#this ship has been growing on me lately | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aylish91 · 1 year

Text

New chapter incoming!!

Sea Of Hope Chapter 8

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

This masterful piece of art was done by @aoi-kanna as a commission. They are truly talented and I appreciate all the hard work they put into making this for me. Go check them out, they are absolutely wonderful!!!

Story below or AO3 above.

~~~

While Axe checked you over, Edge grabbed Red by the back of the neck and stormed down the main hatch, loudly yelling at the rest of the crew to mind their own business as they scurried out of his way. For the most part, Red's protests went unheard as he was dragged down the steep steps. Blue, on the other hand, had hesitantly approached Papyrus, whispering something before they too turned and headed past the hatch, disappearing through a pair of doors into the upper levels of the ship.

The clearing of a throat had you tensing and pressing closer to Axe. Black had once again gotten closer than you were comfortable with, standing only a couple paces away. “AS HEARTWARMING AS THIS IS, IT IS QUICKLY BECOMING LATE AND THE LADY STILL NEEDS ADEQUATE DRESS. MY BROTHER’S COAT IS HARDLY A FITTING SUBSTITUTE.”

Rus chuckled beside him. However, when he made to comment, a look from Black had him looking down instead.

Axe narrowed his sockets. “Don’t know where you’re planning on get’n somethin. Ain’t exactly swimmin in extras and you’ve refused to mend mine so I could give it to her.”

Black scoffed. “YOU FAILED TO MENTION IT WAS FOR YOUR MARKED. YOU HAVE ALSO YET TO COMPLETE THE TASK I ASKED OF YOU. I DID NOT SEE THE POINT IN TURNING IN YOUR FAVOR WHEN MY OWN HAD BEEN UNMET.”

“Been busy.”

“AS WE’VE ALL.”

Something shifted in the air, both of their eyelights brightening. Rus glared, moving closer to his brother. It took Crooks placing a hand on Axe’s shoulder for the two to back down.

“Petty bastard.”

“WHEN IT SUITS ME.” With a flourish of a hand and a half step back, he indicated the direction of the doors, continuing to meet Axe’s gaze. “NOW, I BELIEVE WE SHOULD ATTEMPT TO FIND SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE UNTIL NEXT WE MAKE PORT. SURELY YOU CAN AGREE IT WOULD BE IN EVERYONE’S BEST INTEREST.”

“Fine, but we’re not leadin’.” You could hear the creak of Axe’s teeth.

“OF COURSE.” With a tight turn, Black nodded, marching forward with Rus trailing behind with a wink. "AS YOU WISH."

Axe refused to move at first, tugging his empty socket and prompting a sighing Crooks to nudge you both. "I Know You Don’t Like Him, But He Is Fair.”

“Bastard never does anything fer free.”

“And Yet, He Has A Point.”

Neither you nor Axe was reassured but allowed him to guide you forward regardless. Crewmen brave enough to linger eyed your group with various degrees of emotion. When a dog monster growled, another was quick to slap the back of their head, nervously hunching at a glare from both of your skeleton friends. You tried not to show your fear or your growing limp as you passed, hoping Rus' long coat hid what you couldn’t. It didn't seem like a good idea to show weakness around others. The watchful eyes and aggressive postures spoke volumes to your already heightened nerves. Entering the ship did nothing to ease your discomfort.

It felt cramped and pressing despite having more than enough space and light. Unlike the previous ship, several lanterns lit the expanse leaving no ominous shadows or darkened areas. You could easily see all the doors lining the walls as well as the beautifully carved and decorated windowed doors marking the end of the hall. Rus waited near the last door on the left.

It was calm and warm, but you couldn’t shake off the feelings of danger.

“Ya c’n go inside Darlin. Milord’s wait’n.” Rus stood to the side, motioning you inside the now open door.

You looked to your companions. While Axe kept his eyelight on Rus, Crooks’ soft smile and nod gave you enough of a boost to cautiously cross the threshold. It smelled of lavender tinted with something you couldn’t quite place, the overall size relatively small. What looked like a narrow modified canopy bed connected to the wall was on your right. In front of you, under a single window, was a rather lovely desk intricately carved with polished knobs. To your immediate left was an open decorative chest shoved in the corner. Everything was of exquisite taste and quality, from the bedding and carvings on the furniture to the upholstery on the chair at the desk. The few trinkets left out were of fine gold or silver with glistening jewels.

You jumped when the door closed behind you. Axe nor Crooks had made it inside. It had your stomach rolling with nerves. You did not anticipate having the others closed out. Having Black now between you and the only exit made it worse. His eyelights were too bright.

Didn’t Rus call him a lord...?

Your chest tightened at his approach, making sure to lower your gaze.

“TRUE TO MY WORD, THAT HORROR’S GARMENT HAS BEEN MENDED. HAD I KNOWN IT WAS FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I NEVER WOULD HAVE HELD ONTO IT.” In his hands was a large linen shirt, neatly folded and dark in color. Holding it out, he offered it to you. “PUT IT ON. I WILL ADJUST IT AS NEEDED AFTER.”

You froze, intently focusing on the simple article of cloth. Was he expecting you to do it here and now? In front of him? Wasn’t it bad enough you were laid bare in front of all those on the deck, or stars, when you pressed yourself against Blue? At least Axe had good reason to see you. Multiple! To willingly undress now in the presence of a man other than your husband...

By the angel, what would Axe think of all this?

Black must have noticed your silent panicked uncertainty when you didn’t immediately take it. Clearing his throat, something in his tone changed. “I SHALL, OF COURSE, REFRAIN FROM LOOKING WHILE YOU DO SO. YOU MAY LEAVE MY BROTHER’S COAT ON THE CHAIR WHEN YOU ARE READY.”

It was hard not to squirm. While that was greatly appreciated, it still felt uncomfortable. Could you trust his word? You hardly knew the man. Perhaps things may have felt different if the room wasn’t quite so stifling or the door hadn’t been shut so suddenly.

Luckily, heavy thumps in the hall distracted Black enough for him to hand you the garment himself, squinting at the door behind him. He was just about to speak again when another set of thumps sounded, this time shaking the door. Growling, he finally turned when the muffled voices following the noise got angrier.

You really didn’t want to do this right now. Not here. Not with all the uncertainties surrounding you.

Taking a slow breath in, you let it out. The sooner you changed, the sooner you could be rid of these unsettling feelings. With unsteady fingers twitching against the fabric as you took one last glance at Black’s back.

One more breath.

The sound of your rattling bones was louder without the security of the coat. Placing it on the chair, you did your best to quickly dress.

The feeling of fabric against your bones was surprisingly comforting as you pulled it over your head. True to Axe’s size, the shirt almost went to your knees. It was so large the fabric pooled on your much smaller frame and reminded you of the nightgowns you used to wear back at the manor.

If only it wasn’t so short.

Though your more private areas were covered, it was not good for a lady to show so much… leg. You tugged at the hem, the sleeves threatening to engulf your hands.

“I’m dressed, my lord.”

A calculated breath was your only answer before his eyelights found you, fuzzy with a slight warble. You had to second guess if you had seen them correctly, for the next moment they were back to their bright and sharp orbs. Getting closer, they traveled over you as he hummed, the heel of his boots clicking as he circled. If you had hair, it would have stood on end at the subtle brush of his hand against your back.

“AS I EXPECTED.”

You startled, yelping when he came around to lightly grip your hips. Instinctively, your hands came to your chest from the forwardness, sockets wide. He paid no mind, eyelights intent on the bunched fabric. He only let go to pull a satin rope from his pocket.

You squeaked again when he reached around you to wrap it around your waist.

“MUCH BETTER. HOWEVER," His gloved hands touched your elbows, slowly moving up your arms to grasp your hands for inspection. “YOUR MAGIC. IT IS MUCH TOO THIN…” He turned them over. “Hmmmmm. Knowing Him…”

Your chest clenched. He was close enough you could feel his ambient heat and wisps of breath.

Before Black could say or do anything else, his door nearly burst off its hinges, a very aggravated Axe forcing it open. Black pulled you into him with a snarl, eyelights vanishing with the click of his teeth. Stuck in a headlock was a disgruntled Rus, resigned to the hold around his neck.

You didn’t know if you could physically handle any more stress.

“BY THE ANGEL, YOU WILL REPLACE THAT LOCK IF YOU HAVE BROKEN IT!”

Axe’s voice was low, grin tight as he took in the scene. “Don’t appreciate the closed door, Black. Hell ya think yer doin’ in here?”

Black placed you behind him, grumbling a growl. “AS I STATED EARLIER, I HAVE GIVEN HER SOMETHING TO ADEQUATELY COVER HERSELF UNTIL WE CAN PROCURE SOMETHING MORE FITTING.”

Axe narrowed his sockets at Black’s squared shoulders. For a split second, you could see the red orb of his eyelight flick over the man in front of you before it focused on you.

“Sure that's all ya were doin’?”

The fabric of Black’s gloves creaked. “IF YOU MUST KNOW, I WAS INSPECTING HER MAGIC FLOW. I’M NO EXPERT, BUT EVEN I CAN TELL IT’S RUNNING LOW. A MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION WOULD BE, WHY HAVEN’T YOU—”

“I’ve been doin’ exactly what I need ta be. Don’t need ta explain myself either.” Rus stumbled into the room when Axe unceremoniously released him to motion to you. “Now, if yer done?”

With a snarl, Black pointed a finger. “NOW SEE HERE YOU–”

Instinctually, you reached out, stopping just before Black’s arm. “My lord, I!” You faltered at his abrupt attention, pulling back to dip your head in respect. “I thank you for your kindness, but I should return to my lord husband before any more misunderstandings occur.”

His eyelights stuttered. “I, I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

There was a beat of awkward silence before Axe broke into heavy laughter, the loudest and deepest you’ve heard from him. It was enough to warm your cheeks as he beckoned you out and away from the room. Black gaped, slack-jawed and sputtering as you passed. You were already being guided onto the deck by the time he was able to call out one last time from his doorway.

“AXE! YOU WILL… THAT… YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

Axe only laughed harder, closing the doors behind you.

The sun had mostly set by the time you stepped out into the humid sea air. You would have done anything in the past to be able to look up, out, and around but Axe was swift in guiding you down the main hatch. You didn’t want to linger longer than necessary anyway.

You didn’t have Rus’s coat to hide under.

You were grateful for the darkness once you were under. The lanterns were farther spread, some empty of light altogether. It helped ease your mind against the wandering eyes. Most gathered under the brightest lamps, playing cards at makeshift tables, drinking, and socializing while others lounged in hammocks hanging interspersed between the canons. While some watched you pass, Axe was surprisingly good at slipping through the darkest areas to avoid the unwanted attention.

The closer you got to the front of the ship, the fewer people there were until you came upon barrels and crates stacked near and around an area quartered off by familiar heavy sheets. You could even recognize the stack you and Blue had hidden next to, the sheet on that side still halfway pulled down. Axe was kind enough to hold the flap for you to enter.

Finally, you were able to relax the tension out of your shoulders and pained joints. You wanted to climb back into the hammock and rest your aching pelvis, maybe snuggle against Axe and his warmth. The way he moved about though had you gingerly sitting on his stool, setting it upright from where it had been knocked over.

You wondered when that had occurred. What happened after you had been taken?

...

A quiet curse had you looking back at Axe as he re-fastened the makeshift wall. There were a few more rips in it than you remembered. If he had any sewing supplies, you would have to mend them. It was the least you could do as thanks.

You let out a slow breath, peering down at your clenched fists. They were cold and stiff on your lap. Black had been interested in them. The lot of them had been interested in general, but he had seemed so focused.

Your voice was soft, hesitant as you summoned the courage to speak. “Axe? I have so many questions, but I’m afraid… I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask.”

Axe chuckled. “Don’t gotta be afraid with me, Dove. It’s good ta ask questions around here. The more ya know the better, good or bad. Don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise.”

You picked at the hem of the shirt, smoothing it down as much as you could. “Is that true?" Axe simply grunted. Collecting yourself, you forced yourself to ask the questions burning your mind. "What is a Banthos? What does it mean to be one? And what did Black mean when he said my magic was too thin? I don’t have magic. I’m not… I’m not even a monster.”

It was hard not to flinch when, from your peripherals, you saw him stop. His voice had become more serious but thankfully still soft.

“The hell yer not. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told, where ya come from, or what ya been through. But you’re as much of a monster as the rest of us. You’re made of magic and hope just like me.” He came over to place your hand in his scarred one, taking a knee to look directly into your sockets. “We’re the same. Dust and all. It don’t matter about anything else. As fer your magic,” he rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh, “let me worry about that. Just know ya got it and I’m gonna make damn sure ta get it where it needs ta be.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, but it sent a comforting feeling to your chest. He was always so warm. It reminded you of your mother.

Nodding, you were about to ask about your first question when footsteps interrupted you. Axe stood, moving between you and the flap.

“AXE, IT IS GETTING LATE. I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF PREPARING SANS’ ROOM FOR THE LITTLE MISS. I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.”

Axe only slightly relaxed at the sound of Papyrus’ voice, not moving but calling out to the other skeleton. “I can take her when we’re ready. Just got a few–” he bristled when Papyrus entered and smiled down at you, hand twitching at his side –“more things ta take care of.”

“AND WHAT MIGHT THAT BE SO I MAY HELP?” When Axe only grumbled, Papyrus took it upon himself to continue. “WELL, WHILE YOU FIGURE THINGS OUT, I SHALL MAKE SURE TO GET HER SAFELY TO HER NEW LODGINGS.”

You both tensed. “Papyrus. Paps. At least let things settle before ya drag er away. You saw Sans. I don’t trust him.”

Papyrus looked a little sheepish at the accusation. “I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, BUT I HAVE FAITH THAT THIS WILL WORK. I MYSELF WILL KEEP AN EYE ON THINGS IF I MUST. He Means Well. NOT THAT, THAT IS AN EXCUSE FOR HIS TERRIBLE BEHAVIOR.” He came forward to place a hand on Axe’s shoulder, humble and pleading. “WON’T YOU AT LEAST TRUST ME?”

You couldn’t place the look that crossed Axe’s face from the question, the red orb of his eyelight quaking until his free hand brushed the edges of his empty socket. “That’s cheat’n…” There was a heaviness to the silence.

When Axe’s shoulders sagged, Papyrus gave him back his space. “All WILL BE WELL. I’M SURE OF IT.”

You were uncertain as to what you needed to do, but before you could stand, Axe nudged you back down. With the reluctance of a stubborn cat, he then went about gathering items he had deemed yours, going so far as draping his favored blanket over your shoulders. When all was said and done, you were left with a surprisingly intricate box full of puzzles, Axe’s blanket, and an affectionate nuzzle to your neck.

It was with a heavy heart and a glowing face that you eventually followed Papyrus back out into the darkness.

You did your best to keep up with his long strides, missing Axe’s purposely slowed gait. You could feel the grinding strain on your pelvis and lower joints with each step. You focused on the clack of your feet to keep your mind off the aching. Papyrus was already several steps ahead of you when he got to the steps.

Blessedly, he turned to wait for you.

It was embarrassing how out of breath you had become from such a short distance, especially when you knew you didn’t technically need to breathe. You were even more so when Papyrus cocked his head to look you over with a contemplative hum.

His smile was kind. “MY APOLOGIES MISS. I KNEW YOU WERE IN ROUGH SHAPE, BUT I HADN’T REALIZED…” He glanced up the steps. “PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR ME TO HELP.”

Without so much as a warning, he picked you up and draped you across both of his arms. You almost dropped your box, squeaking in surprise as he ascended to the deck. Your mind and tongue had stopped working from the suddenness. Though Axe had carried you once before and had moved you a few times, you didn’t quite know what to think of this stranger picking you up so nonchalantly. It was as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him, smile just as polite and kind as before.

With him carrying you, it took little time to cross the rest of the way back through the double doors and down to the end of the hall. Standing in front of the windowed doors, you were only jostled a little when he turned the knob. He used his boot to kick it open the rest of the way with a bang, making you flinch when the glass shook precariously.

You thought you saw a flash of blue, but when you looked, there was nothing there but a railed raised platform with an extravagant-looking bed, windows lining the entirety of the back wall.

You shuddered. It smelled overwhelmingly of snow and cold rain.

Scrunching his nasal ridge, Papyrus walked around a heavy round table with a scattering of papers and a lantern. Stepping onto the platform, he carefully set you down, turning to furiously rip the blankets off the bed to ball and fling them across the room with a fwump.

“FORGIVE MY IDIOT OF A BROTHER. I WILL BE HAVING A TALK WITH HIM ABOUT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR LATER. FOR NOW, I’M AFRAID THIS WILL HAVE TO DO. AT LEAST THE BED IS EXCEPTIONALLY COMFORTABLE.” He put his hand down to pat the mattress. “IT IS A GIMBAL BED, MADE WITH LARGER MONSTERS IN MIND SO YOU WILL HAVE PLENTY OF SPACE AND WON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE TIPPING OF THE SHIP.”

When you didn’t move, he gently ushered you to sit before making his way to the windows. It was so dark now that the light from the lamp effectively turned them into mirrors. You were grateful, too afraid to look through them. To your relief, Papyrus closed the many curtains for each once. Once done, he gently took your box and stood at the end of the bed, bowing slightly from the waist.

“I WOULD STAY TO HELP YOU SETTLE, BUT I UNFORTUNATELY HAVE OTHER DUTIES I NEED TO TAKE CARE OF AT THIS TIME. BUT DO NOT FEAR, I WILL MAKE SURE SOMEONE WILL BE BY IN THE MORNING TO BRING YOU SOME TEA AND BREAKFAST AND TO WELCOME YOU.�� Walking away, he stopped to place your box on the table and extinguish the lantern. “SLEEP WELL MISS.”

With a wave, he picked up the bundle of discarded blankets and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

…

It was frightening, alone in the dark.

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

#sea of hope #aoi kanna #my writing #undertale #undertale au #piratetale #multiple aus #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #horrortale #underfell #underswap #swapfell #ao3 undertale #ao3 fanfic #undertale fanfiction #skelereader #skeleton reader

5K notes · View notes

athenaluthor · 4 months

Text

Hesitation - Darth Vader

Summary: Husband!Vader has been on his ship for far too long. His very pregnant wife has come to fetch him.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Unburnt!Vader, Domestic!Vader, Husband!Vader, established relationship, fluff , porn with plot, wife!reader, PiV, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please), creampie, mentions of children, mentions of Emperor Palps (he's his own red flag), same universe as my other fic here

Word count ~ 3.6k (unedited)

masterlist

Vader hasn't left his ship in days. Regularly occupied by the matters of the Empire, it was not uncommon for him to be absorbed in his work. More often than not, he would work late into the night until he lost track of time. Rest and sleep were put aside until he was satisfied with the work. To make matters worse, food and drinks his attendants provided were also regularly left untouched in favor of his work.

Although many would prefer it, his wife had decided to not let him rot on the Executor. After all, she prefers him alive and well. It also is not helpful that the current chatter among the Imperial ranks was that Lord Vader despised her and would rather confine himself to his ship than be with his very pregnant wife.

On some occasions, one could say that it was indeed true. Vader was nothing but dedicated to his work, or the Dark Side if we're being honest. But for the most part, Vader is practically glued to her. If he could chain her to their bed, he would.

That being said, no one dared to disturb him on his ship. Vader's temper was infamously catastrophic, mercurial. He could go from calm and collected, to being the embodiment of chaos and destruction. To make matters worse, her third pregnancy is proving far more difficult than the other two. The pain borders on unbearable and she struggles to walk even short distances.

Walking through the doors of his private office aboard the ship, she searches it for her husband. The cold wave of air sends a chill down her spine, making her shiver. She clutches her fur shawl closer to her body, trying to keep warm. The sight of Vader standing and looking over his war table, greets her. He was surely ready to chew out whomever had bothered him, clearly engulfed in his work.

Turning around, Vader's anger dissipates. Seeing his wife slowly walking towards him, taking careful steps to ensure she wouldn't slip and injure herself or god forbid, her baby has that effect on him. Naturally, Vader wastes no time in slipping off his helmet and crossing the room to her. Instinctively, he holds out his arm for her to use as support and walks her over to the sofa. Vader adjusts the few cushions on the absurdly large and plush sofa to support her back and helps her sit.

“What are you doing here?” he all but yells, kneeling down in front of her to slip off her shoes. Setting her shoes aside, Vader massages her swollen feet.

“When ones’ husband does not return home to his wife for days in favor of a ship, people talk. Not to mention, the boys miss you as well.”

“A few things are taking longer than I expected. I planned on coming home yesterday.” he replies, eyes avoiding her. He opts to focus his vision on her feet and massaging out the knots.

“I know. Your schedule isn't exactly a secret to me.”

“Things don't always go as planned.”

“Well, rebels and incompetent Imperial officers will do that.” she replies nonchalantly.

“Did you walk all the way from the landing bay to here?”

“Yes. It's not a very short walk, you know.”

Vader's face grows darker with what she assumes is rage or frustration. She reaches out to grab his gloved hand and toy with his fingers.

“I know. The walk is not suitable for a woman who's heavily pregnant!” he replies sternly, clearly unhappy with her choice.

Standing up, he walks over to the side table and buzzes for an attendant. Seconds later, one rushes in, face riddled with anxiety and fear.

“Yes, Lord Vader?” her voice quivers slightly. Clearly frightened in anticipation of Vader's wrath.

He orders her to bring in a selection of drinks and food, barely acknowledging her presence.

The attendant looks somewhat relieved at his request, probably grateful he wasn't directing his wrath at her. Her eyes flicker over to Vader's wife briefly before she quickly steps out of the room.

Quietly, Vader rearranges the cushions in the couch again and gestures for his wife to lay down. Tired and uncomfortable, she happily obliges. Vader helps her lay down, adjusting things here and there to ensure her comfort.

He fusses like a mother hen, she muses to herself.

Sitting down beside her, his hand gently caresses her large bump, a comfortable silence washing over them.

Soon, he thought. Soon, they would be free from the Emperor's clutches. His sons wouldn't be forced to serve the Emperor as he had, his wife wouldn't have to keep birthing him children if she didn't want to. He would give her anything, she gave him a second chance of life when he squandered it.

The baby wastes no time and gives a rather hard kick to Vader's hand, earning a groan from his mother.

“Your son is not letting me sleep. He can't stop moving or kicking or tensing! Everything just hurts.” she angrily says.

Vader reaches out into the force, searching for his unborn son's signature. The boy was warm and his signature was pure, untainted. Vader soothes and calms him down, sensing how tense his wife truly was.

“Have you seen the doctors? Make sure there's nothing wrong with you or the baby.” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

“I have. The baby is just, I don't know, active? The doctors say he's active. Our boys weren't exactly easy pregnancies but I wasn't this uncomfortable with them.”

The squeaky wheels of a cart interrupts them, they both turn their heads to the attendant walking in. Pushing a metal cart that was filled with a few drinks and an assortment of snacks, the attendant asks if they would need anything else.

Vader dismisses the attendant and turns his attention back to his wife.

“Uncomfortable or painful? You need to be honest. I have seen you pregnant, I know you're in pain.” Vader says accusingly.

She doesn't reply. Instead, she opts to run her hands along his suit. Eventually inching up to his face where she runs her fingers across his jaw,his cheek and even his nose.

Vader leans into her, reveling in the contrast of her soft touch against his skin. The way she looked at him so reverently, as if he hung up the stars for her.

In all truth, he would. He wouldn’t even hesitate or question her. He would do anything she asked him to. He didn't deserve this kind of love. He didn't deserve this gentleness and patience. Not after what he's done. Yet, he lets her. He knows he shouldn't let her, but he does every time. She wants to give him all her love and care, yet he feels so desperately undeserving of it. He has tainted her, no matter how hard he tries to, he can't stop himself.

He can't stop himself when she begs him to take her to bed and make love to her or fuck her mindless. He can't stop himself when she's begging him to fill her womb with his seed and give her another baby. Not when she's brought his sons into the world. She has carried and birthed two of his children. Now, she's carrying his third and Vader can feel that she's weaker this time. He won't admit it, he can't admit it.

The dark side in him feeds off this worry, telling him that he will lose her. Telling him that he will lose her to childbirth and the child he put in her will bring her to her death. He condemned her to death the same way he did Padme.

“Stop.” her voice breaks him out of his trance.

She continues “You're spiraling out. You're here yet you're miles away and we can't have that.”

She looks over at the cart and turns to him. With a soft smile on her face she makes him an offer he can't resist.

“How about you eat with me,hmm? I don't have any appetite when I'm alone. Eating with you always helps.”

So, they eat together in silence. The spread of food had enough variety for her not to feel sick. Vader has no protests, as long as she eats. The baby is well-nourished and so is she. She wastes no time in eating her food, having a taste of everything. Vader remembers she is always hungry at this stage of pregnancy, for food and for him. He didn't mind.

Truth be told, he couldn't care if people thought he was pulling away from her. It couldn't be further from the truth. Vader was largely focused on her, his two sons and his unborn child. Everything he did was for them. His plans of betraying Palpatine is all for them. His wife's third pregnancy had thrown a wrench in his plans of overtaking Palpatine. Trying to move her somewhere in this state, he simply couldn't risk it. He didn't want her to be caught in the crossfire while pregnant, not when she is this vulnerable.

The stress could bring harm to both her and the baby. If anything happens to either of them, the dark side would surely dig its claws deeper into him.

Palpatine would also surely take the first chance at killing his pregnant wife if he retaliated. If this happens, the dark side will consume him completely, he thinks. He can't let his boys see that.

Vader also wants to be there for the birth. He wants to make sure she would live through it. Once she's safely given birth safely he prays, he'll have her and the children hidden. Hidden somewhere safe, somewhere protected where no one will be able to find them or hurt them.

Only then will he take on Palpatine. Only then will he destroy his wretched master. He will make Palpatine suffer for all he's taken away from him. Yet, Vader still hesitates. Would this be the right course of action?

Vader was a fool not to see Palpatine’s plans. He believed that Palpatine truly allowed him to have another wife as a reward for his work. In truth, Palpatine wanted his children for his sick and twisted plots. Vader felt his blood run cold and his stomach churn when Palpatine suggested his eldest son be trained in the ways of the dark side soon.

“Will you come home tonight? Perhaps even tuck them in?” Her voice is timid, almost as if she's testing the waters. She doesn't realize it, but her voice snaps him back to reality, grounding him to the world around him.

“Alright. We'll head home soon.” Vader leans in to kiss her, his kiss is passionate yet gentle.

His hand gently weaves itself into her hair and she has no qualms about it. Vader’s kiss tastes sweet, like the fruits he's eaten off the spread and somehow she adores him even more now. The smell of his armor is both comforting and arousing, making her head spin

Vader pushes her fur scarf off her body, exposing her cleavage to him. Laying down, Vader thinks she looks like an angel, a kriffing angel.

Hair tousled and skin warmed, her breasts on display for him. The look in her eyes is one of love and lust which has Vader feeling like a teenage boy with his cock tightening in his pants.

Luckily for him, she's wearing one of her breastfeeding dresses. Vader pulls her dress away from her chest, exposing her to him.

“Vader!” she exclaims loudly, hands swatting him away. “What?” he mischievously grins at her.

“Not here. What if someone enters?”

“I'd kill them” Vader replies nonchalantly.

Vader's tongue moves to toy with one of her nipples, earning a rather erotic groan from her. He gently sucks on her nipple while his hand toys with the other.

Her hand weaves itself into his soft, blonde curls, gripping and tugging it gently as she falls into the fit of pleasure.

Vader moves his attention to her neck, kissing and sucking, leaving red marks in his wake. The smell of her perfume and body oils drives him crazy. When he pulls away, the sight of her flushed face has him breathless and his cock hard.

Vader tugs his gloves off, setting them aside on the cart of food and drinks. Then, he gets between her legs and slowly shifts her skirt up to expose her soaking wet panties. Vader pulls her panties off, tossing them somewhere in the room.

Vader slides two fingers in and out of her, earning moans that any man would beg to hear.

“You smell so sweet and you're so wet. Is all this for me,hmm?” he teases her.

Dizzy from pleasure, she struggles to answer.

“Mmhm..Oh! Who else has me like this?”

“Should I fuck you right here? On this couch, where anyone can walk in,hmm?” he asks.

“I want you. I want you to fuck me, husband” she whines to him.

Satisfied with her answer, Vader leans down and his tongue fiddles with her clit while his fingers pump in and out of her. Her cunt tastes sweet just like her and within minutes, he has her bucking her hips and arching her back, moaning while she grows closer to her climax.

When she does, her body trembles and she tries to close her legs as he continues to suck on her clit and finger her. His fingers move with a come hither motion making her squeal. Her body is always so sensitive when pregnant. Vader loved to see how many times he could make her cum all over him before she couldn't take anymore.

“Ohh, Vader! Vader!” she moans.

Vader continues until she comes undone a second time, her walls clamping down on his finger so tightly he could barely them. Her thighs shake as he sucks harder on her clit and she tries to squirm away from him.

Her thighs wrap around his head and Vader thinks that he could stay there forever. Vader pulls his fingers out of her and his mouth dives right into her pussy, lapping up all her juices.

His wife tries to push him away, clearly it was too much for her. Vader grips her thighs tightly, preventing her from moving away.

Then, he adjusts her on the couch. He helps her get on her knees and positions her so her belly is supported by the couch cushions. Her hands grip the back of the couch for support, preparing to take Vader. Taking her in a back shot position is one of his favorites.

Vader discards his codpiece in record time and unzips himself to free his hard cock. Vader lines his cock up to her and thrusts himself in, her pussy was so wet, it was barely resisting him. He groan loudly as his cock sinks into her warm and wet pussy.

Vader thrusts himself in and out of her, the sounds of their skin slapping only spurring them on. His head moves to the side of her neck, breathing in her scent as one of his hands wraps around her neck gently.

Her moans and pants are music to his ears, he knows she adores it when he's like this. He thrusts into her slow and deep, shifting the angle of his hips to hit the right spots. It takes him all of his control not to fuck the living daylights out of her.

Vader grunts out between his thrusts “You feel so good around me,wife. My wife, the mother of my children, takes my cock so well. Even when you're this pregnant, you still spoil me.”

The hand on her throat moves to clutch her belly. His other hand moves down her swollen belly and to toy with her clit, making her moan loudly.

Vader's thrusts speed up slightly as he rubs her clit, “How long will it take for you to cum this time? You look so good falling apart for me, my darling wife”.

Vader continues his thrusts and the hand on her clit doesn't stop until she comes undone. When she cums, Vader continues to move his cock in and out of her, making her moan and whimper louder. Her walls grip him so tight, it has him grunting as he tries to thrust.

“Vader, Vader, Vader! It's too much! Can't take it, hmmph!” she whimpers.

“I haven't finished yet, my pretty wife. I'm going to fill you up with my cum.” Vader whispers in her ear.

His thrusts now pick up speed as he chases his climax and his fingers on her clit expertly help her get closer to her fourth orgasm as well. Her moans and his grunts fill the room, the sound of their skin slapping against each other echo loudly.

“You're so tight! Too much,hmm? My poor wife can't handle my cock!” He grunts in her ear.

He's close. He's so close and so is he. He ruts into her wildly as he feels her fourth orgasm nearing. She orgasms again, legs shaking as she tries to hold on until he shoots his load deep inside her. She's seeing stars trying not to faint from how good this feels.

“I'm going to cum! Take it, take it” he yells as he shoots his cum inside her. The feeling of being so full of him and his cum has her so dizzy. Her entire body shakes and she's panting as Vader slowly finishes his thrusts.

Vader pulls out of her and the stimulation has her whimpering. His cum drips out of her and onto her thighs and the couch.

Then, he helps her limp body to lay down on the couch. He's careful to lay enough cushions to support her as he lays there satiated and panting. Cleaning himself up, he zips up his pants and places his codpiece back on.

Taking a few tissues, he wipes down the mess he's made between her legs. The contact has her moving away, clearly overstimulated.Then, he helps to adjust her dress and cover her breasts.

“Was that too much, hmm?” Vader asks as he brushes her hair out of her face.

She shakes her head. “It was good. Just what I needed. Though, I don't think I can walk home after this.” she says to him.

Vader leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek before handing her a glass of water with a straw from the cart.“You don't have to. I'll carry you.”

She drinks it under his watchful eye. “I'm doing alright today. The baby is active but the pain isn't too bad. Nothing more than usual. You need not worry, husband.” She says to him.

Vader doesn't answer, merely standing up to grab his helmet and putting it on. He walks over to her and grabs the glass to put it aside.

He picks her up and carries her all the way back to her little ship in the landing bay. Ignoring the eyes of the Imperial officers and stormtroopers, she lays her head on him despite his hard armor poking her head.

By the time they reach her ship, she's fast asleep. Only waking when he straps her into one of the seats. He starts the ship and flies it out the Executor's landing bay down to Coruscant.

Once home, Vader helps her pump her milk since she missed a feeding to go fetch him on his ship. Then,he helps his very sleepy wife freshen up for the night and change into something comfortable for the night. He made sure to rub some ointments on her to soothe her aches and help her sleep.

After he tucks her into bed, he unlatches his helmet and looks out into the nighttime skyline of Coruscant. Bustling with lights and music, filled with party-goers and dwellers from all parts of the galaxy. He turns to look at his wife, sound asleep in his bed looking like an angel. A kriffing angel.

Shedding his armor, Vader heads into the shower. Relieved to wash the day away and calm down, he stands under the warm water for a while. All was well for now. His wife was sound asleep in their bed, his kids were too probably.

Finishing his shower, he gets dressed and heads to his sons’ rooms. Their rooms weren't far, just across from his and his wife's. Close enough for him to get to them if anything were to happen. Nothing would, not under his watch.

He quietly slips into his eldest's room first. The five-year old boy lays sprawling on his bed, blonde curls poking about wildly. His blanket was at the edge of the bed, almost kicked off by the aggressive sleeper that was his son. His son was the most deep sleeper he's seen. An earthquake could happen and the boy would still sleep.

Vader readjusts the boy so he lays properly on his pillow and he slides the blanket back on. He checks the monitor and gives his son a kiss on the forehead before leaving to check on his youngest.

His youngest is now 14 months old. A joyful thing, really. He's always smiling and laughing, following his older brother around.

Vader peers into the boy’s crib to see him clutching his toy purrgil tightly. Vader gives him a kiss and checks the monitor as well before heading to his home office.

Sitting in his chair, he stares at the holo screens in front of him. Now or never, he thinks. He has to put his plans into place if wants to beat Palpatine soon.

He can't hesitate. He has to be sure. Hesitation will get him and his family killed.

His gaze moves to the little clay sculpture of him he has on his desk. It was one his five year old son made for him at school.

He won't hesitate.

Darth Vader does not hesitate.

#anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x reader #vader x reader #dad!darth vader #husband!vader #unburnt!vader #anakin skywalker #darth vader #star wars #hayden christensen

728 notes · View notes

eponymous-rose · 10 months

Text

A little thing I'm also really appreciating in this rewatch of TNG is something that seems to have all but disappeared in the age of tightly plotted, entirely serialized eight-episode miniseries TV: little slice-of-life moments that don't serve any driving plot purpose except to flesh out the world a little bit.

The scene with Picard's hairdresser earnestly telling him how he should better have handled diplomatic relations with the Romulans doesn't serve a deep narrative purpose in the sense of echoing the themes of the episode or foreshadowing some important moment with that hairdresser. It's there to share a little picture of the world - yes, there are still hairdressers in the future, yes, there's still awkward small-talk with said hairdressers. There's also the nice little reminder in all these domestic scenes that normal life is happening aboard the Enterprise, families and all, which adds to the sense of danger when the ship's in peril and paints the moments of war and conflict as uncomfortable juxtapositions. It's not there to serve the plot, it's there to build the world. And the characters! Picard's mostly-polite demurs, the reveal that Riker has been 100% humoring this guy like "oh man, we should've thought of that, you're so right". There's no reason to include it beyond reveling in the world.

I really miss that about a lot of modern TV - we get these needle-sharp hard dives through a world, coherent and concise and often quite lovely, but trying to take in the scope of the world around that plot is like watching out the window of a fast-moving train: you're getting nothing more than vague impressions at a remove. It's the difference between a guided tour of a museum and a self-guided tour: sometimes, at some museums, you just want to meander around a bit at your own pace and let it wash over you.

Given the choice, I'll almost always fall deeper in love with a show that's criticized for "filler" or "monster of the week" because I know it'll give its characters and its universe time to grow. That's what drew me to TV in the first place - I adore movies, but there's only so much you can do with character and world in 2-3 hours. Lately a lot of TV seems to be seen as a rather long movie with the odd break where you get up to make popcorn midway through. I think there's something unique about the format of television that's being lost in this attempt to emulate the structure of a movie, in the same way that some novels feel like they might as well just have been novellas or short stories. It's not just a longer version of the same thing. It has the potential to be something entirely different.

Give me the bloated 20-odd-episode seasons of the 90s and 00s, where characters grew and changed slowly, by inches, and we had the time to change along with them. I love the new stuff, don't get me wrong, but I sure miss that specific brand of mess.

#star trek

1K notes · View notes

bunnyreaper · 8 months

Text

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝖕𝖙 2 — 𝖕𝖙 1 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊, 𝖕𝖙 3 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, smut, phone sex, wee bit of angst, brief mention of the word 'daddy'

notes - vibrating with both excitement and fear, but hoping y'all love this like you loved the last one!! also on ao3! ♥

Johnny was right to send you to bed when he did because you're already struggling to get through the day, and on any less sleep, you might have fallen asleep at your desk. Clearly, you're terrible at making decisions for yourself, if that wasn't already evidenced by the nearly empty fridge accompanied by the pile of empty takeout containers.

It's not even the end of the workday yet, and you're beat—except staying up with Johnny was so worth it, getting to hear his voice and everything he said was complete bliss. You only wish he was here now, whispering in your ear and making your day go by quicker. Unfortunately, the sad reality is that beyond your good morning text, you haven't heard from him since, and you hate that you already feel like you're suffering from withdrawals.

Again, that could be the lack of sleep, or adequate nutrition, or the fact that lately you haven't exactly been the most social person, and you've definitely been missing social contact. All of that missing need you just want to be filled by Johnny, Johnny, Johnny—his name like a chanted prayer in your mind.

You at least have the sense of mind to focus when you need to, but at any idle moment, Johnny crawls back into your brain. Your mind drifts to wondering what he's up to, wondering where in the world they've shipped him off to this time—what timezone is he even in? What hemisphere?

5 p.m. comes round sooner than you expect, and you find yourself logging off from your work laptop with a relieved sigh. You might be exhausted from lack of sleep, but Johnny's arrival in your life left you energised in a way you hadn't felt in so long. Every part of you hums with excitement, thinking about what the future might hold.

You have to keep snapping yourself out of getting lost in the fantasy, even as you find yourself rereading through texts and committing Johnny's words to memory. The last time you did this still sticks in the back of your mind, still stings—someone who came into your life and was everything until they were nothing. Someone who said they could be trusted as they broke down your barriers.

The aching loneliness was too much, so you'd run from it straight into something worse, not even realising how easily you fell into the trap.

Your thoughts were spiraling, and you needed a distraction, so you put on the TV in the hopes of getting lost in the shitty reality dating show you've been watching lately.

A few hours later, the buzz of your phone pulls you from the drama of the screen—your spirits soaring as you see the little icon you're rapidly growing attached to.

Evening bonnie, hope you're not napping too close to bed time.

hi!! no... for once, lol. how was your day?

Long, but thoughts of you got me through ;) how was yours?

The rapid responses mean your smile never has time to waver, as your eyes are glued to the screen watching as the messages are read, the app tells you he is typing and then another one of his messages appears.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you eagerly respond.

somehow managed to not fall asleep at my desk, i would've napped but...

But?

didn't want to risk missing any messages from you.

Johnny heart reacts to the message immediately.

Call?

please!!!

Mere seconds later, his face fills the screen once more, and your sheer excitement overtakes your nerves by far.

"Hi." You say shyly, as soon as you accept the call.

"Hi bonnie, gotcha on loudspeaker by the way." He greets you, his voice immediately sending warmth through you.

You were rapidly growing obsessed with his terms of endearment, too.

"Oh." You pause, suddenly self-conscious and hesitant. "Are you not alone?" Does anyone in his life even know you exist? You know you haven't really mentioned to your friends that you're 'dating' again.

"Definitely am, don't worry. Jus' need ma hands free."

At that, your brow furrows, your voice filling with both mischief and disbelief. "What are you doing, Johnny?"

He chuckles, before rustling some papers around. "Paperwork, nothing fun."

Even hearing the word paperwork right now drains you, and can hear that Johnny isn't exactly pleased with the idea either.

"Wishing I was under the desk again?" You ask, hoping your playful tone will make him smile.

"Dinnae start." He groans. "What are you doing? Have you eaten?"

"Not yet, I need to check my milk is still in date." You throw yourself off the sofa and make your way through to the kitchen—it's a good job Johnny actually poked you to eat.

"Milk?" His voice is filled with confusion.

"For cereal."

"Ach."

"I can feel your disapproval from here." You can practically sense him shaking his head disapprovingly too.

"Good, I see how this gonae be." He sighs, the disappointment evident, along with that sense of control, guidance.

It just makes you tingle.

"Yes, daddy?" You giggle audaciously like you know exactly what you're doing, and hope it has the effect you want it to.

Johnny chokes, and then growls... and then sighs. "Away n bile yer heid." He whispers, yet he sounds anything but angry, his voice thick with arousal as he undoubtedly fights all kinds of urges.

You want to take that step with Johnny, to dirty talk with him now that you feel comfortable, but you suppose now isn't the time—after all, he is still working.

"I'm being mean now, sorry."

"A right brat." He growls playfully. "Do something for me, lass?"

The shift in his tone and the previous conversation topic gives you a good guess at what's coming next. "Is it cooking a real meal?" You groan playing into the role.

Well, admittedly committing to self-care tasks like cooking isn't the easiest thing in the world, and having someone to guide you in that is... a turn-on.

"Knew you were a smart girl." He purrs, and those words turn your brain and your body to mush.

You have to stifle a whine from leaving you, as your face flushes furiously. Oh, how you wish you could hear that over and over again—in that voice, with that accent, whispered right in your ear as he—

"What you gonna cook?" He asks, interrupting your rapidly spiraling thoughts.

Staring into the fridge is a depressing experience—the shelves are mostly bare and there's a faint smell of something off. "Ugh, I don't have a lot in, to be honest."

"Logging onto the Tesco website now, or maybe meal delivery service..." He muses, and you can imagine the smirk on his lips.

"Johnny!" Your protest is weak, as the coddling and infantalisation make you feel something you probably shouldn't.

He snickers at your tone, but he knows now that if things are to continue, he won't listen to your objections. "Jokin'... for now. Talk me through yer fridge, lass."

"Do you cook?" You ask, wondering if he's going to magically talk you through a recipe with the condiments in your fridge and the dried pasta in the pantry.

There's a beat of silence. "Not often."

You're overcome with a fit of giggles and a wave of faux offense. "Then who are you to lecture me?"

Johnny meets your exclamation with a series of tuts, which already quiet your discontent, but you find yourself ruined when his voice drops and he delivers his next few words. "What happened to 'Johnny knows best'?"

Fuck him, using his powers for good—and you can already tell he's getting off on it too. Today, you won't indulge him by submissively repeating it back, since he's making you face the horror that is cooking.

"Fine." You sigh, looking for what items in the fridge that are actually still in date. You pull open a cupboard or two as well. "I have... hummus and celery and uh, supernoodles in the cupboard."

"Better than cereal." He waits for your response that doesn't come, as you pout on the end of the phone, and then he plays his next move flawlessly. "For me, bonnie girl?"

The plea in his voice makes you melt, makes you want to do just about anything for him.

"For you." You say with a smile, grabbing the packets of noodles and a saucepan. "Have you eaten?"

"A have, chicken tikka masala."

You sigh, knowing that if not for Johnny you could've ordered a nice Indian for yourself—you get to work on the noodles anyway. "Kinda jealous now, if I'm honest."

His laugh is short but earnest. "Same, haven't had beefy supernoodles in an age."

"Yeah, I would hope they're feeding you actually decent, nutritious food over there."

He huffs. "I would hope you're feeding yerself decent food, but here we are." That playful judgement is back, lacing his words and making you crave his approval.

It's a startling thought, that here you are, only a few days in and needing his praise, his encouragement—you suppose it comes easy as it plays into both of your natural instincts—his to lead, yours to follow.

"Less sass, more... paperwork." You grumble playfully, trying to cover up the fact that, maybe, you like being teased by him.

"Aye." He laughs, and you can briefly hear him scribbling in the silence.

For a few moments, it's just the sound of him writing and you cooking, but the quiet feels comfortable rather than awkward—strangely routine and domestic after such a short space of time.

Your mind wanders back to what the two of you had discussed last night, about his day later in the week. "Have you thought more about Friday?"

There's a brief shuffle and the sound of the call changes as Johnny seems to take you off the loudspeaker and moves around. "Meetin' you?"

"Yeah." There's a sense of nervousness within you, a fear he's going to suddenly decide that he doesn't want to see you after all, that he doesn't see this going anywhere. It's so soon, and yet the thought seems crushing.

"Haven't thought of much else." His confession seems to settle your rapidly beating heart just a little, the sincerity in his voice making your stomach twist and turn.

Maybe you shouldn't push it, but you want to meet him more than anything, so you can make the first step toward all of this becoming real. "Would you be up for coffee? I can come to you!"

"About that..." His sigh is weary, and panic overtakes you as the silence stretches on. "Am leaving for a week or so."

It's not a total rejection at least, but somehow it still stings, still settles heavy and unpleasant in your gut. "When?"

"Tomorrow." He falls silent, waiting for you to say something, yet you don't know what words to even summon right now. "'m sorry, lass."

You take a deep breath for a moment, collecting your thoughts as you stir your noodles and try to put everything you feel into some sort of coherent order.

There's no logical reason to feel rejected, as it's not that he doesn't want the date, but that he can't. Perhaps it's that lingering thought that this kind of thing will be a frequent occurrence—it's just a small taste of what's to come. But wanting Johnny means handling this, like he deserves.

You push through the discomfort and force yourself into a more positive mindset.

"But... after that? Or is this just because you hate coffee so much you're fleeing the country?" You laugh softly, hoping the joke will lighten the thick atmosphere.

"Now, if you'd asked me out for tea..." He laughs in return, before turning serious. "But... when I'm back, I'd love to see you. Have ta, really. "

"I'm glad." The beaming smile on your face is ridiculous, and you're so thankful he can't see you grinning like an idiot at his words. He has to meet you.

With your cooking complete, you take the saucepan off the stove and pour the noodles into a bowl, grabbing it before returning to the comfort of the couch. "Okay, noodles done."

"Wanna call me back once yer done, or?"

Fuck, he's so considerate.

You hum negatively as you start to blow on the noodles to cool them. "I'll eat on the phone if you don't mind the sound of me slurping."

Johnny chuckles, before making a suggestive noise.

"The noodles, Johnny."

He coughs, covering more juvenile laughter. "Aye, the noodles, of course."

"So... going anywhere fun?" You ask, referencing his upcoming deployment.

"Classified, I'm afraid." He answers curtly, but you know it's nothing more than his duty.

No questions about that, then, you suppose. It's going to be a strange thing to adjust to, but it's another thing that comes along with accepting Johnny into your life. You change your line of questioning, hopefully to something he can answer. "Are you... scared?"

"No." He answers quickly and firmly, in a manner that suggests certainty rather than bravado. "Don't worry about me, hen." He rushes to add.

"Kinda hard not to, even if we only just met..." You sigh, but you suppose you have to trust Johnny's skills and training. "I imagine it only gets more intense from here."

The admission feels like a swift kick to the stomach.

"Yeah..." You hear a knock on the door from Johnny's end, and he swears colourfully under his breath. "Ach, can I call yer back?"

It's almost cruel the way such timing drives the point home.

"Sure, things to attend to?" You ask absentmindedly, not really expecting an answer.

He sighs, before trying to turn his tone more positive. "Aye, but I'll catch you before bed, yeah?"

"Yeah. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye, lass."

He ends the call, leaving you with your meal and your thoughts.

Maybe you aren't strong enough to deal with this after all, you think, trying to settle the ugly, gnawing feeling inside you. It already hurts, but maybe that's because you're trying to hold so tight onto something intangible. Maybe if you and Johnny become something, mean something to each other, it'll all be easier to deal with.

It's an hour or so later when you're tucked up in bed that Johnny's call lights up your phone. You pick it up instantly.

"Hey, glad you haven't fallen asleep already." He chuckles, his voice softer than before.

"Mmm, still hanging on." You mumble, cheek pressed into plushness and tiredness lingering at the back of your mind, as well as the mess of feelings that still simmers within you.

"Cuddled up with the big B?" He asks, voice cheeky and charming.

You can't help the soft giggle at the ridiculous nickname. "The big B?!"

"Barnaby!" He clarifies with a hearty laugh, not ashamed at all of his goofiness.

"The big B! That's so silly"

The laughs quiet, and another silence falls, but this time you feel the discomfort that comes with it.

Johnny is the first to breach it, his tone tinged with worry. "How are yer?"

"I'm fine." You sigh, not wanting to elaborate and get yourself upset again. It's not far from the truth. Nothing has changed, but this is something you have to learn to sit with, have to make peace with for both of your sake.

Johnny cuts right through the noise. "Yer seemed a little upset earlier. Wanna talk about it?"

Communication—the key to any good relationship, an essential to any kinky one, and one thing you think you really kind of suck at.

It's a simple sentence with a simple answer, and nothing about Johnny suggests that his reaction will be anything other than supportive—but it's not Johnny's voice that whispers cruel things in the back of your head. And for now, Johnny's influence is not enough to quiet the storm.

The fear grips at your heart, stops your words right in your throat, but your mind wars between the ghosts of your past and the duty of your present and future.

Johnny waits quietly, not pushing you for an answer or assuming how you feel, and that small act helps pull you out of the fog and helps you force yourself to speak.

"Reality setting in, I guess." The words don't come easy at first, your throat tight—but once you start, the rest just seems to flow, taking the weight of your burdens with them. "Like, it's not too bad right now, it's just... knowing what's in store? Assuming we keep talking."

The opportunity to really put your thoughts in order and get them out actually does help, surprisingly.

Johnny goes silent for a moment, considering your words before he speaks. "If you wanna stop—"

"I don't." You feel bad for interrupting him, but you already know that's not what you want, even if he sees it as a kindness. "Like I said yesterday, I'm not faint-hearted... the intensity just took me by surprise. All of this has, really."

"I'm with you there. Sat here thinking about how I'm gonna be thinking of anything else when I'm on the mission." He laughs softly, the sound laden with emotion. "Lt's gonna have my head."

The gravity of his job sinks in now, with the realisation that he will be busy and focused, and rightfully so.

"Will you be able to get in touch while you're gone?" You ask, more for informational purposes, rather than being unable to last a week without hearing his voice.

"Not a whole lot, no. Sometimes no' at all, but I'll let you know when I can." He states plainly, and the honesty is so refreshing.

"I'll try not to bother you too much then." You giggle, though you don't really mean your words. He has his mission, and you have yours—stay strong while he's gone.

He scoffs instantly. "You? A bother? Never."

You hum, continuing with your playful statements. "You haven't seen me when I'm clingy."

"A like clingy, am clingy too."

Ugh, just when you think he can't be more perfect, he comes out with that. The sweet smile on your face is relentless, and you just know the same is true for him too. "Oh yeah? So you won't be complaining when we meet, and I just take a hold of your hand and don't let go."

His barked laugh is so genuine that it makes your heart sing. "Bold of yer to assume I'd be letting you go, lass."

The thought of even his hand in yours is enough to send you into a frenzy—a simple, delicate, and chaste act, yet you crave it like nothing else. When your date finally does come around, you'll be able to touch him and see him up close. You'll be able to hear that voice and those words up close and unrestrained by the slightly shitty quality of the phone call—and that is a little terrifying.

"I guess waiting isn't a bad thing after all, maybe I'll be less nervous by then." Because right now you know you'd hesitate to reach out and touch him, would struggle looking him in the eye for too long. Maybe if you wait, the radiance that is Johnny's warmth will wear off, but somehow you doubt it.

"Why ya nervous?"

You almost snort at such an oblivious question from such a seemingly smart man. "Have you seen you?" Have you talked to you? Been on the end of your affections? Your mind pleads.

"See this ugly mug every day." He grumbles, though you can still hear the smile.

"You can't see, but I'm rolling my eyes." You giggle. "But what if I just... can't resist you? Jump you right then and there?" Your voice takes on a more teasing tone.

"In public?" He tuts, slow and sexy, his voice dropping low. "Naughty girl."

You straight up whimper. "Needy girl, for you."

A growl leaves his throat, along with a whispered "Fuck."

Arousal floods through you, overtakes you, as you feel your mind slipping to a space of deep-seated need, all for him. You feel on fire, your skin hypersensitive to the brush of the sheets, as your lower body hums and begs for attention. No longer can you hold yourself back from falling under his sexy spell. "Your groans, your voice, it all drives me crazy."

The laugh that leaves him is weaker, choked with arousal. "All wet fer me, bonnie?" His voice, now a touched graveled, wraps so wonderfully around every word.

"Soaked." You squirm in place, not even needing to feel to know just how dripping you are—every time he teases you, you practically gush. Your spare hand dives below the sheets, tracing ever so slightly over your stomach as it crawls lower. "Johnny?"

"Yes, bonnie?" It sounds like his control is wavering too.

"Please can I touch? I need it so bad." You whine and plead, surrendering yourself to Johnny's command.

"You don't—" Another growl leaves his throat, you hear him shuffle and when his voice returns, he sounds even more aroused than before—sweet, gentle domination drips from his tone. "Touch yerself, go on."

You comply immediately, your hand diving under your waistband and zeroing in on your swollen clit—relief floods you the second you make contact, your fingers rubbing delicate swirls on your soaked nub as gentle moans force themselves free.

"Oh fuck." Johnny's breathing is ragged between his groans. "Gonna have tae join ya."

"Fuckfuckfuck." Your eyes slip shut as you imagine him reaching down to free his aching cock, all for you. Your thoughts center on conjuring up an image of how long and thick you imagine him to be. "Is... is your cock as big as the rest of you?"

You squeak out your words while you still have command over the English language.

"Guess you'll find out soon enough." He chuckles breathlessly, some of the words catching in his throat as he clearly works himself. "But I don't think you'll be disappointed. I know how tae take care of yer, know you're already desperate for me."

Your circles quicken, his words sending pleasure coursing through you in a way that almost feels better than your touch. You fill the air with breathy moans. "Need you, Johnny."

"Need you too, pet." He growls his words over the building slick sound.

"Oh fuck." Your reaction is instant, the word sending everything in your brain into overdrive. Pet. Pet. You almost cum right then and there, but his assault on your senses and sensibilities continues.

"God, thinking about you on the end of a leash for me? So fuckin' hard thinking about it." His voice modulates between and whine and a growl, his need growing furiously. "I'd be so fuckin' lucky."

You imagine the collar slipping around your neck, imagine Johnny clicking shut a lock and attaching a leash—pulling you to him just as he is now with every word.

"I'd be the most loyal pet ever, I swear." You start to babble, unable to hold back any longer on the wave of submission that overtakes you. "I'll Wait for you to come home, naked and kneeling with my leash ready."

"Jesus, fuck." Each grunt that leaves him makes you shiver. Each word like its own bolt of electricity straight from his body to yours. "Yeah, my good girl would be so lost without me." He says it with such certainty, speaking the truth to life.

"I get separation anxiety like mad. I'll miss your touch, miss your smell, miss your taste—" You cut yourself off with a high-pitched whine, your fingers working you so fucking close to the edge.

"Don't worry, I'd fuck you so good before I go bonnie, fill yer up and leave you dripping with me." His groans are accompanied by more of those slick sounds. "Mark that pretty neck o' yours, too."

"I'm... I'm not gonna last." You admit, holding back even now from cumming—you crave his permission.

"Me either. Go on, moan for me, let me hear you." He urges you gently, even if his voice is filled with need.

You let all your noises flow freely as you teeter toward the edge and desperately try to please him with the sounds you make. It's all too good, too much, too overwhelming.

"Johnny, can I—"

His demand is out of his mouth before you can even finish your sentence. "Cum fer me, bonnie. Go on."

You cum with a strangled cry, flying over the edge right as Johnny demands it. The build-up of the past few days along with Johnny's noises has you shaking in ecstasy—ecstasy that's only prolonged when he cums too with a long, drawn-out groan.

After a moment, the only sound is both of your heavy breathing, as you come down from your high.

"Oh my god." You sigh, a silly, blissed-out grin overtaking your features.

"You okay, sweet girl?" His voice returns to that sweetness you're coming to know and love.

You nod mindlessly, even though he can't see you. "Better than okay, are you?"

He hums in affirmation, before his voice turns a touch serious. "You did so good. Just want tae make sure you're good, and a didn't go too far."

"Hah, I mean, nowhere near too far." You admit shakily.

"Am glad, it's only early days, though. That trust..." He hesitates.

"... It takes a while, yeah." The post-orgasmic bliss coupled with the feeling of that trust taking root and growing. "I'm glad you understand."

And he understands perfectly, as you never feel pushed or rushed, only pampered and adored.

"Of course... it's special, for both of us." He admits, and you know you're on the same wavelength when it comes to the bond and relationship between dominant and submissive.

"Mhmm." You hum dreamily, wholeheartedly agreeing and yet not able to summon up something profound.

"Already sleepy?" His laughter is soft and sincere.

"I'd get so much rest if every night was like this."

"Even more so when I finally get to fuck ya, bonnie." He whispers so casually, yet even after your orgasm your clit still thrums with interest—God, he has such a hold on you.

"Yeah?" You sigh, dreaming of the day you'll get to experience it.

"Yeah."

The line falls silent, and you feel yourself fading.

"I'm sorry, I'm so... sleepy." You whisper while you still have the chance.

"It's okay, sweet girl, close yer eyes. Am right here." Johnny's sweet voice lulls you closer and closer, and your phone falls free from your hand to your pillow, resting there with Johnny just on the end of the line.

"Goodnight Johnny." You mumble, before sleep finally takes you.

"Goodnight, Bonnie." His reply is soft, carrying you off to unconsciousness as he drifts off too.

-//-

Johnny practically vibrates where he stands—wired beyond belief. Part of it is his usual pre-mission adrenaline, but the events of the past few days especially almost have him climbing the walls. His energy is frenetic as usual but with so much more—lust, yearning, withdrawal.

It's only been a few hours since he ended the call after waking up before you, and yet he finds his thoughts unable to leave you, even as he finishes gearing up. You'd love to see him like this, and an idea strikes him.

He pulls out his phone, turns to the man beside him, and hopes he doesn't regret asking. Then again, some ribbing from the masked man would be nothing compared to the floored reaction he'd get from you.

"Ghost?" He asks, piercing the comfortable silence between the two of them.

"What?" Ghost turns, eyeing Johnny and his hand holding his outstretched phone.

Johnny doesn't waver, sure in his request, and eager to see your response. "Take a picture of me, yeah?"

"Girl back home?" Ghost asks, cutting straight to the point as he takes the phone. "Is this the first time she's seeing you? Cause you look fuckin' rough."

"No." Johnny frowns, and worry washes over him. Surely Lt. is just messing him around—he knows she'll be happy to see him either way.

Ghost pulls off a glove and navigates to the camera before stepping back and holding up the phone in Johnny's direction. He might be giving Johnny shit, but he at least takes the time to angle and position the frame in a way that compliments Johnny's stature. "She like the tac gear?"

Johnny sighs, wishing this was over already. "Just take the picture, Ghost."

"Say cheese." Ghost deadpans, and the softest of smiles graces Johnny's features—for her, not for him.

Johnny practically snatches the phone back from Ghost's hands, checking out the photo immediately. "Thanks."

He pulls up their messages immediately, firing off the picture with a kissing face and a teasing message just for her.

When he locks the phone and throws it in his bag, Ghost's eyes are fixed on him, his blackened eyes narrowed.

"Mind on the mission, yeah, Johnny?"

Johnny nods, doing his best to push thoughts of her away for now, and letting his inner soldier take over. He'll be back to her before he knows it. "Aye, Lt."

Days later, and after a successful first phase of the mission, Johnny stares down at his phone. The signal is nonexistent and won't return for a while, but he misses you, his mind is itching with his need for you. In this shitty safe house in the middle of nowhere, while someone else is on watch, there's very little to do, and truly nothing else he'd rather think about.

He scrolls to the top of your messages, rereading each message and reliving each conversation, experiencing all over again how each message made him feel.

Your sweet texts, your copious use of emojis, and your cute little selfies—it was all so intoxicating to him. For a man who was so used to maintaining focus, you were a fucking curveball. Something about you just sends his protective instincts into overdrive, makes unearned possessive tendrils curl up through him and around his heart—calls out to his guiding, dominant, caring side.

He has to constantly stamp down the thoughts inside that called out to him to find you, scoop you up, and take you home with him. Luckily for you both, Johnny is a patient man. He spends time out in the field waiting days for anything interesting to happen, he's spent years waiting for his pet, his girl to come along—and you're right there. He can wait a little longer.

He holds down the record button, intent on recording a message for you, and begins whispering into the phone.

"Hi, been sat on my arse for far too long with nothing to do but think of you. Dinnae think I'll get signal anytime soon, but I 'spose it'll send at some point." He feels himself relax just a little as he falls into Johnny, the man—rather than Soap, the soldier.

"Been thinking about our first date, since you mentioned coffee. Kinda had a crazy idea actually, but I need your input. What about a cat café? Has to be one in that city o' yours, and I figure you must like kitties."

"Won't be long until you might be one for me... or a bunny... or a puppy." He interrupts himself with a sigh.

"Need tae stop those thoughts and quit while I'm ahead. Let me know, yeah? As soon as I get my leave, we'll set it up."

"Talk soon, bonnie."

#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfic #soap mw2 #i swear i should get a beta reader for this series #i feel bad bcs im posting ch2 so soon with NO idea when 3 is coming #eventually???#love you all so much #collars and cages

821 notes · View notes

hijinks-n-lowjinks · 7 months

Text

fic recs masterlist

since I was thinking about rereading some of my fav fics, here's a massive list of my favorites include haikyuu, jjk, bsd, etc

Haikyuu!

frankenstein's monster by starbeyy: sakuatsu fic where they both are diagnosed with OCD. this is the fic that is my instant rec, it's my roman empire. "you were the first beautiful thing i couldn't stop thinking about"?????????? this is a MASTERPIECE

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle by kittebasu: THE iwaoi fic of all time, permanently altered my brain chemistry, my friend made me a gift of an embroidered hercules beetle and a quote from this fic and it's one of my most prized possessions

The Chosen One by moonyfest: one of my all time favorites, it's just so good and I love how their relationship develops, it's one of the fics that I reread every few months, nsfw in later chapters

Miya Atsumu, Adored By All (loved by some) by honest_pebble: the sakuatsu fic of all time, my inner atsumu kinnie came out while reading this and I cried multiple times while reading it but holy FUCK was it amazing, I reread this every few months as well, I have it downloaded on my phone lol

i wanna ruin our friendship by roseknight: highschool iwaoi fic, one of the first hq fics i ever read and it's very close to my heart because of it, make sure to look at tags for trigger warnings

i'm a house with no windows, you're the flowers on the front porch by miracleboysatori: a phenomenal childhood friends to lovers ushiten fic that has not been given the love it deserves, one of my favorite hq fics of all time, nsfw in later chapters

butterfly in the subway by bigspoonnoya: You've Got Mail au daisuga fic, a ton of background ships that are all super cute, I reread it all the time it's one of my favs!!!!!

the spirit of the resolution by starbeyy: this is my fav sunaosa fic of all time, osamu's complicated relationship with his self esteem really hit me especially when they're getting late night take out, i adore this fic and it's one of my favorites

can i be close to you by radian: kuroken fic where they don't know each other at first but slowly become friends and it's all lowercase but it's so good i promise, super fluffy

Vienna Waits For You by Pouler (poulerslashes): asanoya timeskip fic that's sooooo good in talking about what it's like to grow up and feel the pressure of the world on your shoulders and living up to your potential and expectations, nsfw in later chapters

Black and Blue by MTrash: daisuga au fic, i was obsessed with this fic when i first read it, it's really sad but really good, make sure to look at the tags for trigger warnings, nsfw in later chapters

you're the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) by ghostpot: kuroken fic where kenma realizes he's in love with kuroo and spends the entire fic freaking out about it

campfire in your chest by deanpendragon: tsukkiyama fic where tsukishima realizes he's in love with tadashi before kagehina realize they're in love with each other and it's super cute, all of this author's tsukkiyama fics are so good

Liebesträume (Dream of Love) by emivance: sakuatsu rivals to lovers musican au, their dynamic this entire fic is so funny and they're obviously intro each other but are in deep denial about it, nsfw in later chapters

surfacing by meeks00: bokuaka au where they find out their bfs have been cheating on them with each other, one of my fav bkak fics they're so precious, nsfw in chapters 2 and 3

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) by gabstar: bokuaka one shot that I am OBSESSED with, the way their relationship speed runs is my favorite aspect of this fic because its exactly what i imagine their relationship doing

Similar Creatures by h_lovely: iwaoi Pretty Woman au that's soooooo good, i really liked how their relationship developed and grew throughout the fic, nsfw all over this fic

Kiss Me (Like You Wanna Be Loved) by kazzydolyn: bokuaka friends w benefits fic where they fall in love with each other at the same time but akaashi doesn't know what to do about it, nsfw

Guiding Stars by daedalust: hiruhoshi fic that y'all will devour once we get more of hoshiumi and hirugami in the anime, they have one of my fav friendships in the series, hirugami is enamored with hoshiumi who asks for dating advice

Behind Bricks by DeathBelle: bokuaka au where akaashi is a sex worker and they become friends but bokuto falls in love with him instantly, a lot of nsfw obviously

Hard Times by mooifyourecows: daisuga au where olympian daichi pays con artist suga to be his fake fiance during a cruise, my FAVORITE daisuga fic ever, i was chomping at the bit for each update, nsfw in later chapters

Valor with Honor, Fealty with Love by radiantradish: daisuga medieval knight au, they slowly fall in love as rivals and it's suuuper cute yet angsty, mild nsfw in later chapters

In the Armpits of Spring by Paintbrushyy_Ducky98: iwaoi au where they meet in high school and oikawa confesses to iwaizumi before they ever really meet, iwaizumi's growing curiosity about oikawa is soooooo cute their relationship is developed really well

The Space Between Stars by leuralo_l: bokuaka fic where everyone but bokuto knows that akaashi is in love with him, I was so impressed with this fic especially since the author said it was their first fic pls give it a read!!!!!!

wait (I'm on my way) by viverella: sunaosa fic where they're both oblivious to each other's affections and are quietly pining, their relationship is super cute and adorable

Close to the Chest by darkmagicalgirl: kyouhaba fic where they bicker but slowly fall for each other during high school along with background iwaoi, i loved this fic it was so good, some mentioned and blatant homophobia

beautiful monsters by gravitates: ushiten fic with slight angst but damn did it make me feel emotional, ushijima is so soft and tender and loving to tendou, another one of my favs

Cool, detached, casual by fluorophoring: kuroken fic where they try to have casual sex but it doesn't really work and they both spiral lol, nsfw

Breakers by ftld: sunaosa 90s au, god I LOVED this fic and how obvious of a simp osamu is, it's sooooo good, some mentioned/blatant homophobia

Special Relativity and Years by buttonstuck: mega angsty iwaoi fics with the second being an alternate ending of the first fic that has a sad, bittersweet ending that made me cry harder than I have in YEARS, some mild nsfw in the first fic

your whole life on your play by emleewrites: kagehina proposal fic that goes exactly how i picture it would go in canon

make up your mind by sketchedsmiles: sunaosa fake dating au where osamu asks suna to be his fake bf in order to one up atsumu who's dating sakusa, i absolutely loved this fic lol

Jujutsu Kaisen

Caesura by cielelyse: suuuuuuch a good rivals to friends to lovers satosugu fic about their first year in jujutsu high together and the mission that made them friends, probably my fav jjk fic ever

And every day, it's changed since then. by BotanicalBites: inuokka college au where yuuta is an artist trying to escape from his growing fame in the country and meets farmer inumaki

What Instinct Can't Teach by kiyokosturtle: chosoyuki and it's sooooo good how to author develops their relationship before the smut lol, nsfw in the last chapter

The Long Con by lyrebirdswrites: an itafushi no curses au that isn't finished yet but is soooooo good, this fic is currently being plagiarized by another author so it's on hiatus for now but I'm hoping the original author gets everything worked out!!!!

Bungo Stray Dogs

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows: soukoku yakuza au, this is by far the best bsd fic i've read so far, their relationship is just so believable and their characters are wonderful, nsfw

the art of burning bridges by sanguinekitten: soukoku fic from chuuya's perspective about different times in their lives together, it's so good

i think he knows by sanguinekitten: soukoku 5+1 fic where dazai knows that chuuya loves him but the latter refuses to admit it

Threats Made in a Hotel Room by moonrice (moonyeyes): soukoku fic where dazai pisses of chuuya so much they start making out

A Lesson in Thorns by arkastadt: soukoku beast au fic where they're in an arranged marriage and slowly fall in love, similar premise to where your loyalties lie but an entirely different plot, I still have ten chapters left but I'm really enjoying it so far, nsfw

Miscellaneous

i'll be your biggest kept secret and your biggest mistake by sascake: mha tododeku fic that I instantly fell in love with, the way the author writes both of them is so well done, not finished yet, mild nsfw mention

sore must be the storm by Pouler (poulerslashes): mha tododeku fic where they're trapped in a collapsing building and they have a deep talk about their lives

Until my Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya: yoi viktuuri au fic that I binged like crazy, yuuri and viktor's first interaction goes differently and yuuri is determined to hate viktor, nsfw in later chapters

seraph's nest by phile: csm akiangel fic where they slowly become friends and fall in love with each other over the course of the manga's plot

831 notes · View notes

moris-auri · 19 days

Text

Heaven is not fit (to house a love like you and I)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Baela Targaryen

Summary: The war, bloody and devastating, is over. Having bested his uncle over the God's Eye, Aemond returns to King’s Landing and to his elder brother.

But his victory is short-lived when Aegon dies in 131 A.C. without an heir. After more than a half year of peace, the realm is thrown into chaos once again. Made to choose a bride after having the ruby studded crown of Aegon I placed on his head and made King, Aemond chooses his cousin, Baela Targaryen.

And Baela Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, grows more than fond of saying "Fuck the realm."

WC: 8k

Beta'd by @vampire-exgirlfriend ILYSM Alex ❤️❤️

Warnings: NSFW 18+, spoilers for Fire and Blood (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The title sits like ash in her mouth, lingering on her tongue like sour, spoiled wine. It had ever since her arrival nearly three days prior; carried from the ship that had brought her from Driftmark to the Red Keep, she has done little else but think about it, over and over and over again.

Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Her conviction only grows stronger each time the thought comes, her conviction that becoming his wife and Queen is the very last thing she wants. That Aemond is quite possibly the one person in all the realm she despises. She has still not forgotten the things he'd said and done in the past, the half-sullen, half-angry boy he'd been in their youth. She has not forgotten the words he had spat so cruelly in the tunnel the night he claimed Vhagar just after her mother's funeral, the same night Luke cut out his eye. Has not forgotten his toast to Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey the night her father took Vaemond Velaryon's head, nor has she forgotten the manner of Luke and Arrax's deaths over Shipbreaker Bay.

She's had dreams sometimes of what it would have been like to be Jacaerys' queen, late at night when she could not find sleep and spent half the night tossing and turning in her bed. Dreams that were hauntingly vivid, things of what could have been if he had survived the Gullet. Glimpses of what it might have been like if war had not broken out, damaging the realm so much it was near irreparable in some places.

But he had not.

None of them had, save for herself, Aemond, Rhaena and little Aegon.

If only her uncle were here to see the utter ruin of their House, what their family had become. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided.

Divided indeed.

It's almost laughable, she cannot help but think, letting out a faint, mirthless huff of laughter, how the might and entirety of House Targaryen- a line going back to the Dragonlords of Old Valyria, was now all but wiped out in less than five years. And over a chair no less.

"I've been looking for you, girl."

The sound of her grandfather's voice from behind her drew her back to the present, his tone sounding sterner than she can ever remember it being.

"You've found me, grandfather," she said testily, resisting the desire to roll her eyes as she stood, still facing the windows of her chamber that overlooked the city, arms crossed over her chest, fighting the urge to shout her fury.

His voice came again, but she didn't catch whatever he said. Except for one word.

Husband.

"I won't do it," she says as she shakes her head. She crossed her arms over her chest, not caring in the slightest if he thinks she seems petulant as she squashes the desire to toss her head back and laugh, instead savoring the bite of pain that ricochets up her arms when she presses her nails into the skin of her palms. "Let Rhaena wed him."

Silence.

She immediately regrets it, feeling the guilt rise inside her, chasing the anger away like a tide. She knows as well as he does that the pit of snakes and rats that the royal court is would eat her twin alive and spit out her bones. "He's a kinslayer," she says instead, a not so small trace of bitterness lingering in her voice, "Or have you forgotten how he murdered Luke?"

"I have not. But he is king now." her grandsire reminds sharply, disapproval rolling off him in waves. "This realm has seen enough war and bloodshed, child."

Baela feels her cheeks heat at the chastisement, clenching her hands into fists at her sides again. "I won't do it," she repeats, but she can feel how futile her protests are even as she says it. She doesn't want this fate; the fate of so many women before her. She feels her eyes begin to sting then, the unwanted thought of what a Queen's duty was bouncing around inside her head, bile rising to the back of her throat. Would her fate be the same as her mother's? As Queen Aemma's?

Corlys sighs, the sound almost as heavy as the hand he places on her shoulder. "You'll be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, girl. Be grateful."

"Be grateful?" she says incredulously as she whirls around to glare at him, her anger returning stronger than it had before. "Be grateful? For being bartered off like a chest of riches?"

His face tightens, his hand falling back to his side. "Be grateful," he adds gruffly. "That the king has chosen you."

She snorted derisively. "As if you gave him any other option. I know he only chose me because you dangled me before him like bait." She hisses the words at him spitefully, eyes narrowed. "I wish Father had killed him," she added vindictively as an afterthought.

"Enough of this," he grounds out, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "You will. For the good of the realm."

"Fuck the realm." She says again. A final, futile effort to stop this.

"Baela!" His voice grows in volume, in frustration, all but bordering on a bellow. She doesn't so much as flinch, bold and willful thing that she is. Her mouth twists, blood roaring in her veins. She opens her mouth, but closes it just as fast when he sends her a warning glance.

You will marry him.

"Now," Corlys cleared his throat. "He requests your presence in the Small Council chamber."

"Now? But I'm-" she glanced down at herself, a thread of panic entering her voice.

"You look fine," Corlys said, as if he could sense her panic. The reassurance in his voice does little to calm her, though, made clear in the look etched on her face. "Now come," he said, steering her forward with a hand against her back.

She's barely been in the room for a minute before she feels the weight of Aemond's gaze land on her, the burning intensity of it making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She swallowed then, tucking away the unsure part of herself, pushing back the sliver of self preservation that reared its head in recognition that she was no longer the only dragon in the room, the sliver that felt like she could potentially even be prey when in his presence. The eyes she fixed him with then were hard, the weakness she resented shoved down deep within her, eagerly ignored.

She cannot help but admit how much he looks like a king in that moment, with his spine as stiff as a board and his hands clasped together before him in an almost penitent manner that was at odds with the unreadable expression on his face. The blank, carefully crafted expression on his face that made her feel disconcerted, wary and ill at ease at not being able to tell what he was thinking or what he was feeling. Did he hate this farce as much as she did? This plan to mend the shattered, broken shards their family had become? Or did he want it more than he let on?

And if he did, why?

"Cousin," her soon to be husband says from where he sits at the head of the long table, his hands clasped together in front of him. "Sit," he murmurs, the command clear when he gestures towards the vacant chair to his right. She does so without a word, but not before glancing at her grandfather, who only nodded at her with a look of pride on his face.

"Cousin," she returns once she's situated, her tone bordering on saccharine and falsely sweet as she forces herself to remain at ease, to remain calm and not spit a slew of curses at him when the rage in her eyes did not affect him in the slightest.

She ripped her gaze away from his face, sliding upwards before stopping, her lips parting as her gaze landed on the crown situated atop his head, the crown that had once sat on his brother's head. The sole ruby in the center winks in the light, the valyrian steel surrounding it looking almost black despite the sun shining into the room.

"What are your plans for the ceremony, Your Grace?" her grandfather interrupts after a long moment, elbows resting on the edge of the table as he leans forward.

Her gaze drops back to Aemond's face at the sound of the low hum he lets out in response to the question, watching as he presses his steepled fingers against his mouth, as if in thought. "In the Old Valyrian way, of course," he responds, casting a fleeting look her way, his gaze searching, before averting his eye almost nervously.

‘Let him be nervous,’ she thinks almost vindictively, feeling her mouth twitch in response. He says something else that she doesn't catch entirely, listening with one ear as they speak of other things pertaining to the realm that she knows she should care about but cannot bring herself to truly care about.

Not yet at least.

Her mind drifts to thoughts of her father as she tunes the sound of their voices out, knowing without a doubt how he'd make no attempt to show or let his obvious disapproval at this be known if he were here. Pain lanced through her at the thought of him, chased by the knowledge that he would never speak again. That she would never see his face or hear his voice again - not in this life, at least. Not when he was nothing more than a decaying corpse at the bottom of the God's Eye now.

"What say you, cousin?" Aemond asks as he leans closer to her, the sound of his voice dragging her back to the present. "The way of our House? Or the way of the Seven?"

"Excuse me?"

"For the ceremony," he repeated steadily as he met her gaze. His expression had gone unreadable again, save for the slight tightening around his mouth, the sound of his fingers drumming against the table drifting towards her.

Baela felt her cheeks go hot as her eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the question. She swallowed her sudden apprehension as she opened her mouth to respond, a memory of the day her father had married Rhaenyra in the traditional Valyrian way resurfacing.

He was asking her what she wanted.

She hesitated a moment before biting her lip, her heart pounding behind her ribs. She stiffened her shoulders as she looked up at him from under her lashes, her mind made up. If she was to do this, she'd do it in a way she knew would've made the Rogue Prince proud.

"The Valyrian way."

The day of her marriage comes a week after her arrival and she wants nothing more than to scream. The bedchamber that is hers now has been a hive of activity for the last several hours, the space full of chatter from a handful of different voices, namely those of the seamstresses and the Dowager Queen.

She has seen neither hide nor hair of Alicent Hightower since she stepped foot into the Keep over a week ago, though she had heard far and few in between whispers from the servants. Spun tales of a bereaved, grief stricken Dowager Queen who had retreated to her bedchamber after losing almost everything but the son that now sat the Iron Throne.

She had not put much stock in them before, but the sight of her soon to be good-mother is more than enough to make her believe them. She remembered the woman who had sat at her Uncle's left, glowing and resplendent in rich green and gold, hair laying across her shoulders in a sheet of burnished auburn waves.

There is hardly a trace of that woman now.

Now Alicent Hightower is pale, drawn and almost ghostly. Her hair is done plainly, an unadorned braid wrapped around her head, her dress a shade of black that seemed to swallow her whole, making her look slight and diminutive. That had been another thing she had heard, her complete disavowal of wearing anything made in the colors of her House, and as much as she does not want to pity her soon to be goodmother, she cannot help it.

Drawn from her reverie, Baela turns her head at the sound of the head seamstress clearing her throat, her gaze falling to the final part of the ornate robes the woman held in her hands. Resisting the desire to roll her eyes, Baela made a motion with one hand, beckoning the woman forward without a word.

Rhaena only had to take one look at her face as soon as the final clasp on the bodice was closed, no doubt catching the steadily heightening agitation brewing like a storm cloud in her eyes, a wordless communication passing between them. "Leave us," she says sharply as she stands from the chair she had been sitting in since early this morning, the hem of her dress soundless on the flagstones as she neared.

If there was one good thing to this, it was that she still had her sister at her side as a pillar of support. Everytime she had thought about it, about being alone in this cesspool with only the distant attention of her grandfather, she felt dread churn low in her stomach. And so it had been the one thing she'd refused to budge on. 'If I must do this,' she had said to their grandfather the second night, the look in her eyes daring him to argue with her, 'I will have her with me.'

Baela shot a fierce, withering glare at the servant who wavered by the door, the order to get out burning in her gaze. "By the gods-" she mutters the instant the chamber is fully empty, her chamber now, she thought belatedly as she rolled her shoulders in an effort to lessen the tension. She could already feel the weight of the robes she wore bearing her down like an anchor, stifling and heavy; as did the ornate headpiece, brought from Dragonstone on such short notice. She reached up to tug on it, only to let out a startled yelp when Rhaena smacked her hands away with a glare. You'll mess it up, her sister's eyes seemed to say.

Baela scowled at her as she rubbed at the now stinging skin, but let them fall to her side nonetheless, her head twisting to the side a minute later at the sound of knocking, followed by a voice partially muffled by the thick wood of the door. "Are you ready, Your Grace?"

She let out a breath as she dropped her hands to her sides. She was not ready, and she doubted she ever would be but she raised her voice nonetheless, just loud enough to let her reply carry the distance to where the servant could hear her clearly. She glanced down one final time, inhaling a breath as she steeled herself silently, the thump of her heart as loud as a drum in her ears.

"You look beautiful, sister," Rhaena murmured, as if she sensed the conflict raging beneath her skin.

"As do you," Baela said as she shot her a grateful smile, squeezing her fingers gently. She let go of Rhaena's fingers a minute or two later as she pulled away, smoothing her palms over the stiff cloth, exchanging one last glance with her before stepping past her and out into the corridor.

The ride to the Dragonpit was torturous, and she hated it.

Her previously half pleasant mood was gone, having vanished like smoke what felt like ages ago, replaced with irritation and the steadily growing urge to snap at someone, despite the fact that it was only herself and Rhaena in the wheelhouse, a fact she cannot help but be grateful for.

"If I must suffer one more-" she all but snarled as she grit her teeth each time the wheels of the wheelhouse jostled over the uneven streets the closer and closer they got to the Dragonpit. Or what was left of it, half demolished as it was now.

Her hands dropped to her lap, resting one over the other as she began twisting the gold ring around the fourth finger of her left hand in a nervous tic.

"At least we're almost there," Rhaena murmured half under her breath from the seat across from her, an attempt at placating her, leaning forward to rest a hand on her arm. Baela made a wordless sound of agreement in her throat as she turned her head to the side, blinking every time sunlight filtered in through the star-shaped holes. Rhaena opened her mouth to say something else, but Baela had turned away, in no mood to hear another word.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, save for the jubilant sounds of shouting from the people lining the streets on either side of the carriage. "Gods above-," she grumbled out in relief when she felt the wheelhouse rock to a stop, seeing stars as she raised her hand to her eyes to block out the glare of the sun, the sight of their grandsire standing hardly more than a foot away, the Velaryon seahorse stitched out in silver thread, bright against the dark hue of his tunic.

"Grandfather," she greeted shortly as she stepped down, ignoring the hand he had extended towards her, exhaling when both her feet were flat on the ground.

"Granddaughter," he said gruffly in response as he set his hands on her shoulders, tilting his head to look her in the eye. She squinted against the sun as she tipped her head back to look up at him, caught off guard by the odd look in his eyes, one that she did not know what to think of.

"If only Rhaenys and Laena could see you now," he murmured, his words doing little except to startle her further, "They'd be so very proud of you. I know it."

Blinking in surprise at the mention of her mother and grandmother, Baela felt the pricking, tell-tale sting of tears in the corners of her eyes as his words sunk in. She opened her mouth as if to speak, a question on the tip of her tongue, but he turned away before she could.

She knew he grieved for his wife as she and Rhaena did, mourning her in his own way. He fell silent again, the look in his eyes turning into something more scrutinizing, as if he was studying her. "His Grace is waiting," was all he said, his voice turning brusque once more, brooking no room for an argument. Baela watched him go silently, the broad width of his back filling her vision as he ascended the steps of the Dragonpit before disappearing inside.

"Ābrazȳrys." Her husband's tone is cold and flat, carrying nary a trace of affection- not that she expects him to have any.

Husband.

It still felt more than strange to call him that, the sole word as foreign to her as anything, even though it's been a month since their marriage. No matter how fervently she wishes to forget, she can still remember some parts of the ceremony as clear as day. She doubted she ever would now, not with the way they all but clung to her like shadows in the back of her mind.

The feeling of the dragonglass Aemond had pressed to her lip and to the skin of her palm. The sharp pain that had followed it and the iron smell of the blood that welled in its wake. The look in his eye when he had drawn the Valyrian glyph for fire on her forehead. The look on his face when she had done the same to him, the glyph for blood standing out as red as garnets against his skin.

"What do you want?" she demands of him, knowing what he'll say anyway. She braces her weight on her elbows as she looks towards where he stands in the doorway, not missing the way he's still wearing the same tunic he had been earlier.

Aemond frowned at her words, a crease forming between his brows. "We must do this for the realm-" he starts to say, his voice now carrying a steely edge. "Our duty-"

He was standing close enough for her ears to pick up the breath he let out, the sound long and slow- a sign of his growing agitation. Baela fought the urge to smile as she half turned on her side to face him, her shift slipping down her shoulder. "Damn the realm," she said viciously as she all but bared her teeth at him like some wild beast.

Even with the urgings of the Small Council, as well as those of her grandfather and his mother, she had hardly, if any desire to know him. "I do not want you here. So go away," she repeated, her voice little more than a snap now, doing her hardest to ignore the heat crawling up her spine, more than acutely aware of his stare, feeling the heavy weight of his gaze burning into her skin. "You're more than welcome to go slake your lust elsewhere, husband."

He retreated a step or two at her words, a wounded look darting across his face.

"Another day," he said finally, when she didn't relent, making his way towards the door.

She ignores him anyway.

"Cousin."

Rhaena's head lifted at the sound of Aemond’s voice, eyes trailing to fall on his expression.

Even from this far, she could taste the tension all but oozing from him like wine overflowing from a cask, his brow furrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown, as if something was troubling him. He looked half out of place in her chamber, looking rather like an inkblot, the dark of his tunic and his breeches standing out against the lighter, paler colors.

"Ae-"

No, she could not call him Aemond- not anymore at least. He was the King now, and her sister's husband to boot. "Your Grace," she says cautiously, setting aside her book as she rises to her feet. "Is there something I might-"

He cuts her off before she can finish speaking, his eye darting around her chambers before settling on her face. "Your sister," he all but blurts out, before clearing his throat, spots of color infusing along his cheekbones. "Baela," he amends as he twists his arms behind his back. "I…I do not know what to do. She-"

Rhaena tilted her head as she studied him, her gaze as sharp as a knife's edge, more than aware of how he seemed almost nervous, her good-brother, flustered in a way she cannot remember ever seeing from him- not even when they'd been children.

"What have you tried, Your Grace?"

"I-" he seemed to stumble over the word, glancing up at her before dropping his gaze downward to his feet. Rhaena watched as he removed his crown, holding it with one hand as he ran the other over his hair, sending the pale silver-gold strands further into a state of dishevelment.

"My sister is being unfair," she admitted, feeling a faint pity for him. "But she is headstrong, willful and proud. She always has been."

"You do know her best," he murmured quietly as he met her stare, a sliver of light skirting over his face in a way that illuminated the smudged, half-moon shadow under his eye. Her pity for him grew, though she kept it to herself as she nodded wordlessly, gaze dropping down to his boots, a slew of thoughts churning in her skull.

"If I might speak freely, Your Grace?"

He nodded, the bobbing of his almost eager in a way. "Please."

Rhaena hesitated. "She likes hawking," she said finally as she bit her lip in thought, "And riding. We used to do it on Dragonstone when the weather was favorable."

He nodded again, humming as he listened to her, a resolve growing in his eye.

His eye met hers then, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Baela would no doubt be angered by this, but her anger would fade, it had to- for the good of the realm. Rhaena let a half rueful grin form on her lips, practically able to hear the sound of her sister's voice in her mind, seething and laden with fury, as well as the saying she had taken to like a fish to water.

Fuck the realm.

"Thank you, goodsister," he said lastly, half turned towards the door. Rhaena dipped her head, the sound of her braids sliding over her shoulders filling her ears.

She could only hope that it would work.

And it does.

As one turn of the moon becomes two, then three, the change within the Keep grows more than noticeable with each day that passes, much to the relief of them all.

They have been married for four moons when Baela enters his chambers, crossing the room in several short strides to stand before him, arms folded behind her back, tapping the heel of her riding boots on the flagstones, her stare lingering on the sight of his bowed head, unused to the sight of him without the crown, his hair falling loose and unbound over his shoulders. She does not blame him though, not really, not when she knows the weight of it.

"Will you take me flying? On Vhagar?"

Aemond's head lifted at the sound of her voice, grinning softly at the sight of her before him. "Hello to you too," he murmured as a greeting.

"Well?" she asked again, more than a little impatient now, rocking forward then backward on the balls of her feet. She could not help but think of her own dragon then, pretty Moondancer, who had perished during the fall of Dragonstone, and even thinking about her now felt like a shard of glass embedded in her chest, like a phantom limb, the pain of which would never truly go away.

Aemond's stare only seemed to grow sharper the longer he held her gaze, searching and almost intrusive in a way, as if he meant to cut her open from the base of her throat to navel, and Baela cannot help but shiver faintly at the thought of it. “Why do you want to go so badly?” he countered, voice laden with suspicion as he stands, unfolding himself from the chair behind the desk with a languid, effortless grace.

“Can I not wish to spend the day with you?” She grins, her tone taking on a teasing edge as she stared down the bridge of her nose at him. Or tried to at least, the action made all the harder by the inches he had over her. He only hums as he raises an eyebrow, standing near enough to where the ends of his boots touch her own.

She can practically feel the heat bleeding through his clothes, the blood of the dragon running hot indeed, she muses. His breath fans across her face softly, still smelling of the baked apples soaked in honey they'd broken their fast on hours before.

"I cannot simply abandon my duties to go flying. The realm-"

She huffs a laugh, raking one hand through the braid Rhaena had been successful in wrangling her curls into. "Fuck the realm. It can spare you for half a day. I am your wife and I wish to go flying with you." She says as she stares at him, daring him to protest more.

"Very well," he relented with a sigh, turning his head to the side to glance back to the stacked parchment on his desk.

She fought the desire to grin victoriously.

Her lips parted slightly at the sight of Vhagar before her, little opaque wisps of smoke coming from her nostrils as she slumbered.

Since the war had ended, she'd taken to sleeping more and more, her chosen resting spot the patches of now flattened grass just beyond the city gates. One of her eyes opened as they neared, the great orange pupil surveying them.

Aemond's shoulder brushed against her own as he moved forward, "Lykiri, Vhagar," he murmured as he laid his hand flat on her snout, the sight making the sliver of affection that had lodged in her chest grow, warmth pooling low in her stomach.

Aemond stretched out his other hand to her, the look in his eye almost gentle. "Come."

Baela stared up at him, hesitating for a moment, before she edged forward, keeping one eye trained on Vhagar as she slid her hand in his, letting him pull her up. She let out a sound, one as close to unbridled delight as Vhagar began to lumber forwards, each flap of her wings sending them higher and higher into the sky. She let her eyes fall shut at the feel of the wind whipping through her silver curls, lashing like shards of ice against her cheeks, the space all around them empty save for clouds and the blue of the open sky stretching as far as she could see.

It was peaceful, flying on dragonback this high up, so much so where she could almost forget anything and everything that was happening miles below her. Her breath hitched in her chest at the feel of Aemond tightening his hold on her, the arm he'd wound around her waist before they'd left the ground growing almost impossibly tighter, constricting like a serpent.

The aquiline slope of his nose nudged against her cheek as she half turned her head to the side, the sound of him muttering something against her skin drowned out by the shrill whistle of the wind, his words faint enough for her to miss, too distracted as she was by the sound of his breath against the shell of her ear. By the steady rise and fall of his chest behind her and the feel of his lean frame, a hard line at her back.

"Look," he rasped, his voice coming louder this time as he raised a hand from the ropes, applying the faintest bit of pressure on her face to turn her head forward again. They were still flying, but it wasn't the city under them anymore. Instead it was the coastline and the familiar waters of Blackwater Bay, the almost dirty gray hue of the water lit gold by the sun, and her eyes widened at the sight before her.

It was beautiful.

Startled, Baela shrieked when Aemond's hand tightened on the reins, angling them downward into a nosedive. She let out a sharper sound when Vhagar leveled, angling to the right, one wing brushing the water's surface and sending a spray of water into the air.

Full of exhilaration, she felt a laugh bubble up in her chest, blood roaring in her ears.

Oh, how she had missed this.

They had returned to the Keep just after the sun had set, the almost rose hue that had made the houses and buildings of the city all but glow fading as the sky darkened to the familiar indigo of the approaching twilight, the two of them windblown and stinking of dragon.

The servants had needed no further warning before a line of them entered one after the other, bringing in bucketfuls of steaming water. Baela had watched them fill the gleaming copper tub almost impassively, arms folded across her chest as she had waited until the last one had left before turning her focus back to where Aemond had sat in one of the chairs situated around the hearth.

His hair gleamed, shadows from the flames highlighting the angles and lines of his cheekbones, dancing across his face. She drew herself up tall, spine going taut like a drawn bowstring as she stared at him, desire pooling low in her belly.

"Aemond…" she crooned from where she stood, still wearing the black dragon riding robes she had earlier, her desire clear. "Are you going to fuck me now, husband?"

His head snapped towards her, half startled. His eye narrowed, lust warring with suspicion on his face, his fingers flexing against the arms of the chair. "You-"

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" She cannot help but say snidely, watching his pupils dilate as she loosened the lacing on the front. "You're too far away." Come closer, she does not say.

He shot to his feet, not needing another word of encouragement. Baela shivered as he stalked towards her, the almost predatory hunger burning in his eye. He had the singular ability to make her feel exposed now, cut open and laid bare before him.

Weak.

Soft.

A mockery of everything she was. Everything she wasn’t.

His jaw clenched each time she took a step backwards, the predatory look in his eye morphing into something more dangerous, a wicked smirk cutting across his mouth as he followed her, stopping when the backs of her legs hit the bed.

His hands fell to rest on the curve of her waist, standing out stark and pale against the night-dark fabric of her riding tunic. Baela pushed at his chest slightly, scarcely daring to breathe as he drew even closer, resting one hand on her neck. Her fingers closed around his wrist loosely, every brush of his thumb over her skin making her breath catch in her throat.

She felt warmth heat her cheeks, taking the opportunity to look up at him from under her lashes, wondering if he could feel her pulse thrumming under her flesh. She watched him as he took a half step closer, his eye darting from her eyes to her mouth and back again. It almost seemed like he was just as nervous as she was, but she did not put much stock into it.

She trembled, half out of fear or something else she could not name, tentatively flattening her hands to his chest, feeling the muscle lurking beneath the surface shift under her palms as she stilled, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

He pushed at her riding clothes roughly, sliding the fabric down her arms before tossing the garment away blindly, his breathing seeming to grow shallower as his face lowered to loom mere inches from her own, his fingers disappearing into the curtain of her curls before kissing her again. Baela moaned against his mouth, her fingernails leaving half moons in the leather of his tunic.

He let out a low noise as her legs lifted then, wrapping around the narrow line of his waist, the sound hovering halfway between a snarl and a groan that had the coil at the base of her spine tightening. "You are a wicked temptress," he groaned again, eye closing at the feel of her pressing kisses to the side of his neck.

She reached for his eyepatch then, fingers stilling mere inches from it, an unspoken question in her eyes.

Aemond nodded, wordlessly bobbing his head, his hand splayed flat against her back.

Her fingers brushed over the raised skin of his scar, skirting upwards to slip beneath the square of leather before gently tugging it from his head. The sapphire in his eye socket was more lovely than she wanted to admit, glittering at her as it did now in the low light.

She traced the planes of his face, her touch gentle and as soft as a feather. Was he surprised by it? Surprised that she could be gentle with him? That she wanted to be? Her eyes slide over him, all but devouring the way he is almost beautiful. She kissed him again, her lips brushing across his own.

Aemond hisses quietly, a breath rattling from between his clenched teeth as she does. The sound is as loud as a dragon's roar in her ear, and were it not for the near-nonexistent distance between them, she's more than certain she would not have heard it.

His eye followed the path of her fingers, watching as they dropped lower and lower before coming to rest at the laces of his breeches, nostrils flaring with each breath, the sensation of her fingers brushing feather-light across his stomach almost too much to bear.

She glanced up at him from under her lashes, a half coy smirk lifting one side of her mouth up.

Tormenting him. Taunting him.

His eye trailed up again, the sight that greeted him made his cock ache all the more. He pressed closer, his lips dragging down the line of her throat, vaguely aware of her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders, the distraction of her kiss overpowering any rational thought he might have previously had.

"Only a dragon can love a dragon, Aemond. And you are mine."

Aemond moans in her ear at that, his fingers tightening on her hips, bruising almost. He could barely breathe, dizzy and almost breathless as the potent, rich smell of her all but ingrained itself into his senses so very thoroughly, like an insect burrowing into the ground. “If you want me to stop,” he rasped, feeling his heart slamming against his ribcage, “Tell me.” His voice was a low murmur in her ear, his breath fanning hot by her ear as he trailed his hands down her sides.

“No,” she breathed, trying to press closer to him, feeling his cock hard against her belly. “Please, Aemond-” She nipped at his skin, a barely noticeable scrape of her teeth against his pulse point, grinning as she felt it jump beneath her lips. She kissed him again, and again, feeling her pulse fluttering under the thin as parchment skin of her wrists and her throat.

Aemond only chuckled, the vibration from it rolling through her, only to choke out a moan a second later, the noise weaving and twisting with hers.

They are married five moons when she blocks his exit from the council room with a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump, thump, thump of it beneath her fingers.

She bit her lip as she held her breath, keeping her eyes trained on his face. "I'm with child."

His eye goes wide at her words, wider than she's ever seen it. She shifted on her feet, feeling the half elated sensation in her chest fading the longer he didn't speak.

"Truly?"

"Yes," Baela nodded, feeling the giddiness grow stronger, unfurling low in her belly like a ship's sail. "The maester confirmed it this morning."

A buoyant smile splits his face cheek to cheek. It was not the smirk she had all but grown used to seeing, a genuine one that stretched his lips, making his eye crease.

"Baela."

She stilled, the thought that this was the first time he's called her by her name echoing in her head as she turned to face him. "Say it again," she demanded.

"Baela," he repeated, drawing the word out slowly.

Between one blink and the next, she all but launched herself at him, twisting and coiling around him like a serpent around its prey. She thinks later that it was in that moment she could almost love him.

The news does not stay between them for long, and soon enough a feast is hastily prepared in celebration.

Glancing at Aemond from the corner of her eye, Baela could feel the tension thrumming under his skin, all but radiating from him in waves where he sat beside her, one hand curled loosely around his cup, his other tapping an almost agitated rhythm against the cloth covered table, the line of his shoulders stiff and his posture unrelenting.

She leaned closer, her hand grasping his arm as she arched upwards, ghosting her lips over his ear. "Dance with me," she murmured boldly, delighting internally when he stiffened at the contact.

"You know I abhor dancing, ñuha jorrāelagon."

Aemond’s voice is barely more than a whisper, low and hushed, in that manner that is entirely his own. It is a trait of his that she has grown rather fond of, his ability to not be one to speak when he did not need to, choosing instead to stay silent and observe those around him like a bird of prey.

"And you are-"

Her gaze sharpened, daring him to say it.

"Forgive me."

He must have sensed her irritation as not even a minute later she felt his hand settle on her thigh, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the fabric of her dress. She huffed under her breath, lips pressed together tightly. "I might," she says nonetheless, knowing full well the effect her words would have on him.

Sure enough, his hand tightens on her thigh, his touch turning slightly painful. She can feel the weight of his attention on the side of her face, not having to even turn her head to be able to tell his eye is heavy-lidded, his pupil no doubt swallowed and dark now.

"Do you think they'd notice? If we were to depart," she murmurs innocently, offhandedly, keeping her gaze straight ahead, pressing her lips together to repress a smile when the sound of his breathing changes, growing ragged and hoarse with each second.

They have been married for six moons now, and it is the first time she does not wake up alone.

"Good morning," she breathed quietly, watching as Aemond cracked an eye open, his breath little more than soft huffs of air against her face.

"You're watching me," he noted, his voice low and rasping, still carrying miniscule traces of sleep.

"Perhaps I like watching you, husband," she said in return, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear, letting the earthen smell of him envelop her then, the heat he radiated making their bed almost stiflingly hot.

His mouth twitched at her words, faint and almost hardly noticeable. There was a softness in his eye as he looked down at her, thumb swiping as light as a feather across her lower lip. “Gevie,” he murmured as he cradled her face between his palms,, the golden glow behind him caught in his hair, setting the pale strands alight.

"I love you," She breathed as she tugged his hand away from her face. She twined her fingers with his, turning his hand over to trail a nail over the lines in the center of his palm, lifting it to her lips, watching his expression as she did, knowing deep down that there was no going back.

Not now. Not ever.

More time passes, the months going by one after the other, her belly swelling until she cannot see her own feet. She has few visitors, not that she minds, having her twin and Aemond beside her more than enough. Though there had been times she'd been seconds away from snapping at him out of ire.

He is locked within the council chambers- has been since that morning, a fact that she is more than grateful for, to be honest. It is only Rhaena and one of her handmaidens now, both of them hardly breathing a word.

"Rhaena," she forces out, fighting to keep her face blank at the sharp bite of pain in her belly. "I think-" she does not have to say another word, watching with wide eyes as her sister scrambles to her feet.

"Should I-"

Baela nods, a single, sharp dip of her head.

She squeezes her eyes shut as she lets out a guttural breath from between clenched teeth and wishes the pain would stop.

"Push, Your Grace," the midwife ordered, not unkindly. Baela only glowered at her as she gritted her teeth, nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale she took.

"Where is he?"

"He's outside, sister," Rhaena soothed, squeezing her fingers lightly. "Waiting."

"Bring him here," she growled, uncaring of the way the midwives exchanged slightly uneasy looks with each other. "Do it!" she all but snarled at them. They did, scattering like a flock of birds, one of them moving brusquely towards the doors.

"Aemond."

He moved towards her quickly, half settling beside her. "Ñuha jorrāelagon," he murmured as he clasped her hand in his, pressing his lips to her brow.

The midwife comes forward again, mouth opening to speak, though Baela hardly hears a word as she closed her eyes, hearing Aemond's sharp inhale of breath as she squeezed his hand, her nails leaving reddened marks in the shape of half moons in his skin. Time seemed to tick by as slow as a snail's pace before she let out another breath, her chest rising and falling quickly as she half slumped against his chest, tendrils of her sweat soaked silver hair clinging to the skin of her neck, hearing the wailing of not one babe two split the quiet like a crack of thunder.

"Twins, Your Grace."

"Let me see them," she said as she held her arms out.

"She looks like your mother," her grandfather says later, the tip of his finger tracing over her daughter's face from where he stood beside Rhaena. "Does she have a name yet?"

"Laena," she says softly, "Her name shall be Laena. For my mother." She half turned towards Aemond, a question lingering in the depths, "And Aegon for your brother?"

Aemond shook his head. "No," he echoed, feeling his throat tighten, "not Aegon. Daeron."

"Daeron," Baela murmured in agreement. "It's a strong name for your heir."

"It is," he agreed, albeit weakly from where he stood over her, his eye flicking from the newborn boy cradled in her arms to the girl resting in Rhaena's arms opposite him. The boy who was the spit of Aemond, right down to the shape of his eyes and the slope of his nose.

His son.

His daughter.

Twins.

He swallowed as he took a half step closer, keeping his eye trained on them. "May I?"

Baela's head snaps upward at the sound of his voice. "Are you truly asking to hold your own children?" she asked, an incredulous expression spreading across her face. She let out a laugh as he sent her a more than unamused look. "I jest, husband."

He only frowned at her, hardly looking convinced, but let it go anyway.

She shifted against the pillows, careful not to jostle their boy too much as she sat up straighter. "Here," she said, softer this time as she placed Daeron in his arms. She watched them carefully, not missing the way Aemond stiffened, watching with rapture as his son's eyes opened, already a light shade of purple.

"He has my father's eyes," she noted, drawing a finger over the skin of his cheek, meeting Aemond's gaze when he glanced up at her, a look in his eye that she'd never seen before.

Rhaena had been right that day, she couldn't help but think as she grinned at him. He had been trying to be a good husband to her, patient even when she rebuffed and refused him those early months, refusing to budge over and over and over again.

Or maybe she had been too prideful, too full of her own hubris and too blind to admit it.

#my fics #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction

147 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 1 year

Text

I hate how much heteronormative storytelling links romance and sexuality together, because I just know that that’s why it took me so many years to figure out that I’m ace.

And yes, I’m specifying heternormative storytelling, because that’s the thing we get force-fed in media pretty much from the day we first get put in front of a screen.

Once we move past the fluffy Disney movie stage of life and enter the teenage years, where sexuality becomes a part of the storytelling to varying degrees of explicitness, we hit the real problem zone. *

(* For this particular issue. The forced romantic narrative in every single children’s movie is its own problem zone when we’re talking about aromanticism.)

A thing I complain about quite frequently is the lack of m/f friendships, the way whenever A Guy and A Gal are friends, the heteronormativity kicks in. Unless they’re both in explicit other (stable! not ‘this ship is meant to be broken up for The Main Romance’) romantic relationships, it’s virtually impossible for the straights to just... keep them friends. There have to be some kind of romantic feelings involved. No other possible reason why A Guy might like A Gal or vice versa. The notion of pure, actual friendship goes over these writers’ heads.

Anyway. To the point of the post. Once The Gal and The Guy realize that they aren’t ~just friends~ but really have romantic feelings for each other and once the will they/won’t they stops and they actually will... More often than not do the writers forget to actually include any romance at all.

I mean, genuinely. Their relationship continues the exact same way it was before they got together. But now they have sex. The only discernible difference between “friendship” and “romance” in pretty much every TV show or movie I grew up on was that they now fucked and kissed.

Very often highlighted even more by the fact that they’re portrayed as so fucking horny, they barely got the confession out before immediately stumbling into the bedroom to get it on. Not a single date. Not even a full conversation wasted there. Just going at it like Noah just herded them onto a big ship.

And if you grow up watching these things during your formative years of what constitutes a relationship and they influence you during your “what the fuck’s going on with my own identity” phase, they paint an incredibly conflated image of romance and sex.

Namely, that romance not only doesn’t work without sex, but even more so also a notion that the only real difference between friendship and romance is sexual intercourse.

So, even if the term “asexual” somehow crossed your path at any point prior to the “what the fuck’s going on with my own identity” phase, that gets immediately dismissed as even vaguely being a possibility if you do experience romantic attraction. **

(** And also if you experience aesthetic attraction, seeing as absolutely nobody and nothing really prepared 90s kids for the difference between aesthetic and sexual attraction. Kids nowadays have more resources more readily available thanks to the internet and I’m genuinely so glad for them.)

Clearly, I can’t be asexual because I find people pretty and finding people pretty means wanting to have sex with them and having sex is the requirement for romance and I do want romance in my life. So, I guess I’m a “late bloomer”?

So. Yeah. My two cents on how heteronormative storytelling has harmed not just homosexual kids figuring themselves out but also asexual kids, because of the ways in which heterosexual relationships have been and still are being framed in media.

#Asexuality #Ace Stuff #Aspec Stuff

2K notes · View notes

teambyler · 1 month

Text

"Too late" for a Byler twist? Absolutely not:

"They've built up Mike + El for 4 seasons! You can't suddenly have Mike like Will in the last season!"

It doesn't take long to make the audience favor a ship, so long as the seeds have been planted, and the seeds HAVE been planted for Mike and Will, especially in s4.

Let's look at another example in the same show. In s2, Steve left Nancy drunk at the party. Yes he had a reason to be upset, but it was very dangerous to leave your girlfriend like that. It was Jonathan who took her home. And in her drunken state she expressed feelings for him. He could have taken advantage of the situation but knew not to do so:

Viewers then knew that Jonathan was better for Nancy. THAT ONE SCENE WAS ALL IT TOOK. And it was the 2nd episode of the season!

The groundwork just has to be laid first. And there is MORE groundwork for the "surprise" in Byler's case. Season 4 was chockful of evidence that Mike and Will have growing feelings for each other. And the triggering event has already been prepared: Mike finding out about the painting.

And El isn't speaking to Mike at the end of s4. Contrast this to where Steve and Nancy were at the end of s1:

The only thing preventing some viewers from seeing the possibility of Byler is heteronormativity, our cultural tendency to assume characters are straight unless shown otherwise. (Which also affected me as a gay guy before I saw Byler breakdowns online.) I'm confident that the "surprise" for many viewers will be overtaken by the desire so many people have for Will to have a happy ending.

There only needs to be ONE SCENE.

-teambyler

#byler #byler theory #byler evidence #stranger things #st5 #st5 speculation

159 notes · View notes

lunarfleur · 2 months

Note

Sure! I don't mind requesting something new! So you write somewhere in your works how Miles 42 and reader met through location, "whether it be going to the same school or living in the same building or whatever"

I wanna' see a fanfic in Miles pov how he and reader met and how their relationship developed throughout the process! I wanna' know if he's going to make a move in interacting with reader or such. :))

Mr. Tambourine Man ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

A/N: Many people will tell you this song is about a drug dealer. I, however, have always taken Mr. Tambourine Man as an analogy for youth. Take this as you will.

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @hiyaitssans @nagi3seastorm @luvjunie @milesmolasses @n1cole-ghost @kombuuuu

This is x fem! Reader

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to

Growing up, Miles had always been the dull kid in the corner of the classroom. It was his nature.

He didn’t really remember his dad’s death, but there was always a sort of emptiness in the Morales apartment that never got filled. The emptiness has always been there, in his home and in his mother.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

On the late nights, he hears his mother sitting in the living room all by herself lonesome. She sits on the couch, in the same spot she has been all these years; next to the spot his father would have taken up.

He can imagine it: his mother curled up under a blanket, her husband’s arm resting over her shoulders. He’d kiss her head and the spot behind her ear. She’d pretend to pay no mind and act as if he doesn’t still make her giddy like he did back when they were young.

Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand.

Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping.

But his father was not there. The late Jeff Morales did not get to stay up with his wife, watching the television as their child sleeps. He was dead, but it sometimes felt like his ghost was haunting the city. He’s gone, but it’s like he’s still there.

As he grew up, Miles did not get the joy his classmates did. He watched his mother work like a dog to support the two of them. He spent many nights alone, waiting for her to come home.

It was sad. Miles was sad.

My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet.

I have no one to meet, and the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

So here he sits, in the corner of his studio art class, his last period of the day. Miles is behind an easel, dried paint covering his hands and table. There was music playing in his headphones, but he wasn’t really listening. It was to block out the other noises.

The door opens, and in walks a girl he’s never seen. It was an odd feeling, at first, a shred of nervousness he didn’t quite understand.

He looked around the room, at all the other students and seats, only to realize the one next to him was the only one open. Perfect.

She talks to the teacher, nothing he can hear, snd watches as she slowly makes her way over to the spot next to him. Miles turns away, picking up his paint brush to avoid and other contact.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

Unfortunately for him, Miles looks unapproachable. He looks like he should be friendly and open. He’s got those big, brown, shiny doe eyes and dimples. His face is dusted with freckles. His lips are big and plush. His nose sits perfectly in the center of his face, blending together nicely with every other feature.

However, people avoid him. He’s quiet and keeps to himself. Miles is sort of a mystery, someone people don’t know much about. He’s got eye bags and an RBF, so people leave him alone. Sometimes it seems as if he’s invisible.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.

My senses have been stripped.

The girl sits down, taking out her supplies as she was most likely directed. Tense hands moved shakily. Her breaths were harsh. Her eyebrows furrowed tightly against her forehead. She was nervous.

With a skip of his heart, Miles clears his throat. Her head snaps over quickly, eyes wide with anxiety as he stared her down.

My hands can't feel to grip.

My toes too numb to step.

“Uh..I’m Miles.��

She hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek before nodding.

“Y/N.”

Miles doesn’t look away. Y/N peeks over at his canvas. Her lips curve down into a smile, any trace of her previous fear gone. Her lips pressed together tightly, eyebrows raising. No tension, no anxiety.

“You’re really talented.”

“…Thanks.”

Her smile did not falter. She looked at him for a moment, and that one moment felt like an eternity.

Her nose, cheeks, and lips were a blend of heaven sitting on her face. Her hair was smooth and clean. Miles swore her eyes looked like stars.

Y/N was definitely beautiful.

Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade into my own parade.

Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.

“What, uh,” Miles spoke again, “what class was you coming from?”

He watched as Y/N fumbled with her schedule, a blue piece of paper crumpling in her hands.

“I have Spanish II, but I was in the office.”

Miles nodded, a small simper forming across his lips.

“I’m in there, too.”

Y/N grinned at him, eyes squinting slightly. It was almost bright.

Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone.

It's just escaping on the run.

“I’ll walk with you, tomorrow?”

It came out as a question, and Miles would be lying if he said that didn’t surprise him. There was a fuzzy, warm feeling in his stomach that, for a second, made him question if he was getting sick.

Y/N chuckled, a simple melody that sent flowers blooming across his skin. It felt like goosebumps, but much more intense. The sensation matched that of bathing in the sun.

“I’d like that.”

And but for the sky there are no fences facing.

And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time

Y/N glanced over to a small group of kids sitting diagonally from them. They were watching intently, eyes wide with curiosity. As quickly as it came, Miles’s almost cheerful expression fell back into place. The corners of his lips dropped, so did his eyebrows. In less than a moment, he was tense once more.

It's just a ragged clown behind.

I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing.

They turned away awkwardly, returning to their projects. Y/N sucked in a breath. There was tension within her chest. It was a sudden, sharp sensation in his fingertips.

“So did you just move here?”

Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, from New Jersey.”

Miles nodded along intently.

“How come?”

“Family.”

Questions and answers came as the two packed up their things.

And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time

The loud and obnoxious bell rang, and every other student in the class shoved past one another to get out of the room.

Far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees.

They walked down the hallways together slowly. For the first time, he felt as if he could ask questions. For the first time, someone answered. She answered.

Out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

“So, what’s Jersey like?”

“Well, it’s fun. The food is great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Miles snickered.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky, with one hand waving free.

“Do you like New York?”

“I’m…adjusting.”

“Adjusting?”

“It’s easy to get lost, here.”

Smiling shyly, Y/N pressed her lips together firmly. Miles could almost feel the heat of embarrassment coming from off her face.

“You just need someone to show you around. It gets easy, after all while.”

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands.

“What’s there to show?”

Miles smiled, looking at the girl next to him as they stepped down the front steps of Visions Academy.

“The sky.”

There was a sudden melancholy feeling that ran down Miles’s spine. It was the same feeling he’d felt on those late nights, waiting for his mother to come home.

Miles did not remember his dad’s death. He didn’t remember the funeral. He just remembered the day the apartment felt less like home.

With all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

“It’s the same sky as the one in New Jersey.”

“Different view.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

“You’ll show me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll show you.”

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

“Good.”

“I’ll show you my mural, too.”

“Mural?”

“For my dad.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

Miles nodded, smiling. She nodded back, humming in reply.

Miles had always been so much like his father. The same smile, the same attitude, the same wit.

Y/N looked at Miles curiously, and Miles became painfully aware of that fact. Birds sung in his lungs and trees grew in his mind. Fresh air.

“Let’s go, Miles. I’m expecting a tour.”

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

#earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #spiderman #miles morales #miles morales x reader

153 notes · View notes

orionsangel86 · 1 year

Text

Hob Gadling - A Queer Romantic?

I have been listening to The World's End chapters of The Sandman on Audible lately and just finished Hob's Leviathan. I didn't pay this story much attention when I first read the comic, as I tended to read through the stories quickly and put more focus into the stories where Dream had a larger role. But one of the reasons I like listening to the Audible book is because it allows me to absorb each story more thoroughly and take my time thinking about each one and the (usually multiple) meanings behind them.

Hob Gadling is a character that fandom has fallen in love with. I think this is clear to anyone that takes even a partial glance at Sandman fandom. This isn't a criticism - Ferdie's performance as Hob in the Netflix show has done wonders for Hob's character. He has made his version of Hob very easy to fall in love with!

But the truth is that in The Sandman comics, Hob is a minor character who we only get to know very little about. The story Hob's Leviathan appears in The Worlds End Sandman book. We only meet him twice before this, once in The Doll's House, where we are introduced to him in Men of Good Fortune, and again in Season of Mists when Dream comes to let him know that he may miss their next meeting. In both these issues, Hob is introduced via the narrator, and therefore I like to think that we are given a fairly honest representation of the kind of person he is. We watch him grow and learn throughout the centuries in MoGF, but one of the major takeaways from this I believe is that he tends to always be on the wrong side of history. He makes bad choices and can be a bit narrow minded. He is rude and selfish and also rather self-absorbed. I actually think that the performance of the voice actor who plays Hob in the Audible book emphasises these character flaws making him even more unlikeable in many ways, though I am aware that this could just be my own experience and opinion.

But Hob's Leviathan takes a different view of Hob. Literally. The narrator of this story is a young boy of 16 called Jim. Jim met Hob on a ship travelling from Bombay to Liverpool in 1914. Jim was working on the ship as a cabin boy and Hob had bought his passage back to England - though it is revealled at the end of the story that Hob actually owned the ship they were travelling on. It is clear that at this point in time, Hob is extremely wealthy.

Jim attends to Hob throughout the journey, and grows very fond of him. In Jim's tale, Hob is a good man, who is kind and thoughtful and cares about others. He saves the life of a stowaway (who turns out to be another immortal). He is shown to be patient, and funny, and very intelligent. Jim waxes poetic about how smart Hob is, and how much he impressed him. It is particularly clear in the Audible book that Jim is taken with Hob, to the point that it could arguably be a crush.

It is fascinating how much more likeable Hob is when narrated from the viewpoint of someone with a crush on him, whether this story is exaggerated through rose tinted glasses is of course something to consider. All the tales in World's End are just that, tales. There is a constant undercurrent of exaggeration and make believe to them where even the other patrons of the inn question elements to each of the stories. We are not supposed to take these stories as absolute fact, rather they are supposed to reveal to us more about the narrators as well as their own experiences existing in this magical and strange world.

When it is revealled that Jim is actually a girl called Peggy in disguise so they can get work on the ships, the quite obvious crush makes more sense to a heteronormative audience, but what I particularly like about this story is its queer potential. See in the comic, it isn't really clarified if Jim goes by Jim because they feel more themselves as a boy, rather than a girl, or if they are disguising themself as a boy just to get work as a means to an end. I would argue that the latter is the more obvious interpretation. Jim tells the other World's End patrons that they are getting too old to keep up the disguise and will eventually have to stop working in shipping, and that when that happens, they will take on a new name, a new identity and do something else, but that for now, the patrons can keep calling them Jim.

*for a lack of clarity around the point in the comic, I am going to use gender neutral pronouns for Jim going forward*

Now from Hob's POV, he figured out that Jim was a girl, and they talk about it briefly along with the sea serpent they saw. I think that at this point, Hob is impressively progressive compared to the previous times we have met him. Now whether or not this is biased storytelling from someone who has a crush on him remains to be seen, but if we take Jim's word as truth, not only is 1914 Hob a fair and honest man who is willing to pay the way of a stowaway and fully respect the secrets of a young girl disguised as a boy so they can work on ships, but he's also totally comfortable flirting with them.

I like that he calls Jim the "handsome cabin boy". I like that this version of Hob, whether real or an exaggeration skewed by Jim's feelings for him, respects Jim's identity. Jim may be a girl in disguise, but Hob doesnt call her pretty, he calls him handsome.

It's all just a bit subtly queer and I like that for Hob (But then I would do, I'm a Dreamling shipper HA)

When Jim finishes their story, they state that they didn't see Hob again after that, but the comics later do give us a possible outcome to Jim's story...

We next see Hob in The Kindly Ones where he is mourning the death of his girlfriend Audrey. He briefly reveals that Audrey was the first person he had loved since Peggy, who was his lover until her death during the Blitz. Whilst it isn't made clear that Hob's lover Peggy is the same Jim that we meet in World's End, it is a bit too much of a coincidence. The timing adds up. If Jim was 16 in 1914, they'd be in their early 40s during the Blitz. Hob remains forever in his early 30s so I'd say its a safe bet that Jim eventually found Hob again and they were together. Hob loved them enough that he wasn't with anyone again until Audrey in the 80s. That's 50 years worth of mourning. A long time not to be with anyone, even for an immortal.

It's funny because we know so little about Hob, but one thing that I have seen commented on here a lot is that comic Hob is deemed to be as Straight as an arrow. Now I admit that the voice actor in the Audible book plays him very straight, but that is still only one interpretation.

All this is to say that I am fascinated with how the Netflix show will adapt this, since Hob in the show already comes across much kinder and more selfless than his comic counterpart. He already has an entire fandom viewing him as queer, and the comics certainly don't outright shut down such interpretations. There are moments in the comics that you have to wonder on. He does call Jim handsome rather than pretty, and when he talks to Audrey's grave he mentions his wives and loves as separate groups. He talks about finding it easy to get sex if you want it, and he talks about it in generally gender neutral terms. In Sunday Mourning Gwen reveals that she thought he was gay when she first met him, though her reasonings were that he knew so many dead people (a dark reminder that these comics were published at the height of the Aids epidemic). He reacts very badly to the news of Morpheus' death. He states on several occassions just how much he liked Morpheus, and he is one of the few people to wake up from the Wake with tears running down his cheeks. I would arguably state that its between Hob and Matthew as to who had the worst reaction to Morpheus' death, showing just how much both Hob and Matthew cared about him, and placing Hob on par with Matthew in the comics is a big deal. He seriously considers accepting Death's gift when she offers it, simply because Morpheus is dead. He doesn't, because at the end of the day, its just not in his nature to do so, and given he then dreams of Morpheus, I like to think that it was a test, that he passed.

When it comes to how the show will adapt all this, I genuinely think it will take a new approach with Jim/Peggy. I think they will be either a trans man, or at least non binary. But I think having Jim be a trans man is the better option. In the comics, Jim's tale is only very subtly queer, Jim clearly likes being Jim, but it seems like its a means to an end, a convenience in order to get work on the ships, rather than being something that is core to Jim's feelings on their gender. Besides, if we assume that Jim is indeed the Peggy Hob talks about in The Kindly Ones, then we know that Jim goes back to being Peggy when they get older and apparently continues living as a woman whilst they are with Hob, otherwise I doubt Hob would have referred to one of his greatest loves by a name they themselves rejected and only used she/her pronouns when talking about them. Nevertheless there is no reason for the show to take this approach, and if they DO decide that Jim should be a trans man, then their relationship with Hob is canonically a queer one. Trans men are men and if one of Hob's greatest loves is a trans man, then Hob is a queer man himself. I genuinely believe the show will take this route and I can't wait to see it.

Going back to my point about narrators bias, if MoGF, SoM, tKO, and TW are all narrated by a neutral third party, then this must be the true Hob. A not overly likeable rather selfish man. He has his good points, and he has certainly grown and changed over the centuries, and carries a lot of guilt for his past mistakes, but he is still quite self absorbed. Jim paints a picture of a rose tinted Hob that is far more the dreamy romantic older gentleman that took a young person under his wing. Which is fair enough.

The show is of course its own adaptation, with changes from the comics as it sees fit, but I do feel it's my duty to remind you that the show also has a narrator guiding the audience through its many stories. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, King of Nightmares and Prince of Stories himself. Take from that whatever you will.

;-)

#why yes i did just imply that show!hob comes across so likeable because we are seeing him from Dream's POV #what of it?#lmao #sandman meta #the sandman #sandman analysis #hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #the worlds end #sandman comic spoilers #major sandman comic spoilers #the sandman comics

653 notes · View notes