#she made a choice that she thought would bring an end to a war she thought lmanberg would lose (however unintentionally it backfired)

[dantakeyoman]

You Want Your Avatar To Become Fully Na’vi, But Neteyam Is Firmly Against It (SFW / Slight-Angst)

Reader is Fem! Avatar

CW: Angry Neteyam, he means well, he’s just scared :’), reader is in her avatar body during argument, things for the humans of Pandora aren’t doing so great, this was NOT meant to take this long, i dont think this came out well

“Absolutely not! It is out of the question!” Neteyam harshly dismissed, turning his back on you.

“Neteyam, you are only looking at the possible downsides. I-.” “I do not find your death a downside, (y/n),” he cut off, whipping back around in anger.

He could not believe you were suggesting this, knowing how he felt about the subject.

You wanted to make the change, to ask Eywa to bond your human soul with your Na’vi avatar.

But there was no guarantee that the Great Mother would accept this request. 

In fact, it was highly likely that she would deny it, taking you to join her sooner than planned.

Like so many had before you.

“Well, living in my human body is not much different from death, is it?” you huffed, angrily crossing your arms.

“Do not talk like that,” Neteyam glared, pointing a warning finger at you, saying Eywa forbid in his head for good measure.

“It’s true! I am a human, Neteyam! Living on a planet where anything and everything can kill me! My bones aren’t reinforced with carbon like you!” you burst, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“All it takes is one misstep, one wrong move, one place I’m in at the wrong time. And I’m done. Finished.”

“I will protect you, then! But there is no way I can let you go through with this!” Neteyam exclaimed, his eyes having the tiniest flicker of...something.

It was fear.

This conversation was truly frightening him. 

You seemed dead set on this, not budging a single inch even after the screaming match you two had been having for the past hour.

“There is no guarantee that you will survive the transfer.”

“There is no guarantee that you will be there every time I need saving,” you countered, sharply.

“I WILL BE!”

“BUT WHAT IF YOU WON-?!”

“KEHE!” he loudly hissed, silencing you mid-sentence.

You looked at him, blankly. Shocked.

He had never hissed at you before.

“I will not listen to this any longer,” he said darkly, turning around and getting ready to walk out.

You could not let the argument end like this. 

And you knew you had to share with him what you had found out from the scientists.

"There’s been talk, Neteyam,” you started, the Na’vi boy stopping in his tracks.

He was listening.

“I overheard Norm and Max talking about the oxygen tanks that were left over from the first Great War. They said that they can only last for so long. And with no way to replenish them, they’re guessing we only have about a year and a half of air left before it completely runs out.”

Neteyam’s eyes shot wide as he turned around, looking at you nervously.

Fearfully.

“That is why I have been so persistent with this. If I do not make the transfer, I will either be sent back to Earth-.” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Or I will die.”

The horrible word sent Neteyam’s head spinning, his mind already coming up with images of you laying on the forest ground, gasping for air that was no longer there.

Both options were unbearable.

Your death was obviously out of the question. But going back to Earth? 

He’d never see you again. 

You’d go back to living with your people. And no doubt some human man would try to sweep you off your feet.

The very thought made his blood boil, and his heart burn.

Not you. Not his love.

He didn’t think he could physically function without you by his side.

Who would braid his hair? Who would cuddle him when he was tired? Who would help patch his wounds after battle?

The poor boy was so lost in his imaginary grief, that he didn’t even notice to walk up to him, until you cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Do you see now? The choice is death now, or death later-.” “Please,” Neteyam stopped you, pleadingly, his voice cracking as he rested his forehead on yours.

“Do not speak like that. Do not bring those pictures into my head.”

You sighed, allowing your thumb to caress his cheek as you placed a feather-light kiss on his lips.

“I will not go through it without your blessing, my Neteyam,” you assured, giving him a sad smile.

If Neteyam did not feel comfortable with you making the transition, then you would respect his wishes. 

Neteyam took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You promise you will come back to me?” he asked, muffled as he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

You cheesed, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

“I do not believe Eywa brought us together if she did not plan for me to.”

...

“Tìng mikun ayoheru rutxe, ma Nawma Sa’nok!” Mo’at exclaimed to the People, the Sully family, and the entire clan connected to the Soul Tree.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison, the bioluminescent ground pulsing on beat.

You, and your avatar body, lay naked at the base of the tree, unconscious as the undergrowth made tsaheylu with the nape of both your necks.

Neteyam kneeled nervously before you, saying his own quiet prayer to Eywa for your good health.

To everyone else, he seemed surprisingly calm about this, as if the whole ceremony didn’t faze him in the slightest.

But on the inside, he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

If you were to die, he didn’t think he could take it.

He wasn’t strong enough.

When he watched the beautiful eyes of your human body shut, it felt as if his heart was being ripped out.

What if that was the last time he could look into them? 

His hands shook as he continued, the only one seeming to notice being his mother.

She knew how she felt.

She was in his exact place at one time. Years ago.

“Pori tireati, munge mì nga,” Mo’at walked over to your human body, shaking her hands above you.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“ulte tìng ayoer nì’eyng ngeyä ya!” she shifted to your avatar, shaking her hands above her as well.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“Tivìran po ayoekip,” Mo’at held her hands up to the air.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“Na Na’viyä hapxì!” she shouted, whipping her hands out to the People.

“Eo Eywa oe’ia. Eo Eywa oe’ia. Eo Eywa oe’ia.”

Mo’at���s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she continued to chant, Neteyam practically sweating bullets.

It’d be quite a funny sight if the stakes weren’t so high.

“Lu hasey!” she shouted, silencing the crowd.

The ceremony was done.

Quickly, Neteyam crouched over you, carefully removing the oxygen mask from your face and placing it next to you.

He leaned down, placing two, gentle kisses on each of your eyelids.

You looked so peaceful.

Moving over to your avatar, he carefully caressed her face, looking down at her so lovingly.

Don’t get him wrong, your human body was beautiful. One of the prettiest he’s ever seen.

But when it came to your avatar.....well....let’s just say your features, and a Na’vi woman’s features, mix very well.

“Please wake up, my love. I am right here. I am waiting for you,” he encouraged, raising your hand to his cheek as he sadly smiled.

He knew passing through the Eye of Eywa was very tiring, but he would be there to cheer you on the whole way.

And just like that, you gasped, your eyes snapping open.

The entire clan went up in uproarious cheers.

This was the first time the transfer had worked in a long time.

“My (y/n)!” Neteyam sighed, relieved as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

He was at the brink of tears.

He was so, so proud of you.

That’s right. His soon-to-be mate was the one that survived. 

She was a strong, beautiful, and tough woman, Na’vi or not.

“It....worked!” you looked down at yourself, turning over your hands to get a good look at them.

I had truly worked. You were Na’vi now.

And you had seen Eywa.

Oh, she was so gorgeous. Her beauty was divine, and beyond complete comprehension, but she was still soft and kind, like that of a mother.

You would have to tell Neteyam all about it when you got a chance.

Speak of the devil.

“Neteyam!” you squealed as the boy quickly scooped you up bridal style, turning to the clan with a smirk on his face.

“AUAUAUAUAUAUAUAU!” he ululated happily, holding you close as he paraded you down the aisle, his smile nearly blinding you.

You laughed, wrapping our arms around his neck as the people of the clan cheered, some letting out their own shouts of joy.

As you two approached his ikran, you smirked, sitting yourself down on the saddle.

“I told you I would make it back,” you teased, earning a playful eye roll from the warrior as he hopped on behind you.

“I am happy you proved me wrong,” he smirked, turning your chin with his thumb and index, landing a passionate kiss on your lips.

It was the type to leave you breathless when you separated.

Which it did.

As you stared at him, stupidly...lovingly. He smiled, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“What am I going to do with you?”

...

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fluff #omitacaya #atwow x reader #atwow

[bluespiritshonour]

Water Siblings and Fire Siblings as Foils

Katara and Sokka are peak sibling rep: they bicker, they hurt each other, they take turns being the voice of reason while the other goes batshit crazy—and they'd die for each other.

And very clearly Sokka's daddy's boy and Katara's momma's girl: and for most parts, they seem to be content with that dynamic.

Look, parents have favourites, let's establish that first: don't come at me for it.

But in a healthy environment, where all of the kids’ emotional needs are met irrespective of which kid gets along with which parent, they're less likely to tear themselves apart yearning for parental affection.

Sokka and Katara's family was a normal one, a healthy one—as healthy as one can be in a war ravaged world—and Sokka and Katara are normal siblings. Even after their mother died Katara doesn't seem to care much that Sokka gets more time with their father. And everytime she brings up their mother Sokka gets this weird look on his face, which, I think is later explained by the fact that he feels guilty that he doesn't even remember what their mother looked like. And it's not because Katara seems to know more about their mother despite being younger.

Neither of them grudge the other for having been close to one of the parents—let's call it ‘being close to’ instead of ‘dad/mum loved you/me more’ because that's what would come up with Azula and Zuko.

One can say that Azula's daddy's girl and Zuko's momma's boy... Except it isn't like that.

Azula wasn't loved by her father; neither was she close to him. If anything she had the illusion that she's close to him. But children can sense when they aren't loved, which can explain why she took her mother being close to Zuko so hard. Because she didn't get that from her father and isn't she supposed to be daddy's girl? But dad's good to her; mum... isn't. Dad lets her do what she wants... As long as she obeys him or she'd end up like Zuko.

For Ozai, both his children are pawns. He uses Azula to abuse Zuko, which in turn is to get at Ursa. And honestly, Ursa was a bad mum and an abuse victim and not the villain are takes that can co-exist.

A lot of mums in primarily patriarchal cultures end up abusing their own kids while trying to protect them in an environment where they themselves hold little power.

Ursa and Hakoda can be compared in this.

Katara haters can look away: she isn't whiny. And even if she is, well, she takes responsibility when no one else does so I guess she deserves to complain if that's what it takes. Katara is extremely mature. When she was mad at Hakoda, she still had the critical thinking skills to point out that yes, she understands why he left. He had to! She doesn't blame him for that, it wasn't his fault that there was war going on—but it still hurt!

And what does Hakoda do? He hugs her and apologises. He doesn't defend himself, because he doesn't need to. She understands! She said she does and he doesn't insult her by making excuses. He acknowledges and validates her pain.

Unlike Katara, who grew up in a healthy family with parents and grandparents and a whole community—Azula was isolated and under the influence of Ozai. And she was so young! If you remember being that young, you'd remember thinking that parents are always right. You don't realise that parents make mistakes too—and while her emotional needs weren't being met by Ozai, she turned to Ursa—but Ursa was at her wits end trying to undo the damage of Ozai's abuse on Zuko.

If she had given attention to Azula, Zuko, who thought that Azula was perfect and already had father's approval would have gone off rails—and since she didn't... Azula went off the rails.

Which was exactly how Ozai would want it. I don't like the comics much but it made sense that Ozai would hold both the children as bargaining chips against Ursa. Ursa made her choice, or rather, the illusion of her choice and Azula had to pay for it: the real reason Zuko could turn over a new page while Azula couldn't was because from the very beginning, Zuko had his mum and uncle.

Azula had no one!

Like Hakoda had to go to war and leave his children behind, Ursa had to choose between Azula or Zuko; Ozai orchestrated it as such.

But while there were people to pick up Hakoda's slack, there was no one to guide Azula. Sokka and Katara raised each other and they had Gran Gran.

Zuko and Azula were constantly pitted against each other by a war-mongering father.

I don't like this unrealistic expectations that fandom has of a family where both the siblings not only love each other equally, they also process emotions similarly (see: the Sokka vs Katara debate on how they both react to trauma) and parents who love all the kids equally.

Katara and Sokka are normal and realistic in the way that they are both different people: they process grief differently. Katara takes up responsibly and grows up too fast, it takes a toll on her and she's vocally expressive. She turns her grief into anger. Meanwhile Sokka internalises it in a survivor's guilt kind of way.

There's also gender involved in the way both pair of siblings interact. It's more subtle for the fire siblings than the water sibling. Plus, Suki makes Sokka drink his respect women juice, please y'all don't call Sokka sexist. That was character development for him which was addressed. I could make another post for gender and A:TLA.

And they both love each other dearly and they're okay with the fact that one is daddy's boy and the other is momma's girl. It's okay.

In contrast Zuko yearns for his father's affection and Azula yearns for her mother's. And while Zuko feels inadequate, for Azula it's “behave or you'll end up like your brother.”

She also learns to derive a sick sort of pleasure from watching Zuko suffer—which is entirely her father's doing. Because in rare moments when she doesn't have anything to gain by getting Zuko into trouble...she actually kind of looks out for him. It's extremely rare and sprinkled here and there to show us the Azula that could have been.

And I don't think Zuko really realised that Azula was abused too—not until he lets go of his father. Until the final Agni Kai. What I love about it is that despite portraying Azula as Zuko's tormentor for 3 seasons (and she was his tormentor) they did not frame the Agni Kai as some epic good vs evil shit.

Because from Zuko's point of view Azula was perfect. He's out here vying for his father's affection while she gets it freely. She's so lucky!—until he lets go of his father and realises what a monster he was... And he also realises that father never really loved Azula either...

They didn't say as much in words. But the final Agni Kai is proof enough. Zuko doesn't rejoice bringing Azula down (technically Katara did it). At this point, I guess, he realises that Azula's a kid too. Even younger than him—that their father couldn't care less about either of them.

Okay. I really do think that Zuko suddenly becoming invested in Azula's redemption would make sense after the Agni Kai. I also read this Twitter thread by Aaron Ehasz where he says he had plans for Azula's redemption and it was fantastic.

So yeah. Without being overt, the water siblings and fire siblings are contrasted by each other. Which is why I don't like the comics trying to do this brother-sister thing where they put Sokka and Katara and Zuko and Azula in back-to-back panels like... Even if I'm a huge supporter of Azula-deserves-redemption I didn't like those panels in the comics.

P.S. don't pit Sokka and Katara against each other. You aren't Ozai. They're different people who process trauma and loss differently and hence, react differently.

Adios.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #ink rambles #katara #sokka #zuko #azula #azula deserves redemption #katara defence squad

[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no rpomises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

HOTD: @taragryenmoony

General: @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

#aegon targaryen x reader x aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegosexual #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon smut #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen smut #aegon one shot

[its-actually-minicika]

Hi, love your works so much! Can't wait for more updates 🥰🥰 I was wondering maybe you'd like the idea where book!Aemond and Velarion!(Strong?)Reader are in an arranged marriage. But Reader just knows what to say and how to act so that Aemond is wrapped around her finger (kinda thought of Margaery and Joffrey situation, she was such a talented schemer, worthy of winning the Throne 😭). I don't really know about the setting, like if it's before, during or after the Dance... just thought it'd be interesting to see this kind of plot with our beloved Prince 🤴🏼🐉

If you don't like it, just ignore me 🙈

Dragon Sickness (18+)

Pairing: bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader

Warnings: No usage of (Y/N), Greens win AU, bookcanon Greens, the obvious Targaryen incest, mentions of major character deaths (we're entering spoiler grounds, but not really), blood, gore etc.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: I fell in love with this idea the moment I saw it! I ended up altering the plot line for this one-shot a little bit - the reader will definitely grow into the Margaery architype, but today you shall see her as she was when she just learned how to make ends meet with her newfound life at Court.

I don't know if I should turn this into yet another series, but if you guys enjoyed this, let me know

Also, thank you so, so much for your kind words ♡ i'm hugging you to the moon and back!

PART 2 IS OUT NOW ♡♡♡

Who could ever blame you for your indiscreet acts? Alliances change when the world you know suddenly turns upside down.

She remembered how weak she was. How scared she had been.

How her eyes widened into two brown specs of uncertainty, how her mouth fell agape, as she mulled over Alicent’s words.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her. Much less her demanding and scornful father.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead. Driftmark wouldn’t matter, her legacy wouldn’t matter. Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

Never mind that he’d never partaken in a fight; save for the one that killed her stepfather, Daemon, and sent her poor mother in a downward spiral. Aemond had chosen his adversaries wisely, and managed to go through the whole war without as much of a scratch upon his silver armour.

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out.

‘You will do exactly as demanded.’

‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

A monstrous beast. That is what Aemond was.

And that is what he shall remain. No matter how many gifts he brought to her. No matter how many hours of their days and days in their weeks and weeks in their months they spent promenading those ghastly gardens.

‘You will if you know your best interests. Your own head may hold no value to you, but a single swing of my son’s sword would be enough to bring forth the ruin of House Blackwood.’

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

The slight breeze of the cathedral mended her flesh from the heat of summer. And no one dared to approach or talk to her. The quietness was a welcomed deed.

During the first night of their betrothal, her glossy eyes scanned Aemond’s face. His hands wantonly gripped at his thighs and a slight twitch of his mouth, accompanied by an elongated hum escaped his lips.

There was no other discernable expression. And when he led her to the chambers of her early girlhood, he merely bowed and kissed her hand.

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months. Her wedding date was approaching swiftly, and she found herself faced with the abhorrent truth. She had no allies. No more friends at Court. The girl had shut herself in her tiny room, losing her mind with the pain and grief that flooded her at night: the faces of her mother, her brothers, her father. The sound of their screams and their endless pleas for help.

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in.

‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

The echo of his mellow voice deterred her to let out a blood-curdling scream, that would have rivalled even the one of the late Queen Rhaenyra, after Aegon the Usurper ceased her at Dragonstone, and reeled his dragon to eat her whole.

‘Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck out of my room!’

Her sobs pierced into the man’s heart, but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn. He clenched his fists ruefully by his side, and spat out an apology in a low and dangerous tone.

‘As you wish.’

And how dearly he loved those words:

‘As you wish.’

'As you desire.’

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

Her face contorted into the mirror, and a faint sigh beleft her lips. Carefully she turned around, reflecting his stance with a subtle arch to her shapely brow.

“It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding ceremony.”

“An old wives' tale. And one that applies only on the day itself.”

“Perhaps we should encourage tradition more. Make it so we don’t cross paths at all til then.”

Just as fast as it came, the feral look dissolved over his tired face. Aemond heaved out a heavy exhale and merely settled to growl at her maids.

“Leave us. Now.”

A discontented look painted over her fair features. His niece opened her mouth in protest, to try and stop the fleeing girls from truly making their escape.

“I must remind my Prince that the engagement assembly will be held in less than an hour. I believe I should like them to stay.”

The gathered women exchanged lost and protruding glances, until the former King Regent spoke again.

“They will leave us at once.”

“They’ll do no such a thing. They must make haste to get me ready. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

“I’m more than capable of lacing up a loose bodice.”

The tight expression on her face deserted her features with the leave of his smug retort. She swallowed thickly in enraged abandon, and silently beseeched her ladies not to leave her all alone.

Still ravishing her with his bold stare, Aemond stepped another foot into the cosy confinements of her tidy prison. “If I’m to turn around now and find any of you standing before me, I’ll arrange that you’re all flogged and defiled beyond the utter of salvation.”

Brisk footsteps swallowed the room, echoing wildly through the narrow dark hallways. The former Velaryon shook her head in disarray, and graced her soon-to-be-husband with a tight smile and a nod.

“Congratulations.” She uttered humorously, “I should enjoy looking like a fool tonight much more than being proper by your side.”

As if drowned below a trace, Aemond took another step in the direction of the frowning Princess. His face remained impenetrable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice ran meek, unsure and hoarse.

“Turn around.” He commanded her gently, whilst grabbing a deep green garment from the cluttery made on her bed. Despite her lack of desire to abide by his request, the woman turned her back to him and muttered slowly, though much softer than intended.

“I don’t like that one. It’ll make the skirts look out of place.”

“Which one do you want, then?” His whisper had made her draw in a sharp gasp; the warmth of his breath fell soothingly over the nape of her neck, caressing her delicate skin in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“The red one with black lacings.”

His hand came to spin her back around, and their noses nearly touched together. A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

“Your petticoat won’t be those colours.”

A conceited scowl graced her face. She reached her hand behind him and skillfully snatched one of a different design. “Fine. I want to wear this one, then.”

The obnoxious blue and silver danced across her paling skin. And if Aemond weren’t so dazed by their proximity and lack of air, he might have laughed at her feeble attempts of vexing him.

“Those are Velaryon hues.”

“Perfect. I shall honour my house well.”

“You are not a Velaryon to grace them with such a feat.”

“No, you are absolutely right. Your brother did name me a Targaryen.”

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

“Yet I can’t wear black and red either.” A prompted look disarmed the Prince, “It is all very confusing.”

His lone orb descended to her puffing bosom, but Aemond soon directed himself upon a more elusive image. His fingers twitched with the need to grab a hold of her – to pull away those last pieces of cloth that shielded her away from view.

“You know full well why I can’t allow that.” He hummed in unmoving disapproval, “As much as I enjoy your voice and the raptures of your closeness, I must say this conversation bores me.”

“I should be able to wear what I want.” Came her prompt and swift reply, “But of course, Your Grace, forgive me. ‘Tis not for men to pounder on laces and brims.” Her palms took to rest upon his bulging chest, and the girl nearly removed them at once, as the thrumming of his heart enterlaced with her slim fingers. Still, she furrowed her brows in a most perplexed of mockeries, and insatiably drove on, “Indeed resilient men such as yourself occupy their time much better.”

The callouses of his hands fell heavily upon her cheeks.

“Fucking their ways through brothels, getting their pricks wet, and fantasising about wars.”

The harshness of his next tug nearly broke her brave facade – her eyes widened in mistrust, and a slight recoil braced over her straightened back. Her small fingers clasped over his shaking wrist, which held onto her face with a gentleness untoward; one completely mismatching with the predatory glimmer in his eye.

The man he was, and the man he was trying to be would surely never mend to one.

A Kinslayer. A monster. A divergent freak.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

His thumb played absent-mindedly at her lower lip, and the young Princess tried her damnest not to bite him. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?”

“You are as imprudent as you are beautiful. A family trait, I assume.”

“You have my gratitude for the flattering commentary. I’m very proud of my heritage.”

His lilac orb bore into her, and the man let out a reserved laugh, “Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.” The rough end of his hand gripped her own painfully, before she could make for a swing at his handsome face. “Lost in the seas, rotting at the bottom of an ocean, nestling inside Sunfyre’s belly.”

While her hands were clasped together, her mouth wasn’t sown shut. With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

Though his nostrils flared up in disdain, the man graced her with a calculated smirk. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?” He mocked her with feigned interest.

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

“Oh, but I have every right to talk about your family. Given that I will be all yours shortly.” Once more he forced her to turn around, and kneeled over to her spasming form, to begin dressing her up; in nought else, of course, but the mundane silks of his choosing.

"Doesn't the prospect thrill you? To become my lady-wife, to finally bear a true Targaryen inside your royal womb?"

So hopeless and defeated she felt, that the youth jerked herself relentlessly, while repeating him the same plethora of words. “You cannot force me to be your whore. You cannot force me to wear this. I will not bear your Hightower green.”

Aemond could feel his patience running thin – and when her foot came into contact with his setting knee, the man let out a ferocious growl, and promptly trapped the girl in his arms, with the aid of a nearby wall.

“So you want to be difficult? You don’t want to wear this? Hmm? Well, who am I not to abide my Lady’s burning wishes?”

The sharpness of his dagger came into quick contact with the milky skin of her thighs. And she might have almost screamed, if Aemond didn’t immediately pull himself away. His hard chest grazed hers for but a moment, as the Prince cast his attention to her moving shadow.

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

She huffed out a dispensing pant and pursed her lips into a tight line.

She remained rigid and poised, until a spark of amusement swirled into her eyes.

The first crack was that of a lax smile. The next, a tremor to her lips. The calm before the storm approached, until all rattled down with a mirthed laugh cascading from her reddened lips.

“Do you mean to frighten me with this promise?” She asked through the arch of an uncertain brow, “As if every man in this cursed Keep won’t get to watch me whore myself out to you anyway, when our wedding night will come?”

His face suddenly hardened at the notion of their reality – as if he didn’t give much thought to the bedding ceremony. To his Lady being watched by a thousand other eyes but his.

Aemond suddenly darkened, and his fist came into contact with a near spot on the wall, so awfully close to her frightened, paling face.

She watched with wide eyes how his stare contorted from one of realisation to one of fury. He stiffly peeled his body away from hers, and strained himself to leave her be. The jealous and possessive knots that churned painfully inside his stomach burned his skin upon the surface, and constricted the air he brashly took in.

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him. Behind his eye danced a look of seldom shame – he gnawed harshly at his bottom lip, and pondered, for a while, on apologising to his niece; for his lack of princely conduct, for his show of impropriety – for his inability to keep himself at bay.

Still his thoughts failed to merge to words, and so the man ran his eye one final time over her defensive pose, and merely left her standing there.

As if turned into a statue, the girl barely registered the lethargic closing of the door, the hurried and heavy footsteps that travelled further and further away from her quaint and cluttered space, and the animated curse that slipped past her uncle's throat.

Did he just dare to leave her there, with her petticoat half up her legs, in nought else but a flimsy nightdress?

At first she thought that his avoidance was a blessing in disguise.

For after clashing wits with Aemond, and after his swift hurried departure, the man had barely graced her with another word.

His hand held onto hers for the whole duration of the procession. He wordlessly forced her to dance two dances, and led her to her Quarters as soon as she mentioned that she was tired.

But his palms didn’t linger on the shape of her narrow waist – his lips barely grazed her knuckles, and Aemond turned with lest a word to add after their fake sympathies were exchanged.

Had he gotten bored of her? Realised what a terrible match they made, and begged his mother on his hands and knees to break off their ill engagement?

For the first time in a while, a new notion of fear engulfed her.

The Greens couldn’t kill her. Of that, she was almost certain. It wouldn't be a wise move, and it would anger the North beyond the power of salvation. The war had had its say on every army that fought into it, yet the Crownlands were especially weak.

But if Aemond were to sever their solidary alliance, then her future would be most uncertain.

Otto Hightower would make her join with an old and withered Lord, no doubt – one with more than enough sons to further on his pesky line. One who couldn’t even get it up to her, who’d never procreate and mend their blood, who’d make sure Rhaenyra’s line would end with her.

Or perhaps she’d be sent to join the Faith – become a Septa or a Silent Sister, among the infamous Maris Baratheons of the Realm. Yet another girl who wouldn’t keep her tongue when asked.

And history might remember them as ‘the women who couldn’t be tamed’, but their lives would be thrown to ruin. Their existence would remain a sham.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

… And if she had to whore herself to him to do it, she would obediently assume her role.

“I beg your pardon?” Aegon asked through another gulp of bitter wine, “Gods be good – I believe that now I’ve heard it all.”

Aemond paced about his brother’s room, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his face set into a deep grimace. He hummed in admission to his brother’s words, and glanced his way with the instance of a hooded eye.

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

His brother smiled and raised his brows in nothing else but blinding wonder. A small shake of his head indicated his perplexion, and a sharp inhale his drawn decision.

“Mother insisted upon it. You know that well.” The man steadied himself in his chair as he spoke, whilst letting out a small grunt at the contact that the wood made upon his burnt remnants of skin. “I don’t see any reason to annul it. Especially now, an eve before.”

Another sip of the stinging liquor interrupted his smooth and ready trail of thought. The Targaryen brushed off Aemond’s concerns, and gleefully bided his teasing.

“It’ll do the two of you good – you’ll get to see she’s as pure as a bastard girl can be; and she’ll have no deniability that any of her future heirs are yours.” He pointed his weary digit in the direction of his stiffened form and swallowed down a hefty laugh. “Not to mention that Lord Redwyne and Tarly already placed bets on the state of her maidenhead. Would be a shame to disappoint them both, don't you think?"

“What mother thinks is of no consequence. And the amusement of the Realm matters not to me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

“Nonsense, Aemond. It is our duty to upkeep the Realm – and to entertain its inhabitants if need be.”

When his reckless teasing was met with glacial silence, Aegon sighed as he briskly leaned forward. He watched his sibling with an indiscernible expression across his scorched veneer, and yawned greatly at his indisposed behaviour.

“Of course, we’re here to talk it out. But after so much time spent in your company, I fail to see the necessity for such a thing.” A sly smirk danced across his puffy lips, “Are you concerned that she won’t bleed? Or that you’ll be too cunt-struck by her to last enough to make a statement?”

Aemond’s fists descended upon the polished wood of Aegon’d desk. He thrashed his brother with a defiant glare, and hissed through his gritted teeth, and tight-set jaw.

“There will be no bedding ceremony for my niece and I. Tell that to every Lord that wishes to glance upon my wife – if they do so much as to cast their hands on her, they’ll be fucking their own wives with a wooden cock.”

Amusement laced with grave concern – the finality of Aemond's words ought to have vexed him, irk the King in his sibling's weighty insolence. Instead Aegon nodded, pushing back the feeling of dread that settled deep within his bones. His head jerked towards his closed oak door, signalling to his brother that his visit had been overstated. “What sort of brother would I be, to not grant you with this simple whim?”

The younger Targaryen mirrored his stance, and turned abruptly on his heel after a low grunt of gratitude.

His hand reached for the golden handle, but Aegon's words deterred him to a halt.

“But be careful with that one, Aemond. She’s brash and wholly unpredictable. Make sure the blood that stains your sheets come morning isn’t somehow your very own.”

Perma Tag List: @welcometothelioncage @kravitzwhore ♡

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd fanfiction #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x niece reader #dark aemond targaryen #bookcanon aemond targaryen #greens win au #pro team green #hotd angst #hotd smut #house of the dragon #enemies to lovers #slowburn fanfic #i mean really #really slow #ENJOY!!!

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Shadow

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst (specifically a very angsty Azriel)

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel gripped his glass so tightly in his fist he wondered if it would shatter. 

Another year gone. Another year without you. Another year where the guilt ate at his stomach and heart so fiercely he wondered if he was hollow on the inside. 

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME!

“Azriel.” Cassian’s voice brought him back to reality, a reality where he sat at an empty booth looking murderous as he tried to drown out the past with his ninth drink of the night.

“Cass.” He said stiffly. His voice was as steady and clear as if he hadn’t drank at all. Cassian could never tell if it was because the alcohol didn’t affect him, or because he was incredible at faking sobriety - either was possible when it came to Az.

“This is the fourth night in a row.”

“You’re perceptive. You should take my job.” Azriel’s voice was so dead and emotionless it frightened him.

“Stop this and come home.” Cassian said, almost begging. 

Azriel grit his teeth and said nothing, downing the rest of his drink and silently gesturing to the bar for another one. When the drink came, Cassian snatched it up first. Maybe the drinks had affected him, because on any other day, Azriel could strike faster than lightning.

“Rhysand has a job for you.” He said, pulling on the small collection of words guaranteed to bring some life to his brother.

Azriel’s spine snapped straight and Cassian flinched at how quickly his brother - brooding and sarcastic as he may be - was replaced by The Shadowsinger. 

“What’s the job?”

Find Bryaxis. Those were the two words that had sent Azriel flying into the night sky and across all of Prythian, chasing after the demon that had eluded them since the end of the war against Hybern.

For over a decade they’d all held their breath when it came to the ancient creature. For over a decade they’d been plagued by more pressing matters than a beast who seemed content to remain hidden and out of mind. Still, Azriel hadn’t forgotten about him. No, he was like a loose thread on a piece of clothing - forever destined to tug and unravel at Azriel’s shortening patience and sanity. 

Nesta had felt something. Something she wasn’t sure of - Bryaxis looming over all of Prythian like a shadow before curling up into a sliver of smoke and disappearing for good. 

They’d written to Elain to see if she had seen anything through her Eye, but she’d also been experiencing blind spots in her vision. The future was always full of events, some malleable and some concrete, but it was more unclear than ever before - like someone had shattered a mirror and she was left to string the pieces back together.

Azriel shook his head, emptying his mind of thoughts of Elain. It would do him no good. Thoughts concerning Elain were painful enough now that she’d left the Night Court… they were made even worse because they always traced their way back to you. Like how rivers must always find their way back to the sea, Azriel found himself drawn back to memories of you, so bright and full of heat they blinded and burned him. Your smile, your laugh, the grim determination on your face as you stared him down during sparring matches. You’d been his anchor without him even knowing it. 

And now you were gone. And it was all his fault.

Stupid, stupid fool. He hissed at himself.

Threads of information concerning Bryaxis were sparse and limited, but Azriel chased after them all, finding himself deep within the gleaming workshops of Dawn, the silent and cherished libraries of Day, and the sea-whipped bellies of Summer Court ships before finally tracing Bryaxis to the Autumn Court.

This has to be handled delicately. It is imperative that no one discovers you. 

Azriel saw Rhysand’s familiar graceful penmanship, read the words, and immediately crushed the note in his hand, casting it into the dying fire. The paper folded and crumpled from the heat before turning to ash.

He huddled down in the mountains that crossed the line between Winter and Autumn, grateful to be free from the cutting winds. Beyond the frozen lake were rolling hills of bejeweled forest. He wouldn’t risk flying now. From here he’d travel through shadows and by foot, getting as close to the Forest House as he dared.

If his intuition was right (and it so often was), if Eris knew Bryaxis was within the borders of his court, he would keep him close. Close enough to monitor, close enough to kill if need be. But what The High Lord of Autumn would want with Bryaxis, Azriel had no idea.

With the issue of succession dealt with and Eris planted on the High Lord’s seat, there came less and less of a need to continue relations between Autumn and Night, at least between Autumn and the Court of Dreams. After the war and until a month ago, nearly all of Eris’s dealings had been with Keir and the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand wanted to change that, and that meant if Azriel wanted to search for Bryaxis in Autumn, he would have to do it in secret. Eris would sooner pluck out his eyes than let any member of the Inner Circle scour his lands voluntarily.

Azriel traveled from town to town, inching ever closer to the Forest House, which curled up beneath the earth like a sleeping giant. That was the issue with the Forest House - hardly anyone knew the size of it, and that meant Azriel could be walking above a watchguard stronghold and not realize until it was too late. 

Something stirred within him when he reached one of the Forest House border towns. Everywhere people seemed brighter, livelier than when Beron had been alive, but this place… this place was filled with an uncharacteristic casualness and joy. The marketplace bustled with activity even in the early morning. Plump fruits, freshly baked bread, and sticky treacle candies wrapped in wax paper were laid out with care on hand-built carts decorated with golden chrysanthemums and sunflowers. 

You would have loved this place.

No. This wasn’t what he’d come for. He’d come to distract himself with work and to find Bryaxis.

Azriel slipped up the trees and settled in between two arching branches, straining his ears to hear the talk that went on below. His shadows slithered out to gather information his senses couldn’t reach.

“Faula’s with child, can you imagine! After so-”

“Thirty?! Why, how could you charge so much! The High Lo-”

“Four dozen eggs, two pounds of flour, six slabs of butter, and-”

“Will Our Lady be coming?” 

Azriel’s ears pricked up, blocking out the hushed conversation that went on around the pair of females who sat on milk crates and peeled apples under the cover of a thatched roof. The crisp sound of a knife sliding between fruit and peel followed by the thunk of a cored apple dropping into a barrel was a soft rhythm to Azriel’s ears.

“To ours?! Good gods, Rebessa, to think that she’d spend the harvest here.”

“She lives close by. It’s not as though we’re strangers to her and she’s wonderfully kind!”

“I hear she’s been invited elsewhere.”

The female gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere.” 

“Do you think he’ll-”

“Shhhhh. You mustn’t say anything. I’m not even supposed to know.” 

“Well how’d you find out?”

“Syndra says he’s been visiting jewelers and carpenters every week. He could be preparing a new room… or a bridal chest.”

“About time! And will he be going with her?”

“He follows wherever Our Lady goes.”

“Shame. He was unnerving, but welcome. Haven’t lost a sheep or hen in ages.” 

They continued on, whispering between their bowed heads of matching ruby-colored hair. Autumn Court members were crafty and secretive by nature, an unfortunate byproduct of existing beneath the thumbs of one brutal and cunning High Lord after another. But it would seem their tongues had loosened in the years since Eris had come into his power.

Our Lady. 

Elsewhere. 

He.

Azriel rolled the words around in his mind like a rough-cut stone in a tumbler, then set off to find the “he” who followed this Lady wherever she went.

As he slipped through the village, searching for a home that would be fit enough for a Lady of Autumn, there were two things he noticed. First, the stirring in his chest had grown stronger, like the pulling of the sea as it went out with the tide or the beating of a firefly’s wings against glass. Second, for a town of this size, even one that lay so close to the Forest House, there were only a handful of guards left to trot around atop their horses and an additional handful that patrolled the paths to the fields on foot. Whoever this Lady was, she offered them enough protection and power that Eris would willingly leave it vulnerable - at least in appearance.

Azriel’s nerves sparked with interest, his heart thrumming with the adrenaline that came with staying hidden. It was like a game of sorts. A game of how far he could go, how deep into a court could he burrow, how many secrets he could steal from tight lips without getting caught. 

When he came across the cottage beyond the borders of town, nothing but the faint trail made by footsteps and horse hooves hinting at its existence through the break in the treeline, he was unimpressed. No wave of power rushed over him. No hunting dogs or other monsters were posted at the door. The only thing that strengthened, and had continued to strengthen as he neared this place, was that fluttering tightness in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell if it was his instincts on edge or a bad omen of what was to come. 

There was a flat, empty stretch of land from the treeline to the front door. He called upon his shadows, drawing his power over himself to hide as he slinked across the grass soundlessly. His feet knew where to step, his lungs knew when to take breath, until suddenly he was at the side door. A peek in through the window confirmed his suspicions. 

There was no one here. 

He pressed his fingertips to the walls of the house, feeling the magic splinter outward like a ripple on a still lake. It was an unassuming, but powerful spell that wrapped around the house like a second skin. But Azriel was craftier than that, poking for weak spots in the magic and finding an opening in the chimney. 

He broke through the veil of magic, slipped into the darkness, and emerged on the other side inside the house. 

It was the smell that dropped him to his knees, the scent of witch hazel, rosemary oil, and oranges, clean and bright and warm all at the same time. 

It smelled like you. 

All thoughts of his mission and staying hidden at all costs were wiped from his mind. Now he searched for you.

He walked as if in a trance, finding pieces of you everywhere. He found you in the half-drunken mug of tea sweetened with honey and lavender syrup on the kitchen counter. He found you in the embroidery on the curtains - dainty flowers and vines used to patch up the holes and scratches with a personal touch. He found you in the fingerprints that stained the outer leaves of the books on the table. 

All these small things spoke a truth he hadn’t dared hope for in over a decade.

You were still alive.

He whirled around, searching the space with desperation for any further signs of you. But the house was empty and still, pieces of furniture missing like you’d been preparing to leave.

You slipped into your house, pressing a finger against your lips in warning to Bryaxis.

Stay silent. 

The monster obeyed, his neck twisting to the side at an unnatural angle as his body grew in size, shadowy flesh warping and stretching until he’d taken the form of a bear. 

Your eyes turned black. Power whispering at the edges of your mind just waiting to be called upon. You flexed your hands, calling your sword from the ether and feeling its familiar weight drop into your palm. 

There was a stranger in your home. A male from the looks of his build and height. He rummaged through the drawers by the door, deft fingers pulling out letters and keys while his other hand gripped his weapon.

You aimed the sword in the center of their back, tracing their spine with your eyes and pressing it against the space between two vertebrae, right at the root of their lungs.

“Drop the sword.” You commanded, pressing harder. The blade sliced through the layers of leather armor with ease. A wrong move, too deep a breath, and you’d slice through their spinal cord and leave them paralyzed on the floor.

Azriel’s heart hammered away in his chest and the feeling there twisted and ate away at him. Turn around. The voice commanded. Look at her.

His hold on his sword went slack, the metal singing before it clattered onto the floor. Without being asked, he unsheathed Truth-Teller, dropped it to the floor and slid the weapon back towards you, holding his breath as your boot stopped the ancient blade in its tracks with a solid thump.

You hadn’t recognized him. How could you? It was unnatural to see him in undyed leather armor and his raven black hair was tucked beneath a matching hood. The rich browns of the amour whispered of Autumn. He must have stolen it shortly after crossing the border into your court. But Truth-Teller? There was no mistaking it.

You grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall before ripping off the hood with a snarl. The cool touch of your blade against his throat and between the slats of his ribs couldn’t stop what he knew was coming. 

The bond burst to life and burned within his chest, swooping and singing like a bird off a cliffside. It was a breath of fresh air. An answer to all his maddening questions.

“Hello Y/n.” His voice rang out in the house, deep and dark and all too familiar. 

You froze, eyes blowing wide open as you tightened your hold on the knife and sword until your knuckles turned white. 

Aside from the clothes he didn’t look any different from the last time you’d seen him. Same black hair, same hazel eyes that shone a million different colors, same beautiful, sculpted face spoiled by an uncharacteristic look of shock and awe. 

He looked the same as he did on the day he handed you over to Beron. 

You for Elain. 

You in exchange for the female he loved.

The betrayal still stung like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. 

Fury set your blood boiling and you answered its call, drawing back and slamming your fist into the side of his jaw so hard you felt something crack and split.

Azriel fell to the ground, catching himself on one hand as the other flew up to his jaw. 

Dislocated. 

He popped it back into place, wiping his mouth and seeing his hand come away red with blood. 

Azriel’s heart threatened to stop in his chest. His eyes crawled over the sight of you, hungry and desperate for every inch of proof that you stood before him. Your eyes were alight, brighter than any fire the world could set ablaze. Everything about you was wide and full of feeling as you stood above him, 

Inside his chest, the mate bond continued to purr happily, refusing to be silenced.

“Y/n.” He said again. The words fell like a prayer from his lips. “You’re alive.” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Bryaxis growled in agreement from your side, lips pulling back to expose teeth stronger than metal and smooth as porcelain. Azriel’s eyes flickered down to him in surprise before going back to you. 

“Bryaxis. You’re his master now.” A flash of pride warmed his chest. Leave it to you to take control of one of the most dangerous monsters in existence. Cassian would lose his mind when he found out.

Again, the creature growled, this time in disgust.

At the mention of the creature you’d come to consider a worthy friend you snapped out of your stupor and pointed the sword at his chest, just beneath his sternum, pressing down. Any more force and you’d break skin. Angle it upwards and push and you’d reach his heart.

“Y/n, please.” He begged. It was another shock to your system. You’d never heard him beg for anything. 

“What do you want?” The words came out hard and trembling.

“I came to find Bryaxis and bring him back to the Night Court. I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Obviously. And yet you’re in my house. Uninvited, might I add.” There was an edge to your voice that hadn’t been there before, a harder gleam to your eyes despite everything else remaining the same. There were some scars that did not write themselves onto skin.

“I… How did you survive?” 

Your lips tightened and turned pale, “Are you shocked? Disappointed?”

Azriel flinched. Your words may as well have been another blow to his face. The flesh around his jaw was beginning to bruise, shifting from an inflamed red to a mottled purple. 

“No!” Azriel lifted his hands up in surrender. “We searched for you. We searched for you for weeks… You have to believe me.” You searched his eyes for an answer, expecting to be met with his usual unreadable expression. But you found the exact opposite. He seemed… lost. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. If you didn’t know better you would say the Shadowsinger looked frightened.

“I’m sorry.” he gasped, “For everything.” 

It was too late for apologies. Far too late. You told him as much.

“I know,” Azriel swallowed thickly, “I know.” He said again, quieter this time. Something within him dimmed.

“Bryaxis isn’t coming with you.” You said, breaking the silence and finally taking the pressure of your sword off his chest. Azriel moved back onto his feet as swift and strong as a river. “Now get out.” 

You turned your back to him, shrugging off the uncomfortable feelings that weighed on your shoulders. You’d be happier when he was long gone.

“You can run back to Rhys and tell him you failed.”

“Y/n-” His hand brushed against your arm, willing you to look at him again. And you did. You whirled on him in an instant, shoving him back with the hilt of your sword.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled. He flinched again like he’d been burned. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I-” He scrambled for words that wouldn’t come. Anything to hold on to you for a little while longer, “Why didn’t you come back to the Night Court? Why didn’t you come home?”

A stupid question to which he already knew the answer.

“That was never my home and there’s nothing left for me there.”

Azriel shook his head, hair shining like a raven’s wing in flight, “That’s not true.” 

I’m there. He sent his pleas through the bond. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you for years… for my whole life. 

“It is true.”

“And there’s more for you here?” Azriel asked quietly. “You live here on your own, no friends, no family.” 

“I didn’t have friends or family in the Night Court either.” You weren’t going to tell him about Eris or Halvor or the others. He didn’t have any right to that knowledge, “You proved that when you traded me away to Beron.” 

Azriel tipped his head forward, closing his eyes to the feeling of shame that weighed him down.

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“It was Rhys and I who made the decision. The others didn’t know. Don’t hate them for what we did.” 

Your laugh came out like a sharp bark, “I have a hard time believing that.” 

If the circumstances were different, he might have pulled down the neck of his shirt and shown you the thin scar on his shoulder, courtesy of Nesta stabbing him with a kitchen knife after she’d learned what he’d done. She would have gone for a second attempt if it hadn’t been for Cassian. He’d dragged her away screaming and crying. 

“It’s true. I swear it.” Azriel whispered.

You didn’t say more, didn’t give him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. His eyes burned into you, moving across your body with a lover’s touch like you were a well and he was looking to drown.

Before you would have melted under his gaze. Before you’d wanted nothing more than to see him look at you this intently. Things had changed.

“I’ll give you an hour to leave these lands. If you’re not long gone by then, I’ll send Bryaxis after you.” 

The creature bristled with excitement, teeth bared in a terrifying smile.

“Y/n-” Azriel begged. “Please. The others-”

“I don’t care about the others.” Your voice cracked and you hated yourself for it. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe.”

“Y/n…” He knew you were serious about your threat and that time was ticking, but he needed to see you again. He needed it like flame needs oxygen. “The others didn’t know…” 

To your surprise he dropped down to one knee in front of you, eyes tilted towards the ground.

“I hate what I did to you. I hate that I hurt you and.. And I know…” He swallowed thickly, “I know I don’t deserve any kindness or forgiveness, but at least let the others see you… Let them visit,” He added after a short pause, “In Autumn, if that’s what you want.”

“Get out, Azriel.” 

To hear you say his name broke the dam on old memories, painful and numerous. Memories of you screaming out for him to help you when Beron’s men strapped the ashwood chains around your wrists and ankles. Screams begging him to take you home. Anywhere other than Autumn. Anywhere other than under Beron’s thumb.

Azriel! WAIT! No! No, no, no, no, no. Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“Please. Consider it.” Azriel murmured. You turned away from him, looking at the engraved clock on the wall. Every tick tock of its hands felt like a death knell. 

“They’ll be glad to know you’re alive and safe… more than you know.” 

You said nothing, heard nothing as he took his things and slipped out of your house. But you felt his absence like a stone in your stomach. It wasn’t until Bryaxis nudged your waist that all the anger, sadness, and longing crashed in around you. You broke down on the floor, and began to sob into Bryaxis’s side.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

Yeahhhhhh, Azriel fucked up. But I feel like this would be in character for him? He gets fixated on the people in his life that he's able to 'save' (i.e., Mor and Elain) and especially because of the whole '3 sisters for 3 brothers' thing, I think he would be willing to make big sacrifices to save Elain if it came down to it... but perhaps I'm wrong. I would be curious to hear other people's opinions on it.

Anyhow, sorry for the sad and angsty chapter.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris acotar #high lord eris #autumn court #the night court #the inner circle #the inner circle x reader #eris x reader x azriel

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @eddiemonth Day 7 Prompt: Wayne

note: this one is in Wayne's POV and it's a little different than how I usually write, but it means the absolute world to me, so I hope you all enjoy it!

read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Eddie Month series

Wayne Munson remembers the exact moment he found out he was going to be an uncle. 

It was a frigid January morning in Hawkins. The heater in the Munsons’ trailer had stopped working a week before, and Wayne had been too busy working days and taking night classes at the junior college in the next town over to fix it. 

His mama had said she would call Al to come help, but Wayne knew the odds of him stopping by were slim to numb. He had better things to do than check in on his mother and younger brother. Things like keeping the Hawkins police department busy with his petty crime schemes and treating his latest girlfriend with little to no respect. A packed schedule in Al’s eyes. 

So, when Wayne stepped out of the trailer that January morning, bundled in his worn winter coat, he nearly tripped and fell on his ass when he spotted Al on the hood of his car, leisurely smoking a cigarette. 

“Evelyn is pregnant,” Al said between puffs of smoke. “She’s keeping it. M’gonna be a pa.” 

A range of emotions washed over Wayne at that moment. Anxiety for Al and Evelyn and their unborn child. Al wasn’t exactly father material, and it’s not like they had a dad to learn from. Happiness for their family and the joy a new baby would bring the Munson’s. Worry, mainly for Evelyn and the baby, but also for Al and how something like this was going to affect the small gains he’d made that year. 

But mostly, and Wayne would never tell anyone this, he felt jealous. 

Wayne was the one who babysat the neighbor kids when they were younger to make a quick buck while Al schemed. Wayne was the one who always waved to babies in the grocery store line. The one who always snuck his coworkers’ kids candy at the annual Fourth of July BBQs. And remembered to send well wishes home on their birthdays. 

Wayne was the one who loved kids. Who wanted kids. But would never, ever get to have kids for reasons he was too ashamed to admit most days. 

Unlike Al, who would have let the jealousy fester into something nasty, Wayne choked it all down and gave in to the happier emotions. Promising to be there for Al and Evelyn and his new nephew. 

A promise he kept for all nine months of Evelyn’s pregnancy (going on midnight craving runs when Evelyn moved into the Munson trailer after getting kicked out of her own house and then nervously pacing the maternity ward on Halloween night when she finally went into active labor after three false alarms). He kept his promise for the entire first year of Eddie’s life. Helping with feedings and changings. And anything else he could do. 

Wayne was the one to drive Evelyn and Eddie to the hospital the first time he caught a cold and wouldn’t stop coughing. He was there the first time Evelyn fed him mushy baby food that Eddie ended up spitting up all over the place. He saw Eddie roll over for the first time and crawl. He was even there for Eddie’s first nonsensical word — a bastard version of “mama” that sent Evelyn into hysterics and had Al rolling his eyes. 

Wayne was ready to be there for all of Eddie’s first, but then fate reared its ugly, no-good, wicked head, and suddenly, Wayne was being shipped off to boot camp to fight in a war he spent the last three years protesting against. 

But his birthday was called, and Wayne had no choice but to suit up and fight. 

Well, no, that’s not true. 

There was one way to get out of the draft. 

But the thought of admitting to having homosexual tendencies was more terrifying than dying overseas. So, he kept his mouth shut and went and did his time. 

Five years to be exact. 

Five grueling, traumatic, waste of his youth years. 

Most importantly, five years without his nephew. 

Eddie was six, almost seven years old, when Wayne finally made it back home to Hawkins. Unruly curls, just like Wayne once had before the military got involved. Big brown eyes that, despite only being 7, he knew how to use to get him out of trouble. And a brilliant, imaginative mind that captivated Wayne the moment he scooped Eddie into his arms after coming home and Eddie asked, “Ma, who is this bald guy? And why is he trying to squeeze the poop out of me?” 

Wayne knew he’d never get those five years back, but he promised himself to try and make up for them every chance he got. And so “Waynesdays” was born. 

Every third Wednesday of the month, Wayne would spend with Eddie. Sometimes, he’d show up at Evelyn and Al’s trailer early in the morning to pick Eddie up before he went off to school. With Evelyn’s permission, Eddie would ditch and they’d spend the day uncle-nephew bonding. Other times, Wayne would be waiting outside the gates of Eddie’s school, ready to whisk him away as soon as the dismissal bell rang. 

(“Uncle Wayne, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie would shout, running into Wayne’s arm with enough force to send them toppling into the grass. The falls weren’t great for Wayne’s war-torn body, but he never complained. Nothing a frozen bag of peas and a cigarette couldn’t fix the next morning.) 

Whatever the case, the third Wednesday of every month was dedicated to them. 

The first few years, it was simple things. Wayne would take Eddie out for ice cream before stopping at the library. They’d spend hours walking up and down the aisles. Wayne telling Eddie stories that rivaled the books on the shelves. They’d go antiquating — a hobby Wayne inherited from his own mother that Eddie seemingly inherited when he took an interest in Garfield merchandise. 

(“He’s just so fat, Uncle Wayne!” Eddie laughed, squeezing the plush belly of a Garfield stuffed animal. “I want to be fat like him one day! Don’t you?”) 

As Eddie got older, their adventures stretched beyond the Hawkins city limits. Wayne took him to Indianapolis at least twice a year. Introduced him to music. Took him to see movies at the fancy cineplex in the city that sold a tub of popcorn bigger than Eddie’s head. He even promised to take Eddie to the colorful bar they always passed as soon as he turned 21. 

(“But that’s such a long time away,” Eddie had whined, grubby fingers pressed into the glass of the window as he peered inside. “Are you sure I can’t go in there now? They have an arcade machine! Those are for kids!”)

In the summers, Waynesday because Waynesweek. 

When Eddie was younger, they spent the week camping. Two sleeping bags side by side in a tent. They’d trade imaginative stories around a campfire and roast marshmallows until they were burnt to a crisp. The trips were hard on Wayne at first — bringing back memories of the war. But seeing Eddie smile and roll around in mud without a care in the world was worth every sleepless night. 

(“If I catch the frog, can I bring it home?” he shouted one summer, arms already elbow-deep in the swampy puddle. “I promise to take care of it!” 

“M’sure you would, boy,” Wayne said, cigarette between his lips. “But your ma would kill me if I let ya bring a frog into r’home. You know she’s afraid of ‘em.”)

Eventually, Eddie grew out of camping, and then their summer weeks were spent lounging in the trailer. They’d go days without leaving, living off of the groceries they stocked up on on the first day of Waynesweek. The couch always had a permanent butt dent after those weeks, but Wayne loved them all the same. Especially the ones that were spent hunched over board games and later hunched over scribbled-out notes and too many-sided die as Eddie explained some new, complex game to him. 

(“Okay, Uncle Wayne, so now that you made it to the fortress wall, you have to roll this one,” he said, passing Wayne a hexagon-looking dice. “And then whatever you get, we multiply it by the number here, and then if it’s high enough, you get to come inside.” 

“Now how come you can do multiplication in this game, but your ma says you got a bad grade on your last math test?” Wayne asked, brows raised as he rattled the die in his hands. 

“‘Cause school math is boring!” Eddie said, rolling those big brown eyes of his. “There’s no dragons in Ms. Tabbot’s class. Just boring old numbers!”)

Waynesday was a tradition Wayne held so near and dear to his heart that even after Evelyn unexpectedly passed away, Al landed himself permanently behind and Eddie ended up moving into Wayne’s trailer, he still kept up. 

Sure, things got a bit more complicated between them now that they saw each other every day, multiple times a day, with no breaks. They sure got on each other nerves a bit more.

(“Dammit, Eds,” Wayne cursed, tripping over a pair of Eddie’s boots thrown haphazardly in the middle of the hallway. “What’d I say about leavin’ these things lyin’ ‘round. They’ve got a home, put’m there.” 

“Fine,” Eddie groaned, coming out of his bedroom to pick up the shoes. “But then stop leaving your half-drank coffee cups in the bathroom! Why are you even taking it in there?”) 

And they fought, like most children do with the authority figures in their lives. 

(“That’s the second time Hop has let you off with a warning,” Wayne tsked, stalking behind Eddie as they climbed up the few steps to the trailer. “Neither of us are gonna be too nice if it happens again.” 

“You make it sound like I was stealing. I ditched one class. It’s no big deal.” 

“Those grades of yours say otherwise.” 

Eddie growled, rolling his eyes as he tore through the kitchen cabinets, looking for a snack. “This again? My grades are fine, Wayne. Okay. Stop worrying!”)

Sure, things were tough at times, but they also learned some important things about each, too. Things neither one of them thought they’d ever share in common with someone in Hawkins, Indiana. 

(“Where ya going, boy?” Wayne asked one night a few years ago when he walked into the trailer to find Eddie shoving random things into a duffle bag. The same duffle bag that Wayne had carefully placed in the backseat of the truck all those years ago when he picked up Eddie for the final time. 

“M’leaving,” Eddie said through gritted teeth. “And don’t even try to stop me, Wayne. Trust me, you’re not going to want me anymore.” 

A million and one things ran through Wayne’s head in that moment. Had Hopper caught Eddie ditching school again? Had he got his hands on that letter from Al ,Wayne had been hiding in the junk drawer? Was Eddie in some kind of trouble? Bigger trouble than ditching school and smoking pot at the quarry?” 

“Boy, what are you talkin’ about?” Wayne asked, stalking over to where Eddie was currently shoving tape after tape into the duffle bag. “M’always gonna want ya ‘round.” 

Eddie scoffed and kept his eyes trained on the tapes. It was easy for Wayne to see that Eddie was barely holding it together. The tapes shook in his hands and his growing hair did little to shield his red-rimmed eyes. 

“Eddie,” Wayne sighed, slowly lowering himself to the ground despite the protests of his body. “Come on, talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll help you.” 

“You—you can’t. Not with this,” Eddie said, violently shaking his head. And then, in a moment of bravery, Eddie lifted his head and looked Wayne square in the eyes and said, “I’m gay, Wayne. Okay? That’s why m’leaving. And don’t even—“ 

Wayne cut Eddie off before he could finish whatever insult or wrong assumption was sure to follow. He pulled Eddie into his arms, tucked the boy’s head into the crook of his neck and held him tight. The same way he did all those years ago when he had to be the one to tell the boy that his ma had passed. And Eddie cried. Then and now. Big, fat, hot tears that soaked Wayne’s shirt. 

“Eds, boy, look at me,” Wayne said later when Eddie’s sobs had subsided into a steady stream of silent tears. “You ain’t going nowhere, okay? And you ain’t alone either. I know what you’re goin’ through. M’like you, too.” 

“Y-you, you’re gay?”  

“Yeah,” Wayne said after a painfully long moment. It was a truth he had never let himself think too much about. But now, sitting in the presence of his nephew, who was more like him than he originally thought. Well, now, Wayne thought it was time to accept that part of him. Especially if it would help his nephew. “Yeah, boy. M’gay.”)

So, yeah, living with Eddie full-time had its ups and downs. But no argument, even the ones that lasted days because they were both too stubborn to apologize, was going to stop them from celebrating Waynesday every third Wednesday of the month. Nor was Eddie’s newly minted twenty-year-old selfless heart that worried way too much about Wayne. But he can’t really fault the boy for that.

(“Wayne,” Eddie had sighed just last month. “We really don’t have to keep doing this. You should be able to rest on your one real day off of the month.” 

“Nonsense boy,” Wayne said, shooing Eddie off with the back of his hand. “Only thing I want to do on my day off s’spend time with you. Unless you’re too busy for your old uncle now.” 

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. “You know I always have time for you.”

“Good.” Wayne smiled. “Then get that boney ass of yours over here and let’s watch that movie you picked up before I get charged another late fee.”) 

Nothing had ever come in the way of their Waynesday tradition before, and Wayne sure as hell wasn’t going to let something break the tradition now.

“Hey, boy,” Wayne says, settling himself on the worn visitor chair in Eddie’s hospital room. “S’the 16th. Know what that means, right?” He pauses and waits for Eddie’s answer, which he knows isn’t coming. It’s been almost a month since he last heard Eddie speak, twenty days since he stumbled into Hawkins Memorial to find his nephew hooked up to machine after machine. But Wayne’s not giving up hope. Not even close. He’ll be sitting here ’til the cows come home.

“Yep,” he says eventually, patting Eddie’s IV-covered hand. “It’s Waynesday again. I’ll tell you what, time sure is gettin’ faster and m’getting older.” 

The steady, rhythmic beats of the machines keeping Eddie alive echo off the walls of the too-white room. Wayne listens to them for a moment, a weird sort of peace washing over him. S’long as they’re beeping, my boy’s still here, he thinks. 

Sighing, he reaches into the small backpack at his feet. The one he’s been carrying back and forth from the hospital when Eddie’s friends come to take the morning shift. He pulls out a blanket, shaking it out before draping it over his own body. And then he pulls out a worn paperback book. 

“Now, I know it’s been a while since we had one of those readin’ days you loved so much, but I thought maybe we could bring’m back,” he says, carefully opening the pages of the book. His hand traces down the first page, past the sticky finger stain of Eddie’s youth. “You best be patient with me, Eds. Y’know these names always trip me up. But m’gonna give it my best, okay?” 

Wayne pauses again, waiting for a response he knows he’s not going to get. And then he takes a deep breath and brings the book closer to his face. “In a hole in the ground there lives a h-hobbit.”

Eventually, the words start to blur together. Sentences turning into one long, giant word. And then, soon after, the letters start to blur too, until Wayne’s eyes are drooping and the book falls from his shaking hands into his awaiting lap. 

It’s not long after that Wayne’s soft snores fall into a steady rhythm with the beeping of Eddie’s machine. 

Beep. Snore. Beep. Snore. Beep. Snore. 

And so it goes for several hours until—

Beep, beep, beepbeepbeepbeep. 

Wayne shoots out of the chair, wobbly feet struggling to find their footing as he turns to the bed. Eddie’s lying there, like he always is, except this time, his big brown eyes stare back at him. Full of life and love and fear as he reaches a weak, shaky hand up to claw at the tube shoved down his throat. 

He doesn’t remember calling for the nurse, but they rush into the room in an instant. Circling Eddie’s bed like an animal stalking its prey. Its minutes of chaos. Nurses running to fetch doctors. Machines beeping erratically. Alarms blaring. Orders being shouted left and right.

Someone is crying, Wayne thinks, as his ears cut through the cacophony of noise when he’s pushed into the hallway. Oh it’s me, he realizes as he reaches a hand up to his tearstained cheeks. 

And then, just as quickly as it started, the chaos dies down and Wayne is let back into the room. Just Wayne and Eddie. Alone. Alive. Together. 

He doesn’t wait a moment longer and wedges himself onto the small hospital bed next to Eddie, wrapping his arms around his frail nephew. 

“D-d-did I miss it?” Eddie stutters out.

With a gruff laugh and a tearful glance at the watch on his wrist, Wayne turns to Eddie and smiles. “No, son, you made it just in time.” He twists his arm, showing Eddie the watch. The big hand points almost completely at the 12. The smaller hand settled perfectly over the 58th tick. 

“Our streak continues,” Eddie whispers before his eyes flutter shut, and his body falls into its first machineless slumber in twenty days. 

#eddiemonth #wayne munson #wayne munson fic #wayne munson ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson & wayne munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

[bookishly-ariel]

As someone who read the Acotar series once, I dove into the sailboat my brain branded Elriel and by the end of Acomaf I realized it wasn't a small sail boat anymore.

By the time Azriel flew her to the house of wind the boat was decorated with Cobalt sails, flowers, and shadows. At end of Acomaf it was built for the deep seas of a shipping war I knew I'd eventually have to sail through if I wanted to enjoy online content of them.

By the end of Acosf I was looking out across that ocean from a Destroyer.

And through it all my love for the story and the characters was not overshadowed by the ship I had built from the small moments given between two characters who were briefly shown through the eyes of Feyre, Rhysand, Nesta, and Cassian but mostly through Sjm's words.

I loved Feyre's story, but I did not hate her sisters, I did hate her father, tamlin, and more of a dislike for his decision to let Tamlin bring Feyre beyond her breaking point and still support him, Lucien.

(Yes, I loved that papa archeron showed up and saved the day, still mad it took Fae intervention and healing to get him there but Feyre still loved him anyways. Tamlin's help at Hyberns camp was the only thing I let slide cause he owed it to them. Lucien . . . Well, I don't forgive him turning his eye on all the bullshit, but I do hope we get to see him grow and I do have a small ship in my head for him and vassa and a small enjoyment on how him and Gwyn would be as friends if not partners.)

I loved Nesta's story, but I supported them having an intervention because she was killing herself and through her healing, the friends she made and she found herself along the way. Actions taken by Nesta did upset me but so to did the actions and choices of others in the book.

(This book was therapeutic to the eldest daughter in me who was a shit sister to her own baby sister till something happened and we patched our relationship.)

I know I will love Elain's story, but I am content in my knowledge that Feyre shipped Azriel and Elain, humored it aloud to Rhys even.

Nesta wasn't blind either, she too realized her friend was distant and when finding out why she did not chase him off or shut down his feelings and neither did she blast him to the whole Inner circle. She understood and offered a small comfort.

I don't know how anyone who has read the books over and over cannot see beyond the sails of their sail boats.

These characters are more than their ships, and to claim your thoughts and opinions as those of the characters is baffling.

All this to say, You don't decide that someone can't be a Nesta Stan and support Elriel because "Nesta would never"

It's right there in A Court of Silver Flames, did you not read the book? I'm just saying, Nesta is many things but she isn't the type of woman to bite her tongue when she disapproves of something.

It's right there in the books, just saying.

#elain x azriel #nesta archeron #pro elriel #pro elain archeron #pro azriel #elriel #just saying

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (38)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Aemond could not fall asleep that night, but for the first time not because of nightmares, the war or his family. This time the reason was different, making him open his eye again as soon as he fell asleep, pressing his face more firmly against his wife's cheek, her naked back pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his in disarray, her quiet, calm breathing the only sound in the tent.

I love you.

She said it aloud then and many more times afterwards as they made love, gently, slowly, tenderly. She knew he wanted to listen to those words endlessly, eventually he didn't even have to ask her to repeat them anymore. She whispered them in his ear as he moved inside her in slow, smooth movements, her hand stroking his hair.

He came inside her, panting with relief, feeling as if he were lighter, his chest filled with pure peace. He took his mind off what was happening around them and prayed to the gods that the night would last longer than usual, that the sun wouldn't rise, that he wouldn't have to tear himself away from her naked body.

He knew that with the next day, their world would collapse and everything around them would go up in flames.

Several times he fought with himself to whisper to her while she slept that he reciprocated her feelings, but he couldn't. He was afraid that he would then cast some kind of curse on them, that until he said it aloud the gods did not know what he really felt and wouldn't take her away from him, thinking that she was not precious to him.

That he would succeed in deceiving them and destiny if he was destined to lose her.

He knew what it would mean to him.

The black, boundless abyss he had stood over before he came to Storm's End and saw her.

He was dead and she was filled with life, flickering with uncertainty, feelings and emotions that he had drunk like nectar from her moist lips when he had stolen her first kiss violently.

After that, he felt as if he had emerged from a watery depth and drew in deeply, the air painfully tearing at his lungs anew with life.

He was alive because she was alive.

He was living fire and she was a rain that made sure that he didn't burn down along with everything around him, bringing him endless relief.

Fire and water.

He kissed her bare shoulder tenderly at that thought, his fingers massaging her lower abdomen where he held his hand, not letting go for a moment, in his mind protecting her and their child in this way.

Everything he wanted was in his arms.

He would have liked to disappear with them, to run away, but he knew he would not forgive himself.

She loved him because he was loyal and devoted to his family.

Despite his prayers, morning came, and just after dawn a servant entered their tent, bowing shyly, not daring to look at their naked bodies. His wife covered herself quickly with the furs lying around them, ashamed of her scars. Aemond stood up with a murmur of displeasure, putting on his trousers quickly, asking what was the matter.

"We have received a message from the Eyrie, my prince." Said the young boy and approached him without lifting his eyes, holding out his hand in front of him with a small note rolled up. Aemond took the message at once and unfolded the piece of paper, reading it with rapidly beating heart.

According to the will of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne will remain Jacaerys Velaryon as her first-born son and successor.

War then, he thought, tightening his lips, shredding the letter into tiny pieces.

His wife looked at him uncertainly, furrowing her brow, covering her breasts and thighs with thick furs, breathing anxiously.

"Bring my armour." He said lowly, the servant nodded quickly and left their tent, leaving them alone.

"What does the message say?" She asked quietly, uncertainly. Aemond pressed his lips together.

"There is no turning back now." He said coolly, glancing at her. She was sitting in front of him, her lips parted in worry, her eyes warm and shining.

He thought he wanted to do this with her.

He'd thought about it all night.

He planned it all in his head.

"Meet me at sunset on the hill by Vhagar's lair. Don't take anyone with you. Do you know where it is?" He asked, dressing quickly, his wife blinking, surprised.

"Yes… something has happened? What are you going to do?" She mumbled, clearly horrified by how it sounded, perhaps even thinking he was going to run away with her on Vhagar to Essos.

"We'll get married." He said matter-of-factly, tying the binding of his shirt. His wife swallowed loudly, not understanding completely what he was talking about, so she remained silent for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I… forgive me, I don't understand. We are married." She said quietly, as if she feared she had missed something.

"Not in the face of my gods." He said quietly, casting her a careful, proud look. "Not in the tradition of old Valryia."

He saw her blush all over and tighten her lips, trying to suppress the smile that pressed itself onto her face. She lowered her gaze, playing with the material of the fur with her fingers.

"Oh."

"Mmm." He just hummed, deciding he didn't need to say anything more.

He wanted, before the fighting began in earnest, to marry her in a way worthy of his great-grandparents, a wedding of blood and fire, of pain and pleasure. One they were not forced into, one they decided for themselves.

His manifestation of infinite love towards her, his fidelity and devotion.

Once he was in full armour he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her maid was just braiding her hair. His wife was looking at her hands, a dreamy expression on her face, her cheeks red, her lips curved in a gentle, almost invisible smile.

He felt a tightness in his throat that all this was happening now, when she was closer to him than anyone had ever been. He left the tent without even saying goodbye to her, feeling that he wouldn't be able to get any words out.

He wanted to head for the tent where they met for council, but decided he would do something else, and made his way to the tent where Borros Baratheon was staying. The man threw him a surprised look, Royce paused his words in mid-sentence, rising from his chair. They were both wearing armour.

"What is it?" Borros asked coolly, sitting down behind his large wooden table, on which were strewn maps and pawns, showing the proportions of the two opposing armies. He figured he'd pretended that he hadn't heard him skip the courtesy phrase.

"I would like to speak to you alone, Lord Baratheon." He said coldly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Royce, who snorted loudly.

"How dare you…"

"That's enough." Said Lord Borros, spreading himself out comfortably in his big wooden chair, sighing impatiently. "Leave us alone."

Royce pressed his lips together, looking away, and after a moment got up reluctantly, avoiding him, going outside. They were left alone.

"I don't have much time. Tell me what you're coming with." He said indifferently, looking him straight in the eye, his earlier fury had passed, his army did not look at all like they were gathering to return.

As long as his daughter stayed with him, he could not return with a calm heart to Storm's End.

He pressed his lips together at the thought of what he wanted to say. He'd had all night to think about it, and he felt he had to do it if he was to be sure of his fidelity.

"My mother treats my wife as her daughter, however, you do not treat me as your son." He said lowly, indifferently, looking away, embarrassed by his words. Lord Baratheon chuckled loudly, shaking his head.

"And you do not treat me as a father should be treated. You have neither respect nor patience altogether. My daughter and son, unlike you, know when to speak and when to be silent. You are a spoilt pup, nothing more." He said in a low, throaty, frustrated voice, slamming his fist on his armrest.

Aemond looked at him with his jaw clenched, furious. He felt humiliated, but he also recognised with pain that his father had never spoken to him in this way.

He didn't give him advice. He did not lead him. He was not his role model.

Criston tried to do so, but who was he to have the audacity to replace his father?

Lord Baratheon, however, was his wife's father, and though he could neither read nor write, he held his army in an iron grip, his command and soldiers respected him and listened intently to his words, his experience and sense of war strategy impressed even Criston, who did not have the gall to defy his orders.

Aemond, although well-read in matters of war, had only a theoretical understanding of it. He was the only one he could trust in this respect and whether he wanted it or not, he needed his support.

He smiled at his last words, but his smile did not reach his eye. He was looking somewhere to the side, thoughtful.

"That is what we are alike in, my lord." He said low, mischievously, and Borros pressed his lips together, wrinkling his brow, breathing anxiously. He wanted to say something, but Aemond would not let him. "I will not leave my brother. My wife will not leave me. You will not leave her. Support me with your experience."

Silence fell around them. Lord Baratheon sighed heavily, massaging his temple, his face pale and tired, his wrinkles even more visible than usual.

"How can you let her stay here knowing what threatens her?" He asked defiantly, lowering his hand, not looking at him but somewhere to the side. Aemond snorted.

"You know better than I do, my lord, that she can be persuasive when she wants to be." He said lowly, glancing up to check his reaction. Her father measured his face with a wary look, apparently wondering whether he should believe him or not.

Go on, he thought.

Ask me.

"Why did you take her away from me?" He asked after a moment of regret and pain, and he struggled to hide the surge of satisfaction that coursed across his face. He pressed his lips together to keep them from twisting into a smirk. "My youngest child. The most innocent, inexperienced, not knowing life −"

"− that's why." He said menacingly, glancing at him, a twinkle in his eye from which Lord Baratheon moved uneasily in his seat.

"You wanted to give me trained maidens, speaking from memory what they had been taught, what would be considered to please me. Do you know that one of your daughters came to me at night to suck my cock? Knowing my wife, I'm sure she's already told you about it." He said, his lips stretched at last in a mischievous smirk, he saw Borros press his lips together, reddened with shame, looking away.

He had him.

He had him in his grasp.

"I could have let her do it, because why not? I've heard of your many bastard children scattered throughout the kingdom, so you must have let the ladies take care of you this way more than once as well. My brother would say it's a manly thing, lust." He said, walking slowly around the tent, speaking lightly, his hands clasped behind his back. He could see her father shrinking into himself with every word he said, without even looking at him.

"Does my wife realise that she has many more siblings? I heard you left one behind in Harrenhal. Perhaps I should seek him out?"

He watched with a heart burning with joy as her father shook his head, as if the very thought of his beloved child finding out his unpleasant secrets put him off. Borros clenched his hand into a fist, tightening his lips, his nostrils moving restlessly in rage, his face red with shame.

"That's enough." He hissed, and Aemond hummed under his breath, looking contentedly to the side, sighing heavily.

"My wife seems to have inherited respect for herself and her body from her mother, for I have never experienced greater fulfilment with any other woman." He said calmly, as if he were telling some ordinary story, her father's eyelids tightened at his words.

"For her sake I will never disrespect you in public again. For her sake I won't say anything about how you like to fuck on the side instead of taking a second legitimate wife, spawning bastards all over the kingdom on every hunt you visit. I won't tell her that you are in some ways like my brother, whom you both abhor so much." He said with emphasis on the last sentence, looking at him menacingly.

It was a warning and he knew it.

He swallowed heavily and let the air out loudly, his breath ragged. He ran his hand over his forehead, droplets of sweat from stress on his face, they both turned towards the entrance when a servant stepped inside and announced that the war meeting had begun and everyone was waiting for them. Aemond threw him a smirk over his shoulder and left first.

During the council, Aemond revealed to the lords that there would be no peaceful resolution of the situation because his sister would not relinquish the crown and pay tribute to his brother. He ordered the servants to send a letter to his brother on the matter to prepare for total war.

"How is the Greyjoy case?" He asked, glancing at Criston, who grunted loudly.

"Your grandfather proposed a marriage between your brother Prince Dareon and Lord Greyjoy's granddaughter. Lord Greyjoy accepted the offer." He said, and Aemond pressed his lips together, nodding with satisfaction.

Perfect, he thought.

They'll blockade them at sea, he and Vhagar, and after his brother arrives, Dareon too will patrol the skies. Jason Lannister grunted, glancing at the map, stepping from foot to foot.

"The usurper has more dragons than we do. What if they just burn us alive?" He asked, several people nodded at him with uncertainty. Aemond tightened his lips.

"Only the dragons of Daemon, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra are big enough to pose any threat. Rhaenyra won't poke her nose out of the Vale, because if she dies, all will be lost. The most dangerous rider is Daemon, Rhaenys also flies perfectly. I don't think Daemon or Rhaenyra would choose to put their children and their baby dragons at risk of death." He said, placing some pawns on the map in front of him.

"However, my Lords, I am the rider of the greatest dragon in the world. If they come within range of Vhagar's maw, they will die. The Harrenhal incident is a lesson to us, our army must stick together, so that I can protect us from above and not let anyone get close." He said lowly, glancing around him. The men nodded their heads, speaking to each other.

He thought with a beating heart that he had convinced them and himself.

It wasn't impossible.

They had to be careful and use their slight advantage, but it could work.

Lord Borros grunted, moving a few pawns back.

"If there will be a battle, you must set out in front of the army, watching over it from above. A situation may arise in which several dragons attack Vhagar, and several smaller dragons move on our army, scattering it. What then?" He asked, looking at him expectantly, on his face still rage and embarrassment after their conversation. Aemond hummed at his words.

"That will be the task of my brother, Dareon. As a last resort, to protect our army, my sister, Helaena, can also help us." He said, placing an additional pawn with a dragon's head on the map. He did not want to involve her in the war, but if the situation forces them to do so there will be no way out.

"According to my will, the armies from the south and the Hightower army are heading towards us. In terms of the number of armies, the fighting will be even, but it is the Baratheon army that is the most experienced in battle, and this is our strength." He said, throwing his wife's father an impatient look, and Borros only nodded. Royce looked uncertainly at his father, then at him, sensing that something had happened between them, but said nothing.

Aemond walked out of the tent after his armor was pulled off, feeling hopeful for the first time in month.

His chest was filled with pleasant warmth for another reason as well. He asked one of the dragon guardians to bring the robes that he had been ordered to get ready earlier. They were not the same ones found in King's Landing, but they were similar enough. He told him what he wanted to do, and the man nodded with understanding.

The two moved through the woods toward the hill near where Vhagar rested. He saw from afar a small hooded figure walking at a safe distance from her, the dragoness had her head raised high, looking at her, but did not move an inch.

She sensed that she had his child in her womb, he thought fondly.

His wife turned over her shoulder hearing their footsteps and threw off her hood from her head. She was wearing a beautiful, ornate gown, red and brown, the colors of his and her lineage.

The corner of his mouth lifted up at the thought that she would have to pull it all off.

"We need to change." He said to her softly, calmly, the orange warm rays of the setting sun framing her face. She blinked, looking at him questioningly.

Aemond held out his hand to the man in whose company he had come, and he handed him the ceremonial robes, cream-colored and dyed partly red. The man turned away, giving them a theoretical sense of intimacy.

"Here? What is this?" She asked at the same time frightened and curious, he felt heat ripple through his body at the thought of what they were about to do.

"These are our wedding robes." He hummed low, and she looked at him with wide-open eyes. She took one of the soft materials from him gently, looking at him with her lips tightened, her cheeks red with excitement and joy.

"You have to help me." She whispered, glancing at him, and he murmured low and nodded.

Untying the sleeves of her dress and her bodice proved more difficult than they had both anticipated, so they struggled with it for a while. It didn't spoil their mood, however; they glanced at each other once in a while, looks of contentment filling their eyes.

When she was finally left in just her chemise, he helped her put on the robe, placing it on her body with solemnity, tying it around her waist with a wide, gold girdle. He glanced at her with satisfaction and murmured under his breath, seeing how noble his wife looked in an attire similar to what his ancestors once wore.

"Let your hair down." He said calmly, and she threw him a surprised look.

She pressed her lips together, apparently having worked long on her exquisite hairstyle of braids tied up in a bun, however it did not match the headdress he had brought for her. He helped her slide the pins out of her hair, leaving them on the grass, lowering strand by strand onto her shoulders.

Once her hair had fallen down her back, framing her face wonderfully, he untied a triangular crown made of delicate material, decorated on the sides with tiny beads suspended from thin ropes, all trimmed with gold threads. His wife looked at the object as if enchanted, her lips parted in mute admiration.

"It's beautiful." She whispered.

"Mmm." He hummed, lifting the crown up, gently slipping it over her head. He moved back to look at her in all her glory and felt a tightening in his throat at the sight of her.

She looked as if they had stepped back in time, the simplicity and nobility of her robes made her look like a goddess, as if the Maiden herself had descended from the heavens to marry the god of the underworld, death, mystery, the Stranger.

He felt lust at that thought, at the sight of her innocent, soft face, red with emotion, at the sight of her warm eyes filled to the brim with affection for him, at the sight of her dark hair around which bright beads shimmered.

His beloved, whom he was about to marry.

She extended her hand to him. He passed her his robes and began to slowly undress. This time it was she who helped him, putting the long robe over his shoulders. He looked at her focused, thoughtful face, and saw her glance at him once in a while, embarrassed. As if they were not yet married.

As if he hadn't fucked her all night for several months.

She tied an ornate girdle around him, tying it in front, looking up at him at last, her lips slightly parted, her gaze hot, from which he felt his manhood pulsate hard under his robe. He touched his fingers to her face, unable to stop himself as her hand reached for the ribbon in his hair, loosening the strands tied back.

He pulled his eye patch off his head and took her face in his hands. She swallowed loudly, looking at him expectantly.

"Do you know what this ceremony involves?" He asked lowly, and she shook her head, scared and excited at the same time, placing her hand on his, pressing her cheek against his soft skin. He thought he felt like ripping the robes off her and just fucking her, but he tried to focus and chase those thoughts away.

"Do you trust me?" He asked quietly. She pressed her lips together and nodded. He hummed with satisfaction and leaned over her, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. He pressed his nose to her cheek and began to speak quietly, as if he had just revealed some secret or mystery to her. He felt his heart pounding.

"The man who came with me will lead the entire ceremony. He has dagger made of dragon glass with him. We will cut each other's lips with them, and then the inside of our hands. The blood will flow from them into a goblet, from which we will both drink afterwards." He said, stroking her cheek reassuringly with his thumb, seeing how terrified she was by what he said.

"Do not be afraid." He whispered and kissed her greedily, slipping his tongue between her lips, drawing her close to him, letting her feel how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

He pulled away from her, his hand still holding her cheek, her gaze dreamy and hot, full of affection from which he was filled with desire.

"Will you do it for me?" He whispered, and she nodded.

They walked slowly toward the man, who was already waiting for them, the cup in his hand. He took out the dragon glass, which he handed to her. His wife took the object from him with a trembling hand, looking at him uncertainly, beautiful, pulsing with life.

His.

His lips formed soundlessly into the words "Do not be afraid" again. He saw her swallow silently, the man spoke in a low voice the sentences in the language of his ancestors, the language of old Valyria. He felt the pride and solemnity of this moment fill him, the fact that this time they were deciding their own destiny.

His wife, his goddess, his Maiden approached him slowly, uncertainly, grasping his cheek in her hand, terrified that she felt she was about to do him harm, to hurt him. He, however, wanted nothing more than to feel the blade on his skin, to have their blood mix, to be forever marked by her.

To be hers.

He grasped her petite hand in his, lifting it up, parting his lips slightly and nodded, encouraging her to do what she was about to do. He closed his eye when he felt the blade cut into his fleshy skin, going down his lower lip, felt a burning pain and sticky blood spilling over his palate.

He opened an eye, his wife was looking at him mesmerized. Her breathing was uneven, her lips slightly parted, her eyes misty, full of lust and desire.

He thought that he would fuck her all night, that he would devour her and finally become one with her.

He took the blade from her, and she drew in the air quietly, frightened. He hushed her quietly, stroking her cheek with his hand, drawing her closer to him. He looked at her with a pounding heart as his thumb slid inside her mouth and tilted her lower lip, soft and lusciously wet.

She trembled all over as he ran the blade gently over her fleshy skin, creating a red line from which a drop of blood dripped a moment later.

"My brave girl." He whispered, grabbing her neck, pressing his forehead to hers, looking at her with awe and reverence, feeling that they were taking part in something sacred, solemn, dark and beautiful at the same time. He put the blade back between her fingers and extended the inside of his hand to her.

This time she didn't hesitate that long, with a simple, sure, gentle cut she slashed his skin. The man in front of them placed a cup under their arms as Aemond took the blade from her, grasping her hand in his, cutting it as gently as he could. He heard her quiet hiss of discomfort.

"Shhh. Just a little more." He whispered tenderly, then grasped her cut hand in his and intertwined them together, their mingled blood flowing into the cup beneath them.

They both looked at the scene as if mesmerized, for some reason both breathing loudly. When the blood stopped flowing, the man lifted the cup up, handing it to his wife first.

She reached for it with her healthy hand, and he saw that she held it with difficulty, her fingers trembling all over. She looked at him uncertainly, and then took a deep sip from the cup, swallowing it with effort.

She handed it to him, and he drank its contents without hesitation, their blood had a tart, metallic aftertaste from which he shuddered all over.

Their blood mixed together.

They marked each other for eternity.

The Maiden and The Stranger.

Fire and Water.

They were one.

______

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis @rae-seri @dark-night-sky-99

#aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #prince aemond #aemond kinslayer #aemond one eye #aemond oc #ewan mitchell smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond targeryen angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #ewan mitchell fandom #aemond fandom #house of the dragon fandom #hotd fandom #aemond x wife reader #aemond x wife #aemond x original female character #dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen

[radiocrypt-id]

The Sacrifice of The Frog Prince

The book, The Frog Prince, has been renamed.

No longer is it about a rude little boy, punished by a stranger and cursed to be a frog until someone decides to love him despite his flaws. No. Now, it is as we know it, The Princess and The Frog. Now it is about a little girl who met a silly little frog deep in the woods while she was playing, who returned her precious golden ball and claims to be a prince from some such other kingdom. Now the story, in which the princess was a means to an end, a lesson to be learned and then dismissed, is about the Princess and her choice to befriend a silly little frog from the pond. She is no longer the "true love" made just for the frog, but he is hers. The Frog is nameless, as many creatures are, as many princes are. For their names aren't important, just their roles.

The Frog, always claiming to be a prince, that the shape he's in is temporary, as soon as someone loves him enough despite his being a frog. He could be a prince again, if someone would just love him. Of course, The Frog is bound by a rigid idea of what love is. Of what the witch thought love was. Of what the Authors decided Love meant for a silly frog. There are many types of love, but that love isn't enough, not for them. It must be True, and Pure, and Perfect. It must be Romantic, from a Princess, in The Frogs case. Otherwise, how would he learn?

But he never really learned anything. Not from his story. Only after its end did he learn to look at himself and what he was and how his actions had consequences. Only after he made friends and knew love; unconditional, platonic, layered and silly love, did he learn anything. His party doesn't care that he's a frog, they don't care that he's a coward or that he's scared or angry or lost. They scream his victories to the moon, they soothe his wounds, share his losses, support his growth, hold him accountable for his wrongs. They love him, well and truly, not despite being a frog, but because of who he is and the frog is part of him, so they love the frog too. And not in the hopes he will become a prince one day, no, they never expect to see him a handsome human man, they don't care about his appearance or potential status. They love the Frog, no matter how he is.

Upon reflecting, Elody also loves Gerard The Frog, not in spite of his froggy state, but because he brings her joy and is her friend. That is the unique part of their shared story, they do not meet already in love, they grow into it. They are friends first, unlikely companions, a Princess and her silly, gross frog. It is unfortunate, that once The Frog becomes the Prince, and the story is over, that he forgets that. He is so worried about being a frog again, because he assumes that his potential to be a Prince is the only reason Elody loved him at all, that he forgets that she loved him before hand. It isn't until his party and the adventures they take and the hardships they share that he realizes he was wrong. Elody never wanted a Prince, she wanted her Frog, and she got neither one.

His apologies and warnings to her were sincere, his love of her is genuine, just as the Authors wanted. He loves Elody more than anything, how could he not? She's a force to be reckoned with, even before the wars. The Frog is finally a Prince when he makes the sacrifice he should have made from the beginning. It doesn't matter if he's a frog, he loves Elody and, on some level, she loves him. And stars is he grateful for any kindness from her, for any amount of love or care from her, because he knows he doesn't deserve a scrap of it. It is a treasure, precious and adored, and he will honour it the best he can.

The Frog gives up his name, his humanity, every piece of him he thought made him worthy of a love he was promised upon his cursing. Because love is not that simple or easy, and that sort of love should not be hoped for. He frees Elody of the expectation, the requirement that she Love him, that she be made for him in some way.

The Frog loves the Princess, and so he gives the Princess her freedom. Not in the hopes she will choose him anyway, not so she may appreciate the change and call him her hero. No. The Frog wishes the Princess happiness, where ever it may come from. He loves her more than he fears being unloved or abandoned. If her happiness is her freedom, and he has the power to grant her what she should have always had, then he will. He does.

The Frog frees the Princess from his Curse, and it is his hope she will be happy.

#neverafter spoilers #neverafter gerard #d20 neverafter #dimension 20 #neverafter #d20 spoilers #brennan lee mulligan #gerard #princess elody #elody of greenleigh #neverafter elody #the frog prince #her own hero #cursed to be a true love #brian murphy #i'm not sorry

[nat-20s]

God GOD okay okay okay okay okay I'm having thoughts I'm having FEELINGS im having a Moment SO

I waanna talk about Ten and Donna (shocker I know) but SPECIFCALLY I wanna talk about like. Them and being besties and soulmatism and red string of fates and what not. Also this post is long as rambly as hell so I'm putting it under a readmore for my non-tendonna girlies <3

So like. The Runaway Bride really does establish them as future besties so so well and some of it is the writing but I do think that some of it is that Catherine Tate and David Tennant, by all available accounts, ALSO immediately got on like a house on fire. Like genuinely i know Acting TM is a thing but I think them getting on is part of why their on screen chemistry is SO electric and dazzling to the point where Donna went from a one off one episode character to *checks notes* a character that came back TWICE and also fundamentally changed the structure and DNA of Doctor Who as a whole so. You know. Pretty impressive. Plus Donna gets to have her first adventure with The Doctor as their absolute worst: Ten is grieving from a FRESH wound of losing Rose, he's incredibly cruel and incredibly cold and straight up murders the Racknoss without a flinch or hint of remorse, and even before that he accidentally kidnaps her and then insults her as someone to dismiss. That's not to say that she doesn't also see The Doctor at their brightest: he ends up treating her with incredible kindness, and he's dazzling and brilliant and cares so much and shows her the creation of the earth itself to provide comfort. However it IS to say that because of the nature of his first interaction with Donna he CAN'T put up a facade she already knows the truth!! She is walking into their dynamic with completely open eyes and at first it fucking scares her! She doesn't dislike him in fact they already are friends after less than a day but

Then partners in crime happens. And she's realized okay no actually I CAN take the bad with the good and I WANT to participate in all of it and I DO want this friendship. The Red Strings of Fate (or maybe the TARDIS being like lmaoo you need this girlie <3) bring them back together and they are Officially Tethered from that point on which is so so so delicious. It's also so so so delicious that Ten's still at an incredibly low point and she's still going into this friendship without any ruses in place. Like oh shit yeah they are Bound together even if they did separate now they would almost certainly find each other again.

AND THEN AND THEN!!! We've already established The Doctor and Donna as fast best friends but holllllyyyy shit I think Fires of Pompeii is what establishes them as forever Soulmates. I meant canonically the ending of Fires of Pompeii where she has him save the family fundamentally changed The Doctor for the rest of their lives and gave them a guiding moral compass long after she wasn't there so yeah that's pretty fuckin soulmates of them. But I actually think them as a concept of two people sharing one soul (for the better!!) happens earlier in the episode. The exact moment in fact is THIS ONE:

The Doctor has to make a choice. There are no good options: both are mass destruction and death. And it's SUCH a Doctor choice to have to make: actively destroy Pompeii and everyone in it, or allow the entire world to be destroyed. Not only that but it will likely kill both him and Donna as well. It's a mix of self sacrifice and other sacrifice to save the world and it's a horrific situation to be in.

It is a narrative that parallels the choice he made in the Time War. It is an archetypical Burden of the Doctor.

And then she looks into his eyes, sees his fear and hesitation and remorse and guilt, and wordlessly puts her hands on his. They push the lever to destroy Pompeii together. And it becomes the burden of the DoctorDonna.

#tennant doctor #tenth doctor #donna noble #doctor who #THEY'RE SOULMATES THEY'RE SOULMATES THEY'RE SOULMATES #im OBSESSED with how intricate of an understanding she has of him LONG before she gets his mind. #the way that they experience and process and react to things is sooo similar in some ways and SOOO perfectly counterbalanced in others im #*chews glass*

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 5: The Dangerous Skies

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

This chapter has been a while in the making and a small idea that erupted into a whole lot of chaos. Please comment and reblog and let us know what you think.

Summary: After an accident causes Gale to realise how precious, he decides to make the most of everyday with the woman he loves. While John realises how he really feels about Ruth.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

Monday, August 23, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

Regensburg, Germany…the mission that earned the Hundredth its nickname was finally over.

Nine forts lost.

Ninety men gone just like that.

Ninety boys who would not return to their families.

Among these ninety men was Curt. Buck and John were still in shock when their small group of officers tiredly pushed through the doors into their nissen hut. A few beds were made with fresh sheets, all remnants of their previous owners long gone.

Gale flopped down on his bunk, throwing his kitbag down beside him. There was a small stack of letters on his nightstand and he stretched over the bed, his fingers grasping at the string that bound them together. His fingers running over the familiar return address as he tore open the first letter from Hope, his eyes scanning over her words quickly, desperate to know what she had written. He still had her picture from the plane tucked firmly into his pocket, he wasn’t about to leave her behind in Africa.

August 17th 1943

To my dearest Gale,

I can’t even begin to explain how worried I am about you. Ruth and I barely slept last night, thinking of you both preparing for your mission. I did not think it was possible to miss someone so much and after only a few hours apart as I write this. I miss you Gale. Today was perfect and I wish I could live there forever, in your arms by the river, with Meatball too of course.

The radio is playing our song right now. Well, I call it our song “You’ll Never Know” which is a strange choice for our song maybe because I only hope you do know just how much I love you. I wish you were here now to sing it with me.

I have been thinking about our lives after this war. When we get home. I saw how you were with Meatball the other day and I think our first order of business as a married couple should be to get a dog. Just think of all the walks we could go on, just the three of us. Life would be so perfect.

The only comfort I can find is knowing that I’ll be there with you on your mission, and not just my picture but I’ll be with you in spirit all the way there and back. And I know you will come back. I have asked Hugh to keep you safe and I know that you will look out for him too. I never realised how hard it would be to have both of you in harms way. I can only hope that his stubbornness and your skills will bring you both safely home to me. You mean the world to me Gale.

Yours forever

Hope

Gale smiled fondly, his eyes lingering on ‘yours forever’. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up with someone as amazing and kind as Hope, but he thanked God every night for bringing her to him. The second letter was addressed August 19th, just two days after the previous letter and Gale smirked, knowing that Hope didn’t want to seem desperate but she was just as worried as he was.

Dear Gale,

It’s been exactly two days, four hours and twenty four minutes since I last wrote to you and I couldn’t contain myself any longer.

She was counting down the days. Gale's heart swelled at the thought of her, sitting at the desk in the corner of the girls room, her pen sitting between her lips as she pondered what to write.

Somehow parting with you this time was so much worse than any of the others. It’s like I left a piece of my heart at Thorpe Abbott with you. I hope you’re keeping my heart safe wherever you are because I need you to bring it back to me.

Ruth has already begun to design her bridesmaid dress for our wedding and I fear she has broken the news to John already, I hope that doesn’t put you in a bind or anything. I think she is as excited as I am. Frank has also been enquiring into wedding planning. I feel like they will have planned the whole event before we are even officially engaged.

Mrs Hope Cleven does have a nice ring to it. I’ve also thought more about the situation of a dog once we are back in the states and I like the sound of a spaniel. They have the sweetest little faces and the biggest droopy ears. I can’t stop imagining the three of us exploring the country together.

I apologies if I’m getting ahead of myself. I know you haven’t officially proposed and you must think me a foolish girl for talking about it so much, but it’s the only thing that gets me through each day without you. The only thing that gets me into our plane in the morning is the thought of you and one day being in your arms once more.

On another note, I hope Hugh is keeping out of trouble. I’m afraid he’s been drawn to it since he was a boy creating havoc wherever he went. You’re lucky he likes you, otherwise I’m afraid he would be giving you hell.

Come back to me Gale. I love you.

Yours forever

Hope

The third letter soon followed, dated August 21st.

To my dearest Gale,

I’m sorry for sending so many letters. I’m sure you are so busy so please do not feel obliged to reply to them all separately. I find writing to you helps calm my nerves, it’s the only way I feel close to you when you are not here.

“So what’s this I hear you’re engaged to my sister?” Gale’s head shot up and he came face to face with Hugh, who was staring blankly at him. He couldn’t read his emotions and didn’t know whether he was happy or he was about to punch Gale in the face. Swallowing hard, Gale nodded slowly, eyeing his fellow pilot cautiously until a wide grin broke out across Hugh’s face and he jumped up, moving to sit next to Gale on his bunk.

“I’m so happy for you, Gale. Good luck with that one, she acts all sweet and innocent but she’s a wild card. You know what I told you about Kansas City.”

Gale laughed, relieved that Hugh wasn’t about to try and murder him.

“So, have you got a ring?” Hugh cocked an eyebrow at him and Gale shook his head.

“No, not yet. I haven’t even officially asked her,” Gale sighed, suddenly feeling guilty that he’d somehow lied to her by not actually asking her.

“Well, then you are in luck because I do,” Hugh stood up from the bed and moved over to his own, rummaging in the bedside cabinet for a few minutes, while Gale looked on confused.

“Ah ha!” Hugh called out triumphantly, his hand clasped around a small black box which he quickly placed in Gale’s hand.

“What’s this?” Gale glanced down it the box, running his thumb over the round, leather box.

“That, Gale, is an engagement ring,” Hugh grinned, seemingly impressed with himself for producing a ring out of thin air.

“But why have you got an engagement ring?” Gale glanced up at Hugh, watching as his face fell a little.

“Well, it’s a long story. There was a girl back in the States, I thought she was the one. Turns out while I was training to fly B17s, she was making her way around all the single men in town. My parents were less than impressed when they found out. But I already had a ring so I bought it with me.”

Gale chuckled, “So you bought an engagement ring to war just in case?”

Hugh nodded, “Pretty much. Well, it came in use right, now you can give it to Hope.”

Gale shook his head, pushing the box back into Hugh’s hand, “I can’t take this. It’s your ring.”

Hugh passed the box back to Gale, shaking his head, “But I want you to have it. I have no use for it and anyway, I know Hope will love it because she helped me pick it out in the first place.” Hugh lay his hand on Gale’s back. “Take it, please.”

Gale smiled weakly, opening up the box and revealing a small gold band with intricate silver weaving on either side and a diamond on top. “Alright, thanks, Hugh.” He shook his fellow pilot's hand, and Hugh grinned happily back at him.

“Welcome to the family, Cleven.”

“Got any big news you wanna share with the class, Buck?” John asked from his bed, raising his eyebrows at Gale while holding up a letter.

Gale confusedly looked over at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Rolling his eyes at Hugh, Buck sauntered over to John, standing over him with hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Hope Cleven,” the older man grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

A bashful smile appeared on Gale’s face. “I’ve got a ring and everything, now. It’ll be after all this is over.”

Standing to his feet, Bucky pulled him into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground. “Whenever it happens, I better be the best man! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, you will be,” Buck chuckled as John put him down, releasing him from his grip. “Just don’t tell Hugh that.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Hugh shouted across the officer's hut causing Gale to groan.

“Well, it makes sense. I am Buck’s best friend,” John retorted, sending a sly smirk Hugh’s way which only riled the man further.

“Yeah, and Hope’s my sister. I’m his future brother-in-law.”

Gale stepped back as Hugh stomped over to them, coming chest to chest with John who just continued to playfully glare down at him.

“So what? You're a St. Louis fan,” Bucky pointed at him, a grin tugging at his lips. “That instantly makes you not best man material.”

Hugh snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and I suppose you being a great Yankees fan makes you the right choice, huh?”

“Absolutely,” John replied matter of factly. “How can you cheer for a team who lost 11-3 to the Pirates? The Pirates.”

“At least we didn’t get shut out by the Indians.”

Gale knew this wasn’t going to end well. No one could insult the Yankees and get away with that in John’s eyes...except for Ruth, of course. Before John could find a comeback, Gale stepped up, moving to stand between the two men.

“Now, now. I’m not having you two fighting over being my best man. If it’s that much of a problem I’ll make Demarco my best man and Meatball can be the ring bearer.”

Neither of the men seemed too pleased with that outcome.

“Not Demarco!”

“Yes Demarco.”

John groaned, pursing his lips, and Hugh remained silent, looking at the ground solemnly at their childish behaviour.

“You should choose whoever you want to be your best man, but-” John began with a nod before Hugh interrupted.

“Yeah pick who you want, Gale. Hope will probably want me to walk her down the aisle anyway so I’ll probably be in the bridal party instead.”

John snickered with raised brows as he imagined Hugh in a bridesmaid’s dress, but he fell silent when Gale elbowed him in the ribs, glaring at him.

“Come here,” Bucky pulled Gale into another hug and slapped his friend’s back, “Congratulations Buck! You’re a helluva guy.”

“The best,” Hugh added.

As they stood there celebrating Buck’s life-changing news, the trio couldn’t help but think of their close friend who wasn’t. Their group got even smaller…

“Curt…he would,” John cleared his throat and nodded, forcing down the emotion that threatened to creep up his throat. “He would be happy for you, Buck.”

Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and they mirrored the same emotions…hurt, regret, sadness. The men who came back never talked about those who didn’t, and both of them knew this was the one time they would.

“Yeah, he would,” Buck breathed, one side of his lips barely turning up into a mournful smile.

Silence filled the air around them there for a few moments, all three stuck in their minds until Gale spoke up.

“That from Ruth?” Buck asked, gesturing to the letter in Johnny’s hand.

He nodded once and sat down on his bunk with a soft smile, suddenly remembering the last half of Ruth’s letter he still had to read. “I’ve got another one to read after this one. Then I’ve gotta write her back.”

As Gale looked down at his friend’s lovesick gaze, he smiled to himself and shook his head. If someone had asked him if John Egan would be rushing to read love letters and send a response to a woman, one woman, whom he’d been exclusively seeing for over a month, Buck Cleven would’ve told them they were crazy.

“Tell her I said hello,” Gale said quietly, patting Johnny’s shoulder before returning to his bunk.

Saturday, August 28, 1944: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base

John, Gale, and Hugh were riding from their nissen huts to the mess hall when the familiar roar of a C-47 filled the air. They were used to the sound meaning their girls were on base, and it filled them with excitement as they peddled faster to the landing strip.

“Did you know they were coming today?” Buck asked, quickly glancing over at Johnny and Hugh.

John shook his head, a lazy grin curving his lips. “No, Ruth didn’t mention it in her last letter.”

Nodding to himself, Gale couldn’t shake the feeling deep down that something was wrong. As they approached the airstrip, Colonel Harding appeared, calling out to John.

“Bucky! I need a minute,” he yelled from the balcony of the nearby flight tower.

Holding in a groan, Johnny nodded at Hugh and turned his bike toward the tower. “Tell Ruth I’ll see her in a minute.”

The boys had been thankful they didn’t have a mission that day, and instead spent their time on base with their girls. Gale and Hope had gone back to the officers Nissan hut and spent most of the day cuddling on the bed after their shower, happy to be back in each other's arms. Ruth and John had spent the rest of the day together too, giving Hope some time alone to recover, before coming back to the hut in the afternoon.

After Ruth and John left the Nissan hut, Gale found himself dozing once more, his eyes growing heavy as he fought off sleep. A light knock on the door roused him.

“Come in.”

A worried Hugh poked his head around the door, chewing his lip anxiously, a habit that Gale noticed Hope always did. “Can I come in?” He asked, glancing at his sleeping sister.

“Of course,” Gale waved him in and watched as his fellow pilot made his way over, flopping down on his cot beside them.

“How’s she doing?” Hugh found himself fighting the urge to brush the loose hair off Hope’s face, smiling when Gale did the same. It was unusual for an older brother to approve of his sister's choice of partner, but Hugh didn’t think that there was a more genuine, or honourable man out there than Gale Cleven.

“She’s doing okay. The morphine had helped, she was in a lot of pain earlier but she’s managed to get some rest,” Gale admitted, stroking her hair softly. He couldn’t help the gentle smile that formed on his lips every time he looked at her.

“That’s good then,” Hugh went to stand when he noticed the ring adoring Hope’s finger and a wide smile spread across his face. “You popped the question then.”

Gale smiled, “I did, and she said yes.”

Hugh laughed at the proud expression on Gale’s face. “Well I didn’t exactly expect her to say no. She’s all you talk about in her letters. Our parents are excited to meet you. She sent a picture of you home and if I remember correctly my mother thought you were ‘a fine young man’.” Hugh moved to rest his hand on Gale’s shoulder, “I’m real happy for you both, you deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks Charliee,” the two men kept eye contact until Hugh cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “I best be heading back. I promised Demarco I’d look after Meatball for a few hours.”

Gale nodded, “Feel free to bring Meatball by, I’m sure Hope would appreciate the visit. Our first order of business after the wedding is to get a dog.”

Hugh smirked, “Is it a spaniel by any chance? She’s always had a soft spot…”

“For the long fluffy ears,” Gale finished, “Yeah it is.”

Hugh snorted, “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Gale glanced back down at Hope, she looked so peaceful that he hated to wake her. The door closing softly signaled Hugh leaving and Gale sighed, leaning back against his pillow.

He smoothed his hand over Hope’s head, brushing the soft locks away from her face, fingers tracing the pale flesh of her temples. His other hand remained firmly around hers, wrapping them close to his chest, over his heartbeat. He hadn’t truly processed how close he’d come to losing her today, if the shrapnel had gone any further to the left it would have hit her femoral artery and she’d have bled out before the plane even touched the tarmac. Gale shook the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on Hope’s rhythmic breathing in time with his own. She’s alive. She’s still here.

Gale had known this war wouldn’t be easy, he’d known that he would lose people, friends, brothers, but he hadn’t banked on falling in love and he hadn’t banked on her being up in the air during combat like he was.

Hope snuggled deeper into his chest and Gale’s arm instinctively pulled her closer. They had survived another day: together.

Gale’s mind began to wonder as his eyes traced the elongated semicircles that lined the roof of the Nissen hut. Thinking back on happier times when the girls visiting the base meant that it was going to be a good day.

Hope sighed loudly, folding up the third crate of dressing material, and packing it into the smaller crates to be loaded onto their C47 later that afternoon. It was a tiresome, mind numbing job but someone had to do it. A loud crash, followed by a small whine caused Hope to shoot up for her seat, hurting towards the noise where she found a rather disheveled looking navigator sitting on the infirmary room floor.

“Oh you poor thing. Here come take a seat,” Hope ushered the rather green looking navigator towards the empty chair.

The man plonked himself down with a sigh, gratefully accepting the glass of water Hope offered to him.

“Whatever’s the matter…?” Hope asked, pausing as she realised she didn’t know the man’s name, although she recognised him from around the base.

“Oh Harry, Harry Crosby,” the man thrust his hand pathetically forward and Hope shook it carefully. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I'm normally fine once we’re in the air. All the boys will be rigging me later for being in dock again.”

Realising that this must be the navigator with air sickness she had heard about from the infirmary’s doctor, Hope sighed, “It’s alright. Everything’s different up there when you're in combat. It’s bound to play on your nerves,” Hope reassured him, smoothing the sweaty hair away from his forehead and placing a cool, wet cloth there instead.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Hope whispered, glancing over her shoulder jokingly to make sure no one else was around. “I used to get terribly air sick when I first started my flight training.”

“Really?” Harry asked in amazement, his large eyes staring back at her reminded Hope of an excitable child.

“Oh yeah, I was terrible. I took a bucket up with me on every flight and tried not to eat in the mornings but I was still sick, every damn time.”

Harry wrinkled his nose before asking, “But you're not sick anymore?”

“No. Not anymore, luckily. I don’t think I’d have made much of a flight nurse if I was being sick all the time.”

Harry looked down sadly at his map case, “I don’t suppose I make much of a navigator either.”

Hope pulled her chair closer to Harry’s, “Now you listen here. You are a fine navigator Harry Crosby. You navigated through flak fire and you bought all the boys home. That is not something to be snubbed at, understood.” Harry nodded quickly and Hope gave him a reassuring smile. “Good. I don’t want to hear any more negative talk, alright? You’re good at your job, Harry and with time the sickness will fade, I promise.”

Harry stayed a little longer until his nausea subsided and he finally felt well enough to leave the infirmary. Hope began to tidy away some bandages when Gale stuck his head around the door.

“Knock, Knock?”

“Hello Major, and what brings you down here today?” Hope asked, smiling brightly at him.

“Oh I’m just here to see the prettiest girl in all of England. Have you seen her around?” Gale asked, glancing quickly around the infirmary before his eyes returned to Hope’s.

“No, I'm afraid I can’t say I have. Better luck next time, Major.” Hope turned her back to move away from him but his hands quickly found her waist and he spun her around.

“Not so fast, Beautiful. I haven’t seen My Baby all day and I’ve missed you like crazy.”

“Your Baby, huh?”

“Well yeah. Well you see the plane is ‘Our Baby’ because the whole crew get her but only I get ‘My Baby’,” he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, his breath tickling her as he kissed her pressure point gently.

“Is that so?”

“Oh it is so.”

“Well then, there’s only one thing for it,” Hope pressed her lips firmly to his, weaving her fingers into his hair and pushing him towards the table. As the backs of his thighs came into contact with it, he sat down, allowing Hope the height advantage but allowing himself to wrap his arms tightly around her torso.

“Now this is what you call a welcome home,” he laughed between kisses, pulling Hope even closer so they could embrace. The table creaked beneath Gale’s wait but he was unphased, too preoccupied with holding his girl, to finally have her back in his arms, that’s all that mattered.

Gale smiled, eyes closed as the images of Hope’s smiling face filled his mind. She was here. She was safe and that’s all that mattered.

Hugh returned later that evening with food for the two couples and Meatball following along at his heels. The large husky made a beeline for Hope, greeting her at the side of the bed.

“Hey Meatball,” Hope mumbled, leaning as far as she could to ruffle the dogs fur. Meatball groaned when she began scratching his ear, he closed his eyes and tilted his head, expressing his enjoyment. “Who's a good boy?” Meatball hopped up on the bed, snuggling into Hope’s side.

“You can keep him if you want. The damn thing keeps howling. It’s driving me insane,” Hugh complained, passing Hope a bowl of steaming soup. “When Demarco gets back I’m giving him a piece of my mind, leaving me to mind his dog all afternoon.”

Hope accepted the soup gratefully, but could only manage a few mouthfuls until the wave of nausea washed over her once more, and she placed the bowl down.

“Ugh, I feel so sick.”

Gale was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on the small of her back as she bent over, head in her hands. Ruth looked anxiously at John from their seats on John’s bed and started to put down her bowl to help when Hope spoke up.

“It’s okay Gale, it’s just the morphine,” she reassured him, squeezing his hand, to which he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade.

Hugh sniggered, “He didn’t get you pregnant while I was away did he?”

“With us in here? Sounds like a nightmare,” John chuckled, rolling his eyes at the same time Ruth grimaced from beside him. She knew a signature Hope Armstrong comeback was incoming.

Hope glared at him,”The fact that you have so little knowledge on pregnancy concerns me for your future wife.”

Hugh stuck his tongue out in response, “That’s not a no though.”

The pillow from Gale’s bed was a near miss as it went sailing past Hugh’s head and he dodged it dramatically, glaring at his sister.

“Come on, with all the ‘Dear John’ letters Sparky gets, I’d be surprised if he ever settles down,” John joined in.

“Look who’s talking, Bucky,” Hugh retorted, pointing at Ruth with his spoon. “At least I got letters. You didn’t get a single one before Ruth came along.”

“Really?” Ruth asked quietly, surprise etched on her face.

The Major nodded with pursed lips, pushing the vegetables around his bowl before looking over at her with a small smile. “There was no one worth writing to.”

At his words, the blonde’s cheeks heated, and she got caught in his gaze.

From their position across the room, Gale and Hope watched the interaction with fond smiles, both happy to see their friends with someone who clearly adored them. But the moment was interrupted when Hugh burst out laughing.

“Well that didn’t stop you from-”

He was cut off when a pillow came sailing into the side of his face, knocking some of his soup onto his pants as the pillow fell to the bed. Hugh’s gaze flicked towards the cot the projectile came from, ready to yell at Hope, but what he wasn’t expecting was her wide eyes as she stared up at Buck in awe.

“Sorry, Charlie,” Buck shrugged. “It just slipped.”

Ruth and Hope broke into chuckles, but John just sent Gale a thankful glance. Bucky then turned his attention to Hugh, and the two pilots glared at each other, John frustrated about the comment, and Hugh still clearly sour over the best man situation. They soon gave up and went back to their soup.

After a few minutes

Once they’d finished their supper, a knock sounded at the door. “Everyone decent in there? Girls?”

Frank.

“Uh, yeah,” John called, lifting an eyebrow at Ruth.

The door swung open and the Captain walked in with his lips in a straight line. “Thought you two’d be in here,” he nodded before turning to Hope. “How’s the leg?”

“I’m okay. Still hurts like a bitch, though.”

“Did you get it checked?”

Her face shifted into a grimace at the question. “I took care of it.”

“You, Hope Armstrong,” he sighed. “Are the reason I drink.”

“You know you love us,” Ruth added, tilting her head with a grin.

Frank’s attention drifted to Ruth’s figure beside John. “And how are you, Ruthie?”

The blonde looked up at John, thinking of how he’d taken care of her throughout the day. “Better now.”

“Alright, enough of the lovey eyes, you two,” he called out to them, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his hips. “The Angel’s out of commission, and the Grove can’t send anyone tonight with the blackout, so we’re stuck here for the night.”

Both couples perked up at the news, but Hugh just groaned.

“As much as I wish I could make you stay with the Red Cross girls, I know I can’t. So you two,” Frank pointed at Gale and John. “No funny business, okay? None.”

Johnny’s mouth twitched, almost quirking into a smirk, but he was able to hold it in as Buck replied with a “Yes sir.”

“Zero funny business,” Bucky fake saluted from his bunk.

Running a hand down his tired face, Frank scratched his mustache. “Hugh, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on them.”

“Trust me, I will.”

“Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Frank disappeared, the door closed behind him with a slam, and they all visibly relaxed. Hope moved to shuffle back onto the bed beside Gale, the wave of nausea having passed when the door flew open again.

A cool breeze filled the hut as five men strolled into the hut, apparently oblivious of the girls until the one at the front of the column spoke up.

“Would you look at that? Major ‘no girls in the hut’ Cleven has a girl on his bed,” he pointed at Hope before the man behind him tapped his shoulder, causing him to turn and notice Ruth. “And Egan, too. Christ, I’m surprised Charlie hasn’t joined in.”

Gale sighed, standing up and placing his hand on Hope’s shoulder, “Hope, Ruth, these are the boys.” Buck took a breath to introduce them, but John beat him to it.

“DEMARCO,” John hollered, causing Gale to groan at his friend’s childish antics.

Demarco just smiled, “Egan,” he greeted him before motioning towards Ruth, “How did you manage to snag yourself such an attractive broad?”

Ruth blushed under the other man’s gaze but John just chuckled beside her, “Must be my endless charm.”

“Sure thing, Major,” Demarco snorted, his voice lowering to a whisper as he glanced down at Ruth, “Blink twice if you need help.”

With a shove from John, Benny laughed turning his attention back to Hope and Gale, while Bubbles moved over to greet Ruth, having already met him earlier that day.

“And you must be the lovely Hope that Meatballs told me about. He’s taken a shine to you,” Demarco motioned towards Gale, “Shame this one keeps third-wheeling your dates.

Hope giggled, turning her head to look at Gale who is now leaning against the headboard, “You may have some competition, Major.”

Gale hummed in amusement, “How am I supposed to compete with his charming personality.” As if the husky knew they were talking about him, he let out a low groan, stretching out across Gale’s bed.

An argument had broken out between John and Jack regarding a certain jeep that Gale and Hope had yet to hear about. Hope shuffled up the bed, wincing as the stitches pulled.

“Are you okay?” Gale’s hands came to rest on her hip, as he watched her worriedly. His bright eyes widened slightly as he noticed Hope’s lip quivering before she replied.

“Yeah, just sore. I need to change my bandage, it’s oozing through…” Before Hope could finish her sentence, Gale’s hand slipped beneath her shirt, noticing the blood leaking through the bandage.

“Hope…” he whispered under his breath, his forehead creasing as he lowered his head to look closer at the wound, but she swatted him away.

“Gale, I’m fine,” she sent him a weak smile, her hand coming to rest of his cheek and she stroked it slowly. “I’m okay. I just need to change the dressing.”

Gale nodded slowly, helping Hope move off the bed and to the back of the hut where they could have a little more privacy, while John continued to bicker with his fellow pilots.

Gale sat her down on a chair, facing away from the other men before he pushed the shirt up to expose her thighs. He unwound the dressing, exposing the rudimentary sutured wound. It was red and angry and hot to the touch.

“Hope, this might be infected. I think I’m the morning before you head back to Berkshire we should head to the infirmary.” Hope raised her eyebrow, giving him a doubtful look to which he shook his head, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Hope sighed, leaning back in the chair as Gale worked to clean gently around the wound, using the gauze to wipe away the blood. Hope didn’t particularly like the way the wound looked either and even she would admit that she at least needed some penicillin.

“Alright,” she replied reluctantly and Gale chortled.

“This must be the first time you haven’t argued about something, you must be feeling unwell,” Gale whimpered as she smacked him lightly on the head, unamused by his comment.

“Just get to work, Doctor Cleven. I wanna go to bed.”

Something in Gale’s eyes changed at that comment, his eyes normally as clear as a summer's sky, seemed dark and stormy.

“Doctor Cleven, I could get used to that.” Hope hummed in appreciation as Gale’s lips met her thigh, just below where the shrapnel had hit. His warm hands massaged the rigid muscles in the hope of releasing some of the tension of the day.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Hope mumbled, running her fingers through Gale’s blonde locks, “You’ll always be Major Cleven to me. Well, unless you change careers or something.” Hope thought for a moment, “Hmm Doctor Cleven, Major Cleven… Professor Cleven has a ring to it.”

“Professor, huh,” Gale smiled, the grin nearly reaching his eyes. “I see you’ve got it all planned out, Nurse Armstrong.”

Gale made a surprisingly good nurse and he soon had a fresh bandage wrapped neatly around Hope’s leg. He even went as far as to check the tension, as he’d seen Hope go so many times with wounded soldiers.

In the time it took Gale to redress Hope’s leg, Ruth and John had disappeared outside, Hugh was lounging across his cot chatting to Bubbles and Veal. Kidd had given up arguing with John and was reading John’s battered copy of ‘Guys and Dolls’, as for Meatball, he’d finally moved over to Demarco’s bed, lounging across the cover while Benny was on his hands and knees, rummaging beneath the cot.

"Hey, where's my pillow?" Benny asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding beds with a creased brow.

“Here!” Hugh launched the pillow across the room, smacking Demarco square in the face.

“What the hell was that for?” Benny went to stand but Gale pushed him backwards onto his cot.

“Now, now boys, we’ve got female guests. Let’s not get too rowdy tonight, alright?” A few silent nods seemed to satisfy Gale and Hope couldn’t help the amused smirk she sent his way. The Air Force hadn’t just given Gale friends, but an unruly group of men who acted like teenage boys and who Gale had become the adopted father of.

Hope slipped under the sheets, sighing as the thin mattress sunk under her weight. Gale slipped in beside her, careful to avoid knocking her injured leg, and his left instinctively found its home on her waist, while he used his other arm to prop himself up, running his fingers soothingly through her brown locks.

“Today was a good day,” Hope mumbled, her voice muffled with sleep, as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“A good day? Hope you could have… I could have…” Gale’s voice thick with emotion as he tried to find the words he wanted. Hope rolled over to face him, glancing up at his crumpled features. He looked utterly broken and a silent sob left his lips before the tears began to fall.

“Oh Gale,” Hope reached up, gripping onto Gale and pulling him against her chest. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Her fingers danced up and down his spine, as he sobbed into the crook of her neck, allowing the emotions he’d been bottling to finally release.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m okay. You’ve got me,” Hope kept repeating like a mantra for both of them. They were both okay.

Gale pulled away, a teardrop hanging off the end of his nose as he spoke, “I love you so much, Hope. I don’t know what I’d do if… if…”

“Shh Gale, please don’t cry. It’s okay. Look,” she placed her left hand above his heart, her engagement ring clearly in view and Gale could himself run his fingers over the small gold ring.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he admitted, cupping Hope’s cheek and placing a loving kiss on her lips.

“As if my answer would have been anything other than a yes. I love you, Gale with all my heart.”

Gale pulled Hope down with him, nuzzling into her neck and placing small, chaste kisses along her collarbone.

“Didn’t think our first time in bed together would be quite like this,” he mused, kissing Hope’s forehead.

“No, neither did I,” Hope laughed, “In fact, I had a very different image.” Hope began to speak again when Hugh called out.

“Hey, no funny business, Cleven. You hear what Frank said and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.”

Gale sighed and went to reply but Hope interrupted him, peaking out above Gale’s shoulder, “Hugh, would you give it a rest, just for one goddamn night. Please.”

Hugh raised his hands in surrender, turning back to his conversation with Bubbles. Gale smiled in awe at Hope’s ability to shut Hugh up.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Gale placed another kiss on Hope’s forehead, pulling her closer to his body as they both drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @blueberry-ovaries

#masters of the air #on a wing and a prayer #gale cleven #hope armstrong #Hugh Armstrong #Ruth Morgan #John Egan

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 3)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 4,818

(Part One) (Part Two)

_________________________________________

Only Rhysand’s friends don’t seem surprised.

Tamlin’s eyes are a green flame, golden light flickering around him as his magic seeks to wrestle free from Rhysand’s control. As he tries and tries again to speak.

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand says blandly, “Consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

A flare of interest carves a hole in your mind.

Only Beron is stupid enough to scoff. Eris angles his body in his chair, not towards you, but to block the path of his mother.

“Yet here I am,” Rhysand continues, and you can’t take your eyes off of him, hanging on to every single one of his words. If you play nice with the Night Court would he be able to break into Beron’s mind and force your deal off?

The High Lord of Night doesn’t deign to give Beron a glance of acknowledgement. “Here we all are.”

Absolute stunning silence. 

The Tarquin, silent and watchful, clears his throat.

Everyone waits for his words as he turns to Feyre, to Rhysand, “Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning…” A glance at his cousin, who doesn’t so much as look sorry about it, “You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?”

Rhy’s voice is a bit hoarse as he asks, testing the salty waters between Summer and Night, “Isn’t that what friends do?”

It’s a subtle, quiet offer.

Tarquin takes him in. Then Feyre. And the others. “I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.”

“Don’t expect Amren to return hers,” Cassian mutters. “She’s grown attached to it.”

You could swear that a smile tugs on Varian’s mouth.

But Rhys faces Tamlin, whose own mouth remains shut. His eyes are still livid. And Feyre’s mate says to him, “I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian.”

Kallias doesn’t appear so convinced. Neither does Helion.

Rhys loosens his grasp on Tamlin’s voice, the only give is the low hiss that slips from the High Lord of Spring. But Tamlin makes no move to attack, to even speak.

“War is upon us,” Rhysand declares. “I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves.”

The better man–male. His restraint, his choice of words…All of it a careful portrayal of reason and power. But Rhysand…you know he means what he says, you can sense it in a way you can sense all threats, not just the ones that result in death, although with war upon you all, it does hang heavy in the air.

But Beron says, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” He gives him a wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looks towards the Night Court, towards Feyre.

Your heart clenches at the thought and you dare not look at the son next to you. You know you won’t see a flash of emotion in Eris’ auburn eyes, he’s carefully mastered the art of schooling his features neutral, learning just how dangerous wearing his emotions on his face can be. Beron made sure of that.

“Helping to guard our city,” she answers simply. It’s not a lie, not entirely.

Eris instead snorts and surveys Nesta, who stares back at him with steel in her face. Oh how you know that he likes that. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

It’s your turn to clamp your hand over his under the table and give him a squeeze of warning. Not even you would bait the Night Court during such an already tense meeting. Your friend is going to get himself into more trouble than he can handle, and even if you’re itching for a fight, you don’t want it to be against the only court that might have a chance of helping you get free.

Mor replies smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’ mouth curls into a smile at her words and your hand slips away from his. There is no going back now, not as his fiery gaze locks onto her chocolatey brown eyes, preparing to melt her.

The pair are good at pretending they haven’t seen each other in years, and Eris responds, “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

One moment, Azriel is seated across from you.

The next, he’s blasted through Eris’ shield with a flare of blue light, tackling him backwards, the wood of Eris’ chair shattering beneath them.

“Shit,” Cassian spits, and is instantly there–

Meeting a wall of blue.

Your heart aches in your chest, eager to move closer, to join in perhaps, to feel the blood pouring from Eris’ nose on your fingers, to lick away the remnants of crimson from Azriel’s split knuckles. You’re nearly vibrating in your seat with need, hands clamped around the arms of your chair so tightly your skin is stretched white over your bones, teeth grinding in your mouth.

You allow yourself a deep inhale of the heady scent of blood.

Azriel has sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrap around Eris’ throat, Rhys says, “Enough.”

But Azriel’s hands only tighten, and you can feel the pinch of Eris’ breath being cut off underneath those marred hands, born from Death. Even though it’s your friend thrashing beneath the shadowsinger, you know that Death is nowhere near, but you can’t help but to want to crawl closer, watch how the Taker finishes the job, watch his shadows consume Eris; eyes as his body goes slack and his soul fades to black. 

“Enough, Azriel,” Rhys orders. Perhaps the shadows that slide and eddy around him hide him from the wrath of the binding magic. No one else makes a move to interfere, as if wondering the same.

Azriel digs his knee–and all his weight–into Eris’ gut. He’s silent, utterly silent as he rips the air from Eris’ body. Beron’s flames strike the blue shield, over and over, but the fire skitters off and fizzles out on the water. Any that escape are torn to shreds by shadows.

“Call off your overgrown bat,” Beron orders Rhys.

The High Lord of Night is enjoying it, as you’re sure many of the people in this room are. But despite the bargain they’d made with Eris, he could have ended it seconds ago. Beron swings around in his seat, a warning in his eyes, a command for you to stop it, pure unadulterated fury in that molten amber gaze.

You swallow harshly at the sight. You know exactly what that look is, the underlying threat if you don’t stop this immediately.

Holding Beron’s gaze, at the same time Feyre stands, placing a hand on the hard, near-invisible curve of Azriel’s shield and says, “Come, Azriel,” You let your powers out.

Azriel stops.

You flood his mind with your presence, slipping past those well built barriers made from darkness and shadow. They part easily under your gentle caress, as if you are one of them and they can’t tell the difference, letting you pass like a wisp of wind. 

He knows you’re in his mind, curling up against his walls and it sets his teeth on edge. But there’s something different about it, about how easy it is for you to overtake him, command his fingers to loosen from where they’re locked around Eris’ throat. The princling gasps for air as his scarred hands loosen and he feels like a prisoner in his body. He’s angry about it but you don’t seem to give off any threatening feelings, only calm ones.

Azriel’s gaze slips over yours as you relinquish control just long enough to let him look up at his High Lady, demanding his attention. In that single glance he really sees you for the first time. You can feel the cogs turning in his head as you slip away, releasing your powers on him completely. 

Feyre offers him a hand. “Come sit beside me.”

You notice that her sister has already moved her seat, and an extra chair has appeared beside Feyre’s.

Azriel’s eyes slide back to Eris, the High Lord’s son panting beneath him. And the shadowsinger leans down to whisper something in his ear that makes Eris blanch further.

But the shield drops. The shadows lighten into sunshine.

Beron strikes–only for his fire to bounce off of a hard barrier of Feyre’s making. She lifts her gaze to the High Lord of Autumn and it’s all you can do not to roll your eyes at the hot-headed male’s antics. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Oh, you like her.

Helion laughs and you smother your smile, eyes flicking back to the shadowsinger. He’s already looking at you, gaze narrowed as he assesses you from where you sit next to Eris’ empty seat.

He takes Feyre’s still-offered hand and rises.

Mor opens her mouth to say something to Azriel, but Cassian puts a hand on her bare knee and shakes his head. Feyre leads the shadowsinger to the empty chair beside hers–then walks to the table to pour him a glass of wine.

No one speaks until she offers it to him and sits down.

His motions are too smooth, too calculated for the pure rage you’d felt in his mind. You watch closely as his rough hands hold the wineglass gently, waiting for the stem to snap in half.

“They are my family,” Feyre says at the raised brows she receives while waiting on him. Tamlin shakes his head in disgust and finally slides that claw back into his hand. Feyre meets Eris’ fuming gaze, her voice as cold as Azriel’s face as she says, “I don’t care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my friend again, I won’t stop him the next time.”

The look Azriel’s backs her up with makes your heart stumble and your powers urge to reach out again.

Only Eris knows how far their alliance goes. The one that he doesn’t think you know about, but it’s your job to know these things, even if this particular secret is one you’ve withheld from the current High Lord of Autumn.

Mor stares and stares at Azriel, who refuses to look at her, who refuses to do anything but give Eris his death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averts his eyes. And says, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

Beron gawks at the words. But something like approval shines on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settles himself once more.

When Azriel’s sure that the son of Autumn sitting next to you won’t look Mor’s way again, he turns those golden beams on you. 

Thesean rubs his temples. “This does not bode well.”

Helion smirks at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”

Helion waves a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drift over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers–scar-flecked from swordplay–other stacks appear before every chair in the room. Including your own. “Replicas,” he says without looking up as he leaves through the documents.

A handy trick–for a male whose trove is not in gold, but in knowledge.

Perhaps if the High Lord of Night wouldn’t hear you out, the High Lord of Day would. Maybe he’d be able to break the curse holding you to Beron’s side, though if he had possibly refused Tamlin’s request to free Feyre from her bargain so long ago, why would he help you?

You can feel Azriel’s eyes on you, so you turn to meet his flickering gaze. The wine glass has been set down, not a single drop missing from when Feyre had filled it up, as he thumbs the corner of the papers before him, like learning about you is suddenly more important than the impending war with Hybern.

A shadow so light it’s nearly invisible to the keen Fae eyes in the room curls around your ear as he scrapes against your walls with icy, death-dipped claws. You shudder. It feels good.

You raise your brow at him, daring him to continue, but he finally ducks his head and tucks into the paperwork before him.

“If all of this is true,” Helion clicks his tongue, and Tamlin snarls at the haughty tone, “Then I’d suggest two things: first, destroying Hybern’s cashes of faebane. We won’t last long if they’ve made them into so many versatile weapons. It’s worth the risk to destroy them.”

Kallias arches a brow. “How would you suggest we do that?”

“We’ll handle it,” Tarquin offers. Varian nods. “We own them for Adriata.”

Thesean says, “There is no need.”

Everyone blinks at him. Even Tamlin. The High Lord of Dawn just folds his hands in his lap. “A master tinkerer of mine has been waiting for the past several hours. I would like for her to now join us.”

Before anyone can reply, a High Fae female appears at the edge of the circle. She bows so quickly that you barely glimpse more than her light brown skin and long, silken black hair. She wears clothes similar to Thesean’s and yet–her sleeves have been rolled up to the forearms, the tunic unbuttoned to her chest. And her hand–

Her right hand is solid gold–mechanical. The way the youngest son of Autumn’s is. It clicks and whirrs quietly, drawing the eye of every immortal in the room as she faces her High Lord. Thesean smiles in warm welcome.

“My Lord,” she greets Thesean.

The High Lord of Dawn gestures to the female standing tall before the assembled group. “Nuan is one of my most skilled craftspeople.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, brows rising with recognition at the name, and jerks his head to Beron, to Eris. “You might know her as the person responsible for granting your…errant son, as you called him, the ability to use his left eye after Amarantha removed it.”

Nuan nods once in confirmation, her lips pressing into a thin line as she takes in Lucien’s family. She doesn’t so much as glance your way, her gaze skipping over yours, and she doesn’t even so much as turn in Tamlin’s direction. He certainly doesn’t bother to acknowledge her, regardless of the past binding them, their mutual friend.

“And what has this to do with the faebane?” Helion demands. Thesean’s lover seethes at the High Lord of Day’s tone, but one glance from Thesean has the male relaxing.

Nuan turns, her dark hair slipping over a shoulder as she studies Helion. She does not seem impressed and you bite back a snort. “Because I found a solution for it.”

Thesean waves a hand. “We heard rumors of faebane being used in this war–used in the attack on your city, Rhysand. We thought to look into the issue before it became a deadly weakness for all of us.” He nods to Nuan. “Beyond her unparalleled tinkering, she is a skilled alchemist.”

Nuan crosses her arms over her chest, the sun glinting off of her metal hand. “Thanks to the samples after the attack in Velaris, I was able to create an…antidote of sorts.”

“How did you get those samples?” Cassian demands.

A flush creeps over Nuan’s cheeks. “I–heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after…what happened.” She still doesn’t look at Tamlin, who remains silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago–asked him to send samples. He did–and did not tell you,” she adds quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I found a solution.”

You watch Feyre and Rhys exchange a glance, obviously unaware of the fox they’d let into their lands.

Nuan continues, “The Mother has provided us with everything we need on this earth. So it has been a matter of finding what, exactly, she gave us in Prythian to combat a material from Hybern capable of wiping out our powers.”

Helion shifts with impatience, that glistening, white fabric slipping over his muscled chest.

Thesean reads that impatience, too, and says, “Nuan has been able to quickly create a powder for us to ingest in drink, food, however you please. It grants immunity from the faebane. I already have workers in three of my cities manufacturing as much of it as possible to hand out to our unified armies.”

Even Rhys seems impressed at the stealth, the unveiling. 

Tarquin asks, “But what of physical objects made from faebane? They possessed gauntlets at the battle to smash through shields.” He jerks his chin to Rhys. “And when they attacked your own city.”

“Against that,” Nuan says, “You only have your wits to protect you.” She doesn’t break Tarquin’s stare, and he straightens, as if surprised that she does so. “The compound I’ve made will only protect you–your powers–from being rendered void by the faebane. Perhaps if you are pierced with a weapon tipped in faebane, having the compound in your system will negate its impact.”

Quiet falls.

Beron says, “And we are supposed to trust you,”– a look at Thesean, then at Nuan–“with this…substance we’re to blindly ingest.”

“Would you rather face Hybern without any power?” Thesean demands. “My master alchemists and tinkerers are no fools.”

“No,” Beron says, frowning, “But where did she come from? Who are you?” The last bit is directed at Nuan.

“I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know,” Nuan answers tightly.

Helion demands of Beron, “What does this have to do with anything?”

You couldn’t help but to agree with the Day King.

Beron shrugs. “If her family is from Xian–which I’ll have you remember fought for the Loyalists–then whose interests does she serve?”

Helion’s amber eyes flash.

Thesean cuts in sharply, “I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian. And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you day.”

Before Beron can miss a retort, Nuan says to the Lord of Autumn, her chin high, “I am a child of Prythian. I was born here, on this land, as your sons were.”

Beron’s face darkens and you tense in your seat. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” Feyre cuts in, coming to her defense. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” She turns to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolls his eyes.

But Eris says, “Father.”

Beron lifts a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris doesn’t flinch, but he seems to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nods towards the High Lady of Night. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it–”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan says, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curls into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work. Something you didn’t consider yourself to be.

Eris says, startling you, “I will take it.”

Even Mor blinks at his words.

Beron studies his son with a scrutiny that makes you itch. You’d often catch this look between them, a father examining his son as if trying to decide if he’s proud or that his son is worth less to him than the lower-tiered fae of his court.

Beron only says, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.”

Indeed, the others seem rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne isn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

Rhys says simply, “Then don’t take it. I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.” He gives a thankful nod to Nuan.

Thesean does the same–in thanks and dismissal–and the master tinkerer bows once more before leaving.

“At least you have some armies to give it to,” Tamlin says mildly, breaking his roiling silence. A smile at Feyre. “Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer?”

Those claws poke through his knuckles again. “Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenseless against Hybern.”

Feyre says nothing in return.

“You primed my court to fall,” Tamlin says with venomous quiet. “And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviors, I’ve been piecing together my forces–regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East–where Hybern has not yet marched.”

Nesta says drily, “So you won’t be taking the antidote, then.”

Tamlin ignores her, even as his claws sink into the arm of his chair. 

Thesean clears his throat and says to Helion, “You said you had two suggestions based on the information you analyzed.”

Helion shrugs, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes dart between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”

Beron’s lip curls. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”

“Right,” Viviane says, “Because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”

Beron throws her a glare that has Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flare as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.” 

Damn straight.

“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counters coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”

Kallias’ snarl ripples the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiles a bit, the same smile he gives you when he pulls such a reaction from talking down to you. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose faces darken. Your gaze slips to Azriel, but his level-minded gaze is focused on Beron. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He puts a heavy hand on Amaretto's too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.”

Helion watches Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.

The Lady of the Autumn Court keeps her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drains from her face. 

“We will take your people,” Tarquin cuts in quietly to Tamlin. “Regardless of your involvement with Hybern…your people are innocent. There is plenty of room in my territory. We will take all of them, if need be.”

A curt nod is Tamlin’s only acknowledgement and gratitude.

Beron says, “So the Seasonal Courts are to become the charnel houses and hostels, while the Solar Courts remain pristine here in the North?”

“Hybern has focused its efforts on the southern half,” Rhys says. “To be close to the wall–and human lands.”

Feyre and Nesta exchange looks.

Rhys continues, “Why bother to go through the northern climes–through faerie territories on the continent, when you could claim the South and use it to go directly to the human lands of the continent?” 

Thesean asks, “And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?”

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta says. She lifts her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looks at her sister, at Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact…Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“The fate of the humans below that wall,” Beron cuts in, and you know what will next fall from his mouth will not be good, tensing up in your seat alongside Eris. “Is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.”

“It is my concern,” Feyre says. The voice that comes out of her is different, more sure, like how a High Lady’s should be. “Humans are nearly defenseless against our kind.”

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron says dismissively. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”

You watch closely as Feyre takes a breath, your own ire rising at his insolent words. 

“You’re a coward,” she breathes to the High Lord of Autumn. Even Rhys tenses.

Beron only says, “The same could be claimed of you.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, but perhaps to that girl’s family–but they’re dead, too, aren’t they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds. Funny, that you should now seek to defend humans when you were all too happy to offer them up to save yourself.”

“As my lady said,” Rhys drawls, “She does not need to explain herself to you.”

Beron leans back in his chair. “Then I suppose I don’t need to explain my motivations, either.”

Rhys lifts a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

Your stomach plummets at Beron’s answer.

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris goes so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for his alliance with the Night Court, you can’t tell.

“Armies take time to raise,” Cassian says. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.”

Beron only sneers. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

Feyre looks positively wild at his insult. Not only her, but the wrath on Casisan’s face and the icy rage on Azriel’s and Rhys’ is enough to get your blood stirring, excitement rushing through your veins at the prospect of a blood bath right before your very eyes.

If Beron is occupied trying to fight off the three stacked males of the Night Court, maybe you will be able to slip in with a few punches or kicks of your own. 

And if they kill him, surely your bargain will break.

You already know that hateful bastards blood will taste like the finest of wines, and his death between the shadowsinger’s and your own will give you peaceful dreams for the next few centuries.

“That bastard,” Nesata says with utter coolness, though her eyes begin to burn, “May wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She doesn’t so much as look at Cassian as she says it. But he stares at her–as if he’s never seen her before.

This argument is pointless. 

Feyre says to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.” 

At his side, Eris has the wits to actually look worried. But Beron continues to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hisses back, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

She doesn’t offer him a response.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

Cassian’s trembling two seats down from Feyre, who is looking sickly pale.

Rhys says nothing.

It’s Tarquin who murmurs, “That’s enough, Beron.”

Tarquin, who had guessed at Rhysand’s sacrifice, his motives.

Beron ignores him. “And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly…” A cruel, cold smile. “Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his–”

Fire explodes out of Feyre.

Raging, white-hot flame that blasts into Beron like a lance.

#Azriel #azriel/reader #azriel x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar rewrite #azsazz #acowar #acosf

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Do You Want Me, Cyar'ika [dark]

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: HEY THIS IS DARK WATCH OUT, stalking, manhandling, slight choking if you kind of squint, dubcon (reader is willing, but is def under the influence of the darksaber), smut, hand job, unprotected sex (p in v), mentions of blood and injury, ruthless murder

Word Count: 5,136

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you. Part One: Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika Part Two: I Love You, Cyar'ika

[a/n: THIS IS THE DARK ENDING TO THIS TRILOGY. My suggestion is to read the version you really want first b/c the beginning half is the exact same. It's only the end that differs.]

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"she's hell, he's the devil⏤ the demons see no end to this love." -amber anwar

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The echoing of your footsteps bounced off the walls and the quick pace seemed to match the racing of your heart. No looking back. You needed to get to the tarmac. Din was supposed to be in the war room with Bo Katan and the others in his council discussing something or another. This morning he had told you that he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch until a bit later in the afternoon. Half an hour after he had told you this, you grabbed your stuff and started running. 

You had the right idea months ago when you first tried to leave. This was going to be your last chance. If he caught you this time you don’t know that you’d ever get the chance to run away again. Memories of that beskar chain and anklet hung heavy in your mind as you picked up your pace. A terrifying thought occurred to you. Would he stop there? How far would Din go to keep you by his side? You truly believed, deep down, that Din wouldn’t hurt you, but… were you just being delusional? At some point, he’d consider the line to be crossed.

The tarmac was mostly empty. The few Mandalorians that were in the area gave you curious looks, but nobody dared stop you. That was a side effect of being ‘owned’ by the Mand’alor and though you found it disturbing previously it was truly working in your favor now. Everybody on this rock, save for a few people like Bo Katan, were too terrified of Din to even look in your direction for longer than a few seconds. As you sprinted to the closest ship you knew how to pilot, the Mandalorians began to disperse. You had a suffocating suspicion that they were in the process of calling Din.

You made it further than you had last time. You were on the ship, ramp closing behind you, and you clambered into the cockpit and got things running. As the ship slowly began to rise, you saw him. Din stood at the edge of the tarmac with his hands on his hips. The wind tunneling through the ship’s exhaust and down onto the ground below caused Din’s thick cape and hair to whip around. Even from this distance, you could feel Din’s gaze burning straight through you. The look on his face was haunting⏤ a mix of devastation and unbridled rage. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Even after the ship was in the atmosphere and Din was far out of view, you stared down at Mandalore in pain. Your chest ached as your heart already begun to miss the man you were running from.

Before allowing yourself to wallow, you input the coordinates to Tatooine and let the ship slip into hyperdrive. The second those all too familiar lines of blurred space cast a blue glow in the cockpit, you pulled your knees up into your chest to bury your face there. If somebody were to ask you the exact reason why tears streamed down your face you would not be able to give them an answer.

You just knew, everything was wrong.

You agonized over who to send a message to. As you drew ever near to Tatooine, doubts began to plague your mind. Should you reach out to Boba and Fennec? They were obvious choices because they cared about Din and they knew how to hold their own in a fight. However, you had a nagging fear at the back of your mind that would not silence. It blared like a ghostly siren. Din was not himself right now, and though you knew without a doubt that he would not hurt you, could the same be said for Boba and Fennec? Especially if they stood in the way of Din getting to you?

You hated that you were unsure of that.

You hated that a part of you honestly thought Din might hurt his friends or worse.

There was no changing course though. The best solution you had was to get in touch with Luke Skywalker. He might have answers about this. Even if he didn’t, having him and Ahsoka by your side would help. Three Jedi surely could get that cursed saber away from Din. Granted, there was no assurance that separating the saber from the love of your life would actually work, but it was all you had. It was the last bit of hope you could cling to. 

Upon your arrival to Tatooine, you immediately slunk away to a crowded cantina. You were not a fool. You knew Din was not just going to let you wander away and you knew he was one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy. He was very good at what he did⏤ especially when passionate about the mission. That didn’t leave you very much time to get the information you needed. 

You sent out a decoded distress message to the number Skywalker had left you when he took Grogu. He left it strictly for emergencies and this obviously classified as one. After it was out in the universe, all you could do was wait. So you saddled up to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a drink. It was all you could think to do. This was the first time in ages that you were in a space not clouded by Din’s presence. You hadn’t realized until now how suffocating it had been.

Being with Din, watching his slow descent, you had gotten accustomed to that cloud of darkness that hung over his head. To the point where you didn’t notice it worsening and worsening. It felt as if your body had acclimated to living under the ocean. Your body grew used to the crushing depths. Your lungs shriveled from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes grew blind from the absence of light. Now? Sitting at this dingy, dirty bar, it was as if someone had forced you up from the ocean floor and dragged you quickly up to the surface. It was jarring. The fresh air was painful as it filled your lungs, your eyes burned from the disappearance of darkness, and suddenly it was freedom that felt wrong. 

A sudden beeping made you glance down at the communicator. Eyes wide, you answered it, “Hello? Luke Skywalker?” Your name was spoken over the line in concern. “Thank the Maker. I⏤ Din and I are in trouble.”

“What has happened?”

“It’s…” You took in a slow breath and began to walk him through what was going on. You started with the moment he took Grogu and described every single downward step the two of you had taken with the saber in his possession. When you finished, your throat felt thick with emotion. “I got away, but he’ll be after me soon. I know it. Luke, I… I don’t know what to do. I just know I need help, and I’m too afraid to go to anybody other than you.”

“You were right to reach out to me.” Luke sighed. “This needs to be handled by us. No need to risk anyone else.”

The thought flickered through your head without warning. You were okay with putting Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka in danger. It came quickly and you swatted it away just as fast, but it felt like poison. Obviously, Boba and Fennec meant more to you than Luke and Ahsoka. You were closer to the first two. However, it still didn’t make risking the lives of the latter two okay. The fact that the belief attempted to nestle in your head reminded you of the dark saber. Your hand wrapped around your own lightsaber⏤ seeking comfort in the energy it radiated.

“You believe he’ll follow you, correct?” Luke questioned.

“Absolutely.” You answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Luke hummed on the other end of the line in thought. “I will send you coordinates. Come to us. The Mandalorian will follow and we will handle this from there. You just need to get here. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, trying to convince yourself. “I can. I’ll leave as soon as you send me those coordinates.”

“Of course. Call us again if you have trouble.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended and you threw back the remainder of the drink before rushing for the door. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the tarmac and you assumed you’d get the coordinates by then to use. The crowded Tatooine streets made you anxious. Shoulders clipped into yours as people rushed past you in the opposite direction. It felt like there were eyes burning into your skin, but every scan of the crowd told you it had to just be your paranoia. 

Your communicator beeped again and a quick glance down revealed the coordinates you’d be heading to. Good. You quickened your pace to turn a corner to the last leg of the path that would take you to the public tarmac when you spotted him. A flash of glinting silver under the hot Tatooine suns. Your feet came to a screeching halt, and for a moment the two of you stood stock still. Din was down the road. Closer to the tarmac’s entrance than to you. His hands rested on his hips, and he was helmetless. Even from this distance the darkness swimming in his brown eyes sent a chill down your spine. He had been a sight to behold in his full armor, a faceless figure of intimidation. However, you knew now that it was worse without the helmet. Actually seeing those burning eyes, rather than just feel them, made your stomach flip.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, a small group passing between the two of you, and when they passed fully Din was gone. You couldn’t see him. Without a second more of hesitation, you spun on your heel and sprinted in the opposite direction of where he had been standing. The public tarmac was a bust. You’d never be able to successfully route yourself back around, but you still needed a ship.

Peli’s shop. As soon as it came to mind, you altered course to head in that direction. You prayed that Peli wasn’t home. Hopefully she’d be out losing credits to a group of jawas in sabbac or conning some poor sap at the market. Your chest burned in the effort it took to keep your quick pace, your heart pounded painfully, and you could still feel Din’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced over your shoulder or down alleys there was no sign of silver, but you knew⏤ you just knew⏤ that he was hot on your heels somehow. 

You finally reached Peli’s shop and the garage was closed which meant she was not home, but you remembered the way in through the back. Peli had shown it to you and Din ages ago. Even if she didn’t have a client’s ship sitting in the bay, you could steal her land speeder and come up with a different plan from there. Once in, your eyes landed on a small ship parked in the main bay and your lips curled up into a relieved smile. Find the FOB, get the ship open and started. You rushed to Peli’s office and cursed the wrecked state it was in. Her baseline was chaotic and it showed in her organization choices. You dug through the mess until you found a FOB that seemed to match the ship waiting for you.

Victorious, you sprinted out of the office back down to the bay, but the second your feet stepped into the open area something hard slammed into you. The air was knocked from your lungs as you landed on the ground. Din’s features stared down at you as his body straddled yours. One of his gloved hands pinned down your dominant hand while the other clamped down on your throat⏤ not enough to restrict air, but just enough to convey his warning. You could see your fearful eyes reflected in the beskar covering him as he towered over you. Din’s face didn’t look angry or worried. He didn’t look scared or confused. Din looked cold. Emotionless. Somehow that was worse.

“Din⏤”

“Don’t.” Din said sharply. The fingers on your neck flexed once. “Don’t speak, cyar’ika.”

More suffocating than his demeanor and broad figure was the poisonous energy seeping out of the saber hung on his belt. You were drowning in it, struggling to keep your head above it’s dark waters, and Din was pushing you beneath the waves. He held you under. Din was a man drowning and in your attempt to rescue him he was dragging you to the depths as well. 

“How could you do this to me?” Din asked. His voice cracked⏤ the only sign of his pain. “Cyar’ika, you…” Din swallowed. A flash of heartbreak filled his expressive brown eyes and the degree of his hurt briefly made you feel guilty. Like you had been the one to betray him. “I love you. You are my everything. I would burn the world for you. How could⏤ How could you leave?”

“I never asked for you to burn the world for me, Din.” You whispered. “That’s not what I want.”

Din shifted and leaned down so he could rest his forehead against yours. His hand hung loosely around your throat, forearm pressed against your chest, and it was a position your body was familiar with. If you closed your eyes and gave into the darkness trying to claw its way down your throat and into your lungs, then you’d simply feel like you were sharing a private moment of intimacy with your love. Din’s lips suddenly ghosted against yours and you felt your body tremble.

“What is it you want?” Din begged. “I will give you anything. I just want you safe by my side.”

“I told you what I want, Din…”

Din sighed, his hot breath fanning across your lower face, “I can’t do that.” His voice was strained as if her were in agony. “The saber is how I protect you, cyar’ika.”

“You’re losing me because of that saber, baby.”

For the longest moment, Din remained silent. His eyes were closed and you could see him ruminating over something. After a second, he opened his eyes and Din’s eyebrows furrowed in defeat. A flicker of hope burned in your chest until he opened his mouth and spoke. 

“Things were okay. We just need to start from scratch again. I know you hated that chain, cyar’ika, but it’s for the best.” Din said softly and your eyes widened at how serious his words were. How much he believed that to truly be the best path. “It won’t be forever, I swear it. Just until I trust you again.”

“Din⏤”

“No.” Din snapped. His soft despair turning to a firm demand. “There will be no argument. I’m taking you home.” You opened your mouth once more, but Din’s fingers began to tighten around your throat marginally. “You’re already in trouble, cyar’ika. Don’t make it worse.”

Panic began to make your heart race. You were sinking fast and the light was beginning to disappear from your sight⏤ your freedom with it. In a poor attempt at a final chance of survival, you spoke up despite his order to stay silent. “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Din scoffed. “You understand why I find it hard to believe you.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Please, baby. I’m sorry. Please believe me. You know I love you.”

You could feel Din’s thumb around your neck tracing the skin under it as he stared down at you. He took in a deep breath and leaned in to press his forehead against yours once more. Din brushed his lips lightly against yours. “You’re always so pretty when you beg, cyar’ika.” That was the one thing you had working in your favor. Din always had a hard time telling you ‘no’ when your bodies were folded together like this. “I’ll hear you out, but let’s get to our ship first.”

“Why not now? Let me tell you how sorry I am, Din.” You begged and he let out a soft sigh as his eyes closed. Your eyes darted to the saber on his belt. If you ended up back on Mandalore it would be over. There would be no second chance. Determined, you rolled your hips up and just as you suspected you were met with the firmness of his half hard cock. Din groaned. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” Your non-dominant hand had been clutching at the hand he had at your throat, but you very slowly let it travel up his arm to bury in his soft hair. “Please, baby.”

You tilted your head up as much as you could with Din’s hand clamped around your neck. Carefully, in fear that too quick or sudden a movement would break the spell, you began to pull Din down closer. Din hesitated against the slight force of your hand only for a second before he slotted his lips against yours. As always, Din’s touch set you aflame. He released the wrist he had pinned and hooked that hand under your thigh to spread your legs so he could settle between them rather than straddle you. You should be focused on escape alone, but the taste of him made you hungry for more. You weren’t sure how much was your love for Din and how much was the saber twisting it into something recognizable. 

Din’s teeth caught your lower lip, and he pulled back a breath, “You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are, cyar’ika.” He leaned back down to lick into your mouth, his kiss crushing and near painful as Din’s hips pressed firmly against yours. He left his lips close enough that you felt every word he spoke. “Yet here I am…” Din gave a sharp thrust and even with layers of clothes between the two of you he was able to snap the bulge of his erection right where your clit was hidden. You gasped at the pleasure that rocketed up your spine as hot pangs arousal pooled in your lower belly. “...doing all the damn work.”

At his words, you closed the space to press your lips against his again, deepening the kiss, as your hands traveled to his belt. You undid his belt with practiced ease, and while one hand slipped under the waistband of his flight suit to find the base of his cock the other went to grasp the saber.

Your fingers brushed against the thrumming metal of the saber for only a second before Din’s hand slapped on top of yours pinning it to the saber. Everything froze. Din and you were both panting, breathless from your kiss. You had one hand stuffed into his pants with your hand pressed against his skin on the space above the base of his cock and the other on the saber. Din had one hand tightening around your neck while his other crushed your fingers against the darksaber. He chuckled and the sound sent chills throughout your body.

“Let go, Cyar’ika.” Din’s voice was gruff and seemed to rumble out from his chest. You began to try and pull both hands back, but Din grunted. “Not both. Just the saber.” You sucked in a sharp breath and remained frozen. “What? You don’t want to finish what you started?” He shoved one hand down his pants to roughly grab yours and force your hand to wrap around the entirety of his throbbing cock. It was like this tense moment was spurning him onwards⏤ filling him with a thrill you had never seen before. “I thought you were sorry.”

You hated how his words made your own core ache with want. 

Din snapped the saber off his belt tossed it off to the side. Too far for you too reach, but close enough that its influence weighed heavy on you still. He did the same to your own weapon which was hooked in its usual place on your belt. Din threw that one further, more carelessly, before lowering his face back down toward yours. His hand was still wrapped around yours, and Din thrusted into your dry grip. It couldn't be comfortable you thought, but Din moaned in your ear as if it were already drunk in pleasure.

“Din…” You murmured.

His hot mouth enveloped yours, tongue licking into you, as he thrusted twice more. Din’s teeth caught your lower lip again, but this time he bit down hard enough that the taste of metallic blood flashed across your taste buds. You yelped, he thrusted into your grip, and then Din pulled back just enough that you could see his lips painted with the red of your own blood.

“Are you going to make me take you?” He asked in a harsh whisper. “Or will you come willingly?” Din pressed his bloodstained lips against the side of your face, dragging, and you shuddered as a cold, but tempting, chill filled your body. “I’ll spend eternity chasing you, cyar’ika, but it will be more enjoyable if you just agree to be mine again.”

His lips found yours once more, and for one second you weren’t in your body. Your mind clouded with a sort of vision. You saw Din sitting on Mandalore’s throne splattered with blood he had drawn from others and his features masked in a cold indifference. The saber was not on his belt, but any confusion you had on it’s location faded as a different version of you came into view. She wore an elegant and revealing gown that was as dark as a starless night, and the inactive saber was held tight in her grip as blood covered her hands and left a trail of red petals as she passed. While Din’s face held a cold indifference this version of you looked feral with enjoyment. 

She settled herself on Din’s lap and the mask he wore cracked to reveal adoration as he stared up at this other you in awe. Without wasting a beat, this unrecognizable version of yourself pulled Din into a firm kiss. The blood on the hands that resembled yours smeared against his stainless beskar, and the blood on his face left smears along features you spent your entire life staring at in a mirror. Suddenly, the other you broke away to turn and it seemed she was glaring directly at you.

The saber in her hand activated and burned with a soul sucking energy that seemed to draw you in.

“Be mine.” Din’s voice snapped you back into the moment. “Be my queen, cyar’ika. I want no else.” He pressed his lips to yours again but in a way that was too soft to match the rest of this situation. The tip of his tongue dragged through the torn tissue of your lower lip and you shivered. “Let me protect you as you rule by my side.”

And you wanted it. It was like your body had finally reached the lowest depths and your lungs were filling with the dark water you were drowning in. It was almost peaceful allowing yourself to settle into the cold⏤ allowing it to swallow you whole. Distantly, you could feel the crystal in your lightsaber desperately calling out to you, but you were certain no light could reach you where you were. Cold turned to pleasure as Din’s hands began to map the familiar planes of your body. 

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered. Din molded his lips to yours and he pulled your hand out from where it was hidden under his waistband so he could have to room and access to begin frantically undoing your own belt. You lifted your hips so he could tug your pants down past your ass and off entirely. He didn’t bother with his own pants, deciding to just tug them down enough to be useful, and  Din settled between your legs. As he worked himself out of his pants he planted his lips against the hollow of your neck.

You tilted your chin up, panting, as you gave him more room to work his tongue against the skin there. Every atom of your being was throbbing and aching for the man on top of you, but briefly a glimmer of pain lanced through your heart. A reminder. You thought you were too deep in for the light to reach you, but your lightsaber’s call managed one faint echo. A weak lifeline back to the surface. Without thinking, your hand reached reached out to where the sabers were cast aside and for the first time in your life you felt the Force do more than just read an energy. It enveloped the space around you and seconds later something firm was in the palm of your hand.

You cried out, managing to roll Din and yourself over so you now straddled him. The saber activated in your hand and rather than the warm familiar glow you wanted, you were greeted by the soul sucking, burning energy of the darksaber lighting up in your hands. Your eyes widened in alarm. The power that washed over you was overwhelming. It rocketed up your arm and pierced your very soul. Din laid on the ground under you as you stared at the cold glow of the saber burning in your hands, and you heard him begin to laugh in amusement. 

“Maker, you’ve never looked prettier, cyar’ika.” Din grinned⏤ the look in his dark eyes was wild with desire. “How does it feel?”

Your skin was crawling as if someone was holding a live wire to it. A tremor shook your body as your lips began to twitch up in raw pleasure. This felt wonderful. You had never felt more powerful and strong. It filled you with so much confidence that you didn’t even mind the bloodlust that came with it. Slowly, you lowered the saber so it was hovered over Din’s throat. He didn’t flinch or blink. In fact, as your free hand grasped the hair on top of his head roughly you felt his cock twitch under you. 

You gave his hair a slight tug, lifting his chin to tilt up, and Din chuckled, “Do you want me, Cyar’ika?”

“What I want,” You smirked and leaned down so even you could feel the heat radiating from the darksaber’s cold burning against your own skin, “is for you to open your mouth, baby.” Din did so without hesitation and you spat between his open lips possessively. Another tug on his dark locks and your love closed his mouth to swallow. “My King. So good for me.”

You shifted your hands so they were planted on either side of Din’s head. The saber rested on the dirt floor of Peli’s garage⏤ dangerously close to your lover. Din didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as his hands grasped your hips tightly. He lifted a knee to shove you closer to him while also lifting you up. You followed the momentum, letting your hips hover over him so he could work your underwear aside, and you slammed your lips against his. The kiss was rough. A clash of teeth and a fight for dominance. You felt the tip of his cock prod against your clit and you gasped. Din used it as a way to take control of the kiss. His tongue shoving into your mouth and keeping your own confined. Before you could regain the slight upper hand you lost, Din dragged his tip through your slick then roughly yanked your hips down onto him. You cried out as you felt his entire length stretch and fill you. 

The entire time that you and Din got lost in one another, the darksaber burned brightly only inches away. Din fucked up into you brutally as you chased that carnal release in the shadows cast from the saber’s cold flame. The darksaber sung in victory, content and prideful, as the lightsaber left inactive in the dirt a few feet away screamed in mourning. If you focused your attention you’d be able to hear both, but currently the only sound you could focus on was the way your cries of pleasure mingled with Din’s grunts of fulfillment. 

.

[six months later]

.

You straddled Din’s lap, your thighs poking out from the slits alongside your dark gown, and as Din barked out in Mando’a to the crowd at your back you continued to pepper the skin of his neck with soft kisses. There was a pause in your King’s lecture and you let your teeth drag against the tight tendon under his skin before licking up to press another kiss behind his ear. Din trembled under your touch and you chuckled against him.

“Please! I’m sorry. Ni ceta!” A man was begging and the shakiness of his voice told you he was probably crying as well. “I came to Mandalore with only good intentions, your highness. Peace. I never meant⏤”

You leaned back, peeling yourself away from Din, and sighed. “Baby, can we be done with this?” Din focused his loving gaze on you as he offered you a soft and kind smile. Din cupped your jawline and let his thumb trace the shape of your lower lip. You gave him a small pout. “Please?”

“How could I ever deny you, my Queen?” Din chuckled and you could feel the rumble of his chest under the beskar. He pulled you in for a quick, but tender kiss. “Go ahead.”

You beamed at him and felt him use his other hand to squeeze your ass as you rose from the throne and his lap. You spun on your heel and stared out at the crowd before you. Loyal Mandalorians stood at the ready, eager to serve their Manda’lor, and a stranger cowered on his knees begging. An older man who came to Mandalore with a peace treaty from another world in the same corner of the galaxy as the world you ruled with your love. You held a hand back toward Din without looking, and you felt him slid the familiar metal of your shared weapon into your grip.

The man began to cry harder as you skillfully activated the saber⏤ spinning it twice in your hands with the muscle memory of a once renowned Jedi. You and Din had gotten a taste of power, of ruling, and you both began to wonder: Why stop at Mandalore?

With a steady swing, you cut the man down and watched his body crumble down the steps. There was no room for peace. With the saber at your side, you and Din planned to take and conquer as your hearts desired. 

After all, who could possibly stand in the way of the ruthless Mand’alor and his bloodthirsty, once Jedi trained Queen?

.

[here is the happy end]

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #dark!din djarin #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #female reader #jedi reader #din djarin smut

[skazoo]

hit me with your killshot.

↳ jeong yunho x f!reader

you trusted each other but now your words mean nothing and your actions speak the truth.

length. 1.6k

genre. angst until it's not..., fluff, secret au bc i can't spoil

warnings/tags. war language, weapons, non-explicit violence, betrayal, mention of death.

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. oh, how i love writing this au it brings me sm joy you don't understand. hope you like it!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

all is fair in love and war.

your mother used to say it all the time when you and wooyoung were kids and fought constantly over the most stupid things. she always said it with an amused smile on her lips, like she knew something you were not yet privy to, and when you were younger the notion of being kept in the dark by the person you trusted the most angered you. scared you.

you couldn’t understand what those words really meant. what did love and war —irreconcilable antitheses, mortal enemies— have to do with each other? and why did it seem like everyone around you, your older brother included, had accepted the sad juxtaposition as truth? 

years passed, you and wooyoung got used to one another, fought less, and the enigmatic phrase seldom left your mother’s mouth to the point that it started to fade away under the new memories of your teenage years.

just when it was about to get buried by your twenties, something happened that you hadn’t thought possible. something you’d skeptically deemed ‘not for you’. he happened. yunho happened.

and your mother’s words finally made sense.

all is fair in love and war because the rules of normal civility do not apply during war-making, and when one is desperately in love; because love and war have universally accepted limits but if one were to break those unwritten rules someone would still find a way to justify, to forgive and forget.

but something in the old proverb felt incomplete.

love and war are not the only gods that rule over the earth and you wonder how did the people that came before you not realize the looming force of the third: business. 

what is fair in business? 

what about your business? where it costs little to play dirty and it pays off handsomely? in which love is a mere distraction and war is a means to an end?

and now you’re the lonely bearer of the weight of this third secret factor. now that you’re at war and you’re running from love, you think back about the times you didn’t understand and wish to be brought back there. clueless but free.

it feels stupid to think about all this while you’re tiptoeing around the upper floor of the dark arena —battlefield of the ruthless game you all play— but it’s really all you can do, high off adrenaline and anticipation, waiting for someone to distract the unfortunate victim you have chosen for this round just so you can fix the red laser beam on its unsuspecting back and shoot your shot, granting your team one more chance at victory, at survival.

you crouch down, rifle in front of you and you scan the ground sector through your scope.

from up here you can see what goes on in the maze below. every movement, every noise has you drawing a mental map of the players. 

you can see jongho’s head slowly but surely cornering a terrified choi san to the east wall of the arena, meaning that sooner than later you’ll have an advantage in numbers over the rival team. from the sound of his shotgun reloading almost faster than it shoots, seonghwa must be stalking down kim hongjoong —sworn enemy and skilled sniper— somewhere around the entrance gates. that leaves wooyoung staring at you from the ground, weapon in hand and eyebrows raised in a telling frown. one that shows you he’s ready to play his part in your minutely crafted plan. 

the high wall of the maze is the only thing separating him and your target of choice. kang yeosang leans idly against the hard barrier that cages all of you in like he doesn’t know he’s being hunted for survival, as if he doesn’t realize your brother has been waiting for months to see him fail at your team’s hands.

he starts humming something under his breath too and it’s then that you realize that something– someone extremely dangerous is missing from your mind-map.

when jongho hit one of his teammates in the stomach, your personal and complicated enemy fled the north section before you could follow his movements and with the quick plan of taking out yeosang in full motion you forgot to look for him.

your head snaps to either side of the narrow platform you’re standing on. the thought of his dark eyes watching you this whole time sends chills down your back and makes a heavy weight drop to your stomach.

how did you end up like this? 

before the arena, before you started to play this sick game for a chance at a happier life, everything was just as perfect as it could have been.

jeong yunho. same age and lifelong friend of your annoying brother. tall, built, and handsome, one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen and a laugh you still can’t get out of your head. 

your mother was so happy when wooyoung grumpily let the fact that you were stealing his friend away from his group activities slip during a visit home from the city.

and oh, were you happy. 

navigating the hardest periods of your young life, in a hostile environment with the sweetest words whispered into your ear every night before you went to sleep.

then the ragtag group of friends you found yourself spending most of your time with, made the cursed discovery. every and each one of you got sucked in before you could realize what it meant.

it stood at the core of the city, a dark monster of metal and neon, big enough just for the bloodshed it hosted. the arena with no physical public, just big screens that displayed what went on in hell.

it started as curiosity and now you face this nightmare every week, hoping to win the glory that you all adamantly desire for different reasons. wooyoung to finally end yeosang’s incredible luck. seonghwa to destroy hongjoon’s ego. jongho for fun. and you to escape the game of cat and mouse you play with the one you trusted with your life.

you shake from your trance and try to listen for any sign that the tall soldier is near. 

amongst the noise of the ground floor, you fail to capture the clang of his boots on the metal grate but yunho doesn’t care to hide from you anymore.

from the crouched position you still have, he looms over you with sad coldness, staring you down like he’s trying to understand where you come from.

then he speaks. voice low, gelid. you can feel the anger through it. “did you take mingi out?”

“yunho–”

“he tried to warn me about you, you know. did you?”

you shake your head slightly. your teammate won’t care if you tell on him. your bloodthirsty sniper wants people to know what he’s capable of. “jongho…”

“it was your plan though.”

it’s the truth but it still hurts. “yunho, listen–”

“it’s always your plans that put me in the worst positions.” he aims his gun at your chest, his hands trembling slightly from the strong grip he has on the weapon; knuckles white.

your voice breaks when you speak. “yunho, please i know you don’t want to do this. please.”

“are you really begging right now?” he scoffs. “mingi was your friend, Y/N! you were going to shoot yeosang in the back!” he nods the gun to the ground floor where wooyoung is still waiting for your move. “i’m done with letting you win, i’m sorry. i can’t watch you do this anymore.”

your rifle is your only source of comfort right now and you grip it with all your might. even now you can’t seem to point it at the man that stands before you. even now you can’t bear that you’re on different sides of the same battle.

“you have to understand…” it sounds like he’s trying to justify himself more than anything.

“understand what, yunho?” you spat. “you’re standing over me telling me to understand but i really can’t because you’re doing the same thing! you’re going to kill me and call it justice!”

he flinches.

“look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. tell me that i meant nothing to you, that it was all a lie and then maybe i will understand you.”

“Y/N–”

“i love you.” your eyes cloud with heartbreak and a single tear makes its way down your cheek. 

everything is over. betrayed by your own lover. killed by love and war.

his finger moves to the trigger. time slows down. you close your eyes.

“i will always love you.” a whisper.

instead of the bang of the gun a loud siren that resonates throughout the entire arena.

“TIME’S OUT!” yeosang cheers followed by wooyoung’s groans.

mingi and san pop their heads from the exit door with small smiles on their lips. “it’s a draw but we all did great guys!”

the others find their way towards the exit, technical gear coming off while the lights of the arena switch back on.

“just– for next time maybe we should finally change teams so that those two up there don’t go full mr. and mrs. smith on us!” mingi’s loud voice reaches everyone.

“yes, please. it’s just laser tag you guys, no need to be that dramatic over it.” wooyoung’s clearly addressing you and everyone agrees with him with quiet grunts.

your boyfriend who still looms over you throws you an amused grin and offers you his hand to get up. when you’re back on your feet he dusts off your shirt and dries the cinematic tear off your cheek. big hands put your mussed hair behind your ears and cup your face.

“they think we’re too much.”

“they just can’t handle us, yuyu. let them cry.”

he chuckles loudly as you place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“by the way, next week i’m finally taking you out.” you taunt.

“like, on a date or with a sniper?”

#yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader #ateez x reader #k-labels #kflixnet #yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #ateez angst #ateez x you #ateez #ateez fic

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty (chapter 6)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, Plot twist at the end!

Synopsis: Loyalty is the string that binds us together. But that same string may very well be used to hang you.

And as news heralds of Princess Rhaenys falling in battle Vaeron Velaryon arrives at Casterly Rock.

"The father looks upon all his children with good will." The Septon spoke to the small congregation in front of him. The only think you liked about this sept was that you could hear the waves. Dowager Queen Alicent's personal sept had been small, plain. But there was something about it that she loved. You supposed it was because it was small and isolated, a place where she could briefly get away from the world. You could never say that a sept made you feel at home. Yes, there was a familiarity to the seven statues in the Red Keep. But never had you truly loved the place. Maybe that was why the First Men loved their Weirwood trees so much. If you had such a sanctuary you might treasure it forever.

When the final prayer was concluded everyone rose to their feed, eager to head for more pleasurable activities. As you wondered how you might spend your time Jason Lannister placed a hand on your shoulder. "My Lady, I request your presence in my chambers. You may eat first, but attend to me." A request meant you had a choice, this was an order. Jason Lannister had never mentioned your argument about Lady Reyne. He seemed content to ignore it and you were too proud to bring it up again. Lady Karina helped you dress into a nightgown and robe. After the events of two weeks ago you had hardly spoken a word to Lady Mari, who seemed for willing to be absent as of late. Good. You walked down to your husbands chamber. Normally he requested your presence at this hour. You supposed that he spent his nights with the Reyne woman. His lady, wife, took second place to a mistress. While you had to lay beside one of your ladies so that you might not sleep with another man Jason Lannister slept with his whore. Such was the way of the world.

Your couplings with your husband were not as bad as the first time. At least there was no one else to witness it. Sometimes he touched you, a few times he kissed you. It was not very pleasant but it could have been worse. At least he was gentle enough. You pumped these thoughts through you brain as he had his way with you. You lay on your back and stared at the canopy above. You stared at the canopy and counted the lions embroidered on it. Was this how Johanna Lannister had felt? Or perhaps it had been different. Maybe as the second wife you held little importance in your husbands mind. After all, he had done this once before. Once he was finished Lady Alana came to collect you. A daily ritual of cleaning commenced. Only Lady Alana and Karina were permitted to attend you during these vulnerable moments. You were normally worn out after these encounters, so you would order food from the kitchens and lay down for a while.

Despite the war raging all around Casterly Rock somehow felt safe. Or, at least as safe as could be with Lady Mari breathing down your neck. While the outburst two weeks ago had been her last she still had an eye on you. Ever vigilant she had been. Even when she was absent you felt the eyes of her informants on your always. Even when you lay in bed and they were gone. You hoped to be saved from Ellyn's torment, only to fall into a far greater trial. At least at night you were amongst allies. Not here in this ancient fortress.

You were surrounded. And yet all alone.

Casterly Rock held an impressive library. Over the many years it stood past Kings and Lords added texts to its ever expanding depths of wealth. You were careful to handle the delicate parchment with great care. Your two lady friends attended you as hours were spent amongst the old pages. When you were not in the library time was spent with the ladies of Casterly Rock. There was some joy to be found amongst their company. It reminded you of simpler times in the Red Keep. Sometimes when the Dowager Queen had been in a good mood musicians would come and play music. You, Lady Flora and Lady Catrina along with the other ladies would dance. So amongst your ladies you made merry. Lady Katrina skipped to a light hearted tune with one of her cousins. Beside you another lady named Lady Dara sat laughing with a goblet of wine. According to talk she made freely with wine and was a horrid gossip. She went on about a rumor taking place with your husbands uncle. Apparently he had taken a peasant woman to wife. He was a man who drank deeply from the cup of pleasure, just as Lady Dara did with wine. "And they say she is a whore from the brothels!" Cackled Lady Dara. "No, where did you hear this!" You gasped, listening in wrapped attention. To hear of such a lose woman being part of house Lannister was unthinkable. On pillows by your feet were other great ladies, most about your age. The older ones were in the corner discussing some issues you had little mind to pay head to. Lady Karina fell with a giggle onto the pillows. You reached for a goblet and flagon of wine and handed it to her. Greatfully she drank. You looked around and suddenly noticed Lady Alana was missing. "Has anyone seen the Lady Alana?" Her golden curls were not to be seen. "She may be tired." Suggested one Lady. "I believe she had important matters to attend to. Interjected Lady Karina. With a sigh you leaned back. This was far better than your husband or Lady Mari's company. Maybe you could be alright here. Listening to music, drinking and making merry with these ladies did not seem so bad. And with that though your thoughts left Lady Alana.

Your coupling ended with him spending himself inside of you. He pulled out and you got up. Beside the bed was a basin of warm water. You wiped the excess off of your thighs and made ready to leave. But suddenly he commanded you to stop. "My Lord." Jason Lannister gestured towards the vacant chair by the fireplace. Obeying, you sat opposite from him. In the glow of the fireplace he looked handsome, in his way. "I hope that we can come to an understanding. May I call you Y/n in private." Suddenly feeling hot inside, you shyly smiled and nodded. Although you could not say you were in love, or even really liked your husband, getting on good terms would make everything so much easier. Maybe you could grow to love him. However the ghost of Aemond's shadow loom. Or rather, the love you once held for him. What you felt for Aemond now was something you could not quite place a finger on. You could not say the feeling was gone, more like buried under hurt and pain. But compared to the love you had held, you knew anything for Jason Lannister would be less. And it saddened you greatly. "I miss my late wife." His comment made you feel uneasy. Then, you felt guilty. As his wife was it not your duty for him to lay his troubles upon you? You remembered only seeing Johanna Lannister once. No words were exchanged. Though you remembered her to be quite beautiful with a tall figure and golden hair. You supposed he should miss her dearly. After all, they had been married more many years. The though made you feel very lonely. While marriages were made of convenience you had hoped you might marry for love, or at least that such feelings might manifest over time. But as you thought about it that possibility seemed unlikely. You would spend your youth stuck in a loveless relationship. "It is understandable my Lord." Was all you could say. Jason Lannister simply sighed. "Now, there is one matter I wish to address. And I do wish to speak of this matter in the most plain terms." You suspected what this was, and you were so tired of it. But you decided this conversation needed to happen. "It is about Prince Aemond." You spoke before he did. Jason Lannister nodded and took another glass of wine. "I must confess that I did not believe the rumors. Dowager Queen Alicent insisted they were simply rumors. Princess Ellyn has been jealous after all." A spasm stabbed your mouth. But this was bound to happen at some point. Instead of letting your rage take over, it was best to deescalate the situation before it got out of control. "I admit that I know the Prince as well. Nothing inappropriate had ever taken place however. I can assure you of that, My Lord." "Then why did Princess Ellyn take such a dislike towards you?" "She was jealous of any lady who held the Princess attention. You should have seen the way she looked at Queen Helaena." The last part was a lie. But if it served your purpose so be it, Ellyn deserved no sympathy from you.

Jason Lannister leaned back with a curious look on his face. "You mean his own sister? I know Targaryens marry their siblings but she is married to her brother Aegon." You filled your goblet again. "You know, I did hear from her sister Lady Cassandra that she is quite the jealous woman." Jason Lannister pondered. Feeling much more relaxed you went on. "Really?" The idea of getting dirt of Ellyn was absolutely intoxicating. "I heard that when a knight she took a fancy to asked for her sister Floris's hand, Ellyn did not speak to her for a week. Quite unbecoming for a woman. Perhaps.......wait no! That knight was Ser Harwin Strong!" You laughed. Well it seemed Harwin had a taste for highborn ladies. Everyone knew Rhaenyra's sons were bastards. "Mayhaps she wanted his bastards as well." Jason Lannister roared with laughter at your comment. "It tell you Y/n, some women are absolutely uncontrollable. Rhaenyra was a real cunt as a girl, did I ever tell you that?" "Not surprised. Her sons are little better. Such is their bastard nature." Jason Lannister found himself quite agreeing with your statement.

A messenger arrived at dawn the next morning. You were woken to abrupt knocking at your door. "Please go get it." You groggily asked Katrina. With little grace she slipped out of bed and opened the door. Lady Mira rushed in. "My Lady, there is an emergency. Your husband is waiting in his study. Wide awake, you were out of bed with Karina throwing a shawl over you. "Are we being invaded?" Lady Mari rushed you out the door. "No I do not think so My Lady." As you ran through the hall all possibilities came to mind. What had happened? Was the King dead? Was Rhaenyra dead? You hoped to any gods out there that Jaecerion was safe. Jason Laanister was at his desk, dead in hands. "My Lord?" The newly build fire hurt your eyes from its contrast to the darkness. Jason Lannister straightened and and brushed his hair out of his face. A crumpled letter was on his desk. Whatever its contents were boded ill. "The King has been injured. They don't even know if we will survive." "How?!" Dread pooled in your stomach. If the King died now then a boy would be on the throne. You thought back to the two little children, Jaehaera and Maelor. Were they to lose their father as well? While Aegon might not have been the most attentive father it was a horrible thing to lose your father. When your own had died...well, you really could not remember much of it. You just remember feeling so terribly sad and then burring it beneath a blanket of facades. The truth was, now that you thought of it, you had hardly thought about hin these days. You did not want to think about him. Because then your mind would drift to "what ifs' and you did not want to dwell on such sad things.

"Aemond has been named regent." So Ameond will be getting what he always wanted. Briefly you wondered if he had his own ambitions to take the throne. While you knew he craved power there were some limits not even he would cross. Although, it did suddenly cross you that Jaecerys was not named regent. He was the older brother after all. Although perhaps he did not want it. Somehow you had difficulty imagining Jaecerys sitting in the council signing papers. He was the energetic son of Alicent Hightower. The one who took to his dragon and disappeared for days at a time, he had no head for ruling. Then, you thought about how this made Ellyn the second most prominent woman in the realm. You hoped she never sat that throne.

An uneasy silence broke out over Westeros. A sudden cold wind had rolled down from the north. Fearing that winter might set in, the combatants laid low with the exception of the north. "Damn maesters didn't even know winter was coming!" Jason Lannister had complained. But it soon came to pass that the worry was for naught. The winds went as summer resumed. Most of your days were spent with the ladies, enjoying copious amounts of delights, trying to forget the war raging outside. You had settled into a sort of routine. Despite this there were those you did not wish to remain. Tyshara still obviously hated you, and the sight of Lady Redwyne was nearly intolerable to you. She wore beautiful jewels that Katrina told you belonged to the original lady of Casterly Rock. How she had the nerve you never understood. She had been mistress to the lord since before Lady Johanna's death, and now her spirit was exist with the knowledge that her rival was wearing her jewels.

You received another letter from Lady Joan. As usual, her clipped tone could be heart through the parchment.

Y/n,

It is a good thing you have started to settle into Casterly Rock. The reports I receive on your behavior are favorable at the moment. As I expect them to be. In your last letter you requested I find where Lady Elinor has gone. Well I am to tell you that there is not point in finding that woman. She has brought disgrace on our family through her foolish actions. So it is as well that you forget about her. What you should be worrying about is the lack of an heir. It has been four months and I heard you had your blood last month. I will remind you that a woman's sole function is to provide said heir. Your own mother had you within a year, so I see no reason why you should not. Write to me soon about the mood at Casterly Rock.

Sincerely,

Lady Joan Tyrell

You knew the chance of Lady Joan making an effort to find Elinor were slim. She was simply not worth the effort in her eyes. But you would be a poor friend if you did not at least try. Nevertheless bitterness stung. All she had done was serve you well. And for that she was banished because of that Baratheon bitch. Deep in your heart you wished you had the ability to curse that woman. You hoped that Ellyn would find someone she cherished very much, and that you would be the one to take it away from her.

It took you time to compose yourself enough to put pen to parchment. Despite everything you were still a scion of of the house of Tyrell. From the day you were born loyalty had been welded into you, as it was for all.

"Why is kinslaying so abhorred?" You had asked Aemond one day. The two of you had found a secluded spot in the library. Aemond was probed up on the window while you lounged on a pile of pillows. "It is killing ones own family." Aemond turned a page of his book. "I know. It is just that in almost every religion.....not that I am committing heresy I just read about them in the library, kinslaying is the greatest crime. Even those who worship the Drowned God hold such views." Aemond looked up from his book, and pondered. "I once read that it is because the Seven despise it so much that even false Gods will not object." You leaned back against the pillows, satisfied with his answer. But in the coming years, as you sat in your room at Casterly Rock, suddenly felt unsatisfied with his answer.

You had embroidered a handkerchief with golden roses for your husband. Jason Lannister was to meet Rhaenyra's forces in the field. After the brief spell of cold the ground had softened making it harder for the northern forces to advance. What also barred their way was the fires that now roasted the Riverlands. You heard stories of entire towns being burned by Vhagar, and a shiver that you suppressed nearly overwhelmed you. He was the most powerful man in the realm and had now put it to the torch. Sometimes, unbiddenly, you wondered which side was worse.

Prince Vaeron's army was marching on Casterly Rock. Eight thousand men from the Riverlands. The Greyjoy's had now thrown in their lot with the Blacks. Jason Lannister said that it was likely they would attack on both sides, from the water and land. All joy had stopped as battle loomed closer. Stories were told of the Ironborn and how they raped and kidnapped women. You had nightmares of them barging in and slaughtering everyone. In the morning you had nearly thrown up from the anxiety.

The day the men were to head out you got up early and attended to your duties. By sunrise everyone was hurried out onto the yard to bid the army farewell. Deciding to hand you favor to your husband in private. You requested that all your ladies but Katrina wait outside. "Do you think he will like it?" You asked Katria, showing her the stitching. "Very." You walked to his bedroom. A hallway down you heard Jason Lannister's voice. Hurrying up, you picked up the train of your dress. Suddenly, you stopped. The other voice was Lady Redwine. "I hope you will take this as a token of my affection." Your hands wrung the cloth as Lady Redwyne's voice permeated the air. You felt Katrina's hand on your shoulder but hardly cared. Wheeling about, you stormed right back to your room. Katrina followed silently all the while. The doors to your room bust as you stormed in. Two maids tending the fire leapt up in alarm. You said nothing, because you did not need to. They scurried out as if one fire leaving only you and Katrina. "Y/n-" The favor crumpled in your hand, you walked towards the fire. The golden thread shinned in the firelight as it was hurled into the flames. With grim satisfaction you watched the white and gold smolder and blacken.

You were cordial with Jason Lannister when he left. But all words of comfort had fled from you in your bitterness. "I hope you have a successful campaign." Was all you said. He looked miffed. You wanted to tell him you knew. But not in front of all these lords and ladies. Just because he humiliated you did not mean the rest of the court could laugh at you. As he mounted his horse you wondered where her favor was on him. Mayhaps near the heart, where you would never be. The horses mane flowed elegantly in the air as all the horses turned. Banners were hoisted in the air. Cries were called out as wives and daughters called out to their loved ones. You said nothing. Why would you?

The Sept became the sanctuary. You would rather stay in the castle but you also did not want to be left alone. Most days were spent in the Sept praying for the Greyjoy's to be defeated on the sea. You wished they would not. It was much harder to shake off the fear that something might go wrong when that was all anyone was talking about. Besides, praying did nothing for you these days. Where once the Seven had been your sanctuary it now felt foreign. You would look out one of the small windows and watch the trees eerily move with the breeze. You had never gone into the forest, with the rumors of witches and robbers inhabiting it. But there was a strange urge to do so. Maybe you would feel safer there than in here.

Soon however, you wished to be left alone. The perpetual anxiety was too much to bear. You sympathized, but could no longer take it. So you retreated to a smaller room, a private place of worship. Most days you spent looking out at the forest. You wondered what took place in the dark. Rather than frightening you it intrigued you. attempts were made to ask about the forest. But a lifetime of being told its horrors made the ladies warry of even speaking about it. "We best not speak of it. We could get their attention." "Who's." They would look around and then whisper. "The witches." "Have they ever caught one?" "Never. Or at least not in a long time. But odd things happen in that forest." You did not question any further. Who needed to? Anyone who took a look at those trees knew there was something otherworldly about it.

You were walking through the forest with purpose. It was with the intensity of one who knew where they would end up, yet this path was unrecognizable. Alone you went deeper and deeper. Faces stuck out of the bark, eyeless with sap like blood oozing out of them. They looked so real, more than the statues in the Sept. When you did reach the destination there was a circular clearing. You had the sensation, although there was no evidence, that you were at the very heart of the forest. A Weirwood tree was in the middle, its branches stretched outwards towards you. Walking forwards, you stretched your arms out. The branches drew you in closer and suddenly you were pressed against the tree. "Change. Change. You must shed it." And blood poured from your wrists.

You woke up on the ground. Sore, you stumbled to your room. A sharp wrapping was heard at the door. With as much composure as you could muster you walked to the door and opened it. Katrina stood on the threshold, she looked almost worn out. But there was a flush of jubilation in her face. "My Lady, it is your husband! He has vanquished Prince Vaeron's army and taken him prisoner. And the Greyjoy's have been pushed back. We are saved!" With a scream you jumped up and pulled her into a hug. You were saved. The pair of you ran downstairs to see the ladies hugging, crying and praying to the Seven. With a relief greater than one could imagine the doors opened and a windy sky hailed you.

Jason Lannister looked well enough. He was exhilarated by his success. And it had the added effort of him being most eager to give you attention. Couplings were becoming more tolerable. You learned to favor the touches he gave you in bed. He even stayed with you for a time afterwards. Even if it was just to keep you compliant it was better than nothing. And it did nothing to soften you towards Lady Redwyne. You took notice of the two children he had fathered with you. Jason Lannister had three baseborn children. One of them to some kitchen maid and the other two by Lady Redwyne. You felt dissatisfied by your lack of an heir. You wanted a child, not just to provide and heir. But because you truly wanted a child of your own. The idea of having a beautiful babe to hold filled you with longing. Your ladies had started to ask you questions such as "do you feel well in the morning" to "do you feel any changes"? You were not sure. There was no sickness, although your period had come late. But you knew this was no surety. Women's bleedings did not happen always on time. And besides, the pressure could also be getting to you. But at least now there was hope.

Despite the victory, war was far from over. The Kings forces were trying to break the blockade house Velaryon had over the sea. At least no town or cities would be in danger. There was great pity in your heart for those men and boys who could not escape the battle. And just such a boy currently resided in the prison cells of Casterly Rock. You did not see Vaeron when he was first brought in, only when he was forced to stand before your husband. It was just two days later. When you first entered it struck you how young he was. Vaeron was younger than yourself. There was still a smidge of baby fat left to his gentle face. Creeping anxiety immediately made you want to turn away from this. This eye met yours for the first time in years. Your memories of your shared youths were mostly distant. In fact you had hardly thought of him these past years. But suddenly they all melted away and you were left standing before a boy you had known since childhood. You had never liked him, but seeing the boy in chains brought you no joy.

Vaeron was hauled before the chair. Despite the haughty look on his face you noticed a quiver in his eyes. Fear. Boys his age fought in wars. But now at nearly twenty suddenly he looked too young. You thought of all the young ones who would die before even truly tasting life. Then images of a boy, not much older that the one before you, falling from the sky in pieces. And then those pieces were shallowed by the ocean, like war sweeping away lives. If you bore a son what would happen to him. Until now you had not considered the possibility of him fighting wars. It was every mothers desire to have a son. But with that came the fear of losing that boy in some far off land. Just as Dowager Queen Alicent would likely spend her days waiting for news on her four boys. Just as Rhaenyra's thoughts constantly encircled the memory of the children she had already lost. You prayed that such a horror would never come to you.

"Vaeron-" Jason Lannister started, only to be cut off. "That is Prince Vaeron Velaryon to you. Ser." You had to admire him for his braver at the very least. You gasped as a knights fist collided with his face. Vaeron stumbled but did not cry out. "You are no Prince. Only the bastard son of that whore. Do you know what they call your mother? Maegor with teats. And like him it seems that one man is not enough." "As one woman is not enough for you." But that was not said aloud. "At it seems like him you will not have a male heir. Tell me, is Y/n with child yet?" A hot rush went through you. Despite being lady of Casterly Rock he still disrespected you. Memories of a boy who hardly acknowledged you came to mind and all pity evaporated. "As a matter of fact, Vaeron, the maesters suspect I may be. And even if I do have a girl, at least none shall question the validity of mine." Jason Lannister turned to you, shock and relief on his face. "Are you sure?" The look on his face caused a more pleasant warm to stir within you. "It is not yet assured. But there is a good chance I am." Jason Lannister gave you the brightest smile you had ever seen on his face before taking your hand. You looked at Vaeron right in the eyes triumphantly. It gave you immense satisfaction to be able to finally show him your worth. Here he was a mere prisoner, a nobody compared to the lady of Casterly Rock.

Only a smile came onto his face. Or rather, a smirk. A malevolent gleam glinted in his eyes. "Are you quite so sure of that?" Breathed hissed between your teeth. "Last I heard your eye was on my uncle. Perhaps if the babe came out with white-" "Silence!" You had risen to your feet, composure lost. Jason Lannister, however, was the one to come to your defense. "Princess Ellyn is known for having a lose tongue. So you will forgive us if we do not believe the gossip you so willingly lapped up." There was laughter that grated your nerves. Hatefully you looked down at him.

Vaeron's fate hung in the balance. Some felt that the boy should be executed, one less heir for Rhaenyra. Others felt that as she was still at large they could use her son as a bargaining chip. You just wished they would leave the boy down there to rot. Now that they suspected you were pregnant the attention paid to you increased. Ladies who originally shunned you suddenly showed up at your tea parties. Each night and morning you would neck your linen and sanitary wear. The fear that one day you might find blood between your legs petrified you. It gave you great joy to finally write to Lady Joan that you were with child. She was quick to reply.

Y/n,

It is very well that you have become with child. If you have a son we may betroth Malinda to him. Be careful of what you eat as a healthy baby is crucial to our plan. I was most relived to hear of your husbands victory and the apprehension of Vaeron. You must convince your husband to execute him. The boy may undo all that we have strived to achieve. If not for the family, do it for the sake of your child. Remember. This is your duty.

Lady Joan Tyrell

Sickness caused acid to burn the muscles of your throat. As much as you reviled Vaeron the idea of being the one to kill him was horrifying. And the truth was you did not really want him to die. But Lady Joan's letter cause to cause to think. She was right, you thought. Your child would be in danger with the boy still alive. And it was your duty to take your houses side. Would it be wrong for you to do so? While you might not be the one swinging the sword you still would be the whistleblower. Abstaining from the killing blow would make you no less guilty. And did he truly deserve it? Had Lucerys deserved it? "No." You mumbled to yourself. Lucerys had taken Aemond's eye. But was it right? You thought of the little boy who hid behind his mother after he maimed Aemond. You had never felt pity for him. All you saw was the little bastard to mocked and maimed Aemond as a child. How could such a person be worthy of sympathy? Now that you thought about it, Lucerys had the slight marking for boyhood on his features. Just as Vaeron did. No! You could not think like that. You would be turning your back on family and your child if you did this. And for what? Two boys who meant nothing to you.

It was night outside. Lady Alana was asleep in your bed. Quietly you padded across the wooden floor, your thoughts like thunderous bells. You wanted to sleep so badly but could not. Your nails indented the soft skin of your hand. The moonlight cast flickering lights across the black water. You smelt its salt from up here through the open window. The crashing of the saves competed with the rustling of the trees. Like two great armies battling it out bellow. Just as two sides of yourself waged war.

Sometimes one had to make choices for the greater good. But none of this felt good. The letter lay on a table near the fire. You were oh so tempted to burn it to ashes and never revisit it again. But that damn nagging whispered to you, telling you that it was your duty. Duty bound you to loyalty. Loyalty ensured that forever your fate would be with your house. The sound of the trees went out and the waves overtook them. By the morning you had made your choice.

"He should be put to death." The words fell out of your mouth. Jason Lannister looked surprised at your words. "I would never have imagined such a thing could come from you, Lady wife." You tried to play it off as something simply to be done. "Such is war." Was all that passed from your chapped lips. Jason Lannister reached for some parchment. He wrote several sentences and then ceiled it with wax before summoning a maester. "The King is of the same mind." This did nothing to assure you of what was going to happen. The wax cooling on the parchment eerily reminded you of blood.

Even there everything seemed to speed up. A gallows had been erected in the front of the castle. But nevertheless there was to be a show of it. And Jason Lannister had one last dramatic flair. The Battle of the Gullet, as they called it, hailed a black victory. But Jaecerys, heir to Rhaenyra, was dead. At eighteen he was shot full of arrows and sunk into the sea with his dragon. Vaeron was not yet informed that now he was heir. Though not for much longer. The day was cold and all you could hear was the crashing of waves. The forest on the other hand, was completely still. You can under a canopy, decked out in splendor. Like a true Lannister you looked. Vaeron was lead out in chain, thin and gaunt looking. Yet he had on his bearing an admirable amount of bravery. More than you would have had. He was forced to stand before a crown of lords and ladies. You wondered if his mother knew by now. Consciously your hand went to your own belly. "Vaeron. You stand here a condemned traitor to the crown. Do you have any last words to say?" Jason Lannister stood tall beside you. "My mother and brother shall avenge you. And so my death goes with no apology." Jason Lannister let out a loud that chilled the bones. "Only your mother I am afraid. Your brother went down with his dragon in battle." Vaeron's façade faltered. "You are as much a liar as your wore-mongering King. Although he is doing less of that these days from what I hear." Jason Lannister beckoned and a large piece of fabric was brought. Or at least that was what you thought until it got closer. The hide of Jaecerys's dragon had been shorn off and was now grasped in Jason Lannister's hands.

The wail that Vaeron let out made all the breath in your body escape. Any feeling you once possessed had fled. You could not even look at he screamed curses in his language. His cries revealed the deepest anguish one could posses. His brother and prince was gone. And at this time there had been no opportunity to avenge him. No. Not this time around. You could not even look as they dragged him to the place and his head way lain down. It was only when that dreadful screaming stopped did you know that Vaeron, the only possible trueborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, was dead.

You were a caterpillar in your dreams. A bright green colour that encased your body. Above you soared a blue butterfly that beat its winds high in the sky. You looked up and wished to join it. But you could not. And then a thunderous voice broke across the sky and the butterfly was only smoke.

You did not wake up in fear. Instead an intense sadness spoke to you that morning. You walked over to the window and opened it. Only the waves could be heard. You slipped on shoes and a cloak before slipping out. Celebrations could be heard from the great hall. Such was a time when butchery was celebrated and men were cruel. You stepped out onto the grass outside through a hidden door and walked towards the sept. It was empty although not of contents. Lonely candles sat at the feet of the Seven. You just stood there and thought. Then thoughts of fealty prevailed and you turned away.

You would burn no candles for Lucerys or Vaeron tonight.

Note: So we have a chapter without Ellyn or Aemond in it. But that won't last very long. So I know that the reader feels a bit off this chapter since she is fairly extroverted and mingling amongst her ladies. In my mind the reader is extroverted in nature but really only gravitates to a few people.

Also sorry for the late update the past few weeks have been busy. Also I reworked some parts of this chapter because I was not happy with it. I wanted to get into why Y/n was so loyal to her house despite everything. We have to remember that in those times fealty to ones house was everything and to not due so was very taboo. Part of the reason why the dance of the dragons was so horrible was due to the fact that so much kinslaying took place.

Also you-know-who is showing up next chapter!

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[slayerchick303]

*SECRET INVASION FINALE SPOILERS*

I just finished Home, and I have some thoughts:

Rhodey was in a hospital gown when he got out of the pod! I swear to all that is holy, if they have him been replaced by a skrull after his injury in Civil War, I will march on Disney headquarters! That would cheapen Tony's death, funeral, and Rhodey's amazing conversation with Sam in Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I said I'd freak out if they made the swap previous to FATWS, and I meant it!

Gravik's human face was a man he killed, so I'm assuming the same is true for G'iah. If she is indeed going to be Abigail Brand as leaks have suggested (meaning Abigail Brand is dead), I'm going to be mad! Like legitimately disappointed. Brand is one of my favorite parts of the Astonishing X-Men comics run. I ship her and Beast so hard.

When was Everett Ross swapped? It has to have been after Black Panther because he would've reverted to his skrull form after being shot and/or Shuri would've noticed while healing him. Has a skrull infiltrated Wakandan leadership?! How many? For how long? Because that's BAD. Imagine the havoc skrulls could wreak with Wakanda's resources.

The CGI in this was pretty good. Especially compared to other recent Disney+ titles. That being said, I hate a lot of how they used it. Giving G'iah a huge Drax arm?! Bad choices in multiple ways: A.) the big Drax arm looked so weird as did other things. B.) do they think Marvel fans are too stupid to get what they were doing if they didn't make her arm huge? They should've kept Emilia's arm the same size, only given her Drax's tattoos and skin color at most. We would've understood. C.) the clothing changed too! How does that make sense?

Is Gravik really dead, though? Is Raava? We don't know if Raava has super skrull powers, but Gravik had like EVERYTHING. That seems like it should make him pretty invincible.

How did people not clock how off Rhodey was? There was like an enormous change in his personality. Raava was a jerk!

So, Fury and Sonya only tranqed those secret service members at the hospital. That wouldn't automatically make them revert, right, or every skrull would be outed when they fell asleep. If all those guards were humans, they were legitimately the worst security detail ever. That one guy literally listened to SkrullRhodey pretty much out herself and did nothing. He didn't even warn the president Rhodey was acting uncharacteristically. Every member of White House personale will have to be tested somehow. Maybe check for purple blood?

I really thought Ritson would die at the end. I guess he's just awful (which is unsurprising). I'm glad he won't be president much longer, as Harrison Ford is taking over the role of President Thaddeus Ross in Captain America: Brave New World. That being said, part of me worries that President Ross might be even worse than Ritson.

I kind of loved Varra and Fury's ending. It redeemed the awful, "I guess we'll never know moment."

****EDIT:**** I didn't think about this at the time, but I saw someone else bring it up. G'iah has Captain Marvel powers now! Doesn't that mean she should be caught up in the entanglement mess Captain Marvel, Photon, and Miss Marvel are dealing with in The Marvels?! That's an ENORMOUS plot hole. Not to mention, G'iah is ridiculously overpowered now. People complain about how powerful Superman is, and G'iah is so much worse.

I enjoyed Secret Invasion, even if it wasn't the best Disney+ show. The comics are still WAY better. Regardless, I'm looking forward to The Marvels even more now.

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