#music; aemond targaryen

[righteousmen]

Aemond Tag drop

[lavenderinoz]

Metalhead versus Dragon Prince

[js-dragonart]

Inspired by a Taylor Swift song.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

(+) bts of ewan mitchell as martin for the fontaines d.c. “in the modern world” music video, photographed by emma jones.

[aphrmoosun]

Ewan Mitchell on the Fountaines D.C MV 'In the modern World'

[goddessofvalyria]

ALIVE | Martin (In the modern world) x fem!oc

As I saw Ewan Mitchell in the music video for Fontaines DC - In The Modern World, I obviously know that music video made us Tumblr girls write sooooooo much and I'm here for that.

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy it <3

READ HERE THE SECOND PART OF THE ONE-SHOT "DEATH"

Summary: Cassandra and Martin are both devastated, how can they no longer feel the pain? Getting lost in each other.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Cassandra with long wavy dark black hair and blue-purple eyes, masturbation (f receiving), SMUT, sex, drug use, violence, blood, murder, death, sadness.

This is my Masterlist

Words: 3184

Cassandra shivered as she stepped out into the cold night, her breath forming misty clouds in the air. The winter chill was relentless, but she barely noticed it. Her black fur coat provided some warmth, but it couldn't reach the cold that had settled deep within her. Her long, wavy black hair fluttered in the biting wind, framing her face, where her once-vibrant blue-violet eyes now appeared hollow and distant.

She walked quickly, her knee-high leather boots crunching against the thin layer of snow that covered the sidewalk. The streets were empty, silent except for the occasional hum of a distant car. She checked her phone, glancing at the last message she'd received. It was from someone she barely knew, a boy who was a drug dealer who had agreed to meet her tonight. He was a friend of a friend, someone who could get her what she needed.

When she reached the parking lot, it was nearly deserted, save for a single car parked under the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. Cassandra paused for a moment, feeling a twinge of hesitation, but she quickly pushed it aside. She didn't have the luxury of second thoughts tonight.

Martin sat in his car, nervously tapping the steering wheel as he waited. He didn't know who he was meeting, just that it was a girl in need, willing to pay well. But when he saw her approaching, he felt his heart skip a beat. It was Cassandra, the girl he had admired from afar and had a crush on during their school days. Back then, she was everything he wasn't—beautiful, popular, and effortlessly smart. He had been just another face in the crowd, unnoticed by someone like her.

Cassandra opened the car door and slipped inside, her movements mechanical, as if she was on autopilot. She didn't look at him, her focus entirely on the transaction.

"Do you have it?" she asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Martin hesitated, the recognition hitting him hard. She didn't seem to realize who he was, but how could she? The boy she once knew was long gone, just as the girl she once was seemed to have disappeared.

"Cassandra?" he said softly, searching her face for any sign of the person he remembered. Her eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, she seemed to wake up from whatever trance she was in. 

"Martin?" she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "I didn’t know… Look, I just need the stuff, okay? I want to forget for a while."

He handed her the small bag of drugs, his hand trembling slightly. "What happened to you?" he asked, unable to keep the question inside.

"You were… everything."

He loved her in silence. He loved her for many years but he was the metalhead boy of the school.

Her gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What happened to me? Life happened, Martin. People change. Now, just let me be. I just want to forget and don't asking fucking questions."

Martin swallowed hard, struggling with the mix of emotions swirling inside him. He couldn't be rude to her. He knew he should just give her the drug, but seeing the girl who once shone with popularity and light, reduced like that, with obvious dark circles under her eyes, shaking hands and a spent cigarette between her fingers broke his heart. She had always been so beautiful, so… unique in his eyes and even if she had never deigned to look at him, he had always loved her in silence and from afar.

"Come with me" he said, the words spilling out before he could think them through. "We can talk… if you want, if you need."

She looked at him, her expression unreadable, but after a long moment, she nodded. She didn't know why she agreed, perhaps it was the familiarity of his face or the desperation in his voice, but she stayed in the car and then followed him back to his small, modest house.

Inside, the dim light cast shadows across the room, amplifying the feeling of isolation. Cassandra sat on the edge of his bed, removing her fur coat and laying it beside her. The room was dark, quiet, almost stifling, as Martin stepped out to get her some water.

When he returned, he stopped in his tracks. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he noticed the bruises on her arms, the way she winced as she adjusted her position on the bed. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt a wave of anger and sadness wash over him. She was wearing a short black dress with thin straps and torn tights. How could she not feel cold? It was clear that something was wrong with her.

Cassandra caught him staring at her and tried to cover her bruises with her hands, trying to hide the evidence of her pain. But it was too late. The tears she'd been holding back began to fall, silent and steady, as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together.

"I don’t know how I got here" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don’t know who I am anymore."

Martin sat beside her, unsure of what to say or do. He had never imagined seeing her like this, so broken and lost. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. All he could do was be there, offering what little comfort he could.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pill. "Here" he said, his voice gentle. "It might help… take the edge off."

Cassandra looked at the pill in his hand, then at him. "You don't have to pay for these" he said lowly. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she took it, placing it on her tongue and swallowing it down without a word. She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for answers that would never come.

Martin lay beside her, the two of them silent, lost in their own thoughts. The darkness in the room seemed to mirror the darkness within them, a shared pain that neither of them knew how to escape. And so they lay there, side by side, two lost souls in the night, hoping for some kind of relief, however fleeting it might be.

"Who did this to you?" he asked. "Someone who tells me he loves me"

Cassandra drifted into a restless sleep, the pill he had given her slowly taking effect, Martin's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

"I know you have something for me, a friend of a friend tell me that you can help me. - Joe."

It was a message from Joe—Cassandra's boyfriend. He wanted to meet, to buy drugs. Martin stared at the message, his mind racing. This was the man who had done that to her, the one who had destroyed the girl he had once admired. He knew him, in high school Joe had beaten him up numerous times in the school bathrooms.

Without a second thought, Martin replied, agreeing to meet. He gently covered Cassandra with a blanket, his heart aching as he watched her sleep. Then, with a grim resolve, he slipped out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him.

The night was even colder now, but Martin barely felt it. His mind was consumed with thoughts of what he was about to do. He drove to the meeting spot, a desolate area on the outskirts of town, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Joe was already there, leaning against his car, looking as smug and careless as ever. Martin's stomach churned with disgust as he approached and Joe sat in the passenger’s side. Joe didn't even bother to greet him, just held out a hand, waiting for the drugs. Martin handed them over without a word, his mind already calculating his next move.

"Did you have only this? Fuck, now I have to hear my girlfriend's scream when she yells at me" he said with grief in his voice. "She is still your girlfriend" Martin replied. "We are together, yeah, but she only likes to be fucked like a whore she is and then... sometimes,... you know, she is mad as hell and she screams at me that for my fault her life became a fucking nightmare."

Joe wasn't a smart guy, he talked nonsense as he popped the pills. "Sometimes I hurt her, but it's just to let her know I love her. Only when she threatens to leave me and report me to the police, you know Cassandra is fucking bitch."

Martin looked at him as he felt the anger rising. How could he let him go free after those words? Cassandra would come back to him and he would hurt her. Now she was sleeping at his place, but after that? After taking more pills she would go back to her boyfriend.

As Joe turned to walk back to his car, Martin's vision went red. He moved before he could think, grabbing the seat belt from his car and looping it around Joe's neck in one swift motion. Joe struggled, his hands clawing at the belt, but Martin was stronger, driven by a rage he had never felt before.

"You are beating her, right bastard?"

The two of them wrestled, Joe managing to land a few blows, but Aemond didn't feel the pain. His face was smeared with blood, but he didn't care. All he could think about was Cassandra, about the life she could have had, about the life she still could have if this monster were gone. With a final, desperate twist, Martin tightened the belt, and Joe's struggles ceased.

He killed him for her.

Panting, Martin let the body slump to the ground, his chest heaving. He looked down at Joe's lifeless form, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was done. He had done what he had to do.

The night was still dark when Martin disposed of the body, leaving no trace of what had happened. His face and clothes were stained with blood, but he didn't care.

He drove back to his apartment, the adrenaline slowly fading, replaced by a numbness that left him feeling empty.

By the time he returned, dawn was just beginning to break, casting a pale light through the windows. Martin quietly entered his room, closing the door behind him. Cassandra was awake, sitting in the center of the bed, her eyes fixed on the wall. She had noticed his records, her fingers tracing the edges of one of them absently.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his face, still smeared with blood. "Martin…" she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of concern and confusion. "I still feel the pain.... I...fuck, I still feel the deep darkness in me"

"You have blood all over your face, what happened to you?" she looked at him, God, her eyes were so beautiful. Long black eyelashes, black eyeliner, they were breathtaking.

Martin walked over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I did what I had to do," he said, his voice steady.

For a moment, Cassandra just stared at him, her mind processing his words. Then, without warning, she got up and moved toward him, her eyes locked on his. Her hands gently cradling his face, feeling the still fresh blood on his skin.

"Thank you" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you."

Martin was about to respond when she leaned in, her lips crashing against his in a fierce, desperate kiss. The intensity of it took him by surprise, but he quickly responded, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. "You're safe now" it was a kiss filled with all the emotions they had both been holding back—fear, anger, relief, and something more, something they had both been denying for too long.

Cassandra pushed him back onto the bed, her hands frantically tugging at his clothes, as if trying to erase everything that had happened, everything that had hurt her, with this one act. Martin didn't resist; he wanted this as much as she did, maybe even more. The world outside, the blood on his face, everything else faded away as they gave in to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Their movements were frantic, desperate, as if they were both trying to cling to something real, something pure in the midst of all the chaos. The bed creaked beneath them as they had sex.

“I need something strong” she whispered. “I need to know that I’m alive”

They leaned closer and their eyes met in another kiss. Their lips touched softly, as if they were trying to convey everything they couldn’t express in words. “I need something stronger than drugs” she murmured against his lips. Martin kissed her again, this time rougher, harder. Everything finally made sense. “I want you” Martin whispered. “I’ve always wanted you, even when you didn’t even look at me, I was there, silent among the outcasts and I watched you shine. But your darkness doesn’t scare me, share it with me.”

She leaned down to kiss his neck with languid, wet, provocative kisses and he grabbed her by the thighs, moving his hands up under her robe. "Cass" Martin groaned, looking up and meeting her eyes. He moved his hands to her dress, pulling it off her head. Cassandra began by removing his shirt, his hands tore off her tights and then moved to the elastic of her thong, hooking it around his fingers. "You are beautiful" he whispered as she raised her hips allowing him to remove her panties. Her long hair fell in front of her and she, who was not wearing a bra, destabilized him. He moved closer and slowly kissed her nipples, making her moan.

Cassandra moved her hands down to the elastic of his boxers, pulling them off along with his pants. In that moment she just wanted to forget all the pain she had felt, she wanted to let it all out, light a fire inside him.

"Make me forget" she murmured. "Make me forget" she was begging him. The girl leaned forward to kiss him, he made her lie down against the pillows of the bed and slowly got on top of her, covering her with his body. Cassandra caressed his back with her hands, making him shiver when her nails caressed his skin. "For me you exist, for me you have always existed" he whispered taking her face in his hands, he caressed her soft lips.

"You are so beautiful fuck, you are so… so… I… I have always seen you, I have always wanted you." he was desperate for her.

"You won't feel any more pain, you won't feel anything, I'll make you feel alive" he whispered, pushing himself inside her: God, she was so hot, wet, tight. He held her close, she moaned, inhaling his scent, she kissed his face still stained with blood. "I don't feel anything" Cassandra whispered. "I only feel you." she arched her back.

They moved together, faster, harder, until everything else faded away and there was nothing left but the unstoppable need to be closer, to feel more. "Tell me I'm yours" she whispered, holding him as if he could abandon her. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine" he whispered, kissing her, pushing between her hot, wet thighs.

Cassandra, his Cassandra was lost in the most dissolute pleasure. He continued to fuck her until he felt her tremble, a sign that he was about to come.

"You are mine, you are mine, you are mine" he repeated feeling his cock buried deep inside her. "You are mine, always remember that, you are mine" "I am yours" she whispered scratching his back, Martin shivered. He gave her a stronger thrust, looked into her blue-violet eyes, she pressed herself against him and came with a loud moan.

Martin followed shortly after her, came out of her body and fell on top of her taking her in his arms and giving her a kiss on her swollen and shiny lips.

"I feel alive, I feel alive…" she whispered holding him in her arms.

Cassandra's eyes locked onto Martin's, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper reflected in her gaze. Slowly, she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin. Her lips met his with an intensity that took him by surprise, and he responded, pulling her closer, as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. She tasted the metallic tang of blood on his lips, and instead of pulling away, she leaned in further, her tongue gently tracing the cut. She sucked softly, tasting the blood, her actions filled with a strange blend of tenderness and need.

Martin groaned, the pain of his wounded lips mingling with the pleasure of her touch. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, as if in that moment, she was trying to absorb all of his pain, to take it into herself.

Their kiss was fierce, raw, and full of unspoken emotions—pain, longing, and a desire for connection that neither had known they needed so badly. The world around them faded away, leaving only the heat between them, the taste of blood and passion mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

“We should stop” Martin whispered. “No” Cassandra replied. “No one has ever killed for me.” She kissed him again and again, clearly aroused by the sight of him covered in blood. “You have me now” she whispered, grabbing his shirt and rolling onto the bed, him on top of her.

She was a fucking freak.

And he matched her perfectly. 

The morning light slowly filling the room, casting long shadows on the walls.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in the sheets, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat. Martin held Cassandra close, his heart still racing from everything that had happened that night. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his skin, as if trying to memorize every inch of him.

They didn't speak; there was nothing left to say. In that moment, they both understood each other perfectly. The world outside might still be cruel and unforgiving, but for now, they had found something that could make it all bearable.

And as the first rays of the morning sun filtered through the window, Martin closed his eyes, holding Cassandra close. 

"Come away with me and sal 

i promise you’ll be in it 

i don’t feel bad 

i feel alive in the city 

you despise 

wait for the day, when you come riding on by 

seems so hard just to be 

if it matters 

you complete me, yeah 

in the modern world"

[hauntedbythenarrative]

No longer you, Epic the musical//House of the Dragon (2022-)

[writingwenches]

Aemond x Peasant OC

synopsis: Aemond leaves the comfort of the Red Keep to trek around the backwoods Riverlands, where an annoying peasant doesn't believe he is a prince. Then they do hand stuff near a lake.

themes: brat!Aemond, spoiled!Aemond, mixed race main character, mc grew up in a westeros version of a nunnery, surprise trans side character~ this is just the start of a larger “rewrite HOTD” type story.

word count: 10k (i hate me too.)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no targcest, hand stuff, mouth stuff, mommy issues if you squint, mentions of sex work, mentions of child death and pregnancy complications. Religious nonsense.

PART TWO OUT NOW

Freedom From – Act One

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants. 

For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting. 

The Septas of the Faith of the Seven recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls. 

There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch.

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer. Lyn had been found wanting at an early age, never reaching the hidden marks required to be gifted a role as a Novice. Those girls found wanting were given hard work of servitude, waiting on the Septas that filled the halls of the Grand Motherhouse, constructed around the ancient order’s orphanage, nestled in the swamp lands of The Bite. 

The prayer before work was never ending, but no one had the heart to interrupt the young girl, hands clasped together, eyes stitched shut, conversing with the gods in earnest. Lyn tried to shake her mind from racing at the thoughts of the future, focusing on the task at hand. House Erenford was not able to keep a staff his large permanently, but they would take every chance for a few strong-backed girl servants from the Faith to tend their Keep during festivals and feasts. House Erenford honors hard workers, and knows that the serving girls’ would be in need of work away from their lands as soon as they could find it. The elderly Lord Erenford would always put in a good word with visiting households in need of additional servants. 

Lyn tried to for her back to appear straight, as she lowered herself enough to reach the basket of herbs that needed plucking. Her fellow maid, Hanna, peeled potatoes below the table and out of sight of piety. This was not the first time the group of maids had been contracted to work during a feast at House Eronford’s keep, and Lyn knew that they did not have time for endless prayers and blessings if they were to keep their schedule. Their traveling party lost many hours to traveling from the Motherhouse, where the young maids hailed. 

Lyn’s eyes remained downcast, she was raised by the Septas of the Faith of the Seven since as long as she had memory. She had learned to pray before she could do any other task, it took many years to learn how to appear to be praying, which is much more efficient. 

Her small movements had been noticed, however, by the Lady Aeditya Mallister. She had been raised on a far-off world, at a distance Lyn could not properly imagine, away from the tradition of the Faith. 

Lady Aeditya cleared her throat, trying to get someone’s attention, her empty cup dancing in her hand.

For years, Lyn assumed Aeditya was of mixed peoples, like Lyn herself, with skin of a strange middle ground between dark and light. But, after serving the lady on numerous occasions, she was assured that Lady Mallister was of impeccable birth, thought to possess ravishing beauty by her entire nation, a nation where all peoples looked like her, but obviously less beautiful. 

Lady Aeditya exhaled loudly, and no move was made to fill her empty cup while prayers were still being pledged.

Lyn agreed that Lady Aeditya was beautiful, but knew that her distant land would not welcome her for her skin alone. Their features were completely different, were Lyn was plump and sturdy, Aeditya was slim and narrow. 

“LYN!” the lady finally shouted. The prayers abruptly stopped. “My cup is empty. Where is the wine?”

“Of course, Lady Mallister,” Lyn said dutifully, flicking away the moist bits of shredded herbs from her fingers, glad that the room burst to life as work for the feast could finally begin. Behind the pillar of the wine cellar, Lyn suck a few gulps from the pitcher to warm her belly before returning to fill the lady’s empty cup. 

—

“Ugh!” Lady Aeditya huffed, as she lounged on the stone hearth, stroking her distressingly pregnant belly. “It’s too quiet in here, someone speak,” she ordered, her wine cup almost empty one again. 

“Is the duck ready for the oven?” Hanna chimed, thinking her thoughts aloud as she passed. 

“No!” Lady Aeditya stamped, “The babe grows ears! Do not speak of things I know nought about!” Her words staccatod for emphasis. “It is isolating to me, we must not encourage such things for the babe,” she said as if it were obvious. “Lord Ryver and Waltel Frey are sparring, as always, and I did not come here to be bored.”

Lady Aeditya came to Haronfall, along the edge of The Bite, all the way from Seaguard, the western most point before the Iron Islands. It was the only area of land Lyn had ever known. It was more than a week’s journey between the two settlements, and every pregnancy, Aeditya seemed to spend the majority of her time away from her lord husband.

“What would you like to speak of, Lady Mallister?” Lyn asked, sharing smiling glancing to the other girls working. She tried to get the savory herbs from beneath her fingernails, to not spoil the sweet pie filling she was mixing. 

Lady Aeditya signed again. “it is always up to me, the true burden of being a lady.” She sat up straighter and addressed the help with her eyes. The Lady Aeditya saw an unorganized gaggle of unmarried maidens, who were long old enough to bare children of their own. Poor, former infants that were abandoned by their destitute mothers at the Faith’s doorstep, now traded around as extra help for a few measly coins. Aeditya say little difference between this and woman who sell their bodies in other ways. She could never imagine sullying herself with such unfulfilling work with a true lack of purpose. She pitied them in some ways – an envied them in others. “Girls, be thankful your minds are not always at the helm of every stimulant in conversation.”

Honestly, Lyn was thankful as her brain was far away from the dank kitchens, hidden below the gathering hall. The windows were scarce and to allow only for light, rather than a beautiful view of the fertile swamplands surrounding the keep. Lyn’s mind was free to soar and wonder, watching a bale of turtles balancing on a single log as they competed for the best spot in the sun. Lyn often wished she were a simple turtle, floating along the creeks and bogs, armored against chomping lizards and long beaked birds. She was free. 

Very much unlike Lady Aeditya. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, both hands reaching for her overlarge belly. “Come hither! The babe! He kicks!” 

The room flurried with rushing girls and dropped buckets. 

Lyn did not think Lady Aeditya so bad. Lyn was present at her last birth, as Aeditya’s labors began in Haronfall, and lasted days. The boy was born asleep, the Septas said, wrapping him in cloth and not allowing the mother a single look before carting him away, leaving Lyn and the other girls to hold Aeditya close as she wailed. At the request of Lord River, Aeditya remained in Haronfall to give Lord Mallister’s temper time to subside. 

Lyn smiled as she felt the babe kick, before other girls pushed her palm away to feel for themselves. Lyn didn’t know how much she believed in the gods, but she prayed to all of them on behalf of the Lady Mallister, prayed that they would finally bless her with a single child that lives, if only to spare her from her lord husband’s much-gossiped-about wrath. 

Lyn was very thankful she was a poor maid, with no hopes and no prospects. She had seen first hand what prospects could do to a woman. 

— 

Whatever the reason for Cinda Lannister’s personal crest being a lioness fighting a diamond snake, many speculated that she was much more the snake than a lioness. Perhaps the speculation began from Cinda herself. 

“My prince,” she curtsied impeccably. “Oh, how I wish you’d allow me to call you ‘my favorite prince,’” she teased, snaking her hand around Aemond’s arm, without him offering it. 

“As I have told you since childhood, you are allowed to do no such thing,” he scoffed, wishing he could shake her arms away like he could his mother. Cinda Lannister was a high-born lady, not something that could be manhandled, so he allowed her closeness begrudgingly. “What is it you want this time, Lady Cinda?” 

The younger sister of Master of Coin, and personal possessor of the largest sapphire mine in all of Westeros, threw her head back with a laugh, allowing the tall prince a better view of her bare neck and low-lying neckline. “You are always a laugh, my prince!” she mused, “I do not want anything from you. I simply wish you tell you of a surprise gift I have found for your dear, sweet, sister, the Princess Helaena.” 

“What is it?” he asked plainly, wishing the halls of the Red Keep were shorter, or any other reason for this conversation to end. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!” she jested back, “no, I will not tell you what it is, simply where to find it, if you would wish to help me fetch it for her.” 

Aemond offered Cinda his hand at the end of a long staircase, as any proper gentleman should, and she gracefully accepted it. “Fine,” he held his tongue in anger, “where is it?” 

“Haronfall,” she replied quickly. 

“Heronhol?” he had heard, expecting the gift to be some haunted tree spider. 

“No, my prince. That is a common miscommunication. Haronfall, along The Bite, Near The Twins, but not quite. Ruled over by Lord Eronford. It is far older than Haronhol and some say it could be the inspiration for Lord Aaron’s naming of his own Keep.”

It was not often when Aemond took more than a thought to remember the heraldry of a house. “A heron on a pink banner?”

“Correct, my prince!” Cinda used this as an opportunity to giggle. “That is correct?” Cinda asked, turning towards Aemond’s back.

Aemond had not noticed the girl following behind, a girl, barely old enough to be called a lady, clad in bright red rubies and lace. “Yes, aunt,” she replied meekly, not looking up at Aemond. The daughter of the Realm’s Lannister Master of Ships. 

“Thank you, Cordelia,” Cinda said. 

Aemond had been offered the young Lady Cordelia on numerous occasions since her birth. The second-born prince had no interest in playing nursemaid to a child, or bedding one. 

“Haronfall is where I shall be traveling to, unfortunately I shall be missing the King’s nameday festivities, but as you know, your sweet sister’s own nameday is so soon after, that she rarely receives much fanfare.” Cinda said. 

“And with all of the troubles she has had of late with those nasty girls from the Stormlands. I simply shudder to think of the vile insults thrown her way.”  

—

In the past, Helaena’s ladies forced her around the keep, the princess’s feet dragging paces behind the ladies’ closely fortified wall of linked arms. They had all hailed from the Stormlands, a great honor bestowed by the crown. Jena Estermount, the eldest daughter to the second richest house in the region who openly mocked the gods, Arianna Tarth, a half-dornish girl, and Corenna Storm, a noble bastard of House Baratheon.

As they wafted through the walls of the Keep, Aemond thought it plain to see that the princess’s ladies were not interested in the princess at all. Helaena did not seem at all bothered when the Queen dismissed the group of catty ladies from court after she discovered them mocking the princess behind her back. Queen Alicent distrusted each girl for their own glaring flaw, and only had the prejudices enforced through the girls’ actions.

In reality, Helaena had not minded the names they called her. Some of the names were quite clever. One of the girls, the bastard, had called her “Batty.” Helaena had never given much thoughts to bats before that name, and since has discovered she finds them quite fascinating.

—

Cinda had always seemed to have the Queen’s interest at heart. Aemond figured Cinda was a child when his mother was married, basically offered as a gift from the Lannister family. Cinda was a Lady in her own right, the rightful daughter to the Lord Paramount of the West, and had the authority born from her great house, to assist the queen with any ladyly matters that concerned women. 

Aemond wasn’t sure what ladies did all day, but he supposed planning gifts for a princess was a worthy endeavor. 

Aemond had only known Cinda to honor his mother in whatever way necessary. He liked the way she made people squirm. 

“Careful, Lord Larys,” she quipped once, while his mother and the clubbed foot whispered in the corner. “If you aren’t careful, I shall marry you. And I shall keep my husband on a much shorter leash.” 

Cinda was young enough to be a proper match to marry Prince Aemond, but old enough to lack many more fruitful child baring years. It would basically be admitting to the realm of his care for the woman, which he had none, no matter how many times he returned to her bed to lay his head upon her chest. It meant nothing, he told himself, even as the tears stung the corners of his eyes as he burrowed himself into her. 

Cinda was just a teen, helping the Queen Mother after Aemond’s incident on Driftmark, letting the small boy lay on her chest as he was sick on milk of the poppy. 

His mother was there, asleep on the chair near his bedside, but she could not bare to touch him. The last time she cradled his face, the night it happened, she erupted with rage and she was horrified, afraid she would lash out at the boy with her anger like she had attacked her once best friend. 

It was Aemond that snuck into Cinda’s chambers a few moons past when they stopped sleeping in his own chambers. It was the first time he had seen a lady without a corset, when he climbed into her bed, teary eyed and pouting about the pain his family was tired of hearing. She let the pitiful boy sleep on her chest, Aemond thought her was much more comfortable without her corset. 

Cinda had never changed the way she looked at him. He had always been the poor, second son that she loved to dote upon. Even after gaining Vhagar and losing his eye, she never faltered in her incessant mothering of him, always to his annoyance. 

The winter following his lost eye, Cinda had made sure to strap him into his winter coat personally, buttons, belts and all. So many, the young boy would grow too impatient every time he attempted to shrug it off. 

Aemond would threaten to feed Cinda to his new dragon at her every annoyance, and every time she would hug him close, and before long he was tall enough to get a face-full of her ample chest. 

It had become a game for him, without him realizing what he had been up to, with his newly formed fascination with women’s breasts. 

Cinda was the first to notice his little scheme, calling him out in their quiet place, “I thought you my favorite prince for being so different from your elder brother, His Grace. I can’t have you being a leacher as well.” Her thumb as passed over his lips as she caressed his cheek and he felt every inch of skin set aflame. 

He legs stormed him out of her room and down two corridors before he was able to hear the world again. The blush did not leave his flesh for weeks, as every time the young boy caught a glimpse of a red dress, he was reminded of her alluring words. 

Aemond had been panicked for so long that Aegon noticed. When Aegon approached Cinda about the incident, she licked her thumb to wipe away from dirt on Prince Aegon’s nose. He lost interest quickly, not enjoying her mothering the way others did. 

His grandsire had even requested to speak with him about something important. Aemond was enameled by the strategic maps and sums that scattered the office of Hand to the King. 

It was a meeting, much worst than he could have ever feared. Otto thought it had been time that the young prince he spoken to about urges. Aemond thought about jumping from the Hand’s Tower, surely death was better than this. 

“I don’t…” Aemond was cut off, Otto was not going to let him get out of this one. 

A large, ancient tome was presented to the young prince. Aemond closed the book as quickly as he opened it, after seeing the crude drawings of nude bodies. “I don’t want this,” he said, pushing it back to his grandsire, not making eye contact. 

“Think of it as an early nameday gift,” Otto patted him on the head, not allowing Aemond to leave without the book. 

The young prince held the tone like it was covered in acid, not wanting it to suddenly burst into flames. That was until he noticed Aegon a floor below, and Aemond hid the book under his shift, tucked into his breeches to unsuspiciously walk past his elder brother and little cousins. 

It obviously did not work. 

It never worked. 

He stopped seeing Cinda unnecessarily after that, only allowing a passing conversation at a mutual dinner or ball. It wasn’t something he needed, he reminded himself, with his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the Harvest Ball in the Red Keep. The festivities were distracting his brother and his club of suitors from The Reach, all who took great pleasure in Aemond’s discomfort. If the Reach Ladies ever found out about his secret nighttime travels to Cinda’s chambers to be swaddled with a babe…the only option would be to sacrifice himself to the Old Valyrian gods by Vhagar’s dragon fire. 

Even as a man grown, Aemond could still picture the sting of Lady Ivyanne Tyrell’s voice in his imagined scenario that he allowed to play on loop every night. 

“By the gods, One-Eye, do you love Cinda Lannister?” He could feel their laughter, even without it ever happening. 

Not that he had thought about the exact scene in his loneliest hours of sleep, Cinda was never at a lack of quips and womanly come-backs. Lady Cinda Lannister was not afraid to call out Ivyanne for the sapphic invert she truly was. “Have fun with your Game of Flats, I’m sure Prince Aegon enjoys watching.” 

Not that Aemond ever imagines such things, especially right after he had just finished his imagining. It was always the last time, every single time. 

Lady Cinda Lannister bathed in the morning, before the sun is fully risen, beginning her day before some of the Keep’s servants. Aemond knew that much about her routine, after being gently woken and forced to trek back to his own chambers before the castle was awake. 

The early morning after his thirteen nameday festivities Aegon had talked him into, Aemond found himself in Cinda’s chambers once again. She did not have to ask, his tears could not be controlled. 

Cinda had derived a way to lock the doors from the inside, she was never one to to be caught off guard. 

They both bathed in their shifts. Aemond cried into her neck as she washed his hair and sponged his face. She distracted him with Lannister family histories, courtly gossip she had overheard, talk about her excitement for his sister princess’s new ladies-in-waiting arriving from the Stormlands soon.

They couldn’t stay there forever, as Aemond would have wished. The dream between sleep and awake evaporated together into the cloud of his memory. Aemond could not remember if he asked Cinda to marry him that night, or if it was only a fleeting dream. Regardless, there was a sweet declaration of her painless rejection. Aemond had not minded. 

— 

“I hope you are daydreaming of me, my little prince,” Cinda laughed, grazing his cheek with her fingernail. 

The waking nightmare had been so real that Aemond started back to attention, tripping young Cordelia, who was following him too closely.

“You will be gone for weeks,” Aemond continued forward, leaving the young Cordelia to pick herself up from the floor. 

“I hope you do not miss me too fiercely while I away,” she shined. 

“I never do,” Aemond blanched as she pressed her lips to his cheek. 

— 

Aemond could not withstand another moment of his father’s sixtieth nameday celebration, and took to the skies before the great hunt had finished. He had been given his heading of The Bite, and he had studied the wastelands of the kingdoms in his youth for this very reason. He had no need for a map. 

Vhagar circled the estuaries trickling out of The Bite, the bitter air of the cold swamp fluttered upwards, the smell of fresh death, and decay played inside him. Only a place like this could grow the strange bog creature his sister was surely going to cherish from Lady Cinda. 

The settlement had been easy enough to find, after a few hours of searching the shores. Vhagar’s legs sank into the muck as she landed, the elderly she-dragon grunted with every movement, refusing to lean on her wings for support. She took two additional landings for Aemond to calm her enough to dismount.

Before his dragon had disappeared from view, tall, squawking birds had found perch upon her wide back. Aemond was sure her dragon fire would not find purchase amongst the brush and trees, the place was too dank to be set ablaze. 

By the time he reached the settlement, Aemond had cursed every rock and root he had passed for the past few miles. He wished Vhagar had roasted the entire countryside rather than spend another moment knee deep in cold muck. 

— 

“Ryver has gone mad yet again,” Lady Aeditya’s slurred down the stairs, she risked tumbling for a change at her favorite exaggerated eye roll, marking her judgement on others. “He thinks there is a Targaryen prince at his door.” 

The work in the room stopped at once. 

“…another one?” Hanna asked, her hands almost burning on the pan she paused handling. 

“It seems so,” Aeditya shook her cup until it was filled. 

“This shall be the fourth ‘prince’ to show at up his door, correct?” Lyn asked, she could not hide a smile stretching over her lips. 

“When his Lord father is away, Ryver will open the Keep to anyone with silver hair and a claimed title.” 

“What do you think this one will be like?” Hanna asked, “handsome for once?” 

They all had a laugh at that. 

“This one is different,” Aeditya answered, “Or so Ryver claims. This one…has lost an eye.” The lady stretched out her iris as she drained her cup. 

Lyn did not understand the gesture. 

“The prince,” a quiet maid said, “one of the prince’s is missing an eye. They call him ‘One-Eyed!’” 

There was mumbling amongst the ladies, Lyn even joined in. 

Aeditya could not help but be correct in all things, “Girls! Do not be such gullible lambs! Are we really to believe there is only a single silver man in the entire world and he lives at the king’s palace?” 

The new mumbling confirmed that the Lady had a point, as she usually did. Lyn was glad that her worldly education was being put to good use somehow. “Girls these days–” Aeditya said, ignoring their clearly overlapping ages, “–are so quick to believe whatever best suits them. Back when I was a maid, girls were instructed on forming more than the quickest of opinions.” Her hands were at her belly, wishing her wisdom above all for her future son. Wisdom and breath. 

“And besides, I’m sure he would have been born without the eye. Marrying one’s brother dilutes health, it is a simple matter of nature. And besides,” Aeditya looked over the gathered foods. “How would a young princeling lose an eye to begin with? They own the strongest guards on the continent” 

“Perhaps it could have been an accident?” Hanna asked, seeing it as a reasonable offer. 

“No.” Aeditya put down her goblet. “I saw the creature’s face, that scar was no accident.”

— 

Lyn did not want to admit to herself that she wanted a peak at the potential prince herself. If only for the chance to see a nasty scar. Lyn wasn’t one for violence, but she did think the human body a fascinating thing. She sometimes forgot about the prominent marks that scar her own face, a thing that some Septas preach as a consequence for a mother’s sinful life. She was only reminded by her betters. When a traveling Septon instructs her to stand as an example for his sermons on the ill-effects of sin on the body. Lyn did not mind the occasional Maester passing through their congregation asking to examine her. She had been assured that there was nothing malicious about the marks on her face. 

Lyn likened her marks as her calling card, she was an easy face to remember a few summers past, it was what helped her gain her odd-jobs, helping rebuilt fences and carrying stone for ailing paupers. Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar. Though, accepting help from the Faith was always easier on an ailing conscience. 

For as long as Lyn could remember she had been amongst the statues of the Seven Gods, and the Septas of the faith. She had learned to clean herself by them, she learned discipline by their rods, she learned how to be of use to the world.

Lyn was grateful for her life amongst the Septas, but was glad to be away whenever possible. Lyn thanked the gods that they only appear in Haronfall for the markets, and only require novices to accompany her during work in the Erenford’s Keep.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner. 

Lyn was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lyn, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more.

Lyn knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly because of the marks on her face. 

Besides, girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like. 

“You can really give it to him, my Prince!” The eldest child of the current Lord Erenford called. “We Riverman can handle our own!” Lord Ryver shouted, as he hurled his sword into the guarding shield of his companion Waltel Frey. 

The two young men began fighting in earnest, as a third party looked on. The Supposed Prince. Lyn assumed.

A small boy ran into the fray, wooden sword blazing and iron helmet blocking his line of sight, requiring a few strikes to properly attack his opponent’s buttocks. 

“Yes Robyn! Attack!” Ryver shouted, “Go for the legs!” the small boy wrapped himself around the Frey’s knees as the clang of realm swords sounded until Waltel Frey yielded, which was traditionally followed by a rant of Red Ryver from the Erenford boys.

“Oy!” Waltel called from his chosen place to end his tragic death rattles for the amusement of Little Lord Robyn. 

“Well, isn’t it my favorite grayscale woman!” Robyn leaned against the fence encircling the training yard. 

“Have you ever seen greyscale?” Lyn asked, her tone trying to convey that this was not her favorite greeting. 

“Obviously not,” Robyn answered, he might have been known as the Red Ryver, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“It does not look like this,” Lyn pointed to her face, “I know this because Maesters have shown me their drawings.” 

“Do you speak to Maesters often?” It was the turn of the Supposed Prince to speak now. 

Lyn regarded him, with her eyes. “Charmed,” she stated, echoing the word of Lady Aeditya to denote that she was less than pleased.

 “Lyn lives at the Motherhouse!” Little Lord Robyn added, firing an arrow into the fencepost Lyn was standing in front of, thankfully his ever present helmet did not effect his view, this time.  

“The Maidenhouse?” Waltel questioned.

“Maidenfort!” Ryver echoed his common words for the Faiths Cloisters. 

“We get plenty of Maesters there, if it please you,” she stated, bowing slightly in the presence of Supposed royalty.

“Are you a Septa?” Aemond regarded her this time. She had a ruddy face covered in mess and sweat, brought upon by the brisk pace of a servant’s life. Her hair was braided down slick to her head, it was either flecked with blonde or dirt. What Aemond first guessed was mud on her face turned out to be her, freckles could not contain the black stains that blotched her cheeks. “You are dressed like a child servant.”

Lyn’s skirts were inches shorter than the noble ladies and their proper servants, “It’s easier to walk,” Lyn stated the obvious. She did not need yards of extra fabric mucking about her purpose in life. “And I am no Septa,” Lyn clarified, though not wanting to explain her life any further to this imposter.

“So…it seems the Prince of the Realm has come to Haronfall.” Just as Aeditya had many times before, Lyn brought the conversation to the group. Ryver had wasted no time to clasp his hands upon the Supposed Prince’s shoulders. He did not seem to like that. “That is exciting. What brings you here Ser–Prince?” Lyn had never thought how to address a royal before.

The Prince scowled, “I am here to fetch a gift for my sister,” he answered plainly. 

“I make baskets!” Lyn could not help but exclaim proudly. The Septas had instructed her to always he in search of work, then one would never be wanting for it. “If your sister is in need of a gift.” 

The Haronfall boys were dutifully thrilled at the suggestion. 

“–no,” the Supposed Prince chuckled the word with an arrogance Lyn had not experienced in a man of his young years. 

“Alright!” Lyn did not need to defend the usefulness of a basket very often, and her blood was beginning the boil.

“You make baskets?” he mused in her direction, not lowing himself to speaking directly at her.

“I do. I make them all m’self, I do. I harvest the grass, I dry them, I weave them, without help from no one,” the words bubbled from Lyn’s mouth. “Unlike the looks of you, who could nought tie his breeches alone.” 

Aemond did not like when she pointed to his breeches, or their ties, or the general area in which they reside, in some field, in the damned Riverlands. It was unseeingly! Prince Aemond Targaryen was a god amongst men, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and he would not have his manhood regarded by some peasant. 

“I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms–”

“More like six,” Lyn said loudly enough for Ryver and Waltel to stifle a laugh. Ryver’s only respite was promising to explain the jest to little Robyn at a later time. 

Lyn pointed at his breeches straps again, just to watch his face twist in annoyance. 

“I could have you whipped for saying that,” Aemond spat, nearly disrupting the wooden fence separating him from the swampland creature that dared to grace his–

“If you were the real prince–“

Aemond’s mind echoed the if, convulsed his annoyed face into confusion. 

“If!” Lyn repeat to overpower the groans from Lord Ryver, who had thought the group was at a place far past this. He had only been wrong three times before. That did not denote a pattern. Yet. 

Lyn looked the supposed prince in the eyes, a gaze devoid of any reverence or interest. “If you were the real prince, you could have me whipped no matter what I say,” she regarded the man no further. “If it please you, I have a job to return to.” 

Aemond’s hand was on his dagger, he had every right in the whole of the realm, on any continent on this earth to carve a hand from the woman’s body and feed it to Vhagar on his return to the Crownlands. 

“But! He had one eye!” Ryver called after the disappearing peasant. 

A shiver dripped down Aemond back like a bead of sweat on a hot day, his body defensively braced himself for a jest at his own expense. 

“Everyone here seems to think,” Lyn turned and shouted across the lawn, “that the prince was born with only one eye! So, perhaps, have your tale at the ready for your…situation,” Lyn mimed his injury with her giddy hands. 

She was too far away for a sword, but Aemond was sure he could hit her if he pried the bow from the little boy Lord’s hands. 

In reality, Aemond was greeted by the stare of Haronfall boys who seemed to think the peasant woman had a point to make. 

Aemond could feel Vhagar rushing through him, she was far from this place, instantly disliking the frigid swamp mess. The easiest option would be to cart the nonbelievers to his dragon, but he knew he would be too tempted to order Vhagar to feast upon them before taking to the skies to burn the village to the ground. 

It seemed that the truth was taken as fact relatively quickly, with little questioning. Both Lord Ryver Erenford and Ser Waltel Frey seemed to ponder a vague memory of their fathers reading a message over dinner, some years ago, regarding the tale.  

It seemed that the lowborn, lord, peasant men and the helmet clad child believed him long enough for supper and a bed, though he was growling unsure he even wanted that.

— 

Prince Aemond had never been to such a disorderly affair, seated as one of many at a large cypress table that curved around the hall. The food was served in no rememberable order, plates of meats and desserts lingered together on the table. 

Lord Ryver regaled his guests with the grand tale, depicted on the keep’s newest addition to the tapestry gallery. In the threads it told the story of renowned warrior, The Red Ryver, and House Erenford’s defeat of some Rivermen, somewhere. Even Ryver’s younger brother, little Lord Robyn, was featured, wearing the iron he has refused to remove for the past six moons and his miniature bow. 

Aemond watched as the help gathered around the table, listening to Ryver climb upon the hall’s table to reenact memorable battle moments.

The servants were dressed in an array of clothing clothes and fabrics, as if the group had been bandied together for this night alone. Most of the maids wore a grey dress fit for a child, the length only reaching to their mid-calf. Aemond had a mind to walk back to Vhagar and never leave the comfort of King’s Landing again, Cinda could fetch her own surprise. 

Aemond did not make himself sick from wine and exotic liquors often, but this was a specific situation he wished to forget his memories as he went about making them. 

—

There was dancing after the meal, and the maids joined in on that as well, acting as if they were High Born ladies, dancing with visiting lords and 

Lyn stepped out of the overly warm keep, to get a deep breath of the fresh night air. It smelled of rotting plants and decaying leaves, like the smell of new life sprouting from under every stone. She noticed that she was not alone. 

“I see we both needed time away,” she said to the figure, clad in leathers like he was ready to ride away given the slightest reason. 

The prince had just excused himself to be sick on the grassed levee fortifying against the encroaching swamp. 

Prince Aemond scoffed at the girl, his mouth foal with the taste of wine and sick. The peasant girl’s skirts were riding even higher on her legs from the dancing, her leggings as disappeared hours ago as the temperature of the kitchens rose and warmed the entire keep. She looked like someone begging for his coin. 

“Hello, Greyscale,” he retorted, his mind shifting to the quick insult. 

“Hello, Cripple,” Lyn barely tolerated the language from her friend and employer, this man would get no sympathy. 

Aemond did not like that. He did not like a single moment. His skin lit up in a drunken daze as if he were standing on guard for a fight. His hazy mind did not know where he had placed his weapons. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully was interrupted, for he would not have been able to swallow his sick back into his stomach in that moment.

“Listen closely, Silver-boy,” Lyn began, as Aemond gripped the hilt of an imagined dagger. 

“As I am sure you are well aware,” he started. The moon was mostly full in the sky, but the torchlight of the terrace was not enough to see his lavender eyes sway drunkenly as they attempted to focus. “Your brothers have visited here. Three times now, I’d wager.” 

“What?” That made no sense to Aemond, as his mind reeled to Cinda. Had she charged Daeron and Aegon into her mission? She would never do that to him. 

“And I think it only fair, seeing that the last Targaryen Princeling to weasel their way into these walls stole a favored sword of the Lord Erenford!” Lyn’s tale weaved itself. She was sure Haronfall had been the talk from the North to the Vale after the beating Ryver’s Lord Father gave him after that. 

“I just think,” Lyn continued, “That after the feast, you should just take your leave. Lord Erenford need not know of this feasts guest of honor.” 

“I will not be ordered about by some–“ Aemond was sick again. 

“You’ve filled your belly, just leave quietly,” Lyn laughed at his misfortune, “It was smart of you to come during the King’s nameday celebrations. The Septas told us of the King’s nameday and all of his grand plans. And I would assume…” Lyn moved closer, clasping her hands behind her back. “…That you knew Lord Ryver would be left alone and… vulnerable, with Lord Erenford traveling to the capital…where I would assume the true prince is,” Lyn enjoyed immensely being right. “–celebrating his own father’s nameday?”

Never in Aemond’s life had he needed to prove his lineage, it had been clearly written on his face and stitched into his clothing. The green of House Hightower was as thick in his veins as the blood of dragons. And yet here, he was some imposter.

And he was growing tiered of this ruse he was seeming to play. He was growing tiered and perhaps too drunk. It reminded him far too much of the time a young Aegon recruited the Reach Girls and his cousins to pretend that he had been rendered invisible for weeks on end one boring winter in their shared youth. 

“Fine!” Aemond had been many things in his life, he had been a failure, a twat, an annoyance, a disappointment, but never…no one. “Fine! I shall leave! Just stop with the ceaseless tales, of rivers and princes! My head is spinning.” He could walk to Vhagar and leave this place and no one would never know or believe that a real prince had graced their halls.

It could have been the wine, or the company, but Aemond could not prevent a laugh when regarding his current fate. 

“I’m glad that you agree,” Lyn was pleased. “I was a good plan. Little Robyn even believes he saw your dragon fly above the keep.” The deep breath of the night air carried with it something that she had only smelled somewhere in the memory, that she could not place. 

Aemond could not stand the taste of sick in his mouth and fished a forgotten fruit from his coats pockets. 

“What is that?” Lyn asked.

“What?” Aemond asked, as the woman pointed to what he was idly palming between his hands. 

“Is it something for your dragon?” she laughed.

“This?” he asked, “is an orange.” Aemond was sure he recalled his mother telling a story about it being one of his first words as a babe. 

“An orange? Like the fruit?” she asked.

“Yes, you imbecile.” 

“Well, where did it come from? Was it a gift from The Twins? Ryver has never–– it seems so–“ The wine rushed through Lyn’s system, and the beautiful smell embolden her. 

“No, I thought it for my travels,” he quipped. “I am glad of it. I was not aware the Riverlands to be such a dreadfully barren place” 

“The land is plenty fruitful here, when it wants to be,” she replied, holding out her hand. “Now, give it here, I want to try it.” 

The fantasy played through Aemond’s head that it pulled a smile onto the corners of his face. The image of himself offering her the fruit, and just as it graced her palm, he would use his entire strength to throw it into the fucking swamp. His glorious vision was interrupted by the disappointed eyes of his mother. Her furrowed brows were too vivid from much wine. Aemond groaned and handed over the mysterious fruit.

Lyn inhaled loudly, the smell like she had never experienced before. It filled her nostrils and woke up her blood. 

Aemond’s hand twitched slightly as she prepared an opened mouth bite into the skin. His hands were then crossed under his arms. 

“Is it safe to eat?” she asked, stepping forward to eye him in the dim lamplight. Aemond felt the stone wall of the terrace against his leather clad back. 

“No, it’s poison, I will gladly watch you die.” 

Her laugh sounded like a pigs snort. Her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl as her teeth peeled a thick membrane of skin into her mouth. “It’s–delicious,” she forced herself to say, open mouth chewing the bitter bite. 

“No! You fool,” he wrenched the fruit back before she could cover it in any more of her bile. “It must be peeled first.” 

Aemond was so glad of the dark night’s lack of light upon their shadowed corner of the terrace as the woman spit the bitter taste into the dirt. The Prince nearly dropped the orange in disbelief of a lady performing such a disgusting act. 

She laughed at him once again. 

“Here!” He huffed, as he had picked away the disgusting bits. His bare fingers gripped the dripping fruit as he held it out as an offering. 

The blood drained from his body and disappeared deep inside of him at the contact of her tongue on the tips of his fingers as she took the fruit from his offered hand with her mouth. Aemond had not been aware of the deep breath that had been held up inside his lungs, but they emptied as the girl’s eyes flashed in the torchlight, the color of honey passed before a flame. The prince watched the endless dance of emotions over her face as she experienced the flavors for the first time. 

“Its a mess!” The fluttered giggle that left her made him offer another piece without thinking, and she took it the same way. 

He responded somewhere between a right and a yes as he tried to memorize the coloring and ridges and valleys of her face, as if he would need it later to solve a life threatening puzzle. He wanted to lick the juice that he had watched drip down from her chin, to the place under her clothes. 

He felt things under his own clothes stir. 

“Come swim with me,”

“What?”

“Its the least you can do after eating all the food I helped prepare,” she said, beaconing him away from the terrance and into the expanse of the night. “A prince would be in want of a bath, I am sure,” she laughed, for she nor any other servant would be prepared to carry water up stairs after a feast like tonight. 

Aemond allowed himself to be led away. His hands still grasp around an imaginary dagger, at the prospect of her robbing him blind. 

“I do not plan to steal your virtue, princeling” Lyn’s words had a drunken edge in their own right. She did not often partake in wine, as it was not offered to her as it could take away from the Septas reserves. 

Aemond’s hand released the dagger that had never been there, as his eyes played their way over her body as he followed her into the moonlight. He played the scenes of her trying to overtake him and none seemed to have purchase. Unless she attacked him with a stone, but Aemond was sure his arms were longer. This had not been the first time since they met that he had imagined choking her. 

“So, where are you from?” Lyn asked, flexing her lady-like conversational skills that Aeditya spoke so highly of. Lyn allowed him some time to answer, as they maneuvered past a precarious log. 

“A Valyrian bastard,” he replied, just like his nephews. “I hail from Dragonstone. It is an isle in the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Near the capital.” He got close enough to see her face in the dark, adding on more information until he found recognition take root. 

“Could you see the palace, from your isle?” she sounded eager to be fed more.

“From my own palace?” he felt something inside of him at her gasp. 

“Did you really live in a palace?” 

Aemond could not begin to guess what she had been imagining, but he liked watching the wheels turn in her mind. “When I was a boy,” he did not want to get too far from her now. 

“What was it like? Could you simply ask for an orange and it would be fetched for you?” He nodded until she continued. “And there would just be oranges in the kitchens? And what if the kitchens run out? Would they–“

“They would be punished severely,” he added, strangely not enjoying her new gasp as much. “But–“ he had to think quickly to play her throat like an instrument. “We could never run out of oranges, they grow on the island.” She enjoyed this more, he enjoyed when she licked her fingers at the lingering taste. “Giant orange bushes, all along the ocean’s edge, too many to ever eat in all the feasts of the year.” 

She touched him with her next astonished laugh.

“And when you needed clothes they would clean it? And when you wanted a bath…would they bathe you?” her last words were a whisper, a topic proper ladies should not be speaking about.

The Septas and girls of the House of the Faith all bathed together. It was a cloister of women, no one had anything to hide. And Lyn had once heard Lord Erenford state that men should not sit in stagnant water, it unaligned the humors. 

“Yes,” Aemond whispered back. “They would bathe me every day.” 

“Would they only bathe you? Or would there be–?” 

Aemond licked his lips as he watched the moonlight dance on the dipped juice along her chin. “Would there be what?” he could barely hear himself speak over his heart beating. “What could they have done?” he played dumb, he could smell the orange on her breath. 

“They would have…” Lyn eyed his lips, his eyes far too towering above her head. She guessed that he liked being tall. Lyn could not help but laugh. “… they would have stolen your virtue!” 

“The servants did not bathe me!” He admitted, rolling his eyes at her naivety. “They were servants, they only fetched water.” 

Aemond would mow anyone down with his sword if they overlord the ‘wow’ that left his lips as the girls twirled in the moonlight. 

“We are here!” she announced, it seemed to be a river. 

“Turn around! It is too dark to see anything!” she called, her hands moving to unclasp her work clothes. 

“If it it too dark, when why must I turn around?” 

“Valyrian gentlemanly duty?”

He turned without much fuss until he heard her body splash into the water. He had been a gentleman and not looked, he had given his word. 

His eyes fell on her discarded clothes and drifted to her swimming form. He did not know the state of her, but from the pile she left behind it didn’t seem she have many options to be left wearing. 

“Now you turn around,” he ordered, as he kicked off his shoes. 

He watched her turn, not knowing when to stop himself in his state of undress. 

Aemond watched as her head turned over her shoulder. He undressed completely and wadded into the water. He had not taken a breath the entire time. The water was warmer than he expected.

They spoke about the sky, and the weather, and whatever other topics that flattered them, their distance ebbed and flowed like the tides, inching closer to one another and then pulling away. 

“Ryver is a bastard?” Aemond asked, his toes could feel the bottom of the lake if he put his mind to it. 

“No. Ryver is the first true born child of Lord and Lady Erenford,” Lyn explained. “But, little Lord Robyn is the heir because Lord Ryver was born…as Lady Ryver.” 

There was a pause in the air as Aemond let it all sink in. 

“The Lord Erenford allowed it, and all will be well as long as Robyn lives to inherit after their father dies.” 

“And if not?” Aemond asked.

“Lord Erenford’s brother does not approve of…any of it. And he is next in line after Robyn. But! Even before then, The Red Ryver wishes for a Keep all his own. ‘Feast Keep’ he calls it. A place where all and everyone are welcome. Fortified to withstand any threads from his uncle and…those would you see them all hang. Away fro the Septas…”

“Away from King’s Landing,” Aemond added, understanding her meaning, forgetting his imagined birthplace. He turned his body in the water to face her. 

His hands floating in the water to support himself, just as she did the same in the moonlight. He had washed his mouth out of the water many times over, he smelled her beautiful orange breath, assuming his own was foul. The orange juices had been long wiped away, but Aemond will imagined her lips would taste of sweetness.

He was brought back to reality when she spit a mouthful of water into his face. 

“That’s disgusting!”

“We’re in a lake,” she shrugged one arm above the waterline. 

Aemond eye was at the water’s edge when he saw the moonlight glisten off the skin on her bare shoulders. She had marks there too. He wondered where else on her body she had them. He watched her skin disappear below the water, like a beaconing ancient puzzle. 

“You’re disgusting.” Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not mean that has an (entire) insult. 

“And you’re a liar,” she pointed out. 

Aemond enjoyed being a low-born, if only because he knew it was entirely temporary. He let out a laugh and a breath at a realization he had yet to make. 

“You’re naked with a liar,” he whispered, if he could see her bare shoulders then what else could she be wearing. 

“Well!” she laughed, “You are to, I’d say.” 

“But–“ That was entirely different.

“Because I’m a girl,” she barked back.

Aemond swam after her. 

“–a woman,” she corrected. “A lady, even!” 

“You are no lady,” he was enjoy this game that he could not tell you last time he had ever been angry. 

“How would you know?” she teased. 

“Because–” they had stoped swimming, just treading water, his toes dipped to the pebbled floor if he covered his nose. She was close enough to touch. Aemond reached his hand out and brushed her bare waist. “I’ve met ladies, and they would never be so–” 

Did she not notice his touch to not flinch away? Or did she simply not care? There was no word for this feeling. He had felt it above the clouds, away from the red keep, and now between his toes in the muck. 

“Ladylike?” she offered.

Aemond watched as her her hand breached the water, like she was trying to not frighten her prey, and rested itself atop his shoulder. 

“What are ladies like?” she repeated herself, after her second hand touched his shoulders. He had not heard her the first time. 

“They must…” he tried to remember anything else that wasn’t here, in this lake, under his moon. “Beautiful, and well-read. They should sing, and dance, be pious, but not overly-so. Painting, embroidery…drawing, even, an art is important for ladies to be accomplished with.” 

Lyn was surprised there was even more.

“She should know her histories, and geographies, and sums so she might not bleed her husband’s purse dry. And, there is just something about her,” he almost sighed, “in her manner, and walk. Her air should be build to maintain her husband’s social and political alliances.”

“All at once?” She removed her hands from his shoulders. “All the time?” Lyn could not help but laugh.

“Not all the time, but yes! All at once! Some try and many fail,” he scoffed. 

“You seem pleased with the failures of women,” she mocked, stretching herself backwards to wade towards the shallow edge. Her back arched and she felt cold air on her chest.

There was a pause in Aemond as his brain worked, a whisper brushed against his mind that reminded him of Aegon. “…What women?” he asked, closing the distance between them. 

Lyn was pleased, this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, not close enough to touch him. She nodded her head, and he copied, she shook it and he did too. 

“Good boy.” It was as quiet as the wind. He could stand easily, and palmed her waist with a sigh. 

There was a long silence.

“…have you…?” she asked, he felt it in his chest, as if she had said it in any worldly tongue he would have known what she was asking. 

“Yes. Once. A long time ago.” The words came out, slowly, one at a time, but it was said. “My brother, took me to a brothel on my thirteen nameday. And…never again.”

“Oh,” she only said, her tone dipped in sadness at the edge of the sound.  

“Have you?” his brow furrowed, in a genuine question. He had never given much thought to the purity of lowborns.

“No,” she answers firmly. “…yes,” but she corrected. “He…It wasn’t my…” she sighed into the story, never having told it before. “Last winter,” it had been over a past year, “A friend got sick, the Septas wanted us to pray but, she a needed medicine, and there was a man…and he was very handsome…so I…got the coin…” She picked her fingers behind his back. “But at least…I did not lie to a Riverlord for a free meal?” 

“But aren’t you worried the Septas will check you?” Aemond heard her attempt to make light, but ignored it. 

“I don’t think they can tell,” she answered.

“What?”

“I grew up with girls, and some went out and…had their fun, and some were taken before getting there, and some swore to have never and…I think the Septas feel what they want to fell.”

“So you think they're lying about it all?”

“Maybe!” 

“You think everyone is lying,” he teased. 

“Perhaps, sometimes, they are!” 

He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, but she stopped him.

“Come sit on the dock with me,” she motioned, they were back where they started. Her hands gripped and pulled herself out of the water in one fluid motion, to sit atop the dock, bare as when she was submerged. 

Aemond watched the watch drip from her hair down her neck and disappear into the shadows of the night, if only he could see in the dark. He was at her knees, standing in the waist deep waters, he could rest his chin on the dock if he liked. He liked his lips and place his hands on the girl’s knees. 

“Have you ever seen a lady like this?” Lyn asked, she shoulders swayed in the sticky night air and her should feel her breasts shake as they lay on her crossed legs. 

He shook his head in answer. 

“What about this?” she asked, moving her hands with her knees and she spread her legs wide, exposing her cunt to him. 

She had something else snarky to saw, but Aemond did not hear it. The moon and the stars would not support his endeavors to drown in the sight of her. Where his hands had been idle before, he gripped her knees to pull her further spread before him. 

“What are you–?” 

He was close enough he could almost…His tongue licked up her core and she played him music with her voice. He moaned into her as his tongue explored the raised flesh where her opening met. His tongue circled whines and moans around the bundle of nerves until he kissed her clit with his lips and didn’t let go. He suckled the bud, as he had wanted to suckle hard nipples of bellowing beasts in his sick fantasies. Her hands are in his hair, Aemond would not be freed from his prize, leaving Lyn to fist his hair like reins of a saddle. Her moans were shaking her entire body.

His finger played at her entrance. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he finally relented, for his desperate question. 

“No!” she shook her body. “It’s…messy and wet and,” she could never bring herself to do it, and he did not let her finish. 

His two fingers sank in, “You are wet.” She spread her own legs now, bucking against him as he returned to lapping at her clit while he coiled his fingers in side of her. “And messy,” he pumped in and out, his free hand twisting her nipple in his hand. He had never seen it gentle, but she clasped both hands over her own mouth to scream. 

Aemond felt her clenching around him fingers as his mouth continued its attack. She bucked and tried to press her legs together, but he would not allow it. “Ahhhg!” she moaned, into the air, and slowly her quakes came to and end. 

“Stop, stop…please–” she panted, her back layer against the dock. 

Aemond did not like his lack of a view, and joined her on the platform, his own breath panting as he studied her face like a treasured map. She breathed, and her chest rose up and down, the water had dried from her skin but dripped from her hair. Aemond’s hands were firmly planted on the dock besides him, not wanting to touch something to fragile that she might run away. 

“My turn,” she finally said, sitting up and catching his lips in a kiss. He had tried kissing before, but not often, mostly in games of children who could still play innocent. His mouth opened slightly and her tongue licked at the entrance. 

He moaned into her as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Lyn nipped at his lips lightly as she began to pump him, she could feel his skin tighten with every stroke, growing longer, and wider, filling her hand.

His mouth was useless for her kisses, she licked his tongue as his mouth hung open in pleasure. Aemond’s head found the crook of her neck and moaned into her skin. Her free hand fingered the strands of his silver locks. He was a shivering mess as he pumped his hips into her firm palm. 

“Mmm,” he moaned as her free hand found his balls, palming them with every trust of her hand. He matched her pace and trust himself with her, she breathed heavy in his ear to match the pace. 

“Lyn!” a voice called out from the darkness.

“What?” she shouted back, the loudest and sweetest sound Aemond had ever heard.

“Where are you? It is the Hour of the Owl! We must be going!” The ghost voice cursed them. 

She moaned. “I am coming! I shall be there! Away! Please!” she begged.

Aemond had lost his pace, his head was shaking, he could not do this anymore. 

“Wait,” Lyn hushed him, “Shh, shh, wait.” She was assuring, her strokes still strong as she could feel him hardening into her hand again. 

“Let me,” she moved herself to between her legs and lowered her face to his cock. Her tongue starting at his base and licked up to twirl his head around her lips. She peppered kissed down his length as her hand returned to stroke him. Her kissed reached the base and went lower, kissing and sucking in the skin of his balls as he trust himself into her hands. He did not last long, the naked girl with her mouth on his cock. He trust and whine and pumped and he could hear her laughing and sucking and breathing and he came shaking on his chest. 

They breathed together, and their breathing turned to laughter. Their discarded clothes still in the same pile it was forgotten. 

“You’re called Lyn?” he said, praying to whatever god allowed him to remember her name. “I’m called–“ she interrupted him with a finger over his mouth.

“I don’t care,” she said, kissing his cheek and disappearing into the darkness, leaving Aemond a mess of himself.

//authors note – thank you SO MUCH for reading! This is the first project Im posting that I am proud of. It is barely edited, so I will eventually work on that. But, this is the beginning of a story worked out well. Plenty of twists and turns to come! I am always here for encouraging words, fic recs, headcanons, questions, and anything else~

My work on this fic inspired THIS POST. I’m just fascinated at HBO’s lack of “courtly ladies”, especially in a family where sisters are born to marry their brothers. So, I changed that and made some angsty mean girls to make fetch happen

[mr-culper]

— "You'll Be Back" (Hamilton: An American Musical)

[fearmakess]

I've been apathetic lately, and metal is the only thing that saves me. I thought Aemond might be like that too 🤷🏽‍♀️

[righteousmen]

Lady of the palace, sorry that I ask this But I hope that I've been misinformed I sent out some scouts to take a look around through here And they wound up at your doors Through the years we seldom Get a warm welcome So I must ask just to be sure

Did you do something to them?

[mossytrashcan]

hotd is a -10/10 for me cuz there was no plotline where aegon’s head injury + milk of the poppy caused a wacky sequence of events where his delusional ass hallucinated aemond singing over his unconscious body like this

[glxtterdreams]

Spectacular I’ll take 14 of em 💝💝💝💝💝

Just realised are those scratches on his chest from the skink😭☹️🥺

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

bts of ewan mitchell — doing the car jitsu choreography for the fontaines d.c. ‘in the modern world’ music video.

according to producer chris murdoch, the music video was shot last thursday night (august 15th)

[redisveryyummy]

Late night modern hotd music headcanons :D

Rheanyra loves Beyonce so fucking much dude

She feels like she would have one playlist and it's just called boss bitch or something

Reputation is the only Taylor Swift album she constantly listens to and evermore but we won't talk about that

Former theater kid, if you disagree argue with the wall

I am a strong believer that she is a fan of musicals/romcoms and her and her boys have a movie night where they watch their favorites and sing every song word for word

(Daemon does not participate)

ESPECIALLY MAMMA MIA

Rheanyra singing "Slipping Through My Fingers" to Jace and/or Luke has me sobbing my eyes out dude

Jace, Luke, and Joffery singing "Honey Honey" omg

JACE AND (INSERT S/O OF YOUR CHOICE PROBABLY CREGAN) SINGING "LAY YOUR LOVE ON ME" TO EACH OTHER AGHSBSUDBHD

Daemon listens to dad rock and dubstep exclusively, nothing else

Bro is literally the cbat guy

Daemon is really the kind of guy that would be like "there's this band but you probably wouldn't know it because it's so underground" and it's literally Weezer

Alicent loves her yearning music

Phoebe Bridgers, Frankie Cosmos, Laufey, Mitski, Conan Gray

Two words. BOY. GENIUS.

Her and Rheanyra have TOTALLY gone to many boy genius concerts together

folklore folklore folklore

Aegon 😐😑😐

Cbat guy 2.0

Listens to WAY to much house music

No real music taste

Whatever is on the radio, but like the radio in 2016 you know?? Or like late 2000's

1989 (Taylor's Version) he's not a monster lol

Usher (that's the only person I can think of rn lol)

Aemond only listens to classical music or weird experimental jazz because he thinks it makes him different

Activity hates on Taylor Swift for all the wrong reasons

Secretly likes her a little and is way too excited for The Tortured Poets Department

Helaena is so whimsical I love her sm <3

Very much into indie stuff with down to earth vibes

Hozier, The Crane Wives, Noah Kahn, Everybody's Worried About Owen, Bears in Trees, Maya Hawk

"Why Am I Like This" by Orla Gartland...iykyk

Jacaerys Velaryon is an Arianna Grande FAN I don't make the rules

Him, Beala, and Rheana definitely have little dance parties whenever they come over

Loves Ari and Brittany

Also enjoys country music

He gets it from his daddy 🥰

Taylor Swifts Self Title is his everything

LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID I REPEAT LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID

It's all his mom's fault

His playlists are all just musical soundtracks

Little Shop of Horrors, Heathers, The Falsettos, RIDE THE CYCLONE, BE MORE CHILL, Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton

Same with the Hazbin Hotel soundtrack y'all don't even know

Luke loves "Hell is Forever"

Also bro has a HORRIBLE singing voice

Anyway I will probably have more tomorrow but that is what I got for tonight :))

[goddessofvalyria]

DEATH | Martin (In the modern world) x fem!oc

As I saw Ewan Mitchell in the music video for Fontaines DC - In The Modern World, I obviously know that music video made us Tumblr girls write sooooooo much and I'm here for that.

Since you liked the previous part "Alive" (read here). I did the second part, the ending of their story.

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy it <3

Summary: After Cassandra and Martin got together, their relationship was deep and full of love, but it also had a dark side. She still felt broken and lost, he was afraid of losing her and knew he couldn't live without his girlfriend. Sometimes love isn't enough to heal the pain.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Cassandra with long wavy dark black hair and blue-purple eyes, kissing, sexual themes, dirty talking, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, masturbation (f and m receiving), SMUT, sex, heavy drug use and mention (their became addicted on cocaine and heroine, if you have watched/read "Requiem for a dream" and "Zoo station: the story of Christiane F." you know how this part is going to be hard to read), sadness, death.

This is my Masterlist

Words: 6800

After Cassandra and Martin got together, their relationship became something profound and intense, a bond forged in both love and darkness. Martin, who had once admired her from afar, now held her close, determined to protect her from the world that had already taken so much from her. But despite the love they shared, a shadow lingered over them, growing heavier with each passing day.

Cassandra was still broken, haunted by the demons that had pushed her to the edge. No matter how much Martin tried to fill the void, the pain inside her remained, gnawing at her soul. She turned to drugs to numb the agony—first cocaine, then heroin. The drugs offered her a brief escape, a momentary release from the turmoil within, but they also dragged her further into darkness.

Martin watched helplessly as Cassandra spiraled deeper into her addiction. She was often high, her eyes glazed over, her body trembling as the heroin coursed through her veins. The girl he loved was slipping away, lost in a haze of needles and powder. He couldn’t bear to see her in so much pain, and the thought of losing her terrified him. He had already killed for her, and now, he was willing to do anything to stay close to her, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

One night, the weight of everything became too much for Martin to bear. He had watched Cassandra slipping further away, disappearing into a world of darkness that he couldn’t reach. The thought of losing her completely terrified him, and he knew that if he couldn’t save her, he had to at least understand her pain. He had to feel what she felt, even if it meant following her into the abyss.

As they lay in bed, the room dimly lit by the flicker of a single candle on the nightstand, Martin turned to Cassandra, his voice trembling with desperation. "Show me," he said, his eyes pleading. "Show me how to do it. I want to feel what you feel."

Cassandra’s gaze flickered with surprise, then something darker—resignation. She had always kept that part of her life separate from him, as if by doing so, she could protect him from the worst of it. But now, seeing the pain in his eyes, the resolve in his voice, she knew there was no turning back. If he was going to join her in this, she couldn’t stop him.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice soft but serious. "Once you start, there’s no going back."

Martin nodded, his heart pounding. "I need to understand, Cass. I need to be with you."

With a heavy sigh, Cassandra rolled out of bed and walked over to a small, hidden box she kept tucked away in the corner of the room. She opened it and took out a syringe, a spoon, a small bag of heroin, and a lighter. Martin watched her every move, his breath catching in his throat as the reality of what he was about to do sank in.

Cassandra returned to the bed, sitting beside him, her hands steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "Watch carefully," she instructed, her voice tinged with sadness. "I’ll show you how."

She placed the heroin on the spoon and held the lighter underneath, heating it until it dissolved into a liquid. Martin’s eyes followed the process, a mixture of fear and determination etched into his features. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but he couldn’t stop himself either.

Cassandra filled the syringe with the liquid, then turned to Martin, her expression softening. "Give me your arm," she said gently.

Martin hesitated for a moment before extending his arm, the veins standing out against his pale skin. Cassandra tied her hair elastic his upper arm, tightening it until a vein became prominent. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his one last time for any sign of doubt.

"You don’t have to do this," she whispered, her voice wavering. "We can still stop."

But Martin shook his head, his resolve unbroken. "I’m with you, Cass. I need to do this. I need to feel what you feel"

Nodding slowly, Cassandra carefully inserted the needle into his vein and pushed the plunger, releasing the heroin into his bloodstream. The sensation was immediate—an overwhelming warmth spreading through his body, followed by a wave of euphoria that left him breathless. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a powerful escape from the reality he had been drowning in.

Cassandra prepared a second dose for herself, and as she injected it, their eyes met. There was no need for words; they both understood what this meant, what they were becoming together.

As the drug took hold, they lay back on the bed, their bodies entwined, the world outside fading into a distant blur. Time lost its meaning, and the only reality was the warmth of each other’s touch, the shared high that seemed to erase all the pain, all the fear. For a brief, shining moment, nothing else mattered.

Martin turned to Cassandra, his voice slurred but filled with a strange sort of peace. "I get it now," he murmured. "I understand why you do this."

Cassandra smiled sadly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "It helps… for a while. But it’s not real, Martin. It’s just an escape."

"I don’t care," he whispered, pulling her closer. "As long as I’m with you."

As the haze of the heroin settled over them, Martin turned to Cassandra, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear, longing, and something darker—possessiveness. The world outside their small cocoon felt distant, almost unreal, and all that mattered was the woman lying beside him.

He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without a word, Martin leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a slow, intense kiss.

The kiss was different this time—deeper, more desperate, as if he were trying to pour all of his emotions into that one act. He could taste the faint residue of the cocaine on her lips, mingling with the saltiness of unshed tears. Pulling back just slightly, his breath warm against her skin, he whispered, "I love you, Cassandra. I’ve always loved you."

His voice was raw, filled with a vulnerability that he rarely let show. He pressed his forehead against hers, his lips barely grazing her ear as he continued, "You’re mine, Cass. You’ve always been mine, and I’m never letting you go."

Cassandra’s eyes glistened with emotion, her hand coming up to rest against his chest. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palm, matching her own. The intensity of his words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and comfort in his possessive declaration.

"I’m yours," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I’ve always been yours, Martin."

With that, she kissed him again, her hands tangling in his hair as if to anchor herself to him, to the only person who understood her darkness and didn’t shy away. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate, more intense, as if they were trying to merge

They stayed like that for hours, lost in each other and the high, the outside world nothing more than a distant memory. They talked, sharing their deepest fears and regrets, things they had never spoken aloud before. The drugs made them feel safe, invincible, as if nothing could touch them in that moment.

But as the high began to fade, reality crept back in, bringing with it the darkness they had tried so hard to escape. They knew it wouldn’t last, that the relief was temporary, but it didn’t matter. All they had was each other, and as long as they could keep that, they were willing to fall deeper into the void.

Together, they had crossed a line, and there was no turning back. They were bound to each other in a way that went beyond love, beyond reason—two lost souls, clinging to one another as they drifted further into the abyss.

As they lay in bed one afternoon, the sun barely filtering through the heavy curtains, Cassandra turned to him, her voice slurred from the heroin. "Do you ever think about what we used to be?" she asked, her eyes searching his face as if looking for a trace of the boy she once knew.

Martin stared at the ceiling, his thoughts slow and muddled. "All the time," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "I remember how you were… so full of life, so bright. I always wondered what it would be like to be close to you, the prettiest girl I've ever seen in all my life."

Cassandra let out a soft, bitter laugh. "I’m not that girl anymore, Martin. She’s gone. Maybe she was never real to begin with."

"She was real" Martin insisted, turning his head to look at her. "You were real. You still are."

She shook her head, her lips trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. "I don’t even know who I am anymore. This… this isn’t living. We’re just existing, waiting for the next high, the next escape."

Martin reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But we’re together, Cass. That’s what matters."

Cassandra’s gaze softened, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. "You shouldn’t have followed me into this" she whispered, her voice thick with guilt. "I’m dragging you down with me, I'm killing you, my love."

"I’d rather be down here with you than up there alone" Martin said, his voice firm. "I can’t lose you. I won’t."

They fell into silence, the weight of their words hanging between them. The music playing in the background seemed distant, the lyrics a haunting reminder of the life they once had.

Later that night, after another hit, Cassandra leaned against Martin, her head resting on his shoulder as they listened to the soft strains of a melancholic song. "Do you think there’s any way out of this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Martin hesitated, unsure of what to say. He wanted to believe there was, that they could somehow claw their way out of the darkness together, but deep down, he knew the truth. "I don’t know," he finally said, his voice quiet.

Cassandra smiled weakly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m scared, Martin. I don’t want to lose you. You are all I have."

"You won’t," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "I am yours and you are mine."

But as the days turned into nights, and the drugs continued to pull them under, the hope in Martin’s voice became harder to believe. They spent their days lying in bed, talking about their lives, their fears, and their dreams, but always with the shadow of their addiction looming over them.

"We could just run away" Cassandra said one morning, her voice filled with a fleeting sense of hope. "Leave everything behind, start fresh somewhere else."

Martin looked at her, his heart aching at the desperation in her voice. "And go where? We can’t outrun this, Cass. It’ll follow us wherever we go."

She sighed, the momentary hope fading. "I know… we're fucked up."

"You're so beautiful" Martin whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You're the only one who's ever loved me,” she said, caressing his face.

But even as he said the words, he knew they were slipping further and further away from the life they once knew, from the people they once were. All they had left was each other, and even that was slowly being consumed by the darkness.

The next day, as the first light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, Cassandra and Martin lay in bed, their bodies intertwined beneath the sheets. The remnants of the night before still lingered in the air—the scent of sweat, the faint hint of blood, and the unmistakable presence of the drugs that had dulled their pain, if only for a little while. The world outside felt distant and unreal, as if they were suspended in a place where time didn’t exist.

Cassandra’s gaze was distant as she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting to places she didn’t want to go. After a long silence, she spoke, her voice soft and filled with a quiet despair. "There is something terrible in reality, and I don’t know what it is" she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why do I always need others?"

Martin turned his head to look at her, his heart aching at the vulnerability in her voice. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You’re not alone, Cass," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I’m here with you. You don’t have to face it by yourself."

Cassandra shook her head, her fingers tracing the lines of his face, the stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips. "If I were to leave and never come back," she murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and longing, "I would take you with me too. And yes, because now you are part of me… that is, of what I have around me."

Her fingers moved up to caress his black hair, and Martin closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. He felt the warmth of her hand against his skin, the tenderness in her gesture. It was as if she was trying to memorize every part of him, to hold onto him as tightly as she could, even as everything else seemed to be slipping away.

Martin opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze intense. "You don’t have to go anywhere," he whispered before leaning in to kiss her, his lips brushing against hers with a gentleness that belied the storm of emotions inside him. "I need you, Cass," he murmured against her lips, his voice filled with raw honesty. "I don’t know how to be without you."

Cassandra sighed, her breath warm against his skin. "And I need you," she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly. "But sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning… and I don’t want to pull you down with me."

Martin’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her face. "We’ll face it together," he promised, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart. "Whatever happens, whatever this is… we’ll face it together. You’re not pulling me down. We’re holding each other up."

Cassandra’s heart swelled with emotion, and she leaned in, capturing his lips in a deeper kiss, one filled with all the unspoken words, the fears, and the love they shared. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if they were both afraid of what would happen if they let themselves feel too much. But as the moments passed, the intensity grew, their caresses becoming more urgent, more desperate.

Martin’s hands roamed over her body, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, while Cassandra’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Their breaths became shallow, their hearts pounding in unison as they lost themselves in each other.

"I’m here," Martin whispered against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m not going anywhere."

Cassandra responded by deepening the kiss, her body arching against his as the desire between them became impossible to ignore. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips moved against hers—it was all she needed in that moment, all she wanted. The fear, the pain, the darkness—they all faded away, leaving only the two of them, connected in a way that went beyond words.

Their movements became more urgent, their hands exploring, their breaths mingling as the intensity of their desire grew. Martin’s kisses trailed down her neck, and Cassandra gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as he pulled her closer. The heat between them was overwhelming, and soon, they were lost in the rhythm of their bodies, the world outside forgotten as they gave in to the passion that had been building between them.

Martin’s breath quickened as he urgently pulled Cassandra closer, his hands trembling slightly as he grasped the hem of the t-shirt she wore—a t-shirt she had stolen from one of his drawers, a piece of him that she had claimed as her own. With one swift motion, he pulled it over her head, exposing her smooth, scented skin to the cool air. The sight of her, so vulnerable and beautiful, made his heart race.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her collarbone, trailing soft kisses down her chest, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin, a mix of her perfume and something uniquely hers. His hands moved lower, finding the waistband of her panties, his voice a low murmur as he whispered against her skin, "Lift your hips, darling."

Cassandra complied, her breath hitching as she arched her hips off the bed, giving him the space to slide her panties down her legs. The intimate act made her shiver with anticipation, and a soft moan escaped her lips as Martin tossed the fabric aside, his blue eyes dark with desire as they roamed over her body.

Unable to resist the temptation, Cassandra reached up, her lips finding the sensitive spot on his neck. She kissed him there, her mouth hot against his skin, her breath ragged with need. "I want you to feel good" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I want you to be mine."

With a sudden burst of confidence, she pushed him back onto the bed, reversing their positions. She straddled him, her hands moving to the waistband of his boxers, sliding them off with a deliberate slowness that made his pulse quicken. As she freed him from the last barrier between them, she let her own remaining clothing fall away, leaving her naked above him, her body illuminated by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains.

Martin’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up at her, his hands instinctively reaching out to trace the curves of her body. But Cassandra wasn’t done. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his chest, her kisses growing more insistent as she moved lower. Her hair cascaded over his skin, sending shivers down his spine as she continued her descent, her mouth leaving a trail of heat wherever it touched.

Every kiss, every touch, was filled with a desperate need to connect, to claim one another in a way that words could never fully express. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes burning with desire, Martin felt like he was falling, losing himself in the depths of her gaze.

"I’m yours, Cass" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."

Cassandra’s response was immediate—she kissed him fiercely, their lips crashing together with a passion that had been building for far too long. Their bodies moved in sync, the rhythm of their love-making intense and all-consuming. Each touch, each gasp, each whispered word was a testament to the deep, complicated love they shared—a love that was as beautiful as it was destructive.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the darkness that loomed over them, not the pain that threatened to tear them apart. All that existed was the here and now, the feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by each other.

She slowly moved down with kisses, kissed him on his chest, then on his abdomen and then on to his long veiny cock. She began to caress him, feeling his breathing accelerate, Martin closed his eyes, but then opened them again. He wanted to look at her, eat her with his gaze, imprint her every movement in his mind. Cassandra lowered herself to lick him along his shaft and then wrapped him between her lips and began to suck him.

Martin grabbed her by the hair to make her movements easier, moaning and enjoying that sensation, of feeling her wet lips, aware that she was driving him crazy. "My good girl" he whined. She also caressed him with her hand and the more she concentrated on him, the more the mere thought of seeing him helpless under her touch excited her. They looked straight into each other's eyes, she wanted him terribly. Martin knew he couldn't resist for long, he wanted to come between her lips again like the night before, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He wanted her, he wanted her all for himself.

The thought of taking her, there in that bed was driving him crazy as well as the idea of ​​having her in his hands and touching her only as he knew how, driving her crazy with every single touch.

He knew her body, he knew how her skin reacted to his fingers, to his caresses and kisses.

"Come here" he whispered lost in pleasure, she looked up and with a last lick she pulled away from him. "Did you like it?" she asked. "I like everything you do to me" he whispered, he grabbed her in his hands, tortured her nipples, kissed them, sucked them to make them more sensitive, licked her breasts.

"I need to feel something" she whispered lying on the bed, Martin went from kissing her lips to her neck, between her breasts, on her abdomen and then on her pussy. He opened her legs, she was so excited that it was dripping between her crotches.

"I need to feel you mine" she put a hand in his hair, he grabbed her by the thighs opening her with two fingers and then licked her. "You are breathtaking, you are mine, mine and mine only" he whispered giving her a kiss there.

He looked into her eyes, rose a little and soon he spat on her pussy, making her shiver. She had liked it. "My love" Cassandra whispered, feeling his tongue licking her between her soaking wet folds, his nose pressing on her clit, his tongue sliding into her slit fucking her deep inside. Cassandra moaned, arching her back, finding herself begging him, her hands clenched in her thick black hair.

"My love" Martin whispered, kissing her on the inside of her thigh. "My love, my love, my love" with his thumb he began to tease her clit, Cassandra's legs trembled as her pussy began to tighten around his fingers. Martin buried his face between her thighs again, he resumed licking her greedily until she came on his tongue, the orgasm shook her so much that he held her still.

"I want to make love to you" Martin whispered, his face resting on her pussy. "I want to make love to you for the rest of my life, my love."

Martin stood on her, towering over her with his body, perfect, slender and trained. She, beautiful to the point of pain: thick and long eyelashes, deep blue-violet eyes, capable of digging into his soul, were those of his beloved, illuminated by a deep love and a dangerous darkness. She sat up and touched him in every inch of his body: the defined muscles, the back, even the soft hair. She leaned forward kissing him on the lips, when they parted a trickle of saliva joined their lips. "I want to feel your skin against mine" Cassandra whispered looking at Martin. "I want to feel only what you can give me so well" And then she felt the hard erection, hot and humid, heavy, pressing against the inside of her thigh. She bit her lips excited, Martin took her hips helping her and entered her while they still had their lips glued together and they were moaning into each other's mouths. Taking her by the hips he helped her move and increased the pace of his thrusts, eliciting moans of pleasure from both of them. She pressed herself against him.

"My love, my love, my love" she whispered with each thrust, feeling that deep feeling that only he was able to give her. "You're mine, you're mine, mine, mine, mine, only mine" Martin whispered, pushing himself into her, their hands intertwined and their lips consumed with each kiss. Cassandra's body moved with each thrust, she trembled with excitement and melted under her lover's hands, it was all stronger than a drug. Martin loved her with all of himself and now that he could have her all to himself, it seemed that time was no longer enough.

"You're the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me" Cassandra whispered between one kiss and the next, Martin rested his forehead against hers. "You are the only beautiful thing in my life" he gave her a stronger push, then turned her on her stomach on the mattress. "Like this, from behind?" he whispered perversely in her ear, gathering her hair in one thing.

"Yes, my love" she turned her face to look at him, Martin pinned her to the mattress with his body and only lifted her hips, leaving her ass in the air. "How beautiful you are when you are submissive to me" Cassandra smiled, but her smile soon turned into a grimace of pleasure when he opened her thighs and buried his face between them, eating her from behind.

Cassandra grabbed the sheets with her hands, felt her boyfriend's tongue fucking her opening and moaned writhing. "My good girl" Martin whispered caressing her back with his hands, placing kisses all over her scented skin. "You're so wet" he whispered, feeling her intimate area again with two fingers. "And you're mine" in an unexpected gesture he spanked her, she laughed, she liked it.

"Do it again" Cassandra whispered and this time, Martin left his hand imprinted on her skin and with the other he guided his cock inside her, fucking her from behind. She was hot, wet and tight around him. He lowered himself so much that he could turn her face and kiss her, Cassandra pushed herself with her hips against his cock, Martin grabbed her hips, he heard her moan, pant his name and shortly after, when she was about to come he turned her on her back, penetrated her again and while she was dying in the spasms of another orgasm. He fucked her again and again with love. He grabbed her by the thighs and let himself come inside her, filling her.

Martin collapsed in his arms, Cassandra held him between them. He rested his face on her breast, kissing her and breathing in her scent. "You're my whole life, you're my whole fucking life," he whispered against her. "I'm yours and you're mine" Cassandra whispered, stroking his hair.

As they made love, it wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about holding on to each other, about finding solace in each other’s arms. They moved together, their bodies fitting perfectly, as if they were made for this, for each other. And in that moment, everything else faded away—there was no darkness, no fear, no pain. There was only them, together, holding on to each other in the only way they knew how.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies still pressed close, their breaths slowing as the intensity of the moment began to fade. Martin held Cassandra tightly, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin as they lay in silence, the weight of their reality settling back in. But for now, in the aftermath of their shared intimacy, they found a brief respite from the darkness that surrounded them—a moment of peace in a world that felt increasingly chaotic and uncertain.

"I love you, Cass" Martin whispered, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "No matter what happens, I’m here."

Cassandra nodded, her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "I love you too, Martin," she whispered back, her voice soft but full of emotion. "I just hope that’s enough."

Cassandra lay beside Martin, her head resting on his chest as they caught their breath, their bodies still entwined beneath the sheets. The weight of their love, of everything they had been through, hung in the air, a mix of sorrow and something achingly sweet.

Martin reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, taking a deep drag before passing it to Cassandra. She took it from him, her fingers brushing against his as she brought it to her lips. They lay there in the quiet, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals, the only sound the soft crackle of burning tobacco and their steady, slowing breaths.

As Cassandra exhaled, she turned to look at Martin, her eyes soft but filled with a deep, unspoken sadness. She held the cigarette between her fingers, watching the embers glow in the dim light. "Martin" she whispered, her voice barely audible, "let's do it again. Let's get high, just one more time. Together."

Martin looked at her, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. He knew what she was asking, knew the darkness they were teetering on the edge of. But he also knew that he couldn’t say no—not to her, not when she looked at him like that, as if he were her last lifeline in a world that had already taken too much from her.

"Alright" he murmured, his voice thick with resignation. "One more time, my love."

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Together, they prepared the drugs and then they injected the heroin each other in silence, their hands trembling just slightly as the drug coursed through their veins, bringing with it the sweet, numbing relief they both craved.

As the high took hold, Cassandra turned to Martin, her movements slow and dreamlike. She kissed him softly, her lips barely brushing against his, as if she were afraid to break the fragile moment. He kissed her back, his hands gently cradling her face, their breaths mingling in the dim light.

They lay back down, their bodies entwined, their hearts slowing as the heroin dulled the edges of their reality. The world around them faded, the pain and fear slipping away, leaving only the warmth of each other’s embrace.

Lying on the bed, their bodies still warm from the afterglow and the drugs beginning to weave their hazy spell, Cassandra and Martin found themselves in the vulnerable space where their deepest secrets, long buried under layers of pain and pretense, could no longer be hidden.

Cassandra’s gaze was unfocused, her eyes glassy as she stared at the ceiling. The heroin dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, making it easier to speak, to let out the words that had been trapped inside her for so long. She turned her head slightly to look at Martin, her voice a soft, trembling whisper.

"Martin… there’s something I need to tell you. About who I really am… who I was." She hesitated, the words caught in her throat. "The perfect girl you knew in school… that wasn’t me. It was just a mask I wore, a way to survive."

Martin’s brow furrowed as he listened, his heart tightening at the vulnerability in her voice. He reached out, taking her hand in his, silently urging her to continue.

"My childhood was…" Cassandra’s voice cracked, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "It was a nightmare, Martin. My parents—they were never there for me, not really. My father was always away, and when he was home, he was… cruel. My mother, she just pretended everything was fine, like we were the perfect family. But behind closed doors, it was hell. I learned to pretend, to be the good daughter, the smart, popular girl, because it was the only way I knew to keep everything from falling apart."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke, her voice shaking with the weight of her confession. "But inside, I was always broken. I didn’t let anyone see that part of me—not my friends, not anyone. I was so scared of being abandoned, of being hurt even more. So, I wore that mask, and I convinced everyone that I was fine… that I was perfect."

Martin’s heart ached as he listened to her words, realizing just how much she had been hiding, how deeply her pain ran. He tightened his grip on her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"Cass… I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea… I always thought you were so strong, so perfect. But I should have seen the pain behind your eyes. I should have known."

Cassandra shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "No, Martin… you couldn’t have known. I didn’t let anyone close enough to see. Not even you. And that’s something I regret more than anything."

She took a deep breath, her gaze locking onto his. "I regret not noticing you, Martin. You were always there, always kind and sweet, and I was too blinded by my own pain to see you. I wish I had seen you sooner."

Martin’s eyes softened, his heart swelling with a mix of love and sorrow. "Cass, I’ve loved you for so long… even when we barely knew each other, even when you didn’t see me. I loved you. I love you."

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, tender kiss, pouring all of his emotions into that single act. Cassandra kissed him back with equal intensity, her hands cupping his face as if she were trying to hold onto this moment, to make it last forever.

When they finally pulled apart, Martin rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. "I love you so much, Cassandra," he whispered, his voice trembling. "And I always will."

Cassandra’s eyes shone with tears, but she smiled through them, her heart full despite the sadness that lingered. "I love you too, Martin. I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it, to really mean it… but I do. I love you with everything I have."

"I love you, my love" Martin whispered, his voice slurred, heavy with the drug’s effect.

"I love you too, my love" Cassandra replied, her words thick and drowsy. She nestled closer to him, their limbs tangled together, seeking comfort in the only place they had ever truly felt safe—in each other’s arms.

As they lay side by side, the silence between them thick with unspoken words, Martin knew it was his turn to let the darkness inside him out. He looked at Cassandra, her tear-streaked face still beautiful even in her pain, and felt the weight of his own past pressing down on him. It was time to tell her everything, to strip away the last of the walls he’d built around himself.

"Cass, my love" he began, his voice low and unsteady, "There’s something I’ve never told you… about my life, about who I really am."

Cassandra turned her head to look at him, her eyes soft with understanding and a silent invitation for him to continue. She squeezed his hand gently, urging him to speak.

"My life wasn’t much better" he confessed, his voice heavy with the burden of his memories. "I grew up in a broken home, too. My dad left when I was little, and my mom… she was never really there. She drank to forget, to escape whatever demons were haunting her. And I was just… there. Alone."

He paused, the memories flooding back, sharp and painful even after all these years. "I didn’t have anyone, Cass. No friends, no family who cared. I was just this pathetic, invisible kid trying to survive. I tried to escape it all, to find some way to deal with the loneliness, the anger… the emptiness. But nothing worked. Not until I started selling drugs."

Cassandra’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. She stayed close, her presence a silent reassurance that she was there, listening, understanding.

"I never wanted this life" Martin continued, his voice cracking. "But it’s the only thing I knew how to do. It was the only way I could make money, keep a roof over my head, keep going. I hated it, every single second of it, but I didn’t know how to stop. It’s like I was trapped in this cycle, and every time I thought I could break free, something pulled me back down."

His gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, and his voice softened, filled with a deep, aching sadness. "And then you came back into my life, Cass. You were the most beautiful thing in my pathetic existence. Seeing you again… it was like a lifeline. But I was so scared that I’d lose you, that you’d see me for what I really am—a loser who’s never been able to escape his demons."

Cassandra’s heart broke as she listened to Martin, her own pain mirrored in his words. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he was baring his soul to her, and it made her love him even more.

"You’re not a loser, Martin" she whispered, her voice filled with conviction. "You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. You survived, and that takes strength. You’re not pathetic… you’re strong, and you’re kind, and you’re everything I could ever want."

Martin looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I’m so scared, Cass" he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared of losing you, scared of what I’ve become. But when I’m with you… it’s like none of that matters. You make me feel like I’m worth something."

Cassandra leaned in, her lips brushing against his, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming. "You are worth everything to me, Martin," she whispered against his mouth. "I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m not going anywhere. I'm your and you're mine"

Martin’s heart swelled with emotion, and he kissed her deeply, pouring all of his love, his fear, and his longing into that single act. "I love you, Cassandra" he whispered between kisses, his voice trembling with the intensity of his feelings. "I always have, and I always will in live and death"

"I love you too, Martin, in live and in death" Cassandra replied, her voice breaking with emotion.

Their kiss deepened, filled with a desperation that spoke of all the time they had lost, all the pain they had endured. As their lips moved together, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, bound together by love and shared suffering. In each other’s arms, they found a moment of peace, a brief respite from the chaos that had defined their lives.

And for that fleeting moment, nothing else mattered.

They kissed again and again with kisses filled with both passion and an aching tenderness, as if they were trying to make up for all the lost time, for all the pain and missed chances. In that kiss, they found a connection that went beyond words, a bond that was both heartbreaking and beautiful.

As they lay back down, their fingers intertwined, they held each other close, their breaths slowly synchronizing as the drugs continued to pull them into a deeper, dreamlike state. They clung to each other, the confessions of love still echoing in the air, knowing that whatever came next, they were together.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

As the high deepened, their breaths grew slower, shallower, their eyes fluttering closed as they drifted off into a sleep that they would never wake from.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of their final breaths, their hearts beating their last, slow rhythm in perfect unison.

And then, silence.

They overdosed.

Cassandra and Martin lay together, their bodies still entwined, their faces peaceful as they slipped away, carried off by the very thing that had brought them together.

In death, they found the escape they had been searching for—a final, tragic peace, forever bound to each other in the darkness they could never quite escape in life, in that damn modern world.

"I feel alive in the city 

that you like 

and wait for the day to go dreaming 

right by 

seems so hard not to be free 

when you walk right beside me 

in the modern world".

A fact about these quotes in the one-shots:

"There is something terrible in reality, and I don’t know what it is"

"Why do I always need others?"

"If I were to leave and never come back,"

"I would take you with me too. And yes, because now you are part of me… that is, of what I have around me."

They are are from an Italian psychological drama film from 60s film called "The red desert".