#( Of Blood And Royal Decree )

[gureumz]

wide open

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

premise: forced to marry a dictator king of a nearby kingdom, you're advised to shut up and take whatever king heeseung gives you and give him everything you have in return. in truth, you'd rather kill yourself than be married to this monster, but he has a way of changing people's minds

notes: fem!reader, dom!heeseung, royalty au, very slight angst, marriage of convenience/forced marriage, hate-ish sex, breeding, mentions of impregnation, use of pet names, unprotected sex, strangers to sort-of-lovers, mentions and descriptions of death and injury, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: sixth and final entry for my 1k follower special! this is the end for my two-month 1k event! i'm so thankful for the love this received and i'm excited to start my new series/anthology! i can't wait to write your other requests as well and bring you more stories you can enjoy!

it's making your stomach churn.

the way your father looks at you right now, as if he's sorry but not really. apologetic only because shouting in delight would hardly seem appropriate at a time like this.

you can practically see the sparkle in the East king's eyes.

"the decree says so," your father says with a sigh like he regrets to inform you of such news. you bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from flinging the pewter cup filled with wine in front of you at him.

"the decree can say one thing but we can do exactly the opposite of it," you challenge, balling your fists in your lap. your father turns to you sharply.

"and then what, my love?" your father coos condescendingly. "race to see which one of our heads rolls off the gallows first when the new king of the West chops them off?"

you stare at your father, clad in his deep velvet garb, the lines on his forehead pronounced in the flickering firelight in his solar. you feel your whole face stiffen as you stare back at the spitting image of yourself, the exact source of the flame raging within you. you love your father and you know him. know him enough that it's no use arguing with him now. he would fling whatever words you had right back at you with double the force.

"you're lucky he didn't snatch you in the dead of night once he proclaimed victory," your father presses on. "you're lucky he's being diplomatic about it, issuing decrees so that all the four kingdoms are bonded legally to his whims."

"it hardly feels lucky being the sole maiden of royal blood fit enough to wed him," you spit back, turning away.

you hear your father lets out a breath and you can feel him walk away towards the large window that adorns the north side of his solar. you watch as he gazes out the glass panes, his back to you.

"he's a strapping young man, a talented general as he's proven, and truly the royal seed of his father before him," your father says, something unfamiliar in his voice. he turns back to you and you see, for the first time, the fear in his eyes.

"he turned on his own father, just as his father did with his father, took over that poor dead man's kingdom, and waged a war against his neighbors."

your father's voice trembles now.

"refusal would not only mean death, my rose," your father points out quietly, slipping in the endearment he so often used with you since you were a child.

"he would make sure you wished you were dead," he warns.

you swallow, letting his words sink in.

you think back on the past year, the months of hiding, the weeks spent banged up in the highest tower of your castle, the days of weeping as you waited for your father to come back, the minutes of terror as you were told the West king had emerged triumphant.

the second you saw your father, the Almighty Blessed King of the East, staggering through the palace gates, bloodied and broken.

that wretched tyrant from the West almost took your father away from you. giving yourself to him willingly hardly seems like the right move. but not doing so would mean a fate worse than death.

"is he really that terrible?" you ask, almost in a whisper.

your father walks up to where you're seated at his dining table. he reaches down and takes your hands in his calloused, war-scarred ones.

"i couldn't give you an answer to that if i tried," he explains. "i surrendered before i could get the chance to meet him."

"then how are you so ready to give away your only daughter, your only reminder of the woman you loved?" you implore, looking desperately into your father's eyes.

he shakes his head.

"this is how i want to remember you before you're whisked away into that cruel man's arms," your father says tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"feisty, with the zeal only your mother could pass on to you."

your eyes sting with tears at hearing your father mention his late queen.

your own mother feels like someone from a dream to you. she was there one moment and gone the next. much like yourself.

you let yourself cry silently, rising to let your father hold you in his arms.

---

the trip from the East to the West typically took a little over two weeks if no hiccups are encountered along the way. but you realized, merely two days in, that this whole marriage was cursed from the beginning.

it's as if the whole world conspired against this union, and you would have been grateful for it, but after days of running into problems (thieves and hunters and sudden thunderstorms and a pack of wild boars), the only thing you wanted was to be sheltered inside a warm castle room with a cup of spiced wine on your bedside.

so unbridled was your happiness when you heard a sudden shout from outside your carriage announcing your arrival at the gates of the West Kingdom castle. your two ladies-in-waiting riding with you had equally relieved faces, your hands immediately reaching out to grasp theirs.

"we're here, your grace," the younger of the two, yuna, whispers excitedly.

olivia, the older and more cynical one, swats at yuna's arm.

"don't sound so happy," olivia berates. "this is a dictator's castle we're entering."

yuna shrinks back in her seat and you reach over to clasp her hand reassuringly.

"i'm the only one fit enough to marry him," you remind. "he should know better than to lay a single finger on me."

olivia eyes you worriedly while yuna nods in agreement.

"i'll be alright," you say. whether it's to them or to yourself, you're not entirely sure.

the entirety of your royal party comes to a halt after what you felt was an hour's worth of treading on a steep incline and only then do you allow yourself to peek through the curtains of your carriage.

you gasp as you see the fog all around. you're aware that the West was the mountainous region of the four kingdoms but seeing the clouds form beneath the castle grounds made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"let's hope he doesn't throw me down the ravine," you mutter quietly. olivia and yuna exchange looks before giggling quietly.

you alight from your carriage a few more minutes later, the sudden light nearly blinding you. the sun is covered in dark clouds but the lack of any greenery to shield your field of view has you squinting to see in front of you.

"good morrow, your grace," a voice greets. you turn and see a smartly-dressed man approach, bowing deeply. he's adorned in the West king's court colors and it's then you notice the pin affixed on his chest.

"i'm lord jake, the royal chamberlain," he adds, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your skin. he straightens up and gestures behind him.

your eyes follow where he's pointing and you see a grand staircase leading up to the heavy wooden doors at the entrance to the castle.

"let me assist you to the throne room," jake offers, holding out his arm to you. you take it, fixing a firm grip on his bicep.

"the king is waiting," he adds.

---

you let yourself be pulled through the towering hallways, resisting the urge to gape at the lavishly adorned walls. portraits of Western monarchs, legendary shields and swords owned by said monarchs, heavy purple drapery. jake seems to understand, walking at a pace that hardly indicates that you're in any rush.

you turn behind you to see olivia and yuna following dutifully, your other ladies and servants following close behind, flanked by guards both from your party and from the West King's.

you turn back ahead of you, catching sight of the heavy doors to what you can only guess is the throne room.

"if i may speak freely, your grace." jake turns to you slightly. you return his gaze and nod.

"of course," you say.

"you need not be nervous," jake reassures. "i know of the tales you might have heard about our king. but i've been a companion of his since we were boys. he does not hurt those who are not deserving to be hurt."

you remain silent for a few seconds as you continue to approach the throne room. after a while, you respond to jake.

"i appreciate the words of comfort, my lord," you begin. "but what indication do you have that i'm nervous?"

jake smiles warmly at you just as you reach the doors.

"you've been squeezing my arm since you've arrived, your grace," jake points out.

a pause. your face breaks out into a smile and jake mirrors your expression, both of you allowing yourselves a moment to laugh.

the guards by the throne room doors heave them open and you stand, stiff but adorning your face with a look of resolve. jake pulls his arm away and steps in front of you. just as the doors fully open, jake bows to the throne and then to you.

"my most revered King of the West, this is Princess _________ of the East and her royal household," jake announces in a booming voice that startles you slightly.

"princess," jake continues, turning to you once more.

"i present to you, the Most Royal King of the West, King Heeseung,."

---

everything was a blur after that.

you do, however, remember the silver shock of hair atop the king's head. the deep purple of his doublet. the tight black breeches and black boots laced up around his ankles.

you could see King Heeseung's lips remain unmoving as you curtsied deeply in front of him. you remember the feeling of fear, humiliation, and embarrassment at having to bow in front of a cruel tyrant.

you remember the hint of a smile grace his mouth as you straighten up. you remember the sweat gathering on your palms.

you remember muffled words being exchanged between the king and jake. you couldn't make out what they were saying with the blood rushing in your ears. you remember curtsying one more time before jake takes your hand and leads you and your people out of the throne room.

now, hours later, seated in front of a mirror in an airy room somewhere on the north wing of the castle, you remember to breathe, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"your grace, are you alright?" olivia asks from behind you, her hand pausing mid-brush as she gathers your hair in her other hand.

you meet her eyes through the mirror and nod.

"yes," you answer. "just a little...tired."

"i would assume so," yuna speaks up from the other side of the room, her slender figure bent over the numerous chests containing your belongings.

"i asked and it turns out we traveled close to a month," yuna rambles. "a month! who takes a month to get from the East to the West?"

you smile at yuna's shrill voice, a comfort from the eerie silence that seems to surround the castle.

"how are you two liking it here so far?" you ask, addressing your two ladies. a palpable pause comes over the room as you wait for their response.

"it's...alright," olivia begins. "better than i expected. i pictured brutes and barbarians to litter the halls but that's a misjudgment on my part, your grace."

"everyone seems kind enough," yuna chimes in. "the king barely said a word so i'm not sure how to feel about him yet."

"better to hold your tongue when speaking of the King of the West, child," you lightly berate. "we don't know who's listening."

olivia and yuna both nod in understanding.

a knock from the door to your room interrupts your discussion.

"come in," you call out. you turn to see another one of your ladies poke their head in before straightening up and bowing.

"your grace," jen, a sprightly lady-in-waiting of yours addresses you.

"i've been informed that the king asks for your presence in his study," jen relays, hands folded in front of her.

time seems to stop as you hear these words. you feel olivia grip your shoulder and you hear a clatter of something as yuna drops it. jen avoids your eyes as the four of you soak in her words.

"well," you say after a moment. "i better make haste, then.

you meet olivia's eyes through the mirror once more and she smiles encouragingly.

---

you ask jen to accompany you this time to give olivia and yuna time for their own personal needs. jen readily agreed, not more than five paces behind you as you make your way to where you were told the king's study is.

the castle is bathed in late afternoon light, a gentle breeze fluttering through the hallways. hardly any noise can be heard save for the occasional footsteps of servants and soft chatter from some of the rooms. your heart hammering against your chest is the only thing that fills your ears constantly.

"this is it, right?" you turn to ask jen. she nods as you two stop in front of an intricately carved door with a heavy golden stag knocker.

"you may take your leave," you tell jen.

"your grace?" jen asks, voice meek. "should i not wait for you out here?"

you shake your head. "i have a feeling neither of us knows how long the king will keep me in there."

jen opens her mouth as if to say something more but she stops, sighing. she nods and bows to you before starting down the hallway.

you turn away from jen's disappearing form, hand grasping at the stag knocker. you pound the heavy metal against the door three times before stepping back, waiting to be let in.

"enter," comes a voice from inside.

you swallow, reaching for the door handle. you give it a turn, the door easily swinging inward. you step through the gap, pressing your lips in a thin line as you anticipate what you might see.

the study is a respectable size, with bookcases adorning nearly every wall. a fireplace crackles with flames at the far left end of the room and a large desk rests in the middle of it all.

hunched over a stack of parchment is King Heeseung himself, a quill twirling lazily between his fingers.

your eyes meet and the king straightens in his seat.

"your grace—"

you pause, having both said the same thing at the same time. to your surprise, King Heeseung offers a smile. not knowing what else to do, you force an uneasy smile back.

"sit with me, my lady," he says, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you gather your skirts and perch yourself at the very edge of the seat.

no one speaks for what feels like an eternity. the king has paused in his perusing of the parchment in front of him and you've busied yourself with staring at your hands resting on your lap.

"there will be a welcome banquet tonight," King Heeseung's voice cuts through the silence.

"to celebrate your arrival," he continues.

you dip your head low.

"you have my gratitude, your grace," you say mechanically.

King Heeseung clears his throat. "i also arranged for the wedding feast to take place a week from now."

you allow yourself to gaze upon the King of the West, your eyebrows pinching together.

the king sees your expression and pauses.

"but if you wish to either hasten or push back the ceremony, then i'll take it into consideration," King Heeseung hurriedly adds, his sharp eyes rounding into a softer form.

you realize that sitting here, eye level with the king, that he's merely a man like any other. a man who smiles and startles and laughs.

your mind flashes back to your father's beaten and bruised face. your expression falls.

"no, your grace. a week from now is fine," you concede.

a long stretch of silence follows. you avert your eyes to the window to your right, gazing at the vibrant sky painted in the colors of the sunset.

"heeseung," comes the king's voice. you turn to him, a questioning look on your face.

"you can call me heeseung," he clarifies.

your face must have been of utter confusion because the king smiles again.

"we are to be wed, are we not? i would assume that you'd prefer a much more relaxed method of addressing each other." heeseung leans back in his plush seat, awaiting a response.

"of course," you agree. "and you may address me however you wish."

"my betrothed."

the two words roll smoothly off heeseung's tongue and a strange tug pulls at your chest. you nod silently as if to grant permission.

heeseung clears his throat again, pushing himself off his chair. you rise as well but you make no move to look at his face.

you see from the corner of your eye his hand reaching out to you.

"come. the banquet should be starting soon."

you shakily place your hand in his and he gently wraps his fingers around yours.

"after you, my dear betrothed," he says, motioning towards the door.

---

it turns out, a week flies by extremely fast.

you've managed to meet all of the people of importance in heeseung's court in that time, memorizing names and faces and feasting with a number of them.

heeseung hovers around, greeting you as you go about your day but ultimately keeping his distance. you wonder if you should be doing more to prepare for your wedding but you don't dare question any of heeseung's or his council's plans.

in a blink of an eye, the week is over and you're standing in the throne room, draped in your finest garments, practically glittering from head to toe with the jewelry you've brought from home.

heeseung stands tall and regal beside you, his hair perfectly done and his royal regalia adorning his broad frame. strangely enough, his face is what you anchor on for most of the ceremony—a blur of vows and prayers and oaths and finally, a restrained brush of lips to make things official.

the feast may as well have not happened with how blurry your memory of it is. you sat at the high table, watching the festivities but not really seeing anything.

that is, until a particular loud courtier knocks over a chair, bringing down plates and utensils as collateral damage in his drunken state. the noise jars you for a moment but heeseung lays a warm hand on yours to steady you.

and now, sitting on the edge of your bed, stripped down to your undergarments by your reluctant ladies, you shiver at the thought of what your wedding night may bring.

you've heard stories from your ladies and you've been taught enough by the tutors you've had over the years. but to lay with a man such as heeseung, it chills you down to the bone. would he hurt you? would he demand things from you? perhaps kill you?

you shake your head. it would do no good for him to kill you now. you're both in dire need of heirs for your respective domains, him especially now that he's deposited himself as the supreme ruler of all the kingdoms in your land. and even without taking children into consideration, would he really drive in his image as a tyrant? slaying his wife on their wedding night?

your thoughts are dissolved when you hear a knock come from the door. a second later, heeseung walks in, his cape and gloves amiss, and so are the tightly-laced hunting boots, leaving him in his doublet and breeches, wool boots covering his feet.

he almost looks...nervous.

"my b—"

heeseung pauses, taking in a sharp breath.

"my wife."

your head spins as heeseung says these words. you can physically feel the color draining from your face. when heeseung says it like that, it makes it more real, your fate looming over you like an impregnable fortress caging you in.

"yes, your grace?" you respond, trying to sound composed amidst your anxiety.

heeseung studies you for a second before sighing. he tugs his boots off, undoing his doublet right after. he shrugs the garment off, leaving him bare from the waist up. you gasp softly, abruptly turning away.

"you need not address me like that, remember?" heeseung reminds, trudging carefully before coming to a stop in front of you.

he reaches a hand out, attempting to hold a side of your face but you flinch, your whole body lurching at the feeling of his skin against yours.

your heart pounds as you quickly realize the fault in what you just did. you peer up at heeseung, eyes shaking with fear.

you expected anger, annoyance, or even confusion.

but all you see is a pair of despondent eyes looking down at you.

"why are you afraid? why do you fear me?" heeseung asks, voice quiet, defeated.

your insides churn as you try to find the right words. in a moment, the whole ordeal comes crashing down on you, the day's events flashing in your mind, a reminder that this is your life now. you're married to a dictator for the rest of your days.

"shouldn't i be?" you reply, voice stony. "i'd be a fool to not be scared of someone who murdered their own father and waged a war against the entire world."

heeseung remains silent. he heaves a sigh, turning away from you.

"it seems as if it was a mistake to ask for your hand in marriage," heeseung says.

a flicker sparks inside you.

"you didn't ask!" you cry out, voice accusatory. you stand, pulling yourself to your full height. this outrage has sprung from nowhere, seized you fully, summoning all the anger within you.

"you commanded me here, you took me away from my family, my home! i came all the way here to marry an evil man and he suddenly decides that marrying me was a mistake?"

"i gave up everything i had to fulfill a duty i was called to, that you called me to," you continue, placing yourself right in front of heeseung.

"i need you to prove to me that all this is worth it. that i did not come here to be some poor slave to a tyrant! show me and prove me wrong that you're not just some monster that nearly killed my father!"

you feel the air knocked out of you as a pair of lips press against your own. you cry out in surprise but something snaps within you, the final branch needed to let the fire catch and spread.

heeseung is kissing you and you're kissing him, your hands clawing at any part of him you could reach. his own fingers tug at your chemise, pulling it down your shoulders until it slips off your body completely.

"you're sick, forcing yourself on your wife like this," you pant against heeseung's mouth. he undoes his breeches, letting them fall.

"my wife is free to leave if she pleases," heeseung retaliates, kicking off the last of his clothes.

both of you are stark naked now.

you stand there, breathing heavily as you look into each other's eyes.

"your wife will not leave until you've bedded her and put an heir in her womb," you seethe. "that's all she came here for, after all."

heeseung grunts lowly, attacking your lips once more. he shoves you down on the bed, caging you in easily with his firm body. he runs his hands up and down your sides, squeezing and fondling at every piece of flesh he can dig his fingers into. you moan and squirm under his touch, an ache growing between your legs.

"you'll give me as many heirs as i wish," heeseung says as he kisses his way down to your neck. he suckles on a spot just beneath your jaw and the sound of defiance that you originally wanted to let out is caught in your throat.

"of course, so they can usurp you when it's your time," you say through your teeth.

heeseung says nothing, only looks at you, his face pulled down in an angry frown.

"listen here, darling," heeseung commands, voice dipping even lower. he pulls you by your thighs to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs open.

he glances down and you stare at his face as it turns into a look of intrigue, his eyes transfixed on your core.

you're soaking wet, clenching around nothing as your husband continues to survey what's between your legs. he looks back up at you, a hand reaching over to grasp your jaw in one large hand.

"my father was a madman and so was his father before him," heeseung begins and you feel something prod at your entrance. you gasp as half of him is pushed in with a single swivel of heeseung's hips.

"maybe i'll turn out to be one too, but right now, all i did was clean up the mess he made," heeseung continues, fully burying himself inside you. your legs tremble at the painful stretch and all you want is to hide your face away in the sheets but heeseung's firm grip on your face won't let you.

"he started this war," heeseung says accusingly. he draws back, allowing you momentary relief before thrusting back in, a half cry, half moan escaping you.

"yeah, my sweet?" heeseung pauses to address you momentarily, his eyes dark and evidently hungry.

"feel good?"

he doesn't wait for an answer as he lets go of your face in favor of holding your hips tightly between his hands. heeseung sets up a ruthless pace, mouth hanging open as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

you grit your teeth and refuse to look away yourself, gazing upon the face of what might be another in a line of mad kings. your husband, half of who you are now, half of what your children will be.

the thought sickens you to your stomach.

but the delicious fill of his cock deep in you has you quivering with want, breathless with desire. if this is how good it feels to fuck a mad king, then maybe you are the perfect maiden to wed him.

well, not so much a maiden now that he's buried in you to the hilt, one of his hands grabbing at your breast.

his words 'he started this war' echo in your brain, but a shift of heeseung's hips has your eyes rolling back in your head, that thought forgotten momentarily.

"come on my sweet, look at me," heeseung pleads gently. he leans down, nearly flattening his form over your own. he continues to fuck you, thursts shallow in this new position

you hook your own arms around heeseung's neck, meeting his eyes.

"you don't fear me, do you?" heeseung asks laboriously through heavy breaths. "you never did."

you withhold an answer, leaning in to press your lips roughly against heeseung's instead. he growls low in his chest, his hips moving even faster than they already were.

you keep your mouths together, tongues lapping over every expanse of each other. a shiver runs through you as you feel the friction against your core increase, turning rougher and rougher as heeseung seems to lose himself in you.

you pull away, running your fingers through the hair on the back of heeseung's head. you tighten your grip on the strands and heeseung hisses.

"no," you finally answer. "i'm not scared of you so fuck me like you mean it."

the world seems to give out from all around you as the last words escape you, your hips pinned down painfully against the bed. your legs quiver as you feel heeseung pound into you, faster, rougher, harder. you let a sob rip out of you, your whole body seizing as your release slams down on you.

heeseung looks at you and only you, eyes wide and ravenous.

you clench around heeseung and he collapses over you, hands braced on either side of your head, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you feel him throb deep in you. you feel his thick seed warm up your walls and you gasp softly, your body finally relaxing.

you lay there, weak and unmoving, as heeseung pulls out and rolls off you. he comes to rest on one side of you, his hair tickling your shoulder. without another word, heeseung pushes himself up and retrieves his discarded breeches off the floor.

your heart sinks as you think that he's about to leave. your throat tightens, the thought of being used just like that, despite being his wife, his queen, repulsing you so badly.

but heeseung doesn't walk out the door. he loosely strings up his breeches and walks over to the vanity on the other side of the room. you failed to notice when you came in the first time the bowl of water and washcloth resting beside it.

heeseung wets the cloth, wringing it momentarily before walking back over to you. you've propped yourself on your elbows now, watching his every move.

"sit up, my sweet," heeseung implores gently, seating himself beside you.

you oblige, wincing at the slight sting between your legs as you shift into a more comfortable position. heeseung starts with your face, smoothing over your cheeks with the cloth, the cooled water bringing out a sigh of relief.

he moves to wipe at your neck, then your chest. he peers down at you, laying a gentle hand on your thigh.

"let me clean down there too," heeseung says. you nod, feeling vulnerable under his watch. you part your sore thighs, letting heeseung swipe away at the stickiness.

heeseung finishes and returns the washcloth to the bowl. he picks your chemise up on the way back to you, placing it in your hands. you wordlessly stand, pulling the thin fabric over you, overtly aware of heeseung watching you from where he sits on the bed.

you turn back to him and he's gazing up at you, expression softer than all of the other times. he reaches a hand out shakily, as if hesitant, and you take it, stepping between his parted knees.

he places his hands on our lower back as if to cradle you. before you could stop yourself, you let your hand smooth back some of his silvery locks of hair.

"he—my father—sent those decrees of war out when he realized i was on to him," heeseung mumbles.

you nod gently, signaling him to go on.

"i found out he'd been plotting this war for years right under my nose. i was brought up to command my father's army but i never knew it was for this," he continues.

"i begged him to stop but you can't reason with someone mad," heeseung says, voice shaking.

looking at him now, eyes so doe-like and piercing straight through your own, you realize that underneath what you called a tyrant, he was just a boy willing his father to do right.

"i had to end it one way or another," heeseung continues, head bowing.

you pull him to you, cradling him against your chest. you feel heeseng's arms tighten around your torso.

"but by the time i had dealt the final blow, it was too late. the decrees were sent and i had no choice but to fight the war he left me with."

your chest constricts.

"why not just take the decrees back, admit surrender?" you ask quietly. heeseung looks up at you and you're struck by how handsome he looks when he's not acting like the king he is.

soft lips, the delicate turn of his nose, fluttering eyelashes.

"i was already a kinslayer and a kingslayer. i couldn't lose everything after that," heeseung whispers, brows pinched together as if begging you to believe him.

a flurry of emotions course through you. despite this, you smile apologetically.

you bend down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on heeseung's forehead.

"i don't fear you," you whisper against his skin. you feel him deflate beneath your touch.

"but there is so much more i need to understand about you, husband."

heeseung pulls away and nods. he takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"and i'll try my hardest to make you understand. i don't expect forgiveness, just your open heart and open eyes to see who i really am."

you afford yourself another smile. you lean down once more, kissing heeseung softly.

"they're wide open, my King."

[ilikefelines]

Sigh.

No, Westeros isn't an absolute monarchy it's a medieval vassalage and the king's word is only law when he can enforce it. Rhaenyra's - I like her book character not so much the show where they white washed her - children aren't legitimate just because the king and the Velaryon's pretend they are. Blood and legality are inextricably linked in this world - it was made pretty obvious in the main series of books.

Now, some people will argue that it's fine that her kid's aren't Laenors because their claim comes through her. The thing is

a) people can only have a claim when they're trueborn/legitimised by royal decree. Example: If a bastard of House Mooton said that his bastardy didn't matter and that he could press his claim to lordship of Maidenpool because it rests solely on the fact that he has his lordly father's blood, irrespective of legitimacy, people would laugh at him.

You need to be trueborn as well, because then what would stop bastards with noble blood from attempting to usurp their noble family's inheritance? Noble blood and being trueborn is what makes a claim, elsewise we could argue that even dragon-seed's have a right to the throne.

b) this whole line of argument ignores the dynastic reasons behind Rhaenyra's marriage to her cousin Laenor. It was to combine both of their powerful claims to the throne. Laenor was the son of Rhaenys, who under Andal Law, had more right to the throne than Viserys. Viserys hoped that by marrying Rhaenyra to Laenor he could bolster her children's claim to the throne.

Combining the two powerful claims - and prior to Viserys's kingship Laenor's claim was more powerful that Rhaenyra's and arguably after - was the entire purpose of the marriage. If they'd produced trueborn children those kids would've have been able to assert their claim to the Iron Throne because of both their mothers - and crucially as much as the fandom likes to ignore this - their father's blood.

This is what I think and what I believe the source material to be telling us. You've a right to agree or disagree but PLEASE keep it respectful. No, I don't hate TB stans I just really disagree with them but that shouldn't stop us from having a polite conversation, right?

[trulyumai]

a fire set loose upon blood

—paring: Messmer / wife! reader

synopsis: with queen marika learning of her sons marriage, she called him to the capital, forbidding the man to marry into such a low family. Messmer became angry, the flames taking over his will once more.

—warnings: talking down, violence, light cussing.

The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with a murmur of anticipation, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the sound of nobles and courtiers preparing for the evening’s festivities. Gold and white drapes adorned the walls, their opulence a stark contrast to the underlying tension that simmered within the room. At the head of the hall, the throne loomed, a symbol of Queen Marika’s unyielding authority.

The siblings were no where to be seen. For why would they show when Messmer needed them so?

Messmer stood in the center of the room, his regal attire starkly contrasting with the turmoil that brewed beneath his composed exterior. His eye, dark and stormy, fixed intently on the figure of his mother as she ascended the throne with a grace that belied the iron will behind her serene facade.

Queen Marika’s presence was commanding, her poise a perfect blend of royal dignity and maternal authority. Her eyes, however, were steely as they regarded her son, her posture unyielding as if the weight of the crown had become an even greater burden in recent times.

“Messmer,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a queen used to having her commands followed without question. “I have called you here to discuss a matter of utmost importance.”

Messmer’s gaze remained steady, though a flicker of anger danced in his eye. “Speak then, Mother. I am here, and thee will listen.”

Marika’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightness around her lips that betrayed her unease. “It has come to my attention that you continue to spend time with that… woman, the one of whom I have spoken before. Her status is beneath the dignity of the royal family. She is not of noble blood, and her presence in your life could compromise the integrity of our lineage.”

The words struck Messmer like a physical blow, his face darkening with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Are you referring to my wife?”

Queen Marika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, my child. Her origins are humble, and her social standing is not fitting for a prince of this realm. I have tolerated your infatuation for too long. It is time to end this folly.”

Messmer’s hands clenched into fists, the tension in his jaw evident as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You cannot simply dictate my heart, Mother. My wife is not only kind and virtuous, but she has shown me a love that transcends titles and lineage. She is more noble in spirit than many of those you deem worthy.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, a cold edge to her voice. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford, Messmer. The duties and responsibilities of royalty must come before personal desires. You must consider the future of the kingdom, the alliances we must secure. Your marriage must strengthen our position, not diminish it.”

“Strengthen?” Messmer’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and defiance. “Are you suggesting that my happiness, my very heart, should be sacrificed for political gain? This is not merely a matter of alliances or appearances. It is about who I choose to spend my life with, who I love.”

Marika’s gaze remained steely, her voice a firm command. “You will cease this association with her immediately. You are a prince, a knight, and you must act according to your station. You are not to see her again. This is a royal decree.”

The finality in her voice was unmistakable, yet Messmer’s anger flared, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “A decree?” he spat, his voice laden with contempt. “You would reduce my feelings to a mere decree? I will not comply, Mother. I refuse to end my relationship with her I will not let you dictate my heart.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the murmurs of the court dying away as Messmer’s declaration reverberated through the hall. Queen Marika’s expression hardened further, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the challenge posed by her son.

“Do not be a fool, Messmer,” she said, her tone cold and cutting. “You are treading dangerous waters. Your disobedience will not go unnoticed, and the consequences will be severe. You cannot defy your mother, your queen, without facing repercussions.”

“I am aware of the consequences,” Messmer shot back, his voice unwavering. “But I will not live a lie or endure a life devoid of love for the sake of appearances. If you choose to punish me for this, so be it. But know this: I will not abandon my wife. I will stand by her, no matter the cost.”

Marika’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You are speaking recklessly. You do not understand the gravity of your actions. This is not merely about personal happiness—it is about the stability of our entire realm. Your defiance threatens the very fabric of our dynasty.”

Messmer took a step forward, his eyes blazing with resolve. “And what of my own happiness? What of my right to choose the one I love? You speak of stability, but it is your rigid adherence to tradition that threatens to unravel everything. I am not merely a pawn to be moved about for political gain. I am your son, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Marika’s hands clenched on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white with the strain. The silence in the hall was oppressive, the weight of the confrontation palpable. Messmer’s words hung in the air, a challenge to the very authority his mother held so dearly.

“You are making a grave mistake, Messmer,” Marika said, her voice strained but resolute. “You will regret this defiance. The path you choose will lead to ruin, and you will have only yourself to blame.”

“Then let it be so,” Messmer replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not forsake my love. If that is my price, then so be it.”

…

“You persist in your defiance, Messmer,” Marika’s voice was cold and unyielding. “You dare to disregard my decree and associate yourself with that woman, Her presence is an affront to the dignity of this royal house.”

Messmer’s anger was palpable. “You cannot dictate my heart, Mother. I refuse to end my marriage. She has been my steadfast companion, and her worth is beyond the constraints of royal lineage.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. “Then you leave me no choice. If you will not heed my words, I shall act to preserve the integrity of our realm.”

With a decisive gesture, Marika signaled to the guards of grace stationed by the grand hall’s entrance. Her voice rang out with unyielding authority. “Seize his so called wife. Remove her from this hall at once. Her presence is a threat to the stability of our kingdom.”

The guards, their expressions set in grim determination, advanced towards his wife, who stood frozen by the window. Her eyes darted between Messmer and the encroaching soldiers, fear etched across her face.

“No!” Messmer’s voice erupted in a raw, desperate roar. “Stay away from her!”

As the guards closed in, Messmer’s fury ignited. He drew his staff with a swift, practiced motion, but the weapon was not his only tool of wrath. With a surge of energy, Messmer’s eyes flared with an intense, fiery glow. Flames erupted from his hands, casting an ominous light across the hall.

The guards, taken aback by the sudden burst of fire, scrambled to shield themselves. But Messmer’s flames were relentless, sweeping through the grand hall with a ferocious intensity. The once-stately room was soon engulfed in a torrent of scorching heat and blinding light.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the opulent decorations and gilded walls. The guards, now caught in the inferno, screamed in terror as the fire turned their armor into searing metal. Messmer fought through the chaos, his sword still flashing as he cut down those who tried to escape the blaze.

“Messmer, no!” His wife’s cry was barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Darling— please!”

Messmer’s face, illuminated by the flames, was a mask of determined fury. “If they will not let us be, then I will take everything from them. No more will they control our lives!”

With each passing moment, the fire spread beyond the grand hall, seizing hold of the palace’s wooden structures and tapestries. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and ash. Marika, her regal composure shattered, could only watch in stunned disbelief as her palace was reduced to a blazing inferno.

“Cease this madness!” Marika’s voice, though commanding, was nearly lost in the cacophony of destruction. “Stop him! Put out the fire!”

But it was too late. The flames, fueled by Messmer’s unchecked rage, surged outward, consuming the palace’s grandiose architecture. The inferno spread through the corridors and chambers, its heat radiating through the once-proud halls.

Messmer, his fury unabated, moved his wife towards the palace’s exit. The once-majestic capital, now visible beyond the burning palace, was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The fire, driven by Messmer’s rage, was spreading rapidly through the streets, turning the capital into a scene of total devastation.

Outside, the capital’s inhabitants fled in panic as the fire spread through the buildings. The cries of the fleeing people mixed with the crackling of the flames, creating a harrowing symphony of destruction. Messmer and his little wife, amidst the chaos, made their way through the burning streets, their path lit by the inferno that consumed the city.

“Messmer, we need to leave!” Her voice was urgent, her face pale with fear. “This fire—it’s destroying everything!”

Messmer’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, remained fixed on the burning city. “They will understand the cost of crossing me, of belittling me and having me sit by the shadows!” he said, his voice a low growl. “No longer will they dictate our fate.”

The inferno continued to ravage the capital, the flames reflecting in Messmer’s eyes as he and his wife made their way out of the city. The once-thriving center of the kingdom was now a smoldering ruin, the fire a testament to Messmer’s wrath and his refusal to be controlled.

As they reached the outskirts of the burning capital, Messmer and the girl paused, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of the destruction was both overwhelming and sobering. The palace, now a ruin of charred stone and ashes, was a grim reminder of the cost of their defiance.

Messmer, his anger slowly giving way to a profound sense of loss, turned towards the shaking girl. “I am sorry for this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “This was not what I intended. I wanted only to protect you.”

her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow, took his hand. “We will— will be okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the devastation around them. “We will find a way to move forward. I trust you to protect us.”

Messmer nodded, his resolve tempered by the weight of their actions. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges. But amidst the ruins of the capital and the ashes of their past, they found solace in their shared determination and the strength of their bond.

The capital, once a symbol of royal might, now lay in ruins—a testament to the power of defiance and the price of love. As Messmer and his wife looked out over the burning city, they knew that their journey was far from over. The flames of rebellion had transformed their lives, and the road ahead would be shaped by the choices they made in the aftermath of the inferno.

The destruction of the kingdom’s heart was a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance and the price of love. The future lay before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but Messmer and his wife faced it together, bound by their shared determination and the strength of their affection.

Now, there was only one place they could hide.

To the lands in between; the shadow realm that hides beneath the grace.

[witchofhimring]

Under the shadow of the Crown

Synopsis: Your life as Princess Baela's lady-in-waiting is ripped apart. Queen Rhaenyra decrees that you marry her younger half brother Aemond. Terrified, you are in no position to object. Such are the lives of those in the shadow of the crown.

Pairings: Aemond x Y/n

Part of my Dynasty of Blood AU series, built of this concept.

You had never payed attention to the second sulky son of Alicent Hightower. If fact you had not even come to mainland Westeros to marry him in the first place. Of course marriage had always been in the cards. As heir to Blackhalt, your families ancestral seat just off of The Reach. A great match had always been in store for you. Lord Cregan Stark and Jeoffrey Velaryon had both been put forth. Only Lord Stark's had been seriously considered as the third born son of Queen Rhaenyra was not yet ten. It was only a pity the eldest two of her boys were to be wed. Well, Lucerys and Rhaena had not been wed at the time you arrived at Kings Landing. Crowned Prince Jaecerys had already taken Baela Targaryen to wife by then. Your role, until it was time to take up the mantel of ladyship, was to serve the royal family and cultivate whatever ties you could.

You were placed in the service of Princess Baela. She was around your age, born within the same year. Admittedly you were more than a bit intimidated. Use to being the second highest ranking lady in the room it was strange to be standing in front of the third greatest lady in the land. Not only that but Baela rode a dragon. Her beauty was intimidating as well, with thick silver hair and wide violet eyes. Her skin was dark and smooth, the scars she obtained in battle only giving highlighting her features. Normally scars could not be considered pretty, but Baela seemed to wear them as one would their jewels. Clad in black and red the princess looked almost like one of those Valyrian gods. Not that you had ever met one before. But perhaps this was how they were depicted.

The two of you would forge a friendship. A combination of personal liking and ambition. However it was with Rhaena that you first became friends with. The younger of the two, Rhaena was less assuming compared to Baela. That did not mean, as many mistakened her for, a wilting flower. She simply preferred to be more guarded and taken to court etiquette more easily. The two of you had much in common, a love of fine dresses, music, poetry and an ability to connive when the situation so called for it. When you were free of duties the two of you would hide under the Weirwood and read poetry.

Two years passed and a new year was upon everyone. A New Years ball was to be arranged and it was up to a team of ladies (including yourself) to organize who was wearing what. It was already agreed upon that Baela would be wearing a high collared red gown with rubies sewn into it. Not that she knew it yet. The rest of you would wear colours representing your houses to show a symbol of unity. "I think everyone should wear a red ribbon to symbolize the princess." Rhaena pulled out a silver box from underneath a tall tower of various items. Let it not be said this was an easy job. A new years celebration was nothing to scoff at. Especially as this one would be a pre-celebration to the marriage of Rhaena to Lucerys. Rhaenyra's second son had been off to learn what it mean to be a lord. This had been to the great distress of Rhaenyra. But she finally relented, unusually, and allowed Daemon to teach her son everything there was to know about being Prince of Dragonstone. Now that he had experience and was a man it was high time Lucerys married.

"Oh dear." Lady Cassandra stifled a laugh as she held up a pair of ludicrously high heels. Lady Cerelle of Casterly Rock paled and looked to Rhaena. She would find no security in her look as Rhaena sighed. "Let me see." You took the pair from her hand and examined them. They were exquisite in design and any woman would be thrilled to have them. Except this was Baela who would likely be as friendly as Vhargar when it came to overly constraining dresses.

Rhaena sighed and slumped in her seat. She looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "Baela is going to kill me." You looked up at her. "Why you?" Rhaena sat up and stooped down to gather loose fabric. "Because I was the one who commissioned Panella to make the dress. And I swear I told her to make the dress to Baela's tastes. But the Queen ordered her to make it luxurious as possible." Queen Rhaenyra was well known for her expensive tastes. Just a glance at her dresses was enough for anyone to know. This had worked in your favour when the Queen gifted you a dress of pink silk and pearls. You had yet to wear it but the dress was truly magnificent. However, at this moment, was it worth it if Baela ripped your head off?

Deliverance came in the form a knock. One of Dowager Queen Alicents handmaidens entered. She first curtsied to Rhaena and then turned to you. "Lady Y/n, the Queen Dowager has requested your presence." Getting up you bid the ladies farewell before leaving. Hopefully you would be kept away long enough to avoid Baela's terror.

Lady Alicent had settled in the Hands Tower, much to the annoyance of the actual hand Ser Corlys Velaryon. The moment you entered green clouded your vision. On the steps of a dais sat the women serving Alicent. They mostly hailed from the Reach and Westerlands. Sitting on a throne like chair was Alicent. She looked older than her thirty and four years, a statue of regality and sternness. Had you done something to incur her ire? There was nothing you could think of. So you curtsied, hoping that if she was upset a show of supplication (even if it irked you) might mollify her. To your surprise she smiled, or at least it looked like a smile. This unsettled you to a degree.

"Lady Y/n, the Queen, your father and myself have chosen a husband for you." Several things went through your mind, excitement, anxiety and hope. You had been endlessly curious as to who would become your husband and the future lord consort to Blackhalt. "You will be marrying my son Prince Aemond. Everything dropped out from beneath you. Not literally, but it felt like someone had just hurled you down a dark tunnel. Out of everyone why him!? You could not say Aemond was well known to you. Only the stories and the looks he gave anyone attached to his elder sisters house. As you were a member of Baela's household his dislike over spilled into you as well.

Was this your fathers idea? Or your mother, who despite not being the ruling lady held great sway. Always you had known you'd marry, such was the duty of every lord and lady. Never had you though as you did now, that this was all some great mistake.

You curtsied to the third most powerful woman in Westeros and said how honoured you were. An honour it may be, but not one you cherished.

"Absolutely not!" If one though Baela had been angry beforehand it was nothing to her tirade over Aemond taking one of her handmaidens. "My Princess, I can still serve you, surely." You held her hand in your own. In the greatest state of anxiety Baela hardly seemed to notice. Suddenly she bounded to her feet. Cerelle leapt back in fright and Cassandra rose to her feet. Baela seized your hand and headed out the door. She strode forward with such a great fury you nearly tripped. You could hear the other two following, also having difficulty in catching up. It was only when you entered a staircase lined with red tapestries did you realize where it was Baela was taking you. Before there was even time to protest Baela waved the guards aside and burst through the door. Queen Rhaenyra lounged on a plush chair, surrounded by her three youngest sons, little Princess Visenya and four ladies. As usual she was bedecked in the finest robes imaginable. Jeoffrey came to his feet and rushed towards Baela. Despite the animosity between Baela and her good-mother she was fond of her husbands siblings. Once they broke apart Jeoffrey rushed back to his mother. Tention filled the room was two Targaryen Princesses stared each other down. Baela may not be Queen yet, but she had enough spirit to outdo almost any other. Rhaenyra may have been older, but the fire dwelling within her blood was no less furious. Despite their differences they both had something starkly similar. They were the very blood of Old Valyria.

"Princess Baela. Please take a seat." Baela simply stood there, not budging. Nervously you stood there. While Baela might get away with this you may suffer the brunt of Rhaenyra's anger. She was quick to anger and slow to forgive. So you hung your head in hopes that she might consider you unworthy of her anger. "He who bends may rise again", it was a Greyjoy saying, yet your mother mentioned it had a great deal of merit.

Lady Cassandra quietly entered, paid her respects to the Queen, then stood there. "Lady Velaryon, please take my daughter to her room." Lasfy Velaryon, a cousin of Baela, rose and took the hand of little Visenya who had only recently celebrated her third name day. With some fussing the princess was spirited away. Rhaenyra waited until her daughters little footsteps disappeared. When Rhaenyra focused her attention back onto Baela she looked as gentle as a dragon. They said the Queen was quick to anger, slow to forgive. You prayed her anger did not fall on you.

"Your impertinence is noted, Baela. Remember I am Queen so watch your tongue." The subject of Queenship had always been a tense, provocative one. When King Laenor died the crown passed to his wife. At the time Prince Jacaerys was only ten and considered too young to rule. Fearing a war over regency as had happened in the time of King Jaehaerys they had the boys mother become Queen. It was all wrapped up in a neat little bow. No boy kings and the succession going down the natural path. Or it would be so if it were not for the face Rhaenyra's sons were not Laenor's. Whispers floated down the halls that it was the former Captain of the City Guard Ser Harwin Strong who had fathered the boy. If the succession had gone down the true legitimate line then it would have passed to Laena's line. Baela was Laena's eldest child. But Rhaenyra was quick. She married Laena's widower Daemon Targaryen and married their children together.

Baela, who should have been Queen, stood in front of her stepmother who was Queen. Veryone else shrunk back. Even little Jeoffrey. "I hear you mean to marry Y/n Blackhalt to Aemond." She practically spat out the last words. All these years later Baela was still smarting over the injustice of Aemond taking Vhaegar from her sister. The feeling was mutual. Aemond had hated the Velaryon girls ever since that terrible fight on Driftmark. After the funeral of Princess Laena Aemond had stuck out and claimed Vhaegar which had once belonged to Aegon, consort of Queen Visenya. Words were said and Baela punched Aemond. A brawl ensued and Aemond lost an eye. The relationship between the families of Viserys Targaryen's first and second wives had never been smooth. Rhaenyra was left imbittered after her lady-in-waiting Alicent married her father. The two had never reconciled. Or so you heard.

"I am aware. Myself, Lady Alicent and your father have all agreed to it." Baela puffed up. "As a lady in my service Y/n is under my care and therefore I should have been informed." "My brother is a prince of the realm. Lady Y/n should feel honoured." Rhaenyra's amethyst eyes then settled on you. Oh Gods no.

"Lady Y/n, what do you say?" This was possibly the worst situation you could be placed in. Either way you would offend someone. Your best friend and future Queen, or the current Queen. Your mothers lessons went through your head. What would she do in this situation? Feigning calm, you spoke. "My opinion hardly counts. I will do what is best for the realm." You prayed this appeased both Targaryens. Rhaenyra had a look of satisfaction on her face. Baela's you could not see.

"There we have it. Is there anything else you would like to add?" It was not because Baela had been calmed that she turned and left. You could see the tension in her shoulders and knew Baela only left to stop herself from doing something truly rash. She had let go of you and both you and Cassandra were forced to race behind. All the way to her room the three of you ran. Rhaena and Cerelle were still in Baela's room. Rhaena opened her mouth but Baela spoke first. Once inside she immediately rounded on you. "So you want to marry him!" The fury in her voice made you cower. Unable to speak, it took everything in you not to cry. "You betray me in front of the Queen! You! Are you truly my friend or will you open your legs to any many who will have you!" Everyone gasped. Cassandra dropped the pearls, Rhaena clasped a hand to her mouth and Cerelle had silently fled.

You could not even cry. Your fear was so intense you remained rooted to the spot, stuck dumb. By no means were you a coward. Under any other situation you would have defended your honour. But not only was Baela your friend, but a Princess and future Queen. Baela's furious person glowered at you. Trembling, you only just begun to think of anything to say when Baela turned on her feet and stormed out.

There was no air in your lungs. Or at least that was what it felt like. Everything seemed to be falling away leaving you in a deep sea of despair. One by one you imagined everything being taken away, leaving only burned friendships and a disgraced name. Baela shot you one last disgusted before turning on her heel and leaving. With a bang the door shut.

Everything swam before you. Darkness began to rise and suddenly you were swallowed by it. Fading voiced echoed and drifted further and further away. A dull pain echoed in your head.

Then everything was black.

Pain was the first to greet you. The sun nearly blinded you and the world came into blurry focus. Every movement was slow and it ached. The bed dipped slightly as a face hovered above yours. "Y/n?" You recognized Rhaena through her voice. Then another joined your view. With vision clearing you realized it was a Septa. A cold hand pressed against your burning forehead and she spoke. "Can you see?" The words that came out of you sounded strange, like someone was yelling across the great hall. "Yes. But faintly, I think?" Wincing you held up a hand. Your vision was clearing and almost perfect again. "Sit up if you can." A hand behind your back helped you up. Propped against pillows a cup was placed by your lips. Cold water wetted your parched throat. It made a world of difference. Your senses were clearing and the remains of grogginess disappeared. Unfortunately it also brought pain into sharper focus. Reaching behind you felt a bump.

"Thank the Gods that is all. It could have been so much worse." Cerelle was nervously chewing her fingernails. You noticed that Cassandra and Baela were missing. "Cassandra was summoned by Baela. But she is very worried." Said Rhaena noticing your mood. "Does the Princess know what happened?" "I don't know. Not unless Cassandra told her." Defeated, you laid back. Still coming out of a haze your thoughts darted here and there. All this information, Baela's anger, the betrothal and Queen Rhaenyra's animosity made you want to faint all over again.

Cerelle and Rhaena said nothing else as you lay back down. The three of you stayed in that room, the sun setting. All the while you wondered if this was the right decision.

You should have been happy at the choice of husband. Aemond was young, handsome and a prince. But on the morning of your wedding all you felt was dread. During the early hours of the morning you lay awake, Rhaena snoring a few inches away. As a princess-to-be you got new rooms in the Red Keep. These ones opened out onto the garden, a combination of roses and salt lingering on every surface. You would rather have been in the old rooms. At least Baela had been your friend back then, and Aemond had not been your betrothed. You missed those days were you were just Lady Blackhalt. After the wedding you would be sent back with Aemond to Blackhalt island. Away from the place which had been your home since childhood.

Everyone but you seemed happy. Only Rhaena seemed aware of your mood. Cassandra and Cerelle were with Baela, they would no longer be with you. And Baela...who knew. They washed you within an inch of your flesh. Scrubbed till it hurt they finally pulled you out and lathered on a sweet smelling cream. Every inch of you were fussed over by an army of women. When that was done they dressed you, a whole new ordeal. For the first time you wore the Targaryen black and red. The three headed dragon was sewn onto your bodice with rubies glittering on silk strings. For a moment you forgot every worry when looking in the mirror. Every move sent sparkles dancing around you, and as princess you would always have such gowns. At least that was one comfort.

The dress became a burden when it was time for the procession through King's Landing. They placed you on a chariot for all of the smallfolk to see. They called out to you, blessing you with good fortune and many children. You smiled and waved, ignoring the heat and painful corset. Yet to have so much adoration gave you a warm feeling. You tried to focus on that. White petals were thrown into the air. Several getting caught in your hair. Finally you arrived back at the Red Keep. The remaining court which had not come with you was waiting. Helped off, you were delivered into the arms of your father. Lord Blackhalt was a stranger to his daughter. Having barely seen him in years it felt strange to have him hand you off. Baela might as well have done the honours. Speaking of Baela she was there. It hurt when she barely looked at you. And after this you would likely hardly see her again.

They were now closing in from all sides. Walking into the Great Hall you felt all their eyes on you. 'From now on I will always be watched.' You thought. You would go from lady to princess. A member of the royal family. Waiting for you at the end was the High Septon and Queen Rhaenyra, looking on in satisfaction. You hated the queen, her satisfied look making you want to throw up down the stairs. How dare she act all pleased! And then you saw your betrothed. Aemond stood inches from his sister. His black leather made you want to shrink away. 'Don't you it.' The warning spurred you on.

Aemond's hand was calloused and cold. It was a shock compared to the heat of this morning. For the first time you looked Aempnd in the face. As a body you feared him, as a man you nearly ran. And now you would spend the rest of your life with him. His purple eye was hard to read. No expression passed his face. It was worse than showing anger, at least you would know what to expect. Right now you knew nothing. In truth despite the proximity for so many years you knew nothing about him. Always it had been the words of Baela and Rhaena which painted a picture. Now on your own there was a blank canvas.

'With this kiss I pledge my love.' Empty words. His lips were cold against your own ones. Your black and white cloak was whipped off, replaced by the Targaryen sigil. No longer Lady Y/n. Y/n Blackhalt, Princess of Westeros. You felt naked, unprotected. And now your girlhood was ended.

Notes: I just want to reiterate that this is not a story in the sense I will organize it into chapters. It will be a collection of one shots based off of scenarios. If anyone wants to further discuss these characters I am happy to do so!

About the characters: Cassandra is much nicer in this version. I suspect that the reason she was so bitter in Fire and Blood was because she went from a possible heiress to House Baratheon and promised to a prince, then promised to a King. Only she ended up married to a man well below her station. Personally I think she was definitely ambitious, but is less malicious in this version due to being Lady Baratheon by right. So she certainly has less to be bitter about.

Now, about the readers wedding. Because this is a world were women inherit the reader will keep her last name. But because she is marrying into the royal family she wears their colours. So that is why she wears the Targaryen cloak.

Rhaenyra does come off as cruel in this one-shot however she will get more development. Her actions are a combination of spite against Baela and to show her place as Queen. Baela resents Rhaenyra for taking the place she thinks is hers. I will at some point write a one-shot from Baela's point of view.

The other ideas I have in mind:

-Rhaenyra and the reader talking about their dead ancestors

-Baela and Daenerys (reader's daughter) talks about queenship

-Reader's friendship with Baela and Rhaena

-"Monarchs of Westeros" (part 1) Covering every monarch of Westeros in this AU from Visenya the First to Rhaenyra the Second.

[spacerockfloater]

Daemon, Rhaenyra, the whole Black council and their mothers: He’ll come looking for you! He’ll kill you right where you stand! He’ll destroy your family! He’ll rape you and cut your throat! He’s vicious! He’s a tyrant! He is a menace, he is dangerous and merciless! He is a maniac unlike any! He is the most villainous piece of shit you’ve ever seen!

And meanwhile they’re all talking about Aemond, the 16-year-old they themselves disabled, the lover of history and philosophy whose first royal decree was to take down the hung bodies of the rat-catchers who murdered his nephew because he wasn’t a blood thirsty psycho that wanted to make a show of power. The boy that took revenge against his abusers and tried to protect his allies when Rhaenyra decided to send a dragon to burn people to ashes because she was losing a war.

But sure. Aemond is the deranged lunatic for attacking his enemies to their face and being a warrior during a war. Not Daemon, the war criminal who sends cut-throats to murder children in the middle of the night or rapists to abduct women and kill their kids in order to scare those who oppose him in joining him.

[novaursa]

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children. 

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that���s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

[aryas-faces]

Debunking Popular Team Black Arguments

“Alicent abused Rhaenyra!”

Except nothing in the book supports this. In fact, Alicent adored Rhaenyra at first. She called her daughter, asks, “Criston protects the princess, but who protects the princess from Criston?” And then the only reason, per the book, there started to be conflict between them is because Alicent wanted Aegon to be Heir, and for herself to be the first Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. And even than, it doesn’t say Alicent treated Rhaenyra poorly, just that there was tension between them

And in fact, there is more textual evidence that Viserys abused Aegon than there is for Alicent abusing Rhaenyra. Let’s look at the only canonical time Viserys addresses Aegon directly:

“The boy is Alicent’s own blood. She wants him on the throne.”

This is in response to Alicent���s proposal to bind Aegon and Rhaenyra together in marriage and let them rule together. So he not only dehumanizes Aegon by calling him Alicent’s blood (not even son), but also distances himself from acknowledging Aegon as his own child as well

And than there is the only time they directly interact:

Right after Aemond loses his eye, he says that Aegon was the one who told him Rhaenyra’s kids were bastards. Aegon said everyone knows. And so in response to this, “No eyes would be put out (Viserys) decreed…. But should anyone-‘Man or woman or child, noble or common or royal’- mocks his grandsons as ‘Strongs’ again, their tongues would be pulled out with hot pincers.” Viserys is indirectly threatening Aegon here. This is in response to learning that Aegon “lied” to Aemond about Rhaenyra’s sons, of course it’s a threat

And of course, Aegon’s description says he has sullen eyes and pouty lips, aka, he is consistently sad. Why? Probably because his father hates him

“Alicent tormented Rhaenyra and her kids!”

Calling obvious bastards bastards isn’t torment, and it’s actually treason on Rhaenyra’s part to pass them off as Heirs to Driftmark

“Aegon sexually assaults the maids!”

This is actually a hard one because you can’t actually disprove this one. There is the line about pinching and fondling the maids. However, neither word, pinching or fondling, is inherently sexual, so you can also easily read it as him being a Flirt with the maids. Especially because when he is caught with having sex, the book specifically says she is well cared for. He is being caring to a common girl he is sleeping with as a royal in medieval times. That truly speaks to his character

“Aegon is a pedophile, Eustace doesn’t deny her age!”

Eustace’s account isn’t written in response to Mushroom. It is written independently. And the book calls this rumor Mushroom being Mushroom, and then also in response says the girl is well cared for. And The Princess and the Queen, which has no sources, matches Eustace’s version, as well not saying anywhere in the text that girl was 12

“The only reason the Greens usurped her is because she’s a woman!”

Uh no. As they say in the Green Council, the throne by all rights and laws is Aegon’s. Yes, the laws are sexist, but instead of changing them, Viserys sees Rhaenyra as the exception not the rule. The king isn’t above the law. If he wanted Rhaenyra to be heir, he should’ve changed the law. And Otto, Alicent, and Criston ALL cite her cruelty and the fact she would kill Aegon to secure her claim as to why they do this

“Rhaenyra only became cruel when her children started dying!”

Not true. Before any of her kids die, she demands Aemond be tortured for saying the truth about her children, feeds Vaemond to Syrax for the same, marries Daemon shortly after their spouses die, commits treason by passing bastards as Heirs to Driftmark. Rhaenyra is cruel long before any of her children die

“Rhaenyra wouldn’t kill Aegon, it’s a manipulation!”

Why? Just because she offers to spare him? She also says the only reason is because she doesn’t want to be a kinslayer as that would make HER look bad. It’s not out of love or mercy, it’s out of fear of kinslaying. And it doesn’t take much to convince her out of it. Aegon’s peace terms reach her, and her response is, “I will have my throne or I will have his head.” So no. Aegon was ALWAYS in danger of being killed by her

“Rhaenyra is meant to be the hero and Aegon the villain!”

Then why is Rhaenyra cut by the throne while Aegon isn’t? Then why is Rhaenyra motivated by power, while Aegon is by love for his family? Why does Rhaenyra’s cruelty turn her council against her, while Aegon’s is loyal until the end? Why does, while Rhaenyra loses King’s Landing because of her cruelty, Aegon win Dragonstone by turning the Blacks there as well as the smallfolk to his side through charisma ALONE. Why is Rhaenyra’s death written as the villain finally dying, while Aegon’s reign after is described as bittersweet because he defeated her but would never know peace or joy again. Why would Aegon’s death be avenged, and also implied to be suicide? And finally, why would Rhaenyra be forever known with Female Meagor, while Aegon forever known as the True King?

“The book is Green/Maester propaganda/biased against Rhaenyra!”

Be so for real right now. Why would George write a book full of lies? He makes it very clear who is lying and when. The unreliable narrators aren’t a license to pick and choose what you believe. And you genuinely believe most of what’s in this book is a lie, than you have 0 media literacy

[annwrites]

sons & daughters. aemond | rook's rest outtake.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: outtake from this series

— summary: aemond considers regicide.

— word count: 1,214

— tagging list: @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @callsignwidow @emilynissangtr

Aemond takes slow, measured steps—twigs and broken branches crunching underfoot, the air filled with smoke from dragonfire, Sunfyre lowly grumbling in pain as he curls further round his fallen rider—unsheathing Blackfyre from its scabbard.

He curls his long, gloved fingers round the pommel, gripping it tightly.

His chance—this most opportune moment—has finally arrived. He’d reluctantly bided his time, but now it has paid off.

He needs finish the job. Vhagar’s fire had not been enough.

Aegon will be dead—not that he ever deserved a thing he was given to begin with; it should’ve instead been his. All of it. The throne—with you sitting upon his lap; his lovely, beloved niece as his kind-hearted, gentle queen—the conqueror's crown resting easily upon his silver brow, your womb heavy with his heir. The Seven Kingdoms at his feet.

He will right uncountable wrongs.

He will get it all back.

Starting with you.

He will save you from yourself.

It will be his first decree once he is crowned—once he is coronated before the masses; ordained as King of Westeros by the Gods themselves—that the bastard Cregan Stark return his beloved niece; his lover; his betrothed; the mother of his future children; his future wife and magnificent queen to him at once.

Elsewise, if his demands are refused, he will fly North, root the traitor out of his pathetic stone castle, and put him to the sword before taking back that which should have remained by his side all along. He will have his southron armies destroy his entire kingdom as recompense for stealing one of his things.

It has always been his responsibility to look after you.

You.

Your delicate, feminine body.

Your gentle heart.

Your too-fragile mind.

A mind he’d thought for so long he solely held in the palms of his hands—had thought belonged to him, had believed thought of naught else but him—he had taken countless measures when the two of you were only children to try and ensure as much—just as his did and does you…at an inconceivable level now. Your name—the words beloved and niece—in constant circulation within.

It has made conducting Small Council meetings…difficult. The inability to concentrate on any one thought that isn’t you.

Once he has you back in his possession, all will be well. Things will calm and return to what he needs them to be.

His loving niece.

How good it will be to know where you are at all times finally: locked safely within his chambers, which only he shall possess the key to. Your life will be perfect. He will spoil you with fine, decadent things, and you will be grateful. He is sure of it.

And he will have Maester Orwyle remove that revolting parasite from inside you. And once he is ready, he will give you a new child to love and carry and grow in your perfect, royal womb.

Left to your own devices, you prove clearly helpless. Unable to think properly for yourself.

Look at the damage you have already wrought. He knows the blame still yet lies heavily with his mother—his grandsire—but you must shoulder a portion of it as well.

You broke his heart. Have driven him to the brink of madness.

How…how could you be so selfish? You have never been before. Never. Not his beloved niece. You’d never behave in such a manner.

Always kind and selfless was you. Always.

Perhaps your whore mother is to blame, then, for this sudden change.

Yes. It is she that is to blame! She had wanted the North, and so she handed you over to that revolting northern dog to take to wife to have it.

She will pay for it. With fire and blood.

Killing Rhaenys is only the start.

He won’t stop until he has you back.

He will seek vengeance to no end.

What else does he have to live for now? You are the only person in all the world who ever treated him with genuine kindness. Who ever loved him unconditionally. The only one who ever understood him. The only friend he ever had.

He can’t wrap his mind around the expectation that he is to bear his existence without you now. He can’t fathom it.

You are his purpose.

Mayhaps the blame partly falls upon himself as well. He’d made a promise to take care of you—to keep the two of you together—and how many times has he now failed you in that? He should’ve gone to you the last night where you’d been present at the Red Keep—present within your rightful home—and taken whatever measure was necessary to make you his at last.

Coaxed you gently into bed—you’d been so like a frightened young fawn that day when the two of you were reunited; had been so shy in his arms, so innocent. His teaching you about your own body and his had been cut far too short as children. He’d needed more time.

He always needed more time when it came to you.

None would ever be enough.

Not even eternity would be.

Gods, how he fucking needs you back. Needs you with him every fucking moment of every day. Always within his hand, within his eye’s sight. Or otherwise, safely locked away.

He takes step after step until his brother’s broken body lies before him. Half-burned and bleeding—limbs turned the wrong way—choking on himself.

A few more steps now and he will finally—finally—be in control at last. Everyone will answer to him. Everything will be as he wants it to.

Including you. Most of all…you.

His beloved—

“Your Grace!”

No.

No.

He turns his head, looking slightly over his shoulder, silver strands slipping down his back, watching as Ser Criston approaches.

He clenches his jaw so hard, he fears cracking his teeth under the pressure.

He should kill them both. Neither shall be missed. Criston as Hand. What a jest.

He will not be his. He does not need him, or require his services.

Aemond kneels, retrieving Aegon’s catspaw dagger from the burnt forest floor.

Criston drops to his knees.

Aemond steps quietly toward him and begins to raise the blade.

He is so close to having what he wants now.

What he needs.

One slice.

And then another.

It will be done.

He is standing behind him now.

One slice.

And then another.

It will be—

“Ser Criston!” Calls someone from behind.

And when Aemond turns, a handful of men in full armor come toward them.

“Is His Grace alive?!”

Aemond sheathes the dagger, anger radiating from him. Pure loathing.

Malice.

Ruined. It is all fucking ruined.

He begins heading back toward Vhagar, seething.

He will win you back. One way or another, he will.

This war is not yet over.

Not nearly.

And when he becomes king? Fuck clemency.

He will be a tyrant.

It is now the only way.

They’ve all left him no other choice.

He needs be in control.

Of everything.

Most of all?

His beloved niece. It will be the best thing for you. In time, you will see. Will understand that all he does, he does for you. In your best interest.

Uncle Aemond knows best. It had been his mantra at one time when it came to you. It shall be again.

[arcielee]

the salver & the sword

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 2.8k+ warnings: AFAB reader, the threat of marriage, mostly just the beginning seeds of slow burn! author's note: This has been thrumming inside of my head since I finished jjk. Thank you for much @thenameswinter99 for reading this over and allowing me to ramble on and on about this au. 💜

Chapter I ~ The Beginning

“My lady, you have been chosen. You have been summoned by the crowned prince, Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked and looked up from where you were kneeling, your brow furrowing at the fairytale being spoken. The news of the broken engagement between the crowned prince and Princess Iori Utahime was something that seared throughout the kingdom, spreading to the outer borders to where even your village was tittering away with their speculation on what had happened. 

What followed was the royal decree from the queen, stating her only son must find a wife. It was also said she was furious of the spectacle he made it to be–but again, these were just the rumors shared amongst the commonfolk. 

It was not anything you bothered to dwell on, but that was before your garden was shadowed by the two men now standing before you. 

You focused on the one who was closer and he shifted under your scrutiny, an almost orchestra of the Queensguard armor that he wore, polished and glinting in the sunlight. He held onto his helmet, sweat beading at his hairline and his cheeks rosy. His eyes were wide and he looked towards the other man who accompanied him, waiting.  

The other man watching you was the renowned General Suguru Geto, friend of the crowned prince and his personal guard. He was as captivating as the stories; tall and lithe, unadorned by armor but wearing the queen’s sigil embossed on a leather cuirass across his broad chest, over his tunic. His black hair fell past his shoulders, some falling in his eyes that burned through you. 

Any other woman would have an array of emotions to pull for such a moment as this: perhaps an initial coy surprise followed by acceptance, the fantasy of becoming a princess staining their cheeks as their practiced bashfulness surfaced. 

Instead, you frowned. “Why,” you asked them, your tone flat. 

“Why?” The first man echoed but an octave higher. His eyes darted back to the general, bright with his disbelief at your question.

You also looked back to the general and saw the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. You held your gaze, contemplating him. You were almost certain it had to be the general, seeing the two distinct features always mentioned with his lore. 

The first was the broadsword that was strapped to his backside, its gleaming handle peering over his shoulder. A stone was embedded into the pommel, and its ever-changing iridescent coloring was said to be an enchantment, a sentience to this weapon. It was legend crafted–the tale of a sword capable of cutting through anyone or anything, as long as it was wielded by someone deemed worthy. 

And Geto was said to be just that: worthy. 

It was the sword you first recalled, followed by his eyes that bore through you, heating your blood beneath; the murmured moniker of the purple-eyed demon, as given by his enemies. 

The very same who now was smirking at your skepticism. 

You chose to break the silence. “Yes,” you pressed your palms into the soft earth, pushing yourself to stand and face them both, “I am aware, as anyone, of the mess that followed a very public…” you took a moment to settle on a word, “...dissolvement between the prince and the princess. But what I fail to understand is why he would then decide to marry me?” 

Geto continued to watch you with a quiet contemplation while the other man was quick to answer you, beaming. “The prince said that you saved his life!” 

Your kindness was your curse; you closed your eyes with an inward groan. “But that was a lifetime ago,” you argued. 

In fact it had happened almost eighteen years prior. This had been when you and your father lived more centrally to the capital, in a humble cottage by the river winding throughout the city. You had been outside when you heard someone fall in, his wail and frantic splash had you rushing to pull him from the water. 

You remembered the matted mess of his white hair, the celestial blue of his eyes that was a known trait in the royal family–Prince Satoru Gojo. He shivered through his wet clothes, confessing to running away, with his plea pitiful: please don’t tell my mother. 

This memory evaporated and instead, you said: “Who would even remember that?” 

“Prince Satoru does!” He was still grinning.

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “But what if I do not wish to go and marry Prince Satoru?” 

He looked incredulous, wilting back towards Geto, desperate for any guidance on how to handle this woman he clearly thought mad. The general remained quiet.

The knight looked back to you, past you, and nodded his head towards your home, a different decorum this time. “He said he only wished to reward the woman who saved him,” his words tactfully chosen, “and that he wished to liberate you from your life of poverty.” 

You recoiled, fury alight in your eyes. The poverty he was referring to was the bit of land that had been left by your father. It had been purchased with the reward given when the queen came to retrieve her son; it was enough to start anew, to find a home that was not so haunted. 

It was why you returned to the north, closer to the border of the Ryomen Kingdom, with enough leftover to build your home. 

It was here that your father rebuilt his reputation as an esteemed salver. He spent his days helping any ailment, and his evenings spent notating his accumulated knowledge of remedies in a leather bound book embossed: Atsumeru.

You shadowed him and he was happy to show you everything he knew, proud of your keen eye that could decipher the differences in herbs. He bought you a mortar and pestle, a smoky agate, teaching you healing concoctions that he used. He taught you to read, to write, and he brought you along to every house call, praising your aptitude to help instill your own repute. 

But despite all this, there was still a hesitation after your father passed away, a rough transition when you stepped into the void he left behind.  

You had your maternal determinations seeded in your bones, and it allowed you to recarve your niche back within the village. They, inevitably, learned to show you the same respect reserved for your father. 

It was not a rich life, not anything you could expect someone of a higher social status could comprehend, but you found comfort with its simplicity, a satisfaction when you were able to help those in need. There was a warmth that coiled in your chest as you continued the work your father devoted himself to; he felt alive whenever your cursive writing knitted into his detailed notes, forever bonded. 

Your father gifted your independence and you would be damned before you allowed yourself 

to be ripped away because some prince almost drowned. 

And this is exactly what you said to them. 

The knight was pained with your declaration. “My lady,” he licked his lips, nervous, “I am afraid that I have been commanded to bring you back with me…” 

Your boldness would not hear him. “You may inform your prince that I am pleased he never fell victim to another body of water.” You were already in motion, scooping up the half-filled wicker basket to balance on your hips, honeysuckle and lavender curling in the autumn air. “And you tell him that I am declining his offer, that I am choosing to remain in my poverty.” 

You meant to storm back into your home, to shut and bar the door, but you forgot about the general until he reached to catch your elbow. Your fury brimmed as you turned to face him and his amethyst eyes glowed. 

“My lady,” his voice was soft, low, but resolute, “I apologize, but I will see my prince’s command to the very end, even if this means I must throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.” 

You hated the heat that licked your stomach with his threat, something that spawned from his strong but careful touch. You forced yourself to glare back at him. “I…” but whatever venom that was poised on your tongue stopped. 

One of them heavily armed was an issue, but facing both was impossible. And even if you somehow succeeded, where could you even run to? Your entire life was ingrained into the very earth you were standing on, and they had been commanded to uproot you, to return you back to Prince Satoru as if you were a prize and not a person. 

What choice did you truly have?

Your shoulders slumped and you swallowed thickly. “Would he force me?” You wished your voice did not sound so small. 

His face softened with your words, a dawning revelation that relaxed his hold on you. “My lady, the prince is a proud man, but I swear he would never force himself on anyone. He only wishes for an answer.” Geto paused, a grimace flickering across his sharp features. “But in person.” 

You sighed, pulling at his fingers until his hand dropped back to his side. “Very well, I will come with you but only so I may tell Prince Gojo that I have no intention of marrying him. However,” you looked back over your garden, the molds you placed in the shade of the banyan trees, your hard work half done, “I request that I at least sell my stock at the charter market. It is my only source of income and it is how I am able to stock up to prepare for winter illnesses.” 

They both stared at you. Geto and his curiosity that knitted his brows together, his careful consideration to what you just shared, while the knight looked as confused as ever; he opened his mouth first. “Winter illnesses…?”  

You grit your teeth, caging you irritation, and explained, “I am a healer in this region. I help those who need it.” You paused, a smirk. “Like your prince, for example.” 

“You cannot expect to make him wait–” 

“You and the general are welcomed to help me, if you wish to leave sooner. But you know the market visits each region annually and I will not abandon my stock to traipse across the kingdom on a fool’s errand.”

He imploded. “He is a decorated general of the Queensguard! How can you expect–!” 

“Haibara,” Geto cut through, not by raising his voice but still commanding nonetheless; Haibara straightened his spine. The general looked you over, deciding to test your resolve. “And if we choose to see through what I just said?” 

You blinked. His tone was teasing you, his amusement returning with an upwards tick of his lips. “If you decide to drag me away,” you faced him, daring him, “I vow that I will not make the journey easy, by any means necessary.” 

Geto chuckled, unbothered. “Very well then. Haibara,” his focus returned to the knight while yours fell rapt to watch as the general began to unbuckle his harness to set his blade aside; his long and slender fingers were quick to unlace his chest piece, lifting it over his head before he began to roll up his sleeves, “you will return and tell Satoru that we found her and I will be bringing her back myself.”  

Haibara was flustered pink. “But what will you…?” 

“I will remain at her side, helping with the harvest or the market or whatever chores are needed to be done in order for her to willingly come with me.” 

He was incredulous. “You are truly going to help her?” 

You were equally surprised, still watching as Geto knotted his dark hair at the base of his neck, pulling it away from his face. “This is what I just said,” he looked back at you and you swore his eyes glittered. “If this is the only way I can see through to what my prince commanded–”

“Otherwise, I will be kicking and biting the whole way.” You could not stop your tongue. 

Geto grinned. “Then what choice do I have?” 

+ + + +

It was a myth: a sword said to be forged by the immortals, an impenetrable steel that could cut down the gods themselves. It could not be controlled, but you could hope to be worthy to wield the blade. Over time many tried, many undeserving souls that were cursed by its touch before it would disappear again, waiting, waiting. 

At the time Suguru Geto was a young man unknown, with only his loyalty to the crown and to his friend, Prince Satoru Gojo. He was a strong and fearsome fighter, with piercing amethyst eyes always watching, which was how he spotted the pommel and its chromatic glint of purples and blues. 

At the time war was rampant with the neighboring kingdom. Its new, brash king, Sukuna of the Ryomen Kingdom, rallied to expand past the borders that had been respected the last century, guided by his bloodlust and his greed.

It was said that Geto claimed the sword and the purple-eyed demon became legend embodied, worthy to wield this great power and halt the invasion. 

And now, this same sword and its iridescent stone was glittering in the sunlight.

You were quick to realize several things about the notorious General Suguru Geto. The first was the palpable respect he commanded. It was not bold, but his veritable demeanor that thrummed deep within, his careful composure with every action that had you enthralled. 

You saw it with how the knight Haibara did leave as he was told. His hesitation was set aside and he climbed aback one of the horses they rode it on. He left just as the general instructed. 

You watched as the horse climbed back up the slope that led down to your home, leaving you alone with the general. “So then, where should I begin?” Geto asked. 

The second was how you learned the genuineness behind every question, that the general was not a man for idle conversation. At first, you were almost uneasy with how his eyes settled onto you, the amethyst that shone bright as he listened to you explain the method to the chaos that surrounded you both. 

It was his sincerity with his question that followed that made you smile. “But what is it called?” 

Bars of soap was an endeavor your father poured himself into. He believed that hygiene was a vital aspect for maintaining good health and overall well-being. You remembered watching as he carved the molds into the thick, wooden planks, the outside decorated with jars and pots to collect the rainwater, the constant smolder of hardwood to collect its ashes. 

He allowed you to choose the scents, honeysuckle and rosemary and lavender planted in the garden outside. He showed you how to spud the cassia bark, claiming the pungent sweet and spicy favorite to add. 

You smiled from these. “It is cheap to make them,” you finished, gesturing around, “but it can also tedious.” 

The banyan leaves had been cut and were soaking, which would have them more malleable to allow you to wrap the bars individually and tie them with twine. Sprigs of its scent were slipped under the knot to decipher the smells easier. You showed this to the general and your curious eyes watched his slender fingers recreated, wrapping and knotting the string, tucking a lavender stem with care.

You burned with the intrusive thought of how many lives were taken by these same hands. 

But as the day waned away, you could admit that you found his company endearing. You enjoyed his soft cadence of questions, asking in detail about your life. In return, you pittered and pulled at his practiced stoicism, a sense of satisfaction to be rewarded with his small smile instead of another damn smirk. 

“Where is the charter market held in this region?” 

It was less than half a day’s walk on foot, but that had been before, considering the wicker basket you filled to the brim and carried. His brow raised. “By yourself?” 

You scoffed. “I am stronger than I look.” 

“I believe that.” 

You burned, quick to look away from the teasing curl of his mouth, and you mentioned the old buggy you had despite no longer having a horse for it. Geto offered his own and helped you load multiple wicker baskets, preparing to leave first thing the next morning.

The supper prepared was modest but savory, with a quieter tension settling over, the thought as to where you would have the general sleep. He suggested first that he would post to watch over the cart and stock.  

“Outside?” You could not help but ask. 

Another smirk. “I am stronger than I look.” 

And as you laid in bed, processing your day, your mind eventually wandered back to the general outside and his perpetual smirk, to the purple that shone bright in his eyes. 

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

Atla AU where during the Eclipse, Zuko confronts his father, and Ozai is shocked when he discovers that his son can redirect lightning.

… that is to say, when Zuko receives the lightning thrown at him and is momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer amount of power rushing through his body, he’s not thinking as much about where he’s aiming his redirection than he maybe should have been, and his father receives a shot-to-kill lightning bolt directly to the chest. Fatally.

Zuko comes to his senses and is left alone in a room with a body, and a terrible feeling in his stomach.

To his surprise, when the eclipse ends, the doors open, and the guards rush in, he’s not immediately exiled, or executed, or even imprisoned. He’s simply met with mouths agape and the sort of silence you’d expect when the fate of a nation hangs in the balance. He’s taken to a quiet room while the Fire Sages examine the crime scene to determine what the will of the spirits is, and then brought out again to face them when they’ve made their decision.

Any member of the Royal Family can challenge for the right to rule via Agni Kai. Zuko challenged his father, and although it was not a match in the traditional sense, it was only fair for him to do so after his father’s disrespect of the ‘traditional sense’ in enacting Agni Kai three years ago; and won. The Fire Sages announce that by the Spirits’ decree, he is the rightful Firelord.

Zuko does not tell them what happened, nor correct them when they make the assumption that he has mastered the cold-blooded fire and shot lighting as an attack on his father and an attempt to gain the throne for himself. He stays silent, he does not speak up when they talk politics, he does not protest in the slightest. All he feels is a numbed fear of what this means, what this means for him, but more importantly, what this means for the war. It was not his destiny to defeat the Fire Lord. His father taken down by another member the royal family is expected at best, a cause for martyrdom at the worst- but it is not a victory for the Avatar. It is not in itself something that will bring the end of the Fire Nation’s conquest, and Zuko knows enough politics to know that he is trapped. If the Avatar had taken out the Fire Lord, there would be hope in the other nations, and there would be doubt within his own nation, enough so that altogether they could be steered back onto the right path, but that didn’t happen. With him on the throne now, he is trapped in rooms with admirals and generals and bloodthirsty tyrants who would be more than happy to figurehead him while they carry out their own sick ideas, or who would see him fall for what he did to their old and more respected head of state. They do not respect him, for his age, for his inexperience, for his disrespect. He cannot speak out, he is in no position to instigate real change.

He knows he cannot abdicate the throne either, because however bad he has it, his sister in his position would solve nothing. Even if she thinks she is, she’s not ready to be the Fire Lord, and obviously she has wildly different ideas of what makes a good leader to him. He can’t find his uncle, let alone face him this way.

And also because for the war to end, the Avatar has to defeat the Fire Lord. If Azula were on the throne, Zuko has no doubt that this ‘defeat’ would be in the same vein as what would have been Ozai’s.

He doesn’t know what it means for him. He has an idea, and it’s not like it’s much better, but if he can spare anyone else from what’s coming, it’s the least he can do, maybe the only thing he can do to try, right?

.

A funeral is held for his father. The Fire Sages announce to the nation what the spirits have made of his death, and proudly crown Zuko the new Fire Lord. They proclaim that it is a good omen for their nation, a sign of their just cause to have such a strong leader come and enact justice in order to claim the throne and lead their nation to victory.

Agni guided his hand, they say, and with it, the start of a prosperous new era. Long live Fire Lord Zuko!

The citizens of his nation accept him readily, and there is a terrible feeling in his stomach.

.

“Why is everyone wearing white?”

Sokka poked a finger at one of the locals, less inconspicuously than he might have thought. “I thought red was supposed to be these people’s colour. We look out of place.”

“Haven’t you heard?” The merchant at the stall over thumbed out a pamphlet, and handed it, unfortunately enough, to the one of them that couldn’t read. “We’re in mourning. You two should be in mourning too.”

Sokka tried not to be too indignant at the man’s eavesdropping, but he supposed information was information. And this seemed like pretty important information. “Okay, well, who died?”

“Who died? Have you been under a rock?” At that, Toph smirked, but Sokka was too concerned with this sudden news to bring up the semantics of the Western Air Temple.

“Just tell me!” Sokka felt a piece of paper in his hand, as Toph had finally decided to relinquish her useless bounty. Sokka whipped it up to read, and his eyes caught on the words the exact moment the merchant clarified-

“Fire Lord Ozai?!”

This was unbelievable. This was completely insane. This was…

Sokka knew that this should have been good news, but all he felt was a horrible, terrible, growing sense of dread in his stomach. Beside him, Toph had stopped moving, and Sokka knew she was listening very intently for something.

“It’s true,” she helpfully confirmed. Even she couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“He was killed during the Day of the Black Sun,” the merchant went on. “Not by the invading forces, but within the sanctity of the palace walls themselves.”

The pit in Sokka’s stomach grew larger.

“It was lightning that defeated him. He was struck down, they say, in Agni Kai. Defeated by his son, and successor.”

This was bad. This was very bad.

“So that means…” Sokka’s gut had figured it out, but his brain was still putting the pieces together.

“We have a new Fire Lord, one who inspires us, one who gives us hope that we will end this war victorious.”

“Zuko.” Toph stated bluntly, without a hint of readable emotion in her voice.

Sokka corrected her. “Fire Lord Zuko.”

[xomakara]

Passion On The High Seas

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | After running away from your life as a noblewoman to become a pirate, you meet Yunho, a handsome pirate who has an equally shocking past.

PAIRING | Yunho/Reader

GENRE | Pirate!Yunho, smut with no plot, unprotected sex (wrap it up everyone!), oral, fingering, vaginal sex,

RATING | Mature

LENGTH | 4758 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Might make this a series or something LOL. Here’s to my first Ateez fic!

You stretched your limbs after you had finished loading cargo onto the ship earlier that day. Your hair was tied up in a messy bun so that it didn’t fall onto your face as you worked.

Your clothes were tattered, stained with dirt and grime and most likely smelled horrible due to you wearing the same clothing for days on end. But despite all that, you felt pretty damn happy at that very moment.

Happiness. Something that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

You were the daughter of one of the peninsula’s most prestigious families that served the king. You grew up in a gilded cage with servants attending to your every whim. You went to fancy balls with nobles and royalty. You wore dresses that cost thousands of gold coins each. Every evening, you went to parties hosted by important merchants or dignitaries where you drank the finest wine and ate the most delectable foods. And yet…despite all that, you never felt happy. Not once in your life.

Until now.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about what it would be like to live life on your own terms. No rules. No laws. No royal decrees preventing you from doing what you wanted. Just you and the sea. The only one that cared whether or not you lived was you. And you loved that feeling. More than anything.

And as far as you knew, it was that feeling that had drawn you to the life of piracy.

You’ve been living life on the seas for a few years already, rising to the ranks of Captain through sheer determination and blood, sweat and tears. It wasn’t easy being an outcast among the noble classes but you never let that get you down. There was no place else you’d rather be than here: sailing around the world, exploring new lands, making friends, conquering foes and seeing sights no one had ever seen before.

The wind blew gently against your face as you looked upon the island that stood in front of you. Sails flapped lazily as the pirate ship moored itself to the shore and as you gazed out over the horizon, you could see your next destination appear in the distance: the City of Thieves. A land filled with thieving pirates and thieves where anyone could do whatever they wanted without fear of punishment or retribution. Where there were no constrictions, no boundaries, no restrictions. You couldn’t wait to get there. You grinned wickedly as you imagined running wild and free amongst its teeming streets and crowded alleyways, laughing and partying until the sun came up again.

No more dresses. No more high heels. No more boring noble gatherings. This was going to be a life of pure pleasure, no holds barred. If you weren’t having fun, then you weren’t doing it right. This was what freedom was all about!

With a chuckle, you hollered to your crew as the ship was preparing to dock. “Looks like we’re finally here!” You said excitedly. “Open up those cargoes so we can sell them off. Check in with the Quartermaster to see what jobs he has for you and once work is done, and I really mean done, then you are free to do as you please! Huzzah!”

The men cheered in excitement as they began working on the tasks that were given to them, shouting out commands to their colleagues as they continued to unload crates and barrels onto the dockside. While this was happening, however, you were busy thinking about how you were going to spend the rest of the day. What would you do? How will you spend your day? All these questions swirled around your head like the churning waters of the ocean.

Once the ship was docked, work was done and you had distributed everyone’s pay, you led your crew towards the nearest tavern. Once inside, you ordered some food and drinks and made your way to a secluded table where you watched your men frolic about. Soon enough, a buxom waitress came over and placed your order down before giving you a warm smile. You noticed a few of your fellow men giving her a wolfish grin but you paid no mind to it as she left.

You weren’t looking for female company but rather the company of men. But all the pirates you knew were old, young, drunk, had missing limbs or were not that attractive to look at, which means you wouldn’t be able to pick any of them as potential mates. And as much as you loved taking lovers, nothing quite compared to a cold, hard drink with a handsome man who knows exactly how to treat his woman right. Or maybe someone who had nice eyes and lips? You did like a man with nice features. You wondered if you’ll ever find a man like that. Maybe you won’t. Either way, you didn’t care. You didn’t need a man. Not even if you found one. You’d be fine on your own. Better than fine, in fact.

“I hear you’ve just returned home from a voyage.” Said a familiar voice.

Your ears perked up as you turned around and saw another pirate sitting at the table beside you. You immediately recognized him as one of your regular drinking buddies and a captain of his own right. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Hongjoong?” You asked, sipping your drink.

“I just got into town a few days ago. Leave me alone.” Hongjoong laughed as he ordered a bottle of rum.

“Oh come on! Aren’t you curious about my latest adventures?” You questioned, playing along.

Hongjoong let out a laugh. “If it doesn’t have pretty woman involved, then no thank you.”

You scoffed and pointed at yourself. “But I’m a pretty woman.”

“You’re a whole different story, my noble lady.” Hongjoong chuckled, finishing his drink and ordering another one. “You’re out of my reach.”

“Too bad, my friend.” You replied, sipping your drink. “Anything new happening with you these days? Got any juicy stories to tell?”

“Apart from recruiting new men?” Hongjoong teased, winking at you.

A frown formed on your lips. “What does that mean?”

“I got a few pretty boys on board.” Hongjoong said as he gestured to a few men that were engaged with talks with a few of yours. “Snagged them before you could, so I’m feeling lucky. Are you jealous?”

You shrugged. “Don’t care.”

“Why don’t you join us later tonight?” Hongjoong offered, turning towards you. “We can grab a few bottles of wine and then go somewhere quiet and intimate.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “So now you’re interested in me?”

“Nah…you know my type.” He chuckled. “But I do know the type of guys you like. I can guarantee you won’t be disappointed. Like that one over there.”

You looked over to where he pointed and noticed a rather tall, handsome man talking to a few of your crew members. Your eyes trailed downwards to take in the sight of his well-built body and those long fingers that rested upon the wooden chair. God, what you could do with those fingers. They would feel good wrapped around your throat. But more importantly, those legs. Long and strong. Perfect for fucking.

That, and his eyes. Those beautiful dark eyes…they almost hypnotized you.

A low growl escaped your lips before you looked at your friend. “Damn you, Hongjoong. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but for once I’m glad we’re friends. I’ll join your party as long as he’s there.”

“Good girl.” He grinned before he drained his glass. He called out to the tall man. “Yunho!”

His name was Yunho. You liked that name.

Yunho approached the table and turned to Hongjoong. “Captain.”

Hongjoong clapped the tall man’s back as gestured to you. “Say hello. This is my good friend, Y/N. She’s the captain of ’The Aurora’.”

Yunho gave you a friendly nod before turning his attention to you. “Hello. Pleased to meet you.”

You nodded in return. “Likewise.”

Yunho opened his mouth to say something but was cut short when you waved to the others, signaling for everyone to join you.

All the men eagerly moved towards the table and took their places as you pulled up a chair and joined them. “Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” You suggested as you raised your glass and gave a toast. “Here’s to better opportunities, a brighter future and everlasting friendships.”

After you had finished your drink, you signaled for a waiter and ordered two bottles of wine before moving to sit next to Yunho. He immediately leaned towards you and whispered into your ear. “You’re awfully forward, aren’t you?”

“Can’t help it. You’ve caught my eye.” You whispered back. “There’s something intriguing about you. What’s your story? You seem different from all the pirates I’ve met.”

Yunho smiled as he tilted his head to the side slightly. “How so?”

“You just have a different air about you.” You stated. “Not as cocky as the others. More mysterious.”

“I could say the same about you, Captain.” Yunho let out a laugh. “It’s not everyday that I get to meet a female pirate, much less a female captain. You’re different from all the women I met. You sit differently, talk differently. It’s as if you were born into a different life than the other women.”

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.” You countered.

“Alright.” Yunho muttered, eyeing the group of men across the room. “Do you want to walk with me? We can exchange stories as we go.”

“Sounds good to me.” You agreed. “Lead the way.”

As you and Yunho headed out of the tavern, the men gave you knowing glances knowing that you wouldn’t be returning any time soon. Some smirked, wondering what the attraction was between you two while others winked. You ignored them and allowed Yunho to lead the way as you followed behind him. His movements seemed so smooth, almost as if he was dancing with the night breeze as he walked along. With each step he took, you felt like your heart skipped a beat. Just watching him made you weak in the knees.

Damn it, why am I like this? It’s not like I haven’t fucked hundreds of men already. Why do I feel so drawn to this one man?

“So what’s your story?” Yunho inquired, stopping near a tree as he looked at you.

“Tell me yours first.” You commanded, still unable to hide the obvious longing that shined through your gaze.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was the son of a noble? One that went through a lot growing up because of the rumors about his father’s involvement in treason?” Yunho asked, giving you a sad smile. “Of how my family had been stripped of our title and exiled instead of executed for being traitors?”

“So you’re Minister Jeong’s son.” You said as you sat down by the tree.

“Do you know of my family?” Yunho asked in surprise.

You gave him a sad smile in return. “Would you believe that I was the daughter of a noble as well? Raised in a gilded cage, unable to live freely as she waits for her father to marry her off for his political gain? A noblewoman who ran away during a shopping excursion when a riot occurred?”

“So…You’re the missing daughter of Minister Yoon.” Yunho surmised, studying you carefully. “It explains why you’re different from all the other women I met.”

“Does it?” You questioned as you furrowed your brows.

“I think you understand what I’m trying to say.” Yunho said, his eyes gazing into yours. “You and I lived the life of privilege and even though it looks like we’ve adapted to the life of being a pirate, there are things that only people of nobility would understand. Things we both experienced. Things that we know about each other.”

“Yes.” You admitted. “I agree with you. In many ways, we do understand each other.”

“Then why did you run away from everything you know? Don’t you miss the life you once had?” Yunho asked as he pulled a few leaves off a branch and handed it to you. “Have you forgotten all about it?”

“I was raised to be a dutiful daughter and if I stayed, my fate would be to marry some powerful man for his wealth and political power.” You explained. “I didn’t know it at the time but I hated my life back then. I wanted to live freely. To be free. To be myself. So I ran away and never looked back.”

“And here you are now, living on your own. No one to guide you but yourself.” Yunho added. “Surely that must be lonely.”

“At times, yes. Sometimes I miss having someone to talk to.” You admitted as you watched Yunho pull a few leaves from the branch. “My crew are great men but sometimes it’s hard to talk to them about my life considering we all had different pasts. If they found out that I was a noblewoman, who’s to say that they wouldn’t look down on me or treat me differently?”

“I get it.” Yunho looked up at the night sky. “I haven’t told Captain Hongjoong my identity as well. But I’m sure he already knows. The man seems to always be able to read me like an open book.”

“He’s quite gifted in that area.” You mused as you turned to face Yunho. “He found out about my identity the first time we met. But you can count on Hongjoong to keep your secret. That’s one thing you can trust in him.”

“Now that you mention it…” Yunho stared at you intently. “Why do I feel like I can trust you?”

“Maybe it’s because you want to trust me?” You suggested with a soft chuckle.

“Perhaps.” Yunho sighed as he stood up and started walking towards you. “However, that doesn’t explain why I suddenly became attracted to you. I’ve had my fair share of lovers in my life and yet I find myself wanting to know you.”

“I feel the same. Strange, isn’t it?” You smiled at him. “Normally, I would sleep with someone and then leave the next morning without giving them any thought. Yet with you…it feels different.”

Yunho returned your smile and bent down so that he could whisper into your ear. “Me too.”

As you glanced up at his lips, you wondered how such a large man like him could make you feel so small. As his breath fanned against your skin, you could feel your heart beating faster and harder. Before you knew it, you found yourself leaning closer towards him and slowly moving your body closer towards his.

Your lips parted and he placed his finger on your lower lip, coaxing you to close the distance between you. Instinctively, you leaned forward and closed the gap between you. His tongue swirled around your bottom lip and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you but instead he nipped lightly on your lower lip.

You pulled back slightly, your hand reaching for his. “Do you want to continue this somewhere else?”

“Wherever you wish.” Yunho answered, his voice thick with desire.

“Come on.” You grabbed his hand and tugged him in the direction of the inn. “I rented a room earlier and we don’t want to waste any time, do we?”

Without waiting for an answer, you led him inside and led him straight to the room you rented. Locking the door, you removed your jacket and tossed it onto the bed as you kicked off your shoes. When you reached for the buttons of your shirt, Yunho stopped you and helped you remove it. He tossed it on top of your jacket before placing his large hand on your naked skin.

Yunho inhaled deeply as he ran his hands up and down your torso, enjoying the smoothness of your skin beneath his fingertips. Suddenly he leaned forward and captured your lips in a searing kiss as his hands explored every inch of your upper body, gently caressing you. “Yeah, you’re definitely a noblewoman with how soft your skin is. So supple and smooth.”

As he continued kissing you, you lost yourself in the sensation of his touch. One hand reached up to grab hold of his hair, entwining your fingers within it as you held him tightly against you. He pressed himself against you as his long fingers trailed down your body, pausing briefly at the hem of your pants before gently sliding underneath it.

A shudder ran down your spine as he touched you intimately, softly brushing over the sensitive spot below your navel before tracing the outline of your sex. As you arched your back, pushing yourself further against his hand, you moaned as you realized that you were getting wetter with each passing second. A loud moan escaped your lips as he slipped his middle finger into you, exploring every nook and cranny as you grinded your hips against his hand.

You grasped at his shirt, tugging it upwards so that you could feel the warmth of his bare chest against your own. Pulling his shirt over his head, you tossed it aside and cupped his face in your hands, kissing him passionately as you moved his hand away from you.

“Too much clothes on.” You murmured as you pushed Yunho backwards onto the bed.

He let out a laugh. “I could say the same since you still have your pants on.”

“That will come off later.” You teased as you dropped to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants. “For now, you can enjoy my mouth first.”

Yunho’s hands gripped the sheets as he watched you strip him of the rest of his clothing piece by piece. Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself to get lost in the sensation of your warm breath upon his skin. Your hair brushed against his stomach, tickling him as you slowly worked your way downwards.

When you finally reached his crotch, Yunho gasped as you wrapped your fingers around his hardness. Slowly running your hand up and down his length, you smiled as he visibly shuddered under your touch.

“Just like I expected.” You whispered as you lowered your mouth and licked the tip of his cock. “Very stiff and very hot. Very big.”

Licking the underside of his cock, you continued stroking him until he was panting heavily. He bit his lip, trying to remain silent as you feasted on his cock. With each flick of your tongue, you drew tiny groans from him. Unable to control himself, he thrust forward and hit the back of your throat.

Moaning as you took his entire length into your mouth, you loved the feeling of his dick slipping in and out of your throat. Squeezing your eyes shut, you imagined him buried deep inside you. Imagining his hands caressing your skin while your breasts filled his palms. Without warning, you felt his cock swell in your mouth as he shot his cum right into your waiting mouth.

Swallowing every last drop, you pulled your mouth away and kissed his thighs before standing up. Grabbing the waistband of your pants, you quickly removed them and threw them onto the floor before sitting back down on his lap. Leaning forward, you pulled him towards you and passionately kissed him again.

Yunho took the chance to flip you on the bed and cover you with his body. Grasping the back of your neck, he gently massaged the base of your skull as he kissed you more intensely than ever. “Your turn to enjoy my mouth.”

His lips traveled down your neck, nibbling and sucking every part of your flesh as you arched your back and purred. Pushing you further down on the bed, he took your left nipple into his mouth and sucked on it gently. He flicked his tongue against it causing your body to jolt slightly.

“More.” You breathed out, needing more of him.

“If you insist.” Yunho answered as he lifted your right breast into his mouth.

The sensations coursing through your body intensified as he sucked on your nipples, gradually increasing his speed. He took turns licking and sucking each one of them, paying special attention to your left nipple. It wasn’t until he finally reached your other nipple that he paused momentarily. Gazing into your eyes, he licked his lips and gave you a sexy smirk before trailing his lips further down your body.

Inch by inch, his tongue traced your skin until he reached your belly button. Placing his hands on your legs, he spread them apart before gently grazing his lips across your sensitive skin. You cried out as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin.

Kissing the outside of your pussy, he slowly slid two fingers inside you. He heard you moan as he moved his fingers in and out of you, sliding them deeper with each thrust. The sounds of your wetness echoed in his ears as he tasted your sweetness with his tongue. When he finally reached your inner walls, he inserted another finger and began thrusting his digits in and out of you, creating a rhythm that was driving you mad.

He thrust his fingers in and out of you, pulling your clit into his mouth and gently suckling on it. As you bucked against his hand, Yunho could feel your juices flowing freely from your slit. “God, you taste good.”

Leaving his fingers inside you, he dipped his head between your legs and slowly moved his tongue along the length of your slit. He flicked his tongue against your clit, drawing small whimpers from you.

Yunho lifted his head and watched you squirm beneath him. “Can I?" 

You nodded and silently prayed that he didn’t stop. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and engulfed your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently as you cried out in pleasure. Every single sensation heightened tenfold as his lips made contact with your most intimate areas.

You arched your back, moaning loudly as he gently tugged on your clit. Overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure washing over you, you lost all sense of self. Nothing existed except for the feel of Yunho’s warm tongue dancing against your most intimate parts.

Suddenly he pulled away, leaving you panting for air. Looking down at you with hunger in his eyes, he sat back up on the bed. With one hand, he caressed your cheek while using the other to grasp his cock.

"Please.” You begged. “I need you inside me.”

With a look of pure lust in his eyes, Yunho positioned himself at your entrance. Pressing forward, his thick cock plunged inside of you, filling you completely.

Clenching your eyes shut, you bit your lip as he stretched you wide open. “Oh god…” You groaned as he entered you further. “It’s so big.”

Yunho placed his hands on either side of your head, locking his gaze with yours as he began pumping his cock into you. Each stroke made him go deeper into you as he enjoyed watching your reactions.

Each thrust drove him deeper inside of you, making you cry out louder with each thrust. Reaching up, you placed your hands on the sides of his face, holding him in place as you gazed into his eyes. You could see the heat radiating from them as he stared at you hungrily.

“Fuck, Yunho.” You moaned as you felt his hard dick sliding in and out of you. “You fill me up so well.”

Taking a deep breath, he placed his forehead against yours and let out a shaky sigh. His breathing was ragged as he savored the sensation of being buried deep inside you. Looking into your eyes, he knew that there would never be another person like you. Someone who understood him without saying a word. Someone who finally knew his identity and did not judge him for it. For some reason, he knew that nothing was more important to him than this moment. Nothing could ever come close to the feeling of having you wrapped around him. Nothing could possibly come close to what he felt right now.

Pulling back slightly, he stared deeply into your eyes before meeting your lips with his in a heated kiss. His lips crashed against yours as he deepened the kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue. Pressing harder against you, he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his cock against your swollen clit. Both of you moaned loudly as he thrust faster and harder, intensifying the feeling that was building up within you.

Grinding his hips against yours even harder, he could feel his balls tightening. He let out a low growl as he slid his hands up and down your thighs, gripping your ass as he rocked into you faster and faster. You moaned into his mouth as he pumped into you harder, hitting that magical spot that sent fireworks shooting through your body.

“Oh fuck.” You whimpered as you arched your back, pressing yourself against him. “Yes, yes, yes. Cum in me, Yunho.”

Gripping your hips, he slammed his hips against yours as his cock exploded into your tight pussy. Warm cum flooded your depths, spilling over his shaft and causing both of you to cry out in pleasure. He stayed motionless within you, letting the pleasure wash over him as he slowly slid his softened cock from your body.

Unable to move or breathe, you laid there, trembling in ecstasy. The aftershocks of the orgasm were still coursing through you when he lifted his head and looked at you.

“Are you okay?” He asked you softly, his voice full of concern.

You smiled weakly. “More than okay.” You answered as you reached up and kissed him softly.

Yunho laughed quietly, kissing you once more before pulling away. Laying next to you, he stroked your hair as you snuggled against him.

“Remind me to thank Hongjoong later.” You said as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. “If he hadn’t convince me to stay and join his party, I would have missed the oppurtunity to meet you.”

Smiling, Yunho closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of you. “We would’ve found each other eventually.” He mumbled as he nuzzled your neck. “We’re pirates that are secretly nobles. How could we not find each other?”

Chuckling, you laid your head on his chest and sighed contentedly. “True.”

Yunho rested his chin on top of your head as you lay next to him. “Can I ask you something?”

You turned your head and looked at him. “Of course.”

He hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. “If somehow my family still had our title and status, would there have been a chance that we would have met? Would things have turned out differently?”

“If you were still Minister Jeong’s son and I was still Minister Yoon’s daughter, there would definitely have been a chance.” You answered honestly. “Who knows, our fathers would probably marry us off to each other.”

A slight smile appeared on Yunho’s lips. “Maybe they would have. Do you think you would have accepted an arranged marriage if it was me?”

You let out a laugh. “Maybe… if I liked you.” You teased him.

“Ah… that might be difficult then.” Yunho laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure I would have ended up trying to win your heart.”

“That’s possible.” You agreed with a nod. “But that’s just wishful thinking. The past is the past. All we can do now is make our future bright.”

“You’re right.” Yunho replied.

“I always am.” You grinned.

Yunho chuckled. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.” You replied immediately.

“If one day, you or I, were to return to face what we left behind… will you return with me?”

Startled, you looked up at him, surprised by his question. Your first instinct was to answer no. After everything that had happened, you wanted to forget about the world of noblemen and their royalty. But looking into Yunho’s soft eyes and sincere expression, you knew that you couldn’t say no to him.

You grasped his hand tightly. “I promise. If we get the chance to return to that life, I’ll return with you.”

[hes-a-rat-whisperer]

Once there had been a grand kingdom, largely known for its prosperity and wealth, with a ruler whom, more or less, wasn’t as grand as the land he ruled over. Petty and vicious, with a style of ruling that fit the definition of Tyranny perfectly. His obsession with his title, and his demands for a son to inherit his throne had directly caused the deaths of his many wives over the years. After decades, and still no sign of a son, now elderly tyrant king made this decree; “Even in death, none shall take this throne from me but a boy of my seed!” And it was made so. However, as a ruler IS necessary, that decree certainly caused the stress of the country, as every kingdom MUST have a ruler. It was then that the court magician, a cunning man, who had the knights strike up a deal with the cruel ruler. One that had allowed them to preserve his seed until a worthy woman would be found that could actually carry the king’s heir, his son, to fruition even AFTER the king’s passing. And so the years went, the king died, and this supposed chosen woman in question was yet to be found, and the throne remained vacant. Neighboring countries that had once been allied with the great kingdom turned, greedy for its bountiful land and riches, and soon war after war broke out in the coming years. Many died, the lands were beginning to shrivel, and the wealth the prosperous kingdom once had dwindled little. Still, no worthy maiden able to grant the dead tyrant’s decree had emerged, and the knights had begun to get desperate. It wasn’t until Früll, the captain of the royal guard’s brutal death in battle did the second in command decide to make use of his fallen leader’s grieving widow, Ceban.

the knight hesitated for just a second, before firmly knocking at the poor brunette´s door, several of his men behind him.

they were all still dressed in their knights armor, rusty from the dried blood still caked upon them..the men were weakened..malnourished and fearful..

it was heartbreaking to see the once so strong and proud royal guard in such a condition. their attackers were merciless..

the kingdom was rarely given a chance to recover..which is why it was of such importance that they spoke to the grieving soul as soon as possible.

...

"Ceban?" the second in command called out, knocking a bit firmer and with more urgency as he wasn´t given an imediate answer.

"Ceban, we need to speak to you."

[five-miles-over]

The Phantom of Asgard (Thor: The Dark World!Loki x Reader)

Summary: Rumors say that a phantom haunts the darkest hall in the royal palace of Asgard, but is he truly as dangerous as the people of Asgard claim he is? You and your friends decide to investigate one night for yourselves.

Warnings: Mentions of character death

"We shouldn't be here."

"Then keep your voice down!" 

You silently tiptoed, following your friend Revna, a damsel with long black hair whose fingers were wrapped around the end of a burning candle. Ingrid, whose skin almost glowed as much as her honey blonde curls did in sunlight, trembled with every step. 

You met Revna and Ingrid through serving together as ladies-in-waiting to the late Queen Frigga. You were all of Asgardian noble blood, sent to the palace in hopes of rubbing shoulders with some of the most elite of the Aesir. But after her untimely passing and the war with the Dark Elves came to an end, the All-Father King Odin made the simple decision to keep you in service of the royal family. Only instead of having you serve Prince Thor or the king himself, Odin decreed that the three of you were to be educated in political science and history like the noble boys of Asgard. With a twinkle in his eye, the All-Father proposed that if you three were properly educated, then you could join the council as a division of ladies to advise the future king of Asgard. 

And as a result, your new schedules left you with a newly found period of free time every night, since you wouldn't be on watch for anyone trying to harm a member of the royal family. "We're getting closer,…" Revna muttered before Ingrid reminded her to keep the candle at the level of her eye.

"I think there's a library somewhere here…" You glanced over your shoulder to find a tapestry of the late queen hanging, her likeness captured with vivid shades of turquoise and gold. "I don't understand, why shouldn't we be here?"

"This is where they say the Phantom of Asgard resides." Ingrid explained in a hushed whisper as the three of you made your way past gray stone figures depicting warriors from lore. Placed along either side of the hall, it was as if they were standing vigil while in their immortalized, lifeless state. "He resides past the throne room, in the darkest of chambers."

"That explains why no one's lit any torches or lamps." Revna grumbles before Ingrid says for the second time to keep the candle at eye-level. "My arm is getting tired!"

Ingrid continued to narrate, "I've heard rumors that the phantom is the ghost of a soldier who gave his life defending Asgard. But others say he's a monster in the palace, he'll hurt us."

"Come now," you chastised Ingrid, walking past another tapestry hanging on the walls of the palace. "There can't be a Phantom. It's probably just some trick made up by the Prince of Lies."

"Also known as the God of Mischief?" Revna interjected. "He's dead." 

"I don't believe it."

Revna quickly turned around. "What?"

Ingrid shushed you and repeated, "Candle! Level of your eye."

This time, Revna rolled her eyes and simply switched hands. "If he weren't dead, then why is the All-father commissioning for a statue of the trickster god to be built outside the palace?"

"How would I know?" You carefully stepped over a small abandoned dagger laying on the floor. "All I know is that the first time it was announced that Prince Loki was no more, he was found on Midgard attempting to lay siege."

As if on cue, a powerful guest of wind blew past the three of you, sending a chill down your spine. The flame of Revna's candle flickered. "See!" Ingrid pointed behind you. "The Phantom heard us!" 

"Really?" Revna sighed loudly. "Ingrid come on…"

"I'm telling you," you huffed. "There. Is. No. Phantom!"

No sooner had you said those words, a more powerful gust of wind blew past you and extinguished the candle, sending the three of you into near-darkness, save for the faint moonlight from the glass window at the end of the hall. 

"Oh my god!" Ingrid whimpered. She clutched your arm with a vice-like grip. "See what you've done?!"

Revna assured her, swallowing. "It's okay…it's okay. Nothing's going to happen." She remained with her feet planted to the floor.

A shatter. You were almost certain that there was no crack in the window…until now. A jagged crack as if someone had thrown a pebble at it. 

Then, one of the stone figures standing in the hall - a warrior with a horned helmet holding a weapon at his hip, fell face-first, just barely missing Revna. As soon as the statue landed against the floor, its head split into pieces before your very eyes, horns and all. 

"That's…not okay." Revna gulped, taking a step back with baited breath. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown, causing her to lose balance. You caught her just in time, letting go of Ingrid while Revna held the candlestick for dear life. 

You steadied her. "We have to get out of here…Go back the way we came."

Ingrid's eyes filled with tears, and she choked on a sob. "Please, please tell me now you believe there's a Phan-" She was drowned by the sound of her own hysterical screams. A second crack….and then a third appeared in the window.  "I don't want to die…Please, no!"

Now was Revna's turn to shush her. "If anyone finds us, we could either be dead, or worse, banished. Now let's go." 

The three of you murmured in agreement, reluctantly promising to staunchly deny if anyone asked if you were roaming the palace at night. You hitched your skirts and scurried down the hall as quickly as possible, even though you could barely see anything in your way. Guided only by the sound of each others' footsteps and heavy panting, you only had a single thought in mind: go back the way you came here, and find your shared bedroom as possible. Before you could be caught by any guards or servants with a propensity to gossip. Your heartbeat quickened as you continued to run for your life. Suddenly, in the midst of your attempted escape, you tripped over something - perhaps it was the fabric of the carpet or perhaps your own clumsiness worsened by fear - and landed on your knees. "Revna! Ingrid!" In the midst of you shouting for your friends, a gloved hand covered your mouth.

A strange whisper tickled your ear. "No need to be afraid…There is no Phantom," the mysterious voice echoed your words from earlier with a touch of theatrical sarcasm. "Just a trick made up by the Prince of Lies." 

The gloved hand remained over your mouth. "If you scream," the mysterious voice warned you while another hand rested on your waist. "I promise to show you no mercy. Understood?" 

You nodded, trembling while you rose to your feet. 

"Good girl." 

With a wave of the gloved hand, golden candelabras spontaneously appeared along the hall, burning brightly. And emerging out of thin air was a large, rectangular mirror with a bronze-like intricate border that shined with such a luster that the untrained eye could mistake it for gold. You treaded lightly towards your own reflection.

Once again, the mysterious voice filled your ear. "Now you see me…" 

Behind you stood a tall man with ebony curls reaching his shoulders. He wore a tailored black waistcoat with long sleeves, and silk black gloves. An emerald green mask decorated with gold glitter obscured the left half of his face, yet…why did he seem so familiar?

Your fingers inched towards the side of his face, beneath his cheekbone. The masked one sighed, leaning in closer so that his nose nestled against your hair while he delighted in your delicate touch. You trembled as your fingertips brushed against the smooth, unblemished skin. His hand encircled your waist once again, and you decided to be bold. Reaching for the edge of the mask, you carefully began to lift it…

"No." He said it with such a dark desperation in his voice, and his other hand caught your wrist. 

"I want to know who you are." 

"You already do."

Lowering your hand, you silently contemplated for a moment, allowing the masked one to simply cradle you in his arms from behind. "You're the God of Mischief," you uttered to his reflection. "You're Prince Loki."

A smile appeared on the face of the masked god, the smile of a mastermind at the end of a successful plan. Joyful yet reserved, like he already knew the outcome and had envisioned it in his mind several times before executing his plans. 

"But you're…dead," you murmured, exercising extreme caution with the last word. "How could you be here? In these halls? I don't understand."

"And yet from the beginning, you knew it was me behind this mask…How, sweet one?"

Your eyes followed Loki's fingers as they glided along your arms before resting on your shoulders. "I cannot say, my Prince….I just knew."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "Or is it because you knew only one could cause such havoc in these halls"?" A wider smile on his face, the god of mischief pressed his lips against the top of your head.

"How did you survive?" A flush of heat spread across your cheeks.

"Because it's what I always do."

You blinked, unable to look away from the mirror for even a second, as if someone had cast a spell of hypnosis upon you. "And what will you do now?"

"Nothing yet." He simply said. "You are the only one who knows."

"Even the All-Father?" 

Loki nuzzled against the base of your neck, leaving you weak in the knees. "I do not wish to speak of him tonight." He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. "I promise to you, all will be revealed in time." The god of mischief then combed his fingers through sections of your hair, taking his time with every touch as if he wanted to memorize exactly how you felt. "Rest now, my sweet, for I will call upon you again. From this night, you belong to me, and I to you."

And with a simple wave of his hand, your surroundings disappeared to darkness. "My prince?" You called, looking around only to be met with silence.

Then, a single candle appeared seemingly out of thin air, with a small, flickering flame. You found yourself alone, inside that same hall, instantly recognizing the tapestry of the late queen that decorated the wall. Only this time, the window at the end of the hall bore no cracks, and the fallen statue stood upright in its original place, perfectly standing vigil. 

And on the floor, next to your feet, lay a single white lily with a dark green ribbon tied around its stem. A lasting promise from the Phantom of Asgard.

Tagging: @icytrickster17  @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl  , @lokisninerealms  @jennyggggrrr  ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines  , @lokiismineforever  @smolvenger  @winterfrostlovetriangle  , @the-haven-of-fiction  , @turniptitaness   @cakesandtom  ,@sallymagnoliaposts  @leahs-reading-nook  @holdmytesseract  @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen @aesonmae @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue

[queenvhagar]

"Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. 'A bastard cannot inherit.'

'Not unless he's legitimized by a royal decree,' said Robb. 'There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.'

'Precedent,' she said bitterly. 'Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them in the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.'

'Jon would never harm a son of mine.'

'No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?'

Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer's crypt, his teeth bared. Robb's own face was cold. 'That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon.'

'So you pray'" (Catelyn and Robb Stark, discussing the possibility of legitimizing Jon Snow, p. 629, A Storm of Swords).

This moment demonstrates a few things about the world of ASOIAF. First, despite Catelyn knowing Jon his whole life, she still expects the worst from him, largely due to the fact that he is a bastard. In this world, bastards are set apart from the rest. They are viewed as less than other trueborn people. Second, bastards can be legitimized by royal decree, and this is the only way a bastard can ever inherit. Third, a claimant to a seat of power, especially one with an insecure or atypical claim, may have to remove other claimants to secure their power, so if Jon or his children ever wanted the throne of Winterfell over Robb's line, they would have to take action to make sure none of Robb's blood could sit the throne.

So how does this inform us about the context of the Dance of the Dragons? First, it demonstrates the views that people have about the Strong boys and their mother. The very idea of Rhaenyra birthing bastards and trying to put them into lines of succession would have a negative effect on her politically. People would take issue with her and her sons having power. Second, the Strong boys could have been legitimized by royal decree, but they never were. They are still illegitimate in the eyes of the law and the people. Despite having a huge amount of political power and the backing of the king, their legitimization was never considered. Third, if Rhaenyra wanted to pursue her claim despite its rocky ground (due to her marrying Daemon, having three obvious bastards, killing Velaryons, being a woman, etc) she would have to get rid of all other claimants to secure her power, especially those with potentially stronger claims, meaning the king's sons and their sons would not have been safe. Rhaenyra and Daemon had already been willing to kill to secure their power in the past, and previously Rhaenyra asked for Aemond to be tortured to protect herself and her sons, so it is clear that someone on Team Black would take action to secure their own power.

[quitealotofsodapop]

I dont remember if i sent an adk about this before so sorry if duicated

I can imagine Iron Fan being the one to explain to DBK that Wukong is, technically, both his sworn brother and her spiritual nephew and how they came to discover this.

Tieshan, on the way to the Celestial Realm: My love, you remember how I had explained the matter of reincarnation and how it relates to succession in the Celestial Court, correct?

DBK: Indeed, but what does that have to do with Wukong suddenly being a Celestial Prince!?

Tieshan: After the birth of his cub, we made a rather... startling discovery in regards to his bloodline. It appears that not only had Sun Wukong been born in a similar manner that his darling cub had come to us, albeit with the more tragic outcome you had feared for him... but his birth parent had been, well, the first reincarnation of my late sister Songzi.

DBK: Songzi!? But wasn't she the-

Tieshan: The eldest of us, yes. This means that by law, Wukong and his cub are immediately raised in status to become the firstborn heir and successor to my father with newborn Xiaotian as second in line. Thus, he is a part of our family both by bond and by blood, so to speak, at least.

Prev.

dont worry! I recieved it! Adding on here since I love the dialogue you added.

DBK is having a weird resurrection.

DBK: "I never thought I would be on polite terms with my wife's parents after so many years of animosity. I apologise for any damage my actions during the War caused." Xiwangmu: "I royally decree you permission to wreck the Jade Palace." DBK: "Oh word?"

Turns out Tieshan is a lot like her dear Jade dad - being attracted to a fiery destructive entity that towers over them.

DBK doesn't charge in blindly though, he sticks around to devise a plan. The Brotherhood will be heavily focused on his return, given that he's by all accounts "dead" to them. If he could manage a peaceful reunion, he could sneak some of the others inside the palace. A Trojan Bull if it were. >:3

DBK also feels validated by his worry, knowing that Wukong's own mother Shíhuā had passed from complications bringing her son into the world. He is overwhelmingly relieved that Wukong is alive and ok, albeit sickly. Also DBK is low-key cheering at being an uncle. When he finally meets Xiaotian, he starts blubbering at how tiny the monkey cub is, and how even still it nearly managed to defeat his xiandi.

Eventually, Red Son gets jealous/protective of the baby and headbutts DBK as hard as he could. DBK is now roaring with laughter and happy tears, pretending he's been wounded terribly by his calf's nubby horns.

Princess Iron Fan smiles. Her family is finally whole again.

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Euron and Bran: art by @seaworthit (1, 2)

Propaganda is encouraged!

Euron and Bran

Flying Dreams

“When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly,” he announced. “When I woke, I couldn’t … or so the maester said. But what if he lied?” Victarion could smell the sea through the open window, though the room stank of wine and blood and sex. The cold salt air helped to clear his head. “What do you mean?” Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. “Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?” The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. “No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap.”

AFFC, The Reaver

“Fly or die!” cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again.

ACOK, Bran II

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Jon and Ramsay

Heir After Their Trueborn Brother

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.” She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.” “Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.” “If Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.” “So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.” “Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”… “Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

ASOS, Catelyn V

“Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort’s sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?”

ADWD, Reek III