#(and i still sit on a throne of truth about how it all works for hazbin lucifer lmao)

[grimgrinnrs]

" It's me! The Devil! "

" From Bible! "

#𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝐻𝐼𝑀𝒮𝐸𝐿𝐹 [ Lucifer | IC ] #𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝒯𝐸𝐿𝐿 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒟𝐸𝒱𝐼𝐿 𝐼'𝑀 𝒟𝑅𝒰𝒩𝒦! [ General | Crack ] #(i'm so sorry i started watching a vid of all of The Devil From Bible moments from the fucking. shadow the hedgehog fandub) #(and i still sit on a throne of truth about how it all works for hazbin lucifer lmao)

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

[yandere-romanticaa]

I'm not sure if it's okay, but can I request a second part for this precious Douma post you fed us with please ?

If you don't do second part to your post, no problem, anything for him will calm my hunger 🥲

Here it is, the heavily requested part 2 of this piece. Hope you enjoy it!

Barely a week has passed ever since the horrific encounter with Lord Douma.

You recalled someone saying that the stench of death is permanent, that it is something you can never forget once you get a whiff of it.

The smell of rot and decay haunted you both day and night. Sleep became a scarce luxury as you would lay awake in the dead of night, wondering just what other poor soul was Lord Douma going to devour next. It all clicked once you put two and two together, of course he was a demon. His strange reactions, twisted attitude and carefree smiles were nothing but a mask to cover up his true, carnivorous nature. Douma clearly had a preference for women for his meals as you noticed that most of the people who ran amok were women.

Were you next?

Despite him not turning around and even outright saying that he wasn't going to do anything, you simply did not trust him. Why should you? He was a demon, a very clever one at that, clearly. He managed to trick hundreds of people into blindly following him and submitting to his every single little whim. All he needed to do was just say the word and the entire community would execute you without a question - Lord Douma's word was absolute.

You didn't even want to think about the other much more grizzly possibility if he wanted a more hands on approach.

Due to the encounter that you had unfortunately witnessed, your work had started to hinder. You became sloppy and shaky, you couldn't even perform the most basics of tasks. Someone else was always forced to step in for you and others voiced their concern for you.

"Why aren't you with Lord Douma? You always pour his afternoon tea!"

"I thought Lord Douma wanted you close by for the ceremony?"

Many similar statements would ring in your ears on a daily basis that it made you want to bang your head against a wall a pull out every single little strand of hair. Just how blind and stupid were there people?! There was no way that you were the only one who knew what was really going on behind closed doors. To make your living nightmare even worse than it really was, on one fine and sunny morning one little boy came up to you. With a cheerful smile on his face he said:

"Lord Douma wishes to speak with you! Please meet him in his chambers as soon as possible!"

Each step that you took felt more and more agonizing then it should have been. You felt like someone had placed a giant pile of rocks on your chest and chained them there. What were you to do, oh God, what were you supposed to do? Do you play dumb or should you come clean? If you told him the truth he might appreciate your honesty and let you off the hook -

...That was nothing but wishful thinking. There was no point in trying to make sense of a demon.

You arrive to his chambers, the doors closed shut. With a heavy heart you knock and a cheerful "Come in!~" is heard from the other side.

You don't dare look at Lord Douma directly in the eye. You lower your head in fear but do your best to make it look like a sign of respect. He sits on his makeshift throne, chin resting on one hand as the other urges you forward to sit in front of him. With your knees sinking to the ground you feel him reaching out towards you, his fingers were playing with stray strands of your hair.

You still did not raise your gaze.

"(y/n) dear, I haven't seen you in so long! I missed my favorite disciple so much! Why are you ignoring me?!"

Who would have thought that this whiney brat in front of you was a man eating demon? He sounded like a little boy, like he hadn't seen his favorite toy in a long time, which was partially true in a way. You grit your teeth and try thinking of something proper to say but Douma beats you to it.

"Do not ignore me."

Icy chills take over your entire being. Since... Since when did Lord Douma sound like that? You clenched the fabric your kimono, knuckles turning white due to the pressure. Suddenly, a sharp thug forced you to look upward and were met with a rainbow gaze.

"You aren't ignoring me, right, (y/n)?"

You can do nothing but gently shake your head. With his gaze glued to you it was impossible to breathe let alone speak. Feeling the pressure behind your skull lighten your shoulders slump forward as Lord Douma brings you closer and locks you in his embrace.

He knows.

He knows that you saw him. Why else would he summon you like this? Feeling helpless you could do nothing but wrap your arms around the cult leader, returning his hug in full.

Ignorance really was bliss.

You finally understood the beauty of it.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yancore #yanderecore #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere aesthetic #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x y/n #yandere demon slayer #demon slayer douma #douma #yandere douma x reader #douma x reader #yandere douma #kimetsu no yaiba douma #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere kny x reader #kny x reader #yandere kny

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

The Truth of the Matter

A four part miniseries

@wonderland-girl143-blog @gregre369 @420-hun

Part One

Part Two

Robin poured over the book that Eddie had bought at the Flea Market. She was reading it rather intensely. She looked up at Eddie.

"You said you bought this at a Flea Market?" Robin asked.

"Actually, it was free. There was this woman selling only this. I thought it was strange, especially when she wouldn't sell it until I came up. She said, "This is for you," and gave it to me," Eddie said. "I tried going back the next weekend, but she was gone, and no one ever heard of her."

"That is. . .odd," Dustin said.

"Well, everything else is in English, but the spells are in Latin," Robin said.

"No, they were all in English. I read English," Eddie said.

"Uh, Eddie, you weren't speaking in English when you said the spell," Lucas said.

"I wasn't?" He asked.

"No," Dustin, Mike, and Lucas said.

"Why are you still glaring at me, Michael?" Robin asked. "I almost punched you, but I didn't. . . Anyway, it says here that only people with Wiccan blood can automatically translate the spells in their head and perform them."

"Wait, does this mean that I'm a witch?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah."

"Holy shit! This is the COOOLEST!" Eddie yelled.

"Hey, maybe you can use your powers to help Steve find his parents," Dustin said.

"Oh, shit, that's right. . .Harrington was kidnapped," Eddie winced and whirled around. "Sorry, man."

Steve had plopped down on Eddie's throne and leaned back against it as he crossed his legs. He was staring straight ahead, looking at nothing. Eddie tried to ignore how good he looked in that chair and also the fact that he wanted to untangle his legs to sit down in his lap. His face looked troubled, so Eddie easily pushed those thoughts away.

"You okay, man?" Eddie asked.

"Steve?" Robin asked.

"Shit! Robin, who's at the store?!" Steve asked, sitting up.

"I closed the store and hitched a ride with a customer. Keith is going to be pissed but I thought you were being murdered," Robin said. "Anyway, more important things to focus on here, babe. Are you okay?"

"Well, my parents aren't my parents, which I kind of always thought, but I didn't think they kidnapped me. Do you think they might have killed my real parents?" Steve asked.

"I don't know, but we're going to fucking find out because you look like a goddamn kicked puppy and the way you're inflating your eyes like that is killing me," Eddie said as he ripped the book out of Robin's hands.

"We're just going to ignore a lot of the secrets that Steve spilled, right?" Dustin asked.

"Even the sex dream about - " Lucas started to say.

"Yes, because that's my fucking sister and Will's brother!" Mike exclaimed.

"Ah, the sex dream. Did you mention the clown sitting in the corner watching while it made balloon animals?" Robin asked.

"No!" Steve scowled. "Fucking clowns."

"Did you really touch Steve’s dick?" Dustin asked Robin.

"Yes, and my lesbianism is still very much intact," Robin said. "Thank God."

"I thought we weren't going to talk about this!" Mike yelled.

"Mike's such a prude. He's afraid to talk about sex even though we're all sentient walking water bags made of sex and flesh," Dustin said.

"Okay. Now, you just made me uncomfortable. Never describe it like that again," Eddie said.

Dustin gave him a toothy grin, and he smiled softly before looking back at the book.

"What are we going to do if my parents are like dead or on the other side of the world?" Steve asked.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Steve," Dustin said.

"You want to know, don't you?" Robin asked.

"Yeah. . .yeah, I guess," Steve said softly. "I guess it's the feeling that I don't know what to expect here that's overwhelming me. I'm trying not to get my hopes up for really good parents."

"That makes sense," Robin said softly. "I'm sure it'll work out."

"I can't believe Eddie's allowing you to sit in his chair," Mike said. "No one sits there except for him."

"It's cause he's pretty," Eddie said without looking up, and Steve giggled. "Hey, I found it! Steve, get your gorgeous ass in the circle and take off your shirt. Oh, you also need a blank piece of paper."

"Does it really need me to take off my shirt?" Steve asked.

"Yes it does," Eddie said seriously.

Dustin looked over his shoulder, frowned, and opened his mouth to say something. Eddie quickly put his arm around him and pulled his face to his chest, cooing at him. Steve looked doubtfully at him for a moment before getting up off the chair and pulling off his shirt. Dustin shoved Eddie away, scowling at him. Eddie grinned at Steve as he moved back into the circle with a sheet of paper. Eddie relit the candles and got the others to stand around Steve.

"Am I good?" Steve asked.

"Hold on, you need to be a little bit more even," Eddie frowned.

He placed his hands on Steve’s hips and moved him slightly.

"I think you're just finding any excuse to touch me," Steve smirked.

"Who? Me?" Eddie asked innocently.

"If I look in the book, it's not going to say I need to be shirtless, is it?" He asked.

Eddie smirked and moved his hands to Steve’s stomach. He dragged his fingertips up, moving softly over his skin. Steve shuddered. He rested his hands on his pecs for a moment before moving them to his shoulders.

"On your knees, big boy," Eddie said as he pushed him to his knees.

"I just want to remind you that there are children in the room, and one of them is me!" Robin yelled and Eddie jumped.

"What were we doing?" He asked as he blinked a lot.

"Oh my God! Finding Steve’s parents!" Dustin shrieked. "Have your way with our babysitter later!"

"You act like it's my fault!" Eddie exclaimed. "Tell Steve to stop being so pretty!"

"Steve! Stop it!"

"I can't help it! It just naturally happens," Steve smirked.

"Well, since you're not human, I guess you could say it's SUPERnatural," Robin said.

Robin and Steve giggled before high fiving each other. Dustin sighed.

"Steve, do you want to find your parents or not?" Dustin asked.

"Not if you're going to have that attitude," Steve scowled.

"It's his tone, right?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, let's get this done before our kid has a conniption," Steve said.

"He's really eager to meet his grandparents," Eddie cackled.

"Oh, now, you're in on the joke?" Dustin asked as Mike and Lucas laughed.

"Yeah," Steve and Eddie said.

Eddie opened the book and began to chant. The lights flickered, and the flames from the candles shot up in the air. Wind whipped around the room as Eddie continued to say the spell. Steve twitched and then shook before falling backward. He started shrieking in pain as the paper fell from his hands.

"Eddie! Stop! Stop! STOP! SOMETHING'S WRONG!" Lucas yelled.

Eddie stopped the chant, and as soon as he did, Steve stopped screaming.

"My back, my back. . .something's on my back," Steve said.

Eddie shut the book and rushed so quickly to get to him that he ended up sliding across the floor on his knees. He turned Steve over to find a painful looking rune flaring up in the middle of his back.

"What the fuck is that?" Mike asked.

Eddie opened the book and began flipping through the pages, cursing as he did so. Meanwhile, he had Steve’s head in his lap, blinking up at him.

"Okay, it says here that it's some sort of rune of protection. . . Against fae. . .you know, fairies. . .a witch placed it on you," Eddie said. "Well, that's fucked. . . No wonder your parents couldn't find you. . .well, let's see if we can't get this fucker off of you. . . Shit, I hope I can do this. . .it says I need to be related to the witch who placed the rune on you."

Eddie took one hand off the book and began stroking Steve’s hair. He muttered something, and the page turned. He did that quite a few times as he read.

"Eddie, what did you say to the book?" Mike asked.

"Oh, I said,"Turn the page." I guess I was speaking in Latin again," Eddie said.

"That's so cool," Dustin muttered.

"Okay. . .getting this rune off is going to hurt a lot. . .do you want to do this?" Eddie asked Steve.

"I'm used to a little pain. Bring it," Steve said.

"Okay, sit up," Eddie said and pulled a knife out of his pocket.

Steve sat up, putting himself on his knees again. Eddie sat behind him and muttered something else. The spellbook floated in front of him, and he opened the knife. Eddie sighed and hesitated before placing a kiss on Steve’s shoulders blade.

"Is that part of the spell?" Steve asked.

"No, it's just going to fucking hurt a lot. It's basically me cutting it out. . .so, yeah. . .sorry, so, so, so sorry," Eddie said.

He muttered another spell as he looked at the book and held the knife over a flame, letting it get hot. He chanted for a moment, and the flames flared up around the blade. Eddie hovered the blade above the rune and started to say the spell as he moved the knife as though he was actually cutting it off. Steve let out an inhuman shriek, his yells bouncing off the walls. The wind picked up, the flames grew higher, and the lights above them exploded as Eddie continued to chant. Tears rolled down Steve’s cheek as he threw his head back. Finally, Eddie stopped, and Steve collapsed in relief.

"Shit, that did hurt," Steve said, and he paused when he didn't get a response. "Eddie?"

Steve turned around and found Eddie still sitting on his knees. Blood was pouring out of his nose. He swayed and fell backward. Steve moved over to him and cradled him in his arms.

"Eddie?" He asked.

"There was a suggestion in the book to not overdo it. I was just like. . .fuck it, I can do it. I'm fine, I'm fine. . .I just need someone's lips on mine," Eddie said and closed his eyes, puckering his lips.

"Alright, I'll just go find Principal Higgins, shall I?" Dustin asked, peering over Steve’s shoulder.

"I'm up, I'm up!" Eddie sat up quickly. "Oh, too fast! Sleepy. . ."

He pressed his cheek against Steve’s chest and closed his eyes again. His snores filled the room.

"I guess we'll take him back to my place," Steve said and picked him up.

Robin pulled out a tissue and wiped Eddie's nose.

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Your tits are still out, you slut."

"Right. Thanks, Robin."

When Eddie woke up, he found himself in a very ugly room. Plaid walls, plaid curtains, plaid sheets. . .Eddie screamed. He screamed louder at the single car poster hanging on the wall. . .it was all so sad. Steve burst into the room, wielding a bat with nails.

"Steve, where the hell am I?" Eddie asked.

"My house and my room," Steve said.

"Oh my God, this is your room? This is hell, Steve," Eddie said in horror.

"Well, my parents like everything neat," Steve said.

"You mean, your kidnappers," Eddie corrected.

"Right," Steve frowned. "Come on, let's get something in you."

"Hell yeah!" Eddie exclaimed and started unbuttoning his pants.

"What are you doing? I was talking about food. There's pizza downstairs," Steve said.

"Yeah, that's what I was talking about," Eddie said quickly. "I was just unbuttoning them to make room for the pizza."

"Right," Steve smirked. "As much as I would love to do that with you, some secrets should remain secret. I do not want the kids to know that I'm a screamer. Let's go, sweet cheeks."

Steve slapped his ass and Eddie cursed.

"I hate you!"

"No, you don't!"

Dustin immediately threw his arms around Eddie the minute he walked into the kitchen. Steve smiled softly at the sight of them and ruffled his hair.

"You scared the shit out of us, man," Dustin said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just needed some rest," Eddie grinned. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. Are you going to do the location spell again?" Mike asked.

"He just woke up, Mike. Let's get some food in him first," Steve sighed.

"After I eat," Eddie said, snapping his fingers at him.

Sitting down to eat, Eddie spent the majority of the meal laughing with the kids and playing with what he thought was Steve’s leg under the table. It had been Robin's.

"You could have told me!" Eddie hissed.

"Then it wouldn't have been funny," Robin replied.

They gathered in the living room and pushed the furniture out of the way to create the circle. Eddie knelt in front of Steve this time, the book floating beside them, and the piece of paper on the floor.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Steve said.

"I kind of do. . .I judged you harshly before. . .because you're a jock and because of the assholes who's bothered us in the past. I used to think that since you had a big house and a fancy car that you had it easy. I used to mock you mercilessly in Hellfire, and that wasn't right of me to do that," Eddie said. "Not all jocks are bad."

"Well, no one is perfect," Steve said. "This is a lot even for all of that. Thank you, you're a good man."

"I mean, so are you," Eddie said, blushing. "I'm still an asshole though."

"Yeah, that's true," Steve said with a grin.

Steve cupped the back of his neck and pulled him for a kiss. It was short and sweet. When Steve pulled away, Eddie let out a soft giggle.

"I am loving this," Dustin grinned and then frowned. "But also, gross."

"Yeah, kids never like it when their parents kiss," Robin said, and Dustin sighed loudly.

Grinning, Eddie performed the spells without any problems. Words appeared on the paper. One of them was an address in Indianapolis, and one of them was a plot number for the cemetery in Hawkins.

"Well, shit, I guess one of my parents is dead," Steve frowned.

"Sorry, Steve," Dustin said quietly.

"We don't have to do it tonight, but we can check out the cemetery whenever you want to," Robin said.

"I'm curious now, and at least, I'll get one answer tonight," Steve said. "Although, going at night seems like a bad idea."

"Don't be a chicken shit, Steve, let's do it," Dustin grinned.

So, now, here they were. . .at night. . .in a fucking graveyard. They had flashlights, and Steve made sure to bring his trusty bat. Meanwhile, Robin made sure to bring a thermos full of hot cocoa that she was currently sharing with the boys in front of them. Eddie was walking beside Steve, swinging his arms and letting his hand brush up against Steve’s.

"So, was that kiss just a one-time thing, or are you planning on doing it again?" Eddie asked.

"I definitely want to do it again. . . Would that be okay?" Steve asked.

"Definitely," Eddie grinned and then paused. "You said back in the drama room that you'd always be in love with Nancy Wheeler."

"Well, yeah, a part of me, anyways. There's just so much history there, and she's just so. . . Nancy. She's beautiful, and she cares so much about people. She's willing to put it all on the line for her friends and for her family. She's the bravest person that I have ever met. I don't regret falling in love with her. . . But I regret that I didn't get to know her best friend and I wish I could have been there for her when she needed me the most. I know what happened to Barb wasn't our fault, but I still can't help feeling guilty. I think there's always going to be that connection between us," Steve said.

"I know that Barb died, and she was Wheeler's best friend, but isn't it that Brenner's guys fault? The one Dustin told me about?" Eddie asked. "Why would you feel guilty?"

"Well, it was the first time that Nancy and I had sex together. While that was going on in my house, Barb was being dragged into the Upside Down and . . . Well, you know. . ." Steve said.

"Holy fucking shit. . .yeah, I could see how that could mess you both up," Eddie said.

"Yeah. . .it's pathetic, I know. . ." Steve said.

"No, man, it's not. You're not pining after her, you love her, and you accept the fact that you're not going to be together. I can see why either of you would want to hold onto the good parts of your relationship. You all have been through so much shit and if you guys can come through it all while still having love in your hearts. . . It's amazing," Eddie said.

"Yeah," Steve smiled and paused. "Have you ever been in love?"

"I've come close. I think at the time, we both had stars in our eyes, and all we saw when we looked at each other were plane tickets out of town. In the end, I couldn't leave town, but she could have, and after everything she did for me, I couldn't go with her. I wish I had done it better, but yeah, I pushed her away so she wouldn't come back," Eddie said.

"Damn, you white fanged her?" Steve asked.

"I mean, I guess you could call it that," Eddie said. "You know White Fang?"

"Yeah, it's not my favorite," he said and paused. "I wish things had gone better with. . ."

"Paige," Eddie said.

"Paige," Steve said.

"I wish things had gone better with Nancy," Eddie replied.

"Yeah," he said softly.

"You like women, too?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "It took me a while to realize that I liked men at all or that I was even flirting with them. According to my best friend, Ronnie, it's not exactly very straight of me to go on rants about jocks' sweaty muscles."

"Was I in one of those rants?" Steve asked as he stopped and turned to Eddie.

He pulled Eddie into his arms, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"You were very prominent," Eddie said bashfully.

"Maybe you didn't hate me at all," Steve said, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe you just had a type."

Eddie kissed him, and Steve smiled against his lips. Eddie wrapped his arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth.

"REALLY ROMANTIC, STEVE, MAKING OUT IN A GRAVEYARD!" Dustin yelled. "YOU'RE KISSING OVER DEAD PEOPLE!"

Eddie growled as he broke the kiss and Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"NO ONE IS SUPPOSE TO KNOW WE'RE HERE BUT IF YOU KEEP YELLING LIKE THAT THEY'RE GOING TO. . .BUTTHEAD!" Eddie yelled back at him.

"FOUND IT!" Lucas yelled.

"I don't think they understand the word subtle," Steve sighed. "Although, neither do you, so they're definitely yours."

"Were there doubts?" Eddie asked with a dramatic gasp.

Steve smiled softly at him, grabbed his hand, and laced their fingers together before pulling him in the direction of the kids. When they got to them, Robin and the kids were whispering together.

"There's no fucking way!" Mike exclaimed. "He never had kids!"

"That you know of. I imagine that it was probably painful to talk about your son getting kidnapped and being unable to find him in your own hometown," Dustin said.

"What? What is it?" Steve asked.

"Are we even sure it's the right plot?" Mike asked.

"Yes!" Dustin and Lucas exclaimed.

Steve moved towards the gravestone and shined his flashlight on it.

BOB NEWBY

SUPERHERO

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #dustin henderson #henderfam #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #robin buckley #lesbian robin buckley #robin & steve #platonic soulmates #platonic with a capital p #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (Aegon ii x reader 👀) (wc: 6k)

Summary: As the further truths are uncovered, the battle for the Iron Throne begins

A/N: soooo, I said part 5 would be the last part, but in typical annoying writer fashion I’m not so sure now 😭. Either way, I truly cannot express how grateful I am for all the followers, and support I have received since starting it. I consider fmo my brain child but our baby with how interactive people have been. I’d love to get feedback or request on what hotd stuff you guys want to see from me. My inbox is always open so please let me know how you liked fmo (any thoughts or headcanons) and what you want to see 🫶🏽

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“We should run away to Yi-Ti.”

You look up from Aemond’s desk at Aegon with an exasperated expression. It was not the first time Aegon had thrown out the idea of leaving King’s Landing for good. There always an idealistic nature about Aegon that is as sweet as it is delusional. You know the guilt he would feel about leaving, and he knows you would too.

I have a dragon we can who can drop us anywhere. I can shave my head and we can change our identities

“You are supposed to help me be looking for this map,” Not bothering to give the same speech you tell him every time he brings it up.

Gently placing everything where you found it, you squat down to check the cabinets of the desk. Aemond kept his study annoyingly tidy, and you are sure we would notice if anything were out of place. The last thing you need is another argument.

There are multiple books, all of them relating to Westerosi histories, and a plethora of written works of poetry. Nothing stands out till you find a pile of letters. Your throat tightens. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but now the situation has moved past just Aemond wanting to be with someone else. It affects your kids, your relationship with everyone in the family.

You are just tired, and you just want it end. Or at least to have some sort of closure through an explanation or an apology. You are not holding your breath for the later.

With a sigh, you sit, slumped against the wall. Across from the desk. Noticing you are out of his view, Aegon walks around the desk and sits next to you. The two of you sit in silence before Aegon speaks.

“We can skip dinner,” he suggests softly. “I am sure our absence will not be noticed.”

It is a lie. You both know that if you do not show up, you will be in for an earful from Alicent. Especially now that Viserys has finally worked up the strength to leave his chambers. Aegon reaches over to grab your hand. You look at the large ring on his pinkie finger. The golden scales an ode to Sunfyre. Even with all the problems Aegon has with family, he has always fully embraced his dragon. A bond you have never seen before between rider and dragon. You run your hand over the cool metal.

“You know, despite my hesitance towards dragons, sometimes I am envious of you guys for having them.” you laugh flatly. “It is not even the beasts themselves, but everything they represent. This strange strength that means you are better than everyone else. A free pass for destruction.”

The past year and a half had been a sobering one. You feel so disconnected from yourself. Depleted by actions outside of your control.

“But then I think maybe it is good I do not have a dragon; or more so I do not have the power that comes along with it. I have spent my whole life doing exactly what I was supposed to, just to still get dealt a hand of misfortune,” you murmur emotionless. “I fear that there was tiny seed of hate put in me when I first found out about Aemond’s actions, and that everything that has happened since has only made me more bitter and revengeful. I was told that fighting wrong doings with more destruction was never the answer. I do not know how much I believe that now.”

You look over at Aegon with an illegible look in your eyes. “I would go mad with the things I would do with that kind of power.”

Aegon swallows thickly. Honestly, his first instinct is to make a joke. You, the girl who got teary eyed when she learned about the field of sheep kept in the Red Keep for the dragons, speaking with such gravity. But his eyes travel to the faded scar on your arm and back up to you. The harm done to yourself, grief-stricken eyes, and tired frown. He’s only seen that type of look on his mother. The most persistent person he has ever known, and probably will ever know. She wakes up every day to tend to a man that has never done right by her and run a kingdom she did not want in the first place. There is a simmering type hate in your eyes that he is sure only comes from being around his family for too long.

He wonders if this is how his mother felt when she had him. Young, exhausted, and utterly pissed.

“You are not the only one who feels that way,” he softly. “But - you cannot let it get the best of you. Once you get in that place, it is hard to get out.”

You know he speaks from experience. Resentment leaves a bad taste in the mouth of those who feel like life has let them down.

You want to say that another worry is what will happen if you ever find equal footing with the men in your life. Would the spell wear off you were a flight risk? Would you be seen as a volatile powder keg if not a maiden to come to the defense of? Would you be seen as the prize in his eyes if you were not in the position you ate in? In that moment, you think you should tell him about what you let his grandsire do. If anyone would understand, it would be Aegon. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder.

You do not have the words for that just yet.

————

The search for the map in Aemond’s study goes unsuccessful. You decide to change tactics. There is a slight uneasiness you get digging through his things in the chambers. Soft whiff of lavender and citrus hit you nose as you look through folded clothes of his. You heart rate spikes when you see a scroll of thin parchment. Looking back to check the door, you then unroll the paper.

There is various lines and arrows, but the words are all in high Valyrian. You have picked up and word here and there since being in the Red Keep, but not well enough translate every word. Instead, you follow the arrows. Walking around the room in a way you are sure would look silly to someone if they walked in.

You find yourself in front of the small outline wall next to your clothing wardrobe. Blinking blankly at the wall, you frown. You run your fingers gently across the fabric on the wall. The deep red and gold stitching smooth under your hands. You push harder than intended and gasp when the wall swings open.

In front of you are stairs that lead down a pathway. A tunnel. You do not venture too far, but you see where the path is leading to. Daemon had given Aemond a direct line to outside the Red Keep. And a direct line for anyone to come in.

But why?

As you walk down the tunnel, something shiny catches your eye on ground. You pick up a single earring. A gold plaited coin earring. It is oddly familiar, but you cannot seem to put your finger on who it belongs to.

All you do know is that someone has been using the tunnel recently.

A part of you wanted to storm through the castle and find Aemond. Have him explain what the Seven Hells has been going on. Or if he even used the tunnels. But you surprise yourself when you knock on the Hand’s study door. Perhaps he is not the best person to go to in this state. You know it is not comfort you will find. But for all his faults, Otto Hightower will tell you want you need to hear or at least you will have his ear.

You are now not naive to how much Lord Hightower seems to want to keep you around.

After it was decided Aemond and you were to get married, you were not clueless enough not see the clear advantages not only for you house, but also for his. Your only naive thought being the mutual benefit would keep you safe or protected.

When you walk into the study, you find Otto sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. You know Viserys’ surprise appearance at the petition hearings rattled him as much as it pleased Rhaenyra and her family. You do not know where to begin or what you are even expecting of this conversation.

“Did you know about the tunnels,” you blurt suddenly. “The ones that run under the castle.”

In typical Otto fashion, his face does not give anything away. But he does shake his head, and gestures for you to continue.

“I…. I think Prince Daemon may have had something to do with my… problem.”

That makes Otto lean forward in his seat, the mention of Daemon clearly stirring something in him. You aren’t ready to put anything on Princess Rhaenyra yet. Partly because you are still wonder where her limits are opposed to seeing exactly how Daemon operates. And because just saw what happens when you question Rhaenyra, even if you have proof or a valid criticism.

“And if they had something to do with her, I cannot help but wonder if they had something to do with what happened to Alaric’s blanket,” you still shudder thinking about it.

You already had a deep sense of guilt since giving Otto the go ahead to find Alys. Taking a life is not something you want on your hand and conscious, and it only doubles knowing how this all could have been a perfectly plotted scheme. Your anger at your husband reaches a new level. Whether Alys was the shiny poisoned apple or a woman in love that has gone rouge, this still involves your kids.

“It seems your family’s influence is something many have noticed,” Otto finally speaks, voice gravely and tone even.

Your brows furrow. “They think threatening my son is going to make me tell my parents or uncle to back Rhaenyra’s claim?”

Your grandsire was an old man by the time Rhaenyra was named heir; your uncle took over for your house shortly after that time. And your uncle was just as thrilled as your parents when you married Aemond, clearly excited to have familiar ties to the Targaryen family. Now that you thought about it, you had never asked him where he stood when it comes to Rhaenyra being heir. But based on knowing how your family acquired their wealth and how they operate, they have never been ones to stray from tradition. Despite your grandsire bending the knee to Rhaenyra, you get the feeling everything is up the air especially with you being the good sister to the other possible claim.

“No, dear girl,” Otto sighs, eyes growing tired. “But I am sure they think you feeling unsafe here and having no love for your husband’s actions will.”

Your mind goes back to Rhaenyra’s offer. You are always welcomed at Dragonstone.

They hoped you would seek refuge in them, and in turn feel compelled to drop any allegiance you have to this side of the family. Did they know about how close you had grown to Aegon or to Helaena? Or that even through this turbulent time, you still find yourself having a soft spot for Alicent. You are sure they would reassure your safety if you ever switched side, but you know your safety was not a priority to them. Only the men or ships that would come with it.

“I am not shocked Daemon would go to such lengths, if true,” Otto says. “I would say I am shocked Rhaenyra would go along with it, but the Princess has always found a way to involve herself in things while feign innocence.”

His words make you raise a brow. You never knew if the Hand’s anger towards the Princess came from how she treated Alicent or his grandchildren, or if it came from the pressure he felt to get Aegon on the throne. Perhaps it is Alicent, even all this time and animosity, still craving a relationship with Rhaenyra that eats him up the most.

“You do not need to worry about that. Everything will be put to rest once the rightful heir is put on the throne, and any possible threats have been ridden,” his tone turns stern. You scoff sardonically in response. This is never going to end till there is a clear winner, and win to means there was a fight. War. That would only start if…

“The Queen would never let you do that. Usurp the throne or kill Rhaenyra,” you say immediately. Otto eyes narrow; the tell. It will always be Rhaenyra for his daughter, and it burns him inside. But that can be used in your favor. “Not unless she had more reason to. Rhaenyra could be a good queen for all we know, but her brazenness will always be her pitfall. Now she has Daemon at her side. Spilled blood is clearly not something he is worried about.”

You sit back in your chair and think for a second. Entitlement is like a dangerous herbal, and many members of this family get off on it.

“If you want Aegon on the throne, it may be best to take your time with this. Give Rhaenyra the chance to do what you think she does best… mess it up.”

By the time the power struggle between Rhaenyra and Daemon finally comes to fruition, maybe Aegon think differently. Your mind goes to Aemond, stewing silently about how his brother manages to get everything handed to him. You bite back a smile. Is a miserable existence to always be in the cards for him? If being with you is so terrible to him, maybe that is exactly what he deserves.

“I think I know how to start this off.”

———

You leave Otto’s study, but not before he leaves you with a long, meaningful glance and tells you he needs to discuss somethings with others. You assume it is the council, but you have a feeling his daughter is not privy to that.

The next time you see everyone is at dinner. Your eyes strained on the empty plate in front of you. A sick feeling coming over you every time you look down the table at Daemon and Rhaenyra. A large gap for the king between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

There is something unsettling about how everyone seems to think what happened in the Grand Hall was nothing. You all saw a man beheaded, and now are to sit down to a "family meal" at the behest of the King. The only mention of Vaemond comes in a prayer from Alicent; you catch the eyeroll given by Daemon. The lives of others are expendable if it prolongs or prompts up whatever claim is being fought for.

False promises do nothing to move you while that is all that makes up the Targaryen family. False promises to make up for future deceit. The gull of Viserys to plea for peace when many the broken relationships in the family can be tied to him. Tied to his indecisive, feeble reign as a king. The King That Never Should Have Been perhaps.

A sick sense of irony rushes over you watching his rioting body and empty eye socket while sitting next to Aemond. You have learned that the Gods can be deliciously cruel.

The crown not stand strong is the House of the Dragon remains divided

It’s all flowery words that seem to go in one ear and out the other for your peers. You can tell by the way Aegon’s eyes gloss over, Helaena brows burrow as she fiddles with whatever butterfly Aegon gave her, and how Aemond’s back stiffens that this final push for family unity comes too late. But it seems that all the older adults in the room are moved by the Viserys' speech, or at least Alicent and Rhaenyra are.

You and Otto, sitting across from each other, share a look when Alicent says that Rhaenyra would make a fine queen. The Queen and Princess exchange shy smiles and peripheral glances; for a moment, they look like young girls, untarnished by the world around them.

Your eyes catch Jacaerys’, and he gives you a warm smile. You try to replicate it to the best of your ability. None of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s children have done anything to make you suspicious of them, especially Baela and Rhaena. But you do notice how Lucerys never seems to look you in the eyes. You are still trying to figure out if that is a byproduct of you being Aemond’s wife or if he is privy to information.

When you were receiving offers for your hand, Jacaerys’ name had come up by members of your house but was instantly shut down by your parents. Though the idea of you being future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was tempting, but they did want to risk the embarrassment of the worst kept secret being spoken. Marrying a bastard was not the vision they had for you, Queen or not.

But when the music behinds, you do get an idea.

“I going to dance,” you whisper to Aemond.

“You know I do not like dancing,” Aemond sighs, and Aegon gives you a look at the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes at him. You remember the lecture his mother had to give him before the wedding festivities about being a good sport, and dancing with you.

“I never said I wanted to dance with you,” you hiss at him, and get up. You feel Aemond and Aegon watching you as you walk to Jace.

“I was wondering if we could dance,” you hold your hand out. Eyes going from Jace to Baela. “If your betrothed is fine with it of course.”

Baela gives you a good-natured shrug and smile. Jace looks surprised by your offer, but nonetheless grabs your hand and leads you to the free area near the table. You turn back briefly to see Aegon and Aemond look at you with mirrored looks of disbelief and disgust. You have duck your head to keep from laughing.

“I have to warn you I am not much of dancer,” Jace smiles as you begin to dance. “But I am sure I cannot be any worse than my uncle.”

You raise a brow at the comment but say nothing. While you are dancing, you see Viserys get carried out. The fact that he has lived to this point is a marvel… and a confusion. He refuses to go away.

“I do hope after that all of this, our families can see each other more often,” he lowers his voice slightly. The sentence seemed sincere enough, but he has also grown up having pretend half of him does not exist. If it is something Alicent and Rhaenyra’s children have in common, it is knowing when to put on a front. They learned it beautifully from their mothers. “I am sure Daella would appreciate seeing Dragonstone. And the girls would love you around.”

There is that mention of Dragonstone again. Before you can even reply, a commotion disturbs you. You turn to see Aemond standing with a drink in his hand.

“I want to make some final tributes,” a small smirk comes onto his face, and his eye flicks over to you. “First, to my dear wife. A gracious mother, and always keeps me on my toes.”

Your face gets hot when everyone’s eyes turn to you. Alicent looks at her son with a nervous look in her big eyes, confused by his sudden need to speak after a dinner of silence.

“And to health of my nephews - Jace, Luke, and Joffrey,” a sinking feeling comes into your stomach. There’s a glint in Aemond’s eye that you recognize all too well, and know not to trust. You see Jace’s shoulders tense at the mention of him and his brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise…. Strong.”

Your throat tightens. Even putting aside, the absolute irony of that coming from him now, you all just saw what happened to someone who questions the parentage of them. And now he is doing here in front of everyone.

“Aemond,” you begin, not even caring to use formalities with him. He cuts you off and continues.

“Come, let us drain our cups to the three Strong boys.”

And of course, to make matters worse, Aegon confidently raises his goblet in the air. They’re imbeciles. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Jace punching Aemond, Aemond pushing Jace with ease, to out of the corner of your eye, Aegon slamming Luke’s face into the table. You wince at the scene before you as Helaena gets up to move you out of the way of the guards restraining Jace and Luke.

Alicent and Rhaenyra both get up from the table, yelling at their boys to stop. You take notice of the roasted pig on the table; you had heard about the pink dread prank from Helaena. It was never something you pushed with Aemond or Aegon, knowing it led to a large rift in their relationship. You know they love each other; you can tell by the way they backed each other up that they do. They just do not have the words to express their love, or their pain.

A dinner that was meant to bring everyone together ruined. There will probably always be too much bad blood, and not enough honest or apologies for reconciliation. Before Daemon leaves the room after staring Aemond down, he gives you a smile filled with mirth. A chill runs up your spine.

You watch as Alicent all but walks up to Rhaenyra, eyes soft and pleading. She gently rubs her arm as they smile at each other.

With the dinner going wrong, Aemond stalking out of the room, and learning about the map - everything seems to be put into perspective. As you watch your good mother, you wonder if that is how you will be with Aemond. Always waiting and ready for reconciliation, even despite mistreatment. Foolishly dismissive to how you can be hurt again if it means just moments of reprieve. Or maybe a better comparison would be Rhaenyra and Daemon. Knowing exactly what situation you got into, but still finding yourself wanting more because you thought you would be the exception. Both scenarios mean being in a constant loop of love and hate, praying for the day you reach apathy.

Rhaenyra seems to share Alicent’s warm disposition. Everything is warm and lovely when Rhaenyra smile. She is the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Even with the little time you have spent around Rhaenyra, you see how she operates. It is the way all Targaryens are treat her like the world revolves around her, and she’s yours. Entitlement and confidence used to mask a hallow shell, a trait she shares with her husband.

The possible reconnection of old companions would be a sweet affair. Instead, you finally get the complaining Aegon does about his half-sister. To hear the praises of those who have little regard for you.

Daemon giving Aemond the map, Alys introduction into your life, Rhaenyra telling you Dragonstone will always be a place you can go, and your families ties to this family are all connected. The same way your marriage to Aemond was always leading to something.

It was always a question you pondered since coming to the Red Keep. Does the Iron Throne corrupt those who vie for it or do those who vie for it corrupt the Crown itself?

Now not only have you been caught in the crossfire, but you children as well. And who knows what will come of the rest of your family once King Viserys dies. One thing you do know is that you will not leave any stone unturned by the time Rhaenyra tries to sit the throne. If your involvement is what they want, your involvement is what they will get. If your happiness and well-being is worth the price of the throne, what would happen if it was taken away right when she had it? Like your stability or sanity, ripped away without any caution or care.

This power that Rhaenyra is sure is hers to claim. The one that those want so badly for Aegon. The seat Aemond watches enviously as Aegon scoffs at the idea of it.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you call out after her before she leaves the dining hall. You reach out to grab her hand in a similar manner to Alicent. “I want to talk with you about Dragonstone.”

If they are willing to rip each other apart for the Iron Throne, so be it.

Aegon and Aemond stare at you like you have three heads when you tell them about wanting to stay at Dragonstone. Aegon goes as far as to giggle at your proposal. His eyes wild and glossy from the abundance of wine.

A part of you thought maybe you should just leave, but you know them. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot find you on dragon back. Plus, you still had to explain everything to your parents. You let them in on you leaving while holding some cards to your chest. Their faces go through a mirage of expressions. Aegon's brows shooting up when you mention the tunnels and Daemon while Aemond's going painfully stoic. You know he does not want you or Aegon to get a read on what he is thinking.

"So, you think Daemon and by extension Rhaenyra knew about the Strong whore, and wanted you to be upset enough to leave," Aegon begins sardonically, and Aemond's eye flickers to him when he says whore. "And in response.... you are leaving. Wow dearest, you are really sticking it to them."

You glare at him. You know he is hurt that you are leaving, even if it is for a short time. He is upset that this all leads back to the throne. For every part of Aegon that is loyal and loves deeply, there are parts that are equally selfish. It hits you that Aegon has never had to try with relationships; the only ones he knows are with women that are his family or with ones where he can buy their affection. Those women have no choice but to be around. But you are leaving, and without him… that would be a blow he would not recover from.

"I am not going for long, and I will be taking Quinton with me," you say, and Aegon rolls his eyes in response. "They involved my son, so I will get to the bottom of it."

"I'm sure Jace will be thrilled to hear it," he scoffs.

"You have no right to be jealous; you are not my husband."

It was cruel to say, and you can tell by the way his resolve turns from anger to bitterness. "I am needlessly reminded of that, thank you."

Your brows furrow at that. Who is reminds him of that? You sigh, running your hands over your face.

“This is punishment. This is because of me.”

Aemond finally speaks up, interrupting your argument with Aegon. He looks away from the fire and at you with a look you have not seen in moons. Sadness. You are sure this news is a lot for him to take in. It would be a lie to say that you are not at least a little happy that he feels uneasy about you possibly leaving. Or a little happy that the love story he had built in his head was not exactly what it seems.

It would serve him right. He felt comfortable enough to do what he has done because there was always the expectation you would be around. Sitting in the Red Keep, taking care of your children and waiting to him to finally come around.

“Give us the room,” you whisper to Aegon. He leaves in a huff, not happy with you. You walk over and sit on the seat opposite to Aemond's.

The only noise that permeates throughout the room is the crackling of the fire in front of you two.

“It is foolish for you to think they would not harm you, especially now,” he starts to fiddle with his fingers, a tick he has picked up from his mother. “You would in place surrounded by her people… by dragons.”

“She would not hurt me. Not now, she wants my family’s support,” you rebut.

He does not answer right away.

“You would be giving her exactly what she wants. Us apart.”

Us. You two have not been an ‘us’ for quite some time, and Aemond referring to you as that makes you chuckle coldly.

“That’s the point, dear husband,” your eyes drift from him to the burning flames. “You know how your sister is. She wants everything entirely too much, and now she has a guard dog, planning and watching her every move. This just one step in her 'preparing' for the throne, and what may happen if she takes it."

“She is not fit for the throne. Neither of them is,” he says bitterly. “It would cut her up inside and out just like it did my….”

He trails off softly. Viserys was never made to be King, but then again who is. By the time everything falls into place, things will be different.

“So, we let it.”

Your conversation is stopped by Quinton opening the door for Jayne.

"Sorry, my lady but your parents were asking for you," she says softly. You notice how her eyes seem to survey the room. Taking inspection of anything and everything in it. Your parents watched Daella and Alaric for you during dinner. You nod in acknowledgment, but as you get up you notice the necklace she wears.

A gold plaited coin dangling on a dainty gold chain, perfectly matching the earring you found in the tunnel. Your blood runs cold.

"Thank you, Jayne," you stand up slowly as your eyes go to Aemond. You hope he can read something, anything from the look in your eyes. Your eyes travel to the wall where the secret door is. His eye looks at you, then to Jayne, and you watch him swallow and sink back into the chair.

"Ser Quinton, if you do not mind staying," Aemond says softly, going back to staring at the fire. "I have something I need you to tend to."

Quinton gives you a skeptical look, knowing the tense history between him and Aemond but you give him a reassuring smile.

Maybe it is time Quinton proves his unwavering loyalty to you.

“I just need…. to get away,” it was not a complete lie. On top of having things to figure out, you were looking forward to getting away from the Red Keep. Even if it was to Dragonstone of all places.

Your father had giving you a skeptical look when you mentioned going to Dragonstone. You tell him this the perfect time for him to stay in King’s Landing in your stead. You whisper to him to stay close to the Hand and to Prince Aegon. When his resolve still did not chance, you told him about this being an opportunity for Daella to get connected to her ancestral home, and he understood. He always has a soft heart when it comes to his grandchildren.

It was your mother who gave you the most grief about the proposition. She stays in the room after your father has left.

“I do not think it is appropriate you leave your husband,” she sighs. “Especially at a time like this.”

It has always been her concern. Your allegiance to Aemond and in turn to the who she thinks should sit the throne. A part of you wants to tell her the plan. Maybe rub in her face that Aegon wants you.

But you know you would not be met with an impressed gaze or her questioning how your life has come to this place. Instead, she would ask why you haven’t debased yourself for him yet? Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to be in his bed, in his mind, under his skin the way real lovers do. Sometimes you look at Aegon and ask yourself the same questions. The most frustrating part is you know he would take you up on it. Aegon would indulge the most depraved parts of you because those of the ones he likes the most.

Your mother always manages to seep her way into things that should be good for you. It happened moons ago when you first became friends with Helaena. It is how you are in this mess now. Telling her about Aegon before the right time would be fatal. A blow to your plan, and the last remaining pieces of your heart.

“Perhaps he can come with you?”

“The point is to have some time away from each other. He thinks it would do us some good too.” Your spine feels tight as you are painfully aware of your posture in front of her, “The Princess offered, and it would be rude not take her up on it. She is till the heir till otherwise.”

Your mother stares at you for a moment. She scrutinizes every part of your face, the face she gave you wholly. Her only daughter. The person she has invested so much in.

“You always do this,” she starts coldly. “Shrivel up when things do not go your way. You have so much put in front of you, and you do so little with it. Leaving your husband when things are tough? I thought I raised you better than that.”

A lump grows in your throat. You are taken back to your wedding day. Your mother talking you through a panic attack, telling you to think of your future. That not going through with the marriage means throwing away years of work. In the end, you walked down the aisle. You followed through, and now the debt comes due. You are her biggest star, and her gravest disappointment.

Everything she could have had, and nothing she ever was at your age. You know your mother is happy with her position now, later in life. Reaping the benefits of your father’s house, but it was not always like that. There was never an opportunity to be draped in silk or have the ear of the royal family when she was your age.

“When this does not work, I hope you will not go running to your father.”

And with that she gets up and leaves you in the kids’ room.

You flinch when the door slams. As you sit in silence, you wonder if you would have gotten a different response if you told her about Alys. Maybe she would have pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger. Deep down, you know she would have asked you what you did wrong; what did you do to make Aemond want to find comfort in another woman. Regardless of the pretenses, he still jumped at the first chance he got at something he saw as real. She would see it as a sign of failure on her part. She did not instill the right values in you to keep your husband happy. She has a funny way of flipping everything on its head, and yet you still crave any validation from her.

Your mother is as cruel as she is dutiful. As cold as she is charming. And as calculating as she is hurt and wounded by the world, she grew up in. The more your plan falls into place the more you find solace.

You are your mother’s daughter.

Taglist: @hydrationqueensworld @xkennobi @dc-marvel-girl96 @lyannesworld @msmarvel-19 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @widemiffyhappy @thenovelcarnival @hanihoney88 @kore-of-the-underworld @xoprincessmel @strawbrryquinn @targaryenmoony @blazzlynch @curlszx88 @crazymusicgirl104 @fanfics4ever @anndraco0523 @weepingwitchofthewest @alinagonewlid @signyventia

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader

[letrune]

The best writer?

Dedicated to @bitterkarella and taken a bit of... okay, a LOT of tone from their works. Check them out!

A dark room, with robed figures standing around, uneasily shifting their weight as their leader rises.

JKR: Hello children… I am the bessst author all around, they sssay, and it isss true. ?: Ehem, excuse me, sorry, coming thru. Hello, everyone. Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Bard. JKR: William Shakespeare: You may know my tales. I know you do, you happily cribbed from some.

JKR: I ssaid I am the bessst children'sss author… ?: Oh, sorry, pardon for intruding. Hi. Erich Kästner. You may know me as the man who wrote Emil and the Detectives. JKR: Britisssh author, asss I sssaid… ?: Pardon me for interrupting, I am A. A. Milne. I, well, can't help to notice what you said, and how it was, well, not so truthful.

JKR: Asss I sssaid, I am the bessst adult human female author all- ?: Oh, excuse me. Beatrix Potter, greetings everyone. So, I have heard that you got my name in your little story? JKR: …I never even heard of you. Beatrix Potter: Now that would be quite a feat, when almost every British child, especially from your background, grew up with Peter Rabbit… And I made research on fungi. JKR: Mosssst prolific writer of all timesss!

The darkness near them falls asunder and the sound of a typewriter can be heard. As she turns, she sees a man, sitting on a throne made of books, typing with no real pause. ?: Hello all. Isaac Asimov. I don't think I got to say more. JKR: I don't know you. Asimov: Then you never opened a sci-fi book from the past 80 years. Nor any chemistry book worth its salt. Speaking of, did you finally checked some of the biology books referencing me, or are you still making up things?

Jkr: …mossst versssatile- ?: Oh, pardon me, Enid Blyton. You may know me as the one who gave the world Noddy, the Famous Five and the Naughty Girl series. JKR: You write about naughty girlsss? Like a male would? ?: Oh, sorry. I have to say, you misunderstand what she meant by that word. Oh, where are my manners? Just call me Mr. Rogers, please.

JKR woke up, drenched in sweat. She brushed off a few hundred pounds off of herself, still sticky from the sweat, and grabbed her phone to go on eksh dot com. However, the parental lock was still on.

#the midnight society #fanfiction

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Forgetting the end of the third part of second chance, all of it just made me feel so sad for Lucien. Someone needs to write something about Lucien being brought to Helion way younger, like as a child or something.

Look at me turning into Vanseera and Helion blog and all this time I thought I didn't have it in me. Also, I think I was supposed to make it better but I might just made it worse... upsie...

warning: blood, beating, child birth, all the warnings that come with Beron.

Live, Licien, live

The wind was so harsh. So cold. So bitter. Rarely were the nights in autumn so cold but it seemed like the world had been suffering today alongside Eris. Maybe it was his father's bitterness that followed him. Maybe it was his ever-seeing eyes, that now lashed at him for disobeying. He was supposed to be in the training hall, kicking and slashing at his other brothers. But he couldn't not after today. Not when he had watched the horrors of it for some time now.

How long can one neglect the inner voice? Shouting and clawing at you that it was all wrong. That this was not how the world worked. Couldn't be. His father had been wrong. Real power couldn't lay in the joy of making others suffer. Beg. Bleed beneath your feet. Eris had already done so many things wrong. Had given in to his father's cruel demand. Out of fear of dying himself, had bled others dry. But he never forgot their faces. He could name every single soul he sent to the other world. But this time. This time he couldn't sit still.

Eris's mother had given birth a couple of hours ago. Yet from the moment the pregnancy was announced, Eris felt that something was off. Beron valued his litter. The fighting dogs his wife provided. Eris had watched her go through childbearing multiple times and his father's hands would soften when the swell in her stomach rounded. Yet this time she was offered a cell. A bucket. Beatings. Water if she was lucky. And Eris had never been more confused. Was Beron suddenly against having more sons?

He tried to raise the question to his father. It wasn't in a pleading way, he approached it as a future high lord and yet the furry that left his father the moment Eris spoke his mother's name. The beating had been like no other. Eris hadn't even crowded out of the throne room after. Just laid there hoping that his body would heal a little and then he'll drag himself out. But that was more than enough for him. The baby growing wasn't Beron's. That was clear.

So Eris slipped into the cell as often as he could. He still couldn't properly feed his mother because someone would notice but he kept the food as nutritious as possible. Enough to keep them both alive, to help the baby grow and his mother go through labor. He had bribed the guards who had been ordered to beat her. Eris couldn't stop them fully because his father came down here almost every day to watch his wife fade away. But enough to keep the kicks and slashes away from her bump and breasts, enough to soften the blows.

Eris had pleaded for days for her to tell him the truth. Tell him who the father was so that he could hold onto something. Know why the furry in his father burned so hard. She said nothing, "Not your burden to carry", she said day after day. Until she went into labor. Way too early. Way too fast. The beating that night had done the trick. Even her body had given up on growing that innocent soul within her.

Eris had found her in a pool of blood, panting, gritting her teeth. Pleading with the gods to not let this happen. To let her keep him within her womb just a bit longer. But fate was cruel. It had laughed at his mother that night. No one came to help her. The cell doors had been locked tight the moment her screams echoed through the basement. Eris knew that this was another way of making her pay. Having her die like a rat there while bringing a bastard into this world.

Just Eris had learned parts of the house no one besides him knew off. He had dragged buckets of water there in a hurry, blankets. Did he know what he was doing? No. But his mother was there. The one source of decency. The only reason why he wasn't like his father. So at that moment, he didn't care what he had to do, he was going to fight for them if they refused to. He was going to try and save them.

Of course, his mother had tried to usher him away. Beginning to let her be in her shame. Let Mother Nature do her thing but Eris was unmoved. He crotched next to her. Pushing heaps of blankets behind her and beneath her back. "You'll get yourself killed", she sobbed, watching as he wetted the cloth to soothe the dizziness she was feeling, "Go, before his blade slashes your throat". But her words did little to inflict fear in Eris. He braced his hands on her legs, just as he had seen the healers do many times. Their eyes met and he could tell that something in his mouth had shifted.

Eris heard her scream even here. Even as he ran across the dark forest. At times the wind sounded just like her. No longer like his father. It sounded as if she was crying for her two boys. Her two sons who still had hope of keeping their hearts untarnished. Eris wished he could erase the image of her lifeless body, though. Wished he could have frozen the smile that brushed her features when Eris brought the baby closer to him, pressing his palm over his mouth, to drown out the sobs. And then in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Just a pile of broken limbs and a pool of blood. Eris had talked one more glance before he fled. Maybe they were going to assume she just died like this with the baby instead her. Just bled to death. He hoped they would. For everyone's sake.

The baby inside his arms let out a cry. A cry Eris wished he could have let out as well. Lucien. His mother had whispered the name before she went. Little Lucien. Eris only held the boy closer. Not even hours in this world and he was already fighting toughest battles. But Eris was going to make it better. He was going to save him. He could feel the baby squirming against his chest, feeling the little tears that fell onto his skin, "You'll live, you'll get to live. Live, Lucien, live", Eris muttered over and over as he rushed.

It only dawned on him how this all might look when he was standing right outside Helion's castle. The guards had pointed their weapons at him and here was Eris Vanserra, trembling like a leaf with a screaming baby in his arms, "I need to see him", he pleaded, "Let me see Helion". But no one wanted to listen and no one would have if not Helion himself had heard the commotion and the sobs.

"What's all of this", he had roared, making the guards stagger back. It's only when the red hair came into his view did he halt himself. That same color of hair Helion had kissed so many times on his lover. But it couldn't be her. There was no way for her to leave just like that. It's the panic. The smell of her. The smell of blood. That made him order everyone away as he pushed Eris through the gates.

Eris only managed to make it through into the hall before his legs bucked and he sank to the floor. "Boy, what's all of this? What's going on?", Helion demanded, yet it wasn't anything like the way Beron demanded. Helion had still left him a choice to refuse to answer. Eris didn't trust his words. Not just yet. Not after everything that happened tonight. He pulled his cloak off, pushed the side of his shirt aside, and pulled back the messily wrapped fabric.

Helion's eyes had grown big as he inhaled sharply. Eris could tell that he understood what this meant. That he hadn't expected it. But he knew what this baby was. "Yours", Eris crocked out. Letting the high lord reach out, to pull the baby out of his arms. "Mother died", those words made Helion's body shake, jaw clenching. But he only held onto the crying babe stronger, "Mother died but Lucien lives. Keep him alive Helion. Keep him alive".

#pain #it's what this is #helion x lady vanserra #helion x lucien #helion x eris #eris vanserra #eris vanserra imagine #helion imagine #lucien imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #helion x reader #lucien x reader #eris vanserra x reader

[jadededge]

Siren | Christian Yu - Ch. 3

Pairing: Christian x You

Genre: Demon AU, Romance, Smut, slight Horror

Rating: M

Summary: That voice. It started calling me during the darkest moments of the night, like a siren luring me further into the deep and it has continued for weeks.

Wattpad | AO3   (will likely always update these 2 places first)  

Navigation: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Tonight, I was afraid to fall asleep. I was certain the man—the thing—I was seeing in my dreams was my new boss. But I couldn't understand how this was happening. How was any of this real?

I thought of calling my closest friend Talia, but as I went over what I would say in my head, it sounded insane. Nobody would believe me. Perhaps I should check myself into an in-patient program. Though deep down, I don't think even they could help me either.

I'm also angry that I was lulled into a false sense of security with no issues for a week just to have it ripped from under me. This seemed to be intentional. But what does he want with me? And to top it all off, I found myself attracted to him. Even the being in my dream was stunning. I silently yearned beneath his touch, hoping for more.

"I must be a real sicko." I say to myself.

What frightened me the most was also what thrilled me. He had complete control over me. I was merely an instrument of his will, and I was completely powerless to resist. Even now, cowering away at home, he's all I think about. It was like he was invading my thoughts and entering my mind without my permission. There was no escape from his grasp. What would happen at work? If Christian is indeed the one who has been haunting me, what will he bring to the real world?

My mind was racing through these thoughts so much that I didn't realize I had drifted to sleep…

________________________________________________

"Darling…" I hear whispered into my ear. Still in the dark, I don't quite stir. I hear a chuckle. "You didn't want to fall asleep, and yet here you are."

Familiar voice. I think.

I slowly start to wake up and attempt to open my eyes. "Christian."

He chuckles again. "Not quite." I feel a thumb carressing my cheek.

I bolt right up and open my eyes wide. It's him but with a white eye. I look around quickly and notice I'm in the same place as before, but I'm placed on a chaise.

"What's going on? You're definitely Christian. Why are you doing this?" I rush out.

He just smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not Christian, but I can see why you might think that." He pauses, looking at me with a knowing expression. "The truth is, I'm someone who's not entirely different."

He turns his back to me and walks across the room, still talking to me. "As for 'why' It's fun?" He laughs again. This time is throaty and loud.

He's speaking in riddles and obviously enjoying himself. I don't think this is funny at all. In fact, i'm starting to get pissed off. "Well, I'm glad you think torturing me is funny, but this is not a game."

He turns back to face me. "That's where you have it wrong. It IS a game."

"Well, I don't want to play. I want to go home."

"No." He says simply

"No?"

"No." He repeats calmly.

"I don't have time for this shit, Christian or not Christian. Whatever you are. I'm not playing anymore." I try to stand up and stumble. My legs aren't quite awake; I must've been out for awhile.

"Sit." A deep voice speaks in my ear. But the thing is still across the room. Smiling.

Just like before, my body moves on its own. And I'm forced to sit back down.

"And shut up." He sits in that same chair like it's a throne. "You ask a lot of questions. I'm not sure you want to know all the answers. I'm not sure it matters."

I scoff. "Of course it matters. You've been stalking me for weeks. Controlling me in my dreams. And then, you or not you walks into my job. So either answer my questions, send me back, or kill me and get it over with, if that's your plan."

I'm hoping he doesn't call my bluff, but it's clear that he is aware of my fear, but I do not know how. Maybe I can throw him off by pretending to be brave.

He laughs again. "You're funny. I'm not going to kill you. I might hurt you. But you'll like that."

I shivered as my mind wandered through the possibilities. "So, what do you want?"

"You. I thought that was clear." He says, tilting his head slightly.

Clearly, he's trying to be vague. "Yes, that is clear. What do you want to do with me, besides play to play?"

"That's it. Mostly…" He smirks as if he knows a secret.

I study him. "What are you?" He looks like a man, but I know he's not. Not entirely. As he said.

He tsks and shakes his head. "Again, you ask too many questions. If I told you everything now, what fun would I miss out on watching you try to figure it out? You're going to wake up now. But i'll be seeing you soon."

I feel myself being tugged from this place. I wasn't ready to leave quite yet. My curiosity was getting the better of me.

"Wait. Will you at least tell me your name?" I ask before I'm pulled away completely.

As I lay down and my eyes slowly close, I look at his face, mouth not moving but I hear that same deep voice whisper again into my ear just before drift into darkness. "Mito."

#dpr ian #DPR #dpr ian smut #dpr ian fanfic #kpop fanfic #krnb fanfic #Smut #eventual smut #romance #christian yu fanfic #christian yu smut

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 3

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Three: Saera and Daemon

He marched to her room – with fury following his aura. His eyebrows were merged together, fists clenched and turning white. 

Daemon opens the door, seeing her sprawled on the bed and reading a book. The light perfectly bounced on her face, highlighting her best features – he couldn’t stay angry, not in the sight of an angel. She begins to sit up straight, the book was long forgotten beside her. 

“Uncle, how was the meeting?” she inquired, patting the empty space beside her. She was her uncle’s close confidant. The brains behind his commissions. “Horrible,” he replied with one word. He sat on the bed. The mattress slightly bounced due to their shared weight. 

She places her hand behind his back. 

“Did they work against you once more?” she questioned, and he buried his face on her chest. It was hard being the only person in the council who cared about their safety. To other lords, it was mere business – a status symbol that their daughters can flaunt. 

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” he mumbled, still laying his head low – like a child in need of his mother. “They are all against battle,” he groaned as she continued to comb through his hair. “The battle must be fought to prevent war.” he added while freeing his head of her chest. 

He stared at her eyes again. Her eyes have comforted her more than words. “Father is always hesitant when it comes to war. He believes that violence belongs to a bygone age. You’re different, uncle – I’m not sure if I prefer you more.” her lips pressed into a thin line. 

She liked her uncle more. 

“You don’t need to choose, Saera.” he smiled, eyes trailing to the other side of the room. The people in his brother’s council told him that Daemon would rip his daughters away from him, but it was the opposite. Daemon craved his brother’s acknowledgement, he could never poison his nieces’ brains. She places her hand on his chest, feeling his warmth radiate off the black robe. 

“The people at court believe that you are my father’s heir. My mother thinks that you’ll be the King after him.” she whispered. 

His hands slid up to hold hers. “Do you want me to become king?” he asked playfully, eyes narrowing with his tone. He wanted to be King, but only if Saera was his Queen – not that bronze bitch. “No.” she answered truthfully. 

She was staring at him, which meant that she was telling the truth. “And why not?” he questioned in mock-offense. She smiles softly, feeling the layers of herself unravel for him. “I don’t want to see you ruined – the throne corrupts many. You don’t have any children, where will the throne pass on?” she added. He paused for a while, thinking of her opinion. 

No children. 

“None yet,” he replied with a smirk. Her eyes widened, but it returned to its original shape. “You will return to the Vale then? You’ll consummate your marriage with Lady Rhea?” she inquired, though her tone implied that she didn’t want it to happen. “Of course not. I wish to have children with another woman – someone preferably attractive and with Valyrian blood.” he added, and his last sentence brought a scarlet tint on her cheeks. 

“Enough of the throne, kepus. I stare at it all day.” she ranted while laying on the bed in a starfish position. 

—-

It was the dead of night, the nobles inside the keep were already sleeping – the only ones left awake were the guards and the citizens of Kingslanding. Daemon marched forward wearing his golden-cloak – a white dragon was embroidered on its edges, making his armor stand out from the crowd. 

“When I took command of the watch, you were stray mongrels – starving and undisciplined.” he walked, staring at the endless rows of men that he ruled over. His brother may be king, but his soldiers were loyal to him. “Now, you’re a pack of wolves – sated and phoned for the hunt.” he smirks and his men howl like wolves. 

“My brother’s city has fallen into squalor. Crimes of every breed have been allowed to thrive. Well no longer – beginning tonight, Kingslanding will learn to fear the color gold.” he added and the men began to thump their weapons into the ground, creating an acoustic symphony for his ear. 

Then he led his men towards Flea-Bottom. There were rapists, drunkards and thieves laying around. He was sure to punish them. 

“My lord, I have done nothing!” he hears a man plead, but the gold cloak was swift to take away his hand. The city was thrown into chaos – women carrying their children to safety, and men drunkenly wobbling into the ground. Brothels were closing in fear of gold. It was everything that Daemon wanted for his brother’s kingdom. 

He started the fire, and it was slowly catching. 

Soon, every crime will be eradicated from King's Landing. Women and children will feel safe to walk at night – but he knew that the problem didn’t just reside in the city, it also lingered inside the red-keep. 

—-

Saera was chosen as her father’s cupbearer, in the absence of Rhaenyra who was on a tour to find a suitable husband. Being a cupbearer to the King meant having a high standing in society – she was able to hear the secrets in the council, as well as provide her opinions in closed doors. 

Today was different. Nobody was talking. They were all waiting for Daemon’s arrival. ‘Has he done something now?’ she thought to herself while pouring wine into her father’s cup. 

The wide metal doors opened, Daemon entered with a nonchalant posture. He was never the one to wear his heart on his sleeve. He hid it. Saera knew him and could read him like an open book. He was smug about something – happy about an accomplishment. 

“Prince Daemon.” Otto’s lips settled into a thin line as he shared a stare with his older brother. “Your grace, it was an unprecedented roundup of criminals of every ilk. Your brother made a public show of it. Until they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting dismemberments when it was done.” Otto antagonized and Daemon settled into his chair with pride. 

He gives his niece a smile, before tapping his cup – motioning for her to fill it. She moves to his side, filling his goblet. His hands snaked towards her back as she bowed down. “The prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity.” Lancel added, carefully watching Daemon’s interaction with his niece. 

“Brother.” Daemon licks his lip, before slumping on his chair confidently. 

“Daemon.” his brother replied, unamused. 

They stared at each other for a second, until Viserys broke their silence. “Carry on, you were about to say something.” he stared at his brother accusingly, disappointed with the show he made last night. “My impunity?” he chuckled. “Your new gold-cloaks made a show in the city didn’t they?” he joked and his brother’s eyes dimmed. 

“They are not weapons that you use for your own whim. They are an extension of the crown.” Viserys scolded Daemon and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The Watch was enforcing the Crown’s law.” Daemon asserted, hands grabbing unto the table in front of him. 

“You made a public spectacle of wanton brutality, and it is hardly in line with our law.” Lancel argued, feeling heat rise with every word. He had a business of prostitutes and thieves. Daemon doing this to the City made his business worse. 

“Nobles from every corner in the realm are descending upon Kingslanding to attend my brother’s tourney. Do you want them, mugged, raped and murdered? You might know this if you left the safety of the red-keep, which I doubt that you do.” he insulted Lancel, turning his attention back to his brother. 

“Your grace, Kingslanding is seen by the small-folk as lawless and terrifying. Our city should be safe for all of its people.” he enunciated, Viserys placed a palm to his head – feeling a headache brewing. “I agree,” Saera pipes up, earning another smile from her uncle. 

“Saera, now is not the time.” Viserys whispered but his daughter did not listen. “We installed my uncle as Lord Commander to promote peace and order. He has done it – he’s killed criminals because we allowed them to remain rampant for all these years!” Saera defended, her grip on the pitcher tightened. 

“Saera, I did not raise you to be this way.” Viserys scolded, glaring daggers into his daughter’s eyes. “I did not raise you to interrupt important meetings of the council.” he embarrassed his daughter, and the council of men seemed to agree. 

“Brother, let her be. She will be part of a council, one day – mayhaps even an adviser of Rhaenyra.” Daemon defended his niece, and his brother’s anger slowly turned towards him. “This is your doing brother. You have tainted her ill with your hot-temper.” Viserys accused and his brother’s posture began to grow slump and weak. 

“If only you showed the same devotion to your lady-wife, as you do your niece.” Otto mumbled, and all eyes began to peer in his direction. “Your grace, I advise that Prince Daemon return to the Vale.” Otto added and Viserys seemed to be thinking about it deeply. 

“I don’t suppose you know anything about devotion – your son, Gwayne, has abandoned his post at the city-watch a few moons ago.” Daemon insulted, taking the attention away from his hated wife. Otto rises to his feet, angry and prepared to maim Prince Daemon. “My son has never been part of your watch.” he insulted, and Daemon rose from his chair too. 

“You are a demon – an evil cast by those gods that you believe in!” Otto insulted and Daemon lunged in his direction. Fist making contact with the Hightowers face. Saera watches them, mouth slightly ajar and in fear of what Daemon could do to Otto. 

“Stop this nonsense, in the name of your King!” Viserys screamed, rising from his chair. They only stopped at that moment. Saera was quick to run to her uncle’s side – pulling him away from the enemy. “As Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks and as Commander of your army – I plead for you to arrest this man!” Daemon pointed at Otto. 

Viserys shares a stare with his daughter, silently asking for her to quell her uncle’s anger. “It is well within his power,” Saera guarded. Her father sighed. “And also him.” Daemon pointed at Lancel, who stood up in confusion. 

“If you will excuse me.” Daemon growled as he and his niece walked towards the exit. 

next chapter>>

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#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #ser harwin strong #harwin strong x oc #coaxed you into paradise #daemon targaryen x original character #cheating #cliche #a rewrite

[butterflydm]

wot reread: a memory of light (chapters 24-31)

spoilers for a memory of light, the final book.

Everything that Tuon thinks about her life really does sound like it's going to make Mat so miserable. All the obligatory pomp and circumstance, even in private (because you're never in private when you have slaves!). But, hey, he'll get rewarded with sex every time he saves Tuon's life, so who needs happiness? (/sarcasm)

Given how many truths about the Seanchan have been withheld from Mat in order to get him to this point, I wonder how many of those truths it would take for him to abandon ship?

Note: I am going to be questioning and interrogating Mat's actions, words, and behaviors a LOT going forward and not taking much at face value. And that kinda extends to people talking about him: what do they know and believe about him, etc? Whose PoV are we in when certain things are said or revealed, etc? This is mostly for two reasons: a. I am sussing out how much wiggle room there is for writing fic about Mat in this time period and b. I want to try to not make assumptions based on my first thoughts when I'm reading each PoV.

2. Beslan says that Mat has changed and "I don't know what to make of him any more." Beslan is all-in on the slavers now, which makes him a very great disappointment to me. I guess we can't be that surprised. He enabled his mom being a serial rapist, so I guess it shouldn't be a shock that he's willing to enable slavery as well. What Beslan says about Mat is... hmm. How well did Beslan ever know Mat, I guess is the question that immediately springs to mind. Beslan was the son of Mat's rapist, who allowed that his mom was maybe going too far with Mat but still was basically a momma's boy despite the rape. And the last time Mat saw Beslan, he was a revolutionary who was willing to stand up against the Seanchan even when his mother was not, so I suspect that he would also not be certain what to make of you, Beslan. Honestly, given that Beslan's last experience of Mat was "wants to escape Ebou Dar no matter what", the most surprising thing for him should be that Mat voluntarily returned to Ebou Dar.

But everything that Tuon thinks here about how Beslan and the Altaran people have been "properly tamed" does give me that gross feeling that she (and many of the Darkfriends in the series) gives me in her PoV chapters. If Mat could actually see her thought processes, all his fantasies about how she's Not Like the Other Seanchan would go up in smoke.

3. Selucia slightly shades Tuon on how she hasn't broken Mat to fully proper behavior yet (he's cursing at some news they've received) and Tuon immediately decides that she needs a new Truthspeaker so that Selucia can go back to being only her Voice (and not speak any opinions that aren't exactly your own, Tuon?).

An Empress must be "crafty", "strong", and "skilled" to sit on the Crystal Throne, Tuon thinks.

Ah, I guess that's why she died pretty quickly in Aviendha's alternate future. Tuon doesn't have any of those qualities. It is interesting to think about how Tuon pumps herself here up with an impossible goal: that she be strong enough to live forever (as the Empress is meant to do and yet how every single Empress has failed to do) so that she can bring 'order' to the world. Just as Fortuona is not living up to the fictional Tuon in Mat's head, she can't possibly live up to the Empress that she believes that she needs to be.

There really are hints, here and there, of the interesting character that Tuon could have been. She just needed so much more character work. I do think she's been more interesting under Sanderson so far, though, at least than she was in CoT & KoD.

4. At this moment in time, Tuon is regretting her marriage. Mat's fancy Seanchan uniform keeps snagging on everything that he passes and her other generals find him baffling. She married "chaos itself". This feels like another place where we're being told one thing and shown another. What has Mat actually DONE that is chaotic to Tuon's plans? He saved her life and advised that she not be stupid enough to actively try to sabotage Rand saving the world, but he didn't challenge her on anything or fight her on anything.

This really does show the all-or-nothing attitude of the Seanchan: Mat has bent so much to accommodate Tuon that he's practically unrecognizable to who he used to be but that's still not enough for her. Nothing but complete and eternal submission is enough for her. He can do everything she asks but if he doesn't have the right attitude about it, then she's still unhappy with him.

5. Oh, "the Prince of Ravens" thinks that they're joining the battle too late? MAYBE he shouldn't have deserted on the eve of the fucking Last Battle then? Sanderson suddenly inserting a feeling of urgency in Mat about getting to the Last Battle feels so ridiculous. Mat didn't give a shit about the Last Battle a couple of chapters ago. He ran away so that he could have some drinks in slaver town. The Last Battle has been happening for at least a week at this point.

Mat being someone who is creating urgency and rushing would make so much more sense if he'd gone to the Seanchan as a negotiator and not as a deserter.

We do get confirmation here that Mat is now the second-highest ranking member of the High Blood, after Tuon herself. And the mere fact that Tuon thinks here that he would "never be a rival" makes me feel like narrative irony would have insisted on him being the one who topples her from her throne.

6. This is when Tuon renames Mat as "bringer of destruction" (aka Knotai aka I am not using that name in this reread ever again). Mat deciding that he likes being dubbed a "bringer of destruction" is another thing that feels bizarrely out of character but I will note that this is all in Tuon PoV, so we don't know how Mat actually feels about the name (I'm pretty sure he doesn't start calling himself that in his head at any point). And we've seen that Tuon has a very difficult time reading Mat, so if he was giving off any tells that he was lying, she would certainly never pick up on it. She glares at him after the renaming and wills him not to argue with it, so his response might be Mat picking up on her cues and responding.

"The Pattern had placed [Mat] before her, had shoved him into her arms." It sure fucking did and it was so incredibly annoying to read.

Tuon also does (internally) note here that Rand was 100% correct about how fragile her rule here is.

Haha, after Selucia uses their handtalk to call Tuon out on the risks she's taking, Tuon thinks again that she needs to replace Selucia as a Truthspeaker so that Selucia can go back to being a good little parrot and stop having opinions (this is a mild paraphrase of her thoughts).

7. Ah, this moment is in Tuon's PoV but it actually does still manage to be pretty clear exactly how much she is disappointing Mat when she considers the idea of going back on her word and swooping down on the Aes Sedai to capture them all as damane rather than going to aid them as allies. That's the moment of Actual Fortuona failing to live up to the Fictional Tuon in Mat's head that I was remembering. Back during either TGS or ToM, Mat realizes that it was likely that Tuon didn't stay in CoT & KoD because she was being honorable and keeping her word but instead was staying because of the prophecy about him she'd gotten, but he kinda just ignored the implications of that realization.

The mere fact that Tuon considers the idea of breaking her word here would remind Mat that her word is meaningless (and Mat has developed, as we have established, a fey-like obsession with keeping his word). It is interesting how Tuon thinks of herself as the embodiment of order and yet so easily considers throwing away a treaty and going back on her word; yet she considers Mat the embodiment of chaos when he does his best to always live by his word no matter what the personal cost. Mat probably would push it away again here (she does make the right choice when it comes down to it) but it's another place where Actual Fortuona would be a disappointment when compared to Fictional Tuon in Mat's head.

Ultimately, when Tuon decides to keep her word, it isn't out of honor but due to the omens telling her to bet on Mat.

I will note at this point in time that Mat is still being informal and using "Tuon" freely.

8. We get a glimpse of how pressed things are on Lan's part of the battlefield before shifting over to Elayne's. Birgitte tries to keep Elayne in the command tent and Elayne finally snaps, telling her that if Birgitte can't follow her orders like all the other soldiers are willing to do, then she will release their bond. I'm sure Elayne gets hate for this, because she gets hate for everything, but I found it very cathartic after how much Birgitte has been getting on my nerves in this book. And Elayne's right that she's more useful out there doing things -- she is an extremely powerful channeler. It is a waste of her talents for her to sit in a tent.

9. Hmm, yeah, as Rand enters Shayol Ghul itself, he notes that time is affecting him differently. He can tell that one of the women that he's bonded to is in pain but he can't tell who it is and he worries over Elayne and Aviendha.

Though the knife worked to shield Rand from the Dark One's eyes, Moridin is still waiting for him there. I wonder how long he's just been kneeling there. So, yeah, before Rand can get to the Dark One, he has to take care of Moridin.

Anyway, we learned in Siuan's PoV just before this that Min was sent to the Aes Sedai camp with the message "The Seanchan fight the Shadow." You know, I like that message because it doesn't overpromise anything and it doesn't set up expectations that the Seanchan won't be absolute douchebags, as they certainly will be.

10. Luc Mantear and Isam Mandragoran's story as Slayer really could have been heartbreaking and fascinating if Jordan had ever actually leaned into the implications of it. They're both essentially collateral damage -- Isam was left behind when the Blight swallowed up Malkier; Luc was sent off into the Blight to 'seek glory' in order to help wedge an opening for the Mantears to be pushed off the throne of Andor. But the books never explore that.

As it is, Slayer is just... this disconnected assassin who shows up once in a blue moon, and there's not really any substance there to hook onto.

After a... really long battle involving Slayer and the red-veiled Aiel channelers, Perrin fails to kill Slayer and Slayer ends up escaping. Lanfear shows up to heal Perrin and she continues to seem vaguely irritated that she's interacting with him ("You can be such a child"). He sets the dreamspike up inside the cavern to protect Rand and asks the wolves to guard the outside of the cavern (this is all in TAR).

11. Egwene feels so gross as she heads towards the meeting that she is about to have with the Seanchan, because she knows that the Seanchan fighting means damane fighting, which means forcing slaves into battle.

Tuon sits on her mobile throne, with a train being held by eight slaves in transparent robes. Literally every time Tuon's lifestyle is described, it just sounds like something that is going to make Mat so incredibly miserable.

lol, the narrative tries to convince us that Tuon is "calculating" and "discerning" through Egwene's description of her eyes. I've been in the girl's head. I'll grant you "manipulative" and "can spot an obvious clue when it's shoved under her nose" but that's as far as I'll go. Egwene, you were absolutely right when you assumed that Tuon would be coddled and spoiled. I speak as someone who was forced through two long books of "a brat goes on a circus tour and throws several tantrums".

12. Anyway, both Egwene and Tuon feel contempt for each other -- Tuon for what Egwene inherently is as a person (a channeler) and Egwene for the person that Tuon chooses to be (a slaver).

Which we can see in the way they talk to each other -- Tuon calls Egwene an animal, while Egwene calls Tuon a criminal who would be at home with murderers and rapists. Tuon sees what Egwene is as the problem with her, while Egwene sees who Tuon is as the issue with her. These are not the same as each other.

13. So here on page 471 (hardback version), Mat has finally shown up to the Last Battle. Over halfway into the book! Literally makes me want to stab a wall that Mat spent half the book just fucking around with slavers instead of helping with the Last Battle. I assume we're supposed to feel like the Seanchan coming to help would be impossible without Mat, because he shamed Tuon into actually keeping her word, but there were better roads of getting Mat there that didn't make him a deserter and a defector. But I'm guessing making Mat those things was the point of his impossible teleportation logistics between books.

Just. Ugh.

14. The reason that Egwene realizes that Mat is here, among the collection of "frozen Blood in various poses" around Tuon, is because Tuon turns to berate him for not telling her that Egwene was once captured as damane and thus making her show her ass in public when she tried to argue that Egwene would understand how great being a slave is if only she'd tried it.

The question I have here is: are we supposed to believe Mat when he claims that he only didn't tell Tuon about Egwene having been captured as damane because he 'didn't think on it too long' that Egwene's captivity had happened. It's in Egwene's PoV so we are, once again, not in Mat's head. The main good quality that Mat has been able to hold onto when he's been around the Seanchan has been keeping his friends' secrets. tbh it seems more likely to me that he just didn't think it was Tuon's business (it would have been a pretty big betrayal of Egwene's privacy for him to confide that in Tuon, imo?). But, yeah, Tuon explicitly says here that she is going to have a "not pleasant" conversation with Mat about him holding back information on her. And it pretty clearly comes across as a threat.

Yikes.

15. Egwene does seem to believe here that Tuon has made a grave mistake by marrying Mat... but it's explicitly because Mat is ta'veren and Tuon has trapped herself into his web. And it amuses her because she assumes it can't mean anything good for Tuon or the Seanchan in the long term. (I mean, given that Mat has gotten hundreds of thousands of people killed on the Westlands side... yeah, it does seem like a lot of dead Seanchan are in the future on Tuon's side, and Mat might never even realize he was the enabling factor). So this is the one time that I'll allow for a character to be amused that Mat has married a slaver -- Egwene clearly sees this as Tuon having screwed herself over in the future without realizing it.

Though Mat does throw out a "may she live forever" (eyeroll), he is also still calling her 'Tuon', despite the threat of execution. And note that Mat is still of the opinion that "being ta'veren has never gotten me much" so he doesn't seem particularly happy about being married.

16. Yeah, Tuon also makes it very clear that the new clothes and the new name are deliberate attempts to separate Mat away from his past connections and make it clear that Tuon owns him now. "He serves the Seanchan, the Crystal Throne, and the Empress."

She is isolating him from his previous friends and making it clear that he belongs to her. Egwene is 100% right in her instincts that he needs to be saved from Tuon, even if Mat himself doesn't realize it (or, potentially, does realize it but isn't willing to admit to it).

17. So Egwene has to renegotiate with Tuon because now that Rand is gone, Tuon is forcing everyone to start from page one with her again, because she is a coddled and spoiled brat who wants to eke out more concessions if she can get them.

But the results of Tuon attempting to re-negotiate with Egwene now that Rand is off on his mission actually ends up backfiring on Tuon overall, I think! -- Egwene gets Tuon to agree to leave Tremalking alone (because they haven't found a compliant Sea Folk leader along the lines of Beslan to lend them legitimacy) and Egwene makes a spirited attempt to get Tuon to agree to allow women who have just been discovered but not yet collared the opportunity to choose to go the White Tower instead, leaning on Tuon's stated belief that marath'damane want to be slaves so it's no big deal to offer them the option of freedom.

But Tuon does balk at this idea, unfortunately, because she gets scared when Egwene mentions that all sul'dam are marath'damane.

18. Egwene, because she actually is discerning and calculating, picked up on what Tuon said about having trained damane herself and says, in front of the Blood, that as a sul'dam, Tuon is capable of channeling. Which Tuon already knows -- she learned this in KoD -- but she calls Egwene a liar because living in denial is the only way she can keep her power base and nothing matters more to Tuon than sucking up all the power in the world. It really does suck so much that we came up to the brink of Something Actually Happening with the Seanchan storyline and then backed away like cowards. There will never be any outriggers! Pull off the damn bandaid while the books are still running!

We don't get any mention of the Blood or the various damane & sul'dam who are around reacting to this bit of information either, but they do hear Egwene call ~their Empress~ out on being a liar, and call their Empire out on being a machine of cruelty that tortures women into fates worse than death. Will that matter? Who the fuck knows. Maybe one or two of the Blood here will feel a pang of conscience, as Leilwin née Egeanin did, and begin the slow and painful process of changing. Or maybe not.

And it is satisfying to get to see someone calling Tuon out on what a hypocrite she is -- she's all for preaching that other people should get put into the collar because they're just ~meant~ to be slaves but of course she wouldn't do it to herself. Of course she wouldn't. The idea terrifies her to death, I'm sure. Which also shows how deeply in denial she is when she claims that marath'damane just naturally want to be collared and anything other than that is a weird outlier. She knows damn well that it isn't true, because she doesn't long for the collar herself. But if she stuffs her fingers in her ears and just shouts that she's not marath'damane loudly enough, she can make herself believe it.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that Tuon did not go into this conversation looking to be publicly accused of being marath'damane herself, especially not in front of a crowd of Blood, so I feel like this one was a win for Egwene.

19. When things get to be really heated between Egwene & Tuon, with Egwene embracing the Power, Mat intercedes. What Mat says here is gross and demeaning; and I think we can all agree on that (a threat to take them over "over his knee" as if that would even be possible in this situation), but Egwene doesn't take it seriously for a second because she can see that Mat is trying to deflect her and Tuon away from each other and onto him (also frustrating though, because I really wanted something to Actually Happen with Tuon).

Also, we get a reminder that Tuon is a big ol' liar about not being jealous over Mat and other women, because she stares at where Mat's hand is touching Egwene's chest until he lowers his hand.

It also leads to another threat from Tuon about how she and Mat will have "many words" tonight, but they do both back down. But, wow, Tuon is so jealous over Egwene here, which is hilarious from the perspective of actually knowing anything about Egwene and Mat's friendship.

(sadly, I must take away Egwene's right to be amused at Mat's marriage at this point in the conversation, when she bizarrely attempts to commiserate ??? with Tuon over Mat's foul language)

Also, I will note that Egwene offers to help free him from the Seanchan, Mat doesn't tell her that he doesn't need to be freed, he tells her that he can handle it on his own. Slightly different things. Do you have an exit strategy, Mat?

Egwene is still determined to help Mat get free of the Seanchan somehow. AU idea where she does!

So, Mat leaves with Tuon and we know that she plans to have a 'not pleasant' conversation with him. So I will mark that in my notes to keep in mind the next time we see Mat.

20. As we've been going through the various battlefields, the 'great captains' have continued to make bone-headed mistakes. As we return to Elayne, it seems like this is coming to a head, as Tam confronts Bashere.

(and, no, she doesn't think about how Tam is Rand's dad and will be her kid's grandfather. Why would she, apparently?)

Tam accuses Bashere of not using scouts and falsifying scouting reports instead, saying that Bashere is to blame for the bad tactics that have happened in the recent battles. After considering how badly they've been trapped by the Shadowspawn, Elayne orders Bashere relieved from duty and has Talmanes take him away with the Band's Redarms.

And now Elayne is the one leading the army here, not Bashere.

21. Bryne gets one right for calling Tuon "that Imperial monster of a Seanchan leader". I have to admit, so far, there is less of the "let's hold hands with the Seanchan" vibe that I remembered and more "ugh, fuck, I guess we gotta hold our noses and deal with the Seanchan" vibe, at least in most chapters. It's really Mat's bizarro-world PoVs that tend to throw everything else off, and Mat has been kept ignorant of the Seanchan's recent actions under Tuon's guidance.

Bryne actually made Min do some real work by having her clerk for one of his people! Okay, Bryne has two rights. This is the first time Min has done any real work in what feels like forever. Being away from Rand is already doing her some good. But now the tent she was working in has been destroyed, so he puts her to work as a messenger (Min actually volunteers, which is definitely better than how she behaved when she was with Rand).

I kinda feel like my own opinion of the romances in WoT does hinge pretty strongly on "do they become less interesting characters when they are spending time with [love interest]?" but also on "what else do they have going on besides being [main character]'s love interest?".

ex. I liked Min best in TSR and once she starts really one-note obsessing over Rand in TFoH and onward, my interest in her nosedives because it feels like she has zero interests or drives outside of Rand. Get a hobby, Min! One that isn't about Rand (so the interest in 'philosophy' doesn't count). There's this incredibly depressing scene in, I think it was TFOH but it might have been the very start of LoC, where Elayne wants to talk to Min about something other than Rand and Min is just completely incapable of turning off the Rand-obsession long enough to think of a single good thing that doesn't revolve around Rand-Rand-Rand (the scene was not meant to be depressing but it definitely made me go 'yikes, Min, please get literally anything in your life that isn't about Rand').

22. So Min is off to the "Seanchan Empress" to tell her to send cavalry to the battlefield. Because Tuon is currently doing her best to hold back as many of her forces as she can and is negotiating them out piece-meal.

When she arrives at the Seanchan camp, Min notes how many forces are just lazing around doing nothing when they could be helping in the Last Battle. Min thinks for a moment that she wishes that she could have gone with Rand to Shayol Ghul but she has finally realized that she's only a liability to him in situations like that. Finally. I do note that apparently Rand had to 'forbid' her from going, though, so if he'd let her, she would have happily been a liability to him.

Anyway, Min was told by Rand to keep an eye on Fortuona, so I'll keep that in mind.

23. "Speak what criticism one would about the Seanchan -- and Min had a number of things she could add to that conversation -- they certainly were organized."

I really wish that Sanderson actually let Min think some of her specific criticisms about the Seanchan here rather than the narration veiling it. Because the way this is written ends up praising without critique, because the criticism remains politely unvoiced. One must always be polite about the slavers who want to dehumanize your friends and your lover, I guess.

Min was in Falme with Egwene! She actually saw Egwene being punished! She was even blamed for some of Egwene's punishments (which were all Renna's fault, of course, and not Min's) and she listened to Egwene scream and cry out in agony.

Let Min actually remember some of that in the text here rather than sweeping it all under the rug! She knows that the da'covale are slaves, for example, because she was in Falme. But instead of calling them slaves, she calls them "immodestly-dressed young women". Let Min actually have a thought here about how she disapproves of slavery! Put that on the record!

And Min thinking here that the Seanchan "couldn't possibly be as prickly as the Aiel". You... you literally listened to Egwene weeping in pain while she was being tortured for such crimes as "wanting to keep her own name" and "not wanting to be a slave" and "letting her friend visit her". wtf, Min.

24. Min has never seen Mat's hat before, but she thinks here that he has topped his new silken Seanchan outfit with his "familiar hat". I really do wonder if there was a draft of AMoL where Mat was in Merrilor, because then Min and Mat would have had a chance to meet back when Mat was in his old clothes and it would make sense for her to recognize his hat here. Because as it is, that's literally a nonsense thing for Min to think. The last time she saw Mat was at the end of book 2. Mat got his hat during book 4.

Min and Mat reunite like old buddies. They barely know each other. Let's tot up the times that they've met:

off-the-page in-between TGH and TDR, while Mat was dying from the dagger, in the handful of days that Mat was there before Verin took him & Elayne, Egwene, & Nynaeve off to the White Tower

That's it. That's the only entry. Mat didn't meet her in Baerlon -- Rand told him about her afterward. Apart from that, their only possible knowledge of each other comes from what Rand might have passed along. It is genuinely bizarre that they are behaving like old friends. They met once, almost two years ago, when one of them was dying. Mat has seen her having sex with Rand from time to time in his color swirl visions, but Min doesn't have access to that. They missed seeing each other in Caemlyn by four days, because Rand sends Mat off to Salidar before Min shows up with the embassy. They are the next best thing to complete strangers to each other, except that Mat has unintentionally seen Min naked several times.

It's Min and Perrin who have a friendship. It's funny, how Sanderson buffed up Perrin's friendships with Rand & Mat, but erased Perrin's friendship with Min. Perrin and Min, per canon, spent a lot of time talking to each other in between TGH & TDR (more time than either of them spent with Rand, who spent most of his time either brooding alone or arguing with Moiraine).

This is definitely "writing to the epilogue" convenience. But it could have made sense if Mat and Min had met back in the early chapters of the book while Mat was in Merrilor after he'd returned with Moiraine & Thom.

25. Mat tries to press Min for any new viewings about him. That's... interesting. Someone wants a new fate? I'm feeling curious about how Mat and Tuon's 'not pleasant' conversation went. Min deflects the conversation to viewings about the Seanchan general and I really don't care. Except to note that, sadly, Galgan probably won't try to kill Tuon because Mat is now the next one in the line of succession.

26. Why in the world would Min bow to Tuon? Seriously, girl, wtf. This is what I mean about how the narrative itself feels like it tiptoes around Tuon. Why would Min care so much about respecting Seanchan titles and nobility? She thinks here that she doesn't care about any other nobility but somehow the word 'Empress' triggers the worship reflex in her hindbrain or something? wtf. "It was only proper to show respect to Fortuona". Literally why? Why is the emphasis in Min's chapter about being polite to the slavers? Why is that the overriding vibe of this section -- Min's desire to make a good impression on the slavers? She didn't try this hard (or at all) with the Aiel. It's things like this that make me feel like Tuon must be ta'veren, because that feels like a thought that Tuon just plopped into Min's brain without permission.

Also, after Tuon enters literally just as Mat has mentioned her to Min, Mat then quotes "Say the name of Darkness, and his eye is upon you". Um. Yeah. So I feel like that 'not pleasant' conversation didn't go very well. (*whispers* he just compared his wife to the Dark One */whispers*).

He is also still using "Tuon" in casual conversation. And he doesn't get down on the floor, even though everyone else (including Min, for whatever reason) does.

27. And Mat is straight-up baiting Tuon in this conversation, or at least it feels that way (and using Min as a weapon while he does it). Yeah, I get the feeling that 'not pleasant' conversation went extremely poorly (was telling Tuon that Min is "the Dragon Reborn's woman" his way of trying to protect her from being poached by Tuon but Min didn't pick up on it? or was it his way of assuaging Tuon's raging jealousy issues by letting her know that Min is 'taken' and Mat doesn't plan on screwing her?)

I almost wonder if he's testing Tuon here -- seeing if her threats have any teeth? She told him that she could have him killed if he kept using the name 'Tuon' and he has not stopped, not even after the 'not pleasant' conversation. Kinda interesting that Mat seems considerably more combative with Tuon after their 'not pleasant' private discussion than he ever has been before. Wish we'd gotten to see that conversation (important moments, etc.).

Mat warns Min that Tuon snatches people up and doesn't let them go -- Min here thinks that Mat sounds "almost proud" but tbh I don't give Min much credit for her insight into people so I will take that with a grain of salt -- and yet Min (who can never resist blabbing about her viewings to everyone in sight) immediately spills about a viewing that someone is going to try to kill Tuon.

Literally why in the world would she bother to say anything? Why would she do this to herself? Rand said nothing about going out of her way to save the head slaver's life.

Min does have the habit of being swept up by people who have stronger personalities than she does -- Moiraine, then Siuan, then Rand, then Cadsuane, and now Tuon, I guess.

I do have to crack up at Min lying to herself and saying that she hasn't accidentally blabbed a viewing in years. Even if she doesn't remember blabbing Elayne's pregnancy to the entire royal palace of Caemlyn, she sleepily blabbed out Melaine's pregnancy without thinking about it too and we know she remembers that one because it was the whole basis for why the Wise Ones treated her as an ~honorary Wise One~ for, like, two books.

If Min didn't already have an established habit of constantly talking about her viewings, I would chalk this up to Tuon being ta'veren as well but... she does.

28. Tuon just goes up and touches Min's face without permission. Probably thinking about checking her teeth. Anyway, she pronounces Min a 'Doomseer' and Min has just screwed herself for the foreseeable future.

Tuon views Min as a "gift" that Mat has given her to "pay your penance" (presumably for not volunteering information about Egwene) so... yeah, that gives us some insight into the 'not pleasant' conversation. I wonder if Mat will think back to it at all in the next PoV we get from him. Probably not. I feel like I would remember that.

Tuon names Min as her new Truthspeaker, probably thrilled that she can now shove Selucia back into the box of not having any opinions that Tuon hasn't told her to have. Her emotional support slave was having too many independent thoughts and we can't have that.

Anyway, Min's viewings never really helped Rand, so she probably won't actually help Tuon much either, so I guess that's a relief.

But, yeah, not a fun situation for Min. Though I guess Mat now has company in his hellhole of a prison, so there's that.

...okay, now I've got "Two Lost Souls" from Damn Yankees in my head.

29. Just as Tam picked up on how Bashere's 'tactical mistakes' keep helping the Shadowspawn in the last section, Lan has picked out the same when it comes to his own 'great captain' -- two reserve forces were both sent to shore up the same hole in the lines, resulting in confusion and also the ranks being too thin in other places.

30. So, yeah, the set-up continues for Team Light to be forced to trust the General of the Slavers with the armies despite his recent horrible life choices. We note here that it has been 'weeks' for Lan now.

Lan countermands Agelmar's latest order, as he's realized how badly it would expose part of their army and compromise any potential retreat, so Lan has de facto taken over the army here, just as Elayne has over in the Cairhien/Caemlyn section of the battle.

31. Mat lets us know here Min has also been re-dressed in fancy Seanchan clothes. Apparently without any attempt to stick in her own clothes? She's an 'honored holy woman' per Tuon, so you would imagine means she has leverage to wear her own clothes if she wants. (of course, if it doesn't give her any leverage, then that would be useful information for the reader to have)

Anyway, we are back in Mat's head, for the first time since his disappointing reunion scene with Rand. We've seen him from the outside a few times since then -- in Tuon, Egwene, and finally Min's eyes.

Mat announces that he needs to go out and look at the actual battlefield. He thinks in his head that it's because the maps are "too simplistic" but I wonder if part of his motivation is taking a chance and getting some fresh air while his ~slaver bride~ is off doing "some empressly duty". I'm still curious about that 'not pleasant' conversation of 'many words' that they had after Tuon and Egwene met. He also yanks off part of his 'Seanchan uniform' here, leaving himself in his scarf, medallion, and breeches. He'd rather walk around shirtless than wear the fancy Seanchan duds, it seems.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

32. Yeah, Min is now wearing a dress, with no apparent protest. Mat notes that she's pretty and then additionally notes that he needs to be careful with smiles around women now because his wife might stab him if he smiles too much at other women. So, yeah, I'm thinking part of the 'not pleasant' conversation was Tuon making her jealousy issues very very clear to Mat. But despite Mat's protests that hooking up with Rand means that Min is "practically his sister", his narration does make it clear that he's attracted to her.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

"Mat had always considered Min on the boyish side" - you met her one time! During the foggy period of your memory when you were dying! The narration really is behaving like Perrin and Mat's friendships have been swapped around in this book -- Perrin is the one who has the stronger friendships with Rand and Elayne now; while Mat now has the stronger friendship with Min. Before this book, the opposite was true of all of those things. I guess we can assume that this is about Rand & Min screwing in the color swirls but Min would have been at least partly naked for a lot of those.

33. Anyway, Mat had his own clothes hidden away and changes into them now, when Tuon isn't here to protest, and then sneaks off to look at the battlefield before she can come back to berate him again. Lessons learned from his time with Tylin?

(Min does say here that she's tempted to strip off too, but she keeps wearing the Seanchan clothes for whatever reason)

We do also learn here the very important information that the Seanchan guards respond to bribes (Mat bribed them into keeping and hiding his clothes for him here). Though Mat also notes that it's only the free guards and not the slaves.

34. It's so sad here that Mat has to feel grateful that Tuon "understood that [Mat] needed" the foxhead medallion and returned it to him. He's grateful that he's allowed to use his own personal items and that she didn't permanently keep what she'd stolen from him.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

...hmm. I'm going to keep an eye on the medallions. Because technically Mat has two right now (his original and a copy that Elayne made), but he hasn't mentioned the second one at all.

35. Sadly, going for Pips means that "unfortunately, someone had time to alert" Tuon that Mat was slipping away, and so she comes to confront him (so I was right about part of the reason behind him bailing on the command tent was trying to get away from Tuon).

Mat once again warns Min that it's very dangerous here: "they know how to treat a fellow, as long as they don't behead him. I'm still trying to figure out how to prevent that from happening."

Hmm, Mat gives Min the "sell" on staying with the Seanchan... he says that it would help Rand because she can attempt to mislead Tuon about her 'omens' to try to guide Tuon onto a less-awful path. I imagine that's how Mat is justifying his own choices too but we saw that when he actually had a chance to try to guide Tuon onto a better path, he froze and said nothing while Rand did all the negotiating. But Mat does make it clear here that he still disapproves of what the Seanchan are doing; he's just... sticking around and helping anyway for whatever reason.

But, yeah, "lie to Tuon to try to subtly direct her choices" being part of Mat's advice to Min is... illuminating, to be sure. Did Mat lie to/mislead Tuon during their recent 'not pleasant' private discussion?

36. Yeah, we see here very directly that Mat doesn't always mean what he says around Tuon, when he pretends to be happy that she's coming along with him to survey the battlefield while "groaning inside". This is what I was talking about back when I was questioning all of the other character's interpretations of Mat's behavior in the previous few chapters -- most of the characters in the books are not very good at reading Mat. Tuon has failed to accurately judge him on multiple occasions, Egwene will always at least partly see him as the troublemaker from her hometown, and Min barely knows him.

Also, Mat was expecting to be berated for changing his clothes but Tuon says nothing about it at this time. Hey, Min, maybe you should take the opportunity to change yours too?

It is good to see Mat attempting to push back on Tuon, even if it's on relatively minor things.

It really is the decision to make Mat a deserter that screwed his characterization over so hard in this book. If Mat had gone to Merrilor and then gone to Ebou Dar, pretty much everything would make more sense. There's only a couple of scenes so far that have 'needed' Mat to be a willing traitor in order to play out the way that they did (mostly just Egwene's shock at seeing him hanging out with the Seanchan) and almost everything else would make more sense if Mat had gone back to Ebou Dar as a negotiator on behalf of the Westlands.

37. On the minus side, we have some really weird stuff here where Mat dehumanizes one of the Seanchan generals for the crime of being a woman that he doesn't want to fuck. While Mat did start basically thinking about every woman that he met in terms of fuckability back around... A Crown of Swords, I want to say... he didn't act like 'not being fuckable' made women unpeople and he's kinda going that way here and it's super gross.

38. On her own front in the battlefield, Egwene sees a huge tactical blunder by Bryne that leaves one of their flanks wide-open to the enemy and vulnerable, and now she is also going to go question him, as it looked distinctly like he set up a trap that benefited the Shadowspawn. So that's all of the fronts except Ituralde (who is just outside of Shayol Ghul).

After questioning Agelmar, Lan suspects it is Compulsion that is behind his recent poor battle decisions, and Lan has him relieved from duty. Also, Tenobia conveniently gets killed on the battlefield and brings Faile one step closer to ruling Saldaea.

39. Back with Mat, Tuon, Min, and Selucia. Poor Selucia. She got half a book of being allowed to have her own opinions but now she's just Tuon's Voice/bodyguard again and gets to speak no words but Tuon's.

Min is obediently telling Tuon all her viewings and her interpretations of them, just like she always does when she's under the thumb of someone with a more forceful personality than her own. This is kinda why I feel like Mat's hope that she will lead Tuon onto better paths is likely not going to pan out -- because Min's viewings do not have a moral component, not that we're aware of, and she is spilling them all out indiscriminately.

And Tuon will likely continue to be her own horrible self, no matter what viewings Min has. But I guess we'll see how that relationship plays out.

Min has not only told Tuon all the viewings she had about Tuon but also her viewings about Mat, over Mat's protests. Min likes to claim that she doesn't do things like that, but wow, she does it all the time. It does feel like fandom doesn't really acknowledge that both Min & Perrin lie about themselves in their own heads just as much as Mat or Nynaeve do. Min believes that she's discreet about her viewings, when she's a blabbermouth most of the time, and Perrin believes that he thinks things through before he acts, when he's actually wildly reckless and impulsive pretty frequently.

40. It's interesting that Min and Mat greeted each other like old friends yet are now essentially working at cross-purposes -- Mat suggested to Min that ('for Rand') she mislead Tuon in order to craft a narrative that would make Tuon soften towards Aes Sedai (and also more minor things like "try to get her to stop wanting to get rid of my hat") but Min, like Galad, wants to be rigidly honest and is telling Tuon everything, not giving a care that she's telling Tuon other people's secrets (and we know she's telling real secrets, because she's now told Tuon all of Mat's old viewings that we know from before, against Mat's express wishes). So Min is essentially unintentionally teaching Mat that she is not an ally to him and that she will sell him out to Tuon if he confides in her. Which means that Mat is, once again, all alone in the middle of an enemy camp that he feels obligated to stay in (now matter how unhappy it makes him) Because Wife.

Mat and Tuon really is peak "enforced heterosexual monogamy" culture. They explicitly are married due not to their own desires but to external pressures (the prophecies) and feel obligated to stick it out even though, on Tuon's side, she feels like she has a wildly chaotic husband that she doesn't know how to control and, on Mat's side, everything about the situation is constantly making him miserable. I believe he thinks at one point (in some future chapter?) that he could be happy if it was just him and Tuon in a life far away from the Seanchan but... that really is him picturing himself and his Fictional Tuon character (not cold, not possessive, Not Like The Other Seanchan) rather than himself and Actual Fortuona. I'm sure Mat and his fake Tuon could find happiness running away from the throne, but fake Tuon doesn't exist so... yeah.

41. Mat is able to get "five minutes" by himself and rides down to talk to Perrin's slaver BFF Tylee. Much like Egwene had just realized, Mat learns here from Tylee that Bryne is making bad calls that are compromising his army.

*sigh*

Mat stuffs himself into Seanchan armor at this point. Well, he had a spine about wearing his own clothing for, like, five minutes. Maybe that's all we can hope for out of him these days. It is at least real 'on the field' armor rather than the ceremonial silk this time.

Also: Tuon's desire to constantly be keeping an eye on Mat vs Mat's desire to have some breathing room seems like a fight in their marriage that is going to reoccur a lot.

42. Anyway, Mat goes to personally take a unit out to relieve Bryne's soldiers because it looks like they've gotten very bad orders and he needs to correct them personally. I... don't have an issue with this apart from the whole "ugh, Seanchan" thing? Mat can see that the battle is going extremely poorly and wants to investigate from the inside because from what he can see, it looks like the general in charge is deliberately ordering bad tactics. That's not something that Mat can fix simply by sending contrary orders because he is not the main general of this battlefield. Bryne is. So Mat going out to take direct control of a specific part so that he can, essentially, undermine Bryne's bad orders before he goes to deal with the root of the issue makes sense because this is a time-sensitive situation.

Tylee tries to give Mat some damane slaves for the battle and he refuses.

Once again, like it did in Min's PoV, the narrative has yet another character praise the Seanchan's sense of organization while implying that the character has critiques about the Seanchan but not mentioning the specific issues that they have. Actually let Mat share his critiques about the Seanchan with the reader! Stop veiling the critiques behind "oh, I have some issues but I won't say what they are".

43. Mat is really really attracted to the enemy Sharan channeler. Until she tries to kill him but, yeah, he literally stops and stares at the channeler on the opposing side. Though that doesn't stop him from knocking her out with his spear when her weaves fail on him and he's able to get close.

*resigned sigh*

After this battle, Mat is now willing to throw damane slaves at the enemy.

Mat has also really really impressed the Ever Victorious Army. Something to keep in mind for post-canon 'Mat conducts a coup' thoughts. Between Egwene feeling like Tuon has accidentally gotten herself trapped in Mat's ta'veren web, Tuon's own "[Mat] would never be a rival" thoughts, how swiftly Mat is winning over the officers, and Mat's own words to Min about how she should craft a narrative to deceive Tuon into behaving the way she wants her to behave... there are some interesting puzzle pieces here for a post-canon "Mat deposes Tuon and takes over the Seanchan Empire" or "Mat tricks Tuon into thinking she's in charge while he's the real power in the Empire" storyline.

I really wish that Sanderson & Team Jordan hadn't made Mat a deserter at the start of the book; it really did start Mat off on such a bad foot, narratively-speaking, by weighting him so heavily on the side of the slavers without any kind of narrative justification for the choice (we still don't know how Mat got to Ebou Dar originally -- Sanderson really was like "okay, it makes no sense, so I'll just let readers fill in a reason that they can justify to themselves"). But even with that massive off-the-page weighting on the side of the slavers, Mat is listing back towards the Westlands side of things (as he has done time and time again). Over and over, Mat gets forcibly yanked over towards the Seanchan and then starts drifting away from them again (requiring another heavy-handed course-correction from the Authors).

44. Mat does change back into his "Two Rivers" coat here. ...wait, Mat's coat is a "Two Rivers" coat? When did that happen? When did Mat go back to the Two Rivers to get a coat? Or did he get it from Perrin's army? Anyway, he did change back into his own clothes after the battle.

Oh! Oh, this must be a coat that Elayne's person picked out for him (as per his request in ToM)! Elayne's person found him a Two Rivers coat? She really is magic. I love her.

Mat does realize here that the Sharan channeler that he captured is almost certainly going to end up damane. Should have just killed her.

45. Tuon is currently so pissed at Mat that she's only speaking to him through Selucia (now back in her role as Tuon's opinionless Voice). Mat notes this as a 'bad sign' but he also does keep calling her Tuon. Maybe he doesn't back down and start referring to her formally as she told him to do; maybe that was something that my memory was incorrect on, which would be nice.

"Your life is no longer your own," Tuon tells him through Selucia. I wonder if that's also part of the reason that Mat went out on the battlefield -- a way of declaring that his life is his own, even if that means potentially throwing it away.

Mat references Nynaeve here -- I'm not sure whether or not Tuon got Nynaeve's name in the conversation she had with Rand and Nynaeve back in TGS. I'll go check.

Yep, Rand says Nynaeve's name when she chastises him for trying to pretend that he doesn't care about Mat in front of Tuon. So Tuon knows that Mat is talking about a channeler here.

46. Yikes. Tuon 'gives' the Sharan channeler that Mat captured to him as his own personal damane slave. He tries to give her back to Tuon (also gross and yikes) but Tuon won't let him. Mat does refer to her as a channeler and not marath'damane but... ugh. But this is the continuation of Tuon's campaign to brainwash and integrate Mat into being fully-Seanchan, so her actions here are no surprise.

Mat is now given control of the Seanchan armies over Galgan, and they send Min back to Egwene to tell her that Bryne is helping the Shadow with how he's behaving with the army.

47. So things are incredibly dire and yet there have been no thoughts of "wow wish Mat were here to blow the Horn of Valere". It's so bizarre that everyone is just completely chill with a powerful artifact that is literally meant for the Last Battle to be just hanging out unusable!

Anyway, the Black Tower Asha'man show up here to relieve Elayne's people, who are sorely pressed.

Here's my thought: I think Sanderson was too much in love with the whole "on the very edge of being broken, the cavalry shows up" idea aka Gandalf coming to save the day at Minas Tirith. Not everything needs to be last second like that. If everything is dramatic then nothing is truly dramatic. In real life, you wouldn't wait until after the point of hope to blow the horn that brings a magic army to fight on your side. You would want to do it as soon as it looks like your own forces aren't going to be enough.

48. Min stayed dressed in all her Seanchan finery to go deliver her message to Egwene. Min's conversation with Egwene is so bizarrely tone-deaf on Min's side of things? She complains about being ~pampered~ by the Seanchan and that their rich food isn't to her taste and when Egwene ~reminds her~ that Egwene has 'enjoyed' Seanchan 'hospitality', Min is basically just "Oops, yeah, my bad, oh well, back to business."

Wow, Min's lack of empathy for the horrific trauma that she witnessed Egwene going through is kinda shocking.

For your consideration, Min in Falme:

When Min asks Egwene not to kill herself out of despair, Egwene tells her that she physically can't. That she can't use anything that she thinks of as a weapon.

She tells Min:

"A few weeks ago I considered hitting Renna over the head with that pitcher, and I could not pour wash water for three days. Once I'd thought of it that way, I not only had to stop thinking about hitting her with it, I had to convince myself I would never, under any circumstances, hit her with it before I could touch it again. She knew what had happened, told me what I had to do, and would not let me wash anywhere except with that pitcher and bowl. You are lucky it happened between your visiting days. Renna made sure I spent those days sweating from the time I woke to the time I fell asleep, exhausted. I am trying to fight them, but they are training me as surely as they’re training Pura.” She clapped a hand to her mouth, moaning through her teeth. “Her name is Ryma. I have to remember her name, not the name they've put on her. She's Ryma, and she's Yellow Ajah, and she has fought them as long and as hard as she could. It is no fault of hers that she hasn't the strength left to fight any longer. I wish I knew who the other sister is that Ryma mentioned. I wish I knew her name. Remember us both, Min. Ryma, of the Yellow Ajah, and Egwene al'Vere. Not Egwene the damane; Egwene al'Vere of Edmond's Field.' "

...

The door swung open, and Renna stepped in.

Egwene jumped to her feet and bowed sharply, as did Min. The tiny room was crowded for bowing, but Seanchan insisted on protocol before comfort.

"Your visiting day, is it?" Renna said. "I had forgotten. Well, there is training to be done even on visiting days."

...

Renna puts on the bracelet and senses that Egwene was channeling without permission:

"You have been channeling." Renna's voice was deceptively mild; there was a spark of anger in her eyes. "You know that is forbidden except when we are complete." Egwene wet her lips. "Perhaps I have been too lenient with you. Perhaps you believe that because you are valuable now, you will be allowed license. I think I made a mistake in letting you keep your old name. I had a kitten name Tuli when I was a child. From now on, your name is Tuli. You will go now, Min. Your visiting day with Tuli is ended."

Min hesitated only long enough for one anguished look at Egwene before leaving.

...

Then, in Min's PoV right after she leaves the room:

Outside in the low-ceilinged hallway, Min dug her nails into her palms at the first piercing cry from the room. She took a step towards the door before she could stop herself, and when she did stop, tears sprang up in her eyes. Light help me, all I can do is make it worse. Egwene, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Feeling worse than useless, she picked up her skirts and ran, and Egwene's screams pursued her. She could not make herself stay, and leaving made her feel a coward. Half blind with weeping, she found herself in the street before she knew it. She had intended to go back to her room, but now she could not do it. She could not stand the thought that Egwene was being hurt while she sat warm and safe under the next roof. Scrubbing the tears from her eyes, she swept her cloak around her shoulders and started down the street. Every time she cleared her eyes, new tears began trickling along her cheeks. She was not accustomed to weeping openly, but then she was not accustomed to feeling so helpless, so useless. She did not know where she was going, only that it had to be as far as she could reach from Egwene's cries.

Compare all that to Min right now: wearing Seanchan silks and whining about how their fanciest food isn't to her liking.

Anyway, she delivers her message from Mat, and Egwene says that she'll take it under consideration.

49. In Ituralde's PoV, we learn about the kinds of nightmares that Graendal has been putting in their heads, and the kinds of thoughts. Three separate times, Ituralde has almost given an order for his men to engage in a direct assault against the Shadowspawn but then been able to pull back again before he gave the Graendal-influenced order, so he's doing better than the other captains. I wonder if his experience in getting all those confusing messages from 'his king' (but actually Graendal) is helping him here. We see him fighting the urge to give one of those bad orders now and he's fighting it extremely hard and then Perrin shows up before he gives in and says it. And Ituralde is so relieved to give up his command because he can tell that something is wonky with his own thinking!

50. Egwene notices that Gawyn doesn't seem tired but he does seem 'strangely pale'. :-(

Thinking about Mat makes Egwene feel "strangely sick". That is such the mood when talking about post-WH Mat, yeah. We are twinsies in this feeling, Egwene. But after thinking it through and remembering the times when Mat has come through when needed, she decides that she is going to trust him, though it makes her feel like she's a fool for doing it. "Mat could be wrong. He was often wrong. But when he was right, he saved lives." and "[Mat] was a scoundrel and a fool but she trusted him. Light help her, but she did. She trusted him with her life."

Not sure Mat deserves that right now, tbh, but it's a sweet thought from Egwene.

And maybe he does.

I'm thinking about 'a ribbon that felt like a chain'. Thinking about Mat considering his father's advice for dealing with cheats during a trade. Thinking about Mat telling Min to pick and choose between her viewings to attempt to guide Tuon onto a better path. Thinking about Mat putting on a Two Rivers coat during the Last Battle.

Maybe he does.

I guess we'll see.

The ultimate factor, once Egwene realizes that Bryne was Compelled, is that she knows that Mat cannot be touched by saidar or saidin, so he is the only general they can trust not to be corrupted by the Forsaken.

#wot #wheel of time #wot reread #wot book spoilers #wot spoilers #wot amol spoilers #wot a memory of light spoilers #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #min farshaw #seanchan content warning

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Unprotected intercourse, a little teeny bit of angst

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.5k

Khuzdul: kurduwê - my heart

  Abnâmul-beautiful

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically@notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Nina managed to avoid Thorin for the rest of the day, which actually wasn't all that difficult, as she remained in her chambers and had no idea where he had gone. He might have left, for all she knew. In fact, she almost hoped he had. It would make things easier. 

She saw him at supper, however, and it was with a mixture of relief and apprehension, as more than once, he looked over at her as if he was going to say something, only to turn back instead to Thranduíl or Legolas. Her heart actually felt as if it skipped a beat when he got up and moved to sit beside her. “We plan to leave at dawn’s first light.”

She nodded. “And should I meet you?”

“Only if you wish to travel with us.”

“Do you wish me to travel with you?”

Irritation flashed through his blue eyes. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I think it’s obvious, don't you?”

He glanced across the table at Dwalin, and then toward their hosts before looking back at her. “I apologize for overstepping earlier, Nina. It was foolish of me and right of you to halt things as you did.”

“You needn’t apologize,” she told him. “I overstepped just as much and I thought we were going to pretend it never happened?”

“I just—I sense you’re still angry with me.”

“I wasn’t angry with you at all. You were angry with me.”

He drew in a slow breath. “I wasn't angry with you.”

“So, then it never happened?”

“It never happened.”

“Good.” Although she smiled as if a huge weight had been lifted, the truth was, she felt anything but happy over this turn of events. On the walkway, when he kissed her, it reminded her of all the feelings she’d had that snowy night in Esgaroth, when she first laid eyes upon him. Reminded her of all the feelings that were so wonderful and frustrating at the same time and how she’d wished with everything she had that he would notice her.

And now he had and it was all for naught. She was no longer that same lovestruck girl. Too much had happened since then and now for her to ever be that girl again. 

Which was too bad, really, as she thoroughly enjoyed kissing him and if things hadn’t worked out the way they had…

She could easily fall under his spell, for the King Under the Mountain had no idea how truly desirable he was, and she had the feeling that Mirkwood was not the only thing magical around her. 

“So, I will see you in the morning,” she told him, pushing her chair back. 

“We will wait for you at the eastern gate.”

“Good.” She stood and smiled at Thranduíl. “Thank you for a lovely supper, Your Majesty. If you will excuse me, I think I will go and get what will probably be my last good night’s sleep for some time to come.”

“Of course,” Thranduíl replied. “Good evening.”

She turned and left the dining hall to go back to her chambers. After she and Thorin parted ways that morning, she had gone down to the stream that flowed not far from her chambers and gathered the clothes she wished to wash. Heeding his warnings about enchanted waters, she took great care to pay close attention to her surroundings, but nothing seemed at all amiss to her.

Even so, she’d washed everything as quickly as she could and laid it out on the rocks to allow it to dry and now, her sword at her hip, she went to retrieve everything. Hopefully, it would be dry enough to pack. It had been a clear day, with sun filtering through the treetops, so she thought there was a good chance everything would be just fine. 

Carefully, she picked her way around tree roots, branches, and the typical woodland debris as she made her way to the bank where her trousers and tunics lay spread out on rocks that were still warm.

She’d chosen wisely.

She was just folding her trousers when the sound of a branch snapping gave her pause. Her sword lay at her feet, so she swept it up and rose, saying, “Who goes?”

“I thought I told you to stay away from the streams?”

Her shoulders relaxed as Thorin came around the bend in the path. “You did and this one is fine.”

“Nina.”

“What? The air feels fine here. And besides, I am not your responsibility. I’m certainly of the age where I can decide for myself where to launder my clothes.” She resheathed her blade, then crouched to pluck the shirt she’d laid out from its rock.

“You need to be careful.”

“I am being careful.” She gave up trying to fold anything and just stuffed the mostly dry clothes into her sack. Then she rose, slipping the strap over her shoulder. “Why are you even here?”

“Because I wanted to make certain you made it back to your chambers all right.”

“Back to my… we aren’t in the wild, Thorin.” She pushed around him to march back toward her chambers. 

“We might as well be. I told you, Mirkwood is not always as it seems and dark magic permeates it. I am on cordial terms with the elves here, but they don't know you.”

“The elves have nothing to fear from me, either. And somehow, I think they know that.” She didn't slow down, didn't break her stride as she made her way along the path. “And stop following me.”

“I will. Once you are safe in your chambers.”

“Argh!” She rolled her eyes, and promptly stumbled over an exposed root, but managed to keep her footing and continue on.

At her door, she turned to find him still right behind her. “See? I’m fine. Now, you can just go about your business and I will see you in the morning.”

“Nina,” he reached for her, catching her just above the elbow to halt her, “I know this place and I know what it can do to a body.”

“And I am fine. Nothing reached forth from the water to grab me. No nymphs or balrogs or anything.” She opened her door and stepped over the threshold, setting her sack just inside it, her sword alongside it, and then sighed softly. “I appreciate your concern. But, I’ve made it all this way on my own, remember.”

“I know, but… I cannot help it.” He gestured to her. “May I?”

“Come in.”

He thumped into her chambers, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the wood floor. “I’m not checking up on you because I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. Or because I think you are inept. I’ve seen for myself you aren’t. But, I also want to make certain you are safe, Nina. And I’ll not apologize for that.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize for it. But I also don't need you to worry about me. Really, I don’t. I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a bit now, and I’m mostly good at it.”

He arched one brow. “Mostly?”

“Well… every now and then something goes wrong.”

“Such as a to-do at a tavern?”

“Exactly.”

“I know, but…” to her surprise, he closed the space between them and her heartbeat picked up as he reached to catch her face in his hands, “that won’t stop me from wanting to be certain, as I said.”

“Thorin,” her head spun, slowly at first, but as his thumbs swept lightly across her cheeks, the dizziness grew, spreading through her, “I thought we agreed this morning never happened?”

“I know,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips just brushed hers. “Do you truly wish to pretend that, though?”

“I just—” She couldn’t catch her breath as he brushed her lips with his again, the last of her resolve melting away at the gentle caress. No, she didn't want to pretend that at all. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to forget everything that led her to this point. None of it mattered. Not one bit. All that mattered was the feel of his hands against her skin, his lips sweeping hers, and the heat that rose from his body to sink into hers.

He pulled back just far enough to offer up a smile laden with promise and whispered, “You just what, Nina?”

She smiled and without thinking, caught the front of his henley in a fist and tugged him back. “Never mind. Just kiss me, dwarf…”

A low rumble of laughter rolled up from him as he did just that, and leaned in to capture her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It did not remain soft and gentle for long, however, as a slow fire crept into it, the tip of his tongue brushing her closed lips, teasing them into parting before sweeping along hers in silken caress that she reciprocated. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, as solid as the rest of him, the rise of muscle across them like granite. As the kiss deepened, she slid her hands up along the sides of his neck, into his hair, cool and soft against her fingers. On their own, her fingers twisted into those soft locks, her heart thundering like mad now as he backed her flush against the wall.

It wasn't like anything she’d ever felt before, the solid bulk of a dwarf’s body was so much different from the thinner, more sinewy Men who’d stolen kisses from her before. This was… this was like being engulfed by him, surrounded by a maleness that no Man could ever hope to possess. And when his hips slowly, steadily arched to meet hers, she shivered at the obvious  evidence of his arousal. How could she miss it, when that most definite bulge met her most sensitive cleft and she shivered against him?

His tongue moved slowly, teasingly along hers in a caress that sent her head spinning wildly and her heart pounding out of control. The room around them grew so hot, her breath grew so impossible to catch, and when he broke the kiss to sweep his lips along her chin and down the front of her neck, Nina was powerless to do anything other than let her head thud dully against the wall and let her eyes close as the delicious heat swept through her.

His fingers curled into the hem of her tunic and he swept it up, pulling away to allow her room to lift her arms for him to slip the shirt from her back completely. The air was a warm kiss against her skin, a caress as wanton and wicked as any and when he came flush against her again, the rough weave of his henley scraped sensually against her skin, against her nipples, which beaded from the friction. 

She bit down on her bottom lip as he brushed his lips over her chin. The coarse fur of his beard scratched her, but it only heightened her pleasure as he pressed hot kiss after hot kiss down toward the hollow of her throat, his breath warm and hard against her overheated skin. She clung to him, her hips rocking to meet his, his desire becoming her own as inside her, knots tightened and that heat surged through her. 

He slid one hand up from her hip, along the slope of her waist, and she sucked in a hard breath when it cupped her left breast and his thumb just barely swept over the already tight, aching bead of her nipple. 

Gripping two handfuls of his shirt, she tugged and he obliged, the rough garment sweeping up and off him to fall into the darkness at their feet. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, his skin hot and firm, the muscle like granite beneath his skin. She ached to touch him, to sweep her lips over any part of him she could, to explore and tease and make him ache for her the way she ached for him.

Because she did ache for him. Her entire body cried out for his, pleaded with her to find some way to make him spirit her to the bed in the corner, where her legs would part of their own and she would welcome him hot and hard and powerful inside her. 

Knots twisted in her belly. Delicious knots of sinful delight that tightened with each sweep of his tongue against hers, with each pass of his roughened thumbs over her oh-so-sensitive nipples. Her arousal came damp and hot between her thighs, and she wanted to peel off her trousers, to wrap her legs about him, and ease that ache in any way she could. 

His lips were hot and damp, his kisses punctuated with teasing flicks of his tongue, playful nips with his teeth as he moved along the curve of her neck, then swept back down along the same path.

He kissed down along the inner curve of her left breast and she whimpered from the fiery pleasure streaking through her. Her eyes were so heavy-lidded, but she forced them open, drinking in the sight of him as he sank to his knees before her while raining a path of teasing kisses along her belly.

He looked up then, his eyes smoked sapphire as he caught the button of her trousers and slid it free. The linen skimmed along her legs, and when he looked up, fire filled his gaze, his eyes blazing sapphire to steal the breath from her lungs. 

“Abnâmul,” he whispered, his voice husky and low as his fingertips just grazed along the backs of her thighs.”

“I—I don't know what that means,” she managed to whisper back. “I don’t speak your tongue.”

A devilish smile played at his lips. “It means you are beautiful.”

Heat flared through her. Heat from his words. From his gaze. From his touch. It was a wonder she didn't melt into a puddle right then, especially when he leaned in and pressed a hot kiss just below her navel. 

For a moment, she thought he might move lower, and she tensed in anticipation.

But then, he kissed her belly above her navel. And higher still. And with each kiss, he rose until he loomed over her once more. 

His mouth found hers again, hot and demanding and she matched his fire with one of her own, winding her arms about his neck, tightening them to pull him flush against her. He offered no resistance, wrapping his arms about her to lift her from her feet. She caught his sigh in her mouth when she teasingly wrapped her legs about his waist and in that moment, he arched into her. She couldn’t hold back her sharp inhale as pleasure zinged through her from the contact and she shivered against him. 

He carefully turned, moving slowly toward her bed, and when he reached it, he bent, pressed her down, and arched once more, this time his breath hitching when she rocked up to meet him firmly. 

Thorin drew back, straightening up and in the soft light, Nina was certain she’d never seen a sight as utterly amazing as the half-naked dwarf standing before her. The light played softly about him, highlighting the swells of muscle across his arms, his shoulders, packed beneath the dark hair spread wide across his chest and down along his belly. He wasn't slim, as Men were, but instead far more compact and solid, as if he could pick up a fully loaded cart, horses and all, and not even break a sweat.

He was beautiful.

And she wanted to see more of him.

She sat up and without thinking, bent to him, pressing her lips against his lower stomach, just above the fastenings of his trousers. His hands came down onto her head, his fingers threading into her hair, tightening on her when she flicked her tongue against him, through that crisp hair, against the warm skin beneath it. 

Her fingers moved nimbly, working open the fastenings, curling about the waistband, shoving down to send the heavy fabric grazing down his thick thighs, over his equally thick calves, to puddle about his ankles. He carefully stepped out of them, kicking them behind him.

Nina gazed up at him, her heart hammering her ribs as she hooked her fingers in his warm linen small clothes. In a heartbeat, she would finally see this man in all his glory and was as anxious as she was terrified at what awaited her.

“What is it?” he murmured, tracing a forefinger along the curve of her cheek. “Have you changed your mind?”

Her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, which had gone far too dry to allow her to speak, she shook her head, swallowed hard, then whispered, “Have you?”

“I’ve not, no.”

“Neither have I.”

A hint of that devilish smile returned and he reached to cover her hands with his. “Then allow me to help you.”

With that, he stripped off his small clothes and  she smiled as she drew back to drink in the sight of him. 

He was perfect. 

Absolutely perfect.

His big body held very little fat, honed to perfection by whatever it was dwarves did that kept him in such fine form. She let her eyes feast upon him, let her fingers move lightly through the dark hair swirled thickly across his chest, down over his belly, where it joined a far denser patch.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard and proud and the pit of her belly fell away. He was the first naked man she’d ever seen and somehow, she felt there was not a man alive of any race who would ever top this one magnificent dwarf. 

Swallowing hard, Nina leaned in to press a hot kiss above his navel this time. That dark hair was so soft, tickling her nose and her lips. Thorin let out a low sigh as he pulled back, shifted, and bent to capture her lips once more. As the kiss deepened, he gently pushed her down onto her back and came up over her, his dark hair tumbling over his shoulders to surround them.

He caught one hand, pressing it down into the bed above her head, linking his fingers with hers to offer up a gentle squeeze as he carefully came flush against her and their lips met in a kiss that was more tender than fire, but no less passionate. 

With his free hand, Thorin let his fingertips dance along her skin, the caresses light and teasing, the sensations sweet and sensual as they fluttered through her. Her fingers threaded through his soft hair, twisted and tugged as those fingers swept lower, along her belly, down her thigh.

Into the darkness between them. 

Her legs parted of their own accord and her back bowed as he slid those fingers into the heat between her thighs, into the dark red curls damp with her arousal now.

He caught her gasp as he slid a thick, slow, teasing finger inside her and did something utterly magical. She couldn't hold back her cry as fiery pleasure swept through her, didn’t even try to hold it back. How could she, when it just felt so amazingly good?

Actually, good did not even come close to what Thorin made her feel. Nothing could compare to the white-hot pleasure scorching through her at that moment, the pleasure that made her blood sing and her body hum as he teased and tortured her in the most deliciously sensual way possible. She arched to meet him, his name a breathless whisper on her lips, every fiber in her body tensing with the need for release. She was so close… so very close…

“Thorin!” His name erupted in a cry that she immediately tried to quell by clapping a hand over her mouth. “I didn't mean to be so loud… I hope Dwalin doesn’t come in search of you. He might think we’re doing battled in here.”

“If he comes in search of me, I’ll tell him where to go,” he whispered back with a smile. Then, he did something magical with that finger that made her pulse all around him once more and as he eased it out, he shifted, and then—

He filled her slowly, allowed her to adjust to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip at the sensations running riot through her. She arched to meet him, to accept him completely, as he slid deep, he shivered against her. 

His first thrust was long and silken. His second, even more. His lips found hers, her rhythm found his, and they moved in a slow dance, the pleasure feeding from one to the other as he brought them both back to that summit. 

She tightened about him, throbbing as he arched hard and deep, and her fingernails sank into his shoulders, her hips arcing toward his. Nothing ever felt so wonderful. Nothing would ever feel so wonderful. It simply couldn’t. Each thrust brought forth and new and delectable sensation, a pleasure unlike any she’d ever felt—hot and sweet and wild and amazing. 

Knots of sweet bliss tightened hard inside her, aching with the renewed need for release. She teetered on the edge, her thighs pressed hard against his sides as she will him to send her over the edge. She’d go mad if he didn't shatter those knots and burned for him to do just that.

“Mesmel…” a low string of words she didn't understand bubbled to his lips as his thrusts came faster and harder now. The fingers linked with hers tightened about them. His climax bore down upon him, judging by the power of those thrusts, by the tension winding through him. 

He moaned low in his throat, his thrusts increasing in strength, in depth. The knots began to loosen now as the first sweet, fiery tingles took hold of her, swelling and multiplying as he growled her name and practically tore the linens from the mattress with his free hand, while nearly crushing hers with his other. “Nina!”

Her name exploded from his lips as he thrust hard and deep and came in a powerful shudder that triggered her own climax and left her clinging to him, her fingernails dragging hard across his back as her fingers tensed of their own accord. Her eyes squeezed shut at the explosion of her release, at the white-hot tingles burning through her. She wrapped herself around him, gave herself up to the fire that threatened to swallow her whole. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear or speak beyond a breathless cry. All she could do was let that wave wash over her, let it carry her out to sea, and so she did, her surrender complete.

Thorin sank against her, his breathing as rough and ragged as hers and tears stung her eyes as she wrapped her arms about his neck and his head came to rest against her breast. “Oh…” was all she could manage to breathe.

His own breath was a hot blast against her skin. “Oh, indeed…” he managed to whisper back, a hint of laughter woven into his words. 

He lifted his head to regard her with sleepy cobalt eyes, a sharp contrast to the long black hair that fell about them. He said nothing, but bent to capture her lips with his in a soft, lingering kiss that had every bit as much passion woven into it as their lovemaking had, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “Am I crushing you, kurduwê?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered back, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair, tucking it back behind his right ear. She had no idea what kurduwê meant, but had no energy to ask. The tranquility that settled over them was unlike any she’d ever felt, a complement to the passion that had just raged between them, like the calm after a fierce storm.

Thorin shifted and eased from her, then stretched out alongside her, pulling her into his arms as he sank into the pillows. His breathing had return to normal, though his breath hitched when she curved up against him and laid her hand gently on his chest. She could feel his heart beat, which started out at a race, but slowed to a more relaxed pace and when she let her head come rest against him, she gave in to the peace and let her eyes close. 

The only sound was that of Thorin’s deep, even breathing and occasional snore. Nina lay alongside him, his arm about her shoulders, her head resting against him, but sleep refused to come. 

What had she done? 

What had they done? 

She had not meant for this to happen. It was a terrible idea to sleep with him because now her thoughts were muddier than ever. 

Carefully, she slipped from the bed, easing from beneath his arm, and held her breath as she waited for him to wake and demand to know what she was doing and why she had her sword out.

For she did just that. Crept over to where her sword stood against the wall and slid it from its sheath, then crept back to the bed. It would be over in a moment and she could slip off into the darkness. By the time Dwalin or anyone came looking for Thorin tomorrow, it would be too late and she would be in the wind.

It would be so easy.

Except…

He slept on, peacefully oblivious to her struggle. The silver streaks in his black hair glinted in the pale moonlight that filtered through the treetops, just as the sun did during the day. The long curls spread across the linens. His lips were softly slack. His chest rose and fell with each slow, deep breath.

Her gaze went lower, to the scars on his lower abdomen that she’d seen earlier, but couldn't bring herself to ask him about. She’d heard what happened at Ravenhill between him and Azog, although the pale orc was never called by name at the time. All Esgaroth survivors knew was that Thorin had been wounded in battle at the hands of a great pale orc. She only assumed now that orc was Azog. 

Her hands trembled as she brought the blade up and held it over him. The bounty Azog had offered for Thorin Oakenshield’s head had been a small fortune. Payable in gold. It would have been more than enough to keep her comfortable for a long time. 

This was her plan. This was what she set out to do, to avenge Lenna, and Rhys and Ena. 

One move was all it would take.

He was asleep. He’d never feel a thing.

She tried to make her hands move. Tried to make her arms listen.

She couldn't do it. 

Not any longer.

Shame, hot and steaming burned through her. Tears blurring her vision, she managed to return her sword to its sheath and crawled back into bed alongside him. Forgive me.

She had to tell him the truth. 

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here? #Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[lazypinkpig]

A Woman's Touch Preview

Summary: Julianna was Tyrion Lannister daughter from a random whore, she was as what others say a replica of the late Lady Joanna Lannister. But little Juli wasn't t just a simple child, no she was made for something greater. Even thou she was a bastard Tyrion still took Julianna in, in an attempt to ire his father, the great lion Tywin Lannister. And add to that, King Robert Baratheon legitimized her just to annoy the old lion.

Watch as how she changed the Game of Thrones.

(Warning: Game of Thrones literally is a warning itself, but this story consist of incest, murder, manipulation, death, etc.

A/N: So I'm a newbie author and English is not my first language. So don't expect anything great. This is merely to satisfy my Tywin Lannister obsession. And I'm not really that familiar with how the court works in GoT and I'm also not that in depth towards it's lore, so please forgive me should I mistake something, and do tell me so I could correct it.)

"A woman carry a life that could change history itself, so why is it that we are seen less. When it was from our womb that gave life to all."

"I'll show you grandfather that a woman isn't just for child bearing."

"oh poor unfortunate father, given how smart you are you still failed to realize that grandfather has replaced you. The child that I carry will be the heir to Casterly Rock."

"Joffery, my dear boy, do not be foolish. I am your aunt we cannot marry. My love, look at me you will not disappoint me. Do you understand?"

"You may be queen but I have the love of Tywin Lannister."

"I am capable of many things even kinslaying."

"You do not know the misery I have experienced in slums, so please forgive me should I do anything to make sure my children never experience what I have experienced."

"When you first brought me here I was imagining the life I will have with my father, but your constant drinking and debauchery has lowered my expectations."

"Don't expect big things you'll only disappoint yourself."

"Your needle work has greatly improved." Tywin said as he entered my solar. He walked up near me and sat at the nearest chair. Given that I was sitting on the floor with soft wool underneath me, I had to really look up towards him.

"It's been the same, grandfather." I said with a slight glare. He merely sighed, in which I turned back to my stitching. "Dare I ask where is father?"

"Probably whoring his way in some brothel." He answered with clear annoyance and disgust in his tone.

"Have you ever been in any brothel, grandfather?" I asked with real curiosity. Given how proud the old lion was, my guess is he never did, and if he ever did it won't be for pleasure as he is always about business.

He hummed, and seemingly contemplated for a moment but he didn't answer my question.

But I knew the truth, Tywin Lannister isn't so different from Tyrion Lannister when it comes to carnal desires.

#tywin imagine #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #fanfinction #game of thrones imagine #manipulation #tyrion lannister #female oc #got imagine #got x reader #a song of ice and fire #asoif fanfic #imagine #yandere x reader #jaime lyn beatty #jaime x reader

[asshlyyyy]

Fairytale

Series Warnings: Language, fake relationship, lying, drinking, major depressive disorder, mommy issues. Mentions of occasionally sexula interactions/ wording. Maybe eventual smut. Individual chapter warnings will appear as needed.

Masterlist | Next Part

Chapter 1: Maid of Honor

Message from Jess at 10:23 AM Hey, Y/n! The girls and I are getting together for some brunch today! There's a chair with your name on it! Your response at 10:26 AM God, that sounds amazing! Just that my boyfriend and I already have plans for lunch :( Message from Jess at 10:28 AM That's okay! We have to meet up soon! I miss you girly! Your response at 10:30 AM I miss you too :(

Sometimes you felt bad doing all this lying, but it wasn't like it was harming anyone. You just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Truth was... you couldn't find the motive to leave your house. Sure, it seemed unhealthy not to want to leave your home. However, you honestly just... you couldn't bare it. So, you made up the excuse that you had a boyfriend. But Y/n, don't you have a job? Of course, you had a job. You were just lucky enough to work from home.

You often times blamed it on your major depressive disorder. Now, it has calmed down over the years since you were first diagnosed with it. However, every day it still felt like a chain that kept you home. The only times you left were when your sister forced you out of the house. She couldn't always do that though. She lived in a different state, and honestly, you didn't blame her. California could get a bit crazy. Especially with all of these wannabe influencers. 

With that being said. You used the boyfriend excuse plenty of times. In fact, you pretty much lost count. Now, this is a very normal excuse, especially when you have plans already with them... So, no one would question it. Yet, the only issue was... it was all a lie. You didn't have a boyfriend. Like hell! You couldn't even leave your damn house. How in hell would you get a boyfriend? Exactly, you couldn't.

Four years ago you hit the darkest moment of your life. The lowest of the low, and you kept it to yourself. You only really felt happy with you were with your family members. Four years is how long you've been using that goddamn excuse. You were diagnosed three and a half years ago. You went to your doctor, who sent you to a therapist who gave you the news. You met with them about once a week. So... once a week for three and a half years. That's... four times a month... which is forty-eight times a year... then 144 for three years... Plus twenty-four... that's... you've met with your therapist so far 168 times. 

The major question is... did it help? Yes, for the most part, it did. For the most part, you knew that you had to work on it yourself. Which you have been. Your therapist suggested making a video diary a week. Sitting down and just going over everything that happened that week and how you felt. It was nice, and they held their home on your laptop. You haven't... you haven't reached that sense of content enough to go back and watch them. 

As you stepped out of your shower, you wrapped a towel around your body. You had to make a video diary today, and you knew that you should wait till the end of the day... But the start of the week was Sunday, and so was the end of the week. You always recorded these things on Sundays... it just... it just worked. You grabbed a free towel and started to dry your hair, as the familiar tone of your ringer went off. 

With curiosity in your mind, you made your way over to your bedroom where your phone rested. Flipping it over you heard your sister's name and smiled. You answered the phone and quickly put it on speaker.

"Is that Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo princess and heir to the throne of Genovia?" You teased as you answered the call. You could hear your sister's laugh from the other end. You smiled and pressed forward with drying your hair. 

"Right, Y/n," she continued to laugh, "I have a question for you."

"Hit me," you encouraged her to go on. You looked in the mirror at your messy wet hair and tossed the towel into your bathroom. You'll pick that up once you're off the call. 

"So, as you know I'm getting married in a couple of months. Three months exactly, and this may be last minute... But I have a huge huge huge question." She reminded you. Ah yes, your sister met her fiance Nicholas... yes you heard that right. He may very much be Nicholas Deveraux. You were very much all for Mia and Nicholas ending up together in that movie. 

"Yes, of course, you would never forgive me if I forgot." You reminded her as you started to dig through your drawers. You just needed your comfy sweats and long-sleeved crewneck.

"I wanted to ask... if you could be my maid of honor...?" You gasped lightly and ran to your phone.

"No way! I would love to!" You heard your sister eeeee at your response. You found yourself joining her as you picked up the phone and pressed it against her ear. "I would be honored."

"This is great news, Y/n! Oh my gosh, oh! And bring your boyfriend! Everyone is dying to meet him, and not to mention... Nic would be very honored if he would be his best man." Your mouth gapped open, and your eyes widened. Did you hear that right? Someone wanted your imaginary boyfriend to be their best man?

"B-best man? I-I mean aren't they supposed to be a relative or a friend? Not a complete stranger?" You struggled to get your words out. Well, you struggled in general. You felt your heart just about to stop at any moment.

"Well, Nic and I talked, and we knew you would find a way to excuse your boyfriend from coming... This way, we knew he would feel bad. So, yes... Nic wants your boyfriend as his best man." She explained. This was that moment you were scared of. The moment that would give out you... This was the moment. FUCK.

"Okay yeah... that works... Yeah... When do we have to be there?" You asked. You were honestly hoping she would say a week before the wedding. Because then that would give you plenty of time to find someone to be your fake boyfriend. 

"Well, I want your help during this whole time... And I know you work from home so that's amazing. Maybe in a week or two? Bring your boyfriend as well. We all need to get to know him, and this is the perfect time to do it." With every word that came out of her mouth, the more you felt a weight on your chest. It got harder to breathe and honestly all you wanted to do... was... well... you wanted to disappear.

"R-right well... I will see you then... Bye! Love you!" And you quickly hung up. You placed your phone down and immediately got under your sheets. You pulled them up and over your head and closed your eyes. Think of a better place. A place where you never made the boyfriend excuse. A place where you are happy... Go there... Go there. 

Now, your sister always brought you happiness. She never pushed you or even laid out her troubles on you. Your brother was the same way. Your family was a very caring and loving family. They also respected everyone's privacy. So, when it came to them finding out about your boyfriend... They didn't push. They pushed a few times, but that's because you never even gave them a name. You couldn't even think of a name for your imaginary boyfriend! Maybe it was because you knew this would happen.

Yet, every holiday... they would ask you to bring your boyfriend. You would always decline and say that he couldn't make it due to prior engagements... or that he was simply sick. You never shared anything more about your said boyfriend. Sure, it looked a bit suspicious... but they respected you and you appreciated that. 

After you found yourself, you got out of your bed. You made your bed and moved over to your desk. You sat down with a huff and lifted open your laptop. You pulled open the video recorder and started to record. You picked at your nails and bit at them, a habit you picked up on. It wasn't that it was out of nerves... it was more or less... it was your fidget.

"I received some bad news today... Well, bad for me..." You let out a breath and turned to look into the camera. You never spoke about your 'boyfriend' on a video before. Your therapist was the only one who would see these, so it wasn't like you were showing it to all your friends and family.

"As you know, my sister Mia got engaged a while back and she asked me to be her maid of honor. I was... well... I was honored," you chuckled lightly at your terrible joke. "Which is great news, don't get me wrong... but... she and her fiance, Nic, have decided to have my boyfriend as the best man."

"I never spoke about him before and it's quite literally because he is a lie. I made him up four years ago as an excuse to get out of things. And, I just kept using that excuse over and over again that everyone thinks I have this mysterious boyfriend that I don't like talking about." You started to ramble on.

"I'm supposed to leave in a week or two with my boyfriend to go back home. The only problem is... I have no boyfriend. So, now what? I ask my male friends, whom I have used the very same excuse on. No. It just wouldn't work. I made this excuse up so that I wouldn't have to explain to my friends why I don't want to hang out." You pulled out your phone and started to look through your contacts.

"Mike is gay... and has had the excuse used on him. Liam, John, Cody, some of these guys are just taken. Yet, I have all used the same excuse on. There's just no way I could ring one up and explain to them why I lied to them and all our friends." You paused as your eyes found a name that you haven't spoken to in a long time. 

Austin Butler. You first met him when you first moved to California. He was the absolute kindest man you have ever met. He was actually your neighbor who lived right across the hall. You two haven't spoken in a long time. In fact, over four years ago, so in theory... You have never used the boyfriend excuse on him. Then again... sparking up a conversation with him after so long would be weird... What if he had a girlfriend? He had one when you met him... What makes you think he isn't in that same relationship?

"Austin Butler... he's one I haven't used it on... He's one I haven't talked to in so long... I mean... Hell... I don't even know what happened between us. It wasn't like it was some big falling out. We just got busy, and we stopped texting... stopped calling, and eventually, we stopped hanging out." You started to speak aloud. 

"I moved to California a little over six years ago. I was just twenty-one... I had just gotten a job as a physiological criminal analyst. Which, is a job I still have today. I've talked about it a bit, but... I basically analyze people. See, why they have committed the crimes. I listen to tapes, and I read transcripts. All work is easy to do remotely. If there is a big case, then I have to go in person and meet with them personally. You catch the drift."

"Austin lived right across the hall from me. We met the first day I was moving in, and he offered to help carry my things to my apartment. He is such a nice guy. We got everything inside, we had some water and talked. I learned that he is an actor. We exchanged numbers and he left. We started to text continuously, and eventually, I met his girlfriend Vanessa. She seemed very nice, and honestly... God, she was hot. I may be straight, but I can appreciate a woman when I see one."

"He moved out roughly... a year and a half after we met. We still talked after he met, but without that... running into each other in the halls... we talked less and less as time went on. Till we eventually stopped talking. I thought about texting him a bit afterward, but all thought of that left the door soon after. I don't know, it just wouldn't feel right to text him just because I need him for a favor. It just sounds wrong."

You placed your phone down on the desk and looked out your floor-to-ceiling window. You let out a breath and thought about what you could do. Maybe you could just tell the truth... but that would just mess up your sister's wedding. Your fake boyfriend is supposed to be the best man. If there is no fake boyfriend, then there is no best man. 

"Do you think someone on Tinder would be willing to go along with it?" You asked no one in particular. You knew the chances of that were very slim unless you somehow found the right guy... but you also knew that you were going to have to kiss this said fake boyfriend. So, it had to be someone you knew and were comfortable with, but goddamn you really did not want to both Austin. You turned back towards the camera and smiled softly.

"Besides this whole deal happening just now... my week was fine, and I need to go. I only have so long until I have to figure this out." You said and ended the recording. You titled it the day's date and sent it off to your therapist. You closed the laptop and picked up your phone once more. 

You stood up and pulled up Austin's contact. You took a big gulp and pressed the call button. You placed it against your ear and stood up. You wrapped your arm around yourself and started to walk around the apartment. The pacing was something that... somehow eased you. Yes, quite weird, but you felt that if you kept moving nothing could affect you as much. Not to mention, you felt like curling up in a ball and crying. You didn't even know if Austin still had your number... it is very likely he would've just deleted it and forgotten all about you.

"Y/n?" You heard his voice. You felt your body stiffen. You weren't exactly expecting him to pick up. Let alone remember you!

"Austin... hey."

Mutual Taglist: @darlinboypresley, @emmymaehereeeeee, @venus-haze, @austinstyles

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fluff #asshlyyyy writes #austin butler angst #austin butler fandom #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Read on AO3

Elain woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head. Unlike the day before, there was no Lucien nuzzling into her hair—he was across the room, sitting rigid in a chair. He looked rough and as the memories of the day before began to settle back in, Elain understood why he didn’t want to be in the same bed as her.

Gods, but she’d just…thrown herself at him. And he’d…he’d locked her up. Elain choked on the memory and Lucien’s eyes snapped from the window to her face, accessing her with a predator's gaze. She wished the wine had removed her ability to remember what his mouth had felt like against her own, or his fingers in her hair.

“You’re awake.” Lucien’s voice was as rough as the rest of him. “How do you feel?”

Like she wanted to crawl into a hole where she’d never have to see him again. How was she supposed to live knowing Lucien had rejected her? Elain blinked, fisting the blanket in her hands.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just thirsty.”

There was a pause, and then the sound of shuffling as he went to amend that for her. Elain didn’t dare watch, didn’t want to betray how stupid she felt. Lucien handed over the glass and Elain, grateful to have something to do with her hands, gulped it down quickly.

“Better?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was close enough they were nearly touching, close enough that Elain could smell the woodsmoke and leather and salt of his skin. He wanted to talk about it—of course he did. To explain that it meant nothing, that he couldn’t give her any of the things she wanted, or worse, that she’d embarrassed him and he was sending her home.

“Yes. Lucien, I—”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Awash in memories, Elain recalled that he’d promised she could have him if she said she did when she was back in her right mind. Something about the guarded expression gracing his expression kept her from admitting the truth. 

Looking at her hands, she said, “I’m sorry about last night.”

She heard him inhale, heard his heavy swallow and then, “Don’t think about it. We’ve all been there.”

Somehow, that didn’t make her feel better. Elain couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, though, when he’d already rejected her once. And though rationally, she knew he’d done so because he was good and decent, and for all his bluster, wasn’t the sort of male to take advantage of an incapacitated female, Elain still felt rejected.

She felt raw, chafed even emotionally. What had been real and what had been him placating her so she’d do what he asked? After all, it wasn’t as if the aphrodisiac had erased her memories. She’d wanted him, had been begging him to want her, and Lucien had said…he’d said a lot of things. 

I’ve always been only yours. 

Elain forced herself to stand, still dressed in the gown from the night before. Lucien tracked her every movement with flared nostrils, as though scenting her every confusing emotion. “We should probably pack up,” she made herself say with forced cheer. 

Lucien didn’t smile, which only made her more nervous, more wary.

“And…and I should probably bathe. I’m sure I smell…” Like arousal, she’d almost said. Was that what he was scenting? Cauldron damn her, Elain thought miserably. She wanted to slip beneath the floor and vanish, wanted to go home and—

And Lucien was just behind her, brushing tangled strands of her hair off her neck. And Lucien…Lucien was lowering his face to run his nose through the mess, inhaling deeply as one of his muscular arms banded itself around her stomach. 

“Is there nothing else you want to discuss regarding last night?” he asked in a dark, sultry voice. Elain froze, heart hammering so hard it was all she could hear. She couldn’t draw breath fast enough, didn’t dare turn around and look at him.

“I…I thought there was nothing to apologize for?”

His lips ghosted the shell of her ear. “Does it look like I’m asking for once, princess?”

Princess. Elain swallowed the whimper that threatened to escape her. Focus. She needed focus and to remind Lucien of all the reasons this was a bad idea. He’d gotten the scent of her in his nose and now he wanted to chase after it and she…gods, but Elain wanted more than just a night or two with him.

Better to destroy whatever fantasy had wound its way through him now before she got hurt. “Lucien,” she whispered, leaning into the solid strength of him. 

“Yes?” he replied in a voice that was making a lot of unspoken promises. 

“I want…” Gods, she’d nearly told him she wanted him. Behind her, Lucien seemed to know, too. He was all but shaking from the effort it took to keep himself still, to wait to hear her say the whole thing. And for some reason, knowing he wouldn’t pounce unless she asked made it easier to say the rest.

“I want more than you’re offering.”

He dropped his hold on her as though she’d burned him. “What?”

She couldn’t face him. Even as he prowled toward her, Elain kept her eyes on the wall just behind him, lest her resolve shatter. “I want…” She could do this. She could admit to how she felt, she could hear him reject her one final time, and put the whole thing to rest. And who knew, maybe then he’d let her leave once the year was up, grateful and embarrassed by the whole thing. She was offering him an easy way out, one she expected him to take. 

“I want more than a few nights with the Day Court prince,” she said, forcing herself not to falter. “And I want my first time to mean something—”

“I offered you my crown,” Lucien interjected. There was a note of pleading to his voice that caused her to look at him. He was rubbing at his rib cage absently, his chest rising and falling as though he, too, could not get enough air into his needy lungs. “I don’t say that to everyone.”

Elain couldn’t do this. She didn’t know where to even start, given she wasn’t sure she wanted his crown. Just him, for as long as it made sense to have him. Before she could gently dissuade him, Lucien continued on. 

“It was my intention to court you. That is still my intention, unless you’re saying you don’t care for me at all?”

He could have struck her and she’d have been less shocked. “Court me?”

“Yes,” he agreed earnestly, taking a small step toward her. “I thought you might prefer that to what nearly happened last night. And I know…” he drew a long, careful breath. “I thought you’d like a slow introduction to ah….” He gestured toward the bed, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

“Romance,” Elain clarified, because some part of her thought Lucien was merely hedging his bets and willing to be patient to get what he wanted. 

He looked as though the answer were obvious, though. “Yes, Elain. Contrary to popular belief, I was educated in the art of courting. My mother was very thorough.”

“Just me,” she added, because Elain would be damned if she shared him with the rest of his court. This was what she’d meant when she said she wanted more than Lucien could give, because there was no way he’d agree, no way he’d—

“Who else has there been, Elain? It’s been weeks of nothing and no one but you,” he said, desperation coloring his words. “I was offering that even if you didn’t want it.”

“So I could be with another male—”

The growl that slipped from Lucien’s throat reverberated in her chest, twanging like a taut cord against her ribcage. 

“If you’re with me then you’re with me,” she clarified, just so there could be no confusion. Lucien nodded his head, his hope so apparent it made her want to laugh. He came closer still, reaching for her face. Elain leaned into the touch, drinking in the rich, warm smell of his skin. 

“I’m with you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her mouth. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to kiss you properly.” Elain nodded her head, expecting him to do so right there. Having obtained her agreement, Lucien dropped his hand with a grin and tugged her toward the balcony they’d been avoiding.

“What are you doing?” Elain asked, following him. Lucien pushed open the doors, grinning in that roguish way of his. Utterly unrepentant, and so satisfied with himself. He’d still gotten what he wanted, and she wondered if he even realized how much he was offering.

She wasn’t about to tell him. Let Lucien figure that one out all by himself. It was clear this was all brand new to him, which made Elain feel a little better. Lucien’s experience seemed to start and stop at the foot of a bed.

“Look,” he told her, gesturing toward the sparkling, cerulean water. Elain couldn’t tell where the sky began and the ocean ended, making the world seem like a glimmering sapphire. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. He grinned, hands on her hips to hoist her up onto the rounded, marble balcony edge. Nose to nose, Lucien brought his hand back to her face.

“Good. When you think of our first kiss, I want you to remember it just like this. I know I will.”

She remembered the night before and her frantic need—this was similar, in a different sort of way. The same build beneath her skin made Elain twine her arms around his neck, made her feel itchy and tight all at once. Lucien’s mouth was gentle, his lips soft and undemanding. As if to say, see? I can give you what you want.

And it was Elain who pulled back to draw a breath, to look at him wild-eyed and filled with terror. Lucien stared back, russet eyes hooded from desire.

They shared one short breath, still touching. Elain thought they might have returned to kissing had it not been for the reverberating snap that nearly toppled her over the edge of the balcony. Lucien, with one hand on her hip, kept Elain from falling from her death by dragging her back to the blue tiled balcony. 

He was panting, just as wild as she felt. Unable to drag his gaze from her, unable to take his hand from her body. She knew, then, what was happening to them. What had been winding beneath their skin, pulling them together when all they wanted was to be apart. 

It was Lucien who spoke first.

“You’re my mate.”

LUCIEN:

“Well?” His father fell into step beside him the mere second Lucien walked into the palace. Elain melted away with a look that so plainly stated you’re on your own. Traitor. Lucien glanced up at his father, who looked…well…nervous, if Lucien was being honest with himself. Like he knew they’d left on bad terms and didn’t know why, or even how to fix it.

There was a gulf widening between himself and his parents and Lucien knew if he didn’t try and bridge it, he never would. And he’d need them, if not now, at some point. So Lucien said, “You got everything you wanted and more. I think Dominic was half in love with Elain.”

“Good,” his father breathed, putting a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “And you? Did you enjoy yourself? How is Tarquin.”

“He’s good. Prince of Adriata, still. I think the High Lord sees how powerful he’s becoming and is hoping to keep those at court that oppose him from aligning behind Tarquin. Not that Tarquin seems all that interested in ruling, in the first place.”

His father nodded. “Look, Lucien…” he trailed off, leading Lucien toward the emptied throne room. Lucien had been there a million times in his life, too often to listen to a lecture about responsibility and dedication from a father that clearly loved him. It seemed this would be no different.

“You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?”

Lucien pivoted to look at his dad and the wariness peering from those gold eyes. “I—yes?”

His father nodded. “I just…maybe I’m not saying it enough. You’ve seemed stressed lately. I was thinking I could oversee Elain’s instruction and you could take a month or two away. Head to the Sea Palace, get some sun, spend time with your friends?”

Lucien glanced up at his father. “And if I wanted Elain to join me?”

His fathers golden eyes narrowed. “I’d remind you that the situation between Spring and Day is cordial and there is no reason to change that. And I would urge you not to tell me if something is going on between the two of you. I would also be remiss if I didn’t add that there is another prince with a far better claim to her, and walking this path is likely to get her hurt.”

“I’ve promised her a position in my future court,” Lucien said, defiance burning hot in his chest. “She doesn’t want him—”

“Does she want you?”

Yes, Lucien thought. Though, he didn’t know if that was true anymore. The bond had snapped between them in the middle of what was promising to be a perfect moment. He wanted her, had been about to declare it when Elain slipped past him and locked herself in the bathroom. She’d returned reeking of salt and looking rather miserable. She’d snapped out of it when it came time to tell everyone goodbye, but that was a courtier's smile on her beautiful face.

He needed to talk to her. 

His father halted then, nostrils flaring and Lucien knew his father was mere seconds from realizing what Lucien ought to just tell him. “A mating bond snapped between us.”

There was pure, undiluted joy shining back in those golden eyes. This, Lucien knew, was what his father had always hoped for him. Love like he had with Lucien’s mother, and a connection so deep that it was blessed by the very mother herself. 

Fear slid in the next. “Has she accepted?”

“No. It just…fuck,” he swore, running a hand over his jaw. He’d just asked to court her and she’d agreed. There was no worse moment for a mating bond to snap. It couldn’t have waited until she was in love with him, at least? It was like starting backwards, hoping she wouldn’t bolt back to Spring. 

“Say nothing,” his father murmured, pulling him closer. “If anyone in Spring learns, they’ll demand she come home and you court her under their watchful gaze.”

What was unspoken was the realization that he’d have to ask permission to see her, and anyone could reject his request. That Elain might be coerced into breaking their shared bond in favor of keeping her close to her family. 

“She might tell them,” Lucien reminded his father, wondering about the nature of the bargain she’d made with his mother. Elain might not be able to go, even if they demanded her home. And still, he was unwilling to risk losing his mate by testing that theory. 

“She might,” his father agreed, more solemn than Lucien had ever seen him. “I can only do so much.

After a moment of tense silence, the High Lord spoke again. “I want you all to remain in the palace where I can watch you. I’ll have no one accusing you of anything untoward. The same courting rules apply.”

“I know,” Lucien snapped, disliking the accusation he’d force his own mate into giving in simply because he wanted her. “I wouldn’t–”

“I know you wouldn’t, but no one else does. I want it by the book. I want her so in love that anyone with eyes can see it and there is no confusion regarding her affections.”

“You can count on Tarquin, then,” Lucien grumbled, thinking of the Summer Court prince and his mocking words. “He saw me spiral into insanity over just her last night.”

His father cut him a sidelong glance, climbing the steps to his throne. “Do I want details?”

“Maybe not,” Lucien said, wondering how to explain the events of the previous evening to his father without making them both seem incapable and silly. “It’s handled…but Tarquin will attest I ah…was a little lost to instinct.”

His father plopped onto his throne, waving a hand as if to say, we’ve all been there. “I can keep Killain and her family out for now. I can buy you time—but eventually the two of you will need to come to a decision and whatever she decides will be outside the bounds of my laws.”

Lucien nodded, looking up at the gilded ceiling with a sense of true fear. He’d just made headway with Elain. She’d just kissed him and not because she felt like she had to, but because she wanted to. And Lucien had been promising something mostly casual—sure, they’d be together but he wasn’t asking her for the rest of her life.

And now he was. 

Just like Killain.

Fuck. 

“I’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, because what else was there? He was tempted to ask his father how he went about it, and Lucien didn’t think he could take another your mother was perfect and wonderful and we were already in love when the bond snapped story. His certainly wouldn’t be going that way, at any rate.

Lucien slunk off, though he didn’t get far. It seemed everyone wanted to know what happened in Summer, and if they didn’t want to know, it was only because they wanted to touch him. Lucien was a snapping animal by the time he reached Elain’s door, unable to explain why he was so edgy about being touched all of the sudden.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be touched.

Just not by them. 

Panting, Lucien let himself into her bedroom without asking. Slamming the door behind him, Elain looked up from her place in a chair.

“Rough afternoon?” she questioned, setting a leather bound book in her lap. She looked…she looked like nothing had happened. If it hadn’t been for the cord in his chest, Lucien might have thought he hallucinated the entire thing. But there she was—his mate.

He had to resist the urge to throw himself at her feet. 

“Hi,” he said, forgetting she’d asked him a question. Elain raised her brows while Lucien wracked his brain to answer her question. “Oh. Uh…sort of. How ah…how are you?”

Her amusement was better than her disdain, he decided. “Fine. I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“I had to speak to my father,” he said, tripping forward, no better than a youngling with a crush. 

“You smell like other females,” she told him lightly, though he swore her eyes flashed with irritation. Proof, to her, that he couldn’t be faithful. Lucien swallowed.

“They touched me, I—”

He took a breath. His next words would be eloquent and charming and most importantly, convincing enough that she wouldn’t immediately break the bond. 

“I’m a mated male.”

Close enough. 

Elain set her book aside carefully, eyes anywhere but on him. That, he decided, did not bode well for him. Lucien braced himself for her polite rejection as she stood.

“All I want to do is kiss you,” Elain whispered once she was facing him. Lucien groaned, relief hitting him hard in the chest. 

“You can do whatever you like with me. Nothing has changed,” he told her, though in truth, everything had changed. Lucien didn’t think he could have a small taste of her and then set her free, and some part of him was very afraid that would be what she asked of him. 

“You’re stealing all my lines,” Elain chided, coming closer. Lucien kept himself pressed to the door, if only to prove he was fine. 

“Oh? I can do whatever I like to you?” he forced himself to tease. Like she couldn’t see right past his bullshit. 

“No. That nothing had changed. I still want—” she bit her bottom lip. She was going to tell him she wanted him and Lucien was grateful she stopped herself. He might have pounced on her, and then what? He’d have to explain to his father why his mating bond had been severed before he’d ever gotten a change to explore it. “To go slow.”

“Of course.” He was nodding along like a moron. She was so beautiful, glowing like the first rays of a new day and how had he not noticed how much Elain belonged? Had it been willful ignorance, or was truly that blind? 

“And I’d like to keep this between just us for now,” she added, creeping closer. Lucien was going to unspool right at her feet if she closed the gap between them. Just the scent of her was making him wild, made him desperate and needy and hungry all at once. 

“Because you’re ashamed of me?” he asked her, hoping for a compliment.

Elain slid her hand up his chest while Lucien cursed his decision to keep on that stupid Summer Court shirt. Still, she was touching him, and that was better than nothing at all.

“Because if my family were to find out, they’d hide me away before I got the chance to know you,” she whispered, angling her head. He could kiss her right now if he wanted to—and Lucien wanted to so badly—and he needed to finish this conversation. 

“We wouldn’t want that,” he murmured, reaching for her face all the same. Sweeping his thumb over her cheek, he added, “We would be different from the life you were promised.”

“I’d like to find that out for myself, actually,” Elain replied, surging up on her tiptoes. Lucien reached for her greedily, because this was his mate, and misgivings or not, she was currently in his arms. 

The same writhing need bloomed in his stomach the moment their lips touched. Go slow, he reminded that beast currently churning in his gut. You’ll frighten her if you demand too much. 

Of course, the only leash he needed was one for himself given one hand immediately slid to her ass. Just to haul her up, he told himself, and not because he wanted to grind his body against her own.

Okay. Maybe he wanted that a little. But in a controlled sort of way. Lucien’s tongue slipped from behind his teeth to trace her bottom lip, Elain opened for him, allowing him to take a true taste of her. One untainted by the aphrodisiac or wine, but a taste of her as she was. Like he’d been dreaming of. Lucien’s body went hard and tight all at once as a moan slipped from his throat. 

It was nothing like he’d imagined and so, so much better.  She was sweet like honey, like sunshine, like something he’d never tasted before but was desperate to taste again. Lucien couldn’t stop himself then, tangling his fingers in her hair to tilt her face, his free arm lifting her up in the air so she didn’t have to hover on unsteady tiptoes.

He was rewarded with an answering moan of pleasure from her. It occurred to Lucien this might be her very first kiss, outside of the one they’d shared on the balcony, and of course, on the pleasure barge. Neither felt as though they should count, given the snapping of the mating bond and the laced wine.

This, though, was free of everything but their own shared desire. Lucien was immune from the knowledge that her bed was just a few steps away. He could walk her to it. He could lay her out on it, even.

Give in to instinct demanding he do so. They were separated by a few thin pieces of clothing, all of which suddenly felt intolerable to him. And her tongue was in his mouth, stroking and licking exactly the way he liked while her fingers combed through his hair.

The first compliment she’d ever given him. 

“Elain,” he panted against her neck, pulling away as both a plea and a warning.

“Maybe this was too much,” she replied, her thighs tight against his waist. Lucien could feel the heat of her burning through his clothes, begging for his attention. 

“It’s not enough,” he told her, burying his face in her neck.

“That's the bond talking, Lucien,” she said, and maybe she was right. Maybe the whole time Lucien had been going slowly insane because the mating bond in his chest recognized her for what she was before he did. That hardly erased all the memories of wanting her. Of taking himself in his own hand and pumping himself dry to the thought of eating her cunt. 

God, Lucien wanted to be on his knees so badly he nearly dropped her. 

“It’s not,” he said, though it almost certainly was. If there was an ounce of blood left in his head, Lucien couldn’t tell. Most of it seemed between his legs, driving him to fuck her into oblivion.

To make her forget everything and everyone but him. Only that thought soothed him, and just barely.

“We agreed to go slow,” she reminded him just before licking the side of his neck. Lucien’s eyes fluttered shut, his legs moving. They were pressed to the mattress before he took another breath, kissing frantically all over again. Cauldron damn him, but it was so much better like this, spread out against her soft sheets, utterly drowning in the scent of her. This was what he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. In fact, Lucien couldn’t remember a time before Elain. His world was reshaping, reforming around her and her alone.

Mate. You’re my mate. 

It was a dream that he was worthy of one at all. And it was that thought that convinced him to push off her, to roll onto his back. Elain leaned over, propped up on her elbow to look at him while Lucien kept his eyes pinned on the canopy overhead.

He could feel her eyes like a brand on his cock. If she’d asked, or touched, he would have let her. Would have begged her to if she’d done anything more than look. 

“How are we going to do this?” she asked after a tense, panting moment. 

In truth, he didn’t know. Part of him wanted to argue they just accept. Give in, spend the next week in bed, and move backwards.

And what if you decide you hate her? 

That didn’t seem possible. She’d want to know this was forever, though. He knew Elain would want that reassurance, and while convincing her to take off her clothes might not have been terribly difficult, given the arousal currently coming off her, 

If he wanted what his parents had, he had to calm himself down. The excitement of it all, the realization some part of him was worthy, was making him reckless and impulsive. 

“Just like before,” he said, though of course that wasn’t true. “I still want to court you, princess.”

Her cheeks warmed. “And we can still go slow?”

“You call all the shots,” he agreed, turning to look at her. “We have eternity, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” she said lightly, rolling on her stomach to trace some absent drawing over his forearm.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

But Lucien had known the truth of it back in Summer, long before he ever knew they were mates.

There was no getting over Elain Archeron.

#elucien #and nothing can go wrong- OH NO IT ALL WENT WRONG #just kidding (for now)

[mychlapci]

Maggy anon

The last post made me think about Magnus having to put a hand below his heavy belly, to ease the ache of it a bit - he's too stubborn to admit it's gotten too big by now. Kinda hot.

And Predaking "loafing about" ? Love that as well. Mf was dozing off while his breeder was being tortured with unending pleasure.. Magnus only forgives him because the sex that followed was amazing. But he better not do that again ! (Spoilers: it will happen again).

This time around Magnus is the only one sparked, so he doesn't want to be alone in bed all day, even when he starts getting too big. So he asks to be taken along with Predaking during the day. Which means that Predaking can flaunt his pretty, gravid breeder in front of everyone.

Still toys with the remote, because he does need to keep Magnus busy/entertained even if they're out. He loves showing off Magnus.. but if people stare too hard he gets jealous. So he pulls Magnus closer - his breeder is always on his lap these days - and tells him to keep quiet as he fills that greedy valve. Maybe he's nice and helps hold his big belly once in a while.

Now Magnus is stuck on his stud's large spike, too big to move enough to ride him on his own - forced to keep it warm, while Predaking goes on with his own work. Uselessly clenching around it, desperately needing more but not getting it.

Bonus points if his titties are way too big for his chestplates, so Predaking got him something made out of fiber instead - his titties covered and hidden by cloth, but easily accessed by his stud's large claws. Kneaded and pinched, milked by the pumps or Predaking's claws, depending on his stud's mood.

mhmmmm Magnus sneaking his hands under his belly, so heavy he would usually be in his bed at this point, but he protests, saying he has too much work to do- the truth is he feels a little lonely without an equally sparked Optimus in bed with him, but since the Prime is now taking a break, that's not very feasible... so he struggles through his days with a baby bump so big he can't close his legs anymore, barely fitting into his office chair...⬇️

When he's at the point where work is too taxing and he's having trouble focusing, Predaking takes him along as he fulfills his own duties (i wonder what kind of duties the king of predacons has...) Perhaps at first Magnus takes more direct interest in what Predaking does, but that quickly passes as the carrying cycle progresses and his focus switches to keeping his valve satisfied, his titties milked and his belly cradled.

But it's not enough, the overload is shallow and unsatisfying, he tries to rock against Predaking's lap, and eventually Predaking takes pity on him (how could he not when his poor breeder is moaning so much) and he holds Magnus' belly up to ease the weight, letting him ride his spike until his water breaks...

By the time he's ready to pop, Predaking has him sitting in his lap almost constantly, one clawed hand holding the underside of Magnus' full belly while the other teases the sensitive mesh of his tits, covered up so that no one who strays in gets to see them, per Magnus' wishes, but they're leaking so much through the fiber anyone would immediately get an idea of how good Predaking has it. Magnus sits on his spike, too tired and worn and heavy to start bouncing on it like he'd like to, valve dripping lubricant down Predaking's throne, while Predaking leans back and yet again dozes off... a big beast like him requires a lot of sleep, and Magnus hates it.

Sometimes it's too much and despite himself, Magnus starts whining, struggling and failing to reach around his full belly and touch his node... Predaking just shushes him, kisses his flushed face, the feeling of sharp teeth brushing against Magnus' finials making his valve convulse. Predaking's arm reaches around the underside of Magnus' belly, cold claws rubbing his clit until the commander is squirting himself silly all over the throne...

#maggy anon you are doing such a great job i dont even know what to add #im bringing back throne sex baby #valveplug #pregnancy mention #mags&op breeder saga

[sayruq]

One 'critique' that Sansa antis/some shippers love to say regarding her show ending is that 'I don't even know why the Stansas are happy with her ending because she's all alone in Winterfell without her siblings.' First of all, when were they even together for it to be such a big deal they are now apart? Second of all, had none of the events in ASOIAF occurred and the Starks were a regular noble family - Sansa, along with Arya, was always going to be betrothed to a nobleman somewhere in one of the Southern kingdoms or maybe to one of her father's Northern bannerman. Basically, no matter what, she was going to leave home by 16-18 anyway once she got married and go live with her husband as....literally all noble ladies did???? Bran wanted to go off and be a knight. Jon would have gone to the Wall or gotten a holdfast and been married off had he chosen that. Literally only Rob, as the heir, would have stayed behind with his future wife and kids. So this whole 'she was left by herself all alone' criticism is hilarious to me. There is literally no universe where all the Starks would somehow magically all live together at Winterfell with their spouses and future kids as if it was some weird Westeros Brady Bunch. That's literally not how it works lol. This is all cope from stans of characters who are bitter about their faves' endings and hated that Sansa became Queen so they are grasping at straws. It's so fucking transparent. Also, Sansa will have ladies in waiting, the house staff at Winterfell, guests and lords who visit, etc. This fiction that she is sitting on some cold throne day in and out without any significant social interaction is bizarre lmao.

They were always going to go their separate ways no matter who ended up on the throne.

And I'm sorry, you have to be stupid not to understand why Queen Sansa, finally safe and secure in her own home and being embraced by her own people as a ruler, is a happy ending. Imo it's the least bittersweet ending of the show. Sansa was a naive, idealistic child who was taken prisoner and endured hell before escaping only to be almost murdered by her aunt, imprisoned again and tortured in her own home. She escaped, defeated her rapist, took down her creepy uncle who caused her so much suffering, and became a ruler in her own right who gained the respect and the admiration of not just the North but also the Vale.

That ending scene had the most set up of everything that happened in s8. The truth is not every Stark was there for all the important parts of Sansa's arc. Jon was there for the beating Ramsay part and the beginning of Sansa as Lady of Winterfell but he obvious couldn't be in Winterfell during her coronation. Regardless he gave his endorsement. Arya was there when the Northerners turned to Sansa in Jon's absence and when Littlefinger died but not the parts before, during or even after that. Regardless, she gave her endorsement. Bran.... man I'm still angry with what they made Bran into but Sansa got his endorsement too. Would their presence in such a pivotal moment have been nice? Yes but the scene was still triumphant without them and they got to wrap up their stories at the same time too.

Tldr Sansa's coronation kicked ass

#Anonymous #Sansa Stark #game of thrones #queen sansa