#I need them to be overthrown

[iamumbra195]

Don't you love it when you get back into your childhood hyper-fixation that you remember very fondly as an adult and realize how fucking depressing the actual story is now that you have the capacity to understand it beyond cool fighting and characters, humor, and awesome friendships?

[achillean-knight]

hey... adajima fandom, are you still alive? *poking you with a stick*

[orcelito]

What is it about I Was a Teenage Exocolonist that's getting to me so much, you may ask?

Well I just like playing the specialest little guy/girl/whatever (canonically) and running around being stupid as hell in nature (while being saved from surefire death by my mysterious alien boyfriend), flirting with anything that moves And/Or participating in the slowest burn sweetest childhood friends to lovers situationship (but also It's Complicated bc he's an emo boy with uhhhh a concerningly low amount of care for most people in the colony), and also fucking everything up beyond redemption! But it's ok! Bc now I have time memories and I can prevent bad things from happening again. Teehee!

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[shiroselia]

Y'know what based on how my self-imposed rules thing is going give it 2 years and I'm gonna be selling Gen 3s

[moorishflower]

Hey just so you know if you start reblogging shit about how Trump is now definitely gonna win the election and all hope is lost and so why bother trying anything, I'm unfollowing you. I might like you personally, but if your response to that shooting is to just give up and assume the election is a foregone conclusion, you maybe need to do some self-examination about why you feel it necessary to spread further despair instead of using that energy as a galvanizing force for hope or, at the very least (if you feel you have no energy left to fight) not spreading posts that will further demoralize the people who are still fighting.

It is in the best interest of Donald Trump that people who dislike him lose hope and don't turn out to vote because "it doesn't matter," because "Biden is a warmonger," because "nothing ever changes," when we have copious amounts of evidence that things have changed, and Biden has been very quietly and patiently unraveling the tangle of shit that Trump left behind in his first (and G-d willing only) term. The United States are not in a position where huge and radical change is possible at the moment. The country is too large, the states too fragmented, the system of government too spread-out. There is no one entity that can be "overthrown" in order to effect immediate change.

So maybe instead of demanding radical and immediate change that isn't possible, and then whining and moaning when you never get it, maybe do what you can to not spread fear and despair through those who are trying to fight for small, incremental changes.

Me, I'm gonna vote. And I'm gonna bother everyone I know who's 18-26 or so to vote Blue down the ticket, because young voter turnout has historically always been good for the Democratic party.

So yeah. Maybe do some soul-searching. Maybe instead of looking at news you should go for a walk. But also, maybe, stop spreading posts about how the election is in the bag for Trump, because it isn't. There's four months left. There is still time.

Go out and vote. Even if it feels hopeless to you. The least complex of animals will keep fighting even if death seems certain to them, and so should we.

[miiilowo]

v1 blog simulator 2

💥bloodisfuel🔁godfist

🪽godfist

URGENT!!!!!! FALLEN ANGEL IN NEED OF DONATIONS

As many of you certainly already know, I have overthrown the federal government and I am in desperate need of aid as a result. I will not be going into full detail, as I don't have much time left to begin with, but if you would be kind enough to spare some cash so I can go take a victory lap while wasted on as much Margaritaville as possible before the Father's light fades from my form I would appreciate it deeply. Thank you in advance may god bless you or whayever the fuck i dont know anymore

venmo in bio

513/?

🪽godfist

STOP THROWING COINS AT MY FUCKING WINDOW

💥bloodisfuel

01101110 01101111

4,765 notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁computher

⬛computher

i dont know why i even try anymore

🔺honorary-scraphead

stop doomposting and do arts and crafts with me

⬛computher

do i have to

⬛computher

he just blew himself up with the crayon maker

37 notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁godfist

🪽godfist

Not to 'vague-post' but if I need to crush someone's tiny wireframe body in my hands right fucking now or else I'll rip my helmet off on stream and blind all of you on purpose im not joking

💥bloodisfuel

48°52.6, 123°23.6

🪽godfist

what

🪽godfist

did you just fucking doxx me

#👍

6,784 notes

💥bloodisfuel

#poll #polls

8 notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁angel-kisser

⭐angel-kisser

12k notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁computher

🏆swordsmachine

seword mmacine

37k notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁helldoll

🩵m1ndfl4y3r

drones love to be hit into walls they love it. they love when you punch them so hard they explode they like being launched into the atmosphere so hard they start burning upits literally abusive to not do it

317 notes

💥bloodisfuel🔁godfist

🕶️staff-deactivated

We've been receiving a lot of questions lately, and we would like to kindly remind you that tumblr user Godfist, also known as Archangel Gabriel, is on the staff team and is more than willling to answer questions in regards to your eternal damnation! He's a beloved member of the force and we wouldn't be where we are today without him!

🚀guts-n-tanks

this aged like shit

🪽godfist

shut the fuck up

102k notes

(thank you @p3terpaan for the gabriel edit)

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere Backup friend x Reader

I may stick with this writing style requests are always open

Yandere backup friend~ Who was there since day one and was your childhood friend but never your best friend.

Yandere backup friend~ Who Is hopelessly in love with you and tried everything and I mean everything to rank up from his position as backup friend.

Yandere backup friend~ Who despite being more on the shy side did little things to get your attention but was always overthrown by your louder closer friends.

Yandere backup friend~ Who despises your other friend why do you need them he was here first you only need him.

yandere backup friend~ Who always rushes to your side being sure to sit next to you and if he isn't he will send death glares to whoever is.

Yandere backup friend~ Who is furious and heartbroken when he finds out that one of your friends has asked you out and the two of you are now dating how could this happen to him they stole his rightful position and the love of his life!?

Yandere backup friend~ Who sees your new boyfriend mistreat and take advantage of you and watches him ruin you which makes his blood boil.

Yandere backup friend~ Who is always the shoulder you cry on when your boyfriend takes it too far and makes you a sobbing mess.

Yandere backup friend~ Who whispers in your ear about how you deserve so much more and how all your pain will be over soon.

Yandere backup friend~ Who comforts you when your boyfriend is found dead and has been viciously murdered in the school bathroom who would do such a thing but don't worry you don't need that worthless wrench you have him to take care of you now.

Yandere backup friend~ Who slowly isolates from your other friends and manipulates you into thinking he's the only one that's truly there for you.

You'd have to choose him now, he's your only choice...

Remember Jesus loves you guys and he died for our sins and just accepting him will get you to the father thanks for reading my lovely single pringles~♥

[ukelele-boy]

I was rereading some of my posts from 2021 and was reminded of how much meta I used to write so imma share my crazy headcanon/ theory which i thought up as plot for a revolution fic:

RR verse is on the "Olympus will fall" timeline and Zeus' actions are speeding it up.

In the recent decade there has been several great prophecies back to back. And people have remarked how weird it is that there have been so many. What if the reason is because of Zeus?

Remember, in greek mythology there is a major theme of how Your Fate Cannot Be Defied. And Zeus, king of Olympus, has a major Fate: being overthrown. However he managed to "defy" it by eating Metis.

My idea is that he has been forcefully clawing out a future where he is still king of Olympus. By doing this, he is literally changing the flow of fate. And obviously fate wants to correct itself, so the harder he fights it, the more counterforce he triggers. All prophecies meant to lead to his overthrowing are suddenly sped up. Olympus begins to lose power. Zeus is aware of this. He is also aware how people are becoming suspicious. And he needs a scapegoat. And who better than the god of prophecy who is also a threat to the throne?

Apollo mentions that Zeus blamed him for his oracle revealing a prophecy "too early" and therefore causing it to happen early. However, everyone knows it's not possible to actually cause a prophecy to happen early...so why would Zeus even have this weird line of thought? everyone probably dismissed it as Zeus being irrational, but there a juicier theory this ties into:

Apollo being the one to overthrow Zeus.

The idea of "fall of the sun, the final verse". What if this is the final prophecy that is meant to happen before Zeus is overthrown? And what if the fall this speaks of is actually when Apollo fell close to chaos? When he pulled himself together there?

What if he reformed different from his original godly form. He was literally almost gone, his body was disintegrating. Maybe he pulled himself together using the energies of chaos. Apollo himself isn't aware of this, due to a suspicious memory gap between him clawing up from the cliff and him waking up next to Artemis.

And this adds to another headcanon of mine, the fates choose Apollo to be the god of prophecy on purpose. At first glance, this is a horrible match. If they wanted a good servant, why would they choose someone so closely tied to his heart and so likely to fight fate? Someone who dares get them drunk just to extend a human's lifespan? UNLESS... they WANT him to eventually try and defy fate??

Imagine if fate was a compass and Zeus had forcefully wrenched the needle point at a bleak dark future where Olympus falls with him. And this river direction has been set so deeply in stone and run on for so long, it has worn a grove and become the mostly likely future.

you need someone willing to fight, someone to wrench the needle out. SOMEONE FAMILAR WITH FATE AND Prophecy. Someone who has the power to fight it and win. Someone who has the will. Perhaps a baby god who was willing to fight Python, and who would have likely died there. But if he successfully did take on the powers of prophecy, one day that same godling would fight Python again, would absorb the powers of chaos to recreate himself.

Perhaps not today and maybe not even for the next four thousand years

but one day that godling would stare down at that wretched compass hand and decide to yank the flow out of its place. And maybe, that godling means a chance for Olympus to have a different future.

Anyways that's my crazy theory i hope it wasn't too confusing. It also links up with my other story theme idea about fate, hope and apollo blah blah blah, which i rambled about in a different post.

Edit: just remembered my other crazy thought, what if ZEUS PURPOSEFULLY TRIED TO GET RID OF APOLLO NOT ONLY CAUSE HE IS A THREAT TO THE THRONE BUT ALSO BECAUSE AS THE GOD OF PROPHECY HE IS MOST LIKELY TO REALIZE SOMETHING IS WRONG AND THAT ZEUS IS MESSING WITH FATE?!???? Basically pulling a imma say you're the murderer before u realise im the murderer. (i cant remember the actual saying Lmaoo)

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[sixosix]

i want you for worse or for better | aether

synopsis your ex, aether, asks you to be his plus one; you were doomed from the very beginning.

tags wc 2.8k, gn!reader, modern au, profanity, getting back together, exes to lovers, humor bc i cant take my own writing seriously, ft 4GGRAVATE!!!

notes ty to @earthtooz and @naosaki helping me brainstorm w this one… our big brains were on the same wave while cooking.

Aether moved around a lot. He was never the type to settle down. It was in his blood to explore the world and leave only a trace of him behind. He was something like a hero, coming in at the worst time and leaving them better than before. You couldn’t say the same about his effect on you, though.

You told him of this before, and he slumped over and rested his head on your lap, “I don’t even mean to. Are you at least swept off your feet by my heroic deeds?”

“I was so charmed I only dated you because you have overthrown the government,” you said.

Aether had laughed then, and kissed you sweetly. You couldn’t fool him for a second—how you melted to the kiss spoke for itself. You loved him for so much more than that.

But you also knew that it wouldn’t last long. Aether warned you about it, too; you couldn’t even be mad. How could you blame anyone but yourself when you deliberately brushed past all the warning signs?

“I don’t stay,” Aether told you, at the time. “If you want to do this…”

“I know,” you said, at the time. “I know what I’m getting myself into. So will you just kiss me already?”

Well, you should’ve known, too, that falling out of love with Aether wouldn’t be as easy as falling in love with him. Not when he kissed you like he would never leave, anyway. You were doomed from the very beginning.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for a worryingly long time now,” Tighnari said, eyeing you from the top of his cards.

You were seated on Alhaitham’s living room couch, the four boys lounging on the floor playing TCG. Cyno was winning effortlessly against Kaveh, but against Tighnari, he found himself at a loss. Alhaitham was continuing Cyno’s winning streak on his behalf, while Cyno was down two rounds from playing with Tighnari. You had been playing, too, but your phone lit up and displayed a name that had you dropping your cards and hiding your screen from your friends’ view.

You bit your lip and reread the message for the third time. The previous texts had been months ago, with him wishing you a happy birthday. You replied with a Thank you and a red heart emoji, because the <3 emoticon felt too intimate.

“Aether texted me,” you murmured, then braced yourself for the explosion.

It was Kaveh that did. “Aether? As in your ex, Aether? That Aether?” Kaveh demanded.

“Do you know other Aethers?” Alhaitham quipped, then placed a card that had Kaveh clutching his head and groaning.

“Shut up,” Kaveh hissed, mostly because he lost. “The point is—that’s your ex! What did he say?”

You buried your face on the couch pillow, hating how your heart was racing. Like you were still in high school, or something, and not a full-grown adult who was having a crisis over their ex texting them. “He said hey are you up?, all lowercase, no comma.”

“No comma,” Kaveh repeated with a suspicious look on his face.

“No need to be so wary,” Cyno said. “His intentions don't appear to deliberately cause any 'comma-tion’.”

Tighnari’s ears dropped along with his face.

“Do you get it?” Cyno seemed proud that he was able to come up with that one right away. “There was no comma. It was a wordplay on commotion—”

“Did he also say what he was texting you for?” Kaveh interrupted loudly. “If he wants something, send a picture of us and tell him you’re busy.”

“Aether’s not like that,” you murmured in defeat.

Kaveh was making him out to be some sort of playboy. Aether wasn’t, which made you worry more. You didn’t want to entertain someone who left you, but you still cared enough to wonder if something came up and he needed you.

“You’re going to reply?” Tighnari asked.

“Yes,” you said, typing out a what’s up? and hitting Send. You didn’t know why you had butterflies in your stomach—you used to shower with Aether back when you were still together; there was no need to be so nervous. “He’s your friend, too, you know.”

“You were our friend first,” Kaveh said. “And he broke your heart. That’s not something to be taken lightly.”

You felt warm, a smile blooming on your face. “It’s okay. I wasn’t that affected.”

“You were,” Kaveh, Tighnari, and Cyno chorused.

“Fuck you,” you said, smile dropping.

Aether was typing again. You sat up straight and watched the three dots do the worm on the bottom of your screen. 

hi :) how are you?

Ugh. Furiously, you typed, aether spit it out. did something happen?

okay okay

You expected that he just wanted something. Something had to have come up for him to text you after months. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Maybe Aether was a playboy; the way he played with your feelings almost qualified him for it.

But then you think back to when Aether was still in Sumeru, lighting up the room, lighting up a fire in your heart. He was everyone’s favorite, too, not just yours. And even if Kaveh and the others denied it now, they hadn’t been able to deny him back then. Aether helped them out in ways they didn’t know how to repay. Aether made you so happy, to be thinking so negatively about him like this.

Aether sent: i’m invited to aymar’s wedding and i wanted to ask if you would agree to be my plus one

why me?

you’re the first person i thought of.

Perhaps he wasn’t in trouble—he was trouble enough. What were you getting yourself into?

i thought you didn’t want to get involved with Aymar anymore

i can’t turn down an excuse to eat free at a buffet

You sighed. You wouldn’t, either.

You frowned at your screen, wishing it was Aether in front of you instead. Maybe if you could read his expressions instead of reading between the lines of his texts, you could figure out why he invited his ex, of all the people he knew.

besides, Aether continued to text, this is probably aymar’s way of showing us that she’s over me. she has a groom now and all that

Aymar had the biggest crush on Aether, and she never hid it, even when you and Aether were dating. But despite her advances, she was a sweet girl who was just as infatuated with your ex as the rest of Teyvat was. Maybe this was her way of apologizing.

However—

she didn’t even invite me wtf

haha well is that a no?

“Guys,” you spoke up, grabbing your friends’ attention. Kaveh was still losing miserably. “Have you heard news of Aymar’s wedding?”

“Oh,” Kaveh looked thoughtful, “yes. We were invited.”

“What? Was I the only one not invited?”

“Maybe it’s because you got to date Aether and she didn’t,” Tighnari said.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, Aether’s asking me to be his plus one—and I’m going to say yes don’t look at me like that.”

Alhaitham, Cyno, and Kaveh wordlessly clear their expressions.

“Oh,” Tighnari frowned. “We weren’t planning on going.”

“We have to now!” Kaveh said. “We have to, if Y/N’s going.”

“Is this too much?”

You checked yourself out in the full-length mirror, performing a little twirl that had Kaveh clapping. Alhaitham sat beside him, briefly looking up from his book. Tighnari and Cyno were elsewhere, picking shoes for you that would be in the range of ‘cheap’ and ‘expensive, but not because I care about what Aether would think’.

“Of course not,” Kaveh said, giving a thumbs up. “You look great!”

You turned to Alhaitham next, who didn’t hesitate: “Looks good. Might as well wear yellow, too.”

You flushed hotly at his implications. “I’m not dressing up to impress him! This is a formal event, which he happened to invite me to—as friends.”

“Right,” Alhaitham drawled. He could at least pretend to believe you, but that would probably be asking too much from him already.

Kaveh nudged Alhaitham, with a bit more force than necessary. “Cut Y/N some slack.”

Alhaitham sighed imperceptibly, turning his full attention to you. “This would probably be the closure you needed,” Alhaitham said, and you recognized his way of comfort for the way it is. “You’ll find out that you’re over him after this.”

“You’re right,” you said, breathing in deep. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So,” Kaveh stood up. “Is that what you’re buying? Let’s make haste—Cyno reserved a spot in the line for you!”

Excitement bubbled in your chest as you held the fabric to your chest.

You were definitely not over Aether.

As soon as you felt yourself fidgeting nervously a block away from the ceremony, you knew. As soon as a car rolled in and he stumbled out of the car, tripping because he was waving at you, you knew that you were so not over him.

You tried to blame the heat of the sun for how warm you suddenly felt, but you could be referring to the other sun making his merry way to you, his smile bright, all teeth. His braid could almost be a tail from how it waggled as he jogged over.

“Hey,” Aether, charming and beautiful Aether, gold and warm—your ex, Aether—breathed out, “you look great.”

“You, too.” Aether looked maddening in a suit, in the best way possible. You felt lightheaded and choked out, “Very dashing.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

“Yeah,” you said, then turned away in case he saw the raw, unfiltered want on your face.

“Shall we?”

How cheesy. Still, you felt yourself flush as you linked your arms with his, like you were a couple. Kaveh was going to kill you—after he killed Aether first.

Aymar’s wedding was startlingly grand. You think she might just have invited the entirety of Sumeru; you might even find Lesser Lord Kusanali here, maybe. 

You found your friends and settled beside them while Aether awkwardly sat on the far edge. He seemed reluctant to have space from you, so you pulled him closer.

“Hey,” Tighnari greeted him. “How have you been? You stopped sending us letters.”

Aether looked extremely uncomfortable. He must be feeling Cyno’s stern stare. “Haha. Well, yeah.” 

The ceremony went as usual. The groom was someone you didn’t recognize; he looked like he was from Sumeru, all big and intimidating—the complete opposite of Aether. Aymar’s tastes changed drastically. All the same, you cheered along with the crowd when they kissed.

You haven’t been able to attend many weddings yourself, though you could always appreciate how emotional the newlyweds got. Vows were always the sweetest to hear. You’d never seen Aymar smile so wide before; then again, it was only fitting. This was her wedding day. Not that you’d know, though.

You glance to the side, catching Aether looking at the newlyweds kiss with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked like he longed for it, but that didn’t seem right. Weddings tied you down. Aether didn’t want to be tied down.

Kaveh clapped the loudest, which snapped Aether into clapping along as well.

You wondered what Aether was thinking. You wonder if he was thinking the same. Looking at the happy bride and the teary groom—could this have been you and him in another life?

Hah.

That’s a funny thought.

You bit your bottom lip to distract yourself from feeling your eyes go hot.

Aymar beamed at you two as she bounded over. “You came!” she said, though it was directed at you.

You wanted to tell her you weren’t even invited, but you felt like that would ruin the moment. Plus, it was literally her wedding. You were glad you ended up here after all the years you spent knowing each other. You smiled back, genuine, and leaned into her hug.

“Of course,” you said. “You look beautiful.”

Aymar blushed. “Thank you. You two look great as well!”

Aether shuffled beside you. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Aymar had that look in her eye that spelled suspicious.

But the past was the past. You weren’t going to get jealous when Aymar was quite literally married, and Aether wasn’t even your boyfriend anymore. “I’m glad you’re happy, Aymar,” you said.

Aymar glanced between the two of you, then finally at you. “I hope you find happiness, too, Y/N. Soon, hopefully.”

The reception started. While your friends were busy hoarding the food, you and Aether were left alone. He looked uncharacteristically nervous—it made you pity him. He was the one who asked you to come with him, but he must have felt out of place the entire time. Everyone thought he would never return, after all.

You traced the rim of your glass, hoping to appear nonchalant. “So, what have you been up to while at Fontaine? Finally moving off to Natlan?” you asked, then bit back a Find any other flings, too?

Aether sighed, twirling his champagne flute before taking a long sip. “Didn’t do too much, honestly. I spent most of my time there thinking.” His eyes flicked up to yours. “Lumine already found her place here in Teyvat, and I…”

Oh.

You were glad you held back from being petty while Aether was genuinely distressed over his journey to self-discovery. Again, you weren’t an asshole. And you still cared about Aether, despite everything, because he was hard to hate. With a sad face like that…

“Sorry,” you muttered. You didn’t mean to make him remember Lumine.

Aether laughed softly. “It’s not like that. It took me a while, but—I had already found my place, too. I was just too dumb not to realize it sooner.”

You wanted to chide him for calling himself dumb, but he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to get something. You blinked, feeling lost.

Aether tilted his head. “It’s with you.”

Your mouth hung open. “What?”

Aether went to repeat it, but Cyno and Tighnari had come back with plates heaping with food. Cyno had one on each hand, unabashed. He sat on his seat and said, in all seriousness, “We might have finished all the catering.”

Tighnari chuckled, “We didn’t, but you two should hurry and get your fill.”

You didn’t get another chance to talk with Aether privately during the reception, but it was still good fun. Aether seemed to warm up to your friends again—or, rather, your friends seemed to warm up to him again.

You shared laughs, food, and toasts with the newlyweds—but your favorite had to have been sharing glances with Aether all throughout the night.

You and Aether went ahead. Cyno and Tighnari didn’t seem surprised when you told them that you were letting Aether take you home, which would have certainly been a blow to your dignity had it been in any other situation.

“So,” you started, “what made you realize you wanted to get me back? Did you have some revelation while in Fontaine?”

“Yes, actually,” Aether said, his hands brushing against yours now and then. “For every sight and couple I saw, I just kept thinking about how you would’ve loved it there.”

“Oh.”

Aether looked bashful. The moonlight highlighted his blush well. “I thought it was because we had just broken up at the time, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

Aether kept going, but you were already sold. You already wanted to get back with him the moment he texted you with all lowercase and no commas. You were fooling no one. Not Alhaitham, not yourself. “What, so you want to take me to the City of Love?”

Aether looked at you fondly. “You would always be the first one I’d think of.”

“I curbed your wanderlust…?” You were fishing for it at this point, but being deprived of Aether’s affections for a long while did that to a person.

You felt outmaneuvered. Shouldn’t you be letting him chase after you a bit more? Why were you discarding your pride just like that? Over your ex?

Your not-ex-anymore now-boyfriend-again smiled. “You became my reason to stay.”

Well. You were doomed from the very beginning.

“Aether!” Paimon shrieked from the other room. “You have mail!”

“Alright, alright,” Aether sighed, lazily pulling himself up from his bed and trudging to the living room. Paimon held a brown envelope.

Aether opened it and withdrew the contents, puzzled.

“Ooh!” Paimon gasped. “Two invitations for a wedding? Is it for Paimon, too?”

Aether ripped the other envelope, heart stuttering at the sight of a familiar name inked on the vellum paper. He blushed. “This is—!”

“Huh? For Y/N?” Paimon snatched the invitation from Aether’s fingers. “Why was it addressed to us? Maybe they were mistaken…”

Aether read something on the back of your invitation. “I don’t think it was mistaken.”

Written with a ballpen, it said, Hi, Y/N! It’s Aymar! I don’t know Aether’s address and none of my colleagues seemed to know where his residence would be…? (Probably because Aether wasn’t even in Sumeru.) But I assumed you would be staying together, so here’s my invitation for you both—I hope you can come!

Aether recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

extras!

the ending was rlly vague so let me add: aether was planning to go back to sumeru for you already and the wedding invitation was a perfect excuse—he flew out back to sumeru literally the next day.

earthtooz was making out with alhaitham & art was making out w kaveh during the reception which is why they dont show up during the end thanks

cyno brought his tcg deck and made tighnari bring his own—thats what they did during the afterparty lol

don’t ask if paimon was floating or if she was on the ground. sometimes we dont have to question things.

aymar was a name i just grabbed from the list of sumeru npcs—i don’t actually know if i butchered her personality horribly. if i did, forgive me.

THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE U ENJOYED!! LMK WHAT U THINK <3333 comments/rbs get a kiss from aether

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Six

The next few weeks at Dragonstone passed swiftly as there was much to do. After seemingly coming to a stall once the dragonseeds had left to take Tumbleton, reinforcements finally arrived. The castle bustled with activity, the sound of preparations and strategy discussions echoing through the halls.

A new Small Council had formed at Dragonstone since the previous council was overthrown in the Capital. With the arrival of Lord Commander Criston Cole and Unwin Peake from Harrenhal, along with the unexpected presence of Lord Larys Strong, deliberations began on how the Greens would retake King's Landing. The war room was frequently occupied, maps and parchments scattered across the table as heated discussions ensued. Yet, despite the fervent brainstorming, the ideas suggested so far proved unsuccessful, each plan encountering insurmountable obstacles.

Aemond, anticipating the need for sound medical and scholarly advice, had written to the Citadel, requesting a Maester to join them at Dragonstone. The Citadel responded affirmatively, agreeing to send a number of candidates from which the royal couple could choose who would serve as the Grand Maester on the newly formed Small Council.

However, it became evident that the selected Maester would not arrive in time for Maera’s birth, which was now predicted to be a mere fortnight away. When she first found out she was pregnant, Maester Orwyle had examined her carefully, his face lined with concern and concentration. “The very end of the eighth moon,” he predicted with a note of finality.

In the meantime, Maera remained resolute, continuing her duties despite the increasing burden of her pregnancy. Her steps were slower, her movements more deliberate, but her spirit remained unyielding. She attended council meetings alongside Aemond, her presence a silent reminder of the stakes involved and the future they fought for.

With the arrival of the boats from both Harrenhal and King's Landing, Maera found her belongings slowly filtering their way through Dragonstone and ending up back in her possession. Each day brought new parcels and crates, some familiar and comforting, others a stark reminder of the upheaval they had endured.

She was sure that Lord Unwin Peake had grabbed what he could from her rooms in the Riverlands after he received the summons. The items were neatly packed, a testament to Unwin's efficiency. But it was Lord Larys who had brought her belongings from the Red Keep, and Maera still did not trust him. The thought of him personally going through her property made her shudder. He was a creep, and his unsettling presence always seemed to lurk just at the edge of her awareness.

As she unpacked her things, Maera experienced some sadness that not all of her possessions had found their way back to her. She knew this was a time of war, and the Lords had probably only grabbed what they deemed as essentials. Still, it pained her to think of the personal items lost in the chaos, relics of her past now scattered or gone forever.

Among the returned belongings, her black and gold dresses emerged, rich fabrics glinting in the torchlight. Her jewels, too, were there, glittering with the promise of better days. Books she had collected over the years, their pages worn from frequent reading, were stacked carefully in a corner. Some of her weapons had also arrived, including her old hunting bow and a spear sent from Dermot years ago.

Despite the arrival of her possessions, Maera found she couldn't use most of them so late in her pregnancy. The journey on Ēbrion to Dragonstone had weakened her previous injuries, forcing her to take a break from riding on dragonback. The thought of mounting a dragon now was unbearable; her body ached in ways she had never imagined, and the weight of her unborn child made every movement a laborious effort.

There was no way she could use her bow, her swords, or her spear. She was too exhausted just from walking up the stairs, let alone sparring outside. The very idea of engaging in combat or even practicing her skills felt like a distant memory, a part of her life that seemed almost unattainable in her current state. Her once agile body was now cumbersome, each step a reminder of her physical limitations.

The only thing she could do was write letters to her allies. She spent hours at her desk, scribbling replies diligently, aware of the importance of maintaining these connections. Many letters needed to be written, but the task quickly grew tiresome. The monotony of correspondence weighed heavily on her, draining her spirit. There seemed to be no time for fun or joy.

Is this what being a Princess was supposed to be? she wondered, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. Even her giving birth, something she had once envisioned as a deeply personal and private experience, was now a matter of national importance. Her womb was no longer just hers; it was a vessel for the future of the realm, scrutinized and monitored by those who saw her child as a pawn in their political game.

Maera sighed, setting her quill down for a moment, her hand aching from the relentless writing. She looked around at the familiar trappings of her past life—dresses, jewels, books, weapons—all now out of reach, relics of a time when she felt in control of her destiny. The once comforting presence of these items now only served to highlight her current helplessness.

She rubbed her swollen belly, feeling the baby kick beneath her hand. There was a glimmer of hope in that tiny movement, a reminder that despite everything, life continued to grow within her. It was a small solace, but enough to keep her going through the long, tedious days.

The tender moment was interrupted when Maera’s chamber doors opened. Aemond entered, his straight silver hair swaying as he walked, cutting a striking figure in his own clothes. The green tunic he wore reminded Maera of her father’s eyes, her own eyes. She wondered if their child would have her eyes too.

There was still tension between the couple, both walking on a knife’s edge when interacting with each other. They remained separate most days, apart from the few short hours they would spend eating a meal together. Depending on the atmosphere, sometimes the meals were filled with idle chatter, and other times, deathly harsh silence.

Maera rose from her seat, one hand on her stomach and the other on the back of her chair, pushing herself to stand. The pressure on her back and stomach, as well as her injured leg and arm, was intense, but she managed. Once stood up straight, she sighed in relief and bid her husband a respectful nod.

“Is there anything you need, my Prince?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

Before Aemond could answer, a flurry of stewards entered, carrying wooden chests, which only heightened Maera’s confusion. She glanced at Aemond, searching for an explanation in his stern features. His violet eye, usually sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he looked at her.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. At the very least, we won’t leave till you’re recovered from birth,” Aemond said before gesturing to the chests now being placed around the room. “I thought I would bring you some things to pass the time.”

The Princess blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She watched as the stewards opened the chests, revealing a plethora of art supplies. The vibrant colors in the paint pots and variety of materials were overwhelming.

There were thick, rich reds and blues, delicate pastels, earthy tones, and metallic hues that shimmered in the light. Brushes of all sizes and shapes were meticulously organized, from fine-tipped for detailed work to broad, flat ones for sweeping strokes. Sponges of varying textures and shapes promised endless possibilities for creative expression. The parchments and canvases were of the highest quality, their pristine surfaces waiting to be transformed by Maera’s touch.

Aemond stood back, observing her reaction. His usual sternness was softened by a hint of anticipation, as if hoping this gesture might bridge the widening gap between them.

“This… this is thoughtful,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she ran her fingers over the tops of the paint pots. ���Thank you.”

The one-eyed Prince nodded, his expression still serious but with a hint of relief in his eye. “I thought you might find some solace in it. You painted frequently at home.”

Maera smiled faintly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. She could see a glimmer of hope in his eye, a momentary easing of the tension that had plagued their relationship.

Aemond looked down, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. After a moment, he suggested, “Perhaps you would join me for dinner this evening as well?”

Maera paused, uncertain. His gesture was thoughtful, yes, and it did clear the air slightly. But there was still a long way to go. “I require my rest this evening,” she replied politely, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Her husband nodded, his stern face masking the disappointment that flickered in his eye. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly. With a sigh, Maera then suggested, “But maybe we could break our fast together in the morning.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, and he agreed with a small smile. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm, and placed a small kiss upon it. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of unexpected emotion through Maera, causing her face to blush.

The Prince lingered for a moment more, his thumb caressing the sapphire and gold ring he had given her. The gesture was intimate, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed feelings. He then turned on his heel and left, his presence lingering in the room even after he had gone. Maera couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt at the thought of breaking their fast together, a fleeting smile forming on her lips.

The days grew longer, and for Maera, time seemed to stretch interminably. For the majority of her marriage, she had been pregnant, a state of being that was all too familiar for noble ladies of her status. It was common for them to be with child almost every year, a cruel arrangement that seemed to trap them in a cycle of childbirth until they could no longer bear it.

Preparations for Maera’s impending labor continued in earnest. The midwives were put on high alert, their presence a constant reminder of the imminent arrival. The chambers were meticulously readied with the necessary supplies, an array of linens, herbs, and tools placed strategically for the moment of need. Aemond, though often occupied with his duties, enquired about her well-being daily, either directly or indirectly through the castle staff. His concern was a small comfort in the midst of her growing discomfort.

The months had completely transformed Maera, both emotionally and physically. The trauma of war had left indelible marks on her spirit, and the rapid changes in her body were no less overwhelming. Her curvaceous figure had morphed into something unrecognizable, her body adapting to the demands of the growing life within her. Maera’s hips had widened, her breasts were harder than rocks, her muscles ached tremendously, and after all of her suffering, she had still not given birth.

The babe, now nine days late, seemed determined to take its time. Maera, exhausted and increasingly agitated, found herself in a constant state of anticipation.

The midwives assured her repeatedly that all was well. The babe within her kicked and wriggled energetically, a sign of its robust health. It was in the right position for birth, they said, and everything was progressing as it should. And yet, the birth did not come. Maera’s frustration grew with each passing day, her patience wearing thin as she awaited the moment that would finally bring an end to this prolonged ordeal.

Her concern grew as each day passed without the presence of a Maester. She remembered that Maesters were typically present at births when complications arose, so their absence must have been a positive sign from the Gods, indicating that her labor would be swift and uncomplicated, with no need for medical intervention. But if all was to be well, why was the baby still not here?!

The midwives had suggested confinement to minimize stress and give Maera a chance to take in the sight of her newly furnished chamber. The room was now adorned with a cradle, baby clothes, and soft rugs, intended to create a comforting environment and potentially jumpstart her labor. However, to Maera, the room seemed to taunt her, rubbing it in her face that the child had not yet come. The thought of staring at the same four walls endlessly filled her with dread, knowing she would go insane if she remained confined.

Desperate for a distraction and some semblance of control, Maera sought refuge in Dragonstone's library. She pulled out a number of books and scrolls, searching through ancient texts and medical treatises in a futile attempt to find something, anything, that might relieve her suffering and allow the babe to come.

After poring over several books, Maera finally stumbled upon sections related to pregnancy and childbirth. Over the course of a few days, she attempted numerous strategies to initiate her labor. She found recipes for spicy teas and drank them, but nothing happened. Determined, she took vigorous walks around the castle, pushing through the pain in her leg and the exhaustion that accompanied her efforts. Yet, there was still no sign of the baby’s arrival.

One morning, Maera awoke to a sudden pain, her abdomen squeezing and releasing for a few seconds. Her heart leapt with hope. Finally, some movement. However, as she turned in her bed, the pain subsided. Perplexed and cautiously optimistic, Maera summoned the midwives.

Upon examining her, the midwives declared the pains to be ‘false contractions.’ While they reassured her that this was a good sign, indicating that her body was preparing for labor, it did not mean the labor was beginning. Maera huffed in frustration, feeling the weight of disappointment. It was back to the drawing board.

Determined not to give up, she resumed her search for solutions, combing through more texts and experimenting with different methods, all while the anticipation and tension grew within her. Each moment felt like an eternity as she yearned for the arrival of her child, hoping that soon, her efforts would finally bear fruit.

After another evening of tireless reading in hopes of finding a miracle cure for her ailments, Maera finally stumbled upon something promising. The practice was outdated and certainly frowned upon by the Faith, but she had already done things the Gods would not approve of. She resolved to ask for forgiveness later.

The text she found described a method first documented in Old Valyria during the time of Aenar Targaryen, her ancestor who relocated his House to Dragonstone. If it had worked for her ancestors, surely it must work for her, she concluded. The excitement and desperation mingled within her, pushing her to try this ancient practice.

Maera made her way back to her chambers and summoned the midwives once again. They strongly advised against it, citing that she should allow nature to take its course as the Gods intended. Maera rolled her eyes at their caution. Surely the Mother and Maiden would understand her plight?

Ignoring their protests, she ordered the maids to dress her in a black sheer nightdress that accentuated every single curve of her body. Her hair fell loose into curls, a beautiful mix of brown and silver. She dabbed some perfume onto her neck and wrists, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air, before leaving her room.

“I was not expecting you here this evening.”

The stone walls of the room were adorned with tapestries depicting the fiery history of House Targaryen, their dragons soaring majestically over battlefields and burning cities. Heavy wooden furniture, intricately carved with dragon motifs, filled the room, and the hearth was always alight, casting a warm glow over the dark stone and keeping the chill at bay.

Now that Aemond had unpacked his belongings, the room began to reflect his character. His polished armor and weapons were meticulously arranged on stands and racks, each piece gleaming and well-cared for. Books on history, warfare, and Valyrian lore were stacked neatly on shelves, alongside maps and scrolls detailing strategies that could be used in the ongoing war. A dark green tapestry bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung prominently on one wall, a symbol of his allegiance and ambition.

When Aemond entered his chambers, he furrowed his brow, seeing the shadow of a stranger perched upon his bed. His hand instinctively went to his sword, but as he drew closer, he was met with the sight of his wife in her sheer black nightgown. His violet eye quickly widened, taking in the sight of her fully, his gaze raking up her body.

Maera attempted to appear desirable, though she felt nothing of the sort. Her heart pounded with nerves, and her body ached from the weight of her pregnancy and the exhaustion of her efforts. She resolved that this was merely a transaction to get what she needed and would attempt to play her part convincingly.

The Princess took a deep breath and met his gaze, her voice soft but steady. “Me neither,” she replied, her tone attempting to be sultry despite her inner turmoil.

Aemond's eye swept over Maera's form one last time, lingering on the curves accentuated by her sheer nightgown. Then, without a word, he moved to sit on the chair next to the dresser, beginning to unbuckle his boots. Maera sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct.

"I require your assistance," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady.

Aemond's eye flicked up as he removed his boots, repeating her words as if trying to make sense of them. "My assistance?"

Maera nodded and gestured to her swollen stomach. "I'm exhausted," she explained, her frustration evident. "And if I hear one more midwife telling me to relax for the sake of the baby, I will burn this castle down."

Aemond breathed out a laugh, the sound unexpected but welcome. He then began to unbuckle his dark green doublet, agonizingly slowly, and Maera could not tear her gaze away. When he removed it, leaving him in just his cotton shirt and trousers, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So what do you need from me?”

She gulped, attempting not to be overcome by desire for her husband. Despite her anger and the gulf between them, the sight of him stirred emotions she could not easily suppress. "For you to perform your duty," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

Aemond tilted his head, confusion evident in his eye. Maera clenched her jaw, frustration and longing mixing in her voice as she clarified, "The marital act, Aemond.”

The Prince smirked, a glint of amusement in his eye. "It's already evident that I have performed my duty," he replied, gesturing to her rounded abdomen.

Maera dug her nails into her palm, the sharpness of her frustration growing as she tried to explain herself. "I read in a Valyrian tome that the act can bring forth labor towards the end of pregnancy," she reiterated, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and irritation.

Aemond nodded slowly, his violet eye studying her with a hint of amusement dancing beneath the surface. He raised his brow for a moment, as if pondering her words, before decisively removing his cotton shirt. The action revealed his lean, muscular form, marked with scars that told tales of battles fought and dangers faced. Despite her current state of mind, Maera couldn't deny that he was undeniably handsome, and the sight of him after their prolonged separation only served to intensify her desire.

Pulling his silver hair free from its confines, Aemond's locks cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp features with a striking contrast. He spoke in a low, measured voice, his words laden with a subtle challenge, "Well then, wife, all you need do is simply ask me.”

“…ask you?” She parroted, her mind racing to comprehend his meaning.

“Yes.” Aemond stepped closer, looming over her on the bed, his presence commanding and magnetic. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, and repeated in that same low tone, "Ask me."

Her breath quickened in response to the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of his body. A mixture of anger and longing churned within her as she felt his deliberate attempt to tease and provoke her. She clenched her jaw, fighting the inner turmoil of pride battling against desperate need.

Their eyes locked, and in that charged moment, Maera felt the room shrink around them, the air thick with unresolved tension. She struggled to maintain her composure, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Despite her determination to resist, a part of her yearned to surrender to the allure of his presence, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them.

The Princess rose abruptly from the bed, her hands pressing firmly on Aemond's shoulders as she shoved him backwards. Her breath was quick, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and defiance.

"Coming here was a mistake," she declared sharply, her voice tinged with anger. She turned away from him, walking briskly towards his dresser. Running her fingers through her curls, she decided to play Aemond's game of cat and mouse. "It's a pity Hugh Hammer has already left," she remarked coolly, her tone laced with provocation. "He would have jumped at the chance to bed me."

Maera heard him storming towards her, and she glanced into the mirror to see his looming figure behind her. Before she could react, his arm darted forward, grabbing her neck and yanking her backwards. She gasped as her back pressed against his bare torso, feeling the tension radiating off him.

“You would dare let someone touch you?”Aemond growled into her ear, his grip tightening slightly. His voice was edged with possessiveness and anger.

Meeting his intensity, Maera asked in return, her own voice steady despite the pressure on her neck, "And what would you do if I did?"

There was a charged silence between them, the air thick with tension and unspoken desires. Aemond's grip on her neck loosened slightly, his breath brushing against her skin as he leaned closer. “Slit their throat and let the blood spray and drip down your beautiful face,” he murmured, the brutality of his words causing her stomach to do flips.

Maera's expression hardened as she spun out of his grasp, facing him chest to chest. Her eyes locked onto his with defiance and frustration, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of something more complex lingered.

"You're insufferable," Maera declared sharply, her voice a blend of exasperation and an underlying current of something deeper, something primal that stirred within her.

Before Aemond could respond, she made her move. Leaning forward, Maera closed the distance between them in one swift motion. She crushed her lips against his with a fierce hunger, the kiss a tumultuous blend of passion and frustration. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare muscles.

Her lips moved against his with a fervor born of months of tension and misunderstanding. She tasted the familiar essence of him, a mix of warmth and something distinctly Aemond. His response was immediate, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer into him, melding their bodies together in a desperate embrace.

Maera felt herself being pushed back to the bed, her husband’s hands venturing to her shoulders as he pushed sleeves of the nightgown down, the sheer material falling off of her body and pooling at her feet. Aemond’s hands immediately flew to her breasts, squeezing and massaging the rounded flesh, which brought her great relief. A soft moan escaped her lips as she surrendered herself to him, his touch fueling the yearning within her that she had desperately tried to deny.

Aemond pulled away for a moment, grabbing one of the pillows at the top of the bed before placing it behind her. He then dropped to his knees, his hand crawling along the length of her leg, the calloused fingertips dancing along her calf before meeting the soft rounded meat of her thigh. She instinctively widened her legs, inviting, if not begging him, to touch her, revealing her glistening cunt to him.

“Fuck, you have missed me,” he purred before swiping his tongue through her folds.

“Oh Gods,” Maera sighed as her husband lapped at her core like a man starved, his tongue delivering deliberate strokes to her clit, causing her to squirm. Each flick of his tongue and the firm pressure at her aching core intensified the desire pooling inside of her.

The Princess’s hands gripped the sheets tightly as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her peak. Aemond’s eye flicked up, grabbing onto one of her hands and placing it firmly onto the back of his head. All semblance of control left her body as she finally fully surrendered to him, whimpering as she gripped his silver tresses.

Maera allowed her hips to roll against her husband’s face, that oh-so familiar knot tightening in her stomach as he savoured the nectar of her arousal. Aemond’s hand squeezed her thigh harshly as his other moved down to let his fingers join his tongue. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure as two fingers entered her, whilst he peppered kisses against her puffy clit.

His digits curled inside of her, brushing against that rough patch within. The Prince groaned as he heard her muffled voice moaning his name, the sound of her arousal echoing throughout the chambers. Mere seconds later she saw stars as she gasped for air, the tight coil snapping as pleasure completely washed over her. She held Aemond in place, her nails digging into his scalp as he continued licking and sucking her clit through her peak.

The one-eyed Prince did not give her time to catch her breath before flipping her onto her front, her swollen belly resting on the pillow he had previously put behind her. As Maera turned her head to see what he was doing, she felt is tongue run through her folds, lapping up her arousal before licking all the way to her puckered hole, causing her to gasp. Then without warning and the sound of rustling fabric, he entered her in one swift movement, filling her to the hilt before setting an erratic pace.

Her orgasm had left her sensitive and she swore she could feel every inch, every ridge, every vein even more intensely than she had ever done before. She bit her lip, determined to not let any more moans escape her. She had already given too much of herself away. This was supposed to be a transaction, a means to an end. And yet it felt so fucking good.

Maera gripped onto the sheets for dear life as her legs began to shake, his cock hitting that rough patch within her over and over again with each forceful thrust. She felt his hand slide up her neck and tangle into her brown and silver locks before pulling her upwards, her back now against his chest, his breath fanning against her face. When his other hand snaked down to stroke her bundle of nerves, Maera’s back arched instinctively, hand hand flying backwards to tangle once again in his hair.

The pressure began to build once again in her stomach, blinding hot pleasure wracking through her body like electricity. She turned her head to look at him and took in the beauty before her. Aemond, his face flushed, his jaw slack as he looked down, watching as his cock disappeared into her.

Without thinking, she pulled his face towards her, colliding her lips with his. Aemond’s tongue slipped past her parted lips, lapping the inside of her mouth as he tasted her. After a moment, he pried himself away, simply resting his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air as they chased their peaks, their breaths mingling. The hand in her hair began to snake down her body, pausing momentarily on her breast, grabbing and kneading the flesh harshly, before descending further and resting on her swollen stomach.

It was intimate. Too intimate for what this was supposed to be. But Maera did not have time to dwell, her mind and body out of sync as her cunt fluttered around him, pulsating with a rhythm that was overwhelming, gripping and squeezing his cock like a vice. His release followed soon after, his hot white seed painting her walls, a feeling that she had missed, no matter how much she tried deny it.

After a moment, once their breathing had slowed, Aemond collapsed onto the bed beside her, and Maera turned to lay on her back, her hair fanning around her like a dark and silver halo. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her face flushed from her two peaks, her body feeling practically boneless.

She felt amazing. Desired. Wanted. Loved? No, that was too much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She felt his hand brush against hers hesitantly, as if he did not wish to scare her away. But she could not stand it, and abruptly sat up, her heart still pounding from the intensity of their coupling.

She reached down to the floor, her fingers brushing against the sheer fabric of her nightgown. With a swift, almost frantic motion, she pulled it over her head, the delicate material clinging to her still-flushed skin.

There was no time for tenderness or comfort. It was not possible. He had betrayed her, slain her kin, and almost gotten her killed through his sheer lack of action. Yet why did she only feel whole when she was with him? When she surrendered to his whim? When she accepted that her hate for him was also intertwined with her love for him?

As she stood, she let out a deep sigh, frustration gnawing at her. She was mad at herself for giving in to her desires, and even more so at Aemond for his infuriating ability to provoke her. She turned to leave, but her injured leg gave way slightly, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, her breath hitching in pain.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension. “Are you-?”

Maera whipped around to glare at him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. She didn’t want his pity, not now, not ever. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and sharp.

Without waiting for a response, she stormed out of his room, her movements brisk despite the pain in her leg. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to steady her racing heart.

Maera woke alone in her chambers the next morning. The bed was cold and empty, a stark contrast to the heated passion of the previous night. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, a mix of frustration and regret gnawing at her. She had allowed herself to become so close to Aemond, and it had awakened feelings she thought she had long since repressed.

She swore she could still smell his scent on her—leather and dragon smoke, a heady mix that made her heart clench painfully. The memories of their encounter played vividly in her mind, his touch, his whispered words, the intensity of their shared desire.

She knew last night had been a mistake, a desperate plea for aid to an adversary. Aemond had done what she asked, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. Or make her feel so good. It was supposed to be a transaction, nothing more. Yet, in his typical manner, he had twisted it into something deeper, something that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Such a devious son of a-

“Oooooofff.”

A sudden and intense pain seized her. It radiated from her lower back and surged through her lower stomach, shooting down the back of her thighs. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping the sheets as her muscles tensed in response to the unexpected agony. Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, willing the pain to pass.

When it finally subsided, Maera knew this was different from the false contractions she had experienced before. She immediately rang the bell to summon the midwives, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination.

The midwives arrived quickly, their faces a blend of concern and professionalism. One of them, a young woman with kind eyes, asked, "Are you sure it isn't another false contraction, Princess?"

Before Maera could respond, the pain struck again, more intense than before. She clutched the bedpost for support, her body doubling over as she tried to breathe through the agony. The midwives moved swiftly, two of them holding Maera’s hands, whispering words of comfort, while the oldest midwife, a seasoned woman with a calm demeanor, began her examination.

After a few moments, the older midwife looked up, her expression resolute. "Her labours have indeed begun," she confirmed. The other midwives nodded, their grips on Maera’s hands tightening in solidarity and support. The room buzzed with quiet urgency as they prepared for the task ahead.

A million thoughts raced through Maera's mind. Relief washed over her at the prospect of her pregnancy finally coming to an end, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of anxiety. Surviving the pregnancy had been one battle, but childbirth was an entirely different and more dangerous ordeal. The absence of a Maester to oversee the process only heightened her fears, amplifying the possibility of complications spiraling out of control.

Trying to steady her nerves, Maera addressed the midwives. "I know this stage of labor can last for days, especially with a first child," she said, her voice edged with determination. "I need you to assist me in dressing. I have a meeting to attend in the main hall."

One of the younger midwives, her face pale with concern, strongly advised against this plan. "Princess, you should begin confinement immediately to prepare for a safe delivery and ensure you get enough rest," she pleaded.

Maera, ever resolute, pushed back. "We are at war," she stated firmly, though willing to find common ground. "I will attend the meeting, and once it is over, I will begin my confinement. You can wait outside the chambers in case you are needed."

The midwives exchanged uneasy glances but complied. They helped Maera into a dark black dress, sparing her the restrictions of a corset. The dress flowed around her, accommodating her swollen belly. As they laced up the back of the dress, Maera tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside the fear and pain. Every movement was a reminder of the life inside her, the child that would soon be born into a world of chaos and conflict. As the midwives finished, Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself for the journey ahead.

Maera walked down the corridor, flanked by guards, her midwives trailing a few paces behind. The grand hallways of Dragonstone seemed longer and more daunting than usual. As she moved, a sharp pain struck, radiating from her back and lower stomach, searing down to the backs of her thighs. She halted abruptly, her hand flying to the wall for support, her other clutching her swollen belly. The intensity of the pain forced her to grit her teeth, her breathing shallow and rapid as she fought to stay in control.

The corridor’s dim torchlight cast long shadows, flickering over her strained features. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the rhythm to regain control. The contractions were coming every ten minutes or so, a relentless reminder that time was running out. But she needed to attend the meeting.

One of the guards turned and approached her with concern etched on his face. "Princess, are you alright?" he asked gently.

As the pain subsided, Maera straightened, smoothing out her dress with trembling hands. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, pushing her hair back from her face. "Move on," she commanded, her voice firm despite the lingering ache. The guards nodded and resumed their pace, Maera following behind, albeit slower and with a noticeable limp.

The midwives whispered amongst themselves, their hushed tones barely audible but clearly filled with concern. She imagined they were analyzing her labor, tracking her progress with each step. Maera pushed their voices to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the meeting ahead. The world outside the chamber was still at war, and she needed to be informed, prepared for the future that awaited her child.

She paused at the doors, taking a deep breath, hoping to keep her composure. The pain was a constant companion now, but she could not let it overwhelm her. Not here. Not now. She squared her shoulders, resolved to stay in control, and signaled for the guards to open the doors. The heavy wood creaked open, and she stepped inside, every step a testament to her strength and determination.

The grand hall was an imposing room, its high, vaulted ceilings echoing with the whispers of history. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, casting thin beams of light that danced with the flickering of numerous torches and candles. The cold, dark stone of the walls was adorned with ancient Targaryen banners, their red and black hues deepening the hall’s sense of foreboding and power.

In the center of the room stood the stone table, carved with meticulous detail into a map of Westeros. Candles were lit beneath it, their flames illuminating the hidden contours of mountains, rivers, and cities etched into the table’s surface. The soft, warm light created an almost ethereal glow, making the map appear alive.

The council members were gathered around the table, their faces a mix of determination and unease. Aemond’s gaze flicked up as Maera limped towards them, his violet eye never leaving her. With a subtle gesture, he signaled a steward to bring a chair forward, ensuring Maera could sit beside him.

Lord Unwin Peake was the first to stand, his seasoned face breaking into a smile. Maera returned his greeting with a polite, though strained, smile, her teeth grinding as her womb contracted once more. The pain was a constant undercurrent, but she refused to let it show more than necessary. Lord Commander Criston Cole looked striking in his Kingsguard armor, the pristine white and gold of his cloak contrasting sharply with the dark stone of the hall. A golden chain around his neck signified his status as Hand of the King, the heavy emblem resting on his broad chest.

Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, leaned casually on his firefly-embellished cane, his smile polite yet inherently sinister. He offered her a respectful nod, his voice soft as he commented, “Princess, I am surprised to see you in attendance.” Maera merely rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with him, and continued her determined walk to the seat beside Aemond.

As the lords began to sit, Larys continued, “If memory serves correctly, you do not have a seat at this council.” His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. “And with your baby overdue-”

Aemond was quick to interrupt, his tone cold and firm. “Were it not for my wife, none of us would be standing here in the first place.” Maera reached her seat and Aemond rose, pushing the chair in behind her. He turned to the room, his voice commanding attention. “The Princess is a valuable asset and a dragon rider. If anyone has a problem with her attendance, they are dismissed.”

The room fell silent, the authority in Aemond’s voice leaving no room for dispute. Maera sat, her breathing steadying as she focused on the council’s proceedings. The illuminated map of Westeros beneath them seemed to pulse with the weight of their decisions. Despite the pain and the tension, she was determined to play her part.

News from King's Landing was shared with a solemn gravity, each piece of information adding weight to the room's already tense atmosphere. It was assumed that Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, had succumbed to the tortures in the dungeons. Maester Orwyle had attempted to escape but failed miserably, resulting in his return to the dark depths of his prison.

Reports indicated that the smallfolk had seemed to accept Rhaenyra's rule, but Maera silently concluded that their acceptance was likely born out of fear. It was hard to argue against the people and their dragons who now held the city with an iron grip. The gold cloaks, who maintained their loyalty to Prince Daemon, held the gates of the city firmly closed, preventing anyone from getting in or out. The troubling news of Helaena and Alicent being taken as hostages brought no new developments, leaving an ominous cloud over the council's proceedings.

As the updates were fed back to the room, Maera found it increasingly difficult to listen. The pains came in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white from the effort. Her back felt as if it were on fire, and she ground her teeth to distract herself, sweat forming on her brow. Every word spoken around the table seemed distant, overshadowed by the agony coursing through her body. Her focus wavered, the room blurring at the edges as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Aemond's watchful eye had never left Maera, and his concern began to grow as he observed her increasingly pained expressions. Leaning slightly towards her, he asked quietly, "What is wrong?" Maera, still conflicted about their previous night together and determined not to show any weakness, shook her head, gritting out a terse "Nothing." Aemond, sensing the tension and knowing better than to press further, returned his attention to the meeting, though his gaze frequently flicked back to her.

Suddenly, the doors of the grand hall burst open, and Ser Alfred Broome, a guard who had previously served Rhaenyra, entered in a panic, his eyes wide and a scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The council members looked on furiously at the interruption, but the distress on Ser Alfred's face quickly turned their fury to concern.

The knight began to apologize for the intrusion, but Aemond cut him off, asking sharply, "What has happened?" Ser Alfred's eyes darted around the room, taking in the tense faces of each council member. Maera studied his gaze, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Ser Alfred stuttered, struggling to get the words out. "My Lords, a raven has arrived from Harrenhal." He paused, visibly shaken. "It is Prince Maelor."

Maera's heart sank, a cold dread washing over her. No. Surely not. Thena had gotten him out. He was on his way to Tarbeck Hall. The scroll in Ser Alfred's hand shook with his nerves as he continued, "He has been...he is..."

Aemond stormed out of his seat, his face a mask of fury and fear. He approached the knight in a few swift strides and snatched the parchment from his trembling hand. His eye went wide as he read it, the color draining from his face. The room fell silent, the tension thick as Aemond's reaction confirmed their worst fears. “Gods be good.”

The news of what was on the scroll quickly became apparent without the need for further words. The council members exchanged horrified glances, their faces paling. Prince Maelor, who would have become King, the last son of Aegon, was gone. Just like Aemond’s other nephew, Jaehaerys. The Blacks had succeeded; they had vanquished Aegon’s line.

Maera’s heart pounded in her chest as another, far more terrifying thought dawned on her. This did not mean the Greens were without a leader. Aegon and his sons were gone, but the late King Viserys had more than one son.

Did that make Aemond the…?

Did that make Maera the…?

“Arrrgggghhhh!” Maera lurched over, one hand gripping the edge of the stone table and the other clutching her swollen stomach. The pain that tore through her was unlike any she had felt before, a searing agony that radiated from her back to her lower abdomen and down the backs of her thighs. It was harsh, brutal, and all-consuming. She groaned, her face contorting with the effort to remain standing.

The suddenness of her movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. Conversations halted, and concerned murmurs filled the air. Maera’s vision blurred as she fought to steady her breathing, but the contractions were coming too quickly now, leaving her little time to recover between them.

She felt something warm and wet running down her leg. Panic surged through her veins. Gathering her skirts in a trembling hand, she glanced down to see blood flowing between her legs. A sharp cry of alarm escaped her lips. She looked up at Aemond, her eyes wide with terror, and saw his face mirrored her own fear.

“The babe is coming,” Maera declared, her voice quivering with fright and desperation.

Notes: *insert panicked Michael Scott meme here*

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[eddiernunson]

"Do You Want One?" | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

NOW POSTED

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him.

Warnings: late bloomer!reader, virgin!reader, mentions never having experienced lust of the sort or really understanding what it is, corruption!kink, little praise, taking of virginity, slight perv!eddie

Authors' note: I, myself didn't feel any sort of sexual attraction or lust until i was 15/16. I tried to write the reader innocent without being infantilized. Also, these photos are for aesthetics only, not much of the reader is described.

Word Count of the Sneak Peak: 879

Here it is, a sneak peak of my corruption!kink fic:

Eddie doesn’t ignore the way you subtly avoid eye contact from him, shyly looking at your near bare thighs. By the way, were you trying to get a rise out of him with this wonderfully slinky dress you’re wearing? The moment you crawled into his van he was overthrown by your sweet perfume and the way your dress slinks over your gorgeous curves. It’s too hard, impossibly hard, to resist leaning in for your sweet scent, to nuzzle his nose in your neck. The idea that you don’t want to leave the intimacy of the van any more than he does is enough to bring the urge to readjust the crotch of his jeans.

By the time he pulls up into the far corner of the lot, turning on his radio so it connects with the movie mid-beginning credit scene, you take in the way there’s sparce vehicles, spread apart sporadically. Well, you wanted intimate. You wanted close, now you got it. His freshly showered self with the mix of his cologne just adding fuel to the ever-increasing fire.

This fire suddenly sends the need to squeeze your legs together, not completely understanding the feeling, but there’s an inkling. An instinct that on some level you know what it is, but no one ever warned you it could be this intense.

The first act of the movie is shared by you and Eddie laughing at the same jokes together, grabbing candy from his hands when he offers it. You sip on a straw in a glass coke bottle, if only to calm the nerves combined with heat that has completely overshadowed any sense you seem to have. Eddie leans back comfortably in his fabric covered seat, a hand landing on your bare thigh.

Oh, that turned up the heat several notches. It starts to become clearer that this heat is what can now be more clearly defined as a want. A want for…more of his hands, further up, him, close to you. Closer.

As your thighs tense and clench under his touch, Eddie can’t hold back any more like he planned. His other hand is tucked under your chin, lifting your big eyes to look up at his. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, your mouth parting as you look up at him with stars in your eyes. “Can I?”

Your eyebrows furrow, breath stuttering as you peer up at him. You nod your head, glancing to his shiny pink lips. Every inch of air is tugged from your lungs as he leans forward, lips open as he places them on yours.

Eddie had every intention on kissing you delicately, the way he knows you deserve to be kissed, gently and patiently. As soon as the whimper leaves your throat and into his mouth, he forgets his good intentions. The kiss turns dirty, fast, the pressure of his spread hand increasing in the best fucking way, making your body involuntarily towards him.

Just when you’re enjoying the feeling of his tongue against yours, mewling pathetically against his lips, Eddie starts to kiss down your throat. You sigh, leaning back as that heat finally gains a resolve. Oh, god you were horny. Is that what that is? No wonder teenage boys are such perverts.

The combination of teeth and tongue is everything you needed and more every muscle feeling like jelly as he’s so damn good at it. Eddie licks a strip up to your ear, a startled and blissful moan filling up the car. He skips right past the pleasantries, past any inclination that you were anything other than wild for each-other. “You ever touch yourself, sweetheart?”

Only God knows why, but the dirty sentence just makes you hungrier for him, more eager. However, the answer to that jarring question is an honest and stuttered, “no.”

 Eddie separates from you, giving you a look, you can’t quite place. “Wait, really?” You confirm it, breathing heavily, gasping as his eyes visibly darken. “So, you’ve never cum before?”

The sentence makes your eyes widen, gulping at that gorgeous face of his. You think you know what he means, but you still need clarification.

“Orgasm, princess. Have you ever had an orgasm?” He asks, a hand placed on your cheek as he watches your reaction.

Oh. That’s what you thought. That’s an absolute and definitive, “no.”

His fingers increase their pressure, a reflex of from his reaction. God, you’re more innocent than he even knew. The idea of even teaching you what it means to get off sends a swoop through his gut, picturing you looking at him with those wide eyes as he corrupts you.

God, does he want to corrupt you. He wants to corrupt every inch of you, turn you into someone who begs him to skip class so you can guzzle on his cock. The way you stare up at him waiting for a response, eyes glazed over as you wait for him to continue kissing you, as if you don’t even remember you’re at a drive in to begin with.

His cock has never hurt so much from the blood rushed to it, probably an angry red at this point.

“Can I give you one?” He asks, thumb starting to rub on your bottom lip again.

-

Im so sorry it's so little, but I'm truly proud of the smut in this fic... I didn't want to give it all away. My editor currently has a lot on her plate, so I'm not quite sure when she'll be able to post it. If you want to be tagged when the full 11kish is posted, just me know.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

[genshin-side-piece]

The Collector

A/N: An expansion on this post. I've been struggling to be inspired, but this one has been sitting for awhile.

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, Yandere themes, Yandere Behavior, Power Imbalance, Dark themes, mentions of physical abuse, implied kidnapping, sexual themes, no actual smut (sorry), My bad writing

It wasn’t a horrible existence. After feeling like you had been here for an aeon, that’s what you had convinced yourself of. Your needs, at least in a basic sense, were met. The world in which you lived provided you ample food, clothing, and shelter. The weather was tolerable, despite the fact that it never changed, & you weren’t entirely alone. The odd little servant you had been given offered you some interesting conversation. Never anything stimulating or god forbid current, but interesting. You had taken many a nap to the dulcet tones of the bird like creature as it told you stories of battles won and successes enjoyed. Not of its own of course. It, like its brethren, were servants. They held no victories or successes, unless you counted the stain they had shifted from your clothes last week. No, the battles, the victories, the successes, all belonged to one individual. The only individual whose name you were allowed to hear about. Your supposed lord and savior, the reason for your present existence, the cause of your eternal misery; Rex Lapis.

Though, as you laid staring up at the false sky, it was hard to know if he was still your lord. The idea of him being overthrown was one you frequently entertained in your boredom. The potential fall of the Lord of Geo had provided you with many hours of amusement, but you had no way of knowing if it had actually happened or if it would happen. Rex would never allow your companion to tell you if it had. One thing was certain though; he was still alive. Your continued presence in the realm of his own making was proof of that. His visits to your little realm however, had dropped off. It felt like it had been a hundred years since you had last seen him. Maybe it had been that long, it was hard to know. Your realm, like you, was an eternal thing. It existed in a perpetual state of twilight, never giving away how long you had actually been here. Time, like the stars or the true sky or even current events, was not allowed. 

“Basking in the gilded light are we?” The deep, rich tone of his voice cut across you, shattering what was your peace. You shot up off the grass, your eyes boring holes into his golden ones the second you found them. He only answered with a soft smile. The same smile you had stupidly fallen for all those years ago. “Hello dearest.”  He was in a good mood or so you thought. Rex practically purred the word at you. “How wonderful it is to see you. I understand you’ve been quite well.” By that you knew he meant calm. Your last encounter with him, the one where you had verbally banished him from your life, had been a different affair. The circumstances of which you had since come to accept were still somewhat fresh then. You had felt betrayed, furious at his actions. You had demanded your release to the point of screaming it at him, only to be denied. Your rage had been met head on by his will. An unwinnable battle to be sure. On one side was the impenetrable wall of cold stone that shattered all who would refuse to yield and on the other was you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the result of your confrontation would be. Like everything else that came to blows with Rex Lapis, you too would lose. He would pick up whatever fragments were left and mold you to his will, just as he had the rest of Liyue. All he needed was time, a thing that thanks to him, neither of you had any shortage of. “I thought we might take a stroll together. The air here is quite pleasant.” He actually dared to seem bashful in front of you. After forbidding you any kind of real happiness he had the audacity to act like you were his first brush with love. “I have missed our chats. It would be nice to talk as we did before.” You swallowed. As you had before.

“You mean-“ A bitter laugh slipped past your lips. How many evenings had you spent arm in arm with him, parading through the empty plains, admiring how the setting sun cast them in a gilded light? The same field, and the same light you were now expected to endure for all eternity. “Before you tricked me.” Before he had trapped you. 

It had been so easy for him or rather, you had made yourself easy prey. Rex had played his cards regarding you well. He had expertly guided you down a primrose path, bringing you to its intended end when he had presented you with your very own teapot. A bespoke one, much like the hundreds of others that lined the walls of his home. You had always admired them. Always asked after the different designs on them. Each one was unique, a work of true art, much like the person he kept secretly locked inside. At the time of its presentation, yours had been plain and unexceptional. The simplicity of it was stunning, a thing to behold on its own, but a bit dull. After he had triggered his trap by bidding you to look down inside of it, you had to wonder how it had changed. Was it still simple or like the others, did it reflect your own preferences and personality? You would never know. Despite your many attempts to learn the truth, Rex wouldn’t tell you. The closest you had ever gotten was that it, like you, was a lovely thing. A wonderful addition to his ever growing collection.

“Now now-“ The gentle smile gave way to a frown. His features became harder, reflecting the disappointment he obviously felt by the harsh reminder of your feelings regarding your situation. When he was with you, he preferred not to be reminded that only one of you was a willing participant in this arrangement. He preferred the fantasy that despite his actions, you and he were still lovers. “Of all the paths we can choose to walk on this fine evening, let’s not select that one.” Not when there were prettier ones available to him.“The glaze lily’s have come into bloom. I thought we might discuss that.”

“Why? I thought you only enjoyed discussing the past.” Or was it the present? Maybe that’s why he refused to discuss anything of value with you. Your permanent stasis left you suspended somewhere between the past that he adored, the present he chose to ignore, and the future that in his mind didn’t exist. 

“Please don’t force me to be unkind. I should prefer this to be a pleasant visit.” As opposed to the others, which generally ended with you screaming at him or your own tears bleeding into the soft fabric of the bed after he’d had his fill. Sometimes it was both. This visit would be no different 

You knew why he had come. His attempt at small talk and a stroll were little more than foreplay for him seeding his desires. When his visits had been more regular, Rex would often attempt to pull the wool over your eyes with whatever served his motives best. So long as the encounter ended with him ridding himself of the carnal desires that plagued him without too much of a fuss from you, any effort he exerted was worth it. According to him, only you could quench his unyielding thirst. A night or day or however long it actually was would generally buy you a little peace. Sometimes you got longer or you believed you did. He had an eye for the exquisite, so when a new prize would present themselves to him. He would seize it.  He only returned to you when he had tired of the new favorite or they had disappointed him. He was fickle like that. Apparently not every gem was worthy of pleasing their lord. If they failed, they would be placed on a shelf, forgotten and abandoned for all time. You only knew that because he had threatened to do it to you. According to him, Rex would be remiss in removing you from your honored place near his bed should you continue to displease him. He would hate not to have you near, but that hatred wouldn’t stop him from setting you aside. Your current confinement was proof of that. “Will you walk with me dearest?” He held out his hand to you, his tone becoming less agitated with each word. He was trying to redirect the conversation and the mood to something more pliable, more pleasant. He could work with those. Force, while reliable, was always his last resort when it came to you. He had long learned that the rougher he got with you, the rougher it would be should he decide to call again. 

“Will you tell me about my family if I do?” He wouldn’t, his instant hesitation at the question was proof he wouldn’t. “Then perhaps how long you’ve held me captive? How many years have I rested next to your bed Rex?” If you were even still there. Like time, the teapot being moved didn’t affect you. The only concern you would have is if it were to be broken. 

“Dearest-“ He lowered his hand slightly, his gilded fingers curling in on themselves. “Please do not worry over such things…” You turned away from him not wanting to hear anymore. The idea that he was going to dismiss your plea for what you felt was the millionth time, annoyed you. 

Don’t worry. Don’t trouble yourself. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Stay as you are, as you were. Never change. Never grow old. Never move on. Never die. Just be. It was infuriating. It was maddening. How could you not think about it? How could you not worry over it when your surroundings were perpetual. Nothing ever changed in this place. Nothing would change in this place, not unless Rex willed it to be so. Since he hadn’t, nor was he likely to, your mind could only ever seem to dwell on what you weren’t allowed to know versus the lies he expected you to believe. 

“If you do not wish to walk, then I will join you in your rest. I am happy to converse with you here.” His outstretched hand fell back to his side in defeat. “The glaze lilies-” Gods above, to the abyss with him and his precious glaze lilies. You found yourself hating them more than you hated him. So much so, that you abruptly rose from your spot on the grass in a swirl of gold and silk, easily ignoring his hopeful look. “Have you changed your mind? Will you walk with me after all?” You turned, giving him a glare that you hoped would sour his aspirations once and for all. “If your goal is a leisurely stroll to the house so that you might engage in a conjugal visit, then save your breath. I have neither the will nor the inclination to listen to anything you wish to speak about. Just take what you want and leave.”  He didn’t respond, at least not right away. It allowed you a moment to try to get a head start on him. Regrettably, the opportunity for escape evaporated faster than steam dissolving into the air. Rex reached out to you, firmly taking hold of your wrist before you had the chance to get away. His grip was far from punishing, but the sudden contact startled you all the same. You made a slight effort to free yourself from him. It was a foolish attempt to be sure, but you still tried. Rex, for his part, didn’t entertain it. He silently responded by pulling you towards him, only ceasing when you were next to him. 

A quick glance into his eyes told you that you were in for a world of trouble. The amiable nature of which Rex had approached you had vanished. What replaced it was the version of Rex that you had become all too familiar with since coming here; the conqueror, the emperor, the archon. A version that unlike the former commanded both your submission and your obedience with a single glance. This version did not rely on simple benevolence or honeyed words to get his way. This version would, should he need to, level the world if it meant achieving his desired goal.

“When the time is right I will, as always, be happy to join you in the comfort of our bed dearest.” You flinched at the sharpness of his tone. It cut through you, causing you to temporarily regret the callousness of your invitation. While you hated him, the only thing you loathed more was awakening the temper that laid just below Rex’s cool surface. Beneath his upright facade laid a molten core, one that could easily explode with the right trigger. Your behavior, specifically your refusal of his initial request being that trigger. One glance into his eyes told you exactly how imminent that eruption truly was. He wasn’t interested in your antics, nor would he be especially tolerant of them. While he had come to you with a smile and warm intentions, both were little more than an illusion. A clever mask to hide his true reason for coming here. His already short temper coupled with his quick escalation of the situation spoke to a deeper problem. One that extended past the confines of your little world and into the real one. One that he had come to you to forget. That knowledge pinned you in place, a cold chill running the length of your spine. The last time you had seen this side of him crept back into your mind. It was an experience you weren’t keen to relive. 

While he had never harmed you to a severe degree, Rex had learned how to make things uncomfortable for you. He could twist your world how he liked, providing as little or as much as he wanted. When you displeased him, the general plenty you enjoyed could morph into austerity before he had even left. He would only return what he had taken when you decided acquiesce to whatever demand he had made of you. Then and only then would he physically reinforce his dominance over you, making sure you understood your place in his world before he restored what he had taken. The iron grip on your wrist was one such reminder. It was a warning of the discomfort to come, should you continue to be difficult. 

“That time though, is not now. My purpose in visiting you was not simply to sow my carnal desires and leave.” You tried to look away from him, but he tightened his grip on you, forcing you to look back. “I wish to enjoy your company.” His tone left no room for argument, despite your expressed need to do so.

You had wishes too. Ones that you had voiced over and over, only to have them fall on deaf ears. The idea that you wanted to be free to live your life, that you wanted to go home, that you wanted even the smallest chance to die were all preposterous notions in Rex’s eyes. He dismissed them as quickly as they came. Blocking each request with a practiced ease that only came from a millennia of ruling. The need to voice them again rose. The desire to pull your wrist away from his iron grip so that might walk away began to fill you. Still, for your own well being, you held both your tongue and your actions in check. Like him, you had enough experience to know that now was not the time to argue with him. His insistence had not reached the point of him dragging you behind him or hoisting you over his shoulder so that he might get his way. He merely had hold of you and for now, it wouldn’t go any further than that. The encounter wouldn’t end with you covered in bruises and unable to walk due to the force of which he took you. It could still end in an entirely civil, yet degrading manner. All you had to do was subject yourself to his desires. The question was, could you?

[evelynpr]

Genshin Official Relationships and Status

Something to take note off in character relationships is what their "official and known" relationships are. So, I decided to try to make a chart of one with the playable cast and some extras.

This is a draft though. If you have criticisms and comments, absolutely please do leave them because I don't think my interpretations of these government systems are that accurate.

Anyways, here they are! The higher the placement, the higher the authority. Distance does not apply, and the legend is in each of the pictures.

Mondstadt: That's a lotta knights

They can be split between the Church and Knights, but the Church is still under the Grand Master as far as I know.

Power is surprisingly concentrated to 1/2 individuals only for a nation of freedom...Mond you gotta work on that...

Jean, Diluc, Kaeya, and Lisa are arranged the way they are in reference to the Klee summer event where they passed on who was looking after Mond.

Diluc still retains his high position because he has so many high credentials and connections (The Darknight Hero, Mond's richest man, high status in an intelligence network), despite being the Ex-Cavalry Captain.

Rosaria is an official recognized nun, but her vigilante works are by her own accord, hence the colors.

I am not sure whatsoever where Jean and Barbara's father, the Cardinal, should really be placed, or if he even still holds the position.

Poor Noelle does so much more Mond, but is lowest in status...please just make her a knight already T__T

Liyue: Zhongli and his powerful lesbians

I really am not sure if Ningguang is who Liyue's closest "leader", but that is how I felt during most of Liyues events

I'm assuming that the adepti now have a lesser status in Liyue because of the shift in power to the humans during the archon quest

How high Beidou's status is is, completely informal. She's right beside Ningguang because they do find each other to be equal competitors in their own way.

Those directly connected to Zhongli are those I assumed to have taken direct orders from him, hence why Beidou and Keqing are not included although they do respect him as their archon (Keqing in her own way)

I feel like I'm missing people here, compared to Mond, so uh, help me out here-

Inazuma: They just had a civil war...woops

I am reallyyy unsure how to label Sangonomiya island's status. Are they under the shogun? Are they their own separate territory?

Otherwise, Inazuma is pretty straightforward with its 3 factions and families

Sumeru: The whole government was just overthrown

Are there like, genuinely so sages right now, or replacement Grand Sage??? Nahida you need to do something asap-

Scara doesn't exactly have equal status to Alhaitham as Acting Grand Sage, but I felt it was more important to show that Scara is working directly under Nahida

Speaking of which, the title "shadow" is used because it's the same role that Ei served to Makoto, which I find poetic. If there is an official or better title tho, I'd love to hear it.

Hopefully, as time passes, there will be more representatives from the desert with high status. Poor Candace is carrying the desert's status on her back-

Should I have included the Corps of Thirty even if there are no playable characters...?

Fontaine: Fancy Schmancy Titles

I honestly reallyyyy wished that Neuv and Wrio were on equal standing, but in the eyes of Fontaine, that probably just isn't true.

Even so, absolute do not underestimate how important Wrio's role is in Fontaine's justice system, because without the Fortress functioning as it is, so much of Fontaine's justice would fall apart.

Despite Furina's death penalty and retirement, I still believe she deserves the title of archon with the highest status. No matter what happens, she is still Fontaine's idol and savior. (Besides, if she wanted/needed anything, Neuv would give it to her.)

How high Navia, Clorinde, and Chevy's statuses are in relation to each other in reality is...not explicit?

Really, Clorinde is just another employee under Fontaine's justice system, and isn't a head in anyway, while Chevy and Navia are actual leaders. But, Clorinde is the best Champion Duelist, so does that make them cancel out...?

Anyways that's all from me! It's pretty interesting to me just how much of the cast are part of their respective nation's government, which only makes sense given the kind of ruckus the traveler causes. Have a good day!

[kometqh]

𝐒𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (fem reader)

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨; @hashcakes , 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 <𝟑 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞) 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲.

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚, 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

Pink waves grasped at the sand, their back and forth swishing easing your nerves.

You were at the beach, with your love, your husband, Finnick Odair.

It had been a couple of months at this point, after the Capitol was overthrown and President Snow was no longer. Though the Capitol was gone and all citizens of Panem had seemingly integrated into one, equal society, the scars and marks that you had been left with did not go away as easily.

When you had arrived at District 13, you could barely utter a word, barely look up from your wounded palms. It had taken Finnick just over a month to get you to look at him, to let him hold you, and even more to get you to speak. But when you did, he cried of joy. He had asked you carefully if he could embrace you, and kiss you.

The Capitol did not only take away your voice, but they took much more than that. Your love for the seas.

You remember it vividly; eyes covered by a mask until you only saw darkness, the electrified currents rushing through your muscles, tightening the tissue like a rope. All the while all that your ears could register were your pleading, muffled screams, along with the sound of waves crashing agains the shoreline.

It was all that haunted your nightmares for the next year or so, coming back with dripping fingers, taking you deep down into the void.

When you were rescued, you had to be sedated in fear of becoming a danger to everyone else.

Quickly after waking up, you had been informed that Peeta had brutally attacked Katniss, strangling her to near death. You understood his actions and what drove him to them, and you wished that the young boy would recover quickly, although now you were well aware that these kinds of scars will never truly heal, never fully disappear.

Lost deep in thought, you failed to notice how Finnick's muscular arms wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzled his nose into your neck.

His deep, hushed voice whispered, "What are you thinking, my love?" It never failed to send a pleasurable chill down your spine. Melting into his embrace, your eyes fluttered shut, your head leaning to his.

"Just... About the water," You paused, releasing a soft sigh, "It looks so calm, so safe, and yet I'm still so, so afraid."

You felt Finnick's fingers feeling the soft material of your sundress, rubbing it between the pads of his fingers.

His voice was soothing, dripping with sweetness as he spoke, "We can go back, love. You don't have to do this."

You shook your head. "I need to do this."

He nodded his head, slightly lifting his head to place a kiss on your cheek, his hands caressing your waist. He then slowly let go, one of his hands travelling to your shoulder, then down your arm until his fingers interlocked with yours, fitting perfectly like a key in a lock.

"Let's get this over and done with then."

You smiled softly, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

You stood a good couple of feet away from where the water met the sand, and yet your heart was still rattling like a wild bird in a small cage.

Finnick was trying something called 'Exposure Therapy' on you, as suggested by a doctor from 13. It involved you and the water. It took you a long while to be okay with showers, however the bathtub was not an option. That was something you couldn't overcome in your short time in the hospital.

Though now, as Finnick encouraged you to face your deepest nightmares, you felt grateful to at least be able enough to listen to and to watch the waves.

It used to be your most favourite thing to do in the world, and Snow took it away with just a lift of his finger.

Eyes heavily trained on the water, your mind had gone blank. Your lips slowly opened, stuttering over complete silence. You heard Finnick chuckle, and felt his body shake. He turned wholly to you, placing his free hand on your cheek, gazing into your eyes lovingly.

"I'm here, love. We're in District 4, standing on our favourite beach, watching the sea." Finnick said slowly, voice hushed as his eyes searched yours. "As long as I'm around you'll always be protected, always be safe." He continued, placing a tender kiss to your lips, and you leaned in, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

As the two of you parted, you nodded your head lightly, gaze never leaving his.

A soft smile stretched across his face, his teeth gently peering through the gap between his lips. His dimples were also peering through, and you felt the urge to touch his face, to feel his skin on yours.

"Now, we'll go into the water, is that okay?" He asked, but you didn't respond. You didn't nod or shake your head, you didn't utter a single word. All you could do was swallow down your fear, and shakily grip his hand.

Finnick's free hand came to hold the side of your face again, his own face coming closer and closer, until your foreheads touched and your eyes were closed, listening intently to the sound of the waves, the sound of his voice.

"I've got you darling. You're safe." He continued, and pressed another kiss to your lips. Your grip on his hand tightened, and your free hand travelled up to his hair, gliding through the golden locks, down to his cheek.

Your hand caressed his sun-kissed skin. You didn't open your eyes, and instead squinted them shut as you felt the fear creeping up your bones.

"Look at me honey, I need you to show me that you know you're safe." He says, nudging your nose with his. "I'm gonna be with you every step of the way darling. With me around you ain't got nothing to be afraid of." He whispered softly, his hand squeezing yours back as he took two steps back, pulling on your hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you could feel your breath beginning to hitch as you moved two steps forward.

You could feel your heart stop for a moment, before it began to hammer again. With a deep breath, you nod your head.

"You'll keep me safe, Finn."

At that, the corners of his lips curled upwards, his dimples coming back. You trailed closely to him, leaving an arm's length between your bodies.

The sand beneath your feet was soft, still dry as you trudged forward, coming closer and closer to the foamy, pink waves. You slowly looked up, and with laboured breaths, you noticed how pretty the cloudy sky was.

The rising sun casted a candy cotton colour to the skies. The rays gently grasped at the horizon, and you stumbled for a moment, your breathing calming as a light breeze took a hold of your hair, pulling it as it went past you.

A soft smile appeared on your lips, and you felt a snap of confidence rush through your veins. In the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick turning back to look at you, his small footsteps coming to a stop as he allowed you to absorb the beauty of the morning sky, his eyes softening at the sight.

You looked to him, grinning a toothy smile as you gave his hand a tight squeeze. With a nod of your head, Finnick began moving again, tugging you towards the water, his warm hand embracing yours.

At first, you only felt the tame licks of coolness against your feet. The confidence you felt quickly evaporated.

You felt terrified, heart pounding against your chest with a long-known fervor, but you also felt the smallest bit of comfort.

It reminded you of how you and Finnick would run into the water, swim into the unknown depths without a single bit of fear. Back when you were kids, back when you were safe from the ghastly tentacles of the Hunger Games.

Now, as you stood there, your mind was at war. More water began lapping at your feet, dragging soggy sand over your skin lazily.

"Is this okay?" Finnick's soft voice ripped through the air, and you looked up, seeing how he was standing over you protectively, hands ready to lift you effortlessly and get away from the sea. His golden locks bounced in the sea breeze, the sun shone behind him, highlighting his honeyed skin.

"Y-yes, it feels... Strange. But I can stand it." Your voice was merely a whisper, and it tugged heavily at Finnick's heartstrings. He looked you over, noting how gorgeous you were in your white sundress, miniature sunflower patterns decorating the entirty of the fabric. Your feet had dug deep into the sand beneath, your legs frozen still, unmoving.

"Can you go any further?" His voice was sweet, steady and full of love. You nodded your head, but struggled to move. Finnick took note of this, and his arm easily wrapped around your waist, guiding you forward. "We can stop at any point, just give me a sign."

The more steps you took, the more numb your limbs became. The water was cold, freezing cold. The sand mostly smooth, though a couple round stones and seashells dug into the soft skin of your feet, lessening as you walked further into the sea, the water rising gradually.

It's when the two of you reached far enough for the water to lap at the hem of your dress that you singalled for Finnick to stop. The waves were much larger, swaying your bodies upwards, but they were also much gentler at this distance. A blanket of darkness enveloped you, and you felt a trickle of sweat falling down the side of your forehead, numerous shivers going down your spine.

Your breath stuttered, and your eyes focused on the water, your muscles cramping.

Finnick stood behind you, placing his warm hands on your hips. He placed soothing kisses to your neck, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek. If it wasn't for him, you'd already be crying hysterically.

His embrace was warm and secure, comforting and mellow. His kisses softly ghosted over your skin, and his hands secured you into place, ready to whisk you away at any moment.

The two of you stood like this for a long while, enjoying each others warmth, feeling the gentle sway of the waves, and your heart eventually calmed, slowly but surely. The waves remained steady, passing by you as though you were nothing but a phantom.

Slowly, your feet began to move, until you were waist deep in the water, eyes closed in concentration, Finnick holding you tightly. Your mouth was dried up, and your eyebrows furrowed in worry, stress cursing through your veins, pulsing like your heartbeat.

"You're doing great, love," Finnick softly muttered, grazing his skin against your own, arms wrapped around your torso to keep you warm, his fluffy hair tickling your face. "You're doing so good, keep going." His voice eased your nerves, and slowly but surely, your shoulders relaxed, and you released a shaky breath.

"Thank you Finn, thank you." You whispered, and you fought hard to open your eyes, but the wet sensation of tears had stopped you. You began to sniffle softly, and soon you felt the tears escaping your closed eyes, sliding down your cheek.

Finnick's thumb quickly wiped the first stray tear away, but more poured out. Your quiet sniffles turned into hiccups, body shaking with every breath you took, with every movement of the waves. Finnick gently lifted you up, carrying you away from the water, until you were safely seated in the soft sand, far out of the waters reach.

"I'm sorry..- I- I couldn't do it, Finnick." You sobbed out, tightly gripping his white T-shirt in your fist, crumpling the soft material.

Your meek, silky tears were cushioned by his shirt, his hand caressing your back with delicate strokes.

"It's okay honey, you did so well today..." Finnick softly muttered into your ear, his voice helping to ease your guilt. You knew how desperate he was to go swimming with you again, to be able to explore the kelp forests and spend day and night relaxing in the waters.

"I'm so so so s-sorry.." You continued, and laid in his arms for a while, until the tears dried up and you were left laying in his lap, watching as the sun made its way higher up into the sky, the sea gently swishing back and forth.

You had been there for hours, silently watching.

You could feel Finnick's stomach begin to rumble, and you shifted in his lap, leaning your head back to look at him.

His eyes were boring into the sea, watching with furrowed brows as he was lost in thought.

"Finn... Finnick," You whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline, "I think it's time to go, I can hear that you're hungry."

He blinked a few times, inhaling deeply as he looked down at you.

"Are you sure?" He asked, unsure and unwilling to leave the comfortable spot.

You nodded your head, lightly sitting up but his arms stopped you.

"I think Johanna might be bored of looking after the baby." You spoke with a smile, and Finnick reciprocated with a toothy grin of his, shaking his head lightly.

"Oh she loves our boy, she's always calling asking to come see us." He said sweetly, his grin having turned into a soft smile.

"Fine.. We need to stop by the market anyway, we've barely got any food." You said, leaning back on your hands, sitting between Finnick's spread legs.

"I can go catch something, you know. Maybe some abalone or something, like we used to." Finnick said, trying to convince you.

You didn't need much convincing though, as you knew how much he wanted to go back into the water. Maybe someday you'd be able to join him again.

"Off you go then, but don't be too long, and- and be careful. Okay?" You asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry, lifting your hand to caress his cheek.

Finnick leaned into your touch, the soft smile remaining on his face as he nodded.

"I won't be long, I promise."

With that, the two of you stood up, and you embraced each other. Your arms wrapped around his neck, Finnick's hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

The two of you shared a deep kiss, lips moving together in sync as you smiled, feeling your heartbeat speed up.

The wind tugged at your hair, invisible fingers stroking through it as it flowed by.

Finnick's hold on you tightened, and you felt him inhale deeply, his feet shifting in place. You smiled into the kiss, and felt his tongue dart out slightly, ghosting over your bottom lip.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging smoothly at the roots, eliciting a groan from him.

You parted from him, hands leaving his hair, coming down to his shoulders.

His lips chased yours for a second, eyes shut as he nudged your nose with his.

You allowed him one last peck, and then moved your face further away, forcing Finnick to open his eyes.

"Go on, I'll be here, waiting." You spoke softly, the smile on your lips finally reaching your eyes.

Finnick nodded with heavy lidded eyes, his lashes casting pale shadows over his cheeks.

"Fine, but you owe me one more kiss." He stated quietly, his hand flying up to the back of your head, keeping it in place as he stole a passionate kiss from your lips.

He then let go, saying a soft, 'I'll be back in a bit', before he stripped his shirt, handing it to you as he flexed his muscles.

You laughed out loud, head hanging back. He truly never failed to make you laugh.

With one last hug, Finnick proceeded to jog off towards the water, his body disappearing further beneath the waves until you saw him dipping under, for a long while.

You sat in the sand, eyes trained on the water.

He would make a reappearance from time to time for some air, before he'd dip back in.

It took him a long while, but eventually he returned, swimming up to the shore with pocketfuls, one hand grasping a whole bunch of abalone.

You raised your eyebrows in bewilderment, extending the corners of his shirt to create a makeshift basket.

Finnick dumped all of the creatures into it, and you tied the ends together, a gleeful smile on your face. "You sure got a lot." You said, shaking your head at him.

Finnick grinned at you, and you looked him over, from his dripping hair to his toned chest, to his shorts.

There was one more, rather large, shell poking at his pocket.

"I think you forgot some there." You pointed out, and Finnick shook his head with a smile.

"This one isn't for eating," he stated with a laugh, his hand reaching into his pocket to retrieve a snail shell, "It's for you." He said softly, handing you the object.

You looked over it, your fingers tracing the intricate, dark red patterns embroidered into the shell. The overall colour was a faint rosé pink, one of your favourite colours. It felt hard in your clutch, but sturdy and strong.

You brought the shell, or rather conch, up to your ear and listened.

After a short moment, you heard the distant sound of wind echoing through the conch. It sounded much different to the breeze present at the beach, but it was calming, comforting.

You looked up to Finnick, unable to hide your smile.

"It's beautiful... H-How did you find it?" You asked, surprise lacing your voice.

"I looked far and wide for it, I wanted to give you something to remember today," Finnick muttered, his voice gravelly and deep as he tried to catch your gaze, "You did so well today, and I want you to know that I'm so proud of you darling."

He spoke softly, and reached a hand up to your chin, lifting it so that you'd look at him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head with a smile. Reaching on your tiptoes, you placed a tender kiss to his lips, feeling how his hand embraced your cheek.

"Thank you Finnick. It's beautiful," You whispered after the two of you parted, feeling the shell in your palm, "I love you so much."

His toothy grin stretched across his cheeks, and Finnick shook his head, gazing at you lovingly, his fingers stroking mellow circles into your waist, "I love you more darling."