#broodmare of a golden king

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing

1.01

The great hall was alive with the sound of fast-paced music, played by the kingdom's finest musicians. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows across the ornate tapestries that adorned them.

Making your way through the crowd, you nod and say thanks to the lords and ladies who congratulate you, while your mind races with the thought of what urgent excuse you could come up with to leave your own wedding early. The news of the sudden wedding between King Viserys second-eldest daughter and Ser Gwayne Hightower, the brother of the queen, had spread like wildfire. A magnificent feast has been made, with the finest foods and wines from across the kingdoms being laid out on ornate golden platters. The scent of roasted meats and baked bread filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of freshly cut flowers. The walls are adorned with banners of House Targaryen and Hightower.

Salt in the wound.

With a cup of wine in hand, you manage to place yourself by the edge of the hall, on the outskirts of the crowd. Your gaze falls upon Rhaenyra; the sight of her elaborate red gown with the outlines of black dragons sewn into it takes your breath away. She looks utterly beautiful—a true Targaryen princess chosen by the gods themselves.

And in comparison, you felt invisible.

Your hair is meticulously braided and woven into an intricate crown atop your head, adorned with gleaming gold threads and shimmering gems. The luxurious white fabric drapes gracefully over your form, its skirt flowing outwards in a lavish cascade of emerald green that seems to move with a life of its own. The gown's intricate design features delicate embroidery and beading that shimmer in the candlelight, highlighting the regal bearing of the woman who wears it. The corseted bodice hugs your curves gently, accentuating your femininity without being overly revealing.

You hadn’t lived in Kings Landing for so long that you felt like an outsider. Saying goodbye to the loyal friends you had made over the years, along with the family unit you had built, was devastating.

A knight from the king's guard bows before you, “princess.”

“Ser Criston, isn’t it?”

“Ser Criston Cole.”

The knight glares at something behind you, and you’re mortified to see it was Ser Gwayne. You let the first glimpse of your real emotions show when you observe your new husband getting a little too handy with the lady he was dancing with. Ser Criston opens his mouth to say something, but a member of House Hightower approaches before he has the chance to say, “Congratulations, princess; this truly is a grand affair.”

“Thank you, Ser Hobert; I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Hopefully you will be blessed with another child soon, a male heir, just as Queen Alicent has been three times.”

Your nostrils flare as you take a large gulp of wine. Ser Criston locks eyes with you and clenches his jaw. It seems he didn’t appreciate the unwanted comments either. When you say nothing back, Ser Hobert swiftly leaves, spotting another member of his house and going to join them. It wasn’t just the added pressure of having another child that offended you; it was the complete disregard of Alicent’s daughter, Princess Helaena, who was just as important as your brothers.

“There is little good to say about Ser Hobert Hightower, princess,” the knight says. “Pay no mind to him.”

“I believe he has a tendency to overshare his thoughts. Earlier, he was saying, Otto's daughter holds the king's ear and cock, and now a Targaryen girl will take his son’s cock to produce more heirs House hightower.”

“You want me to kill him?”

Feeling an unstoppable smile pulling on your lips, you raise your cup to your mouth in an attempt to hide it. “It’s not often I turn down such an honorable offer,” you giggle. “But unfortunately, you would be a very busy man if you cut down every man who spoke about a woman as if they were broodmares.”

“I shall be at your beck and call from dusk till dawn, princess.”

His playful tone has a calming effect on you, helping you drown out the worries inside your head. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to think of something clever to say, but you’re overcome with excitement when you spot your uncle Daemon walking towards you. You smile at him brightly but become concerned when the frown on his face deepens.

In High Valyrian, he states, “I’ve told that Hightower cunt if he tries to insist on a bedding ceremony again, I’d have his head on a fucking pike by sunrise.”

You stare at him, speechless.

“My brother is a fool. He is so oblivious to the High Tower's blatant power grab that he’s allowed you to marry below your station. You are a princess, and he is a—”

“Uncle,” you cut him off when Daemon's voice became louder, attracting attention from others in the room. You kiss him on the cheek, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by the Hightowers. “We shall speak further about this in the morrow.”

—

Feeling your feet starting to throb from dancing for so long with Rhaenyra, you go and sit at an empty table. Once your legs are under the fabric, you lift your feet up in a very unladylike fashion.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, princess.”

Knotting your fingers together, you look up at him. “In truth, I’d much rather be reading a bedtime story to Meera.” The small laugh he lets out makes you think the night doubts your sincerity. “You think I jest?”

“No, I believe you, princess,” he smiles. “Most brides would reveille in the attention.”

“I was never one for attention,” you say quietly.

Growing up, you were practically a ghost living in the shadows of Rhaenyra, but in truth, you enjoyed it. Your elder sister was confident, intelligent, rebellious, and confrontational. You always did as your father asked, and only after entering motherhood did you start sticking up for yourself. Life away from the Keep did wonders for you.

“It must be strange for you to return after all this time. Princess Rhaenyra speaks very highly of you.”

You glance over at your sister, who was dancing with a knight named Ser Harwin Strong, then back up Ser Criston. “I’m glad to hear that; I’ve missed her terribly living so far away. I just wish I had more time to settle in before…”

“Getting married.”

“Yes,” you say. “I’d never even met Ser Gwayne before today.”

“Well, he is a lucky man. I’m sure the king had many suitors to choose from.”

“Hmm,” your opinion on the matter of who you wished to marry meant very little to your father. “In the morrow, my father is going to pick up a personal sworn shield for me.”

Grinning, the knight leans in a little closer, saying, “Hopefully the king will make a better match.”

“Hopefully, Ser Criston.”

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Thirteen - It is the night to celebrate your dear friend, but the tensions with Jon only grow greater.

Note: This is the same day as the previous chapter

Ch 14

You have never seen a nameday so beautiful, the ones within King’s Landing are grand, opulent, but here in Highgarden, they are beautiful. The Great Hall is decorated with flowers, a feast the likes you have never seen set along the walls. The musicians are far more skilled than those in King’s Landing, and you find yourself enraptured by the fragrant blossoms surrounding you.

Margaery enters the hall on the arms of Tommen and Loras, Robb’s necklace in place, his ring on her finger, her gown is a thing of beauty, silk, and gossamer fabrics, delicate but vivid embroidery. Her hair is twisted up in an intricate style, her crown set between two strands of hair left down to frame her face, she shines in the dying sunlight, the sky behind her ablaze with pinks, red, oranges, and golds.

She and Tommen start the first dance, with those around them cheering to her health and the health of their marriage.

You have not yet seen Jon, and you are unsure whether you want to or not. He has been distant, holding you at length, avoiding you when he can. In the last few moons, you feel you have spent less time with him than you have the entire time you have known each other, and it is…strange. The distance hurts, he is your closest companion, your friend, your soon-to-be betrothed, your sworn shield, he has been by your side since you were five and ten. But now, now he is virtually a stranger to you. Not fully one, as there are still moments, times, when his eyes soften as he looks at you. When he carries you to your chambers because you drank too much with Margaery, when you learned he slept outside the door to your room when your travel party stopped at inns along the Roseroad.

It is those moments of warmth that worsen your pain. It would be preferable if he were to close himself off completely, act as the Kingsguard does, instead of this back and forth. Then in time, you would be able to bury your feelings deep enough that they would no longer be a sharp, piercing pain but a dull throbbing ache that could be ignored. That would be swept over like the ocean waves sweep over the sand.

Jon claimed his distance was because he was busy. That he was devoting himself further to his swordsmanship, that he needed to act with greater care and propriety in order to not draw suspicion upon you both. Yes, his reasons could be seen as understandable, but no one has ever truly cared. Since you were both young you have acted in a companiable and familiar manner, but now with the way he is acting, people are far more suspicious than they were before. How he does not see this you cannot understand. You know he is not an idiot but, it seems there are still ways of the court he has not learned.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling exposed without Jon at your side, perhaps he has grown tired of you? Your silk gown is a petal pink with silver embroidery, that cinches at your waist and dips low to display your décolletage. It is beautiful, but far more revealing, than you would normally choose to wear. Would Jon like it? He most likely would not even notice it, given how he avoids looking at you. 

Your hair is loose and styled in waves, and your customary golden bangles have been swapped for ones of silver, a diamond necklace is draped around your neck. Small rubies gleam from their places below the diamonds hanging from strands of silver. It was a gift from your Uncle Robert, given to you on your first Maiden’s Day. The irony is not lost on you that your aunt would choose it for the day on which she is attempting to sell you out like a broodmare. Though you will not deny, it is one of your favorite pieces.

Finally, you spot Jon, and it feels as if someone has draped a warm blanket over you, no longer feeling so alone among the crowd of strangers. He is with your father, which is both strange and not so strange, but what is strange is that Jon wears no armor. Instead, he is dressed in his house colors, in finery you did not know he owned, his hair pulled back, his sword nowhere to be found, and he is wearing rings, well one ring, a signet ring.

“Father, Ser Jon, this is quite a surprise. Have I been tricked, and it is truly my nameday?” You try to jest, taking a step towards Jon, a force of habit you cannot break, reaching to run your fingers down the arm of Jon’s doublet. “You look so very handsome, my champion, is this new?”

He takes a step back, avoiding your touch, and it is a dagger though your heart. He has never rejected your touch before, truly he must have lost feelings for you, but when, and why? Has another slipped beneath your nose and taken him from you? How would it even be possible?

Your Aunt Cersei was right, there is no point to loving men, they will always disappoint you and when you love them it will only hurt you more.

The hurt must have shown on your face, your father reaches for you, but you shrug him off, avoiding both their eyes.

Fine, if Jon wishes to be distant, then so shall you. “The Dowager Queen has a list of suitors she would like me to dance with tonight, I am afraid I will not be able to spare a dance for either of you.”

“A pity, but I understand, do have fun, little lion.” Your father says, giving your hand a pat before heading off towards the nearest feast table.

Jon remains in place, unable to meet your gaze. His boots are shiny, his strong shoulders, muscled arms, and broad chest displayed by the gray cloth that encompasses them. He is so very handsome, a marble statue, a god, an ancient warrior, a conqueror who takes what he desires.

Y/N now is not the time, you are angry with him, and he does not care for you. You internally chastise yourself, donning a mask of indifference.

“Well, are you going to return the compliment, or are you too busy to even speak to me?” You fully fail to sound unaffected by his actions.

“You look very nice, My Lady.” He says, in that same stilted tone that makes you want to scream.

You take a step closer, glaring up at him, unable to stop yourself. “Why are you speaking to me in this way, it is me, y/n, not some stranger.”

He sighs, and takes a step back from you, that same uninterested, stiff tone, drilling into your mind, past your walls of civility, hitting deep, triggering the tripwire of your insecurities and anxieties disguised as rage. “My Lady, it is not proper—”

“Shut up, shut up, I do not wish to hear from you until you stop acting like this.” You snap, anger boiling over in your chest. “Get out of my sight, Lord Snow.”

You turn away from him, blinking back angry tears, and search the hall for your aunt.

You have danced with an Algood, a Tarbeck, a Swyft, a Crakehall, a Blackmont, an Arryn, and Tommen to give yourself a break from the suitors. As well as a Hightower which your aunt quickly ushered you away from telling you he was a fourth son who had slid his way in, and not on her list. Now you dance with a Bracken.

Lord Hendry Bracken, who will be heir to House Bracken if his uncle does not have a son before he dies. He has light brown hair, ale-colored eyes, and a sweet smile. He is not necessarily charming, or overly handsome, but he seems kind and does not talk over you as the Blackmont man did.

“And then my cousin Bess chased me around the halls with a frog in her hand until her father caught us.” He says, laughing as he tells a story of his time growing up alongside his five female cousins.

You laugh as well, imagining a little Hendry running from a frog carried by his cousin, who was no more than a year older than him. “That is terrible, you poor thing.”

He shakes his head. “No, no, do not pity young me, after my uncle forced her to put the frog back outside, I ended up venturing into the gardens to ensure it had returned to its pond safe and sound.”

Your heart warms at his words. “That was quite sweet of you.”

He blushes and shrugs. “I have always felt compassion for those smaller and less able to defend themselves, especially when it comes to animals, they have no voices to speak with, so we must speak on their behalf.”

His sentiment makes you think of Ghost, of the way he and Jon communicate wordlessly.

“It is an admirable trait.” You say, giving him a radiant smile. You could not see yourself falling in love with Lord Hendry, but his kind words and humorous stories have lightened your heart, if only for tonight.

The song comes to an end, and you find yourself reluctant to leave him in favor of a new suitor.

“Perhaps we might exit the floor and refresh ourselves? Have you tried the wine in the golden glasses? The wine within is from a vineyard named for Queen Margaery, and it is perhaps the sweetest, most refreshing wine I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.” Hendry suggests, offering you his arm.

You take it with a grateful smile. “I have not, though the queen was telling me all about that very vineyard on our journey here.”

Hendry leads you over to the table and hands you a glass, you take a sip, about to speak when a flash of yellow and white catches your attention.

Jayne Westerling. You truly have no reason to dislike the girl; she is quiet, shy. Your Uncle Jaime described her as not a beauty worth losing a kingdom for, which you will admit you laughed at. But there is simply something about her that irks you. Something that sets you on edge, as if her sweetness is a farce covering a far more devious countenance.

You track her movements, your glass still at your lips, your grip on it tightening when you see her stop in front of Jon, your Jon, with two wine glasses in her hands. They have been talking, dancing, and spending time together. Is it her? Has she somehow stolen your champion?

“Lady Lannister, are you quite alright?” Hendry asks.

Jayne smiles, laughs, throws her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously, and you drain your glass then slam it down onto the table. “You must excuse me, My Lord, I have something I need to take care of.”

It is simple, find Margaery, have her direct you to her cousin who would anger Jon the most, and dance with him, as close to Jon and Jayne as possible.

The Tyrell man whose name you do not know, and do not care to learn, attempts to talk to you, but you are intent on listening to Jon and Jayne’s conversation.

There is more giggling, more flirting, and when you hear Jon compliment Jayne’s dress, telling her she looks like a flower maiden in summer, you turn to your dance partner.

“Do tell me about yourself, good sir, I am quite interested.” Your voice is not overly loud, but loud enough for Jon to hear, and it is dipped in honey, heated by the flames of desire, as near as you can fake them at least.

The Tyrell begins to blather on, and you laugh in all the right places, leaning in close, and letting him spin you in a way that nearly bumps you into Jayne.

When the song ends, you go up on your toes and whisper your thanks in his ear, letting your hands linger on his chest. You step back and giggle as you curtsy, agreeing to a second dance with him when Jon catches your wrist.

“My Lady, you are needed.” He says, his eyes steely as he leads you out of the Great Hall and down a side hallway.

The hallway is darker than the Great Hall, and it takes your eyes a moment to adjust. “Is it my father?” You ask, looking around, there is no one in sight.

“It is clear you cared not for the blathering on of that foul man, and yet you agreed to a second dance. Tell me, what game is it that you are playing, My Lady?” Jon demands, his eyes blazing, his hand still holding your wrist as he comes to a stop.

“How would you know if I cared or cared not for his words? Perhaps in the few moons you have been ignoring me, I have changed my interests.” You counter, fixing Jon with your own withering stare.

He laughs humorlessly. “You do not change interests, not so much that you find talks of hunting and tanning to suddenly be enrapturing.”

“I do find a good hunting tale to be interesti—did I not tell you to leave my sight?” You say, cutting yourself off before Jon can drag you off course.

He takes a step towards you, looming over you, his lips set in a hard line. “You did, but you did not say I could not return to it.”

“Semantics.” You wave your hand dismissively. “I do not want to see you, and I do not appreciate being pulled away on a lie.”

Another step. “It was not a lie.”

“Who needs me then? Surely it is not you, the honorable Lord Jon Snow.” You snark, crossing your arms over your chest.

He does not answer, simply watches you, drinks your torchlit form in.

“If you have nothing to say, then I shall return to Lord Tyrell, he had much to say to me.”

Suddenly your back is pressed against the wall, the stone cool against your heated skin, Jon’s strong arms encaging you, his head dipping low, his voice even lower, his dark hair still tied back and his eyes nearly black in the shadows of the hall. “You cannot keep on this way.”

You look up at him, still breathless from the dance and your argument. “What do you mean?”

His eyes flit down to your rising and falling breasts, soft skin exposed by the low-cut gowns your aunt had made for you, gowns meant to tempt your potential suitors, the ones you wished would tempt him. “You know what you are doing, y/n.”

“I do not, so unless you are going to tell me, I would ask you to release me.” You say imperiously, though you hope he does not release you. It feels as if it has been ages since you had his attention fully on you, since he dared to stand so close.

“The laughing, the flirting, the smiles and fluttering of eyelashes, the pouts? You are driving every man in the room mad with desire.” He says, his accent thickening, the rough brocade making your stomach flip, your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

“I am simply enjoying the party; I cannot control if men look at me, if they wish to dance with me. Would you have me say no? Answer every lord and knight who asks for a dance with an icy glare and utter contempt?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” Jon growls, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, his hands curling into fists on the wall above you, his chest heaving with the act of self-restraint. “I would have you tell them to sod off, that your hand is spoken for.”

“But I cannot, there has been no formal betrothal, and it would be rude.” You tell him, lifting your chin in defiance. He has been hot and cold with you, and you are sick of it, you need to hear him say it, hear him admit he still wants you.

“Others take them and any sense of rudeness, you are mine.” He snarls, gripping the back of your neck, his fingers spreading out into your hair, his touch is not harsh, but firm, for Jon is never rough with you.

Goosebumps adorn your skin, liquid heat filling your veins. It feels good to hear him say it, to see him so possessive, see him feel the way you have felt watching that Westerling girl fall all over him. “Am I? Because it seemed that perhaps Lady Jayne had taken my place.”

Jon laughs, the sound harsh. “The Westerling? You have thrown a fit because of some girl I met only tonight?”

“I am not throwing a fit, I am acting as an unmarried lady must, to secure a match.” You argue, throwing the unmarried part in his face.

He shakes his head, before dipping it lower, trailing his lips along the curve of your neck nipping at the skin as he goes. “If you wish to be a married lady so badly, my lioness, I will take you to the Godswood right now and throw my cloak over you. Would that suit you? Would that cease these unneeded flirtations?”

You draw a quick intake of breath, eyes fluttering shut as Jon kisses the crook of your neck, using the hand in your hair to guide your head, exposing more sensitive skin to his touch.

“Would my starlight like that? To finally be Lady Dayne, the pretty lioness with her husband who trails after her, devoted, desperate, a lovesick wolf pup who wants only to make his lovely wife happy?”

This, this is what you have needed to hear.

“Yes, please, Jon, I want to be your wife.” You say, your hands pressed to his chest, desperate to feel his heart beating beneath his doublet.

“I want you to be my wife as well, more than you will ever know y/n, but we must wait.” Jon says softly, and your eyes fly open, the illusion shattered.

You shove at his chest angrily; he predictably does not move, but you do it again anyways. “Gods take me, I cannot wait any longer. I cannot stand pretending I am interested in others. I cannot stand their lewd words, their stares, and I cannot pretend that I am unfazed by the stares you get, the whispers I hear, the maids and ladies that do not shy away from lusting after you.”

“I know, I know, but—” The sound of footsteps makes him jerk away from you, and you turn away from the sound, arms folded across your chest.

“Oh Lady Lannister, Ser Jon, I had wondered where you two had run off too.” Jayne’s voice is cloyingly sweet, and it infuriates you.

You turn towards her with a placid smile. “Apologies, Lady Westerling, I seem to have eaten something that does not agree with me, and Ser Jon was helping me to my chambers.”

Jayne makes a sound of sympathy. “Was it the shellfish? I find they are often the culprit.”

“My Lady does not enjoy she—”

“Yes, it was.” You take a step away from Jon. “Ser Jon, will you escort Lady Westerling back to the party? I will return to my chambers on my own.”

Jon moves to argue, but your expression is unyielding, and you storm off in the direction of your chambers, wiping away angry tears as you go.

You know it is not fair to blame Jon, he is trapped as you are, but you are still angry. Gods, your father was right. It would be easier if he was a Targaryen, then he could steal you away on a dragon. No one would argue, no one would be able to cite him as not a good enough match for you, they would have to accept the marriage or face dragonflame.

The sound of hurried footsteps nearly makes you turn, but you have no desire to see who is coming down the hall, especially not as tears continue to slide down your face.

“Lady y/n, please, wait.” Jon calls.

“What, whatever could you want?” You snap, continuing to walk forward, vision slightly blurred, tears dripping onto your dress.

He catches up to you easily, pulling you into a shadowy alcove. “I simply wish to talk, to understand what has made you so angry.”

You fix him with a stunned look, blinking away your tears. “How can you not know? I have stated it quite clearly.”

“I understand you are upset that we cannot yet marry, but the plan y/n.”

A sob rips from your throat, and you shake your head. “It is more than that and you know it.”

Jon cups your face, his own a portrait of guilt-ridden agony. “Please, please, do not cry, my starlight, I cannot bear to see you cry.”

“Do not tell me what to do.” Your words sound much less sharp than you wished them to.

He wipes your tears away with his calloused thumbs catching them as quick as they fall. “I am sorry, y/n I am so, so sorry, I never should have danced with Lady Westerling.”

You pull away from him with an angry sob, continuing your blind storm down the hall. “I do not care about Lady Jayne.”

Jon beats you to your chambers, opening the door for you, giving you no choice but to enter or keep walking down the hall.

You enter, keeping your back to him as you throw open the balcony doors, lungs burning for fresh air. You are suffocating under the weight of this night, of this unknown plan, of the hurt you feel knowing you can not go a single day without speaking to Jon, without being near him. Yet, he seems to be able to survive moons without you.

“Then what do you care about, because I am lost, y/n.” He says, and you can feel his presence behind you, still in the doorway, close but not close enough, just as he has been since he spoke with your uncle.

“You! I care about you, Jon, as I always have.” You tell him, turning to face him, throwing your arms in the air helplessly, tears streaming down your face.

“Then why did you cast me from your sight?” He wears that hurt puppy dog look that never fails to melt you, but your anger keeps you frozen.

How can he not know? How can he not see the pain he has caused you? Jon is not a fool, he is not blind, and truly there is no one who can read you better than him and yet it is as if you have suddenly been written in another language.

“You have been so cold, so distant, these past few moons. Then you storm up to me tonight and act as if I am doing something wrong. As if I am hurting you, when it is you who has been hurting me.” You tell him, your hands balled into fists at your side to hide their shaking. “Even now you stand so far from me, and I know you say you are training, that you wish to protect our reputations, but I cannot go on like this.”

Jon says your name softly.

“No, Jon, I cannot hear another excuse. I know my uncle said something to you, but is he truly the man to take advice from? Seven knows I love him, but…” You wrap your arms around yourself, wiping your tears with your sleeves, uncaring if they are stained with cosmetics. “If there is someone else, if I have lost your affections, you must tell me because I cannot understand what else would cause you to hurt me in this way.”

“There is no one else.” He says fervently, desperately. “Y/N I swear it to you, there is no one else.”

You cannot look at him, casting your eyes towards the moon. “I love you Jon, but I cannot bear this distance any longer, you must make a choice.”

“A choice?” He rasps, the sound so quiet it is nearly drowned out by the wind.

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but they must be said. “To end this strange game, you are playing and return to being the man I have known for the last four years or continue to play it, and I will ask my father to release you from my service and allow you to return home to Winterfell.”

Your words linger in the night air, the space between you and him not even the length of two grown men, yet it feels like an ever-widening chasm.

“You would release me from your service?”

You wipe away a stray tear, throat tight with grief. “If it is what you desire.”

“You would send me away?” His voice is strained, and you chance a look at him.

He is beautiful in the moonlight, a tragic beauty, as to look upon him pains you. His dark eyes cannot settle on one part of your face, as if this is the last time they will ever see it. The thought tears at the flimsy hold you have on your composure, and you press your hand to your aching chest.

“I do not want to.” You sob, curling your fingers around your necklace, desperate for something to hold onto. “But I cannot play your game, I am drowning without you, and if you wish to leave, if it will make you happy—”

Jon crosses the balcony in two large strides, and pulls you into his embrace, crushing you to his chest. “I love you, gods, y/n I am so sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you. I do not wish to leave, do not send me from your side, it would not make me happy, you make me happy.”

“Then why, why have you kept your distance from me? There have been so many things I wished to tell you, so many times I wished to reach out, but you turned from me.”

Jon rests his forehead against your own. “Your uncle, he spoke of his grief, how he did not wish me to further entangle myself with you as it would only cause us both pain.”

“Why would you listen to him?”

“Because I was afraid, and I felt…guilty. If he had seen it, then others would. I thought that if I kept my distance until we were formally betrothed, I could spare you further harm.” He sighs and rubs his hands up and down your arms soothingly. “Clearly I was mistaken.”

“Clearly.”

He squeezes your arms playfully. “It harmed me too; do you think it was not torture? That I did not miss you? That I did not curse myself for turning from you, that I did not drive myself mad trying to stay away from you?”

“Seems well deserved.” You pout, wrinkling your nose, even though you know you are being slightly petulant.

“Aye, it was.”

You bask in his warmth, listening to the sound of his breathing, clinging to him like a drifter at sea. “Is that the only thing you have been keeping from me?”

“There is more, I cannot tell you until the morn, but I will give you something to tide you over.” Jon says, wiping away the remainder of your tears with his calloused thumbs.

“More waiting, how wonderful.” You deadpan.

His voice drops to a whisper, a smile tugging at his lips. “My father is alive.”

You jerk back, shocked then delighted, soon Jon will be claimed, you truly will be able to marry soon. “Truly? Oh, Jon, that is wonderful news.”

Jon pulls you back, tilting your head gently and ghosting his lips over yours. “It is. Though I would rather speak of him in the morn, for I found myself missing your touch greatly these past few moons and have not yet gotten my fill.”

With a giggle, you melt against him, looping your arms around his neck, letting him tilt your chin up so that your lips meet. It is like returning home, laying down in a familiar bed, the stress of the day falling away. He smells different, a hint of spice, and you taste no hint of wine on his tongue.

“Did you not drink tonight?” You ask against his lips, your heart pounding as it always does for him.

“I could not risk finding my way to your chambers, bolstered by wine again. Not when it had been so long since I have held you in my arms. I feared I would fall upon you like a savage beast.” He breathes, his hands gliding down your body, the silk so thin you can feel the warmth of his hands through it.

“I would not mind that.” You admit, running your fingernails lightly down the nape of his neck, relishing the shiver it brought forth, a soft groan slipping from his lips.

“Do not tease me, I beg of you.” He pleads even as he pulls you closer, his nose trailing down the curve of your face.

“I should, you paid me such a horrid compliment in the Great Hall, it would only be fair.” You say, an indigent whine slipping past your whispered tones.

“I do apologize. I wished to say how beautiful you looked, how you shined, how if you were a goddess I would fall to my knees and worship you endlessly.” He says, tracing the curves of your body with his fingertips.

You let out a shuttering breath, eyes closed, as you allow Jon’s words and touch to wash over you, to ease your emotions as they always did.

“Is that better, my starlight? Am I forgiven for such a grievous blunder?” He teases, nipping at your bottom lip.

“If you do that trick with your tongue, you shall be.” You say breathlessly, as the tip of his tongue darts out to soothe the sting.

“As you wish.” He says, recapturing your lips wholly, his tongue meeting your own in a familiar dance.

A wolf whistle followed by drunken cheering has you both dropping to the floor, chests heaving, and hands pressed over your mouths to keep from laughing.

“Perhaps we should move this inside?”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film

[goodqueenaly]

Say hypothetically Jaime died or was killed while serving in the kingsguard anytime before Tyrion is convinced as a traitor. Who do you think Tywin would prefer to inherit the rock in that scenario, since he's made both his feelings on women's roles and on Tyrion very clear? Who do you think would actually stand a better chance (since Tywin cannot change the legal succession from beyond the grave)? Does it depend on where they are in the time line regarding Cersei's marriage?

A hypothetical covering the span of Jaime’s service in the Kingsguard “anytime before Tyrion is convinced as a traitor” is a pretty long period indeed; we’re talking about a stretch of time from 15-year-old Jaime’s investiture in 281 AC to Tyrion’s trial in 300 AC. (Let’s not even mention the numerous momentous events in Westerosi history in this period of time, much less the absence of Jaime at any given point would have had on these events.) So, all else aside, I think it would be very dependent on when specifically Jaime died in this scenario as to what Tywin might have done about his own succession.

If Jaime died prior to or during Robert’s Rebellion (again, let’s put aside Jaime’s very significant action at the end of the Rebellion), then I think Tywin would have had to consider whether he wanted to remarry. While Tywin IOTL never considered and would never have considered remarrying himself, he could take this decision secure in (what he believed was) the knowledge that he had his perfect golden heir, Jaime. However, without that perfect heir in his pocket, so to speak, Tywin may have felt more pressured to take a new wife, so that he could have a (male, able-bodied) heir of his own body. Would Tywin have looked to another wife, perhaps in particular another Lannister (like, say, one of Joanna’s younger sisters, or one of the daughters of Joanna’s brother Stafford, or his cousin Damon’s granddaughter Lanna, assuming any were the right age), in order to produce another perfect Lannister male heir? It’s at least possible. (How naming the son of a second wife as his heir would have been affected by the Widow’s Law is of course a completely unanswerable question.) 

Alternatively, Tywin may have looked to Cersei as the producer of his eventual heir. Admittedly, such a plan might have clashed with Tywin’s royal ambitions for Cersei, but between the throne and Casterly Rock, I think Tywin may well have chosen the latter. While I doubt Tywin would have seriously invested in Cersei as a future lady in her own right (any more than he did in Cersei as a queen and future queen mother and regent), I could see Tywin seeing Cersei as an acceptable Lannister broodmare, through which his own precious (to him) bloodline could be preserved and produced in an acceptable (read: male) heir. (Again, it’s far too speculative to determine whom Tywin might have chosen as Cersei’s husband, but I could see a Lannister kinsman like cousin Daven or even uncle Tyrek being selected to reinforce Tywin’s Lannister superiority.)

If Jaime died after Robert’s Rebellion but before the death of Joffrey, then I could see where Tywin would simply have seized Tommen from Cersei and raised him as a Lannister heir. There would have been some historical precedent for this, with Lucerys Velaryon being in his lifetime his “grandfather” Corlys’ heir as (ostensibly) the second son of Corlys’ late son, Laenor. With Joffrey assumed to inherit the Iron Throne, Tywin would have, in a sense, the large-scale Lannister political domination he had attempted to achieve in ASOS (notably expressed through the twin Valyrian steel swords made from Ice): the King on the Iron Throne and the Lord of Casterly Rock as the two heads of the Lannister family, inextricably binding the throne to House Lannister in perpetuity.  

If Jaime died in the short window between the Purple Wedding and Tyrion losing his trial by combat, then I think Tywin would have had to choose (or at least believed he had to choose) between versions of the above. Given that Tywin IOTL was ready to taking the new King Tommen back to the Rock to “learn to be a Lannister”, I could see Tywin perhaps simply naming Tommen his heir and installing him at an official or de facto new royal court at the Rock (something along what he had done during Aerys II's reign), fully merging the identities of the royal dynasty and House Lannister as he had begun to ahead of Joffrey’s wedding. Tywin may also have pushed the idea of Cersei’s remarriage even harder in this scenario, which he was already beginning to do IOTL (though whether he would have been so eager to wed her to Oberyn Martell, his preferred choice in ASOS, with Oberyn now poised to father the next generation of Lannister heirs is a more speculative question). Tywin may even have decided that when Tommen had sons of his own, the second son would inherit Casterly Rock - though this succession idea may have been too uncertain for Tywin’s taste, given that Tommen was probably the better part of a decade away from fathering multiple sons of his own (let’s put aside Cregan Stark’s apparent willingness to bet on a similar potential through the Pact of Ice and Fire).

About the only certain takeaway I think we can have in any version of this scenario is that Tywin would have done everything in his power to keep Casterly Rock out of Tyrion’s hands. While Tywin may not have gone quite so far as forcing Tyrion into the Faith, Citadel, or Night’s Watch - Tywin’s obsessive focus on Lannister exceptionalism (and the primacy of his own line within that) meaning that even the lowest and least of the main-line Lannisters, as he saw Tyrion, was superior in rank to every other aristocrat, and so unfit for a life of servitude - I very much believe Tywin would never admit that Tyrion had any right to Casterly Rock (much less the best claim as the most senior eligible legitimate male descendant of Tywin even IOTL). 

[mybeautifuldelirium]

Centuries Apart Part 2 || Aemond Targaryen x got!Reader

CHAPTER LIST (plz read or it might not make much sense)

A/N: here’s part 2 lovelies xx hope you enjoy how the story unfolds

Lmk if u want part 3

Summary: How are Y/N and Aemond going to react to their betrothal and will Y/N learn how to adapt and survive in this era of ambition and cruelty and can she learn to tolerate her husband to be?

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, idk if this would be considered incest tbh lol

“Perhaps becoming your wife and bearing your heirs will keep her faithful” Otto grinned, caressing Y/N’s silver locks.

These words, these damned words, they echoed through the throne room like a curse, all faces, once again staring in disbelief.

“Father, you don’t mean this” Alicent’s eyes widened as she walked in front of her younger son as if trying to protect him from a dangerous beast “You won’t sacrifice my son to this witch”

“Mother” Aemond whispered, gently placing his hand on Alicent’s shoulder “With all due respect, grandfather, don’t you believe there are more favorable options for a union that could actually bring forth valuable allies?” The prince scowled with disgust as he glanced at Y/N.

“The decision is final and I believe, his grace, king Aegon would agree to its benefits” Otto raised his voice, turning his head towards the young king with a stern look on his face.

“And what makes you believe I’d agree to this?” Y/N finally spoke up in disbelief, after the initial shock of the news had just washed away “I’m a Targaryen princess, the blood of the dragon, not a slave or a broodmare for sale. This was never part of my offer of alliance-”

“Silence woman” Aegon stood up from the throne, making his way towards the girl “We are being merciful enough to spare your life and put our trust in your guidance. You are to marry my brother and pledge your loyalty to the crown if you so value our house’s future, as you claim” he smirked, locking his gaze with Aemond’s displeased one “Right, dear brother?”

The one eyed prince scoffed at the king’s words, the very same king who moments ago was desperately begging him for help to flee the Crownlands, now playing the part of a ruler. But Aemond knew better than to disobey the crown, he nodded and gave an almost unnoticeable bow to Aegon before storming out of the hall, the same way he had entered.

“It is settled then, the wedding will take place in a fortnight” Otto smirked deviously “Lady Y/N we will be sure to provide you with a maid and a private chamber, that is until you are to share the one of your future husband”

The girl wanted to protest, she wanted to scream or run far away, she had seen what her sister had endured after being sold as a bride to Khal Drogo and now this same fate seemed to come upon her. This was not how things were supposed to go, none of this was according to her plan but she knew there was no way back she knew that this was her only chance to change the fate of House Targaryen.

-

Her chambers were modest in size yet still lavishly decorated with gold and expensive fabrics. Y/N was sitting on the small daybed, gazing through the window. Her whole life she had dreamed of living in this very castle, the home of her ancestors that was taken away from her family, but now this beautiful childhood dream had turned into a cruel curse.

“M-my lady” the timid voice of a young girl brought the princess back from her thoughts “I-I’m Lysa, I was appointed to serve as your maid”

She looked no older than five and ten, a scrawny thing with golden locks, tied into two simple braids.

“That won’t be necessary” Y/N mumbled, returning her attention towards the view from the window “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself”

“Please my lady, the hand will punish me if I defy his orders” Lysa fell to her knees, her eyes filled with desperation and dread “I promise to be loyal and serve you faithfully”

These words made Y/N stand up from her spot and approach the young girl, perhaps having someone loyal by her side, could prove beneficial in this realm of ambition and cruelty “Ok then, but you’re to serve only me, you’ll be my eyes and ears in this castle, I am to know everything that goes on and I will swear to protect you” she whispered, a slight smirk playing on her lips. If they wanted her to play a part of their game by their rules, she was sure to do so.

“Of course my lady, I promise, thank you” Lysa hastily nodded in relief.

-

A feast was to be held in honor of the new king, a deceitful attempt to bring forth alliances from the noble houses.

“Your dress for the feast, my lady” Lysa entered Y/N’s chambers, holding a simple emerald green gown with gold stitchings “Her grace, queen Alicent chose it for you”

“I want another dress, bring me the dressmaker” the princess furrowed her brows “Those are not the colors of my house”

“But, t-the queen”

“You serve me, Lysa. Don’t you forget our deal” Y/N whispered, a dark smile lingering on her lips.

-

An elegant black dress with striking red embroidery was the one she chose, her silver looks tied into intricate braids, mimicking the ones her sister Daenerys always used to wear. Many heads were turned as Y/N entered the great hall, all curious eyes, staring at the unknown Targaryen maiden.

She looked over at the table of the royal family, meeting the disapproving gaze of Alicent.

“Ah, glad to have you join us, lady Y/N” Aegon sneered “Why don’t you sit by your future husband”

The girl mumbled something under her breath as she took her seat besides Aemond who was yet to acknowledge her presence.

“I see you’ve worn a different dress” the queen flashed a fake smile “Was the one I sent, perhaps not to your likings?”

“It was a lovely garment, your grace, but I deem it more appropriate to represent the colors of my house as you do yours” Y/N grinned slyly, taking a sip of her wine.

“I think you look ravishing in it, my lady” Aegon smirked “Don’t you agree dear brother? Or perhaps you’d rather see your lovely betrothed without it?” he laughed, nudging at the younger prince’s arm.

Y/N cringed at the indecorous remark, briefly glancing at Aemond who seemed uninterested in the whole ordeal, yet she could have sworn that just moments ago, he had been eyeing her.

“Let’s have a toast to the betrothal of my beloved brother” Aegon stood up lifting his golden goblet “May you have a very progenitive marriage” he glanced at Y/N with a sly grin.

“Thank you, your grace, I would also like to toast to my future wife who is at last to become a true member of house Targaryen” Aemond smirked deviously, finally allowing his gaze to openly travel to Y/N’s face.

This crude insinuation ignited a fire of rage in the young princess as she abruptly got up, splashing her wine at Aemond’s smug face.

The entirety of the hall fell silent, Y/N could almost feel Alicent and Otto’s angry stares burning holes on her back while Aegon was sniggering like a child.

The realization of what she had done in front of all those noble houses suddenly hit her and before the prince was able to curse her out, she was kneeling before him with a small rag in her hand.

“Oh, forgive my clumsiness, my prince, here, allow me to help you” the girl innocently batted her eyelashes at the one eyed prince who was staring back at her in disbelief.

Promptly, the feast endured, people long forgotten about the incident. While Y/N was wiping away the wine off Aemond’s face, she carefully examined his features. His expression was blank but she could sense the anger and humiliation through his presence.

Her eyes fell on the deep scar, appearing from under his eyepatch, she had heard tales of how the infamous Targaryen prince had lost his eye and she knew of the precious sapphire that had taken its place, making her wonder if she’d ever see it.

As she gently slid the rag near the scar, unexpectedly, Aemond’s hand firmly grabbed hers.

“Be careful next time, my lady, this ‘clumsiness’ could cost you much one day” he smirked

“I’m not a mere lady, my prince, I’m a princess” Y/N hissed, abruptly pulling her hand from his grip.

-

The remainder of the feast was rather uneventful in comparison to the prior affairs. Y/N had decided to take a small stroll through the keep in hopes of clearing her mind, oh how she wished Dany could be there with her. The princess’s eyes welled up at the thought of her sister but something or rather someone lurking in the shadows brought her back to reality.

“Up so late, dear bride” the dreadfully familiar voice of Aemond echoed through the corridor as he revealed himself “Don’t you deem inappropriate for a betrothed lady to wander alone at this hour?” His taunting words sent shivers down her back.

“I don’t believe I shall need your permission, my prince”

“Oh but you do, am I not to be your lord husband?” He sneered, twisting a silver lock of her hair between his pale fingers “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? At least now your babes will be true Targaryens”

“Gaomagon daor tymagon lēda nyke, ñuha dārilaros. Kesā jiōragon zaltan” (do not toy with me, my prince; you will get burned) Y/N spat, taking a step towards him.

For a mere second, a look of disbelief washed over Aemond’s face, but he was quick to pull back his composure.

“Oh, sīr īlva riña gīmigon se Valyrīha ēngos?” (oh, so our lady knows the Valyrian tongue?) the prince inquired, the sly smirk returning on his lips.

“Dōrī nārhēdegon, ñuha dārilaros, eman se ānogar hen zaldrīzes isse nyke. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa” (never forget, my prince, I have the blood of the dragon. Valyrian is my mother tongue) she deviously grinned back at him before heading back towards her chambers. ‘Twas a game, she was prepared to play.

Tag list:

@ellathefriendlyalpacaaa

@believeinthefireflies95

@caspianobsessed

@hayoooos-blog

@kitkat-writes-stuff

@rhaenyracole

@gardasngan

@brezzybfan

@strollthroughstars29

@dangerousbluebirdpoetry

@missusnora

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@neenieweenie

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@queenofshinigamis

@shine101

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@zgzgzh

@fandom-rpblog

@dani5216

@mysticalmermaidlove

[novankenn]

Head Count

/== Master Post List ==/

Pyrrha, Glynda, Weiss and Penny were all standing around a table littered with pictures and dossiers. On the wall behind them were lists, showing the complete breakdown of who was part of the court of the "Red Queen" and "Golden King".

Glynda: So as you can see my Queen...

Pyrrha: Please Glynda we are sisters in this cause.

Weiss: I must object. You are the "Red Queen" spouse to be of the "Golden King" and we are you loyal advisors, and ladies in waiting.

Pyrrha: We are all united in the want to give the King Mother grand-babies. That makes us sisters.

Penny: I am sorry my majesty. You are betrothed to his Majesty Jaune. While we are happy and honored to be brood mare....

Pyrrha: NO! Do NOT speak of yourselves as such! You will sisters wives and the mothers to the greatest family Remnant has ever witnessed. You are NOT broodmares! Do not refre to yourselves as such!

Glynda: Understood, but you must also understand as Jaune's betrothed and the first accepted by his mother... you are the queen.

Pyrrha: We are sisters.

Weiss: Yet you are still our queen.

Pyrrha: Shall we continue? Neo will only be able to occupy Jaune for so long.

Glynda: Yes my queen. Our count is as follows. You and Jaune are not included as you are the progenitors of this family. Neo as well is not included in the listings as her semblance allows her... versatility.

Progenitors : Jaune Arc & Pyrrha Nikos The "Wild Card": Neopolitan

Weiss: So in the BBMs side we have...

Pyrrha: BBM's?

Penny: Blonde Baby Mamas.

Pyrrha: Ah. So then RBMs would be Red Baby Momas?

Penny: Correct.

Weiss: So in the BBM's we have, myself, Glynda, Arslan, Fiona and Dew. So five sisters.

Blond Baby Mamas: Glynda Goodwitch, Weiss Schnee, Arslan Atlan, Dew Gayl, Fiona Thyme

Penny: In the RBMs we have myself, Octavia, Neon, Ruby, and May, which also gives us a total of five

Red-Head Baby Mamas: Ruby Rose, May Zednog, Octaiva Ember, Penny Polendina, Neon Katt

Glynda: So not including myself, we have eleven young women capable of bearing children, with an estimated theoretical maximum of 15 pregnancies each... that is approximately 165 children if each pregnancy is of a single birth.

Pyrrha: Not enough.

Penny: My Queen?

Pyrrha: It's not enough!

Weiss: We estimate if we all start getting pregnant now, including Sister Glynda's age, we should be able to provide Jaune and the King Mother with around 172 children, again if every pregnancy only results in a single birth.

Pyrrha: It's still not enough. We MUST be a family of no equal. A force of our own!

Penny: How many do you feel would be an adaquate number to show our devotion, and be as you put it a "force of its own?"

Pyrrha: 200.

Penny: Then we will require two more sisters, at minimum.

Pyrrha: But the question sis whom. The King Mother has very specific requirements.

Glynda: We are aware. Blonde or Red-haired. But we considered that we may need to expand our ranks... so we have made a list of "potentials"

Weiss: For Blondes we have the following individuals... Robyn Hill, leader of the Happy Huntresses. Harriet Bree of the Atlas Ace-Ops, and possible in a young woman named Trifa, she is a member of the White Fang.

Pyrrha: Her hair appears to be bluish-grey.

Penny: It can be possibly considered as Ash-Blonde... but that is up for debate.

Pyrrha: Keep tabs on her, just in case.

Glynda: For Red-heads we have Deery, she is also a member of the White Fang, but unlike Trifa who is in Mengarie, Deery is here in Vale. We also have Carmine Esclados formerly of Shade and reputedly a member of a group calling themselves the crown.

Weiss: So how should we proceed?

Pyrrha: All of them. We NEED all of them.

Glynda / Penny / Weiss: As you wish.

/=====/ A/N so thank you again to @segmentaldragon for all his suggestions and research in finding "Probably Initiates"

Note on Trifa - if you guys want to "stretch" ash-blonde hair to include shades of blueish-grey... then she'll be brought in.

As for Salem... I'm not sure... yet, and I would need to locate a Red-Head to off-set her... maybe the "Blacksmith"? Don't know... but she's not forgotten.

[mneiai]

For Ides of March, if it inspires you: Aegon VI/fAegon / Jon Snow

Ides of March themed fills

What were the limits of kinslaying? What criteria did one need to match, to fall into such a loathsome category?

Did they have to do the act itself? Did they have to order it with their own words, their own gold?

Aegor insisted that the fate King Rhaegar worked towards was his own work, that Jon and Aegon could not be held responsible, not even by the gods.

Jon thought that the gods of the South were far more exacting than that.

Having picked a specific sort of fight with their father at dinner the night before, Aegon (and by extension, Jon) had been forbidden from attending court today. Growing ever more paranoid, as his father had before him, Rhaegar worried at the influence that Aegon might exercise, the love of the people he could gain.

Jon was an afterthought to him, the unwanted boy who killed his Stark broodmare. He did not notice what influence Jon had gained, as he was put to the more "demeaning" work for royals, as he had far more interaction with the lesser lords and common people.

Nor had he realized, yet, that the Lysene mercenary that Jon had used as a guard, as the Kingsguard were hardly spared for bastards, shared so many of their family features. And had a past with the Golden Company.

And a fervent desire to kill a Targaryen, even if he didn't have the chance to topple the regime and sit upon the throne himself.

Jon and Aegor had been Aegon's interimidaries, determining who to trust with the plot, placing Gold Cloaks loyal to Jon as security today. Weapons were not normally allowed at court, certainly not now, and yet weapons there would be. Knives and daggers hidden on the person of nearly everyone there.

Ser Jaime and Ser Llewyn would allow their attention to wander, would not stop the blows that would rain down on Rhaegar.

None would need to know they had faltered on purpose, who could have ever predicted such a vicious act, and who should they have struck out against first when it was the entirety of the court?

Everything should be in place. Every detail gone over and over again as the three huddled together in Aegon's huge bed at night, whispering words that even the Spider's little birds wouldn't be able to catch.

But Jon might never be able to relax, even if the plot was successful, even if Aegon ruled, always waiting for divine punishment to fall upon them.

[meanqueens]

I always find your choice of faves really interesting, it's seems not many people like them all in the same time . Some people like sansa but absolutely hate cersei and either dislike or indifferent about alicent . Some like cersei but hate sansa and find alicent to be a discount version of cersei , some even say that alicent is the queen that cersei could never become.

What has made you like alicent, cersei and sansa? (Please Don't think i am trying to make you feel bad over liking them , there is nothing bad or shameful about liking fictional characters even if they're not morally good)

thank you for your ask!! and don’t worry, i know you come from a good place!

i think my love for my golden trio comes from their differences in handling their very similar life situation: women as pieces in a patriarchy’s game.

sansa stays kind; she places her courtesies between her and everyone else like a shield, but she never loses her sweetness, just learns when, where, and how she can let it out. she’s not quite free even now, but she has stood strong, unbroken, and even pushed back when she could; she’s a wolf fooling the world into thinking she’s a sheep. there’s so much power in holding onto love (love of family, friends, maybe even romance) even in the darkest of circumstances, and watching sansa believe and keep believing has given me courage in my own life.

cersei became wildfire; there was no way out of her gilded cage and so she resolved to burn it all down, make everyone suffer the way she has suffered. all her life she’s been a pawn, a broodmare, but she’s found her ways to rebel (like sansa, even) however these rebellions are by design to hurt as many people as possible, or just with a carelessness that it doesn’t quite matter if they do. she’s decided to be selfish, because she hadn’t been allowed to do so for so long as a piece. but underneath all that fire is a true victim of the system, and although she is the closest thing to an “evil queen” at the moment, we’ve been privy to how she became this way and it’s… well, it’s actually heartbreaking. she’s more than the trope, because she’s been written to show that she is a human being, after all. cersei appeals to the bitterness in me that says, “wouldn’t it be nice just to burn it all down?”, but also the twinge of desperation to just get what you want for once.

alicent (per F&B, i do so love what HOTD is doing with her character, but i loved her from the source material originally so i’ll take it from there) broke; she starts as a pawn without history because no one cared to write it down, moved around the chessboard of king’s landing by her father (the one with the agency). she becomes a queen and a mother (like cersei), but instead of trying to punish the system, she works within it to get what it promised; she gave the king a son, so why shouldn’t that son be king? alicent fights in the deadly game of thrones because it threatens the security of herself and her family, but ends up losing everything anyway. she is less of a villainess than at first glance, considering who is recounting her story in the first place. F&B always has and always will be biased history, but there’s such impactful framework that alicent has been granted that allows her to be more than a wicked stepmother. she is a complicated woman in a complicated situation where everyone else is fighting for themselves, so why shouldn’t she? i love that.

[music-of-dragons]

AGOT Dany V

I love this chapter, but it's so sad...

Loose Key for organization:

● Summary ○My Thoughts

● Chapter 5 opens with Drogo setting the Stallion heart before her, it's time for the heart eating ritual 🤢

○ Dany once again thinks to herself that she is the blood of the dragon to give herself strength when feeling uncertain.

● Dany must eat all of the heart and retch up nothing or else the omens for her child will be less favorable. She completely finishes the heart and proclaims that a prince rides inside her in her best Dothraki.

○ Dany is becoming more familiar with the language and appealed to their culture to garner support for her unborn son! She practiced the phrase for days, she is dedicated.

● Khal Drogo himself is tense as they wait in silence for the prophecy of the crone.

~"I have seen his face, and heard the THUNDER of his hooves...as swift as THE WIND he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers THE EARTH, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. FIERCE as A STORM this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The BELLS in his hair will sing his coming, and the MILK MEN in the STONE TENTS will fear his name."~

○ This is the prophecy of the Stallion who Mounts the World, and I believe that the Stallion is actually Daenerys. The prophecy has some very specific imagery which I capitalized for emphasis. So first off, THUNDER, FIERCE AS A STORM, Daenerys's given name is Daenerys STORMBORN for the great storm she was born in that smashed the Targaryen Fleet and held off the Usurper's knives. Second, swift as THE WIND can have 2 meanings. Dany called her silver the wind when she was gifted her, she will also eventually become a dragonrider who flies on the wind. Third, Dany wears bells in her hair long after the death of Khal Drogo, her handmaids add them after each victory, so Dany's coming may very well be sung by the bells in her hair. Fourth, the MILK MEN in their STONE TENTS are the people of Westeros, Dany has plans to conquer Westeros. Once word spreads of Daenerys Targaryen coming to conquer Westeros with her dragons, her name will be feared. The Stallion prophecy will come to pass, so if not Rhaego, who? His mother. The crones sensed it but assumed it was her son cause patriarchy. She will grow from broodmare, to Stallion.

●After the heart eating ritual, Dany, Drogo, and a procession of Dothraki walk to the Womb of the World. Dany bathes in the small lake while the crones watch her and murmur among themselves, then she emerges dripping and shivering.

○ I think the womb of the world will come into importance later in the story, when Dany is decreed the Stallion, but that's for another chapter.

● After the events at the womb of the world, everyone returns to Khal Drogo's hall. There are many foods and drinks being cooked and served, and one of those foods mentioned, is a pomegranate! Dany thinks to herself that she knows no arakhs will clash this night due to the sacred laws and customs of Vaes Dothrak forbidding steel and bloodshed. Dany invites Jorah to sit and talk with her. She learns from him that Viserys tried to steal her dragon eggs.

~Dany had not known, had not even suspected. "Then… he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only ask. He is my brother… and my true king."

"He is your brother," Ser Jorah acknowledged.

"You do not understand, ser," she said. "My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have."

○ I think Dany's response to the news of Viserys trying to steal from her is very telling of her character. She never stopped loving Viserys despite everything he did to her. He is her only living family and she feels that she owes him so much for protecting her, raising her, and telling her the stories of Westeros. It wasn't until this next moment that everything truly came crashing down.

● Viserys comes striding in looking a mess, drunk, overly confident… and wearing a longsword on his belt. The Dothraki are already throwing curses and angry mutterings are all around, the music dies. He has broken their sacred law. Khal Drogo exacerbates his fickle state by telling him his place is with the lowest of the low, furthest from the fires. Drogo says in the common tongue, ~"Is place… for Sorefoot King. A cart! Bring cart for Khal Raggat!" And the hall erupts in laughter. Viserys tussles with Jorah before he is knocked to the floor, then finally draws his blade.

●~Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.~ Dany is terrified for Viserys, she knows that what he did means death. She BEGS him to put the sword away, to join her on her cushions, she offers him food and drink and even her dragon eggs, so long as he puts away the sword. Viserys turns the blade on Dany, pricking her stomach with the end of the sword. He threatens to cut out Drogo's "foal" and leave it for him. ~Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.~

○ That last line is so depressing. Dany never stopped thinking of Viserys as her brother until the moment he threatened her son. Dany loves and values Rhaego over anything else, she found happiness and purpose in her pregnancy. When the one who was supposed to love and protect her threatens to kill who she loves most in the world, she could no longer tolerate his abuses, and could no longer see him as her brother. It's heartbreaking for her.

● ~Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that TORE at her afterward...the way he smiled.~

○ There is no doubt that Dany mourned her brother after his death, no doubt. She mourned for the brother he used to be, not the man he became.

●The next moment has Drogo holding Dany as his men sieze Viserys. By this point, she only refers to him as "the man who had been her brother". She describes Drogo not even looking at "the man". When Jorah tells her to turn away, she say no, and folds her arms over her stomach protectively. Viserys gets his golden crown after screaming that he was THE DRAGON and that no one could harm him. ~He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.~

○ Dany's lime about Viserys not being a dragon is an abuse victim coming to terms with the death of her abuser. Viserys struck terror into her heart from the time she was a child by telling her she "woke the dragon" and hurting her. She feared him, she was meek and submissive because of him, she bent to the whims of others who saw her as nothing because of him. When that image finally crumbles before her, she is in shock. She had just gone from pride and happiness, to terror for the life of her brother, terror again for the life of her own child and body, to withdrawn acceptance of the situation at hand. Viserys was never a dragon in the way that he used it. A dragon by blood, but not in character. That's what Dany meant.

Art by Ted Nasmith!

[hello-nichya-here]

Why Ozula Makes Sense & Why It Should Be Canonized

Note: Massive Trigger Warning

Note: Yes, I already know's Nichya's opinion on Ozula. But I want to see her specific thoughts in regards to my post.

In a fan base filled with split opinions, two of the few universally held truths are that Ozai is a horrible parent and that Azula has a lot of issues. But there is a lack of consensus on whether Ozai even abused Azula and even more of a lack of consensus on the nature of his abuse if he did abuse her.

  And for the record, I personally believe that at bare minimum Ozai did emotionally abuse Azula (“Trust is for fools, fear is the only reliable way” did not come out of nowhere). Not to mention turning Azula into a child soldier is obviously abuse.

  But is what we see, or what is heavily implied, enough to explain everything about the Ozai-Azula relationship? 

  In other words, does the abuse we see, or is heavily implied, enough to explain why Azula was utterly loyal to Ozai to the point she would gleefully risk her life for him while he sat in a bunk, despite Azula being utterly pragmatic in the other aspects of her life? 

  Does it truly explain why Azula utterly broke after he left to burn the Earth Kingdom despite being made Fire Lord and becoming the presumptive heir to the Phoenix throne?

  Moreover, where did Azula learn to flirt and/or why does she come off as sexually charged with nearly everyone she encounters (ex. Ty Lee, Sokka, Zuko) when it is canon that she has no life experience outside of being a soldier or a princess in court?

  Other people have come up with headcanons and theories involving, among other things, historical context and meta-textual evidence to explain the questions that I brought up, but what if there was a more sinister answer to all of them?

  What if Ozula was a thing?

  Yes, I know, there is very little evidence or subtext to support this but I think that if it did occur in canon, it would not only explain a lot about Azula’s character and/or issues, but also shed some much needed light on the Ozai-Azula relationship and even Ozai himself. Especially since, despite all the extended universe material we have gotten in the decade plus since ATLA the show ended, we still don’t know that much about their relationship, or Ozai himself.

  So, what is my personal take on how a canon version of Ozula? 

  I think that Ozai sexually abused Azula in part to replace Ursa once he “had” to banish Ursa and also in part to prepare her to produce super powerful heirs like herself in addition to using as a tool to keep her under his thumb by making her more attached to him than before he started coming on to her.

  In regards to the first reason, Azula is a dead ringer for Ursa and most people would agree Ursa is one of the attractive women in the ATLA-verse. Thus, considering Ozai’s canonical entitlement issues, it must have been hard to no longer rape have sex with Ursa...that is unless he copulates with Ursa’s mini-me. 

  This ties into the second reason, which is the desire to produce more superpowered heirs. 

  Thanks to The Search, we know that Ozai married Ursa in order to fulfill a prophecy that said would have produced exceptionally powerful benders. And that prophecy was mostly proven right since Azula is the GOAT Firebender as of current canon and Zuko has surpassed, or is close to surpassing, his father while still in his late teens or very early twenties.   

  For most people, being the father to such prodigies would make them content in life, proud that they could call themselves father to such talented people. 

  But Ozai isn’t like most people for, as Ursa aptly put it, Ozai is a small man trying to appear bigger than he is, which is obviously proven by Ozai’s ambitions and desires over the years.

  It was not enough that he was a prince of the most powerful nation in the world, so he must become Fire Lord at all costs. And once he achieves that by ripping his family apart and traumatizing the remaining members was enough that he was Firelord? 

  No! He must become the Phoenix King and build his new empire on the ashes of The Earth Kingdom despite already having it under his rule. 

  And it was not enough that he had a cult of personality, for Ozai commissioned larger than life statues with his package being accentuated to the point of absurdity. 

  So is it crazy to believe that he believes that not only is he entitled to the most beautiful woman he knows of (and if he can’t have her then he’ll have the closest thing to her even if it is his own daughter) but the most powerful heirs he could possibly have? Especially considering Ozai is a narcissist who made Azula his golden child because of his daddy issues caused by being the unfavored son of Azulon. 

  In other words, would it have been out of character for Ozai to fuck "himself" aka the person he thinks he would have been if Azulon recognized his “superiority” over Iroh? Especially when he can make more prodigies like himself Azula?

  And in regards to the third reason, did you see how needy Azula was in regards to Ozai when they had their short little talk before Ozai crowned him as the Phoenix King?

  I think Ozai, more than anyone, realized that Azula would soon quickly surpass everyone who was not a fully realized Avatar and wanted to ensure that Azula wouldn’t do the pragmatic thing and off him once she realized that she didn’t need daddy anymore. Especially after he offered his own father and betrayed his brother to take the throne. 

  For if he was paranoid enough to banish Ursa for her ability to make that OP poison, what makes you think he never had similar paranoid thoughts about either of his children? Especially Azula considering how strongly she takes after him and how he has been molding her in his image and ideologies ever since it was apparent she was a prodigy?

  So by sleeping with her, and therefore bonding with her, he would ensure that Azula would have no motive to ever overthrow him. 

  And how would this work in practice? 

  The same way he praised her for her firebending and ruthlessness. He would likely tell that he needed her; that she was a much better (pseudo) Fire Lady than Ursa could ever be (the old nick site said Azula was renowned in court and it is plausible that she did the duties that Ursa would have done as Fire Lady); that it was one more thing that Zuko could never do better than Azula and more proof that she deserved to be his perfect tool by his side; etc.

  And for the most part I think that Azula “responded” really well to Ozai’s false praise by further latching on to him, convinced more than ever that Ozai does love her and would never leave her. Especially since Ursa is gone, Iroh and Zuko are both gone at this point due to Zuko’s banishment, and Mai and Ty Lee are also already gone, or going to leave soon, leaving Azula with only Ozai as the only family and/or friend who hasn’t “abandoned” her.

  Ok, so I know what you guys are going to ask next; “cool theory but how does it explain anything other than your sick fetish?”

  Well, I think canon Ozula would explain a lot of things about Azula’s and Ozai’s behavior that really isn’t explained by canon or is, currently, only lightly implied. 

  For example, why did Ozai never remarry or produce more heirs in the five years he ruled despite putting his real heir, Azula, in constant mortal danger and spending most of that time either disowning Zuko or hunting him down as a traitor? Especially considering that he was only able to ascend since his brother was a dumbass and only had one kid himself? Not to mention the fact that Ozai is likely has a very high sex drive (have you seen his body?) yet we never see any concubines in the palace.

  Well because he wanted to produce heirs with Azula and so waited until she was of age to marry her and then have his new heirs.  

  Why did Azula collapsed after being told to say behind despite getting the title she always desired, Ozai having a logical reason to leave her behind (people would try to invade the Fire Nation..which is what happened with Zuko and Katara), and Azula eventually getting to inherit the Phoenix Empire? 

  Well, Ozai leaving her behind shows that Ozai thinks all Azula is worth after her numerous failures is producing heirs, making Azula realize that his bedroom talk was all lies and that he never loved her, only saw her as a tool. Moreover, all his words about her being a better Fire Lady than Ursa are lies since they both ended up in the same spot in life; only existing as Ozai’s (unwilling) broodmares. 

  Why does Azula hate and hallucinate Ursa despite Ursa being by all accounts a loving mother? And why does Azula avoid and hate reflective surfaces? 

  Well, because Azula’s subconscious wishes that Ursa was there to protect her from the abuse and also subconsciously reckoning with the long buried knowledge that part of the reason why Ozai came onto her is because she looks like a clone of her very beautiful mother. 

  Moreover, it would explain why Azula thinks Ursa thought of Azula as a monster when Ursa never said anything like that or gave any indications of seeing Azula like that. 

  For Azula would likely think, subconsciously, why would my mother leave me with a monster unless I am a monster?

  It would also explain, partially, why Azula goes from someone who is a bully, but loves & plays with her bro at 8, to someone who smiles when Zuko is burned at 13. 

  This is because Azula would think that all Zuko has to do to be in Ozai’s good graces is be a good firebender, a ruthless leader, and follow Ozai commands perfectly & without any hesitation. 

  Yet Zuko can’t even do any of that while she, in addition to previous requirements, has to give her mind, body, and soul to Ozai.

  It would also explain why Azula is so frantically loyal to Ozai (and even loves him) even when it is obvious to everyone that Ozai only cares for himself (he literally groomed her); why someone could be so fucked up and go insane at the age of 14 (victims of child sex abuse end up suffering from mental illness thanks to their trauma; and also explain why Azula has such sexual mannerisms (ex. her interaction with Sokka on DoBs) and voice acting while also being the only main female character to constantly wear makeup that is quite similar to her mother’s (she is trying to appear much older than she is while also trying to “replace” her mother for her father’s sake and maybe even for her own sake as well).

  Finally, it would contextualize that infamous bedroom scene, or more generally the subtle incest vibe between her and Zuko, by explaining her behavior towards him as attempt to unnerve him and/or an attempt to pass on her abuse to another person (which is very common).

  So the next thing you guys are likely going to say,” Ok then. Maybe Ozula might explain a lot of things but how would you explain the fact that Azula has never shown any indication that her father touched her like that? Moreover, what would be the benefit of introducing such a dark topic into the franchise.”

  Well to the first question, Azula would never bring it up because of some combo of: it is shameful as hell, she doesn't think it is wrong because it is all she knows, she still loves Ozai deep down, and/or thinks it her fault just like it was Zuko's fault for getting burned by Ozai and banished for talking out in the war council and/or not fighting back at the Agni Kai.

  And as to the second question, well there would be a lot of benefits. 

  For example, imagine the lore/story potential we could get out of a canon Ozula, as outlined in the headcanon down below?

One of the reasons why the places like Yu Duo became quickly filled with mixed families was due to a mix of sex slaves and families selling their daughters to their wealthy colonziers. 

  Also the Fire Nation had an extensive sex trackiffing network to service wealthy nobles and the Firelord; Ozai was in charge of this network and was able to blackmail people like Mai's father into supporting him in court and eventually his regime, especially in the early days when it looked like Iroh might challenge Ozai. 

  The reason why Zhao kept getting promotions despite his incompetence was because he was the best at capturing girls/women to keep the supply running high and Ozai had to keep him happy or else Zhao would spill the beans. 

  The reason why Ukano supported the NOS despite Zuko offering him a job and most likely becoming his father-in-law is because he was part of the network and it was a matter of time before Zuko found out and exposed him. 

  Azula helped procure women for Ozai during the 3 years Zuko/Iroh were away and this is part of the reason why Ty Lee and Mai distanced themselves from her (they thought they were next even though Azula would never do that to them) & why they followed her despite loathing her until someone they cared about was going to die (they thought Azula would punish them by making them into sex slaves though Azula “cares” about them too much to ever do that to them). 

  Azula was also abused by Ozai in those 3 years as raping women and girls weren't enough for him anymore and needed a new kink, incest, especially since Azula looks like her mom, who is one of the most attractive women in ATLA and Ursa was long gone.

And even disregarding the lore potential, there is the potential (positive) real world impact a seriously written Ozula could have.

  For it one of the best things about the Avatar franchise is its ability to deal with complex & sensitive topics such as child & spousal abuse (The Fire Nation Royal Family; Yakone’s family; Toph’s family), abusive/toxic friendships (The Dangerous Ladies), sexism (S1 Sokka & Pakku), PTSD (Korra), genocide (Airbender genocide & Southern Water Bender Genocide), propaganda/brainwashing (The Fire Nation schools & the Dai Li), and imperialism (Post-Sozin to the start of FL Zuko’s reign Fire Nation) with the respect they deserve while making it palpable to kids. 

  And considering the post-MeToo world we live in, what better dark and taboo topic to tackle than sexual abuse?

  Especially considering that most people aren’t really aware that most victims of sexual abuse where abused by someone close to them, that most people don’t seem to recognize when such grooming occurs or that it is a bad thing until it is too late (ex. Drake Bell, Kyle Massey, Drake (The Rapper), R. Kelly, etc.), and most victims don’t react to their abuse the way most people think they should (ex. Fight back or tell others). 

  Thus, couldn’t Ozula be used to educate people on the signs of such grooming and/or abuse and how to properly help such victims?

  I also think that seeing Azula overcome the effects of a canon Ozula could also provide healing for someone who played a pivotal role in bringing Azula to life: Grey DeLise.

  It was a shock for me to find out, but Grey DeLise has repeatedly said that she got abused by people her mother let into their home and that her mother did nothing despite obviously knowing what was going on. 

  Considering that DeLise heavily projects onto Azula (including Azula’s relationship with Ursa), has a history of sexualizing Azula (she explicitly said she voiced the bedroom scene with Zucest in mind), and went to really dark place to record Azula’s breakdown, is it crazy to say that DeLise had Ozula as her one of personal headcanons and that it affected her Azula performance?

  That is why, in combination with everything else I have said, I think Ozula has the potential to have a real impact how sexual abuse victims are treated and viewed.

  Imagine Ozai plotting to remove Ursa, Azulon, Iroh, and Zuko from the palace so he could "play" with Azula unimpeded after almost being caught several different times while also taking things to the next “level”? 

  Imagine the goading of Azulon/Ursa's banishment and Zuko's burning/banishment all part of this plot?

  Imagine Azula making inappropriate jokes about fathers breaking in their daughters to Mai & Ty Lee, causing them to be unnerved while Azula wonders what was wrong with her apt description of father-daughter relationships?

  Imagine Ozai spending the next three years molding Azula to not only be his perfect pet weapon but also his future consort once she is of age.?

  Imagine his anger when Azula comes home with her childhood friends and Zuko, cutting down on their alone time?

  Imagine his horror when he finds out that Azula non-ironically enjoys her time with them more than him despite the fact Ozai had groomed her from a young age to only love him? 

  Imagine his happiness when Zuko leaves and Mai and Ty Lee are later jailed, allowing him unlimited time with Azula again, despite the hardships Azula’s lapses in judgment regarding her friends & brother. Not to mention Ozai thinking that he once again gets to be the sole attention of Azula's affections? 

  Imagine Ozai finding out Azula non-ironically misses her brother and friends and so he leaves her behind during Sozin's Comet as punishment for her conflicted emotions & past failures?

  Imagine Ozai defeated coming home to see Azula chained, physically and mentally broken, screaming for her bitch of a mother. Only then realizing, for a fleeting moment, the damage he did to his daughter, only to go back to feeling rage at her humiliating loss & even more humiliating loss of sanity?

  Imagine Ozai patiently waiting to be reunited with his pet heir and once they meet in his jail cell, convincing Azula that they can be together again if Azula can get a hold of that accursed letter and kill Ursa, the only person who could possibly refute it?

  Imagine Ozai hearing that Azula failed in her mission due to being unable to kill her mother despite having Ursa literally in her hands, marking the first time Azula ever disobeyed him? Moreover, imagine his rage once he hears how she disowned him and basically dismantled from within an organization trying to reinstate him on the throne?

  Imagine Ozai confronting Ursa, Iroh, and Zuko once they find out about his abuse of Azula, thinking he has once again found a way to manipulate them? Only to find out that they are through with him for good and that they will help Azula heal from his abuse.

  Imagine Azula finally going through a healing arc, where with the help of well-trained healers and her mother (who she bonds with over both being victims of Ozai), she learns that what Ozai did to her was wrong, how healthy relationships actually work, & how her abuse never justified her abuse of others?

  Imagine Azula then undergoing an atonement arc, where, among other things, she becomes a leading advocate for mental health issues and sexual abuse victims, eventually working with Zuko & Aang to to create shelters & a proto-CPS in addition to radically changing the Fire Nations views on sex & consent?

  Imagine Azula eventually finding a loving partner and engaging in a mutually loving relationship, eventually having her own child who she raises in the exact opposite fashion that Ozai raised her while also being a loving aunt to Izumi?

  Imagine Ozai thinking that Azula will one day return to him, thinking that he has irreversibly molded her to need him the same way a baby needs its pacifier. Only for him to die never being visited by Azula again, who has long stopped caring for Ozai and hasn’t spared him a thought for a long time & will never do so again?

  Therefore, in sum, Ozula has the potential to do to victims of sexual abuse what the depiction of the Ozai-Zuko relationship, and Zuko eventually realizing his father is abusive & disowning, did for victims of abuse while also maybe giving DeLise some form of catharsis.

Thus, in the long list of bad things Ozai did (abuse his wife/son/daughter, kill his father/ruler, illegally urusp his bro, attempt a genocide of a continent, attempt to kill a 12 year old, turn Azula into a child solider/general, etc.) is molesting Azula the worst thing he could have done? 

  Or I am crazy with a need to go to a therapist for my many unresolved issues?

More Notes:

https://youtu.be/UjLzX1xPW1U?t=316

Grey: they're like 'why are you sexualizing everything?" because i do that in my whole life, my whole life is sexualized Olivia: same. that’s why Grey and I get along Grey: we've... got... abusive childhoods Olivia: uhhh Grey: uh... well I do Olivia: I don't, I just like sex! Grey: depending on who i'm doing it with... then yeah. Olivia: visibly uncomfortable Grey: I've not liked it a lot as much as I've liked it. Olivia: 0_0 Brad is like what... the hell.. is happening

Grey also talks about her abuse in an interview with Mental Illness Happy Hour where she details how her mother abandoned her to people she knew were raping her. And Grey has repeated her story in multiple interviews over the years.

----

Looooong-ass post ahead! You're not crazy, and there is subtext for Ozula... just like there is for Maizula, something I actually like but that I personally believe didn't happen - and if anyone reading this has not yet seen my first answer to why I don't think Ozai sexually abused Azula, I recommend you do so: https://hello-nichya-here.tumblr.com/post/650918965929000960/trigger-warning-i-know-you-talk-a-lot-about-how

While I see the merit of any good story, and I have read good stories that interpret Ozai and Azula's relationship as having involved sexual assault at some point, it is far more likely that in the actual canon (be it just in the show or also taking into account the comics) that simply neved happened, and I'll explain why.

About Ozai never remarrying

It would be very strange for Ozai to never try to have more heirs, and constantly endanger the ones he does have... until we remember that the only noble family in Avatar that has more than two kids is Ty Lee's, and that there are people like Kyoshi who literally over two centuries old when she died. Avatar is a very mature kid's show, but it is still a kid's show, with characters who control the elements and don't get a single scratch on them in situations that would severely injure or kill a normal human being, and the writers likely didn't want to add more characters to an already complicated, political plot like the Fire Nation Royal Family - which is why Iroh never remarried, Azulon's wife was already dead, there were no Lu Ten flashbacks, etc. If they went to such lengths to avoid creating too many characters, it makes sense that Zuko and Azula have no step-mother and no half-siblings in the show. Furthermore, the show clearly wanted to push Azula and Zuko's rivalry - adding another sibling would force their attention (and ours) to shift to said sibling, which is why Kiyi only was created in the comics that were focusing on the royal family, after Zuko became Fire Lord, and even then she is Ursa's daughter but not Ozai's, meaning Azula is still the only real "rival" Zuko has.

Ozai's supposed obsession with Ursa

Despite the radical change in the story of their marriage, I'd say that Ozai was NOT obsessed with Ursa, be it in the show where she consented to marry him, or in the comics where she kidnapped and raped. Princes were expected to marry and have heirs, and the war meant they'd need to have powerful heirs. He married Ursa (against her will or otherwise depending on the version of the story), had two kids with her (the standard in their universe), and encouraged said kids to be ruthless, punishing them when didn't meet his expectations (the Agni Kai and Zuko's banishment were cruel, but they were the type of behavior the Fire Nation rewarded). We need to remember that Ozai's only real problem with the hierarchy and expectations of his nation was when he had to see his brother be Fire Lord instead of him, because Ozai's only real obsession was the crown.

Yet he didn't kill his father until Ursa came up with a plan to do it so she could save Zuko, didn't kill Iroh, smiled in disdain when Zuko said he would help the Avatar defeat him, and constantly endangered Zuko and Azula despite having no other heirs. That behavior might seem strange, until you realize Ozai did truly respect the autority of Fire Lord at one point, but after he managed to steal the crown, he felt like he won absolutely everything - and to prove that he became the Phoenix King, showing he was above even that. He didn't need Ursa, Azula, or any other woman to give strong heirs, because Azula was already filling that role. There is no evidence he was obsessed with Ursa because he only married her because it was the norm (same logic applies to the possible sexual abuse she suffered - she was supposed to give her husband heirs, so Ozai forcing himself on her could easily just be him doing what was expected of him), and then once she was no longer needed and he would actually be in a more favorable position if she disappeared he CHOSE to banish her - the law said he had to punish her for killing Azulon, but the law also said he shouldn't have let her kill his father in the first place. And in the comics he threated to kill both their kids if she came back. If he was obsessed with her, he would have used their kid's lives to force her to stay and never say a word about what happened to his father. But didn't do that, because he didn't want Ursa around.

Could he be obsessed with Azula herself instead of thinking of her as a replacement for Ursa?

I personally don't think so, mostly because of his actions towards both his kids and because of the intentions the writers had. During The Beach, Ozai sends Azula away for a little while with Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee. On the meeting before the eclipse, he had Zuko at his right hand. On their last scene together, Ozai looks annoyed that Azula is around, stabs her in the back, lies to her face, and then leaves her. Finally, when he is last seen on screen, he doesn't ask Zuko what happened to her, if she is in prison, if she lost her bending too, if she is dead... nothing.

Ozai's behavior towards Azula is much more similar to his treatment of Zuko than most people realize. He shuts them both down when try to be anything other useful weapons - be it when they are showing "weakness", failing on their missions, trying to betray him, or trying to be equals to him. His reaction to Zuko's "All I ever wanted was for you to love me" was basically the same he had to Azula's "I thought we were going to do this together/This was my idea/I deserve to be by your side/You can't treat me like Zuko". He instantly told them both to shut the fuck up. He has no affection for them - for Azula - be it a normal one or a twisted one. They might as well not exist when they're not winning him battles.

On top of all that, comics!Ozai full on said he'd kill Zuko and Azula if Ursa didn't stay away, and considering how little regard he showed to anyone and how easy it would be for him to find a new wife if he had to, it is very clear he meant it. And a plot-line that was originally going to happen in book 3 but was cut (likely due to there not being enough time to explore it) had Ozai planning an arranged marriage for Azula - if he wanted her for himself, why was he more than ready to give her away to some rando the second she was old enough to marry?

Intention of the writers VS Intention of the actors

Assuming Grey did want there to have, at the very least, subtext for Ozula, we still run into a different problem: her intention goes against what is presented in canon. With something like Zucest or Tyzula, it is easier to make it work despite the pairings not being canon - they are meant to be complicated, unhealthy dynamics in which the characters involved have both negative and positive feelings for each other. So you could say Zuko and Azula were attracted to each other AND were still rivals. You could say Azula was in love with Ty Lee, and the feeling was mutual, but Ty Lee still chose to save Mai at the boiling rock regardless because it was the right thing to do for her friend.

With Ozula, however, it'd lead to a Zutara-esque situation (again, assuming Grey really did want that subtext to exist, since she didn't specify if that was what she meant when she said she went into a dark place while acting Azula's scenes in the finale). Dante Basco, aka Zuko, is the capitain of the Zutara ship, so any scene between Zuko and Katara gets at least a bit of subtext (and Zutara actually had full on ship-bait moments)... but the show also made it clear that the characters were NOT interested in each other like that, and they both ended up with different people. That means Zutara has some base for it, but it is still NOT CANON. Ozula is on even less solid ground since the overwhelming majority of the text activelly goes against it - again, Ozai seemed uniterested in both his wife and his daugheter, and activelly tried to distance himself from them.

How Azula flirts VS how she acts around Ozai

If we assume all of Azula's behaviors towards people like Zuko and Sokka was indeed intentional, we need to ask ourselves: was it really flirting or an attempt to unnerve them?

With that assumption in mind, I mostly see her actions towards Sokka as having been based on a display of power instead of flirting, but I can understand if people disagree. I fully believe she was attracted to Zuko and wanted both to intimidate him and flirt with him, and even discussed it at length on the link bellow (and offered another possible explanation of why she might not have been interested in Sokka after all) https://hello-nichya-here.tumblr.com/post/654197363889635328/zucest-is-it-really-flirting

When we take that behavior into account, regardless of motivation, and then compare it to her actually trying to flirt with Chan, we see that Azula has different styles of flirting, both of which are based on warpped perceptions of how normal interactions work - one having a predator/prey vibe with open ridicule, and the other with awkward/false flattery that is accidentally insulting and/or scary.

However, if we look at how she acts with Ozai, we see that she acts like a completely different person. She is very respectful and very distant - sort of how servants and guards act around her. That shows that despite her love for her father being actual canon (unlike any attraction she possibly felt for any character) their relationship is VERY formal. Azula doesn't take any liberties with her father, making it very unlikely that she learned her more "inapropriate" behaviors from him.

Azula's trauma

Azula was neglected by her mother and turned into a child soldier by her father. In Zuko Alone, we see Ursa spending a lot of time with Zuko but not with Azula, harshly reprimanding her without trying to understand her motives (like when she asked Zuko why he hurt the turtle-ducks), and even asking "What is wrong with that child?". Add in the over the top neglect she faced in the comics, the obvious guilt Azula was starting to feel for her actions in book 3, as well as the fact that a parent suddenly leaving like Ursa did can severely affect their child's mental health (which was likely to have been fragile in the first place considering Azula's more distressing behavior as a kid, as well as the psychological torment and hallucinations she dealt with in the finale) it makes perfect sense for Azula to believe her mother saw her as monster. Her claim that their mother liked Zuko more and her reaction to Mai's "I love Zuko more than I fear you" shows that her problems with her mother come believing she was not loved while her brother was - could she have also wanted Ursa to be there to protect her from sexual abuse? Sure. She could have simply wanted her mother to procted her from literally anything, or just be by her side and be proud of her.

This trauma also explains her freaking out as Ozai left her in the finale. She had recently lost Zuko, Ty Lee and Mai - the later of the three having accidentally touched an old, open wound of hers. Ozai was all she had left, and he turned his back on her after all she did for him. That was the last straw, and finally broke. You can add sexual assault or literally any kind of abuse to the story to explore a new theme/possibility, but it not existing in canon is not a plot-hole because the story works perfectly without it.

Imagine...

"Imagine Ozai killed Azulon and banished Ursa and Zuko so he could have Azula to himself, abused her, and then was mad when she brought Zuko home, with Mai and Ty Lee coming along"

I can imagine it. What I cannot is remember it. It can be a good, important, cathartic story, but is not the story we saw in the show. In the show we saw Ursa planning Azulon's death, not Ozai. We saw how his abuse was 99% purely psychological. We saw Ozai banish Zuko years after he supposedly got rid of the other two impediments of his abuse to Azula. We saw him not giving a damn about Mai and Ty Lee being around, welcoming Zuko home and rewarding him for "killing the Avatar", and then making Azula leave with them. And above all, we saw him shut Azula down the second she tried to have any kind of relationship with him that involved being anything more than a killing-machine.

Ozula can be an interesting plot, but said plot exists solely in theory and fanfics, not in the actual canon.

[lochnessies]

I guess my discomfort with the AM route could actually be summed up as

“I went straight from playing The Gayest House to the Most Heteronormative and Patriarchal House and even though it makes sense from a worldbuilding and storytelling standpoint, it still made for a very uncomfortable experience for me, the player.”

i’m not here to say what can and cannot make a person uncomfortable since that’s so heavily subjective and i personally also don’t like patriarchal undertones as well so i completely get it. however, i have always found it weird when people refer to the black eagles as the ‘gay house’ and act like that makes it superior to the others. i mean… i like edel, dorothea, and linhardt but their sexualities don’t make or break them for me as characters. and the ‘gayness’ of these characters only happen if you happen to s-rank them as the same sex and has no impact on the story. plus you can recruit 2/3 of them out of house and marry them there so it’s kinda irrelevant. the only house that doesn’t have canonically lgbt characters is golden deer and i’ve never seen people use that as a reason as to why they don’t like them. hell, i’ve seen people call them the ‘gayest house’ before. also blue lions does have a canon bisexual… mercedes. plus a lot of endings for the characters have a lot of homoerotic subtext… mercedes/annie, dedue/dimitri, dimitri/felix, sylvain/felix, dedue/ashe. opening an inn together, living together, being buried together, dying on the same day, loving a man more than his wife…. last i checked these are not very heteronormative things. quite the opposite actually lol

as for patriarchal…. are you sure you wanna say that about the kingdom rather than the empire? what makes the kingdom more patriarchal than the place that has a man drill into his daughter how to be the perfect wife, the emperor has lots of concubines, daughters are thrown to the streets, women are desperate for husbands bc it’s the only ways to gain stability, a woman used as a broodmare till it kills her, a noble woman with a crest can’t inherit her house and her daughter is almost forcibly married and raped to have children by her step father.

is it because a lot of the main characters for the plot are male rather than female? that’s not patriarchal it’s just slightly lazy bc patriarchy is systemic not a a problem of plot structure. once again, the golden deer only has judith as a female general/essential npc and the rest are men but i don’t see people get upset about that.

Imagine if I only played AM and I came away thinking this was a typical medieval fantasy where the men are all in leadership roles,

not all the men are leaders and some women are too. such as cornelia and edelgard and they hold a lot of it.

the women are all relegated to support roles and struggling against forced marriages,

no they are not. once again, edel and cornelia are major characters and definitely not supporting roles. also, nobody is being forced into marriage in the blue lions. ingrid’s father suggests suitors but she has complete control over saying yes or no. and in her endings she gets to be a knight. however, we do know forced marriages are a thing in the empire.

men act out their feelings with violence,

yeah, dimitri does get violent but it’s seen as extremely negative and as a sign of his poor mental health and lack of ability to rule at the moment. if this was a typical fantasy game then his violence would be praised and a sign of a warrior and king. dimitri has to let go of his violent impulses in order to become a good kings and as shown in ss/vw he will die if he continues down his self destructive path.

in azure moon byleth and everybody else is constantly telling dimitri to get his shit together where as cf everybody just vapidity nods along to edelgard’s violent impulses.

women in power are inherently suspect,

women are not inherently suspect due to their sex. they are suspect bc the main female characters are suspicious and they do shitty things that hurt the other characters and they are rightfully angry. hell, even male characters are suspect. for example thales and even dimitri himself is seen as suspicious during the academy arc.

hints of flirtation between women are aggressively shot down,

i assume this is about ingrid? i hate to tell you but rejecting somebody’s romantic advances isn’t homophobic and if you don’t respect people’s boundaries then i don’t want to be around you. all other female relationships are treated very well and the female characters admire and respect each other.

hints of feelings between men are treated awkwardly and uncomfortably.

once again, with feeling this time, opening an inn together, living together, being buried together, dying on the same day, loving a man more than his wife are not examples of feelings between men being treated awkwardly. hell, most of the deep and loving relationships are between men. some are strictly platonic (rodrigue/dimitri & gilbert/dimitri) and other are much more 👀. dimitri was even critiqued by some straight men bc he was so open about his feelings with bylad and many people read him as bisexual (my sister even hcs him as completely gay). he literally calls another man ‘irreplaceable’ and ‘cherished’ while he’s apparently shirtless.

Not knowing there’s a whole other route where multiple women are in charge,

just because a woman is in charge doesn’t mean she’s good at it and we know edelgard isn’t a good leader and is willing to stoop to the lowest of the lows. just bc she’s a lady doesn’t make her horrific actions suddenly #girlboss and #feminism

men pay women respect and never degrade them,

women are not above critique. and men don’t violent degrade women for no reason on blue lions (you could say felix and his ingrid supports but he’s a dick to everyone and sylvain whos a rampant misogynist regardless of route and the same could be said for lorenz on golden deer). also hubert does degrade petra and that’s a cf exclusive.

nobody ever suggests that there are inappropriate roles for any gender,

and i have good news! neither do blue lions! ingrid is wholeheartedly supported by her male peers and dimitri (by op’s definition a violent man) even wants her to be his knight and serve in his guard.

men are allowed to be soft,

dimitri, dedue, and ashe??? hello?!??

women are allowed to be aggressive,

ingrid and catherine??? hello????

everybody has at least one potential gay ending and it’s not treated as a shameful secret. 

i hate to be the one to tell you but none of the characters from any routes have explicate gay endings outside of the few with byleth. you can read into something all you want and make headcanons but that doesn’t change what is provided in canon. i find all the same sex endings in azure moon to have romantic undertones (outside of gilbert of course go home to your wife dude). and NONE of the endings are treated as a shameful secret. homosexuality is never talked about as being shameful in the game and that sounds like you projecting.

[writingsofwesteros]

Broodmare of a golden king

Aegon is so addicted to being inside her that he’ll fuck her on the throne while listening to petitions, everyone knows to stare directly at his face or at the floor. They especially can’t look at her if she’s riding him facing out towards the room, but if she’s on her knees for him then it’s slightly safer since they can’t see her face or breasts. But he always has her ride him during council meetings with her facing the council, it’s to make Alicent jealous because Alicent got slightly addicted to her after they fucked.

Alicent and Aegon's fucked up relationship is delicious, sorry not sorry.

imagine she's on her knees when he's drinking with his friends on the throne. Her gagging sound echoing in the room but he does not allow his cum to go to waste and she's soon bouncing on him.

His hand in her locks as he forces her to look at him as her face prettily screws up in pleasure

object insertion with those balls in the council meetings

[marybeatriceofmodena]

Been reading a lot about Jane Seymour lately just to piece together her story from the VERY little we know about her, and there seems to be that line of thought that Henry didn’t really love her and/or that he may have married her in a rush because she believed she was pregnant and/or miscarried later... 

And honestly, I have my gripes with David Starkey’s book about Henry’s wives (and him as a person lmao), but one thing I do agree with him is that Henry tended to marry women he knew before marriage and that it came as close as it possibly could to marrying for love at the time (making that one of the reasons why the marriage with Anne of Cleves fell apart)? 

I guess I would go one step further by saying that Henry may have married these women because he was more in love with the archetype they represented in his eyes rather than the women themselves? To sum it up: 

Katherine of Aragon: She *was* a catch, after all, being the daughter of two of the most respected monarchs in Europe at the time (Ferdinand and Isabel), and she did bring a lot of prestige and legitimacy on an international level to the Tudor dynasty (I make her sound like such a broodmare, barf, but that’s medieval political alliances for you). Add to that the whole aspect of her being a bit of a damsel in distress due to being impoverished after Arthur’s death, and that all appeals to Henry’s sense of chivalry. Add that to how ambassadors would write that Henry and Katherine seemed very close and loving in the first few years of their marriage - except, of course, that luster starts to wear off with Katherine’s miscarriages. So, um, I guess the broodmare comparison isn’t so far off from Henry’s PoV. *barfs again* 

Anne Boleyn: She had the Renaissance Queen thing going on, similarly to Margaret of Austria or Marguerite de Navarre? Katherine was no dunce herself but my guess is that Anne was probably the kind of Renaissance Humanist Nerd who just goes on and on about stuff and is super passionate about it, added with a sprinkle of courtly love, so no wonder Henry is all heart-eyes about it? That gets shattered (or at the very least troubled) by Henry’s infidelity, but it does seem like his vision of her as the Perfect Renaissance Intellectual Queen was still going strong even close to her death, to the point it’s entirely possible Cromwell may have wanted Anne dead since Henry would have trouble completely detaching himself from her if she stayed alive (although I do think that thanks to some serious mental gymnastics and probably some brain damage after that 1536 jousting incident, he ended up really believing Anne was guilty).

Anne of Cleves: I mean, there’s the whole debate on whether she looked like her portrait or not, and what exactly pushed Henry to divorce her - but you know, while I agree that a big part of it might have been political motivations, I also think it may have been a lack of chemistry that just wasn’t compatible at all with the imagined idea Henry had of Anne before she came to England (whatever that was). 

Katheryn Howard: I mean, that one is pretty obvious. Pretty young girl who’s very graceful and joyous, makes Henry feel young again, and the minute he has enough evidence to believe she’s not as pure and wholesome as he thought, and worst of all, she reminds him of his own long lost youth... off with her head. 

Katharine Parr: Like, I think that a lot of the traditional point of view on Katharine being Henry’s ever-patient nurse might be due to how she was presented during her position as Queen Consort and after - nevermind her accomplishments but also the less savory parts of her life... And yeah, her Protestant sympathies might have not vibed with Henry’s traditionalism, but ya know, a caretaker also shouldn’t make you feel annoyed when you’re in pain with *GASP* heretical thoughts... 

So with Jane... the problem with people who’ll go on how she was boring/plain/nasty/cold or even a sociopath is that a) we have next to nothing of Jane’s own words so she can’t even present herself as guilty, much less defend herself; b) I feel like that kind of PoV is exactly the kind of treatment Anne Boleyn gets from her detractors, which leads to a rather ironic case of a double standard? 

We don’t even know the circumstances that led to her becoming Henry’s mistress, considering there are so many unanswered questions about her earlier life, such as the following: 

1) Why wasn’t she married yet, when at least one of her younger sisters was wed before her? And no, the “because she was boring and ugly lol” excuse doesn’t work, simply because it wouldn’t have mattered much for noble parents of the time, especially an ambitious family like the Seymours, since it was all about properties, riches, and getting heirs (and with Jane’s mother having lots of kids, it would be expected that Jane would be similar). 

2) How much of her marriage with Henry was her doing and her will? Like, I can buy the narrative of a young woman seeing herself becoming an old maid and being constantly belittled by her family as a failure of sorts, going for the golden goose but getting more than she bargained for, just like she could be a pawn used by various factions of the court who would have a reason to see Anne out (Catholics, for one, and Cromwell and his people, not to mention that Edward Seymour WORKED for Cromwell, so people who’ll try to claim that Cromwell had nothing to do with Anne’s trial and/or Jane becoming Queen make me lol). And for all the people accusing her of being a sociopath for getting engaged to Henry the day after Anne was beheaded, one begs to ask the question of how much of it was her will, and moreover, what kind of say she would have in it? For all we know, she *could* very well be the only one of Henry’s wives along with Katheryn Howard who had pretty much no say in marrying the King - not to mention that I don’t think her family would have been kind to her after failing to do that and effectively becoming an old maid. 

And, most importantly, it wasn’t a case where “it happened one night”, where Henry sought comfort to Jane, she fell pregnant by accident and welp, time for a shotgun wedding? Simply because Jane *was* Henry’s mistress for a certain period of time, three months at least (unlike Mary Boleyn probably lmao), which does kind of make me think: “Yeah... I don’t think she was that boring and nasty, tbh”

Now yes, Henry didn’t exactly treat Jane with the same amount of respect he treated his other wives - but I wouldn’t see that as evidence that he didn’t love her, simply because of the archetype he may have attributed to her? Namely the one of the Modest Daughter of a Country Gentleman Who’s Elevated to the Highest Position But Keeps Her Humility, unlike her predecessor? 

It’s entirely possible that Henry saw Jane as a sort of Cinderella figure, but that more importantly, he expected her to stay demure. So him treating her like garbage at times? It’s probably him realizing that Jane had a mind of her own (although I don’t really think she was some sort of mastermind, since some of her doings as Queen seem a little... gauche, added to the fact her husband was a wee bit of an arse and didn’t have much patience for her “mistakes”) and wasn’t the demure country girl he wanted her to be, so added to his probably still present turmoil about Anne, it made him snap, while she found redemption giving Henry a son... and conveniently die afterwards after fulfilling her duty. 

[leisurelypanda]

Thundershield Concept

Credit to @cinderellasfella, who came up with this idea. 

Post Thor Ragnarok, but where most of Asgard is saved and Thanos doesn’t exist to kill everyone. 

Thor establishes New Asgard on Earth. It’s as much a business as it is a country. New Asgard does require funding, after all, and no one wants to live on the charity of Midgard. Thor manages to establish a successful business on the planet that thrives internationally. As King, New Asgard insists that he have the housing to reflect his status on the world stage. 

Thor, being the generous god that he is, allows his staff to access the large pool on the estate if they’re hot and need to cool down after their shifts. There’s one particular staff member who attracts Thor’s attention. 

Steve Rogers is hired as a gardener fairly early on. He’s a bit of a different sort of employee for one reason: he often works naked due to the heat of the sun and his outdoor work. Thor’s large estate keeps him busy, and Thor often likes to admire Steve’s form. The thought of having him put on clothes never even crosses his mind. Why would he want to hide such a man from the world? 

But there’s one more reason why he doesn’t do this. Steve always takes a dip in the pool after his shifts. He swims lengths with deliberate slowness. When he’s done, he lays out on his back to just float on the water. Thor always sees him and Steve often runs his hands up and down his sculpted body in an attempt to lure Thor to him. 

One day, it works. It doesn’t take long. The third time Thor caught him doing this, he knew that this gardener was surely doing this on purpose. Thor was never one to deny himself something he wants, though, so he goes down to the pool and strips out of his Midgardian suit. As soon as Steve sees Thor’s long, impressive member, his hole is clenching and his mouth dries. The end of Steve’s day turns into a long night for him as Thor fucks him on every surface he can find in his luxurious estate. It doesn’t matter if it’s inside or out, and Thor doesn’t care who sees. 

Thus begins a new facet of New Asgard: Thor’s personal nudist community, completely devoted to worshiping him as the god of fertility, not just thunder, as the rest of the world knows him.  The Asgardians don’t join, since they don’t need to worship each other as the gods they are. Midgardians, though, join the community in droves. At first, Thor invites certain like minded friends to join in his revels with Steve. It soon grows into a cult. People from all over the world travel to have a taste of Thor’s cock. 

Everyone at the estate goes naked, including Thor. Steve is his main sexual/romantic partner, but their relationship is open due to the nature of the community they lead. He often has business meetings that he attends shirtless while Steve sucks him and edges him beneath the desk. He’s managed to get a few delivery men to join by showing up naked to receive packages containing instruments to include in the community’s revels. 

Someone is always having sex at the estate. The community is encouraged to love each other as much as they love Thor. The only exception is Steve, with whom Thor shows a particular possessiveness by fucking him in front of everyone on a regular basis, leaving him covered in markings. Steve is the only one to sit near Thor’s throne, a collar around his neck and a ring around his cock, ready to receive Thor whenever called upon. 

There’s one unexpected side effect of Thor’s sex cult being so devoted to him. Thor’s nature as a god of fertility is much less well known on Midgard, so it comes as a surprise to all, including Thor himself, when Steve suddenly discovers that he’s pregnant. The seed that Thor filled Steve’s ass with caused a womb to grow within him. The same turns out to be true for all the men in Thor’s cult. 

These men become known as the Broodmares of New Asgard and Steve is their queen. Steve does, eventually become the first queen of New Asgard and the official caretaker of the tree of the golden apples. He becomes known as a modern sort of god. Once there was the goddess, Idunn, goddess of youth. Steve is the new god of youth, and inherits the care of her golden apples that grant long life. The garden he plants surrounding this tree is called New Eden by many. 

Their children, it turns out, are fully Asgardian due to Asgardian genes being dominant and Midgardian genes being recessive. It shakes up the scientific community on earth. Not that Thor pays much attention to any of that. He’s perfectly content with his personal harem at his beck and call. But he always has a certain fondness for his godly husband who started it all as a humble, but incredibly beautiful gardener. 

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter 16; Escape

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                      ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

t's not the shade we should be cast in It's the light and it's the obstacle that casts it It's the heat that drives the light It's the fire it ignites It's not the wakin', it's the risin' - Nina Cried Power, Hozier I don’t know why, but something about this song spoke to me writing this chapter 🖤❣️ Along with “Running Away” by Maverick Sabre. One of my favourite artists of all time - go and check him out, he’s simply awesome.

Waiting was her greatest nuisance. She was on tenterhooks all day.

As if expecting someone to burst in and proclaim the true circumstance of her guilt. She’s peeking around corners and dreading every moment of cursed silence. Every lapse in conversation is a dagger in her side. She keeps expecting to be caught out.

By the time the evening draws in, she’s nearly apoplectic. She’s sat in the parlour watching the sky darken. And with every second of it blackening her excitement grows in her chest. Gestating bigger and bigger with every second she hears tick by on the mantel clock.

She hardly spoke through dinner. Just listened to her sisters usual fussing and Mama disapproving of yet someone else of their acquaintance. Iris won’t miss that.

She nearly leaps out her skin when Meg bursts in the clattering dining room door without warning, with a note to hand her father. A missive from the farmhand.

Her heartbeat slows to its normal thud. She’s unaware that her father watches her from down the table with a casting silent eye and a look of concern. Mama and the girls were none the wiser.

Then they sit in the parlour as night is heavy and steely blue-black at the window like a velvet drape. Fire and candlelight cloaks them all as the girls embroider. Mama reads a novel, and father sits behind the spread wall of his paper.

Iris takes a moment to look around at them.

She catches her fathers eye as he turns the page over in his papers. He gives her a fleeting smile that passes the time of day. She watches the way the ochre of the flames in the half blade off the lense of his reading glasses. He returns to his pages.

She’ll miss his silent sympathy. His calm presence was a balm she doesn’t know how she can be without.

She looks across at her vain, silly simpering sisters. She’s astonished to find that she will miss them too.

She’ll miss their gossiping and - amazingly - the screeching matches that erupt over who gets to wear their new bonnet or who gets the silk slippers. Or Iris’s pretty pieces of jewellery. Apart from two very adored beloved pieces she’s taking, she’s leaving the rest for them to scrap over. She smiles thinking on it.

It’s odd to think she’ll be in Bavaria. Living in a castle as a Lady to Lord Ren. And she’ll think of home, and she’ll grin, wondering if her vapid sisters will be fighting tooth and claw - having a tug of war - over her earrings or her pearl clasp bracelet.

She’ll miss Flora’s fiery head. In both temper and colouring. How bravely she defends her poor choices in various men of the militia. Then loves a completely different one the next day. She’ll miss how she always puts a pouch of dried flowers on Iris’s pillow when she picks too many - she always picks too many.

And Posy. Posy and her dreadful sweet tooth. How she always gave Iris heaps of her favourite pudding even though mama insisted she didn’t want her eldest getting too plump. Posy scraped it all onto Iris’s plate when her head was turned. Even if it was her sisters favourite.

And even though the way she borrows her books and dog ears the pages makes iris grit her teeth - she’s going to miss that dreadfully. She’ll see some plain unspoiled page corner in a book and her heart will pang and ring, sobbing, and longing for home.

Such longing.

Yearning for her squabbling siblings. For the sight and scent of her father’s study. For her tribe, where she has belonged for all these three and twenty years of her life. She’s sad that she can’t seem to belong here anymore. That’s one thing that causes her grief her about this arrangement. She must be apart from the three people she loves most.

She isn’t sorry to be leaving. Running away and absconding like a thief in the night. She can’t deny that this is her golden chance to escape. Flee from the life that drowned her.

This is her chance to share in a soul shaking love. One that’s seared her devotion to Kylo right down into the marrow of her bones. Scored his name on her heart in bleeding letters. She’s forever devoted. In a way none of them can yet - or will ever - understand.

She hopes in time, they will forgive her. That their leniency will outweigh the scandal and betrayal of her actions.

She casts a glance across to her mother where she silently reads her novel. No affection springs to mind.

Perhaps if she’d loved her daughter more, Iris could hate her less. If she’d even been affectionate instead of plotting. As it stands selling her eldest like a broodmare to matrimony, didn’t encourage anything for Iris beyond resentment. She was in a loveless unhappy marriage and she has no qualms about seeing her eldest shoehorned into something exactly the same. That is unforgivable in Iris’s mind. To experience the trials of such a match for years - and to then glean no lessons from it. It’s cruel.

And all for her want of connection-

Iris refocuses on her embroidery hoop. Stabbing thread harshly through the muslin and looping it through. She works diligently until the fire starts to die down. Father retires to bed. Watching his eldest with sparkling green eyes as he quits the room. Iris is preoccupied looking into her lap at her sewing.

She too heads for bed. Feigning tiredness even though she’s never been more wired. Never been so wide awake. And she was trying not to do anything out of the ordinary as per her usual routine.

She walks past her mothers and her sisters with a lump in her throat. Committing the last few scraps of moments of them to memory. “Goodnight Flora, Posy. Goodnight Mama.” She says simply as she crosses the room.

They call affable words her way. Mother opts for a single word in passing. “Night.”

Iris wonders if she’ll realise one day that would be the last words she ever spoke to her.

She opens the parlour door and slips out. The fire in the foyer hearth crackles. She sees father is in his study. Judging by the slithering glow of candlelight under the door.

She so badly wants to rush in and sob her goodbyes into his chest. Cry that she doesn’t understand how he could’ve sat there and watches Mama push and shove and pummel her around. She’ll never understand - but all the same, that doesn’t stop her from loving him dearly.

She thinks better of it. Climbs the stairs for bed. Confines herself in her dark bedroom. And then comes the true test of her bravery. She has to wait.

And wait and wait. And listen. Hearing as the whole house slowly drifts to dark. To sleep. For everyone to take to their beds.

She can’t read a novel. She can barely stand sitting still. She sits by the fire. Watching the door. Her bag was packed hours ago. Her meagre clutch of possessions. Some loved items and a couple of her favourite dresses and chemises.

She had penned a note for her family explaining every detail of her reasons for leaving. She left a separate letter for a Hux. Though he’ll probably cast it in the fire when he hears the news.

She’ll be leaving the heirloom engagement ring sat on top of it. Leaving the two ruinous sheets of paper on the end of her bed. Waiting for tomorrow. When it’s discovered she is gone.

Her bag sits by her feet. Along with her coat. She sits in the dark like a lonely widow and lets the amber glow of the fire die.

She’s already laced into her new wool lined boots. She wore two sets of stockings and her heaviest chemise.

She’s in a thick ruby wool dress that will be adequate for travelling. It’s rather a plain gown but it’s warm - he had said to dress warm.

She puts her hair into a free loose bun at the nape of her neck. Tied back with a snip of gold muslin. Her skirts will wrinkle in the coach but she doesn’t care about such a thing. She probably looks dishevelled and not at all pretty. But she cares not-

Everything is ready. Now there is only noiselessness. And anticipation

She hears her sisters dainty thumping treads. And then mothers stern steps. And then Meg and Julia gabbing about something, a man most likely, as they extinguish the candles on the landing and all over the walls and hallways. Putting the whole house into thick dull silence and darkness. Putting the day to rest.

She listens to their footsteps creak and creep up the attic stairs. The door closing in their wake.

Iris crosses to her door and opens it a crack. Peering out she can see nothing but the dull moonlight striping from the far landing window, across the floorboards. Silver streaks chase up to her door in the fluttering moonlight swaying in drips off the tree being fussed in the wind outside. Snow is starting to flake down onto the windowpane.

She shuts the door again. It was nearly midnight and her hour is approaching. She prays her bravery rises to meet it.

Father hasn’t come up yet. He was still in his study most like - she can get out the house without disturbing him. She’s certain. He’s dozed off in his armchair or got his head in his business letters and ledgers for the farm.

She puts her coat and slips her gloves on, she has second thoughts about her scarf and shoves it in her bag.

It contained her life, this travel bag, yet it seemed laughably light. And it carried everything she cherished. There’s something a little tragic about that, she decides.

She seized her bag in one hand, and her modest bonnet in the other. To disguise her hair. Should anyone catch a glimpse of her, out unchaperoned, at this time of night. If they recognised her. She can’t be too careful.

She steps to her door, bonnet and bag in hand. Coat on her back, and she stands there, glancing around at what’s left. She spied the two innocent squares of paper sat on her neatly made bed.

Such small things. And yet the words inked within those pages will alter lives. It seems an odd sort of cruel madness.

She silently steps out into the hall. Shuts the door on her room for good. Shuts the door on all this kind of life had offered her. She edges slowly along the floorboards. Listening to the clock in the foyer tinkle the chimes of the half hour before approaching midnight.

She wished she could give her siblings proper goodbyes. She thinks this as she tiptoed past their door. Her shoe creaks the whining boards and she freezes. Heart thudding up to choke in her mouth.

She feels horrified and sick, until her ears strain for noise and all she can hear is night drawing on around the stone walls outside.

She relaxed and crept further along the landing. The tips of her new shoes avoiding the truly noisy spots. She makes it to the top of the stairs and edges down inch by hushed inch. Glove skimming along the banister in a scraping soft hiss as she goes. When she gets to the foyer she creeps toward the door to the kitchens.

A figure awaits her in the armchair. By a dwindling fire.

Iris gasps and almost drops her bag. Her fear bubbled up and made her lip tremble terribly. She’d been caught out. Oh god no. She opens her mouth to speak but no defence comes.

Her father turns his head from where he’s sat fireside in his dressing gown, in his slippers breeches and shirt. Persian house slippers on his feet. His glasses were folded in his hands and there is a pensive weight on his greying brow.

“Papa...” She squeaks in a horrified whisper.

He eyes the bag and her coat. He is not a senseless man. He’s already well assessed what this means.

He swallows and rises to his feet. Lumbering up to his full, tall height. Pushing himself up off the chair by the arms. Like an aged old oak standing proud.

When he turns into the path of the moonlight flooded window behind him, it’s then that she sees the tears in his eyes. And ones that already stained down his cheeks. Her mouth gapes.

“Forgive me. I didn’t intend you to see me in this state...” He glances at her with red rimmed eyes. Raw and stark against the hazel bottle green of his pupils.

Iris is saddened for him. Turns out she wasn’t the only being in this house to cry alone.

“You are... leaving. So I see.” He comments offhand.

“I can’t marry him. Papa.” She blurts out in a hush.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ll want to stop me. That I’m ruining the family with reckless abandon. To convince me to stay. But you can’t. I cannot do it. I can’t walk into a life I will be leading falsely...” She tries summoning and explanation.

Her father cuts through her speech. Coming closer and clasping her hand in his. “Iris. Iris my dear-“ He soothes. He draws both her hands into his.

“I know.” He answers.

“I have no intention of stopping you. I only wished to detain you for a moment, to give you my blessing.” He offers.

She could be taken down with a tiny waft of a feather.

“Don’t mistake me. Please do not think me blind to your happiness, like your mother is.” He begins.

She’s aghast.

“I have watched you for these past few weeks. Grinding your teeth and holding that tongue of yours back when that entitled boy makes a remark you don’t agree with. I have watched him belittle and ignore you. And pass you over. To treat you as no more than a fertile vessel or commodity to be won. I want more life for you, than his meagre offering.” He holds firm.

“He dulls you. My dear. And you are too sharp and curious and intelligent to marry such a mulish man, who would never appreciate what a strong, kind and capable wife he has.”

Iris cries.

“He already sets your jaw on edge, even now. I can see it. And I cannot, will not, suffer the pain of seeing you trapped unto a marriage where your partner can never love nor respect you.” He tells her. “I know the pain well. It is not palatable.” He sighs.

He drops his eyes in shame. “I have not been a decent father to you. I have let my influence and opinion be set aside in favour of your being governed and bullied by your mother.” He bites out. His eyes fill with more tears. Voice strained.

“I am a coward. Iris-“ He begins.

She shakes her head. But he’s resolute to continue.

“No. I am. I am. And I’ve been weak. And what’s worse still is that I was a silent coward. I didn’t even speak up for the joy of my own daughter. I will never live that... dishonour...down. So long as I breathe. And for that, I am so very sorry. And you have all of my penitence for such a crime.” He says to her. Wringing her hands in his desperately.

“Oh, papa.” She cries. Voice no more than a croak. She throws herself in his arms and he sobs as he clutches her. Sways her into a hug and buried his mouth in her hair. Holding her close. He sniffs and sobs. She feels his chest bob with his cries.

“There is nothing you need apologise for.” She assures him.

Mr Ashton smiles. She was the sweetest soul under this roof. And he’ll miss her with every passing minute.

He pulls back and cups her hands. He doesn’t hide his tears. He doesn’t hide any of it and Iris aches with love for him.

“There is a great deal I must be sorry for, My sweet. I will live out the guilt of it eventually. So long as I’m contented that you are safe and happy.” He says gently. “That can be my saving grace.”

“Lord Ren is a very decent man by all accounts. I’m sorry I can’t claim to know him better than I do.” He counsels.

“I love him.” Iris says freely.

The first time she’s admitted it aloud and it makes more tears come. Father gives her his kerchief and tells her to keep it for the journey awaiting ahead of her.

“Then he is the most worthy and decent man living. Because you are every good thing embodied. And he couldn’t be lacking of those virtues either, or he simply wouldn’t be deserving of you.” He comments truthfully.

He sighs a deep breath. “Get out of this cursed god-forsaken village Iris.” He squeezes her hands tighter. Shaking his head.

Be free.

“Get out of this rotten bloody place and go to him. Marry the man your heart wants. I never did wed for true love, and it’s haunted me, my entire life long.” He promises.

She was the only decent thing his marriage has ever brought to him.

She hugs him again. “I’ll miss you most sorely.” She pledges.

“And I, you.” He strokes her back. Shuts his eyes and savours his daughter before she’s lost to him for who knows how long.

She pulls away he strokes hair off her cheek. Blinking in the sight of her face in the moonlight. For the last few seconds of her in actuality. Committing her to memory. For that’s all he’ll have of her soon.

“With you gone, I sincerely doubt I shall hear anything sensible cross your relatives tongues for quite some time.” He japes.

“Remark upon me in my poor state, once in a while, won’t you. And pray for my dear fraying sanity.” He sweeps more tears away. She blots them onto the back of her gloves.

“I’ll pray daily.” She smiles weakly. Bag in hand. Aswell as her bonnet. If that didn’t educate on the silliness of her sisters - nothing would.

He pauses to retrieve something from the mantel. She sees he clasps a little curved silver item. No bigger than a matchbox. Swirled with ornate silver gilding. He takes it and pressed it into her palm. It strikes a sudden zing of cold at her palm. She knows this ornament. It is the music box. The small Fabergé one that sat on the shelf in his office. His grandfather had imported it from Paris on his travels for her grandmother.

“I would like you to have this. So you have a piece of Ashton heirloom in your pocket as you go away to a brave new world.” He insists.

Iris opens the lid and the little while nightingale pops up, springing free to sing it’s call. She clasps it gently.

“I couldn’t-” She sobs. She remembers her sisters admiring it too. It seemed unfair he should gift it to her.

“No tears. My dear. No tears, I beg you. It’s yours and I’m bestowing it to you. I want you to see it and remark on those here at home, who still and have always loved you. Even if we didn’t show it as we ought.” He insists. Taking his hands from her.

She looks across at him. She’d been mistaken to think herself unloved by her parents. He did love her. He could just never bring himself to say so. Iris is awfully glad he’s taken this moment before all is lost.

“Go now. Make haste. Don’t linger too long bidding me farewell.” He offers. Walking with her across to the hallway leading to the kitchen. She tucks the music box safely in her bag. It chimes and chirps as she nestled it into her clothes. She reaches for him once more.

Iris squeezes his hand. “You have all my love. I’ll write when I can. Not for her.” She shakes her head, biting the word crossly. “But for you-“ She pledges.

“Send it to Mr. Grayson at the farm. He’ll see it reaches me safe.” He urges. She smiles. Nodding. Tears sparkling down her face.

“I’m sorry to say I will have shrouded this house in shame and gossip come the morning.” She frets.

He shakes his head with a fond smile. “We are tougher than we look. Never more so than when we are tested.” He assures. Such confidence in his Apple green and red raw eyes. She instantly believes him.

She throws herself into a hug. Fists a hand in his dressing gown shoulder and takes a deep breath of him one last time. Old leather musk of books and the sting of peppermint. “I love you.” She gasps with sad finality.

He nods. Swallowing a lump of stony sadness down in his throat.

“I wish you all the luck in the world, my dear dear girl.” He smiles. Eyes wet again. He cups her face and admires her for a second.

She clasps his hand tight at her cheek. And then she lets go-

He doesn’t have the strength to watch her leave. It’s too sad. Too hard.

He looks away and doesn’t return his eyes until the latch on the kitchen door softly clicks back into place in its frame.

The air hums with the absence of her. He prays to any god listening to convey her safely into Lord Ren’s arms.

He’d accompany her himself if it wouldn’t be so ruinous to explain come the morning. Why he was out of bed and out of doors at such an hour should anyone wish to seek after him. And she’ll move quicker without his old legs slowing her down.

He turns his eyes up to the snowy swirled heavens. And wills for her to have a better life than the one he could offer her here. He hopes he can see her again one day. When all this has passed. The hope for her is his salvation.

She scarpers across the moonlit lawn. Grass cold and crunching with frost under her feet. Snow is beading gently out the sky.

The clear moon of earlier has been replaced by chowder thick clouds. The cold wraps around her in a harsh biting embrace. Stinging at her exposed skin and making her hurry along all the more.

She takes the back lane to the woods. She didn’t wish to risk walking out in full view of the front of the house, down the drive. The road is pale with ice and dusted with snow. Icing sugar powder of it spills over her shoes.

The woods are already thick with it. Black trunks loom thin and warped; born out the white blanket of the ground. The tips of the trees blaze with flakes caught between them. Flecking the leaves.

She crunches her way along the lane. Her stride was something between a skip and scurry. Breath ghosting up in the air and her heart rattling in her ears. Her lungs sting and burn dry with cold as her breath drags into her body.

She cuts through the woods. Afraid her interlude with her father has made her late, and now Kylo would be worried she’d snubbed him.

She runs quick through the trees. Snapping slushing and scuffing twigs, frost and snow underfoot. Cold sneaks up her skirts where she holds them up to run but she doesn’t care- doesn’t even notice.

The trees are so gathered, that the branches rip at her skin as she sprints through them. Tears at her hair and her clothes. Snags are her and her cheeks sting. She bats away the grabbing things. They were like hands trying to tug her back. Trying to keep her tamed. To root her to this place. She’s having none of it.

Her hair got tangled in the snatching trees too. Pulls and only when she feels loose strands lap at her neck does she realise that the muslin had been torn and ripped right out. She presses onwards.

Her face stings and her eyes stream with cold. She comes up the lane that leads her to the church. Gnarled and slanted stubby shapes of the mossy gravestones are fog grey against the snow and the dark. Broken teeth of them rearing like lumpy beasts up out the snow. She throws the church gate open. Doesn’t care that it creaks. She runs up the worn grass path shoes scuffing at the pristine falling snow.

She comes out into the code of woods the other side of the church. The thing emerged out the snow with shimmering silver stone and the slate of its roof is edged with white where flakes settle. Oozing between the cold stony cracks.

The stained glass windows look dead and dull. The colours murkier in the dark. Smoky black and bleeding crimson staining the glass. The whites of the painted saints eyes seem to be arcing and watching over her in derisory disappointment.

She doesn’t glance back. She makes for the woods where she knows he’ll be waiting. She holds her skirts and she laughs as she runs. Her lungs puffed dry and freezing. But she’s so giddy she feels like her sides will split. Her cheeks ache from smiling. Not far to tread now. The cyclops of the moon hiding behind murky clouds watches her too. Silently keeping her secret.

She clears the worst of the trees and her heart soars when she sees a stark black shape of a coach up ahead. With an equally as tall dark haired man. His back to her as he stands in the snow. Head bowed down in his hands. Hair ruffled and dotted with flecks of it.

She presses a hand to her tummy where she suspects she now has a stitch. Because it simply feels so stupid - the amount of love and bliss thats coursing through her blood.

Kylo is outside the coach, of course he is. He’s much the same as her. He can’t sit still.

The gigantic elegant thing that will convey them to the Highlands set by the edge of the snowy muddy road. He’s pacing on it. Horses stamping in the cold. A shivering driver bundled up in pelts and thick coats.

He’s on the painful knifes edge of fretting. She’s not here yet. And it’s well past midnight. He’s worn circles in the snowy road. His coat heavily lapping and catching at his calves. The cold doesn’t bother him. Doesn’t touch him. He’s wearing a white shirt with the collar left undressed and pulled open.

It spills down his marble carved chest. Revealing him to the dark bitter woods and the snow.

He keeps bringing his silver pocket watch to hand - she’s ten minutes delayed. He watches the eleventh minute tick over.

His mind runs with the possibilities. She could’ve fallen and broken something in her haste.

She might’ve been discovered sneaking out and her mother tied her down, locked her in her bedchamber and threw away the key for good measure. His brain bubbles with mania and panic at the possibilities that could keep her from him.

He turns another circle and scans the horizon again. Sharp eyes not missing a thing. A cold breeze shudders across him from up the road. He stops dead in his tracks. That scent.

That was her. She was here.

He whips around, hands falling by his sides. Just in time to see her emerge quickly from the misty white of the woods.

Clad in her blue coat and a red dress. Her bag in hand. Her hair loose, curling and spilling over her shoulders. Cheeks are red and icy cold. Stung by the wind.

She’s never looked more lovely. So wild and free. And all his.

Her smile grows so great. As does his. She slows to a stop. Panting for breath that she’ll never catch. Not now. Not with him stood there looking all dashing.

Iris hikes her skirts and coat up, and runs straight to him and she’s no shame about it either.

She drops her bag on her way to him, uncaring for its contents. He meets her halfway. Their bodies clash in such a tempest of love.

She throws herself into his chest and he hauls her up so her feet don’t touch the ground. His strength was always so vastly great and he shows it in the way he lifts her so easily. Cradles the precious small weight of her in his big arms.

They collapse into glad sighs and she strokes her hand over his hair. Smiling out in bliss as she holds the back of his head. He clutched her back and her hair and buried his face in the crook of her cold neck. It delights and thrills her and she can’t conceive she can deserve so much happiness-

He sighs into her neck. Smiling into her skin. He draws back and looks right at her beautiful cold-kissed complexion. “Ready for this adventure? Lady Ren...” He asks. Cupping her cheek and most of her jaw.

“Wholeheartedly.” She answers.

He plucks a soft lingering kiss at her cheek and sets her down. Scoops up her bag and her hand and leads her through the crunching snow into the coach.

He opens the door for her and she clambers in. Erland snorts and shifts and stamps at her even from up the front of the carriage. Determined to have his share - he was such a diva he could never be left out.

“She’s coming with us, you great big fool.” Kylo comments to his horse. Iris laughs at their exchange as she settles herself in the plush velvet lined carriage.

Scarlet draping over every inch of it. A watery patch of moonlight slanted and cast down from the windows in the doors. She scoots across the bench for Kylo to sit next to her. He then commands his driver to set off.

Pelts and blankets and garnet silk brocade bolster-cushions line the seat opposite. He’s stuffed it with comforts for her. There’s a basket hamper of food and bottles of drink and a stack of leather bound books. She requires rest and sustenance. He seldom does. Not more than a handful of hours per night. But he’ll enjoy slumbering next to her.

Kylo shuts the door after himself. A gust of snow blooms with the force of it. Puffing into the velvet space. They are quite alone. And the carriage lurches off into that snowy dark midnight. Their new life together begins.

He greets her properly. Makes sure she’s snug in pelts and blankets and tips her face up to his by the chin to kiss her again. Her face pulls into an expression of agonised bliss. Tugs her closer closer closer.

Wraps his fingers around the back of one hip. Slithered his fingers between her coat and her dress.

He nudges her jaw out his way with a cheeky smile and shoved his nose into her hair to push it aside, nips and nibbles sucking teasing kisses down her neck that makes her shiver. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. You’ve no idea how long I’ve been dying to kiss your soft neck.” He grumbles.

He sucks an open mouthed kiss over her pulse and she moans and pants his name. Fingers trapping into the blankets as she says his name like she’s chiding him. They can both feel the desire marching over every vertebrae of her spine.

She shivers. God that felt good. Made her weak. Made her eyes roll back.

“Oh kylo.” She moans. Her toes curl with the sheer raw power of his seductive kisses.

He finds her left hand on her lap and strokes the empty space on her fourth finger.

“Now. I think I had better make this elopement of ours authentic. Had I not?” He smirks. Reaching for his coat pocket.

Then he’s drawing something small out the shadow coloured wool. Her lips part in a smile when he snaps open a small blue velvet box. She’s blinded by diamonds and sapphires.

A cluster of them all crowning a gold band which is set with more gems. Two sapphires surround a large round diamond. Rounded and sparkling gems.

He’s watching her carefully - with a smug expression taking over him as he plucks the ring out its silken nest and slips off her glove slowly, then slots it up onto her finger. It glides on and sits perfectly. He lets her admire for a second. Before lifting the back of her hand to his lips.

“It’s too beautiful.” She comments. Amazed at it. He reaches for the curtain at the window and draws it back. Let’s the moonlight shimmer off the cluster of stones. Fractured light drips everywhere.

“Now that looks a worthy decoration to sit on that pretty kind hand.” He smiles. Before he frowns and turns her head towards him. A curl of copper and iron drifts into his nose.

“Dove. You’re bleeding...” He remarks. When he turns her face there’s paper thin red scratches swiped across her cheeks. She raises her hand to her skin and brings away a dribble of blood.

“I ran through the trees. I must have hurt my cheeks and not realised.”

“How could you not realise?” He asks her as he brings her finger to his mouth and naughtily, suavely puts that fingertip on his tongue and sucks off the blood. Curls his tongue around her taste to savour the way most men would appreciate a fine burgundy wine.

It makes something throb between her legs when he gets his lips on her. His eyes look like they could cut her with a look.

Her blood coating his tongue is too sweet for words. Sweet sweet bouquet. An agonising temptation that he only wants more of.

“I was smiling too much to notice.” She admits in a blush. Chewing on the inside of her lower lip.

He kisses at that blushing sore cheek. Pressing his lips to the barely bleeding cut. It should help soothe and close it. “That makes me insatiably glad to hear.” He smiles.

She searches for his hand and holds it. “I’m sorry I was late to meet you. I ran into my father as I was leaving.” She explains as he leans in to kiss her jaw again.

He pulls back and his face turns rather serious and stern. “He didn’t try and stop you?” He seeks.

“He could not stand to see me wed to such a loveless man as Hux. He gave me his blessing to wed you. I didn’t think I’d be walking away with that.” She tells.

He suspected there was a reason to Mr. Ashton’s silence. And now he knew; it was guilt. He’s glad to see she is loved from her fathers quarter. It soothes him.

“I’m glad you were able to make your peace with him.” He confesses. Holding her dear sweet little hand in his own massive grasp.

She looks up at him. At that handsome earnest face that is watching her so intently. So full of love and desire.

“As am I. But for now. Can I be terribly audacious and ask you to kiss me again?” She seeks with a grin.

She squealed nearly as Kylo tugs her tight into his lap. Folds her thighs over his. One hand covering her ribs under her dress. Fingers teasing under the swell of her breast. His smirking lips kiss and nibble under her jaw and she gasps in bliss.

“Thought you’d never ask...” He smirks and growls into the scorching heat of her neck. It tumbled right through her and she knows more desire is to come.

”And if you hadn’t? I’d have had to taste those pretty lips without your permission.” He sighs cheekily.

He swoops up and takes her mouth and she truly things she might burst into flames.

His silky tongue falls like cream running along her lower lip. She shivers at the sheer erotic desire of it. And this is only the start-

He’ll need to be careful. Or he’ll have kissed her lips raw by the time they reach Scotland.

~

[ddagent]

Podcast question for Jay & Bee: What's the worst version of Goldenhand and the Blue Knight you've ever read? Can you describe any of the scenes that made it so bad? And, relatedly, what inspired this podcast? Loving it and appreciate the distraction from my own undergrad students. ;D

Anonymous: Hi Jay and Bee! I've binged your eps on my work break and I'm a big fan! I have two questions, if you don't mind. One serious and on silly. 1. Were Ser Blue and Goldenhand the figures that got you into history, or are they just the current end point of your path? 2. And how are you the two of you most and least like BOTH of your namesakes/ancestors?

B: The following podcast contains strong language, literary violence, and explicit sexual content.

(tourney horn plays)

J: It’s The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden, the footnotes! And, for the first time, we’re recording at my place. 

B: I don’t know why we don’t record here more often; it’s infinitely nicer than my flat, and you don’t have any neighbours fiddling with their bedframe all night.

J: (laughs) Their headboard is banging, Bee; I think they’re fucking. 

B: I know that; I’m not an idiot. I was just trying to be coy.

J: We read out historical pornography on a podcast; coy went out the window along with your valiant attempts for us to just be acquaintances. 

B: Yes, suddenly it’s five years later and you’re my best friend. 

J: You could do a lot worse. 

B: I could do a lot better, too. When you give friends spare keys, for instance, it’s expected they only use them for emergencies. 

J: Is this about this morning?

B: I was in a towel.

J: Your bedroom door was open.

B: My front door was locked. 

J: I ran out of cereal!

B: You live on the other side of the city! (pause) Right, enough bickering, let’s get on with the podcast. 

J: Fine. So, this is our footnotes podcast, where we answer your questions, go into a little more depth with our discussions. 

B: Eventually, we would like to have a couple of guests on, like your brother does.

J: (laughs) As if anyone would want to be on this! No, that’s a lie, Papa Bee would love to do this podcast. He’s up next week; you should ask him.

B: I am not asking my father for his help analysing historical erotica. 

J: Well, it’s a good thing I’m invited to dinner so I can ask him myself. 

B: (sighs) Jay.

J: Bee. (pause) Fine. We’ll talk about it later. For now, we’ve had two questions. The first one is from (laughs) oh, this is great. It’s from tarthserjaime@ravenmail.com. They must be a fan of The Caged Lion. For those of you that aren’t familiar, it’s the sequel to The King’s Road, and it covers Goldenhand’s journey as he, well, becomes Goldenhand the Just.

B: That is a beautiful scene, as well. Very vivid. 

J: Having seen your island, I completely understand the reaction. 

B: (pause) It is rather beautiful. 

J: So it is. (pause) Anyway, tarthserjaime has two questions, the first is: “What's the worst version of Goldenhand and the Blue Knight you've ever read? Can you describe any of the scenes that made it so bad?” Oh, fuck, well for Goldenhand it has to be Trant. 

B: We’ve mentioned Trant a couple of times. That’s Roslin Trant, and she has a whole series of Goldenhand novels, such as The Ravishing at Riverrun, The Kingsguard’s Oath, The Lion and the Maiden, The Squire’s Suprise, The Bedding of the Beauty...she’s written about twenty of them, I think. 

J: And in all these books, Goldenhand fucks at least three different people. 

B: Oh, at least. In The Quest South, there’s an orgy in Sunspear. 

J: It’s got very little in common with the real Goldenhand: Trant writes him as a playboy who’ll fuck anything. 

B: He has multiple bastard children, too. Well—

J: (laughs) More than the three he had canonically, at any rate. So, yeah, Trant is the worst. We will have to read some of it, won’t we? 

B: I think we’ll have to. As for Ser Blue, the versions vary. I think the worst one is Into the Wild, where, during the Long Night, Ser Blue takes a break during the fighting to engage one of the Wildlings also in the battle. 

J: (gasps) Oh, I remember when you read that. I got a series of angry text messages at 3am. THE BLUE KNIGHT WOULD HAVE FOUGHT TO THE DEATH; SHE WOULDN’T HAVE TOSSED ASIDE HER SWORD TO SWALLOW A WILDLING’S COCK. 

B: (groans) Oh, Gods, yes, that one is dreadful. And I think, is it Blackwood who wrote her as a broodmare for Goldenhand?

J: Yeah, he knighted her, and then immediately she wanted him to fill her with his seed. She spent the Long Night in their chambers, waiting for a break in the fighting so he could come and impregnate her. 

B: Thank you for the reminder, tarthserjaime.

J: Hopefully her second question doesn’t bring up such bad memories. 

B: Let’s hope not.

J: “And, relatedly, what inspired this podcast? Loving it and appreciate the distraction from my own undergrad students." Undergraduates are terrible, aren’t they?

B: Not all of them.

J: Of course you don’t think that; you get the good ones. Cee likes you best.

B: Of course she does. And, in answer to your excellent question tarthserjaime, it all started when Jay’s brother Ty came round and he was looking at the strange collection of books on his brother’s nightstand. He asked Jay to read out the worst bits, we all got atrociously drunk, and the next day Ty suggested we should do the podcast. 

J: Excellent chance to plug Ty’s podcast, by the way. It’s A Hundred Ways to Disappoint Your Father; listen to it wherever you get your podcasts. 

B: Now we have a question from oathkeeper@ravenmail.com. Excellent choice of email address.

J: I’d prefer Widow’s Wail.

B: No you wouldn’t; everyone prefers Oathkeeper. (pause) They write: “Hi Jay and Bee!”

J: Hi yourself.

B: “I've binged your eps on my work break and I'm a big fan!” Well, that makes two. You and my father. “I have two questions, if you don't mind. One serious and one silly. 1. Were Ser Blue and Goldenhand the figures that got you into history, or are they just the current endpoint of your path?” The Blue Knight and Oathkeeper and our family line was certainly the reason I got into history. I was obsessed with knights and quests as a child. I even tried to take Oathkeeper from the exhibit. 

J: Is that the photo up in your dad’s hallway?

B: Yes, my neighbour Robb took a picture before my Dad found us and, very gently, told me to put the priceless family heirloom down. (they laugh) What about you?

J: It was my uncle, Gerold, who got me into history. My father didn’t like the stories, didn’t want me or my brother fixating on the golden age of heroes. But my uncle took us to the museums in Lannisport and the Targaryen Museum of Ancient History in King’s Landing. I remember the day he told me I shared the name of one of the greatest knights in history. I was over the moon.

B: He sounds like a great uncle. 

J: He was. (pause) Anyway, so that’s the first question, what’s the second?

B: “How are the two of you most and least like BOTH of your namesakes/ancestors?” So not just Ser Blue for me but Goldenhand, too. 

J: Well, I don’t have a hand made out of gold. (both laugh) That’s probably the most obvious difference. I haven’t got a sister, but I do have a younger brother. No children. Goldenhand stepped away from family duty really early, but I didn’t. I went to school originally for business and worked at my father’s company for five years before I decided I’d had enough and walked away. 

B: There’s actually eight years between us. 

J: You were so sweet and innocent back when we first met. Eighteen years old, fresh-faced from the Stormlands. 

B: Oh don’t.

J: See, you’re more like Goldenhand. Papa Bee wanted you to go to SEU but you applied in secret to—

B: Bear Pit University.

J: (laughs) Bear Pit University, yeah. You knew your own path and you went for it. 

B: I suppose so. As for the Blue Knight and I, we share a similar background. Only child, widowed father, exceptionally tall and plain. 

J: Oh pull the other one.

B: Am I not taller than you?

J: You are but you’re not...you had a boyfriend in upper school. 

B: One boyfriend does not mean I’m suddenly pretty, Jay. 

J: No, but nor do no boyfriends mean that people aren’t attracted to you.

B: I think we’re getting off-topic. (pause) oathkeeper, tarthserjaime, I hope we’ve answered your questions. If you have any more, send them to us at thebearandthemaiden@ravenmail.com.

J: We’ll be back with a new book to read very soon. Until then, valar morghulis.

(tourney horn plays)

[horsesarecreatures]

Siciliano Indigeno -

“Today's Native Sicilian horse, whose possession and breeding, has been held in the past both by the small, and by the great country breeder, lost, forgotten in the vast areas of our region, especially in the inner part of Sicily, has its origin from very ancient times. Fundamental remains his knowledge to detect the great genetic quality inherited from the best blood of the horses of the kings. A huge work and an accurate study took place to identify stallions, mares and foals scattered in the island, so that we can proceed to the recognition of "race" and  the introduction of a family register in a territory rich in natural beauties, whose historical tradition is among the oldest of our peninsula, where the agreste tourism plays a leading role, with a high fertility soil and a rich herbaceous vegetation from which the zootechnical industry derives, the equestrian sector remains penalized. Although the equestrian sector remains devoid of the ‘breed of the Sicilian horse’ of the historical culture of this beautiful land. The ‘Native Sicilian horse’ for its specific attributes and defined in the parameters of zootechnics, must be reassessed, protected by extinction and above all deserve, rightly and historically, the recognition of  ‘race’ peculiar of our land. The Sicilian horse enjoyed in the antiquity of great fame. Greece, known all over the world for the superiority of its horses, recognized the exceptional of the Sicilian horse, admired for elegance, speed, resistance, on all running fields, not only of Sicily but of the same Greece, at the point from destarne Envy. It is in the vii century a. c. that the production of the "Sicilian horse" will continue under Roman domination, for about 800 years in Sicily, so much that, among the Italian equine races will be praised for strength and resistance in the writings of Vegetius, ‘Equine races of the the century of the vulgar era.’ For the goodness and attitude of the Sicilian horse to the saddle and the circus on this base of Medium-size horses but with harmonious shapes, they will form in the century ix after Christ, the most important Arab breeding in Europe, with the import of 20. 00 Eastern Mares, from North Africa; famous the Breed Leapfrog D ' Agrigento created with breeding of Arab Emirs.

In 1072, the introduction of German stallions, by the Normans, will bring beneficial influence on the whole Sicilian leapfrog population. The intersection of Norman horses, with a very heavy and robust build, with the most slender Sicilian mares based on eastern, will give place to a subject of Germanic-Oriental Structure, which in the period of the great Frederick of Swabia will be used for the with the hawk and the cheetah. In the century XIV, the crossing with the Spanish horse will make the Sicilian horse more elegant, superior of stature, distinguished; this will be the golden period of the "Native Sicilian horse" which, under the Aragonese domination (1285-1515), will become at the illustrious European courts; in Sicily Gorge the largest export center for Europe. In the centuries XIV, XV AND XVI ships loaded with ‘Sicilian horses’ with the Spanish brand leaving from the ports of Sicily for England, France, Portugal and for the same Spain.

In England Sicilian horses were known as Spanish horses and will be used for the creation of the English Thoroughbred. Thanks to the smart use of many Sicilian aristocrats, in the use of good breeding (Spanish horses, Saracens, Turks), Sicilian equine production was increasingly and in the XVII century it will come to the highest degree of excellence and abundance diplomatic relations, among the powerful principles of Sicily with the flourishing courts of Italy Northern, will bring the Sicilian horse to the Gonzaga, Visconti and Farnesi stables.

In the ducal palace of Mantua we find the first hall of paintings depicting sicilian horses. In 1424, they will be recruited in castelbuono 100 Sicilian horses and moved to the Gonzaga stables In 1500, Leonardo Da Vinci drew the Sicilian horses in the stables of Prince Farnese; the crown of England will buy 100 Sicilian horses and 40 mules to improve English blood. The remarkable versatility and high genetic quality have, always, made the Sicilian horse suitable for various equestrian disciplines, especially dressage.

Famous it will be, in the XVI century, XVII and XVIII, "The Academy of the Star" founded in 1595 in castelbuono, by John III. It gave life to the prestigious "order of the knights of the star", and was directed by instructors of great fame: first, among all, the Neapolitan Federico Grisone (the master of the masters); follow, Antonio de Pluvinel, master of Salomon de la Brue, who will introduce sweet training to the treaties of Xenophon; Prospero d' Osma, master of the Royal Academy of Queen Elizabeth I. Towards the end of 1600, economic decay, internal struggles, the exploitative policy of the dominators, impoveriranno and immiseriranno the entire island, with harmful effects.

The last herds on which they will intervene for a genetic improvement will be those of the Prince of Belmonte, Prince of Butera, Prince of Cutò, Baron Colluzio and Marchese Artale. Towards the middle of 1700, for the intervention of Carlo III, King of the kingdom of the two Sicilies, the breeding of the Sicilian horse will It will be really Carlo III to create the haras of persano (sa) and the haras of tresanti (Puglia). His successor, Ferdinand I, implanted the haras of ficuzza (Corleone) called real breed of ficuzza and give a large building: the palace of ficuzza. From it will come out important stallions that will influence, for a long time and until 1860.

The Sovereign, for this purpose, sent to ficuzza precious Eastern Stallions, Spanish, Morelli, of the Royal Stables of Spain. With the unification of Sicily to Italy, (1860), the herds of the real race of ficuzza will be mainly established in the band and madonie band; here it will give place to a long period of reproduction, not only private but mainly public, the stallions deposit of catania, founded in 1867. Here, were bred the "Indigenous Sicilian horses" and the equestrian horse of Catania sent the typical producers who were the sicilian stallions of ficuzza. 

Over the years, the interest for the "Native Sicilian horse" has been increasingly waning for the change of times, for the intervention of events that came to change our system of life, work, and this horse will hear always less. It was in the early 90s that together with a group of fans of the ippologia I resumed the study and research on this animal, LED a series of excursions for the vast territories of Sicily, visited numerous companies, taken Contacts with many owners and breeders, has created several showcases and exhibitions on the "Native Sicilian horse", organizing conferences and debates, and starting to draw up a regional age register a historic stage that sees an equine population, already endangered, finding a well-deserved and suitable historical and cultural and allevatoriale location. In this breed leapfrog is the whole history and past of Sicily and our breeding, a good to recover, a value that belongs to all Sicilians and the few breeders left. Historical research published by Vincenzo Dr Allegra, owner of the breeding ‘la rametta.’” -  Cavallo Siciliano Indigeno Photo of "Tsarina of the Rametta,"  2010 broodmare.