#who would ever want to be king for real for real

[smilesatdawnmain]

Would it be possible for some of the other Shadowpeach kids end up in the tragedy of the six au?

Would they ever try to have kids again after all the bad stuff that happened since now the mountain is way more protected so no one could take their new cub(s) away from them or are they too traumatized/busy to do it?

I think I remember something about Rumble and Savage being in it at some point, so how do they get created, and with Wukong being the way he is, how do they get out of FFM?

How would MK and Xiaohua feel that their parents essentially moved on and replaced them with other kids, from their perspective once they find out who their parents are.

It's a lot of questions sorry but I was looking through your art again cause it's pretty and had the thought of the kids like Qi Xue, Qi Sying and Qi Bao being in the Angsty mess that is tragedy of the six au

Have a good day/night!

At this point, they do have two more children. Rumble and Savage. Similar to the Big family Au, ShadowPeach wanted a big family, but, as things are, it is too painful to even imagine that.

Rumble and Savage come as a bit of a surprise to both of them.

Well... a surprise to Wukong, anyway. Macaque, not as much- as it was almost intentional. His mental state was not quite stable at the time, but he doesn't regret what he did either.

As he created these two through a more magical-based means than through live birth or through a carving of a stone egg. To ensure they were stable, he used some of Wukong's magic...

As how Macaque got it... well...

There is a reason there is a Mature rating to this particular fanfic.

After seeing so many other monkey's with their own young, day after day, and longing for the ones he lost- the whispers of his head got the best of him. And then he would see Wukong- a man he hardly recognizes anymore, a man he feel so much guilt over, who is now a cold and brutal dictator to the world outside...

Yet who is still so gentle and sweet to the cubs of the mountain....

He had pulled his mate to bed that night, surprising the King with his affectionate manner, knowing how much Wukong longed for him. How easily he could manipulate that...

and Wukong was certainly desperate for any semblance of his Moon... and very unsuspecting of Mihou's real intention.

Not long later, Mihou appears in front of the King with two little cubs swirling with their collective energy.

——/-

Edit; As for your last question, no, MK and Xiaohua wouldn’t feel betrayed. They would actually love siblings :)

And rumble and savage, well, they are little when they first meet MK and Xiaohua. So they don’t really have any big desire to leave their home at the time of the reunion.

[lala056]

Exhausting

I have no respect for billford shippers that look down on stancest shippers.

Oh what, you’d have me believe a genetic tie to a partner is somehow worse than being with someone that stabs through your hands, forces you to swallow live spiders, and also SA’s you by having yourself forcibly strip down in public and swing your clothes over your head like a helicopter? (sorry but anyone that forcibly removes your clothes and exposes your body, even if you’re a guy/lacking breasts and it’s just your chest, is committing SA against you. They’re exposing your body against your will plain and simple. Try to write that off how you like but that’s the facts)

The logic behind this baffles me honestly.

There’s a reason Alex titled that kissing drawing as "the worst drawing in the world" and then linked to an amazon BIBLE page (yeah I know that was part of a joke well guess what he frequently uses the bible joke for shipping in general so yeah).

Because he knows it’s BAD, TOXIC, PROBLEMATIC AS YOU GUYS LIKE TO LABEL THINGS. What I see people incorrectly accuse PROSHIPPERS to REPRESENT rather than the actual representation of the LIVE AND LET LIVE CREDO OF SHIPPING.

Ever stop to consider that maybe Alex didn’t do stancest or art involving Wendy/Dipper because he simply a) didn’t like those ships, which is valid since everyone has their own tastes, and he did base some of these characters on his own family so it’s close to home for him, or b) knows how toxic and chronically online a lot of haters are? That he wanted to avoid drama for this stream that he’s trying to milk every cent out of for CHARITY? (It's ridiculous how many times he felt obligated to say "REMEMBER IT'S FOR CHARITY" when shipping came up just to try and prevent any meltdowns from uptight fans and viewers. And even then he still didn't do some because he knew the fact of it being for charity still wouldn't fly for some- because a lot of people would rather watch REAL PEOPLE SUFFER to preserve their fictional sensitivities)

Not to mention he still works with Disney (chibiverse hello), any backlash (the form of false pedo accusations or incest apologist accusations being what happens to be thrown around all willy nilly nowadays over fictional bullshit) could get him blocked not only from working with the company ever again, but lose any input he might have over his beloved passion project and baby Gravity Falls itself?

This is a man who has said COUNTLESSLY that he doesn’t care about ships, has even encouraged people to "be weirder" and made omelet hypotheticals for how much HE DOESN’T CARE BECAUSE FICTIONAL SHIPS DON’T MATTER.

Alex Hirsch is a KING.

And it’s sad to see that so many of his loyal subjets are so bigoted and blind to ignore his own feelings in order to justify their own, or to somehow perform the mental gymnastics in order to absolve themselves of "thought crimes" so that they can feel like they aren’t bad people under the imposition of conservative purity culture.

The terms "cest" and "age" are trigger words now. If those show up in any form, pitchforks come out and roofs get burned. Companies overreact and overcompensate. He said Disney people were watching, so of course he’s gonna say and act in what is deemed an appropriate manner because even companies apparently prefer abusive relationships to ones that have a blood tie even if blood ties are wholesomely depicted.

The age old double standards.

And don’t get me started on bringing up Dipper Goes To Taco Bell. Alex and cast know of that story, they’ve made references to it in a video game and such, immortalized it. They engage with all corners of their fandom, also shown by Jason’s "saving the town" reference on stream.

Another thing, anyone notice how they laughed off the Dipper and Wendy suggestion Jason made, rather than exploded? BECAUSE THEY DON'T CARE IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS - and most likely turned them down because they know there's more drama about characters being aged up and crap so it wouldn't have mattered if they're adults now, there are people who will always see them as "kids".

Point is - If there was such a strong hate on Alex’s part about the darker side of fiction or taboos he’d do all in his power to make sure they were never mentioned again and be active against them. 

He’s a kind, caring man that obviously likes to just get along with people, but he does put his foot down when he feels something is awful. He’s made political posts about presidents he feels are corrupt and spoken out against social injustice. You honestly think he wouldn’t speak out about those taboo ships in frank language if he thought that they shouldn’t exist and that the people who create for them are awful?

Newsflash, he would. Yes, he’d isolate a sadly small part of his fanbase, but he’s shown time and again he doesn’t care about being liked. He cares about what’s right.

And abusing others over which made up character kisses who, isn’t.

If you’re someone that mislabels proshippers too, to mean "problematic shippers", then as a billford shipper you’re one by definition. And yes, I'm including you AU billford shippers too because there is always some degree of toxicity.

Knock the hate and abuse off. People that go off about why their ship is justified and another isn't are the reason people leave fandoms and leave amazing works often unfinished, even Gen writers and artists.

[snoopyhughes]

it's you, it's you, it's really all for you (nh13)

Happy winter fic exchange @puckology101 !!! For the plot I had in mind, I didn't think a Swiss Alps trip was realistic but I hope this does the trick. I tried to detail the beautiful Banff scenery as best as I could (especially for someone who has never been!) so I hope you could truly envision that.

As always, @wyattjohnston Demi thank you so much for hosting this event for our community!

This is 2k+ words, I don't believe there's any mentions of any defining traits but I have not done a thorough check to ensure that this is safe for all to read. If you would like me to do that, shoot me a message and I'm more than willing to double check.

Title from Video Games by Lana del Rey (the live version, iykyk) this is loosely edited!

Nico Hischier, in hind sight, was thrilled that Switzerland was not a part of the four nations tournament. His logical, captain sense knows that he should want to play hockey all the time, work on his game, and he does really love international play. However, he needed a break. The high powered, adrenaline filled season had taken a toll on his body and his mental capacity.

But deep down, he was thrilled. Because that means he gets to go on a trip with his best friend, Y/N. When some of the guys who weren't going to four nations decided to get a group together and take a trip to Banff, complete with skiing, the beautiful winter scenery, and two hot tubs on the property, he jumped on the opportunity, even faster when he knew Y/N could come with.

Dawson insisted that he invited his girlfriend because he promised her a trip on the all star break but she ended up not being able to go. Soon enough, almost all of the guys were inviting their partners, save for Luke who insisted on bringing his best friend Dylan Duke, never one for formalities with girls.

Nico was chronically single, but always by choice. He does not have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times he's tried to show you how much he loves you, more than a friend, but it never works. Either you're lovingly clueless or you don't feel the same way, the latter causing a pit in his stomach. That being said, Nico will always pick you as his plus one to pretty much anything. If you ever suggest that he find a real date, someone who he might want to be romantically involved with, he shrugs it off immediately, letting you know that "he doesn't have time for a relationship right now" and that "you make him happier than any relationship ever could."

Everything leading up to the trip was relatively smooth. The private jet flight (that you'd never get used to) was like flying on a resort, you were able to get time off work with no problem, and even the packing didn't seem like as much of a chore as it usually does. But things started getting interesting as soon as you, Nico, and the group made it to the ski resort. You always knew you'd be sharing a room, that much never bothered you. You'd shared hotel rooms with him before, having not been a first timer on an all star break trip, which is essentially what this was. Coincidentally, all of the people on the trip ended up with rooms right next to each other. When you opened the door, you saw one huge king bed staring right at you.

You and Nico shared a look, assuming that your room may have gotten mixed up with the others. Sure enough, when you knocked on everyone's door, they all had the same set up as you. The only room with two beds on the floor, it seemed, belong to Luke and Dylan. You thought of asking them to switch, but you could only imagine Luke's dramatics and theatrics if you tried to suggest switching rooms.

"It really doesn't bother me, Y/N. As long as it doesn't bother you, I'm fine with it. Besides, did you see the size of that bed? It could probably fit a third person in there also." You really didn't know why you were so nervous. Of course, you had known you had feelings for Nico. But you always felt that Nico could never have any feelings for you. You had watched Nico flirt with girls in the bar after games, even on the trips you went on, awkwardly tagging along on his side. It was the same way he flirted with you sometimes. It made you feel like you were just another girl for him to flirt with. He had a naturally flirty personality, and you were just another person who came in contact with that.

As you opened the door to the bedroom again, accepting your fate, you took a second to look around and truly take in the room. You were amazed at what you saw. When you first walked into the room, you could clearly see the bathroom, with a jacuzzi tub and a waterfall shower, and even a double vanity sink. In addition to the huge bed, there was a massive TV set up across from it, some of the softest towels you've ever countered in your life, and a huge glass sliding door. When you moved the curtains, you couldn't help the gasp that had came over your mouth.

Nico had seen tons of beautiful mountain scenery in his lifetime, growing up in Switzerland. He had seen the mountains, the snow, all of it. And sure, you had seen snow. It was usually tinged with grey and brown, tire tracks and footprints ruining its true beauty. This, this pure, unaltered beauty of the mountain scene in Banff, it took your breath away. Nico couldn't help but smile, seeing your pure joy, watching the breath get stolen from your mouth as you observed the scenes around you.

"Nico this is... wow," you gasped, leaning in when he wrapped his arm around you, feeling him rest his head atop of yours. Your heart fluttered, feeling like you were meant to be here. "You're my best friend," you smiled nuzzling into his side. "Yeah, my best friend."

You should've known with the room situation that the guys were up to something. After all, Dawson insisted on booking the rooms, saying that Nico deserved a break from his "captain duties," causing Nico to rebut that "booking rooms on a vacation is hardly a 'captain's duty.'" But when you turned away from the mountains, you were beginning to discover that it was possible that you and Nico had gotten the "honeymoon suite." You had your own private hot tub on the deck of your room, the first floor patio backing up into a beautiful mountain scene. You imagined snow falling onto your face and hair as you and Nico lounged in the hot tub together. Your cheeks heat up at the thought, causing you to pull away from Nico. You couldn't allow yourself to get too caught up in the what ifs. If Nico really wanted to make a move on you, he would make a move, not the same move he had made hundreds of other times.

You found yourself in your bathroom getting ready with the other girls that were on the trip. Nico had already gotten ready and was downstairs at the bar drinking with the guys. Since you had gotten in to the resort after 5, you knew no skiing would be happening, so you made reservations at a nice restaurant in downtown Banff.

"So, how's it going with you and Nico? Do you like the room?" Dawson's girlfriend giggling, nudging you in the side. "I knew that couldn't have been accidental. Dawson seemed way too excited watching me trying to figure out how to unlock the room door," you laughed, nudging her right back. "It's so foolish. You both clearly love each other, but neither of you will make a move. It makes no sense. If you guys won't do it, someone else had to try it." You sighed, putting the cap on your lip gloss.

"I know what you mean, but I really don't think Nico likes me back. He acts the same way with every other girl he's come across. If Nico really wants to be with me, I want him to make it known, make it obvious. Do something that lets me know that it's me only, not me and the girls at the bar, not me and the girls who wait for him after games, just me." Whether you realized it or not, the other girls were silently taking notes, and as soon as you went to the bathroom at dinner, they told Nico.

When you arrived with the girls at the restaurant, you learned the guys were already waiting at a table. Nico's eyes lit up when he saw you, smiling wide and blushing at your prolonged eye contact. As you came closer to the table, he took a step toward you, pulling you into a hug. His large hand ran along your back as he pulled you in close, causing goosebumps to raise up your arms and on the back of your neck.

"You look absolutely stunning," he whispered in your ear, causing your cheats to heat up, a smile just as big as Nico's. Nico only pulled away to pull your chair out for you, again causing your cheeks to heat up, the girlfriends smiling around you, although you had genuinely no idea because you couldn't stop staring at Nico.

They wondered how you couldn't see how much he cared for you, more than anyone, especially any other girl. Even the guys could see how much he cared for you. The girls understood deep down, knowing how difficult it can be to be able to fully trust a man, especially if you had been hurt in the past by one. Because yes, they were taking notes to share with Nico. But they really didn't need to. And everything they told him, he already knew.

He knew exactly where you'd want to eat, knowing that you craved your comfort food when you were tired. It was the perfect place to eat after a travel day, and getting to the hotel when it was already dark. He knew your preferred seating choice, and of course he knew that you would want a table with a view of the mountains. He didn't care how much it cost him, or that he had to name drop himself (and Luke) to get the table with the view. All that mattered was that he could sit across from you, and watch you admire the view, while he admired you, which was really all that mattered to him.

And nothing felt more perfect than when the rest of the couples started either making their way back to the resort or to the next stop on their drinking trip down the Main Street in Downtown, you and Nico stayed. The two of you stayed, his hand softly brushing yours as you talked, him with his back to the window, taking that spot specifically so that you could see the scenery. And even as everyone left, leaving the two of you at the table alone, all he wanted to do was look at you. The way you smiled, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed, even the soft yawn you let out towards the end of the night made him smile, his cheeks hurting at the end of the night.

When the uber dropped you two off at the resort at the end of the night, Nico held the door open for you, helping you back into the room. When he moved from the front of your view and you saw what he had done, you couldn't stop the gasp from coming from your mouth. How he had done it while being at the restaurant and you being the last to leave the room, you truly didn't know. But you didn't need the logistics, because it all settled in for you.

It's you. It's always you. It always has been, and always will be. The most beautiful bouquets of your favorite flowers sat around the room, no flower petals on the floor because you both agreed that that was impractical. A bucket of champagne sat cooling right by the glass doors that outlooked the view, the most perfect view. It was then you realized that it was more than Dawson who picked this room, it was Nico, wanting to share the space with you. It was Nico who knew how much you'd love the view. It's Nico. It always has been, and it always will be.

When your eyes locked from across the room, your eyes finally looking up at his, which you knew had been on yours the whole time, you couldn't cross the room fast enough. And when your lips locked with his, everything else floated away. It was like nothing else mattered. As the snow fell in the background just behind you, you knew that it didn't matter where you were, and it didn't matter who came in the way. It was always you.

[catsteeth]

Turn Your Cloak - Pt. 3 (parts 1 and 2) FINALE

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “Humbly requesting Benjicot and Velaryon Fem Reader. Benjicot, ever the romantic, manages to attack and 💀 Aemond and as a gift, he brings reader (and by extension, rhaenyra and Jace) his head. Honestly I just need to see Benjicot turning into Bloody Ben and Reader matching his freak. Feel free to add whatever else you want (smut is welcomed but not required)” CW: MDNI, drunk sex, p in v sex, unprotected, afab reader, alcohol consumption, mention of arranged marriage, canon typical violence, mention of death, war.  A/N: You said smut welcomed and I threw a welcome home party. 

Word Count: 11K

The threat of war loomed closer, and the tension in the air grew more and more with each passing day. 

You grew so anxious you could not sit still. Pacing the floors of your chamber all day and night long. 

You tried your hardest to find a solution that somehow no one had thought of yet. Perhaps if you thought long enough on it you’d find it. But of course, you couldn’t. The only solution you could find, and all the members of your mother's council could conjure was one. 

War.

In a council meeting many months ago, you sat beside your betrothed as your mother heard the advice of the lords within her cabinet. 

Lord Corlys had thought of a plan. Daemon would set out on Caraxes toward Harrenhal. His departure would be publicly announced to scatter all squatters who remained there during his absence. Aemond wanted Daemon dead more than any other of the Blacks. Should Daemon fall dead, all the lords who backed Rheanyra would turn their cloaks out of fear. So Lord Corlys would give Aemond the opportunity he wanted. But the real plot would be that Lord Corlys would lead a troop of men from Dragonstone to Harrenhall in secret as battles raged on in surrounding territories. 

But they would not waste their occupation of the Riverlands. Whilst they would have men near the surrounding forestation of Harrenhal, they would have their troops scatter the Riverlands, while leaving Harrenhal seemingly unoccupied. They would wage brutal and vengeful battles across the Riverlands whilst they waited for any sign of Vhagar near Harrenhal.

Once Vhagar was seen, the troop would take advantage of the tree's coverage and use hooks, arrows, weighted nets, and catapults to bring the beast down. Reinforcement from Hugh and Ulf would be used to aid in the killing of Vhagar. Once it was done, Aemond would be executed for his crimes. 

Without Vhagar and the Prince Consort, the Greens would be lost. King’s Landing and the realm would be in the hands of the rightful Queen Rheanyra. 

The council decided it was their best option. 

You wanted to volunteer your effort, volunteer your dragon. But, you remembered how Benjicot got onto his knees and begged you to simply consider otherwise. If he begged you to simply consider it, you didn’t want to know how he would react if you did enter battle. So you sat silently in the council chamber. Simply acknowledging that the plan was a good one and the best one you had. 

So, your grandfather began gathering his best men for the troop. Many were of his own ship crew, many rivermen, many northern. But the one man who you cared for the most was Benjicot. He volunteered almost immediately once he had the chance to. 

You weren’t thrilled with his choice you were nearly devastated. But, you remembered what he said to you. 

“I’ll go to war. Kill every green I see. I’ll roar and rampage in the name of your revenge.” His eyes were wide, he was desperate, “I’ll bring Kings Landing to your feet.” He vowed to you, “I’ll never command you to do anything, never forbid you to do anything. I’ll give you my own sword to ride your beast into battle. But, I keep thinking of it. Being in battle and looking up to see you overhead on your beast. I am overcome with pride and admiration but should the greens shoot you down, or Vhagar prevails- I have to beg you selfishly. You’re the only woman I want, the only one I’ve ever loved, the only one I’ll ever love. If you are harmed, or worse I will burn all of Westeros to its soil and me with it.”

You knew this was necessary for him. To protect you, to attempt to heal you. This was what he wanted, what he needed. 

So reluctantly you sent him off to battle with a lock of your hair, your favor, and a kiss. 

He was marching toward arrows, swords, blood, and fire and yet he was the happiest he’d ever been. He was not nervous, for he knew if he kept you in his heart he would prevail. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The days since Ben had left were long and torturous. Your only solace was his letters that he sent to you. 

His letters were romantic and gentle. Each would detail little of the war, he didn’t want you to know all that he was doing. He feared it would scare you. But you found out through the reports of the troop's progression through the Riverlands. A complete opposite of his own letters.

Benjicot surprised everyone in the troop, especially your Grandsire. He wrote to your mother and her council of his brutality. The sounds of Ben’s war cry was comparable to a hysterical laugh. One that struck fear in his enemy. It was clear he had no fear in him as his unpredictable and brutal fighting. He alone had more confirmed deaths than the rest of his troop combined. He was often covered in a mixture of dry and fresh blood. His sword and his body never tired of bloodshed. 

It was only in one letter that he did hint at his bloodlust. The last letter he wrote to you. 

𝕸𝖞 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊, 

𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊, 𝕴 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖊 “𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕭𝖊𝖓”. 𝕴𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗. 𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖉, 𝕴 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕾𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖞 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊. 𝖀𝖓𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

𝕸𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗. 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖈𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊. 𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖓𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑, 𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓𝖘 𝕴 𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖙. 𝕴𝖋 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌.

𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖘𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖑𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝕴 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 𝕴𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘. 𝕴 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉. 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖈𝖆��𝖕 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖜 𝖉𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉. 

𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖎𝖙, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝕴 𝖉𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖆 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗. 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖜𝖊’𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗, 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊. 𝕴𝖋 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉, 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉. 

𝕬𝖛𝖞 𝖏𝖔𝖗𝖗ā𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖓 (I love you)

𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 & 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗, 

𝕭𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖙 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

His words haunted you. His devotion touched you but his admission of his mortality shook you. 

Since he had left things at Dragonstone became more and more complicated. The dragon seeds had made off with Seasmoke and Vermithor. Leaving your plan in a compromising position. As you sat at your mother's council table you ignored the words of the lords who sat around it with you. You toyed with your fingers as you were lost in thought of Ben. You interrupted whatever conversation was being had as you asked, “Any news of the Lord Corlys’s men?” You asked finally bringing your attention back to the council, “They’ve been making progress toward Harenhall, has there been any news in regards to Vhagar?” You clarified.

Your mother looked at you with sympathetic eyes and nodded to the maester. The maester looked to you, “Nothing concrete, Princess.” He said with a shake of his head. 

“Rumors then?” You said picking apart his words confidently. 

“Plenty.” He nodded, “Though it is not wise to heed to them.”

Before he could continue to speak of something else, you spoke again, “I am too young to be wise.” 

The maester silently debated whether he should or should not tell you the truth. “Some of the men rumored it… Vhagar has been seen near Harenhall.” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “This seems like a rumor to heed mind to!” You said as you sat up in your seat. 

Your mother raised a hand to you to calm you, “Lord Corlys has not seen it. Nor has Benjicot, or I suspect he would have written such news to you.” 

“Some soldiers report seeing merely an end of a tail, or the smell of dragon. The sleep-deprived and frightened mind can think up such things.” The maester said in an attempt to ease your mind though it did the opposite. 

You scoffed, “Or perhaps these men have seen such things, perhaps they have smelt dragon.”

“We know nothing yet.” Your mother said dismissively. You knew she was blinded by her want to protect you and Jacaerys. But you also knew you were now their last hope at taking on Vhagar and preserving your plan.

“And yet we have too much to risk. Daemon’s dragon is just one.” You said nearly pleading for her to open her eyes, “You must let me ride out Mother.” 

“No.” She said quickly with a dismissive shake of her head. 

“Mother!” You nearly shouted, regaining her attention and silencing the rest of the men at that table. “We are out of options.” You said standing, “Send me to Daemon. Vaghar cannot take two dragons at once.” You placed your hands on the table and leaned towards her, “He has taken my brother, my grandmother, I will not let him take my husband.” You shook your head slowly and maintained your eye contact with her. “I won’t let him take victory.” 

Rheanyra felt her eyes tearing up. She knew you were right but she couldn’t allow herself to admit it. “What then? You’ll fly out on Silverwing and face Vhagar as Arrax did?”

“Yes.” You nodded confidently, “Lucerys was not ready. Aemond took advantage of his youth and inexperience.” You looked at her with confident and strong eyes, “I am ready.” You said with a nod, “Without Vhagar, the Greens are lost. You cannot afford to lose Caraxies.” A silence hung in the air for a nearly uncomfortable time. The lords at the table did not dare offer their advice in either direction. They knew better than to come between a mother and daughter dragon. Soon, reluctantly and hesitantly Rhaenyra nodded though she immediately regretted it. “I’ll show you what loyalty looks like.” You said as you pushed yourself away from the table and marched out of the chamber doors. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Thousands of miles away, Benjicot sat at a table in a tavern within the Riverlands. He wrote on a piece of parchment, being sure to keep his words hidden from the drunken men around him. He was writing to you, of course. 

“Oi, Bloody Ben!” A rowdy soldier called out toward Ben. 

Ben folded the paper and shoved it into his shirt. He looked toward the man at the bar, “Aye?”

The man approached him with two women in his arms, “I’m paying,” He said with a drunken smile, “What say you? Which lass you take?” He asked as he looked over at the women with a lustful grin. 

Ben huffed, “Fuck you.” He said with a tired scowl. 

The man looked at Ben with an angry gaze, “The fucks your problem-” 

Before the man could finish the strong hand of Lord Corlys took hold of the man’s shoulder. “The Lord of Ravenhall is a loyal man.” He said as he pushed the man away with a single shove. Lord Corlys looked toward Ben, “I respect that.” He then looked toward the barkeep “A round of brown ale for me and the Blackwood.” He commanded and the barkeep nodded. 

Ben stood out of respect, “Lord Corlys-”

Lord Corlys did not pay attention to this, he simply raised a hand for Ben to sit as he sat across from him. “My granddaughter is restless in Dragonstone,” Ben said, immediately and completely consumed by his words. He had heard nothing of how you were. Only from the letters that you sent and he knew you would not tell him all of your worries. “She wonders and paces the halls waiting for ravens from you.” 

Ben sighed with heartache, “I write every moment I am granted.” He wished he could have done more. He looked up to Lord Corlys, “Is she safe?” He asked with desperation. 

“Of course.” He said quickly, “She worries for you endlessly.” He said as the ale was sat on their table and he began to drink. 

“I wish she wouldn’t,” Ben said shaking his head, ignoring the ale. 

“She has requested to ride out on Silverwing to relieve our troop's efforts,” Corlys said, somewhat curious as to how Ben would respond.  Ben’s eyes widened for a moment as he looked at Corlys. “How does that make you feel?” He asked bringing the cup of ale back to his lips. 

Ben thought for a moment, “I’ll never prevent her from what she wishes.” He then shook his head, “Though I wish she’d keep safe.” 

“As do I,” Corlys said. He could see Ben’s anxiety through his words. “But Silverwing is a large and formidable beast.” He said trying to ease Ben’s anxieties, “Larger than Moon Dancer, Vermax, Syrax, Caraxies, Seasmoke, Maelys-”

“But not larger than Vhagar.” Ben interrupted. He was imagining his worst fears. 

Corlys sat his cup down and leaned toward Ben, “Aemond is overly confident in his abilities. He is not as talented a rider as he claims.” Ben looked at Corlys taking in all his words, “Vhagar is too large a beast to hold a true hold of. It fights as an animal does.” He sat back in his seat, “My granddaughter has a true hold of her beast. She is a talented rider, and she is clever. Aemond is hardly clever.” He shook his head, “She will not run into a battle she won’t win simply because hotter blood prevailed over her better judgment.” 

Ben sat in silence for a moment, “She’s mentioned nothing of flying out in our letters.” He was trying to brush off Lord Corlys's well-informed words for rumors. 

“Well, she’s not been granted permission by the Queen.” Little did he know, you now did. “Though her council has been pushing her to. And armor has been made for her.” Ben felt his heart sink into his stomach, “She didn’t lie to you, just didn’t tell you. She probably wishes for you not to worry.” 

Ben’s eyes fell onto the floor, then returned to Corlys. He had the same predatory gaze he had on the battlefield, “I’ll not allow a man to bring harm to her.” He said darkly. 

Corlys sighed weakly, he could see the devotion he once had for his late wife in Ben’s eyes. Though he could even see that Ben’s devotion seemed even stronger. He knew if something were to happen to you, not even the Gods would be able to heal whatever damage Ben would bring. “We are men who love our family. But Believe me.” He warned, “You cannot stop what other men wish to do.” Ben knew of what Corlys spoke of. “And you cannot stop your wife from doing what she wishes to do. Our wives were born with fire in their hearts.” 

“I know.” Ben nodded, “I love that fire, but it-”

“Infurates you.” Corlys said with experience, “I know.” He nodded with a smile. Finally, Corlys took hold of his cup of ale and stood, “My granddaughter cares for you deeply- loves you. Do not allow me to find you with a whore.” He said as he left Ben at the table. 

“Never,” Ben said with a shake of his head.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben continued to worry for you just as you continued to worry for him. 

You sent a letter to the Riverlands, to Ben’s encampment. You told him you would be flying out into battle. You had to be honest with him though you worried how it would affect him. 

He would have appreciated it, though the letter never arrived. 

Since you were enrolled in your mother's war, the battles in the Riverlands grew heavier. 

In the Riverlands, Benjicot roared and rampaged with bloody satisfaction. Killing and slaughtering tens, of hundreds, of thousands of men. Laughing and enjoying each fatal swing of his sword. 

In Dragonstone, Your armor was being readied, polished, and finely tuned. As you waited for the silversmiths to fit you into your armor, you sought out Silverwing. 

The dragon keepers placed an armored saddle and chains onto Silverwing. As they did the weight of what you were flying into sank in. You may never see this home again, you may never fly on Silverwing again. 

Your mother's eyes were filled with concern and sorrow. She did not wish to sacrifice another child for the crown. “Māzigon arlī naejot nyke. (Return to me safely.)” She spoke to you softly as she held your face in her hands. 

She found the sight of you alone to bring pain. She could not bring herself to stop you, but could not stay any longer. She turned away, painfully and reluctantly. 

You turned back to Silverwing. You smiled softly at the silver beast. Even if you died in battle, at least you died with her. Bonded for life and death. You ran your hand along her snout, “Īlon vīlībagon hēnkirī, uēpa riña. (We fight together, old girl.)” You said with a melancholy tone. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The Greens had brought more and more knights to the Riverlands. 

Ben thought he had killed the last of them as he stood up from the battlefield covered in blood. He looked at the horizon as he saw more green banners coming their way. “Green cunts.” Benjicot swore through gritted teeth and lowered harsh eyes as he stared at the coming knights. “Kill them all!” He declared before raising his sword and running head-on into the frye.  

As he ran in his sword diced through men like tallow, laughing and roaring all the while. 

However, it was becoming clear that their troop was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Ben didn’t let up. 

As he saw some black soldiers giving into exhaustion he grabbed hold of their collars pulled them up and threw them back into the battle.

Suddenly Ben’s bloody focus was disturbed. Benjicot could feel a pull of his heart. As though it were directing him to something. 

His intuition would be proven correct when he heard a fellow man shout, “Dragon!” 

The battle nearly fell silent. Eerie and still, as all looked above and saw the shadow of a large beast above the clouds. 

The Greens and Blacks alike waited in anticipation and fear. Would this dragon be salvation or death? 

As the dragon began descending towards the battlefield at an alarmingly fast pace, it was clear who it was. 

“Silverwing Above!” A knight shouted, “It’s the Princess!” Another shouted. 

All ducked and coward as you dived low near the ground, getting as close as you could to the battle while staying airborne.

Ben’s eyes instinctually found you in the sky. And as you flew past his eyes he saw you for a brief moment and yet he captured your image in enormous detail. 

You on top of your armored beast flew forward clad in armor that gleamed like forged moonlight. The breastplate was a masterpiece of polished silver and steel, etched with ornate marine patterns and crowned with a three-headed dragon motif that seemed to radiate power and authority.

The pauldrons jutted backward, adorned with razor-edged fins that gave the appearance of wings. Jagged and sharp, they seemed designed to evoke intimidation as much as protection. Underneath your pauldrons and over your shoulders, a cape of fine, interwoven links of chainmail glinted with every movement. Its texture was as fluid as a stream, softening the harsh precision of the armor. The belt at your waist bore a fishtailed dragon. 

The helm was a crowning glory, a sculptural marvel with its aerodynamic curves and horn-like crests that rose defiantly from the crown. Its silvered steel sculpted to mirror the fierce elegance of a dragon. Silverwing in fact, the Helmet was made to resemble the beast. The crown of the helm arched upward and backward into two long, curved horns that spiraled back like the crest and horns of the beast, Slender slits for the eyes hid your gaze, imbuing the figure with an aura of mystery and menace. Though your eyes were hardly visible, Ben could have sworn your eyes bore into his soul. 

Along the sides of the helmet, delicate filigree hinted at the visage of the predatory beast, its essence captured in cold steel. With an aura of predatory grace. It was not merely a piece of armor—it was a testament to the bond between knight and beast, a symbol of the strength and majesty they shared. It was a statement, you were not a dragon seed but the dragon. The dragon to which each Green should fear. 

The Greens scattered as Silverwing's nasally roar crackled through the air like thunder.

“Dracarys!” You commanded confidently. 

Silverwing obeyed with no hesitation. Her flames enveloped hundreds of Greens within minutes. 

Benjicot stood in amazement as he watched you. His eyes then looked onto the carnage that you brought. The bodies had turned in ash and clay just before his own eyes. Ben let out another laugh as he began swinging his sword again. 

“Your princess has joined you in battle!” Ben shouted with pride and adoration as he motivated the men, “Any man who lets her down dies by my hand!” He shouted once more before diving back into the frye. 

You heard a familiar screeching roar. 

As you looked over your shoulder you saw Caraxiess. With Daemon, your stepfather atop of him. 

You knew now was the time to follow your plan. 

“Ruaragon. (Hide)” You commanded. Silverwing dodged any of Vhagars attempted assaults as she flew up into the clouds. She took advantage of the thickest clouds, blending into the grey and silvers of them. Silverwing was a talkative dragon. She often purred or chirped as she flew, but never when she hid. It was a trick you had taught Silverwing for battle. She was a breeding dragon, not fighting class. Or so that’s what the dragon keepers told you. So you took it upon yourself to teach her. 

You looked down beneath the clouds to see Vhagar. Finally, you thought. You felt the anger rise in your stomach. “Nābēmagon. (Attack)”  You said with some hesitation. 

Silverwing dove rapidly through the clouds and flew over the head of Vhagar. As she circled back you could see the shocked expression on Aemonds face. 

Silverwing’s jaws clamped down onto the wing of Vhagar. Tearing her already damaged wings. 

Vhagar roared and attempted to spew fire at you and Silverwing. 

It made Ben gasp, and nearly lose his focus, but you managed to dodge the attack immediately. 

You watch as Caraxes took hold of Vhagars throat, but it wasn’t enough to kill the large beast. 

As you circled back once more, you knew you had only one option, “Jikagon syt se ȳrgos! (Go for the neck!)” You shouted, 

Silverwing’s jaw clamped onto Vhagar’s throat. Hot blood poured out of its wounds and fell upon the soldiers below. Burning them, greens and blacks alike. 

You held on as tightly as you could to your saddle as Silverwing’s talons clawed at the sternum of Vhagar, piercing its heart. 

As Vhagar fell limp in Silverwing’s jaws, she released its lifeless body. As did Caraxes. 

You and Daemon watched as Vhagar’s body fell into the lake below. 

You breathed heavily and petted Silverwings scales as she breathed exhaustedly. “Gīda, gīda riña...  Sȳrī gaomagon. (Steady, steady girl… Well done.)” You praised her as she flew on, taking in the sudden peace. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

What you nor Daemon saw was that Aemond did not perish in the fall. 

Vhagars body met the water before Aemond. He has untethered himself to Vhagar and swam to the shore quickly. 

The only person to have noticed through all the chaos was Ben. 

He chuckled to himself as he followed after him. He wasn’t going to allow him to survive. 

He killed thousands of greens, thousands of men just to fill the hole that Aemond left in you. He couldn’t let the man who brought such pain to you and your family live. 

Benjicot went into the forest after Aemond. He walked for what seemed like hours into the surrounding woods. Soon however he found what he was looking for.

A mournful Aemond sitting by a small stream. 

Aemond looked over his shoulder to see Ben standing there. Looking at him with the eyes of a predator. “You found me,” Aemond said tiredly, slightly irritated, and without fear. 

Benjicot remained silent for a nearly uncomfortable amount of time. Just staring at the man with dark and low eyes. “Do you know who I am?“ Ben finally spoke. His mind was running rampant with ideas of how he would draw as much pain out of the arrogant one-eyed prince. 

Aemond’s eye trained over Ben’s face as though he were looking through him. It didn’t take much to figure out who he was. Ben was covered in blood, more blood than any other knight on the battlefield. “You are betrothed to my bastard niece.” 

Ben took steps closer to Aemond, his eyes low. Staring at him as if he were a wolf spotting prey. “I am betrothed to the Princess of Dragonstone.” His voice was harsh and deep.

“Another whore of Dragonstone,” Aemond spoke cooly and calmly. His words sent hot rage through Ben’s already scolding hot blood. His eyes did not lighten, they remained dark and hateful. “An exciting prospect for a lord of a small and meaningless house I would wager. A chance at power.” Aemond stood on his tired legs and turned to Benjicot. “All you have to do is marry a bastard.”

Ben’s expression didn’t shift, stayed as hard as it was before. “You took something from her.” He said as his grip on his sword tightened. Aemond noticed the blood-covered sword in his hand. “Something you can’t give back.” 

His eye went from the sword in Ben’s hand to Ben’s dangerous gaze. “Is that why you’re here? You want to prove your worth to an illegitimate half-breed?” Aemond’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. 

“I’m not proving anything.” Ben shook his head slowly, “I want you dead because I have seen the pain you’ve brought to her.” He took a few more steps forward, biting his tongue out of anger, “And your words do not serve you well.” 

Aemond smirked slightly, “I am the prince, son of Viserys Targaryen.” He said as he withdrew his sword, making Ben grasp his tighter and move into a defensive stance. “I care nothing of that bastard's pain.”

Ben chuckled lowly, “You are no true prince. Craven cunt.” His laugh faded and his eyes returned to bloodlust, “I want you for myself.”

“Craven cunt?” Aemond questioned, “And yet- you fight for a bastard’s cunt.” Aemond said with amusement. 

With his vulgar remark toward you and your sex, Ben raised his sword toward him. Sneering at Aemond as he did so. 

The clash of steel echoed across the forest, punctuated by the sharp hiss of labored breaths. Ben’s bloody longsword flashed in the dim light, arcing through the misty air toward Aemond Targaryen, who met the blow with the cold precision of one who had honed his craft to a deadly art. Sparks leaped as their blades met, the force of the collision reverberating through their arms.

Ben pressed forward, his strikes wild, unpredictable, but purposeful, fueled by the searing fire of grief and vengeance. His footwork was aggressive, his movements as much a storm as the one that had claimed Lucerys Velaryon. 

Aemond moved like a shadow, his single eye gleaming with cruel calculation. His swordsmanship was a thing of grace and cruelty combined—every parry and riposte was a lesson in control. He danced around Ben’s fury, exploiting the openings left by raw emotion, testing him with feints and punishing counters.

The fight churned across the uneven ground, boots kicking up loose soil and grass. Ben’s blade grazed Aemond’s shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of crimson. “That’s for her tears,” Ben said. 

Aemond retaliated in kind, his blade carving through the air toward Ben’s ribs. Ben twisted away, barely avoiding the fatal blow, his chainmail ringing out as the sword glanced off it.

They circled each other like wolves, each looking for the moment of weakness that would tip the scales. Ben feinted a low swing, then brought his blade upward in a desperate arc. Aemond was faster, stepping to the side and slashing at Ben’s thigh. The blow struck true, and Ben faltered, a growl of pain escaping him as blood darkened his leg.

But Ben did not stop.

Ben lunged with renewed ferocity, his sword crashing into Aemond’s with such force that both men staggered. The Targaryen’s smirk twisted into a grimace as he was driven back, his boots skidding on the wet grass. Ben pressed the attack, his movements now fueled by sheer willpower, his injured leg threatening to buckle with each step.

Aemond stepped inside Ben’s guard, their swords locking, the screech of steel-on-steel cutting through the air. Aemond twisted, forcing Ben’s blade aside, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to be still.

Then Ben’s superior strength prevailed as he pivoted, his off-hand clutching a dagger pulled from his belt. “For her heartache,” Ben said through gritted teeth as the blade darted upward toward Aemond’s neck, narrowly missing the prince’s jugular. The blade was lodged halfway up into Aemonds jaw nearly piercing into his mouth. 

As he pulled away Aemond retaliated with a savage thrust, his sword piercing through Ben’s side, the blade slick with blood as it withdrew. “For my annoyance,” Aemond said, blood trickling out of his mouth. 

Aemond grasped the underside of his jaw, attempting to stop the heavy bleeding of his wound. 

Ben dropped to one knee, his vision swimming, but his gaze locked onto Aemond’s. Even in defeat, his eyes were defiant, a refusal to let his fury die with him. 

To Aemond’s surprise, Ben stood again. He fought with all his might, with all his love. 

The two men stood in silence, both equally damaged. Breathing heavily, in an attempt to regain whatever energy they could. 

All that could be heard was the sounds of the small stream flowing down the hillside. 

Ben’s eyes looked at Aemond, filled with anger and vengeance. “Come at me,” Ben hissed, raising his sword at Aemond once more, “With everything you have.” He sneered, his voice was wavering, but it was still deep and harsh. 

Aemond smirked despite the blood pouring from his neck, a grim mask of arrogance and malice. He steadied himself, raising his sword once more, but his movements were slower now, his footing less sure. Ben noticed the subtle shifts in his opponent’s stance, the faint tremor in his grip. Aemond was faltering, even if he refused to admit it.

Ben's injured leg screamed in protest as he stepped forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain. "I said come at me!" he growled, his voice carrying over the rush of the nearby stream. 

Aemond lunged, his blade flashing toward Ben’s chest. But this time, Ben was ready. He sidestepped, using the momentum of his dodge to pivot behind Aemond. Before the prince could recover, Ben swung his longsword in a brutal arc, the edge slicing across Aemond's back. Aemond cried out, his voice a mix of fury and pain, as he staggered forward, blood soaking his tunic.

Ben didn’t let up. He closed the distance, his sword coming down in a powerful overhead strike. Aemond raised his blade to block, but his strength was waning. The clash of steel reverberated again, but this time, Ben’s strike forced Aemond’s sword from his hand, sending it clattering to the ground.

Aemond fell to his knees, his breaths ragged, blood dripping from his wounds. His single eye glared up at Ben, defiant to the last. "Do it, then," he spat, his voice hoarse. "Prove yourself."

Ben’s chest heaved as he stood over Aemond, his sword poised to strike. For a moment vengeance—pressed down on him. 

“For my wife,” Ben whispered. With a swift, decisive motion, he drove his sword into Aemond’s chest, the blade piercing through armor, flesh, and bone. Aemond gasped, his defiance crumbling into shock as his body went limp and fell to the soft ground.

Ben pulled the sword free, the weight of his vengeance lifting slightly but leaving behind a hollowness he couldn’t yet name. Aemond collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him. 

But, once more, fury ran through his blood. 

Ben swung his sword down once more onto Aemond’s neck. Decapitating the one-eyed prince. 

Ben staggered back, dropping to one knee as the exhaustion and pain overcame him. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood. But he was alive. Against all odds, he had survived.

The stream whispered in the silence that followed, carrying away the echoes of their battle. Ben lifted his gaze to the sky.

In the distance, Ben would hear Silverwing’s nasally chirping. He smiled softly, and then, with the last of his strength, he rose to his feet, grabbed Aemond’s head by his long silver head, and began the walk back to the encampment. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Meanwhile, the war had come to a halt. Greens were lost, and the Blacks had prevailed. 

While men combed the fields for their dead, you combed with them in a desperate attempt to find Ben.  

“If he’s not here, are we to believe he coward away?” Daemon asked Lord Corlys as the men continued their search.

“He’d never do such a thing!” You said defensively. “Ben has never proven to be craven.” 

“Then where is he?” Daemon questioned pointedly. 

“We better direct our attention to Aemond.” Lord Corlys said. 

You huffed and rolled your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about such a thing. All you could care about was Ben. “Where is he?” Corlys continued.

“At the bottom of the lake with the ugly beast.” Daemon with an irritated sigh.

“Or perhaps they are both closer than we think,” Corlys said as he looked across the field.

Confused you turned to see what Corlys saw.

That's when you saw it. Ben, was bloodied and sweaty. His hand clinging to his wounded side. His other hand, dragging along the severed head of Aemond Targaryen. 

You turned around to see him stumbling weakening across the battletorn field. “Ben?” You asked as though you couldn’t believe your eyes. Pure disbelief. 

“Fire,” Ben said painfully and exhausted but he’d never felt such relief to see you alive. 

His words verified that you were not seeing a vision, but he was real, “Ben-” You said as you began running toward him. 

“I’m bloodied-” Ben said, not wanting to frighten you. 

You shook your head as you continued running toward him, “I like you bloodied-” You wrapped your arms around his neck and began kissing his bloodied cheeks frantically. You’d never been so happy, “The Gods are real!” You said with a smile as you held his tired and bloody face in your hands. 

Ben’s dirty and bloody hands held your face in return, “Let me look at you-” Ben said, his eyes heavy and his voice hoarse. He took in the vision of you. Shiny and chrome, dangerous and graceful, a warrior and a princess. “I have waited so long to look at you.” He said before wincing in pain, 

You looked down at Ben’s wounds. “You’re hurt.” You said. Though the blood that was his and the blood that was not was hard to distinguish between, It was a foolishly late realization.

Ben smiled weakly at you, his eyes still soaking in the sight of you, “I can’t bring myself to care right now.” He said despite beginning to collapse to the ground. His body gave in to the pain and blood loss. 

You pointed to a squire, “You- Get the maester!” You demanded. You dropped to the soil, holding Ben closely. You ran your hand through his dark hair, attempting to keep him awake, “I’m not leaving you.”

Ben still had a smile on his face as his eyes finally shut. 

As he did, your heart pounded, your tears welled and fell from your eyes. And Silverwing let out a roar so loud it shattered every window left in Harrenhal. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben was taken to the Maesters in Harrenhal.

You lay there beside Benjicot as he lay there motionless and wheezing. You held his hand as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. Desperate for him to make a noise, any kind of sound at all besides the sounds of labored breathing. 

You washed his exposed skin with a rag soaked in warm water. You were sure to speak to him, read to him, and you even sang to him. He always loved to hear you sing to yourself, you caught him eavesdropping on you many times. 

It was memories like that that made you hold out hope for him.

Finally, one day, as you laid cuddled into his side. Your hand resting on his chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. You heard a sound, “Mmm..” Ben finally let out a noise as his eyes began to flutter open.

You looked up at him, then finally sat up and held his face, “I’m here, I’m right here. I will be right here.” You said as if you were cooing a child. 

Ben’s eyes finally steadied, he looked at you with longing eyes, “You flew.” He spoke weakly.

You exhaled sharply, and shook your head “I am sorry.” You closed your eyes and looked down in shame, “I know you did not want for me to see battle, but I could not sit by while you faced Vhagar alone.” You stammered. 

He squeezed your hand tightly, “You’re the bravest woman I have ever met.” You finally looked back to him, “I’ve missed you.” “When I saw you in that sky I thought I’d died, gone to the heavens.”

“You nearly did.” You said placing a gentle hand on his bandaged side, “We’ve been here for a day and a night.” He took notice of how you said ‘we’, and he placed a hand on your cheek. You looked at him, your eyes inspected his face. His eyes looked nothing like the man you saw two days ago carrying your uncle's head. “You killed Aemond.” You said with a strange lightness, your eyes lighting up and the corners of your mouth threatening to lift into a smile as you thought of his head Ben carried. 

Ben however didn’t hide his pleasure. The corner of his mouth pulled to a smirk as he spoke, “I never promise things I can’t keep.”

You felt adornment rush through your body, making you smile as you looked at him. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I’ve missed you so.” 

You kissed his lips, the first kiss you’d shared since he departed. Ben’s lips were hungry, wanting more and more of you. 

You stifled a giggle as you lifted off of him and got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, almost whining. You looked back at him as you walked toward the pot hanging on top of the flames in the fireplace.

“Nowhere,” You said as you poured a bowl of stew you had ready for this very moment, “You must eat.” As you sat by his bedside once again, you said, “We need you well-rested for your trip home.” Holding a spoonful of the stew to his lips. To which he gladly ate after days of nothing but war.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You stayed with Benjicot in Harrenhal until he was well enough for the ship to return to Dragonstone. Never leaving his side.

By the time you had returned, the war was fought and won. It was easy enough without Vhagar and Aemond. 

When you stepped foot on the island you could hear the voice of your mother calling out to you.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother called out, looking at you as if you might be a mirage, “(Y/N)!” Rhaenyra shouted as she saw you approaching. She rushed toward you.

Your mother tightly wrapped her arms around you, “I am fine.” You said trying to calm her.

“Your grace,” Benjicot said, redirecting Rhaenyra’s attention. “The realm is yours.” He said with a stern demeanor that spoke of devotion.

As he spoke, a squire held out a wooden chest. Rhaenyra looked at it curiously, “What is this?” She asked approaching it. 

“I have brought you Aemond Targaryen,” Ben said, in some way attempting to warn her. 

Rhaenyra looked at Ben with suspicious eyes. 

As she opened the box, her expression seemed stone-like. 

She looked at the sight with a mix of emotions. All of which were sudden and overwhelming. As she looked upon the brutality before her, the memory of her son, Lucerys, rose unbidden—his laughter, his earnest eyes, the boyish joy he had brought to a mother’s weary heart. And then the vision shifted, darkened, to that fateful day when Arrax had fallen, torn asunder in the stormy skies over Storm’s End. A part of her whispered that she should rejoice. Her son's death was avenged. Aemond’s dragonfire was extinguished, and with it, one of her bitterest enemies. But Rhaenyra found no solace in vengeance.

Her voice cracked, raw with grief and fury. “Aemond’s death is but a hollow victory. Blood spilled for blood, and still, the price is never paid in full.” Rhaenyra gathered herself quickly. “You have served me and the realm well. Done for us an invaluable service.” She spoke to the two of you. Trying her best to sound as enthusiastic as she could. But for Rhaenyra, there was no justice in it. Only a strange hollowness. 

Rhaenyra closed the chest. 

She turned to you with a somber smile, holding you by your shoulders, finding her true victory in the sight of her child safe and alive. The queen would feel her emotions coming onto her again. So she smiled once more at her daughter before taking her leave inside the castle.

Jacaerys walked toward the chest, opening it once more for a brief moment before shutting it. Aemond’s face and sapphire eye were engraved into Jacaery’s mind. And now, it was before him once more, lifeless and still. He felt a dark satisfaction unfurl in his chest, a cold flame that burned brighter with every heartbeat. He then stepped toward Benjicot, “A grizzly display of loyalty.” He said with a stoic tone. Jace then nodded, “But a display nonetheless.” 

Jace gave Ben a firm nod, a bow of his head, before he too followed after his mother.

Ben looked at you, and you smiled at him. 

You took Ben’s arm under your own, guiding him into the Castle and allowing him to lean on you. “I believe he accepts you.”  You spoke softly to him with a girlish smile

Ben stifled a chuckle through his nose, “I only want him to know my intentions with you are honest.” He said with a sweetness unbefitting of a brutal warrior as he. 

You huffed as you and he passed the threshold of the castle, “You needn’t prove anything.” You said defensively in his honor. 

As you guided him to his chamber you looked at his tired and weakened body. It made you feel an even more tender adoration for him. 

Once you had arrived at his chamber door, Ben was hesitant to go in and rest. He stood there refusing to let go of your hand. You smiled as you looked at him and sighed, “You must rest.” You said softly as you ran your fingertips through his hair lightly. 

Ben shook his head, “My body might be fucked but my eyes are not. I have waited too long to be with you.” He was always stubborn. 

You looked down the hall to see if anyone was there, when you saw you were alone you pulled Ben in close and kissed his lips. He was again- hesitant to let go, trying to taste as much of you as he could. “Rest.” You insisted, pushing his back playfully. “You must be well enough. Do not forget to have a wedding to attend in a fortnight.” You said before slipping from his grasp. 

Ben watched as you walked down the hall. Smirking, he bit his lip as you looked back at him once more. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ben did indeed rest and was well come that fortnight. 

The wedding would be remembered by all who attended. 

The skies above Driftmark were streaked with hues of fiery red and deep violet as the sun descended, bathing High Tide in a glow as resplendent as the day’s occasion. It was a union of houses steeped in ancient Valyrian tradition, yet now bound to the Riverlands by the presence of Benjicot. The ceremony itself took place beneath a grand arch fashioned from driftwood, bleached white by years of sea and sun, entwined with silver ivy and pale fire blossoms from Dragonstone. A brazier of Dragonfire burned at its center. 

Benjicot stood at the end of the aisle, his heart pounding beneath his chest as though it sought to break free and meet you before you could take a single step closer. The young lord had faced death more times than he could count during the war fought in your name, had led men into battle with your image burned into his mind—a guiding star, his unwavering purpose amidst the chaos. Yet, here, in the stillness of this sacred moment, he felt a fear far greater than anything he’d ever felt.

Would you know the depth of his devotion? Could you see it in the way his dark eyes followed your every movement, in the reverent stillness of his hands as they gripped the pommel of his sword? He had fought for you, bled for you, and yet it was your love—freely given, not won on the battlefield—that had undone him completely.

The veil cascaded over your crown like delicate waves, woven from the finest lace and embroidered with a constellation of pearls. Each raw pearl gleamed softly, their iridescence catching the light as though imbued with whispers of sacred devotion. Marine motifs swirled intricately through the fabric, threads flowing like seaweed of ivory and blue silver. The veil seemed alive, a tender masterpiece that wrapped her in a reverent glow, as if shielding her in the quiet embrace of centuries-old tradition. It framed her face with a serene beauty, a living ode to the grace and purity of the sea.

The gown was spectral and a relic of an ancient past, its ivory lace flowing with an ethereal grace. The bodice, structured yet soft, embraced the form with regal elegance, while the long sleeves and cascading skirt swept downward, pooling into a train that seemed to melt into the floor. The accompanying veil draped over your head, mirroring the gown's delicate intricacy, its lace and pearls shimmering faintly in the muted light. Together, they conjured an image of timeless romance, a fleeting glimpse of a bride from a bygone era, suspended in eternal reverence.

Your beauty inspired great emotion in a brutal and merciless man like Benjicot. He felt tears beginning to well in his eyes as he looked at you. You were the most beautiful woman- no- the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You were more beautiful than even his dreams dared to conjure. His throat tightened, and for a fleeting moment, he doubted whether he was worthy of you— You a woman of Valyrian blood and otherworldly grace who had chosen him, a mortal man tied to the soil and shadow of the riverlands.

As you stepped toward Ben and the Septon, you smiled at Ben, who smiled back. He sniffled and attempted to hide his tears.

Ben took you by the hand, as you both looked at one another. When she reached him, and they stood face to face, Benjicot felt a strange, overwhelming calm. Your hand slipped into his, cool and soft as a sea breeze, and with your touch, he found his home. No words passed between them as the Septon began to speak the ancient rites, yet he felt as though they were speaking volumes. His love for you surged within him, fierce and boundless, as he swore silently to himself that no harm would ever come to you, not while he still drew breath.

Ben’s gaze did not stray from you as the Septon began to speak, “You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” 

To which, Ben did without hesitation. The black of his cloak contrasted beautifully with the ivory of your gown. 

Though you’d not take the name Blackwood, you’d take him as a Husband. That was all he needed in this life.

The Septon continued, “We stand here, in the sight of the Gods and men. In thanks and praise, to join two souls as one. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Your eyes drifted from the fire to Ben’s gaze. “Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Hear now their words. Look upon one another and say the words.” Your eyes never left one another's hold.

You spoke your vows, softly, earnestly. You wanted him to know you meant every word. “I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.”

And Ben recited his, “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days, whatever may come.” Ben’s grasp on your hand tightened for a moment. His other hand held your cheek gently and he looked upon you with loving and caring eyes. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” His vow was not mere words. They were words spoken for centuries by a million men in a million different ways. But his were sacred and were heavy with duty and honor. 

You tried your best to hold in your tires, “And I take you as my lord and husband.” Your voice was soft, gentle, and weakened from emotion. 

“And I take you as my princess and wife.” He looked into your eyes, his voice steady as he repeated the vows, but beneath the surface, his body was filled with fire. 

The High Valyrian rite began, you and he both placed your hands above the brazier’s flame, uniting fire and flesh in a silent pledge of courage and loyalty. Then, in Velaryon tradition, a vial of seawater was poured over their clasped hands, 

“Se perzys zaldrīzoti se iēdar hen embar, ivestragī bisa sagon. (By the fire of dragons and the waters of the sea, let this union be eternal.)” The septon recited. “Then in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim you both, man and wife. Vala se ābrazȳrys, mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se syt ry jēdaone, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder..” 

He was hers entirely, and for the first time in his life, Benjicot felt that he had found his place. The love between you and him was so profound no one, not even the Gods could touch it.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

The wedding feast was a spectacle to rival the ceremony. Tables laden with exotic Valyrian delicacies sat beside platters of hearty Riverlands fare, symbolizing the joining of your two worlds. Roast swan stuffed with figs and honey, spiced eel pies, and bowls of dark red wine were served alongside savory venison and blackberries.

Ben held you tightly as you and he danced around the Driftmark throne room. Ben looked at you adoringly, “Have I told you how breathtaking you look?” He asked sweetly. 

You giggled girlishly, “Every hour it seems.” You said as he spun you around the floor.

Ben’s eyes trailed over your body, “I damn well better ‘ave.” He said with a lustful grin making you blush. 

Ben danced you around the ballroom floor. As though he was proudly displaying you. You stifled another giggle and rested your head on his shoulder, “I don’t want this to end.” You said softly.

Ben ran his hand over your head, and hair, “It won’t.” He whispered in your ear, “I’m right here. I will be right here.” You raised your head from his shoulder and looked at him, realizing he recited the words you spoke to him as he woke in Harrenhal. 

“Pardon my intrusion.” Lord Corlys’s deep voice cut through the dreaminess of that moment, making you quickly realize his presence. Ben seemed as startled by his presence as you did. “No intrusion, my Lord,” Ben said loosening his intimate hold on you in the presence of your Grandsire.

Lord Corlys smiled pleasantly to Ben, “May I have a dance with my granddaughter.” 

Ben smiled in return and nodded, “Of course.” 

As your hand abandoned his and placed in your Grandsire’s hand, Ben spoke, “I want ‘er back.” He said in jest before leaving the two of you to speak privately. 

Corlys amused by jest smiled as he turned his attention to you, “He is a good lad.” He said confidently, “He stayed loyal and steadfast the whole of the war.” 

Your thoughts turned to the ones you had during those months of isolation, “The Gods blessed us by returning you and him safe.” You said with a still heavy heart from those days of waiting for letters and news. 

Corlys smiled down upon you warmly, “Your father would be proud of you. So would your grandmother.” 

“I wish they were here.” You said with a melancholy smile.

He sighed in return, “You have so much of your grandmother in you. Fire and blood.” As he spoke, you looked down. Feeling once again displaced. But he could see through that. Your grandsire held your chin up high as he spoke once more. “And salt and sea.” 

Your smile returned to you, “Thank you, Grandsire.”

As the sun set and stars began to glimmer, dragons circled overhead, their cries echoing across the sea. A grand pyre was lit on the beach, and as its flames soared skyward, Benjicot and his Velaryon bride danced beneath the stars. The music of pipes and harps wove a spellbinding melody, and the laughter of their guests mingled with the roar of the sea.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once the night had slowed to a halt, Benjicot wasted not a moment.

The two of you, fairly drunk from honey wine, rushed off to your now shared chamber. 

Benjicot caught up to your pace, and picked you up, carrying you the rest of the way to your chambers. 

You couldn’t help but giggle and laugh as he kicked the door to the chamber open. 

You threw off your long and beautiful veil, too drunk to care what happened to it. 

As Ben set you down you felt his strong hands wrap around your waist tightly, and his nose trail against your skin. Along your shoulder to your neck, breathing in your sent. “Benny.” You said in a breathless whisper.

You could feel the heat from his breath on your skin. “No man on the battlefield would call me that,” Ben said softly into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. You could hear the smile on his face.

“No.” Your hand tangled in his hair as you felt his kisses grow more and more desperate against your skin, “Out there you’re Bloody Ben.” You whispered seductively, “But I am your woman and In here, you’re my husband.” 

His lips abandoned your skin, and he took off your chin making you look at him, “I’m always your husband. Bloody or not.”

You smirked at him, “Don’t forget that.” You said with a sweetly seductive tone.

Ben’s brows narrowed, “How could I?” He asked, looking into your eyes, yearning, “You’re beautiful.” He said shaking his head.

You shook your head and stifled a laugh, “You’re drunk.” You said dismissively as you removed yourself from his grasp. 

Ben grabbed hold of you once more. You giggled and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of being at his mercy. He placed you onto the bed and loomed over you. “And you are beautiful,” Ben said as he looked at your face admiring each and every bit of you.

“Benny?” You asked softly,

“Yes?” He responded, playing with the fabric of your delicate dress.

You took hold of his hand, “Will you tell me something honest?”

He looked at you a bit more seriously, “Always.”

You looked down, unsure of how to ask what you wanted to do, “I’ve heard vulgar rumors of war camps.” Benjicot looked at you, intrigued as to what you were going to say next, “Women throw themselves at knights and soldiers.” You looked up at him, “You were gone for so long, I’d not hold it against you if-”

“No.” Ben interrupted you, “No, I did not.” He said with confidence and earnestness you knew was true. “I did not lie in my letters. You consumed all of my thoughts. And how could you not?” He said as his hand ran over your face gently, “Every time we saw the ocean I watched the waves and felt you with me.” 

You felt silly for suspecting such a thing. But fortunate to have a husband who would remain faithful to you, and honest to you. And not be angered when you question him. 

You took his hand that ran over the side of your face and kissed his still bruised knuckles. Then kissing his palm, and then his thumb, then finally taking his thumb in your mouth as you sucked on it. 

Ben groaned as you did so. He leaned down, and gently removed his thumb before he began kissing your lips once again. 

He kissed you softly and gently until his hunger couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled your tongue into his mouth as he sucked on it. 

Once your kiss broke, you felt flushed. “Benjicot.” You said breathlessly, running your hands down his well-dressed exterior,  “I’ve waited for this for so long I don’t know where to start.” 

He ran his hand through your hair, shaking his head, “Just let it come.” He said assuring you. 

“Kiss me.” You demanded and he obeyed without hesitation. Kissing you feverishly, with such passion you never knew was possible. He bit and sucked on your lips as though he was trying to consume you. You felt your body shake with anticipation as you felt the heat between your legs grow. As the wetness became more and more intense, you pushed Ben off of you, “Unlace my gown.” You demanded, and once again, he happily obeyed. 

As he unlaced and unbuttoned your gown more and more of your skin became exposed to him. Never had he seen so much of you, his cock was already embarrassingly hard for you and all he could see was your back. 

His hand ran over your exposed skin, “You’re so soft.” He said softly. 

You turned around, letting your beautiful gown fall to the ground, pooling around your feet. Your body was fully exposed to him, finally. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and yet you were all the more beautiful than he could have anticipated. 

He wanted to ravish you like a hungry and angry man in battle. But, he didn’t want to scare you. 

His eyes trailed all over your body, yearning, longing. He licked his lips as he placed one of his hands on the small of your back, pressing you against his chest. His other hand held your face as he kissed. 

His lips mingled with yours in an eternal dance, and his hand began uncontrollably roaming all over your body. Making you moan sweetly into his mouth. His hardening cock rocked against your thigh. He couldn’t help it. The feeling of your bare breast in his hand, the feeling of your hardening nipple in his grasp, and the goosebumps that crawled against your skin from his touch, nearly drove him mad. 

You grabbed a hold of his overcoat, gripping it so tightly the fabric threatened to rip. “I want to see you.” You moaned against his lips. 

Benjicot looked at you hesitantly for a moment. He was not an insecure kind of man. But the war was not kind to his body. He’d collected many scars during his time in the war. 

But you bore yourself to him, and he wanted to bear himself to you. He began stripping layers away. You admired all parts of him, damaged or not. 

His toned chest and stomach were ridden with scars big and small. Each only showed you all he had done for you. A trail of hair from his belly button that led into his still-clothed cock made you clench your thighs together. 

You ran your hand over the tenting bulge in his trousers making him groan.  “I will not jest.” You said, assuring me before he pulled himself out of his trousers. 

Ben chuckled lowly as he finally discarded them, “I hope not, you’re stuck with it til the end of your days.” His cock was halfway hardened, and still, it was larger than you had envisioned. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I am blessed til the end of my days.” You said softly.

The scars on his body felt lighter now, their pain a distant echo, because every wound had been a mark of his loyalty, proof that he would stand against the world itself to protect you.

Ben looked into your eyes, “I love you.” He spoke with devotion. 

Your hand ran down his scared chest, over his stomach, “I love you.” You affirmed. 

Now, the two of you, naked to one another. Ben laid you down on your now shared bed softly and gently. He looked down over your body with lustful and predatory eyes, “I’ve got to get you good and ready.” He said as his hand ran down your sternum, “I can’t hurt you.” He said as his hand continued to travel further and further down. 

You smirked, “I’ll not protest.” You said before you gasped at the feeling of Ben's fingers sinking between your folds. 

Ben was practically drooling as his fingers found your clit making you clench your thighs together around his wrist. Ben chuckled lowly at your sensitivity. “Velvet.” He said softly. Your moans only excited him more and made you seem all the more appetizing. “Can I taste you?” He asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. 

You siffled a giggle, “You have before.” You said thinking back to your first night in Raventree Hall.

Ben smirked, and shook his head, “Oh, but I want to eat you.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “How?”

With his lustful and menacing smirk, he began slowly lowering himself on you. He kissed his way down your body, kissing your breasts, sternum, and stomach, until he was between your thighs. Ben looked up at you, “Is this alright?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded, beginning to understand his meaning. 

His rough calloused hands spread your legs apart. 

You could hear your heart beating in your ears. You’d never felt so vulnerable. Not even in war. And yet you never felt so safe. His hands offered sanctuary. 

He kissed down your thigh, making small animal-like groans as he did. As if he were taking each fiber of his being to not ravish you right there. 

His desires slipped from his grasp for only a moment. Making him bite down on the soft skin of your inner thigh. It made you gasp and shutter, which only encouraged him.

As his lips kissed against your slit, you felt a surge of passionate lust you’d not felt ever before. And as his tongue slipped past and between your folds that passion was only further ignited.  “Ben, awhhh-Ben!” You moaned as you held onto his dark hair. 

Your legs shook and pressed against the sides of his head as he drank you in. Lapping up all that he could. 

His nose rubbed against your sensitive bud as his tongue pushed in and out of your entrance. It was nothing you’d ever had before. Not even by your hand. You could feel a tightening in your stomach, which was only wound tighter and tighter before it snapped. 

Ben drank in your release with a moaning pleasure. 

As he lifted his head he smirked at you. “Sweeter than honey wine.” 

Your chest rose and fell with each panting breath. You grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to crawl over you. 

He kissed you passionately, and you could taste yourself on his lips. It felt vulgar and sinful, but in the same breath, it was ecstasy. 

You wrapped your legs around him, inviting him into you. 

Ben pulled his kiss away from you, looking at you with serious eyes. “Are you sure? You do not have to.” 

You nodded, “I know.” You nearly whispered. 

Ben hesitated for a moment. Not because he didn’t want to- he did,- more than any man could ever want anything. But because he wanted you to want it just the same. “If you wish to stop, say the word.” He reminded you.

He waited for you to nod before he began to ease himself inside of you. 

The intrusion at first was foreign. You’d not taken anything near as big as him before. You gasped and moaned softly as he slowly and gently slid his way in. Until he was completely and fully inside of you, he looked at you, “Is that alright?” He spoke attempting to not moan. 

You nodded, and Ben’s head dropped to the crook of your neck, “Thank the Gods.” He groaned.

His hips moved against your own. Grinding himself inside of you, again, and again, and again. You moaned as his lips fell onto your neck. Smothering your skin in kisses. 

You caressed his head, and closed your eyes, relishing in the pleasure he was driving into you, “You feel so good,” You whimpered.

Ben lifted his head and looked at you. You could see the fire in his eyes, the same fire he had in him when he fought in battle. “You like it?” He asked in a growl, there was nothing that could have brought him more pleasure than the fact he made you feel like this. 

You nodded frantically. You used locked your legs around him, forcing him to fuck you deeper and deeper as you said, “I need more. More-more-more-more-” 

Ben groaned like an animal, “Fuckin’ hells.” He rasped, “You keep sucking all of me in.” He said with a growl.

You held his face closer to yours. His forehead pressed against yours as you looked into his eyes. “Harder, Ben.” You demanded, and he obliged obediently. He used the same strength he did in the war to plunge himself hard into you. “Ooh, f-fuck-” You moaned, the pleasure so intense you never knew such pleasure could exist. 

Ben looked into your blown pupils, desperate and needy. “Tell me, Love.” He groaned. 

“It feels,” You began, but struggled to finish your words. Your next release was coming, and soon. He could see it in your eyes plan as anything.

He nodded, looking at you with loving eyes, “I know.” He said, his pace not letting up but increasing. Wanting to draw as much pleasure from your lips as he could. 

Your cunt kept squeezing him in, tighter, and tighter. It was ecstasy, euphoria, better than any wine, ale, or opium there was. 

As his moans grew more and more animalistic, his movements grew more and more erratic. 

Your cunt clenched so hard it didn’t release, squeezing as much of him as it could as you came around his leaking cock. “Awh!” You moaned, hands grasping the bedsheets by your head as tightly as you could. It was all he needed before you felt his hot seed spreading through your belly, “Ben!” You moaned,

He caressed your face. “I’ve got you.” He said, holding you close as he thrust into you once more, making sure none of it got away. “Always have you.” He said, his energy weakening, and his breathing slowing. 

Ben looked down at you. Cheeks flushed pink, and your lips swollen. Your eyes were relaxed and the sweat from your body made you glisten in the candlelight. Ben panted looking at such perfection “No painter, nor sculptor could ever capture such beauty.” He said smiling at you. Ben laid down beside you, pulling you close to him, rubbing your back running his hands through your hair. “How do you feel?” He whispered to you as he kissed your temple. 

“Perfect.” You said with a smile, running your fingers through his dark hair.

Ben chuckled lowly to himself, “Aye, you are.” He said softly before pulling you in by your jaw to kiss him once again.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to commission a personalized letter from a comfort character or any other custom writings please check out my ko-fi :) Xoxo, Bambi

[lcveblossomed]

Baela. She had a sister and her name was Baela. She had never imagined herself to be someone with sisters. She had cousins of course her older cousin had married and left a few years ago then then younger one she was trying to find a safe place for. They were like sisters but not exactly. She had blood siblings now not that she was ever going to tell them. Maybe he would she didn't know that was his business. The last thing she wanted was anyone to get upset about her existence. She would much rather they had no idea who she was it was easier for everyone that way.

"Her name is Maude Ivory she's a hard worker and a real good kid. I can introduce you two some other time though she may introduce herself to you she's a chatty one I know she's making her rounds. Being somewhere new is doing her good." She says before she looks at Caraxes again. Right dragons. She needed to get to her dragon.

"Have a nice day... my King." She says before turning to leave him alone.

Daemon had never once really considered that any of his past transgressions would result in a child, but he really should have. Should have checked, but he could not change the past. Nor could he expect her to accept anything he offered her.

"I am not surprised. Baela from what I've heard had made quite a name for herself." He had heard about the stunt with Cole, and while it was done and there no changing how risky it had been; he was proud of her. It was very much a more he would do.

"You're welcome." He said. "I'll find someone that I trust to take care of her, and make sure she is safe no matter what happens." He had a very small list of people, but there were one or two that he would trust with a child. He knew what war was like. "You can ask for help from me if you find the need." He said. "Have a safe flight." He said.

[shycorvid]

Imagine having a dream and you're studying for it, working for it, maybe both, and circumstances beyond your control forced you into a position where you had to stand up for yourself and everything around you. You succeed, and you get a prize for it- 'power'. But is it really power when you have to keep using it for the greater good? When you can't ever be selfish anymore, or be considered just as bad as the one before you, the one you stood up against.

When you can't work for your dream anymore, because this thing you never asked for is more important now.

And in the end, your friends and family are able to wander off and pursue their own lives and you're stuck with this hell of your own making, but it's expected, and you're doing such a good job! Accept your destiny, grin and bear it! Isn't it grand to have all this power, that all these people depend on you to keep doing good?

And you can't complain, because you're basically living in the lap of luxury, right?

A bird trapped in a golden cage.

Yeah, anyway, Ghost King Danny should be considered the tragic ending.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[athena-xox]

No you guys don’t understand the OBSESSION I have with cook and raven mother daughter relationship

Please someone give me a destiny that cook could have had because I have so many gk x cook hcs for them at eah together

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[aeriondripflame]

wait so im new to asoiaf why do people hate jaehaerys ?

jaehaerys is the bogeyman to every woman he comes in contact with. i can’t speak for everyone when i say this is the reason (there is no shortage of hateworthy men in asoiaf… looking at you hoster tully) but for me the absolute rage i have for jaehaerys comes down to him being at the center of every targ girl’s downfall. rhaena was disinherited for him. he disinherits his own daughter on account of her sex saying well she’ll be the queen as if that is any real power in the world he sets out to create. he cages his own wife (his sister) in the prison of queenhood leaving her to quote unquote more womanly pursuits like i don’t know getting rid of first right and domestic abuse? not to mention him marrying off his very young daughters to old ass men over and over again. not to mention the saera debacle and it’s many implications for his relationship to his daughters. and then of course when he disinherited yet another woman through rhaenys (and his own firstborn son just because his heir was a woman).

[fisheito]

OMG. that means... Cloaca Crew........

WAIT.

✨C l o a c a C r e w✨

[the-gayest-show]

consumed by thoughts about cedric the sorcerer, forced to be a normal high schooler

[arolesbianism]

I may be failing my plan to not make any isat aus. So there's this guy her name is Euphrasie right. What if I took her and combined what could be 3 separate au concepts into one. And in the process forced myself to go back and reread a bunch of shit to make sure I know how to maximally fuck over this sad wet puppy of a woman

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Ol��rin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[luminni]

This is some shit Johnny would say, it just is I'm sorry.

Johnny hates your new boyfriend. It burns in his loins every time you come over and complain about something stupid the git said. So often that now when you take a particularly large sigh, he's immediately asking "fuckin' 'ell, what he do this time eh?"

It hurts even more when you gush about something "good" your boyfriend did, even when it's just the bare minimum. Yeah he open the door for you on a date? Did you know that Johnny would have lifted up the globe had you asked him? Do you have any idea the things he would do if you so much as asked? No you didn't, because he was fairly certain you only saw him as your good friend, as you had been for years.

And Jesus did it infuriate him when you "laughed" your boyfriend's pitiful excuses for a joke. It wasn't your real laughter, it was a kind of controlled giggle. Johnny knew a couple words from him could have you full on belly laughing, gripping onto the nearest surface (usually his arm) to steady yourself. The worst part of it was, the sorry excuse of a man that had wormed his way into your life looked so proud of himself when you gave that fake laugh. Johnny wanted to wipe that grin off his face so bad. But he behaved himself, for you...most of the time, but this is Johnny we're talking about, he's nothing if not petty.

He pretends to like your sorry excuse of a boyfriend in front of you so that you invite him on your dates because you hope they can be friends. Johnny just wants to ruin things

When you make food, Johnny is there. Reminding your boyfriend he would never be the first person to try your recipes.

"Added some pepper since las' time aye lass?"

He then proceeds to taste test form the same spoon as you, side eyeing your "man".

And when you do serve the food, he eats 10x more than he usually does which is saying a lot for him. Just has to mention how many calories he's been burning at the gym lately. Does your boyfriend work out? Oh he doesn't? Hm, interesting.

Also the king of flirty jokes but turns it to 100 when he's around your new boyfriend.

"Jesus, you eat like a horse"

"Aye 's not the only thing about me thas' like a horse"

All said with that shit eating grin he knows pisses your boyfriend off.

Johnny knows this "relationship" (he refuses to believe you actually like the tadger) isn't going to last long anyway. He's the only person who could ever make you truly happy. The only person you'd wait for at the airport every time he got back from deployment. The only person you'd text out of no where at 3am to tell him you were hungry. He just had to help you see it was all and scare off your pathetic partner. If he couldn't manage it, he knew a couple big scary guys that could follow him home at night.

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.