#except for adulterer

[milkcryy]

everyone was trashing this person on twt for this but they were right 💔

[hairtusk]

if i had a massive amount of inherited wealth that was mine alone, i'd become a stay-at-home-mother in a heartbeat tbh

[gawayne]

question for the group: as unmarried and/or sexually active women become more and more the target of church rhetoric from the 13th century and going onwards, why does the vulgate let elaine of corbenic off so easy?

[sgiandubh]

The Only Exception

I am back home, with a very dark, strong coffee under my nose.

None of your reactions disappointed. Some were enthusiastic. Others, less so: egos clashed, agendas were unsettled. This is not my problem and I am not going to comment further. Those persons are free to think whatever they want, of course. The Anon I was not sent apparently made the rounds in the shipper community: others got it and have their own take on what they saw - again, that is their point of view, not mine. I was simply sent a link to a YouTube clip and told to look for a possible hug at around the 01:00 mark. Suffice to say I had no particular expectations: in fact, I found that DM on my #silly way to the bathroom, at about 03:30 AM, local time. And then tried to make sense of it. That took me four hours.

This is the link I have been sent :https://youtu.be/h6lcHzBCFkM?feature=shared. And this is the clip. It is aerial footage (drone? I am not a specialist), taken live from the Paramore segment of Taylor Swift's Edinburgh concert:

First of all, I would like to walk you through my own steps, trying to make sense of it. Before anything else, I downloaded it from YouTube, using a basic free downloader, in 1080 p resolution, mp4 format, Full HD:

Then, as I told you, I simply used the VLC media player (https://www.videolan.org/) and its very easy, intuitive options:

Red arrow is the 'take a snapshot' button. Blue arrow is the 'frame by frame' button. I have patiently clicked frame by frame, and took tens of snapshots. Seeing all these in order gives you a very clear idea of what happened and one more time: I know what I saw. And then I opened the snapshots, zoomed on the tent where the cast was and snipped the S&C relevant portion of the image.

I have not brightened the images. I have not sharpened any contrasts. I did not want to adulterate anything. Zoom was an issue, because what you gain in focus, you sometimes lose in clarity. I have no idea of compression, resolution and such things.

Certainly not the best method and perhaps crude tools. I am NOT an expert videographer. I have NO formal training in that field. I just wanted to be of service. If you think you know better and can do better, by all means: be my guest. But do better and show arguments. Also, try to be civilized and do not insult me or come in DMs to tell me that somebody else saw something else, parroting that person's POV: I simply do not care. This is what I did, in all good faith and I take full responsibility for it.

The Screeching Banshees have asked for specific footage, thinking (like some Shippers) that I only had pics. That is not true, as I just explained. It is their constitutional right. All I could do was to crop the part where the band is looking at the tent zone:

You are free to do whatever you want with it. As far as I am concerned, I have seen a loving couple who could not help themselves. I have seen joy. I have seen an open secret and the John Bell/Joey pretorian guard protecting that open secret.

I have given you all the information I could, to the best of my abilities. Again: do better, be better than me. If you have better knowledge and/or better tools, USE THEM. If that could help ALL OF US, Shippers, have more clarity and less doubts, so be it. I have no ego when I am very serious about something and I take NO credit (and use NO watermarks) for anything, only my responsibility.

I am not fishing for any compliments and I expect more insults and more doubts to seep in, for various reasons. I thank all of you who reacted positively from the bottom of my heart. But I will stand by what I have seen with my own eyes and for me, it is enough. This, nobody could take from me.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Older Times

Requested: No

Warnings: Smut, Adultery, mentions of forced prostitution, prostitution, fem!reader (Ghost and Graves only)

Summary: A few short little drabbles of a few Call of Duty characters in older times, particular around the times of kings and queens everywhere.

Characters: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Graves

Word Count: 1899 Words

Concubine x King!Price

“Will you see her tonight?” You ask him when he slips out from beneath the covers, back turned to you and spine rigid as he grabs his clothes from off of the floor. So ready to leave as if he hadn’t just spent the better part of the last few hours buried between your thighs, cock buried inside of you and dumping his seed deep inside when he was done. He didn’t need to ask who you meant. You didn’t care to clarify either.

“She is my wife.” He whispers to you, like you needed to be reminded of that fact. As if the thought didn’t keep you up at night, as if it didn’t plague you all day when you sat in this bed and waited for him to come back to you. Like you didn’t envy her for all the ways she got to be with him in the light, when your time with him could only ever be in the night. “It is expected that I will stay with her some nights. Try to make a few heirs to carry on my line. It is nothing new to you.”

You hum, reaching your hand out and grasping for his wrist, your words a solemn plea. Eyes drowned in sorrow. He wouldn’t look at you, because he knew what he would see. He knew he’d look inside your sad eyes and he’d stay, when he was demanded elsewhere. When he had duties to fulfill to someone he didn’t want. Someone he could never want, when you held all the keys to his heart in the palm of your hand.

“I love you.” You whisper, making him throw his head back with a curse before burying his face between his calloused hands. Defeated, and all torn up inside. Like your words were a butcher’s knife, and you were just slashing around under his skin. Like your sad voice was killing him more than any sword or lance could ever attempt to do.

“I love you too.” He sighed, his voice cracking at the end. And then he got up, kicked on his rugged leather boots and loosely shrugged on his shirt, leaving you all alone in this bed. The bed you always shared with him, when he came to you. Silk sheets sliding smoothly against your skin as you turned over in the bed, just so you wouldn’t have to see the door as it swung close. But try as you might, you couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks when you heard the click of the door as it shut behind him.

Knowing you were his, but he could never be yours.

Adulterous Queen x Knight!Ghost

Guilt. The feeling hung heavy in Simon’s heart as he held your legs around his waist, feeling them shake with every inward thrust, your quivering moans reverberating in his ears like the music of angels. The creaking of the bed like a violin, the squelch of your insides like a drum. A beautiful composition, meant to reel him in and drown him, a siren song to lure him to his death. A deserved one, that he rushed towards eagerly like a green boy in his first battle.

“Simon.” And oh, your voice. He’d heard a thousand symphonies played for his king, and for you, but none could ever match the beauty of his queen moaning his name like that. Not even heaven’s own choir could fill him up with such bliss. “Simon, more.”

“I’ll always give you as much as you want.” He panted, hot and wild against your lips, bucking harder and faster in a way that made you tighten up so deliciously for him. His word was his law, except apparently not when it came to those he’d said to his king. The words he’d sworn the day he was knighted, to defend him and keep his trust. But now here he lay, an oathbreaker as he plowed into his King’s wife, with the promise to fill her belly full of the seed leaking from his aching tip. And he wondered, briefly, if that seed would take root in your womb and give his king an heir with his brown eyes. A thought that nearly made him spill.

Backstabber. Deceiver. Oathbreaker.

“Simon.” Your voice called through the waves of his lust. He could feel your legs tensing, could see the whites of your eyes as your pupils rolled back into your head and your back arched off of the mattress. TIghter strung then any bow hung up in the armory. “Simon!”

“My Queen.” Was his returning words as he laid himself atop you, his full weight pressing you back down, his lips sealing against yours to swallow those beautiful noises that would one day, without a doubt, put his head on a spike as a warning to all others. He doubted it would work, when your smile was like sunshine, and your voice was akin to that of a mermaid’s song drifting across the sea. You were a temptress, sin given form. No man could resist.

Especially not him. Never him.

“I love you.” Were the words that finally snapped the coil in his belly, and he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, staring at your eyes and the glimmering tears that dripped from them. And he knew that hellfire awaited him for his transgression, but it was worth it all to be here with you. To hold you. To love you.

Knight x Squire!Gaz

“Something troubling you?” Your voice asks, breaking him out of his train of thought, brown eyes snapping up to yours. Your training sword was lowered, as was your voice, concern bleeding through the normally tough exterior of his mentor. “You seem out of it today. Are you ill?”

“No.” Kyle insists, shaking his head rapidly. Perhaps a bit too fast judging by the way you narrow your eyes at him. “Just….getting caught up in my own head. I’m sorry.” He says, like one would discuss concerns of rain or heat, and not that his thoughts were of you on your hands and knees as he feeds you his cock from behind.

Your eyes tell him that you’re unconvinced but you don’t question him again, but your gaze follows him all throughout the rest of the day. Boring into his skull, like you had notched an arrow and loosed it straight into his brain, scrambling his thoughts that were barely there before. Draining him of all his wits and replacing them with visions of you eyeing his cock with that same look of haughty disappointment you gave him whenever you knocked him down into the dirt. His prick always gave a few telltale twitches whenever you stood above him like that. Maybe you would press the heel of your boot to it? Maybe make him rut against your shin like a filthy mutt only to chastise him about the mess he was making all over your greaves, making the shiny metal look all filthy and disgusting. And oh, the thought of you forcing his head down to make him clean up his mess.

Sweating, he nervously tried to fan himself with his gambeson, so hard and fast that it was like he was trying to fan away these depraved thoughts as well. Blow them into the breeze and hope that they drifted far far away from you. Or maybe….maybe towards you, so that you could perhaps feel this same sweltering need burning you up from the inside, the same as him.

“I think that’s enough for today.” You sigh as you settle your training dword on the holding rack, reaching for the one you usually keep at your waist. “And Garrick?”

“Hmm?” Kyle hums, perking up and looking alert, looking at you for his next instructions. Was he to do lone training now? Guard duty? Or perhaps you would simply tell him to bugger off.

“Do something about your prick already. It was poking at me the whole match.” You said before walking away, leaving him slack jawed and warm faced, sparring sword dropped to the ground.

Brothel Madam x Graves

The scent of cum and rum filled the air, an overwhelming stench that could make your belly rumble with either want or nausea, depending on how well acquainted you were with such establishments. No longer were you a young girl with nowhere else to turn to for money, but the head of the brothel. But despite that, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the smell, nor the sight of so many women getting dragged off into the various rooms with their John of choice for the night. Smiling and eager, you made sure each one felt comfortable working in such a profession. So different from you, who had started because you hadn’t eaten in a week. Your first customer had filled your belly with seed instead of food, and you hadn’t been able to change professions ever since. You suppose it isn’t all bad. The girls can be spiteful witches, but they look out for each other when they are scorned by everyone else. And if a John ever got too rough, then you knew they’d all form a mob just to pay him back.

“Mind if I take up your time tonight, pretty thing?” A heavily accented voice cooed by your ear, and you couldn’t stop the small bashful smile that rose on your lips when you turned around to see the same handsome noble who shined his favor upon you whenever he could. Beautiful golden tresses and sparkling blue eyes, like something that came out of a dream.

“I don’t know.” You hummed coyly, eyes darting to the hand he hid behind his back. Another present for you, perhaps? “I fear my suitor may be opposed to such a scandalous idea, he is to arrive soon.”

“Oh? Mustn’t upset your suitor then.” He huffed, a twinkle of amusement sparking in his eyes, reserved only for you. “Though I have to say, I think he’d be a bit upset that his woman is out here in a place like this.”

“Hmm? Maybe he likes it.” You tease, already knowing where this conversation was going. The same one you’d been dodging for years. You were beginning to think you’d be dodging it the rest of your life.

Run away with me.

“Now, I doubt that.” He whispered, the mirth in his eyes replaced with something angrier. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was you being here. “I outta think a man wants his lady waiting for him at home, her arms open, her eyes shining. Happy. Safe.”

“Who says I’m not either of those things?” You ask, like your heart didn’t break every time he left you. Like you didn’t long to stay home with him and huddle together under piles of furs during the cold winter’s night. His responding head tilt and narrowing eyes told you he already knew the truth of the matter, it was no use trying to hide it from him so you just craned your neck down to avoid his gaze. It only made him sigh before he slipped a little box into your hand.

“Just think about it.” He whispered, running his palm over your warming cheek. “For me, dear heart.”

[sneckoil]

wilson really doesnt need to be in house md. they just put him there to make audiences feel something the same way they do when they give the protag a wife and kids to sympathize with.

except the wife and kids is a serial adulterer and the protag is more of the wife in the relationship (the housewife. haah)

[hotvintagepoll]

sorry but i had to submit propaganda bc i cannot be normal about her. she is my beautiful beautiful repressed wife with so much talent it RADIATES from her when she’s on screen. get you a girl who can do pretty pretty princess AND sexually voracious long-suffering adulterous wife AND weird repressed lady obsessed with fixing gay men. except not her bc we’re already married

[elfqueen006]

The Lifeguard Part 4

Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, horror, slasher, rivals to lovers. Drama. Skinny dipping. Minors DNI

It’s that dream again.

That dream where everything’s perfect.

It’s a sunny day. Everything’s in slow motion, but the sounds are in real time. Everyone is whooping and cheering. Children laugh and run past him. In the distance they zipline and play games. Counselors smile as they wave at him. Everyone is happy. Everything is perfect.

But there’s one thing missing. Skylar. It’s often in these dreams she’d walk past him and smile, giving a coy wave and a wink. She’s dressed in her loose counselors’ tee and jean shorts. Her blonde hair that catches in the sun flows behind her and her blue eyes sparkle. She’s perfect. But she’s nowhere to be seen. 

He hears the distant shrill of the lifeguards’ whistle. The water is still and perfect. There’s no one at the lake but you. You’re in the lifeguards’ bright red leotard and wearing shades. Sunlight glints off your perfect legs. You lie back in your chair, a sigh of pleasure echoes as you soak up the suns’ rays. Then you look at him and the sounds of laughter are drowned out. You smile perfect whites and blow him a kiss.

---

After a week, the camp had put out a missing persons’ flier for Skylar, Ian, and Bill. There was really nothing Jack could do to protest on the basis he’d look suspicious. It made him feel awful once local parents caught wind that people were going missing and decided to pull most of their kids from the camp. He couldn’t have imagined how much of the experience had been ruined for them, and he even had to hold back some tears of his own as he watched the smaller ones scream and cry to stay but to no avail.

But no, he reasoned, it was better this way. Less kids at the camp meant less of the likelihood that they’d go wandering past campgrounds. And that was less people to keep track of going near the shed, which after that fateful night with Bill he’d made certain no one else had ventured near it. And in the meantime, he’d kept himself occupied… a little side project you might say. He planted flowers. 

He planted them behind the shed, on top of the mound where they’d been buried. He hadn’t even known where he’d gotten the idea. But one day he’d simply ran up to the local convenience store, found some seeds and started planting. They were scorpion grasses - “forget-me-nots”. He grimaced at the implications. It didn’t take long for the other counselors’ to start noticing them in the distance. So of course they questioned him.

“Oh that?” Jack asked, “That’s sort of a… garden I’m starting.” That earned him a few narrowed glances and side eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, using the flush of guilt to play it up like he was embarrassed. “I… haven’t been able to really sleep much since Skylar disappeared so… I just started without thinking.” At the very least, the words were true. And a half truth is always good to sell in the right context. Finally he said, “I figured maybe… If I planted these they might see them. They might want to come back. I dunno…”

They ate it right up. Their looks of suspicion turned somber and apologetic. They muttered sorrows and walked past him giving pats on the back. All except you, who sucked your teeth at the explanation. You shook your head, “They ain’t coming back.”

All eyes were on you now. Another counselor named Olivia folded her arms and raised a brow, “And… why is that Y/N?” She asked.

“Because they’re guilty.” You replied matter-of-factly. Jack gave you a pleading look, which you aptly ignored.

Olivia pressed, “Of?”

“Being slimy, trifling, no-good adulterers.” Your statement was met with scoffs and mumbles of disbelief. You simply shrugged, “You heard me, they were creepin’.” You then proceeded to spill everything you heard from Jack that night, though you were sure not to mention his name. Still, it made the mascot visibly wilt. And now it looks to everyone like he was pining after a “bad girl” who acted like a “good girl” and led him on. Where that last part came from he hadn’t known. But apparently everyone knew at some point he liked Skylar.

People weren’t so sympathetic towards you however. You’d been cheated on, that much was certain. They had no reason to dispute you, and it would explain your shit attitude the week before. But your apparent hostility towards the whole thing had made other counselors grow wary of you and they began to talk.

“She’s not even joining in on searches for them!”

“Yeah, that was still her boyfriend and best friend. You’d think she’d be a little more caring about the whole thing...”

And then things got on the more insidious side.

“I know she can be a bitch sometimes but this is too far.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out she had something to do with their disappearance.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. The thought that anyone would be accusing you of murder… It rubbed him the wrong way. The more ruthless part of him thought this was likely the best case scenario. You hadn’t mentioned his name and suspicions were already on you. You weren’t exactly what came to mind for blood thirsty ax-murderer but looks could be deceiving. He could always just relocate the bodies, adjust some wounds and… He shook his head clear of the incriminating thoughts. That wasn’t who he was. The goal was discretion and scarcity. There was no need to make things more complicated. Aside from that, there were things that needed clearing up…

You were on lifeguard duty as usual, and while there weren’t as many kids to manage, it was all the more reason to stay vigilant of them. Some counselors left due to stress but it was more you hung around to stave off boredom. You lie back in your chair, soaking up the sun’s rays, absentmindedly chewing gum. Jack shuddered, remembering his dream.

He got it again when he walked to your high chair and knocked on the stilts. Without even looking down you hop from your chair and take off your shades. You grin, “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

“We need to talk.” Jack said.

“You always wanna talk,” You then turn to the kids in the lake and tell them to take a hike. They all groan, disappointed their fun was interrupted. Nevertheless, they obey and go to dry off.

“I think they may hate me more than they did a week ago.” You said casually.

“I want to talk about what happened earlier this week.” Jack said.

“What about it?”

Jack sighed, “Don’t play dumb. You made such an unnecessary scene back there.”

“Sorry.” You said unapologetically.

 “I mean it. People are starting to talk.” Jack briefly glances around, “They think you have something to do with Ian and Sky’s disappearance.”

Your eyebrow furrows, “Where’d they get that from?”

“You’re bitter. You don’t help with searches. You’re just generally-”

“A bitch?” You interrupted.

“... Uncompromising.” Jack corrected.

“Oh yeah sure...” You said. “You know what? Let ‘em talk, Jack. I don’t have anything to hide! I couldn’t give less of a damn if they were found or gone forever. If they’re found – goodie. Whooptie fucking do. If they’re gone? Also good because I don’t wanna see their sorry asses anyway!”

You go to march off the docks but he sidesteps you.

“Hey- Y/N, stop.” He said.

“Bye Jack.” You bumped past him.

“Y/N-”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, heading back to the main campgrounds.

---

It’s nightfall.

The other groups of counselors have just come back from a fruitless search. The kids have been resigned to their cabins since seven in the evening, now having a curfew to prevent further disappearances. You, however, stay right where you are. You pull out another stick of gum and pop it in your mouth. The sugar sweetness turns bitter when your fellow counselors cast scornful looks your way. Even Shaun, whom you’d grown to be good buddies with since summer started, avoided your gaze. 

They aren’t even a few feet away from you when Shaun decides now is the best time to boost morale. “We’ve had a long day… what do you guys say to a movie night?” He said, a good natured lilt in his voice.

The counselors clamor around him, humming in agreement. You don’t miss the wary glances casted your way and hushed whispers about what to do about you, as if not getting an invitation would cause you to drop in and ruin their good time. Which in all honesty, wasn’t a bad idea.

“We aren’t going to invite her, right?”

“It’d be alright to ask,”

“But do we have to?!”

Exaggeratedly, you checked your nails and attempted to drown out their whispers by chewing your gum harshly. Before you knew it though, someone came up beside you. Nick Hererras. Oh boy.

Nick was an emo guy who had some kind of influencer page on Twitch or Youtube. He had an obvious crush on you and while he was cute in his own right, his sullen and heartsick vibe around you was somewhat of a downer, especially in contrast to how easygoing he’d be around others.

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, “Hey…” 

“Hey,” You replied casually.

“...It was kind of a long search today.”

“You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled softly, “I-it was a lot.” You hum curtly. He wets his lips, picking up that he’s losing your attention before even getting it. “We- we’re having a movie night! Shaun’s hosting so… typical horror bullshit. Slashers and all… Maybe you’d like to come… a-and join us?”

You look past him and at the group of counselors. Many of them shift uncomfortably and scrunch their faces up in discomfort, obviously displeased Nick went to invite you. The fact that they don’t even hide their disdain makes your ears burn hot. You shoot up from the steps and start towards the docks, “Nah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the invitation.” You bite out.

Nick’s weak protests could be heard. Some of the counselors sighed in relief.

“Thank God.”

“Well, we tried.”

---

“Goddamn…motherfucking-”

You roughly shucked off your pants and pulled off your shirt. The force of their removal from your body could have very well ripped them but you didn’t care. Your skin was burning with anger, embarrassment, and everything in between. With added frustration you hurriedly tore off your underclothes before taking a running start across the docks. The wind blew through your hair, though it did nothing to cool your skin; you wouldn’t be pacified until you were in the water.

Upon reaching the edge of the dock, you leapt off the wood as easily as you would a catapult. You flew through the air hands out before pulling them in along with your feet, the aerodynamics of your form caused you to flip over twice and land in the water with a big splash. The force of your dive pushed out the surrounding water, shooting it up around you. It fell in droplets on your skin as you rose to the surface. 

You sigh, wading on your back and letting the water carry you for a while.

These past few weeks have been hell. Nevermind the ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend eloping to god-knows-where, or that the head counselor had suddenly gone AWOL – but to think you were actually being suspected of murder? Jack might’ve not said those exact words but it was obvious enough what he was implying.

Your mood sours when the mascot comes to mind; even more so when you remember the garden behind the shed. 

“He’s so stupid…” You hiss. He so obviously still harbored feelings for Skylars’ trifling ass. And why that made you so ornery you couldn’t figure it out; it’s not like he owes you his allyship due to Skylars’ actions. But you didn’t understand how anyone could still like someone willing to do something so shitty. But then again, you often had your own well-being in mind and if someone proved a threat to that, it was pretty easy for you to cut them from your life completely. You’ve lost a lot of potential friends in the past because of that, and you assumed Ian would’ve been different. But in the long run he proved to be no different than the rest…

Snap.

Your head shot up as you peered out into the darkness. “Hello?” You called out. The woods responded with silence. Thinking it was the kids you called out, “If there’s any campers out there, go back to the cabins – it’s past curfew!”

Silence. Then the subtle crunch of branches beneath footwear.

“Y/N?” Jack’s soft voice called out to you before he emerged from the trees. He wasn’t in his usual costume of the big blue foamy jacket and brown pants with garish primary colored shoes. He now wore a tight white tee that hugged his muscular frame, with a pair of gym shorts. He still had on the makeup, though, probably having forgotten to wash it off.

Your ears burned hot as you realized he’d be one of the first to see you like this: swimming in the buck. Subconsciously, you folded your arms over your chest as he approached the lake.

“Y/N, why are you all the way out here?” Jack asked, “It’s not smart to separate yourself from the other counselors.”

Your initial shyness depletes when he mentions the other counselors. “You should tell them that, they’re the ones separating themselves.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Shaun’s hosting some stupid movie night and no one wants me there.” You said.

Jack blinked in surprise, “Shaun? But he’s one of the nicest counselors here.”

“Well, Nick tried… to extend the invitation, I guess. But it’s not like I wanted to go anyway. Horror movies…” You scoffed, “they’re so dumb. And it’s all Shaun watches!”

Jack sighs, “Still, you should stay close to the camp. I dunno what I’d do if another counselor went missing…”

A smirk broke out on your face as you swam up to the boardwalk, placing your hands on the wooden edge as you looked up at him. “Oh? And what would you do, Jack?”

Your sudden change in demeanor caused him to blush bright red, “I-It’s not like that!” He exclaimed, “I mean, I just want you to be safe!”

“Aww. Look at you, worried about lil’ ol’ me!” You cooed.

“Y/N, you-” He paused, finally getting a better look at you in the moonlight. It shone off your wet skin and hair, giving you the feel of some kind of siren, especially with that seductive look on your face. His eyes were drawn to your neck and shoulders, which seemed not to be covered by anything. And then he spotted your clothes…

“God, Y/N! Are you seriously skinny dipping right now?!” Jack exclaimed. 

You immediately clutched your shoulders, but you start cackling, not really finding it in you to feel guilty like before.

“Eeeyup! Care to join me?”

____

Hiii! Sorry this took awhile. This shit is hard to write my guy. It was intended to be longer but I've hit my limit...

Don't fret however, there's more to come!!

[samarqqand]

Hello samarqqand, I love your Maedhros and Maglor fanfictions, I always reread them, I wonder if at some point you will write something about them again, your writing is beautiful and conveys what one feels, I also read one you wrote about Maglor and celegorm, I liked it a lot, there are times when it made me laugh celegorm, greetings.

wow, hello hello!! this is such a pleasant surprise of a message -- thank you so much for reading my fics and for this superbly-kind feedback :] <3 i'm so glad to know they resonated with you-!!

i have one very long Maedhros/Maglor wip, Amon Ereb and Kidnap Dads era -- as is typical of me, it stalled after i wrote myself into a corner and i've been kind of helplessly poking at it ever since, BUT there's more than enough written that i'm delighted to share a hefty snippet -- hopefully gives some idea of what Maedhros and Maglor are up to!! no warnings, except... blood. and blood... licking? tasting. (please excuse any errors in the snippet; it's a draft!!)

thank you very much again-!

*

“No,” Maglor murmurs, the sight of Maedhros donning a wolf fur mantle. Beyond him, the Star, there: past its perihelion it sails on a journey beyond, aloof to the two sons of Feanor. “No, it will not do. A hooded cloak for these climes, I say.”

“My eyes need no veiling,” Maedhros says.

Maglor curves a long, assessing look his way as Maedhros takes his rucksack. He looks beyond Maedhros’ starless eyes: obstinate. “I would remind you,” he clarifies as loftily as any erstwhile High King at Hithlum, “you are no icy tor.” 

He takes his long fingers to the mink at Maedhros’ collar to fluff up what he can. “Could a measure of warmth be so ruinous to you?” Maglor meddles: old, bad habit. Maedhros his bad habit.

“You haven’t recovered from exposure.”

Before Maglor can ask, his head turning hither-thither as if he might find an answer just beyond, show him, show him, Maedhros lifts his chin toward the stooped fortress town beyond the forbidding briarwood. Eyes naturalized to Beleriand’s bosky chaos, he assesses the ferns and woody roots flinging themselves into a silent fervor. It is too wild here for even the dead to lie in wait. “This way.”

Maedhros could sink himself into every grumbling corner, a simmer of potential energy waiting to surge, if not for Maglor’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, recognizing the instinct in Maedhros.

“Oh, but I do,” Maglor contends, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder and wending around the witch-hazel. “And it has compelled me afield, to attend to the honey yet untasted upon the lonely larder shelves; further, to reward our Elrond and Elros for their patience with our monotonous menu of lentils and warg. Lentils and warg. Lentils,” he sighs, "and warg."

“Selfless saint,” Maedhros mutters.

Maglor wants to be close to him. There is no other thing living in Beleriand to want this.

There is no other living thing closer to him than Maglor is now, a veiled smile and his eyes clear, still claiming Light.

Only a fool loves a knife.

Maglor looks. He tilts his head, marking the immethodical snarl of skin flayed and healed, a torn ear nearly looking Secondborn, and the adulterated raptor-yellow coloring his stare when the meager light angles against his irises just so — , the shrug of pauldroned shoulder down to unyielding hand upon the sword pommel. Maedhros in parts.

To live, Maedhros had left some things behind.

But Maglor regards him with whole attention, the same he’d reserve for a tapestry: a story the storyteller would know by heart. 

“Not there,” Maedhros grunts, abruptly. Maglor’s veiled smile dimples his cheeks even as he plays along, a cant of interested eyebrows. “Here.” Maedhros nods toward a trail through the witch hazel and bramble, walked by generations of deer into existence.

“No caltrops to be found,” Maglor supplies.

“Set your watch here.” Maglor parts his lips to protest, though his gaze is perilously soft. “I’ll find them.”

But Maglor ladders himself gingerly into the razorwire foliage. “We muddle through the thorns together,” he announces, the scion of the proud suffering effortless in his role. “I have borne my share of scrapes, Nelyo.”

Better than that, brother: Maglor has borne all his lashes beautifully.

Maedhros joins him in the thick.

Under Maedhros’ hand, an icy splash of lichen laces a stone before abruptly the blue-white erupts with a sunset-orange hue. There is iron in the soil. 

Maedhros halts: aware.

If he were to bore straight on into the wooded depths, hand shoveling past the leafy protests and boots squealing beyond the mud’s warning, the vines might well keep a mind of their own, of their master’s. They might well snap awake. They might ensnare an ankle. Hissing arsenic-green ropes rearing up only to drag him back down to the underworld. 

The rusted metal doors in the earth which he may well have only just escaped might be open and gulping already. 

Drop his broken parts down, down to his darklong origin. 

Welcome back to a prodigal thrall.

– But for Maglor’s scent again. A tap at his shoulder. 

Maglor, the only thing in this world wanting to touch him, is crouched and slotted close to Maedhros at the end of the tree tunnel. Just another step, and they’ll be out. He’ll be out.

With a fond and regretful reach, Maglor plucks a thorn from the palm of Maedhros’ hand, and watches where the skin has broken. A question shadows Maglor’s starry gaze and does not lift.

“It is still red,” Maedhros says. He means to jest. He means to reassure. To be rueful. To wonder for how much longer. 

He does not know what he means by it.

He can smell his own blood, and hear Maglor’s heart, in all its selfless heat.

Maglor guides Maedhros’ palm against his surcoat to wick away the fresh bloom of blood.

Insinuation of ribs caging all Maglor’s soft insides; plane of torso. 

And when Maglor sees the bleeding won’t stop, he brings Maedhros’ palm to his mouth, his lips lavishing comfort on skin. 

Plush of lower lip skims flesh – and then presses flush, as if to accept the edge of a cup. A soft ripple.

Maedhros’ palm feels.

– And then his palm returns to his blade’s pommel.

And Maglor turns away in a show of modesty, letting the arrival of deer on the path interrupt him from what he might do if they were given time.

But not before his tongue has darted out, daring to taste Maedhros at his lips.

[aemondswifexoxo]

Blue Hydrangeas

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original stark female character

Summary: Anora Stark, the younger sister of Lord Cregan Stark, is sent south in order to do her duty and marry the prince Aemond Targaryen. She has heard the rumors about the One Eyed Prince, both the good and the bad, and is uncertain where the prince stands in regards to her and their arranged marriage. Will they grow to love each other? And what will happen to the Stark family once the Dance of the Dragons starts?

Also published on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51385267

Chapter I

The carriage ride from Winterfell to King's Landing was calm at best, boring and too long at worst. She would have preferred to make the trip by boat, but storms have haunted the narrow sea since the start of the year, and the journey by land was much safer. Though it was autumn, the weather in the south was much more forgiving, except for the heavy rains that encountered them in the Riverlands. But all that was left behind, now that Anora and her party made their way through the King’s gate, into the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, and her month long trip came to an end.

Anora slightly moved one of the carriage curtains, in order to observe the city and its people. The streets were full of people, some making business, other’s just walking around, but most followed her entourage with their eyes, either knowing what her arrival meant or questioning what was happening. She had heard stories of how Kings Landing was not an ideal place to live in, how the smell was overwhelming and the people dangerous, and though the rumors about the odors seemed to be true, the population seemed just like the one in White Harbor: busy, hard working, a community. In a moon, those will be her people, hers to protect and care for.

She’s to be married to the prince of the realm, Aemond Targaryen, and to unite their noble families. She didn’t know the prince, only the stories and rumors that surrounded him. They said that he had lost an eye, though the specific circumstances no one agreed on: some said that his dragon, the mighty Vhagar, ate it when he claimed her; other’s say that his older sister, the princess Rhaenyra, had it ordered as revenge, for prince Aemond had questioned the legitimacy of her three eldest children. She had also heard of his character, how he was cold and aloof, a good fighter and a fast learner, how he loved his mother, followed his duty to a T, and how he was the picture perfect image of a valyrian prince.

When the betrothal request had reached Winterfell, her brother Cregan had been hesitant to accept it. She was his little sister, after all, and he didn’t want to throw her in the jaws of a dragon. She was the one that accepted the proposal, that had the final say. Even though she was unsure, and truthfully nervous about the union and the type of person that her future husband would be, this was a very advantageous match. Not only would it make her a princess, but her children would be possible dragon riders, her house would be protected by the crown, and the prince was the same age as her, a luxury that other brides couldn’t afford.

She had heard from Lord Manderly's wife, that the prince was quite handsome, if you ignored his marred eye, and that he seemed to be dutiful and honorable, and the complete opposite of his older brother, who was a drunk adulterer. She hoped they could find an amicable marriage, and from what she had heard about prince Aemond, she believed she would at least tolerate his company. She could only hope that he would find her presence endurable as well.

As she noticed that they were nearing the Red Keep's walls, her nerves started to arise. She had never been south of the neck, much less in court. Both her parents were from the North, which meant that she wasn’t taught the ways of the South. She had read and educated herself about them, truthfully reading seemed like the only thing she did during the weeks on the road, but she feared it was not enough. Would she make a fool of herself in front of her betrothed, of his family, of the entire court? What if the prince hated her? Or what if she hated him, if he was cruel and vile?

Her anxiety-ridden thoughts were interrupted by her carriage passing through the castle walls, into an open courtyard where an entourage of people were waiting to welcome her, including her betrothed and the royal family. She hastily let go of the curtain, closing it and blocking her view of the group of people awaiting her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for her name to be announced for her to exit the coach and finally meet her future husband. When it did happen, her door was opened, and one of the servants came to help her out of the carriage. When her feet landed on the ground, she smoothed her skirts and looked in the direction of the royal family. There stood the queen Alicent Hightower, wearing a beautiful and modest dark green dress, and a welcoming smile on her face. On her right stood a tall, older man, also supporting green clothes and a golden broach in his doublet, meaning that he could be none other than Otto Hightower, the queen’s father and the Hand of the King. She also sees who she can surmise to be prince Aegon and princess Helaena, and their three small children. Prince Aegon seems bored, like he wishes to not be there, while princess Helaena has a distant but sweet expression on her face, and her youngest son, Maelor, in her arms.

In the middle of them all, stood a man who was undeniably her husband-to-be. He was tall and slender, though strong, had long silver hair, a handsome face, and an indigo eye. Eye, a singular one. The other one was covered by an eye patch, which fails to conceal the whole of the scar that peeks from above his brow and down his left cheek. She takes a few steps in their direction, and makes a deep and elegant courtesy, keeping her eyes down to show respect. When she corrected her posture and lifted her eyes again, she made eye contact with her betrothed. He had a blank, aloof expression on his face, she could not tell what he was thinking, and it scared her a bit. In her restlessness, she gave him a small, polite smile, and turned her gaze to his right, where his mother was. She was immediately greeted by the queen's warm brown eyes, and her kind expression.

“We welcome you, Lady Stark, to our home and to our family. We hope you enjoy yourself, and may we grow close to one another.” The queen spoke to her, with a gentle but firm voice.

Anora smiled at the older woman, and at her family.

“Thank you, your grace. You are the most kind. I also hope that we may grow into a happy union, and I will follow my duty as the future princess in the meanwhile”.

After all the courtesies and gentilities are exchanged, Anora is instructed to her chambers. Her rooms are large and welcoming, having a lot of light, warm and rich furniture, and a large and comfortable looking bed. She was gifted a sleeping chamber, a sitting chamber, and a dining room, as well as some castle maids. She had brought along two of her lady’s of company from Winterfell, Audra Whitehill and Moira Woolfield, who were her friends since childhood, but the extra hands and company pleased her. She knew not to get too accustomed with her new rooms, since she would be moved to her husband's chambers once they got married. When the door of her room closed and she was left by herself for the time being, she took her shoes and jewelry off and laid in her new bed.

There was to be a welcoming feast later in the evening, to celebrate her arrival and her betrothal to the prince. But for now she intended to rest, and maybe calm her nerves before she was to encounter him again. The way he looked at her, and the lack of expression on his face still haunted her. What did he think of her? Did he find her beautiful? Did he have a good first impression, or was he displeased with her? She turned to her side, unable to fall asleep. She was overthinking it, she had to rest to be in her best mood during the feast. Anora blew the candles on her bedside table and laid a blanket over her body, before finally falling asleep.

She was awoken a few hours later by her lady’s, in order for her to get ready for the banquet. They bathed her, dressed her, brushed her hair and styled it, painted and treated her face in order to enhance her natural beauty. In the end, Anora felt splendid. She was dressed in a soft blue, almost gray dress that matched her eyes. Her jewelry was simple but beautiful, made of silver and engraved with delicate patterns. Her hair was half up in a conglomerate of elegant braids that crowned her head, while the other half fell down her back in her natural curls. In her face, they applied some cream rouge to her cheeks, eyelids and lips, and brushed her eyebrows. She hoped that her betrothed would find her appearance pleasant. When she expressed her wishes to Moira, she whispered back:

“How could he not? Look at you Anora! He would stupid if he found you anything less than breathtaking.”

They giggled like little girls at this, and Anora felt her anxieties calm down a bit. When the time struck, one of her guards knocked at her door to tell her that she had to leave for the feast now. She made her way to the throne room, where the celebration was taking place, with her household guards at both her sides. When she arrived just outside the room, one of the royal guards told her to wait there until her name was announced, then, and only then, was she allowed to go through the doors and enter the throne room, where her betrothed was already seated.

The nerves came back, and she started to feel her hands getting sweaty. She made a last effort to look as presentable as possible, smoothing her skirts, adjusting her bustle, retouching her hair and her jewelry. Finally, after what felt like hours, her name and titles were announced to the court, and the double doors opened.

She started walking at a slow but sure pace, being careful not to trip in her skirts while also keeping her eyes up. She could see him sitting in the middle of the dais, and she noticed that he was already looking at her. His eye held no negative emotion, but it also didn’t show any positive one. It just stared at her and at her every move. She refused to break eye contact, and held it even when she stopped in front of the grand table installed on the foot of the Iron Throne, and curtsied for the royal family.

As it was expected, prince Aemond stood up, and made his way to her side, where he bowed and offered his arm to her. She took it gently, and noticed how warm and firm it was. She couldn’t help but to blush. They made their way to their seats in the middle of the dais, where he pulled her chair back to allow her to sit. He took his chair on her left side, and with that, the feast began.

[optimizche]

Missing (Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon) [Part 9]

Warnings: Dubcon. ANGST. Violence.

It ached everywhere, you realized, almost as if your body had been bent unnaturally. Each muscle pulsed with exhaustion, your mind registering a delicious soreness nestled in between your legs. Memories of your night tugged your lips into a soft smile, a sigh leaving you as you made to rise from your bed to greet Jacaerys at the breakfast table.

Except, you couldn't move.

Scraps of silk remained wound taut around your wrists and ankles chafing against your delicate skin.

Your eyes flew open.

Awareness came at a startling rapidity, your eyes wide, darting around the room, taking in your surroundings. The room was bathed in the amber light of a fire crackling away in the hearth, scarce and minimal in its decor.

You realized that you weren't in Winterfell anymore, the epiphany affirmed by the sound of footsteps approaching towards the room and your eyes being greeted by the sight of Aemond Targaryen, standing in the doorway, giving you a small, tentative smile, holding something that looked like a dress in his hands. Blood filled with instant and overwhelming rage, you stared at him.

"I hunted down hare for our dinner," he informed you in a hesitant voice and you felt your anger rise tenfold.

"You abducted me," you spoke, seething. "Remove my restraints right this second."

Aemond's eye widened at the sheer venom laced in your voice but he made no move to untie you from the bed, where you lay, completely bare.

"Did you force yourself on me while I was unconscious?" you asked, voice rising with every word, fearing the worst. "Or do you plan on violating me while I am awake?"

The hurt that crossed the one-eyed Prince's face was priceless and he looked ashamed, like you had struck him.

"Is that how low you think of me?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

"Well, given that you are an adulterer, have attempted to slay your own kin and abducted me in the middle of the night, there is not much that I expect from you and your steadily deteriorating morality," you hissed.

He remained silent, shutting his eye for a moment, as if in contemplation, before walking over to the bed and calmly beginning to untie your restraints. "Consider this a gesture of my goodwill."

The moment he managed to release your left arm, your hand swung at him, landing a swift slap on his cheek.

"Fuck you and your goodwill!" you spat, watching his skin redden where you had struck him, your free hand quickly unfastening the bindings on your other hand and ankles as he stayed stunned by your blow. "You are just as rotten as your rapist brother."

At the mention of Aegon, Aemond's lips hardened into a thin line. "But that didn't stop you from kneeling before him to beg for clemency towards my children, did it?" came his swift retort.

"Why you-"

"You did it out of love for me, did you not?" Aemond asked, a smile slowly forming on his face.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed, pushing past him as you stood up from the bed, trying to look for a way to escape, uncaring of the way he was looking at your bare skin. "Full of yourself, as ever, I see."

He made an attempt to reach out for your wrist but you pulled away from him. "Do not touch me, you vile creature. Your actions disgust me."

"My actions disgust you?" Aemond asked, now frankly amused by your words. "And what of the time you decided to write those letters to every House of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"It was the truth wasn't it?"

"Betraying your childhood friend in a manner so cruel and you think you are any better than me," he said, his tone taunting. "It isn't surprising that you've taken up with that bastard Strong."

It was upon hearing the mention of Jacaerys from Aemond's lips that made you laugh as you turned to look around for a door to escape.

"Jacaerys has more kindness in his little finger than you have in your entire being, Aemond Targaryen. And don't forget that you've fathered bastards with your sweetling sister Helaena-"

"ENOUGH!"

The sudden rise in the exiled Prince's voice made you flinch, for never in your entire life had you heard him speak to you in such a way.

You stared at him with astonishment, understanding how rare it was for Aemond to lose his composure so openly. For as long as you had known him, he had kept his feelings repressed, never once letting his anger show.

It made you realise the depth of the wound you had inflicted upon him. It shouldn't have made you care, but somewhere, deep down, you did.

"I've hurt you, haven't I?" you asked.

He remained silent for a while, seemingly ashamed of his outburst before responding.

"Yes-"

"Good," you interrupted him, sneering. "That was precisely my intention."

He sighed, long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat down on the bed, leaving you to roam around the room restlessly.

"Where have you brought me?" you asked, trying to look out the window, only to be greeted by the complete darkness of the night.

When your question remained without any response, you turned to him. "Did you abduct me to take me back to King's Landing as your hostage? Hoping that your brother will grant you a pardon? Thinking that you will be reinstalled as Prince?"

Upon hearing your barrage of accusations, Aemond looked positively horrified. "I would never trade you in for securing my position. Aegon was always looking for a reason to be rid of me and you presented it to him on a silver platter."

You crossed your arms across your chest indignantly. "The day you climbed into bed with your brother's wife, you sealed your own fate. Don't blame me for your follies."

"For how long does this have to go on?" Aemond asked after a prolonged silence. "For how long will you keep trying to hurt me for hurting you in our childhood?"

Hearing the agony in his voice, you kept quiet, the burning anger in your heart against the one eyed Prince somewhat extinguishing. He did look genuinely pained.

"I left you for Helaena and to claim Vhagar, that was my mistake, I confess it. And I am sorry for letting you go," he said. "But for how long are you going to keep trying to exact revenge for what I did? When does it end?"

"It ended for me when I sent the last of those letters," you admitted, turning to stare into the flames burning in the fireplace, wishing so desperately for your own dragon to be here. "Helaena was merely an acquaintance to me and I only asked for Aegon's mercy because your children with her are innocent. I feel nothing for you, Aemond."

"Is that true?" he asked, and you could hear him approach you with quiet footsteps. "You feel nothing for me in your heart?"

You swallowed thickly. "Nothing," you affirmed, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

"Liar."

The word came soft as a breath against your ear and you almost jumped, his proximity startling you. Turning away from him, you made to walk away only to have his arm wrap tightly around your waist. Holding you flush against him.

"Aemond-"

"Look at me," he said, his other hand removing the patch that covered his lost eye.

Resolutely, you kept your gaze fixed on the fireplace.

Until his hand gently yet firmly grasped your jaw, turning your face to meet his eye. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

You remained silent, waiting. Hoping that he would not be able to hear the thundering of your heartbeat.

"Do you truly feel nothing for me?"

"I've moved forward with Jacaerys," you responded. "He loves me, respects me and makes me happy. He's kind and he cares for me."

A small smile tugged at Aemond's lips. "That was not my question, ñuha dōna rūklon."

Ñuha dōna rūklon.

My sweet flower.

His name for you, the one he had given you during one of your High Valyrian lessons in your childhood.

"No…" you shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes at the sudden remembrance of the name, upon hearing it in his voice after so many years, bringing with it a storm of memories you had chosen to forget. Of all your happy times with the boy who had grown to become a stranger. "No."

"I know when you lie to me, dōna rūklon," he said. "I learned to read you before any written word."

"No!" you cried out, roughly pushing away from him to sit down on the bed once more, your eyes blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. "You cannot just call me by that name and expect everything to repair itself! You cannot manipulate me to do your bidding! Your sweet words will not have me falling into your arms."

"I expect no such thing from you, dōna rūklon," he said, watching as you hastily threw on the cotton dress he had brought in with him upon entering the room. "I only wish to hear you speak the truth."

You ignored him, swiping angrily at your eyes, loathing yourself for showing your vulnerability before him.

"Very well," he said, sitting down on the floor at the foot of the bed. "I shall lead by example, then," he said, taking your hands in his.

You were struck, seeing Aemond Targaryen on his knees before you, his expression one of true remorse.

"I wronged you," he began. "I was so consumed by my want for power that I completely disregarded your feelings for me while you were the only one who was a source of support and strength in my life during the time I was bullied. You deserved to be treated so much better, I see that now. You endured years of the pain I had left behind in your heart, only to have it further worsened when you came to know of my children with Helaena," he said, sounding genuine and sincere. "I wish I could take away your pain just as swiftly as you heal others with your touch."

You closed your eyes at the mention of Helaena and the children, as if trying to shield yourself from experiencing the pain all over again.

"I should have loved you and protected you just as fiercely as you had done for me and I failed you. It was my duty to scour the Seven Kingdoms in search of you when you went missing and I failed you. It should have been me to bring you back home to King's Landing," he said, giving your hands a gentle squeeze, before pressing his forehead to your knees, his head bowed. "I am so sorry, ñuha dōna rūklon."

"Do you honestly believe that a few sentences will make me forgive you for what you did?" you asked, feeling the intense anger that rose in you easing its hold on you, dissolving a little.

"It was my mistake that started all this. We both ended up hurting each other, but I was the one who, in the arrogance of my youth, ended up hurting the person who meant the most to me," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his lips brushing against the fabric on your knees. "I am aware that I am undeserving of your forgiveness, but I am not above begging for it. So here I am, on my knees, ñuha dōna rūklon, pleading for an armistice, if not your grace and your mercy. Please. "

You remained silent for a few moments, letting his apology wash over you, feeling the crushing weight that always wore down your heart lessen ever so slightly. It was then, that you took a deep breath and spoke carefully.

"King's Landing was never my home. I had a family there, but my real home was with you, Aemond Targaryen," you said, running your thumbs across the veins on the backs of his hand. "I had imagined a future with you all those years ago."

Aemond stayed right where he was, on his knees, his head bowed in your lap, the silvery strands of his hair looking golden in the firelight as they splayed all over your knees. He inhaled sharply upon hearing your words.

"You trusted me with a secret I should have held on to and I chose to betray you. I acted in full awareness of the consequences of my actions and ended up separating you from your children… and Helaena. I thought I would feel better after hurting you and taking what you loved most away from you. But I only felt regret and guilt for the children afterwards."

The cotton of your dress that covered your knee felt wet against your skin and it was then that you realised that Aemond Targaryen was crying.

"My actions cut you just as deeply as the time your eye was taken from you and I am sorry for the pain I caused you."

"I deserved it," he sniffled. "It was only a fraction of the torment you went through. Becoming involved with Helaena was an enormous mistake."

"I wish I could have mustered the courage to tell you of my feelings sooner instead of being a meek child. Our lives would have perhaps been drastically different," you said, sighing in contemplation of what could have been, a faraway look in your eyes. "But here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed, lifting his head to look up at you, the tear tracks on his right cheek a confirmation of his tears. "I know you will never betray Rhaenyra and her family."

"I remain loyal to her and her cause. And you will remain forever loyal to your mother, the only one who stood by your side when you had lost your eye," you said, wiping away at his tears. "I'm tired of hurting you and letting you hurt me. It is exhausting, Aemond."

"Then stay with me," he said, leaning into your touch. "We could leave all of this behind and head to the Free Cities to start a life of our own. Start to heal everything that went wrong between us."

A rueful smile found its way to your lips. "I wish I could. But I refuse to become your second choice. Your compromise with life after losing Helaena and your children. I must return to Jacaerys, for I cannot forsake him, just as you need to find your own way."

Aemond's expression mirrored your own, hurt shimmering in his eye as he understood what you were trying to say.

"I know that. You've always been your own woman, dōna rūklon. And for that I am proud of you," he said. "Do you know that it was my sister who led you to me?"

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"She saw it in her dreams, I think, where you were and it was one of the last words she spoke to me… before I was exiled," he finished with a sigh. "Perhaps it was for this, so that I could finally apologize to you."

"I'm sorry," you said, aimlessly tracing along the scars on his eye.

"I'm sorry too, for everything," he said, placing his head back in your lap, reminding you of all the times he had done the same in your childhood.

"You know," you mused. "To have this conversation with me, you did not need to abduct me."

Hearing this, Aemond grinned. "That is true. I have always been exceededingly dramatic and impulsive. Claiming Vhagar on the night of Lady Laena's funeral and then taunting her daughters, chasing Lucerys into a storm, almost killing him if you hadn't managed to distract my out of control dragon."

You poked at his head playfully, as if to reprimand him for his foolishness.

"But Jacaerys, you love him, do you not?" he asked earnestly.

"I… I think I do."

"Well, he is a lucky lad, my nephew," he said. "I'm glad you've found your happiness."

You smiled at Aemond, while your mind screamed at him:

My happiness had been with you!

Seemingly unaware of your remaining internal conflict, Aemond rose to his feet, offering you a hand.

"Come, have supper with me, if it is for the last time."

You felt nausea churning in your stomach at the thought of eating, a sudden exhaustion weighing down your form.

"Are you alright?" Aemond asked before taking on a jesting tone. "I swear the hare is not laced with sleeping draught."

"I'm fine, just not feeling hungry," you smiled reassuringly, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. "I think I will rest for a while."

"As you wish, ñuha dōna rūklon. I shall keep you company," Aemond said, sitting down in an armchair beside the bed. "And tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises, I shall escort you back to Winterfell, to honour our truce."

"Truce?" you asked, confused.

"To abduct you, only to spring an apology after years of pain and expecting your clemency return in a moment is rather unfair of me, don't you think?" he asked. "But I will be eternally grateful if we are, going forward, able to be civil with each other. A truce of sorts, if you will."

"I agree," you acquiesced. "I suppose a truce is the best I can give you at the moment."

"Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, seeing how relieved and grateful the one-eyed Prince looked.

"But before I let you fall asleep, please tell me this: if it weren't for my illicit relationship with Helaena and the existence of my children, would you have chosen me?" he asked, curiosity and expectation dancing on his features.

"I chose you all those years ago, didn't I?" you responded after a beat of silence, surprised by the spasm of pain that twisted his face.

"I absolutely and completely fucked it up, didn't I?" he asked.

"We both did."

The both of you sat in a silence reminiscent of the quiet moments of solitude you had shared under the weirwood tree in your childhood, reading your books.

"What are you going to do now?" you eventually enquired.

"Since I have lost you, I have nowhere else to go," he said, running a weary hand over his face. "I cannot return to King's Landing either. Perhaps I will travel to the Free Cities and become a sellsword."

Hearing this, you found a smile tugging at your lips. "With your silver hair and sapphire eye, people will recognise you anywhere, Prince Aemond. You may be exiled, but your title and infamous looks still remain."

"I know," he sighed. "I've messed that up as well. I truly don't know what the Gods have planned for me."

"Whatever their plan is, I will pray to them to grant you what you desire," you said, lying back down on the bed and letting your fatigue drag your mind into darkness before long.

Aemond sat quietly, his eye never leaving your face as he wondered if you truly knew what he so desperately desired…

Author's note: We're nowhere close to the end! Were just getting started 😉

Part 10

[baldwinivmybeloved]

Hi, (I’ve been obsessed with Anne Boleyn lately) could you please do one where King Baldwin IV’s wife is executed by beheading on false charges of adultery and witchcraft in front of a large crowd, Balian, Tiberius and Guy de Lusignan are in the crowd, and they are devastated (well, except guy of course) and a few months after her beheading it’s proven she was innocent and Baldwin regrets it and is very depressed, and his wife comes down from heaven to visit him. (Please revolve most of the story during her execution) Thx ❤️❤️ (love your writing!)

༘｡𖦹  THE EXCECUTED QUEEN✴︎  ㌍㍉ BALDWIN IV

In the summer of 1180, Queen Maria of Jerusalem stood on the scaffold of Acre Castle, awaiting execution by beheading. Her eyes fixed on the crowd of men, women, and children surrounding her, and she felt her entire world slipping away.

The charges of adultery and witchcraft, accusing her of killing her own child, seemed unfounded. The king, Baldwin IV, had trusted her, and she had returned that trust with love and affection. But the resentment and envy of others had led to her downfall.

Balian of Ibelin, Tiberius, Count of Champagne, and Guy de Lusignan watched the heartbreaking scene with grief-stricken eyes as Queen Maria was left behind to be executed. They hoped someone would intervene on her behalf, but they knew it was already too late.

All of them were close friends and loyal to the queen, and she loved them more deeply than anyone. But the Maiden's Tower loomed over her, and she was destined to be brought down.

The knight who would behead her had been chosen by the king, and she knew he was not inclined to show mercy. The other knights had requested the execution to be carried out immediately, so the people would not realize the truth behind the sentence.

Queen Maria stood firm under her red mantle, preparing for her death. Her face was as serene as an angel's, but her eyes silently pleaded for help.

But that would not happen.

Someone shouted from the crowd, and all eyes turned toward him. It was a dwarf man, carrying a metal pike and a mat.

"This is the man who accused the queen of witchcraft," said the dwarf, loudly. "This is the man who has caused the fall of our innocent queen."

All eyes turned to him, and Queen Maria's hair turned white with fear.

The dwarf continued, "This is the man who has been lying for months. He is the real witch, not her. He is the real murderer, not her. He is the real adulterer, not her."

Queen Maria's eyes trembled, and she felt that everything that had been happening over the past few months was no longer real.

The dwarf went on, "From what I have found, and from what I have known, and from what I have come to believe, all of this has been a heap of lies, and Queen Maria is innocent."

The crowd went wild, drowning in their shouts and cries.

Balian of Ibelin, Tiberius, Count of Champagne, and Guy de Lusignan stood silently in grief as Queen Maria was absolved of her false accusations of witchcraft and adultery.

The people were also astonished, and they looked at Baldwin IV with a gaze of confusion and anger.

Baldwin, who had trusted his advisers and the evidence presented against Maria, now found himself consumed by doubt and guilt. But it was too late. The executioner's sword was already raised, and with a single stroke, Maria's head rolled to the ground, her eyes still open in a final plea for justice.

The crowd's horrified scream echoed off the city walls. Balian fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, while Tiberius covered his face with his hands, unable to bear the sight. Guy, on the other hand, maintained an expression of indifference, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body of the queen.

The months following the execution were a torment for Baldwin IV. Guilt consumed him day and night, his dreams plagued by the image of Maria and her eyes filled with love and betrayal. Finally, the truth came to light: Maria had been incriminated by enemies at court, and the evidence against her was fabricated and false.

One night, as Baldwin sat alone in his chamber, steeped in despair, a soft, warm light filled the room. Maria appeared before him, her spirit descending from heaven. Her face was full of peace, and her voice was a soothing whisper.

"Baldwin," she said, "do not torment yourself any longer. I have forgiven you. The truth always comes to light, and though my life was unjustly taken, my love for you will never die."

Baldwin, tears in his eyes, fell to his knees before her. "Maria, my love, my queen... how can I live knowing what I did to you?"

Maria extended an ethereal hand and touched his cheek. "Live with the truth, Baldwin. Honor my memory by seeking justice, and find peace knowing that I have forgiven you. Love transcends death."

With those words, Maria's spirit faded, leaving Baldwin with a mix of pain and hope. Though the guilt would never completely leave him, the king vowed to honor the memory of his innocent wife, working tirelessly to ensure that such an injustice would never happen again in his kingdom

[di-writes-stuff]

Cowboy Like Me

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Chapter 1

TW: Mentions of bl00d and canon typical weapons. Literally nothing else.

A/N: Okay, I’ve had this idea swirling around for a while, so this should be fun. Buckle up, hoes.

Never had there been a town so poorly named as Valentine. It was far too romantic, far too sweet for the drunk addled pigsty that lay before Arthur Morgan.

He’d never liked going into towns. The judgmental passersby. The beggars. The hookers. The adulterous fools stumbling drunkenly out of saloons with them. Not to mention the sheriffs and bounty hunters lurking in the shadows. The ones that always seem to be searching for a face on a poster that looks an awful lot like him.

His feet sink a good inch or two into the mud that makes up the ground in Valentine as he makes his way to the general store. If he had enough money to buy nice boots, he would have been annoyed at the way the grime sticks to them. But, it’s just another addition to the layers of dirt, grass, and blood that adorn the leather.

Clouds cover the sky, leaving the whole town darkened, only adding to the unfortunate scenery before him as he walks up the wooden excuse of a sidewalk to the store. He’s not here to buy anything, of course. No, he’s here to find something.

A target.

A good hit. It’s what Dutch has been talking about for months now. Just one good hit. That’s all they need. A jackpot in the world of thieves and liars. And of course, in a town like this, lips are loosened by easy trust. A foolish belief that nobody around them could possibly be listening. Watching. Waiting.

Except, that’s exactly what he plans to do. Sit on a bench with a hat over his eyes and wait. Wait to hear about some rich uncle not to far away, or a train from down South full of land owners ripe for robbing.

It’s not his favorite way to spend his days, far from it. Arthur’s only hope is that the payoff from whatever he finds will make up for it. As he steps up the first stair to the patio of the general store, a small can rolls past his feet. He bends down to grab it quickly, standing back up straight and seeing you.

And because as much as he might look in the mirror and see an animal, he is still a man, he notices. Admires the fact that you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in a long time.

And because he is not only a man, but a man easily charmed by your pretty smile and bright eyes, the faintest blush rises on his cheeks as you bid your thanks in a soft voice.

“‘Course, ma’am.” He manages to keep his voice steady for those two words as you take back the can.

And because you are a woman, you look, and you admire. Admire his cerulean eyes, and the small smile that plays on his chapped lips as he looks down at you.

Before he knows it you’re walking away, leaving his eyes to trail after your figure before remembering the task at hand. He quickly clears his throat, embarrassed for no real reason. Maybe just because he acted like a person instead of the threat Dutch has so carefully carved him to be.

It doesn’t take very long for the image of the pretty girl with the plaid dress to leave his mind when he hears a couple of women discussing exactly what he’d been looking for.

A rich man named Mr. Mallory that just moved in not to far away, buying up a house that’d been vacant for years since nobody could afford the enormous property. But, the land was profitable, and the house was large. Perfect for a single man eager to flaunt his wealth.

And the perfect target for Arthur. He’d never felt particularly bad about robbing the rich. They’ve got plenty to share, and most don’t come about their money in the kindest of ways. Especially not men from out east, which is exactly what this one sounds like.

He holds back a judgmental scoff as he hears one of the women detailing the directions to the house, as the other plans on welcoming him to the community. And if Arthur knows people, which he does, her visit is probably in hopes of marrying him. Not for love, of course. For money, more of it than somebody will ever need or use. And for status. The two desires Arthur hates most.

What a fool. He thinks to himself as he adjusts on the bench, sunlight finally peaking out from behind the clouds.

Except he’s become a fool too, of his own kind. Because the thing Arthur doesn’t notice is the other person lingering nearby. Listening. Watching. Waiting. He doesn’t notice the way her ears perk up at the sound of a good payoff. Of a guiltless robbery.

He doesn’t notice you.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Normally you would have stayed in the town for longer, soaked up the sunshine of the unusually warm spring you’re having. But today is not just any day. Today, you have work.

The windows of your small house are flung open to allow in the crisp air as you lay the food you bought onto the table hurriedly. You only notice the can that rolled onto the floor when it occurs to you that it was the same one as earlier. The one the man with the pretty eyes had picked up for you.

The coincidence is disregarded quickly as you pick it up, tossing it back onto the table before hurrying to your room. It’s getting late, and you need time to plan before you head out. You’d already ridden out to the house, and a rough sketch of the layout sits in your notebook.

Unlike Arthur, the man you don’t yet know, you were listening to the women long before any rich man was mentioned. The accents they spoke with caught your attention, clearly some kind of eastern. Their voices came with a certain coldness that you’ve yet to find out west.

Either way, that coupled with the quality of the clothes that adorned their bodies told you they were wealthy. And you were right.

You always are.

And if you’re assuming correctly, which you almost always do, the man they spoke of is also from out east. Meaning Mr. Mallory doesn’t yet know to lock his doors and keep a rifle beside his bed. Even if he did, the rich bastard probably wouldn’t know how to use the thing.

But you, you do. And if he happens to wake up while you work, he’ll learn that soon enough. You quickly change into a blouse and pants, leaving the dress you’d worn into town today abandoned on your bed.

The plan is finished quickly enough, as there’s plenty of entrances into the house to choose from if the front door’s locked. Now comes the part you hate the most. The part where no matter how rich the man you’re about to rob is, no matter how perfectly fine he’ll be despite the loss, guilt sets in.

This is when you wait. Because a woman riding on her own horse, in her own pants, with a mask over her face in broad daylight isn’t a sight that goes without notice.

It’s not as if you wanted this life. But, between selling your body and thieving, you’d choose the latter again and again. Of course, you could get married. Settle down. Have children. And that all sounds so pretty, so sweet in your mind.

If only the husband wasn’t necessary. The oppressive, aggressive, boring, utterly vacant husband that every married woman seems to be saddled with these days. That reality, over everything else. That, you refuse.

Day shifts to night as you leave your house, climb onto your horse, and set off to pay Mr. Mallory a visit.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Arthur sits, crouched in the grass as he waits for the light to go out in Mr. Mallory’s window. The robbery was going to be easy, that is until he realized that his target happens to enjoy late nights. It’s damn near one in the morning, and the bastard is still up doing God knows what.

A sigh slips from Arthur’s lips as his attention shifts to the horse tied to the porch railing. It’s a bit odd that the steed was just left out front for anybody to steal, and if it seemed to be a valuable one, Arthur would have done just that.

But, it’s simple. Looks to be a Kentucky Saddler, nothing he couldn’t find a few miles out, grazing in a field. Also odd, considering how much money this man seems to have. The peculiarities leave his mind in an instant as the front door creeks open, a small, lithe figure slipping out.

A figure that most certainly isn’t Mr. Mallory. It’s a woman, quick eyes darting back and forth to check for anybody watching. Her gaze eventually lands on Arthur, and a finger comes up to her masked face in a “shush” motion. His mouth falls open slightly as the stranger mounts her horse and rides away, a sack filled with all the riches Arthur missed out on slung over her shoulder.

A twinge of prideful envy hits him as he realized he’s been beat. He watches the mysterious woman as darkness engulfs her, trying to place the sense of familiarity he felt as her eyes met his.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

There’s a smile on your face as you spend a bit of your well earned money in town the next morning. Not just from the wildly successful robbery that you’d managed to pull off while Mr. Mallory was awake. No, the image of the man waiting still lingers in your mind.

It was the man with the pretty eyes, the one whose chivalry had made you blush mere hours before you bested him at his own sport. A cool breeze hits you as you step out of the general store into the warm air, a bag with a new vest and pair of boots slung over your arm.

Arthur walks across the street, still brooding about the robbery that’d been stolen from him the night before. The worst part is the sense of admiration he can’t help but feel. Mr. Mallory had been awake, walking around, and still oblivious to the fact that he was being robbed.

That takes skill, one that Arthur isn’t even sure he possesses. It’s the very reason he’d waited outside, all but letting you do the job for him.

A small bell rings as you leave the general store, and Arthur’s head turns in the direction of the noise. Recognition flickers in his eyes as he takes you in, first as the woman that he’d picked up the can for, and then…

“My God…” He whispers to himself as you smirk at him, crossing the road to stand in front of him, pride coming off of you in waves.

Bright eyes look up at him, the same ones he’d admired in the day, and the ones that he’d recognized for only a moment in the night, too short for him to realize who it’d been. Your lips curl into a smile as your hand reaches up to touch his broad should while you walk past him.

Words escape him as you lean up, your lips close to his ear as you whisper. “Better luck next time.” You walk away promptly, only looking back once to throw that dazzling grin his way again as he turns around to watch you.

He should be annoyed. Angered at your pride. At your gall to rub salt in his wound by acknowledging what you’d both already realized.

Yet, the smallest of smiles that appears on his face defies all that should be true, the breeze seeming to replicate the sound of your voice in his ear as he watches you until you’re a small blip in the distance.

A/N: Okay, this is really long, but first chapters always are. Hope y’all enjoyed, I’ll probably have the second one up pretty quick.

- di <3

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒.

synopsis. in which you find yourself falling in love with the player behind the main character of the game you have been coded into.

genre. mild hurt + comfort

for @diorlumx <3

kenma kozume x gn!reader

a normal person wouldn’t believe it if they were suddenly told their life was etched into the very coding of the game, left in the hands of the person behind the screen. but that was reality — yours, and that of many others in your world.

you knew, you knew it all too well, as you were the exception.

why it had been you and not someone else, you were uncertain of, though.

part of you assumed something was wrong with you. that your file was corrupted or that a virus had found its way into your mind and consumed you wholly, allowing you privileges most do not possess.

however another side of you, thought it to be a gift, a blessing of knowledge.

for this love would not be possible, had it not been for the adulteration that allowed this interface between you and kenma kozume.

wheras your life was a singular branch to a great tree that was the story this simulation had created, the boy in front of you right now was none other than the player who controlled your fate with a series of clicks.

the protagonist of your tale.

one with an abundance of choices — each option more pleasant than the last, and yet.. it was you that he chose. the person who had captured his frigid heart and melted the ice away, layer by layer.

“y/n, i know we’re separated by reality.. but i just wanted you to know,” he paused, flushing a bit as his bangs fell over his visage. “that you are the reason i keep coming back to this game — why i keep holding off on finishing it.” he confessed, trailing his eyes back over to find you listening, offering him every ounce of your patience and attention.

he was almost certain any other person would have pushed for him to speak up — but you, you looked at him like he was your whole world. as though you’d waited a thousand years for him, and would wait a thousand more, just to hear the words fall naturally.

a smile lifted your lips as you picked his hands up in yours, squeezing them gently. “i wake up every morning hoping to find you again, kenma-san. wishing upon every star that litters the night sky to answer my dreams of truly being with you.” you answered softly, a bittersweet tone behind your words.

“how i wish i could cross the glass that sunders us from one another..” you finished in a mutter, lowering your gaze to the grassy expanse of the school courtyard. “but alas, fate is a cruel, wicked thing.”

the second year slid his hand underneath your cheek with great delicacy, as though you were made of porcelain. prone to shatter into a million different pieces if not handled with care. “fate is also a wonderful thing.. for allowing me the chance to meet you.” he reasoned quietly, urging you to lift your head and meet his loving gaze.

anyone who knew kenma outside of the protagonist character in front of you now would call him a joke for acting as he was.

to just about everyone, he was the hermit of nekoma high’s volleyball club — the unwilling setter thrust into said position by his childhood friend. but he was more than that, so much more.

kenma in love, displaying his true self, was the best version of himself. and he was right here, standing before you and slowly pouring that tentative heart out to you.

although the universe divided you both into reality and simulation, it was still kind enough to allow you one good, real thing. and that was the opportunity to meet again and again, even if an invisible wall separated you.

notes. i didn’t plan to add angst, but it just felt suited to build emotion.. anyway, i haven’t written much for kenma so i apologize if he is a bit ooc! i figured he would have a more vulnerable side if he’s in love yk? i hope you enjoyed though<3

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[hanakogames]

Sometimes I wish I'd written more fiction set around the absolutely terrible job I did briefly, long ago, that involved basically this kind of fake chat fishing except we were all real humans actually typing the inane "how r u" conversations live to send via SMS.

We were often *accused* of being bots. Which was quite funny to me at the time. Both because it obviously wasn't true (I was right there, I knew exactly how the system worked) and because, well, if you knew anything about the state of technology at the time, chatbots simply could not perform the job we were doing. It wasn't possible to auto-generate what we were doing with proper conversational context. AT THAT POINT.

It was still 100% a scam, you were talking to paid workers who were talking to 100 other people at the same time, you were never ever ever going to arrange to meet your new 'friend'. But we were humans.

At this point if you found a service that wants you to pay for chats it would absolutely just be ChatGPT, and most people would rightfully expect that, and if I tried to explain how it used to work 20 years ago people would probably just be confused and disinterested.

[icarusbetide]

is there evidence of ham being a serial adulterer?

i was reading The Founders and Finance: How Hamilton, Gallatin, and Other Immigrants Forged a New Economy by Thomas McCraw and noticed this passage:

Hamilton did indeed have a weakness for women. But despite herculean attempts by his contemporaries and similar efforts on the part of historians for more than 200 years, no reliable evidence has ever been found that he strayed from his marital vows except with Maria Reynolds.

this has been something i've been curious about for a long time- hamilton obviously had an almost year long affair with maria reynolds, but is there evidence that he was a serial adulterer? i've seen that claim casually thrown around in so many books but without real sources to back it up. we know from ham's early war letters as well as anecdotes that he was flirtatious and oftentimes the life of the party, but i don't think i can conclude flirt -> serial adulterer, nor do i think it's logical to conclude serial adulterer from the reynolds affair alone.

the only contemporary evidence i personally know of is newspaper gossip and john adams. he ranted about "superabundance of secretions" and hamilton's "fornications, his adulteries, his incests" obsessively. unless adams had great reason to say this that i'm not aware of, i'm not going to take his word for it.

i also remember watching some historian's talk where they argued (apologies, that's really vague but i can't remember who) that his really naive inability to control the affair to the point of paying blackmail money, as well as him sort of throwing up this guilty word vomit to his confronters when he really didn't have to, all indicate that he's probably not an experienced adulterer. or at least, that it would be inconsistent if he was somehow able to keep every other affair secret enough so that we don't really have evidence for it, while blowing up the reynolds affair spectacularly.

i think i'm inclined towards believing that, probably because i also don't fully buy into the angelica x hamilton theory - i'm assuming angelica is who adams is referring to when he says "incests". several historians really push it, but ehhh. i remember being shocked when a biography explicitly said "his mistress angelica church" without any proof, and just kept at it. if that level of evidence - flirty letters and obvious affection for each other - is enough to conclude an affair, then way more historians should be explicitly concluding that john laurens and hamilton had a thing as well. also the fact that eliza was very much part of their letters and such adds to my skepticism.

i have a similar issue with how aaron burr is described as a slimy serial adulterer but oftentimes with no anecdotes or sources to back it up. really, the parallels between the way that hamilton was treated by jefferson's side and the way burr was treated by hamilton (and jefferson as well lmao) are crazy. but i haven't gotten enough into burr to fully make any statement about his adultery or lack thereof.

i know that there are awesome people who've probably forgotten more about hamilton than i'll ever know, so throwing the question out there!