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yautja-lover · 2 years

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City of Angels - Angst/Fluff One Shot

Scout! Predator x Female! Reader

Summary:After running away from your crazed ex you decided to move out to Los Angeles for a new start, you weren't expecting to be taken-in by the Lost Predators.

Author's Note:Inspired by Predator 2 (1990 film) this one shot is set, several years after the Los Angeles hunting party back in 1997.

Warning:Mentioned of the reader being in abusive relationship and taking advantage of in the past.

Song Lyrics:Yes Girl written by Bea Miller

You've been driving on the road, non-stop turning on the radio to help pass the time "Up next is Bea Miller and her first single 'Yes Girl' following her debt album 'Not An Apology'." as the song played you get a whiplash of flashbacks.

Could tell you what you wanna hear

Cause the truth is always in the way

Images of your ex plagues your mind of him taking you from behind, short and quick before he pulled out coming on your ass and back leaving you unsated and unsatisfied.

I never wanna live in fear

I don't wanna hold back all the things I need to say

Say yay, Say yay

Then it escalated once you told your ex that wanting to breakup with him which made him furious and started beating you into submission to stay with him. "Listen to me you little shit. Your NOT leaving me, do you hear me? Your MINE to fuck. MINE!!"he shouted, as he takes you brutally by force.

As the chorus of the song played in the background of your car, another image starts of you packing your things to leave him while your ex is at work. Taking a bus to your parents house.. unaware that your childhood is gone.

I got you figured out, you need to have control

You think that I don't know you, I know you, I know

Trying to tell you now, I've been doing what you want

But I won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go, Just let me go

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go (just let me go) Just let me go (just let me go)

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Knocking on your parents door, not at all expecting to find a new family living in your childhood home.. everything became a blur as the wife and mother of two kids explain that the past owners of their home, in which were your parents had died in a car accident.

You stopped at a local diner to get yourself something to eat, as you look for a place to stay and start a new life.. while you wait for your food you have another flashback of your ex when he used to be sweet.

You used to always let me in (you used always let me in)

Do you even know you changed? (do you even know you changed?)

And now you're my favorite sin, oh

'Cause I'm either on your side or you're a mile away, oh

Another flashback happens of you sitting in a comfy and familiar chair inside of an elderly woman's home, who was your parents neighbor and use to be your babysitter as a child.. she told you that she has something for you, that was given to her just before your parents died. You were just sitting there staring blankly at the cup of tea in your hand until she returned with an envelope full of money "Your boyfriend insisted on that you didn't need it.. but I held on to it, just in case.."she said handing it to you to- wait.. WHAT?? He knew?!.. and he didn't tell me?!.. you thought.

I got you figured out, you need to have control

You think that I don't know you, I know you, I know

Trying to tell you now, I've been doing what you want

But I won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go, Just let me go

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go (just let me go) Just let me go (just let me go)

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom for what felt like hours before glancing down at the box of hair dye setting on the counter, then took one last look at your appearance. You've never died your hair before, you've wanted to.. but never got a chance to considering your ex told you not to, but not anymore.

Goodbye to the old you...

Woah, Woah, no

I won't do it anymore

...and hello to the new you.

Staring into the new reflection of yourself in the mirror admiring your new hair color that's representing your new found freedom 'cheers to the new me.' you thought to yourself while taking a sip of your beverage.

That one question the elderly woman asked you before you left her home goes unanswered "Where will you go, dear?" that one unanswered question lingered your mind, as you drove in the car that you bought with cash in hand.. it lingered in your mind, as you sat at the local diner for food.. just like it lingered in your head, as you changed your hairstyle.

I got you figured out, you need to have control

You think that I don't know you, I know you, I know

Trying to tell you now, I've been doing what you want

But I won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go (just let me go) Just let me go (just let me go)

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

Just let me go (just let me go) Just let me go (just let me go)

Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore

As you drove into the next city and found a nice little place to live in, the lingered unanswered question has reached it's end...

"Where will you go, dear?", you hear yourself say "Los Angeles."

Not anymore

In less than a week, you've gotten settled in your new home and even found a job a few blocks down from where you live. You remained alert and cautioned yourself around any males, including turning down anyone's offer when they asked you out or even make an attempt to flirt with you.. you seemed unfazed by it and carried on not wanting to deal with any type of sexual relationship, with what happened with your ex. You kept yourself guarded or at least.. so you thought, you have just gotten done with your shift and found that all four of your tires were slashed "shit.." your blood ran cold when you also found a note attached to your car door that read...

I'm coming for you bitch!

From just the handwriting alone you knew EXACTLY, who it was from.. your ex.

So you ran from the parking lot of your job to your house but you somehow ended up in the woods by making a wrong turn in the dark.. in which your ex chases after you, unaware that was another predator lurking in the shadows above the trees. You came across to a dead end in the woods forcing you to turn around and face him "You really shouldn't have run away from me." he said in a pissed off voice. "I told you, I don't want to be with you anymore!!" you shouted at him, which only pissed him off even further "Well, then.."he said as the pupils of his eyes grew dark "..I guess, I'll just have to kill you." he added causally while pulling out a dagger.

A series of clicks and growls could be heard that didn't sound human causing your ex to pause "What the fuck-?!" he exclaimed in confusion, as he turned around to face his doom while you instinctively covered your eyes and drop to your knees shaking in fear. Hearing him cry out in both pain and agony, along with the sounds of flesh being sliced open before you heard your ex's limp body collapse to the ground with a thud. You didn't dare look, let alone move from your position... your gut instinct was telling you to not move and not look threatening, so you remain in your spot.

Until you heard heavy footsteps coming your way before coming to a hault peaking through your fingers you saw the things feet it looked to have some type of reptilian skin, it makes more clicking sounds that sounded soft and gentle as if it were coaxing you to look at them. In a way... it did as you slowly raise your head while lowering your hands to see, the reptilian creature stood at least seven feet tall wearing a silver bio-helmet covering it's face as long black dreadlocks with beads drapes from its head just above it's shoulders, dressed in armor-like shoulder pads, a wristblade and wrist gauntlet, along with a lioncloth and belt to cover him?

He then stood to the side and gestured out his hand for you to follow him, as you slowly rose to your feet a large alien spaceship appeared along with eight more of those reptilian creatures that stood infront of the ship only three of them wore a bio-helmet while the other five show-off their face, which is an arthropod-like with four mandibles and no visible nose making you freeze in your tracks at the sight. The one behind you pressed itself up against your backside and starts purring, putting you at ease as the one that has brown eyes with grey and black dreadlocks (which you assume is the leader) stretched out it's hand while the others tilts their head at you and clicks before you enter their ship.

#female! reader #female! readers ex #scout! predator #scout! predator x female! reader #the lost tribe! yautja predators #scout! predator one shot #city of angels #my writing #my posts

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gvk2012 · 1 year

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La Parca

#predator #Predator 2 #Predators #The Predator #Prey #The lost Tribe #Greyback predator #Neca #Neca toys #Toy photography #my toy photography

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multific · 11 months

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If You Can't Kill It, Fuck It

Feral Predator x Reader

Warning: Smut

Summary: The beast killed your entire tribe, promising revenge for the lost souls. You tried to hunt the thing down, but you completely underestimated his power. So, you had to try a different approach.

You knew that it was a male, and you tried to use that to your advantage, but just how can you do this without that being killing you in just a second?

You thought your plan through, about what your mother and friends used to tell you about men.

You wanted to know just what you should expect so you followed him. You watched him attack another tribe, and kill a bear and many other men.

You have decided that you had no chance of killing him, so, he wanted to hunt the strongest being on Earth and you wanted him.

Must have been the spring in the air which made you completely insane, or the fact that you watched him massacre people and found it appealing.

You found it in yourself that he proved to be a strong male, the strongest.

And you wanted him.

As crazy as that was.

One late evening, you were searching for a place to sleep when you accidentally stumbled into him. He was towering, he turned to you as he reached for a weapon but quickly decided against it, he instead observed you.

You reached up and pulled down your clothes.

Now, you stood completely naked in front of him as he kept on watching you.

Now or never, you can either die, or he can take you as his.

You didn't know what to do. You were ready for death at this point. but he surprised you.

He stood in front of you, towering, an intimidating height, you felt his claws on your skin.

He grabbed you with one hand as the other clawed something into your skin.

You felt the burning pain and the blood but he soon stopped.

When you looked, it was as if he left a mark on you.

A mark that you were his.

---

Becoming his mate came with a lot of obstacles. He brought you along as he continued his hunt. But neither of you understood a word the other was saying.

So, you had to physically show him everything you wanted.

Like right now, he was sitting down on the floor by the fire where you decided to camp for the night. He came back not long ago with some fish which you cooked to eat.

You watched him as he watched the water of the small river.

You craved his attention, so after eating you decided to take a bath.

You took off your clothes, which went unnoticed but when you started to walk into the cold water, he finally noticed you. You were waist-deep in when you heard the water behind you splash. He grabbed your waist and tried to lift you out but you just laughed.

"It's fine." you said but he still carried you out of the water. Afraid that he might just go back to ignoring you, you decided to cling to him.

Soon, you felt a shift in his muscles, something changed, as just as you moved your leg, you felt it.

He removed his mask as your eyes locked with his.

You knew what you needed to do.

This is what you wanted after all.

So, when you showed no sign of rejection, he was quick to flip you over and onto your stomach.

He watched your glistening core with excitement. Running his hand up your spine he let out soft growls. Showing you who was the dominant.

You knew he wasn't gentle or soft. But you still didn't expect that huge member to be pushed into you so suddenly.

He wasted no time in ramming into you.

Sensing your discomfort you felt him going slower. But when you made a sound of pain he stopped immediately. He stood up and wanted to walk off but you stopped him, you moved him onto his back as you sat down on his chest.

"I just need a bit of time." you told him, even if you knew he wouldn't understand.

Then, you sank down on his length, letting out a long sigh as you were now fully down on him.

Took you a moment to find your rhythm. In the beginning, it was slow, but as you grew more confident, you increased your speed.

Soon, you found yourself clawing at his skin as he filled you to the brim. Oh just how amazing he felt.

His hand moved to your thighs, helping you move. But soon, he was also lost in the pleasure as his claw slowly grabbed onto you, you let out a loud moan as you felt yourself getting more and more wet.

You were loud but nothing matched the beast under you. You knew it was sounds of pleasure.

When he had enough of your slowness, he tried once more, flipping you onto your stomach as he pounded into you.

You never felt this amazing in your entire life.

You heard him say something but you couldn't understand. His thrusts became irregular, his breathing got quicker and you knew he was close to his release. And so were you.

Your legs started to shake as he held your hips in one place, never stopping and soon, you felt him fill you up.

He came with a loud yell as you just tried to catch your breath.

You had a suspicion about what this meant.

He now fully claimed you as his.

He came to this Earth to hunt. Get the most kills and prove himself to his tribe. Kill the strongest being on the planet.

He never expected that along the way he would find his mate.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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rainbow-scarab · 10 months

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Hallownest Symbols, the Ancient Civilization, and the Pale King

Sooo. Since I made my post on Hallownest symbols I've had some new insights.

The Hallownest symbol, with its lined oval and three sets of wings, predates the kingdom as it was under the Pale King and White Lady. It can be found on arcane eggs.

Lemm, on arcane eggs: This civilisation may claim itself the first, but something else did exist within this place before Hallownest. Each egg offers a narrow glimpse into that forgotten age.

It's not just the arcane eggs though. The symbol can also be found in the Abyss, on the lighthouse. Sorta.

You see, the lighthouse isn't just one structure--it's two. It's an older, crumbling structure....and then the new shiny construction that the Pale King added on top.

And looking at the older structure, the platforms themselves have the Hallownest symbol on it. Oval with wings.

Another detail I've noticed in the Abyss is that this structure isn't the only one. It can be seen in the background around the void sea:

Just, further cementing the thought that the old crumbling building beneath the shiny new top is not a construction under the Pale King, but instead something quite ancient. Just one of many buildings, a conveniently tall structure for the Pale King to repurpose into a lighthouse.

So what does this mean?

Various sources in the game point to the Pale King having portrayed himself as the creator of Hallownest. Lemm, in his quote above. And some more examples:

Lore tablet in King's Pass: Higher beings, these words are for you alone. Beyond this point you enter the land of King and Creator. Step across this threshold and obey our laws. Bear witness to the last and only civilisation, the eternal Kingdom. Hallownest

Hunter's Journal, on wingmoulds: The bugs of Hallownest believed that their King created this world and everything in it. For what purpose, I wonder? Were his subjects companions, or toys, or children? Such a mind seems unknowable.

The developer notes in the game also indicate that the Pale King wanted to get rid of other gods:

The moth tribe were (perhaps) descended from Radiance. However, the King convinced them somehow to seal Radiance away. I guess so he could rule Hallownest with his singular vision, as a monarch/god with no other gods.

The dev notes are not canon and it's clear that they were never intended to be seen by others. But I think there's something to be said at least for him attempting a "singular vision". Uniting Hallownest under one rule, portraying himself as creator, creating a certain order. Some more quotes:

Bardoon: For quiet retreat did I climb up here, away from spitting creatures. Ormmph... Yes. High up. Away from simple minds, lost to light. Theirs is a different kind of unity. Rejection of the Wyrm's attempt at order.

Mask Maker, reacting to Ghost having King's Brand: No bug has ever laid claim to this whole. Even the beasts knew their limits and bound their realm at Nest's edge. It is the ancient caste that made attempt at such vast rule. Hallownest's ruin reflects well those fared attempts.

I believe Mask Maker is referring to the Ancient Civilization having attempted to rule over all of Hallownest. There's a possibility they're referring to Hallownest under the Pale King, as "ancient" does not necessarily mean what fans call the Ancient Civilization (and indeed most instances of the word "ancient" refer to Hallownest under the Pale King). But "attempts" being in the plural, I think Mask Maker intends to draw a parallel here between the two civilizations.

Speaking of King's Brand...

I believe now this is the best symbol of the Pale King we have. His original symbol.

As I noted in my first post on Hallownest symbols, the Hallownest seal seems the most associated with the Pale King when it has the crown on it. And the few actual depictions of him, in statues, idols, and shrines, all have his crown, but lack wings. Save for the glowing silhouette of him in Ogrim's dream battle, there are no depictions of him with wings. He may lack wings entirely, or have some form of artificial wings.

In fact, I find it quite interesting how you can pick up monarch wings as an item.

They are described by the game as being made of "ethereal matter". The game manual calls them "wings of a monarchfly". It's possible that the Pale King had such wings as seen here, not part of his original body, but made somehow.

And, just to look at the symbols again...

If one were to superimpose the old Hallownest Seal from the time of the Ancient Civilization on top of the King's Brand, you'd get the current Hallownest Seal. Oval Bug body, wings, crown, and tail.

So, what I'm thinking, the impression that I'm getting....

The Pale King came to Hallownest. He saw all the evidence of the Ancient Civilization, which had already fallen. He took on bug form (which may have happened before or after he saw the symbol and other evidence of the ancient civ, but I have to wonder if witnessing Hallownest's history and symbols influenced even this decision to become small). He, for reasons beyond the purpose of this post, decided he wanted to rule Hallownest as king and "creator" (which again may or may not have been part of his decision to be reborn).

He established his kingdom. He took on aspects of preexisting Hallownest, essentially claiming the legacy of the Ancient Civilization as his own. He took on bug form, and gave himself wings, to match this old image, as if it was always about him.

He established his palace in the Ancient Basin. He had access to the Abyss, mostly closed off from the rest of the populace. He studied the void. But the bugs of the Ancient Civilization had a different attitude about void, as indicated by Lemm in the Hunter's Journal entry on the void idol:

Inspired or mad, those ancient bugs. They devoted their worship to no lord, or power, or strength, but to the very darkness itself.

The Pale King instead was worshipped as a god by his people. He instead treated the void as something to control. He studied it. He tested it. He created void constructs to guard his palace. He used it, to stake the future of his entire kingdom on.

I could go on and on about this. And I intend to. But this is as far as I will go in this post, meant to be an update to my last post on symbols. But, I already have a long post I put together months ago, didn't post, and just have to update with new thoughts. So hopefully, I'll be expanding on all the implications here for Hallownest history soon enough.

#hollow knight #hollow knight theory #hallownest #ancient civilization #pale king

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xxnomadsxx · 3 months

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okay, we know how Branch found the feral things and started a grey troll village in your nomads au. And how Creek ended up in the village. BUT, how did the rest of the occupants come to be? Did they willing leave their kingdoms? Were they abandoned? Did they get lost and lose hope of anyone ever coming for them before they met the feral creatures and the others? I really wanna know some backstories.

Oooooo-This is a tough one.

Everyone in the village has there own story for why there their. These are a few examples I thought up of how they got there.

Pop: There are very few Pop trolls in the grey village (mostly due to their toxic positivity of always looking on the bright side for normal Pop trolls ) they basically were separated from the main tribe and didn’t find the putt putt trolls on there way out when escaping. Soon they lost all hope of finding the tribe and went to live in the wood (it went reeeeaaallly bad) a few were eaten and the rest went grey, they were kinda just wandering around for a few years till the (very few) nomads and feral (trolls?) showed up. They were taken in and found Branch there too. The grey pop trolls also were told were the village was but they didn’t go back because they were too ashamed about being grey.

Funk: There is a group of funk trolls in the village who all came in at the same time. They were researchers who were left behind by vibe city and had no hope of getting back to the always moving ship, so they went grey and were later found by a small hunting team and Branch while trying to create some traps to keep them safe (there are more funk trolls I’m just showing off random examples of how trolls got here)

Classical: There are a few classical trolls who can’t fly in the village due to wing injuries. The injuries go from difficult to stay in the air, to broken beyond repair, and looking at how there body is shaped (they have the bodies of LITERAL babies can they walk?) I don’t think it’s easy for them to get around since symphony vill is probably mostly made to fly around. It got too difficult for them and just left going grey in the process.

Techno: There once was a dead techno troll who had some troll eggs with them beached on a nearby river to the village, they took in the techno eggs (The eggs HAVE to look like fish eggs right.. RIGHT?!) the trolling when they hatched just sorta knew there mother was gone and were born grey. they grew up in the village which didn’t…really help them get better and just sorta caused them more issues.(there have been a few lost techno trolls who had damaged fins to the point of not even being able to go back)

Rock: A lot more rock trolls live in the village then the other genres, mostly cause of their more feral and aggressive personalities (they look like biters) so some just had bad experiences in there lives that it just became too much and they just ended up Leaving volcano rock city. There is a rock troll who can’t hear in the village, and due to his deafness he felt like a freak to troll kind since he couldn’t even listen to music (which is kinda a big deal) he left and turned grey wandering the woods until he was found by some feral(trolls?) who have done the same routine of taking in grey trolls a lot at that point.

Country: There aren’t to many country (I feel like it would be harder for them to turn grey since they show how sad it can get in Lonesome flats) but the some who do show up have tons of kids, a while back a couple of country trolls were deemed criminals for liking another genre of music and playing it too loud, to which they were promptly kicked out of town, who later turned grey from getting forced to leave there only home. They were found fighting predators by a hunting team. (this was way before world tour so a lot less tolerance for other music)

Subgenres: There are some subgenre groups running around, like indie trolls, steam punk trolls, some grunge too (and many more) they usually are abandoned or just turn grey from living a isolated lonely life or some other reason like family was killed or taken by huge predators or what not.

Honestly most of them stay grey or go darker in color because they live in the village. It isn’t really going out of its way to help them get their color back but is really just a home for them. Growing up there influences many of the kids born there to turn grey or go grey later in their lives.

There are many other reasons why any of the trolls would be here these are just random scenariosthat I thought up to show as examples

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figures4fun · 1 month

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New figure! Really dig the more colorful predators from Predator 2!

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stirringwinds · 4 months

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I can't agree more with your post about how natural languages are intimately tied to power dynamics, culture and personal identity. To make the nation personifications magically understand each other all the time is removing the depth and potential of their relationships with each other.

Since you mentioned that Alfred's first language was a Native American language, it sounds like he was close to the Native Americans as a child, and not only the English settlers. My thought is that Alfred, the personification of what would become the USA, was only "born" after the English settlers arrived. He was raised by Pilgrims, spoke only English and didn't have meaningful contact with the Native Americans. I'm not a fan of the idea that Alfred was a Native American personification who was born before the arrival of the colonists and was "kidnapped" by Arthur, as it implies that the tribe that he represented was the foundation of the modern USA. It makes more sense to me that he was a personification of the Pilgrim settlements when he was born. What are your thoughts on Alfred's "birth" and his relationships with the personifications around him as a child?

hello, thanks for your question!

to start off, i don't headcanon that nations are born the human way, but when they come into being, there are real cultural/linguistic links they have to other nations which I model on historical interactions and influences. my conception of Alfred is that his "birth"/beginnings are linked to Roanoke (aka the so-called "Lost Colony") and Jamestown (and its famine)—less so the Pilgrims/Mayflower in Massachusetts. but that difference aside, Alfred's 'beginnings' in my view certainly stem from British imperialism and European colonisation all the same. so he is not the personification of "Native America", because this would indeed be racist and homogenising: there can't be such a singular personification but would have to be multiple personifications to begin with. All of whom are much older and culturally distinct just like how Asia/Europe/Africa as a continent doesn't have one personification. this is a similar approach I take with my Mexico OC; she is Indigenous/European and spoke Nahuatl and Spanish, but she herself didn't come into being until Spanish colonisation—and there are other older personifications like Tlaxcala and Mexica (who was the head of the Triple Alliance/what we call the Aztec Empire and rivals with Tlaxcala, another pre-Columbian political entity).

so, for me Carolina Algonquian is one of Alfred's first languages—the other is English. the reason why I think he speaks Carolina Algonquian: the real-life interactions (from cooperative (barter, trade) to neutral to hostile—conflicts that happened since obviously the colonists were encroaching on other people's land) that occurred between the colonists and Algonquian-speaking peoples (such as Croatan and also Powhatan) occurred. All these were central to the history and trajectory of the early colonies. further, the research material on early colonial America I based his character on examined the experiences of biracial/multiethnic people and the dynamics of assimilation & cultural imperialism into Englishness that occurred. i'm from an ethnically-mixed family myself, which experienced cultural assimilation because of British imperialism that also resulted in a deprioritisation and loss of our other ancestral languages, so the cultural dimension of imperialism: how people navigate these faultlines, and pass or don't pass as a dominant group is something I'm interested in exploring.

hence, while i personally headcanon Alfred as mixed-race, he is certainly not an older personification that predates European colonisation of the Americas, and Arthur claims him as his son when he finds him with the Jamestown colonists, after the famine—so he isn't really 'kidnapped' because he isn't the personification of a pre-existing, Native nation. the Jamestown colonists don't really 'raise' him either—he appears to them as a young child who can already talk and walk, and they assume he is an orphan of sorts—after which Arthur comes into the picture. Arthur asserted his power by claiming Alfred as his son—just as the English politically claimed their colonial holdings, but Alfred certainly interacted with other personifications like Croatan or Powhatan and others, because that's who the English colonists themselves in Roanoke and Jamestown met. this contact imo, was meaningful in the sense that it was important and extensive—though obviously not wholly peaceful or conflict-free. So, in my headcanon, before Arthur arrived with the relief ship that met the starving Jamestown colonists, Alfred was regarded with some curiosity and at least distinct wariness, if not apprehension, by other nations because despite his familiarity with Carolina Algonquian, they know he is clearly linked to the encroaching English colonists—and they've heard similar stories already, about Mexico and Cuba.

overall, yes, the political/cultural origins of the United States are very much connected to the British Empire's settler-colonialism. For that reason Alfred is Arthur's 'son', because he is English—but he is not just English or European, because the truth of the British Empire is that while there was a racial and class hierarchy that privileged Englishness and then whiteness generally, the actual human communities that shaped the colonies were never homogeneous ethnically/culturally. Biracial/mixed people existed—and those European colonies as a whole were shaped by the varied dynamics of Native and other non-European influences and contact—whether it was involuntary or voluntary, cooperative, neutral or hostile. that's the angle I've personally chosen to take—and I would end off with emphasising that this is just my approach—because I think there's certainly more than one way to approach Alfred's beginnings and cultural identity.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #i hope that explains things!#hws america #long post

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shesjustanothergeek · 8 months

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Three

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties; sorry for the delay. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. First, one of my coworkers called off (she doesn't even work here anymore because she missed too much), and I had to do two 10-hour shifts. Then my freaking internet went out because some tree trimmers cut the connection line for everyone! And after that, I had a crisis and lost the inspiration and drive to write. This chapter is a two-parter, which I usually wouldn't say I like to do, but it would've been over 10k words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: The reader has severely unresolved trauma, angst, Arryk is a white knight.

"The axe forgets; the tree remembers." - Zimbabwean Proverb from the Shona tribe.

You were still determining your place inside Maegor's Holdfast, unfamiliar with the royal wing layout like you were with the rest of the Keep, having found an abandoned terrace that the court long forgot. Leaves of green ivory crawled up the side of the castle, wrapping around the red rock banister like an unkempt tree in the Godswood.

Your eyes gazed at the iron mote of spikes that protected the Holdfast. They shined wet like a predator's teeth, grinning back at you in misery.

Your body felt full, yet empty, full of swirling emotions and thoughts you had long buried, stirring the formerly clear water into a murky pool. Yet in that same emotion, you felt nothing, the well dried up from a summer's prolonged drought left with dust and sand at the bottom. You were uncertain if the nothingness was a blessing. Conceivably, it was your psyche's way of coping with the trauma of your life's story. You were fearful that if you suddenly felt those surges of memories, thoughts, and regrets, the iron spikes would be dripping with your blood.

Your title was called out from behind you so softly and so tender it was a whisper in the wind, almost causing you to disregard it as a trick of your mind. The sound of armor clanking and fabric rustling told you otherwise.

"Princess, the hour is late. You must get your rest," Ser Arryk expressed, his voice as compassionate as a mother. You refused to answer, the energy to move your lips and tongue long sapped out from crying.

He stepped onto the balcony until he was beside you, his arms stiff behind his back, shoulders tense at the silence. Arryk was conflicted about what to do. He knew he could not order you to sleep. His position was not one to command the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen, but he was assigned to be your sworn protector in all matters, whether defending you from a foe or yourself.

"My Lady, you need not speak of what has stolen you from sleep, but let it take no longer. I shall lead you to your bed chambers," the kingsguard offered kindly, leaving no room for rejection.

Finally, your eyes met his blue ones, seeing your black lashes clumped together from tears. Arryk wanted to comfort and embrace you as any good-natured person would but refrained, simply placing an inviting palm on your shoulder. He had seen you at your worst years ago after your brawl with the Septa, knuckles swollen and red with the blood of the older woman, beautiful face pink and glistening with tears down your cheeks.

Otto Hightower, be damned. Damned to the fiery pits of the Seven Hells to burn for all eternity for what he made Arryk do. You were too dear to the knight to betray your trust anymore. Though Ser Arryk never discovered any hurtful information other than the peculiarity of you and the eldest son of the King's relationship. He spent every waking moment inhaling the same air as you, breathing in each exhale like it was his last. How could he ever betray your trust in good conscience?

"Aegon was the one who discovered Lyra's plans to smuggle me out of Kings Landing. He killed them." Your words tore him from his internal struggle with shock.

Arryk's brows scrunched in confusion, trying to recall what you were saying. His face paled when he did, remembering the blotchy grey faces displayed on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to see, for all to see the Hand's justice. May Lord Hightower's death be long and painful for what he did to you, Arryk thought.

"I wish Aegon were dead," you spoke aloud without realizing it.

The knight became worried, suddenly closing the distance between you to make somehow your confession disappear. "Princess. You must be careful what you say here. The walls have ears, and the ears have eyes."

"No, Ser Arryk. Let them hear it," you protested, your nails digging crescents into your palms. "Mayhaps they will understand the agony I have suffered all these years. The mornings and nights I have laid awake in bed, praying to the Old Gods and the New for them to somehow bring her back and make it so nothing happened." You sucked in a ragged breath, hiccuping from the remnants of your tears as your body became too challenging to carry. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot be here."

The kingsguardmen did not understand your true meaning of how you desired greatly to leave this whole charade behind, to return to Dragonstone and watch little Joffery and the younger Viserys and Aegon grow into their skins, to watch Lucerys become the man you were confident for him to be. Instead, Arryk thought the worst, believing your words to be final and life-ending, as he firmly grabbed your biceps.

He said your name gently yet sternly, causing your glazed eyes to widen. "You must not think like that. I shan't allow it," he commanded. "You are the strongest maiden in the realm. You ride the fiercest dragon, feared by humans and its species. You have endured hardships and trials a girl of your age should never have to, and even when your blood was stolen from you, you did not turn to resentment. You were not bitter to those undeserving."

You attempted to move your face away from Arryk's, unconvinced at his words. He was so close that you could smell the mint leaves on his tongue. "You are stronger than you know, and until then, each moment like this, you will feel as if it is too much, but you will always find yourself emerging on the other side."

No words made their way to your lips, and you suddenly felt the rush of emotions you had thought dried. You stepped away from Arryk, embracing your torso as you faced the opened doors that led inside. You didn't want to feel anything. Not now, nor ever again. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you returned to the silver-armored knight of the Kingsguard.

"I seem to have lost my bearings, Ser Arryk," you whispered into the chill night air. "Will you help me find my way back to the guest wing?"

The request was a peace offering, a silent "thank you" for his unfailing kindness. If he had not dedicated his life in service to the King, he would've made an excellent father and an even better husband.

Ser Arryk nodded stiffly, taking long strides ahead of you until all you could see was his pristine white cape flowing like a field of wheat in the wind.

***

You desperately desired to stay within the confines of your bed, as if laying underneath the thin cotton sheets would protect you from the outside world. It was silly, and you felt childish, but truly, that was all you were—a child disguised as a woman painting a facade of fierceness and maturity on your skin. But the pigments had cracked and bleached from weathering winds, rains, and suns until it revealed the canvas underneath. You wished desperately for the chips to be covered, groping at your flesh to hide them from the world.

But it was too late, for they had seen the peeled paint and what lay beneath—a frightened young girl yearning for acceptance and love.

Tears returned to your eyes, a common occurrence over the past fortnight. Your maids had become used to seeing you sniffling in your bed as you were now, covers tucked underneath your nose to hide your sobs. They had tried more than once to find the root of your sadness, but you were a closed door, keeping those who cared for you locked from entering.

Helaena had moved your quarters to the Holdfast as she promised, something you were initially looking forward to. It meant less sneaking around the halls and the corridors of the Keep like a mouse to find Aegon, but that was why precisely you dreaded it now. Though you had scarcely seen him, no doubt drunker than a Bravosi sailor in the pillow houses, the fact that he resided within the same wing made your skin prickle with disgust.

He had yet to return your dagger, small and silver with dragons on the hilt, and you had half a mind to storm inside his chambers for it, but each time you were within eyesight of his door, profound nausea and the sting of tears would stop you.

How could you have lain with the man who bore the blood of two innocents? How could Aegon lay with the kin of the people he sentenced to death? You knew him to be cruel and unusual, but that was something even you could not rightly justify.

Aegon was no matter, you told yourself, rising from your bed at the smell of ham and boiled eggs. All that did was ensuring your Mother's smooth succession. You could achieve it in other manners of not seducing the eldest son of the King. Your presence was something enough to stop them should the Stranger take your Grandsire, and if Queen Alicent and Lord Otto Hightower try to place Aegon on the throne, you would gut her, then her Father, then her beloved first son before the following morn.

You would kill a legion of men before Aegon ever sat upon the Iron Throne, even if it meant your demise.

It's what your Father would want. He would proudly let his daughter lay down her life in service to the crown, just as he would. There would be no nobler of a death.

Jeyne had readied your bath and outfit for the day, a high-collared dress made of black satin. Small silver plates of metal and beads that looked like dragon scales were sewn on the torso in a 'v' shape, accentuating the scandalous low cut of your gown. The sleeves were a long, unsewn style, the stitching keeping them together ending just before the crook of your arm and flowing around you like a cape at your sides. You paired it with an ornate belt, the design of swirling dragons with their teeth bared melted into the steel, matching hammered cuffs on your wrists. Your necklace was a simple chain, needlelike links dripping down your sternum until they looped into your house sigil.

You looked to be in mourning garbs rather than the typical court colors, a common occurrence. Perhaps you were, in a sense, mourning. Mourning a loss you should have accepted years ago, weeping for happiness free of politics and schemes, mourning the connection from someone you tried so hard not to form one with.

The three ladies had learnt not to ask why you made such decisions in your clothes. They would only be met with a lie and a smile that stretched a bit too wide. They understood that something had happened and did their best to tread carefully. You were not cross with them, no matter how hurt, vengeful, or angry. Fiora, Jeyne, and Dyanna were innocent in all this, as Sara was, and you refused to have them involved with any of your personal affairs in fear of what would become of the three women.

You paused momentarily, adjusting the designed belt to rest comfortably on your waist, realizing the littlest maid was not there.

"Where is Dyanna?" you asked calmly, curious but not concerned about where she could be. "Is she unwell?"

"No, Princess," Fiora answered, ushering you to the vanity. "She's been assigned to care for Princess Helaena's children after one of the nursemaids fell ill and had to be sent home."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, frowning at the memory of your time with the young Prince and Princess. You have seen the little ones almost every day since the beginning of the planting season, and you haven't noticed any ailments in their caretaker.

You reasoned that illnesses always had the potential to be a sudden onset of symptoms. You had seen in your childhood on the merchant streets how a vendor was acceptable one day, selling different fruits and vegetables you could never afford, then the next, gone without a trace due to a fever. You hoped Jaehaerys and Jaehaera did not catch whatever it was. The first decade of a child's life was the most precarious, their tiny bodies not used to the dirt and disease the realm had to offer.

You left the thought at that, hoping to see the skittish, fair-skinned girl with them. A grimace made its way to your face, attempting to ignore how the wooden comb snagged on a tangle in your hair. Fiora styled it into a braided updo. Two thick plaits in a 'u' shape lay at your skull's base, a silver three-layered chain with black star sapphires pinning it to your hair. Clasping a pair of fan-shaped earrings in your lobes, you stood, stealing one last boiled egg before bidding your ladies farewell and greeting Ser Arryk at the door.

He followed wordlessly, as any knight should, observing how your hips slightly swayed with each step of your leather slippers. Arryk had tread carefully since that scornful night. Since the night you reeked of sweat, alcohol, and tears. He remembered seeing the stars reflected in your dark eyes, the violet hidden during the hour of the wolf, and he couldn't help but think how things might have been if your Father wasn't a Targaryen.

Perhaps he could've met you before he swore to take no wife and bear no heirs. Possibly still while he was a simple bannermen, living from allowance to allowance. Arryk would not have the luxuries he had now if it happened, but if ever given a chance, he might leave it all behind. It would be a shame to leave the highest rank a knight of lower-born descent could achieve, but he would do it for love, for only if you loved him back.

Your guard had suddenly stopped following behind you, standing idly with a slight wrinkle on his forehead and hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Ser Cargyll?" you questioned without words incredulously, tilting your head to the side.

He was silent for a moment more, seeming to come back from wherever he was inside his mind. It was a dangerous place to be inside one's head for too long. It sent some men mad, some women to despair, and some to where they could never leave. You knew what it was like when one would stay inside too long. It sent you reeling in anger, sadness, and joy. There is too much inside not to get lost in.

"Princess, this is not the way to the Godswood," Ser Arryk stated, the crease on his forehead gone.

"I know, Ser. We are not going to the Godswood today," you answered politely, not elaborating further as you continued walking.

"If you don't mind me asking, your Grace, where are we going?"

You flashed a bright smile at Arryk, glancing behind before coyly turning away. He started at the back of your intricately braided hair, mesmerized by the being that was you. His eyes traced how your ebony strands crossed in on themselves, the way the golden chains bounced with every stride. The knight noiselessly cursed the Maiden and the Mother for making you in their image.

While Ser Arryk did recognize the halls you traveled, he was sure you didn't. Your head twists and turns each way, peering into every door and threshold, searching for something he was unsure of.

"Princess, I may be a knight, but I am your protector. 'Tis my right to know your plans and destinations," he commanded as kindly a man could in hopes of not securing your wrath.

He had seen it once before in the training yard at the hour of ghosts, Prince Aegon standing too close to be considered appropriate, his sworn protector nowhere in sight. Despite Arryk's place on the ramparts above and the sun having long set in the west, he could spot the twitches underneath your eye, barely containing malice on your pursed lips as you pulled your bowstring. The knight hadn't noticed how you did it, but a rock was within the place of the arrow as you shot it at the crown Prince's foot, earning a yelp from the twenty-year-old lecher.

You turned back to him, crossing your arms with an undignified huff. "I am not gallivanting off into the Kingswood, Ser Cargyll. I do not understand your persistence with the matter." Arryk attempted to hide the frown that pulled his lips, but you saw him sighing softly and looking to the floor to think over your words more carefully. "We are visiting Grand Maester Orwyle. He has a collection of history and law books that has peaked my interest."

You stepped towards him, breathing a calming breath through your nose, and dropped your arms. Ser Arryk was a fragile soul, simple almost, only following the linear path of honor and duty with no concern for whether it was right or wrong. If the King said it, he did it. If the Queen said it, he did it. If you said it, he did it. His singular vision of things was almost admirable at times. To blindly follow orders without the moral guilt of your actions was something you hoped for. It would make things easier in this game of thrones and less heavy to bear.

But that wasn't life. That wasn't the fate the Gods intended for those with responsibility, though many attempted. Rhaenyra tried, and if you were her, impending the ever-looming doom of the crown, you too would stay tucked away in the little world where life felt light.

Arryk took your stillness as an invitation to walk alongside you, silently leading you to the Maester's quarters and saving your pride from ignorance. You ordered him to stay outside, and he obeyed without a second thought, dipping his head and muttering, "Princess."

Maester Orwyle was hunched over a large oak desk, tomes scattered across it, pieces of parchment covering most of the surface; peeking between them were lighter patches on the wood worn from centuries of usage. It was a simple room with a cot at the far end of it, large bookcases occupying most of the space. Multiple candles were lit throughout the dim room, the smell of incense burning heavily. Shelves lined the bare walls, glass bottles of liquids, salves, and dried herbs occupying them.

The brown-skinned man looked up from his work upon your entrance, sitting the quill he was writing with inside the inkwell and standing.

"Princess, how can I help you?" he asks sincerely. You could still recall when you first met him, scribbling notes and assisting the former Maester Mellos as he tended to you.

"I was inquiring if I may borrow some books of laws from your collection. I find myself not reading the correct ones in the library to assist my studies."

You weren't lying. You couldn't find the text you were searching for because it was not only laws. It was the death records of prisoners, and only the keeper of those things had access to them in their collection.

"Ah. I see," Orwyle nodded, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his canvas robes. He led you across the room, showing you to the section. "May I ask what specificity you require so that I may lead you to the correct tome?"

You planned for him to ask you this, and as you rehearsed a dozen times in your head, you smiled, bobbing politely. "Of course. I am in search of the laws regarding war aid. We have provided some to the Stepstones, and Lord Corlys brought to my attention that they require more. I do not want to make it seem like the Crown is inserting itself into the conflict."

He beamed slightly, a sight you never recalled seeing on the man before as he directed you to the section of law. An entire side of the bookshelf dedicated to just that, tomes of varying shades of green, brown, and black, and you blanched at the sight. What would the records be like if this was only the law section? Would you have time to sort through them all to find the one you need?

"Thank you," you said, concealing the sudden rush of anxiety within your gut. "I realized that your collection was vast, but this is..." you trailed off, gesturing to everything around you, "expansive. How do you ever keep track of them all?"

Orwyle chuckled, seeming to preen under what he took as praise, bowing in gratefulness. "It is not all from me, Princess. Each book has been added with every Maester since they were brought to the Keep. We simply divide each shelf by memory, though we try to keep the subjects together."

"That is..." you couldn't find the right words, truly at a loss for them as you stared at the collection before you, "extraordinary. You must show me everything!"

You took his arm in yours, leading him out of the secluded area like a child with their playmate, giggling like an unwed maiden as you skipped along. Orwyle was surprised by your giddy demeanor, contrasting the dim and almost gloomy atmosphere despite the late morning sun shining through the tall stained glass windows. The Maester was alone within these four walls, writing, studying, and mixing away with the occasional Lord or Lady stopping by. To have such radiant company was a welcomed intrusion to his duty-filled days.

Men are so easy. All you had to do was smile demurely, flutter your lashes, and they would eat shit out of the palm of your hand.

Orwyle guided you, explained how each section was organized, and added his anecdotes. You listened intently, nodding along to every word, no matter how minute it seemed. This endeavor had proven more fruitful than you intended. The Maester had enjoyed your company so much that he invited you back, insisting that you could pick whatever book you wished before he left to return to his work.

And so you did. Traversing to your rooms with six tomes piled high in your limbs before Ser Arryk insisted he carry some, keeping one hidden between the stack within your hold.

Once you reach your chambers, your sworn shield follows you, placing the stacks on a table with neatly stacked parchment, a letter sealed with the Targaryen emblem in black wax resting beside your writing set. You catch Arryk eyeing it for longer than appropriate, and you purposely meet his gaze, a raised brow on your face.

"That is all, Ser Cargyll. I thank you for your assistance." You never fail to detect how he stiffens when you say his title, a quirk you've been unable to comprehend.

As always, he bows and takes his leave, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. When the lock clicks, your hands immediately snatch the letter, knowing who it's from. You lived for the notes from your family; they were the lifeline that kept you afloat in the brackish waters of Kings Landing. It was your only form of communication with them, and you looked ahead to whatever they had to say, no matter how asinine or mundane the contents were.

You ripped the wax seal without care, devouring each word, your eyes moving too fast for your mind to keep up. You could quickly tell it was from your Father, the lines of his letters thicker and more potent than your Mother's, his writing purposeful.

"Daughter,

I hope you find yourself well. Your Mother missed you dearly at Jacaerys' nameday this spring, but she looks forward to seeing you for Luke's later this year. I informed her that you are dealing with matters of importance that require your attention and would be unable to attend. Death comes when we least expect it with crowned heads and ambitious hands."

Tears stinging took you from reading, pursuing your lips to keep them from wetting the document and making the ink illegible. You longed to return to Dragonstone and see your family. Smell the scent of brimstone and salt and feel the damp sea air on your skin as you rode Cannibal high above Dragonmont.

Daemon's reasoning was understandable, but it hurt. It made your heart clench and your chest feel hollow. Resting your forehead on the heel of your palm, the letter in the other, you continued.

"I know this will upset you, but I trust you'll understand my reasoning. We must make sacrifices until your Mother sits on the throne uncontested. You see the concept of duty and loyalty to your kin. You've always been the one out of my children to unwaver in your will, and that is something I admire.

I received word from Lord Dalton Greyjoy, who has proposed marriage just as you said. Your wit and cunning never cease to amaze me, daughter. I still need to send word regarding my decision. I wanted you to be the one to decide.

Lord Greyjoy is a fine match for you. His fleet of long boats and swords rivals that of the crown itself, but I hold my reservations regarding his intentions with you. I believe you have outdone yourself, for he seems bewitched, intent on making you his Rock Wife, and I am unsure if that is harmful or helpful. I've heard the rumors of his treatment regarding his Salt Wives, and I will not tolerate such things toward my eldest child. Should you accept his proposal, and he does not honor his duty as lord husband, I shall cut off his cock and throw it into the sea as a gift for his Drowned God.

Think over this. I do not expect an answer within a moon. If he truly desires you in such a way, he will wait as long as you deem fit. My daughter is not a shiny coin to be plucked and placed in a crow's nest.

Expect a letter from Lucerys soon. He's been inquiring about your happiness. I believe he misses you more than your Mother and I put together. I await your next raven with patience.

Yours Respectfully, Prince Daemon Of House Targaryen"

You scoffed, throwing the letter haphazardly across the table. You knew the proposal from Lord Dalton would come eventually, as you had corresponded for the past seven moons. It was a gratifying distraction you should have taken seriously, your letters filled with much less pomp than was expected for a woman of your status. Possibly, in your lack of care, you inadvertently wooed him as his last raven was treading the line of inappropriate. You remembered how his words made you, a girl who spent her early years in a whore house, blush.

He would be an excellent match politically, and perhaps you could grow to love him, even better his treatment of his Salt Wives. But you knew better. Lord Dalton Greyjoy only loved two things in this world: bloodshed and women. He would grow tired of you swifter than you would him, and it was not proper for women of the realm to have paramours, hypocrisy be damned.

You didn't want to give the situation more thought. Your Father permitted you to mull; you would gladly take it, opening the records book hidden between the stacks.

The pages were easy enough to navigate. The Masters, if not anything, were thorough, creating an index of years in ascending order to the most recent. Your finger paused on the one you remembered so well. The year in which you were stolen everything that might have been. The year that the Stranger claimed two souls earlier than they should have.

You turned the pages.

The smell of aged leather and parchment wafted into the air, nearly choking on its scent in the back of your throat. They arranged the death records from the first of the year to the end of it, and you searched for the seventh moon. On the fifth day, only two deaths are recorded, that of two prisoners named Lyra Black and Sara Smithe. The cause was beheaded by members of the City Watch.

It did not say the names of who, an intelligent choice on the Maester's part, for if you knew, their deaths would become sooner. They were lucky Mellos or one of the many others had the foresight not to write them down, as other Maesters had, but it only made this all the more exciting. The satisfaction as you plunged your dagger into their necks, slicing through tendons, muscles, and vertebrae, ensuring they felt every bit of suffering, anguish, and fear Lyra and Sara felt.

It would be messy. There were many veins and arteries within one's neck. You needed to bring some water with you to wash before returning to your chambers. It would all be for naught if someone saw you walking the halls with blood dripping from your digits and face.

You wished it would be the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day to cut through their flesh, but Aegon still possessed it.

It was no matter. You had four more from the past, but that one, with its silver handle and roaring dragons engraved on both sides, held a place deep within your heart. And Aegon took it, as he always did with things. Take, take, take without concern about who he stole from. You would get it back, but not now. That would raise too much suspicion, and you would not put it past the eldest Prince to run to his Grandsire or Mother as he has done before.

You tried to recollect that fateful night, searching your memory for any detail you could sounder up, but it was hazy. The years you had blurred the picture of the throne room in your mind's eye. It was too painful to remember. Each time you thought of it, it was flashes, little glimpses of faces and bodies and heads. When you thought of it, all you could see was Lyra's smile, spending her last moments trying to reassure you, the fear behind Sara's eyes within her shackles, Otto Hightower's indifference, and Alicent's inaction in the face of two innocents deaths. You would never forget that, nor ever forgive.

You were scarcely in the Great Hall for a moment, and even then, your attention was elsewhere. You witnessed Ser Criston Cole grabbing you, pulling you back, the Queen turning away, and Lyra's comforting grin. Then, you saw them, gaze following the loops of the metal chain attached to Lyra and Sara, hands gripping at it as if the two women were nothing more than dogs. You met the eyes of two Gold Cloaks. You did not know their names, but you would soon; their countenance now burned into your mind.

Masterlist of Series

I've decided to change my uploading schedule from Sun/Mon to whenever possible. I'll always let you know before I post so you won't have to ask, "when are you going to post?!" I know that's not fun, but it works best for me because I get myself so worked up over updating on time when I'm in control of the situation. Also, I'm going to be getting rid of people in my taglist who haven't interacted with this fi since the list is so big. I want to have it all in one and make room for those who are active. So if you've been in my notifs in the past two months, you'll be fine. Welp, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapters are gonna get a little messy from here! xD

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