mags-writes

[mags-writes]

for a potential gladiator ii lucius x reader fic that i might not even publish, which title and quote sounds better??

[mags-writes]

BORN OF WAR [ERROR: FIC NOT FOUND]

LADY AERONA OF HOUSE BRACKEN || lady of the red horse

Records of Lady Aerona Bracken are scarce. As such, Maester Munkin only mentions her in passing, saying that she was a close friend of Princess Blodwyn in their childhood. He assumes that when Lady Aerona's uncle had petitioned the King for justice to be served against Willem Blackwood for the death of his son was when the two met. He does not mention her again.

Mushroom has just as much to say for Lady Aerona. He says that when Princess Blodwyn arrived on Dragonstone to falsely bend the knee to Queen Rhaenyra, Lady Aerona accompanied her. She was widowed by that point but he could not say who her husband was or who even her father was. She dutifully stayed by the Princess and Queen's side as a lady in waiting but he found her far too boring to report on.

In the Riverlands, however, there was a Septa in the Bracken House charged with educating Lady Aerona. Septa Tarla kept multiple diaries chronicling her time with Lady Aerona and her family. If the diaries are to be believed, Lady Aerona had a twin brother named Aerion and it was their uncle who was patriarch of the family. Mere years before The Dance, Lady Aerona was betrothed and married to Ser Davos of House Blackwood in an attempt at peace. The peace did not last, as Lady Aerona was not able to produce a child in a timely manner and her uncle severed ties when she proclaimed to be in love with her Blackwood husband. The conflict escalated after the start of The Dance and in one fell swoop, Lady Aerona lost both her husband and twin brother in the same battle. The Brackens would not take her back and the Blackwoods tolerated her so long as she stayed silent. So, when the Tarlahrys were passing through with a hidden Princess Blodwyn, Lady Aerona took her chance at freedom. Septa Tarla does not write of Lady Aerona again until the news of her death. Lady Aerona was slain when Queen Rhaenyra fell into her brother's trap on Dragonstone. Septa Tarla travelled to the island in search of the body, to bring back to the Riverlands for a funeral befitting her people, however, all she found was bloodstained stone. Septa Tarla then travelled to Kingslanding, hoping to the Seven that her body was not on display at the Red Keep, but she found nothing. She writes that her body was never recovered and prayed every day that she had survived.

[mags-writes]

BORN OF WAR [ERROR: FIC NOT FOUND]

LADY VAESELLA OF HOUSE TARLAHRYS || lady heir to the red keep and lady of the godswood

Maester Munkun expresses a deep and emotional empathy for the House Tarlahrys throughout The Dance of the Dragons. He writes first about their function in the Red Keep; The Keepers of the Keep they were called. The first in their line, Aegon the Conquerer's bastard son Daemor, had many children with his wife and they had many more grandchildren- most of them bastards as he once was. They were the driving force in building the Red Keep, memorising every servant and secret passageway. Once the Keep was built, they were the sole managers of the entire serving staff in the castle. Lady Fraeya, the matriarch of the house, was married to Argellos Baratheon while her elder sister Rowaena, married Otto Hightower after the mourning period ended for his late wife. Lady Fraeya had four daughters by her husband, Vaesella, the eldest, the twins Daemyra and Daenyra, and Maelora. Maester Munkun writes that Lady Vaesella Tarlahrys, Lady Laena Verlaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen grew up as the closest of friends. Lady Vaesella married before both of her childhood companions, to Lord Dorian Tarth who, out of respect of her Valyrian heritage, went by the Tarlahrys name after their wedding. He was ridiculed by the court behind his back but none were stupid enough to do so to his face, as one word to the princess and they would be banished from court. Lady Vaesella had three girls by him, Jaecehra the eldest, and the twins Alys and Arianwen. When Viserys died and Aegon II was crowned, Lady Rowaena Hightower with the help of Lady Maelora took her sister and nieces hostage while Lord Argellos was in the North visiting The Wall. Lady Fraeya bargained with her sister, allowing her to be executed for conspiracy against the king so long as her children and grandchildren went free. Lady Vaesella lead their pilgrimage North to Winterfell and bent to the knee to Lord Cregan Stark, begging him to help what was left of her family. He had to unfortunately tell her that not only did her aunt execute her mother, her husband was also beheaded in the skirmish for power in the night. Lord Cregan Stark gifted them Old Castle in the south region of the North, a fitting place for them to be as they were from an old, southern bloodline setting roots in a new place. Maester Munkun writes that Lady Vaesella fell ill for most of the war, grief stricken at the loss of her mother, husband and others she considered part of her family. Her daughters, however, had a fire in them that the Greens were happy to extinguish. One by one, Lady Vaesella lost her daughters to the war and had none but her sisters to keep her sane. After the war she married a Bolton bastard known as Roy Snow and together they arranged marriages into the Northern Houses for her sisters. They had a daughter together, Vaenya, who succeeded her mother when she passed away in 173 A.C.

Mushroom writes that the House Tarlahrys was riddled with witchcraft and practitioners of evil magic. They huddled in the corners and crevices of the Red Keep casting their spells, hearing through walls and seeing in the dark. Lady Maelora was proof enough for him. He says that Lady Maelora and Prince Aemond would oft sneak to the dragon pits for her to taunt the dragons. She claimed she had a dragon inside her and that it was more powerful than the baby dragons they had chained in the pits. Lady Maelora and Princess Blodwyn were the best of friends for this reason but Mushroom is the only source for this claim. He says that Lady Maelora and Prince Aemond rutted like wild animals any time they were behind closed doors but that Lady Vaesella was a prude and it was an intervention from the gods that gave her children. She was a meek and lesser-willed girl in the world of killers and she lost. Mushroom holds no sympathy for her; consequently, he has little to say about this intriguing family.

[mags-writes]

BORN OF WAR [ERROR: FIC NOT FOUND]

PRINCESS BLODWYN OF HOUSE TARGARYEN || the flower of the red keep

Grand Maester Munkun does not speak much of the Princess Blodwyn throughout the events of The Dance of the Dragons. She was the second born daughter of King Viserys I and Queen Aemma, sickly in her first few months of life and a terror when she began to walk the castle. Master Munkun recites that she was the rider of Gorgoth, a blood red dragon with pearly white membrane, wings, spikes and horns. A temperamental beast that only she could handle. She was described as a milky, pale, skinny girl, with bright red eyes and hair as white as snow. She was only three when her mother died in the birthing bed and had turned four when her father remarried her stepmother, Alicent Hightower. She grew up at the Queen's side, calling her mother and loving her siblings, and was said to be lovely company at court after a few years of harsh parenting from Queen Alicent. Maester Munkun tells that when her nephew, Prince Lucerys, was slain by her brother, Prince Aemond, she plotted to join the blacks and beg her sister for forgiveness. He tells that she had slain a guard in the night and flew with nothing but her nightdress to Dragonstone and from thereon she stays at her sisters side. He finishes his account of her by saying she survived The Dance, marrying a Lord's son from the Riverlands and staying by her surviving nephews side in court.

Mushroom has much more to say about Princess Blodwyn. He says the Princess was more than an odd girl but quite possibly mad. That when she was a teenager she read about the dark magic that her ancestor, Queen Visenya, had practised and had fallen so deeply into it that she had lost her sanity. He says she cast spells on full moons and ran around the castle in the nude when it stormed. That she performed rituals on the Kingsguard she took to her bed. He even says that she took her own brothers and uncle to her bed, letting them take turns with her body as a way to keep them in line or do her bidding for her. Mushroom says that while riding her dragon, Gorgoth, she would shriek at the top of her lungs to further terrify the people of Kingslanding, leaving her voice hoarse and husky. He does not deny that the Princess and the Queen were close, they would oft refer to one another as mother and daughter, but the Queen was blinded by her love for Princess Blodwyn to see how conniving she truly was. Mushroom says that she would play both sides of the Black and Green courts, going from Queen to Princess with whispers to spur them on for fun. He says that the only reason she escaped was because she subdued Ser Criston Cole in her bed and slipped away in the night. Once she made it to the court of her sister on Dragonstone she easily bent the knee, swearing allegiance to the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms just as she had done for her brother. She whispered sweet and strong words of devotion and battle but Queen Rhaenyra would not let her sister fight for her, insisting that she stay by her side instead. Mushroom says that when Queen Rhaenyra was caught in the trap laid by their brother, she bent the knee to him and begged for his forgiveness. He even goes as far as to say that it was Blodwyn who gave him the idea to feed their sister to his dragon and that she was the one to poison him but this, among other things he has said about her, is preposterous.

She survived The Dance, happily marrying a third son of the Lord of House Dayne and gave him three sons and three daughters. She died in her sleep, in the year 178 A.C. surrounded by her children and grandchildren.

[mags-writes]

rivalry — blackwood and bracken arranged marriage au

pt. 1 — bracken!reader x davos blackwood

au where two marriage pacts end the rivalry between the blackwoods and the brackens (i don't care if this has been done before this is my version gbye)

as always, warnings: misogyny, davos is a fucking FREAK, smuuuuut, dirty talk, breeding kink

lmk if u want pt 2 — aeron bracken x blackwood!fem!reader ;)

my fiancé actually loosely edited this for me so if this sucks it's his fault

____

“let’s get this over with.”

you gulped. you had been dreading this moment ever since your father announced there would be a peace treaty between your family, the brackens, and the blackwoods. the ceremony, the feast, and the dancing were not your biggest concern — but your wedding night? nothing could stop your hands from shaking — and your new husband, davos blackwood, surely wouldn’t step forward and aid you in your time of anxiety.

you folded your lip in between your teeth, playing with the exquisite shift that was custom made for this exact night — a night supposed to be consumed by the throws of pleasure and a hopeful future, possibly in the form of an heir. you couldn’t believe the brokering of peace came in the form of a marriage pact — to someone who would never see you as anything but a bracken, his enemy.

two marriage pacts, actually — you married davos blackwood, and your brother, aeron bracken, married davos' sister. two feuding families. bound not just by one marriage pact, but two — because everyone knew that only one marriage would not have been sufficient for peace. not only was he forced to spend his life, or the rest of yours, with a bracken — but his sister? forced to marry a bracken, as well? aeron bracken? of them all?

you could see it on his face — gray with sick. it turned your stomach as well — to realize you were loathed so much.

“i can’t change who i am,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes on the floor. “nor my heritage. i understand you loathe the sight of me, for what it reminds you of — but i can’t change that.”

he didn’t respond. he just undressed with his back turned to you, save for his pants and under shirt. you watched the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he tugged off the garments, preparing for bed. you couldn’t see his face as he undressed — and you weren’t sure if it was good or bad. good because you could speak boldly — bad because he refused to look at you, and possibly would refuse your request.

“but as your wife... even if it’s the one you didn’t wish for…” you sighed, losing your thoughts and confidence. “i promise to not be a bother to you — the only thing i ask… is…”

he turned towards you then, but not completely. it was like he gave you his attention, but was fully aware of what he withheld from you — even though you were practically baring your soul to him. you weren’t in his head, you couldn’t be sure… but his silence was enough of a signal that he most likely would not understand a woman’s anxiety in a moment like this.

here goes absolutely nothing, you thought. you mustered up whatever courage you had — albeit very little — and continued, “you do not owe me anything — but i… i…”

“spit it out,” he bit.

your mouth fell slightly agape with his tone. it was the way feuding men speak to each other — not a feuding husband and wife. it was like you were stripped of your femininity and your new identity as his wife, and replaced with that of a rival male — causing you to come to the realization that this feud ran so deep that not even two marriage pacts with the hope of inspiring peace would be sufficient.

he would always hate you. always.

he’s going to hate you as if you’re your brother anyway, you thought. might as well have the stones to match.

you clenched your jaw, raising your eyeline. you refused to cower to a man when it wouldn’t make him hate you less — and especially not if it definitely wouldn’t get you what you wanted. you were afraid, and out of options. with a sigh, you responded, “be gentle with me the first time. just the first — that is all i ask.”

you held his gaze then — refusing to look away. he needed to know how desperate you were, to avoid that unfathomable pain as much as possible. you’d look him in the eye, the eye of the enemy of your family for the last few centuries — because otherwise the shame and dishonor was too great, and too heavy for a new wife to bear.

if you weren’t so intent on not seeming weak, you should have looked — actually looked — at your husband. at how broad his shoulders appeared in comparison to his lean waist and hips. his light eyes that seem to pierce you in a way that only a dagger could; sharp, and forever on edge. how he was so handsome that you might done anything to see him smile or laugh… but you couldn’t. wouldn't. you most likely would never get that chance — but you bet that he looked so handsome when he smiled.

but he would never smile for a bracken.

“be gentle with you?” he asked, accusation already in his eyes. his fists were bawled at his sides as he walked towards you. “as if your craven brother would be gentle with my sister?”

“how dare you even insinuate my brother would treat his lady wife with anything but kindness and respect!” you spat, leaning towards him with anger dripping from your pretty lips. “he may not like this situation any more than us — but he would never harm a woman, no matter what family she came from.”

he shook his head, glancing away from you. “you are actually naive enough to believe that?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “if you’re stupid enough to believe that of him — then why would you want to be the very thing that you hope does not enter your sister’s bed this very same evening? — do you wish to be as despicable as you believe him to be, my lord husband?”

“watch your mouth, wife!” he spat through gritted teeth. “you would do well to mind your craven tongue.”

you mouth fell agape at his words. “my craven tongue, blackwood?” you scoffed at his words, suddenly too angry to be in the room with him. you didn’t want to get this angry — you wanted this to be as peaceful as possible. “i suddenly find myself wanting to leave this room — do enjoy our wedding night by yourself husband. i’m sure you’re well acquainted with your hand —“

you went to push by him, but he grabbed you by the elbow. he refused to let you pass, but you did not press the subject with words or jerking movements of your body. you did not know your husband — only his reputation from the mouths of kin. you did not dare push his anger — not when he could do with you as he pleased in this room, with no consequence outside these walls.

“i have been made very well aware of a bracken’s inability to perform their duty — but you will not stop me from performing mine, wife,” he grit, glaring down at you.

“i asked you to perform it honorably, husband! — if you can’t, then your reputation precedes you,” you spat. “so what will it be? i put the cards in your hands — so deal.”

his nose curled into a snarl, matching the hateful expression on his face. hatred poured from his veins, while you could feel your own resolve slipping away from your face. fear was creeping back in, as boldness only got a woman so far in the bedroom of an angry man. fear, fear, fear. it leaked from every one of your pores like tears, but you fought those. you blinked several times in order to hide what you could. if he saw the fear on your face, his own expression didn’t change.

…unless he knew the fear was always there, and he didn’t care.

“…please,” you whispered, anger still on your face but your voice threatening to break. “just tonight, husband — please.”

“i would never hurt a woman,” he spat, the flames on his face beginning to subside. “only a bracken —“

“i didn’t think you would hurt a woman,” you spoke, trying to soften your voice. “i asked — because others have described this pain as one of the worst. i was afraid, lord husband — but not of you.”

while you intentionally softened your voice, your husband did no such thing. he merely let his anger die with your words, most likely at the fact that you were the one to admit weakness. you were the one to admit vulnerability. you were the one to have to beg. you had won, but at what cost to your pride?

it didn’t matter now. all that mattered was getting this done. quick, done, and over with.

“lie on your back,” was all he said, holding your gaze.

your lips parted as your eyes looked down at the floor. you turned in place, and began walking towards the bed. you laid down on, fighting the urge to twist your fingers together in anxiety. you kept your head forward, but your gaze down and to the side. out of the corner of your eye, you could see your husband walk over to the bed and climb on top of you.

he unlaced his leathers as he spoke, both of you avoiding the other’s eyes. “avoid allowing your muscles to tense up — it will only make it worse.”

you whispered a small “okay,” barely audible.

you opened your legs, lifting up slightly at your hips for him to rest comfortably. he adjusted, before you watched him bring his hand to his mouth. you couldn’t help yourself — you watched as his lips sucked his long fingers past their opening, lubricating the digits. his eyebrows knitted together with the motion, before his fingers found their way between your thighs. you fought the urge to jump or squeal when you felt his warm, wet fingers thread through your folds.

he let out a sigh of discontent before glancing up to your face.

“trust me, alright?” he asked.

you didn’t verbally respond. you simply looked at him with your lips slightly parted, eventually nodding.

that was enough for him. he climbed down the length of your body, settling himself between your legs. he raised the length of your shift up to your stomach, leaving your bare from the abdomen down. in your nervous state, you took it as a cue to slip your dress off. when he saw the cool air hit your naked breasts and harden your nipples into a peak, his own lips parted — and you felt a growing mass harden against your leg.

“you’re beautiful, wife,” he spoke — seemingly without realizing it. you almost thanked him, before he added, “...for a bracken.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, ready to respond — when he dipped below your navel.

you sucked in a sharp breath of surprise — you couldn’t help it.

his tongue licked up and down the length of your slit, and dove in between your folds. you immediately covered your mouth with your hand, all of your muscles going tense. davos had wrapped his arms under your thighs, hoisting them around his shoulders. his tongue was thick and messy against your folds, causing them to glisten in the flames of the nearby fire.

and once his tongue made contact with the pearl at the very top of your slit, you let out an exhale of ease. it was not lost on your husband — who drew a circle around the circumference of the bud. when he noticed you relaxed more, he drew another. when he noticed you fought the urge to buck your hips up to meet his mouth, he drew yet another. he knew what was happening — but he wasn’t sure if you did.

when you began to fist the sheets with your one free hand, he didn’t stop drawing.

he locked his head in between your thighs with them thrown over his shoulders. your cunt was dripping juices from your sweet, untouched hole — and davos found himself ashamed to admit that he lost himself in the act. for a moment, he couldn’t help but forget the name of the girl above him — the one taking everything he gave her, and acting so grateful with the way she couldn’t stay still.

but after that moment… he could’ve ripped away and plunged into you, making the act become done and over quicker. he could’ve… but he found himself enjoying it.

he continued to draw those circles — those small, tiny, wet circles that sent you in a haze — as he slipped a finger inside your cunt. and then two. he was greedy for your reaction. he was greedy for the way he knew, he fucking knew, that you had never experienced pleasure like this — not by you or anyone else. him, a blackwood, would be the one to make you feel so good you would forget your name and house for even the smallest moment — even the smallest moment would be a win for his pride and for his house.

a small part of him hoped you’d feel shame at the fact he’d make you succumb to the throws of pleasure... but a larger part of him wanted to make you feel so good that you allegiance to your house wavered. ...but when he began to suck on your clit, sounds filling the room — he knew it would be both.

from below, he watched you shove the side of your face into the pillow and pull at its threads. your hips began to ride against his face, coating his chin with everything you could give him. he held you down the best he could — bratty little thing you were, but it was difficult as he also wanted you to lose control. he watched as you tried to bite your lip, harder and harder and harder — before you gave up. you left out a sob into the pillow, legs still shaking, and davos kissed your clit.

when davos crawled back up to meet you, every nerve ending had pins and needles. you were warm from head to toe — no longer in need of the fire, your shift, or any blanket. you were shivering, but not from the cold — but from the comedown, a stranger to passion and lust and pleasure. all three twirled around in your womb like a fire that had never been lit; a treasure to be discovered — only by davos.

“can i kiss you?” you asked before thinking it through.

davos had a look of being caught off guard. he wasn’t expecting you to ask, and you saw it flash on his face. you suddenly grew worried —

he didn’t let you finish your thought. davos leaned forward and kissed you.

he kissed you in the way you would expect a boy you love to kiss you — sweet, gentle, but with a growing passion that could only be shared in the bedroom. he held his weight with one of his strong arms, the other tucked behind the back of your knee. he pulled your knee to his hip and you wrapped both legs around his hips. you pulled him into you and felt the skin of his pelvis brush against your cunt.

“you’re so sweet,” you spoke against his lips. with obvious sarcasm, you added, “...for a blackwood.”

he laughed then. “you’re obedient for a bracken.”

you flicked his stomach, causing him to yelp — but you didn’t let him pull away for long. with both hands, you pulled him back to meet your lips. it hadn't even crossed your mind to ask him to wipe his mouth, for you did not want to. the old gods and the new would surely curse you for such lust filled thoughts — but you didn't care. how could you care when you had found a way to bring peace between a blackwood and a bracken, even if it was temporary? how could you care when you sharing one of the most holy of relationships, being the intimacy between husband and wife? how could you care when this night was going better than you could have hoped?

you could sense him bring his own hand down to his large member, feeling his forearm brush your thigh as he fisted his length. as much as you wanted to reach out and pleasure him — you were worried for what came next. the pain. the inevitable.

davos lined up the red tip of his cock with your tight hole, barely stretched out by his fingers. he slid his cock up and down the length of your slit with the intent of collecting as much of your juices as possible. with a slight push, he entered you.

you immediately let your head fall onto the pillow as the stretch began to burn. the pain on your face was evident, and davos guided his hand to draw circles on your clit once more. your muscles loosened, welcoming the pleasure that davos brought you.

“please,” you gasped, flicking your eyes up to him.

he stared at your face with an intense look of study. with his eyebrows knitted together, he brought one of your legs over his lower back and held you by the back of your thigh. the stretch was felt in the length of your cunt, as it stretched to fill his size.

davos was concerned for your well-being, of course, but something was beginning to curl in his lower abdomen. he wanted to take your by force — prying your legs open, holding your thighs in place, and drilling his cock into your swollen, dripping cunt. he wanted you to moan his name in his ear and pull at his hair or scratch his back — but he couldn’t, not yet. not just yet. not when you were you worried before, especially now that your attitude had been lost.

he had half a mind to point that out — lest that return.

“keep going,” you spoke.

“what if —“

“i’ll tell you to stop if it hurts,” you interrupted. “it’s all felt so good — i don’t want it to stop.”

he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is my wife claiming to know more than her lord husband?”

you squinted your eyes at him, ready to bite back. “i’ll have you know —“

but he didn’t wait for you to finish.

he leaned forward, placing both forearms on the side of your head. you could feel his lips against your earlobe, causing a quick intake of breath to overtake you. as he leaned forward to your ear, his hips leaned forward as well. his large cock was fully buried inside you now, rocking back and forth as it hit a spot so deep inside you that you didn’t know how he was able to fit. it felt like it was right behind your tiny pearl, which was being nudged by your husband’s pelvic bone. the combination was driving you crazy, only nonsense poured from your pretty lips…

“you’ll take what i give you, my pretty bracken wife,” he spat. “or should i say, blackwood, hmm? no longer craven?”

you wanted to bite back. you wanted to slap him. you wanted to push him from between you and make him finished himself off — but you couldn’t. you couldn’t fight your hips as they raised to meet his own, holding still as he pounded into your pretty cunt.

“a cock made you forget where your loyalties lie?” he questioned with a scoff, but never forgetting to smirk. “that’s all you need, wife? no one’s ever made you feel like this before?”

“you fucking —“

“say it,” he spat, almost growling against your lobe. his hips were snapping against yours as your cunt milked his cock, hoping for the spend that would seal the accomplishment of the marital duty. you were almost in tears from the frustration and the pleasure — not sure how to channel it, not sure what to do with it. “say it!”

“no one, davos,” you cried into the open air above you. “only you, only…”

his hands were tangled through your hair now, keeping your head upright as he sucked on your neck. little nips and bites sent shockwaves throughout your body, and your hips began to stir in the familiar way they had moments prior. davos’ weight held you perfectly still and taut, subjecting you to the pleasure his cock brought in the most perfect way.

“bet you can’t stand that you’re buried in a bracken right now,” you bit, almost succumbing to tears. “— can’t stand that only my womb will give you an heir —“

he yanked on your hair then, extending your neck so you were at his mercy. a strangled gasp left your mouth as you clung to him, which surprised you. you once asked for gentleness, kindness, sweetness… but if you had known how good this would feel… you wouldn’t have even bothered. you would’ve pushed and pulled him all night — subjecting him to the same insults that he hurled towards you if it meant he would fuck you this good.

“and i’ll coat your womb in everything i have, wife,” he growled, pushing his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. “everything i have — until you’re full of blackwood seed. until there's blackwood in your veins. a full blackwood honorable enough to give me a blackwood heir.”

“i’ll never be —“

you couldn’t finish your sentence. the combination between his large cock taking you and his skilled fingers working you… it was all too much. you couldn’t handle the pleasure and the bittersweetness of his attitude, as you were already so close to your peak and losing to him. you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as spreading throughout your womb… ready for him…

“davos, please — “ you cried. “i’m so close. please don’t stop…”

“tell me you’re a blackwood,” he spat. “say it — or i’ll stop.”

“you wouldn’t —“

“i would dare, lady blackwood,” he spat, interrupting you. “now tell me who you belong to — or i’ll leave you unsatisfied with this pretty cunt dripping.”

he immediately began to slow down his hips, and you felt his fingers begin to slow as well. you tried to fight the incessant need to have him continue, but it proved difficult. soon, frustration replaced pleasure. anger replaced lust. need replaced pride.

“i’m yours, lord blackwood — !” you cried, pulling his hips back into yours. “please —“

he didn’t let you finish. immediately, his lips were on yours. he tangled your tongue with his until you could feel it down your throat. his tongue, his fingers, and his cock — they filled you whole, leaving you wanting for nothing. he held you to still so tight that all you could do was whatever he wanted. his own hips were thrusting against yours — chasing his own pleasure while you unraveled like pretty thread.

“this tight, perfect cunt…” he growled. “so many little blackwood heirs will bless this womb… seven hells…”

he kissed you once more, and you felt something break inside you. your head threw itself back against the pillow as every muscle in your body tightened and stood still. a sob left your mouth, incoherent — but when davos heard it, heard it crying for him and only for him, he broke as well. the heat and passion between two sworn enemies threw you both into climax that neither of you had ever experienced before. you pulled at his hair, while he bit down on your shoulder. and there was your bond — sealed in pain, pleasure, and blood.

when your peak had cooled, you found yourself clinging to your new husband as he still laid on top of you. he was breathing heavily, having expended much energy and couldn’t bring himself to leave your warm embrace. you began to scratch his back, hoping to relax him and get him to stay on top of you…

“that feels good,” he grunted from his spot in your neck. “are you sure i was once to hate you, wife? i find myself unable to remember why our families hate each other at this moment.”

you giggled. “we might not be able to help them… but i don’t see why it must carry into our union.”

“oh, wife…” he spoke, kissing your neck once more. “if our fights always lead to that — i believe our union will be forever blessed.”

____

lmk what you guys think!! who's ready for pt 2 w aeron?? - L xo

[mags-writes]

mercy — fem!highborn!reader x davos blackwood

was everyone else going crazy to find out that this man is actually named davos ?? absolutely wild. i refuse to believe it is davos, but alas — i must comply.

someone said that this guy would match your freak and i haven’t been able to unsee it and therefore i compose

as always, warnings: smuuuuuuut, knife play, choking, swearing, switch reader, power bottom davos, my very own self indulgence

____

with your family and several others declaring for rhaenyra targaryen, the one true queen, it led to others seeing women in a different light. a daughter of a highborn family like you would not be trapped to embroider for the rest of your life — unless you wanted to. that was the beauty of choice and what rhaenyra had started — you should have the same opportunities of men in that age, including the opportunity and ability to choose.

and so you did: you chose to fight.

with war brewing, how could you stand by and only wield a needle and thread when you didn’t want to and had the ability to do something else? what, were you going to embroider the war? some battle with red thread? illustrating the rage and fighting of men losing their lives with and against fire and blood? absolutely not. if you could wield a sword instead, and weren’t half bad — maybe that would save someone else from fighting.

and so you did. you started training.

you weren’t half bad, honestly — given your size and age. most men began when they were boys and very small, growing into their strength and work ethic. you could not be blamed for your lack of skill — it just meant that when you could wield a sword against a worthy opponent and beat them, you would gain the respect you deserve.

and you would work for it. you had to.

in order to achieve that, you had to actually find willing opponents. despite the fact that they declared for rhaenyra, that did not mean that other soldiers wanted to face a woman in a fair fight. you tried not to take it too personally — as they would probably fear for your father’s response if you had been hurt. you tried to understand, but you wanted to improve — needed to improve.

however, there was one person that was willing to spar with you.

you rolled your eyes just thinking of the name.

davos blackwood.

there was nothing wrong with him — but he bothered you. got under your skin in a way that no other man could, nor even dream of being able to. he taunted you the first time you had ever met him, and taunted you further towards the first time you had ever sparred with him. you did not mind someone baiting you, but to be constantly reminded of your lack of skill, your womanhood, and the approaching war was a weight on one’s shoulders that a beginner could not always bear the weight of. they would not expect a young boy to withstand that pressure, and didn't understand why davos would expect you to handle it. when that insecurity was opened and showcased for onlookers to see fighting in daylight, it was even harder. you didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to, frankly, haze you — and it’s not like he seemed open to fair or friendly communication.

so you tried to avoid him.

you tried.

you really, really did try… but in the end, he was the only one willing — and you had to learn.

you sighed with reluctance — knowing what you had to do.

when he was alone in the camp you were both staying at, you walked up to him.

“...lord blackwood?” you asked, trying to refrain from using a soft voice.

he turned around to face you, a smirk already growing on his lips. one of his hands was lazily gripping the hilt of his sword, while the other grasped his hip. his shoulders were wide and strong — indicative of how skilled of a fighter he was. you clenched your teeth — hoping you wouldn’t regret this, as you could only benefit. you had to keep reminding yourself of that — a means to an end. that's all this is and would be. it's worth it. you then tried to meet his eyes as the wind swept his brown hair from his line of sight.

if he wasn’t so snarky, you might have found him attractive.

might have.

“yes, my lady?” he asked.

you could hear his smirk in his tone — like he already knew what you were going to ask, and how much you did not want to ask it.

you folded your bottom lip in between your teeth. “...would you be willing to spar with me?”

“i would,” he replied. “you have not asked me since our last. i have some time now — should we find an open space?”

you shook your head. “perhaps this evening... when people have retired?”

he raised an eyebrow, obviously displeased with your decision. “...why is that, my lady?”

“less of an audience, my lord,” you tried to say confidently.

he raised an eyebrow at you. “battles are not won in private, my lady.”

you tried to keep your tone flat, fighting the urge to turn your nose up at him. “i’m aware.”

“so why do you not join me now?”

“i would like to make mistakes once or twice in private — and then i will feel more comfortable where others can see.”

“you would do fine now, my lady,” he spoke, but then dipped his head. “but as you wish.”

you felt dirty after he agreed — you couldn't put your finger on why. the dip of his head — like he was giving into the conquest and silly dream of that of a young girl. a young, naive, innocent girl who would never be taken seriously, no matter how hard she tried — but you couldn't think like that. you couldn't afford to — especially not during the time of war. you swallowed you pride, and waited for your meeting.

he kept his promise. later that evening, when the sun was setting, you finally met him in the sword shed before you intended to meet him in the makeshift arena. you found him sharpening his sword, face being illuminated by the lamp light. you entered the shed.

"good evening, my lady," he greeted, with a hint of grit in his voice.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "good evening, lord blackwood."

"following in your fashion — should we start with something easy? something, say — one starts with at the wee age of — eleven, perhaps?"

“i never asked you to go easy on me — but i would have hoped that after i voiced my concerns as to why i would prefer not to have an audience when i spar with you, you would’ve understood.”

“and — pray tell, my lady, why would i have understood?”

you slapped your sides in defeat, beginning to get frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t read between the fucking lines. your cheeks were beginning to pinch at the feeling of flush. “because it was like you were constantly reminding me that i am new to this and that it was unlikely that i would ever get better!"

he raised his eyebrows then, eyes widening. the smirk was still playing at his lips, as he couldn't help but let an amused chuckle push past his lips — intending mockery. “my intention was to make you better, my lady.”

you shook your head in disbelief, almost scoffing. “i just — it would’ve been nice —“

“nice?” he scoffed, walking towards you then. he approached you with his hands behind his back, but his walk was led by his head, neck, and shoulders. it stuck out at you like he couldn't wrap his head around as to how you could believe or say such a thing. “my lady, there is no nice on the battle field. not only do you have to beat the swords you go up against, but also the men wielding them. i was not nice to you because there is not enough time. you do not have enough time to learn at the pace of a boy, because you are a learning to fight as a woman during the time where another woman is fighting for her crown. you need to be good — for your family, for your army, for your queen — and because i want you to be good.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his words. there stood davos, pleading with you to have confidence in your own ability and skill — despite how he always made you doubt it. you didn't know what to think, let alone believe. “i am not naive enough to believe that the battle field is nice — just forget it, i can’t —“

you went to turn away, but he stopped you. he grabbed you by the elbow, and you immediately turned to face him. within almost an instant, you had stopped his other arm. you shoved his grip down at the same time you pressed a knife to the skin of his neck with your free hand.

you bared your teeth at him, the tip of your nose pulsing into a snarl. there was a dagger to his throat, but nothing compared to the ones you shot with your eyes. your pupils dilated so the only thing in your vision was blackwood and his dark eyes, only focused on yours. both sets of eyes had seen peace and danger, fire and ice —but neither knew the feeling you had when you looked into davos blackwood's eyes and witnessed the exact moment he realized you had been the one to best him. to have his throat at the mercy of your wrist, and have him still smirk down at you — was a feeling that startled you, and excited you.

he pushed against the blade, forcing you to reluctantly allow his head to lower to yours. you could feel his hot breath on your face, shrinking your space. "is that what will make you feel more confident, my lady? — you think you can best me, with a knife to my throat?"

he walked forward, forcing you backwards. you continued taking steps backward when he did not stop. soon, your back was pressed up against a table your lower back had been stopped by. the force of davos' hips collided with yours, pressing you against the table. the plumpness of your ass was pushed into the wood as davos planted himself between your thighs. "is this how you make yourself feel safe? — because even if i am stronger, that does not negate the fact that in a moment's time you could bleed me."

"i could —" you bit — as if that statement was something monumental. as if you hadn't agreed with his own statement. as if it wasn't pathetic.

you watched as he realized that fact the same time you did.

"but will you?" he asked, in a soft, taunting voice.

"i could," you spat again.

pathetic, you spat to yourself in your head. at that same moment, davos smirked down at you.

"there is nothing more enticing than a woman who knows her strength," he spoke, tone threatening to break. "especially against a man whom they both know could end her.”

“testing me, davos?” you spat, nose turning up at him. his smirk wavered when he felt the sharpness of the blade scrape his skin, threatening to draw blood.

“oh — i find myself doing more than that, my lady,” he pressed forward once more, so your noses were almost touching. there were inches — barely inches — between your lips, words ghosting over your skin. his breaths hit your lips with such force you almost believed they were touching. you couldn't let it show on your face — couldn’t let him know he was winning, or that he won. “you want to keep that blade at my throat? be my guest — as long as you let me do this.”

with your lower back pressed against the table and the knife flat on his throat, davos locked you in by placing both of his hands on either side of your thighs. he leaned forward, and he took what he wanted. he took, and took, and took until you were putty in his hands. he held your lips hostage with his own, leaving you at his mercy. mercy, mercy, mercy. you were jailed in his embrace, hating and relishing it at the same time.

your free hand gripped his collar, pulling him into your knife and you. you didn’t even realize you were doing it — or maybe you didn’t want to admit it. maybe you didn’t want to admit that you liked the man who constantly bullied you, nor that you liked the boldness in his smirk before he kissed you.

“you bastard —“ your insult was breathless. pathetic. ridiculous. it made him smile, and it only made your pride and shame swirl in your chest more. how dare he? how could he? “you fucking — !“

“that’s right, my sweet — “ he grunted, pushing your skirts to the side. you felt the cool air hit your exposed thighs, a blush rising to your cheeks. he laughed against your lips before sliding his tongue into your mouth. you could’ve if you wanted to — you so could’ve — you could’ve, you could’ve, you fucking could’ve, but you didn’t want to — you didn’t want to push him away. the knife, still pressed against his skin, wanted to push him away. wanted to cut him. wanted to bring him pain. wanted to get him away — but you? no. your body’s reluctance fell away once you felt his hands slips between your thighs. “hate me — come on — show me how strong you are — show me how much you fucking hate me.”

his thumb was on your clit, sensitive with excitement and anger — never been touched before. his finger drew circles; a long curve on the top of your bundle of nerves, fast when it made he made his way towards the top of the circle once more. long, and drawn out was his torture. he wound you up tight, only for him and at his mercy. he shoved his middle and ring finger inside you, letting the pads of his fingers rub the length of the roof of your cunt. the beckoning motion brought you closer and closer to him, no matter how hard you tried to fight him inside.

“keep that knife at my throat, my lady,” he spat. “let’s see if you can keep a steady hand without drawing blood when i make you cum. — i’m betting you can’t.”

“fuck…” you trailed off off, getting lost in his movements. “f-fuck you.”

“that’s all the brave fighter’s got?” he spat into your ear, making your hair stand. “weak words? you claimed you were of a higher skill — am i going to be the one to prove you wrong?"

you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t. there was no way. it would’ve been useless to even try. your let your neck relax as his lips found the length of the side of your jaw, kissing and nibbling at the clammy skin. he found your pulse point — thumpthumpthumpthumpthump — and sucked the blood from the source, and to the surface. you couldn’t see, but you felt the blood rise to the top of the skin and settle. your blood, your veins, your fucking heart was pounding as it rested at his mercy. his. him. davos. he controlled every part of you — including where your blood moved, pooled, and clotted — and you didn’t know how to feel about it. you were swimming in his embrace, holding onto him for dear fucking life.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried.

“that’s right, my sweet,” he spoke. groaning in your ear, “that’s it. show me. show me how much you hate me. i want that knife to almost cut me when you cum. i want to see the look of hatred in your eyes when you make a mess on my fucking sword hand.”

you couldn’t stop it.

you couldn’t.

it was useless. pathetic. worthless.

your head fell against his strong, broad shoulder and you felt every part of your being lose control. every single one of your muscles tightened. your grip on the hilt on the knife tightened and the grip on his leathers tightened. everything was so fucking tight you didn’t know how the strings inside of you that were wound so tight didn’t fucking snap. it should’ve snapped. it should’ve snapped like the light behind your eyes, blinding white being the only thing you could see. you thought you could hear your own cries, his grunts — but you weren’t sure. your were lost, floating in your own release while his fingers didn’t relent against you.

“so-so sensitive,” you choked out, vision still hazy.

“you think i’m done with you?” he spoke. your strength was beginning to waver, as was your knife from his throat. you could feel the exact moment he realized it. “can’t even keep a knife to my throat at your most vulnerable? how do you expect to fair, yeah? in battle? — shall i get you a needle and thread instead, my lady?"

something inside of you snapped inside you for a second time that night — but this time it was anger. your gaze, aflame, caught his. how dare he? how fucking dare he? with a snarl, you spat, “unlace your fucking leathers, blackwood.”

fire also danced within his irises as the corners of his mouth raised once again. for the first time that evening, you had me davos' fight as an equal match.

you would not back down.

his fingers left your dripping cunt, and he began working at his strings. you struggled to catch your breath as you came down from your high, forcing yourself to regain composure. and, yet — there was davos. smirking. confidently. not fearing the knife at his throat, nor fearing the girl who held it, nor that she was now his match.

his tore his eyes away from you to spit on his hand, coating his long member. though angry, you couldn’t help but grow hungry at the sight of his red, leaking tip. there was no desperation on his face, but davos blackwood had control over his expression. his demeanor. his emotions. but his cock? red and neglected? there was no control. it plunged into your sopping wet cunt, buried in you until the hilt.

your cunt blossomed around him. you felt your walls blossom for the man on top of you. your womb, warm and welcoming, wanted to suck him in and never let him leave. you had never known pleasure like this, wanting even the most frustrating of men to give it to you.

you threw the knife on the ground.

you pressed your flat palm to his throat, curling around it. your squeezed the sides of his throat. your teeth were bared once more, fighting for dominance against the predator before you.

davos smiled, diminishing your resolve.

“there she is,” he spat, smirk wide with his teeth on display. “there’s my fighter.”

"fuck you," you replied.

"good," he responded, before sliding his length inside of you.

that was the thing with davos — showing vulnerability like succumbing to pleasure made you feel weak, whereas davos never felt weak. even in a vulnerable state such as this — this, joining bodies as one, each thrusting their hips against the other seeking to reach their own peak, while also relishing in the fact that you were helping the other reach theirs. his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, deliciously painful and bittersweet. even in his most vulnerable state, davos radiated power. there was dominance in his state of weakness and pleasure that was asserted over you, and you had no choice to bow — no choice but to give in.

“you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”

there you were — a light sheen of sweat on your skin glistening with the dim light of the lantern as you thrusted your hips to meet his. there was one firm hand of his, pressing down on your stomach. every time he could feel the thrust of his own cock through the soft skin of your stomach, you witnessed a flash of mischief in his dark irises. a groan collected in the back of davos' throat — building, building, and building until it came out in a growl. carnal. animalistic. untamed, and all yours. you couldn't help but moan at the sound, sending a gush of pleasure swirling around his cock. he glanced up at you, smile being illuminated by the lantern.

“that’s it, my sweet — whine for me.”

and you did. oh fuck, you did. it was all you could do besides let your muscles go taut at the idea of losing all control to the pleasure of the tip of his cock hitting that space behind your clit deep inside you. once more. that's all you needed. once more. one more peak. your pride would understand — you could not feel shame with the feeling of pleasure so electrifying. every crook of your body was hot and clammy — but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care, and neither could he.

“you just want to cum, don’t you?” he asked. “i know you do, yes? — answer me.”

he slapped your your sensitive clit. it sent sparks up and down your nerve endings, making you squeal and jump. you glanced up at him, and immediately connected your gaze with his dark one. his eyes tested you — your pride, your shame, and your being. however, the want and need in your hips was stronger than you — but that didn't matter. that was the strength and fight davos' wanted, and he would lose to.

“i do,” you whimpered, folding your bottom lip into your mouth. your eyes, like a doe’s, pleaded with him through your thick lashes. you thought you saw a flash of pride on his face, but you couldn’t tell. “fuck, youfuckingbastard — please, davos, just a little longer… ‘m so close.”

“ohhh — that right, my lady? yeah?” his gaze was heavy — dark, tired, but fueled by lust. his throat was worn and scratchy, and the thickness of his voice mirrored it. “showing that fight you promised me, yeah? just like i asked? so beautiful and fucking strong —”

"fuck..." you sobbed. your womb was blooming once more, sucking him in farther and farther into you. he welcomed the pull from your warm, wet, and gummy walls — for you had no strength to push him from you, and neither did he.

"shall i spill my seed into you, my sweet?" he asked, chuckling darkly. he cock continued to pound into your throbbing cunt until you could only think davos, davos, davos. your grip on his throat grew tighter — but not because of your anger, but because you could only cling onto something to hold you present. "shall we create the bravest, most dangerous fighter there has ever been?"

his words were beginning to slur together, like ears underwater. your brain was swimming, being pushed and pulled through saltwater waves that wove ropes around your lungs and hips.

"if you dare..." you whined, failing at sounding brave.

"i would dare," he immediately spat, plunging his cock in once more.

your grip on his throat tightened as he spanked your clit once more, sending you spinning. your thighs locked around him, pulling you into your core and trapping him there. it only enraged him — energized him. it was the final fire that spread throughout him to snap his hips once, twice, thrice more into you and spill himself inside you. your peak made you cling to your lover in the lamp light — holding onto him as you both fell forward into each other, clinging to each other.

you had fallen onto his shoulder, seeking rest. his cheek was pressed against the side of your face. his lips pressed a warm, wet kiss on your cheek — and then another onto the love bite he left on your skin. you felt his tongue poke through his soft lips and lick the bruised skin, sealing his mark in. with his dark gruff voice, davos stated, "that is how you best a man, my lady."

"fuck you."

----

so what do we think? love u guys xoxoox - L

[mags-writes]

Most people don’t understand how easy and common it is to develop psychotic symptoms or that everyone literally everyone has the capacity to experience psychosis

In fact if you’ve ever been sleep deprived including being able to sleep in shorter bursts but unable to get several REM cycles or you use substances to cause sedation rather than sleep you’ve likely experienced mild hallucinations already

They’re called disturbances. The things like thinking you heard someone call your name, feeling crawling sensation on your skin briefly, seeing things move in your peripheral but nothings there when you look.

This is (one of the reasons) why I really hate the “I’m [anxious/ADHD/depressed/etc.] not crazy!” The divide you draw between yourself and people with psychosis and psychotic symptoms only serves to harm. Not only those you alienate but also yourself. Because you have no guarantee that you will not join us one day.

We are all several nights of poor or no sleep and several bad things away from psychosis. It serves no one to be ignorant of it.

[mags-writes]

is that person actually "demanding emotional labour" from you or did you follow one shitty therapist on twitter

[mags-writes]

I've been watching him for my entire life

Rhaenyra Targaryen & Daemon Targaryen || Brutus by The Buttress

[mags-writes]

Unconfirmed - part 3 || Rick Flag x OC

Summary: After Maeve O'Malley goes to prison for assassination and narrowly avoids getting the Blackcat moniker slapped on her record, she's pulled from her cell and brought into the chaos awaiting in Midway City. Only thing is, she was explicitly requested by Rick Flag, her former squad leader and Colonel back when they were in the special forces together. And they didn't end on the best of terms. Despite that, they easily slip back into their former banter but how long can it last when he won't tell her all the details of what exactly she's going up against?

Warnings: Canon-level violence, Aussie-level swearing, Harley/Joker-level abuse, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Rick Flag x Maeve O'Malley (OC)

Length: 1.7k words

Tagged: @christinabae , @fleureeee (didn't know if you wanted to be tagged or not so let me know if you don't <3)

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Epilogue

Maeve was silent for the journey to wherever the fuck they were going. She didn't care anymore. She kept her eyes to the ground and let Rick's boys get their shitty paycheck's worth out of all this. She's suddenly stopped by an arm coming across her chest, not unkindly, but firm enough that she jolts out of her thoughts and looks up. It's not Rick, like she thought, it's Edwards and he has a hint of kindness in his eyes.

"You good?" For all the snark he gave her, he always checked up on her when she needed it.

"Probably not." Was her usual answer and they both cracked a smile.

Maeve twitched, snapping up to the high rise in front of them that Rick had his boys doing a quick surveillance of. He yelled out to the rest of them, telling them to move out, that they were going in through the front doors.

They get to the security desk and Maeve swings around to face all the screens. She types away showing more and more views of the building, her eyes rapidly scanning each of the screens, her mind begging for something to give themselves away.

"Anything?" Rick asks, leaning on the counter and staring intently for a change in her expression.

Maeve doesn't answer right away, letting out a small sigh before stopping. She looks at him and shakes her head knowing that her disappointment unnerved him. He gives her a look, one that said they should be grateful they can't see anything. She gave him one right back, one that said they shouldn't for the same reason.

They move on, walking through the building and making sure to check every corner they went around, watching their backs, double, and triple checking their amo. Maeve thought she was going insane. A twitch here, a flinch there. Something was lurking around the corner and she wanted to get her hands on it already.

She gets her wish, a few floors up a fight breaks out and Maeve goes numb again. She's expecting it this time so it takes everything in her to keep a lid on it and not lose herself again. They go after Rick again and this time she sticks closer to him. He grabs a hold of the collar of her shirt by the nape of her neck, fighting the instinct to go back to back with her and tell the others to piss off. She wishes more than anything in that moment for them to finish this. She never wished for solitary in prison but by god did it sound peaceful right about now.

They start to move out but more and more of the creatures are coming from the floors above them. Distantly, like she was underwater, she hears yelling in the background, and before she can try and decipher it, fire blasts its way through her vision. She ducks out of instinct and shields her eyes from the brightness and she realises that the fire is coming from the outstretched hands of El Diablo. Rick had pulled Maeve in close to his chest, clutching her to him desperately before slowly standing up straight again to really take in the grandness of the meta-human before them.

"Go n-ullamhuighe an diabhal teinne dhuit." She mumbled to herself. It was a curse but she couldn't stop the words forming in her mouth.

"Yeah," Rick said just as quietly, squeezing her tighter for a second. "Somethin' like that."

Maeve clocks out again, she's so tired now, having spent so much time in her cell doing nothing has ruined her stamina and she goes down into a squat.

"Hold!" She looks up to see Rick coming towards her swiftly and he crouches down into her space. "We're blowin' a hole into the stairwell, okay?"

Maeve nods, moving into a kneeling position and getting closer to Rick to put her forehead to his shoulder. His hand comes to the back of her head and keeps her there while she assumes the other is signaling for the boys to detonate. The bomb rocks the building slightly, so loud that it has Maeve's hearing failing for a second. She flinches, hard and Rick rubs her back soothingly, mumbling for her to keep breathing.

After they make it to the top floor, Maeve sits down and gets comfortable on one of the couches. It's leather and squeaky and makes an unnecessary amount of noise as she moves around which just pisses her off. She's past the stage of tiredness and now she's irritable like an overstimulated cat.

She doesn't care when Waller is revealed as their hostage in need of rescuing, only getting more angry. She doesn't care when Joker starts shooting at them and Harley escapes, only getting even more angry. She thinks she might be at her breaking point when Waller is shot down and they all mumble to one another about going back to work but she's wrong.

Deadshot found a huge file with sections about all of them containing everything about them from parking tickets to prison sentences. He's angry about it and he's yelling, he walks off and he doesn't look back.

"What the fuck is that?" She's pointing to a scattering of photos of a girl and Rick can't even look in her direction. "Rick."

"Evey." His voice was quiet and pleading. He finally turned to her with tears welling up in his eyes and she couldn't accept it, she shook her head, stepping away from him as his voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

"No. Not Nessa." She tried to yank her arm away from him when he reached her but he caught her, holding onto her and trying to get her to calm down. "You wouldn't do that to her."

"She was going to torture June-" He tried.

"I don't even know who the fuck that is!" She burst, her voice quickly rising in volume.

"I know you don't, I'm sorry, Evey, I'm sorry." Maeve didn't know she had started crying until Rick tried to reach out for her again and she flinched back. "Please, you have to know I would never give her up willingly. I would never let her get hurt!"

"Waller can do whatever the fuck she wants you brainless idiot! What the fuck is wrong with you?" This time she grabbed a hold of his shoulders and started shaking him a little. "You think because you play by her rules like some goody-two-shoes teacher's pet she'll reward you like a dog? She'll let you be in love? Have a happy family? You think she'll let you go visit your favorite little autistic girl on your weekends off just because you rolled over and played dead when she shot her finger guns at you? Get a fucking hold of yourself!"

"It's not like I can just go off and do what you did!" He yelled right back in her face, his hands now coming up on her shoulders as well.

"Don't you dare turn this back on me!"

"Why not? Huh? I know how you kill, Sargent!" His hands crept up to take hold of her face, coming in closer and looking like a wild animal. "You really want me to believe you have all that money from being a fuckin' security guard? You think I'm that stupid?"

"This is not about me." Her voice was lower now, looking at him with predatory eyes that had a shiver running down his spine. "This is about you, and how you promised to keep Nessa safe."

"And I fuckin' did that." He matched her low tone, bringing her face even closer. "I played by the rules. I keep her safe by being Waller's lap dog. By sittin' when she says sit. By showin' my belly when she says rollover. By playin' dead when she shoots me with her finger guns. By shootin' when she points and says shoot. I keep her safe by bein' a goody-two-shoes, a teacher's pet, and anythin' fuckin' else she asks of me. And in return, she handed a pretty girl to me on a silver platter that I fell in love with, and then she used her against me."

Maeve was silent for a second, her eyes going over every feature of his tired face a hundred times. Oh, how he had changed. He saw no future for his life. He was going to die following an order from Waller and he was counting down the days to when he was finally taken out. He was paler than usual, skinnier, like he had lost himself.

"Why did you do this to yourself?" She whispered.

They both knew she wasn't talking about his promise for Nessa. She was talking about staying in the goddamn military.

He looked over her face the same way she did him. She was also paler than she usually was. Sure they all used to make fun of her for being a pale Irish but this was different. She had lost her stamina, her muscle mass, her drive. Her senses aren't what they used to be and she fell down the rabbit hole so much easier.

They were both changed.

"You really think I could be anything else?" He asked honestly, not believing for a second that he could and she frowned.

"You goddamn idiot." She mumbled, closing her eyes to get rid of the tears that had welled up again, this time letting his thumbs rub them away.

She brings her hands to the back of his head to touch their foreheads together and holds them there for a long moment. When she pulls away this time they completely let go of each other, only just realising how close they were, standing in one another's warmth.

"I'm sorry." He says weakly, one last time as she walks in the direction the other criminals had gone in.

"I know." She replies, not looking back.

She finds the bar without much trouble, as it was one of the only buildings with lights on. The conversation doesn't stop when she comes in but she pays it no mind and takes a seat in between Deadshot and El Diablo.

"Hey, Kitty." Harley smiles sadly at Maeve, sliding her a drink.

"Hey." Maeve greets back before shotgunning the drink.

"So," She turned to Deadshots voice to see him already looking at her. "You keep saying you two ain't married."

Her face doesn't change when she turns back to Harley and slides the empty glass back to her.

"Shut the fuck up, Floyd."

[mags-writes]

And now with my fatal rage this genealogy's been erased

Alicent Hightower || Funeral by The Buttress

[mags-writes]

PHIA SABAN as HELAENA TARGARYEN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON — S2E5: Regent

[mags-writes]

CARAXES House of the Dragon | 2.05

[mags-writes]

ALICENT + AEGON, HELAENA, AND AEMOND

[mags-writes]

The X-Files Small Potatoes | 4.20

[mags-writes]

Lewis Pullman as Rhett Abbott Outer Range | S1.E2