â
âMy fault or not, I paid dearly for it.â
You ran and took my heart with you.
You rush to your room, locking the door. Itâs too much. Itâs all too much at once, and you cannot process it quickly enough.
It was my fault Astarion left in the first place, wasnât it?
I pushed him too hard, didnât I?
Gods, you donât know. Youâve been punishing yourself for all of your missteps since he disappeared, and you canât relinquish your guilt no matter how hard you try.
Why will I not allow myself to let this go?
Astarionâs soft knock resonates on the door, and your head plummets into your hands.
You cannot do this right now, and your voice rumbles, âGo away, Astarion.â
Astarion plunks down on the floor outside your door, âI will wait until you are ready to speak to me.â
He used to do this when you lived with him, giving you space but ultimately staying close by.
Wrenching the door open, you seethe, âGo. Away.â
Astarion rights himself and pushes into your room as if nothing is amiss. Despite your fiery temper, Astarion was never easily goaded into a fight with you.
âAstarion,â you leer at him in a warning.
âYouâre angry with me,â he retorts, âIâm well aware and well acquainted with your ire.â
ïżœïżœïżœThen you know you should be leaving me alone,â you admonish him.
âYou never used to retreat from arguments with me.â
Fuck. Heâs right. I ran.
Again.
You groan, slamming your door and drop to the floor. The headache you had felt starting is now throbbing in your temples like a battering ram. Pressing your eyes shut, you kneed at your head with your fingers.
Astarion sinks to the ground opposite you, and his hand settles on your forehead, âDarling, are you alright?â
The chill of his skin eases some of your discomfort, and you push into his touch with a relieved sigh, âJust a headache.â
âYou did not get much rest last night,â his fingers massage your temples, âIâm sorry. I should not have shouted at you.â
âI donât want to talk about this right now.â
âYou do not have to talk, but you will listen, and listen closely,â Astarion tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to meet his, âYou must stop blaming yourself for what Iâve done. The guilt is not yours to endure.â
âButâŠâ you swallow the lump in your throat, wrench your eyes down and fidget with your fingers, âBut I made you uncomfortable the night you left.â
âMy leaving was not due to anything you did or did not do. Iâm-â he sits back, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it, âIâm a coward,â he shrugs, âIâve always been a coward.â
âYou have never been a coward, Astarion,â you shake your head, âWhatâs changed? What will stop you from leaving again?â
âI am no longer afraid,â his fingers sweep across your cheek before rubbing your temples again, âWell, perhaps thatâs not entirely true. I am afraid of losing you again.â
How did he get over his fear?
âAstarion,â you sigh as his fingers skillfully knead the throbbing ache, âyou could never lose me.â
âI did,â the corners of Astarionâs mouth creep downward mournfully, âdid I not, friend?â
This word haunts me.
âMay I ask you something?â
You nod, âAnything.â
âEver since I returned, you have been exceedingly gentle with me, far beyond customary, even for you. Why?â
âYou mean,â your voice trembles slightly, âwhen it comes to being intimate with you?â
âYes.â
Fuck, I donât want to tell him this, but I must stop trying to escape from the truth.
âI-â you inhale a long, slow breath to calm your pounding heart, âYou left me the night I made you uncomfortable. I suppose,â you pause, trying to gather yourself, âI suppose I have been worried that if I make that same mistake, I will scare you away again.â
Astarion takes your hands, âI promise you do not have to be afraid. I am here to stay. You need not be so gentle with me.â
Donât I though?
âCan I trust you to tell me when itâs too much?â
âI will always tell you,â he says conclusively, âCould we please get off this floor now, beautiful?â
RightâŠ
âSorry. Where would you like to sit?â
âThe bed,â he says, helping you to your feet, âDoes your head still hurt?â
âYes,â you groan.
Your brain is bashing against your skull, trying to escape your head.
âSit. I will rub it for you like I used to.â
Sitting on the bed, Astarion pulls you between his legs, your back against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. His fingers work the achy spots perfectly.
âWhat happened yesterday,â Astarion says in a low timbre, âwith the boy. Are you alright?â
Am I? Â
âItâs not the first time Iâve been attacked.â
âYes,â Astarion looks around anxiously, âbut there is a difference between being attacked and being,â he pauses, searching for a way to put it delicately.
âI know what youâre getting at,â you sigh, âIâve lived a hard life, Astarion. This is just another one of those things thatâs better forgotten."
âI understand,â Astarion kisses the top of your head, âBut if you cannot forget, I am here if you need me.â
I always need you.
âThank you.â
âYou will tell me more about your life someday, yes?â Astarionâs voice is hopeful, âI wish to know everything.â
My past - another thing I run from.
âWill you tell me more about yours?â
âFor you, my love, I am an open book,â Astarion murmurs, âAsk, and I will tell you to the best of my ability, but there are things I cannot recall.â
âLike your face?â
He smiles sadly, âYes, like my face.â
You and Gale have been practicing magic together, and you asked him to teach you Mirror Image. The incantation was straightforward to learn, but Illusionary magic is not your realm of expertise and mastering the hand movements was tricky.
Mirror Image was meant to be used on yourself, but you and Gale often try to find new ways to use or cast various spells.
After many trials and failures, youâve figured out how to use Mirror Image to mirror someone other than the caster.
Should I?
âDo you-â you trail off, wondering if this is a good idea, âI could try something - if you want. If I can pull it off, you will be able to see yourself.â
âWhat?â Astarion jolts off the bed, eyes round with astonishment, âHow?â
You turn to look at him, âDo you remember that night in camp when Gale was inspecting a magical copy of himself?â
His red eyes shift around, crazed, and you wonder if youâve made a mistake and stepped too far.
âOf course,â he groans, âHow could I forget his incessant preening?â
Astarion looks anxious, and unease blooms in your stomach, âAre you okay? Maybe I shouldnât have said anything.â
âPlease,â he pleads, his scarlet eyes wide and wild, âIf you can, would you please?â
âThis may feel odd at first,â you warn, âlike countless fingers running over your skin. Donât be alarmed.â
I can do this. I will do this.
Grasping the Weave, you wrap it around you and Astarion with the finesse of an archmage. Reciting the incantation is as easy as breathing, and it rolls off your tongue poetically.
The hand movements are far more complicated, but youâve practiced this, and your fingers dance the perfectly choreographed pattern.
Astarionâs eyes stay locked on you.
You pull the threads, and the Weave unravels, only for you to stitch it back together in the image of Astarion.
âItâs done,â you smile, âAll you need to do is turn around.â
Astarion takes a deep, shuddering breath but doesnât turn, âWhat should I expect?â
You cock a brow at him. Youâre not entirely sure how you expected him to react, but hesitancy didnât even cross your mind.
Is he scared he wonât like what he sees?
âYou will see yourself as the world sees you,â you say, calm and encouraging, âYou donât have to, Astarion. If itâs too much, I can always recast this when youâre ready.â
âNo, I want to. Gods. Itâs been so long, and I just⊠I just do not know,â he swallows hard, his Adamâs apple bobbing up and down, âWill you hold my hand? I do not think I can do this without you.â
âIâve got you,â you interlace your fingers with his, âWhen youâre ready, love.â
He smiles, âThatâs the first time youâve called me that since Iâve been back.â
No⊠No, I couldnât be. Is it?Â
âI- UhâŠI-â
âOh, donât worry,â he giggles, âI wonât get my hopes up, friend.â
Astarion takes another slow, shaky breath and turns around slowly. The image of Astarion faces him, but its eyes are closed. For a moment, you think you didnât cast the spell correctly, but when you look at Astarion, the figure mirrors him as it should.
Giving him this moment, you lean your head on his shoulder and wait patiently.
Astarion recoils slightly when his eyes open, and he sees the image standing there. The figures stare at each other, awestruck.
Astarion takes a step closer to the image and touches his face, running his fingers along his jaw, down the bridge of his nose, and over his cheekbones. He racks his fingers through his hair. Leaning in closer, he inspects his eyes and fangs, utterly captivated.
âGood Gods,â he pants breathlessly, âThatâs me?â
âItâs you, Astarion,â you canât help but smile, âin all your earth-shatteringly, realm-ending handsome beauty.â
âI am positively magnificent, arenât I?â he muses agog, âNow, all your fiery jealousy makes perfect sense.â
You nearly chastise him, but when you look at him to shoot back some witty retort your mind hasnât yet formulated, heâs staring at you with tears shining down his cheeks.
Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.
âFuck, Astarion,â you wipe the tears spilling from his eyes with your thumb, âIâm so sorry. I didnât mean to upset you.â
He looks at the image of himself again, âI- I donât believe Iâve ever cried happy tears before,â he chuckles low, his eyes downcast, âNot that I can remember, at least.â
Happy tears?
Before you can process his words, he sweeps you up in a cradling embrace, pulling you off your feet, âThank you, my love.â
The spell wanes, and the figures form flickers before fading away. Astarion lowers you to the floor and looks at the empty area woefully.
âAstarion,â you guide his eyes back to you, still shiny with unshed tears, âI can recast that spell whenever you want. You only have to ask. This need not be the last time you get to see yourself.â
âGods, donât tell me that,â he sighs dramatically, with a striking crooked smile, âIâm likely to overindulge."
âFine,â you giggle, âYou will have to earn your overindulgence.â
âOh,â Astarion smiles devilishly, eyeing you through thick lashes and hooded eyes, âHow would you have me earn it?â
âOh,â you tap your lips, âIâm sure I can think of something like warming Tara her milk,â you taunt.
Astarion scoffs, âThe cat can wait for her milk. I was thinking more along the lines of depraved carnal lust?â
âNow?â
âWell,â Astarion smirks, âNow is as good a time as any, but I need to ask something of you.â
âWhat?â
Astarion sweeps your hair back and looks deeply into your eyes, âStop being excessively gentle with me. Iâm not as fragile as you presume me to be.â
Isnât he?
âI-â you stammer with worry in your voice, âI will try.â
âGood girl.â
âLock the door,â you tug at this shirt, âand lose this.â
âDemanding thing,â he chuckles, sliding the lock into place, âAs you wish.â
Astarion pulls his shirt off and stands so close that your breasts graze his chest with the rise and fall of your breath.
Astarionâs fingers curl under the hem of your top, âMay I?â
You nod, and Astarion lets his cool fingers caress the warmth of your skin as he strips you. The temperature contract makes your skin prickle, and desire flushes your complexion red.
Your nipples skim across the chilled skin of Astarionâs chest, making them harden into peaks instantly, and you shudder at the sensation.
The pad of Astarionâs thumb teases your sensitive peak, âYou have no idea how perfect you are, do you?â
His teasing causes a breathy whimper to escape your lips, and heat pools as your nerves are set alight. Astarion takes your lips in his. The kiss quickly becomes primal, urgent, and all-consuming.
He nips your lower lip gently, forcing your lips to part, and his tongue traverses your mouth. Bolts of electricity ripple down your spine, awakening the achy need in your centre.
Astarion grabs your hips and rolls them against his throbbing erection with an urging grunt. The swell between your thighs sings with the decadent banquet of friction, and you moan low, ghosting your lips over his ear as you melt into him.
âYou have no idea how much I miss being inside you,â Astarion growls with a voice soaked in burning want.
Gods. I miss it too.
The walls of your core clench uncontrollably as depraved thoughts and memories of him stretching you, claiming you, swim through your head.
Astarion shoves you hard, and you fall onto the bed with a giggle. Pushing your legs apart, he crawls up, kissing your stomach before swirling his tongue around your nipple, making your back arch and body twitch.
Gods. He could undo me with that alone.
Your splayed fingers slip us his chest, sweeping across his nipple, eliciting a pleasant rumbling groan deep in his chest. His lips meet yours urgently, and he bucks his hips into you, pushing the throbbing bulge in his trousers against your swell.
His presence is intoxicating, and you canât control your body. Hells, you donât want to control your body, and you writhe against him greedily, needy for relief.
Astarionâs hand slides up your thigh and his fingers ghost over the pulsating flesh, âHow wet are you?â
Embarrassingly so. Nigh on soaked.
You groan as the flush of embarrassment courses through you and cover your face with your arms.
Astarion gently moves one of your arms away from your face, âDo not hide from me. You never have to hide from me.â
He rocks his hips against you, and you convulse and tremble against him with whimpering, sputtered murmurs.
âYouâre soaked, arenât you?â he teases, âMay I, friend?â
âGods, yes.â
Astarion slips his fingers into your waistband in an agonizingly slow descent that makes you wonder if you might combust before his fingers find their target.
He parts your folds while expertly avoiding that pulsing bundle of nerves that is craving his stroke.
âHells, you are positively soaked,â he drawls, âYouâre making quite a mess. We should get these off, yes?â
Astarion hooks his fingers into your waistband. You lift your hips in silent consent, and he slips your pants off you.
You squeeze your thighs together, feeling far too vulnerable under those piercing hooded crimson eyes studying you.
ïżœïżœïżœI wish to look upon you, friend,â Astarion glides his hand between your thighs, âWill you let me?â
He uses gradual force to encourage your legs to part, and you allow your legs to spread for him.
Those cardinal red eyes devour the sight of you, full of unwavering adoration, âYouâre beautiful.â
His fingers roam down your thigh to your folds, slick with desire. Breathy, sputtering moans escape your lips as your hips lurch at his touch.
His fingers trace the swollen border of your achy clit, âDo all your friends make you drip with need?
âAstarion,â you gasp.
âYes, love?â
âPlease,â you beg, âFor the love of all the Gods. Please.â
âHow many fingers?â he growls.
What?
Your mind canât focus enough to string together what heâs asking. You squirm, trying to motivate his fingers to move faster, but he stills and waits for you to stop your writhing.
âWhen was the last time you were filled?â Astarion says firmly as he eases the contact of his fingers to nothing more than a light tease.
Do I admit this?
âYou.â
Astarionâs brows pop up, eyes round with surprise, âMe? You havenât been with anyone since I left?â
You stare at him, confused by his shock, âYou are all I want, Astarion.â
Wait, does his shock mean heâs been with others since he left?
Donât be so blind and naive. Of course, he has.
He has...
Under the overwhelming realization, your heart warps and bursts, violently rocketing the razor-edged shards youâve been cutting yourself with, trying to glue them together. You clutch your chest as they tear you asunder anew.
The world feels like itâs crumbling down around you and drowning you in it.
Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying?
Astarionâs hand cradles your cheek, and you leap off the bed to your hands and knees on the floor, recoiling from his touch.
How many others has he touched with that hand?Â
Stop.
But Hells, how many since you?
No. Stop.
Astarion is coming toward you, distress twisting his brows and shining vividly in those beautiful crimson eyes.
How many people have looked into those eyes since you while he drove them to their release?
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Fuck. How many?!
His mouth is moving, but Gods you hear nothing over the stampede of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.
Run. Run. Run. Run and never stop , your mind wails.
You canât breathe. Hells, youâre suffocating in this room as it caves in around you.
You canât take anymore. You must escape. Picking yourself up off the floor, you throw on your clothes in a panicked scurry.
Astarionâs cool hand grazes the skin of your arm, and you shrink away, gritting your teeth.
How many? Fuck. How many?!
Astarion backs away from you, alarmed.
Run. Run. Run.
Youâve barely finished dressing before you find yourself sprinting through the manor.
You need to get away from this place, get away from him, get away from yourself.
Swinging the door open, the sunlight floods in. Someone cries out, but you barely register Astarionâs pained yelp. You launch out the door, slamming into a startled Gale, eyes wide with confusion.
Gale tries to halt you, but you push him away with a hard shove that nearly sends him toppling over.
You donât stop. You canât stop.
You run.Â
Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)
Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past
AO3: Crossposted
If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Small Notes: - Well, the noble is dead (yay), but how will they deal with the consequences? - Poor Tav :(
#astarion x tav#astarion x you#astarion x reader#astarion smut#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion#astarion x mc#astarion romance#baldurs gate astarion#shadows of the past#astarion x oc#astarion fanfic#astarion fanfiction#astarion fic#astarion angst#astarion spawn#spawn astarion
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hii !! can you do a short drabble/headcanons(whatever you want it's okay) abt monoma with a pro hero! fem reader(after the timeskip),who used to really fight with monoma in their u.a days but secretly monoma has a crush for her? pls and thank uuu,have a good dayđ
Hello! Let me start by apologizing because of my tardiness in answering this request, it's been all so stressfull currently but I've tried to sort out as much time now to keep on writing. I'm so thankful for your request and I hope it's to your liking!
Love mission
Warnings: minor cursing
Genre: Enemies to lovers Series: Boku No Hero Academia
Words' count: 0.57k Pairing: Neito Monoma Ă FEM! Y/N
You've been fighting with Neito longer than you could remember, how did it all begin?
It's been so long you can't really remember, though by now you think it must have been something really stupid.
However, to your young self, it hadn't been than wayânothing like that, Monoma had been so rude and sarcastic he's gotten you mad hundreds of times it wasn't even funny anymore. Not like it was funny to begin with.
When you paired to fight against him as a part of your training in 1-B you gave your all to get him to shut up.
You have only the memories on your mind as a weird relation with someone you thought you'd never see againâor more like work with since you were on the same profession.
But destiny seemed to have other plans because just five minutes ago you've gotten a petition to work on a mission with him as a partner.
Now you could understand why were you suddenly thinking so much about him, reminiscing on the old days it was as if you've invoked it.
Monoma on the other hand was smiling smugly after managing to convince their colleagues that you were the perfect match for him for the operation to be succesful.
Not like it needed much convincing on his part since a lot of his coworkers and side kicks were his classmates at some point and knew about his crush on you, they all were in for the tea when you'd work together.
Throughout your assignment, Monoma had been a real gentleman with you, soon discarding any anxious thoughts of discomfort you'd get while being with him.
He seemed more chillâbut his confidence had maintained, which was something you clearly remembered about him but matched with his new cold and thoughtfull demeanour made you see him in a new light.
Neito had noticed some changes on yourself too, having grown more mature and your body features accentuating took a toll on him for the first seconds he saw you at your office to discuss the details of the mission. After having a right look of you, he'd been paying attention to your likings and how your attitude had evolved.
Of course you didn't know he'd been slightly stalking you on every newspaper he gets with the most recent news about heroes in generalâsmiling to himself when he saw you in a magnificent dress while at the heroes galas, nominations, awards, parties held made him think about approaching you and spilling all about his long-lasting crush.
After doing all your business and getting out of the villain's hideout safely with ten more prisoners, you went to say goodbye to Monoma, not really expecting for him to look so shocked when he heard you talk as if you'd never see each other again.
He tried his best to resume quickly his cool appearance and laughed uncomfortably, not brushing off the topic entirelyâbut rather asking if you were free any other time to re-build the relation you had.
You didn't hope for anything serious to go from that question but your heart beating fastly and cheeks burning made you think otherwise. You agreed.
Monoma would not let this chance to go to wasteânow his mission would be to make you fall in love with him. Or maybe just a bit more for one of you to actually confess your feelings for each other?
All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the pictures and tagged anime character.) â my navigation!
#mitsua#mitsuawrites#headcanons#anime#bnha#fluff#hcs#x reader#monoma headcanons#bnha monoma#monoma x reader#neito monoma#monoma neito#mha monoma#mha neito#neitomonoma#mha#neito x reader#fem reader#reader#reader insert#bnha fanfiction#bnha x reader#bhna#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#request#headcannons
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future histories
pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader [she/her]
warning(s): angst, gotg vol 3 inspired [peter q. & gamora]
summary: the one where past lovers consider life beyond their tragic circumstances
author's note: this is part 2 to this imagine which i recommend reading before this one. i'm currently re-reading the book that inspired part 1 (the sun is also a star by nicola yoon), which further inspired me to write this. i also haven't written in time so forgive me for any mistakes that may be here.
tag(s): @aechii
now playing: the miseducation of lauryn hill by ms. lauryn hill
Under the mature night sky, surrounded by the stars and the comfort of the dark, a celebration was underwayâan engagement party. Somewhere rural and hidden by trees standing tall and all, there was a house hosting the party of the couple-to-be in the coming weeks. The fiancĂ©, the fiancĂ©e, bridesmaids, groomsmen and beyond in attendance.Â
It was all wonderful, from the presence of everyone, the party atmosphere, Party Girls floating within and beyond the mansion. The night was set in motion and wouldn't stop for anyone until the early morning.
Still, two individuals decided to stray away. And thereâwherever they wandered away toâthey chose to remain in their own world, oblivious to everything else around them.
"You can't be serious, Jude!" Y/N shook her head and glanced at her friend with a pointed look. Watch your words kinda look. "Say that shit again. I dare you."
It was quiet for a moment before Jude decided to tune in again, shrugging with a smile growing on his face. "A straw has two holes."
Her face contorted, disgust evident even to the blind. "It has one."
Jude hung his head back as he let out a laugh, his laughter trailing into the night sky. Folding his arms, he asked, "You know two things can be true at the same time?" The straw debate was something that the two had been having for a few years. And yet despite his strong arguments and the backing of friends, Jude just couldn't get Y/N to be in the slightest way considerate of his side of the debate.
"And that's completely fine," she said, clasping her hands together. She was comfortable in her place and in her stance. "Just not when I make an argument for something. And I stand by what I believe."
"Okay, whatever you say," Jude raised his arms up in laughter, "Whatever you say, Y/N."
Debating with Y/N was something he always found himself enjoying. Not because he enjoyed the act of debating or because he would aim to propose an outstanding argument. It was more simply because he enjoyed watching Y/N debate, even if it was against him. Always was she animated in discussion, pushing 'til the end to prove a point that may not be entirely true. If she could somehow prove that left was actually right, then Jude would follow behind her and declare left as right.
After walking around the private grounds for some time, Y/N and Jude decided to rest and settled on a low wall. There, they were able to admire the manor house scenery. A location large and luxurious in presentation with its gardens, lakes and grass trimmed to perfection. Still, it remained cosy and informal with the absence of public bodies around; one could be unrestricted and alone with the infinite square feet that were free to wonder.
Jude and Y/N experienced both respectively, the loneliness over the freedom. Outdoors they were together alone, only accompanied by the displays of nature around them. Away from the celebration of the engaged couple, away from secret activities of the night, away and distant from the wonders that this ever manor had to offer. And when that realisation dawned upon the two everything from their talk to their moods fell.
Y/N sighed, her posture faltering a bit. "What are we doing out here?" After all, it was Jude who invited her to stray away from the party. One minute she was in the middle of a game with her friends and the next Jude was taking her away with no explanation, just pace.
Jude took her hand in his and glanced at her with a playful look. "Is it so bad that I want to get to know my bridesmaid?" Weirdly, everyone thought it would be the perfect idea to pair Jude and Y/N as a groomsman and bridesmaid together.
"Yes," Y/N scoffed out a laugh, removing her hand from his grasp. "I know a lot about you and I don't think I want to start learning more."
"That's fair, I guess," he huffed out a small laugh. But because he believed that what she said was wholefully true; he knew that other people shared her opinion so I guess that's where he had to agree. Jude then sobered up from his laughter, "I just wanted to talk to you."
Rubbing her hands together, she blew out a small breath as she looked around the vacant outdoor area. "And we have to do that outside?" The night weather wasn't too bad, though it didn't beat wanting to be indoors.
He sucked in a small breath as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just... I'm not tryna be inside right now. I mean..."
She meant to ask what Jude was talking about, but then she heard it. I Can't Help Falling in Love was playing, within and beyond the mansion. And Y/N could imagine the scenes inside. Everyone pushing the engaged couple to have yet another dance, ungrateful yet entertaining steps and twirls, aspiring partners taking the leap of faith with a dance that would probably lead to something more later down the line, lively dances and delight across the board.
Whatever purpose there was to danceâto sway delicately across the dancefloor, to lose oneself in the song, to hold wild thoughts regarding romanceânonetheless, it brought everything to life even if it wasn't there before. Romance, partnership, and lasting promises, all shared between two individuals. Every two individuals except for Y/N and Jude.
It was hard for them. Even though they felt nothing for each other, even though they could no longer feel anything for one another (and weren't actively seeking anything from each other), it still remained hard and unfair to be surrounded by all things love and ideal romance that reminded them that their relationship didn't work, that they themselves weren't deserving of a functional, lasting relationship.
Jude and Y/N were happy for the engagement of their friends, and they would continue to wish them the best until their final days. But being bombarded by all these thingsâbeing a groomsman and bridesmaid, everyone seemingly being in current or aspiring relationshipsâwith their history together, one that they couldn't bring themselves to remember or hold onto in any way, witnessing their friends in the relationship that they failed to hold onto for reasons beyond them... it was overwhelming simply being at the engagement party.
"And I just want to talk to you without other people being around... without them judging us." It was weird for Jude. Being a football player meant eyes were constantly on him. He was used to it. Now people were giving him attention over his previous relationship and couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of unease off his person.
Y/N knew Jude's thoughts were real and justified. She heard the whispers speaking on her and Jude. From the wedding rehearsals to the engagement party. Both positive and negative remarks; wondering how they couldn't understand why the two broke up, speaking on why the reason the exes broke up didn't make much sense. That Y/N and Jude looked together, and that they should make up and get together for the sake of it.
In other words, the reason for Jude and Y/N breaking up wasn't valid enough in everyone's eyes.
She let her eyes trail on her legs as they swang over the ground. "It'sâ it's like people care more about our relationship than we do." She said it like it was a wonder, but Y/N knew well that that was just the reality of things.
"Don't even get me started with that," Jude shook his head before scoffing. "I get asked about our relationshipâabout youâa lot by friends and family. I mean I don't mind, it's whatever, you know? I expect now. But sometimes it's just too much. And every conversation is the same. How is Y/N? You guys still friends? I think you two still have a chance together. You should definitely ask her out."
"And I'm always polite with it and say, Y/N is fine. Yes, we're still friends I guess. Well, I don't know about that. We haven't talked about that. I hear what you're saying, but I'm not too sure about that. Polite with it. Then they'll ask me the same questions again or ask my parents. It's almost like... like..."
"Like they don't trust our judgements?" Even though she was never present for any of those conversations, Y/N and Jude shared similar experiences post-relationship. The questions, the questions repeated over and over again, the patience that came with having to deal with those repeated questions. There was something so frustrating about having to convince people that your past relationship would remain in the past with no hope of reviving it ever again.Â
Not only because they didn't want to; the moon and the stars just wouldn't allow it.
"Exactly that. It's annoying 'cause everyone wants me to do something I just can't do anymore... something I can't remember doing. Like," Jude inhaled deeply as he rubbed his hands over his face. He never really was good with his words. "There's something there but it's beyond me. I could love you but I just can't. Not because I don't want to, but it's... every time I want to step forward I'm pushed back. Like it's not my fault and it's not our fault either."
There were grounds as to why Jude disliked dwelling on their relationship. Some were evident, others not so much; one being that the simple thought of the relationship gave him false hope.
In truth, he was a hopeless romantic. He loved the idea of love in all of its forms. By offering and receiving, perhaps to and from his family, friends or anyone who could reciprocate it. Like the average person, it made him feel happy in many possible ways. And when he was consumed in all that loveâwhen he was consumed in happinessâhe was more approachable and open to everyone's questions about his past relationship with Y/N. That's where the hope fell over him every single time.Â
Maybe there's still something between me and Y/N. Maybe we did overreact like everyone is saying. We didn't try hard enough to fix our relationship. So when he was no longer so consumed in his hopeful thoughts, Jude would tell himself let's try again.
But then he would simply look at Y/N and reality would quickly pull him out of his thoughts. No.Â
Jude could try to find the humour in Y/N's words, he could try to admire Y/N for her beauty and flaws, he could try to remain consumed in everyone's delusions about his past relationship, he could try to indulge in their past romance through the words of his mom. Jude could try anything, yet none of it would change the fact that everything he ever felt for Y/N was compromised. Anything he would ever feel for her would be compromised.
He could no longer feel anything for her. She could no longer feel anything for him. The possibility of feeling anything held no strength to exist, and that realisation always left Jude devastated. They were a lost cause. We're never getting back together, and he just had to get over it.
But that was difficult when everyone would remind him of their relationship. So he was stuck in this cycle of false hope, where he couldn't find it in himself to move on. Truthfully, Jude was unsure if he would ever be getting out of it any time soon.
"It's not our fault. It never was," she said, moving her hand in small rotation on his back to let Jude fall into her touch. All Y/N could do was sit by Jude and comfort him. In fact, all they could do was comfort one another. Because everything Jude felt, everything he couldn't feel, she was right there with him. This would be a soft moment of solace if the circumstances weren't so terrible.
Yet here they were, outside all miserable and devastated by their never-changing circumstances in a scenery so whole and picturesque. While everyone was partyingâcelebrating and enjoying the declaration of love of the engaged couple, dancing in rightful and infinite pairsâJude and Y/N could only share some physical attachment knowing that was all one could offer the other. They were strangers to romantic love, so caught up in this insane cycle of misfortune.
"It drains me having to think about it every day," Jude exhaled as he sat up. Having those conversations only came with one benefit; he could exhale everything he had pented up before. "That's why I just want to move on from everything, you know? It's been months since we broke up. Like why is everyone else so hopeful about us than us?"
"If only I could tell you. You'd think they would start asking whether we're both seeing other people by now." Y/N tilted her head in thought. Caught up in her relationship and everyone's reminders of its existence, she had the tendency to forget that she existed beyond Jude. Turning to him, she wondered, "Are you seeing someone right now?"
Jude scoffed out a small laugh as he shook his head slightly. He knew Y/N met well, he did. But he did feel like the answer was evident. I'm a mess, of course not. "Do you really think I would be seeing someone if I'm all in my feelings right now?"
"Just wondering, honey."
Seeing the unspoken apology in her eyes, Jude let his person falter a bit. "Not really, no." Since Y/N the most he could entertain when it came to girls was the talking stage and he would never go beyond that.
Losing the ability to love Y/N kinda left Jude a bit scarred. According to the delicate words of his mom, he and Y/N were once the perfect relationship, a relationship where she fell but he fell harder. But everyone knew how that ended. The fear of a new relationship ending exactly like his and Y/N's, the fear of possibly not being able to love, both ultimately shied Jude away from actively putting in the effort of pursuing girls he might find interest in. "I try, I do. But it's just a lot all at once."
"I think that might be the best way of moving on," Y/N suggested, "Maybe we won't be caught up thinking about each other if we're thinking about other people. It's hard, but it takes time. When you get there, you get there."
He nodded slightly. He wasn't in total agreement with Y/N but he trusted her judgement. "Yeah, maybe. Wait," Jude paused in his place before his eyes grew wide. "Why are you saying it like that?" Suddenly, it dawned on Jude. Y/N was speaking from experience. "Are you seeing someone?"
"Jude."
"Wait, why didn't you tell me before?"
"Just listen to me, Judeâ"
"I literally dragged you out here. I don't want him to think I'm making a moveâ"
"Jude!" Her voice, firm rather than harsh, managed to reach his ears which stopped Jude from his ranting. Unknown to both of them, that was the same voice she had used to resolve problems during their relationship. When she was sure she had Jude's attention, she continued, "I'm not seeing anyone right now. I've just recently become open to it. That's all."
Jude's glance tracked around before returning to the person beside him. "So you're looking to get into a relationship?"
"Am I actively pursuing one? No. But I won't intervene if it comes my way." Y/N was once like Jude when it came to speaking to a potential partner. She was distant and denied guys when they tried to reach out over her fears of her relationship with Jude repeating itself. But over time her thoughts have eased and even though she wasn't exactly there yet, there was some noticeable progress to highlight. She was no longer entirely tied down to Jude.
She adjusted her sitting position. The wall they were sitting on wasn't the most comfortable. "I don't know about you, but I don't want us to be the one thing that people know us for. Like sure we ended on confusing terms according to everyone else, but what can we do? I mean it was out of our hands even before we met. I don't want to be caught up over it forever. We have to find ourselves moving away from all of that somehow."Â
Y/N learned a lot from her relationship with Jude. They were never truly a real match and they were invalid on many levels. Others could remember their relationship in ways she couldn't, to the point she could only dream of something so perfect and that left her dejected every time.
But moving forward she wanted things to change where she could. The perception others held of her and Jude would remain the same until time deemed otherwise. What she could change, what she could control were her thoughts and actions. Now she could think about Jude and tell herself that everything happens for a reason, that they were an unfortunate case but things happen, that it was okay for her to move forward by herself or with someone else.
She couldn't be so attached to Jude knowing there never was a future for them together in the first place.
"I get it," Jude frowned as he nodded along to her words. Logical and practical. He couldn't find himself arguing against them. He took in a small breath and offered Y/N a small smile. "Well, I'm... I'm happy for you."
"Oh yeah?" Y/N grinned though it was small and unsure. After all, she knew Jude was the more emotional one between the two. She wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't been so open to her advice.
The thing is though, Jude was happy for Y/N, truly. Or, at least for the most part. Where he wasn't was simply just his current fears. His fears of being stuck in one place forever. His fears of being left behind. His fears of not being able to relate with Y/N on their unique experience of falling out together. Fears that if he lost Y/N then he would have no one to lean on, that he would have no one.
But hearing her storyâsomething full of hope, clarity and purpose for something newâthat's where he was happy. Maybe being a hopeless romantic wasn't such a dumb idea to have; he just had to shift his direction of thought and look forward to their future histories, separate or together.
Once again Jude offered Y/N a smile, one wide, kind and truthful. "Of course," he said as he brought her into a side hug, the two swaying softly in tune with the timid breeze. "That's all I can be for you."
Pulling away, Y/N asked, "You sure? I hope I didn't say anything in a way that would upset you. I just don't want us to bond over such depressing shit all the time." She had a feeling that those conversations would come to an end sooner or later.
"Yeah, you're right," Jude sighed with a nod, almost reassuring himself that everything would be okay moving forward. His eyes drifted toward the mansion where everything still remained lively. The discomfort was still there observing the scene, though he felt it diminishâand it would continue to falter with time. I'll be okay. "I get it and I meant when I said that I'm happy for you. I want that for myself too. It's actually not all that bad."
"Why do you say that?"
"You didn't hear this from me but apparently... I once promised you that I'd be the first person to walk you up and down the aisle."
And that was the last time Jude looked back at their relationship through his mom.
#jude bellingham#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham blurbs#jude bellingham imagines#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham x black!reader#black!reader#jude bellingham fanfiction#jude bellingam fluff#jude bellingham angst#football imagines#football fanfiction#football blurbs#football oneshots
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big baby and bigger baby
pairing neteyam x mom! oc, lo'ak x mom! oc, slight neytiri x mom! oc tags & warning i'm so down bad for neytiri, slight romance with wifey, lo'ak and neteyam are def mamas boys, mentions of blood and violence summary preparing for another raid, jake finally let his sons take part in it. veronica was proud but her concerns never left her. word count 2.6k index skxawng [idiot], ma'itan [my son], prrnen [baby]
teyamsilly speaking â© idk if i'll ever be satisfied with how my stories are cause i keep coming back to it and it feels like there is something lacking :') hope you enjoy it !
"We hit them here. Assuming they will be waiting for us to hit them earlier in the transport because of our surprise attack last time, let's wait a bit more until they cross this-" Veronica circled an area on the map with red paint using her finger, "to attack them. Like we discussed before, Tarsem will place the bombs by the tracks and activate them. The track gets destroyed and the train breaks. Na'vi on ground will collect all the goods in the train. Everything that is of use to us. Na'vi on sky will handle the helicopters."
She observed all the warriors. "Am I clear?"
They all answered with a firm yes, a nod of respect sent her way. Veronica looked at Jake and nodded. The simple gesture from her told him that the brief was done.
"Warriors, get ready!" announced Jake. The tent was instantly filled war cries, filling each na'vi inside with determination. The RDA destroyed their home once, they wont allow it to happen again. One by one, they left.Â
The Olo'eyktan watched as each of them exited the tent until his gaze stopped on two distinctive figures. He sighed, "Neteyam and Lo'ak, stay for a moment."
Veronica and Neytiri shared a knowing look. Their two sons weren't meant to be part of the raid because it was too dangerous. The first raid took five of their warriors lives and many injured, and fortunately Neteyam and Lo'ak weren't too stubborn about joining. This time they begged days on end about being a part of it.Â
Every time, Jake replied no without hesitation. He might claim they weren't prepared or that it was too perilous, but his two wives understood deep down that it was just because he didn't want the sight of their blood out there. Heck, he was already worried about Veronica and Neytiri being part of the raid. Thinking about his sons in the field will give him a headache.
The brothers glanced at each other before standing in front of him. Jake eyed them intensely as he spoke. "You're spotters, you got it? Spot bogeys and alert us if there are any," he reminded.
They nodded. "Yes, sir."
Their response didn't ease him, however. Jake knew it was an automatic response just for them to be granted permission. He stared at his younger son a bit longer before he nudged his head to the door. The boys walked away from their position and exited the tent. Their absence filled the place with silence as the adults just stood there and watched where they left.
Veronica lay her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed them gently. She smiled, "They will be fine."
"Yeah, I hope so," he mumbled, his head down.
"I am still against it," said Neytiri.Â
Veronica snapped her gaze towards her with furrowed brows. If there was one thing she knew about Neteyam and Lo'ak, it was that they would start to defy them little by little if they shielded them for too long.
"But," Neytiri continued, "our sons are strong. They know what to do."
Jake pursed his lips, his only response being a nod. The boys were too young for this in his eyes. Just because he wasn't human anymore, it didn't mean that he has forgotten his culture and beliefs. Neteyam's age may be considered the age of maturity, but to Jake he is still a kid.
Veronica tucked her knife in her sheath that was tied around her lower back above her tail. It was hard to stay positive in this situation because it seemed like Jake's anxiety passed to her. He isn't wrong to feel that way, no. She tried to overlook negative thoughts about them being there because the two were looking forward to this. They were driven to protect their home, and she doesn't blame them for that.
All the warriors crowded around the egde of High Camp with their ikrans. Vera, her ikran, stood out to her the most just because her colours are her favourite. She was painted with a mix of white, light blue, and greenâ colours that reminded her of the ocean.
"Can't believe we're spotters," Lo'ak grumbled. He shook the locks of the saddle on his ikran, making sure that it is fastened.
Neteyam sighed as he shook his head. "Be grateful. This is better than nothing."
The younger brother rolled his eyes. "Bet he only said yes cause Mama said so."
Lo'ak was sure that his life would have been more difficult if his mother wasn't there. She was the only person who understood him, who wouldn't yell at him for his mistakes and instead talk to him in a manner that he would understand what he did was wrong. His father's scoldings does give him a wake up call, but not enough to make him stop.
"And what about me?" Veronica arched an eyebrow as she approached them.
Neteyam smirked when he heard his brother curse under his breath as he was caught in the act.
"Nothing, mama."
"This skxawng said father only said yes because you said so, mom," said Neteyam. Lo'ak sent him a glare but he could care less. His baby brother was harmless as long as their mom was there.
Since the children have two mothers, they called them with different names to not confuse the women.There were too many instances when they were babies crying out for their mothers, but the mothers would always attend to them simultaneously. So, Neytiri was mother, while Veronica was mom. Although, Lo'ak called Veronica mama since he was little and he didn't grow away from that habit.
"Just so you know, I don't feel as confident anymore for letting the two of you out there. There are still ways you could help the clan and I would gladly find them," she said. Her words alerted the two teenagers immediately. Veronica smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "However, I trust you not to do anything stupid. Am I right to do so?"
Lo'ak nodded, his boyish grin stretched on his lips. "Mama, please, as if I would do something stupid at a time like this."
"You don't really have a good record for showing obedience in the worst times, ma'itan."
Neteyam chuckled, "Don't worry, mom. I will make sure he will stay put."
Somehow, I doubt that, she thought. The eldest son always managed to be tangled in his mess even if he doesn't want to, but she felt reassured that Lo'ak wasn't alone.Â
Looking at them stood at each others side made Veronica feel nostalgic. The image of them as children flashed through her head. They were yelling for her and running towards her with cheeky smiles, jumping into her arms. It seemed like time flew too fast. Now, they had matured and had a sense of responsibility.Â
"When did you grow so big?" Veronica sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. She drew Lo'ak into her embrace.
"Mom, stop," Lo'ak whined. His eyes looked around frantically with his cheeks flushed. He did not want to be treated like a prrnen in front of so many people.
"Hm, why?" she teased. "Do you have a girl I don't know about?"
"No, but-"
"I thought so." Veronica tightened her arms around her son, planting a kiss on his temple with a loud sound effect just to embarrass him more. She laughed as she heard him groan against her. "My baby is so big now!"
"Mom!" he complained. Veronica laughed as she took a step away from her son, seeing his cheeks flushed from embarrassment entertained her.Â
She turned to Neteyam. "Ah, my bigger baby." Her arms were stretched away from her sides, an invitation. Unlike Lo'ak, Neteyam didn't shy away from her affection.Â
He felt so nervous about the raid that his hands started to sweat, but his nerves weren't enough to scare him away. He wondered how Lo'ak looked so calm, excited even. They were actually going to witness up close the damages the RDA could bring. But being wrapped around his mom's warmth relaxed him, even if it was just for a little while.
"Mom, are you in sky team?" he asked.
Veronica shook her head. "No, I am part of the ground team. Your mother is the one in sky team."
Neteyam felt a gentle kiss against his temple. She stepped back, her hands squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "Everything will be fine, Teyam."
He thought hearing those words again would make him feel better, but it didn't.
Veronica wondered if her mother ever felt this way: her heart racing from anxiety, a knot in her stomach, and the palms of her hands sweaty just for being worried for her own daughters' safety. Although the chances are highley unlikely, it didn't hurt to wonder. She would consider her mother lucky if she had never felt that way because then she had nothing to fear.
The moment she didn't see her two sons in the sky like they were supposed to, panic started to kick in. She spotted their ikrans staying on the ground, their riders nowhere to be seen. Just as she was about to alarm Jake, gun ships came and fired at them.Â
Veronica hurried to take cover, not leaving her any time to search for her sons. She prayed that they were safe, and that everyone managed to escape the shots. She only felt her worries fade away when she saw Lo'ak flew away on his ikran, but it soon came back when Neteyam was being carried by Jake. He had scratches on his back, blood seeping out from it. Did every mother experience this?
They were currently at High Camp. She carressed Vera's head before approaching the boys.Â
"Mom! Mama!" Tuk ran towards the two women and tried to hug them both with her small arms. The youngest Sully would often call either of the mothers with different names, not that they mind. Like Lo'ak, Tuk didn't stray away from her habit in calling Veronica mama, but she does call Neytiri this sometimes.
Veronica smiled and pinched her cheek gently. She patted the small girl's back when she moved away, and continued to walk towards the boys. Neteyam stood in front of his father, his head hung low as he held his injured arm. Lo'ak stood still by his ikran, nervous for what's to come. How ironic.
"You're supposed to be spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call 'em in," Jake scolded furiously, his eyes dancing between them. "From a distance!" he emphasised. "Does any of this sound familiar? Get here!"Â
Lo'ak obeyed and stood beside his brother, ashamed. Veronica observed her youngest sons' back before she went to Neteyam who was injured. She clicked her tongue gently as she surveyed his injuries. There were numerous scratches on his back, but some cut deeper than the others. Kiri rushed to her side once she saw the condition her brother was in.
"Jesus. I let you two geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders." Jake sighed, "Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?"
"My brother is wounded," she pointed out.
"Baby girl, please. Tuk, go with her. Go."
Kiri sighed as she shook her head, walking away with Tuk.
"Dadâ sir. I take full responsibility," said Neteyam, his head hung low still.
"Yeah, you do. That's right. 'Cause you're the older brother, you gotta act like it."
Neytiri gave her husband a pointed look. "MaJake. Your son is actually bleeding."
Neteyam shook his head. "Mother, it's fine. I-"
"No, it's not," Veronica cut him off. She looked at Jake with an arched eyebrow.
His gaze shifted between Neteyam's face and his injured body. For a moment, his anger diminished. "Just go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed."
"Come," she whispered for the young boy to hear. Her hand held his bicep as they walked past Jake. She shot Jake a knowing look before walking further, passing by warriors who were getting situated.
They walked in silence, and Neteyam was not sure if it was comfortable or not. He hadn't experienced getting a scolding from his mom, it would either be from his mother or father. Usually Jake on rare occurrences.Â
Neteyam pursed his lips. "Mom," he called weakly.
"How many times did you save your brothers back?" she asked softly.
He stayed silent.
"I know you are doing your job as the older brother, and you are doing it really well. But, a time will come when Lo'ak will have to grow too. He has to learn how to own up to his mistakes." Veronica held his shoulders, stopping him from entering the Tsahik's hut. She moved in front of him, cupping his cheek gently and made him look at her. "You do not have to try so hard. You are just a kid."
Neteyam's eyes widened, his eyes turning glossy. He wasn't so sure why his chest started to hurt. Maybe it was because his hard work was being acknowledged, or maybe it was because someone saw that he was trying. Couldn't his dad see that too?
As Veronica patted his cheek gently, she smiled, "Go on. I'll be right with you."
The boy only nodded, he feared that if he tried to speak, his voice would crack and tears would start spilling from his eyes. Her eyes searched for Lo'ak through the crowd and spotted him with the ikrans, removing the saddles. The upset look on his face made her sigh.
Mo'at crouched behind Neteyam's back as she applied medicine on his injuries. He would either yelp or hiss at the contact of his wounds. Spider was in the hut too, he would make jokes here and then about how Neteyam was acting like a baby out of it just to make him feel better. Veronica laughed quietly at his words. She was relieved that the tension wasn't there anymore, she didn't know if she could bare it.
Her eyes trailed from Neteyam's back then outside the hut, sensing a presence. She locked gazes with Neytiri before it shifted to Jake's back, busying himself with his gun. Veronica excused herself and told Kiri to take over, approaching Neytiri. The hair at the end of her tail brushed against her wife's thigh as she gave her a peck on the lips.Â
Neytiri's hand caressed her arm, but her eyes stayed on the boys. Neteyam's grunts of pain could still be heard from where they're standing. He never had injuries like this, never this worse. Her tail swished behind her like something was on her mind.
Jake glanced behind him. He sighed, "What?"
"Neteyam and Lo'ak try to live up to you. It is very hard on them," said Neytiri. She faced her husband expectantly.
"I know." He refused to meet their eyes and focused on the weapon in his hand.
Neytiri kneeled beside him. "You are very hard on them."Â
Veronica sat beside the other side of Jake to hear their conversation better. Their voices were low to ensure that none of the children heard it.
"I'm their father. It's my job," he pressed.
"This is not a squad. It is a family." Her voice remained soft, and it was enough to break his walls down.
Jake placed his gun on the ground, clenching his fist on his knees. "I thought we'd lost them," he whispered. Tears glossed into his eyes as he looked at the two women, the only people who he could feel vulnerable around with.
It was difficult to stay away from long-term habits. Being a marine meant seeing a lot of difficult situations, he was forced to keep it together and be tough. Seeing his sons affected by the explosion made him lose all of his composure and he didn't know how to deal with it. He was still learning, but everytime he felt like he was getting better, his progress ruins.
Neytiri's expression softened, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she held his hand. Veronica placed her hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently. No word was said to one another except giving each other comfort. Each parents feared the same thing: losing their child. Parenthood was difficult, but if the three of them were in it together, Jake felt like he will be fine.
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#avatar the way of water#avatar fanfiction#avatar twow#neteyam sully#loak sully#lo'ak drabbles#neteyam fanfiction#neteyam fluff#lo'ak sully#lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan#lo'ak avatar#lo'ak fluff#lo'ak x mom reader#jake sully x reader#sully family#neytiri sully#neytiri#neytiri x reader#platonic sully family#sully family x reader
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