#one is raging against her death and the injustice

[twilightcunt]

I’ve been rewatching Person of Interest and I’ve finally reached that episode in season 3. I can’t believe they fucking kill her 😭😭😭😭😭 It’s been haunting my mind since halfway through season 2 and now I’m gonna have to see it all over again.

[toast-on-dandelioms]

Hello, just a random thought I had.

So hear me out, Yan batfam x fem kratos-like Mc. So she has the powers of Kratos- none of the tattoos though, has spartan rage that gives her extreme strength that can rival superman and wields the blades of chaos and has the scar burns on her arms from the chains wrapped around her wrists but she hides them with hoodies and bandages. The Batfam doesnt know it's her due to her always hiding her face and knowing how to avoid the security cameras and she acts on her own as a vigilante, but they find out one day due to accidentally seeing her taking off her hoodie when she thought she was alone and see her scars and instantly decide- 'I'mma adopt this angry bitch.'

Fighter

So this has been incredibly interesting to write and I am sorry if I went ahead and changed the idea you had of this story but I hope you still like it!

Also I wrote a quick backstory of Kratos!reader so if there's anything wrong with it I am sorry but I also didn't want to focus on it for too long and focus on the yanderes.

Please do remember that this is a fictional story so the history about Spartans might be wrong in some parts to make it make sense alongside the injustice towards Ares.

Dividers made by: @saradika-graphics, @thecutestgrotto and @successfulicons

W.C: 8.7k

T.w: illegal cage fighting, blood, death, drug mentioning, hallucination and toxins, use of sedatives, bad panic attack description

You were once a warrior, one of the many warriors that fought for Sparta's honour and for their right to dominate Greece. And you were proud of your city's reputation and power, that's why you joined the spartan army young, at 7 years old, to help your city with their quest for power.

That's why, when some barbarians killed all of the soldiers in your platoon in an ambush, you didn't hesitate to call for Ares, the god of war, to bargain your soul in exchange for enough power to slaughter the barbarians that dared to kill your platoon and make a mock of the Sparta's military power.

You didn't care that you were now a soldier for Ares's army and not a Spartan soldier anymore, you were happy that the god gave you the opportunity to get revenge against the barbarians that dared to mock Sparta's military and allowed you to get revenge for your fallen comrades.

The chains on your arms that manifested once your soul became Ares's property will always be the reminder of the choice you made that you will come to regret, alongside the Blades of Chaos that the god gave you after you finished the slaughter of the barbarians to reward you since you proved to the god that you were worthy of the power he gave you.

And the consequences of the choices you made did come to hit you right on the face one fateful day, when you and the rest of Ares's army were sent to destroy another Greek city in the gods name, one you didn't care to even remember the name of as you just wanted to make the god proud and receive another reward from him like the Blades of Chaos.

Once you got to the city with the army, you started to slaughter every person that was in your path before you came across a temple, a small one dedicated to a small god, and entered it to see if there was someone inside it.

As you entered the temple you saw a small group of people that were praying to the small god, who was the patron of the temple, and after a moment of you counting them in your mind to see how much time it would take you to kill them, you just started killing them with no care of the world, so used to the screams and plead of mercy from the people you were killing that you blocked out the noises.

You were almost done, the last person in the temple was a kneeling priestess in front of you, staring down at her in silence, blood dripping from your blades as she prayed to Achelois.

"I pray to Achelois, Goddess of the comfort and healing to protect me and guide me to the Underworld, to the domain of Hades with no pain," she stopped her prayer to glare at you and added "and I hope you suffer the worst punishment in the Underworld, that you will never rest peacefully in the Elysium".

You just stared at her in silence for a few seconds and just said in a very monotone voice "I really don't care" before cutting her head off her neck in just one swing, watching with a blank look on your face as her head rolled off while her neck started bleeding as her body slumped on the floor.

After killing the priestess, you started to walk out of he temple while avoiding the bodies of the people you killed, your body covered in their blood and to which you paid no mind to. As you reached the exit, you failed to notice an arm on your path and managed to trip on it and, after falling down and quickly getting up, you started to kick the body of whom the arm belonged to in anger and out of embarrassment for the humiliation you just suffered.

Once you were done kicking the man and calmed down, you decided to look at whoever managed to make you trip and humiliate you with their dead body, but what you saw froze you in place as you recognised the dead man's face. You stared in shock as your father, the one you didn't see for years after you sold your soul to Ares, and who was hugging the dead body of your mother.

You knelt down in front of your parents bodies and started crying as you realised that you killed them, gently grabbing both of their hands and shaking them, trying to wake them up like they were sleeping, hoping that it was all just a bad dream and that they would wake up and hug you and make it all ok.

You cried as you knew that they would never wake up again and comfort you like they used to, you killed them and their last moment will always be watching their child killing them with a blank look on your face, with no remorse at all and without even recognising who they were.

As you cried, a priestess that you didn't kill because she was hiding, cursed you by turning your parents bodies in ashes and marked your body with those ashes, so that you will always remember what horrible deed you had done.

Afterwards you decided to take revenge on Ares, who tricked you into killing your family after Athena told you that he sent you to that city on purpose. You even let go of the Blades of Chaos once you found out that Ares tricked you, wanting to show to Athena and yourself that you refused to do anything in the name of the God of War once again. You didn't care of the consequences and whatever punishment that the rest of the Olympus would give you after you killed the actual God of War because you needed to take revenge for your parents and especially yourself.

Thanks to Athena you managed to find the Pandora's Box and the Blade of the Gods and managed to kill Ares in a very long battle that unfortunately ended with the chains on your arms being ripped off your arms, leaving deep wounds that made you scream when he did that but managed to keep fighting and finally kill the God.

Unfortunately the gods weren't so nice when you were brought in front of them in the Olympus and they decided to imprison you for life in a statue of Ares and leave you in the same body so you would never age and the wounds on your arms would never heal to make your suffering go as long as possible.

The worst thing that they did after imprisoning you in the statue of Ares was to put you right in one of the most populated city where they would always worship the god, no matter if they were at war or not, and made you watch as people were worshipping the dead god and remind you every day of your life and your choices while stuck in the statue of the same God that ruined your life and made you kill your parents.

Days passed slowly in that prison, the pain in your arms keeping you grounded for the first few decades, keeping you sane and reminding you of why you did what you did.

But not long after, your sanity slowly started to crack as the echoes of the prayers towards Ares started to chip away into your mind and slowly destroying it without the people even knowing what they were doing.

Your mind was slowly deteriorating and you started seeing things even though you knew they were fake. That they weren't real. But you held onto those things with all your might, needing to talk to someone in this prison, too desperate to have someone close to you after so long of being alone.

You watched as the temple, once full of people and followers, slowly become desolated as centuries passed and admiring as nature slowly took control of the inside and outside of the temple. You would've laughed at the thought of one of Ares's temples being left with no one taking care of it but you hadn't used your voice in so long that you doubted that you could actually laugh.

You could feel vines slowly wrapping around your legs and waist before feeling the moss slowly taking over your body before everything finally turned black as the moss and vines fully covered you after maybe years of work.

After staring at the darkness of your prison covered in nature, you decided to just close your eyes and fall in the arms of Morpheus after centuries of staying awake and listening to the voices of your parents and the god belittling you or infantalizing you whenever you tried to free yourself.

You must've slept for almost four to five centuries, maybe even more, because when you woke up you were surrounded by people talking in a language that you didn't understand and being blinded by some kind of lightning that, at first, made you thought that Zeus was punishing you before realising that it was just a weird machine that the people around your prison were using to see more clearly in the ruins of your temple.

You stared at them as they moved you and all the things in the temple to another, even bigger, temple, a bit confused as to where and especially why they were moving you and putting you in boxes, then leaving you in a weird room where people brushed your prison and cleaned it from all of the moss and vines that you were wrapped in.

Then, if that wasn't enough to confuse you as to how much time passed, your prison got moved to a pedestal, where lots of people stared at you while talking in a weird language that you couldn't understand. The worst part was that they kept using a weird machinery that reminded you of Zeus and his lighting since it left you confused and got weird white spots in your vision for a bit before it went away.

But one day everything changed for you. You were sleeping in the weird temple and got so used to the noises of the people that came to see you that you ignored some noises around you to focus on sleeping as you were exhausted and finally found a way to get your head in a comfortable position.

Unfortunately, you were so deep in your sleep that you failed to notice that someone was moving you and your prison somewhere else and only woke up once you smelled a very familiar stench, something you hoped to never smell or even see again once you opened your eyes to see what was going on around you.

And what you saw confirmed your deepest fear as you saw the bodies of at least three people in front of you, unsure if there were more behind you as you couldn't turn around inside your prison. Their blood covered almost all of the floor around you but, as you focused on the room you were in, it didn't cross a line of candles that probably surrounded you.

Once the shock slowly wore off, you finally noticed that there were voices chanting the same things over and over again in a weird language that you knew wasn't the same language that the people you saw everyday in the weird temple spoke, making you understand that they were doing a sort of ritual.

As you listened to them chanting you started to feel your prison slowly turn hot, like you were being cooked inside of it and at first the heat wasn't bothering you but it slowly started to grow. After not even 2 minutes you felt like screaming, even though you hadn't used your voice for centuries and especially since you knew that no one could hear your voice if you decided to scream.

As the heat grew stronger your pain also did and tears started to go down your cheeks as you begged the Gods, even Athena, to please end your suffering and let you die if that's what they wanted to do with this ritual. But, as you started to give up and let the heat kill you, cracks started to form around your prison and once the last crack formed around your face, your prison finally broke and you fell down on the blood covered floor.

You quickly got up once you realised that you were free and actually feeling the blood on your skin, starting to try and wipe the blood off of your skin while ignoring how the robed people were speaking to you.

In your panic to get the blood off while mumbling apologies you ignored how they went back to chanting, needing to see your skin and not the blood covering it.

Unfortunately, as you kept wiping their chant started to make a blob of blood from the sacrifices rise and once you noticed it, that blob completely covered your head while the robed people continuing to chant. Your screams were being muffles as your hands tried to pull off the blob of blood engulfing your whole head.

As they chanted, the blood slowly entered in your mouth and ears while you tried to stop it as you didn't want to drink the blood of the poor victims that got killed because of you.

Only once all the blood was inside did he chanting stop, making you gasp for air before immediately puking as you could taste the blood on your tongue, the guilt of being the reason those people died growing stronger.

You raised your head when you finally stopped puking and looked at one of the cultist, probably the leader since his robe had more details sewed on the hem and the hoodie. You blinked a few times when he started talking and somehow you could understand him when you were sure that, not even 5 minutes ago, you couldn't understand shit of this era.

Once you finally went past the shock of being able to understand the language you realised that the man was still talking and that you didn't hear anything. You finally started to listen to him and just prayed to Athena that he didn't say anything too important when you weren't listening.

You stared at him as he talked, just watching his lips move as your brain slowly translated what he was saying thanks to the weird ritual they did. "Oh great warrior, we've freed you from your prison so listen to our wishes in exchange!" he demanded, his voice loud so both you and the other cultists in the back could hear.

When your mind finally translated everything he just said, you nodded since you were curious as to why they freed you and to regain some strength as he went back to talking. He reminds you of Hermes with the way he talks and how he acts like he's so important and full of himself.

"We've given you freedom from your prison so freed us from the shackles that our society and those pesky vigilantes keep on enforcing on us!" he proclaimed proudly, looking down at you, obviously expecting you to agree with the way he was moving his body, like he was getting ready to turn around and announce that you agreed.

But unfortunately for him, the time in your prison changed you. Maybe for the best, maybe for the worst but it changed you. You slowly got up and ignored your parents voices telling you to stand down and accept your role as a bringer of freedom, reprimanding you when they realised that you weren't listening to them like before.

You took a step towards the cultist, ignoring how you stepped on a puddle of blood next to the hand of one of the sacrifices, and stared at him in silence before spitting some of the blood you still had in your mouth on his shoe "No."

As he realised what happened and his face went from surprise to anger, you grabbed him by the neck and squeezed, making sure he wouldn't die but he also wouldn't be able to speak without some difficulty.

"Freedom… you kill," you started, your voice hoarse as you had puked and also hadn't talked in a while. You moved some of your hair away from your face to glare directly at him, showing him all the hatred you felt at the moment from his and his cult actions.

You slowly started to squeeze his neck, ignoring his pleas and how he was scratching your wrist to get free and just squeezed until he finally stopped moving.

You turned to look at the rest of the cultists before sighing, knowing it was going to take a while, but you also wanted to give some justice for the victims who died to free you.

You killed the rest of the cultists in under 15 minutes and used their robes to cover the victims bodies.

Afterwards you stole some clothes from a few cultists to dress like the people you saw in the museum, knowing it would be weird if you just wore your spartan clothes.

You left the building and just roamed around for a bit before following some kids to Crime Alley, not knowing where you were going.

As you walked you found some beat up shoes near a dumpster and wore them, noticing how everyone was wearing them and how your sandals were basically holding by a thread.

You kept following the kids without saying anything while ignoring the voices of your parents berating you the whole time.

After a while you did see that the kids had noticed you and were looking behind a few times.

But fortunately they let you follow them and, after some days of you resting near their hideouts without actually going in, they started to accept you and shared some food as they saw you didn't really eat when you followed them.

Plus you also defended them from traffickers trying to kidnap some of the young girls by breaking a mans wrist and knocking another guy unconscious with a punch.

So you were accepted easily.

It was another day of you and the kids hanging out in an abandoned warehouse, with you sitting on a wooden crate and watching the kids playing around with a ball and keeping it bouncing, a small smile on your face as they were playing a game from your childhood in Sparta.

As you watched them play, you ate some bread that they stole for you when they saw that you usually didn't really eat unless given some food so they started giving you a part of their loot whenever they stole or bought something, waiting until you bit into whatever hey gave you before leaving you alone.

Hell, one of kids called Annie once brought you a roll of bandages when she saw your never healing wounds on your wrists and even wrapped it around your wrists when you tried to bite the bandages, thinking it was a weird type of food.

Watching them play and just being kids made you so happy that you vowed to Artemis that you would do anything in your power to protect your kids and let them survive in their own way.

Unfortunately, things didn't really go well for the small gang of kids.

Two kids got caught pick pocketing a big shot in a gang and, because you were following them, you broke the mans arm when he tried to hit one of the kids, wanting to protect your friends.

You also broke his jaw when he threatened to kill those kids and make you watch, refusing to accept his threat and used your strength to shut him up.

Afterwards you ran away with the kids and told them in your best words to go away from this hideout and go somewhere else, maybe the other part of Crime Alley to be safer.

You knew those guys would come for them and you and those kids so if they found you first then it would be better than them finding those kids.

You waited in the abandoned warehouse and scratched on your chain wounds on your arms, annoyed that the gods had made that your wounds would never heal and remain there to bring you pain and to remind you of Ares.

Once the gang arrived you were ready to fight, already assessing the strongest and weakest as they entered the warehouse.

But the leader, a short guy with the worst teeth you've ever seen, started talking while pointing a weird thing towards you.

As your mind translated what he said, you understood that if you didn't do as he said he would kill the kids that you protected.

So you accepted, knowing that he probably had other men that could kill your friends and you wanted to protect them.

And that's how you found yourself in an underground fighting ring, fighting everyday against bigger men and women to make sure your friends would be safe.

The bruises and wounds kept your mind sharp since you would get distracted during the fight and think you were in an actual battlefield and almost killed 3 people, 3 different times because of it.

You always got held back by the end so no one ever died, unfortunately.

It was another day and you were inside that fighting ring once again, your black eye still evident as a guy twice your size punched you in the face so hard that your eye was bloodshot.

Staying in the base where the gang organise fights made you unaware of how much time it's been. Maybe days, or weeks. Or even a month or two. You don't know.

You were standing in front of a guy who was, once again, twice your size and looked like he wanted to kill you, making you roll your eyes when he said something as you knew it was an insult or a threat.

You didn't really care, after the first few people that threatened you, you got used to it and mostly ignored them to just fight.

You needed to fight.

If you didn't fight then those kids would get killed by those gangsters. You needed to protect them.

At least them. You needed to save someone. You needed to prove to yourself and your parents voices that you could save someone and not only be a killer.

Once you heard the bell that signalled the start of the fight you dodged an obvious punch to your face but got hit by another in your stomach.

You could hear screaming, cheers and people booing at either you or your opponent. You didn't care, you needed to win.

You managed to avoid another punch in the face and kicked his leg, quickly dodging by rolling when he didn't kneel down like you planned and instead punched the ground where you were a few seconds ago.

You quickly got up and blocked another punch thrown at you before gasping when he kicked you right in the stomach, making you kneel down while coughing, almost puking some bread you ate two days ago. As you coughed, the guy kicked you right on the head to try and make you faint or give up.

As you tried to ignore your parents voices, you didn't see the guy got down in front of you before looking at him when he said "you should give up, the ring isn't a place for kids."

Unfortunately, what he said combined with your parents voices telling you to give up and let your friends be killed, made you see red since you tired of others telling you to give up, that you weren't made for something, to let someone you were fighting so hard to protect, die.

You looked up at the guy and smiled at him before spitting on his eye, using the distraction to punch him on the face with all your might, ignoring the loud crack of his nose breaking.

As he stumbled backwards while, you got up and kicked him right under the chin before kicking his face with another kick, breathing heavily as he stood there, hoping that he would fall down and not keep standing there, not wanting to keep fighting.

Fortunately, luck was on your side and the guy fell down, making you glad as you could see some black spots in your vision. You slowly got off the ring and walked to one of the corners of the warehouse you were in, needing to get somewhere else to faint and not right in the ring where everyone could see and get to you.

You got on top of some crates and sat down on it before slowly closing your eyes and just hoped that you wouldn't be out for too long as you didn't want to find another gang member on you.

Once you reopened your eyes, you immediately knew something was wrong. Before closing your eyes, the whole warehouse was very loud and filled with people screaming and talking loudly but now, now it was filled with silence. And you knew it was impossible for the gang to have forgotten you there, they found you too valuable and would've never left you at the warehouse.

As you sat up, a hand on your head since it still hurt from the hit from before, you could already see most of the people on the ground. You slowly got off the crates you were on and stayed low, worried that it was another gang who decided to fight the one holding you hostage.

You slowly got to one of the people on the floor and was glad that he wasn't dead and was just knocked out once you saw that he was sleeping and there wasn't any blood on him or around him. As you checked the man, you noticed some canisters around, making you confused as to what they were as you've never seen those before.

You quickly looked up when you heard some gun shooting and quickly laid back down next to the man, using him as a shield as you heard the shooting getting closer.

You stayed down until you heard the leader call for you, his tone meaning that he wanted you to come to him immediately.

You slowly got up and saw the leader holding a man with a red helmet on gunpoint, the men around him either gravely injured or dead on the floor.

As you walked up to him, you could feel helmet guy staring at you before his gaze fell on your bleeding wrist, making you hide your arms behind your back and glare at him.

Once you reached the leader, you stood next to him, wanting to know why he called you since he could just shoot helmet guy. "You see this bastard?" he asked, pointing the gun at helmet man before continuing without waiting for you to answer him, "he's the son of a bitch who decided that busting in my base when I planned another fight for you so," he stopped to grab you by the hair and push you towards him.

"You shall fight this bastard and if you don't kill him then you know what happens."

With a soft sigh you walked towards the man, feeling sorry for him but you also wouldn't hold back your punches.

The least you could do for him is kill him quickly so he wouldn't suffer too much.

But, as you went to punch him, you suddenly felt yourself with no more ground under your feet and fell to the side, hitting your head to the ground hard.

You hissed once the pain registered and immediately glared at the man with the helmet, knowing he did it since he was the only one near you. Plus, you could feel him smirking under his dumb helmet, making you want to take it off of him to use it to bash his head open.

You quickly got up and tackled him to the ground, using the moment of surprise to repeatedly punch his head to the ground, hoping it would do something since you couldn't really hit any vital points, feeling some sort of armour under his clothes when you tackled him.

Unfortunately he recovered quickly and punched you on the side to push you off, making you more angry as you didn't like how much stronger he was compared to you.

You were a goddamn spartan warrior who fought for the God of War! You wouldn't let yourself be defeated by some man wearing some armour.

You got up and went to punch him but got blocked when he punched you to the stomach, hard, making you double over in pain and puke the small contents in your stomach to the floor next to him. You secretly hoped some of it got on his pants.

As you tried to regain your breath and punch him, he looked down at you and just said "your friends are safe, they sent me" before punching you and letting you fall on the ground, your vision starting to blur.

The last thing you heard was the familiar sound of a gunshot before you finally closed your eyes and let the darkness surround you.

You woke up on a bed.

The last thing you remembered was hearing helmet man saying that your friends were safe, making you happy and relieved.

But the happiness was short lived once your brain decided to remind you of your, almost surely, broken nose and concussed head. Plus, now that you fully slept, you could feel your chest hurting, probably from a few cracked ribs after all those punched you would get in your chest and sides.

You groaned loudly at the pain, mentally cursing helmet man and the, hopefully dead, gang leader for making you fight all those dicks that wanted to fight a freaking teenager.

You slowly sat up when you heard a door open and stared at helmet man, even though he wasn't wearing a helmet this time. He was wearing a weird mask that covered his eyes now.

But you knew he was helmet man, the way he stood and just his presence made you understand he was the man you fought.

If you could call it a fight.

You glared at him from the bed as he walked up to you and set a bowl of soup on the nightstand next to you.

"Figured you might be hungry, eat up kid"

You just kept glaring at him and mumbled "ἀνασεισίφαλλος" before slowly grabbing the bowl to eat it.

As you ate, you ignored his obvious staring, only looking at him once you finished the soup to hand him the bowl.

"Another, good"

You probably finished his whole pot of soup since you just kept asking for more, too hungry to care about him.

Plus the soup was good.

Afterwards he sat down on a chair next to your bed and just stared at you before asking.

"So, who are you kid?"

Making you look at him confused, not understanding why he asked you that since you assumed your friends must've told him who you were.

Nevertheless you answered with a solid "me".

The two of you kept staring at each other, helmet guy now renominated mask guy staring at you like he was waiting for you to say something else while you went back to thinking on the soup and how you wanted some more.

Finally, after almost a minute of you and mask guy staring at each other, he finally caved by letting out a sigh and asked with an annoyed tone in his voice "your name kid, what's your name", making you nod seriously before looking back at him in silence.

In all the years being stuck in your prison, you had forgotten your name. Even your parents voices were silent as you tried to remember it because they were just a creation of your mind to keep you sane. If you could say that you were sane.

Mask guy looked at you in shock when you clearly showed that you didn't remember your own name before letting out another sigh, looking angrier than before as you saw his fist clutch tighter, like he was ready to punch you.

To be sure, you got ready to get hit, not wanting to be thrown in the streets again. Plus, if you did get punched and didn't let it show that you got hurt, he might give you more food. Some guys in the old gang you were in gave you some bread or even a cold hot dog.

You looked up when you didn't get punched, a bit annoyed since you were hoping for some soup or some stale bread. You would do anything for more of that soup.

Mask guy did look tired when you looked at him, at least that's what you guessed since you couldn't really understand body language even though you spent centuries watching people.

You froze when he suddenly let out a huge sigh and got ready to whatever he was going to do, too used to the gang leader (to which you never learned his name as everyone called him boss) suddenly sighing and hitting you for things you never understood as he never explained why he hit you or what you did wrong.

Fortunately for you, he just wiped his face with a hand and slowly got up and grabbed the chair, making sure to show with his body language that he was just going to walk out the room when he saw you looking at his hands and at how he was holding the chair.

You waited until he was fully out the door and let go of the chair to relax and slowly lay back down, groaning softly at the pain from all over your body.

As you laid down while trying to not make your injuries worse and hurting your body, you failed to notice how mask guy was staring at you from the door.

Once your head hit the pillow, you immediately fell asleep, your body too sore and in pain to make you stay awake and vigilant since you didn't know who Mask guy was.

Maybe that's why you failed to see how mask guy and his family, who you will meet soon enough, obsession towards you was growing.

Weeks passed as you and mask guy, now named Jason after he heard you call him that for asking for some more food, grew close. You did freeze whenever he raised his hand over his chest, thinking he might hit you for anything you did and he doesn't fully trust you since he still wear the mask around you.

Sometimes you would get a distant look in your eyes when you would be alone, which happens during the night when Jason leaves for patrol. But you usually returned to normal when he came back and patted the space next to you to not spook you or get punched, which happened too many times before he learned to not touch you when you're standing still and didn't react when he comes through the door, before sending you to bed as he learned that you would wait until he was home before falling asleep.

He did see that you could stay awake for days until he said something about it and your head hit a pillow, then you would get knocked out for hours or until Jason made a sudden noise, which wakes you up.

But, during the day and around Jason you acted normal, at least as normal as you could be for someone who doesn't know anything about the 21 century. With him, you learned to clean up after yourself and cook the simplest meals like box mac and cheese or (add whatever simple meal you think of).

He did have to explain to you that you can't always eat soup, when you learned to cook it, as it wasn't a very nutritious meal that you can eat everyday. He also had to set a chart on the fridge to make you see when you were supposed to eat when he saw that sometimes, if he wasn't home all the time, you would forget to eat.

You once went a whole week without eating and mostly drinking water (you learned that it was safe after Jason saw that you didn't drink it and learned that you thought it wasn't safe to drink) after he left for a week long mission with the Outlaws. He came back to you looking horrible and had to control whatever you ate for another week before trusting you enough to leave you alone at home when he would go out for patrol at night or just going out for groceries or other things during the day.

He also learned to leave fruits, small packets of snacks or yogurt pouches in the fridge for you to eat during the day while he was out so you wouldn't go hungry until it was time for lunch/dinner.

He did teach you on how to use the TV but he also set a timer as he once caught you watching the TV all day when he had to help the Bats after a big Arkham breakout. But he was glad that you grew to prefer reading books like him after he brought home a box of books that Roy and Kori brought him as a late birthday gift.

You did prefer fantasy books instead of classical literature, mostly because you couldn't understand or appreciate the old English those authors used. Plus, fantasy appealed to you more when there were only battles with almost no romance in it. Jason once found one of your books lying around and it was filled with parts underlined with a pencil whenever there was a battle you liked.

He laughed when he found actual scores at the end of every battle, you actually gave each battle a score and would put a smiley face or a frowny face if you liked or didn't like the battle. Jason guessed that if you were able to write then you would probably write pointers on how the characters should've fought and what they did wrong.

And as you and Jason grew closer, you slowly failed to notice all the things that were starting to change with him.

You woke up one day to him not wearing his mask while making himself some breakfast, making you confused at first before shrugging and grabbing a yogurt pouch from the fridge to drink while continuing to read a book he bought you a few days ago.

You started to see him more often around the apartment, bringing new things in the apartment every time he would go out for one of his grocery runs. He once came home to two bags filled with clothes for you, making you confused as to why you needed new clothes when the ones you had were just fine even though you were just wearing a shirt and some pants that Jason gave you that were too big on you.

He also started to teach you how to write and would do simple things to take care of you during the day like leaving a plate of your favourite fruits cut in pieces next to you when you were reading or doing some writing exercises.

You never noticed how he would always watch you. How he would study you, on how you acted and the way you moved. Like you were a puzzle he wanted to understand but he didn't have all the pieces of it.

The turning point of his obsession happened when he came home one night, his mind raging him to destroy everything and everyone that was on his path. To kill whoever tried to stop him.

He was trying so hard to go to his room and lock himself there but stopped when he saw you stirring something in a pot on the stove, sipping on a yogurt pouch and listening to the TV playing the mini-series adaptation of Pride and Prejudice on the background.

The sight of you standing there, doing your own thing when he would usually find you on the couch frozen, so still that he sometimes wondered if you were actually breathing as he couldn't see you chest rising. The fact that you felt so safe and relaxed in one of his safe houses, that you would do your own things and not care about his reaction when he would eventually come back.

And when you turned around to look at him, that's when he knew that he could never let you go. You smiled at him even when you saw that his eyes were green instead of his usual blue. You looked at him like he was him and not a monster that even his family was wary of.

You looked at him with no fear in your eyes and said in the most casual tone he ever heard you speak "want some soup? Better eaten together", and he felt all the anger in his body cool down, like it was never there before. And he accepted and ate some soup with you on the couch while watching the Pride and Prejudice series with you.

And everything just felt right at that moment, and he wished that every day would be like this, just you and him eating together in the comfortable silence you unknowingly created.

Unfortunately, everything went down south in just a day that not even Jason could prepare for.

You had been called by Jason via a phone he gave you (something that you usually used to take photos of random things you would see during the day) as he wanted you to come to a restaurant to meet some people.

Unfortunately, you would never make it to the restaurant.

As you followed the GPS map to the restaurant, Scarecrow decided to attack the part of the city you were walking in, using his new fear gas to cause chaos and destruction.

Once you breathed the fear gas, you could see yourself standing in a barren land. You looked around and could see Ares (Scarecrow) standing tall on a hill (on top of a truck) while laughing mockingly at you.

You looked down at yourself and saw that you weren't wearing your normal clothes that Jason threw at you after waking you up and instead you were wearing your warrior garb, the same one in which you fought Ares.

The wounds on your wrists were fully open, just like when the god had pulled the chains off your wrists and were actively bleeding, blood dripping on the ground and slowly forming a puddle on the ground.

You looked back up when you heard Ares's laugh once again and just knew that if he was alive, then you would have to kill him once again.

You did it once. You can do it once more even if you didn't have the Blades of the Gods.

Once you saw that he had some soldiers around, you looked around and saw a pipe lying around, probably from a few explosions you heard going around. You picked it up and swung it around a bit to feel it before running towards the soldiers around Ares, attacking the one most far away from the others.

Once you knocked him out, you swiftly attacked the rest, a bit confused as to why Ares didn't do anything immediately and especially why he didn't even notice his soldiers getting beaten immediately.

You were also disappointed that his soldiers, the one you know he trained himself since he was the one who trained you, and you knew that all his soldiers weren't this weak and dumb. But maybe your memory was playing jokes to you.

Once all the soldiers were knocked out, you got on top of the hill (truck) with a bit of difficulty and stood right in front of him, ready to go on another battle against the god who ruined your life.

You stared at him and dodged his attack towards your head with a pitchfork, making you a bit confused as to why Ares would use such a weapon, before attacking him by hitting his side with the pipe and then on the head when he lowered his head a bit from your first hit.

Afterwards, you kicked him off the hill and jumped down afterwards, discarding the pipe to kick him on the stomach to keep him down. You got down to your knees and started to punch him on the face over and over again, tears pooling in your eyes as all the anger and resentment you felt towards Ares started to resurface.

You had to be pulled away from Ares and felt something prick your neck, making you fight whoever was holding you before feeling yourself growing weaker very fast.

The last thing you saw was the blurry sight of a red helmet, making you let out a weak "Jason..?" before everything went dark.

You woke up in the dark, your body once again sore from your fight against the fake Ares. You groaned when you tried to move your body, letting out a small "μὰ τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν" as you could feel the soreness in your muscles after fighting people when you didn't warm up beforehand.

But, as you tried to move, you realised that you couldn't. You could feel your limbs being held down on something hard and cold, making you panic at the thought of you being back in your prison, especially since you couldn't see where or what was happening around you.

You started to hyperventilate at the thought of being back in that prison, alone in the dark without being allowed to move and stuck on just listening to your thoughts and your parents voices.

In your panic, you didn't notice many eyes staring at you from the dark as you kept panicking. One of the many eyes pushed a button and you slowly felt weak before falling asleep.

The eyes kept watching you until your heartbeat went back to normal before moving to a big screen in the middle of the cave.

A figure was already there, it sat in front of the screen and replaying the short fight you had against Scarecrow before pausing it when you hit the Halloween man on the head with a pile, your face clearly shown in front of the whole screen.

The figure then turned around to look at the rest of the other figures before finally turning the lights on, revealing an annoyed Barbara Gordon and the rest of the Bat vigilantes all in the Batcave.

"Let me get this straight, you found that kid working in an underground fighting ring that looked exactly like the kid we saw being freed from a statue by a cult, which was found dead when we got there, thanks to video surveillance and instead of calling any of us or maybe Diana," she stopped to take a big breath while raising her glasses with one hand and rubbing both of her eyes with the other in frustration before looking back at Jason, who was standing in front of her and didn't look guilty or ashamed of what he did.

"You decided to take care of them when it was clear who they were even though they killed 8 people" she finished angrily, looking at Bruce and Dick to get them to say something to Jason.

Jason just looked at her in silence, letting her speak and reprimand him as he knew she would get angrier if he stopped her mid rant "they're just a kid, I could see them being scared when they were forced to fight me since they thought those bastards had some kids as hostages," he explained, both hands in his leather jacket pockets to hide how hard he was clenching them, ready to attack anyone of his family if they tried to send his little sibling to Arkham or somewhere else.

"They didn't even remember their own name when I asked them, took them a week to remember it and even then," he stopped to take a deep breath, the scene playing in his head, "even after telling me their name, they looked so insecure, like they weren't sure if that was their real name".

He turned his head back to look at where you were sleeping, a small smile forming on his face before quickly returning to a frown when he looked at Bruce "they're a kid that never learned to be a kid, you can't expect them to know what's right and wrong when they were stuck in a statue! So don't you fucking dare do anything to them" and walked to where you were, taking off the restraints that held you down on the bed.

He gently picked you up and went towards the elevator, stopping to look back at the Bats to say "but if you want to learn about them, then just come to my room, they're different than what you believe they are" before stepping into the elevator and getting upstairs.

He brought you to his room and gently laid you down in his bed, knowing you would panic if you woke up again in a dark room while being restrained. He turned around to see his family at the door and smiled, happy that they listened to him and trusted him.

You woke up on a bed once again but it was soft this time, It wasn't hard and after a few seconds you realised that you weren't restrained.

You slowly sat up and looked around, curious as to where you were since you spent most of your time in Jason's apartment and never really went outside the city.

As you looked around, someone walked inside the room and waited until you turned to look at him to say something.

"You're awake, good. Are you hungry?"

You looked at him confused, not knowing who he was before noticing that he was holding a plate of soup, making you quickly nod as you wanted to eat that.

You grabbed the food when the man offered you the plate and started to eat eagerly, immediately knowing that the soup was made by Jason as you recognised the ingredients and the way it was cooked.

As you ate, you looked at the man standing next to the bed, curious as to why he was still there and why he was smiling while watching you eat.

You gave him the empty plate when you were done and asked, "Jason?", wanting to know where the man was as you felt safest with him and wanted to be with him, assuming the man knew Jason since he brought you a plate of soup that only Jason could make.

The man smiled once again, making you feel a bit creeped out at how much he was smiling to you as you never met someone so happy.

"Oh, he's downstairs with the others. Want to go to him?"

You nodded at it and slowly got up, holding back a groan at the pain you felt from how sore you felt before following the man, watching him the whole time as you needed to see if he was trustworthy and ready to attack him if he was going to attack you.

Once you got downstairs and walked inside a room, which reminded you of the living room of the mansion of Mr Darcy. But that thought quickly faded in the back once you saw Jason sitting between two men you didn't know.

But you didn't care and ran up to him, hugging him when he got up, happy that he was here and calm, which meant that the people in the room are safe and not a threat.

As you hugged, you didn't see the way Jason looked at you and how the rest of the family were looking at you and Jason, failing to see the upcoming threat that the family would soon to come towards the two of you.

-----

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

There's something in the differing emphasis that Brad and Hunter and Charles place on the phrase "good guy" that really affected me on my first watch and hit even harder on my second. I'm going to try and put it into words.

When Brad and Hunter say it, they say "we're good guys", as in, good at everything a guy "should" be good at - good at sports, popular with the ladies, on their way to a good university. But they turn out to be total shitheads. They don't care about being "good", they just care about their reputation, how they're perceived. It's status and power - they're good guys and they feel entitled to do whatever they want.

But when Charles, feeling betrayed by this reveal of their character, says he wanted them to be good guys, the emphasis is completely different. Charles wants to be a "good guy". He doesn't want to be a "bad guy".

The emphasis is on good, because that's really the crux of Charles' greatest fears, isn't it?

When Charles wants to be a good guy, he doesn't mean it the way Brad and Hunter do; that veneer of goodness that comes with popularity. He means that nothing he did was ever good enough for his dad. Doing the good thing and helping that kid his "friends" were beating up literally got him killed. Trying to stop Devlin only got him trapped in the loop, stuck until his friends freed him, only able to watch helplessly as a mother and her innocent children get slashed to death before his eyes.

And it's this helplessness that is the thing that truly sets him off at the end of episode 4.

It always struck me just how much of his breakdown there, for as much as he finally gives a voice to his own hurt at the injustice of his situation, was still about other people. Because he was secure-ish, at one point, when he was Edwin's partner and protector. He thought he did a good job at it anyways, but guess not, because something obviously happened with Edwin and he's not talking to him about it. And he likes to think he did good with solving cases, but Crystal is still hurting and haunted by a demon and nearly threw herself off a cliff earlier that day because she wants her parents so badly, and he's no closer to helping her solve that. And all of it, every single part of it, is a reflection of his own unresolved trauma; that he never "made it better" and he can't, so now he tries to be good enough for other people, but that isn't working anymore either, and now someone is threatening to take Edwin away, and even this final shocking act of anger and violence is still in service of protecting; of saving someone from the suffering he was never able to escape except by fucking dying.

His anger, really, stems from the injustice of it all, and the abuse of power by guys who can get away with it because they're guys, when they should've, could've, been good to others instead. It's a large part of why he projected so strongly onto Brad and Hunter - they did everything right, they were good guys who got screwed over, because even if everyone seems to love you, there's always that one person you can never please, right? Who will hurt you, no matter how good you are. When it's revealed that Brad and Hunter are far more like his bullies, like Devlin, like his dad, than he'd thought - controlling, intolerant, cruel to those who "step out of line" - Charles feels betrayed and horrified because he related to them... so what does that say about him?

But here's one major difference that Charles does not seem to recognize well. Charles has never had the power in these situations. He was the victim, and his being the victim is through no fault of his own, but the fault of those who decided to be cruel. It is certainly not contingent on how good he is. Being good in the eyes of people who want to hurt you will not stop them from hurting you.

When he lashes out at the Night Nurse, it's out of helplessness and rage. Once again, he's pitted against someone who holds more power than he does and is threatening harm, and he's just been bitterly, brutally reminded that a smile and a helping hand and a firm word never, ever worked to make it stop. There's only one other way he can think of to shift the balance of power, and he's finally livid enough to actually do it. This violence is a desperate attempt to finally overcome yet another force much greater than him, a transdimensional entity that has unjustly arrived to take his best friend to Hell. And Charles wins, he did it, he stopped her, at least for the moment. But at what cost, when he looks at his friends and can't tell whether they look more scared for him or of him? And can he blame them, when he's clearly scared of his own anger and how overwhelming it is now that it's been let out?

Because he tries so hard to be good and it's never good enough to stop the suffering. Because that anger rose to the surface so easily and maybe that means he's not good at all.

But of course, Charles once again misses something important here - there is a distinction in why that anger exists. His dad, Devlin, and Brad and Hunter get angry because their power over others makes them feel they have a right to punish when things don't go their way. Charles gets angry because he feels more helpless than he'd care to admit, and seeing cruelty inflicted onto others by those with power makes him want to cut them down to size.

And herein lies the second major difference. Charles... is a kind person, at heart. He's genuine. He really does likes helping out, he likes making people happy, he doesn't turn people away who need help, he's friendly and protective. The scene where Edwin pulls him out of his fear that he's somehow bad even though he really doesn't want to be, is outright one of my favourite scenes for what it brings to both of their characters. Edwin knows exactly what to say. While it's always good to check your behaviour, to apologize and take accountability - because no one can be good all the time, and even the most well-intentioned of us will mess up sometimes - Edwin is right.

"Bad guys do not worry about being bad guys."

[amuseoffyre]

With Black Sails being back in streaming in some areas, I'm imagining how much it would infuriate the current slew of people who are convinced that watching morally gray/bad characters makes you as a viewer a morally gray/bad person.

Our leading man straight up beats someone to death with a cannon ball in the first couple of episodes and kills many many many people while acting out of grief, loss, remorse and rage. Also, he is baby and cries in his cabin.

One of our leading lady abandons and double-crosses her lovers (both male and female) out of her desire to do what she believes is the right thing to keep their world alive and running, trading, bartering and fighting every step of the way.

And the best part is that none of these characters start out this way. We have so many idealists. The hopeful ones who want the better world, but the better world isn't something 'civilisation' will allow them to have and the carnage comes when they try and change things. It's a scream against the injustices of the world that pushes people to desperate measures to hold onto and protect what little they have.

This is how they survive. They paint the world full of shadows and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons. Their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark there is discovery. There is possibility. There is freedom in the dark once someone has illuminated it.

Everyone else is ruthless, survivalist, determined to do whatever they have to in order to get what they want/need. People make horrible decisions out of desperation and because there's literally no other choice. And there are consequences. Each action causes ripples in the canon pool. No decision, no matter how reckless/hopeless/desperately made, comes without repercussions.

Unlike so many series, what happens in the episodes before directly impacts how the events that follow play out. Action and reaction. It's a narrative that begins long before we join the story and, when we leave it, it's a narrative that will continue long afterwards. It's a bloody, chaotic, glorious and devastating would-be revolution.

In case I hadn't mentioned it, I adore this show with every fibre of my being. It is packed with so many layers and so much nuance and history and phenomenal character arcs.

[pippin-katz]

Random Satisfying & Clever Moments Of Audio From Dead Boy Detectives - Part 4

There's a few moments in DBD that utilize audio really well, or use sounds that always stick out to me while watching, and these are some of those moments!

This one is a bit of longer one, and might not make sense to everyone, but I'll do my best to explain it below!

Ep. 4 - The Case of the Lighthouse Leapers: The lack of music when Charles gets up after the trauma nightmare, then the addition of just The Wellerman song as he advances on the Night Nurse.

Using sound is very important, but so is the lack of sound. The lack of music or sound effects as Charles starts winding up the music sphere creates tension. After the overwhelming amount of stimuli in his trauma nightmare, the quiet is unsettling. It is the calm before the storm; that moment when everything is too still, too quiet, and you have a gut feeling that something is wrong.

Watching Charles wind the music sphere, speaking with such conviction, yet also composure, after everything she just put him through, it's unnerving. An explosion of blind rage would be expected, not the calculated way he twists the handle, walking and talking with full clarity and awareness of the situation.

The music sphere being wound up also coincides with Charles' emotions. The Night Nurse practically did exactly that to him by forcing him through all of that pain. Charles even acknowledges that she accomplished her goal: to make him crushed and devastated. But she didn't take into account his resilience, his strength; someone else would be helpless and sobbing on the ground after what she showed him, but Charles?

He knows how it felt. He was fucking there. He knows how much it hurt. He knows how unjust and unfair his life and death were. For the Night Nurse to play it for him like a slideshow presentation, as if he needs to be taught, pisses him the fuck off. Charles is furious that this woman has the audacity to walk into his nightmares and lecture him, as if she has any comprehension or understanding of what it was like to experience it.

I think it's part of why he mentions the memories specifically when he's about to kick her: "Those memories are not why I choose to stay here!"

Charles is fully aware of what he went through, and he's moved on, or is trying to at the very least. He does not want all the horrible things that happened to him while he was alive control and influence every decision he makes. He's not that sixteen-year-old boy trembling in a corner anymore; he does not have to bend in the face of danger and injustice. He can stand up for himself, for others, and he will because he wants to. It's not to make up for some "failure" from his life. It's who Charles wants to be.

SO! Back to the audio specifically, the use of The Wellerman song is obviously fitting since the sphere was used by sailors to "calm the seas", but also because there is something inherently haunting about that tune. It's right after he says that he's angry that he pulls the pin out; after trying so hard to hold back all his anger and pain, Charles is ready to let it loose.

The beats of the scene then follow the music. From the moment the song starts to the end of the first verse, the first "segment" of the fight happens. Charles speaks, she tries to reply, he hits her, and she reacts in that timespan. There are very faint bass notes underneath the song after he's hit her. They get louder as the song progresses, reintroducing the score of the show.

When Charles takes a second swing, it's at the start of the chorus of the song.

(The difference between verse and chorus is the starting note. Verses start low and get higher; choruses start high and stay high until the very end.)

During that chorus, Charles swings and hits her; he very nearly lines up his swings with the notes, but not quite. Then he speaks once she's backed against the wall. He lets go of the music sphere in the middle of the chorus, and completes his lines up to: "I still have a purpose!" as it ends. That's the second "segment" of the fight.

The second verse starts with him making his declaration and kicking her, and it plays out as the Night Nurse falls. The second half of the verse swells into a full score version of the song instead of just the sound of it coming from the sphere. It's the third and final "segment". Charles ends the confrontation, and once Angie disappears, the song fades out.

This sequence is such a good example of knowing when to cut the music, and how to gradually reintroduce it. It enhances the uneasiness you're meant to feel while watching Charles' anger slowly escalate. It's part of what makes the whole scene so effective.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

(ko-fi)

[intpstyle]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review Pt. 1 - "How to move on?", The Companions

DA:TV Spoilers ahead!

So what does DA:TV want to say, or rather: to ask?

I think the question at the lyrium-red heart of the game is “How do you move on?”. It does not only make sense narratively, for Solas and his complicated relationship to his own past actions, the companions’ story arcs, and the “good ending”, but also for a game that has been trapped in development hell for 10+ years. How DO you move on?

Specifically, the question seems to be: “How can we move on from guilt/an unjust/imperfect past into an uncertain future?”

We see this theme echoed in all companion quests, to varying degrees.

It is in Bellara literally being faced with a manifest regret from her past (her brother) and having to choose how to honour the legacy of their work for their people.

It is in Davrin taking responsibility for the guilt over and future of the last surviving griffons whose species almost died because of his organisation’s, the Grey Wardens’, abuse.

It is in Emmrich finding the courage to do what Johanna (his more extreme, unethical mirror) could not do: to face the uncertainty and walk across the threshold of death with peace of mind, either in his ritual or later in life, because of Manfred’s sacrifice.

It is in Harding waking up to the injustices towards her and her people that have been buried deep underground and choosing how to unearth them and carry them forward.

It is in Lucanis moving beyond the reality that he was betrayed by one of the very few people he trusted - that he crawled out of a year of torture by the skin of his teeth, forever changed and fuelled by Spite, and choosing to break the cycle by not murdering Illario.

It is in Neve being haunted by (yet another) criminal from her past, grappling with the age-old noir questions of who a detective would be without their murderers, whether the fight with/ against corruption can ever stop and what it means to be “a force for good”, so that she can fully embrace who she is and wants to be for Minrathous in the future.

And it is in Taash, walking the many tightropes of traditional expectations (man or woman? Rivaini or Qunari? Honouring the past and their mother or carving their own path into the future?) only to realise that some choices are not binary, that one can only discover options beyond that which one has been taught by “struggling with oneself” (shokra toh ebra), and that embracing certain parts of oneself does not mean dishonouring others.

All companions must face something that they were afraid to confront in their own lives, made unavoidable through the appearance of Someone Who Is What They Are Not (Cyrian for Bellara, Isseya for Davrin, Johanna for Emmrich, her own unbridled rage for Harding, Illario for Lucanis, Aelia for Neve, and, the Dragon King, but also, surprisingly, I think Neve for Taash?)

What I find most interesting is how this question (“How can we move on from guilt/an unjust/imperfect past into an uncertain future?”) seems to be answered along a sliding scale of personal vs systemic failing and also personal vs systemic responsibility.

The quests that intrigued me the most were the ones in which the personal and the systemic were deeply intertwined and were also acknowledged as such: Davrin’s (his own struggle with individuation vs being shaped (and potentially abused) by a community/ organisation mirroring Assan’s and the griffons as a whole; both he and the system must change), Emmrich’s (his own deep intrinsic fear of death as the driving force behind his a) appreciating and b) being terrified of the Mourn Watchers’ philosophy of going beyond death is beautifully thought out), Harding’s (her own supressed rage as the price for being ever-pleasant, useful, and building others up by mirroring the long-forgotten suffering of the tranquilised Titans who were literal building materials for the elves? *chef’s kiss*) and Neve’s (her constant fear of losing control (which is highlighted in her romance) while still being drawn to the thrill of the chase is mirrored in Minrathous’ constant chaos where just one slip of vigilance can cost you at best a leg, and at worst your life, or your loved ones – but Neve’s quest marries personal and systemic responsibility by asking: would you rather shape the system’s chaos or be shaped by it?).

The quests that fell a bit flat for me had either side of the equation slightly underbaked: Bellara’s (yes, she and Cyrian were deeply invested in Arlathan and Anaris was a Forgotten One, but how does his death directly relate to Bellara keeping or “freeing” (?) the Archive?), Lucanis’ (there is such potential in an assassin re-evaluating whether murder is always the best solution for everything and especially betrayal (and especially-especially because family members assassinating one another seems to be just another Tuesday for the Crows (and especially-especially-especially because it’s heavily implied that Lucanis knew that whole year in the Ossuary who put him there)). But sadly, the game doesn’t really go into Lucanis’ deeper thoughts on the Crows as an organisation, assassination as a moral quandary or the potential culpability of Caterina – which makes his final decision all the more baffling. Him struggling with his “inner demon” would have been a great set-up for struggling with the title of Demon of Vyrantium; what makes him more or less of a demon now than before? But alas), and Taash’s (all the ingredients are there, but the lack of systemic emphasis really dragged down Taash’s story, I felt. Taash explicitly exists between systems, and yet we don’t really see them engaging in either culture and/or going beyond them except for rather shallow markers, like food, clothes, and jewellery – I really would have liked to experience that moment in which Taash talks to Neve, Maevaris and their friends and reflects on their views on gender. I also really would have liked a moment between Isabela, Rowan and perhaps an Antaam defector on what being Rivaini, in-between, or Qunari meant to them, and for Taash to pitch in. In the end, it was not narratively satisfying for me why Taash must now make a choice (or, even weirder, why Rook must now make a choice for them) between being more Rivaini or more Qunari when them thinking through being more man or more woman ended with “neither/both/a third option, actually”.)

Pt. 2 is here, Pt. 3 is here

[queenvhagar]

I love your takes!! I would have loved to see Alicent raise her kids to be her strongest allies after realizing she had none at court.

Like THAT'S the greens! They are here for each other because nobody else is here for them.

Younger Aegon teases Aemond about his dragon in front of others, and his mother reminds him of the dangers of the future and the importance of defending this family. At Driftmark, Aegon complains about his match with Helaena (Viserys' idea in the books btw not Alicent - perhaps an unwillingness to marry Alicent's children into other houses and find potential allies in them, or perhaps due to Targaryen custom, as his own parents were siblings) and Aemond speaks of duty to their family in response, risking his lift to claim the largest dragon in the world. In retaliation for this he is ambushed and his eye is cut out, and it's this moment when all the Green children realize that they truly are the only people on their side. Their own father would willingly mutilate should they spoke the truth of Rhaenyra and her sons, their sister would have them tortured and disabled to help herself and her sons, and their mother is the only one who seems to care that this is an injustice. They learn that the threat to their person is real and excusable to the king and his heir should it be necessary.

From here, the siblings are united against this threat. Aegon and Helena marry and make heirs (Aemond and Daeron are still not betrothed, likely due to the reasons listed above). Rhaenyra comes to court to defend her son's claim to Driftmark as Laenor's trueborn son, and when one man says aloud the obvious truth that this is a lie, the king is determined to have his tongue cut out of his mouth, and he permits that he cut down from behind by his brother, Rhaenyra's husband, without consequence. At dinner, Rhaenyra's eldest asks Helaena to dance to insult Aegon, and the one who cut out Aemond's eye feels such little remorse that he laughs in his face about past harms. So Aemond baits them to fight by alluding to the truth, and when the first punch has been thrown against Aemond, Aegon joins the fight against Rhaenyra's two sons. Once Viserys dies, Aemond brings Aegon to the coronation, later going to Storm's End to betroth himself and gain House Baratheon as an ally to his family. Aegon celebrates Aemond's actions and invites him to his small council.

Blood and Cheese rocks the very core of this family when Aegon and Helaena's six year old son is brutally slain before Helaena and her mother's eyes. Helaena is forever changed and unable to leave her room. Aemond feels responsibility as it is all in response to his own actions. Aegon rages. Then the two work together with the lord commander to plan an ambush for their opponents and get vengeance for this terrible act inflicted upon their family.

If the writers needed Aegon and Aemond in conflict this season it should have been due to Aemond's actions being linked to the loss of this young child, but no matter the issue between these two it would never result in Aegon publicly humiliating Aemond and then Aemond suddenly deciding to kill him and his dragon.

This characterization of Aemond really is the last unraveling of this family in the show this season. He is suddenly antagonistic toward his own family, trying to kill them, physically grabbing them, removing them from power (though justified with Alicent's characterization). Alicent is afraid of him apparently enough to run to Rhaenyra and give up her children. Helaena refuses to ride her dragon in the war as she's unaffected by the death of her child and decides to tell Aemond his death to his face. Aegon knows he tried to kill him and runs away to Essos.

Realistically, Alicent would have raised her children to be their staunchest supporters and prepared them for the roles they must play. They fight for power as a family to protect themselves from threat, and Aemond would under no circumstances have actually tried to have Aegon and his dragon killed with the purpose of seizing the throne for himself. The Greens have legitimacy through Aegon, the king's firstborn son, and his heirs, and each of the fewer dragons they have on their side gives them a better chance against the threat of Rhaenyra's. Aemond would never willingly cause the Greens to lose Aegon and his dragon. The Greens have always known that it's them against the world and this would not change once war is declared.

[flowerofbenevolence]

Twisted Wonderland Vice-Housewardens with a LP! Athanasia! Reader

This is a continuation of my gift for @blues824, who inspired me with their beautifully written headcanons.

This is also to celebrate my first few followers!

Preface: In your first life, you were the unloved and scorned princess of Obelia who was looked down upon by everyone for being the illegitimate daughter of the emperor with a concubine of menial origins. Your sister, Jeanette, on the other hand, was beloved by all for being the daughter of the emperor with a high-ranking aristocrat and was heralded as "The Lovely Princess". In the end, your own father sentenced you to death after you were framed of poisoning your sister.

I used to read the manga, "Who Made Me a Princess", or "WMMAP" for short a long time ago but dropped it around the chapters when Claude lost his memories. One day, I will return to it.

Just like everyone else, the vice-housewarden of Heartslabyul was absolutely stunned by your beauty the moment he laid eyes on you. Your sapphire-like irises were simply so mesmerizing, they put the ruby-like strawberries on his strawberry tarts to shame. He was also very curious as to know how genetics worked in your world and what made your eyes so gem-like, or they were just contacts. However, seeing just how fragile and introverted you were, he decided not to ask and chose to admire you from afar. Also, seeing how polished your decorum was, he began to wonder if you were a noble of some sort, and if you were, what possibly could have caused you to be so . . . gloomy?

He was absolutely shocked to see you suddenly so bravely fight against Riddle's overblot. You had been so fearful so far, so who know you secretly hid such a courageous side? He was so surprised, he actually forgot to fight himself and stood there, with his mouth hanging open. It was then that you shook him by the shoulders and reprimanded him for bystanding that he awoke from his stupor and remembered to save his friend's life.

He was enraged when you told him about your past as the hated princess of Obelia. His rage could honestly rival Riddle's, and that alone was saying a lot. He already had nightmares from nearly losing his childhood best friend to overblot due to a harsh parent, and he's being told his girlfriend literally lost her life due to a cold-hearted tyrant!? Needless to say, your impact on his life, your impact on the lives of those dear to him, and the story of your life have most definitely taught him a lesson about turning a blind eye: Never allow injustice to persist.

Much like Azul from the previous post, Ruggie was attracted to your beauty for money-related reasons. Your gem-like irises reminded him of jewels he could use to gain money, and your platinum blonde locks resembled golden silk. To fuel his greed even further, your impeccable manners proved that you without a shadow of a doubt, were someone from high origins, and that meant there was a chance of getting money out of you. He was extremely disappointed when you revealed that you had come to this world without a single penny to your name.

Yet for some reason, he found himself unable to lose interest in you. Aside from your proper etiquette, you were also very shy and timid - something that he did not expect from a noble, aside from Idia, of course, and wondered what could have possibly made you so fragile. He assumed it was your beauty that had him hooked.

He was shocked when you revealed your hidden courage and strength during Leona's overblot. Am . . . am I seeing correctly!? were the thoughts that ran rampant in his head at the time. Needless to say, when Kingscholar came back alive from overblot all because of you, his feelings of lust, greed, and pity were quickly replaced with feelings of honor and respect for you. You had proven to him that the greatest treasures are the ones you would least expect.

It was because of this he surprisingly, was unsurprised when you told him your history as an abandoned Obelian princess. Not only had he already hypothesized that you were a person of higher origins as mentioned earlier, but he had also had a feeling that you were someone who had gone through hell. However, just because he didn't feel mortified did not mean he wasn't angry. He wanted to find that Claude de Alger Obelia and manipulate his body and make him make a fool of himself in front of all of Obelia at once! He also felt remorseful, considering the way he regarded you in the past. From that moment on, he called you, "his little treasure."

(Jade's is going to be more dialogue-based as an experiment and to practice with characterization)

"My, my . . . you truly are a most beguiling beauty with those unique irises of yours, aren't you? They really remind me of my home country, the Coral Sea . . . " is what he says the moment he lays on you for the first time, "I can tell they would fetch a profit worth a thousand ships. Are you certain you don't want to be a model? Or perhaps the new face of Mostro Lounge?"

"Hmm . . . you're quite the shy one, aren't you? Very well. Suit yourself," is what he says you shyly and meekly turn down his offer.

What a poor, unfortunate soul . . . what could have possibly caused someone so beautiful, elegant, and kind to be so . . . broken? But more importantly, why can't I just get that girl out of my head!? I'm the vice-housewarden of Octivinelle, as well as an assistant to Azul, so I shouldn't get so hung up on distractions, but that girl is like a siren who's casted a spell on me! Is what he thinks when he's falling in love with you.

She's amazing . . . How could I have underestimated someone so kind and pure, yet courageous and strong-hearted merely because of their appearance and initial demeanor? Truly, she is more than deserving of my respect. No, not just my respect, but, ugh . . . I am at a loss for words! I . . . I am not a man of sentiments, but . . . I think I've fallen in love with her, is what he thinks after witnessing you defeat overblot Azul.

"Y/N, please pardon my intrusion, and I know I may not be the most worthy of you . . . considering how I've treated you, but . . . I believe your stunning demonstration of benevolent and integrity have won my heart. Will you do me the honor of becoming mine?

When you tearfully tell him about your past as the hated princess of Obelia, Jade kindly comforts you, telling you not to worry about the past and focus on the present, and assures you that he will protect you in this new life of yours and that you will never endure such suffering again. But underneath his perfect smile, he's plotting revenge . . .

The ever composed and mysterious servant of Kalim Al-Asim was just as stunned and amazed by your beauty as all the other vice-housewardens, but he was by far more . . . reserved and modest in his approach.

"I-I think you look very beautiful, Y/N," he said.

You honestly would have thought he was only giving a simple compliment and didn't really care, but do NOT be fooled. Your platinum blonde locks and sapphire-like irises reminded him of the finest silks and most precious of gems from the household of his master, and his heart twisted in bitter jealousy as soon as he saw Kalim running up to you and gushing about your beauty.

*Sigh* Of course, Kalim would want her. If only she could be mine, but alas . . . he thought sadly.

He was mildly intrigued by your shy, timid, introverted nature. He was even more intrigued by your flawless, immaculate etiquette, and how you paid more attention to him rather than Kalim, whom he thought you want to spend more time with as aristocrats. To be honest, it also made his heart flutter a tiny bit.

"Y/N, look at me," he said gently as he carefully held you in his arms after you tearfully told him about your past as the hated princess of Obelia, "allow me to promise you, that as long I am alive, you will never have to go through such pain, humiliation, and suffering ever again."

"O hon hon! Magnifique! Beaute!" is what the vice-housewarden of Pomefiore said as he gushed over your beauty when he laid eyes on you for the first time. "Truly, you are the fairest of all! Your hair is like gold and silk! Your complexion is like porcelain! Your lips are like roses! And, of course, your eyes! Your cerulean irises vaunt an alluring azure reminiscent of the ocean and possess a coruscant brilliance that could rival the most priceless of gems!"

He truly did not understand why you were so shy, introverted, and fragile. Why, o why, would a beautiful being such as yourself, have such low self-esteem!? He simply would not allow it. He would make you realize just how beautiful you were even if it meant having to praise you a thousand times a day!

Your glorious and courageous feat against Overblot! Vil Schoenheit was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. It just made him even more confident that he had to make you see your beauty and him fall even deeper in love with you.

He was absolutely heartbroken when you told him about your past as the abandoned, hated princess of Obelia Empire. He cried and wept tears alongside you as he wailed "O, mon amour! Such suffering you have had to endure! Fret not, for I am now here, and I vow to ensure you to never endure such pain again!"

"Fufufu . . . you truly are quite the beguiling beauty with those jeweled eyes of yours, aren't you, hmm? It's not every day I see eyes like yours . . . in fact, it's not every century I see eyes like yours . . . hehe. If it weren't for your round, human ears, I honestly could have mistaken you for a fellow fairy!"

Lilia is perhaps the most shameless of the vice-housewardens when regarding your shy, timid, fragile, dainty, introverted nature. He teases you to no end and plays pranks on you non-stop, all just to see your blushing, flustered face. He just thinks it's so adorable!

When you tearfully tell him about your past as the betrayed princess of Obelia, Lilia embraced you and comfortingly and lovingly told you, "Oh . . . you poor thing. There, there, no need to cry. You're safe now, with me, who will always be here to protect you," but underneath his benevolent smile, his blood was boiling, and he was preparing to slaughter that evil father of yours. He had seen many horrors during his lifetime as a fairy and an ex-war general, but being executed by your own kindred? That was a whole other level of monstrous! He vowed that to ensure that you would never have your innocence sullied again.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom.

Helaena had tried to warn her, time and time again. The egg that had been laid in the maelstrom had belonged to Maera. And the egg in the Rivers, Alys Rivers, was now staring Maera in the fucking face. A large shadow temporarily blocked light coming in from the small window, the witch’s form illuminated by the light of the hearth. Maera’s eyes widened as she watched the unborn child stir beneath the fabric of Alys’s dress, a silent dance of life within her womb. Alys’s hand instinctively moved to rest atop her swollen belly, a tender gesture that spoke of the deep connection between mother and child.

As Alys looked up, her cat-like green eyes with golden flecks met Maera’s gaze, holding it with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. The witch smiled, answering the question that had not dared been asked. “I have the dragon's bastard in me. I can feel his fires licking at my womb.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her own hand instinctively coming to rest on her smaller stomach beneath her damp riding leathers. The contrast between Alys’s swelling belly and her own barely perceptible bump only served to heighten the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

Anger boiled within Maera, mixing with a potent concoction of hurt, betrayal, and a deep sense of injustice. She felt a surge of violent rage coursing through her veins, the urge to lash out and seek vengeance consuming her thoughts.

"You look upset," the witch remarked casually, her tone almost taunting. "You needn't be."

Maera's jaw clenched at the sight of the woman before her, her frustration palpable. "You stand there, pregnant with my husband's child, and wonder why I am upset?" she retorted, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Alys sighed softly, a dismissive shake of her head accompanying her words. "It is the Gods' will, Princess. I have seen it."

The mention of divine will only fueled Maera's irritation further. She took a step closer to Alys, her posture tense with anger. "And I wonder," she began, her voice laced with sarcasm, "was the death of my aunt Viserra and her family also part of this divine plan?"

Alys lowered her gaze to her stomach as she absentmindedly caressed the curve of her abdomen. "It was necessary," she stated coldly, her tone devoid of remorse.

"Necessary?!" Maera's incredulous laughter filled the room, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident in her expression. She raised her eyes heavenward, as if seeking answers from the gods themselves.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera stepped forward once more until she was practically nose-to-nose with Alys. Their physical similarities were uncanny, but Maera refused to let that distract her. "My husband is a great man," she began, her voice firm and unwavering, "but he has been an idiot."

Maera's gaze bore into Alys's, her stance unwavering as she continued to speak. "You may be able to fool him with pretty words of prophecy, to manipulate him into laying with you and filling your womb," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain, "but I am not so easily swayed."

The witch simply hummed to herself, completely unperturbed by Maera's threatening demeanour. She turned her gaze towards the fire dancing in the hearth below the steel pot, the flickering light casting shadows across her features. The flames swirled and leaped, painting intricate patterns of orange, yellow, and red against the dark backdrop of the hearth. Occasionally, embers would crackle and spark, sending small bursts of light shooting upward before disappearing into the darkness.

“Fire illuminates the truth to those whose eyes are open. No flame is more powerful, nor burns as bright, than that of a dragons,” Alys declared, her voice was calm and measured, betraying no hint of the tension that lingered between them.

Maera furrowed her brow, puzzled by Alys’s strange fascination with the flames. Before she could question her further, Alys turned to look at Maera once again, her eyes reflecting the firelight.

“A great dynasty will be born from the blood of Aemond Targaryen,” the witch proclaimed with confidence, as if it were a proven fact. She rested one hand on her own swollen belly, a serene expression on her face as she seemed lost in thought. “My son…” without warning, Alys reached out to touch Maera's bump with her other hand. Maera's instincts kicked in, and she reacted without hesitation, grabbing Alys's wrist in a firm grip before she could make contact.

The sudden movement caused Alys to glance up, her cat-like green eyes meeting Maera’s with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she continued, “…and your daughter will return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory. From their union will come the Prince that was promised.”

With a steely gaze, Maera continued to hold Alys's wrist in place, her jaw clenched in determination as she silently dared her to make another move. The action was instinctual, a protective gesture driven by a primal urge to shield her unborn child from any potential harm.

“You are mad,” Maera replied through gritted teeth, her fingers digging into Alys’s wrist, her nails forming crescent moons into the skin.

Alys simply smiled. “It is fate, Maera. Foretold by the Gods.”

Those familiar words. First uttered by the apparition of Lady Gael in her nightmares, the last words she would speak before the dream would tear away the memory from Maera. Helaena had also spoken the words in relation to the broken images that danced within her mind. And now Aemond’s whore had spoken them to her. Maera thought there would be at least be a glimmer of amazement in the stark number of incidents in which these words were spoken. But there was not. There was only bitterness, and unbridled fury.

The wooden door swung open with a resounding bang against the stone walls, causing both Maera and Alys to jump in surprise. Alys's gaze snapped to the door, her small grin betraying a hint of mischief as she managed to slip her hand from Maera's grasp. With practiced grace, she curtsied, head lowered demurely, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

Maera whipped around to face the door, her eyes widening as she saw Aemond standing in the doorway. His long silver hair was tousled, no longer perfectly straight as it had been when he left Kings Landing on his dragon. Aemond's violet eye met Maera's gaze, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face.

He furrowed his brow in a mixture of surprise and concern at finding his wife here, away from Kings Landing. A scoff escaped his lips, accompanied by a deep frown, as he realized she had defied his orders to remain in the capital. He opened his mouth, seemingly to chastise his wife, before his gaze fell onto the witch.

“My Prince,” Alys greeted him, before rising slowly from the curtsy, the movement strained due to her condition

Aemond’s gaze shifted from Maera to Alys, and in an instant, his reaction so pronounced that it seemed to freeze the air around them. His normally composed demeanor shattered in an instant, replaced by a visage of shock and astonishment. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his violet eye widening to the point where it appeared almost unnaturally large against the backdrop of his face.

Maera’s eyes bore into him, capturing every nuance of his expression as he stood there, frozen in the doorway, his single eye locked on Alys’s pregnant form. She noted the disbelief etched into his furrowed brow and the subtle trembling of his lips. Green eyes flicked back and forth between Aemond and Alys, studying their reactions with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Maera noted the absence of fear or concern in Aemond’s eye, no hint of guilt or remorse. It was a raw, unfiltered astonishment that gripped him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

The realization slowly dawned on Maera: Aemond was completely unaware of Alys’s pregnancy. The implications of this revelation swirled in her mind, adding another layer of complexity to the already tangled web of emotions she felt towards her husband and his whore. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera was the first to break the silence, an ominously light-hearted tone to her voice. “Well, this is certainly a surprise, is it not?”

She turned her head to glance at Aemond, who remained rooted to his spot, unblinking eye still fixated on the witch’s rounded abdomen. A bitter laugh escaped Maera’s lips. She had never witnessed him so thoroughly taken aback, not even in their childhood. Despite the tumult of emotions roiling within her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Aemond so utterly vulnerable, his handsome face now white as a sheet.

“I am sure you have much to catch up on. I shall leave you while I go and settle in my rooms,” Maera declared before taking a step away from Alys and began walking towards her husband. But the she stopped suddenly in her tracks, turning to face Alys once again, as if she had forgotten something. “When is the child due to be born?”

Alys met Maera’s gaze steadily, her expression relaxed. “Two moons, Princess,” she replied evenly, her voice carrying an air of quiet confidence.

Nodding thoughtfully, Maera absorbed the revelation, her mind already processing the implications. She mentally traced back the timeline, realizing that the child would have been conceived around the time of the Harvest Moon Ball.

"Oh, Lady Maera, I can attend to my duties. Very. Thoroughly,” Aemonds previous words echoed in her mind.

Fucker.

The prince had remained in Kings Landing since that day, and whilst that meant that there may not have been adultery in the technical sense, the revelation still stung, igniting a fierce anger within her.

“Has the Maester attended to you?” The Princess asked, seeming concerned for the well-being of both Alys and the unborn child, evident in her voice.

Alys appeared momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question, her brow furrowing in slight confusion. “No, he has not,” she admitted, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Determined to maintain control of the situation, Maera walked back towards Alys with measured steps. She knew that showing any sign of weakness would only give the witch an advantage. With every graceful movement, Maera silently vowed to handle the situation with cunning and strategy, refusing to let her emotions dictate her actions.

Maera forced a smile, masking her true feelings behind a façade of benevolence as she addressed the witch. “I have no qualms with the child in your womb,” she stated firmly, her words carrying a note of sincerity. “It did not ask to be put there and is innocent in all of this.”

Turning to gauge Aemond’s reaction, Maera found him still rooted to the doorway, his expression a mask of shock. Undeterred, she pressed on. “I will ensure you are examined by the Maester and that preparations are made for the child’s arrival,” she declared, her voice resolute.

Alys blinked in disbelief, gratitude mingling with her surprise as expression softened, a hint of joy shining through her guarded demeanor. “Thank you, Princess. That is kind of you,” she murmured, her tone sincere.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Maera’s lips, a glint of steel in her eyes as she responded, “Yes, it is.” Taking a deep breath, she let the sweetness fade from her voice, her words carrying a warning edge. “But do not mistake my kindness for weakness.”

Maera took another deliberate step towards Alys, her eyes roved over the witch’s form, from head to toe, taking in every detail like she would her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help but pause momentarily on the prominent swell of Alys’s belly beneath her dress, a stark reminder of her husband’s betrayal. Yet, Maera maintained a façade of control, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with the witch.

“That bastard in your belly is the only thing keeping you safe,” she sneered, each syllable dripping with venom. “If you touch my husband, no actually, if you so much as even look at him in a way I find distasteful…” She paused, raising a single finger to punctuate her threat. “One word to my dragon, and you will die. Screaming.”

Alys swallowed hard, her bravado faltering in the face of Maera’s unwavering resolve. Her jaw clenched tightly as she met Maera’s gaze, a flicker of fear betraying her composed exterior. “Is that clear?” Maera demanded, her tone sharp and commanding.

“Yes, Princess,” Alys replied begrudgingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maera hummed in response, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she studied Alys’s reaction. With a final, pointed glance, she turned on her heel, shoulder-barging past her husband as she left the room.

She strode down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls as she sought out the main chambers where she would be staying. As she walked, the silence was shattered by the muffled sounds emanating from the room she had just left. Alys’s voice, barely audible, was soon drowned out by the cacophony of crashing furniture, shattering bottles, and clanging metal. Despite the chaos behind her, Maera did not falter, her resolve unyielding as she continued on her path, refusing to look back.

The flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls of the chamber as the maid busied herself preparing the bath for Maera. The servants at the castle were similar in number to that at Rain House, much less than that of the Red Keep. It might have made her feel at home, it were not for the circumstances. The warmth of the water filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of lavender that wafted from the nearby candles.

With practiced hands, the maid carefully undid the intricate braids that adorned Maera's hair, allowing the damp strands to cascade down her back in loose waves, dark brown and silver blended together. The laces of Maera's leathers were deftly undone, revealing her curvaceous form and the subtle swell of her growing belly. Despite the warmth of the room, goosebumps rose along her skin as she slipped into the steaming water, the heat enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

Maera sank into the bath with a contented sigh, the water soothing her weary muscles as she leaned back against the edge of the tub. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the maid, preferring to bathe alone in the quiet solitude of the chamber. Alone at last, Maera closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the water to wash away the tension that had built up throughout the day. The gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub provided a soothing backdrop as she let herself relax, if only for a fleeting moment, in the midst of the turmoil that surrounded her.

As Maera lathered the soap in her hands, she felt the familiar tingle of bubbles forming, yet the soothing sensation did little to ease her troubled mind. With each pass of her hands through her brown locks, washing away the grime of travel in dragonback, she couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. No amount of soap and water could cleanse her of the turmoil brewing within.

The thought of Aemond siring a bastard filled her with a sense of helplessness. Would he acknowledge the child? And what of Alys, with her fanciful notions of fate and birthright? Maera feared the influence Alys might have over the child and the potential threat it posed to Maera’s own status as a princess of the Realm and her child’s status as Aemond’s heir.

Rinsing her hair, Maera couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that clouded her thoughts. How long would she be forced to put up with the presence of her husband's whore? It seemed as though she was expected to tolerate the situation, to play the part of the dutiful wife. But Maera knew deep down that she lacked the strength and resilience to endure such a trial.

The sound of the chamber door opening and closing quietly reached her ears as she continued to bathe, signaling her husband's arrival. She didn't need to turn to know it was Aemond; the familiar presence and the glint of silver in her periphery confirmed his presence as he made his way toward the bed. The soft clinking of metal followed as Aemond began to undress, the distinct sound of his belt and the buckles of his doublet hitting the floor before being placed neatly on a nearby desk. His boots followed suit, the dull thud of leather against the stone floor echoing in the chamber as he removed them and set them aside.

Maera stole a glance across the room as she continued to wash, running the bar of soap across her chest and shoulders. Aemond sat on the edge of the bed now, clad only in his trousers and an oversized white undershirt. Despite his stoic expression, his single violet eye betrayed the emotions swirling within him—guilt, and perhaps even fear—as he watched Maera with a mixture of apprehension and remorse. She did not say anything and simply continued with the task at hand, letting the undeniable tension simmer in the atmosphere.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with a rare note of meekness. “I did not know,” he muttered, his words almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

Maera glanced up at him briefly, her expression unreadable, before returning her attention to bathing. His words hung heavy in the air, but she made no move to acknowledge him. As she twisted her thick hair in her hand to wring out the water, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I swear it.”

A humorless laugh escaped Maera’s lips, the bitterness evident in the sound. “I believe you,” she replied, her tone flat and devoid of any emotion.

Aemond’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his features. “You do?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

Maera nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on her task. “I do,” she affirmed, her voice soft but firm. “What I find hard to believe is how you could be so stupid.”

Aemond winced at her words, the weight of her disappointment evident in his downcast expression. “I am sorry, Maera,” he murmured, his tone heavy with remorse.

Maera hummed in response, her movements becoming more deliberate as she stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. “Do you realize the position you have put me in? Our child in?” she continued, her voice laced with frustration and anger.

Aemond remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as she began to dry herself off. Maera’s words hung in the air, the tension between them palpable. “It was not an empty threat,” she stated firmly, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face him. “It is a promise. Whatever love I have for you has implored me to be merciful.”

She ran the towel through her hair, squeezing out the water as she turned her back on Aemond, her gaze fixated on the flames of the hearth. “But if she steps out of line once, she will burn, bastard and all.”

The Prince’s reaction to Maera’s chastisement was subtle yet palpable. Though he remained composed, Maera could sense her words cutting him deeply. His eye was fixed on her bare form as she moved across the room, settling into a chair by the mirror to brush her hair, the silver streak standing out amidst the dark curls. Lost in thought as she brushed, Maera contemplated the brewing warfare, both within the Realm and within the walls of Harrenhall against the witch, Alys Rivers. Her mind buzzed with strategies and counter-strategies with each stroke of the brush, each possibility branching out into a web of intricate calculations.

She knew that resorting to brute force against the whore would only play into Alys’s hands, giving the witch the satisfaction of knowing she had rattled a Princess of the Realm. As easy as it would be to simply kill Alys and the bastard within, it only reveal weakness, casting Maera as the jealous wife unable to handle her husband’s transgressions. No, Maera resolved to play the long game, biding her time, and when the moment was right, she would strike with all the cunning and determination of a true Targaryen.

“ Gaomagon ao vēdros issa?” Do you hate me? The Prince asked, as he watched his wife in the mirrors reflection.

“Kessa,” Yes, Maera replied gruffly, her fingers untangling the remaining knots at the end of her hair. She glanced at Aemond’s reflection in the mirror, seeing the tension etched into his features despite his composed facade. It was clear that her words had struck a nerve, stirring up a storm of emotions beneath his stoic exterior. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering in its intensity, as if searching for something within her that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Yn gaomagon ao jorrāelagon issa?” But do you love me?

His question prompted Maera to close her eyes and sigh deeply. The thought of him being reckless enough to give a woman is seed, and not even think about the consequences of what would happen if it took root in Alys’s womb, filled her with a potent mix of rage and despair. But, she knew that succumbing to such emotions would only weaken her position further.

“Hakotan sīr,” Begrudgingly so, she replied, bittnerness on her tongue as the words left her mouth. While Alys possessed the arcane abilities of a witch, Maera recognised she too was powerful within her own right. She was proficient with the sword, adept at forming alliances, had claimed one of the largest dragons in the world, and, most importantly, ensnared the love and devotion on the One-Eyed Prince.

She stood from her chair that faced the mirror, her bare form ensnaring Aemond to not tear his gaze away, making her way over to her belongings on the other side of the room. She reached into her chest that had been brought in by the guards and retrieved her dagger, the candlelight catching the glint of sapphires and emeralds adorning its hilt, casting mesmerizing reflections.

“I wish I did not. It would make things simpler,” Maera muttered, before turning to look at her husband and strolling towards him. Still sat on the bed, the Prince looked up at her, the silver hair falling away from his face. Approaching Aemond, who remained seated on the bed, his gaze fixed on her, Maera wielded the dagger with a confident air. She pressed its tip lightly against the exposed part of his chest beneath the loose shirt, the metal cool against his skin.

“For instance, I could slit your throat right now for how you have dishonoured me, and not bat an eye,” she purred, applying even more pressure with the blade. As she pressed even harder, Aemond's gaze remained locked on hers as he shuffled backward on the bed. Maera knelt on the mattress, her form following his until Aemond's head thudded against the headboard.

She straddled his hips comfortably, a satisfying smirk crossing her face as she could feel a hardness beginning to grow beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Yet whether to be divine intervention or not, my body will not allow me to press this knife deep enough to kill you.”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Aemond’s lips as the blade broke the skin on his chest, a thin line of crimson welling up in its wake. Maera brought the dagger up to her face, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of intensity and satisfaction as she observed her husband’s blood staining the metal. With deliberate slowness, she opened her mouth and traced the blade along her tongue, savoring the metallic taste of his blood, her gaze locked with Aemond’s, who watched with a potent blend of astonishment and desire, his breath hitching in response.

Grinding her bare core against him, a deep rumbling sound left his throat, his large calloused hands gripping the sheet below him, not daring to touch her just yet. Deciding that he was beginning to enjoy himself a little too much for her liking, Maera snaked her way back down is slender muscular form. The sharpness of the dragger ripped the fabric of the cotton shirt, revealing his toned stomach, a sight that had Maera licking her lips.

The knife stopped at the bulge in his pants and stayed there for a moment. She looked at his face, seeing the tenseness in his jaw and a dusting of pink on his cheeks as he attempted to steady his breathing. With a skilled hand, she hooked the blade underneath the laces, a gasp leaving the Prince’s mouth as Maera pulled the blade upwards, severing the strings that confined his manhood.

Her hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, his cock hot and heavy in her hand. She lay on her side between his legs, mindful of her swelling abdomen, as she let her hand slide down his shaft, her touch intentionally light, seeking to draw out the sensation.

“What exactly did you think she would do with the seed you bestowed upon her womb when you lay with her?” Maera asked, her green eyes burning into his as she continued to pump him. No answer came as Aemond attempted to hold back a groan by tensing his jaw. That would not do. Leaning forward she kissed his tip, tongue darting out to catch a bead of his arousal that began to leak from his slit.

He threw his head back, a harsh thud against the headboard indicating that he was beginning to lose control. “Fuck,” he growled, knuckles white from holding the sheets so tightly between his fingers.

“Perhaps wipe it from her body and read what it said in the palm of her hand?” Maera inquired with a mocking tone, before taking him in her mouth. Aemond hissed as she sucked to the base of his length, not breaking eye contact, before coming back up and releasing the cock from her mouth. She tilted her head and continued to taunt him. “Or maybe conduct some sort of ritual and consume it?”

“Maera,” he breathed, the sound of her name from his lips sending a shudder down her spine and causing her core to throb. She wanted nothing more than for him to elicit more such sounds, loud enough even for that whore to hear.

Maera encapsulated him in her mouth once again, swirling her tongue around his tip, ensuring that her eyes were still on his face as he watched her, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. She settled into a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down his length, noticing how he scrunched his face as the control he had continued to fray at the edges, his hips bucking upwards slightly causing his cock to hit the back of her throat.

As he attempted to entangle his fingers into her damp curls, Maera abruptly pulled back, causing the Prince growl disapprovingly. However, as he watched sit up and move to kneel above his cock, his pupil blew wide with lust, hands finally letting go of the sheets and resting on her plush thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.

“You are a Prince. In my eyes, you are a King,” she whispered in a sultry tone, wrapping her hand around his length and rubbing him against her your entrance so he could feel the slick that had formed there. She sank down slowly on his cock, their eyes remaining fixed on each other as they both gasped. “Not some pathetic wastrel who needs validation from a Strong Bastard,” Maera whined, placing her hands on his chest as she slowly continued to lower herself down, savouring every inch of him until he was fully inside of her.

After a moment she began to roll her hips, grinding against him so her clit pushed against his pubic bone. Her skin prickled at the sensation and that familiar coil in her stomach began to wind its self tighter and tighter. The bruising hold he had on her thighs faded as his hands snaked up her torso, stopping a moment on the small bump of their child, before landing on her large and rounded breasts.

He closed his eye before leaning in and taking one of her nipples into his mouth, the feeling of his tongue swirling around the nub making Maera’s eyes flutter shut. His teeth grazed the skin and her cunt clenched around him, head tipping back as she continued to ride him, Aemond’s hips now snapping upwards to meet her movements.

Deciding to regain a semblance of control, Maera cast her eyes downward to see him staring right back, suckling one of her breasts whilst squeezing and fondling the other. As he switched sides, Maera found herself able to speak. “I am yours because I choose to be. Not because of spells or fate. It’s because I say so,” she gasped, a warning tone beneath the pleasurable noises she made.

Maera picked up the pace, rocking more vigorously as she chased her own high, Aemond now planting his feet on the bed, thrusted upwards, much harder before, hitting that spongey spot within her repeatedly. All of a sudden, blinding white hot pleasure coursed through her veins as her peak hit her, her cunt fluttering around him as he fucked her through her orgasm.

“Seven fucking Hells,” he uttered through gritted teeth, his voice animalistic and feral as he chased his own high, biting his bottom lip so hard that it drew blood. As Maera’s mind became clearer, she continued to ride him, studying his face and paying close attention to his movements as his hips began to stutter, his pace becoming sloppier, his jaw becoming slack.

Aemond was seemingly about to peak, so she promptly hopped off his lap, his cock slipping out of her, glistening in the candlelight with her slick, leaving him shocked and somewhat dazed from the experience. Even though her legs were shaking from climax, she managed to confidently stroll to her chest of belongings, pulling out a nightdress and gown and dressing herself quickly. She caught the reflection of the Prince in the mirror. The image of him sat against the headboard, half-naked with his cock looking painfully hard after he was denied an orgasm was enough to make her chuckle to herself. A fitting punishment.

“I’m going to find a book in the library. Finish yourself off.”

Notes: Honestly, good for her 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @zenka69

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon XVI - Hēnkirī hae mēre

Summary:

Aemond comes to terms with recent events.

Warning(s): Upset, Body Issues, Angst, Fluff, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut - Kissing, Oral Sex, P in V.

Hēnkirī hae mēre - Togather as one.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: - 4068

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Aemond stood in front of the funeral pyre, his heart heavy with grief, his soul shattered into a million pieces. His once proud posture was slumped, his shoulders weighed down by the unbearable burden of loss. He looked a mess, his silver hair dishevelled and unkempt, his eye bloodshot and hollow from sleepless nights spent mourning the woman he loved.

The flames of the pyre crackled and danced before him, casting an eerie glow upon his pale, haggard face. He hadn't slept since Vaelys died, the pain of her absence like a dagger twisting in his heart with every passing moment. He felt completely lost without her, adrift in a sea of sorrow and despair.

As he watched the flames consume Vaelys' mortal remains, Aemond felt a searing pain deep within his soul. He wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of her untimely death, but his voice was lost in the howling wind that whipped around him, carrying his anguish into the night.

Memories of their time together flooded his mind—their laughter, their love, their shared dreams of a future filled with hope and promise. But now, all of that was gone, reduced to nothing but ashes and dust.

Every moment he had spent with Vaelys haunted him now, each memory tainted by the knowledge that his actions had led to her demise. He couldn't bear the thought of a life without her, of facing each day knowing that he was responsible for her death.

As the flames consumed her, Aemond bowed his head in shame, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He had failed her, failed to protect her, and now she was gone, lost to him forever.

In the wake of Vaelys' death, Aemond retreated into darkness, consumed by grief and guilt. He shut himself away from the world, refusing to eat, refusing to speak to anyone. The light seemed to have been extinguished from his life, leaving nothing but an endless void of emptiness and despair.

Days turned into weeks, and still Aemond remained lost in his sorrow, his heart weighed down by the burden of his guilt. He couldn't bear to be around his children, especially the newborn Rekara, a constant reminder of the life he had failed to protect.

He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed of the weakness that had allowed his grief to consume him so completely. He had always prided himself on his strength and resilience, but now he felt like nothing more than a hollow shell of the man he once was.

As he languished in his self-imposed exile, Aemond's world grew smaller and smaller, until it seemed as though there was nothing left but darkness. He knew that he should seek solace in the love of his children, in the memories of the life he had shared with Vaelys, but the pain was too raw, too overwhelming to bear.

And so, he remained trapped in his own personal hell, drowning in a sea of regret and despair.

Aemond's soul was consumed by an unrelenting anguish that he could no longer bear. With each passing moment, the weight of his grief pressed down upon him like a suffocating shroud, crushing his spirit beneath its unbearable burden.

In a desperate bid to escape the pain, Aemond sought solace in the one creature that had always been by his side—his dragon, Vhagar. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with sorrow, he made his way to where she liked to rest.

"Vhagar," he whispered hoarsely, his voice choked with emotion as he approached her massive form. "I beg you-Drakarys”.

The great dragon hesitated, sensing the agony in her rider's voice, but Aemond's desperation was palpable, his eyes wild with torment as he pleaded with her to end his suffering.

He couldn’t live without Vaelys, he couldn’t survive in a world where she didn’t exist.

"Drakarys, Kostilus" he cried out, his voice breaking with anguish as he begged for release.

Vhagar turned her head away, refusing to obey her rider’s command.

“Dohaerās. Vhagar” sobbed Aemond.

Aemond fell to his knees, the tears streaming down his face.

“Please-Vhagar-DRAKARYS”

Vhagar let out a sorrowful sound, her eyes filled with a profound sadness as she lowered her massive head, bowing to her rider's command. With a heavy heart, she unleashed a torrent of flames that consumed Aemond in an inferno of agony and despair.

Aemond's heart raced as he jolted awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. His mind reeled with the vivid images of his nightmare—the flames, the pain, the unbearable grief that had consumed him.

But as his eye adjusted to the dim light of the chamber, he realized that it had all been just a dream. Vaelys lay sleeping peacefully beside him, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of slumber. Relief flooded through him like a tidal wave, washing away the lingering echoes of his nightmare.

He reached out to touch her, his fingers trembling with emotion as he traced the curve of her cheek, the softness of her hair. She stirred at his touch, her eyes fluttering open as she gazed up at him with sleepy confusion.

"Aemond?" she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiled down at her, his heart overflowing with gratitude for the simple miracle of her presence. "It's nothing, my love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Just a bad dream."

And as he held her close, Aemond vowed to cherish every moment they had together, knowing now more than ever that their love was precious and fragile, a gift to be treasured above all else. In the warmth of her embrace, he found solace from the darkness that had threatened to consume him.

Aemond sat quietly in the corner of the chamber, his gaze fixed on Vaelys as she cradled their newborn daughter in her arms. He watched with a mixture of awe and tenderness as she gently fed the baby, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes filled with love.

Their other children, Sovia, Daevyn, and Aemon, sat on the floor nearby, playing together with laughter and chatter filling the room. Aemond couldn't help but smile at the sight of them, their innocence and joy a welcome respite from the darkness that had threatened to consume him.

But his attention never strayed far from Vaelys, who still bore the lingering effects of her near-death experience during childbirth. She was pale and frail, her strength depleted from the ordeal she had endured, but her spirit remained unbroken, her love for their children shining bright in her eyes.

Aemond felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him as he kept a watchful eye on her, his heart filled with a fierce determination to keep her safe from harm. He knew that she was still recovering, still vulnerable, and he would do whatever it took to ensure her well-being.

As the Maesters conducted a thorough examination of Vaelys, their expressions grave as they discussed her condition in hushed tones. After what felt like an eternity, they turned to her with sombre expressions, delivering their verdict.

"You are healing remarkably well, Princess” one of the Maesters began, his voice gentle but firm. "However, given the severity of your recent ordeal, we must advise against any further pregnancies. Your body has endured a great deal of strain, and it would not be safe for you to risk another childbirth."

Vaelys felt a lump form in her throat at the Maesters' words, her heart sinking at the realization that she would never bear another child. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to come to terms with the news.

Tears streamed down Vaelys' cheeks as she buried her face in Aemond's chest, her sobs echoing through the chamber. The weight of the Maesters words hung heavy on her heart, their verdict a painful reminder of her own limitations.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly, her voice muffled against his chest. "I'm so sorry, Aemond. I can't give you any more children."

Aemond held her close, his arms a comforting embrace as he gently stroked her hair, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. "Shh, my love," he murmured, his voice tender and reassuring.

But Vaelys shook her head, her tears continuing to flow unabated. "But I'm-your wife, I’m-," she choked out between sobs. "-I'm supposed to give you as many children as you desire”.

Aemond cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Vaelys, listen to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You are so much more than just a vessel for bearing my children. You are my wife, my soulmate, and as a mother, you are nothing short of extraordinary."

“B-But-“ sniffed Vaelys.

"We already have four beautiful children," he reminded her gently. "Our family is complete as it is. We have Sovia, Daevyn, Aemon, and now little Rekara. That's more than enough for any man to ask for."

Vaelys nodded, her heart heavy with sadness but also with gratitude for the family they had built together. She knew that Aemond was right—that their children were a blessing beyond measure, and she would cherish every moment they shared together, no matter what the future held.

As Vaelys soared through the sky atop Vermithor, her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. The wind whipped through her hair, the rush of air against her face a welcome distraction from the weight of her worries. Beneath her, Vermithor's powerful wings beat rhythmically, carrying them higher and higher into the endless expanse of blue.

Together, they soared through the clouds, their bond unbreakable, their spirits intertwined as one. Vaelys felt a sense of freedom unlike anything she had ever known, a liberation from the constraints of her own thoughts and fears. With Vermithor by her side, she was invincible, capable of facing whatever challenges lay ahead.

As they glided effortlessly through the sky, Vaelys closed her eyes and let herself be swept away by the sheer exhilaration of flight. The world fell away beneath her, replaced by the vastness of the heavens stretching out in every direction.

As Vaelys soared through the sky on Vermithor, a thrill shot through her at the familiar sound of another dragon's roar. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up to see Vhagar descending from the clouds, Aemond astride her mighty back. A smile spread across Vaelys' face as their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.

With a graceful arc, Vhagar joined Vermithor in the sky, the two dragons flying side by side as though they were dancing among the clouds.

But they were not alone. Soon, they were joined by Helaena on Dreamfyre, and Daeron on Tessarion. The four of them flying together, was truly a sight to behold.

As they soared higher and higher, Vaelys felt a sense of unity wash over her, a feeling of camaraderie and belonging that filled her with warmth.

As the dragons descended from the sky and touched down in the courtyard of Dragonstone, the excitement in the air was palpable. Sovia came running out, her face lit up with joy as she called out to her parents.

"Mama! Daddy!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing with excitement. "You have to come see! Kara's dragon egg has hatched!"

Vaelys and Aemond exchanged a glance, their hearts pounding with anticipation as they followed Sovia back to their chambers. When they entered, they were greeted by the sight of their daughter, Rekara, fast asleep in her crib.

But it was the tiny dragon hatchling curled up next to her that stole their breath away. Its scales shimmered in the soft light of the room; its eyes closed in peaceful slumber as it nuzzled against Rekara's side.

Vaelys felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she looked upon the sight before her. It was a moment of pure magic, a testament to the bond between dragon and rider.

Aemond's hand found hers, his touch warm and reassuring as they watched their daughter and her dragon hatchling with awe.

Vaelys stood in front of the mirror in her chambers, her gaze lingering on her reflection with a mixture of apprehension and self-doubt. Her body had changed since giving birth to their fourth child, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious of her body.

Lost in her thoughts, Vaelys jumped when she heard the door to her chambers creak open behind her. She turned to see Aemond entering the room, his expression curious as he took in the sight of her standing there.

"Vaelys, my love, is everything alright?" Aemond asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

Quickly, Vaelys moved to cover herself, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, Aemond, I didn't hear you come in," she stammered, her voice tinged with unease.

Aemond's confusion deepened as he watched her, his eye searching her face for answers. "Why are you hiding, Vaelys? What's wrong?"

Unable to meet his gaze, Vaelys felt a lump form in her throat as she struggled to find the words to explain. "I-I just-I'm not as-as I used to be," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Since giving birth, my body-it's changed, and I'm afraid-I'm afraid you won't find me attractive anymore."

Aemond's eye softened with understanding as he approached her.

"Vaelys, look at me," he said, his voice tender and reassuring. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, inside and out. Your body may have changed, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. I love you, Vaelys, more than words can express."

“I-I just don’t-“ muttered Vaelys and Aemond reached out for her.

Aemond held Vaelys close, his arms wrapped protectively around her as he whispered softly in her ear. "Let me show you how much I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness.

With gentle hands, he brushed away the strands of hair that clung to her tear-streaked cheeks, his touch soft and comforting. He leaned in closer, his lips finding hers in a tender kiss filled with love and devotion.

His hands removing her silken robe, letting it slip to the floor, leaving her bare before him.

"Sīr gevie," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her with a tenderness that made her heart flutter (So beautiful).

Vaelys felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she met his gaze, her eyes shining with emotion.

With a gentle touch, Aemond brushed a stray strand of silver hair from her face, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek with reverence. "Every time I look at you, I am reminded of just how lucky I am to have you by my side,"

“Aemond” whispered Vaelys as she leaned into his touch.

“Issa ābrazȳrys, issa jorrāelagon, ñuhon” growled Aemond his cock begining to grow hard in his breeches (My wife, my love, mine).

“Issa valzȳrys, issa nēdenka gēlenka zaldrīzes” replied Vaelys (My husband, my fierce silver dragon).

“Issa dāria, let me worship at your throne” said Aemond as he took hold of Vaelys’ legs and pulled her to the edge of the bed (My Queen).

“Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelys.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up Vaelys’ soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaelys her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaelys.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaelys, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaelys. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Vaelys; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Vaelys’ inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Vaelys’ body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Aemond-Issa dārys, issa zaldrīzes” whispered Vaelys as she writhed against him (My King, my dragon).

Aemond looked at Vaelys and smirked before he bent down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between his wife’s wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their daughter.

“Oh” muttered Vaelys as she flung her arms over her face in embarrassment, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

“Do not feel embarrassed my love” whispered Aemond.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suck his wife’s breasts.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaelys.

“Surely you would not deprive me wife. Your mother’s milk tastes delicious” muttered Aemond softly.

“I need you” exclaimed Vaelys.

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and ploughed his hard cock into Vaelys’ soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" shouted Vaelys, her eyes popping open from her post-orgasm haze.

"You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaelys, her tone bordering on desperate as she thrust her hips upward towards his.

Aemond chuckled and bit down lightly on a nipple, making Vaelys moan and squirm.

He started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Vaelys.

"Patience, Issa dōna mēre. This is our first time since you birthed our daughter" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Vaelys’ neck (My sweet one).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaelys.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse and gripped him - pressing him into her harder.

“Gods, Vaelys" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me. Make me scream, make me come”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaelys was doing, but he couldn’t help himself.

Vaelys wanted faster, and he was going much faster now; so much for having the control in the situation. His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips.

Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging against the wall.

Aemond lifted Vaelys’ legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet pussy.

Vaelys folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaelys.

“That’s it baby-come for me. Māzigon syt aōha dārys” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock (Come for your King).

Vaelys always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Vaelys’ legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft pale flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Vaelys, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside Vaelys once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Vaelys arched her back and screamed as Aemond pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

“Fuck. Vaelys-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of Vaelys hair, twisting his fingers in the silky strands before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Vaelys tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me” pleaded Vaelys her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Vaelys.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelys breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he pulled Vaelys on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Vaelys as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on Vaelys’ hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Vaelys dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Vaelys as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelys her vision going white as she came around his cock.

Her husband threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Vaelys” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses.

Meanwhile his wife was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

As the tender moment between Aemond and Vaelys lingered, a soft knock echoed through the chamber, drawing their attention.

“Just a moment-“ muttered Aemond as he slowly pulled his softened cock from his wife.

“Aemond” hissed Vaelys as she bunched the sheets around her naked body.

After quickly pulling on his robe, Aemond opened the door to find Ceci standing there, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She held out a cup of moontea, her expression sheepish.

"I thought the Princess would be in need of this," Ceci said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's gaze softened as he took the cup from her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He could tell by Ceci's demeanour that she had overheard their intimate moment, but instead of feeling embarrassed, he felt a strange sense of pride.

"Thank you, Ceci," he said, his voice gentle. "We appreciate it."

As he turned to bring the cup to Vaelys, he couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of arousal as she sat up and the sheets slipped from her body revealing her breasts.

Vaelys took the cup from Aemond with a grateful smile, although her expression soured slightly as she caught a whiff of the foul-smelling concoction. With a grimace, she took a sip, forcing herself to swallow the bitter liquid.

“Mayhaps we should request more moontea-“ muttered Aemond as he removed his robe.

“Why-OH?” gasped Vaelys as she stared at her husband’s half hard cock.

“I seem to have developed quite the appetite-” whispered Aemond as he lowered himself onto the bed and crawled towards Vaelys, his hungry gaze fixed upon her like a predator upon its prey.

“-Then allow me to thoroughly satisfy your hunger” muttered Vaelys as she ran her hands through Aemonds long silver hair and pulled him on top of her.

[kastalani123]

Trials of Ares: Post-BotL Ares's reunion with Hebe and Eileithyia (Ao3)

(Mortal Ares in SoM/TTC/BotL)

“You have the night. I doubt I can distract your Father for longer. Spend it well; only the Fates knows how long it will be before you meet again.” Mother smoothed a hand through my hair, and I loathe to admit that I preened at it, pushing my head into Her palm. It'd been a long time since Her touch had been so soft to me, and I begrudgingly cherished the lingering warmth She left behind.

And then I was alone with my Sisters.

I turned to them, saw Hebe’s toothy grin and Eileithyia's sweet smile–

And I fell to my knees, hands gripping the grass as I hung my head and tried to control the stinging in my eyes. 

I did not cry often. I had done it at the births of my Sisters and Children, at Aphrodite's wedding, after my release from the Aloadae’s jar, at Harmonia’s wedding and death. But I did not cry often, and I tried not to do it now. My Sisters didn't need to deal with that on the first night we were spending together in two years. 

“Ares!” Delicate hands gripped my shoulders, and a stronger one buried itself in my hair. Hebe shook me gently and Eileithyia tugged my head up a little, not forceful but enough to convince me to look up. Hebe cooed and slid her hands to cradle my face. My cheeks burned, but I leaned into her palm, shivering at her thumbs brushing the skin under my eyes — now that I think about it, she might’ve been wiping away whatever hint of tears had managed to squeeze out. Terrible.

“What’s wrong?” Eileithyia asked, crouched close enough to my back that her hair poked the back of my neck. Infuriating thing, that was. I never understood why she didn’t choose a form with softer hair, or at least styled it in a way that kept it from stabbing anyone who got too close. I can appreciate a good stabbing, but not from hundreds of needles while trying to hug my Sister. She continued, tone curious and teasing: “Is it your body? Mortal puberty messes with hormones a lot, drives their emotions all over the place. Is that it? You’re finally growing up, Baby Brother?”

That dragged an unexpected chuckle out of me, though it was drowned out by Hebe’s giggling. I should’ve expected this, their teasing about my physical age. Hebe appeared in her mid-teens like me, but Eileithyia looked two or so years older than us, despite having been born last. She must have appreciated the chance to gloat, and Hebe was encouraging her. I lifted a hand to bat at both of them, leaning away from Hebe, but not enough to make her let go of me. I scowled at them both, exaggerated, and my eyes stung against the air enough that I went to wipe them. Hebe giggled louder. I flipped her off.

“Shut up, brats,” I snapped lovingly, the words grating against my rough throat. “I just missed you.”

As I said it, I realized just how acutely accurate that was.

I had missed them, like injustice misses retribution, like a rebellion misses rage, like a sword misses blood.

I hadn’t thought about it much, up to that point. I had been all too aware of how much I missed Aphrodite and our Children, reminded of them by everything around me: Dite’s children, my children, doves, horses, perfumes, blood… I could hardly stop thinking about them. But I had only thought of my Sisters briefly: when one of the pegasi was giving birth, when I passed Hebe’s two kids, when Juniper forced me to make flower crowns with her… they weren’t on my mind a lot, preoccupied as I was with other things, like quests and…

A pit opened in my stomach.

I had forgotten them.

Not– not entirely, that would be– I wouldn’t allow that, I’d fight the Fates Themselves for my Sisters, but—

Which one looked more like Mother and which one more like Father, before they got comfortable making their own forms? What were their favourite flowers, foods? Which one patched me up more often? What song had Hebe been obsessed with for the past four decades, what game did Eileithyia always beat me in?

Bile rose in my throat and suddenly, their hands felt like they were burning me. 

What were their birthdays?

Birthdays aren't– they're not a big thing, among gods, especially not after the first millennium or so. I've certainly never had a big birthday after my first few. But they’re– good, as a date to set aside for someone. The Twins always spend theirs together, and Dionysus is more attached to his own than most gods — a habit most former mortals have —, enough so that he throws extra wild parties for it, and he does the same for his wife's. I don't care much for my birthday as my birthday, but it was one of the days in the year I always dedicated to my Sisters. The other two were their birthdays, and no matter how hard I searched for the dates, they kept dripping through my fingers like blood.

Shit. 

I hadn't even realized. 

We hadn't spent our birthdays apart in millennia. Certainly not since the Jar. And I'd forgotten them, hadn't even thought about missing them, like they weren't some of my favourite days in existence.

I swallowed heavily, painfully.

“I've missed you,” I repeated, quieter, then snapped forward, dragging Eileithyia with me, to wrap my arms around both my Sisters in as steel of a grip as my mortal body could manage. Hebe tucked her face into my neck and Eileithyia rested her chin on my head with a watery hum.

“We've missed you too, you fool,” she said, the hint of a waver beneath her voice. “What were you thinking, going against Father like that, huh?”

“You know I can't resist a good rebellion,” I bit back weakly, trying to ignore phantom probing of my mind. I tried not to think about that period of my existence, when Kronos had his fingers too deep in my head.

Hebe hit me on the shoulder with her palm, pushing away from me slightly and scowling at me, though her lower lip was stuck out in a slight pout and her eyes glistened with unshed years. “You and your violence! Can't stay away from harm for more than a decade, huh? And even that's asking for much! I swear, it's like you're trying to find a way to be killed!”

Pan’s drawn but peaceful face flashed in front of my eyes and I glanced away from her, swallowing back bile. I had no idea if my Family had already been informed of his passing; I had made a sacrifice to Hermes, a sure way to get his attention, but that hardly meant the message had spread immediately. Godly messenger he may be, but keeping the information to himself for a short while would not be out of character — especially information about Pan. The boy had been his pride and joy, once upon a time, before he disappeared. Some certain, final grieving was in order. 

I pulled Hebe back in, this time burying my face in her shoulder. 

“Can we please not talk about that?” I murmured. “I'm mortal enough, and this is our only night together for the foreseeable future. I would rather hear of our Family's exploits, and your own.” I paused, then chuckled dryly, pressing my face harder against my Sister. “Or are you two out of the loop, for once in your lives?”

Eileithyia– cackled, messing up my hair roughly. I pulled away from both of them; still close, still brushing against each other, but no longer huddled together like defensive soldier formations. She grinned at me, silver drops clinging to her eyelashes. “Who do you think we are? Is your memory going already, old man? ‘Course we're in the loop!”

I shifted to lean back on my arms, legs crossed, and my Sisters also moved to settle in more comfortable positions, forming a little circle with the three of us. 

If the trees were a little shorter, the foliage a little thinner, the temperature a little higher–

I could almost pretend we were back in Thrace.

--------

“Little Eros has found a lovely boy to share with his wife,” Hebe cooed, clasping her hands together. I pulled her head back a little to get a better angle to arrange the strands of hair I was working with and hummed for her to continue. My Sisters had already stumbled over each other to recount Apollo's latest concerts, Hermes’s recent tricks, and Hephaestus’s experimental creations, among other things, and have finally started on the personal lives of my Family; Dite was playing around with a pair of actresses, my Twins were wreaking havoc as always, Eileithiya had been eyeing a nurse for the first time in decades, and on and on and on. Artemis’s chariot, more than halfway through its course, painted the forest in silver, and Eileithyia had set up several small, floating lights across the clearing to drive away the darkness. “They've been romancing him for the past month or two, and he seems very smitten! He's a potter with a darling little store, he makes lovely vases. His daughter does stained glass crafts, and she seems to be taking to our little ones well. They're Vulcan’s legacies, and very sweet. I think you'd like them quite a lot.”

“They sound very… charming,” I said, reproachful, scrunching up my face. They seemed very tooth-rooting — more Dite’s tastes than mine, and very fitting for our Son and Daughter-in-Law. I could approve, but that didn't mean I would necessarily like them.

Eileithyia snorted, coaxing another bunch of flowers from the ground to add to the wreath she was weaving. “She's forgotten to mention that the boy makes a good number of pots purely to throw and destroy them when angry or threatening, and the daughter is a sword dancer. Artists they may be, but that does not remove their proclivity for violence.”

I raised a brow with a faint grin. “That sounds more like it. They Clear-Sighted?” Hebe attempted to shake her head, but I tightened my grip to steady it. She giggled as I batted her on the head with a growl. “Don’t move, brat! I’m working here! A yes or no would’ve sufficed.”

“But it’s so fun to annoy you!” she chirped. I pulled her hair harshly, careful not to mess up the strands, and received a squeak in response. Eileihtyia laughed, the flowers almost coming undone in her hands.

“Want me to stop braiding?” I asked. Hebe whined, perfectly imitating a scorned pup.

“Don’t you dare, asshole!” She straightened up into a picture-perfect position: back like a board, shoulders low and pushed back, chin high, et cetera et cetera. “I’ll stay still if you can’t deal with the challenge of a moving model.”

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, hands tightening. She was baiting me, the little shit. The audacity. The gall.

The way I couldn't resist. 

I opened my mouth–

“Please don't fight, you two,” Eileithyia said, leaning over to rest her chin on my shoulder. I could see the pout on Hebe's lips, despite her being turned away from me. Eileithyia nuzzled against my neck, and I relaxed my shoulders, which I hadn’t even realized had gone up. “You can make up for all your overdue fights when Ares is back on Olympus, alright? No point wasting time on them now. Just let him braid in peace.”

Hebe sniffed haughtily but nodded the slightest bit. Eileithyia dug a finger into my ribs, so I mumbled my own agreement before focusing on braiding again. She shifted away with a satisfied noise, returning to her own handiwork.

It was nice. 

We'd spent much of our childhood in much the same way, hiding away in Thracian clearings and meadows together, back before I'd been called back to Olympus to take my Throne and birthright. Afterwards, we'd shifted more towards parties and Olympus, away from the Earth Mother’s simpler pleasures. Even if we did choose to spend time secluded in nature, we usually brought along alcohol, or weapons, or a looking glass to spy on mortal affairs, rather than just bask in each others’ presence.

This was much simpler, and childish. We never should have stopped doing it this way.

I tied off Hebe’s braids with pink, silk ribbons she had produced for me, and stayed still, just looking at her, even as she turned her head to face me. She smiled lightly before shifting to climb into my lap and wrap her arms around my neck, losing a few years off her form to fit. I hugged her back, resting my chin atop her head with a hum and closing my eyes. I was safe and comfortable, my limbs pleasantly heavy and the rage in my veins softer than usual. This night was like a balm applied to a gaping wound, something my children had attempted to achieve but never could.

A weight was settled upon my brow and I lazily fluttered my eyes back open, just a bit, to look at Eileithyia, the flower crown she had been making gone — on my head, I knew without a doubt. She grinned at me, eyes impossibly soft, and shuffled over to lean against me. I closed my eyes again.

Father could have struck me down right then and there, and I would have been happy.

“Hey, Ares?” Hebe whispered, hesitant. She sounded like a little kid afraid of getting in trouble. I made a noise for her to continue. It was rare that either of my Sisters hesitated about anything with me, and a spike of worry fluttered in my chest. “You… are going to come back to Olympus, right?”

My eyes snapped open and I leaned back, untangling us so I could hold Hebe by the shoulders, looking at her face. It was so young, a preteen, and her eyes were wide and watery, her lower lip already bitten through to ichor. Eileithyia leaned over to place her head next to Hebe’s, also shifted to look younger than me, finally. Hers was less open, more serious, but her left cheek was ever-so sucked in, like she was chewing on it. I looked from one face to the other, then back again, and again, and again, heart beating rapidly enough that I could feel it — an unfamiliar and off-putting sensation that made me want to rip my chest open. My throat hurt, but I forced my mouth to open:

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Hebe made a strangled noise that sounded vaguely like an attempt at a “because”, but clearly, words were not cooperating with her at the moment. She looked at Eileithyia, wide-eyed and suddenly panicked, hands flying up to grip my wrists tightly; too tightly. I pursed my lips to keep from wincing, and I could swear my bones creaked — but I said nothing. She wasn’t about to break my stupidly fragile mortal body, so I could handle it. Probably.

I focused on Eileithyia’s attempt to speak; she opened and closed her mouth a few times before managing a weak: “Promise you won’t die, Ares.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, hands automatically tightening on Hebe’s shoulders. I stared at them, silent, and watched as their faces slipped and dropped and shattered; Hebe’s tears spilled over like they’d been threatening to numerous times that night, and Eileithyia raised her hands to grip my forearm, bruisingly tight. Finally, I snapped out of my stupor, and moved my arms to cradle Hebe’s face and start wiping at her tears, trying to shush her. Her tears burned my fingers, and I was careful not to touch the ichor beading on her lip.

“Hey, hey, I won’t die, I won’t die, it’s okay,” I said desperately, hardly believing the words. It was hard to, after having seen a dozen shrouds burned and my nephew fade into mist and the last of the Hecatoncheires nearly succumb to his own death. It was just… difficult to ignore, no matter how hard I tried.

Listen. I have always been familiar with death; the Keres have been familiar faces since my first battle, Thanathos as good a friend as any I’ve ever had, the mortals I trained and led to battle most often felled by blades and disease. Death had never been secret to me, never as unfamiliar as to most of my Family; I bathed in blood, I danced with corpses, I played with mortality. I entrenched myself in death by my very nature and domains, by how I mingled with mortal soldiers. Athena controlled battles from the general’s tent, the Twins sowed disease with arrows, Hermes led souls to their final destination — but I was up and personal with nearly every Death deity in the Pantheon. I have always been familiar with death.

But that never could have prepared me for the way my mortal body decayed and fell apart around me every second I spent in it.

I could feel it dying around me, constantly. At least when it was injury that plagued me, it was easy to rationalize and take care of — I’d been stabbed, so I was bleeding, so I was dying, so I needed to be patched up and heal. It was easy and predictable and temporary.

But mortal bodies are eternally, constantly on a trek into Thanatos’s arms, and I had never realized how accurate that was until I had been confined to my own. I was alive, so I was dying, and it was something I couldn’t ignore. It was always there, in the back of my mind, the way my skin was flaking, my muscles tore, my organs deteriorated.

And that was just my body while resting. Injured? It was so much worse.

Every drop of blood lost, every bone cracked, every bruise formed, I could feel, and I could feel my body attempt to stitch itself together for days, weeks, months afterwards. I couldn’t even help it along with nectar and ambrosia. I was weak, and squishy, and made of glass next to demigods, let alone gods. But my fight-addled mind never seemed to get the memo, tossing my body in the line of fire and pushing through injuries as though Hebe could draw me a bath afterwards, shake her head at me, and swipe a sponge over already-healed wounds.

But she couldn’t. Because those wounds would kill me, and I hated being afraid of facing Thanatos or the Keres, but I was.

And we were headed into war against Kronos. How could I promise my Sisters that I wouldn’t die, when that was the sole purpose of the body I was trapped in?

“I’ll– I’ll be okay.” My voice cracked, throat tight. Hebe let out a choked sob and dove forward to hug me around the waist, harshly shoving her face into my chest. Eileithyia followed, though she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I clung to them back, repeating the assurance as though saying it more would make it true, as though I wasn’t a powerless mortal child, unseen by the Fates if not for my past.

I would not put it past Them to let me die as penance for my existence, and the only reason I would begrudge them for it would be forcing my Family to grieve, the few that would.

The first rays of Apollo’s beloved chariot spilled between the leaves. We were out of time.

[mira-likes]

When Fan Xian first sees the words on the monument his mother left behind, his reaction is awe quickly followed by: "I get why she died now." He reflects on how she was a great, brave person who wanted to change the world, and effectively goes, RIP to her but I'm different. I'm not that brave. I just want to be happy and live a good life. I'm not here to transform the world into a better place.

I mentioned how he wasn't taking anything seriously at the start and was feeling like he was outside it all, and his reaction is in line with that. He's like, wow, this vision is so objectively impressive. Good thing it's got nothing to do with me.

The next time he talks about the monument is after Teng Zijing's death. He furiously demands from Zhu Ge if anyone even reads the words written there--the words of how people are equal, and how therefore Teng Zijing's life doesn't matter less than anyone else's. Suddenly, these are not just words too brave for this world to bear; suddenly, he's furious that this world isn't like that--that nobody's even trying to live by these ideals.

He still says he's not ready to become the person who makes this vision into reality. He keeps saying that he's not brave enough. But he keeps coming back to this monument in time of crisis or after a brush with injustice. He gets angrier and angrier, over time, about how few people care; he doesn't want to be the person who cares, but he can't help the outrage that bubbles up in him, either. He wants the world to be better. When an injustice leaps out at him, he's got to fix it. And he oscillates between incandescent rage and the voice in his head which reminds him that, in order to live in this world, he has to play by its rules.

Isn't this why his mother died? Didn't he himself say the world wouldn't tolerate someone wanting to change so much? Doesn't he just want a quiet, happy life?..

He still tries to have that good life, is the thing. He doesn't want to be the one man standing against the crowd, as he says during the examination arc. He doesn't want to challenge the emperor. He spends season two trying to live within the system while it becomes increasingly apparent to him how ill the system fits him--how little it serves anybody except those taking blatant advantage of it. And Fan Xian has immense privilege; he could cruise along easily, if only he could turn off that pesky conscience. It's what most everyone wants him to do. But when push comes to shove, he can't. And it's pretty clear that this will usher in his eventual confrontation with the emperor, however little Fan Xian looks for it.

[its-the-sa]

Different anon. God just boiling down the slugcats to 'animals' angers me in a way I didn't think I could be angry. Yes, they are animals, but by all means they are cognitive and understand complex emotions, communicate with a supposedly complex language, are able to be taught to do things. Why else would the iterators use them as messengers constantly? It's not like they're messenger pigeons where it's just going from point A to point B, they understand exact instructions. If this was just some random animal, making groans and grunts, they wouldn't be able to understand what Five Pebbles even meant when he was explaining how to ascend. Even with the mark, could you imagine if he told a lizard this? Artificer, arguably, is a prime example of this. Just an animal would get over their fallen children, sure they'd grieve but in the end they'd just make more. Arti not only is so enraged by their death, that she is physically incapable of ascension, but also swears vengeance upon a whole other species. This isn't just some animal who lost her children, this is a mother who is enraged at her children's murder. Sure, they aren't on the same level as humans are. Like obviously. But I'd argue it makes sense that a scavenger and a slugcat could fall down the path of enemies to lovers. Especially when you consider the fact that death isn't permanent in Rain World's universe. That would definitely change one's perspective on it. I dunno if I make sense, I'm juggling like three things at once, but I had to say what I needed to say. Wording bad, slugcat smort.

tbh it took me a minute to figure out what this was even referring to, because honestly I don't think that anon meant to use the word 'animal' to dehumanize arti in the first place. it sounded to me like they were just using it as a non-human equivalent for 'person', like "why would anyone fall for a person who committed hate crimes against them?" which is a valid question. it never even occurred to me that they could have meant it in the sense of calling her an inferior creature.

that said... you ARE 100% right and you should say it, lmao.

I very nearly got into this exact argument once, bc i saw some comments from a guy scoffing at the idea of arti showing mercy to baby scavs. because by his logic, 'she is just an animal, so she isn't bound by human morality. in the wild, animals kill any young that don't belong to them without hesitation'. and it just pissed me off so much, because not only was it such an edgy "mercy is for the WEAK!" alpha-male bullshit take, it was also just factually wrong. many animals can and do adopt the young of other animals, even other species, especially when they've just lost their own. and like you said, they can grieve, but then they move on. they keep surviving, and making more babies. they don't dwell on injustice, or let rage consume them to the point that it becomes a hindrance to their own survival. they don't go on single-minded revenge quests. they dont try to justify their own violence by demonizing entire species, and they dont end up plagued by guilt in their sleep. those are very, very human things.

and yeah, i see a lot of people theorize that it's the mark of communication that grants the slugcats higher intelligence, but I don't really buy that either. i think the mark just lets them understand the iterator's language. they must've already had the capacity to understand it, or else it wouldn't work at all. it'd be like trying to install windows on a calculator. also, even without the mark, slugcats are obviously shown to communicate with each other. they have their own culture, they tell stories and make art, and they're apparently able to understand karma and the nature of the cycle at least enough to be able to ascend. so like... any creature thats capable of spiritual enlightenment must at least be sapient, right??

it seems like in the absence of the ancients, both slugcats and scavs are beginning to move in to their niche in the ecosystem

[givemearmstopraywith]

the word intifada, in arabic, اِنْتِفَاضَة, literally means "shaking off." a shiver, shudder, tremour, trembling, shuddering, quivering. psalm 2:11 tells us to "serve the lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling (בִּרְעָדָֽה)." on the day of the lord in isaiah 13:13, the heavens and the earth will tremble: god is in the trembling. philippians 2:12 reiterates this psalm: "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling (τρόμου)." when the haemmorhaging woman of mark 5 audaciously touches christ's cloak and he feels his power leave him to heal her, she approaches him "trembling with fear" to confess what she has done, which he responds that her faith has healed her: "go in peace and be freed from your suffering." when jesus dies, there is an earthquake: the earth trembles at the moment of jesus’ death, the rocks split open, and the dead walk. what has been is shaken off. the crucifixion is not an end, but a beginning: a commencement, because god has commenced his intifada, his mission to free mankind from the human injustice which is the absence of grace and mercy.

throughout the scripture, trembling is the precursor to something else. it means god is in proximity; it means we are about to be touched by grace. shivering is the body’s natural reaction to an outside stimulus- an effort to get warm when confronted with cold, or the adrenaline in our bodies priming us to respond to danger. intifada is the natural human reaction to the outside stimulus: the body, the community, making an effort to get warm when left outside of justice, a response to danger. trembling is the work of god, a smudge from the fingerprint of his creation. when we shake, god is in the trembling. god is in the shaking of rage and tears. god is the fight against injustice. god is in the intifada. how much more does the earth quake for all those little ones.

[slashthrashandcrash]

Slasher Ashley x Final Girl Stranger? Thoughts? Prayers?

Funniest part would be the fact that slasher zombie Ashley could probably fold Slasher Stranger in half. She's a scholarship athlete and he was... what? A STEM major or some shit?

I need more lore to hyperfixate on, slash. Pleeeease. (Only if you feel like it though, no pressure.)

OUGH the concept...immaculate...especially because I'm still envisioning them as their usual personalities, so for Ashley to go from a bubbly sweetheart to a murderous stalker is delicious for angst

Because originally, Stranger was killed in a hazing accident whose death was then completely covered up by the school, which is way he came back for revenge. But Ashley? She'd be much more popular being a cheerleader and all her sorority sisters' best friend (well, most of 'em).

I feel like as a woman I probably don't need to go into too much detail about what her incident would be with drunk frat boys and maybe a few jealous mean girls at a house party. And rather than it be covered it, they'd probably all just blame her for her own death while the ones involved lose a few scholarship rewards. She shouldn't been drinking, she was flirty, she couldn't didn't say no, they didn't realized she had stopped breathing--

Yeah, all that kindness and sweetness in her died that night. She's coming back and she's coming back pissed. Kind of like Spirit from DBD, to just be so full of pain and rage about the injustice, to never know peace. Except for this one stranger in the frat house that night, who was just so polite and respectful and a little nervous in a cute way. Made sure she was okay, told her to be careful around the other guys, offered walk her back to her room though she declined.

And that is also objectively hilarious for him to be the final guy of the initial massacre and then her recurring obsession, because he's just...I dunno, him. Sure, he's got the "tall dark kinda handsome" thing going on, but he's such a dweeb. He's the guy that has at least 5 spots on the top 10 high scores on any given arcade cabinet. He's a compsci major. He's not a jock, he can't flirt with a girl to save his life, he's the lowest on the food chain in his fraternity (well...he was until Ashley butchered most of them).

So to have this beautiful girl be so head over heels for him that she'd kill anyone who gets in her way...idk he might be kind of into it lmao. Like, she pins him against the wall and his knees tremble. She tries to come onto him and he averts his eyes and stutters something. But he'd also feel so sorry for her, knowing who she is and what happened and how he wished he could have tried a little harder to convince her to go home instead of letting his awkwardness stop him. Which also further endears him to her, he's so compassionate! C'mon, babe, ignore the blood, we can make this work!

[tfa-archived]

Thinking about what a sweet, kind, silly and gentle hearted person Poe is until you piss him off and once that switch is flipped, he's a force to be reckoned with

Oh, did you mean? my most favorite? facet? of his character? that makes me lose my marbles? and also happens to be maybe my favorite character trope of all time? that? Okay I hope you were expecting an infodump because what-ho! that's what's happening, I have come prepared and with receipts, let's fucking go on how Poe Dameron is a goddamned force of nature and how the galaxy should be really fucking thankful his loyalty is first and foremost to the Resistance and to the Light, because if it wasn't...well, I'd dread to think, but it wouldn't be good for anyone else.

The fun thing for me, is that it has always been a part of Poe's character, right from The Force Awakens -- it's subtle, but it's there, hidden between the sassy quips in the face in danger and the professionality of Commander Dameron; little fleeting moments that tell you that Poe Dameron is not someone to be trifled with at all, including one of his very first scenes:

I'm 90% certain that Poe's gaze actually lands first on Tekka's body here, before lifting it up to glare at Ren - and that's more than just a defiant glare, that's a look of loathing. Which fits, considering that I do believe the Force Awakens novelization confirms that Poe rushes in without thinking, and acts on sheer anger/rage when he goes to shoot Ren after Ren kills Tekka.

(More lengthy thoughts under the cut, I was not kidding, I saved a dozen images for this).

And that look is far from the only moment in TFA that clearly goes "oh. yeah, Poe can be scary when he wants to be", there's this frankly delightful moment during the trench run when Poe sees a fellow pilot perish while covering him:

and then moments later, when Poe flies into the heart of Starkiller to destroy the oscillator, we get this shot:

that's far more than just determination/focus, he's angry. and he has every goddamned right to be - he was just held captive and tortured for (??) days, and this monstrosity just destroyed an entire fucking planetary system, and the very Republic that Poe has spent his entire adult life believing the inherent values of, that he thought could genuinely improve. Never mind the detail that Poe probably likely spent time on the Hosnian System, if he didn't live there temporarily during his time in the Defense Fleet.

But these shots makes it clear where the comic gets the idea from that the First Order might, y'know, actually be. A little bit terrified of Poe Dameron:

He's a serious threat, and ruthless when it comes to the First Order. People joke a lot about Poe being reckless, but I don't see a lot of recognition for the fact that he can be ruthless - he sees point b and dives straight at it, and he's absolutely relentless in his determination to take the First Order down.

The quickest possible way to enrage Poe is inaction or injustice. We see this clearly in the Last Jedi, when he believes Holdo is essentially leading them to their deaths and has thrown the Resistance away:

but we also see it as far back as Before the Awakening by Greg Rucka:

This conversation carries on for a page or so more, I think, with Poe arguing against the New Republic's decision to not act or investigate further (it's also what prompts him into going rogue to investigate on his own, which leads Leia into recruiting him for the Resistance).

And we've even seen it in material as recent as Free Fall, which means this is a character trait Poe has had his entire life:

(these do not paint my girl in a great light but like she's fucked up okay!! and being groomed into taking her mother's place it's fine, it's fine, she's my fucked up little blorbo)

anyway. so this is Poe when he's, probably about 16? 16 going on 17 here, and this is probably the angriest he's ever been considering how shocked he is about the chill in his own voice (which if you were ever curious why I say Poe's anger runs cold, it's because of this scene right here). He's so enraged by the injustice being carried out by Sotin, that he's genuinely - for the first time in the book - considering actually killing someone. And he gets into a screaming match about what the right decision is with Zorii.

(he also gets to punch Sotin later, by the way, if you even care. It's glorious. I love my favorite character who decides murder is okay if said murder is in question a guy who deals in the slave trade)

But also.

My favorite instance of this, ever, which rewrote my fucking goddamned brainchemistry in 2017 when I read it and made me have to step away from my computer and honest to god pace the length of my house to walk it off, is his confrontation with Terex in issue #13 of the Poe comics.

Because you know what?

This entire fucking exchange is personal, and almost/pretty much outright vindictive? Like at this point, Poe has solidly won this round - Terex has finally been defeated, and all Poe has to do is hand him over to the First Order. He knows, in doing so, Terex will likely be killed, and after who knows how long of Terex's bullshit meaning Poe couldn't trust his squadron, and the fact that L'ulo just died - well, Poe's not real broken up about it, which is fun in itself.

But then he asks Malarus if he can have a moment with Terex before he hands him over and Poe....uses that moment to gloat.

And y'all know me i don't use words like that for Poe but like. he kind of does? he asks a moment alone with terex specifically so that he can taunt Terex that he won, that Terex didn't beat him, and that in trying to take Poe down, Terex cost himself everything (a fact Poe happily rubs in his face), and even adds that "and when I give you to the First Order, I bet they'll take the rest."

So like. Yeah.

Poe knew full well they'd likely kill him, and spends the next few issues full heartedly believing that Terex was dead. And he taunts Terex with it here in this moment. It is TRULY glorious and honestly had 17 year old me's little head spinning because it was such a subversion of what I thought Poe would do -- but he did! He didn't try to figure out a way to spare Terex's life, and he used his final moments with Terex to make sure Terex knew that Poe was fully aware of what the choice he was making meant.

It's fucking DELICIOUS.

And I also love this panel from earlier into the issue:

Because again, it's a great illustration of how Poe can come off cold because of the art choices Phil Noto made here: look at the jacket. It's zipped up all the way to Poe's neck (a rarity for Poe), and just generally gives him this very closed off, cold appearance because he's at his wit's end in this issue, and he is angry about the circumstances Terex has forced him into.

So...yeah. Poe Dameron is a sweet, compassionate, silly guy who makes the worst fucking puns you've ever heard this side of the galaxy. He loves his droid, wears his mother's wedding ring with the intent to give it to the right partner someday, and loves all of his friends full heartedly and is generally the most tactile, affectionate person you will ever meet. He's pretty much everyone's best friend, because he has that kind of charisma and ability to make anyone feel like they're the most important person in the galaxy.

But Poe Dameron is also the man that the First Order seems genuinely intimidated/afraid of. He's the man that destroyed Starkiller base, and toppled the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy when he was just 17 years old. He is not someone you ever, ever want to piss off, because for all his warmth and love, Poe has an anger that runs cold, and when he hates something - it's just like when he loves something, he doesn't go half-way.

General Organa isn't the only Resistance general that can be absolutely terrifying in her own right as much as she can be gentle and loving. It's just that Leia's the only one anyone ever notices, because...well, Poe's silly and funny and usually kind of easy going.

And the fact that people underestimate him is what makes him that much more dangerous.