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tarjapearce · 6 months

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Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 7)

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Telenovela coded drama, emotional distress, Strained Relationships, unexpected visits, mild angst, relationship building, fluff towards the end, Miguel being a softie for his wife.

Summary: Even in darkest times, love shines through.

A/N: Hope you like it :') .

Intro:

"It's your fault." Rosaura's venomous tone didn't go unnoticed by her husband.

"My fault?! I did nothing but raise her well in the Lord's path. I didn't spoil her. If anyone here is at fault is you."

William's voice was ever serene, but his words were vitriolic.

"Me?! How dare you say such things!"

Once back home with empty hands there was nothing but more chaos. Blame turned into a hot potato game of who was the culprit of your apparent rebellious phase. Neither of them wanted to assume that none other than unrealistic and absurd expectations from them towards you had been the spark that started your emancipation fire.

A fire that was shining too brightly for their likings, consuming everything they had known and had taught you. Appearances were unable to be kept any further as your mother was confronted by her friends. Asking her if the rumors of you eloping with the farmer boy were true. It would be always a:

"That wicked man manipulated my daughter. We are trying to get her back, but his lies are convincing enough to keep her by his side."

or a "I'm sure he has her against her will, my little dove would never run away like that. I know her!"

But never a truthful He got her pregnant, claims to love her and now they live in their own home away from this mess trying to live honestly.

The rumors of you getting pregnant had made them another mirror to the single youngsters in town . Rosaura could hear the people talking ill about you and them. How they didn't work hard enough to keep you on check, how they never were firmer and stricter in your upbringing, and how they had been too stupid to actually let the devil in their own home and corrupt you.

It was enough shame to convince her husband and start looking for you. She had been embarrassed enough thanks to your naive games of love. And Miguel.

Her mouth scowled in disgust, heart heavy with resent. He would definitely pay. How dared he to lay his sinful eyes on you? How dared he to lay with you? Even worse, How dared he to take you for himself, impregnated you and call you his wife?

Bold and stupid.

Miguel had ruined her plan of getting you married off to a rich and wonderful man named Sergei Kravinoff. One of the best foreign clients the estate had. He was an avid hunter and collector, that upon seeing your picture was delighted and charmed.

But how was she to explain to him that her only daughter had ran off with the farmer boy? And was now pregnant with his child?

"If you wouldn't pester her with so many dating prospects maybe this... whole mess would have been avoided and she'd be under our roof. Following our rules!"

"Would you shut up?! You let that lowlife to intimidate you. I don't care if he's build like a tree. I want him down, chopped off from the root from her life."

"He's clearly done something to her. Did you see her yelling at us? I'd never seen her like that."

"Hormones make you stupid. And pregnancy hormones make it even worse"

"Just like you when you were pregnant of her. At least he will suffer a little more with that. Once she reaches the second trimester-"

"No no. that's where you're wrong. I won't let her to ruin her life. Sergei wants her!"

"I will have to stop you there, Rosaura. A child life is sacred. Innocent."

"Oh, the wretched child you're always complaining about is now an innocent life?"

"Don't tempt my ire, woman. I know you despise the man. And as much as this situation angers us, that's going too far. That's her punishment for giving in temptation. Let her bear with it."

"You're such an hypocrite. Do you know who Sergei is?"

"I do. Nor care. All I want is my daughter back. There are other ways to break them apart."

"What are you thinking?"

"Confronting them only brings them closer. I fell for her lie of loving him for a minute, but I know it's fear speaking for her. We'll let them be for now."

"No!-"

"And just when they think they are safe, it will be the time for us to step in. Let them have a little sense of security. I'll allow them to finish the place."

"You are waiting too long!"

"Rosaura. Enough. I know what I am doing. I know you hate waiting. But it will be worth it. I know so. Can't let the man that embarrassed me and my family, and tarnished my reputation to go unscathed with my daughter."

"You better keep your promises, William. I hate being lied to."

------

Miguel could barely get a glimpse of sleep during the night. Just when he thought his body would actually give in to the somnolence, he'd startle and remain awake. Pushing the sleepyness away as his mind raced with the many insidious thoughts about last night.

How had your parents found you? With their influence he was sure that they've got the address, they were known through the whole county by their horses business mainly, church was a secondary feat.

His hand ran through his messy hair. You had been put to sleep by Victoria, something he was thankful for. He was no baby expert but it was a commonly known fact that too much stress led up to bad things, and the least he wanted was something else happening. Specially to you or his child.

What had he gotten himself into, this time? He knew your parents were difficult, but this was something completely different from what he expected. He was not only dealing with them, but their direct threats as well.

Not that he wasn't regretting everything that had happened between you two. Had he been too rushed into marrying you? Of course not. He also didn't marry you because you'd be the future mother of his child. He had snatched you away for himself because he loved you. He loved you to bits and pieces and as a whole.

You were too much of a woman to be married to someone else that would treat you badly and wouldn't take his time to actually get to know you. You were too much for the rest of men that never made a step further in their conquer and we're satisfied with little, such as little glances or smiles from you.

He was ambitious, and had wanted it all. He went through so much to get you, still was. But knowing you loved him and even stood your ground against your parents, one of the reasons of his ongoing headache, made it all worth it.

He couldn't quite explain it. At first it was mere lust his body was filled with upon meeting you. The need to corrupt you had proven extremely difficult for him to keep himself at bay. That's why he was always so tempting, so forbidden, so inviting to give in around you.

But you were too sweet and pure. Always being concerned about him, ever attentive and gentle. A stark contrast with his demeanor. He had taken the job since his place needed renovations once and for all. He owed that to himself. He owed that to his old man. Vicky's late husband.

And then he had met you, for real. At first he thought of you another gorgeous spoiled, and dumb city girl if he was honest, but as time kept on passing, he was proven wrong in so many ways he felt the need to apologize to you as soon as you'd wake up later.

You were smart, not a genius but smart enough to be a fast learner and help your father with the finances, heavenly cooking skills and so eager to be more than a bimbo wife, a life most of your old friends had settled for. You had gone to college, just like him. You cared for those around you even if that meant to face your mother, just like him. You both were so alike in so many ways it'd be foolish to let you go.

What got him grovelling at your feet was your innocence and your will to make something out of your life even if your parents sabotaged you. The strength in you, the perseverance and hard work you had shown him even to this very day was the deal maker. And soon enough you'd make him a father.

You weren't only making his most precious dream come true, but were in tandem helping in making your love nest.

Investing all of your energies in building your forever home. Your own sanctuary and safe place with him.

And now it was his time to protect you, to stood his ground like you had done for him.

The room was filled with a warm and golden orange and yellow hues, basking the place in a gentle light, as if the universe was telling him 'Everything will be fine'. A hopeful thought to his already rattled mind. He was exhausted.

Exhausted of hiding and running away only to be harassed later. But that wouldn't stop him from working, no. There was still so much left to do around the hacienda.

With a deep breath he looked your way. A small tug on his heart sent a painful stab kn his chest at your expression. Frowning brows, hands clutched to the sheets and pillows, probably pretending it was him and puffy eyes that served as proof of your cries last night.

Your rage was something else. It made his tired smile to soften into a more admiring one. He hoped to never face it, cause he was sure he'd be on his knees, asking for forgiveness if you wished, even if it was over something so silly and irrelevant.

With a soft croak, you stirred and he embraced you gently. You were scared and asking for him last night, something he regretted to not have fulfilled sooner. But you and his child's safety was the main priority.

He'd have to talk to Joseph and Paco about new rounds done through the day. He couldn't install the safety cameras yet cause his area would take a lot to cover and it wasn't finished yet. If only he'd have some sort of superpower to make everything faster.

But the only power he had right now was to provide comfort to your heart and head. He'd die before something happening to you.

A mental slap came to his mind upon such though. If he died there was none else to look after you.

Even his mind needed a break. Birds chirped merrily, announcing the six am. But his body felt heavier and more sluggish than usual, his mind unclear as a fog came over his thoughts. He wasn't used to pull all-nighters. You turned on your side and curled in his chest, finally taking a hold of him. Eyes fluttered open, relief etched to your features.

Your arms embraced him so desperate it quickly had your eyes all glossy and teary again.

"Hey..." He mumbled with a lip tight smile.

You sobbed in his cradling arms.

"I'm so sorry, Miguel."

A gentle shhh came from him. His calloused fingers ventured through the strands of your hair, caressing with such care he'd thought you'd break.

"Why are you apologizing, cariño?"

"For everything that happened last night. You don't deserve this."

"Last night wasn't good for anyone, you specially, mi amor. But you are safe here. "

"It's not about that... I'm... scared. My father knows where we live now. And he could-"

"Cerecita, mi reina. Look." He sat on the bed and took a hold of your hand, to then kiss softly at the back of your palm, "Your father can make all the threats he wants, hell... He can even tear this place down if he wants to, but he won't take me away from you."

Your hand trembled in between his. You wanted to sit, but he laid back again, draping the sheets closer to you, making sure you were warm. Like a cocoon in his arms.

"It's not about that. You don't understand Miguel. My father is a man of word-."

"So am I." His fingers grazed your cheek softly, "I promised you that we'd be happy. And we will. I don't know how and I know it's scary for us, but as long as we are together, we will."

"I don't want you to get hurt. I... I couldn't stand something happening to you just cause my parents are too petty to acknowledge I married you."

"The only thing that would kill me? Is you leaving through that door and never come back. "

The sheer thoughts brought tears to your eyes. Hormones had also woken up to make a riot on your mind.

"Don't say that, please."

He kissed the top of your head and stared down at you.

"I know this is far from over, and trouble might keep coming. The only thing I am asking from you, is to stay strong. Can you do that for me, preciosa?"

"I can try"

"Good. That's all I'm asking, really. If you're strong, I'm strong."

You gave another silent sob while he peppered your face in gentle kisses. Soothing your worries away.

But he was scared too. Not a childish sort of fear, but something deeper. He knew that your parents were dense, if not denser than water itself. And would try things to keep you on edge, or worse try and mess with his estate.

Fear tactics won't make him lower his head and coward. Not when his pregnant wife was next to him crying, stressing and feeling guilty. Your fingers however traced his face gently, his tired lids drooped, as his eyes stared at you, curious yet fearful.

"Did you get some sleep?"

He chuckled bashfully, "I look that rundown?"

"No. But you do look tired. You're not used to stay up past twelve."

A tired and airy chuckle flared out his nose, his fingers took yours to then kiss the knuckles.

"I know."

Sleepiness had weighed him down completely, body made out of lead and muscles sore. Begging him to catch a break and sleep.

"You'll get grumpy" your hand slipped away from his and went to his face again, caressing and holding onto him. Grounding his wandering thoughts towards you. Anchoring himself in your loving and preocuppied stare.

"You need sleep. I'm sure Vicky will understand. Please?"

"Can't say no to you."

Doting arms embraced his neck, pulling him closer to your chest, it was your turn to protect him. He was always making sure you had everything, that you were alright. A giver by nature.

Just like you. This time you assured he'd cuddle in your chest, sharp cheeks rested on your mounds, ear pressed against you; allowing the steady beats of your heart lull him to sleep while you played with his hair.

Vicky didn't knock the door to awake you.

-----

You both awoke around 11 am, past breakfast. Vicky had instructed the construction workers where to keep building, guiding them in Miguel's absence. Victoria knew the plans her son had, so it was relatively easy to give orders. Some days more and the barn would be completely ready to then move to fencing properly the land.

It was a bit more money, but after much thought, a vynil fencing would be perfect. It not only offered privacy, but the chances of someone sneaking in would be less than 0, unless you knew the property like the back of one's hand.

To your dismay you had only seen the first part of it. If Miguel wished, he could start selling his own produce in the farmer's market. But right now, the soil was covered in weeds, and other invasive plants and thickets. It would be the final part of the renovations.

Vicky knocked the door, Miguel opened to reveal his mother with trays of food and some tea for you. She had heard the retching from the outside door. Stress was making your morning sickness worse and having an empty stomach didn't help either.

"Got you some things that will help you, and you too."

Vicky beckoned Miguel to help her, The little coffee table inside the room was used as support, brunch was served.

"Thank you Vicky" She patted your shoulder gently, as she served some flowery smelling tea.

"Don't you worry about it. You're making me a grandma soon."

The sweet smell and taste of the steamy liquid made your stomach settle gradually. Then you started eating with ferocious appetite. Miguel had his big cup of coffee, and ate as well, but his appetite was little.

Vicky smacked the back of his shoulder softly.

"Deja de preocuparte y come." (Stop over thinking and eat.)

Your hand slid into his and squeezed.

"Miguel?"

"Hm?"

"I'm scared too. But I also know that having us demoralized and afraid won't do good for us."

He pulled you closer and kissed your head for the umpteenth time, comfort and love were words you could use if you'd get asked what his hugs felt like. Despite his rough and cold demeanor he was one of the sweetest and gentle man you had ever encounter, even if his actions spoke volumes for him.

His head remained out of his hat, the piece had suffocated him enough through a good chunk of the previous night.

"That's exactly what those cabrones want. No offense, dear"

You chuckled and shook your head.

"Vicky is right. Whatever comes, we will face it together. As a family."

His eyes softened as you placed his hand on your belly.

"One day I'm sure this will be one of those stories you'll tell your kids when they get older and wanna know about family drama"

Miguel couldn't help but snort at Vicky's insinuation. But deep down he felt grateful. Thankful enough that two of the most important people in his life were reassuring him. His devoted and short tempered mother, a crucial part of his heart and now you and his growing child. All around him, promising they'd all be fine.

He needed to believe it. This wasn't one of the moments he was allowed to flank. He needed himself strong, steady with his head high. Ever vigilant and ready to face everything that came his way. He was an O'Hara. And O'Hara's endured.

That was his own mantra, bestowed and honored by previous generations.

The brunch and Victoria's presence had helped you both to ease the rising nerves and the subtle anxiety that undermined your head with unhealthy and raucous thoughts. Instead, even if a temporary distraction, work in the estate kept going. After all, it would take so much more than just a threat to break your spirits.

---

Miguel had tended to the barn and foresaw the fencing advance. Construction materials would be brought over the weekend to immediately start making his private property even more secluded, away from prying eyes and anyone stupid enough that tried to venture within the hacienda.

And after yesterday's fiasco, Miguel had come up with a new plan about security rounds until the fencing started. Just as he was about to explain, Joseph called him, a bit concern etched into his face.

"What now?"

"It's not the people from yesterday, but they claim to know your wife, Boss."

"How many of them are there?"

"Just three. Two women and a man."

He nodded and put his hand on his neck, trying to ease the tension that refused to leave his body despite the many attempts of cheering his spirits up.

"Where's my Cerecita?"

"Uh, with Vicky in the orchard."

"Right. Stay here in case there's trouble."

Joseph nodded and stood his ground, as he watched Miguel leaving.

Who would be this time? He wasn't armed this time, so whoever that had ill intentions with him would have to face the might of his fists.

But the silent threat remained as nothing but that. The only noises around were him, the gravel crunching underneath his boots, the subtle wind that played tag between the trees, little birds here and there and finally, the voices of people he knew, but didn't remember their names or faces .

A cool gust of wind threatened his hat to be blown off his head, but he secured it with a hand. Upon arriving, his surprise couldn't be hidden.

The two ladies were the one that helped you pack and were deeply saddened at your leaving. He always saw them around you, laughing and sharing whenever your mother wasn't around to shoo them away from you. And the man, one of the helpers back at your parent's barn.

"Mr. O'Hara? Im really sorry to bother, and showing up like this after what happened."

One of the women spoke. Miguel was cautious, and so far his intentions of opening the door didn't ring a bell on him. For all he knew your parents could have sent them to spy you.

"We quit. That Rosaura lady slapped my sister and it was enough for us. We were planning on leaving the estate even before the Miss left with ya."

But that definitely sounded something his beloved mother in law would do.

"I know you have zero reasons to believe us, but trust us. None back at the estate really liked the missus's parents either. We could only hold up for so long before everything came down. But we needed the jobs."

"I understand." With a sigh, Miguel opened the door and allowed them in.

A little rounds of thank yous echoed behind him before he guided them back at the main estate.

"Will you let us stay? Just for the night of course. "

"You'll have to talk to La Patrona." (The boss)

He chuckled upon you coming to his mind, "My wife I mean."

A little of hushed yet excited whispers trailed him along some 'I told you!' 'She did it!'.

The reunion was loud as he had expected. Loaded of hugs, heartfelt congratulations and of course them rubbing your belly.

Mary, the big sister was two years older than you, she had been one of the few that approached you with genuine friendship back at home, her sister, Susan was your age, even though she was on the quieter side, she was disciplined enough to keep herself busy and out of trouble. Always doing something. However her eyes kept wandering to Joseph.

They had asked your permission to stay overnight before returning to their hometown the next day. Of course you agreed.

They helped you to prepare everything, letting Vicky to rest for a bit. Even though they had spark, Vicky observed them with hard eyes, trying to decipher their true intentions. And so far she had found nothing. Not even in the man that quickly established a conversation between Paco and Joseph.

And soon all of you sat down at the table that seemed smaller.

"Like I was telling Mr. O'Hara, you mother was livid after you left."

"She was like a child throwing a tantrum, telling Pastor William to do something"

"Yeah, that's sounds like mom" An awkward smile came to your face as they spoke.

"But after last night, it was enough for us. She slapped Susan in the face when she got her the wrong dress."

Vicky couldn't hold back her gasp and contempt

"Dios mío, esa mujer ha enloquecido" (My God, that woman has gone mad)

"I'm really sorry it had to come to this point."

"Ya can't blame yourself, darlin" Mary spoke, letting her southern accent shine through for a second, "Ever since ya left people have been leaving, only to be replaced within some days."

"No wonder why they came in so pissed" You mumbled with a little giggle.

"How's... Agustín?"

Their faces fell and the man, his old helper James spoke.

"Pastor sold him to a guy. Joaquín is kinda sick and Luis, is the only one they actually pay attention to. You know, Joaquín is old so..."

Miguel could only nod with a saddened yet expected smile. It was a matter of time for Agustín to be sold.

"Do you know by chance who he got sold off to?"

"Some russian named Kravi- Uh... Kravinoff?"

"I see." Miguel’s shoulder slumped for a moment. At least he wasn't sent off to the meat market, "Hopefully that man knows how to treat him."

"He seems into animals a bit too much, sir. A bit eccentric with his fur coats. But apparently the man is a collector and the missus's parents best client."

Of course. Agustín was a purebred friesian stallion after all. His worth was over 20k.

You slid a hand on Miguel's thigh comfortingly. His subtle blue mood contagious. A lot of details you both were missing were spilled in the table.

Even though Miguel wasn't one for gossips, hearing your parents struggling to keep the appearances had definitely put a smile on his face. It served them right after all the unhinged things they had done. But he didn't let go that easy the fact that from all the horses remaining, Luis was the only one that was being properly taken care of.

Your horse.

A little hope shone in his darkened by fears heart. He didn't care if he was called a dreamer, but sometimes he pondered how would be his relationship with your parents would've been if they had a completely reaction to him.

Would they tolerate him? Would they be excited for being grandparents? Would they be happy for you instead of being petty and spiteful about it? He didn't know.

And he was tired of thinking over and over. Vicky's words remained closer to his heart.

If isn't your stubbornness, it's your love that will convince them.

But that was a very distant and utopian thought. All that mattered in his present was you and his new growing family.

The guest cabin was taken by the ladies and James joined Paco and Joseph.

Vicky drew you a warm bath to ease the remaining tension off your body. Miguel had been watching you. The changes in your body suited beautifully. Plump breasts, hips and thighs, gorgeous sudsy skin that had some flower petals adhered to it, enhancing it's beauty. You were the purest form of art before his eyes. The mother of his children. His wife.

He marvelled at the way you smiled upon rubbing your belly. The illusion of being a mother surely took you by surprise, but with Miguel's reassurance, you were excited even to meet your child. The ultimate physical form of love between you two.

Puppy and rusty brown eyes fixed on you as you let your hair down, letting the strands to cover your back to wash them next.

He stepped in. With a kiss on your temple and a bashful smile he sat behind you.

"Mira nomás qué chulada." (Look at that, so beautiful)

He pried gently the shampoo bottle off your hands and poured some on his hands to then lather your scalp with it. The lovely smell of cherries wafted in the air as foam appeared in your head while he massaged your scalp adoringly.

You hummed in approval at the careful and soft movements of his fingers. Inducing a relaxed state over you.

"Miguel?"

"Yes, Cerecita?" His voice matching his fingers.

"I don't ever regret marrying you."

His fingers faltered for a moment before resuming his washing. It was as if the doubts on his heart had secretly found a way to your ears and you were now reassuring him.

"You've the best thing that has shown up into that old house. Still are."

"Gotta be thankful to your parents for creating you, preciosa. Unbearable as they are"

The both of you chuckled, ignoring the looming dark skies that blended within the night's mantle.

"I'll take in Mary and Susan. I'm sure they'd be wonderful help around here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I will pay them of my own money I've saved. So don't worry"

"No, no, let me take them in."

"Miguel, all of these renovations are coming off your pocket. We are a team now, I know somehow it will work out. Let me help you."

He accepted his defeat with a little slump in his shoulders and lazy smile.

"Alright, as you wish, mi corazón."

"What do you love the most about me?"

His hands took the bathtub's head shower and rinsed your hair. Water splashing on his skin, like the sudden question.

"Your bravery, empathy towards others and loyalty. And you're drop dead gorgeous too."

Your cheeks warmed up with a little flush on them as he spoke.

"What about you, Cerecita? What does my wife loves about me?"

"Since you snatched the words off my mouth, I'd say loyalty, honesty and resilience." You took his hands in yours, weaving your fingers between his and smiled, "Many would've given up on me at this point because of my parents but..."

Another kiss, "Hearing you calling me your wife makes me all happy and the good kind of dumb. I know we won't have good days, or that we will be far from perfect but, You've taught me so much about myself is wonderful. "

His hands secured yours as another kiss on your temple was given.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, Miguel."

"Thanks for being my wife, Cerecita."

Your smile disarmed him. And that night your wish of being asleep in his arms came true. There was no horrors that lurked in the shadows.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

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Number eight with Azriel please!

Hi, love! Here you go. A mishmash of angst, fluff and smut. Hope you enjoy!

Number eight: “I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was. Then he can get his comfort.”

Warnings: Depictions of toxic family relationships. Smut. 🌶️

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Are you alright?”

A warm hand landed on your arm, the pleasant scent of Mor’s perfume hitting you. The hint of vanilla was a source of comfort, a feeling of home.

Over your shoulder, you offered her a smile that didn’t meet your eyes. Nodded. She saw right through it.

Nobody understood better than she did — what it was like to return to the poison of the Court of Nightmares, where your estranged family lived. It had taken you years to get out of their vitriolic clutches, and the unexpected mating bond between you and the High Lord’s spymaster had been a saving grace; a reason to leave, a place to go. Life had been so colourful and vibrant since he’d taken you to live in Velaris with him; you’d never looked back.

Until tonight.

It had been entirely your choice. You knew nobody would have judged you if you’d chosen to stay behind. But a couple of months earlier, you’d grown sick of feeling useless and idle. You’d asked — begged — Rhysand to give you some sort of official role in his court; something for you to do. He’d been more than happy for you to play courtier, to perhaps even strengthen relations between the Night Court and the Court of Nightmares that had become strained over the years. Yes, you’d insisted, you could do it, and take away that sort of pressure from Mor, too. You’d sooner face your family than she have to face hers.

And perhaps you’d been a tad naive about how easily that might come to you. You’d had confidence in yourself, right up until you’d come face-to-face with your father, your brothers. They’d sneered at you at Azriel’s side and sneered at the Night Court attire you were decked head-to-toe in and sneered at your confidence. And sneered and sneered and sneered.

And suddenly you’d found yourself to be that cowering, tongue-tied victim again. You felt like an utter farce, parading around in such clothes and pretending to be confident. You weren’t sure you’d ever really gotten away from them, or ever really would.

And when your brother had feigned leaning in to kiss your cheek, and had uttered words that had sliced you all over, you’d known — you had failed.

“Whore.” He’d growled, his lip curling at the form-fitting, revealing dress you’d once felt comfortable in. “Mother would be ashamed of you, whore.”

You didn’t know if anybody else around you had heard. But the way your mate had tensed was indication enough that he was on high alert and ready to strike out if necessary. He remained that way for the entire evening.

You turned to face Mor, now, all of you having returned to the Town House. You didn’t bother to force a convincing tone as you answered, “I’m alright.”

“Let’s open some wine.” Her arm linked through yours, and she tried to pull you towards the doors to the kitchen. You planted your feet.

“Where is Az?”

The beautiful blonde pursed her lips, glancing over at Rhys and Cassian, who had also heard your question. You stared between the three of them, awaiting an answer. Your mate was nowhere to be found; had disappeared after setting you down on the doorstep.

“Where’s Azriel?” You repeated.

“He’s probably gone flying — to let off some steam.” Cassian said, not sounding at all convinced by his own words.

You heaved a sigh. What you needed, right now, was your mate with you. To hold you through the echoes of what had been an awful night. His absence was just another horrible layer.

“Come.” Mor tried to pull on your arm again.

“I’m really tired.” You slunk back. “I think I’m just going to head to bed.”

Her gaze swept over you for a moment, before she nodded, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Sleep well, then.”

It was as you passed Rhys and Cassian that you stopped, utter exhaustion weighing you down.

“When he gets back,” you said, “tell him to just come to bed. Please.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hours passed. You didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. And still Azriel did not return.

You’d settled yourself at the glass doors that opened out onto the balcony, noting that you were as cold there as you had been in your empty bed, without a hard, warm body and wings to warm you. You tugged on that golden, glimmering cord of your bond, waiting for some response. But…nothing. Anxiety bloomed in you like nothing you’d ever felt.

It shaped a little into anger when you finally glimpsed a passing black form and, moments later, heard the front door opening and shutting downstairs. Relief was a weak flame snuffed out by irritation. Perhaps a little bit of hurt.

You caught the deep tenor of the three male voices below, deliberately lowered to make their words indiscernible. Perhaps it was that which snapped your tether and had you pushing to your feet. If he wasn’t going to come up and speak to you right away, give you some sort of explanation as to why he’d taken off and blocked you out, you would go to him and demand the answer.

You shucked a robe on, practically ripping your bedroom door off its hinges. There was a pause in the murmurs below, and you knew Rhys, Cassian and Azriel had all heard you leave your room and were awaiting your appearance. You hoped your footsteps padding loudly down the stairs were warning enough that you weren’t happy.

As you appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, all three males looked up. Azriel’s eyes swept over you — your nightgown and robe — and he looked just about ready to jump up and shield you from sight. You held a hand up, cutting that thought off before it could properly form.

“Don’t even start with the territorial male bullshit.” You said coldly. “No one’s staring at my tits.”

Both Cassian and Rhys cleared their throats, very deliberately making sure that their gazes were anywhere but on you. Azriel’s jaw ticked as you turned to him.

“Where have you been?” You demanded.

He said nothing, his eyes boring into yours. You raised an eyebrow in expectation, but it was Cassian who spoke up.

“…it’s been a long, tense night for everyone.” He reasoned. “Visiting the Court of Nightmares is never a pleasant experience. What you both need right now is each other’s comfort. Surely you just want to forget about tonight and—”

“I want my mate to tell me where the hell he was.” You snapped, not tearing your eyes from Azriel. “Then he can get his comfort.”

Cassian slunk back in seat, raising his eyebrows as he lifted his glass to his lips, drained it, and then reached for the bottle. You folded your arms over your chest, waiting.

Finally, Azriel shrugged. “I went back to the Hewn City to have a catch-up with my wonderful brother-in-law.”

You clenched your jaw. “Why.”

“Because he’s a cunt.”

You almost flinched at the utter venom in his tone. He was always soft-spoken, always guarded, precise and measured in the words he used. It wasn’t like him to just…let his anger speak for him.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You stared at him. “Why would you—”

“Nobody talks to — or about — my mate like that.” He seethed. “Nobody.”

So he’d heard exactly what your brother had said. And he’d bided his time — before striking.

And of course, a part of you, somewhere beneath the anger, adored him even more for it. But it would just make things worse in the long run. It would make it harder for you to return to the Hewn City and represent the Night Court without your family seeing it as their personal mission to terrorise you whenever they could. You’d left to get away from that. To grow.

“So…what?” You shrugged. “You killed him?”

Azriel stared at you, his eyes molten. “I could have done, you know. The Mother knows, I wanted to. But that kill is yours, should you ever want it. I just took the time to remind him that his death could come a lot sooner if he chooses to disrespect you like that.”

“You had no right, Azriel—”

“He called you a—”

“I know precisely what he called me. What he said.” You spat. “I grew up around it. I’m used to it. But you’ve gone and made it worse.”

Az’s jaw clenched. “How.”

“Do you know what they think?” A lump formed in your throat that you swallowed down hard. “They think me weak and foolish. They think you seduced me away from them. They think that I was brought to the Night Court merely to service you, and Cassian and Rhys.”

You took a shuddering breath, your eyes pricking with tears. “And those thoughts? I couldn’t care less about them. They’re pathetic, and they mean nothing to me. But I do care that they think I’m weak. I care that they think me too much of a pathetic, cowering female to speak up for myself, because I’m not.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I know you’re not.”

“But by dealing with my brother on my behalf, you’ve only confirmed that for them. It’ll only make it ten times worse the next time I visit.”

You could see understanding dawning in his eyes. And a rational part of you knew that he’d acted on the carnal impulse of a male protecting his mate — that he hadn’t stopped to think about any of this. That he loved you.

But you…you couldn’t give over to that rationality right now. Not when you were still so angry, still so shaken by what had happened. You didn’t blame Azriel for wanting to protect you; to act without speaking to you first, however, made you feel as weak as your family thought you to be.

You wiped your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll come with you—”

“No.” You turned. “Stay and enjoy your drink.”

The words hit their mark, and you saw the scathing hurt in his eyes as he slumped back. You’d probably regret it later.

But in that moment, you were too tired to care.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t find you properly. You drifted in and out fitfully, every little noise seeming to jolt you awake. Every single time, you found yourself glancing over to the empty space beside you.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there for, but your anger steadily morphed into loneliness, and trying to sleep without Az curled around you left you feeling as empty and cold as arguing with him had. You hated fighting with him.

And you knew he’d meant well. That he’d just been defending you because he loved you. Already, you were wishing you hadn’t been so hard on him.

You jerked awake again as you heard the door slowly creak open. You watched through heavy eyes as Azriel filed in, making a conscious effort to be as quiet as possible — before noticing you were awake.

He studied you for just a moment, and then dragged his feet to the end of the bed. He slumped down onto his front, his long body stretching from the foot of the bed, right up to where you lay. You watched, allowing him to slot himself between your legs. He rested his head on your belly.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against it. He gazed up at you through thick, dark lashes. “Really sorry.”

You breathed a soft sigh, your hand reaching out to brush strands of hair from his face. “I’m sorry, too.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

You shrugged. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with his hair as you said, “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I know you were only defending me.”

“I was blinded by my own rage at your brother, though. I should have thought more about how you felt. You must never, ever think yourself weak. You’re the furthest thing from it.”

A soft smile played on your lips. Az’s chin dug into your lower belly as he peered up at you, his fingers brushing indolent circles on your outer thighs. Your own eyes were hooded as you stared back at him — your mate. You loved him so ferociously.

He hadn’t even thought twice about defending you, even against a baseless insult.

“I really am sorry.” He pressed another kiss to the soft skin of your belly, the muscles there contracting at the sensation. “It’s such an honour for me to defend you that I sometimes forget you don’t need me to.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Az.” You watched him — watched his nose graze the silk of your nightgown. “I love it when you stand up for me. And had that been anyone else, I would have left you to it. But with them, it’s just…complicated. I suppose I still feel like I have something to prove.”

“You don’t. But it’s going to take time for you to realise that.” His tongue poked out, licking the fabric of the indentation where your belly button was. “You know, don’t you? That what your brother said was ridiculous. The only people your mother would feel disappointed in are them.”

Your breath hitched at the sensation of his tongue moving through the fabric. You tried to stay your thoughts, to remain on subject. “I…I know.”

“You’re incredible.” He shifted down, pulling your nightgown up as he did. “Beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to your now-exposed navel. “Strong.”

The cold air of the room brushed over your bare sex, and you jerked as Az nuzzled his face against your fine dusting of hair just above. He grazed his lips there, breathing in your scent.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” You breathed, brushing his hair back. “It’s late. You must be tired.”

“Mm.” He hummed. “After I’ve apologised.”

You had no objections as he finally dipped his head, levelling his face with the very centre of you. His eyes flicked up momentarily to meet yours, and then he dove in.

Your head fell back, a low moan escaping you as his tongue swiped out and licked a stripe right up you, from your entrance, up, up to your clit. He kissed the area first, his lips a sensuous scrape against the sensitive nub of nerves. Your hips lifted off the bed, and he slid his hand up, pressing them back down.

“I love you.” He breathed the words onto the damp heat of you — a place he had worshipped time and time before, and would continue to do so as the world and its stories changed around you.

“I love you too.” You breathed, and another moan broke from your throat as his tongue swirled around your clit. “Gods, Az.”

You felt him smile against you, and you utterly melted into the bed as he began his expert worship of your body, always knowing which areas drew which sensations from you, which touches had you moaning the loudest.

His tongue built up its pace, working at your clit as he slipped a hand down, gathering up your wetness on his fingers. He slipped one into you, pumping a few times, curling it inside you, and you gasped.

“Another?” He murmured against you, teeth grazing just slightly.

A small whimper left you. “Yes. Yes.”

And so he slipped a second finger in, and you were happy to give over to every sensation in your body as he began to pump in and out, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue. Tension coiled low in your stomach, a dull, pleasant ache that was building and building until your legs were trembling.

“Az.” You groaned, hips lifting again. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”

“Take it.” He lapped at you, lapped and lapped as if he might never get another taste. “Take everything you need. Cum for me.”

Only a few more thrusts of his fingers, a few more strokes of his tongue, and you were tumbling off that precipice into place of weightless elation, stars bursting in your eyes, your ears ringing, your body shaking. Az continued to lick and stroke you through it all, murmuring encouraging, soothing words.

And when the force of your climax subsided, and you were utterly spent, he pulled his fingers out of you. Sucked your wetness from them. And then climbed up the bed to lay beside you.

He was very clearly hard as a rock, the outline of his straining cock visible. You made to reach for him, but he gently took your hand.

“No.” He said softly. “This was about you. We have tomorrow. And the day after that.” He leaned down, kissing your head. “And all the ones after that. But now it’s time for sleep.”

You didn’t protest as he lay properly beside you, tugging you against him and pulling the blankets around you. His fingers laced through yours, both your hands resting on your stomach.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered into the darkness, kissing the nape of your neck. “So fucking proud.”

You smiled, relaxing into him. Closed your eyes.

You were just drifting off as you heard him murmur, beneath his breath:

“My mate. My entire world.”

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azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere

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bucknastysbabe · 10 months

Text

✾ Happy Bday To A Sweet Lil Kit Named Liv ✾

Therefore I present to you:

♕ The Brother F**king Incest Spectacular ♕

For u bb @fairysluna

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: incest, non/con|||dub/con, degrading language, bastard hating, DAERON IS AGED UP!!!!Greens won AU, Jace’s sister reader, gang bang, so much Incest, cunnilingus, sloppy seconds, double penetration, oral sex, pnv!sex, erotic crying, humiliation, Daeron is actually scared but likes her so they run off and be happy duh, Aemond and Aegon are Insane, multiple orgasms, rough sex, m/m/m/f, Jace is broken, why is there kinda angst? Idk

A/N: I don’t tend to lean toward non-con but the brother fucking incest spectacular had been brewed so read the warnings!

“Little Lord Strong,” Aemond sneered from the lofty bed, looking down with a haughty look on his sharp features. Jace squirmed and hissed at the one-eyed prick. His dear sister was pinned between Aemond’s lean legs, face red and teary.

Daeron was quiet, a terrified look on his face as he watched the scene.

Aegon, ever the deviant, palmed himself through his breeches, other hand petting Jace’s poor sister’s hair. He was grinning wildly, violet eyes fervent with glee. He giggled as his younger brother prattled on. Aemond cocked his head towards his siblings and said, “Well. You know what they say about bastards. Lustful, devious sort. I bet she’ll open up like a Lyseni pillow girl.”

Jace barked, “Fuck you! All of you are the deviants! Defiling my maiden sister for what?”

Aegon snorted, “She’s a lovely vixen, we won and you didn’t. Therefore we get our war prizes. Wanted to see what your cunt of a mother was so infatuated by a house as shite as the Strongs.” Jace grimaced and squirmed under his bindings, chest aching at the mention of his true father. The one who had taught him to be a man. He didn’t feel much like one.

Aegon yanked back her hair and got a good look at doe brown eyes, watery with tears, lips swollen more-so than usual. She pled, “Please, please, I cannot help being o-of this nature. Have mercy my king, have mercy!” The giddiness of Aegon’s face morphed into anger.

He hissed in her face, spittle flying, “Did your lovely mother and the rogue cunt give my children mercy?”

She wailed in sorrow, apologizing for something she had nothing to do with. Aemond was wielding the Valyrian ceremonial knife, pointing it towards Jacaerys. He sniffed, “Yes, Lord Strong, was there mercy when your dead brother took my eye, slaughtered my kin, set the kingdom aflame for a seat that belonged to us trueborn?”

Jacaerys remained silent, fidgeting in his bonds, trying to find a way out. There was murder and kinslaying on both sides. The bastard thought he was justified for little Luke. Jace was angry and humiliated. Tears fell down his darkened cheeks. Daeron spoke up, a soft lilt to the youngest brother’s tone.

“You won’t get out of those. Learned the best knots down on the docks of Oldtown. Best if you just sat back and let it get on with. Customary,” he nervously looked to the elder blondes, “Customary right?”

Aegon popped up from his spewing of vitriol, laughing as he reached for more Arbor Red, “Yes, darling Daeron, customary to make sure any dragon blood gets more seed. We have to repopulate. Sorry you must get the leftover bitch as wife.”

Aemond shrugged, “She’s pretty. Had a Strong bitch in Harrenhal, witchy sort, but couldn’t trust a wench that played with magicks.” He began to take off his loose blouse, exposing pale scarred skin, lean and toned. Daeron was stockier, like Aegon but if the eldest didn’t overindulge. The king was a juxtaposition of tight burns and soft overfed flesh. Never a warrior, Jace knew that much.

Jace watched in agony as the boys divested their clothing. He sister wept and shook on the mattress, begging Daeron now. The youngest looked guilty, mouthing, “I’m sorry.” Aegon smacked the Prince from behind the head and chided, “This is your whore for tonight. Quit being the pansy.”

Daeron grumbled back, staring with flushed cheeks. Aemond pulled her ass up roughly, spreading tanned thighs, shapely from dragon riding. Jacaerys howled, “You accursed demon!” The one-eye hummed, “I’ve heard worse, Strong. Enjoy the show.”

Aegon was at full mast, eagerly stroking his thick cock, “As the king I get to fuck those pretty lips,” he smirked, “Aemond you can get her cunt. Daeron it’s either her ass or wait your turn. Feel her up a little, I don’t know.” Daeron’s lilac eyes bounced around the scene, pupils blowing at her gorgeous body, full breasts hanging below, obscene lips covered in drool.

“Go on Daeron, she’s drier than the Boneway,” Aemond frowned. Jace could hand the bastard that, he couldn’t bear to watch her be torn to shreds. Daeron’s body came closer to hers, a calloused hand tentatively rubbing her soft skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She relaxed a smidgeon, nervous eyes peeking around. The brunette had pretty lashes.

The daring himself murmured, “I shan’t treat you like this my lady, we’ll go back to Old Town. J-just feel me and the sensations. Please. Please.”

She whimpered quietly at Daeron engaged her in a gentle kiss, his hand finally coming to knead and tweak her pretty tits. “This isn’t amateur hour, back off, acting like Florian and Jonquil.” Aeg snatched her jaw and ordered, “Open, bastard whore.” She did so, shaking as Aegon dropped his spit into her mouth, easing his thick cockhead into the warm opening.

“That’s better, fuck,” Aegon moaned, eyes lolled. Aemond waited patiently, while he grinned at Jace. He mused, “So easy, so pliable. That’s why your mother liked it. Wanted to control everything, the bitch.” Jace gritted back, “Your mother was a stone cold bitch and we all knew it!”

The Velaryon fumed with anger, eyes flickering to where Aegon was moaning with delight, Daeron caressing and kissing on her smooth skin. His cheeks reddened at where his thoughts were going. Merely a Targaryen instinct— inclination for the blood.

Daeron’s insistent kissing and licking had the princess biting off whines around Aegon’s cock. The king laughed, “Ah, there she is, little slut loves it after all.” Aemond played with her other entrance, feeling wetness begin to gather and dribble delightfully. He backed up and motioned towards the youngest.

“Actually, I want her wetter. Use your tongue Daeron.” Aegon giggled with glee at the idea, Jace groaned, and Daeron swallowed heavily.

He shuffled to her slit, pale eyes boggled at her most private part. His thumb slid through the moistened entrance, cock jumping in surprise. Daeron held up his thumb and suckled the essence off, eyelashes fluttering as he moaned.

“She taste s-sweet, hm?,” Aegon panted. He wouldn’t last long. Never did by all rumors and accounts. The slick noises of her mouth and Aegon’s lurid chattering was making Daeron grow impossibly hot under his skin. He grabbed handfuls of her pert ass and licked at her pretty petals, grinding into the bed.

“Seven hells— the mouth on this one!,” he giggled, “Lick at that bud Daeron, raa-right at the top, make her squeal and slick up.” The youngest did so, suckling on the hooded bud above her opening, inhaling her perfect natural scent. She squirmed and shook, crying out around Aegon. Daeron didn’t stop, intoxicated by his beautiful niece’s noises. She arched her back helplessly, whining.

Aegon gasped and pulled at her thick brown locks, shoving his cock deep into her throat— met with no resistance. He threw his short curls back, belly bouncing, lips agape. The king cried out, “Fuuuuck yess!” Jace saw his uncle’s balls draw tight and he emptied down her once pristine throat. He closed his eyes and whimpered, willing away the indecent thoughts. He could hear her coughing in the background.

Aegon, fuck dumb and lazy, pillowed himself back. He halfassedly gestured for Aemond to have her mouth. The lean man smirked as having her from this angle meant he could torture Jacaerys more. Daeron was busy exploring her, sticking fingers in and lapping excitedly.

“Slow down, you’ll blow before you get your cock in her cunny,” Aegon snorted.

Aemond easily got access, the Princess obediently opening her mouth, eyes far away and hazy. Cum was still wetting her chin, mixed with drool. Aemond wiped it away with the nearest cloth, finding a distaste to be so close to Aegon’s glob of spend. He tilted her head up so the taller Targaryen could ease his long cock down her throat.

“Stick your dick in already, she’s wetter than the Greenblood,” Aegon snapped, greedily gulping wine. He shouted, “Isn’t this just wonderful Jace! Maybe we’ll cut your cock off and make you a handmaiden to this lovely girl.” Jace whimpered, utterly broken and confused. He was so hard it hurt, yet everything disgusted him.

Daeron held his cock, lilac eyes focused on her hole, dipping the tip in, before getting shoved further by one of her frantic hands. Aemond laughed, “Mm! She likes you. We’ll all have to take a test filling her cunt up. Make sure the seed takes.”

The youngest brother’s vision grew blurry as he registered the delicious feeling surrounding his cock. It was better than anything he had tried on himself. She was warm, tight, and pulsing around Daeron’s member. He gripped her hips and fucked wildly, groaning and panting her name.

“Should have taken his virgin ass to the brothels in Old Town when we visited.”

“All the more fun, two little virgins, isn’t that right Lord Strong?,” Aemond jabbed in glee. Jace let out an agonized moan, his balls aching and full. His sister’s gorgeous cries and debauched frame was making him feel insane. Aegon’s nonsensical laugh broke through the haze, making Jace more ashamed…more aroused.

Daeron panted and laid kisses up her back, breathlessly praising, “Oh you feel so good, tell me what to do, please?” Aemond, snapping his hips into the Velaryon’s mouth jeered, “Listen to what the wretch had to say, touch her button.”

Aegon slurred, already stroking his cock again, “When she comes, s’like heaven, milking ya’ cock.”

Daeron reached around to settle between them, circling around her swollen nub, feeling her cunt pulse and hearing excited keening. He pinched and pulled harder, the cries turning into little whimpers as she drew tighter and tighter around him. Daeron felt his eyes crossing at the pressure, fucking harder in a last effort.

Aemond pinched a bouncing teat of hers and ordered, “Come now, Strong slut. Serve your superiors.” He pulled out and watched the scene, on his haunches. The brunette was wailing and crying Daeron’s name. “Oh Gods please, don’t stop, f-fa-feels s’good! What’s- oh my- happening?”

Jace never wished he could be freed more than now, eyes glued to her twitching body, plump lips shining in the dull light. His cock was leaking profusely, needing an outlet for his swollen sac. Daeron gasped as she gushed all over his cock, sniveling and sucking in breath. Tears leaked down her gorgeous face.

The youngest Targaryen just sat in a daze, her throbbing pussy hitting him with wave of wave of ecstasy, his cock unloading all he could have carried into her womb. He selfishly hoped his seed would take, so that his wife’s child was truly his. He kissed and rubbed on her until Aegon cast him aside, laughing, “My turn, lover boy.”

Daeron’s eyes flickered to Jace, whining softly with a red face. His cock had soaked the front of his small clothes, huge member swollen and needy. Gods, the depravity. He absently wondered if the girl was supposed to be Jace’s if it weren’t for the twins.

Aegon was a lazy fuck, making the girl get on top of him and ride and ride until her shaky legs gave out. The king smacked her ass roughly, barking, “You can do better than that with all that dragon riding. Lazy whore.” She whimpered and bounced harder, squeezing Aegon’s soft midsection tight. He moaned, “Soooo much better. Good little bitch.”

He filled her up next with a sloppy finish, leaving some on her belly and legs, proposing, “Since Jace is so needy, we should make him clean her up.” Aemond seemed to love that idea, eagerly fucking her into the soft bed, her legs thrown high up his long body.

He bit and sucked a collar of markings around her neck, snarling, “You belong to us now, no black, no-ngh, fucking greens, just the Targaryens.” She whimpered, “Yes, yes, I belong to you, the rightful family.” Aemond smacked her around some more, around the ass and thighs. He pumped with long strokes, powerful and measured.

Daeron was taking notes. Because she was heaving and clawing his shoulders, mewling when he’d plunge into her ruined cunt. Blood had already dried on the bed. Aegon crawled over and pointed her wet eyes to Jace.

“You want brother dearest to clean you up after? Lick your sore cunny up, coddle you? Or Daeron?”

She scrunched her face up, obviously distressed. Jace whined pathetically, “Sister, sister please, let me, let me?” He was humping the air now, utterly broken and debauched. Aemond smacked her cheek none-to-hard and smarted, “Your king asked you a question!”

She wailed out, “Both! Need both! Gods please! Mmmm!” Aemond’s one eye rolled up at her releasing yet again. She still had some in her, coating his long cock with the gorgeous essence. The long haired prince pumped her for the final time full of his cum, slapping her ass another time for good measure. She shivered and cried, Daeron already to the rescue.

Who knew such a powerful fighter had such a weak heart. Aegon laid back like a cat who got the cream, watching Jacaerys sob and shiver. He’d cum. The evidence was sticky and soaking his small clothes. The princess took one look and begged, “C-can he join? Lick me up like you said my liege?”

Aegon shrugged, “Aemond and I will watch for safety. Can’t believe Lord Strong came in his small clothes watching his sister get fucked by the enemies. I thought we were fucked up.”

“Like you’ll do shite you oaf,” Aemond muttered as he slit the ropes binding Jace. The brunette stumbled to his sister, squatting between her soaked cunt. It was still a bit stretched, puffy and oozing copious amounts of ‘dragonseed’. He began to cry in shame as he cleaned her up.

Daeron softly murmured, “I’ll take good care of her, you’ve been good. So good.” Jace blushed and kept licking, eating up his sister’s sighs of pleasure, Daeron’s long fingers in his dark hair. What a fucking mess this was.

Aegon and Aemond merely laughed like devilish imps. Sadists. “Oh she’ll take the seed alright, she better or we do this again,” he tapped his chin, “We can’t taint her bastardized blood further, so just licking cunny for you dear nephew.”

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #READ TAGS PLS #velaryon reader #jacaerys x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #Daeron targaryen x reader

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shadowdaddies · 4 months

Text

King's Queen

Dorian Havilliard x Reader

based on this ask

Summary: Dorian's mother makes her opinions on your relationship clear. You make your own opinions known. (angst → smut → fluff)

Warnings: smut below the cut, phantom hands/light bondage, minors dni

Wiping your hands nervously on the skirts of your dress, you gave Dorian’s mother a shy smile, reaching your hand towards hers to shake. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Georgina.”

Piercing green eyes appraised you, lip twisting disdainfully at your outstretched hand as her back straightened. She spoke in a delicate voice that betrayed the vitriol of her words. “How informal of you,” she noted glancing between you and Dorian. “I do still hold the title of Queen, if you were unaware. You may also refer to me as ‘Lady Havilliard’.”

With a flip of her long auburn hair, Georgina strolled towards her seat at the dining table, leaving you to awkwardly lower your hand to your side. Dorian quickly took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he gave you a reassuring smile and guided you towards the table.

You took your seat, glancing down the table to where Georgina sat next to Dorian’s brother, Hollin, cutting his steak for him as the woman doted on her younger son, hardly sparing either you or Dorian a glance. After pushing around the mashed potatoes on your plate for an insufferable amount of time, you mustered the courage to try speaking to Georgina again.

With a deep breath, you plastered on a practiced, pleasant smile and turned towards where the queen sat. “Lady Havilliard, Dorian has told me that you quite enjoy the mountains. I’ve heard your home there is quite lovely - I can only imagine, if it holds a fraction of the beauty with which you’ve decorated this castle.”

Her cold gaze flicked to you, her own fork dropping to her plate with a clatter. “Yes, it is a lovely home,” she acknowledged before quickly turning back to Hollin. Lifting her wine glass to her lips, Georgina murmured so quietly that it was hardly detectable, even with your fae hearing. “Much nicer than a fae servant is accustomed to, I’m sure.” The insults continued, Georgina continuing her verbal assault as you struggled through the meal.

The effects of her words weighing heavier and heavier, your hand moved to Dorian’s thigh, squeezing for comfort. His sapphire eyes focused on you, hand moving to rub the back of yours in an assuring manner as you hurriedly finished your meal. Quietly bidding Georgina and Hollin a good night, you dashed out of the room as quickly as you could.

You moved at an exceptionally fast pace, stopping when Dorian grabbed your wrist, twirling you around to see his concerned gaze. Noting the barely held-in tears in your eyes, Dorian pulled you into the nearest room. Eagerly crossing the drawing room, you took a seat on the plush velvet sofa, burying your face in your hands.

Dorian crouched in front of you, rubbing soothing circles on your thighs. “My love, are you alright? I know my mother is unpleasant, and I am so sorry for that.”

You shook your head, leaning back against the seat as a wry chuckle left your lips. “It wasn’t only that she was so stiff and dismissive. You should have heard the things she said about me when she knew that you couldn’t hear. I am nothing but a fae servant, I only care for you for your title, I am not worthy of you.” Voice breaking at those last words, your shoulders shook as you began to cry into Dorian’s shoulder.

He held you for a long moment, letting you process your emotions before he placed a kiss to your head. “Are you going to be alright?” Sniffling, you nodded, and Dorian stood.

“I have something to take care of, but I will meet you in our bedroom,” he promised, giving a soft kiss to your lips before the both of you departed in different directions.

As you meandered back to your room, your head began to ache from all the tears you had spilled this evening. With a sigh of resignation, you turned back towards the kitchens in search of some water. The familiar shrill voice of Georgina Havilliard pricked your ears, and you rolled your eyes as you continued walking - until a deep, irritated voice rose louder.

Recognizing Dorian as the other person speaking, you quietly tiptoed towards the conversation, listening as you moved through the hallway. Rage boiled through you as you registered Georgina’s words coming from the cracked door up ahead. “I am not indifferent towards you, Dorian. I have given up on you. You are a consistent disappointment, and this common woman... pardon, fae - she spoke the word, dripping with disdain - is the perfect example of your poor choices. You are nothing as I hoped you would be.”

You could not bear to hear any more of her venom, nearly bursting the solid wood door off of its hinges as you burst into the room, halting Dorian and Georgina where they stood. Your eyes burned with fury as you turned towards the woman, barely maintaining the leash you held on your fae instincts which called on you to rip her to shreds.

Not bothering with pleasantries, you spoke in a voice you’d reserved for the worst of your enemies. “You may speak however you wish about me, but if I hear you belittle Dorian like that again, I will cut out your tongue. It is a miracle that your King is the exceptional man that he is, having come from you. It would be wise of you to recognize that.”

The air was heavy in the room, a long moment passing as Georgina shriveled under your intense gaze. With a sniffle, the woman raised her head, courageously lifting her green eyes to you as she spoke. “I will bear that in mind.”

With a smile, you nodded, once more wishing her a pleasant evening as you took Dorian’s hand and guided him out the door and towards your bedroom. Closing the door behind you, you turned to see Dorian’s sapphire eyes wide in shock as he stared at you. “Are you okay?” you whispered, becoming increasingly worried that you might have frightened him with your actions.

Dorian surprised you, his lips curving into a mischievous smile as he turned you around. Black hair hung in his eyes as Dorian towered over you, arms caging you in as he backed you against the wall. “That was the most spectacular... sexiest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he purred, leaning in as he dragged his nose up your neck.

His teeth found your earlobe, a moan leaving your lips as he tugged before moving back to your neck, slowly kissing his way down to your throat. “Dorian,” you whispered, arms wrapping around him as you begged his body closer to yours.

Dorian tsk’d at you, a wicked smirk gracing his lips as invisible hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head. You were trapped against the wall, desperately writhing as you begged Dorian to come closer. Instead, he stepped away, stroking his chin as he admired you on display like a work of art.

Slowly, so slowly, Dorian walked back forwards, dragging one finger down your throat to your sternum, the peak of your breasts exposed in the gown you had donned for the evening. As if another set of hands worked behind you, the laces of the dress were undone, Dorian easily sliding the fabric off of you until it fell to the floor.

“Gods, you are beautiful,” he murmured, his hand still idly tracing your body as you panted under his teasing touch.

“Please, Dorian. Touch me,” you begged. Dorian let out a low groan, his eyes darkening as his control snapped. He surged forward, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he tilted your head to kiss you deeply, tongue thrusting and swiping along the roof of your mouth as his other hand moved lower down your stomach.

Arching your hips into his touch, you whimpered when his fingers ghosted over your soaked core before he pulled away. You gasped, your anger lasting only a moment before the shadow hands released you, Dorian throwing you over his shoulder.

Dorian landed a playful smack to your bare ass, earning a yelp from you before he tossed you onto the bed, shadow hands returning to spread your arms and legs for him. You huffed in frustration, your arousal nearly painful as you begged again. “Dorian, I need you inside me, please.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, Dorian leaned down, kissing his way up your thighs before settling to hover over your heat. “I promise to make love to you tonight, but first I intend to worship you, thoroughly, my Queen.”

The moan that left you at his words quickly turned to a gasp as Dorian gripped your thighs, sucking harshly on your clit before thrusting his tongue into your core. He groaned at the taste, moving to flick his tongue against your clit as he brought a finger to curl inside of you.

Back arching as much as the invisible restraints would allow, you reached your high with a scream that you wee certain echoed through the castle.

Dorian quickly rid himself of his pants, lining up his hard length at your entrance as you nodded, granting him permission to push in. Jaw dropping in a silent moan at the pleasure, you felt Dorian’s head fall against your shoulder as he settled fully inside of you.

Phantom hands vanished, allowing you to pull Dorian into a searing kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist as you encouraged him to move. He rocked into you slowly but precisely, intentionally hitting a perfect angle that dragged out both your pleasure. Overcome by the gentleness of the moment, you whispered “I love you,” through silver lined eyes.

Dorian kissed you fiercely, pulling back to press kisses on every part of your face, whispering “I love you”s with each touch. With a shudder, he finished inside of you, rolling to the side as he held you close.

You pushed the hair from Dorian’s eyes, admiring his beauty as you sighed in contentment. “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have a man like you in my life,” you murmured, snuggling into his warm chest.

Dorian wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close and pressed a kiss to your hair. “I am the lucky one, my love.”

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courtingchaos · 4 months

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Violence Ad Nauseam

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Series Master List

A/N: Would you all like some actual story to go along with the smut chapters? Finally getting into the meat of this after months of being stuck on it. This is going to feel a little out of order with the next two chapters, mainly because those were written first but this bridged a gap I had in my conflict so have at it. This is the tinder to start the bonfire (and also to show off Roy, the world’s biggest bastard). Hope you enjoy, PLEASE read the warnings everyone!

Warnings: Violence, assault (Roy hits reader), depictions of injury, descriptions of injury, talk of violence.

18+ NSFW No Minors

A quiet afternoon on account of the brothers going off for lunch leaving just you in your corner and your father in the house. You saw him through the kitchen window when you stepped out to ask Ty something. He hovers just around the sink so you know he’s cooking, rinsing off the cranberries or breaking down some bird. Wednesday nights mean Family Meetings and when you’re done out here in the garage with this new dash wiring you’ll go in and quietly help him make your mother’s linzer tart.

Between the solder you pinch to the newly stripped wires and the radio droning at the side of your head, it takes you longer than it should to realize the rest of the noise has quieted. Suddenly it isn’t just four brothers gone but the whole homestead seems to have taken off, or at least run away from the heavy footfalls that almost echo in your workspace.

“What are you working on?” Roy’s deep voice is clear without the ring of metal work in the background.

You don’t look up from your work, especially not for him. “Custom dash.”

“Is that for you?”

“You know it isn’t.”

His laugh is anything but jovial, a thin ice pick that hits your spine wrong. You finish with your wires, tucking them back into their casing, before you turn to look at him smiling at you. It’s flat and doesn’t reach his eyes, a startling match to someone else you know. “What do you need?”

“Just came to talk.”

“Father’s in the house. You can talk to him.”

“I already did.” His footsteps seem measured in the last few feet he closes between you two. Those green eyes seem to darken the longer they look down at you, his distaste for you never more apparent. You hazard a look past him towards the open, empty bays and confirm you’ve been left for the wolves.

“There’s not much I can help you with.”

“Oh I beg to differ.” Suddenly he’s reaching for a folding chair leaned up against the wall. Opening it and motioning for you to sit with a wide open palm. “Have a seat sweetheart.”

Your heart pounds in your chest hard enough to crack ribs. “I’d rather stand.”

“I’d rather you sit.” Those eyes turn hard with a glint in the florescent work lights above. “Please.” Again he gestures at the open seat and you stall just a little too long. He grabs your bicep and yanks you forward to stand in front of the chair. “Sit. Down.”

There’s no one out here now. Your phone sits on your workbench, plugged in and on silent. The radio still sings out low and the garage remains quiet like it was the dead of night. So you sit and you swallow the vitriol that rises in your throat because you know when you’re outnumbered.

Roy nods his head when you do as asked and leans back onto the thick wooden worktop, arms crossed too casually across his chest. “You’ve been doing a little research I hear.”

“I do a lot of research, you’ll have to be specific.” You stare up at him with your best poker face, trying hard to leave the disgust out of your features.

“Don’t play fucking stupid.”

“I’m not.” You blink too much as your nerves start to flood in with his sharp tone. “I’m the brains around here, remember?” Licked lips end up bitten lips and you can see him watching all of your nervous energy bleed out into the open. “If Father didn’t know then-“

“I found that P.I. you hired. The one out of Biloxi.” He watches you still suddenly. “Hm. Clearer picture now?”

You nod because you don’t trust your voice to not betray you. Roy is a pain in your ass but he’s a dangerous one, something better left alone until it decides to leave you be. You’ve poked him before with your words and your blatant disregard for his need of Gator but now he has you cornered in silence.

“He sang quite the tune when it came down to brass tacks. Showed me the file on Gator first and then little ol’ me.” He clears his throat. “What are you looking for, bookworm?”

You open your mouth but he railroads you, talks right over your explanation because he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to know about you looking into Gator and finding the hidden rot, the long trail of familial deceit that spanned from the gulf to the frozen plains Roy inhabited.

“You think you know it all don’t you? Think you can just do what you want because you think you’re smarter than everyone around you?” He stands to his full height, hands dropping to hang at his sides. “You’re sticking your nose in the wrong business.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Deserves to know what? That his father is running the same game down at home?” He scoffs at you. “You think he doesn’t know what kind of family he comes from?”

“He doesn’t know about you.”

“And what about me?”

You let your schooled features fall when you realize Roy thinks this is all about his money. “Does your brother know?” You feel bold when you lean into your question. “You two seem awfully close. Is that what you’re afraid of? Him finding out or you loosing money?”

There’s a dawning look on his face when he finally gets it.

“Does your brother know he raised your son or are you only keeping that secret from Gator?”

The air is heavy with every deep breath you and Roy take. He stares down at you staring defiantly up at him and the hollow chuckle from deep in his throat makes your skin crawl.

“You think he’s gonna believe you?” Roy leans down slow to get level with you, crouches in front of you with a creaking knee and violent look in his eye. Only a foot away and you hate how much you can see of Gator here; in the anger and the slope of his nose.

“I don’t lie to him.”

One thing about Roy is that he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. It’s a common misconception because he has a posse behind him willing to do his bidding but in the right circumstances, ones like these with no prying eyes or ears, he sticks his hands right into the muck.

He moves faster than you think someone of his age should, especially with that loud knee, but knuckles wrap into the front of your jacket before you know what’s happening. He’s stronger and taller than you and he hauls you up fast, the chair collateral that gets kicked to the wayside by his boot. Your heels drag for just a moment before your back hits the side of the car you’ve been working on hard, wind knocked out of you while Roy gets in your face.

“I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve been pullin’ with him but I don’t play fucking games.” He shifts you up the door so you’re on tiptoes and supported by just his massive fists. “You’re fucking with things you have no idea about.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” It’s strained out of you with your collar twisted up. Even pinned up against a car you still feel the need to goad him, especially when he’s this worked up. “Is it just about money with you or are you afraid of being responsible for him too?”

Roy pulls away for a moment, faltering enough to let you slip down almost onto flat soles. Your laugh is shallow too when you watch Roy’s face contort into a scowl.

“I’m warning you.” His voice doesn’t waver in anger. It’s flat like the look in his eyes.

“And I’m telling you-“

You hear the crack before you fully register what’s happened. The clap of an open palm that sets your face on fire and snaps your head sideways, brain rattling around in your skull. It takes a moment before you feel the sharp pain in your jaw and realize you can’t clench your teeth. It hangs unnaturally while you slide to the floor heavily, legs tangled under you while you try to make sense of what’s happened.

“You ain’t telling me shit.” He spits down at you, confused on the floor. “Look at me.” He demands but your vision swims and the pain surges into nausea. You couldn’t turn your head even if you wanted to but all your whimpering sends Roy into a further rage. He bends down and grabs your jaw roughly, twisting you sideways to look at him all while you scream in the back of your throat. His fingers dig into the hinge of your jaw and you howl louder with the pain he inflicts.

“I have no reservations with you.” He holds your face tighter and you cry, hot tears that spill over and down your flaming cheek. “I don’t care about whatever pedestal that boy puts you on, you start nosing around in my business?” He shakes your head and the edges of your vision darken momentarily. “I’m gonna put a fucking end to it.” He drops you suddenly and you barely catch yourself from hitting cement. His legs are all you can make out of him while you try to cradle your jaw and you watch him move away from you to your bench. “You’re gonna do whatever you want because you’re too smart for your own good, right?” He shifts things around that you can’t see, sends them clattering before you notice his boots in your peripheral again. “Right?!” He yells down at you and makes you jump before you try to shake your head no. “Well don’t lie to me, darlin’.”

“I’m not.” Only it comes out slurred and half formed from your numb lips. Roy clicks his tongue at you before he crouches next to you again only this time you flinch and that makes him smile.

“Look,” he squints at you holding your face together and trying to look him in the eye with all the disgust you can muster, “go ahead and call one of your brothers.” He tosses your phone on your lap. “Tell them what happened.”

You shake your head again.

“No?” It could almost be concern that he flashes you but you know better. “Gonna keep this to yourself?”

You nod almost against your own will.

“Like your little findings too?” His voice is soft like he’s trying to calm one of his horses. It has the opposite effect on you though, that roiling nausea replaced by rage in your gut. You nod again though, tears still falling freely down your face.

“Good girl.”

If you could spit at him you would. He stands gingerly to avoid his knee popping and you watch him walk away a few feet before he turns back to you. “Now I’m gonna head back up to the house, let your father know I’m done out here.” He checks his phone before giving you one last look, gesturing at his own jaw. “Should get that checked out.”

#Gator Tillman #Gator Tillman Fic #Gator Tillman x Reader #Gator Tillman Angst #My Work #My Fic

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lillymakesart · 3 months

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more episode 5 discussion

tl;dr a continuation of my video dissertation on lilly.makes.tiktoks: (summary) mikio fell in love with mizu, they had their first argument, mama convinced mikio to turn mizu in, mikio did go turn her in. "love poisoned by betrayal" where mikio is the love, mama is the betrayal

i feel like mama's betrayal needs some more reading into in order to truly understand her motivations, because that pipeline going from caretaker to ultimate betrayal is so insane

mikio's petty actions (picking at mizu's insecurities by calling her a monster and taking away the horse he gifted to her) are all in line with a hurt, petty, toxic lover that just wanted to hurt mizu back in the way the she hurt him

what about mama? she has cared for Mizu all these years, had been her mother figure, and even reaped some benefits off of Mizu's arranged marriage. isn't turning her adoptive daughter into the very men she fought all her life to keep her safe from a bit too intense?

to wish such foul ill on someone must have taken years and years of built up resentment and vitriol. maybe if we look at the timeline from mama's perspective the motivation behind her betrayal would reveal itself

Fowler said that mama was Mizu's maid. not sure if this has any significance, but he didn't say nanny or wetnurse. maybe she was simply a maid that worked around the house and only tangentially caring for the baby. life in the estate must have been pretty cushy for her as she was generally sheltered and protected under her lord's care

but then assassins come for the baby, she is caught up in the mess, and she can only stand by and watch as Mizu's life hangs in balance before her. fate decides that Mizu should live, and she is shoved into mama's arms and the man tells her to take the devil child and run, and so she does. she leaves the cushy protected life of being a maid in the estate and becomes a homeless woman on the streets, now burdened with a crying baby and no idea what to do

at some point she turns towards a life of prostitution, which at this I'm guessing is her only option. this life must be terrible compared to her work at her lord's estate. perhaps the stress turns her towards opioids, and she becomes an addict

maybe a messenger keeps in contact with her and makes regular deliveries of money to continue caring for the baby. the money amount could have even been generous, enough to keep them off the streets in a respectable town, but with mama's addiction we all know where the money truly went.

one day the money stops, and mama can't get her opioids anymore. theoretically she could have continued caring for Mizu, but she'd rather work full-time as a prostitute and continue acquiring drugs than care for a child that she never wanted, was never even trained to care for. in fact, this child has brought her life lower than ever before, so of course she'd leave her

the resentment has already built up when Mizu was a child, but it really ramps into full force when she finds Mizu again as an adult

we can see some first signs of jealousy when Mizu tells mama that she "should never do that again, I earn money, more than enough" and mama replies "how honorable you turned out to be." the implication here is that mama thinks Mizu is accusing prostitution of not being honorable. Mizu does not have to suffer woman's work in the way that mama has because Mizu has lived as a man, and was permitted to learn an artisanal trade to earn money with. this is a luxury that mama will never know, and builds on the resentment.

when mama finds Mizu a husband, to the audience it seems like Mizu is the one doing the favor for mama, but for mama, this is the least Mizu could do for her in return for all those years of debased service caring for her. at least with Mikio things could somewhat start looking like mama's old life again, protected in a household, not having to worry about when the next meal would come in, and most importantly, a steady stream of income for drugs

but then Mizu blocks mama's drug money, forcing mama to go out and work for her drugs again (more discussion on this part in the tiktok video tl;dr my theory is that mama never stopped smoking and was secretly going out to work for her drugs and just keeping it a secret). this return to a debasement that mama thought she was finished with really drives home the hatred she has developed for Mizu at this point

from mama's point of view, Mizu is an ungrateful brat that ruined her life, stole her best years from her, forced her into prostitution, and now just when she was starting to get some return for all those years of turmoil, Mizu snubs her again by forcing her back into prostitution

when Mikio comes home that day after the duel, clearly angry with Mizu and looking for ways to hit her back, this must have been a point of weakness for mama where she just couldn't help but divulge the secret of Mizu's bounty. all those years she has held back her resentment and hatred, with no thanks or appreciation for what she has given up for Mizu's wellbeing, must have come crashing down on her as she let the bitterness and resentment win at this exact moment

it's not right, but it does make sense. mama betrayed Mizu in the ultimate way, but she too was once a victim send post

#mizu #mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai fan theory #lillydrawsmizu theory #bes fan theory #blue eye samurai mama mizu theory #bes mama mizu theor #blue eye samurai episode 5 #bes episode 5 #blue eye samurai episode 5 theory #bes episode 5 theory

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matchmadeinsevenhells · 2 years

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HotD Ep. 10 AU—Luke

Luke doesn’t want to die. He makes a different choice.

CW: mild gore, eye trauma

“A fight would pose little challenge. No, I want you to put out an eye, as payment for mine.”

Luke is scared. He wants to run, get to Arrax and go, but Vhagar is also here, and she’s the scariest of all—

He stares at the knife on the floor.

“One will serve.”

He’s older than Aemond was. Part of him feels like he’s been running his entire life, ever since he picked up that other knife, all those years back. It makes him wonder if maybe Aemond has also been running since then, in his own way.

And now it has led them to this.

“I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

Luke doesn’t want to die. He promised Mother he wouldn’t fight, that he would make it back. And Mother has just lost Visenya, too. If he doesn’t come home…

Luke keeps staring at the knife. He sheathes his sword and starts walking towards it as in trance.

The Hall falls silent. Even Uncle Aemond stops spitting vitriol when Luke bends down to pick up the blade.

It’s a good, sharp knife. Well kept. It will cut deep and easy. Know what you’re aiming for, Daemon always told him, but Luke thinks that’s a bit difficult since he won’t be able to see. He probably should start shallow, at the corner.

“Very well, Uncle,” he says, willing grim determination onto his face and into his voice as he looks back at Aemond. The sapphire in his empty eye socket seems to glow in the dim lighting, drawing his attention. It doesn’t even look that horrible at all. The rest of Aemond’s expression has gone slack.

He probably wants Luke’s left eye, to make them even.

Before he can lose his nerves, he plunges the knife into his eye. Half his world goes dark.

It hurts. It hurts so much, and all Luke can think of is Daemon saying that it doesn’t matter if you cry or throw up, all that matters is that you do defeat your opponent, and this is almost like a fight, yes, so Luke stops trying to suppress the screams crawling up his throat and focuses on holding on to the knife instead.

His knees have hit the cold stone floor at some point. Someone is whispering “Dear Gods.” nearby. Luke keeps looking at Aemond, who has taken half a step towards him, his face is full of rapt attention, staring back at Luke like Luke has just given him the most unexpected yet wonderful present. Perhaps he has.

Someone is shouting for the Maester, he thinks as he changes the angle of the knife and then reaches up with his other hand to feel at the edges of the wound. His shoulders are heaving, his own sobs interrupting the knife every few seconds. Gods, it hurts so much. But he always leaves things half done, and he can’t this time, he can’t. He’s glad he’s wearing gloves.

He’s collapsed on the floor now, the knife slipped from his grasp. But his left hand is still carefully curled around something small and lumpy—where’s Aemond? He hastily cranes his head until he can look at his Uncle again. They’re matching now, a hysterical part of him thinks as he holds out his left hand to him like a peace offering.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #lucerys targaryen #lucerys velaryon #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd spoilers #luke velaryon #luke targaryen #my writing #tempted to expand this in a dark kinktober way but not sure yet #anyway!#fanfic #lucemond

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drjholtzmann · 15 hours

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going thru the drafts. this one was originally a fluffbruary prompt (whoops) but i chickened out

shower | blessed | layer

Dream is already in the kitchen when Hob gets home. Clattering through the door in a flurry of muffled curses and rustling fabric. He shucks off his coat and violently jabs it onto the coat hook, continuing to curse his way out of his shoes before standing upright again, flicking soaking wet hair back off his face.

“Hello, stranger.” He says, aiming for casual but falling a little closer to perfunctory, unable to fully hide his frustration.

“You’re –” Dream’s deep voice begins softly as Hob rushes to add, “I know – I’m late, I know.”

Dream, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders square, resting in one of Hob’s kitchen chairs, does not move to finish his sentence.

“‘Light morning showers’, my eye,” Hob mutters murderously as he passes Dream and the kitchen table and continues to clatter on into the kitchen. “Fucking pissing down all afternoon! Shoes are soaked. Thought my jacket would be enough for light showers so I didn’t take a sodding umbrella, like a fucking bellend. The tube was disgusting – full of everyone trying to get out of the rain. So it was full of rainwater and the water-soaked public which, let me tell you, is a particular bouquet I don’t need to experience again in a hurry. Not at the end of a work day. I mean – you want some of this?” He pauses, wine bottle in one hand, glass in another, gesturing with the bottle towards Dream. Dream inclines his head. “I mean say what you will about the past,” Hob continues, placing the first glass down and grabbing out a second, “plenty of smells of all kinds. But at least we didn’t have fuckin’ Lynx Africa. A tube full of B.O., soaked woollen suits, stale air, muddy rainwater, all coated with the chemical tang of Lynx fucking Africa?” He gags and pours a generous, sloshing glass of red. “Adding insult to injury. Didn’t know how good we had it.” He spins the cap back onto the bottle with a metallic little hiss. “Anyway,” he places the second glass down in front of Dream. “How was your day?”

At this Dream stands, eyes passing over Hob’s hair, falling to his shoulders, then down to his feet. “You are wet.”

“Yeah. Did you not hear the whole vitriolic spiel just now?”

Dream looks at him like he’s stupid. “You are still in your wet clothes.” He clarifies, emphasising each word even more than usual, his eyes glinting with mockery.

Hob swallows his mouthful of wine. “Yeah, well.”

“Your socks, at least.” Dream suggests. And Hob makes a show of rolling his eyes, putting his wineglass down, and slouching back to the door.

He bends to pull off his sodden socks, and they hit the floor with a wet and heavy splat. “Meugh,” his lip curls. His eyes slide back to Dream and he resists rolling them. “Happy?” He crows, arms wide.

“Are you?”

He wiggles his damp toes against the floorboards, head tilting to the side. “Better. At least.” He concedes.

“You ought to get out of your wet layers.”

“When did you become mother hen?” But by now Hob is struggling to keep up the fever pitch of his frustration, a smile starting to tug at his words.

“If you do not want my help…” Dream turns his back on him, picking up his wineglass.

“No! No. Of course I do.” He’s still playing along with the teasing, but it’s true. Always. And Dream knows it. He turns towards Hob again, a smug little smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Hob holds his hands out to his sides, letting them fall back against his thighs. “Help me?”

Dream scoffs, but the smirk is still in place as he sets his glass down and walks over to Hob in the entryway. “How you survived centuries between our meetings I will never know,” he tuts, plucking at Hob’s unbuttoned overshirt, slipping it down off his shoulders, then free from each wrist.

“Made a deal with a lady.” Hob parries back, but it sounds distant even to him, far too hypnotised by watching Dream’s movements to commit to continuing their banter.

“Mm. Quite.” Dream draws the neck of Hob’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and, assessing that it, too, is insufficiently dry, pulls it upwards. Hob is pliant, and increasingly calm in his grip.

Hob is shirtless for barely a second before there is a soft warmth sliding up his arms. Something that looks a little like a smoking jacket but feels more like a soft fleecy dressing gown has been conjured within Dream’s palm and his being fitted neatly across his shoulders. It feels like sinking into a warm bath. The warmth between sleep and wakefulness. The heavy-muscled heat of laying close to a fire for long night hours. And Hob can’t help the full-body contented sigh that comes out of him. He feels his shoulders relax down an entire inch. His head almost falls forward, eyes closed, ready to drop right off to sleep.

“Is that not better?”

“Mm,” Hob shuffles closer. “Better,” he agrees, curling his hands into the sweeping lapels of Dream’s coat and, allowing his eyes to finally close, drops his head against Dream’s shoulder.

“We are only half done.” Dream says after several seconds of silence and stillness from Hob.

Hob huffs against his neck. “You just wanna see me in my pants. Cheeky.”

“You’re impossible.” Hob can hear the smile in Dream’s words. Smiles in return, hidden against his neck, as Dream’s hands snake around his back and hold him in a warm, impossibly fond embrace. And Hob melts against him a little further.

“S’me. Impossible. Wearing a robe my love just conjured from the ether. Which is very normal.”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable.”

“I am, love,” he promises, voice soft, all fight and frustration drained from him. “So comfy. 'n I promise I’ll take off the trousers in a minute.” He sighs, deep and cleansing. “Can we just go to bed? I know it’s still early but fuck I’d love this day to be over.”

Dream’s hands press tighter against him, soothing up and down his back. “You will hear no complaints from me,” he murmurs against Hob’s temple, pressing a featherlight kiss into his hair.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sandman #sandman fanfic #my fic #fluffbruary #why not. itll be february again eventually

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vinnianlovesdinosaurs · 1 month

Text

House of the Dragon Hot Take #6

I think it's time to voice my opinions on a few things that include both teams because I feel like in most of these posts I'm just blatantly staying neutral so here we go 😮‍💨

Joffrey Lonmouth and Vaemond Velaryon getting murdered - Both terrible injustices and a blatant display of ignorance from Daemon and Criston Cole. Neither should be celebrated or seen as "cool."

Daemon and Rhaenyra - Not a good ship at all I'm sorry. To be honest I don't think any ship involving Daemon is a good one because he's abusive, neglectful, selfish, and a pedophile.

Rhaenyra and Alicents victim-hood - Should not be compared in any way shape or form. They are both victims in their own right and they BOTH deserve better.

Blood and Cheese - I know most Team Green AND Team Black stans agree with me on this one because it was absolutely unforgivable. Daemon had an innocent child beheaded. Let's not ignore that a rape threat was used against a little girl and a distressed mother.

THE Driftmark incident - Both parties were in the wrong in their own ways here. Aemond didn't deserve to lose his eye, Lucerys didn't deserve practically having a death threat made towards him by full grown adults and his uncle who knew better than him, Rhaenyra didn't deserve to have her arm sliced open, Aegon didn't deserve to have the blame placed on him and he especially didn't deserve to be hit for it, and Alicent didn't deserve to be cast aside like that and ignored.

Laena's Funeral (Pre- Aemond becoming One-eyed) - Honestly justice for my precious girl Laena because WTF even was that mess of a funeral? Her uncle was spewing vitriol at literal children during the ceremony, her husband laughed and was practically eye-fucking his niece, and then Daemon and Rhaenyra end up fucking like three hours later?? 😭

Viserys I Targaryen - I hate this man. He was a shit father to all of his children. He was a shit husband to both of his wives. He was a shit king. He was a shit friend. He was a shit brother. A PEDOPHILE JUST LIKE HIS MF BROTHER !! AND HE'S A RAPIST !! #Viserys should have died sooner

Aegon II, Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Rhaena, Baela, Aegon III, Viserys II, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey - Honestly, I sympathize with every single one of these children. They were all raised in terrible environments with immature people all around them. Most of them were practically abused.

Harwin Strong - Justice for my man. He loved Rhaenyra, Larys, Lyonel, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey with all his heart.

Laenor Velaryon - JUSTICE FOR MY MAN!!! He was ridiculed, bullied, and blatantly used almost every day of his life for who he was. His lover was murdered right in front of him, his selfish ass father refused to accept him, and he had jokes made about his sexuality while he was grieving his dead sister that he didn't get to see for 10 years.

Rhaenyra and Criston Cole - The whole fucking situation grossed me out tbh. I understand Rhaenyra was under the influence and confused from what just happened to her but she practically coerced Criston.

Aemma Arryn and Rhea Royce - Justice for my wives ASAP!! Aemma was used as a breeding mule and Rhea was murdered by her weirdo fucking husband.

The Iron Throne - In my true opinion, I do agree that Rhaenyra was the rightful heir, but in truth neither her or Aegon were good rulers in their own ways. AT ALL.

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meabh-mcinness · 7 months

Note

Anon that requested runaway!SO Narnia prompt here, and my heart squeezed when I saw you put it in your list. Thank you so much!

Saw your post, and I love the idea for it to take place before the 13th Deviculum, it changes Narnia's vitriol towards Iruma so much.

I don't believe that he doesn't think that Iruma's fame (as the Misfits are apparently a household name and in papers) DIDN'T influence his lover leaving him in a bid for freedom! Maybe he noticed that she had been paying attention to whatever news they got of Iruma's antics, like him even attending his first Deviculum.

Makes his beef with Iruma personal, if Narnia even slightly blamed the poor bean's (seemingly intentional) tendency to stand out as what put ideas in her head when she was pretty content to stay before.

(Actually, my first idea about why the SO leapt to the nuclear option of vanishing and not talking it out, prompt happening after-deviculum, was because he knocked her up. And girl got SO scared for her child, since at that point he revealed that he still hated 'dirty humans' and it fed into her pre-existing insecurities about how he kept her secret from everyone he knew, why he never married her in any kind of demonic ritual, and fed her growing misassumption that she was basically a pet that he didn't think was acceptable for demonic society.

Culminating into a major freak out when the SO found out she was going to have a half-human baby.

Like, would he want to keep her child? Would they be raised to never know that their mother was human, with the belief that her heritage made them weak compared to full-blooded demon children? Would Narnia still keep her secret and introduce their child to society as without a mother, without her?

...most of her worries aren't quite true, as imo Narnia *wasn't* trying to treat her like a mistress/guilty secret wife, it was mostly his yandere tendencies and unrestrained demonic territorial possessiveness talking and getting irrationally jealous of possible competition, of anyone else taking up her attention.

Part of it is because Narnia doesn't have many trusted allies (friends) that weren't also co-workers (and thus can recognize a human) and wouldn't set his instincts off! And he got way too comfortable with their current lifestyle, since he was probably an intensely private demon in the first place.

Truly a misundestanding of tragic proportions. Were it Kalego in his position, he could at least be alright to introduce her to Balam, and Balam Shichiro could have gotten a human to eventually open up and communicate about their discontent and gotten things addressed. Alas, this isn't a Kalego story, though it might be interesting to have one where Kalego and the Sullivan household come together over their secret humans, hehe.

But Narnia's SO hasn't been in a good place mentally and emotionally, not for a long time, and worked herself into an irrational panic that culminated into a flight into the night decision.

Sorry, this took so long to get out! I hope I've lived up to your expectations! My beta tells me this made her tear up a bit so I'm hoping it has the same effect for everyone but enjoys it anyways.

The Price of Freedom - request (Yandere!Narnia x fem!reader)Ⓐ

Narnia keeps you trapped on the property to keep you safe from the rest of the Netherworld and while his intentions are good he's doing more harm than intended. After all, humans are social pack animals meant to be able to roam about wild and free. And while there are exceptions to every rule, you are not one of them. So when you see a chance to leave, you take it. Leaving your heart behind but gaining your freedom in the process.

Also, this is a two-parter! The first part is angst but I haven't decided if our little couple here will get a happy ending or not yet. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

You took a deep breath, glancing over at the slumbering body holding yours. His long hair was fanned out behind him and his pale skin practically gleamed even in the darkness of the room. Soon enough, his alarm would go off, and those dark eyes would open blearily, and he'd grumble while trying to turn it off and pull you closer. Eventually, he'd give in, wake up more with a smile and a kiss for you and get ready for the day. It was a daily routine that had lasted for a few years now, and it was one you loved.

Your heart clenched at the fact that this would probably be the last morning it ever happened.

Your eyes travelled all the lines of his face, taking in every detail that you could, hoping to memorize them to the best of your ability. You had plenty of photos stored away, that you already knew you would take out over and over again until they faded with age and even afterwards, but no photo could ever beat seeing him in person. You were tempted to gently run your fingers over his cheeks and down his hair but knew he would wake up immediately, startled.

He was such a light sleeper due to the years of growing up under the Naberius household that you always tried hard to not make too much noise or movements so that he could sleep in when he could. And as this would be the last time you laid beside him, you wanted to enjoy this moment. To have time freeze over this peace, and not have the negative feelings swirling through your body running circles in your mind. To leave this all behind no matter how much you loved it because you couldn't stay caged in any longer.

But you couldn't. As a human, you held no magic beyond what the power of runes and already magic-infused items could give you, much less the amount of power needed to freeze time itself. So instead, here you lay, trying to absorb as much as possible because the moment that he leaves property lines, you would be getting to work. You had even purposefully made a bit of a mess last night and promptly shoved the both of you to bed so that you would have an excuse on why you were moving things about if he came back early for whatever reason.

You could only hope he didn't come home early.

Today had been forecasted to be nice and sunny until the afternoon rolled around with thunderstorms. If you timed it right, you'd be able to pack everything up, leave and make it to town right before the storms hit, with several hours to spare for the rain to wash away your trail. Otherwise, if the rain came early you would be stuck here until the next time such an opportunity presented itself, and who knew when that would be? More than likely you would have gone stir-crazy before that happened, and who knew what kind of damage you would do when that happened?

Not that this idea was much better. Had this been a more ordinary relationship, you would have easily just talked out the fact you had wanderlust and gone out to visit new places. Instead, as much as you loved Narnia, you could admit he was a bit paranoid and even straight-up territorial about your standing in this world. Always going on about the dangers of this world and wanting to keep you here in this safe bubble of a home he had made for the two of you.

Not that it was without reason. The Netherworld was indeed a harsh place and there were so many dangers just out your front door, much less the rest of this big bad world. And yet the human world was not without its dangers as well, and while you knew many threats had magic which left you at quite the disadvantage, you could at least protect yourself semi-well. Narnia had seen to that with what started as daily training sessions, which slowly moved to once every few days then to a few times a month as you proved more proficient, and he gained harder and harder cases to solve.

At first, you hadn't thought much of it. Even in the human world, it was quite often that schedules could get packed. You would have been fine with it if you had something to do other than roam this tiny amount of land. Instead, you were trapped here like a prized pet in a cage, forever waiting for your precious master to return. You couldn't live like that. Not anymore at least.

Suddenly your thoughts were broken by the sharp tones of his alarm. You couldn't help the startled movement you made, having not fully expected it to go off so soon. This in turn startled Narnia awake. His eyes snapped open and immediately focused on you before swiping the room for any danger.

You gave him a sheepish smile, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Narnia brushed off your apology with a casual wave of his hand and leaned in to give you a soft, lingering kiss. A large pale hand caresses your face and sweeps into your hairline to pull you in closer. It was a sweet morning ritual, one that you cherished. He tasted like roses and dark chocolate with a hint of mint, a flavour unique to him. His lips were warm and inviting, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the impending departure.

Breaking the kiss, Narnia slipped out of bed, his movements fluid and graceful. He grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and headed for the bathroom. You watched him as he moved, his silhouette bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

He began his usual morning routine, the sounds of running water and the clinking of toiletries filling the air. You couldn't help but smile as you listened. It was the ordinary moments like these that you would miss the most.

While he showered, you took the opportunity to slip out of bed and start preparing for the day ahead. You retrieved a backpack from the closet and began packing it with essential items: clothes, food, a first aid kit, and a map of the Netherworld. You knew you'd have to travel light, but you wanted to be as prepared as possible for whatever lay ahead.

As you worked, you couldn't help but glance over towards where Narnia in the bathroom would be. You could hear him humming a tune over the splashing of water, likely with a contented expression on his face as he went about his routine. It was moments like these that made leaving even harder.

But you couldn't stay. Your longing for adventure, for freedom, had grown too strong to ignore. And so, you continued to pack, determined to make the most of the time you had left with him. After packing the essentials in your backpack, you carefully zipped it up and placed it under the bed, hidden from plain view. You couldn't risk Narnia stumbling upon it and asking questions before you were ready to explain your decision.

With that task completed, you moved on to the next item on your agenda: breakfast. You headed to the kitchen, quietly so as not to disturb Narnia in the bathroom. You had learned to navigate this small cottage with a gentle touch, ensuring that your movements were subtle and silent. In the kitchen, you gathered the ingredients for a simple breakfast - eggs, toast, and a few vegetables. As you cracked the eggs into a bowl and started whisking them, the aroma of cooking filled the air, a comforting and familiar scent that made your heart ache with nostalgia.

By the time Narnia emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, you had already set the table for two. He gave you a warm smile as he approached, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Smells delicious," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You returned his smile and turned to face him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Just a little something to start your day off right," you replied, trying to sound as normal as possible despite the turmoil in your heart. Together, you shared a quiet breakfast at the cozy table, the two of you lost in your thoughts. Narnia talked about his plans for the day, the cases he needed to solve, and the colleagues he'd be meeting with. You listened attentively, offering words of encouragement and support.

As the time for Narnia to leave for work approached, you couldn't help but feel the weight of impending separation bearing down on you. You walked him to the door, his hand in yours, and shared a lingering kiss before he stepped outside.

He gave you a weird look, seemingly studying you, causing you to pause and tilt your head at him in response with the most curious look you could muster, before he shook his head and went back to making sure he had his things for work. You felt your body relax at passing whatever test that had been. You could thank the fact that years of wearing a mask in the human world also helped you here, even if you didn't much like why you were using it now.

You gave him a smile and leaned up on your toes to give him a kiss. 'Your last kiss' your mind supplied. What a shame you had to pass it off as your regular see-you-later rather than pour everything you had into it like you wanted to. But that would be suspicious, and he would want to stay longer or it might make him think you were in the mood and stay for a completely different reason. As much as you wanted the touch of his body one more time, you couldn't have it. Not without messing up your carefully laid out plan.

"Have a good day at work!" You chirped at him before waving him off with a laugh as he grumbled under his breath about how no day at work without you was a good day. You leaned against the door frame as you admired the large leathery wings that suddenly burst from his back, the appendages giving a few small flutters to stretch themselves out before he took off into the dawning sky with another wave at you.

You gave him another small wave in return and watched until you could no longer see him on the horizon. Even then you gave it a few seconds to see if he happened to turn around. It wouldn't be the first time he'd purposely forgotten something so that he could come back and spend a few more moments with you. Once those few seconds passed you deemed it safe to carry on with your plan. With Narnia gone for the day, you had a limited window of opportunity to execute your plan. You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear as you prepared to embark on the journey that would take you far away from the life you had known, and into the unknown.

You only had a few hours to tear this place apart, grab everything you could, put it back together again and be on your way to a new life. It wouldn't be easy as you first went back into the bedroom and stripped the bed of everything. Throwing the sheets into the laundry and tossing your personal pillows aside to be packed later. Next, as the blankets washed, you scoured the walls and frames for every photo of you that you could find. There was an almost surprising amount of them, considering both your and Narnia's aversion to photos, but you supposed that anyone would want to have captured moments when they were in a relationship.

Had this been a normal relationship perhaps you would be packing everything up for a completely different reason. Perhaps moving into a bigger home than this little one-bedroom cottage, or even moving things aside until renovations were done to expand this one. However, this wasn't a normal relationship, and you couldn't entertain the idea of it ever being so any longer.

With every delicate movement, you took great care to erase any trace of your existence from the cottage. You gathered any personal belongings that tied you to this place, from clothing to small trinkets, and stowed them away in your backpacks, making sure not to leave behind a single item that might raise suspicion. The cottage itself bore no signs of your occupancy; the walls were stripped of photos, the bedroom was bare other than his belongings, and even the living room was devoid of any of your personal touches.

You took a deep breath as you stood in the now almost empty cottage, a sense of finality washing over you. It really was as if you had never lived there at all. With one last glance around, you knew it was time to leave. Gathering up your bags you took a deep breath as you took in the boundary line from where the property ended and the next one began. You knew from several small tests that there were no wards that would alert Narnia to your leaving. A serious oversight on his part that you were happily taking advantage of. As you stared at the line you couldn't help but think of Samwise from Lord of the Rings and couldn't but wonder if this is how it felt for him to leave his home behind for a big adventure.

Heart pounding and veins singing you made the first step across, then another and another until you laughed at the fluttering of pleasure that coursed through you. The imaginary shackles that had bound were falling free as you walked determinedly onward towards your new life. You wanted to stop and observe every plant and animal you came across, but you had a long way to go still and you could already smell the rain on the horizon.

Yet, deep within you, a tiny spark of hope flickered, for you were on the path to a new beginning, and the possibilities of the unknown stretched out before you like an open book, waiting to be written.

________

Narnia landed more harshly than he meant to in his attempt to get inside from the torrential downpour quicker. Mud splattered as high as his thighs from his hard crouched landing before he straightened up again to move towards the door. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so anxious to get home, but something in his veins told him that something was wrong. He hadn't gotten this far in life by entirely ignoring his instincts, and yet he couldn't think of anything that could be wrong.

Well. Besides the way you had been acting lately that was.

He wasn't blind, he had known there was something off with you. You had been steadily getting more and more twitchy, almost like a caged beast in too small of a kennel. Perhaps you were entering some kind of new phase? Like when birds moulted old feathers to make new ones, perhaps you were going through something similar but a more human body version? Your skin had peeled several times over the years, so perhaps a more involved version appeared when you hit a new phase. Such a thing would certainly make him twitchy.

As he came closer to the door, forcefully coming out of his thoughts, he realized that all the lights were off. This wasn't too unusual. You had a habit of occasionally going to bed early or watching TV late and purposefully leaving the lights off for a better ambience. But after the weird way you acted this morning and the feeling he had all day, it just made him feel more anxious.

Wrenching the door open, he quickly stalked into the living room, shaking his head much like a dog to get the excess water off his hair before tilting his head to the side. He listened carefully for either the low sounds of music or the TV or even just your steady breathing.

Nothing. It was absolutely silent. Heart pounding, he raced through all the rooms, praying that he would find you simply dozing off and would berate him for waking you. You would laugh before comforting him over his silly anxiety, and everything would be perfectly fine.

Only it wasn't. As he swung the last door open into your shared bedroom, water still trailing behind him, it hit him that you really weren't here. As his eyes swept over every inch, he finally registered none of you was here. The photos on the walls were missing, and your half of the closet was empty. Hell, even your pillows were gone, the bed freshly laundered and remade to look like only one person slept in it.

With this sudden realization, he tore back through the house carefully to confirm what he already knew. Everything you owned, every craft you had made, every book he had bought you, was gone.

You were gone.

If it wasn't for the faintest scent of you still trapped in the furniture, it would have been as if you had never even existed. As if you hadn't spent literal years together here in this home, cuddling on the couch or playing board games on the table. As if you had never had mini cooking wars in the kitchen that usually ended with you both laughing and kissing the food off one another or in the large tub relaxing as the warm herb-infused waters soaked into your muscles.

Had someone taken you? Had someone noticed your existence and decided they wanted you for themselves? Taken you against your will and made it look like you didn't exist so that he couldn't go to anyone for help without looking crazy? Or perhaps, since such a thorough job was done, had Border Patrol swept in without his knowledge? Purposefully kept him out of the loop with an important enough job to ensure he couldn't stop them.

But no, Henri would have kept him from leaving and questioned him regardless. Always playing by the rules, Henri did, and that left him, for the most part, predictable. So not Border Patrol then. But who else? Perhaps Baal? He hadn't been as subtle as he could have been in trying to figure out if Narnia was willing to return to origins. Had he discovered you when trying to stake Narnia out and gotten rid of you?

At the thought, a feral growl ripped out of Narnia, and he ran out of the house and back into the rain in the hopes of catching some kind of trail. With it raining as hard and long as it had, all scents and tracks would be long gone, so the only thing he had left was to feel out any foreign magic that would have been used and try to track that. And yet, no matter how hard he tried or how much power he threw into his wards, he couldn't find any recent detection of foreign magic. None at all. Even the local mail demon flying in would have left something to follow.

It was almost as if...but no, that was impossible. There was absolutely no way you would have left on your own. You knew the dangers and never strayed further than a couple of yards from the walls of your home. Even then you didn't usually go further than your flower beds, or food gardens in the back. With a snarl, Narnia turned back and raced back through the house more closely, determined to find even the smallest clue.

As Narnia's desperate search through the house came to an agonizing conclusion, he stood in your shared bedroom, drenched in rainwater, his chest heaving with anxiety and disbelief. Your absence was undeniable, and the once-familiar space now felt alien and hollow. His racing thoughts continued to churn with questions and fears, each one more unsettling than the last. The eerie silence in the house seemed to mock his growing panic.

Unable to accept the possibility of your disappearance, he clutched at straws, desperately searching for any sign of your presence. He scanned the room, running his fingers over the empty hangers in the closet and the vacant space on your side of the bed. The absence of your cherished belongings was a stark reminder of your absence.

With trembling hands, Narnia stumbled upon something that sent a shiver down his spine. A faint but lingering scent of you still clung to the furniture, a trace of the life you had shared together in this very room. It was both a cruel reminder of what had been and a glimmer of hope that you hadn't vanished entirely.

His heart ached as he clung to that scent, unwilling to let go of the memories and the love that had defined their life together. But as the minutes passed, reality continued to gnaw at him, and he realized he needed answers, no matter how painful they might be. Turning away from the room that had once been filled with your presence, Narnia retraced his steps, still soaked from the rain. His determination to find you grew stronger with every passing moment. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not without knowing the truth.

Tripping in his haste he fell to his knees next to the coffee table in the living room. With shaking limbs, he started to force himself to get up when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Laying innocently on the ground, a folded-up piece of parchment, his name written in your distinctive shaky handwriting. You never did get the hang of writing the demonic characters simply because you couldn't practice properly with the spell forcing you to see the letters in your own language but writing in his.

His emotions churned as he approached the letter, a fragile piece of paper that held the key to your mysterious departure. With trembling hands, he unfolded it and began to read. The words on the page weighed heavily on his heart, each sentence cutting deeper into his soul.

His hands trembled as his eyes scanned the letter quickly, hoping for some clue about where you were, only to grow more despondent the further he read. A pained howl tore from him as he took in what exactly your letter had meant, and he hadn't even realized he had started crying until the letters started bleeding together from his tears. With a choked gasp, he immediately wiped the tears away and tried to fan the letter dry again.

This letter was the only thing he had left from you besides the flowers you had planted outside. He had to take perfect care of it all. Had to keep it well until he could find you again. Because he would find you, no matter what it took. If you wanted the freedom to explore, then you could have it, just as long as you came back home-- back to him. His voice quivered with whimpers as he clutched the letter tightly to his chest, his heart aching with love and longing for the one who had vanished from his life.

To My Beloved Narnia,

As I sit here writing this letter, I can only think of all the moments we've shared together.

From our first meeting to our last embrace this morning, our courtship has been

nothing but a source of joy in my life. Sometimes, though, love isn't enough to make

something work. And I've come to the painful decision that we need to separate, at

least for a while. I will always cherish the moments and memories we shared and I am

sorry for the pain that this may cause you, but I can no longer do this. Humans are

not meant to be caged, no matter how nice that cage is. I need to be free, to be able

to go out and about, meet others, and explore this world, even if it's at the cost

of losing you. I'm truly sorry it came to this, and I will love you always.

Forever Yours

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thricedead · 18 days

Text

"AMATONORMATIVITY" MAY BE REAL IN A WAY, BUT ITS PRIMARY TARGETS ARE NOT AROMANTIC PEOPLE

* Do not call me, the writer of this post, "allo" or "an allo" in any manner. I am a gay victim of CSA and repeated relationship abuse, and my relationship to romance and sex is shaped by a lifetime of trauma. If you trivialize me into your "allo boogeyman", my response will not be kind

I spent hours upon hours yesterday in the "amatonormativity" tag, reading blog posts from over a hundred individuals as well as longer entries structured as articles and even excerpts from published books - you can't accuse me of pulling a definition of "amatonormativity" out of my ass, because I approached it with great attention and made detailed notes to identify those characteristics of "amatonormativity" that are universally considered to be present and harmful, and to discard the personal opinions of more extreme individuals. It is not my intention to engage with people whose revulsion towards romance comes from a place of personal trauma, but to challenge and refute the seemingly VERY popular idea that there is a societal construct/axis of power present in *all of society* that forces *all people* to couple romantically, and that romantically coupled people hold innate power over lifelong singles.

...every single trait of "amatonormativity" that aro bloggers universally bring up can be attributed to a different, pre-existing oppressive construct. Mainly "amatonormativity" is a jumbled mix of patriarchal/misogynistic ideals, consumerism and white supremacy. Also, the supposed equation of amatonormativity falls completely into trash when you try to include mentally and physically disabled people, homosexual and transgender people, mainly.

Familial/peer pressure to find a partner is cited as a form of amatonormative abuse most often. However, this is plainly a patriarchal standard. People perceived as women and men alike are expected to pander to the patriarchy by partnering - women, because they are still valued mainly as objects of beauty and belonging, which is to say, romantic partners. Lifelong single women are not harassed because they are single, but because they are unavailible to men. You can see this being true because lesbians are pressured by their families to partner with men in the same vein acearo women are - if amatonormativity were real, f/f relationships would be generally seen as an acceptable happy end for a woman... but partnered gay and bisexual (in f/f relationships) women still face abuse ranging from pressure to turn to dating men, invasive questions about their relationships, conversion therapy, corrective rape, forced marriages, violence and murder. Don't try to say "but my family would rather I date a woman than no-one at all!". If it's so, you are one in a million, and even then you surely have relatives and friends who think the opposite. Believing that a woman needs a (male) partner to be fulfilled is not "amatonormativity". It is misogyny.

As for men, they are pressured to find (female) partners in order to take their "rightful" place within the patriarchy. This is not "misandry" by the way - this is an extension of women being perceived as a man's right. A man who does not have a woman is perceived as lesser because of patriarchal standards, and is seen as emasculated and unable to wield patriarchal power. Likewise, homosexual and bisexual (in m/m relationships) men are not accepted by society just because they are partnered. They face violence, vitriol and mockery on a worldwide scale. Your parents are not asking you if your friend of the opposite gender is your partner & "who do you have a crush on" because of "amatonormativity" - they are doing so because of patriarchal expectations.

The idea of a nuclear family and monetary benefits to having one is also often cited as amatonormativity. But *the concept of a nuclear family was pushed as an antiblack political move, primarily to target Black single mothers and families that do not fit a white western ideal*. It is a racialized construct, and first and foremost a tool of white supremacy. Though nonblack singles also suffer the unfair tax brackets and marital expectations, they are not its primary targets, and if anything are proof that white people are willing to sacrifice even the more misfortunate of their own for a sliver of a chance to hurt and control Black citizens. This is antiblackness, not "amatonormativity".

The third problem, the one i see cited alongside the first two even though I do not consider them to hold equal weight, is the oversaturation of media with themes of romance and sex, celebration of Valentine's day, couples' merchandise and so on. *This is just consumerism*. Romance and sex sell so they will produce more romance and sex to sell more. It's lame, and I am against the trivialization of love in order to sell it as a cheap product. I empathize with the fact that the media you love is filled with cheap romance, because I'm not a huge fan of the genre and am especially uninterested in m/f romance. But this is not an unique struggle. You can argue that m/m and f/f relationships have been gaining more representation in media, but this is largely because companies figured out that they can make money off of them. Gay media largely does not exist because gay love is celebrated and valued. *It is a product to sell*. Gay couples in media are not "amatonormative" - they are facets of consumerism or gay artists' yearnings (and those aren't aimed at hurting you, and aren't the real issue).

Lastly... how can you claim that the pressure to partner is universal, when eugenics and marriage inequality exist? Mentally disabled people - autistic people with support needs, people with learning disabilities, speech impediments, personality disorders - we are all purposefully desexualized and deromanticized as well as demonized or infantilized for the sake of preventing us from partnering and reproducing. *This is ableism, and its goal is to isolate and exterminate disabled people from society.* Physically disabled people are desexualized and infantilized to an even higher degree, people whose appearances reflect their disability are demonized *and most prominently, people lose their disability benefits if they get married. This is eugenicist violence, and its goal is to weed out disabled people from society.* Where is "amatonormativity" now? Disabled people are not even allowed to dream of partnering.

And the gays you blame for reinforcing amatonormativity and forcing their love upon you? *In many places, gay and bisexual people are systemically encouraged to be celibate through religious abuse*. A gay person remaining celibate is deemed as virtuous! When I came out to my mother, she told me that she could accept my inclinations "so long as I don't commit physical sin". Gay people are not encouraged to partner. Never have been, never will be. Gay people also face medicalization of our orientation, conversion therapy, forced marriage and corrective rape. Gay people also have straight standards shoved down our throats. But we are not your oppressors. Gay love is encouraged exclusively in gay circles, and if you condemn our expression of our love that has always been repressed and demonized, don't cry when you make enemies here.

What about transgender people? Transgender people - especially transgender woman - are painted by cisheteropatriarchy as sexual deviants, as predators looking to corrupt. They are not encouraged to partner - no, not even transhets. They are deemed unloveable. They are wanted alone, miserable, and then dead. Where is "amatonormativity"?

In conclusion, the idea of "amatonormativity" stands on legs so shaky they can't be called legs. What you are trying to isolate is actially an intersection of the cisheteropatriarchy, white supremacy and capitalist consimerism. I understand that aromantic people face difficulties, I do. I understand you feel frustrated and want a simple construct to make an enemy of. But you can't dismantle "amatonormativity" alone because it is a delicate net of far more complex axes of power. Focus your strength on dismantling the patriarchy, white supremacy, ableism and capitalism. When women, gay and trans people, Black people and other people of color and disabled people are free, no one will turn on you so long as you don't shoot stray bullets in your pointless war on romantic love.

Feel free to respectfully comment and offer your differing opinions, because I really want this discussed.

#amatonormativity #aromantic #mutuals ask if you need anything tagged

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deadmenandthedivine · 8 months

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DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter seven: the fate of wagging tongues

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5746

“May I present Princess Maetilda Targaryen, first of her name, Lady of Runestone. Daughter to Prince Daemon Targaryen and his late wife Lady Rhea Royce!”

There were more people gathered in the Throne Room of the Red Keep than she had ever seen gathered at Dragonstone, outside of tourneys. The crowd was similar in size to that of her late stepmother’s funeral. Oh, the delightful spectacle that was her family’s fate. The logic of it was painfully reasonable. Of course the Realm would care to know. The state of her family was thought to reflect the state of the kingdom. What troubled the Crown, troubled its people. A healthy royal family was more likely to bring forth a thriving realm. Reversely, every little argument or skirmish was the omen of their collective downfall. Nothing could ever just be what it was. Especially the Hearing. It was not simply the settling of an inheritance; it would also set a precedent. If Lucerys’s inheritance was ruled illegitimate, so too could his mother’s. Maetilda’s mind struggled to imagine what would happen without the favor of such precedent, but she knew the entire conclusion would be disastrous. She had entered the hall alone, and was announced on her own. She bore a title that her brothers did not. She held an inheritance that no one disputed, no one questioned. One that even the Arryns of the Eyrie backed. Their house and that of her mother had been respectful rivals for generations, constantly waged in honorable competition. They were the far less vitriolic Blackwoods and Brackens. The Royces of Runestone had knelt to the Arryns of the Eyrie at the end of the Era of the Bronze Kings. All because one Keep was easier to defend than the other. Yet they all knew who held more power. An older branch of the Royce family held the Keep of the Arryn’s winter home. Surnames of Royce could be found all throughout the Vale. Their blood ran deeper than any ocean or valley. Lady Rhea had been loved and respected, and thus her only child was too. If only the same treatment could have been extended toward the girl’s step brothers. Ser Laenor himself had loved the boys, and treated them as his own. No matter what the whispers had said.

The princess descended the front steps alone, just as she had entered, with no man on her arm to accompany her. It was a symbol of strength. A calculated move that her father had dictated long ago. It would especially help that day. Without his daughter’s own strength in legitimacy, his wife would have even less of a leg to stand on. While Rhaenyra had the King’s word, the King no longer sat present at court. Instead his prudent and pious wife and her shrewd Hightower father took his place. The two of them stared down over the court with owlish eyes, watching every move. Ser Otto stood higher up the steps than his only daughter, ready to sit when the proceeding began. Indistinct whispering filled the room as Maetilda made her way over to the side of the room where her father and stepmother stood. Eyes watched her steps for any sign of falter. Lucerys stood towards the front, next to his mother, in full view of the court. He tried to hide his nerves, but the princess could tell by the shifting of his weight from leg to leg that he was ready to run at a moment’s notice. Jacaerys stood next to her father. He was more impassioned than anxious. His shoulders rolled back in an honorable and confident manner. He looked dignified and respectful. Firm and just. Just as the heir’s heir should. Both princes were dressed similarly in red and black. Dragons decorated their surcoats, collars, and jewelry. The princess’s attire fit in well with theirs. Maetilda assumed the small spot next to Jace. Ser Gunthor flanked behind her in his full bronze armor regalia.

With a scan of the room, the princess quickly determined that they were all waiting on her cousin, Princess Rhaenys. The Queen that Never Was never seemed to miss an opportunity to make an entrance. She had no problem with making the Court wait. It was a quality, among many others, that the princess had always admired in her older cousin — her confidence, her poise, her style, her discernment, her cunning. Even when all of Court was waiting on her, the princess-by-title felt nothing but awe towards the woman. The day before, Maetilda had noticed in the brief moments she saw the three just how much Rhaenys’ likeness had rubbed off on Baela and Rhaena. They had each followed on Rhaenys’ sides like Laena-esque clones. Even down to the way that they walked, the twins replicated each aspect of Rhaenys. The princess-by-title’s twin sisters had been raised by their royal grandmother ever since Lady Laena’s funeral, while Maetilda was kept on a ball-and-chain close by her father at all times. She often wondered what her life would have been like if Princess Rhaenys had taken her in too, but those were only privy dreams. The princess-by-title anxiously turned her head to look at her sworn knight behind her. It comforted her to know that no matter what, she would always have her friend at her side. Even when her family wasn’t, her knights were. When her eyes caught a glimpse of Ser Gunthor and his beautiful protection rune-covered armor, the knight had already seemed to have his eyes focused on something. He was looking just beyond her, straight over her head. She followed his eye, turning back around to find Prince Aemond staring back at them from his place with his mother and siblings on the high steps. The sight caused her to jump in surprise, not expecting it. Her cheeks heated up as she caught the attention of Jace who leaned toward her.

“Did you just spook?” He whispered as he held back laughter.

“Like a bloody horse.” She joked.

The prince laughed at his step sister’s expense before turning to his mother and stepfather. The two were whispering to each other off in their own world, and it was clear he wanted to know what they were saying. He did not spare his step sister another glance. Something she was thankful for, no more attention drawn her way. Prince Aemond’s gaze was unrelenting. It had not budged. Nervously, she glanced back at her knight. He had not moved, his stare had not broken either. For a moment, she wondered if the two had simply been innocently staring at each other, but she knew better than that. None of her knights had ever shown interest in pissing contests, certainly not one with the King’s second son. It was something she had always appreciated. They had always been more concerned about each individual hair on her head than how their names appeared on the tourney lists. Yet in that moment, her gut could not determine who had started the stand off. It told her the culprit could not have been her knight, but she also could not understand why the prince would have cared to stare otherwise. Had Ser Gunthor overheard something that had angered him? Her mind raced with possibilities. A small part of her worried for the worst. Perhaps the Hightowers had forgotten themselves completely and he overheard them question her. Her name, her title, her inheritance. She would be beyond naive to think the green-clad family would avoid stooping so low. From the very state of the castle, they had already proved they were not above treason. Deciding that whatever the reason may be, she would agree with her knight, the princess turned back toward her cousin and glared back at him. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders for good measure. She watched as his interest visibly peaked at her actions. He even had the audacity to smirk. As if by some miracle, the doors to the Throne Room opened behind them all. It gave her the perfect excuse to break their trance.

“I present Princess Rhaenys Targaryen of Driftmark, wife to Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Driftmark and Ser Lord of the Tides. She is accompanied by her granddaughters, Ladies Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, daughters to Prince Daemon Targaryen and late Lady Laena Velaryon.”

The princess’s sisters and their grandmother were beyond elegant; they were ethereal and imposing. They took the breath away from the entire room as they descended the steps and took their place behind Rhaenys’s late brother-in-law’s son, Ser Vaemond Velaryon. Gazes lingered on the three, including that of Maetilda’s, even after they had ceased walking. She wanted nothing more than to be like them, to be one of them. It was even harder to quell such feelings when she saw them together. Like watching a life she could have had play out in front of her eyes. A throat at the front of the hall loudly and pointedly cleared all obstructions in order to gain the room’s attention. Careful not to catch the prince’s eye again, Maetilda snapped her focus onto the Hightower as she turned.

“Though it is the hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.” Ser Otto began, his voice echoed across the hall from his position in front of her Uncle’s throne, “As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.”

With finality, he sat his pompous posterior on the chair of a thousand swords, “The Crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

Lord Vaemond was a proud man. She could tell by the glance he threw in her stepbrothers’ direction before he stepped forward before the court. His steps were slow and deliberate as they, too, echoed. His silver locks were pulled away from his face and he donned the ocean green colors of his house. He looked every bit the part of Lord of Driftmark. Perhaps Lucerys should have worn Velaryon colors too. Although she wondered if such a frivolous distinction would truly bring about a better outcome.

“My Queen,” The son of the second son bowed his head to Alicent before doing the same toward the Throne, “My Lord Hand.”

An uneasy air filled the room in the moment of his pause. He was relishing in his moment, smugly confident. He held his arms behind his back as if he were ready for any challenge. His chin was pointed straight into the air as if her entire family sat below it. Something in her gut told Maetilda that he seemed too confident. Wondering if she had been reading the man wrong or over thinking matters, she spared a glance toward her family to gauge their reactions. She spotted her father’s sharp stance and hawk-like eyes immediately. It was clear that he was feeling similarly, which was slightly comforting. It was even better to see his anger directed at someone that was not her after the morning they had.

“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.” His speech began, “When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that if they were to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name.”

As Vaemond spoke, the princess let her eyes move away from her family and about the room. From the looks spread across various faces, his words were resonating loud and clear. They seemed to hang onto his every word, cogs turning his sentences over in their heads. It was clear they held many meanings, both innocent and blasphemous. Her blood warmed at the thought of what he would say next. The faces of Court did not help to calm her. Before she could stop the thought from physically moving her muscles, she quickly glanced back at Aemond. His eye still had not moved. It seemed to have been fixed on her the entire time. An intense, unreadable stare.

The son of the second son fixed his surcoat before continuing with more diction, “I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my uncle’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood.”

Jace’s body stiffened next to her. She could see Lucerys do the same beside his mother out of the corner of her eye. Had the King been present, the knight would have been treading on thin ice. But the King was not present. Those with the deciding vote shared in the knight’s sentiments. Her family had yet to shake the nest, yet the wasps swarmed regardless. The little green wasps had begun to bite and sting, yet she knew the worst was to come. Aemond only smirked at the son of the second son’s implications. Their eyes remained locked together as the princess stewed. Of course, Aemond had made his own stance on the matters clear the night that Lucerys had taken his eye. He had used the treasonous slur and was questioned by the King in front of everyone. Yet, there a man with lesser standing stood and hurled the same venom — unharmed and likely to be rewarded. It must have felt gratifying for him. Knotting her hands behind her back, she sent Aemond a pointed glare before glancing back at her knight. Ser Gunthor stood as steadfast as always, eyes still pointed directly at the prince. She hoped that he had at least blinked. By the looks of him, she could not be sure.

“The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.” Lord Vaemond stole her focus and attention back onto himself.

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenyra remarked, audibly rolling her eyes, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambitions.”

“You will have your chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,” Alicent interjected firmly.

Not good. The green-clad peacocks would most certainly accuse Rhaenyra of hysterics if she continued with outbursts. They would claim she lacked foresight or patience. That was all they needed as proof. It would be all too convenient for them. As if to make her point, the son of the second son spun defiantly on his heel to face the King’s heir. Rhaenyra kept her gaze held forward at the Throne, not sparing a glance in the cocky man’s direction. Such attention would have only encouraged him.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.”

To punctuate his statement, he gave Lucerys a hard glance before turning back to face the Hightowers perched on the high steps, “My Queen, My Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my uncle’s successor, The Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond.” Ser Otto smiled curtly from the Throne.

The entire hall was silent aside from the footsteps of the proud knight returning to his spot in front of Princess Rhaenys. The weight of his words took time to be fully realized. He had truly implied treason in front of the King’s heir, the Hand, the Queen, and all of Court. He had done so with his full chest with no hesitation or remorse. Not one person voiced a complaint, aside from Rhaenyra herself. The Queen had defended his right to speak. For a moment, Maetilda had wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But of course, she locked eyes with her cousin once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration, only to rise in challenge when she looked at him. He was smug, he stood comfortably. Relaxed back with a majority of his weight on one of his legs. His arms were held behind his back. She wanted to slap the look off of his face, take her anger and uncertainty out on him. She wondered if he could sense it, her bloodthirsty rage. His face was getting harder and harder for her to read, more difficult than any book. Once again, she glanced back at her knight for reassurance. Was he seeing what she was? Did he know the castle well enough to smuggle her out if need be? He had his hand on the hilt of his sword. If any of the Kingsguard noticed, they could start an avalanche. She felt as if she were trapped inside a cauldron over a fire. The temperature would only grow hotter if she did not get out.

The second son on the chair of a thousand swords savored his next words. He rolled them around in his mouth with a proud smirk before he smugly granted, “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The princess-by-title felt no more comfortable as the Realm’s Delight took her own confident and defiant steps forward. Her moniker almost seemed to serve as a mockery in that very moment. All of the Realm seemed to look down upon her like the statues of the Seven that towered to the ceilings of the hall. Her hands were fidgety like Lucerys’s, despite how much she tried to keep an air of authority. Maetilda admired her stepmother. If nothing else, she was an incredibly brave and resilient woman. She killed boars, rode dragons, challenged the word of arrogant lords, endured many deaths of those close to her, and had even jumped in front of a valyrian steel dagger wielded by the Queen. She was much more than simply a delight. She was a force to be reckoned with. However, the world had been flipped on its head. The Heir seemed pathetically powerless in comparison to the Hightowers on the high steps. Her hands were tied. Despite the strength he brought in spades, all her husband behind her could do was stand menacingly and glare. Maetilda’s hair on her arms and neck stood on edge as she put the pieces together in her mind. All they seemed to have was names and looks and words, no bite to accompany their bark. While they were at Dragonstone, they had been leashed. Without any sort of warning. If the Hightowers truly had already made up their mind, there was nothing Rhaenyra could say or do.

Her own proclamation started off in an exasperated tone, “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very—“ Her words fell into nothing as the sound of the Great Hall’s doors squeaking open echoed above her.

The room simultaneously turned to the entrance, curious as to who would have the audacity to interrupt so late into their assembly. Tiredly bent in the center of the doorway stood the King. In all his grandeur. Maetilda’s heart skipped a beat before she dared to rub her right eye in order to assure she was not seeing anymore figures.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The page proudly announced.

The walking stick echoed about the room as His Grace made his dignified entrance. The entire room held their breath in awe before respectfully bowing their heads in greeting. Slowly but steadily, King Viserys limped down the steps and across the hall. His breath and pace were labored. His limbs shook from strain. His robe struggled to stay in place atop his frail, haggard shoulders. But he had never looked more strong, more kingly. The fires around the hall burned brighter as his presence blew a breath of life about the room. Maetilda stood straighter than she ever had before. She could not help the victorious grin that had spread across her face. The tables had turned. Rhaenyra’s words would no longer fall on closed ears. The King was there. Ser Otto descended from his unrighteous place to make way. His Grace huffed and puffed as he approached. Maetilda could have sworn she saw the Hightower tremble with fear. It filled her with the utmost pride.

“I will sit the throne today.” The King triumphantly declared.

“Your Grace,” Otto nodded.

Without another word, King Viserys began to climb the last set of stairs. He took to the first steps uneasily, stumbling back a bit. One of his Kingsguard rushed forward to assist him only to be exasperatedly shook off. The King’s niece had full confidence in him. He had made it all the way through the Red Keep already. The last steps would be the most familiar ones. Just as she knew he would, his Grace took each step at a time. But it was clear that the all-too-familiar steps seemed to be the hardest as his momentum was wearing thin. He hunched farther and farther over his walking stick as he relied on it to pull his body upward. Seeing him just turn down the knight, her feet felt planted in their spot. Internally, she prayed to the gods that had sent the black cloak away. She begged them to carry him up to his rightful place for all of the Court to see him. As if in direct answer, her father emerged forward. The rest of the hall seemed to be just as frozen as the princess. No Kingsguard reacted as he ascended the steps. The sound of metal clanking echoed from the front of the hall and up into the rafters, but the source was obscured by her father’s figure. As soon as he reached the King, the Rogue Prince gathered him before taking on a majority of his weight. The brothers finished the last steps together. The younger sat his elder in his rightful place and ceremoniously sat the displaced crown back onto Viserys’s head. With the most respect she had ever seen her father give someone, he bowed to the King before returning to the place he had previously occupied. The princess could have sworn she was still dreaming in her bed. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at breakfast. The King’s chest rose and fell with great effort as he sat up to begin speaking.

“I must… admit… my confusion.” He stated, “I do not understand why petitions are being held over a settled succession.”

The entire room shifted.

“The only one present… who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

The eyes around the hall were suddenly all on the Queen Who Never Was. She seemed hardly phased by them all. As if not a single one held any significance to her. She looked at no one, but her cousin. No other person was worthy of her knowledge or her gaze. It made one want to look at her all the more. Her presence was mesmerizing.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” She smirked before stepping forward.

Like a crane moving through water, she took soft, calculated strides to the front. Much like her husband’s nephew, Princess Rhaenys savored her moment. She assured that she had each and every ear and eye before she began, “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true-born son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

At her words, the entire hall lurched back in whispers and gasps. It should have been the reactions they had to Vaemond’s insults. Instead, it was in reaction to the King’s own will. Such a display nauseated the princess-by-title. The Kingdom truly had been turned on its head. But Rhaenys was not done.

“His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

The Court had lurched back in shock before, but they completely dissolved into hysterics after that. The lords and ladies around the room tried pathetically to keep their voices at a hush as they gossiped into each others’ ears. It was a watertight proposal, two watertight proposals. They politically sealed much of Rhaenyra and her brothers’ claim. Their only other problems would be Aegon, his two small boys, and Aemond. But they were a bridge to be crossed upon arrival. The entire hall seemed to be buzzing, yet the princess-by-title remained frozen in place. Maetilda felt like the floor had been pulled out from underneath her. All of her siblings of age had been betrothed in one fell swoop. She was happy for them, happy for what their marriages meant, but she was utterly terrified of what it meant for her. The last one left, the least desirable, the spinster. Her father had hated Runestone and everything about it, reminded her frequently. Perhaps no one wanted Runestone. Or worse, did not find the castle worth putting up with her. There had to be a deeper explanation. Her father allowed for his two other daughters to be engaged, both of them. But not her. She also felt guilty for thinking of herself in such a moment. A moment where she should have been congratulating her four siblings. Instead, she was thinking of herself and why her father did not love her like he loved her sisters. He had always spent more time with them, wrote more letters to them, and bought them more presents. She scolded herself for not seeing it coming sooner. Yet something about the entire arrangement felt too calculated. Like an internal pull she could not shake, her gut twisted with suspicion. Something wasn’t right. It did not feel right. Suddenly becoming aware of the dryness in her eyes, she blinked back out of her head. The King was wheezing as he spoke. He was listing off the titles that Corlys currently bore, likely proclaiming Lucerys to be the inheritor of them. She was not sure how long he had been speaking for, but the hall was eerily silent. Feeling an itch on her nose, she peaked at Aemond out of the corner of her eye to see if he had been watching her drown in her inner turmoil. He had been.

“You break law…” Vaemond stepped forward again with a menacing passion, “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who desires to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Once again, the entire room shifted. Was he mad? He was undoubtedly furious, but he had to have lost his head. After double checking that her knight was still located diligently behind her, the princess-by-title gawked at the son of late Lord Corwyn’s second son with an open mouth. It was like she could see the sword fight about to break out in front of her. Shoulders tensed, hands moved to hilts. The cauldron over the fire that they were all trapped in was about to boil over.

“Allow it?” The King dared, “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Vaemond stared at him blankly before shortly pivoting with an accusatory finger pointed at the boys, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra pushed her sons toward the doors before turning to the proud man, “You have said enough.”

The boys fell back, but moved no farther away. They were not children anymore. They would not run and hide at their mother’s command as they used to. Rather, they stood behind each side of her as she turned back to Ser Vaemond, ready to fight him with her bare hands alone. Her breath was heavy and uneven. Her fists shook with barely contained rage. She opened her mouth to spit insults back, only for her beloved father to start speaking in her place.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… no more than a second son of Driftmark.” The King reminded him.

“You… may run your house how you see fit… But you will not decide the future of mine.” Vaemond seethed, “My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. Gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this—“

He was smart enough to hold his tongue from speaking any farther. The air of the hall felt so hot and thick, it was as if it were on fire. And like a burning fire, the princess could not look away. She stared wide eyed in hardly masked horror. Her gut screamed for her to run. Whatever happened next would not be good. But she could not move, it would be inappropriate of her. All she could do was watch.

“Say it.” Her father smiled a soft alligator grin.

“BASTARDS! The lot of them!” Vaemond bellowed.

Hot silence permeated the room as the Velaryon decided to throw all further caution to the wind while he gestured toward the future Queen, “And she… she is a whore!”

Gusts of wind blew through the windows. Rats squeaked and scurried through the walls. Servants tip toed about their responsibilities. It was so silent, one could hear all the other activity happening around the Keep. In the expanse of the Great Hall, not a single being or creature moved a muscle. Most held their breath. At the front of the room, from on top of his throne, the King’s chest heaved. With all the strength that he could muster, he unsheathed the dagger from his side and stood on shaky legs. It was as if Aegon the Conqueror had possessed his great great grandson himself. Pure fire poured from out of his eyes. His ears smoked. He fought to catch his breath amidst his emotions.

“I… will have… your tongue for that.”

Before the King could even enunciate his last word, Vaemond Velaryon’s head was sliced in two — right down the corners of his mouth. The top slid off the bottom. His legs remained standing in the seconds his muscles still held strength. Maetilda’s heart stopped as she watched the man’s body hit the floor, wincing with each individual splat. The sound of it echoed off of the walls. The hall remained silent. What a quick and final conclusion. There was no longer a matter to be settled. All arguments had turned into puddles on the floor. Wiping any blood or other bits off of the beautiful blade of Dark Sister and onto his pristine black surcoat, her father stood proudly at the dead man’s feet. His kill.

“He can keep his tongue.”

“Disarm him!” The commander of the Kingsguard declared after processing the moment. His subordinates unsheathed their weapons and pointed them at the King’s brother.

“No need.” As nonchalantly and unapologetically as a cat in the sun, Daemon stepped back and sheathed his sword.

Maetilda could not peel her eyes away from it. Sounds of the King’s groaning and the Queen calling for maesters were muffled in her ears as her senses numbed to hone in on sight alone. She had never seen inside one’s skull before. She had seen blood and entrails before, always at a distance from her place in the royal box at tourneys. She had seen the mangled flesh of Aemond’s eye socket as the Maester at Driftmark sewed it shut with careful hands. She had seen her stepmothers’ multiple childbirths including the passing of the afterbirth. Yet never before had her eyes gazed upon that which belonged inside someone’s head. She could have sworn it was still moving and twitching — thinking. The pink and dark red muscles and nerve endings that were once tightly coiled together started to sag out of place from where they once were. There was so much blood. It leaked like a water vase full of hairline cracks. The man’s body that was once so full of life and anger and passion was left limp and sagging and motionless on the Throne Room floor.

The same shoes that once stood at the dead man’s feet began to move towards her, careful, quick steps. It sent her heart into a panicked race. She was next. It was her turn to pay the price. It was her fault. She had disobeyed orders and now the man was dead. She could already hear the words coming. Her own shoes backed away in the direction of her knight. She hoped and prayed that he had remained to protect her. Her eyes lost focus as the blurry figure moved forward. The breaths in her chest scratched at her throat as it tightened. She needed to run, she needed to get out. Her blood pumped quicker as her limbs itched for movement. She should fight back. The blurry figure halted suddenly, she did the same. The blob’s shoulders bounced with angry breaths. Her breathing only got harder. Desperately, the princess clutched at the stays covering her chest. Where was Ser Gunthor? Why wasn’t he coming to her aide? The figure attempted a second approach, but she evaded it once again. She put more space between them this time, backing up until her back hit that of another person. Forgetting her manners, where or who she was, the princess did not turn to apologize. Instead her gaze focused on the black leather shoes. Not knowing how to fight back, she shook her head ‘no.’ Fear, relief, confusion, panic, despair, paranoia, a confusing conglomerate of it all. She wondered if that’s what Vaemond was feeling before he had died. She wondered if he looked down upon them then. If he floated idly over the scene while he waited for the Stranger to come and take him. If he knew what was to happen to him, would he have still spoke the words he did? Would he have expressed remorse at a trial? Were his words truly worthy of death? What crime could ever be worthy of such a sentence?

A/N: This is the longest chapter I’ve written so far!! (there are some even longer ones locked in the arsenal) This is also the first chapter that’s majorly based on one of the scenes from the show. You like?????

oh and also, I may or may not talk up the importance of House Royce for my own convenience, let’s all just enjoy this ride together 0:)

xoxo messy

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altocat · 3 months

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Square giveth and Square taketh away!! Sephiroth was perfect.

My honest review…

Things I missed in the flashback:

More banter in the truck and the cut dialogue stuff

Sephiroth telling the others they could visit family

Cloud describing how strong Sephiroth was compared to the stories

Sephiroth’s hinted ties to Professor Gast and his lines questioning why Gast didn’t tell him anything

Sephiroth explaining the Cetra

“I’m going to see my mother”

Longer library scene with even more focus on Sephiroth’s collapse

Hints of Genesis

Things I LOVED that they included:

The overall atmosphere of every scene

Seph’s stoic but sweet demeanor. The small melancholy detail of him standing in the rain as mako erupts from the earth around him

The Hojo pose!! Seph saying he doesn’t have a home

The added sadness when Sephiroth recognizes the landscape but doesn’t say what’s wrong and his sweet gesture towards Cloud that reminded me of Glenn. He was cute

Sephiroth’s camera shyness. He looked so sad when he had to take the photo 😅

Sephiroth being taken aback by Nibelheim’s beautiful landscape and not knowing how anyone could get tired of it. His confusion at “trips” being something desirable because he knows business trips, which suck

Letting Cloud take the lead and teasing him about his guide abilities. Encouraging Tifa. Complimenting the trooper

Helping when the bridge collapsed and the CHANGED DETAIL where the devs had him look for the lost trooper instead of choosing to leave him behind

The whole combat scene with Cloud where Seph plays mentor

Sephiroth talking down on Shinra’s lack of transparency and knowing that they like to hide things

Sephiroth’s seething hatred of Hojo, the flashbacks in the reactor scene, Seph’s reaction to the Jenova name, his rage and pain clearly shown

The creepiness of the library scene, Seph’s weird possession, his pure rage when he mentions Gast’s great project, which confirmed that those lines praising Gast were always meant to be vitriolic

The weight of this showing how much of a betrayal Gast’s project was

The “crying into laughing” moment

The entire fire scene

They took away some details but they also added so much that really endeared us to Seph even more and then really brought out the horror side of Nibelheim. Loved it.

Yes to ALL of this. You read my mind on every detail!

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #sephiroth #Ffvii rebirth #Ff7 rebirth #Nibelheim Incident

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zykamiliah · 1 year

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they didn’t say that a 20 y/o dating someone in their early 30s was pedophilia though? they said it was a power imbalance, and that it doesn’t disappear as soon as they are a legal adult. look, i enjoy svsss, but it’s true there is a mental gap. and a student pursuing a teacher doesn’t necessarily make the teacher’s reciprocation okay. i think there’s room for nuance here that neither you nor the other blogger is realizing

they were relating the feeling of weirdness they got from reading svsss to the power imbalance of a real life teacher/student relationship or actual pedophilia.

like i said, the power imbalance is part of the conflict in svsss and bingqiu's relationship. No one in this fandom believes they were the perfect soulmates from start to finish, Healthy and Unproblematic. But it's one thing that their dynamic was unbalanced and toxic because of the their misunderstandings and communications problems, and another entirely different what that other blogger was saying.

by the time binghe comes from the abyss, he has already grown into his own power and become a demon lord. when they meet again, sqq is not the one leveling his power against sqq, but the opposite.

here I talked about why i don't think bingqiu is toxic, if you'd like to read my analysis on it.

now, for the mental gap, what exactly are you saying here? Because if we're going to compare mental age gaps, we need to take into consideration that binghe and shen yuan are from different worlds, and that their upbringing was very different. lbh practically grew in the streets as an orphan before his adoptive mother took him in, and the he went back to that after her death, before entering CQM. shen yuan, on the other hand, grew with a loving family, was a rich and pampered young master and never had to go through the struggles that lbh went through: starvation, mistreatment, poverty, loneliness, being homeless and parentless, with no one to care for him or protect him. so really, between the two, who has more worthy life experiences?

okay, let's get at it from another angle. through the entire novel, and specially after the sqq's death, lbh is very honest with himself about his own feelings and thoughts. he knows his mind really well, even under the influence of xin mo. he knows how to manipulate dreams, after all. you could said that his most unhealthy habits are his codependency and the way he internalizes his self-hate, and the subsequent self-harm he does to his mind and body because of this. i'd say his most childish moments are in the Jinlan arc, where his actions contradict themselves, as he's both resentful toward SQQ and trying to win his approval at the same time.

shen yuan, on the other hand? emotionally repressed. he doesn't process his own thoughts and emotions and pushes everything under the surface. queerphobic. homophobic. deep in denial of his own queerness and gayness, oblivious to everything gay going own around him, runs from his problems, self-sacrificial to the detriment of his own well-being, so tsundere it backfires on him sometimes, unable to understand why someone like airplane would write shitty porn to pay the bills; even thought at his core he's kind to must people, he spends a great part of the novel being very vitriolic towards sqh. it's because he can't let go of his hatred towards the authors, who he partly blames for the bad things that happen to him.

taking all this into account, i really can't say what their true mental ages are, and if the gap is really that big, or if it really has such a huge impact on their relationship.

and a student pursuing a teacher doesn’t necessarily make the teacher’s reciprocation okay.

maybe you're right on this one, but are all cases of teacher/student relationships the same? must we, just as sqq did, ignore lbh's agency and own wishes and do what he thought was best?

there's thinking that teenagers under 18 have no way of making rational decisions when it comes to love and sexual attraction, and there's thinking that a 25 years old's agency in regards to who he wants to be with is meaningless.

#svsss #svsss meta #bingqiu #shen yuan #mention of queerphobia #mention of homophobia #zykamiliah-svsss #oh boy this got long

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zorasthoughts · 2 months

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narratives in the a good girl's guide murder trilogy

i should be writing my dissertation, but instead i'm writing this. i was rereading good girl, bad blood recently and thinking about how narratives were a major theme in that book, but then i thought about it some more and i was like, oh, they're actually in all the books. they're everywhere. major spoilers for all three books under the cut.

a good girl's guide to murder: first of all, there's the fact that at the start of the first book, the first thing we read is that pip's project is supposedly going to investigate media narratives in missing persons cases, and we do get a look at different narratives, especially surrounding sal.

pip interviews max hastings and elliot ward, two people who try to discourage her investigation and promote the accepted narrative, but they do both acknowledge that it doesn't align with the sal that they knew. there's also stanely forbes, who pip calls out for being racist and vitriolic towards sal and his family in the news.

as well as the negative acounts though, there are more positive accounts from people about sal being friendly and kind. naomi ward knows that sal couldn't have been responsible for andie's death, and although she doesn't initially tell pip why, she entirely rejects the idea that he could be a killer. when nat da silva meets ravi, she tells him that she remembers sal offering to help her at lunch with schoolwork. when ravi asks pip why she's so invested in the project, she tells him her memories of sal, a big brother figure who taught her how to flip pancakes and let her and cara watch a 15 movie when they were 12, who scared off her bullies and gave her a kitkat to cheer her up. pip says that to her, sal was a hero. finally, at the end of the book, there's the moment when pip invites ravi on stage to talk about his brother, to rewrite the narrative.

on the flip side, we learn that andie didn't fit the golden-girl narrative that she was given. yes, she was pretty and popular, but she sold drugs, she was emotionally manipulative and mean to her closest friends and younger sister, and bullied classmates (nat). more on andie later.

good girl, bad blood: the beauty of the agggtm trilogy is the way the themes continue to develop with each book. narratives are everywhere in this book. pip releases a podcast about the andie/sal case because all the news and media outlets were reporting on it with certain angles, to fit their own narratives. we learn max hastings is on trial, and has been presenting himself in court with suits, handsome/messy hair, and glasses, and that his mother talked about him having leukemia as a child, to create a sympathetic narrative.

when jamie reynolds goes missing, pip does another season of the podcast to help connor and his family find him, but it proves difficult, and she gets accused of orchestrating the disappearance, since connor is one of her friends. by unfortunate coincidence, an article speculating about pip faking it all comes out around the time that max hastings is declared innocent, which doubles down on the idea that what pip is saying is not the truth.

we learn that what leads to jamie's disappearance is connected to "layla mead" and the narrative that jamie believed: that she was sick, had a controlling father, etc. and need his help.

now, the main thing that i'd been thinking about that started this whole post: charlie green, child brunswick, and pip. for charlie green, stanley forbes (child brunswick) caused his sister's death, broke up his family, is responsible for every hardship that befell him. for charlie green, stanley/child brunswick is a monster that's been haunting him since childhood.

pip, however, is able to see that stanley himself was also a child, who had been forced to do the things he did. charlie green can't see that though, and shoots stanley, causing a death that will haunt another young person for the rest of their life.

stanley was always a monster in the story of charlie's life, but in his quest for revenge, charlie became a monster in the story of pip's life.

at the funeral, pip tries to eulogise stanley, saying that he did his best to protect pip, even while his life was being threatened. she doesn't get to finish though, because a crowd of angry locals come by to protest against stanley's burial in little kilton, including people that had known and been friends with him. stanley's life (and, in this context i'm talking about the person who lived with the identity of stanley forbes, the guy who was trying to be better) is overshadowed by his death, and the revelation of his youth as child brunswick. in the aftermath, jamie comforts pip, sharing his own memories of stanley, who was scared after jamie attacked him, but tried to be kind anyway.

as good as dead: a tough time to be pippa fitz-amobi. the narratives are against her now: max is suing pip for libel after she made a post online that contradicts the jury and their ruling that max is innocent. people online, and in her town, have turned against her after the events of good girl, bad blood, specifically because of her sympathy towards the deceased stanley forbes. oh, and she has a stalker, except the police don't believe her: di hawkins chalks everything up to pip's trauma (and yes, she does have a shedload of trauma, but he dismissed her way too easily).

pip's research, which puts her on the trail of the dt killer, brings forth new revelations. she meets with harriet hunter, the younger sister of one of the dt killer's victims, who tells pip that she knew andie bell, and describes andie as being kind and sympathetic, and above all, a true friend. after their meeting, pip gets into andie's secret email account that andie used to contact harriet secretly, and we get to read her unsent email, which reveals that andie knew who the dt killer was, and how scared she was, and how much she was determined to protect becca. a far cry from the figure of the mean-girl bully that we had in the first book. (andie is a complex character, but i'm not getting into all of that here because this post is about narratives.)

after pip murders the dt killer (jason bell), she then masterminds her way out by creating alibis for herself and everyone who helps her. how? she reframes the narrative, of course. manipulates the time of death so that it seems later, so that at the supposed time of death, pip, ravi, and all their friends are out in public places, then plants a trail of fake evidence to frame max. when the news comes out about jason bell's murder, pip takes control of the narrative again by announcing that she's going to investigate it on her podcast (a podcast she started because she disappeared with other people's narratives), and nudging the police in the direction that she wants them to follow.

wow, this was long. i'd probably find even more to talk about if i left it long enough, but i'm going to wrap up here. will probably be making more, extremely long literary analysis posts about this series, because holly jackson is a genius and i will never be done talking about her.

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