#this post is longer than i thought oops

[fluffypotatey]

To be honest I am a huge Nalu shipper. But the thing is I want to know the difference between the way Natsu cares about his guildmates and Lucy. Like what is the obvious difference since that boy sees every as Nakama so how can we say that the wag he cares about Lucy is different?

Like even when Erza passed away? (All the way back in first season there was a segment where the guild was gathered at her grave and all) Natsu was still very reactive. Plus he was also said to be depressed even when Lisanna passed.

What's the difference between all of them and Lucy?

the fact that he stayed. the fact that before he met Lucy, Natsu wasn't one to stay in a group or even want to work with anyone besides Happy at the start of the story. hell, he was ready to just file Lucy down as "New Guildmate" once they reached Fairy Tail

but then, Lucy doesn't leave. she follows him on his mission to save Macao despite her not needing to or even really understanding everything about it. she stays and then fights with him and saves him. it's no secret that Natsu is strong and can take care of himself really well. he's been going on solo missions for years now, and no one has really stopped him, but that means he's been in a lot of sticky situations where he and Happy are on their own and have no backup. and yet, without asking, Lucy offers it

and i think this is the moment when Natsu considers that maybe it's okay to have someone there to have his back (sans Happy)

"but Natsu only needed Lucy for the next quest because of the requirements," well, Natsu also wouldn't have taken or even considered that quest if it weren't for Lucy, yeah? he was not a team player (in the picking job's sense) or really wanted other people to help him on his quests sans Happy. and then he goes and picks a job that caters to their team whilst ensuring that Lucy can't say no

or maybe i'm reading too much into it 🤷🏻‍♀️

or maybe Natsu's got horrible abandonment issues that he will latch onto people so fast (Igneel & Lisanna) but also cause him to distance himself so far when left behind (his 1st time at the guild, Lisanna's death). Erza and Gray are Natsu's closet friends after Lisanna and yet they cannot reach him when he closes himself off. and then we have Lucy, who stuck by and had his back, so who is to say Natsu didn't make some contingencies to ensure whether or not she'd join him?

but maybe it's the rose, colored ship glasses i have on

because yeah, Natsu cares for all of his guildmates. the power of friendship is his biggest motivator. when we meet Natsu, our first introductions of him is defending his guild's reputation from Bora (who was using it as a guise for human trafficking) and saving Macao. and our 1st big arc (Galuna Island), where Natsu adamantly refuses to allow Gray to use Ice Shell and sacrifice himself despite how antagonistic they've been to each other. we get Natsu 100% at Erza's defense throughout the Tower of Heaven and he is even ready to defend Wendy though they only met hours ago

Natsu is a character with a bleeding heart and cannot help but wear it on his sleeve, but we don't really see him allow others to fight his battles or have his back until Lucy comes in. to be honest, i don't even think he had his heart on his sleeve until Lucy. he still has a bleeding heart (i don't think anything could stop that), but he was not ready to be open in receiving company because he was so used to it being ripped away from him

that being said: of all the characters he interacts with, he finds Lucy to be someone compatible enough for him to start going on team missions and inviting her on them (for example, his 1st S-class mission, which he stole, he went to her house to show it to her. the fact that part of the reward was a celestial key might be a coincidence, but i wouldn't doubt it as Natsu and Happy's trump card in case she refused)

but yeah, the difference is that he stayed and didn't push her away at the beginning, but instead continued to invite her along with him to the point that doing a mission without Lucy wasn't his regular anymore. compared to the rest of the guild, of whom he spent most of his childhood with, even if he spoke to no one, they would still be around and talk to him anyway. he might not invite them on job and only challenge them to fights, but the guild is his home and a constant in his life, a constant he needs (bc heavy abandonment issues).

"okay, but he still pushed her away after he watched Igneel die right in front of him. and he left the guild for a whole year, too. so what's the difference there?" you may ask.

so 1) Natsu never thought the guild would disband. he returns to Fiore after a year and is the last to know that they disbanded. he assumed, like all the other times before and while he and others were sealed for 7 years, that Fairy Tail would still be there when he returned. he assumed that his disappearance would not impact so hard because the guild would still be around and Lucy would have the others with her

which, did not happen :)

and like, so many guild members go off on jobs, quests, or even just leave for an indiscriminate amount of time (which i, personally, believe was his rationality for leaving), so him being gone for a year was nothing! right? no harm, eh? his plan was never to be gone forever :))))

2) he just watched his father die and lose any chance of having some semblance of a long term reunion with Igneel. he literally lost one of his main driving motivations for getting stronger and taking jobs. before Fairy Tail, before anyone, it was Igneel. and to learn that a) Igneel was always with him to begin with and b) he only got to see him for less than a day after 14 years of nothing......i would feel lost too ngl

man's needed space from everybody. and he also needed comfort, but Natsu has been shown not to really be the character who asks to receive comfort (and when he does receive it, it's usually when he's already emotionally compromised). he is in the habit of shutting people out after being abandoned or losing someone close to him, with his next rationale being to "get stronger" in order to prevent what happened in the past to ever happen in the future.

anyway

what makes this different? well for one, he sent the letter only to Lucy (or it's implied since no one else is shown getting one) because of how the two spend most of their time together. even the line that goes with the panel makes it sound like Natsu is unsure on how the note will be received (maybe even hesitant? but that could be my own hopes)

and one of the 1st people he reunites with after a year is Lucy and we get such a similar parallel to the first chapter of Fairy Tail between the two as if the narrative itself is slotting them together to say "ah yes, now everything is back to normal and new journeys can begin"

but yeah, this is just a long way of saying, that Natsu does love his friends and guildmates but even when he is close to them, he kept to himself (and Happy) and sort of stayed in their orbit but always with some emotional distance because of his fear of abandonment. and then you have Lucy where he will stay for and allow her to orbit around him and he will invite to new adventures no questions asked

that's the difference

[autisticlalna]

oops we're giving Cloneby an identity crisis

so a thing about Rubyco is that they, along with the rest of Team FAVR, love to bully us. Ruby also slips in and out of character on a dime, which means any conversation in the lore-discussion channel in the SBK Community Discord can get interrupted by a patented Rubyco jumpscare:

we've had to try and work around Cloneby before. that's why Solar's conversation with R.C. happened-- they were hoping to cause interference, which didn't work as planned. there's also been plenty of times where i've said maybe a bit too much and had to quickly backtrack when i realized a Cloneby Moment was in progress:

but this time, when Cloneby listened in, things got a bit... weird.

you might recognize that as the quote i used in this art. anyway:

at which point Cloneby withdrew. (also: thanks, viking, that killed me.)

but, hey, speaking of that art. i linked to Ruby's reblog of it for a specific reason: the tags.

ah. um. hi, Cloneby.

(Ruby being a menace in my notifs is nothing new, though. hi rubert <3)

a couple days later, we have the reason why i started drafting this in the first place: i drew more Cloneby art and got a reaction.

there's been a little bit of discussion about if the clones know they're clones or not. the answer seemed to be yes in context, between Avid telling Cloneby they're "better than the original" and Trone's weird "totally Trog. not anybody else." bit.

but... it looks like Cloneby has no idea. she's aware that there's something wrong, and that people (sbkers and fans alike) treat him differently, but doesn't know why and it's starting to get to zem.

so... what happens next? is Cloneby going to put two and two together, or are they going to be stuck in a spiral of feeling like they have to match up and fill a hole they don't understand they're filling? is ce going to change, to ask questions, to try and build a connection, or does cer dedication to cer job and the illusion of "saving people" run too deep? what happens when she further misaligns?

i'm having clone emotions and you're all going down with me.

[libra-cant-just-dance]

MIRRORED WALLS CHAPTER ONE IS HERE!!!!!!!!!

The wait is over! Come and get it!!!! I'm very excited for this fic and I hope you are too :)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

sorry if you've already mentioned but what (re?)ignited your love of comics/x-men/cherik? curious because there are so many different adaptations of them

i think im gonna speak for a few (or a lot of) people when i say that TL;DR the wolverine x deadpool movie that came out this summer is what pulled me back into comics and i COULD leave it there but i will go into excruciating and unnecessary detail instead because i love an origin story and i love oversharing.

under the cut tho because im nice sometimes (there's also wxdp doodles in here. if you want to see that)

ironically (and probably commonly), growing up i was more of an avengers kid. Kinda. Loosely <- binge watched the cartoons and movies and read copious amounts of comics and fics and i am hoarding fanart in my old dresser as we speak ok 'loosely' is a modest lie.

embarrassingly i remember getting into discus cause of captain america LMAO so yeah needless to say i was a Humble Fan- me joining my school's comic class/club didnt help either (shoutout to my teach from that she was the realest one out there for. A Multitude of reasons). she definitely is was inspires me to even draw still and make comics and i often think bout the tips i learned from her class tbh she was great

back to the movies t and comics tho, i got into em because my brother would offer to take me and that's how we'd hang out (i rarely saw movies in theaters and i even more rarely went anywhere as a teenager. still kinda like that today tbh ooops) and yk. it just snowballed after that.

my brother and i have always liked comics- he just more than me for a while (though he still very much loves comics and As We Know From My Posts we still talk about them whenever i see him To An Exhausting Degree)

durin then i was really into stony and i have a few surviving doodles i made but those are between me and god. and anyone who asks tbh LOL

'snap can you make this related to x-men again this is long' ok so fast forward to This Summer again I Still Don't Really See Movies but my brother offered to take me and this was the first time i'd actually seen an x-men movie in full

as a kid i only remember seeing the 'perfection' scene between erik and raven in first class while i was channel surfing. pretty sure i changed the channel after seeing mystique naked cause i was scared my parents would get mad at me if they caught me watching it LOL

BUT MOVING ON As A Kid i think it's also natural you'll sometimes watch 92 if it's on And I Did though evidently it didn't stick too hard (i do remember really liking beast and gambit though.... still do really): my knowledge of x-men was. INCREDIBLY sparse. like diabolically so so i didnt have too much expectations (aside from the fact i vaguely liked deadpool beforehand).

tbh i dont know why my bro never took me to see any of the x-men movies. it's not like he doesn't Also like x-men (90% sure nightcrawler's his favorite but my brother will be caught dead saying he has absolute favorites like that)- he owns a bitch load of deadpool comics/omnibus sets too (of which ive read over the years and reread this year) but Shrug moving on

Much Like Most Of The Internet i fell down the rabbit hole that way. i have some doodles i made a couple days after seeing WxDP that i now have an excuse to throw at all of you Look And Perceive

and so. As I Do. i got curious and told myself i'd binge watch all the x-men movies the week before i went back to school And Then I Did ft. My Brother Sometimes and then i said i'd binge watch all of '92 and And I Did That ft. My Brother Sometimes But Less So and now we're here. currently watching Evolution...

once i got to school i realized i lived near a comic shop and started getting into the comics that way (the first ones i got since going down this rabbit hole was Magneto Was Right!, The Resurrection of Magneto, and The Trial of Magneto. if you were curious !!!!! clearly i didnt care too much about context i just needed to see My Guy jelvejlkvj i have no regrets and Evidently ive read more since)

i'm pretty sure what dragged me into cherik specifically was the fact i saw a clip of The Famous ending to 92 where erik's aghast at the notion jean even has to question his love for charles. i think that was what officially had me refocus my lens on them: not a single poolverine thought after that LOL (all the cherik posting i saw on twitter definitely helped too but that was the nail in the coffin for any other interests i had: i was locked into cherik and x-men in general now)

that clip specifically, i was surprised at the fact they- frequently even- have the x-men franchise say erik loves charles and vice versa so bluntly. even if it's not meant to be romantic, i fear im just a fan of how casually the word's thrown around with them two and i got tender bout it all. Then Yk. i just live for the drama. the hilarity even. the sincerity .... they make me sick if i think of them too long so im gonna end it here

before i go tho ironically enough, the first x-men issue i owned was This one (story a this is that while stuck in some wacko dimension charles accidentally gets himself trapped in logan's mind while utilizing his astral projection. if you were curious). pretty sure i got it for free with another comic set i got years ago since our old comic shop loved to do that, but it's poetic aint it. maybe ill doodle something referencing it..

i should probably look into finishing this arc someday im Dummy curious to even know how it started and how it ends.....

[fandom-reblog-central]

Fandom (dpxdc) Thought 2.5:

Context: Halfa!Jason Todd, ghosts communicate through emotions, liminals can do it to a lesser extent

Jason unknowingly keeps trying to push emotions to his family, not realizing he’s trying to communicate. With his family’s awkward outward reactions combined with the lack of response to his core, he feels isolated. Even thought it’s an accident on both ends, it has an effect on him.

To make it a bit worse, the batfam is liminal with all the death in the family and Lazarus exposure. They accidentally reject the emotional conversation from Jason’s core, so neither party knows why Jason is so on edge, but they don’t push for answers.

Danny (bad reveal, good reveal, literally Just Vibing in Gotham—whatever works) hears Damian’s core humming or trying to trill/chirp, and of course he has to help the sick liminal/baby-halfa core. With a LOT of bonding, Danny gets Damian to drink some healthy ectoplasm, and he feels a lot better. He even brings Jason over, knowing the connection to the Pit was stronger in his older brother and wanting to extend an olive branch after the… everything.

Once Jason starts feeling better and Frostbite is brought into the conversation, Damian realizes he can’t hide this from Bruce forever. And, with how many people in his family—hell, his contact list—had been exposed to the Lazarus pit, or gotten caught up in time shenanigans, or had been killed, it was best everyone knew. With Danny’s only request being “say I’m a meta instead of a ghost,” Damian goes to his father’s study.

(Forgive the ooc/awkwardness I don’t normally write fanfic lmao)

Damian entered Bruce’s study. “Father. I have something to inform you of. We have made a terrible mistake with Jason.”

Bruce’s train of thought pauses at hearing his youngest call Jason “Jason” instead of “Todd.” He looks up from his WE paperwork. “What is it, chum? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“We are both well, Father. It is…” He grimaced and visibly tensed. “You have to promise to not be angry with me.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at hearing his youngest say such a “childish” phrase. “I will do my best. I’ll at least let you finish talking first.”

He knew this was the right thing to say when Damian relaxed slightly. Therapy was a wonder.

“Um…”

Oh. Oh no. Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne was not one for uncertainty—especially not in a conversation he started.

“Go on, lad, I’m listening,” Bruce said in as gentle a tone as he could (without getting too patronizing for his proud little Robin).

“I met a meta of a ghostly nature. He assessed that there was Lazarus Water in my body, and when he replaced it—“

“He what.”

“You said you’d let me finish.”

Bruce pulled out a notepad, jotting down bullet points to return to.

[Pit in Damian?? REPLACED?? Unknown ghost meta]

“Once he replaced it with the healthy alternative, I found…” He swallowed. “I found that I could more easily accept and show love. My time in the League played a part, of course. However, the Lazarus Pit had an effect on me as well, latching onto my desire to be worthy of a place here. I essentially have a rudimentary organ that runs on and communicates via emotion. Jason does as well, and his is stronger than mine. We have unknowingly been rejecting this more emotional form of communication, making him feel unaccepted and misunderstood.”

[emotional organ??? Accidental rejection? Possible to learn emotion communication?]

Damian shifted his weight under his father’s intense and worried Interrogation Glare™️. “Now that we know the problem, and are attempting to rectify it, we feel much better. Due to everyone around us being exposed to death, the Pit, or time travel, Jason, the meta, and myself thought it best if everyone was made aware. Our meta friend has a doctor who has specialized in this organ and the culture surrounding it for decades. He can apparently better help us manage our health alongside a regular physician.”

[meta doctor. Contact… everyone]

Bruce set his pen down and didn’t move for a few moments. “Are you finished?”

Damian nodded. “Are you angry?”

Bruce let out a long breath, closing his eyes. “I can never tell. Fear and rage feel a lot alike when it comes to protecting my family and my city. You’ve gone against a lot of my training, which displeases me, but I still love you, and I always will. We’ll see what your punishment is when I get more details. I don’t want to punish you for good outcomes, but the methods are important, especially in our work and at your age—“

“You can stop now, Father. I understand now what Drake means when he says he doesn’t know how to respond to the sincerity therapy has given you. I’ll gather the family for a debrief.”

Bruce opened his eyes to see his youngest wincing a little at the emotional vulnerability, but something else caught his attention.

His son’s green eyes faded to blue.

[temtamtom]

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell ask games 39, 4, 1 ghjg and 7!

39. Most addictive personality?

Definitely Romano! He's genuinely so interesting and funny, I'm always so happy whenever he pops up in the comics. I can't get enough of this man...

4. What's a headcanon you need to work out?

I have so so many headcanons I'm rotating in my mind and trying to figure out. But lately I've been thinking an awful lot about Holytalia, and how their relationship evolved over time. Did they get married? When and how? Did Vene stall and stall and stall until the people around him just forgot or lost hope? How did his relationship to "Marriage" as a concept change over the years? How would it impact him now in more modern times? Etc. etc. I'm mentally throwing things at a wall right now and seeing what sticks.

Another headcanon I'm definitely trying to figure out is what EXACTLY Veneziano represented pre-unification. Different people have different answers, myself included. Currently I'm riding the "Feliciano was a being that represented the entire region of North Italy, despite all the entities and city states that Did Whatever(TM)" wave. I guess it's sort of on a similar wavelength as Holy Rome, though not exactly the same. I think it's an interesting perspective to explore- him bouncing around from place to place (of his own accord or sometimes by force), having a bit of a "fractured" sense of identity compared to many of his contemporaries, and also suffering from intense migraines because everyone is beefing with everyone else and GOD-

But on the other hand I also love exploring Veneziano as the Republic of Venice, which makes him even more of a foil to Romano. Republic vs. Kingdom, Independent (up until a certain point) vs. being conquered and fought over by a bunch of people. etc. etc. It also gives me the opportunity to play around with my northern City States OCs <3

Do you relate to your favorite character(s)?

Sweden my pookie <3 He is me and I am him <3 We share a deep kinship <3 a deep bond <3

Also because it's you and I know what you're getting at, yes, I do relate to Veneziano. Like him I do 20 million forms of art, I love fashion, I drink alcohol, I blaspheme, I eat polenta, I love women, I-

7. Food-related headcanon?

Veneziano Magnagatti-- 💥💥 (/ref)

More serious answer: This is very self-indulgent, but one of my fondest memories as a kid was helping my grandma and aunts make fresh pasta every once in a while. So I like to imagine the whole Itafam gathered around a kitchen table making all sorts of pasta by hand. The TV is on but none of them are really paying attention to it- too engrossed in their gossip and their work. Also making passata di pomodoro with freshly-harvested tomatoes... augh.. yes...

[transfemzedaph]

mezelean king joel but when hes younger and not yet king and he spends his days exploring in the woods and painting and drawing all the beautiful nature

one day he sees a wolf off in the distance as hes walking and he watches it - it didnt see him

he sees this same wolf a few more times and each time he studies it more, trying to remember every detail so he can be able to draw it

hes out in the forest in a small clearing, one of the sunnier places in the whole woods, drawing this wolf over and over, frustrated with how he can never quite get it right, he thinks its the eyes, every time he draws the eyes, they look wrong

hes so focused on the drawings that he doesnt notice that same wolf coming up behind him until he feels the warm breath on his neck

he drops the sketchbook and scrambles away but the wolf doesnt follow him, it just looks at the current drawing - unfinished - and sits

joel stares for a few moments at this weird behaviour from the wolf before retriving the sketchbook and drawing the wolf again, it ends up perfect this time - joel did always draw better with the subject in front of him - and the wolf plods over to see the final thing

from then on joel spends a lot more time in the forest, bringing food along with him, and some snacks to maybe give to the wolf

the wolf isnt there every day but joel doesnt mind, he feels safe in the forest now, he doesnt think anyone will hurt him

----

its months later when he encounters a man in the woods, he is tall and broad and for some reason, wearing sunglasses

joel gives the man a friendly smile before continuing on his way

joel ends up seeing the man quite often in the forest and he always offers a smile or a friendly wave, one day he decides to actually speak to the man

from then on joel has a new friend, ren he says his name is, he feels familiar to joel but he cant quite place him

joel notices the wolf is never there when he is spending the day with ren, sharing food and talking for hours, ren always steers clear of certain topics though - where he came from, where he lives, his family - joel doesnt push it though

the wolf is still as friendly as ever although it seems more tired and injured than it always used to be

months after getting to know ren, joel stumbles -literally- across him, his sunglasses are broken on the floor next to him and his shirt is in tatters and he is covered in wounds, his breathing is shallow and joel wishes the wolf was here to help

he carries him back to mezelea, thankfully he wasnt too far into the woods but its still hard going

its a little over a day before ren wakes and the healers inform him immediately, he rushes over to see him and winces at the sight of the bandages around him

joel reaches for rens hand as he sits beside him, telling him how worried he was and ren, turns his head to face him, opening his eyes slowly

joel freezes in the middle of his sentance at the sight, those eyes, he knew those eyes, he had spent countless hours agonising over how to draw those eyes

ren who was up until this point still only half awake realises what he just did and curses and frantically tries to explain himself

joel stands to leave and ren reaches out, hissing in pain at the movement and joel cant help but turn back to fret over him

joel tells him to leave it for now, that theyd talk about it when he was better

joel visits ren every day until he is better but its awkward and they mostly sit in silence before joel finds a reason to excuse himself

in the end ren comes to joels room as soon as he is allowed to leave, joel lets him in and ren sits on the bed, awkwardly looking anywhere but in joels eyes

joel walks over and sits down next to him, gently nudging him with his shoulder as he did so

and then ren just spills it all, how he had always spent most of his time as a wolf because it seemed easier than losing people again but then he saw joel and he drew him and treated him like a real friend so he wanted to try again, to be with people again but he didnt think itd get this far, he didnt think hed end up falling in love with him and then he didnt know what to do, because he saw how sad he was when the wolf wasnt around but he didnt really want to be the wolf as much anymore

joel stays silent until the end of the explamation but then- you fell in love with me? and ren who didnt realise he had said that gets all muddled up and doesnt know what to say but joel just kisses him anyway

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

'Nother random angsty robot idea. Targeted mostly at DJMM, but could work for any non-human robot. The less human the better...but I'll just be saying "DJ" here. (Basically what I'm saying is if anyone wants to do something with this idea and a different character go for it.)

At one point, DJ had a crush on a human. Maybe the human even returned it to an extent, at least enough to give dating him a try. But dating a giant spider bot is not without its complexities. But they did have some amount of genuine affection for DJ's personality and mannerisms.

Just not his body. They were intimidated by his large side, being engulfed by his hands was off-putting, and they so desperately wished for a partner they could just walk hand in hand with through the park, just hold each other and kiss like any other couple.

Besides, don't DJ want those things? Doesn't he want to be held by them? To feel their arms around him?

Truthfully, the thought is a bit intimidating. But this is his partner! He shouldn't be intimidated by getting a hug from them! What kind of partner would he be if he didn't want that...?

So he convinces himself he does. Somehow, he gets a new body. A more humanoid one. (Think some of the Glamrock DJMM fan designs out there.) His older body is still around, though he only uses it for his shows. In fact, his "real" body is now no longer allowed to leave the stage--guest interactions are done with the humanoid body only.

It seems fine at first, but DJ never can get over how small he feels even as he still towers over most humans. He feels vulnerable, especially when someone has their arms around him, no matter how friendly their intentions are. This causes him immense guilt, but he can't figure out how to make himself stop feeling that way.

Things start going poorly with his partner. DJ doesn't want to be hugged or held most of the time, nor does he wish to leave the West Arcade even though he can. All the things they thought they'd get if DJ were more human, they've barely gotten. Yet DJ's not as human as they'd prefer, even though he's far more human than he'd prefer.

They refuse to interact with him in his real body, even though he misses the feeling of them snuggling against his cheek or sitting in his hand.

Eventually, DJ and their partner break up. For whatever reason, DJ's still force to mainly use his humanoid body for the time being. Maybe some kind of budget thing with Fazco or maybe he just genuinely believes his new body SHOULD be preferable and he just still needs time to get used to it.

Then he meets you. You're patient with him and give him his space when he's in his humanoid body. And you're actually willing to interact with him when he's in his real body. You sit on the stage and have conversations with him (probably via ASL or text or something, I imagine his normal body is mute, still debating if his humanoid body is too). You even sit in his hand from time to time, and let him hug you to his cheek.

Eventually you piece together that he really only dislikes physical contact in his humanoid body, and he gives you some excuse of "I still have to get used to it is all" and you ask "Should you HAVE to get used to it? Is that really what you want?"

And blah blah blah, eventually the humanoid body is retired and you and DJ are together and happy and themes of self-acceptance, not changing for others, and being seen and loved for who you truly are all around!

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Normal, Sparrow, and something about heroes

EDIT: Raised the "read more" cause tumblr wants to make self-rbs a nightmare smh smh

Y'all it's so difficult to write ANYTHING lol fuck... But yeah yeah definitely got some post ep. 30 thoughts. Do need to start with some explanations/clarifications on my general stance regarding Normal which is mostly for the mutuals LOL and they know that so if things appear to lack a bit of context on that front well that's why.

There are some things regarding Norm where I lowkey almost don't want to say anything because I'm sooooo wishy washy myself ahahaha and I feel like I'm definitely gonna end up writing some stuff here and be like "ehhhhhh" later on but what can you do what can you do.

I guess I can at least start by saying that when I say that like, Norm can be self-centered, or prideful, or something to that effect, I am *definitely* not trying to say like "this negates Norm's compassion" or that like, Norm needs to be made to feel bad about that? I hope I'll be able to explain what I mean properly here but, a lot of my feelings regarding Norm's more negative traits do genuinely come from a place of concern for him??

Yes I think Norm can be self-centered, yes I think it comes from a place of loneliness and insecurity, yes I think it bleeds into his actions in a way that can negatively impact both himself and those around him, and yes I think that all of these things make him very very VERY similar to Scary... Is my general stance atm but let me, let me *try* to explain what all that means for me LOL.

I think Norm is a good person. I don't think he's *the most* empathetic or selfless or kind character we've seen in the show, but I also don't think he needs to be, or ever will need to be. He has a good heart (all the teens do, yes that includes Scary, fight me), he *does* care about other people very much, and like the other teens his frustrations are valid and generally pretty justified!

But I think Norm is someone who, perhaps pretty fundamentally, requires a pretty high level of external validation and social acceptance to feel loved, has generally gone most of his life not having that need met outside of his immediate family, and is pretty all-or-nothing and rejection-sensitive when it comes to this validation. I don't think Norm is a bad person for any of these traits (at all), even if it can impact his interactions with others negatively at times. No, above all else, these traits lead me to feel quite concerned and altogether just kinda sad for Norm.

And that's where things get a bit messy. On the one hand, Norm *is* a kind person, with good intentions, and even when I feel most frustrated with his actions, I don't take them as coming from a place of malice or ill-intent. But Norm wants to feel loved so bad, and his conditions for feeling loved (as aforementioned) are very difficult to meet, so, yes, (I do personally feel that) Norm often does, largely without knowing, prioritize this endless search for validation over other things, and having this at the forefront of his mind so frequently does inhibit his ability to truly connect with the people around him and (in many cases) actually *empathize* with them.

The difference- the difference for me between Normal and Linc with regards to Scary isn't whether or not they *care* about Scary. Even if it's a bit old now, I didn't write a whole thing on Normal/Scary and Sparrow/Lark parallels because I don't think Norm cares about Scary. Normal has *absolutely* put a tremendous amount of effort into trying to keep Scary around, to disappointing results that are justifiably frustrating for him. Normal and Linc both care about Scary, the difference for me, and what I just find so spectacular about Linc compared to all the other teens here, is that Linc goes *beyond* himself when he breaks the pic. He's not the first person to care about or try to help Scary, he's just the first person to do so in the way that she actually needs- because his general selflessness allows him to be the first person to actually *understand* Scary. He's not the first person to feel *for* her, he's the first person to feel *with* her. That is... Well I guess that is also to say that when I use the word "empathy" I mean it fairly precisely.

Which also isn't... I'm not trying to knock Normal (or Taylor) in saying this btw. The teens ALL have their strengths and weaknesses, and this was simply a moment that brought out one for Linc and another for Norm (vice versa can has and will be true at other points in time). Normal not being able to do what Linc did here is not something I'm trying to hold against him. With regards to their argument, I genuinely think that they both have plenty of reason to be upset, and ultimately it's all just one big misunderstanding. Still, I do personally think that much of why Norm is so upset with Linc in this scene has not so much to do with Scary nor with the Doodler- but is in fact at least in part Norm feeling rejected by Linc (invalidated, unloved, etc.), and acting out accordingly. Additionally, I think these feelings get in the way of Norm actually being able to understand and appreciate why Linc did what he did. They were both hurt, they both lashed out. I'm not trying to gloss over Linc's part in this either, I'm not saying one of them was right and the other was wrong or that one was mean and the other wasn't, but from what I've seen at least it seems people are almost unanimously siding with Norm on this one without much consideration for the points Linc actually makes here, choosing instead to focus solely on what *Linc's* hurt caused him to say (without acknowledging of course that in Linc's case too it comes from a place of hurt), and that much is a bit frustrating for me admittedly.

I wouldn't have expected or wanted Norm to behave any differently in this scene than he did. I think everything about Norm's behavior makes perfect sense for where he's at, and "where he's at", for me, isn't "selfish kid who doesn't care about other people" it's "scared kid who feels rejected and alone". That said, I think if Norm wants to get any better he, like all the teens, needs to start introspecting a bit more and work on himself.

And when I say that, I'm not saying "Norm is prideful and needs to be more humble" I'm saying, Norm needs to get to a place where he can feel loved, and allow himself to be loved, without it being so all or nothing.

Enter Hero!!! The chosen one! I kinda don't get why some people are just seeing this as Anthony trying to bully Norm rather than a very important opportunity for growth!!!

This feels like a point that could be easily misconstrued, so I'll try to be careful? When I say that Hero being the chosen one is an opportunity for Norm to grow as a person, I am NOT saying in becoming more humble or something like that?? Normal's pride isn't his fatal flaw, it's an afterthought of it, a manifestation of it, a defense mechanism vis a vis his fundamental insecurities, if you will.

Normal, as I see him, is convinced that he will only ever be loved, that he will only ever have "solved" love, when he is validated in absolutes. When he is the most popular boy in school who is friends with everybody. When he's the hero of the story. When he's the chosen one. If part of him sees himself as being without flaw (or the best part of teen high or whatever), it's not because he's some arrogant little brat, it's because he can't imagine himself as being lovable unless he is perfect. He isn't selfish for feeling this way, but from an outside view I think it's fairly easy to say that if Normal continues down that path, he's never going to get where he needs to go.

Hero being the chosen one, not Normal, gives Normal an opportunity to learn (or at least start to learn) that his perceived prerequisites for love (of himself) are false. Normal doesn't have to be the hero of the story. He doesn't have to be a hero. He doesn't have to be Hero, it's enough to just be Normal.

Sooooo... I think it's pretty ironic that... Upon learning that Hero is the chosen one.... So many people have jumped the gun and assumed that this means... Sparrow doesn't love Normal.

HAHA THAT'S RIGHT THIS WAS ABOUT SPARROW ALL ALONG YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE TALKING ABOUT THIS MAN NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER

But seriously, wow, it pains me sometimes how little faith people have in Sparrow. Hero is "the chosen one"... So every single time Sparrow has relayed how much he loves Norm goes down the drain?? At a most basic level folks, your child can be unplanned and still be loved, actually. Some might even say that that's... normal.

But do you get what I'm trying to say here? The assumptions much of the fandom has made about Sparrow and his love exactly reflect the toxic trains of thought that will probably be plaguing Normal's mind and feeding into his insecurities as the whole Hero thing develops?? And these insecurities (and again false prerequisites for love) are exactly what Normal needs help working through???

But let's move away from the Norm side of things a little bit, cause the assumptions being made about Sparrow currently are much more vast than this.

Let's make something clear. We don't know Sparrow's side of the story. We don't know Lark's side of the story. And of course, we don't know Rebecca's side either. We don't know if Rebecca did or didn't know about the prophecy. It seems that at this point in time, the spouses have had their memories erased. *Not necessarily* the case, but I genuinely can't fathom a scenario in which Cassandra somehow doesn't notice that the father of her child is always kind of a little bit on fire- and conspiracy theorist Rebecca to me also might hint at the fact that at some earlier point in time she would have known more about what's going on? But that's purely speculation, obviously.

So why are we suddenly so sure of Sparrow's intentions, feelings, and *role* in bringing Hero into the world?

I... Well I've been reluctant to bring this up even though the notion has been an itch in my mind since yesterday, but eventually you see enough upsetting Sparrow posts that someone needs to step up and offer something new I guess.

So... Allow me to suggest that, Sparrow being against the idea of having a child purely to fulfill a prophecy, and refusing to partake, actually makes *more* sense.

Most especially, if Sparrow was adamantly against going through with such a plan, we now have the most sound and in-character reason so far to explain... Why Lark slept with Rebecca.

(*gasp*)

As I see it anyways! Because, yeah, it's always felt like a weird elephant in the room, and I don't really feel satisfied with the existing theories at all! Someone with as strong as a resolve as Lark sleeps with the wife of the person who means more to him than anyone cause... He was horny? Or maybe as part of some strange convoluted ploy to push Sparrow away? I'm not saying these aren't still valid possibilities, and I'm not saying that this theory I'm proposing is what happened, really it's an assumption based on an assumption, but nevertheless I think it would make a lot of sense honestly.

(More specifically, what I'm suggesting is Sparrow not wanting to go through with the plan, Lark seeing it as a necessary evil to deal with the Doodler- and we know how hellbent Lark is on dealing with the Doodler, and accordingly "doing what needed to be done", as he is one to do, of course at Sparrow and at least in theory Hero's expense.)

This would also make sense of a lot of Sparrow's more extreme behaviors towards Normal, particularly the question of his name. Through this lens, it was perhaps an affront towards Lark (and possibly Rebecca??), an assertion to the effect of "no, you will not do this again, this child will not be doomed to be a hero". This, or something less aggressive but in a similar vein.

Of course this puts Normal and Sparrow at fundamental odds with one another! Er, despite being so very very similar which isn't what this post is about but still... Anyhoo, yes, there is an important conflict at play here, wherein Normal, as we discussed earlier, sees being the hero (the chosen one, what have you) as the only way to solve love, to be loved- and Sparrow who, more than anything else, doesn't want anymore heroes in the family, because he loves his family, and what happened with Henry... Can't happen again.

[lumenflowered]

🏠

Something's changed in Yharnam. Djura can feel it in the air. The night was long, but the sun rose to a Yharnam changed.

A Yharnam nearly emptied, if what the Hunter willing to spare the beasts under his protection had to say was of any substance—he hasn't worked up the nerve to slip in himself, not yet.

The Hunt is over. There hasn't been another Hunt for many days since. The bells of Yharnam are silent, suspiciously so.

His beasts... less agitated than they've been in years. He only wishes his allies, his friends, had been here to see it too.

The most recent fell in the shadow of his tower, fighting the very Hunter who'd agreed to spare his beasts. He hadn't expected her to agree. Hadn't expected her to apologize, either.

He never knew what happened to the second. But the youngest of them, and the first to fall... he met his end upon the blades of the Crow.

The only warning Djura receives, atop his tower, is the near-silent swish of a feathered cloak. He turns, weary, to meet with a familiar beaked mask.

They regard each other silently. Djura doesn't prime his Stake Driver. She doesn't raise her blades.

"Eileen," Djura greets with a nod. "What news of Yharnam?"

"Little left of it now," she replies. "Do you know how long it has been?"

Djura shakes his head. "Weeks?"

"Months," she says, and all Djura can think of is that he was better able to keep track of the time when he wasn't the last survivor of the Powder Kegs. "Did you have any visitors during that final Hunt?"

"One. Novice Hunter, a Dreamer." He pauses. "She bore an axe like that... what was his name..."

"Gascoigne?"

Djura nods.

"He turned." Eileen sighs, the sound full of regret. "She killed him."

Eileen didn't? Huh. The new Hunter must have gotten to the poor man before she could.

"Never mind that," she continues. "There were a few survivors, sheltering in Oedon Chapel. All sent there by her."

"...Were?" Djura asks.

"When it became clear just how little of Yharnam remained," Eileen says, "they decided it might be better to leave."

"They did?" Djura raises a brow. "Yharnamites?"

"With some encouragement," Eileen allows. "There is little left in this city now."

"Little," he notes, "except you."

"And you," Eileen says, which. Fair enough. "I haven't seen that Hunter since the sun rose. Yet the Hunt has come to an end."

Djura nods. Waves vaguely for her to go on as he sits behind his gatling gun, pulling one leg up to his chest.

"Something has changed," she continues, "and I worry for that girl."

"You think something happened to her?" Djura asks.

"Or she did something. Perhaps something rash." Eileen hums to herself. "I wouldn't have seen the sunrise without her."

That is... a story Djura would very much like to know more of. But, thinking on it—if a Dreaming Hunter had been determined enough to kill him, to slaughter their way through Old Yharnam, Djura couldn't have stopped them forever. He couldn't have stopped her forever.

"Nor would I," he admits. "You want something of me."

Eileen chuckles. "You and I, Djura, are now all that remains of Yharnam. I'd like to find out what happened. What she did."

"And you need me for..."

"I am not as young as I once was," Eileen says, which is a sentiment Djura relates to far too well. "It's tradition that the Crow Hunter work alone... but there is no need for Hunters here any longer. Nor our traditions."

"You want me to watch your back," Djura says. He almost laughs from the absurdity of it all. Sure, he and Eileen had an uneasy truce—Hunters willing to test their luck with Old Yharnam were often not far from becoming her prey, after all—but this isn't even close to that.

"I'm sure you'd like to know what happened too," she replies, and honestly, how dare she be right.

"And?" Djura crosses his arms.

She doesn't speak for a time, simply regards him from behind that mask. Not for the first time, almost certainly not for the last, Djura wonders what her face might look like right now.

"...And," Eileen says at last, "I've nothing better to do. You?"

His beasts mean well. Truly, they do, and they're doing much better now that the residual influence of the Hunt is gone. So much better, in fact... that Djura wonders, sometimes, if they need him anymore. If it might not be better if he turned, too.

If he was going to turn, it would have happened during that final Hunt.

It didn't.

He's not quite sure what to do with himself now.

"I'll think about it," Djura says, his mind already made up.

"You do that," Eileen says. "I'll return tomorrow."

She departs as swiftly and silently as she'd come. She also doesn't go near the ladder, for evidently age has not diminished the Crow's preference for avoiding the ground.

[one-winged-dreams]

got talking about trauma with owen again last night

It's really rare that I get so into detail about how bad the abuse actually was. The psychological abuse and especially the physical abuse. Like, god, it's so hard to remember how severe it was, but if I think about it, it floats up to the surface so easily.

And when it comes up, I think about how fucking insane it is that I'm on 95 percent good terms with her and that, like an idiot, I'm going to be going over there for Christmas despite KNOWING that one of them is going to retraumatize all of us. Hell, maybe both of them.

Like, I can't believe how hellacious my childhood up until 19 was (then for a few years when I moved back in until I moved back out) and I'm just

You know. Acting like it didn't happen whenever she's around.

AND GOD, maybe my dad never physically hurt any of us but he sure knew how to have total rage meltdowns that were still traumatizing as fuck to have to endure. HE'S the one I'm dubious about for Christmas especially (he sent me random scriptures the other day and I'm ???) because I'm the only fucking one that'll still treat him like everything's normal, because I'm dumb and that's what everyone wants me to do so THEY don't have to do it. And of course I have to do what's best for EVERYONE ELSE, don't I? So he thinks that means I'm on HIS side when I'm not on ANYONE'S SIDE, YOU'RE ALL FUCKING INSANE. ALL OF YOU. EVEN MY SISTER.

I'm just pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation waiting for the rage to kick in again but for right now I'm just

fucking tired.

[byanyan]

being friends with byan is so weird bc they say they want you to have the balls to be bluntly honest with them, but then the very moment you're honest about something they don't like, they're peacing out, all "lmao ok friendship ended byeeeee"

[suffarustuffaru]

✨

Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

AA this is the last fic writer ask question fr :o again it took me a while to get to all of them pfft but i appreciate them a lot!! this question especially is really sweet wkdndn but yes!! and hope anyone reading my answers to these questions found it interesting at least pfft

hmm…. compliment….. im a MAJOR stickler for detail :O i literally cant turn my brain off i have to get EVERY detail i can right whenever possible wjdnd. not that im always right bc im very much not but i try very hard to be!! and i absolutely adore trying to put a lot of detail and nuance into things in my work esp since i focus on characters mental thought process so much hah. i try very hard to do a lot (or at least i consider it a lot widjdj) of research :o for example i wanted to write astrea fic so i devoured every heinkel and reinhard related side story possible and now they give me intense brainrot. cries. since i write a lot of character study i HAVE to look at everything possible before i finish a fic or ill cry inside if i miss one (1) detail i couldve taken into account hah. so i do think im a hard working writer :o !! analyzing things for fun especially when i admire a work of fiction runs in my blood wjdnd it just Happens. i try my best!!

as for um. that one crack treated seriously gluttony if fic i did once (selfcest…). is it accurate to who gluttonybaru is as a character? no in the sense that hes written purposefully in that fic to be like. pushed to his Most Extreme. but also i did try to at least be kind of accurate bc. i combed through SO MUCH of arc 6 and the gluttony if to write him fr 😭😭 there was TOO MUCH analysis in that fic thats why its got a novel length wordcount HAH. hes always had a hate love relationship with “natsuki subaru”….

uhhh uhhh oh yeah something else vaguely related to this that just came to mind—for example my multichap pride otto fic has me like really wracking my brain bc pride otto has screentime for exactly 0.2 seconds (im totally good at math) so its like. i wanted to like analyze how he most likely thinks and what sort of behaviors he has and how hed even react in All the new shenanigans im putting him in. but im also working off of 0.2 seconds of screentime so i had to also go and look at how main otto thinks and try to make Many Educated Guesses on how otto goes from point a (main otto pre-meeting subaru) to point b (the otto we see in pride if). which is something i do every time i focus on an if character in general anyway HAH bc i think it gets easier to understand if versions of characters, no matter how different they seem from their main route selves, once you examine who their base character is and THEN you look at the if events and how its warped them away from their base character. if that makes sense. i think its really fun hah.

i also recognize though that it wouldve been maybe Easier to make pride otto in my fic a little more. dead inside. empty. bc i know that ive been writing a lot of his anger and irritation hah. and it wouldve made sense for him to be a little more tired kind of dead inside in his internal dialogue!!! but i figured that i might as well go a little differently with it to yes maybe subvert expectations a little bit (and bc. ok after arc 8 Confirming Many Things About Otto, no way pride otto wasnt angry at some point. fr.) but also bc. you know when a person whos been in a traumatic situation they couldnt escape for so long is forced to change themselves to survive? if that person manages to finally escape its like. now they gotta try and unlearn any trauma related lessons theyve learned now that the danger is over bc what helped them survive is now maladaptive bc the danger is Over. thats kind of how i approached the fic fr T^T but also i try so hard to write pride otto as the jaded ass he definitely is. theres so much jades in him for sure. (this sentence totally makes sense.)

oh!!! uh uh one small detail with pride otto—when characters have titles, he will almost Always call them by their title in both internal and external dialogue. reinhard is sword saint and julius is the greatest/finest knight and felix is blue, etc etc. otto is well. 1. emotionally constipated 2. distant from others 3. Going Out of His Way to distance himself from others 4. hes very fixated on power and hierarchy and 5. he is Very aware of the role hes played in crushing each knight in the knight trio. main otto Absolutely feels guilt even as hes being ruthless. i figured pride otto likely at least Used to feel guilty. if hes not still guilty deep down.

[trensu]

You know, I was actually wondering about this because I wasn't entirely sure what soul trading really entailed. It hasn't (yet) been described in depth in the show and I'm extremely reluctant to accept anything that didn't make it to the finalized show as actual canon (as fanon/headcanon or creator's interpretation, sure, but not canon).

That being said, if this IS how soul trading works (and as you said it is very heavily implied through Val and Angel's agreement), I wonder if part of husk's deal with alastor was protection. Because you're right, if he gambled souls away like poker chips, a LOT of people would be pissed. If he suddenly were powerless? In hell? With that many souls that had a personal vendetta against him?? There's no way he would have survived on his own.

Also, "with husk as their own personal Valentino" YESSSS, I WANT TO SEE THIS PLAY OUT.

What did he offer that would drive souls to bargain with him? What sort of power or benefit would they get from him? Or is it simply that they too gambled themselves so into debt that the only way to pay it off was with their soul? That would be especially delicious since this is how he got contracted by alastor. It would really be the jolt to the system husker would need to better himself as a person (like man, I was doing something a lot shittier than I thought).

How did husk behave toward the souls in his power? What did he do when he was in a bad temper? Did he hurt them? Did he make impossible demands? Did he work them to the ground? Or was he apathetic to them? Were they nothing more than chips in a card game to him?

How much has he grown since then that he was able to display so much empathy towards angel? "It's time to lose your self loathing, excuse yourself, let hope in" he sings to angel like he knows from experience but it's obvious he hasn't yet accomplished it for himself otherwise he wouldn't spend his afterlife in a drunken stupor. So why would he believe this approach worked? And he must've at least wanted to believe it worked because he's not trying for redemption (does he not think he deserves it?) but he seems to think Angel could get redeemed if such a thing actually exists for sinners.

Angel seems pretty uninformed when it comes to hell's "politics." I want to see how he'll react when he realizes exactly what it means that Husker used to be an overlord. I want him to pull away from Husk for a while so he can spend time to truly reconcile what it means about husker, his relationship with husker, and how his friendship (AND FUTURE ROMANCE OBVIOUSLY) with Husker impacts his relationship with other trapped souls like himself.

I want Husker to AGONIZE over this rift between them that he'd probably been trying to ignore and hide. It would be SO GOOD. They'll come out stronger together for this, but I hope it hurts in the meantime. There is nothing like some painful introspection to really get someone moving forward on their path to redemption.

I really want the show to go into more detail about Husk's backstory as an overlord, partly because I feel like it's something the fandom is kinda glossing over and partly because it's lowkey one of the biggest obstacles that a Husk/Angel relationship would have into overcome.

'Loser Baby' emphasises the similarities between Angel and Husk's situations, but it also (probably deliberately, since Husk is the one leading it) brushes aside one of the most major differences between them.

Namely that when Husk tells Angel that he's not the only one who sold his soul, he's not just singing about himself.

Husk sold his soul to Alastor, yeah (or lost it at least, which amounts to the same thing), but he also traded in souls. He was that “psychopathic freak”, and was operating fro long enough to achieve Overlord status.

And, honestly? Having your soul owned by Husker back in the day probably sucked.

The one benefit of soul contracts for the person selling their soul is that they seem to get a fair amount of say in how the contract is written.

Angel's contract, for example, apparently has a clause stating that he's only under Valentino's jurisdiction when he's in the studio. (Which, btw, puts a whole other spin on why Val is so pissed when he moves out of studio accommodation and into the Hotel.) And Val is apparently bound to that. Even though he's pissed off and actively wants to put Angel in his place, he can't make any moves against him in the club.

Equally, since most overlords seem to be associated with a specific location/industry, you can generally choose who your working for and therefore roughly what kind of stuff you're gonna be doing.

In practice there seems to be a lot of manipulation and coercion going on on the part of the Overlords making these contracts— they're not fair by any means— but the sinners signing them are theoretically at least guaranteed the right to a (somewhat) informed choice and some control over the deals they make.

Having an Overlord who uses human souls to pay his gambling debts, however, completely undermines all that.

Imagine going into work for your job running the roulette games at the casino only to be told that the boss played a bad hand in a game with Valentino, and so you're a sex worker now.

Or being traded to someone who has you fighting turf wars for them, and realising that your contract doesn't have any clauses to protect your personal safety because you only signed up to be a bartender.

Or selling your soul for a job near your home and family so you can guarantee their protection, only to be traded to someone whose territory is on the other side of the pentagram.

Husk is a victim of his own addiction, yeah, which is one of the reasons why Angel relates to him. But his backstory implies that there must be a significant number of people out there who were also victims of Husk's addiction, and may not be as sympathetic. Dude basically owned other people as property (… we have a word for that) and then literally played games with their lives.

And like, I'm not saying he hasn't changed. He seems more empathetic on the show than his backstory would imply, and apart from anything else, he's had a pretty clear object lesson about what it's like to be on the receiving end of that sort of thing. (Ngl, I'm pretty sure one of the reasons Alastor keeps him around is because he's the type to find the irony amusing.)

But like, he's in this place where he can relate to Angel Dust's situation, while at the same time probably also being able to relate to Valentino and Alastor's perspectives (although I doubt he was quite as bad as Val to work for).

And I'm curious as to what would happen, later in the series, if the gang met someone who had sold their soul to Husk at one point. Someone who would also be able to relate to Angel's situation, but with Husk as their version of Valentino.

[fushitoru]

EDIT: check out the series here!

thinking about writing a bridgerton!gojo fic (series?)....

duke gojo, who has stirred up everyone and their mamas with news of how he is finally joining the marriage scene this season after years of fooling around. of course, to no one's surprise, he is the season's most eligible bachelor. he's the strongest, whether that be in terms of wealth or other manly pursuits gentlemen ought to be good at. gojo isn't marrying for love. he just needs to be tied down to secure his inheritance so he can gamble and fool around at the gentleman's clubs with his friends until he drops dead one day.

you seek to be the perfect daughter in front of your parents. you have been taught to be the picture of grace and nobility, proficient at all things a lady must be good at: needlework, art, music...you name it. but deep inside, you have an affinity for literature---feminist literature. you secretly feel aversion towards the idea of marrying just to be a submissive wife but will not show it. you are perfectly content marrying any man that should not harm you as long as he has the means to provide for you and make your family proud.

upon your presentation to the queen, you are immediately crowned a diamond. the first ball of the season comes, and gojo undoubtedly has his eyes sight on you as the diamond of the season. after all, why would a duke need to settle for anything less when he can buy the shiniest jewel?

on your dance with him, you give all the template responses. "i would sire as many kids as my husband desires." you are afraid of pregnancy and even more so of raising kids. "of course I read byron!" you hate byron's poetry.

gojo is content, and you, tired of all the stares and hushed whispers that have followed you through the night, leave to get fresh air outside in the terrace. only to overhear:

"a bit simpleminded. has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. she's perfectly fine for a wife. i shall begin courting her and will soon pro---"

at that moment, you have one thought in your mind: you will never marry satoru gojo. in fact, you abhor him.

cue insults thrown back and forth. when it comes down to having to marry gojo, the most eligible bachelor and the option that will make your parents the proudest, will it be a matter of fillial piety or...love?

dear reader, this season has definitely come forth with many promises of thinly veiled hatred, jealousy, and burning passion.

oops this is longer than the silly little thought i wanted to post but welp. the smut i have planned for this is outright nastyyy

comment if you'd like to be on the taglist for this

i also promise i have not forgotten about beach boy gojo :3 running into a bit of writer's block for that so my inbox is always open for ideas <3

[asumofwords]

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband. 

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement. 

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven. 

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily. 

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe. 

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him. 

Need him. 

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony. 

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been. 

A Valaryian. 

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware. 

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully. 

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers. 

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body. 

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

-

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband. 

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours. 

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare. 

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother. 

And so the ceremony began. 

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago. 

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced,  “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen. 

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table. 

-

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement. 

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in. 

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand. 

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her. 

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it. 

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Of course you did. 

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more. 

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.” 

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup. 

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.” 

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice. 

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage. 

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that. 

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up. 

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come. 

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him. 

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose. 

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth. 

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond. 

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes. 

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke. 

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.” 

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?” 

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended. 

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it. 

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

-

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony. 

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother. 

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet. 

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony. 

Your blood ran cold. 

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother. 

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince. 

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy. 

Almost. 

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin. 

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head. 

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down. 

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him. 

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips. 

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him. 

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors. 

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you. 

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before. 

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room. 

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone. 

Your heart skipped in your chest. 

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision. 

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck. 

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly. 

Angrily. 

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear. 

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him. 

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips. 

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help. 

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to. 

But no help came. 

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word. 

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin. 

You would not show weakness. 

You would be strong. 

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent. 

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness. 

But he didn’t. 

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid. 

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers. 

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.” 

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled. 

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.” 

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed. 

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave. 

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him. 

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly. 

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan. 

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks. 

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound. 

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements. 

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience. 

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement. 

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?” 

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down. 

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before. 

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched. 

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face. 

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded. 

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides. 

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had. 

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open. 

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above. 

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.” 

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you. 

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing. 

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear. 

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck. 

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once. 

It was overwhelming. 

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust. 

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth. 

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering. 

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him. 

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat. 

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?” 

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed. 

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face. 

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt. 

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you. 

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades. 

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you. 

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer. 

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given. 

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer. 

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought. 

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man. 

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him. 

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge. 

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant. 

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial. 

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more. 

It was wrong. 

But Gods did you need it. 

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner. 

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up. 

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core. 

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed. 

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest. 

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done. 

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly. 

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.” 

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine. 

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one. 

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

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