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gnocchibabie · 2 months

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The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 1 - The Porcelain Princess

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

next chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Warnings: gore and blood, graphic descriptions of violence/traumatic childbirth

Wordcount: 1.2k

112 AC – King’s Landing

The piercing screams of Queen Aemma Arryn echo through the halls of the Red Keep, filling King Viserys I Targaryen with a sickening dread as he hastily rushes to her chamber. The cries are not those of labor but are more akin of an animal in its final moments. The merriment of the tourney presumes outside the castle walls, unknowing of the chaos that swarms within.

When Viserys finally pushes open the door, the sight of his wife – disheveled and dripping with anguish – has him rushing to her side.

Aemma had always had great difficulty bearing children – it was a wonder Rhaenyra had even been brought into this world – but this, this was different. All color had been drained from the Queen, leaving only a layer of cool sweat covering her pale form. Hair sticking to her face, breathing labored, and grip weak on her husband’s hand, the King felt his wife drift further and further away from him.

She looked more spectral than alive.

Aemma.

Viserys looks around to the handmaidens attending to his wife, though they skillfully avoid his gaze.

“Mellos.” The king breathes out, leaving his wife to speak with the maester.

A grim look paints the face of his most skilled healer, “My King…during a difficult birth, it sometimes becomes necessary for the father to make an impossible choice.”

Viserys blinks incredulously at the man before him as his wife continues with her agony, “Well speak it!” His heart pounds.

“To sacrifice one…or to lose them both.” Mellos replies, voice measured despite the chaos surrounding them. Viserys listens to the man describe the technique taught at The Citadel – the barbaric ritual of cutting the babe from its mother, in hopes it may be saved. The King hears his words, but finds it hard to truly listen to them.

Mello’s stern face wavers for a moment, “But the resulting blood loss-”

“Seven Hells, Mellos.” The King took a deep breath to keep his panic from setting in, from blurring his better judgment.

The Gods punish me…They set an impossible decision before me.

Viserys looks back at Aemma once more, seeing his wife has calmed, her pain momentarily subsiding. A handmaid dabs a damp rag to the queen’s pale forehead, and she almost looks serene. He thinks of his son, stirring within her, waiting to come out into this world. To be set forth into the realm he will one day rule.

Expelling a shaky breath, Viserys turns his back to her, “You can save the child?”

“We must either act now, or leave it with the Gods.” Mellos replies.

It feels as though a piece of Viserys, some portion of his soul deep within, withers away at the choice before him.

All he can muster is a grim nod to his maester as he returns to his wife, one final time.

Aemma, even despite her current torment, finds a faint smile at seeing her husband once more. Her mind is less clouded, her body less addled with pain as she properly greets her king.

“Viserys…” Her voice is faint and wispy, as though merely speaking was a herculean task.

Tears cloud the vision of the king, though he hides them with a smile to his wife. His Aemma.

“They’re going to bring the babe out now.”

And so they did.

Amidst the screams of his wife, a sharp steel scalpel pressed against her soft, swollen belly – blood soon pouring out from within the queen like a deep red sea, staining her linen underdress and the pristine sheets below her. Amidst her thrashing turned feeble attempts of escape. Amidst her moaning turned to fleeting breaths.

The last thing Aemma Arryn experienced in this world was great pain, and great fear.

A babe, quiet and still is pulled out from her at last.

“A boy, Your Grace.” Mellos replies, though any celebration from the revelation is soured.

The infant is silent, and the room grows cold. The King holds the bloody, small thing in his arms and weeps for his wife and son.

“Maester Mellos!” a handmaiden voices, “There is another!”

The room blurs around Viserys as another babe is pulled from Aemma Arryn. With a few strong pats to the infant’s back, it’s bawling fills the room. A flicker of life is breathed into the somber scene.

“A girl, my King.” The maester announces.

A daughter.

Viserys looks at the small, crying baby now being swaddled in soft linens. Muck and blood wiped from her as her crying continues. Tears blur his vision once more, barely able to see the small patch of white hair crested atop her head.

For a moment, he is filled with the overwhelming desire to name his newest daughter, Aemma. After the mother she will never know in this life. Though, looking at the ghastly scene before him, he thinks better than to condemn the girl to such a fate.

A name was a powerful thing, and Viserys was a man of many cryptic beliefs.

Aemma would not do.

“Maevys,” he breathes. A new name, a fresh start, a blank page. “Maevys…my daughter. My princess.”

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To suddenly be an older sister was an odd thing, Rhaenyra Targaryen had thought.

To suddenly be a motherless child, an even odder one.

The eldest princess looks down at the babe lying in her fine wooden cradle, swathed in soft cloths. Maevys had finally quieted, after hours of squawking and shrieking, as if her cries should make up for the one’s her brother never had the chance to utter.

Her sister was small, too small for even an infant. Pale as well, as though all her strength had been drained from her from the mere attempt of being born.

If you could call it such a thing.

Rhaenyra was haunted by the news of what had become of her mother. Her mother, once so full of life and laughter and love – reduced to a broodmare of a woman. So much so, that it became her undoing.

The image of her sister however, soothed the princess. Perhaps a piece of her mother still lay before her.

She had a little sister, a girl to love and cherish and tell stories of their mother to. A girl she and Alicent could parade around with and take under their wings. Is that what sisters did?

Rhaenyra leans closer to the cradle. Did I look like this once?

The infant has all the hallmark Targaryen features: silver-white hair and expressive purple eyes. Perhaps she even had the Arryn look about her, some remnants of their mother. Though, only time would tell.

Rhaenyra feared, though, that the girl would not live very long at all. The babe was a weak looking thing after all. She even heard hushed whispers amongst her mother’s handmaidens, that the maester did not expect the girl to live past a week. The nickname, “The Porcelain Princess” had already begun to circulate throughout the castle walls due to her sister’s delicate state. Though no one would dare utter the words in front of the girl’s father or older sister.

“Maevys,” Rhaenyra breathed and watched as the little girl stirred, as though she already recognized her name, “You must prove them wrong, Maevys. You must stay.” Her voice quivers at the end of her plea, a hand grasping the babe’s cradle so hard, Rhaenyra’s knuckles turn white.

And so, Maevys did.

Author's Note: hello there! i hope you enjoyed this very depressing and grim first chapter (I promise they wont ALL be like this). this is the beginning of what will hopefully be a pretty lenghty fic, which will come to focus on the ~eventual~ relationship between maevys and aemond. this is my second aemond fic (i am not immune to his charm) and i will be updating this alongside another project that is currently ongoing. because of this, updates may be a little sporadic, but i am dedicated to both series :) i hope you all enjoy this story! i have many ideas for many characters that i cannot wait to put to page and share with you all. thank you so much for reading <3

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #hotd oc #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon original character #aemond targaryen x reader

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yandere-sins · 4 months

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Yan-Poll #14

[Mermay Special Part 4 Warning: Yandere, Violence, Mention of Blood/Claws/Getting hurt/Someone else getting mauled and hurt, Chase Scene]

"No. NO!"

Your friend's voice boomed through the room. Strangely, the water didn't stop the sound from ringing out clearly and sharply, your ears feeling like they were exploding. There was little resemblance to the kind and sweet friend you knew. Their body contorted, their eyes bulging, fingers growing rigid, and their fangs snapping at the water before them. They were changing into a monster you only knew from horror movies, but worse was knowing you were the cause.

The queen gasped, just as much in shock as you were, but she regained her composure quickly when your friend charged at her, letting out their anger on her rather than you. She slipped by him, their claws ripping the skin on her arms cleanly like a scalpel, but she didn't deter. She grabbed your body by your arms, yanking you up and forward through the door.

"Swim!" she screamed as she used her body to barricade the door that she had shut closed immediately after exiting. You could see that she struggled as something or someone was thrown into the door repeatedly, trying to break out. "Don't look back! Just swim down the hallway and when you see the portal go right through it! Don't waste time here!"

There was a faint sense of desperation in the way she urged you, and you knew she couldn't hold your friend back much longer. Your head hurt, your body felt unfamiliar, and the screams of your friend told you to surrender, but when the queen gave you one last pleading look, you got yourself together and moved forward, leaving her behind. You could only pray your friend wouldn't do anything to his own mother and that she'd hold them back long enough for you to go.

You swam and swam, slamming into walls as you kept losing control over your own tail, clumsily, stupidly, feeling like a child. "[Name]!" you heard your friend yell behind you, and you jumped in surprise; they sounded so close. It scared you, they scared you. Everything about this world and chase was scary, and all you could do was keep your eyes forward like the queen told you and swim.

Finally, the portal appeared in the room before you, a sense of relief washing over you as you gathered your strength and caught yourself from hitting the walls again, the goal so close. It was almost too good to be true, and when a torrent moved you forward, followed by the sound of a massive body slamming into the corner behind you, you knew you were screwed.

Letting out a pitiful squeak, you picked up the pace, your friend suddenly right behind you. "Stay!" they begged, but it sounded like a demand. "Don't go back there! You're supposed to be here with me! What did that witch tell you?! Oh, I'll kill her if you leave! She'll be dead because of you! Don't go! Please, don't go!"

The chaos of their voice all around you didn't stop you from going forward. They were nuts, completely out of their mind. Nothing in this world could make you stay, and you reached out your hand towards the portal's light when...

Suddenly, you were yanked back.

You screamed as sharp claws dug into you, keeping themselves anchored inside your tail and tearing it apart. This time, you had to look back.

"Stay with me. I love you," your friend begged, bubbles rising from their eyes like tears. They had changed back into their normal self, beautiful, although you knew better now. It was all a facade. You shook your head, throat tight with fear and adrenaline. Their expression changed instantly, darker and more deadly, but your eyes were torn from your friend despite them reaching up, seemingly trying to attack you again.

With a heavy thud, the queen slammed a stone down on your friends head. They gurgled before sinking to the ground. "Go!" the queen yelled, her beautiful face ripped apart by claws, blood mixing into the water all around her.

You didn't make her repeat herself, the portal welcoming you with a waft of wind and the sounds of birds chirping.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

You rubbed your palm along the muscle in your thigh, feeling the strange, burning sensation that had recently started acting up. You didn't know why, but sometimes, when you looked into a mirror or took a shower, it appeared. It was pretty annoying, but the doctors told you to just let it come and go as there were no signs as to what caused it.

But ever since your family decided to take a trip to the beach, this sensation had been acting up constantly. At this point, it was making your stomach churn, anxiety flooding your senses for some unknown reason. You tried brushing it off, listening to your mom and sister talk instead, but it was hard to ignore.

"Are mermaids real?" your sister asked, and your mom chuckled, turning around in the passenger seat to wink at you to tell you to keep up the charade. "They are so real. And they capture little kids and keep them locked up underwater so they can eat them."

Your sister squealed before giggling her adorable laugh. What a stupid story, you thought. Mermaids don't exist.

Finally, at the beach, your family set up the towels before running off to get food and dip into the water. But for some reason, you couldn't help but let time pass you by as you stared out into the ocean, strangely captivated by the waves. You jumped, eyes widening when you thought you saw a head pop out far, far beyond where everyone was swimming, sharp eyes fixating on you, but it was gone with the next wave. Your thigh burned, and this time, it hurt so much you could barely keep standing. You considered cooling down in the water, but the pain only intensified.

Your sister ran up to you not long after you took a seat in the sand, wanting to take you swimming with her. You refused, citing that you were hurt and needed to rest.

"But the mermaid told me to bring you to them..." she mumbled, wrecking her little head about what to do now.

"Who?" you asked, and she shot you a bright beam.

"The mermaid! They aren't mean at all like Mom said! They said we could come to their underwater palace with them! I want to, can we? Pleaseeeee!"

As the pain throbbed in your thigh, you watched as your sister jogged back into the water, arms flailing when she was suddenly pulled under. One second she was there, the next she was gone, and in her place, a strangely familiar face lurked out of the water, beautiful, ethereal. But the eyes of the stranger were weird, dark and mysterious. Driven by an unknown feeling that ran a shiver down your spine.

"Your turn." The stranger lifted a hand out of the water, webs between their fingers, inviting you in, and your leg hurt even more.

"I waited long enough for you to return, my spouse."

Was there ever really a choice for you?

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

#Yan-Poll #mermay #mermay 2024 #mermay 2023 #yandere talk #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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fanficapologist · 2 days

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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 One Hundred & One

“Your Grace?”

The Grand Maester’s chambers were dimly lit, the only light coming from a few flickering candles scattered across the room and the muted glow of a small hearth. Shelves lined the stone walls, filled with leather-bound tomes, jars of herbs, and countless vials of strange, murky liquids. A faint, musty odor clung to the air, a blend of old parchment and medicinal concoctions. The room was cluttered but organized, each item clearly having its place, from scrolls stacked neatly on the desk to tools used for various experiments.

Vaegon sat at a sturdy oak desk near the center of the chamber, quill in hand, scratching away at a letter with quick, deliberate strokes. As soon as he noticed Maera at the entrance, he rose immediately, setting aside his quill.

He bowed his head in respect. “I am surprised to see you here.”

The Queen’s gaze wandered as she stepped inside, trying to distract herself from the unease that had followed her into the chamber. Her eyes landed on one of Vaegon’s juniors in the far corner, hunched over a small table. The apprentice was carefully dissecting a dead toad, its insides laid bare as he poked and prodded with a tiny scalpel. Maera shuddered involuntarily, a wave of revulsion washing over her at the sight.

Vaegon’s voice pulled her back to the present, his words cutting through her discomfort. “Is it your collarbone that troubles you, Your Grace?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. His gaze dropped to her shoulder, recalling the wound she had sustained in battle.

Maera’s hand instinctively brushed over the spot, her fingers tracing the faint scar hidden beneath her dress. “No,” she replied softly, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought. “It’s fully healed now, thanks to your care.” She paused for a moment, steadying herself before continuing. “I’m here for another matter entirely.” Her voice was calm, though a current of anxiety underlined her words, the reason for her visit still weighing heavily on her mind.

The Grand Maester’s violet eyes remained fixed on Maera, studying her closely as she stood before him. The Queen fiddled with the sleeve of her green and black dress, her fingers twisting the fabric as if it might anchor her swirling thoughts. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as she gathered the courage to speak.

"My moons blood has still not returned," she said, her voice measured yet betraying a hint of vulnerability. She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before she continued, her tone softer now, almost as if admitting a weakness. "And…I’m concerned about my ability to have more children."

Vaegon scratched at his beard, his fingers moving slowly through the wiry silver strands as he considered her words. He hummed thoughtfully, the silence stretching for a beat before he spoke. "You are still feeding your daughter yourself, Your Grace," he began, his tone steady, almost placating.

Before he could continue, Maera shook her head sharply, cutting him off. "I know," she said, her frustration seeping through. Closing her eyes, she sighed, her fingers still tugging at her sleeve as her green eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I just need to be sure there’s nothing to worry about."

Maester Vaegon gave a slow, understanding nod, his expression softening. Without a word, he turned and called over to his junior, who was still hunched over the dissected toad, his concentration unwavering. The young man flicked his eyes up, his brow lifting slightly in question. At Vaegon’s command, he rose from his seat, carefully setting down his tools.

"The Queen requires an examination," the Grand Maester ordered, his tone firm yet respectful. The junior apprentice nodded quickly, setting aside his previous task and washing his hands in a basin nearby. He approached Maera with caution, his demeanor professional, though the faintest flicker of nervousness crossed his face as he stood before the Queen, preparing for the task at hand.

As the junior beckoned Maera to a nearby bed, she heard Vaegon clear his throat. “I will give you privacy, Your Grace,” he said with a respectful nod, before turning to walk toward the door.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Maera called out softly, “Wait.” Vaegon stopped in his tracks, turning to meet her gaze.

Despite the tangled feelings she still wrestled with regarding her estranged grandfather, Maera knew she could not deny his skill. He was one of the most learned Maesters in the Realm, and if anyone could provide her with sound advice, it was him. She stood still for a moment, the words catching in her throat, but then she gathered herself. “I would value your opinion as well,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a hint of vulnerability.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Vaegon’s lips, though he quickly masked it with his usual stern expression. “Very well, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone formal, though there was a warmth beneath it. He moved back to his desk, settling in quietly as the junior prepared the examination.

Behind a modest screen, Maera lay on the basic bed, the fabric of her dress hitched up to her hips, her smallclothes discarded. The cold air of the chamber chilled her exposed skin as the junior Maester began his work, his hands clinical and detached but still foreign. Maera clenched her jaw, her breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts. On the other side of the screen, Grand Maester Vaegon’s quill scratched steadily against parchment, the rhythmic sound a strange comfort amidst the invasive touches.

The sheet beneath her fingers crumpled as she clutched it tighter, her knuckles turning pale. Her body tensed, each sensation drawing her further into herself, her mind seeking solace in thoughts of duty and legacy. All had to be well; there was no other option. For the Realm, for her husband, for the future she was meant to secure.

As the junior Maester withdrew his hand, Maera hissed at the sharp discomfort that followed. He looked up at her with a blank expression, offering no immediate reassurance. She frowned, trying to read his face, but there was nothing there. "I am finished, my Queen," he said stiffly, stepping back from the bed.

Her heart sank slightly. There was no way to tell what he was thinking. Was there something wrong? He made a quick, nervous bow before adding, "I just need to consult with the Grand Maester," and hurried away, disappearing behind the screen.

The Queen sat up slowly, her body still tense as she readjusted her undergarments and smoothed the folds of her skirts. The room felt colder now, and her anxiety surged as she strained to hear the conversation between the two Maesters. Their voices were low, barely above whispers, but her senses were heightened. She heard fragments of the junior's voice, followed by Grand Maester Vaegon’s quiet but firm, "Are you quite sure?"

The junior continued to murmur, his tone cautious, and Maera’s patience wore thin. What were they saying? Why weren’t they telling her? The uncertainty gnawed at her until she could stand it no longer. Without a word, she hopped down from the bed, her shoes hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. The modesty screen scraped loudly as she moved it aside, the sound echoing through the chamber.

She strode toward them, her arms crossed, her green eyes flashing with frustration. "Well?" she asked, her voice cool and demanding, though her heart pounded with dread beneath the surface.

Grand Maester Vaegon glanced at her before nodding to the junior. "Thank you," he said, his tone measured. "You may study in the library for now. I expect you to read up on this.”

The junior’s eyes flicked nervously from Maera to Vaegon before he quickly bowed. "Yes, Grand Maester," he said, turning on his heel to leave.

Before he could step out of the room, Vaegon’s voice followed him like a command. "And remember," he said sternly, "this does not leave this room." The young Maester nodded, his face pale, before scurrying out through the heavy wooden door, leaving Maera alone with her grandfather.

She remained rooted to her spot, her arms still crossed, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. His expression was frustratingly unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his violet eyes—the same shade as her husband and daughter—betrayed little. She searched his face for any hint of emotion, wondering why he had sent the junior away to study instead of revealing what he had discovered.

“What does he need to read up on?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

The Grand Maester didn’t answer immediately, his eyes drifting down to the parchments strewn across his desk. It was maddening. Anxiety crept up on her like a shadow, tightening around her chest with each passing second of silence.

She studied him more closely, trying to decipher what lingered beneath his calm exterior. His age had weathered his face, but beneath the lines and stern expression, there was something else—an echo of protectiveness, almost familial. It struck her how much he reminded her of her mother in that moment, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly, but still held something back.

“Is something wrong?” Maera asked, her voice more fragile than she intended, a crack in her usually firm demeanor.

Vaegon remained quiet, his silence gnawing at her. Her nerves wound tighter, coiling into a knot of dread deep within her belly. She chewed on her bottom lip, her mind spiraling. It was too much to bear—the waiting, the not knowing. The thought of not being able to bear more children clawed at her, turning her fear into something raw and aching.

“Is it—” she began again, her voice barely above a whisper this time, “Am I… unable to have more children?”

Finally, Vaegon sighed, a deep and weary sound. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and for the first time, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary, my Queen.”

Maera’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with the relief she desperately wanted to feel. The Grand Maester stepped forward, his gaze gentle but firm as he delivered the news. “You are with child.”

There was a silence in the room following the news. After some time, the Queen found herself sat at one of the wooden desks, her elbow propped on the desk, her chin resting on her hand. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, as her mind grappled with the news. With child. The phrase echoed in her thoughts, tangling with the myriad emotions surging through her. It should have been simple relief, yet it wasn’t.

Across the room, the soft clinking of metal and glass caught her ear as Grand Maester Vaegon prepared a tray of refreshments. She heard the jug being carefully set down, the faint chime of plates being arranged with precision. The mundane sounds of his work contrasted with the rapid heartbeat in her chest, grounding her, even as her mind raced.

The news had landed like a stone, sending ripples through the carefully constructed calm she had built for herself. Now, those ripples threatened to become waves. She was with child again. The Realm would get its heir—or so she hoped. She traced small, idle patterns on the wooden surface of the desk with her finger, her thoughts swirling in sync with the repetitive motion.

Happiness... relief...But also fear. So much could go wrong, she knew that all too well. The pressures of the crown, the expectations of the Realm, the fragility of pregnancy—all of it weighed on her, heavier than any crown she had ever worn.

The soft thud of footsteps approached, and Maera looked up as Vaegon came to her side, the tray now in his hands. He placed a plate and cup gently in front of her, his old hands steady despite their age. Maera glanced at the offering as the Grand Maester poured water into her goblet, his movements careful, deliberate, as if trying to soothe her with the smallest of gestures.

A slice of pie was placed on her plate—small, simple, but a kind reminder that she should eat. Maera stared at it for a moment, her appetite absent despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She exhaled slowly, the enormity of the situation beginning to settle, but the knot of emotions in her chest refused to unwind. Vaegon sat beside her now, his presence steady and unintrusive, allowing her the space she needed to process the news. The silent support of her estranged grandfather was unexpected but appreciated.

The Queen picked up her fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a piece of the pie toward her mouth. But just as it was about to reach her lips, she stopped. A wave of confusion swept over her, and she slowly placed the fork back down. Pushing the plate away, she looked at Vaegon, her brow furrowing.

"I don’t understand," she murmured, her voice quiet but laced with frustration. Her eyes fixed on the Grand Maester, seeking clarity. "My moons blood hasn’t returned. I thought... after childbirth, its return meant a woman was fit to conceive again. How could I be with child if—" She trailed off, her hand resting on her abdomen, the weight of her uncertainty pressing down on her once more.

Vaegon chewed thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of his food before swallowing. His violet eyes softened as he considered her words, but there was no surprise in his expression. Instead, he offered her a small, almost nostalgic smile.

"I have seen this before," he began, his voice calm, measured. "Among the lowborn women, those who have no choice but to nurse their babes themselves." He seemed to recall memories of his earlier years, his smile growing faintly as if remembering the simpler days when he worked among the common folk. "The womb can prepare itself for another child before the woman is even aware. Even without the return of the moons blood."

Maera nodded slowly, taking in his words, though the confusion still lingered in her mind. She picked up her fork again, this time without hesitation, and took a small bite of the pie. The savory taste of mushroom filled her mouth, and despite everything swirling within her, she found herself appreciating the flavor.

For a brief moment, she let the food ground her, allowing the familiar taste to bring some semblance of normalcy back to her. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, her mind still whirring, but the edge of her anxiety had dulled. She had to admit, for all her misgivings about Vaegon, the man’s extensive knowledge was invaluable. Despite the complicated nature of their relationship, she understood that he was definitely well-suited for his role, and was glad that she had selected him.

Lost in her thoughts, Maera barely noticed the gentle brush of a hand against her own. Her green eyes flicked up, meeting the violet gaze of her estranged grandfather. Vaegon quickly withdrew his hand, as though startled by his own action, his expression betraying a rare flicker of uncertainty. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered to barely a whisper. “If this is not something you want…”

Maera furrowed her brow, unsure of what he meant at first. But then, with a sudden clarity, she realized what he was asking. Judging by her earlier reaction—her confusion, her silence, the shock in her eyes—it must have seemed as though the news of the pregnancy had unsettled her deeply, perhaps even as though she did not welcome it. Vaegon, with his quiet voice and thoughtful gaze, was giving her a choice. He was subtly offering her an out, something she hadn’t expected, and the understanding dawned on her that he would handle whatever decision she made with the utmost discretion.

Her heart quickened for a moment, but then she quickly shook her head, her voice breaking the silence that had settled between them. “No, no, that’s not it.” She spoke quickly, almost stumbling over her words in her haste to correct him. “I… I’m just in shock, that’s all.”

She let out a shaky sigh, feeling the weight of the situation settle more heavily on her shoulders. Maera leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead as if trying to ease the tension gathering there. “The King needs an heir,” she said, her voice firmer now, as though she were reminding herself of her duty. “And the Realm needs stability.”

However even as she said it, her thoughts drifted to Aemara, her baby girl still so small, still so dependent on her. A pained expression flickered across Maera’s face, and her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where her heart ached with the thought of being pulled in so many directions. “But Aemara… she still needs me.” Her voice softened as she spoke aloud the thoughts that had been haunting her since Vaegon had delivered the news.

Her eyes clouded with worry, the enormity of what lay ahead threatening to overwhelm her. As a Queen, she was bound by duty to the Realm. As a mother, her heart belonged to Aemara. Would she able to love another child as much as she loved her daughter? Would this pregnancy hinder her from being the best possible mother?

And then of course there was the war. Aemond would surely worry about Maera riding in this condition, but Ēbrion was a crucial tool in battle strategy. If the Blacks sensed weakness, they would surely take advantage. This was all so frustrating. How could she balance all of this, especially when each role demanded so much from her?

She heard the soft sound of a chuckle from across the room, unexpected enough to draw her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up to find Grand Maester Vaegon looking at her with a rare softness in his violet eyes.

"I remember when my wife fell pregnant," he said, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. “It was something she always wanted and yet she was still so nervous.”

Maera furrowed her brow, her curiosity piqued. It was the first time he had ever spoken of his personal life. Of the blood that bound them. Of anything beyond their duties and relationship as Queen and Grand Maester. She had always known little about him beyond the fact that he was her estranged grandfather, a truth he had only recently confessed. She shifted slightly in her chair, the tension in her shoulders tightening. Now, with this small opening, it seemed as good a time as any to explore further.

"And you?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm, as if unsure whether she was crossing a line. Vaegon quirked an eyebrow at her question, his expression neutral but clearly considering her words. He tilted his head, and Maera reworded her inquiry, her own curiosity pushing her to press on. "How did you feel? When you found out she was pregnant?"

The Grand Maester let out a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I felt relieved," he said after a moment. "There was... less pressure. Less need for the marital duties required of me." His voice was calm, but there was a detachment in it, as though even now he held those memories at arm’s length, viewing them as part of an obligation rather than something emotional.

The Queen’s heart tightened at his words, and without warning, a quick, hot flare of anger surged through her veins. She could feel it boiling just beneath her skin, ignited by the coldness of his reply. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, and her green eyes flashed sharply.

"Yes. And once you completed your duties," she said, her voice cutting through the space between them, "and your wife died in childbirth, you abandoned your daughters the moment they were born."

Her words were a whip, cracking with the bitterness and disappointment she had long buried. The raw truth of her accusation hung in the air between them, both of them knowing there was no way to soften it.

Vaegon’s face didn’t change much, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of something deeper than the impassive facade he normally wore. For a long moment, there was only silence, the weight of her accusation settling heavily in the room. Maera waited, her pulse quickened with her frustration, unsure if he would even respond to something so deeply personal.

“You did not like my late grandmother then?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes as they fixed upon his face.

She expected indifference, perhaps even some curt dismissal of the woman who had given birth to her mother, but Vaegon immediately shook his head. “It wasn’t like that,” he replied, his tone firmer than before. “She was not to…my taste.”

The Queen gasped at the sheer disrespect in his words. “How dare you—” she began, her anger flaring up, ready to chastise him for speaking so callously of the woman who had borne his children, who had played a vital role in their family’s lineage.

But before she could unleash her full fury, Vaegon raised his hands in defence. “The fault was with me, not her.”

Maera rolled her eyes, folding her arms tightly across her chest, her frustration with the Grand Maester barely held at bay. He continued, his voice a little quieter now, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Lady Edme,” he began, “wanted more. A loving marriage. A husband who could give her… everything.” His voice wavered for a moment, and Maera noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of his gown, a nervous tic she’d never seen from him before.

He took a shaky breath, one that seemed to catch in his throat before he muttered, almost too quietly for her to hear, “But due to my affliction, I couldn’t give it to her.”

The Queen’s brow furrowed, confusion replacing her anger. “Affliction?” she asked, genuinely puzzled now. Vaegon, though old, had always seemed healthy enough. He still performed his duties as Grand Maester with precision and focus. He had never shown signs of any illness or physical impairment whilst at Dragonstone, and she struggled to understand what he was referring to.

The Grand Maester rose from his seat with a slow, deliberate movement, his hands clasped behind his back. His steps were measured, almost hesitant, as he paced the chamber. “My brothers had died within a few years of each other,” he began, his voice low and distant. “Naturally, my father was concerned for the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, knowing the tale well. Aemon, King Jaehaerys’s eldest son, had been next in line to the throne. But Aemon had only conceived a daughter, Princess Rhaenys, with his wife before his untimely passing. And then Baelon, Jaehaerys’s next son, had died a few years later, despite fathering two sons with his sister-wife, Alyssa.

The tragedy of their deaths had thrown the Realm into uncertainty. The question of who would succeed King Jaehaerys had ignited fierce debates and created divisions across the Seven Kingdoms. It was a story Maera had heard many times, but this was different. She had never heard Vaegon’s part in it.

“He said that…” Vaegon continued, his voice strained with something more than mere recollection. “He said that my appetites would change if I just married the right woman.” He paused, and his eyes flicked over to Maera, searching her face, as though the words he was trying to find were buried in her expression. “But I knew they never would.”

His words hung in the air, charged with something Maera could not place at first. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something raw and unspoken. His voice, though measured, trembled with a fear laced beneath the surface of his carefully chosen words. The pacing stopped, and Vaegon stood still, staring at the floor as though the weight of his confession pressed down on him.

Maera’s brows furrowed. She felt the same confusion from earlier tightening in her chest. What did he mean? His appetites wouldn’t change? She had always known him to be a distant figure, cold in his marriage, but now there was something more—something deeper that he was confessing.

And then she saw it, the look in his eyes as he glanced up at her. It was familiar. The same guarded, pained look her elder brother Dermot had worn all those years ago when he tried to explain to her, to their closest siblings, why he would never marry, never father children. A realization slowly dawned on her as the pieces began to fall into place.

The Queen watched as Vaegon threw his head back, a sudden burst of frustration replacing the vulnerability he’d shown moments before. His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them over his face, clearly agitated by the memories. “I begged Jaehaerys,” he muttered, his voice low and biting. “Gods, I begged him to let me join the Citadel, to live a life of study and purpose, one where I could be of use to the Realm without…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. “But he wouldn’t allow it.”

Maera’s green eyes followed his every movement, watching the tension in his body as he paced before her. His tone was sharp, clipped, every word laced with years of frustration. She could see the weight of his past in the lines etched across his face, the conflict in his violet eyes.

Vaegon rubbed his face again, the sound of his rough skin scratching against his beard filling the silence. His tone softened, almost bitter now. “The old King matched me with a young lady of noble birth, and expected me to produce heirs for the sake of the crown and the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, allowing him the space to speak, her confusion ebbing, replaced by understanding. Vaegon had never been able to fulfil the expectations his father and the Realm had placed on him—not because of a lack of desire for power or duty, but because he simply wasn’t made for the life they had wanted for him. His detachment, his coldness toward his wife, toward his duties as a husband and father, all stemmed from something more intrinsic, something he had hidden for years.

The Maester’s pacing slowed, and finally, with a deep, exhausted sigh, he approached the table once more, sitting down heavily in the chair beside her. His earlier anger drained away, leaving behind only sorrow. His violet gaze grew distant, as if he were no longer in the room but trapped in some painful memory. “Edme knew,” he said quietly. “She wasn’t a fool, and she was not happy. How could she be? Her marriage was a sham.”

The Queen observed him in silence, giving the elderly man the chance to continue. She could see the sadness pooling in his eyes, the regret that clung to him like a shadow. Vaegon, for all his faults, had been bound by a life he had no control over, his choices made for him by others.

A small, almost wistful smile crept onto his face. “But the Gods took pity on me,” he said softly, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “Jaehaerys, in his final days, knew his death was near, and in those moments of urgency, he finally named Viserys his successor. And when the old King finally died, I did not feel sadness. Only relief.”

The Queen silently empathized with him, feeling the weight of his words settle into her chest. Her thoughts drifted to her own father, Lord Jasper Wylde, whose controlling hand had shaped so much of her youth. How many times had he tried to mold her into something she wasn’t?

He had banned her from sparring with her brothers, insisting it was unbecoming of a lady of noble blood. When her reputation had been tarnished by a scorned suitor, it was she who was blamed, not the man who had slandered her name. Her father’s chastisements had been relentless whenever she spoke out of turn or dared to question his authority.

It was exhausting, the constant weight of his disapproval, the way his gaze would cut her down with every word that slipped from her lips. She had loved him and tried to earn his favor, to be the daughter he wanted her to be, but nothing was ever enough for him. In a twisted way, she too had felt her own sense of relief when he died.

Vaegon’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he continued to share his story. “Edme unfortunately passed away in childbirth, but had given me two daughters. No sons to continue the legacy, no sons for the throne. In the eyes of the Realm, a daughter could not be an heir. And they were therefore disposable.”

Maera felt a pang in her chest at his words, thinking of her own daughter, Aemara, so small and vulnerable. She wondered if her own child was to be viewed the same by the world; not as valuable as a son, her worth determined by her marriage and the children she produced. The Queen shook her head, keeping her worries to herself and said nothing, listening intently as the Grand Maester continued.

“I named them both after my sisters,” Vaegon went on, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. “Gael and Viserra. I ensured their future, made sure they were safe with their mother’s family. They were better off with their grandparents.” He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table as if he were measuring the weight of his next words. “And after that… I approached the new King.”

Maera watched as the old man grinned at the memory. “I could immediately tell that my nephew didn’t want to be king,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “Not really. He accepted it, of course, but I always knew he’d have been happier with less. We were close in age, you see, and in many ways, I think he understood me more than my own father ever did. After presenting my case, he allowed me to join the Citadel, no questions asked.”

The Queen studied him as he spoke, taking in the details of the old man before her. Vaegon had led a complicated life, one filled with expectations he had never wanted, duties he had fought to escape. And yet, despite running from the responsibilities that had been forced upon him, here he was, at the side of his granddaughter—the daughter of the very daughter he had abandoned all those years ago.

Maera couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had intervened once more, drawing him back into her life as if to make amends for his past. The same man who had once fled from the burdens of his birthright now served her, the Queen, with quiet loyalty and wisdom. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was the Gods, tying the loose threads of their bloodline back together in this strange, unexpected way.

Vaegon let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his confession. “I know this is probably not what you wish to hear, nor are my reasons excuses.” His violet eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a vulnerability she had never seen in him before.“I only wished to be honest with you.”

The Queen remained silent for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. As she looked at the old man before her, common themes began to thread themselves together in her mind like a familiar, haunting pattern on an ancient tapestry. Fathers who could not accept their children for who they were. Men and women forced into roles they never wanted. Daughters discarded, thought of as less than sons. The same stories, repeating through the generations, an endless cycle of pain and rejection. When would it finally end?

She reached out across the table, her fingers brushing against Vaegon’s hand. The old man’s gaze lifted to meet hers, his breath catching in his throat. Maera’s grip was firm but gentle, her green eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him hold his breath. “You speak of an affliction. Like it is an illness. A disease. Something to be disgusted by or to be treated.”

Vaegon’s expression froze, fear and uncertainty swirling in his eyes as he awaited her next words, bracing himself for whatever judgment might follow.

But Maera’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint, compassionate smile. “Yet you could not be more wrong,” she told him firmly, squeezing his hand for emphasis. Vaegon exhaled, the breath he had been holding escaping shakily from his lips.

The Queen held his hand tightly, the warmth of her touch reassuring as she continued. “My brother, Dermot, needs no cure,” she said quietly, her voice filled with conviction. “And neither do you. We are how the Gods made us. And the sooner the world stops trying to change us, the better a place it will be.”

The anger Maera had harbored towards her estranged grandfather had lessened, but it hadn’t entirely disappeared. The weight of the pain and betrayal he had caused her family still lingered, and she knew it would take time for her to truly let it go. She watched him carefully, the tension between them easing, yet still present.

"Whilst I don’t excuse your actions towards my aunt and mother," Maera said slowly, her voice steady but softened, "I understand you better now." Her green eyes searched Vaegon’s face, watching as the old man nodded in quiet acceptance. He didn’t attempt to justify himself any further, and Maera could sense that he wasn’t expecting forgiveness, only acknowledgment.

The chamber fell into a comfortable silence, something new and unspoken shifting between them. Maera realized that her relationship with Vaegon had changed—improved, even. The weight of their past wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now, and there was a mutual respect where only resentment had existed before.

Vaegon cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Can we keep what I have told you in this room?" he asked, his voice cautious but not pleading. He was asking for her trust.

The Queen nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, but before fully agreeing, she paused. "On one condition," she added, watching as his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "That you extend me the same courtesy."

The old man tilted his head, unsure of what she was asking. "You mean you don’t wish to tell the King?" His violet eyes, still sharp despite his age, studied her carefully.

Maera hummed softly, the corners of her lips curling into a smile as she glanced down at her stomach. She placed her hand gently over it, feeling the warmth of her body, the quiet stirrings of life within. "Aemond is protective. I do not wish him to worry," she explained, her voice light, though there was an underlying seriousness in her words. She lifted her gaze to meet Vaegon’s again. "I will tell him when the time is right."

Vaegon nodded, understanding the weight of the secret she was choosing to carry. He had spent a lifetime holding onto his own, and though he had never been free of it, he respected her decision. His lips curved into a rare grin, a flash of warmth breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. "It seems," he said, his tone light, "the future just became a bit more hopeful."

Notes: gay grandpa 🏳️‍🌈 pregnant queen 🤰🏻 smut next chapter 🔥

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

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

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11queensupreme11 · 8 months

Note

Hello queen sorry if I am bothering you, But I really wanted to ask, it's been stuck in my mind since the first couple of married to noble man scenarios*

Have you watched house of dragons?

There is this scene where the queen is having trouble giving birth and the king is asked to choose between the wife or his heir and needless to say the king chooses his child, and it's horrible because the queen is screaming as she is being held down and being cut open and she dies because of the blood loss and shock.

This is a Percy married to a noble man au

What if Percy was pregnant with her first child and it, lets say one of the yanderes I would say Hades because he is the first before any other yandere like Beelzebub second and Apollo third and the last Loki(that's how it was in the last au), but let's say that she is struggling to give birth and the baby is breeched but noble man husband has to choose either save Percy or the baby, noble man knows that the child she is having isn't his but if Percy dies he can remarry and not worry about divorcing her let alone facing her father if she died of 'natural child birthing' and the child he can gladly hand over the child to grandfather Poseidon and no issue(so he thinks).

What if Poseidon arrives when he hears news that Percy is giving birth and once he walks into the birthing room she is in, he sees that she is literally being held down and by several maids and the healer with a scalpel just barely making the first cut on her swollen belly and see the incision is bleeding, Percy looks up at him her face pale with dark bags and with tears and horror filled eyes as she spits out a roll of cloth from her mouth where the maids tried to keep her quiet and screams

"Daddy help me!"

What would happen? How will Poseidon react and how will the other yandere react when they hear what happened to Percy?

I can't imagine the amount of genocide that will happen, all I know is Poseidon will be taking her back to his domain and keeping her and her child who turned out to be a baby boy with silver hair and 'suspicious' purple leaf like markings, where they will be safe and away from others.

THAT NOBLEMAN IS GONNA SUFFER FOR ALL OF ETERNITY. HE IS NEVER GONNA DIE, HE IS FOREVER GONNA BE TORTURED BECAUSE HOLY SHIT DID HE FUCK UP

its not just poseidon and the yans he needs to worry about, literally all of valhalla (gods, nature spirits, and humans alike) are gonna want a change to rip this dude a new one.

(i mean, if poseidon manages to restrain himself enough to NOT immediately kill this dude in the hospital room ofc)

he is immediately ordering the nobleman AND every single person working in that mansion/castle to be tossed to tartarus (hades and adamas would happily help with that). then he'd order every single god and goddess of healing (apollo), childbirth, midwifery, etc AND BEELZEBUB OFC to come and save his daughter and grandchild.

honestly, this all could've been avoided if that stupid nobleman just called beelzebub or apollo once she started going into labor but noooo he had to be an idiot and trust some random ass servants 💀

once percy and the baby is safe and the nobleman is facing punishment, poseidon is NEVER letting them out of his sight ever again. remarrying isn't gonna happen either. he's keeping his daughter and grandchild home PERMANENTLY

unfortunately for him, the yans have other ideas 👀

#👸🏻| arsenic blues #👸🏻| asks

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holewithinahole · 1 year

Text

Brown and Green | Olivia Octavius x Reader

Summary: After the accident with the collider, you end up on Earth 1610 in the Alchemax building. Dr Olivia Octavius is here to greet you. You can't help but notice all the resemblances with your own Octavius.

Ao3 Link

Warnings: shameless smut, no genitalia specified, no pronouns specified (reader), tentacle sex, restraints, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fantasising, non-native writer

I hesitated posting it here, but we don't post non-beta'd shit to be a coward. I wrote this in a few hours and took three days to resign myself and just post it. But after seeing Across the Spider-Verse, I had to re-watch the first one and I was, once again, hit in the face by my bisexuality and my obsession towards Dr Octavius. Tell me I'm not the only one...

Oh, reader is part of the Spider-Verse, I wrote with no gender nor genitalia in mind, I hope everyone can enjoy it!

Ok. Let’s do this one more time, shall we?

My name? Not really important because for the last few years, I’ve been the one and only Spiderman. You all know the story by now: being bitten by a radioactive spider which suddenly allows you to skip workout, the loss of a loved one... The usual Spidey-stuff.

I shoot my webs; I swing from Brooklyn to Queens to the Bronx to stop supervillains, rescue cats stuck in trees and help your grandma cross the road.

One day as I was doing my super-work, something weird happened: a flash of light and boom, I was in New York. But not my New York, a new New York. As for where I crashed, well–

“You seem tensed, Spiderman.”

You can feel your bones crack as those weirdly smooth, plastic-y tentacles wrap tighter and tighter around you.

“You, ow–” you hiss, out of breath. “You could say that.”

A shimmering laugh answers you and it’s just so weird. But after all, what could you expect from a parallel universe? You still have a hard time wrapping your head around the whole concept of dimension warping… and alternate versions of your enemies.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Dr Olivia Octavius.” She draws closer, that ridiculously hot smirk at the corner of her lips.

Fuck, can you concentrate for once?

“It sounds like you already knew the answer,” she says. With her free hands, she pulls her curly hair up, rebellious strands framing her face. Is amazing hair a multi-universal law for all Doc Ocks?

“‘Can’t say that I did–” you pause as long gloved fingers slide under the edge of your mask. “Hey! That’s a no-no, lady!”

She snaps the mask right off your face, an interested glimmer in her eyes. You feel like a mouse spread apart for dissection and she sure looks ready to whip out a scalpel. Was she really hiding a complete latex suit underneath her clothes? Not to be the one to pat supervillains on their shoulders to congratulate them on a job well done, but she really mastered the inconspicuous chemistry teacher cosplay.

Focus.

“It is quite fortunate that your portal opened here,” Octavius says conversationally as she readjusts her gloves. “I would have hated to run after you everywhere in the city.”

“Oh, you know me.” Your shrug looks like an uncontrolled twitch of your shoulder. “Always glad to help.”

“Indeed,” she chuckles. She grabs your face, inspecting it from every angle, ignoring your string of offended words. At the corner of your eye, an actuator reaches for a– ah, there is the scalpel. “Now…”

Oh hell no…

“Hey! Hey lady–“ Struggling is pointless and the more you try, the more she grins. “Olivia– can I call you Liv’?”

Octavius laughs. “Only my friends call me Liv.”

“We can be friends I’m sure.” You make sure to put on your best smolder. It looks painfully ineffective. “Or, you know, we can come to an arrangement.”

She raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t answer. She’s not considering it, is she? That’d be a lucky day for the smolder – not that it doesn’t usually work of course (It doesn’t.) You keep smiling but her slow approach makes all your senses – spider and regular, tingle. It takes all of your brain power to tame your fight-or-flight response and not recoil as much as you can.

Are you seriously sweating right now?

“Oh, that’s rich.” Her smile is predatory. “Is it a usual Spiderman tactic to try to seduce their enemies?”

The actuators tighten even more around your torso. The discreet cough you let out widens her smile.

Toothy.

“Perhaps not in your universe.”

You’re relieved when the scalpel is dropped carelessly on the table behind her. Even more relieved when the tentacles lessen their grip around you. Your relief is soon replaced by surprise as one of them curls slowly around your left leg. It’s definitely better than being cut open, right?

“Alright, little spider.” Octavius stares down at you. “I’ll entertain the idea.”

Right?

In a blur, she steps in between your legs, helped by the arm holding your limb hostage. “And to answer your question…” Her hand comes to rest in the dip of your hip, feeling up muscles under her fingertips. Somehow it’s this simple gesture that sends a strong shiver through your nervous system.

“You can call me ‘Doctor’ from now on.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Liv.” The actuator tightens around your throat. “Doctor!”

A low laugh answers you. And that’s just not fair. Octavius has you in the most vulnerable state you’ve ever been in. Except perhaps that time when you had to face Captain Stacy, near the corpse of your bestfrie— oops, no, wrong mind folder. The most physically vulnerable you’ve ever been then.

“You never stop talking, do you?”

Earlier, Octavius had taken all the time in the world to push your arms out of your suit, her actuators handling you like a puppet, until your torso was bare for her to enjoy. You did try to yank at the tentacles keeping both your arms secured behind your back but thanks to whatever kind of sick machinery she put in them, they just wouldn’t budge. You were genuinely impressed at the technology allowing those arms to both be flexible and unbreakable. Even your Octavius had to favor titanium steel when he built his own.

The actuator that isn’t wrapped around your throat – a menacing yet tantalizing statement, or holding your limbs down, creeps from the top of your thigh to your chest, not unlike a viper chasing for its food.

Ah yes, the situation at hand.

“To be fair,” you huff. “You love to hear yourself talk as well.”

“You seem to know a lot about me, little spider.” Her hand travels from your hip to the underside of your right thigh. “Altercations with my alter-self then?”

You chuckle, a breathy fucking embarrassing thing. “Oh, plenty.”

Your suit pools uncomfortably at the bottom of your stomach, the sleeves flapping underneath you. It must be so practical to have strong mechanical arms capable of holding your enemy one meter above the ground without even breaking a sweat. But you feel way too warm. Isn’t it hot right now? Isn’t she hot?

Oh, she definitely is, submit your traitorous mind.

“I’m sure we must have been tormenting you intensely.” She giggles, examining a large scar running from your pectoral to your lower belly. With a finger, she traces it like words on paper.

“That’s from you, actually.”

Your Octavius had looked so smug when it happened.

She looks up, smirking. “His actuators are way more pointy than yours,” you explain.

The double-entendre doesn’t go unnoticed, but she doesn’t comment. “Actuators, uh? I haven’t heard this denomination in a while, since my research paper on radioactivity in fact.”

“Yeah, I did my homework.”

You exhale shortly when the teasing actuator wrapped itself around your middle section allowing the others to tug at your suit. Octavius stopped her reverential petting to observe the spandex clinging to your skin, slowly displaying your legs and your underwear-clad pelvis like an exhibit. A free one at that, with free food and everything.

“So,” Octavius asks after discarding the suit to a corner of the room. “What’s the name of my counterpart?”

Both her hands come resting on your legs again. “Otto,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

“Funny,” she says, taking her sweet time feeling your backside muscles. She likes to grope, doesn’t she? “That’s the name of my father.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Ew, what a way to kill the mood, lady.”

Strangely, she doesn’t mention your slip, simply laughing while resting her palm on your– nether regions. The mood is far from being killed however judging by the humiliating wetness spreading through your underwear. She presses her palm down a little forcefully, and you moan loudly. Raising an eyebrow, it’s with a certain – perhaps misplaced – curiosity that she alternates between stroking up and down and toying with the tips of her fingers any potentially sensitive region. And you can’t contain the noise.

To be fair, you’ve never really been ashamed of anything.

There’s a daze settling in your mind, a fog behind your eyes as you only focus on the diffuse pleasure settling down there. You’re pulsating, every blood vessel tight, engorged as a blush spreads on your skin. You’re drifting, fuck– you’re so–

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to reflect on the fact that you obeyed so eagerly because her touch's gone and it's the only thing you can focus on at the moment. She knows that too because her smugness is plastered all over her face – some things never change, and you want to cum all over her arrogant little smile.

“That’s–” you struggle to catch your breath. “So uncool.”

“The arrangement is you get out of here alive and I,” Octavius smirks. “get to do what I want with you.”

The shiver that travels through you speaks volumes. So the key to the ultimate fuck was ‘travel to a parallel universe’ all along? Talk about a joke.

“Now.” She straightens up, towering over you. “Tell me a little more about your Otto.”

The tentacles raise you higher in the air, pushing your hips at almost eye-level to Octavius.

“Self-centered much?” You joke, trying to ignore the actuator crawling along your leg.

“Curious,” she replies, enjoying the show. “You didn’t go around flexing those beautiful muscles in front of his face, did you?”

“What–” You try not to blush but fuck– it’s hard to concentrate when there’s the equivalent of an alien tentacle nuzzling you through your underwear. “Hey! I’m a very respectable – ah!, person ok?”

She laughs loudly at that. “It’s not a no, is it?”

“It’s part of the job!” You huff, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing ever happened with Otto. I care about my life, you know.”

“But not enough to avoid trying your ridiculous seduction tactics on me?”

You wonder if there’s a sliver of internalized misogyny reprimanded somewhere but, in your defense, the smooth head of the actuator now slowly creeping towards your opening is hard not to focus on.

“Worth a shot?” you pant.

You let out a surprised groan as the rough feeling of your underwear breaches your entrance, pushed inside by the blunt head of the mechanical arm. Not nearly enough to truly be inside but the movement is a warning at worst, a promise at best.

For fuck’s sake, listen to yourself.

As the actuator keeps pushing against your hole, you’re assaulted by the wet sound your garment does as it moves. It’s reminiscent of your evenings alone in your shitty apartment when you have enough time to tease the shit out of you. And as Octavius’ hand is back on your crotch, sensations and recollections drive you mad, spilling moans and gasps from your open mouth. Are you going to cum just like this? Groped through your pants and your hole teased like a fucking teenager? You’re too old for that.

Octavius hums to herself, observing you and cataloguing all your reactions as she would do for her research. Her undivided attention on you is exhilarating, and you watch her through half-lidded eyes wishing you could see the curious glint in those wide brown pupils.

What the fuck?

“You seem out of it, Spiderman.” She chuckles. “Drifting away?”

You gulp. “You could say that.”

It’s like she can see right through you. “Fuck– I’m–”

She suddenly disengages, leaving you once again panting, muscles tensed under smooth plastic. “Oops,” she giggles. “Butterfingers.”

You can only stare, heart skipping a beat. She couldn’t possibly have–

“Let me help you with that.”

In seconds, she discards you of any remaining pieces of clothing, holding you upright in all your naked glory. Still dizzy from everything, the touches, the words, you don’t say anything.

“Well then.” She tilts her head to the side. “Spider got your tongue?”

As latex-clad fingers dip inside your mouth before you can even muster a clever answer, you let out a moan, obsessed with the slick feeling of spit on her gloves. Lost in thought, a smooth arm soon takes its rightful place on your groin, pocking, rubbing and your sex glistens, sticky and sensitive to the air. Octavius keeps pressing her fingers down your tongue, sampling every single strand of your DNA when she pulls them away. Now that she’s so close, you can see her green eyes through her goggles. Wait, green?

“Have I finally broken you, little spider?”

Her laugh is supposed to be taunting but it just releases another spike of arousal through your whole body as if she somehow managed to alter your genes, confuse every nerve. Your entire self had changed with a single bite from a radioactive spider, who said you couldn’t go through the same process all over again?

“Not by a long shot,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“If I’d known it’d be this easy…” Her wet fingers graze against a hard nipple and you bite your tongue to not release another embarrassing noise. “Perhaps your Otto should take lessons.”

You let out a breathy moan, weak against the surge of all those sensory attacks and perhaps from the superposition of brown and green, tiptoeing the leyline linking her universe to yours. Unlike him, she seems to see right through you, deciphering the codex of your fantasies with a single look.

“You should describe him to me.”

“What?” you sutter. “What for–”

The twist sears through you, making your knees shake, pleasure distorting pain. The actuator against your throat tightens imperceptibly, just enough to make you remember its presence.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Are we alike?”

You scoff. “Not at all. He’s…”

A pain in the ass. Always in the way, always stealing money, always speaking about grand schemes and higher purposes. Completely mad, a total whacko, undeniably intelligent, brilliant–

“Tall.”

It makes her laugh. The touch of the actuators against your feverish skin is almost enough to cool it down. “And?”

“Uh, large?” you mutter. “He’s like a mountain or– something…”

One hand keeps playing with your nipples as the other traces random figures along your stomach which, you realize, aren’t random at all but just the complex network of your battle marks. When she runs a finger along the scar adorning your torso, you gasp softly and her gaze is all-knowing. Octavius drives you insane, and you’ll soon be complete putty in her hands, using your body as she pleases while you’re assaulted with visions of large hands and uncovered skin.

“He has uh…”

Get a fucking grip.

“Uh, he has short brown hair.”

You realize that her spit-covered fingers have travelled all the way down when she uncaringly presses a digit inside. Breath knocked out of your chest, you still hiss at the dry and unpleasant sensation but the lone actuator is quick to distract you again. When you think you had enough time to gather all your unholy thoughts and the remnants of your oxygen, her finger is joined by another, spreading you open.

“What else?” she asks, focused on her task.

You sigh, annoyed. “He has brown eyes–”

The actuator’s head suddenly splits open, revealing four small appendages and the opening of the tube that controls it. It stares at you, almost mocking, and you can’t take your eyes off it before it starts to dip down.

“Wait, wait, what do you think you’re doing–”

The echo of Octavius’ laugh is registered far at the back of your mind as the arm traps the entirety of your sex like the mouth of a carnivorous plant on a powerless bug. You feel it suck, making you throb, sputtering everywhere. The rippling of the plastic membrane makes it look alive as if it was waiting to swallow everything your body has to offer.

“Whe– where they even– fuck!, designed for th–ah!”

Octavius retreats her fingers, laughing again before getting rid of her right glove with her teeth. You try not to dwell on how filthy it is.

Fuck, it’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen.

The suction on your crotch increases and now you can only pant, gasp and droll everywhere. It's a sensation like no other, making you ignore everything else. Nails dip in your cheeks as Octavius grabs your chin to look at you, pride of your current state written all over her face.

“His eyes, you said?”

You want to kill her. “His– eyes?”

“Yes.” She giggles. “I don’t think you finished your sentence.”

You want to kiss her.

The actuator around your throat releases you, leaving you gasping for air. But your relief is brief as it soon slides against your loosened hole, slowly but surely pressing in.

‘They’re– they’re,” you stutter, arching towards her, brain devoid of any coherence. “Brown?”

She grips your face more forcefully and every sensation suddenly comes to a stop. “Have your brain already melted through your ears?”

You whine. “Ok, ok– they’re big, too gentle even–”

She smiles, a predatory thing. Aren’t spiders supposed to be predators? One good, strong suction on your crotch has you moaning so loudly you’re afraid all Achemax will come running in. “Beautiful– he’s–”

The actuator pushes inside smoothly, leaving you a shaking mess, split apart by the chaos of sensations running underneath your skin. No casual sexual encounter could have ever brought you to such a delightful, painfully aroused state. Your senses are attacked, assaulted from every direction as you’re watched, dissected under the gaze of an enemy. Octavius takes immense pleasure watching you completely surrender to her, and you can’t not picture the smug crooked smile of her counterpart in the wrinkles at the corner of her lips. There’s a lot that you could question about yourself if you hadn’t left your higher brain functions under the hands – and the tentacles, of a magnificent opponent.

“I think you have some self-reflection to do, little spider.”

You register the press of her lips late. Still holding your chin in a death grip, she kisses you like a snake strikes its prey. Eyes rolling back as she sinks her teeth into your lower lip, you arch strongly towards her, arms hurting for being held down for so long, legs spasming and chest heaving. Her tongue plunges into your mouth and she sucks at your lips not unlike how her actuators pump in and out of you, suck you dry, drive you insane…

Suddenly, she draws back, exhaling harshly against your reddened lips and you can feel her body moving forward. You only have the time to register that her hips are trusting against the actuator stuck to your crotch before she grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls harshly.

“Come on,” she pants in the crook of your neck. “Break down, sweetheart.”

You come like this, lightning travelling up your spine as you release on the mouth of the actuator, overstimulated by the trusts inside of you and the feeling of Octavius’ teeth on your skin. You spasm like an insect trapped in a web, a mouse constricted by the body of a python, arching, trusting your hips up over and over as the arm milks your orgasm out of you. Your throat is raw, your tongue is heavy and all your muscles scream from overuse but you just can’t stop coming, wetness spreading against your groin. When the actuators finally move away, you drip all over the floor, as your sex pulses, crimson red and spent.

Breathing air like it’s the first time, you try your best to calm your beating heart as you’re finally free from the arms’ grip, lowered on a nearby chair. Octavius lets out a sigh, tugging a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh well.” She smiles. “Good, very good.”

She throws your suit at your face. “You better run, little spider.”

“Uh?” You put it back, ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs.

“This is my gift to you,” she says, putting on a clean glove. “You have five minutes before I hunt you down and use your body for my experiments.”

You laugh awkwardly, voice rough as you limp through the room. “I’ll be gone then. See ya, Doc!”

The giggle she lets out is hunting. As you swing away to central New York, the traces of her abuse all over your body, you think about your Octavius.

Perhaps you’ll try a new technique next time you meet.

#olivia octavius x reader #dr octavius x reader #otto octavius x reader #olivia octavius #into the spiderverse #spiderverse imagine #spiderman imagine

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scp-niche-blorbo-beatdown · 4 days

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Do you think maybe there could be a list of every character submitted so far? Just to know who's gonna be in it and so people can be sure their submissions actually got received n such

Sure! The current list so far is

1. Phillip Deering

2. Chaz Ambrose

3. Wren Masterson/steakshift

4. Dr. Kathrine Anne Scranton/Scalpel

5. Ryoto Hishakaku

6. Placeholder McDoctorate

7. Jessie Tamlin

8. Karcist Varis / SCP-2075

9. Joyce Michales

10. Agent Tangerine

11. Marquise Melun

12. Skitter Marshall

13. Daniil Sokolsky

14. Dr. Abbett

15. Hammie / SCP-8005

16. Queen Mab

17. Jakub “Chmiel” Chmieliński

18. Agent Ira Watts

19. Vampire Boat

20. Director Allan James McInnis

21. Agent Calendar

22. Dr. Barnabas P. Lockwood (SCP-4563)

23. SCP-6693 / Demon McDemonface

24. D-11424 / Tony Marquez

25. Researcher Rowan Raster

26. Dr. Riven Mercer

27. Dr. Mark Kiryu

28. SCP-5595 / Geoffrey Quincy Harrison the Third

29. Rita summers

30. Marya

31. Ilse Reynders

32. Armand / Harmpit

I’m still taking submissions, mostly because I want to learn more blorbos, and just in case some submissions do not have enough character information

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reginaldqueribundus · 1 year

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Could I beat that Star Trek doctor in a fight?

Joseph M'Benga: no. god no. the man was so good at murder they tried to get him to quit his doctor job and go back to it. trust me you don't want that smoke

T'Ana: no way. she's angry all the time and she's part cat. she would kick my ass dude. and probably make out with Shaxs on top of my unconscious body, eww

Hugh Culber: absolutely fucking not. that guy was dead for half a season and spent the entire time working out like he was in prison. then he came back to life to punch his murderer. I'm not messing with him

Phlox: Phlox seems like a pushover. Do we ever see him do anything physical? I guess he could sic his pet bat on me or something.

The Doctor: he's just a hologram so it wouldn't be very satisfying. you can't even punch him. yet I still kinda wanna slap his bald head for acting like an incel

Julian Bashir: easy W. genetically engineered reflexes or not that twink is softer than a marshmallow in a microwave. the danger comes from the deadly assassin and powerful Irishman protecting him

Beverly Crusher: Blazin Bev has hidden depths, she would probably kick your ass and tap dance on it. I personally would be too busy simping to fight her anyway

Kathryn Pulaski: yeah you could beat Pulaski, if only in the name of standing up for Data, but why would you want to

Leonard McCoy: listen. McCoy had a scalpel held to his throat and his response was pointing out his jugular so he'd die faster. I don't think it's possible to defeat him in a way that matters

as for the other shows, Picard didn't really have a doctor character besides Jurati, but she wasn't a medical doctor. She also killed a dude and turned into a Borg Queen so, y'know. Probably a bad idea to start shit with her. I don't think the Prodigy gang really had a doctor either unless you count Zero? I feel like I could just knock them over pretty easily but if they takes off that containment suit it's game over. I really wanna beat up the Dauntless's shitty Tellarite doctor though.

#star trek #a post by me™#100

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trans-jon-rights · 2 months

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Liveblogging TMAGP 23 here we are

My phone broke so I'm doing this on computer so I'm sorry in advance for the typos

SPOILERS FOR TMAGP 23

Oh, yes Lena, try to dissuade our unhinged obsessed researcher to drop a mystery. That worked great didn't it.

Finding a piece ? What piece ? What do you need to be complete ? Is it a connection to an Entity ? To me, this kinda screams Lonely, given that right now, the guy is 'missing a piece'. It'll probably have to do with something Corruption-like later.

Also, the pseudonym of this person ? Alnewman ? Finding this piece will change them, and that's what they want. I'd say this is again something to somewhat do with alchemy, because creating a perfect human was a focus of some alchemist through the ages (homonculus and all that).

A... coral piece ? Oh this is going down a route I'm not sure I like. Transformation and doppleganger ? Not reassuring at all.

Scalpels ? Bandages ? She ? Are they- Are they going to cut parts of themself and feed it to the coral in order to transform it to look like the woman of their dreams ?

Oh they put it inside didn't they ? Inside their thigh. Wait didn't Athena in greek mythology birth like that, from Zeus' thigh ? There's a methaphor here I can smell it.

Oh, OP is a girl. My bad. Have a beautiful toxic yuri with your coral piece queen.

What bothers me the msot is that we have had quite a few cases of doppleganger since the beggining of this season. This is a very reoccuring theme.

Jmart didn't meet ? :(

But they did die, twenty years ago. Which means that others could have taken their place, hm ? Hm. We still have hope.

BASIRA ??? HELEN ????? Please don't tell me about Michael.

Aww Alice tries to be nice to Gwen :D Dyhard !

"I know how many eyes a normal human haves" AND THERE WE HAVE IT !!!!! What's the probability Jonny and Alex casted a woman to play Error just to lead us in the wrong direction and that it's Jon ? It's unlikely, there are more chances Error was an Institute experiment, but I can hope.

Oh, Alice, we're really in it now. They're after us.

Final Comments :

Really interested to see Alice's developpement as she drops the "ignore it and it'll be fine" act.

And Celia is very clearly targetting Magnus characters. She mentionned Basira but not Daisy, which make sense because she died before they could meet, and she already knows Georgie, and probably Melanie as well. I'm not surprised she wouldn't try to look for other members of the cult, because they aren't very knowedgeable of the supernatural apart from what they'd seen during the apocalypse.

Error is clearly an Eye thing, maybe related to Archives, maybe not. Probably an Archivist or an experiment.

And Lena either knows about the response department and what it does, and is trying to stop Sam indirectly before he gets hurt, or she doesn't, which is genuinely more terrifying.

Regarding the case itself, I think it might be worth it to check homonculus stuff and alchemy related things.

#max talks #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 23 #liveblogging

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violetlunette · 8 months

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My Yuu's relationship with Heartslabyul as requested by this ask;

Ace: Ace is one of the few people who can keep up with Yuu and his antics thanks to his ability to pick up on things quickly. Ace usually lets Yuu have his fun but is the one to put his foot down when Yuu goes too far. An example is when someone dared Yuu to make a black hole machine, and Yuu forgot the off switch. Yuu sees Ace as a capable person and, thus, will turn to him when things get dangerous.

Yuu was surprised to realize that Ace is defensive of him and was shocked to learn how upset he was when he thought Yuu was in danger during the Halloween event.

Deuce: Yuu sees Deuce as a younger brother and is quite protective of him. Often, he helps Deuce study and understand things, as Yuu is good at dumbing things down so anyone can understand. Deuce always feels like he’s tumbling down a rabbit hole with Yuu but still admires him in many ways, especially his determination to succeed when he fails.

There is a strong comradery between Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Yuu, and they all look out for one another.

Riddle: Oh boy, was this an explosion when they first met.

Yuu ignores rules that are inconvenient to him, whether they’re school rules, laws, or the laws of physics and logic. He believes that if you quietly—note, QUIETLY—ignore them, then the rules will rewrite themselves so they don’t apply to him. (The fact that he, a non-magical student, is at NRC proves it.) As such, Yuu often clashes with Riddle, who thrives on order.

In a way, they’re like the Queen of Hearts and Wonderland.

The Queen believes that she rules Wonderland and keeps it in check, not realizing that Wonderland is actually twisting her to match its rules.

It’s the same between Riddle and Yuu. Riddle believes he’s the only one who can keep Yuu in line, but, more often than not, Yuu uses Riddle’s mindset against him to get what he wants. Riddle is straightforward and can't keep up with Yuu’s creativity to find loopholes. However, Riddle does adapt eventually and begins to see through Yuu’s tricks, keeping the other on his toes.

(Fun fact: Riddle has a large stick labeled “No, Yuu, don’t!” which he uses to whack Yuu.)

Trey: Poor Trey. Poor Trey, someone save him!

Aside from the shenanigans Yuu brings to his dorm when he visits, there’s the chaos when Rook brings him to the Science Club. (They have a special line of rules made especially for Yuu.)

That being said, while exasperated at times, he doesn’t hate Yuu. He even finds Yuu's love for Silver kind of cute and will gently try to pull him back when he reaches stalker level.

Yuu was a bit miffed at Trey when they first met, as he refused to rein in Riddle or stand up to him, which caused issues for Ace and others. However, Trey’s kind nature (and cakes) won Yuu over. He even made him a mixer—that NO ONE in Hearts will go near out of terror of what might happen—and attempted to fix his leg when it broke in chapter 2. (Trey wouldn’t let Yuu near with a scalpel, which is a shame because Yuu’s best work is done with bones.)

Carter: Carter thinks Yuu is great entertainment—from a DISTANCE. Carter likes to record Yuu’s antics but always makes sure to keep out of the Danger Zone. (Coward.)

Yuu thinks Carter’s okay and is good for Intel when he needs it, but they don’t collaborate beyond that.

Masterpost

#twst #twisted wonderland #mine #twst yuu #ramshackle prefect #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst oc #twst spoilers #disney twisted wonderland #Heartslabyul #deuce spade #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #trey clover #carter diamond

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fantasy-relax · 9 months

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Brain worms is still attacking me.

The reason that the four houses are the most powerful is because:

They were the first to form and they have blood ties with the royal line.

They excelled in their area of work helping the grow of the kingdom. (Dimitrescu with politics, Moreau with medicine, Heisenberg with technology and Beneviento with botany/farm)

Miranda is the last of the direct line, the pressure to marry and have a direct heir is still there but people are quiet about it, she have lost so much she works so much se deserves to rest. Also is not weird for the royal family to choose a heir of the most noble house as successor, so they are discussions about who could be the new royal heir (not in front of them of course, they learn after Dimitrescu throw a chair, Moreau a scalpel, Heisenberg a wrench and Beneviento a knife)

They are specific days of celebration for the four houses and the royal house.

Aftermath

Alcina

She abandoned her pride at the feet of the Queen when the betrayal of her family was revealed, other nobles were asking for her execution and seize of all the property of the dimitrescu house.

Miranda declared her innocent as she had not knowledge of her family plans. She will keep the property and responsibilities of her linage but for the next few years she will have to pay more taxes as repayment, plus she will be married to one member of the Winter House.

There was a lot of noise for that, noise that was silenced when the royal guard appeared and half of the the nobles there were jailed for conspiracy against the kingdom and later executed. The surviving members were quick to accept the conditions of the Queen.

When the plague comes she was ordered to stay in house arrest.

After that alcina throws herself working to undo the damage make, she relapsed a lot, she cough blood and faint more but go back to work even if she could barely stand. The few times that she would rest were when she have to go to the palace, Miranda will just look her and she will silently go to rest in the guest room (her room, the one personalized for her) and if Salvatore is there he will stay with her scolding all the time and reminding her to take care until he really needs to go.

She gets better at taking care of herself when a woman comes to her door saying that she is the lover of her shitty brother that got her pregnant and throw her away, investigations are make, studies are taken and well she is saying the truth, the woman refuse to take care of the children and demands money, alcina gives and adopt the children (and maybe the woman suffers an accident when she see the damages and neglect that the children have) now she has more responsibilities (now she is a mother).

Triplets, a miracle with the yellow eyes and the tall completion of the dimitrescu blood. The woman not even bothered with giving them names, they are referred as the blonde, brunette or red head one. Alcina names them following the old tradition of her family: Bela, Cassandra and Daniela.

At first they thought that Bela was the youngest of the trio because she was the smallest but this was the consequences of giving most of her food to her sisters.

The little girls do their best to stay away from her, they hoard the food and bite to the minimal provocation. The servants that were loyal to alcina and the duchess herself were heartbroken for this children, because to be this feral they have to be living in fear, hunger and cold (instincts only appear in moments of adrenaline and danger)

It will take time but they will get there, they will learn about love, trust and loyalty.

Bela is very smart, mathematics and numbers come easy to her, she loves to cook and will stay in the kitchen watching the chef cooking ( the chef and his cooks will put a little more of show when she is there). She wants to follow alcina steps and bring glory back to the Dimitrescu house.

Cassandra think fast and make decisions in the moment, she is good at sword play and horse riding (the knights will put a tiny bit of drama in the mock fights when she is there). She wants to be a knight that way she could protect her family.

Daniela is very creative and really good at reading people, she is very social and capable of charming anyone in seconds (All the servants walk with candies in their pockets because of her, and the maids have accidentally thrown their cleaning utensils when some boys get to close to their young lady) . She loves books, any kind of them, she prefers the fairytales but sometimes she can be seen reading about science or botany or anything that she wants.

The others lord adores them and are very grateful to them ( Alcina was slowly killing herself, now she smiles mores, laughs more and shines with happiness) little Angie will run at them thrilled to have cousins even if they are older than her.

When time for her marriage comes, her children will be more reasonable but still slightly feral at Mia (beta).

Salvatore

The moreau house was the smallest because they were always at the front of the lines of sickness, so they tend to die young. They had ñ few servants and few knights.

Salvatore is full of guilt, the heiress of the kingdom is dead, his little sister is dead. When he goes to the palace after the declaration of health is make, he keeps his head bowed not willing to see the hatred and disappointment in the queen eyes. He is startled when arms hug him and tears falls when he hear his mother say: Thank you for trying.

Because Salvatore hair is longer than Karl, his completion is paler than alcina his eyebags are bigger than Donna, he lost a lot of weight too. He tried, again and again and again to find a cure until he did it but just after he already lost one sister.

He keeps working, new methods, new forms of treatment and diagnosis are created. He slows down when Karl send a particular knight to protect him.

Heisenberg

He is the last to go to the palace, part of him is bitter and angry at the Queen, he knows that she did her best to minimize the death toll of the war but that not is enough to calm him. His creations are more war focused he will not let this to happen again, his nieces will never live through this again.

When he goes he bites his tongue and report his advances precisely and quickly. He don't look at the Queen, he don't want to look at her ( he will break he will scream, he will cry, he will ask for answers that she don't have) he leaves but make sure to visit Eva grave, he put a light bulb, he knows that she was scared of the dark.

He is angrier when the marriage come to be but he don't fight it (Salvatore is in love already and Donna has Angie to worry about) it helps that Ethan (alpha) is actually pretty good person, knows a few things about electricity and is very, very patient with Karl behavior but will put his foot down when needed.

Ethan was opposed to the matrimony too, for two reasons :

He wanted to marry for love

Miranda killed his family ( it was war he knows it but still the hatred is there)

But push come to shove and the duty called. They get careless in the heat period and know the Heisenberg house has a heir, great. Ethan take his role as husband very serious and his role as father a lot more.

Surprise, surprise little Rose loves grandmother Miranda and will cry for hours if is not hold by her once at day. They concede, Ethan will go to the palace with Rose ( He doesn't want her in the house of his mate) and try to play nice.

Donna

She do her best to take care of her duties and Angie but is hard. Miranda goes to her house to help her as often as she can. Most of her servants not respect her so Alcina choose the loyal one and make sure to hire more.

She lives in automatic, Alcina, Salvatore and Karl at least act with emotions, Donna is like a puppet following motions.

Angie is the only one to make her feel something more that numbness and emptiness for a long time. Her new nieces help her too but they are children and there is work that she needs to do so Angie can live her childhood free of worries.

The other lords (siblings) and Queen (Mother) worried about her the most, they do anything to make her happy, Karl will create toys for her, alcina will buy new books about botany a have tea party with her, Salvatore will take her to the theater and Miranda will read fairytales at her. It helps not as much as they wished but it's something.

#resident evil village #re8 #Au #mother miranda #alcina dimitrescu #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #omegaverse #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu

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