#[ they'd all be so mad at him lmao ]

[oscursed]

imagine raimi verse and 616 verse and tasm verse and insomniac verse harrys all getting together for coffee though.

[naivesilver]

god sent them the first two kids

Appalachian Wine AU + the song that gave it its name 💞

[vivwritesfics]

Hey! I love your writing and would love to see a 'imagine' (don't know if call it like that) where the reader is Max's teammate and Kelly best friend and both of hers friends are always saying that reader and Lando will still end up together, because despite hating each other, there is also a GIANT sexual tension between them and at a party the two are crazy about each other and get their relief

i've changed this for the win lmao

warnings: post race blowy, face fucking

It was supposed to be a Red Bull one-two. Max was supposed to be on the top step of the podium and she was supposed to be in P2. She didn't care about who was P3.

(Let me clear it up, she wanted to win, of course. This was just what was being said since the end of the Chinese Grand Prix).

But Miami had other ideas. Nobody expected Lando Norris to end up on the top step of the podium. She didn't expect to be beside him, unable to stop smiling up at him as Max was on the final step of the podium.

She'd lost, but she'd lost to Lando Norris. And there was nothing better than that.

But let me take you back, back to when he jumped out of his car. She was waiting for him, helmet off, ready to pull him into her arms. Max was there, celebrating with the team. (Mad Max didn't care that he was losing out to these two).

He watched as she immediately jumped at Lando. Apparently the two of them hated each other, she and Lando couldn't stand each other. But Kelly, Max's girlfriend, said she knew better. Said she knew they'd end up together.

And, the fact that they hadn't let go of each other just proved it. She attempted to pick Lando up, but couldn't quite do it. So, she let go of him, let him run towards the McLaren team.

She made her way to Max and her team, celebrating her P2 with them.

Even in the drivers room, She wrapped Lando in her arms. There was at least a moment where they held each other, his large hand on the back of her white fireproofs. "This is so fucking deserved," she said, their bodies rocking slightly (not that either of them noticed).

On the podium, her champagne was sprayed only on him.

I don't think she expected to be welcoming him into her hotel room that night. I don't think she expected him to pull of her Red Bull shit and lay her down on her bed, his lips making their way down her body.

But she flipped them over, pushed him onto the bed and worked at unbuttoning his jeans. She freed his cock and pumped her hand up and down his length. Her tongue swirled his tip before she took him into her mouth.

The Red Bull driver bobbed her head up and down his length. She hollowed her cheeks around him and pulled all the way back, paying special attention to his tip.

"Fuck," Lando hissed, hips bucking up.

Her eyes watered as he held her head, hips gently rocking towards her. "Holy shit," he hissed, eyes shut, head thrown back.

When he opened his eyes, god he'd never seen a sight so pretty. Lips wrapped around his cock, eyes watering. He came then and there.

[zhxngii]

— Submitting

⌗ note ❰❰ This includes all the tall(-ish)/bigger-built men, @ that one post where I mentioned something about yk. maybe i'm just writing this to spite the ones that don't like big subby men lmao. Also! Feel free to insert your faves with these scenarios as well <3

⌗ contents ❰❰ big submissive men; pegging, grinding, riding, oral (reader receiving; strap.), thigh fucking(?), strap is being referred to "cock/shaft/length", kinda messy... there's a lot.

◖Oral

They are in awe at the sight of your strap as they sit obediently between your legs on their knees, looking up at you with those eyes pleading for permission to touch you which you eventually give.

He wastes no time in reaching for your cock, excitedly scooting closer as his hand wraps around your length, a hum of satisfaction being heard from him as he takes you inside his mouth, feeling how heavy it was on his tongue. A shiver runs down their spines as they feel you petting and cooing at them as they take you further inside, eyes staying on yours and glistening in the light upon hearing you praise them.

Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Zhongli, Diluc, Thoma, Kaveh, Itto, Baizhu, Pantalone, Gepard, Dan Heng il, Luocha

They're so needy and pathetic looking once they finally get a taste of your cock, so messy as they eagerly bob their heads, taking your length as deep as they possibly can, sometimes gagging around you. Acting as if they simply just couldn't get enough of your cock, even taking the time to press kisses along your shaft, swirling their tongues around the tip just because.

When I say that they're messy? I mean literally, spit seeping out the corners of their mouths, dripping down their chins, they're so shameless. So shameless that they're not afraid to touch themselves while doing so, desperately hammering their cocks until they're a whiny mess under you, moans becoming more high-pitched the closer they are to their climax.. and to the way you push their heads down further.

Childe, Alhaitham, Ayato, Kaeya, Dottore, Welt Yang, Sampo, Blade, Jing Yuan

◖Grinding

A tint of red appeared on their faces as they felt your strap, flush against their cock, a sudden whimper as they felt your hands wrap around both of your lengths, softly and slowly moving in up and down motions. A hand shooting up to their mouths to conceal their sounds but fails as they feel you thrust just slightly, your cock rubbing so nicely against theirs that it's driving them mad.

Immediately giving up on hiding their moans, they just let it all out. Their heads tilted back as they try to match your movements but is instead met with their body being pushed down onto a surface. Without time to react properly, he blushes even more upon seeing you put his legs over your shoulder, hands instantly finding the sheets, eyes shutting tightly as he feels your cock gliding at such a pace between his thighs, giving such needed friction to his aching cock.

Wriothesley, Zhongli, Itto, Diluc, Thoma, Baizhu, Kaveh, Welt Yang, Jing Yuan, Gepard, Luocha

They're fully bare as they sit on your lap, lips latched onto yours needily as they subtly grind themselves against you. Even though they were bigger than you, it didn't necessarily stop them from feeling small in a way right now.

A while slipping past their lips onto yours as they feel your cock against the curve of their ass, your hands firm on their waists to guide their movements. Not to mention that little bit of friction on their hard, leaking cocks as it rubs against your shirt, shamelessly staining it with their arousal. Usually, they'd be embarrassed at making such a mess on your shirt but... it can be excused since you're driving them so crazy right now.

Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Childe, Kaeya, Dottore, Pantalone, Ayato, Dan Heng il, Sampo, Blade

◖Pegging

When I tell you they're riding you with a passion???? Letting out a whimper at the feel of you stretching them out once they slide down on your length, sluggish hips movements as they grind back and forth to feel how deep you are inside them.

Their breathing picks up once they start off a decent pace, light sound of the back of their thighs and ass smacking against the skin of yours. Their cocks rubbing against your shirt in a faster manner, bouncing in time with their pace. Nails digging into your shoulders as you thrust in time with them, a choked mewl in the shell of your ear upon feeling you spreading their ass cheeks apart.

Wriothesley, Childe, Kaeya, Ayato, Alhaitham, Pantalone, Dottore, Sampo, Blade, Dan Heng il

He prefers to be lying on the bed rather than riding you, since it was a bit embarrassing in his eyes for some reason but oh how he loved seeing you on top of him.

Despite mentioning being embarrassed, oh how he wasn't shy in the slightest while spreading his legs wide for you, making sure that you could see how he's properly prepared himself for you, your cock.

He's already panting and shivering so cutely under you once you pushed inside him, his back arching off the bed, wanting more of your touch as your lips found his chest, teasing his sensitive peaks with your tongue and teeth. His hands grasp the sheets underneath as your hips repeatedly smack against him, a string of 'thank you's and pleadings for you not to stop coming from his lips.

Neuvillette, Zhongli, Itto, Diluc, Thoma, Kaveh, Baizhu, Welt Yang, Gepard, Luocha, Jing Yuan

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: The Prefect and their friends talk about the events of the Glorious Masquerade and come to some... rather belated conclusions.

Pairing: GN!Prefect/ Yuu/ MC with Deuce Spade, Epel Felmier and Sebek Zigvolt (Platonic)

Genre: Crack

TW: Slight spoilers for Book 5 of Glorious Masquerade.

AN: So... finally read the ending of Glorious Masquerade. I have very many feelings about Malleus and Rollo (obviously) but I also have many feelings about the Prefect's immunity to the firelotuses that everyone so conveniently forgot. In Idia's words, they're all a bunch of 'unga bunga, brute force' kinda people lmao-

This is also my first time writing for Sebek and Epel so I'm very nervous lol. If they seem out of character or something else seems weird, let me know!

"Man, I'm beat."

Deuce flopped onto your bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh of relief. You smiled at him, running a comb through your hair to remove any tangles in it.

The two of you were already in pyjamas, tired from a night of dancing and socializing. You were waiting on a few more people though.

"Did you tell Epel and Sebek to meet us in my room?" You asked him as you ran your comb through your hair. The older students had to report the entirety of the previous night to Professor Trein, so you had decided that the first years could have their own tea-spilling session in your room. Grim, however, wanted to hear the heroic tales of the older students (and regale them with his own, no doubt) so he was with Professor Trein instead of being with you.

"I told Epel" his voice was muffled as he spoke, face smushed against the pillow. "He said they'd be here-"

Knock, knock. "Prefect? Are you in there?"

You walked over to the door, opening it to find Epel and Sebek, both in their pyjamas as well. Epel smiled at you, holding his hands behind his back, "I got Sebek like Deuce told me to."

"Human, what is the meaning of this?" Sebek huffed, too tired to yell his words like he usually did. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at you. "As a retainer of Malleus-sama, I must get the required eight hours of sleep to continue to serve him diligently. How dare you keep me up after a night of saving the entirety of Twisted Wonderland from those abysmal flowers, and another night of merry-making?"

His words lacked their usual fire, so you just gave him a cheeky smile and pulled the two of them inside, closing the door behind them. "Come on, I just wanna talk to you guys. Besides, I have snacks."

Epel gave you a side-eye, trying to keep a cheeky smile from forming on his face. "Vil would be so mad."

"What Vil doesn't know won't hurt him~" you hummed, and Epel giggled. Sebek just sighed, taking his place on your bed after nudging Deuce a little.

"And then, when the flowers started climbing up his tail, he climbed onto Professor Trein's shoulder!"

"What?!" "Oh my-" "HOW ILL-MANNERED!"

You giggled at the reactions of your friends as you recounted Grim's actions. The four of you were sat on your bed. You were sitting with your back against the headboard, a pillow on your lap on which Deuce rested his head. With his feet planted on the bed and his knees in the air, his legs made a backrest for Epel who leaned against them, sitting with his legs criss-crossed. On your right side sat Sebek, with the snacks you four were sharing in the middle of the bed.

"I had half a mind to pull him off Professor Trein, but before that, the Bell of Solace rang," you hummed, messily braiding Deuce's hair as you spoke. "And then all the flowers wilted, and well, you know the rest."

"I still can't believe Grim tried to climb Professor Trein," Epel giggled as Sebek shook his head. Deuce sighed, looking up at you, "Well, I can't blame the little guy for being scared. Those flowers were no joke."

"Yeah, for you guys maybe. For me, they were just plain old flowers, if a little persistent and irritating," you shrugged.

"What?"

"Magicless human, remember?"

All three boys looked at you like you had grown three heads and burst into song and dance. You gave them a defensive glare, "What? I'm just saying, those things were perfectly harmless to me."

"....Yeah... Wait, does this mean we could have just sent you up to ring the bell?"

"Probably not...? I mean, Rollo was there on the top guarding the bell wasn't he? If he used magic against me, I'd be defenceless."

"Well, Rollo seemed a bit... partial towards you? You could've tricked him like you did with Azul-senpai that one time..." Deuce trailed off, and the four of you took in his words.

There was a moment of silence before-

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THERE WAS NO NEED TO PUT MALLEUS-SAMA IN DANGER?!"

[madschiavelique]

was just thinking about miguel/reader/peter with them being possessive & jealous while RAILING you after someone else flirts with you 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

okay so i know i could've just done a blurbo, but my mind said smth else LMAO (i gotta say besties i'm not super proud of this one but i think it's because i'm a bit rusty, hopefully it's still readable tho !!)

summary : miguel and peter railing you from possessiveness warnings : SMUT(18+), dom!miguel, meandom!peter (?), sub!reader, boob job (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), possessiveness, afab!reader, no use of y/n, not proofread word count : 919 (short baby)

They saw that man, that miserable guy approaching you and trying to start a conversation with you. They obviously know that you’re theirs, and that they’re yours but they can't help feeling that pressing, sharpened weight of jealousy in their chests.

They try to hold on at the beginning, as they often do. Who knows, maybe he was just coming to ask you a question, just asking for information or something. They weren't necessarily partners restricting you much, so they'd just watch you from afar. They knew you didn't need them around all the time.

Of course, their composure began to evaporate as soon as he started smiling at you insistently. They both felt themselves boiling as he took another step towards you.

He moved closer to you, joking in a voice that made them want to strangle someone, preferably him, letting his hand rest on your shoulder as he laughed in your face. Too tactile, too insistent, too close.

It didn't take Miguel and Peter long to intervene.

"Hey, bunny," Peter called to get your attention as they came close to the two of you. "Sorry, they were out of the thing you wanted." He stood beside you as Miguel crossed his arms over his imposing torso, looking down on the fool who thought he was good enough to deign to approach you.

The man watched them, slightly confused.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, in a tone half irritated and half nervous.

"We're her partners," Miguel informed him impassively.

"Yo-" but he stopped himself in his tracks, his eyes shifting from Miguel's to yours. "your partners?" he pressed the S.

You nodded casually, a bit oblivious about the situation, as Peter gently stroked your hair.

"Why don't we go home, hmm?" he said softly, his eyes trying to keep the warmth of his tenderness, but his lips twitching slightly at the thought of that miserable guy trying to get close to you.

You agreed, both taking your hands to go outside. The way back was marked by a heavy silence. Miguel looked annoyed, and Peter, who rarely looked irritated, wore an expression akin to that of the taller man.

The true color of their feelings took on greater depth as, closing the door behind you, Miguel came to attack your lips, cupping your face to prevent you from breaking free of his grip as Peter came to press his lips to the nape of your neck behind you.

Your mind blurred and captured by the lips of your two partners, you managed to whisper against his lips between kisses, "What is it-" but your sentence was instantly muffled by Miguel's tongue pressing against yours.

"Watching you there," Peter breathed as his hands moved to the front of your waist to unbuckle your belt, his lips pressing warm kisses to the skin of your nape, "with him..."

A growl went up Miguel's throat at the mere mention of the idiot as he pulled away from your lips to remove your top. 

"It drove us mad," Peter concluded as Miguel came and lifted you with a jerk to take you to your room.

You barely had time to feel the cool sheets of your bed under your back before Miguel resumed his sinuous waltz with your tongue. He grabbed your waist, reversing your positions and positioning himself underneath you.

Behind you, Peter had just pulled down your underwear, grabbing the skin of your buttock with his full hand before slapping it, causing you to let out a surprised moan against Miguel's lips. The latter straightened you on top of him, letting his lips descend on your breasts as Peter's thumb came to press against your slits.

"Did you have fun?" he asked as he lowered the latter to your clit, engaging in slow, circular movements. "Tormenting us like that."

"No," you whined as the sensation of Miguel's tongue describing delicious circles on the separation between the skin of your breast and that of your nipple mixed with that of Peter's thumb pressing slightly more on the sensitive nub.

"Course you didn't," you could hear the smile in his voice as he brought his face closer to your cunt, "you know you're ours, angel." he said as his tongue made a long line from your clit to your entrance.

The heat in your lower abdomen kept intensifying as your two lovers rushed to devour your body. Every inch of your skin had to be covered with their hands, fingers, lips and tongues.

Each stroke of their tongues brought their names to life on your lips. Miguel's fingers dug into the skin of your sides as he sucked your tit between his lips, engulfing it completely with the warmth of his mouth, while his other hand lingered on the second, pinching it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

Peter's tongue made quick strokes against your clit, sucking it slightly and keeping your hips in place as his hands gripped your thighs firmly.

The knot in your stomach intensified by the second, feeling your lower abdomen grow tauter as the two never slowed their pace. 

Your back arched, your heart pounding as everything exploded. Your body seemed made of vibrations, waves of bright light that made you feel as if your body no longer knew the limit of the lines it possessed.

Breathless and with your legs still trembling, you let yourself fall onto Miguel's chest.

"Oh, sweetheart, this is only the beginning." Peter smiled behind you, kissing your swollen clit.

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Fifth Course: Watching his delish life in pictures comes with a sense of dread. Isn't it vexing that he's living the life while you're out there vomiting in pungent public restrooms? 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Good 4 U

wc: 543

genre & warnings: angst like yn is really mad lmao, nonidol!san, yn is drunk af, mentions of alcohol and drinking, cursing, lovers to exes, betrayal, mentions of vomit etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"Y/N, you really should stop drinking excessively y-"

"Shut the fuck up!" you slurred, slumping on the wall of your bathroom and glaring at your ex whom your friends did the honor of calling to get you home safely.

San sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he's had enough of your childish antics. You two have already broken up a few months ago so really, you are not supposed to be his responsibility.

Still, he's not that merciless. He can't just allow you to go home by yourself where potential danger could get you killed. Unless your liver suddenly decides to give up on you.

His kindness does nothing but to further aggregate you, though.

No, not kindness. Consideration.

Yes, that's the right word.

It infuriates you to no end that even in the middle of the night, he comes running to the bar and picks you up to get you to your apartment in one piece.

But what you hated more is seeing him in a state of good life.

After all the shit he's put you through. You're here still suffering the repercussions of his actions while he's out there being happy and lovey-dovey with your former best friend.

Truly a vomit-inducing situation even without the help of alcohol.

Imagine, back then, if you would have known that they'd get together after he dumped you for no reason then you wouldn't have trusted them.

Fucking hell.

It did you no good to remember that shitty place that you promised not to visit ever again. But life ain't that easy, because if it is, then you'd be rich and happily married to the love of your life.

You were snapped out of your maddening stupor when his phone rang, not paying attention as he excused himself and chose to fixate your gaze on the crack of your bathroom floor.

Then again, sometimes, you hear bullshit when you don't need it the most.

He's talking to her. In your house. In a very loving voice. The same tone that he used to utilize whenever he speaks with you, now reserved for someone else.

"Yes baby, I'll be home in a while, okay? Okay. I'll see you later. I love you so much."

Disgusting, vile creatures that are incapable of feeling guilt. Oh, how you wish you could just strike them with thunder so they can finally go to hell, where they can burn together.

"Y/N I will h-"

"Get out here." you mumble lowly, standing up from your position and he frowns.

"What's your problem?" he asks, confused as to why you're acting sober and gloomy.

You laugh weakly, coming closer to him only to push him out of the bathroom, "My problem is none of your business. So, get the hell out of my apartment and do not ever, fucking ever show your face to me again."

You did not give him the chance to reply as you shut the door on his face, your whole body flopping on the cold tiles.

Soon enough, you heard the main door of your apartment close and you can't help but chuckle despite the tears streaming down your face.

It really is not difficult for him to leave you after all.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @xdannix @nsixns @heartssol @vixensss @shakalakaboomboo

[earthstellar]

Earth Music on the Lost Light: Human Music That Cybertronians Like

we know for a fact that the Lost Light has access to human media, primarily movies, TV shows, and music-- and we know they generally seem to fucking love most of it, or at least find it interesting

but what would everyone's tastes be, in regards to Earth music?

time to talk about music for a long time!!! strap in, enjoy some tunes

we already know Cyclonus has impeccable taste and enjoys some of the best jams the 80s had to offer.

I can't help but imagine Rodimus being given a media archive of Earth tunes to approve for the Earth Dance would only result in chaos

(it's not like he would say no to anything, he absolutely blanket signed it all, it's just an obligatory thing-- or Ultra Magnus tells him it is, solely to keep him away from Important Captain Things that he would rather handle himself or hand off to Megatron, lmao. the shit that really needs to get done)

and this is how Rodimus discovers the somewhat questionable yet amazing genre of "mid-90s underground techno rave mix tapes"

(somewhat related, I still think Testarossa might as well be Rodimus' theme song, although it's not a 90s track and has more of an 80s synth vibe)

Rodimus would love that "computers are the future, fuck yeah let's make Digital Cool Future Music" mid-90s shit, there is no way he would not. it has the exact energy level that appeals to him and is also cheesy and weird and chaotic. and has like 500 different sub-genres, so his selection is endless, lmao.

he would probably find it cute that this is what humans imagined to be the peak of "digital sound" at the time. like lmao this was the best humans could do when asked to create music that sounds like it was made by robots or other mechanical space future cyber lifeforms--high concept!!! he would probably find it interesting and endearing. this is what organics think non-organic music is like!!

anyone acting as DJ at Swerve's on any given night would be so, so mad that Rodimus keeps requesting shit like "DJ MASSIMO ITALO DISCO BEST RAVE TUNES LIVE FROM LONDON 1995" or "DJ ARMPIT SLUDGE FEST HOUSE-RAVE-DRUMS N BASS SET 1996" for them to play, lmao

not individual tracks. the whole album. entire mix tapes of random, somewhat questionable mid-90s techno house rave bullshit.

that having been said, that good ass early 90s trance techno might send him into a spiral depending on his mood at the time, lmao (it's been known to happen)

but at the same time I can imagine him sharing tracks like Solar Quest - Space Pirates with Drift and they'd both just sit there and jam out, but quietly, thinking about shit while sitting in a port window next to each other (this was peak sleepover party techno, Back in My Day-- many deep conversations were had while listening to stuff like this, lol)

Drift would probably find some of Rodmus' recommended stuff to be pretty good for meditation-- although once he finds out about the human drug culture involved and certain concepts of experimental consciousness etc. that surrounded techno/rave and other related genres, it might cause him to pull back a little bit

(until he finds out about kandi culture, in which case, Drift would love the idea of hand-made unique bracelets and sentimental trinkets being made and exchanged at warehouse shows purely out of Good Vibes and Love for Fellow Beings and it turns out actually he fucking loves this shit, a chill vibes based "expand your mind" kind of music subculture appeals to his Spectralist sensibilities and he likes sharing tunes with Rodimus in return)

Drift picking tracks on his own would likely lead him down more of a classic rock road, but more of the chill side of things, more of the folksy type of classic rock -- I can see Drift really enjoying Spirit in the Sky - Norman Greenbaum or California Dreamin' - The Mamas and the Papas. or like, Incense and Peppermints - Strawberry Alarm Clock.

I mean, Drift might even go Full Earth Hippie and end up liking Green Tambourine - Lemon Pipers, lmao. in fact I am fairly certain of this.

I can see Drift loving Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In - The 5th Dimension. the whole vibe would probably appeal to him.

he'd quite possibly also like I Need a Dollar - Aloe Blacc, but it hits him in a place that still hurts to think about. so it's in rare rotation.

meanwhile Ratchet would probably be fine with classic rock too, like the good Dad Rock shit, just a lot of tracks from the 70s/80s -- a couple tracks he and Drift could probably agree on would likely lean more into the experimental/psychedelic rock side of things, like White Room - Cream or something like Wheel in the Sky - Journey

Rodimus tries to troll Ratchet by recommending Old Time Rock n Roll - Bob Seger, but joke's on him because it turns out Ratchet loves it, lmao

Swerve would go all out on classic bar jams for the evening playlist. Chill, good shit like Do It Again - Steely Dan.

Megatron would love Sinnerman - Nina Simone; He'd send it to Drift in a command crew level secured data packet, and they would both feel the hell out of this song. They don't need to talk about why. They never mention it to each other.

Megs would also probably love These Old Bones by Dolly Parton (mostly due to the lyrics, rather than the upbeat tune, but he would find it relatively relaxing), as well as 9 to 5 (of course), and similar music. Country from back in the day when country music was more about the struggle of poverty and the working life of rural people. Country music from back when songs told all the untold stories. He can respect that.

He'd listen to You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive by Patty Loveless and it would get him right in the fucking spark. Megatron is the Cybertronian equivalent of an Appalachian miner, god dammit. He understands.

Megatron would also like Johnny Cash; He would overthink Ghost Riders in the Sky and it would depress him, partly because it reminds him of Seekers... sigh.

I think he'd also like Cold War - Janelle Monae. He'd be way into good lyrics; What's being said in a song matters most to him. "This is a cold war, you better know what you're fighting for..." Indeed.

anyway I like thinking about what jams Cybertronians might like from their available selection of Earth tunes

[hiskillingjar]

Can you do hypnosis headcanons >:)

alright freaks log the fuck on

ren 🦊

as well established by every headcanon post i've written, ren is a cum brained hentai addict (positive, sexual)

mans is a Gooner (negative, sexual)

so yes he likes hypno. yes he likes mind break.

he'll be all about the pink swirlies, flashing text, sissy/forcefem hypno too

he'll be like "noooo i know it's not real, it's just a hot idea, okaaaaay?" but also. he wants it to be real so bad.

he lies awake at night wanting so much for hypno to be real. he wants it so bad

this is a switch fetish, also!!

he would find the concept of hypno like. weirdly affirming and comforting in the "i can desire without feeling the shame of desiring" kind of thing

he won't do it often but. like. he'll plug himself in and start jerking off, feeling the pleasurable slur in his mind and pretending that it'll be permanent…so he doesn't feel bad about liking the things he wants <3

we support you ren. we do.

law 🥀

law likes it too lmao

i mean they're not as insane about it as ren is.

like if you showed them a hypno video, they'd think it was weird and offputting

law's interest in hypno is definitely a mindbreak thing, supported by gaslighting, conditioning and coercian <3 yayyyyy

like they want your brain to blur and break into sludge so that they can remold you and make you exactly what they want

(and they'll treat your body the same way too <3)

so if they have to repeat orders, or tell you to behave a certain way, that's what they're going to do

they'd love a needy little drone doll puppet slave pet to play with, who depended on them, who needed them to be kind and gentle when nobody else will be

you're lucky that it's me doing this, isn't it? if it was someone else they'd take advantage of you

you think i'm going to do that? no, i like you like this…docile and sweet and useless

don't fight me, baby. you're not going to win. i've made sure of that

(anyone else feeling a little turned on?)

strade 🔨

strade's a normal fucking guy and not a gooner, so if he even heard about anything to do with hypnosis, he'd probably just laugh it off because it's not real lol

that isn't to say he wouldn't rip the shit into you (or ren) if you liked it

and he would absolutely offer to torture you to madness to replicate the feeling you want so much <3 how nice of him!

[s0ckh3adstudios]

howdy!! for the undertale gold au, i was wondering if we could see more of dalv? (or starlo, dalv and rover!! like the family portrait)

if not thats ok :) i just wanna see more of how these sillies work in the au

TA-DA!! Finally, after days... UTG Dalv! I Am So Sorry.

Disclaimer Corn Yaoi IS canon in this AU and for those who don't like it. I am sorry HEHEKGHLF It's too late for me to go back and I thought it'd be funny to include it. Too embedded in the lore now

You find out Dalv's backstory not through recorded tapes, but through his diary! You know, how he has one in the Ruins? In turn, Chujin still records tapes.

I actually wrote Dalv's diary entries and will be leaving them under the cut so you can all get your dose of exposition, but I'll give a summary of it below the Diary Entries if you want a TLDR!

Also, I apologize if the writing isn't very good- I tried my best to keep Dalv's character and write out what happened, but I'd probably edit a couple details if I wasn't lazy LMAO

====

SUMMARY:

Dalv and Starlo own a large farming area together where they grow crops for monsters to buy. They were given an opportunity to expand the farm, and their business by association, to the Snowdin area. Starlo was unable to meet with the people in Snowdin about it, so Dalv had to go. He was a bit nervous to do so, Chujin offered to join him! As long as he got to test out his latest project; Axis, a funny little robot. Rover, Dalv and Starlo's kid, also joined them! They wanted to visit Snowdin and play with Chujin's robot. Dalv and Chujin left Axis to watch and play with Rover while they had their meeting. But this is when danger struck. During the meeting, a human came through Snowdin and attacked Rover, even taking their hat. Despite Axis already chasing after the human and Chujin giving Dalv warnings, Dalv ran after the human as well to find his kid's hat.

Dalv did find the human... who was very injured after seemingly having had a run-in with Axis who was oddly nowhere to be found in that moment. When Dalv encountered in the human... something shifted in him. This human hurt his child, they could have taken them away... Seeing them... He felt angry. Without thinking, for reasons he can't really explain, he attacked the human and finished them off for good. In a panic, mortified at what he suddenly did, he stole the soul. He didn't want to admit it, even if this was what monsters were meant to do to humans. The soul was declared missing and Chujin was blamed; there was concern over how much damage Axis caused and the fact that he seemingly killed the human so brutally that he also destroyed the soul which they NEEDED.

Dalv decided he was going to try and use the soul for good and try to infuse its power into his crops! He thought if monsters ate them, they'd gain enough power to last against humans AND possibly bypass the barrier. He couldn't do this alone... So he ended up coming clean to Chujin about what happened. Chujin was VERY mad but figured if he helped, he could maybe get his job back. The two worked on the project and when sprouting their first soul infused crop, a cob of corn, Dalv offered to test it.

....It made him very sick.

When Dalv fell down, he had left a message to Starlo in his diary, telling him to read it after he died. He told Starlo to return the soul and shut down the project entirely. The farms are already in danger just for supposedly having some sort of illness in the crops that Dalv seemingly ate (a lie). But Starlo...... didn't listen. He felt bad that it didn't work out for Dalv and felt bad that he felt horrible about it. He wanted to do it for him. Carry on his legacy. Cling to what left he had of Dalv and what he was working on.

....But it was never meant to be.

[nqueso-emergency]

i mean - i think buck has not exactly been liked by a big part of the buddie fandom for a long while. some of them liked to hide it or not admit it, but they were bad at it. i thought it was obvious they don’t like buck for the longest time.

if you read their takes, or their fics, or any headcanon, it’s always the same formula. buck screws up, buck acts like a child, buck needs eddie to come to the rescue because he doesn’t know better, buck has to apologize to eddie. most of the time they also have eddie be super understanding and catering to buck as if he was his second child.

but then the buck we get in canon becomes more and more like the complete opposite version of their buck. and eddie is becoming someone they also don’t register in their fanon fantasy. i think they deeply hate how buck is the more stable one of the two. i think they hate how buck has grown up and is, arguably, a bit more mature than eddie right now. i think they hate the show is starting to paint buck as a figure you can rely on, that is wise and helpful, and mature (i think they slowly want to make him be the perfect captain, but i digress).

meanwhile eddie is slowly spiraling down, he hasn’t exactly grown a lot since he came onto 911 (in comparison to other characters, including buck), he’s if anything, gotten slightly worse. he mistreats women and doesn’t show a lot of remorse for it - he doesn’t seem to be super guilty over the pain he caused marisol in 709/710. understandably he was more upset about chris, and i would think of this as a fluke, but we’ve seen this before (hey, ana). eddie has also been shown to lash out against people whenever he gets mad at them, and he’s shown he’s okay lying to his friends without, again, feeling remorse about it. and hey, i am okay with a flawed character. everyone at the 118 is flawed and i think that’s what makes them great characters. i personally don’t like eddie as much as the rest, but that’s mostly due to his lack of self reflection and how he usually doesn’t apologize for his actions. as well as for the way i just don’t see him grow up in a way i can relate to.

to sum this up, when you put buck and eddie together it is rather obvious how different they are. and how different they are to the version that exists of them in fanon. and when you put them together throughout the seasons you can see buck’s growth, something it’s barely there with eddie.

so it makes sense that they’re now hating on him. they started at 710 when they wanted buck to be the one to solve eddie’s issues, and were mad that he chose to leave the diaz family alone to deal with their stuff, and went home to decompress and be with his boyfriend. he’s been judas to them ever since.

but hey, if some of them stop shipping buddie because apparently buck is a pos (ofc it can never be eddie, the one to make several big mistakes and have questionable behavior during s7)… silver lining. if they leave because of them i won’t complain, i’ll just watch them to with a smile and a sip of coffee.

sorry for the long rant lmao.

No I think you're right! They want the dynamic of uwuBuck and parental figure Eddie and that is not what is happening. If they wanted that, funny enough, they'd need season 1 Buck, the one they really don't like. (Or even know)

I believe Eddie's problem is that he's always been the hero. He won that silver star and I don't think he really believes he should have. He was just doing his job, ya know? But everyone looks to him as this army hero and in reality this man is so terrified underneath it all he feels inadequate in every avenue of his life.

It's why Ryan's excited to basically "ruin" Eddie. He needs it.

[braxlrose]

Hello! I really like your writing and I was wondering if I could request a bill x reader? It's where reader had a very rough childhood, with parents and stuff so they dont have a really good picture of love and gets confused about little nice things Bill does for them, like comforting and just being a good boyfriend, and can sometimes be like emotionally unavailable? But they really try with Bill and, yeah! Lmao, you don't have to do this and feel free to ignore!

omggg you're literally one of my favorite writers and I love this request because I really like writing angst bc there's so much emotion so ty <3

Also this is not proof read

cw: mentions of abuse (physical and verbal), angst, tell me if I missed anything pls!

Growing up was hard for you. Your father was barely ever around and when he was, he was completely hammered. You tried to stay away from him when he was like that, but it was hard considering you lived in the same house and he was always getting fired from jobs. Whenever you angered him, he'd take off his belt and beat you until you were sobbing. Then would pass out on the couch and act like nothing was wrong when he woke up.

On the other hand, your mother just never seemed to be happy with you. Always nit-picking on everything you did, the way you looked, the way you did your hair, your style, the way you talked, you were either too skinny or too fat; you just couldn't do anything right in her eyes.

You always tried your best to make them happy, just having the smallest glimmer of hope that they'd be proud of you for something. All your hard work at school or everything you did for your community. All the diets you went on for your mother. Cleaning up after your father. There was just nothing you could do.

You didn't understand why they were like this. Why did they have a child in the first place if all you did was "ruin their lives". You didn't understand love at all. Your mother said that she only does this because she cares about you, but if she cared wouldn't she want you to be yourself? No, of course not. You're either like her, or nothing. And that was that.

***

Then you moved to Magdeburg, Germany. Your mother was sick of her old apartment and your father was banned from all the alcohol stores in your town, so you had to move. Again. This wasn't the first time. You've moved 4 times in the past year because of your parents, you haven't lived anywhere long enough to make any friends.

You had moved into a small village and your mother was making you go over to the neighbour's for dinner. Your father was passed out somewhere so it was just you and her. She put your hair in a high ponytail and added "cute little pink bows". She always pulled too hard on your hair when she did it. You weren't allowed to leave the house unless you put on the pink, frilly dress she got you. You had to be "perfect" and "lady-like" or else no one would like you.

You slipped on your shoes and got pushed out the door by your mother. She had also plastered your face in makeup. Mascara, eyeshadow, lipgloss, all of that. You were fifteen years old for God sakes, why did she care so much?!

"You better not make me look bad in front of our new neighbour's, got it? I don't need your running your mouth like always." You nodded your head as she smacked the back of it, making you flinch before knocking on the door. You heard footsteps coming quickly to the door before a blonde woman opened up. A smile crept onto her face as she saw us.

(Its changing from third person to first person now!)

"Oh come in! Come in!" She said to us with a big smile on her face, ushering us in. My mother pushed me into the house, with a smile. The woman in front of us leaned down and waved, "Hi! You must be y/n! It's so nice to meet you!" I froze. What was I supposed to say? What if she got mad at my tone? What if I said something wrong? What if- I looked up as my mother nudged me on the arm, glaring into my eyes. don't be rude. she didn't even have to say anything for me to understand.

"Nice to meet you too!" I said to her, trying to smile but it just ended looking uncomfortable and awkward. She stood back up to her normal height and turned around, waving us towards the living room.

"Boys! Come down here to meet our new neighbours!" The woman shouted up the stairs as me and my mother sat down on the couch. She swatted my arm again.

"Stand up straight. Your going to make me look like a bad mother!" She whispered to me, giving me that icy cold glare she can never seem to get rid of whenever she looks at me.

Just then, two boys came stumbling down the stairs. They were obviously twins but looked very different from eachother. I turned my body back around when I heard then coming into the living room. I straightened out my back and looked at them with wide eyes.

"Woah, a girl." The mophead whispered. Tch, mophead. That's what he looked like. His dreads were all over the place.

"This is Mrs. y/l/n and y/n. They moved here today. Why don't you boys show y/n around the house?" They both nodded and smiled at me. This is where it all began. My friendship with Tom and Bill Kaulitz. It's been about 4 months since then and we all became good friends really quickly.

***

Me and Bill were walking through the park while tom was out doing God-knows-what. It was December already, so it had gotten really cold. We walked on some trails before Bill stopped us.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as he bent down on his feet.

"Tying your boots. You're gonna trip on them." My eyes widened as he leaned down. I'm just a fucking idiot I didn't even notice my shoelaces were untied. Who the fuck doesn't know that? Why didn't I realize? Am I actually that stupid? I could hear my mother's voice pounding in my head.

"Oh no! You don't have to do that, it's fine really! I'm just stupid, it's f-" he covered my mouth as he got it.

"Relax, I'm already done and I don't mind. Wouldn't want my favorite neighbour to fall face first into snow." He laughed and kept walking. Why'd he do that? He should've just told me to do it on my own, right? I don't need anybody to do anything for me. He should've just left it alone! What the fuck is wrong with hi-

"Hey are you thirsty?" What? What was he saying? I looked over at him when he stopped. We were back in town now, I hadn't even noticed.

"Hello?" He waved his hand in front of my face.

"Uhm..what?" I asked with a blank expression on my face. What was he saying? Why was he even asking me instead of just telling me? Isn't that easier?

"I said are you thirsty? There's a place just down the road that sells the best hot chocolate, you'll love it!" He said, grabbing my hand to bring me down the road. He wanted to get me hot chocolate?

"I don't have any money, Bill." He looked back at me and laughed.

"I'm buying, dummy. Why would I offer you something and then make you buy it? I'm not that awful." He joked, keeping my hand firmly in his. What. He wants to buy me something?

"You don't need to do that bill. I don't want to be a burden-" I sputtered out, not wanting him to do something he'd regret before he interrupted me.

"Burden?! You?" He stopped walking again and pulled me closer. Our faces were only a couple inches apart now and my hands were in his. "Y/n, you're my girlfriend. If I wanna buy my girlfriend a hot chocolate I'm gonna buy my girlfriend a hot chocolate, 'kay?" I was stunned. I don't understand why he's like this. He's too nice, people are gonna take advantage of that. Nevertheless, I nodded and walked down to where they were selling hot chocolate. Bill made sure to put extra marshmallows on mine. Why was he treating me like this?

We arrived back at his house and he pulled me down onto his bed with him.

"Jesus christ! Your hands are freezing, why didn't you say something." My hands? I guess they're cold. I hadn't noticed. Maybe they had gone numb half way through and that's why. Why did Bill care, they'd warm back up with time.

"It's no big deal Bill, I'll survive.." his eyes went wide like I had two heads.

"Are you insane?! No way!" He grabbed my hands and pulled me closer to him. He rubbed his hands onto mine and wrapped mine tightly in his. "Can't have your fingers falling off. I need someone's hand to hold." I smiled at me and wrapped the blanket around me. I laid my head down on his pillow and closed my eyes. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to have a perfect boyfriend who gets me hot chocolate or warms up my hands for me. I don't deserve this. You don't deserve this. She was back again. She's always there. My mother sitting in the back of my head like there's a throne waiting there for her. Why were her words stuck in me like glue. I'm sick of her constantly belittling me like I'm nothing. But I am. I am nothing. Nothing at all. Just a useless soul that needed to fill an empty body and nothing mor-

"Y/n! Wake up! Are you okay?" Huh..? What was happening? I turned my head and looked outside. It was pitch black out. Had I fallen asleep? I turned back to bill and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. He had shaken me awake from my slumber. "Are. You. Okay?" He asked again, "you were mumbling and crying in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?" I was crying? My finger tips reached up towards my cheeks. They were wet. I guess I was crying.

"I'm fine, bill. It was nothing." I mumbled and laid back down. His mouth was slightly agape as he crawled closer to me and engulfed me into a hug. He laid kisses all over my face. Why? Why does he care?

"You're not fine, and it's okay to be not fine! Just tell me what's wrong and let me help you!" He said to me as both of his hands caressed my cheeks. Help..me? Like I'm some charity case that needs fixing? I didn't need to be fixed. Yeah maybe I'm not perfect to my mother and maybe I have some fucked up issues but I don't need to be fixed. What the fuck was his problem?! Doesn't he understand I'm perfectly fucking fine!

"I said, I'm fine!" I shouted at him, shoving bill away from me and pushing myself off the bed. I'm perfectly fine and I don't need him telling me what's wrong with me. His head hit the wall by his bed and I could hear a crack. I broke his wall. I don't care. That's his fault. He should've backed off.

I heard him calling out my name along with a couple cries in between. I pulled on my shoes and stormed out the door. I don't need him or anybody or anything! I don't need him treating me like I'm some child who can't control her emotions!

That was 2 weeks ago. I hadn't spoken or even looked at him in two weeks. What was wrong with me? I hurt the only boy who's ever loved me. He probably hates me now. I'm the worst girlfriend in the entire world. Im the stupidest person. You're the most dumb, ugly, disgusting daughter who has ever been seen on this earth.

she's back.

I'm fucked up in the head and I don't know how to fix it. I want to blame my mother and father but it's not their fault, right? They care about me. It's my fault I'm like this. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I have no one to blame but myself...right?

I was stuck sitting down in a chair while my mother poured goopy foundation onto my skin. We had to go to some classy town thing and I had to actually "look like a girl".

"Maybe if you were naturally beautiful I wouldn't have to waste my time doing this."

"Sorry mama..it's not my fault though..." She glared down at me and smacked the back of my head.

"You're lucky you have foundation on or I would've smacked the shit out of this disgusting face." She gritted between her teeth. Her words were like an awful, greasy poison dripping from her tongue. I hadn't done anything and some how I had made her mad again.

She shoved me into a long, cream colored dress and turned on the ignition. I leaned my head against the side of the door as we drove. Why couldn't I just be the normal, beautiful daughter my mother wanted? If there was a God, he had some serious explaining to do.

"Stop slouching! You think I want a daughter with bad posture?! My god! Can't you do anything right?" The speech. I've heard it a million times since I learned how to talk. How I can't do anything right and I'm just some failure who should've been aborted fifteen years ago. How I ruined my mother's life and how she was going to be a star if it wasn't for me.

It was a long car ride but we finally got there. And the event was even worse. There were so many people and the music was way to loud. I felt like crying. My hands were shaking and I couldn't stop picking at my nails. Women kept coming up and taking to me with their children. Friends of my mothers. I could guess by their judging stares. I looked lady-like and had good posture and was smiling. Why was I being judged, what am I doing wrong again? Why can't I just be normal? A normal girl who doesn't fuck everything up. Doesn't make her parents hate her. Doesn't ruin her parents lives. Doesn't make people feel awkward. Doesn't hurt their boyfriends.

And that was my breaking point. Tears flooded down my cheeks and everybody was staring at me. I stumbled away into another room and sobbed on the floor. I couldn't breathe. My hands hurt from picking at my nails and my face hurt and my body hurt and my eyes were burning and my makeup was surely ruined.

Everything is. I always ruin everything. What the fuck is wrong with me?! The one person who truly cared about me...i..I haven't- I hiccups against the wall and bawled my eyes out. The one person who truly, actually cared about me...I haven't talked to him in two weeks. Then I caught my breath. I stood up and wobbled to the nearest window. I pulled myself out of it and stumbled outside. My whole body hurt so I probably ooked crazy. I could feel mascara was running down my cheeks as I walked through the town.

My arms were freezing cold and I still felt like everybody was watching me. Their beady and judgy eyes staring me down like I was about to go crazy. Well, I guess technically they were right. I just started sobbing in front of everybody so I probably did look insane. You looked insane! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Can't you just act like a girl for once!? That's what my mother said me to in the 3rd grade after a play we did..

I finally got back to my house and looked up to the neighbour's house. Bills house. The light was on in his bedroom. He was awake. I turned back to my door and took a deep breath. I had to say something to him. Right? I had to make him believe I wasn't some crazy person who would push everybody away. Maybe that's what I was though..

I knocked on the door but nobody answered, so I stepped into their house. It was completely dark as I stumbled up the stairs to bills room. I looked at all the happy family pictures they had. God they were so lucky. So lucky to have a perfect family. A father and mother who love them. Having a twin must be great, it's like having a bestfriend for life, right?

As I stepped up the stairs I heard the door open. Bill must've heard me coming up. When he slowly looked around the corner I saw his eyes widen at my awful state. I guess I should've cleaned myself up first, I look a mess. My dress was torn from crawling out the window and my makeup was obviously smeared. I bet my hair wasn't too pretty either.

"Holy shit, y/n?!" He came down the stairs quickly and grabbed my arms, helping me up the stairs, "what happened?! You look...awful."

He sat me down on his bed and I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him. This perfect guy who loves me. I tried to open my mouth and say something but nothing came out. I guess he could tell I wasn't sure what to say because he went to the bathroom and grabbed some wipes.

"Here.." he kneeled down and began to wipe my makeup off. Tears slipped past my waterline as he comforted me. He just sat there looking up at me with a pity smile on his face as he cleaned me up. He took of my hands in his other hand and held it. He really was perfect. He saw him grab some lotion off his desk and rub it around my face after he wiped everything off.

"Come on, why don't we get you into some comfortable clothes okay?" I nodded at him and toyed with my fingers as he picked out some clothes.

I was laying in his arms now. His fingers were combing though my hair as I laid on his chest. I wasn't sure why he was doing this. Any sane person would've just kicked me out, right? I held onto bill tighter whenever he kissed my head and my cheeks. I cuddled up closer to him and nuzzled into his neck.

"I love you, y/n.." bill whispered as I dosed off into my sleep, breathing in his comforting scent and letting tears fall on his skin because he was the only person who was able to make me feel at home.

OKAY THIS TOOK ME LIKE 2 HOURS AND IT ALMOST GOT DELETED BUT THANK GOD IT DIDNT, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!

the end felt kinda rushed but I hope it was still good

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @dead-tapes @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam

[blazingstar29]

Top Gun Workouts - Iceman

Ice, ice baby as decide by the poll

Disclaimer: In this series I break down the muscular make up of Top Gun characters and how I think they'd exercise. If this is may be triggering please enjoy my other shitposting!

Ice is so, so interesting to me. The first scene where we see him standing up he's in his flight suit but notice his frame. He has that dorito shape that made hollywood go mad over Chris Evans. Broad shoulders and itty bitty waist

The beach scene, of course. Ice is probably the leanest of the cast (bar Goose, but again, i have REASONS). He's got pretty reasonable shoulders to give him the broad, inverted triangle shape. However we see when his scapular is exerted/fully rotated forward, we see more tendons and muscles (below, left). Also, in the photo above, look at those lats. Those are wings.

There's a little bit of tricep definition but Mav definitely rules the court on triceps. What we see in the pictures above though, is a back with really lean muscle. This tells us a lot about him.

Another full body shot which highlights a few things. 1. I'm pretty sure that's a knee wrap, again, interesting in terms of injuries. 2. he also has an ankle wrap. 3. Look at the way he moves, poised, elegant. This is interesting again, it tells us a LOT. (Which i will explain in a minute)

Ice you are probably one of the two characters in Top Gun who pay attention to chest day at the gym. Very broad chest and upper body but not super defined abs, unlike Slider.

Ice has a very interesting body composition, he's lean but not under muscles. This leads me to think that he isn't a gym junkie. He's strong, for sure, and can certainly do all the compound lifts with some decent weight. But I don't think he's a bodybuilder or powerlifter like Slider and Mav. To be honest, I think the headcanon that Ice is a swimmer is incredibly accurate. He's lean, he's got lean muscling and the shoulders and lats to show for it. Also with a potential knee/ankle injury, running is very high impact and like Slider, Ice is tall. Tall people wear out. So swimming is very good for someone like him.

Exercises:

Swims every single day he can. Will run if he has to when he's on an aircraft carrier but prefers not to.

Hits the compound lifts and not much more. Squats, bench, and deadlift.

The way he moves is very elegant, so imagine kick boxing or a martial arts as well.

also gotta include this photo bc i forgot it for mav lmao, thanks @mavernick for reminding me of this wild confrontation avoiding posture lmao.

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 4;;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them lmao - dubious consent, canon typical violence, lack of Jacaerys, death, blood and gore, Aemond - who forces the reader into holy matrimony in this one (oh yes it's happening), and of course engages in petty masturbation (it's not THW without him going ham on his own hand ♡)

Word Count: 15k+ (wowza i know)

Author's Note: Low and behold, part 4 is here!! Originally, this was supposed to be a 4 parts series, but that obviously isn't the case anymore. THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I'M SO SORRY - I had major issues with the tag list, and at some point, tumblr wouldn’t let me post this; I unfortunately couldn't solve those problems, no matter how hard I tried, so most of you haven't been properly tagged :") This update is a hot mess, and I haven't actually had the time to read through all the paragraphs that I wrote. I SHALL BE BACK TO EDIT

A huge thank you to everyone who's still following the story, though, and I hope you enjoy!

A war is in its midst.

When everyone else is readying themselves for the following decisive battles, you and Aemond are busy playing house.

Things get heated in Harrenhal, and one must decide when and where to pick their side.

The contact of the hot water upon Aemond’s ivory skin made the man shudder in naught but blinding pain. Achingly slow movements, followed by slow grunts echoed throughout the room – and Lady Tully stilled upon the silken sheets, moving her eyes over the book’s page for the thousandth time since he returned; thus driving all her peace away.

The baths Aemond determinedly took in the raptures of the late-night hours never failed to make her uncomfortable, and keep her on edge. Even so, being forced to hear the pained man move with such little stability and lack of confidence almost teetered the girl to the brink of madness.

Harrenhal had been in shambles since its proud conqueror beckoned his return on dragon back that very eve. Two young maids shouted for maesters, and Alys Rivers nearly caused a scene. As he got off his leather saddle, the Prince all but collapsed from tiredness and blood loss.

'He commanded his features to turn brave and taciturn,' his paramour had told her, 'as to not let a single hint of his condition spread throughout the Keep. My poor Aemond.'

The fool had been reached by an arrow.

An impressive feat, one had to agree – and wonder further on the identity of the courageous shot.

‘Struck right between his shoulder blade and chest,’ she had heard some lost girl utter, ‘It is a miracle he’s still alive.’

… Or the Gods’ cruelest punishment, the Lady compelled within her thoughts.

“Mmhh…” Aemond’s rugged breath deterred the girl to raise her glassy orbs from the confinement of the wilting pages. She schooled her eyes to stay above any level of indiscretion, and gingerly followed the trail of blood mixed with dirt, that seeped into and dirtied the once clear water.

Now that her curiosity was quenched, she could freely look away again.

Half a heartbeat later, she relented and surrendered in the face of his quarrelsome state. The Prince bit the inside of his cheek again, and raised his hand up to allow droplets of liquid to trail past his wounded shoulder… but to no avail.

“You could call in a maid, you know.” Her raspy voice descended upon his struggling body. Sooner than she may have liked, the Bliss of Riverrun closed her eyes, and concentrated on the languid noises that the Prince was making.

Seconds felt like pending minutes, until Aemond One-Eye graced her with a reply.

“I don’t need a maid to help me.”

Then that was that, the young woman soon concluded, returning her attention to the opened book.

'The Philosophies of the Riverlands', however, provided little to no aid to the situation at hand – and her overall station.

For she knew, perhaps far too well, that she had to play a different game than the one they'd engaged in, months prior to her imprisonment in that cursed place.

Insufferable man… she vexed him cruelly inside her head, I hoped by now you would be dead.

She raised one leg from the mattress that embedded her, and shifted it, so as to allow her limbs to hang lowly by the edge of the bed. Her thoughts formed and went as they pleased, but the girl settled on one final reach.

He hadn't even allowed Alys to help him undress. Suggesting her now was a deliberate waste of her time.

Not only that, but she still had to win his trust. Somehow, she promised herself, no matter what it takes, she'd do it.

Forcibly she rose from the bed, and made her way slowly towards his wide basin, fixating her eyes on the stone floor ahead. Her throat closed in on itself, and the girl pursed her lips into a tight line, whilst exhaling through her nose. It took a while for her to calm herself.

"... What about me?" She asked in a leveled tone.

Her gaze met his piercing orb, and the Lady nearly took a small step back. His face long washed the wave of shock from his sharp, Targaryen features – Aemond awaited her next words with a quirked up brow and a slight bite o'r his inner cheek. He seemed more than interested in her meek suggestion.

His wordless approval had left her speechless and, for a while, only her heartbeat emerged in her ears.

The Prince Regent trailed his eye hungrily over her extended arm. He took in a sharp breath as she grasped the rough sponge from his hand, and drained it of the putrid smell. She confidently brought it up to him – and teasingly trailed it over his hard chest, down to his lower abdomen, up again to his slouching shoulder.

"This… will hurt you a little bit." She whispered to him, skillfully averting her face from the man in question.

He gritted his teeth harshly, and almost let out a groan from his parted lips – with his dexterous and long fingers, he gripped the edge of the wooden basin, but dared not to look away from the kneeling Lady – choosing, instead, to focus on singling out her every soft and hard feature.

On her end, (Y/N) dabbed the piece of cloth over his wound gently, chanting inside her head to remain small and taciturn.

He shan't get more of a reaction from me, she promised herself through the span of an agonized huff, as she focused in on the task at hand.

Aemond's white skin revealed itself from the washed patches of dirt, and the Prince sighed a deep breath of contentment, as he felt his body be unintentionally caressed by her. His eye fluttered close, and a slight furrow of his tantalizing brow indicated the uncommon pleasure he took from their sporadic intimacy.

The two remain in awkward silence - the only noise that reached the girl's ears being the rattle of water and the occasional hiss from Aemond.

"... I'm sorry." She strained herself to whisper, whilst her hair fell seemingly out of place. "This looks as if it's painful."

The Prince Protector mirrored her stance, and glanced at her through the thick curtain of long, silver hair – the lilac in his eye complimenting the heatwaves of fire that danced across his marred skin.

"It's not painful." His gruff voice echoed in reply.

"... You –" The Lady began, but stopped on her tracks to level her voice again, by the aid of coughing in the back of her hand.

"You don't have to pretend in my company, you know."

She graced him with a forced smile, one she hoped seemed light enough to fool him. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't make fun of you."

Her eyes trailed over to the harsh stone floor, wrinkling at their sharpened ends – "When I was three and ten," she began, "My youngest brother betted against one of the stable boys: that he could ride faster than anyone on his horse, Middle." Her eyes spasmed close at the memory, and the girl wistfully smiled to herself, "The fool scraped his knees in that dreadful race. Middle threw him right out of his expensive saddle."

As she spoke, she brought the rough cloth over Aemond's shoulder blade, right above his wound, and began scrubbing the dirt that adorned over his skin.

"He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, so he made me clean it, in the stead of a maester." The Lady let out an airy laugh, as her nose scrunched up with a pang of fondness. "I have never seen a boy get so worked up over a simple scratch before."

Aemond hummed in admission – half relieved by the distraction she was offering, and half worried by the impending pain he would soon feel. He shifted from inside the basin, as if to reach for the sponge in her hand himself, but the girl simply laid her hand away.

Her musings came to an abrupt end. She retreated on her steps lightly, and offered the Crown Prince a quirked-up brow.

"You need to stay put, Prince Aemond. Otherwise, I risk causing you more harm than good." She swallowed thickly, and only shook her head, "Your wound needs thorough cleaning, Your Grace. And it is too far in the back for you to clean it by yourself."

She glanced at his face anew, and let out a tumbling sigh as he nodded his head again, trying his hardest to relax into her touch once more.

Part of him remained put up – the bulk of his chest and shoulders still gloriously hunched over, ready to bolt up at any given moment.

"... I hate to admit it. I thought he was exaggerating then – with the discomfort which he feigned was feeling."

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as she glanced quickly at the laying man, "But how can one make fun of another's state of pain?"

A sympathetic look was shared between them.

Her eyes softened in admission to his furrowed brows and descended features. In that exact light, she couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled her Jace.

"Pain makes us human. And it's a reminder for us: to really cherish our times of incandescent joy."

The break of a cold sweat kissed over Aemond's forehead; droplets of which gathered at the base of his left eye, where his leather eyepatch stayed secured.

The girl pushed down a disdainful puff, as her eyes trailed him over, from the rosy blotch of skin, back to his hawk-like eye.

"Leather retains heat." She murmured before she could catch herself.

The Targaryen Prince expelled a deep breath, and, as her hand came to rest over the buckle that secured his patch into place, he primed his lips into a downturned arch.

"It can't be good for you to always keep it on."

"The sight of it frightens others. I don't want it to frighten you."

"I've seen you without your eyepatch before."

"That was different. This time… is different."

The latter of his words sent a shiver down her bent spine. Nothing is different, she was aching to say. Her lips pressed anxiously together, and the girl offered Aemond a curt nod. Just as she was about to pull her hand away from the nape of his neck, the Prince's wet palm came up to stop her.

His fingers shakily entwined with hers. The deep callouses of his hand scratched the softness of her open palm.

For a while, Time herself froze before them.

(Y/N) came to avert her gaze, but Aemond's eye feverishly searched for the relieving clash of hers. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the Lady of Riverrun nearly choked onto the clogged-up air.

His silver locks curled slightly at their ends – the dampness of the room striking its claim over his perfectly straight strands of hair. In his own right, Aemond could be called beautiful. His striking Targaryen features might have ensured the favor of many young maidens, were it not for his rash and impetuous attitude, the bite that rested in his character – which no doubt spread like a disease over his life at Court.

"Look at me." Against his better judgment, and his innermost turmoil, Aemond allowed her small fingers to trail over the buckle of his blinder again. He drew out a comforting sigh, and, with her hand still in his, gently slid the leather off.

He sucked in a quiet breath, as the coldness of the air enveloped his throbbing eyelids.

The poise in his composure was cracking at the seams, with the passing of each second, during which she settled to remain silent.

Eventually, her hand came to rest over his face again. Her dexterous fingers began to leisurely wipe the sweat from his brow, his eye, by submerging them into the lukewarm water, and bringing them over and over to his clenched face.

"I'm sorry." She settled on to say instead, once the breaching of kind words failed to meet her. "No one deserves to be left without an eye. No one deserves such appalling cruelty."

"You appear to be sorry an awful lot this evening, My Lady." Aemond choked under his breath, taken aback by her gentle movements and sainty utter.

"I spend the better part of my days in the company of my own thoughts." She huskily reminded him, "... It's been increasingly easier for me to reflect on my past mistakes."

Wordless from her hoax admission, and desperate to feel her hands explore him further, the Targaryen Prince rose heavily from the dirtied water – his chest coming directly to her field of vision.

The girl let out a cutting gasp, as she turned swiftly on her heel, refusing to glance at his modesty, not any longer than she'd already had.

Her eyelids fluttered close, and she shifted from one foot to the other, but to no avail. For in spite of her desire to run away, the Lady found herself hammered in place.

The proximity between them laid out to be a problem – Aemond let out a frustrated sigh, and turned her head around with the clasping of his untouched arm. Two of his fingers came to rest at the base of her cheek and chin; the Prince let out a satisfied hum, as her body trembled in slight shock at their change of position.

"Gevie…" He muttered to no one but himself.

His cock stood proudly at attention, kissing over his prominent abdomen, trailing long past his belly button. Every now and then, white pearls pooled to the base of his length, weeping from his angry tip, trailing past his stones in the reach of the water below him.

"Look at me." He breathed again, and his sweet Lady obeyed.

She threw him a dejected look: half harsh and cold, half hardened and scorned. The tips of her ears matched the redness of her pale cheeks. Her eyes cast their curious glow throughout every corner of the room, yet stayed away from the scorn of indiscretion that called out to her, only centimeters below her swollen lips.

Aemond's thumb flicked once over her crimson labium, but the man sighed, seemingly discouraged, and settled upon gripping her dainty wrist instead.

"Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda."

The gentleness that oozed from his voice could have had anyone fooled. But not her. The translations of the words he muttered against the skin of her wrist were lost on her, but the Lady of Riverrun still singled out a most protruding word.

He had never failed to call her 'his tormenting love'.

The girl's breath rose and fell with each agonizing word that befell over her face.

"Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa." Aemond sighed against her wrist.

'I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin.'

Her words rang harsh and true inside her head – and, much like it was back then, her heart harbored no honorable intent towards the Trident's Terror.

He burnt your entire homeland, she chastised herself harshly, He killed thousands. Every day, even more find their end by the breath of his dragon. By the way of his wrath.

The ache in her heartbeat rang loudly inside her ears – her every pore aligned with her wish to run away, and her mind was screaming at her to retreat to a corner.

Comparing him to Jacaerys was a laughable feat.

"Let's… just finish getting you cleaned up, Your Grace" She struggled to finally suggest out loud, through the timid inflection of her outwardly calm voice.

She slithered her face away from his grasp, and began draining the sponge of the dark mud again.

Aemond sighed, and lowered himself back into the cold water – his lone eye never leaving the mould of her smaller frame.

"I heard that conversation… sometimes distracts the ill from the discomfort of the cleaning process, Your Grace."

Now turned to his exposed back, the girl's hand wavered over his punctured shoulder. She waited three, perhaps four seconds, before her arm finally breached contact with the wounded flesh.

Aemond took in a sharp breath, but remained otherwise silent, until she prompted him to speak again.

"How… how did such a thing even come to happen?"

Aemond's chest rose and fell with each labored pant. His eye remained tightly closed, his jaw awfully set. Her question registered into his mind, and a reply formed at the former base of his thoughts.

For a while, however, the One-Eyed Prince remained quiet – weighing the option of telling her the truth rather carefully.

"A Frey company was marching South." He hissed as her light hand came over his flesh, applying soft pressure in its wake. "The fog of the morning masked them from me – but Vhagar's shadow still went right above their heads."

The woman brought her free hand to rest over his lower back, and her fingers rubbed soothing circles into the dampness of his skin. "It was… very lucky that you didn't get more hurt."

She scorned herself inwardly, but kept her curiosity at bay. She wouldn’t ask him whether the company had risen victorious, or if he burnt all those men to the ground.

The latter option, in any case, seemed more than likely.

The Crown Prince tensed visibly, but didn’t scoot away from her soothing touch. A deep sigh parted from his cracked lips, and the man revelled at their sudden closeness.

He ached to talk to her, to plead with her to welcome him inside her heart – and into her bed. He could feel his own beat loudly, and his body trembled in unquenched lust and rage.

Still, he knew it was too soon for that.

Not once during their rash acquaintance, did the girl before he talk with so much interest about his day with him.

His thoughts trailed to Alys, and Aemond wondered if half her new admission was owed to her – if indeed the two women secured a friendship within the last two weeks, if his whore became her confidant, if she breathed in her trust in him.

He would have to talk to her later. Thank her, if he was feeling apt and generous.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in the shell of his ear, and the Targaryen Prince nibbled at his lower lip. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the coldness of the water gave him the strength to concentrate, by the sliding of small ripples down his exposed chest and abdomen. The ache of his wound was a small price to pay, if only to feel her knuckles working against his back.

"There we are. All done, Your Grace."

She rose up from her kneeling stance, wincing at the sudden change of perspective, and at the throb of her tired knees. She gingerly presented the clean set of clothes and bathing robes to him. Her head remained turned to the side, and her hand instantly let go of the heavy clothes, the moment his palm came into contact with them.

In the stead of returning to sit idly by their resting place, the woman graced him with a final look, and let out a faint mutter. "I'll leave you to it."

She wavered but a moment, and turned her stare to the ruined clothes; the ones that Aemond had so carelessly discarded on the floor, as he prepared for his undeserved nightly soak.

The shadow of a long-laid plan gleamed beneath her silent gaze.

"I can wash them for you tomorrow – after my bath. It might be wiser to keep the nature of your wounds hidden. The maids needn't worry over how much blood you lost."

Aemond's brows furrowed in slight shock, and the Prince remained wordless in the face of her sensible suggestion.

And yet her eyes spoke with so much sincerity, that he gleefully allowed the pang of hope to warm his unforgiving features.

"As you wish." He rumbled out, while forcing himself to move his stare to the folded clothes before him.

His eye trailed back to his hands' agile ministrations, and Aemond soon began to roll over his linen breeches, covering his half-hard cock with the help of the rough material.

A throaty groan etched from deep within his throat, however, as he reached for the pristine shirt.

The girl stopped in her tracks, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

The struggle he was undergoing would have been music to her ears – were it not for the solidarity of her position. For the millionth time that night, she reminded herself of her plan and her desperation to escape.

Thus, unbeknownst to her own better judgment, the Lady compelled herself to seek him further.

Although her words failed to assist her, the way she gingerly reached, with her hand wide and outstretched, made Aemond aware of her pending intent.

Their bodies were inches apart. The girl sucked in a hurried breath, and neglected to exhale it as the oxygen hit her lungs.

Aemond was burning up – and whether that was from the lack of fresh air within the confining room, or the first telltale sign of fever, or her – he was lost on saying anymore. His weakened arm slithered into the sleeve of his shirt, though the pain was long forgotten.

And instead of focusing on his poised movements, his glassy eye ran hungrily over her face and hypnotic features.

(Y/N)'s fingertips grazed over the light material. Her tired eyes softened at the familiar feeling. The threat of tears beckoned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them all away in a hasty movement. Melancholy ate away at her, far more often than she knew was wise to allow.

Still she remembered, if only for a moment, the raptures of Jacaerys' warm embrace. And how, in the heat of summer, that very same cloth felt against her heated cheek.

They must have had the same seamstress, the same tailor. Of course, she thought to herself in a bitter manner, after all, they are both Princes.

… Were.

But if she closed her eyes, she could pretend – No, she chastised herself fully, such a thing just cannot be. And you'd be a fool to attempt to it.

The magnetic pull between them trebly pried the two souls together. And it would be yet another minute, until (Y/N) finally took a step back, opening her mouth to announce the end of her intimate task.

Her eyes fell on the stone hard floor, and she carefully turned her back around him.

The long waves of her hair shifted over her modest nightgown, covering her mounds of flesh with a slight shift to the left.

"I'm going to sleep." She pathetically uttered, as the warmth that emanated from Aemond's form not moments prior, still fell heavily over her slight frame.

Mechanically she gripped the satin sheets and engulfed herself with them – a slight comfort came over her, as the coldness of the unused bedding fanned gently over her scorched limbs.

Aemond remained stuck in place, and a heaved breath rumbled from within his chest. The red in his cheeks would have put both their Houses' seals to shame – For once, he was glad she wasn't looking his way.

***

The rest of the night was spent in washed quietness.

And his Lady might have made it up: the dip at the edge of the bed, the smell of fresh pine and wildfire that caressed her in her sleepy state, and the slight "Thank you" that dabbled from her captor's lips.

“You plan to ride on dragon-back again? So soon?” The echo of Alys' voice carried her worry throughout the silent clearing.

The first rays of sunlight caught flame into her raven hair, lighting her features in such a way, that it accentuated her every perpetual scar and wrinkle. The fire inside her eyes could rival the one of a trueborn Targaryen, were it not for her strong outer appearance.

Aemond moved his body at a leisurely pace, not even bothering to throw the woman one of his usual vexing looks.

"Do you think dear nuncle will put a stop to the siege of the Twins, should the word spread about my condition?"

His cutting words rendered the woman speechless, and the Rivers witch simply clicked her tongue, whilst glancing at the green grass below her.

"War awaits no one, my dear." He asserted definitively, as he gripped onto Vhagar's long bridles.

The mighty beast let out a shaken roar, as Aemond winced once his wounded shoulder made light contact with her dark-green scales.

"Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar." He instinctively reached for her, and caressed her lower belly with one of his gloved hands.

At their calm exchange, Alys bit over her lower lip, harshly enough to draw her own blood. "You should stay." She managed to draw out, "At least a while – going in search of your uncle today, instead of tomorrow, won't make a difference to your brother's cause."

But her voice of reason reached deafened ears. For Aemond Targaryen was set on paying the debt he owed. The debt he agreed to take on, the moment his dragon clasped onto Lucaerys, swallowing the bastard whole.

"Everything matters at war, Alys." He hummed impatiently, while snapping his head in her general direction. "What do you think will happen to you, should Daemon reach Harrenhal? Your pretty head will rest near mine, impaled on a sharpened spike."

But if she told you to stay put, you would do just that, wouldn’t you? Her bitter thoughts chewed her conscious away.

Alys spat out a lowly curse, as she shifted uncomfortably in place. "Daemon Targaryen was here once, not long before you. He didn’t kill me then."

"Because you didn't matter back then." The Prince Protector of the Realm hissed through painfully gritted teeth, "You were no one to him. You were a wet nurse who merely spread her legs for him."

The man turned his back to her, as he wordlessly bound Vhagar's bridle over his wrist again and again.

"And last I checked, your cunt failed to inspire him."

Her mouth parted in a silent protest, and her green eyes widened in partial distress. "Still I should remain in luck," She choked out through a breathless laugh, "for it has never failed to inspire you."

"You are perfectly right," Aemond's laughter was humorless and brash, "And it is because of this loose cunt that Aegon nearly lost the support of Storm's End."

The Prince spun around on his heel's end, and trapped the woman in between his hard chest and restless dragon. "Sometimes I think you cost me more than you're worth." He whispered calmly into her ear, while trailing his index finger over the sharp edge of her jaw. "For speaking back to me, I could have you executed."

The finality of his words drew her body closer to the ancient beast, and Vhagar let out a displeased grunt. Amusement pulled at the corners of his downturned mouth.

"Still you should remain in luck," He mocked her with an airy laugh, "I find myself in an exceedingly good mood today."

The back of his hand came to play with a loose lock of her messy braid, and the Prince smiled at her stance and her bewildered look. "But you've been a most useful asset, haven't you, my dear?" He obliged her with a teasing smirk, "Lady Tully responded well to you, hasn't she? Tell me," He paused momentarily, as he trailed his hands to the narrow middle of her waist, and back up again. "Have you kept up your training with her?"

Alys' face fell into a frown, as she staggered a frustrated look. Aemond was toying with her.

"That dull book she pretends to read at night has the maps of three secret passages hidden amongst the latter pages. Two of them lead to that cell into the West Wing – but of course, she doesn't know that. The third one leads to the stables of Harrenhal."

Aemond hummed pleasedly, and the man soon took a wide step back, allowing his paramour enough space for proper breathing. "You did well." He smiled wistfully, "I should reward you well tonight. You may think of something you desire. I will see to it once I return."

"I would very much like you to stay and heal today." She urged him not a heartbeat later, surprising even herself with the intensity of her tone.

Aemond's composure broke with the licks of roaring laughter – one that was empty, and fell devoid of any feelings of fondness or grief.

"Think of something else." He urged her coolly, and dismissively pushed past her, to reach for his dragon's saddle.

"'Tis a good thing you shall never be a wife, Alys. The role of the worried wench doesn't suit you one bit."

"Keep feeding her half-truths and lies." He encouraged the woman with a final reach over her hand. He squeezed once over her balled-up fist – acting as both a promise, and a taciturn warning on what should happen, should she let him down again. "Regarding whatever else she may have to say… you'll report it back immediately."

With that, the Kinslayer of the Trident took off, leaving the promise of bone and ash behind his dragon's menacing ascend.

The Eyrie was, on all accounts, smaller even than Maegor's Holdfast. Inside the stronghold nestled the Arryns, hidden deep beneath the illusion of the smallest stronghold of the main seven Kingdoms. Despite its intermediate size, the Keep of the Giant's Lance deemed itself one of the safest places to be – Hardly a lie, especially now, Cain Waters ineptly hummed, once his wobbly feet carried him over the stoney threshold.

Despite its less-than-imposing size, and lack of sheer volume, (Y/N)'s sworn shield felt himself smaller than ever before.

How would he dare account for his whereabouts? Reason his shortcomings?

How could he hope to explain to his Lord that not only did he return empty-handed, without his beloved granddaughter on horseback – he returned without the notion of a hand at all?

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, it was Mira Florent who rested loyally by his side – her strength and stability allowing the Waters bastard to lean into her, if only for a fleeting moment, during the ascend of the narrow stairs.

"Take heart," She whispered, "Your Lord is a kind and understanding one. You won't be facing trial for this."

His mere reply was a solitary grunt, and a quick smile, dejectedly thrown her way.

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, Albar had remained behind. The mute man shrugged his head decidedly when Cain gestured towards the waiting castle, and Mira explained to him that the Vale scarcely left him feeling safe and wanted.

And he understood, perhaps far too well – the feeling of dejection a bastard boy felt, as he stepped foot into the land of his birth.

***

He'd been granted the comfort of a Maester and a hot soak, almost immediately after his appearance at the Arryns' Great Door.

The Lady of the Vale proved to be a kindred spirit, capable of great nurture, despite her lack of heirs to her family's ancestral throne. She gasped loudly at the sight of him. Her eyebrows furrowed in grave distraught, and her lower lip trembled as the healers informed her of the state of his right hand.

Her searching eyes reminded him of the ones of his own mother – neither particularly warm nor cold towards him, but fair and just in their own accord.

She almost decided against calling upon him to the Trouts' Black Council, but the young Oscar Tully had entirely different plans.

His eyes, as they were, were socketed by a deep, but elusive brown. They spoke and reminded him of a whole different tale than the one of his fair, poor Lady.

And it was Oscar's eyes, so similar in shape to hers, who bore ghastly holes into the back of Ser Cain's skull. His arm rose up, as if to cut off the man's retelling – his nostrils flared up in disgust, and his face twisted into a painful scowl.

"So what you're telling me… is that you failed to bring her back."

Cain's eyes hardened at her brother's words, and the knight nibbled on his lower lip, in an attempt to calm himself.

Although a brave and honest man, he dared not look in the eyes of Lord Grover Tully – he dared not see what lay beneath his wilted face. Thus, all his attention focused in on the chirping lass.

"Aye, my Lord." He mustered up to tell him, "I lost her to the One-Eyed Prince. We escaped Harrenhal, and managed to get as far as the Saltpans, but –"

The boy scoffed at his attempt to pardon and explain himself. He nodded affirmatively, and scrutinized Cain with his piercing gaze.

"You returned with an empty hand, Ser Cain. You failed: miserably."

His back straightened in an attempt to appear bigger, and the hot-headed lass rose from his chair in a hurling daze.

"Because of you, my sister is in the hands of that cycloptic freak. Because of you, we don't know anything about her whereabouts. She could be tortured, enslaved, sullied – worse!"

Lady Jane Arryn clicked her tongue in disbelief, and beckoned her guard to guide the boy back into a sitting stance.

"That is quite enough, Oscar." She asserted calmly, "We have no evidence of such a feat."

"Of course we don't!" The young Lordling huffed annoyedly, jolting on the brink of madness, "The deranged cripple wouldn't reply to any of our ravens!"

His face contorted animalistically, the freckles on his face being taken by the deep shade of crimson that coloured in his plumper cheeks. "And with you here, Waters, we don't even have the certainty that (Y/N) is still alive!"

"Oscar." Grover's deep voice echoed a warning through the quietness of the tiny Keep.

As if struck in the face, the youngest of the Tully brothers shifted in his seat again. "My sister's fate is breached unknown," He cried out in a collapsing tune, "She's our family, grandfather, my only sister! Pray tell, why does it look as if I'm the only one who gives a damn?"

The graying Lord and the narrow Lady both leaned towards a perplexing look. But before any of them could reply to his laid-out challenge, (Y/N)'s brother urged them further, as he hissed through his gritted teeth. "It would have been better for you not to return at all, Ser Cain. It would have been better for all parties involved to have sent me in his stead, Grandfather!"

His shoulders slouched forward, and the brazen boy fought with Grover's intense stare. "Had I failed, I wouldn’t have even returned at all." Oscar roared over the silent council, proclaiming his intent with a defying raise. "I would sooner have died, than see her be taken by that monster again."

"What would you have had me do, boy?!" Grover Tully raised his voice in turn, "You fool. Would you have had me send you away for her? Do you think your death would have made you a martyr?!"

Cain's lips pursed into a tight line, as the Riverlords before him bickered further. Even Lady Jane Arryn seemed to be left speechless, unsure of when or how to stop their arguing.

Family feuds were neither one's strongest suit.

"Do you think," His Grandfather uttered, "that if you were to die, anyone would remember you fondly?!" The red in his cheeks matched the one on his grandson's face, and the elder Lord broke out into a coughing fit. "Your sacrifice would mean nothing. And when the dust settled over Westeros, and the war was done, you would just be another casualty. Another body to burn in a communal."

Almost immediately, his eyes softened, and their deep creases faltered on his face.

The Lord of Riverrun grunted in fatigue, but still rose himself securely on his two able feet. He marched towards the huffing boy, and placed a wrinkled hand over his sweaty forehead, urging him to quiet down.

"It's not about glory, Grandfather." He spat out lowly, as his ears began to match his fiery locks of curly hair. "It's about family. Our family. It's about ensuring its survival."

The older man gave the lass a curt nod. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and turned to the knight with a downturned smile.

"There wasn't a knight more fit for the task than Ser Cain." He confirmed his judgment with a tired gesture in his direction. "He was knighted at five and ten. You are over your seven and tenth birthday, boy, and haven’t been even mirthed a squire."

Oscar sucked in a protesting breath, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room fall before him. His brows furrowed in a dangerous quarrel, and his blood ran hot. "Yet even with all the skill in the world, he still failed."

Lord Grover was losing his patience, "Yes, grandson, that he did! He failed, despite all the signs that pointedly told us otherwise – do you think you'd do an equitable job? When you haven't even once crossed swords in a Joust or Tourney?"

Nearby the aching knight, Lady Arryn renowed her position.

She whispered to her waiting guard, and the man took a step ahead, hitting over the chantry with the hilt of his sword.

The noise that erupted grabbed the attention of both grandson and grandfather.

"The turn of events marked by Ser Cain's departure means we need to readjust our plans." She commanded their heed calmly, "It is… unfortunate; that Lady Tully's sworn shield failed to protect her. Yet here we all stand, warming our bottoms on a mine of gold."

Cain should have been grateful for the distraction she was offering. All the displeasure surged upon him evaporated within the click of her tongue, and less conventional language – still, even he had to remain weary on the subject he opened.

"On a mine of gold?" Oscar spat out sharply, feeling his self-control disperse by failing him again. "My Lady, do you think my sister's condition is a situation of great rejoice?"

The Lady's blue eyes cut through the boy deeply, and the young man closed his mouth in embarrassment, before sitting down again.

She reached for the goblet of wine, and wet her lips with it, "Our strategical situation couldn't be better. Not once have we had a spy of Harrenhal successfully return. In truth, we didn’t even think it possible." Her lithe hand pointed towards the bloodied knight, and her eyes glimmered in mischief, "Yet here stands our living proof."

She elegantly rose from her ivory throne, and signaled the man to take a seat at the bent table. As he gingerly followed her lead, the woman spared him with a kind glance, and met his glance with her deep azul gaze.

"From what I gather, you spent the better part of a month undetected in the Strongs' Keep. Is that true?"

Cain nodded stiffly, and rested his bulky hands over his tired knees. "Yes, my lady. That I have."

"And you were knighted at fifteen?" She alluded to what was early spoken.

"Yes, my lady."

"By Lord Hunter Redwyne." She urged him to clarify, through the edge of a quirked-up brow, and the callings of a small smile pulling at her dusted lips.

"Yes, my lady. The very one."

Lady Jane hummed, seemingly satisfied by his short answers. She turned her attention to Lord Grover and his tiresome grandson, and merely asked Ser Cain again.

"And you faced the Kinslayer in combat, cut by a Valyrian blade, and lived to tell the tale?"

"... Aye, my lady."

Oscar's eyes remained unyielding. But Grover Tully glanced at the man before him, and offered him a wordless bow.

"Tell me, Ser, how would you like to command your own battalion?"

"You have to be patient." Alys chastised her deeply, as her luring features turned from flaccid to sharp. "Hardly enough time has passed since your last attempted escape – Aemond is still very much on edge."

The Lady's eyes turned to her. With the bridge of her nose scrunched up, and her fair features molded into a desperate plea, the girl looked more like a lost child, than an able and resourceful Lady.

Alys regarded her as such, and sighed deeply as she grasped onto her shoulders carefully.

"If I wait any longer, it'll be too late. I've already wasted three moon turns in this cursed Keep. I have to return to my family." The Tully spoke decidedly, leaving behind no room for arguing. She took a seat before the tiny mirror, that breached her modest vanity – a recent gift from Aemond, deduced by him to make her feel more like a proper lady.

The image that reflected within it looked at her like a dire stranger. The green silks she was dressed into, the pristine, braided hair that framed her pale cheeks perfectly; She was the vision of a flawless royal, a soft and polite maiden, untouched yet by the spoils of death and war.

'Would this be enough?' She asked herself desperately, whilst gripping the edge of her chair painfully.

Was this what Aemond had always wanted? The proof of her lack of autonomy, finally presented to him on a silver platter, as he returned from war every night?

Was he, perhaps, congratulating himself, every time he glanced at her, thinking himself master of the universe for making her arch and kneel?

Alys shook her head once more, and rested a hand over her bouncing knee.

"Patience is a virtue, Lady Tully. You needn't put yourself through any more unnecessary risks."

The Lady of Riverrun shook her head vigorously, finally snapping herself back to reality; Her actions were defying, and devoid of any capacity. Alys felt herself more confounded by the second. "I'll help you plan this thoroughly." The wood witch adverted. Her head quirked to the side in an encouraging gesture, and the girl nodded feverishly in reply.

Her green eyes widened in fair delight, and Aemond's lover lowered her gaze over the girl's book. "You memorized the passages well enough. Very soon, you shall put your knowledge to practice."

(Y/N) let out a tired sigh, and graced the older woman with a pleasant smile. "I'm lucky to have you, Alys" She played with her rings as she spoke, "Thank you. For everything."

As the elder woman finally left her Quarters in favor of bringing out the order for dinner, (Y/N) let out an aggravated groan.

Her long pretense would surely make her nauseous. But she would be a simpleton indeed, to place all her trust in Alys.

The walls preleened with the doom of silence. A cold breeze dug its way deeply into her spine, and the silent taste of passing and demise left a sour taste in her parted mouth.

***

Aemond began dinner as he wontedly did every day – praying to the Warrior to grant him strength in battle, to the Smith, to mend all that was left broken, to the Father, "to shine his light", and lead their souls out of the brink of darkness.

Each and every time, without fail, the girl would bring the pristine napkin to her mouth, masking the obvious way her lips would quirk into a most unyielding smile. His pious speech, and the way his hands painfully clasped together, begging for the blessing of resolve, made her scoff in blinding wonder.

Was he even aware of the words he mostly muttered? Did he ever stop to assess himself throughout the day, and realize the sin in which he debaucherously bathed in?

As his speech came to an end, the Lady preleened forward, grabbing a hold of the boiled-up stork.

How lovely it was to sit between comfort and chaos.

"You've never been one to speak much during our time spent together." Aemond remarked through the rumble of a solitary hum. "Yet I had hoped this last week softened your resolve, My Lady."

Her eyebrows rose in slight discomfort, as her eyes focused on the leisure movements of his bigger hands.

So he was softening up.

She opened her mouth almost immediately, but her hesitant eyes danced around his blinding stare. Her plump lips pressed into a hard line, and she exhaled loudly through her nose, in an attempt to ground herself.

"Not at all, Your Grace, I assure you." The cluttering of her fork came to a hoisted end, as Lady Tully aligned her head to focus directly on the One-Eyed Prince. "I should love nothing more than to talk to you… Please, do advise me on what you would like most to hear."

She fidgeted nervously with her silver rings – a quirk she developed whilst imprisoned in the Strong's Keep – and gingerly awaited his reply.

Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace.

The stillness in her speech and eyes drove the man effectively wild.

"Aemond." He stilled her faction through the reign of a distorted sigh.

She regarded him with a petrified stance. Her hands fell heavy over her legs in the wake of anticipation.

"... I-I beg your pardon?"

"Aemond." He repeated his name again, "We already break bread and sleep in the same bed." His lilac eye rose from his plate, and singled out her reddened cheeks. The man paused a while, as if to weigh his words carefully, and his cold, glassy orb, hungrily ran over her form. "It seems inevitable that we'd call each other by our given names. Yet you never once said mine throughout."

The girl could feel her throat dry up. While still maintaining his awkward stare, she reached for the glass of wine that rested by her left side. She wrapped her hand around its stem, and brought it to her paling lips.

The liquid courage slid down her throat in a quick, though burning manner, and (Y/N) had to swallow down an erratic cough. Her brows furrowed amidst, as she picked her words out slowly.

"I have called your name before, Prince Aemond. Many times throughout the moons, in fact."

He smiled at her perturbed reply, and shook his head in coy distraught.

"Not without the honorifics." The man clarified in a pleading tone, his voice growing hotter now. "... Just say my name." He sighed defeatedly. His hand gripped the edge of the table, silently, as the Targaryen Prince could feel his mind running with a thousand thoughts per passing minute.

The silence ate at him alive. She drowned the wine in a swift swing, and slouched forward to pour herself another glass.

She was too sober for this.

Lucaerys, Jacaerys, Cain.

Part of her wanted to pluck his eye out. Part of her wished nothing more than to make fun of him. Laugh, perhaps, at his desperate indiscretion. Do something – anything – to gauge a reaction out of him.

Any sort of reaction, that would make her pestering feelings for him leave her heavy soul.

Surprising even herself, adamantly going against her own wishes, the woman caught herself breathing out.

"... Aemond."

Unexpectedly he moved, by jumping to his ready feet, fully disregarding the oak chair as it hit the floor in a most perused manner.

The pang of noise alerted her, and seemingly, the guards outside. A while they remained in silence, listening in to the clash of metal that announced their unsure shifting.

But they wouldn’t come inside. The girl was lest aware of that.

As time pressed on, Aemond remained hammered in place, heaving out his weighty breaths and clasping his hands in aching fists.

Her eyes momentarily left his shadow – to turn again towards the poach of wine, and empty another glass in rapid gulps.

The heavy atmosphere inside the room hung lowly over their tired heads. (Y/N) resumed her mellow eating, wincing at the shakiness within her hands. She grabbed another piece of the boiled meat, though Aemond's stare soon made her drop it, and the girl clicked her tongue in disbelief; grabbing it instead with a piece of cloth, and securing it into a tight knot.

This time, it was her actions that had failed her. And perhaps it'd be her ready words that would prevail.

"Aemond." She spoke again, this time more confidently than before. The bitter liquor was burning her throat, her chest, her heart. She felt her limbs heavy – with both anticipation and frustration - borne out of lack of relief. She wanted to slap him, to hit him, to crush him beneath her feet.

She wanted to run away, to stay confined, forever inside this room, forever astute to what was going on in the outside world.

She wanted to feel something.

She wanted…

"Yes." Aemond encouraged her softly, and her attention came back to the raptures of the present tense. "There we go." He worded out, keeping his tone barely above a whisper.

Neither could tell when or how it happened – but Aemond's body was inches away from touching hers. The heat emanating from his beating heart washed over the meek form of the tipsy Lady. His Lady.

She gulped painfully, and the Prince could feel how his hands started spasming with the need to feel her. His nails bit the inside of his calloused palm, leaving deep and angry marks inside them.

His prominent veins shifted with his every faction. His face morphed into hopeful disarray.

"There we go." He repeated gently, "I want to hear your laughter. You never once laughed with me."

Her stare was hard to decipher. And yet confliction danced across her face. Aemond turned serious, and the stammering of his hands came to an untimely end. His eye bared holes into her reddened face; and the Lady humorously thought, if only for a moment, that it was a lucky thing he didn’t still have both his eyes. For such a stare would be embedded in her subconscious, bringing forth her swift undoing.

The corners of her mouth felt painful to bend and break. Shakily she smiled at him, and opened her mouth in shocked reclusion.

A shy laughter erupted from her unquenched throat, and the woman shuddered, surrendering the reins of reason to the drunken thoughts that sieged her.

Her laughter wasn't her own. The languid movements of her hands, that trailed over Aemond's chest, were not her own.

His finger came to caress her cheek. Her nose. Her brow. Her lips. Her mouth. The Crown Prince sucked in a dangerous breath, and secured his left arm loosely around her waist.

"Good girl," He spoke tenderly, his voice going from gruff to rough, "Such a good girl for me." His fingers combed through her messy braids, marking their swift undoing – taking a step back, he could feel the heat leave his head, in the favor of traveling lower, to meet the almost flaccid cock confined in the tightness of his pants. "Say my name again. Laugh again." He commanded in a pleading meowl. His lips twitched in anticipation, and his eyes trailed lower, lower still, from up her face, down to her soaring bosom.

"Aemond."

"(Y/N)."

A solitary look of shame was shared between them. Perhaps pushed forward by the only remaining faction of rationale, the two placed a step in between each other, but even that proved to be too fickle of a barrier to keep them whole apart.

Aemond reached to cup her face with his own trembling hand – on her end, the girl's digits trailed over from his high cheekbones, down to his prominent cupid's bow, in an all but gentle caress.

"Avy jorrāelan." He hissed through painfully gritted teeth, allowing his head to rest in the crook made of her shoulder blade and neck. "Avy jorrāelan." He repeated, the vulnerability in his voice making him lose the hold he had over himself.

"Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao." His feathered breath came into contact with her dainty neck. (Y/N) gasped lightly, as she felt the first of his many kisses being tenderly placed over her jaw and neck.

Her head was pounding, and her eyes were screwed shut, as the coldness of the wall hit her in perused waves. The impropriety of the soft moans and sighs that filled her ears to the brim left her confused and wanting.

The worst of it was that she didn’t know whether they came from her or him.

She felt as though her head was being harshly held below the water, and the girl clawed at her dress to loosen her tight bodice, which seemed to constrict even her erratic breathing.

Aemond's attention moved from her earlobe back to her lips. He felt how her hands contorted sporadically, and he placed his own palm over hers, to put an end to her hasty movements, and give her a sense of calmness. His fingers suddenly entwined with hers, as his form hovered above her. His throat etched with a lousy moan, and his mouth finally crashed with hers.

(Y/N)'s eyes opened at the shocking scene, and her lips suddenly parted, either to beg or to protest against him, but Aemond's hot tongue found entrance into her warm cave – deciding instead to deepen the kiss, and press himself further against her smaller form.

The outline of his throbbing cock molded against the shape of the woman's thigh, and the Prince Protector of the Realm let out a pleasured hiss, once her insistent writhing ended up brushing up his weeping tip. "Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa." He mumbled against her swollen lips, "Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī."

She let out a fatigued whimper, and swiftly turned her head around, putting an abrupt end to their meek and vicious pecks.

"What's wrong, hmm? Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir."

Aemond's lips were soft and tender, leaving behind an almost vivacious bite over her exposed parts. His pace had been filled with an animalistic hunger; the longing inside his eye caught her unprepared, and her lips parted with the desire to feel something – anything – that his palpable mouth would keenly offer.

(Y/N) shuddered with her eyes closed, and grabbed a hold of his long, white hair, leading the man closer yet to her swelling heat.

The way in which he held her should have felt so very wrong. But at that moment, the only thing she could do was extend her arm back up to him, and guide him with an insistent pull over his silky locks: encouraging him to bring forth his descent upon her lips.

She disregarded the way a figment of her psyche screamed at her. To stop her ministrations, to slap his calloused hands away from her. For if she kept her eyes closed, and focused solely on the shape of him, then she could almost pretend that the man before her had nothing to do with her beloved Jace.

She could almost pretend that he was Jace.

Aemond's pupil was left blown wide – so much so, that the lilac of his iris could almost be left neglected. He wrapped his hands around the lady's thighs, and hoisted her up to meet him by his narrow hips. Both moaned into the other's mouth, and the Prince soon found his way into the raptures of the silken bed.

His heated cock kissed the outlines of her soaked cunny. Aemond sighed deeply over the arch of her neck, and pawed away at her untouched bodice.

(Y/N)'s hands rested still upon his eyepatch, and, with a swift and hasty movement, she yanked it off his sculpted face.

"We need to stop…" She moaned, defeated, and felt how Aemond's body stiffened up below her, as the harsh realization finally hit them both.

She had uttered the words aloud.

Half expecting him to blow out fuming, the woman tried to pry herself off his fevered body, but his hands reigned like iron shackles over the inside of her spreading thighs.

"Do we?" He whispered lowly, whilst leaning in to steal another kiss from her again.

"We shouldn’t." She strained herself to say once more, and Aemond nodded, still chasing her lips with his.

She melted into his reluctant touch, and hummed against his beating heart. His hands dug deeply into her resting sides; his fingertips scattered over her translucent spine, leaving their possessive mark. "This isn’t right."

"I know, I know," He gasped, "Seven Hells, I know…"

"Yn nyke istan zarvīzis," He pressed a finger over her swollen lips, "Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis."

With the last ounce of her strength, she bit over his lower lip, dragging a wanton moan from out of his rosy lips.

"Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa..." He chanted, while latched onto her burning sear, "Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī."

His High Valyrian had made her dizzy. And at first, she tried to pay his words her mind, she tried to grapple and understand what he was saying.

A starved meowl left her panting lips.

"You can tell me to stop," The words that poured out of his mouth washed upon her like a rippled tide, "You can tell me to stop… and I will..."

Her body quickly arched against him; her shaky hands came to rest over his hips. She laced her mouth again with his, expecting rough, dominant kisses – but Aemond's hands propped themselves loosely against her cheeks, his thumbs pliantly stroking her with untoward devotion. His single eye drank her in with reverence.

"Please…" He whimpered into her mouth, "Avy jorrāelan." He confessed to her, again and again, trying his hardest not to take her against the cold floor – and not fuck her straight into the messy mattress.

Her limbs felt heavy. Lacking their autonomy. The body she was nestled in still wasn't her own.

"... Why?" She asked him disdainfully, sporadically, as his index finger came to pry open her haughty entrance.

His eye widened in perplexed ruin, but the Prince soon stumbled over his words again.

That bastard Jace must have taught her the gist of that.

"... I wish I knew." Came his sole and sincere reply.

Just like that, her eyes welled with the threat of tears.

His hands, his hold, his voice, his mouth. It was all wrong. In truth none could ever hope to feel right.

Flashes of her old lover, of his baby brother – who was so small the last she'd seen him –, of her sworn shield came into view. All of them, gone as if they never were. All of them, with their memories trampled deep beneath her sprawled-out form.

She wasn't a woman of the Faith. Not after what had happened. Not after the spoils of war that she, herself, felt like angry whips upon her skin. But her eyes fluttered close, and she begged the Mother for forgiveness, whilst a tear rolled off her ticking cheek.

She brought a hand to her wobbly lips, and began to violently rub away any remaining trace of Aemond's presence.

She was disgusted. With him, with herself, with the world, with the image of her Jace – that surged in her mind the second she blinked, the moment that she jolted awake in her misery.

On his end, (Y/N)'s display of pure abhorrence failed to falter Aemond's lustful grief. Why, if she did not desire him, did she fall into his arms again and again?

Love was the death of duty. And longing was the doom of all.

"Fucking cock tease…" The Prince growled, grief-stricken, "How much longer are you going to give into me, just to push me away?"

His patience had been running thin. The ache in his breeches was long forgotten. In its stead, the urgent sting in his heart dragged the man into the pits of madness. "What is it this time?" He groveled over her closed legs again.

Her recuperation had been jovial and quick. Adrenaline replaced the pain and shame, and the woman tried to get off the bed, put as much distance as she knew how in between her and the ravished Prince.

For the first time since he came to be, Aemond would not let her escape his clutches. As she moved backwards, he persisted forward – following her wobbly feet throughout the room with the spare of his predatory eye.

"Y-You said –" She tried ceaselessly to accuse him. "You said you wouldn't –"

"And you're right. I meant every. Single. Thing. I told you." He growled into her frightened ear, as his hands came to cage her, trap her under the seclusion of the hard, stone wall.

"You're mine." He hissed desperately, as he clasped her jaw to face him. "You've always been mine, you fucking harlot. From the moment you stepped foot into Harrenhal, your life belonged to me."

Perhaps Aemond was right, and she was nothing but a harlot. A treacherous swine that hung onto whatever he could give her - so starved and devoid of love and warmth, that she'd dare to stoop so lowly with him.

Aemond descended his unquenched rage over her exposed neck, and began leaving tender love bites all over, in spite of her lackluster pleas.

(Y/N)'s head felt like it was about to explode. She felt sick to her stomach – the wine and the distraught both built up inside of her. All she wanted now was to be left alone. For Aemond's touch felt oddly comforting, and her tired eyes began to close. "You drive me insane." She heard him choke.

She wanted to open her mouth. To urge the Prince to stop; but her word hole was sewn shut, taken over by the grip of feared confusion. While his hand hoisted her up by the waist again, her hand went around him, to grab onto whatever she could find. Finally, she stopped at the dragon-glass dagger, that securely latched onto Aemond's waist. Effectively, she wrapped her fingers around its silver hilt, and sheathed it out of its confinements.

"I swear on whatever God you want me to, I'll slit your throat if you don't stop touching me –" She wailed into Aemond's form, as she felt him stiffen up in tumultation.

His nostrils flared up at her attempt to intimidate him, and yet… his face looked most serene, as the cutting edge of the dagger reached close to his ivory skin. She raised her brows at him in utter surprise; for she expected him to surrender. His arms snaked away from her, and Aemond watched her intensely with his piercing gaze.

She could kill him, consequences be damned. And if she faced trial for this, then at least she'd have taken out a Green and Vhagar.

Her hand was shaking. Her breathing became erratic. She'd held a blade on multiple occasions; she'd fantasized about cutting Aemond's throat more times than she could bring herself to count. And yet…

His lack of movement – of worry – rattled her endlessly. She wanted to scream at him, to push him, to cut him. But for some reason couldn't bring herself to do it.

The realization that she just couldn’t do it made her almost drop the knife from the tight hold she'd kept it under.

"Why aren't you the least bit worried?" She spat out lowly, with her body trembling and her jaw set tight.

Aemond remained quiet and taciturn. His eye fixed her face carefully, and his hand gently wrapped around her quivering wrist. "Come on now…" He whispered to her, and watched how her eyes filled with the endless tears of frustration, how the hot droplets rolled down her reddened cheeks.

It would take another moment for her to drop the blade.

A moment she would forever grow to resent.

"I fucking hate you." She hissed through a breathless sob.

Oh, how she wished to hate him. Hate him as she did when they first clashed swords. Hate him as she did when she heard Jace talk about Lucaerys' death.

"Liar." Aemond rasped in acknowledgment.

And, just like that, the damage had been done. The blade rested back into his hand within an instant, and Aemond hit the wall behind her with murderous intent. "Fucking liar." He whispered again, breathing less and less sporadically, trying to wash his nerves away.

"I have been so good to you. But no matter what I do, it'll never be enough for you. Hmm?" He shook his head adamantly, and dug his fingers into the cold tiles of the cursed stronghold. "I am a patient man. But I will not wait a minute longer."

Her face twisted into a painful scowl, and the girl pushed over his chest roughly, but Aemond was quick to deny her exit. "This is not ideal," He muttered lowly to himself, "Yet you need to be taught a lesson."

"What are you d–"

Her words died upon her lips. Aemond hummed in dissatisfaction, and immediately brought the blade into her view.

She let out a scream of pure horror, but his pliant mouth silenced her with a scorching kiss. Her whole body was shaking, and the Prince Regent let out a frustrated sigh.

"Cease your crying, you hateful woman." He chastised her cruelly, "The fucking Gods sent you to ruin me."

At that moment, she wasn't above pleading. Her knees wobbled in place, and her orbs frantically searched for a way out. For something to grip and swing at the man before her.

Aemond's eye softened at the sight of her. Despite the pang of guilt he felt, a teasing and self-assuring smirk formed at the corners of his upturned lips.

So Jacaerys hadn't told her. He never mentioned their Valyrian way to her.

His triumphant feat soon washed away, as her trembling hands came into contact with his. "Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon." He told her adherently, truthfully, despite the obvious language barrier.

He took a moment to regain his composure. Grab a hold of her balled-up fists and remember the ancient words he'd only ever read about in his history books.

"Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sỹndroti vāedroma."

He ripped the sleeve from his linen shirt, and placed it over their entwined fingers.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sĩr. Izuli ampā perzī."

The blade finally pressed down, over the softness of his left palm. Aemond winced at the sudden pain, and made a mental note to only nick the frightened girl with it, when the time came for that.

"Prūmĩ lanti sēteksi. Hen jenỹ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozündesi."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened to a comical amount. Somewhere along the way, it seemed, she grew aware of Aemond's intent. She refused to show her hand to him, placing them both behind her back, and holding on for her dear life.

He let out a disapproving grunt, and reached his bloodied hands to her, yanking her right hand from underneath her strong grasp.

"No! No –!" She kept on screaming, and the guards outside shifted in place, before they fell under their oath of silence once again.

The cold and slick edge of the dragon glass pressed lightly against her writhing palm. Aemond made a smaller cut, and carried on with his rapid mumbling.

"Sỹndroro öñö jēdo. Rỹ kīvia mazvestraksi."

His very fist came to cut over his lower lip. His gory hand then reached for her jaw, hammering her in her place, and a sharp sting reflected on her weary stance. Aemond profited off the moment, to ease the dagger into her waiting mouth.

The metallic taste flooded her senses – the girl saw red before her eyes, and failed to register how his fingers came upon his and her forehead, painting them over with a ghastly symbol.

The Targaryen Prince reached for her hand again, and pressed her wounded palm cohesively with his.

"Following the tradition of my House from before the Doom of Old Valyria, I, Aemond of House Targaryen, bind myself to (Y/N) of House Tully, by blood, by soul, by life –"

"NO!"

" – And I pledge to her: that we are now one flesh, one heart, one body. Now and forever."

As he finally pried his limbs away from her trapped body, Aemond allowed his lips to feathery trace over her twisted mouth. She glanced at him, with wide-set and teary eyes.

"Fuck your fucking pledge."

Some grand venue she received.

A single question hung loosely into the air.

"Are you going to rape me now?"

She scarcely registered her own words as they left her mouth.

Aemond's eye widened at her query, and the Targaryen bit over his lower lip, as a deep grimace morphed the fairness of his features. He looked almost dumbfounded by her made assumption.

As soon as it came, the look of utter betrayal left his face.

"You would slit my throat with the knife." Was his mere reply.

***

Sometime along the night, he left.

The mighty roars of Vhagar registered themselves in the far-away distance.

That night, and only that night, she allowed herself the sacrilege of prayer. And she did so, again and again, pleading to the Seven for a blind arrow to reach his neck.

On the back of Vhagar, Aemond shuddered away from the impossible waves of heat, that licked deliciously at his stiffened cock; whenever her breathing would reach his ears, he felt tortured, trapped beneath the swell of lust and wanton desire.

Despite his abhorrent decision, he knew what their marriage meant. He knew all too well what his cruel bind had done, and yet… he felt no plausible remorse for the situation at hand.

The support of Storm's End, Floris Baratheon, Alys – mere casualties compared to the brink of having her, to knowing that she was finally his, as he was wholly hers.

Eventually, she'd have to love him. Eventually, she'd learn to do so.

A marriage wasn't a marriage until it was consummated. But he would give her, as he had promised, the illusion of choice, if nothing else.

As the cold night's air whipped his face again and again, and as Vhagar's thundering resounded over the burnt trees of the Riverlands, Aemond sighed, and brought a shaky hand to the strings of his breeches.

Scared as she was, his Lady made for a beautiful bride. It was such a shame that he didn’t get to see her wear the traditional Targaryen gown.

The pad of his thumb trailed over the cut he'd made – the same cut that now rested over her extended palm.

The flesh would scar, he thought, well pleased; whenever he looked at her, he'd get to see how she was undeniably his.

A possessive growl etched from his parted lips. Images of her paling skin, of her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes bore into him, as if she always knew something he didn’t.

Leisurely, he began to pump his cock. Below him, Vhagar let out an anguished roar.

"Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon."

Droplets of precum rolled over his clenching digits, coating his knuckles and the base of his shaft in a translucent, but thick ropes.

He groaned desperately, aching to relieve his frustration deep within her, but alas…

His gruff moans filled the air around him; and Aemond could feel his climax building up, as visions of her flooded his thoughts.

How she would feel underneath him. How she would writhe on the edge of bliss, begging, pleading for him to finally take her.

He could feel her legs wrapping around him, and feel himself sliding inside her with ease, praising her for being so good to him.

He wrapped Vhagar's bridle tight over his arm, and secured himself better in his leather saddle. His grip tightened around his dripping cock, but it was just not good enough.

The pace with which he fucked his hand picked up in a wilding speed. Aemond sighed in pleasure, and felt his hips move to their own accord. His breathing became rugged. His very mind was not his own.

He wondered what other scars her body bore. What the story behind them was, and how many of them came by his swift undoing.

Would she lie down and let him take care of everything? Or would she want to stay on top, jumping up and down on him, each time with a harsher thrust?

His hips rose and fell with his less than gentle pace, and the man pushed his length deeper into his steadfast grip.

He knew that if she let him touch her, he wouldn't be leaving her bed for weeks. He would pull countless orgasms from her, time and time again, until she begged for him to stop. He would have her so full of his seed, so the Gods' help him, that she would swell with his child – his trueborn child – before the rise of the first rays of sun.

Feeling his release beckon, the Prince set on a final rhythm, one that left his loins more in need than ever. With a loud hiss, he pushed himself inside his fist one final time, spilling his seed onto the saddle beneath him.

He panted wildly into the night, and suddenly opened his lustful eye, allowing a tear of ecstasy to roll off his scarred cheek.

"Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra."

He couldn't keep up the charade with her. He would tell her all about it, once things finally settled down.

Word in Harrenhal traveled fast.

First it was her brash arrival. Then her impromptu marriage.

No one dared to talk to her. Yet she was never without the indiscreet eyes that followed her about.

Her situation wasn't without its ups and falls: Aemond felt no need to guard her as stiffly anymore – For where would the former Tully go, now that she bared his Targaryen name?

She was allowed to breach into some castle corners, always in the company of hefty guards, of course, and basked herself in some new acquired perks of freedom.

On the same account, whilst Alys remained loyal to her role as her lady-in-waiting, the tension between them couldn't have been more pain-strikingly high.

"I never asked for this. You must believe me."

She gave the younger woman a domineering stare, and only shook her head, obliged.

"And yet here you stand, inside his bed."

Word in Harrenhal spread fast – like a fire left unattended, like the so-called "Targaryen madness".

But a new, particular rumor gobbled the attention of everyone present.

Daemon Targaryen was to return to the Riverlands. And with him and Caraxes, he'd bring forth the formerly wild dragon, Sheepstealer, mounted by none other than Nettles.

The Lady had been acquainted with the bastard girl before – when the Sowing of the Dragon Seeds reveled in their first borne crops.

Another troubling report came forth. King's Landing had been secured by Rhaenyra.

When (Y/N) heard the news be whispered, she almost collapsed on her knees in glee. This must have marked the end of it. Surely, the usurpers would be put through the sword, leaving all to be well, and right again.

The Greens would die. They would face trial.

The Greens.

Indeed, word in Harrenhal spread fast. And she'd just been made the wife of the cruelest of them all.

Dread filled her insides. Her eyes cast their darkened shadow over the walls of the cursed Keep. A single, fundamental truth raised strongly from her anxious wallowing.

If Daemon Targaryen should find out about her marriage to his nephew, and get to her first… naught of the loyalty of the Riverlords would have a single say in her decided fate. And she would meet her end by the way of his blade, Dark Sister.

Now, more so than ever, it was pivotal for her to escape.

The clock was ticking.

And she was running out of time.

***

Her last day in Harrenhal was spent making plans. She'd rubbed her temples a myriad times, and paced about the room in a dizzying trot.

It wasn’t enough for her to disappear – she had to ensure everyone else thought she was gone.

When Aemond returned, she beckoned his call by jumping to her ready feet. The girl took him in, in his devillished state, and merely raised her brows at him. Whenever she saw him, the nick on her palm and lip itched at her relentlessly.

Neither was willing to recognize aloud what had transpired two moons ago, but both knew the inevitable punishment that would come with Aemond's actions.

He took a seat by the edge of their bed, and took his dagger out to play with it.

In vain he had asked Alys to share with him what she could see. She laid in broken, cradling her forming bump – the one she so desperately tried to hide away from him. The one thing that once meant her protection and raise in rank, now could very well heed out her doom.

Her green eyes raised from the floor below them, and Alys merely shook her head.

"There is fire, my Prince. Fire, and blood, and death."

"Going out to face two dragons is a death sentence." His deep voice rumbled through the silent chamber, "I can't afford that risk anymore with you involved."

And there it was. The silent admission of what he had done.

"We'll have to move from Harrenhal. You'll get to meet Daeron in Oldtown."

Was he sorry for what he did?

"It was about time you got acquainted with the rest of the family."

Aegon's cause was lucky that Storm's End was already too involved. They couldn't turn in their banners to the other front. Not now.

"It's a wonderful idea." She uttered in a glacial tone, barely above a whisper. "When will we depart?"

Sharpened orbs came in contact with the loneness of a purple eye.

The man took in a sparring breath, and hummed at her obedient retreat. The Prince's fist clenched over his cutting wound, and he nodded his head firmly.

"Should we be graced with the Gods' favor, issa jorrāelagon, then on the morrow," He explained, "but no sooner than that."

The girl's brows furrowed in discontent, as Aemond faltered in pressing the matter further. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the aid of two long fingers, and heavily rose from his seat.

"Don't wait for me tonight. I shall return to you in the morning. I have unfinished business to attend to."

Lack of air. And crippling fear.

Her tiny world had been thrown into the arms of chaos. But everything fell so perfectly into place.

As soon as Aemond had mounted Vhagar, as soon as her father of wings died upon the night's first watch, the woman sprung to her feet, and began her soul's ascent into the pits of the Seven Hells.

She started off by breaking in her tiny mirror, placing a goose feather pillow below and over it, to somehow mask the clefty noise.

Her long hair was the first to go. She began cutting it swiftly, using big and brisk movements to chop off as many of her luscious locks as she possibly could.

She ripped the mattress of the bed open with one of the bigger shards, and revealed Aemond's dried-up shirt, that she had tucked well under after washing it, long preparing it for that occasion.

Her stomach churned as her hand went to her chamber pot. Risking her own deniability, she submerged her digits deep within it, letting out a victorious huff as she brushed across a piece of cold felt.

The insides of the sack revealed fermented meat – putrid, more like. She scattered the final remains of it over the stone floor like a mad-woman, and ripped the latter pages of the book Alys had gifted her.

She would take the passage to the stables, and simply hope for the best.

Her eyes searched feverishly about the cluttered room, but the hammering in her heart stilled only as she gaped upon the lower left corner of the wall full of banners.

There it was. Exactly where Alys told her it was going to be.

She tore into the mattress further, spreading the wool around, and grabbed a hold of a piece of wood from the crackling fire.

May she be forgiven for what she was about to do.

Her shaky hands grasped the lumber strongly, and she let it roll in the middle of the room, allowing it to fall with a loud bang.

***

The sound of wailing screams echoed inside her head, scratching at her ears, to the point of making them almost bleed. The heat of the fire she caused fell over her skimpily clothed back, and the disgust she felt with herself was palpable against her tongue.

With every turn she took, she made herself another promise. She would not rest until the war would see its end. She'd never sleep warmly again, and forever remind herself of the sacrifice she had to make – of all the lives that she undoubtedly ended, if only to meet her selfish ends.

For once, this was not just Aemond's doing. This was her fault all alone.

Blinded by rage, and seething with fury, her feet carried her down the crooked set of stairs. The woman brought a hand up to her face, and coughed wildly in the back of it. She'd have to make a bold turn soon. Then the outside world would heed, and she would be free again.

With just a twinge of luck, the guards should think that whatever was left of her room collapsed upon herself inside. Her burnt hair and clothes would create the wanted look – the meat would add the unmistakable smell of rot and death, and the lack of an actual body would take days to figure out.

And she prayed. She prayed, she prayed, she prayed: that no one else knew of the passages that she was threading through below.

Her eyes could barely see in front of her. Smoke rose to unforgiving levels, and the Lady swore it could be cut even by the dullest knife. As she reached the crossroads of the secret tunnel, her hands came to grapple at the breeches' pockets, turning them inside out – trying to find the torn pages of the book she'd just previously carried.

A sigh of relief rumbled from within her throat, as the pads of her shaking digits stroked across the withered, olden pages.

Her relief would be short lived.

Boney hands snaked around her, and the girl nearly screamed – until the familiar scent of mint and wild berries floored her senses.

"Alys?!" Her voice let out in an exasperated high. "Alys, we need to hurry!"

But her able hands still hesitantly clung to the soft material of her shirt, digging so deeply into it, that she could rip it in a downward pull.

"You –" She began to say, but cut herself short as she momentarily closed her eyes.

No matter what, she couldn’t tell the Lady before her that she'd have sent her upon her death.

"You took a wrong turn. This isn't the right way towards the South Gates."

The adrenaline flooded her veins. Her heart was pumping wildly against her ears. Lady Tully only nodded, failing to process that Alys had, in fact, never given her access to such an option on the crudely drawn map.

"This way, (Y/N) – came quickly!"

Two sets of legs descended further into the murky passages of Harrenhal. At one point, the smoke had gotten so very thick, that both women had to feel their way out, by touching the corners of every tunnel that they surpassed.

When all seemed lost, Alys finally spoke, "Over here!" She yelled out to her, and latched onto Aemond's dampened shirt.

They stumble into each other, as the small opening of the stifling cellar reaches the South Gates. The witch stops hastily on her heel, and the young Lady nearly busts their cover.

A raid of soldiers came flocking out, with what then looked like tens of thousands of squealing maids. So frightened by their own demise, they bumped into the oak doors and onto each other – choosing to, instead of unlocking the main Gates, reach and pull at the other's hairs, cursing loud and wildly.

Alys let out a bemused huff at their perused antics, but her reglament was short lived; as one of the smarter lassies reached for the illustrious piece of wood, and opened the doors with the loudest of creak.

"Now's our chance," The Lady of Riverrun whispered to her fellow escapee, grabbing onto her wrist harshly, and dragging her out and into the light. "Mingle in the crowd, Alys –"

"My Lady, do not stray far –"

The older woman let out a staggering breath, as she raised her skirts to follow suit on the trail left by the hot-headed girl.

She is Elmo's daughter alright, she disarmingly told herself, Just as hopeless and reckless as he once was.

Alys almost tackled her to the ground, as Lady Tully succumbed herself deeper into the burnt out forest. She gripped onto her hands with hers, so harshly, that she'd definitely leave her mark. "I thought I had told you not to stray far."

The breathless form of the lost child before her appeared to be enough to soften a tad of her resolve. "When I tell you something, I expect you to do it."

Whilst chastising her deeply for her foolhardy behavior, the woman searched her pockets, and pushed out two quarter silvers into her trembling hands.

"You'll go towards the Rushing Halls and buy yourself a mule from the Half Calf's Inn."

As the younger Lady nodded feverishly at her late advice, Alys clasped her cheeks with her hands, and brought her head further towards her. "You'll keep a straight line to the Green Fork. You won't stop to eat or drink – you won't stop until you reach Hag's Mire. Make sure to cover the cut on your hand with this." As she spoke, Alys pushed a black glove into her resting hands.

The Bliss of Riverrun threw the witch a bewildered look. Her eyes searched adamantly for hers, and the woman panted out in pure wonder. "How did you know I intended on migrating North?

"I've already seen you do it." She shook her shoulders promptly, "I've already seen you succeed."

Her green eyes softened, if only for a blazing moment; but the crackling of the trees behind them snapped her out of her inward trance. "Don't waste anymore time. Your diversion was smart, but he will try to find you."

The girl reached down, to squeeze her hands, perhaps, in a wordless display of gratitude and affection. Her soft fingers interlaced over her boney knuckles, and Alys muttered a faint blessing over the twisted arch of her furrowed brow.

The Lady turned around, but not before pausing and shooting the witch one last fiery look. "Come with me." She offered determinedly, and shook her head strongly as Alys took a step back. "He'll try to punish someone for it. You're his next available girl." She begged her to see to reason.

"My place remains here. By his side."

(Y/N)'s eyes hardened at her thorough admission, but she strained herself to shoot the wet nurse back with a curt nod.

"I shan't forget what you did for me." She promised her elder with a minute smile.

"A heads-up when you next decide to set the whole stronghold on fire would be most appreciated…!" She lightheartedly told her, despite the obvious wabbling of her lower lip.

(Y/N) nodded, but remained hammered in place for another while. Alys' hand reached to cup over her face, but a brisk moment of clarity was quick to change her mind.

"Go, you foolish girl…!" She snapped, "Make good use of that promise you made."

Her feet began moving on their own accord. Her mind was blazing with all of the unfinished tasks at hand.

She would run towards the Rushing Halls. Buy a mule. Retreat towards Green Fork. Reach the Twins.

Her road shall lead to Winterfell. If Forrest Fray remained the same kind fool that he once was, she should have no trouble sending Cregan Stark a raven.

And if she could reason with Jacaerys' friend, take in his testimony of protection, perhaps her life wasn't lost just yet.

The gusts of wind ran through her shortened and unkempt hair. Aemond's clothes hung loosely over her, and the stench of fire and ash filled her nostrils with something else other than hopeless dread.

Never before in her life, did the girl run so fast.

Taglist:

Translations:

Gevie… = Beautiful;

Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda. = Do not worry, my sweet love. I promised you I would be patient;

Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa. = One day you will desire me;

Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao. = The Gods have cursed me to love you;

Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar. = Calm down, Vagar. Be still. Good girl;

Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa. = Gods, you were made for me;

Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī. = Just look how perfectly we fit together;

Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir = Sweet girl… don't pull away from me now;

Yn nyke istan zarvīzis. Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis. = But I've been patient. I've been so good and… so, so patient;

Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa... = You act like you don't want this…;

Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī. = But you want me just as much. You ache for me – just as badly.

Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon. = Don't cry, my beautiful Princess. I would sooner die than hurt you;

Valyrian Wedding Vows: Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows, two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass – the stars stand witness, of the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light;

Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon. = I know Vhagar, I know;

Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra. = The Gods don't listen to men like me. But I would go on my knees and beg them to let me keep you. You were once the bane of my existence… and now, you find yourself the center of it.

[platonically-loving-alastor]

Aroace Alastor

Hoo boy here we go- This one might make some people mad at me, so I'll preface by saying I do not want to start a fight and as long as you respect my business, I'll respect yours. But let's get this over with-

First off, I genuinely don't understand how some people can see the Ace-In-The-Hole quote and still believe that Alastor is only intended to be asexual and not also aromantic. Yes, the term Rosie used for purpose of the pun was 'ace', but can we look at the context of that moment before jumping to conclusions?

Rosie, motioning to Charlie: "Oh, who's this you brought with you? Come now, Alastor, she's much too young for you! Oh, I'm just kidding. I know you're an ace in the hole!"

Her original statement implies nothing sexual, only that he's involved in a relationship with Charlie, and she follows it up with why she knows that couldn't be because he's an 'ace in the hole'. I don't think you have to read too far between the lines to see that.

I would also like to say that when Vivienne has spoken about his orientation before, I recall her saying that she didn't want to confirm him being aromantic so that she wouldn't 'ruin anyone's fun', which I just feel like is an odd thing to say if she wasn't already explicitly picturing him as aroace. If she thought he had romantic attraction, why wouldn't she just say that? What fun would that ruin? I also feel like keeping things like this ambiguous just to appease the shippers is a little weird, but I digress-

And to those of you who I know are saying "But aromantic people can be in relationships too!!" *deep inhale* yeah I know. I'm not gonna pretend you're not right about that, but there are also aroace people who have exactly 0 interest in romance or sex at all. This is the part of the post that really is based on how I interpret certain moments, but to me he is absolutely one of those people. I don't really know where people get any vibes of him being interested in that stuff. I have never once looked at him and thought "Yeah I could see him in a romantic relationship with *insert character here*". Even aside from attraction in general, since that's what we'd be talking about at this point anyway, he just seems like the kind of guy who'd rather work and live independently instead of relying on anyone, whether practically or emotionally (which is also probably part of the reason he never joined the Vees, but that's another topic entirely). Hell, I'm pretty sure he's in heavy denial about even developing any kind of care or friendship with the people at the hotel (ie. the episode 8 scene with him and Niffty).

The only ships I see him involved in with people he doesn't hate (so ignoring RadioApple, RadioHusk, and StaticRadio. But to be real, maybe the fact all his main ships are enemies to lovers coded says something about the whole situation, but that's just me-) are Charlastor - which I will not even try to discuss here, people aren't gonna like this post as it is - and RadioRose. Rosie and him would at least be fair, if it weren't for one thing (which is also personal opinion on my end), and I don't know exactly how to word it. I'm tempted to say she has wingwoman vibes? But she knows he's aro, so that's not the right word, but there's vibes of like, she probably did act as a wingwoman before she realized that about him or something.. There's also something about her joking around like "Oh this is the girl? You have a girlfriend and I'm only now meeting her?" is almost giving motherly behavior. Idk man they're just besties to me, I could see them in a QPR though (not that they'd probably label it that way, considering the word queerplatonic is likely just complete gibberish to Alastor lmao).

So to summarize: It feels incredibly likely, if not practically canon, that Alastor was written with aromanticism in mind, even if Vivienne refuses to explicitly state it. Subtext and not-that-subtle implications can say just as much about a character as word of God, especially when that God has explicitly told us why she won't confirm or deny this information. Do I think any of this will stop people from shipping him romantically with literally any other character? No ofc it won't, and that's okay, that's just what fandoms do. I do think there's something to say for the fact the one aroace (or even at the very least asexual) character gets constantly shipped with everyone else in the cast, but this post is long enough I think. The only point of posting this is that I wanted to get information out there in one post to say "Hey, let's look a little bit past the surface for a second before saying there's no proof of him being aromantic"

Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you at least took something away from this

[jasongracestan12]

Unpopular HoO ships I enjoy

Note: As always, these are all just my opinions. Please feel free to sound off in the comments or reblogs, but be nice, I'm sensitive 😢 Spoilers obvs

Also I mention Hazel in ships. Just know I'm not fond of the age gap she has with the rest of the seven in the books, and personally like to think of her in these ships as closer in age to these people. Anyways;

1. Leo/Frank - So so underrated. Maybe because I love enemies to lovers, idk. I just think these two have mad chemistry. They get each other the way others in the series don't get them, with the losses of their mom's and being dunked on constantly. They could be cringe fail losers together and it hurts!! That no one sees my vision. Tbh I feel like this should be more popular than Valgrace, but alas.

2. Leo/Frank/Hazel - I've been in the fandom since 2011, and at the time MoA came out, multiple people complained about this love triangle. They hated it as a plot point, and that's understandable, but listen to this. Solve it via throuple situation. Frank and Hazel have chemistry. Leo and Hazel have chemistry. So much opportunity for tension and yearning. What is cuter than Hazel going to Rome with her two boyfriends in that one scene from Mark of Athena? Nothing!

3. Piper/Reyna - Way before Piper was canonically sapphic, the tension in the scene with her and Reyna at the end of BoO was PALPABLE. When she took Reyna's face in her hands, I fully thought they were going to kiss even though Piper was with Jason LMAO. I love Jason, but I actually think it would be so iconic and low-key funny if they spent those books both wanting to be with Jason and at the end Piper was like "I don't want you to be in love with Reyna, because I'M in love with her 😢." And then she just started dating Jason's kind-of ex, leaving him out of the triangle completely, lol.

4. Reyna/Annabeth - This one I've seen a little bit more support for. I just think they'd be iconic. Annabeth's low-key sapphic tendencies did really jump out in their bonding scene in MoA. I like the idea of them being a baddie power couple, though I do feel it could result in a power struggle.

5. Drew/Jason - I have literally never seen this ship, but I actually think it may be so fun, especially if you are a big believer in the head canon that Drew should be redeemed in some way or was only really demonized because of her overt femininity, like I am. Jason makes a lot of comments about finding her attractive at the beginning of TLH, which I feel like most people ignore. A situation I think would be so interesting, because I'd love the drama lmao, would be if, after dating Piper, Jason actually gave dating Drew a try. I feel like chaos would ensue low-key lmfao, but it would be such a delightful little plot point.

Anyways, that's all I can think of at the moment. Let me know your thoughts.