#i won't name my own firstborn son after him

[thenightisland]

look, patience, i would totally get hetero married to you, really i would, but i am sworn to another. what? no, no one you know, and definitely not the crown prince. no, it’s very normal, really it is. it’s very platonic. he walks around the castle wearing jewelry i gave him, and there is literally no one in my life i put before him and he pulled me out of a place of despair and made me feel like life was worth living again, but it’s just fealty stuff and that’s definitely the only reason it would come between me and you getting married. no other reason.

[shaisuki]

THE EXTENSIONS OF MY DEVOTION

YANDERE! HUSBAND MIKAGE REO X CHUBBY READER

content warnings ─── implied noncon, forced marriage, yandere themes babytrapping, reader wants to have more kids, stockholm syndrome, smut, breeding kink, dubcon, pregnancy, talks of childbirth.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ all changed in the blink of an eye and now you're the wife and mother of his children and despite all of what your ceo husband had done to you, you want more children.

the first time you feel him moving inside you, you were absolutely disgusted. horrified for soon to becoming the mother of the baby inside you. created by reo's selfishness and greediness that destroyed your once mundane life.

then he was born. all your worries and fear disappeared with the appearance of your baby. cradled in your arms and his little hand grasping your pinky finger. there were tears of regret streaming down your face of how you could hate this innocent little child without knowing what his father had done to you. wiping down the tears you made a commitment to yourself.

you were going to love this one with all your heart.

the first year with reo being your husband it was hell. how you were only doing paperwork yesterday, now it was filled with days of being told how to act like a proper wife to your ceo husband and being a mother to his heir. maintaining appearances to fit with your status. you're not a commoner anymore, the governess would say to you while being taught of the proper etiquettes.

you didn't enjoy any of it. aside from being taught on how to care for an infant which you insisted despite reo telling you that the nanny can handle it but you refused. you weren't raising this child to be spoiled, stuck up person. you will raise your child like how the way you were raised and your child is the only one who can receive your whole unconditional love.

mikage reiji. your firstborn with your husband. the surname almost bring tears to your eyes. you have it, the surname. appealing it was and leave everyone to be in awe as being the wife and the mother of his child — it was the kind of branding that means he owned you.

reiji was the reason of it. after reo forced himself to you and find out you were carrying his future heir, a wedding soon followed. it was his right, your soon-to-be husband said to you and he won't let his child with you be born to be an illegitimate and your fate was sealed.

even reiji was the cause of it, you lived your days with your son and his presence brought you peace. the only thing reo had done good that you learned to accept.

you enjoyed being a mother to your child and reo was a doting father. praising you for being a good mother to his child and he'll reward you with a kiss that soon turned to be a night of worshipping you.

after that when reiji turned a year old, you were pregnant again. the thought of being with child again scared you but when you look at reiji, you knew it was going to be fine and despite how much you hated reo, a new realization dawned on you. this occured to you many times before when your time was all on taking care of your baby that you enjoyed being a mother and you wished for more.

then reiji was followed by his baby sister being born a year later. a new addition to your family and you were happy. what's dark and cold when you were with reo is now replaced with the neverending joy of being with your children. watch as they outgrow their clothes, learned to call you as their mama. their cute giggles melting the worries in your heart and when the siblings are old enough to sleep in their own rooms, you found the courage to tell reo of your wishes one night.

“reo?” the ceo hums in response when you called his name while he's behind you. his arm draped in your plush stomach, drawing soft circles on it.

“i wish to tell you something.” you shift in your position. turning your body to face him. “what is it, treasure?” his voice soft and mellow. it's the only way he addressed you. “i want to have more children with you.” meeting his gaze and observe how it changes into something of curiosity to one of darkening. smirk blooming in his face.

“that's it, my wife?” he asks. knowing damn sure of it. reo have all the riches in the world and the wealth to give you more what you want and needed. “you want to give reiji and reiko a another sibling, a good choice — treasure.” moving above you to trap you with his body. pinning your arms in both sides as he licks his lips.

some part of you hates him or you got used to it. of him exploiting you and in return you treat it as something normal. no matter how you threatened him or cry in front of him, it doesn't change anything. reo made sure a long time ago that he'll find you even in the deepest pits of hell just to have you again.

it's enough to keep you beside him with no qualms and only received his undying fondness to you. he's obsessed and you're feeding it to him.

“yeah.” you confirm to him and reo leans down. capturing your lips to his and pushing his tongue deep inside your mouth. lowering the straps of your nightgown and tugging it down to reveal the body of his wife that had given him children.

two pregnancies and you're still looking divine. stomach rounder and littered with stretch marks, he can't wait to get you pregnant again. his gorgeous wife that turns anyone green with envy.

“g—going to breed this pussy again.” he groans. his hips moving in a fast pace with the intent of knocking you up again. “you want that, treasure? he moans out, holding your hips tighter. going deeper as possible like the first time he had done it to you. “want me to cum in this pretty pussy of yours and make me a father again? you want that?”

“yes! yes — ahhh! please, reo!” you cry out. digging your nails in his arms and he can feel you tighten. sucking him deep into this warm cunt of yours. it spurs him more to please his wife and giving her what she wants. reo only wants that happiness of yours.

he kisses you once again, your legs locking around his hips to prevent him from pulling out and with a brutal slam of his hips, both of your orgasm came rolling. spurts and spurts of his cum filling your fertile womb and soon it will bless him with a another child and he will fill you up again like a good husband.

there's nothing quite like it when he's all yours and you, round with his baby again.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Succession Laws vs Traditions

Going to preface this with saying this is just my own opinion and thoughts but I want to talk about the green side's whole rhetoric about how the realm will never support Rhaenyra's claim because she is a woman. This seems to be their main justification for putting Aegon on the throne but the thing is it turns out to be false. Like throughout the first season we keep getting told this, that Rhaenys wasn't chosen as heir because she was a woman and that this is sort of proof that Rhaenyra wouldn't be either.

But, and I am going to put a book/season 2 spoiler here just in case as it hasn't happened yet but I did a quick google search out of curiosity and actually when it comes to the houses 53 support Rhaenyra's claim to the throne and only 28 support Aegon. So actually the majority did support Rhaenyra's claim.

What I think it boils down to is Succession Laws vs Succession Traditions because ultimately the two are different. The Law states that the King (or Lord when it comes to seats of houses) can name their heir and whoever they name is the rightful and lawful heir to the throne/seat. We see this throughout the first season with Viserys very publicly naming Rhaenyra his heir and having a big ceremony where all the houses came to swear oaths to Rhaenyra. Later, after Aegon is born, we have that scene between Viserys and Jason Lannister where Lannister assumes Viserys is going to name Aegon his heir. This scene (and the episode as whole really) shows us that in order for Aegon to legally be the heir then Viserys has to officially name him his heir, irregardless of tradition, being the firstborn son doesn't automatically make him heir. We also see it when the Seasnake is injured and Vaemond petitions the crown and Viserys asks Rhaenys who Corlys wanted to be heir as legally that was the most important factor.

However you then do have the succession traditions which are that the eldest son should inherit, if there is no son then it should pass to the eldest male relative eg brother, cousin, uncle etc. It is obvious that the traditions are very important to a lot of the houses, it was the real reason why when put to a vote instead of King Jaehaerys choosing by himself, it was the male heir the houses chose as oppose to Rhaenys. It's why it was a big deal when Rhaenyra was named heir and why the houses assumed Aegon would be named heir when he passed his infancy.

I think the mistake the Greens made was thinking that the houses held the traditions of succession higher than the laws of succession. They assumed that because Aegon was the first born son and traditionally would have inherited, the houses would support his claim over Rhaenyra's. They tell people that Viserys named Aegon heir on his death bed but lets be real, they have to know that isn't very believable considering he held to his guns for 20 years with Rhaenyra as heir and the only witness is Alicent, Aegon's mother. So they have to rely on the houses caring more about Aegon being the firstborn (tradition) than Rhaenyra being the named heir (law).

But in actuality I think the houses actually care more about the law and keeping oaths than they do tradition. As important as tradition is and as upset as they may have been that Rhaenyra, a girl, was named heir, breaking an oath is a much bigger no no to a lot of houses and Westerosi society as a whole. Now that isn't to say that some houses won't break an oath if it means furthering their own houses standing or gaining them more power, but it is very much seen as dishonourable and treasonous. It carries with it a death sentence if your side doesn't win most of the time. Throughout Game of Thrones we see people breaking oaths and that having bloody and violent consequences.

I feel like there are three things that you really don't want to be seen as in the Westorsi world, one is an oathbreaker, another is a kinslayer and the third is breaker of guest right. All of these are severely taboo in Westeros and are said to anger even the gods. Kinslaying is even said to bring a curse upon the one that commits it.

To me it makes alot of sense that more houses support Rhaenyra, firstly because she was named the legal heir and in supporting Aegon most of the lords would be making themselves oathbreakers. On top of that, after the events of 1x10 of hotd, they would be breaking their oaths in order to support a side that has both a kinslayer and arguably someone who broke guest right. Aemond became a kinslayer when he killed Lucerys, the fact that he did it when Lucerys was acting as an envoy could be seen as kind of breaking guest rights, although that one is up for interpretation as technically they had left Storm's End when Lucerys was killed, but I could still see the Lords looking down on the action and considering it as breaking guest right as Lucerys was acting as a envoy and they were both guests at Storm's End. Let's say it's breaking guest right adjacent.

In the end I think tradition was more important to the greens because it was more advantageous to them, they needed the fact that traditionally Aegon would be heir to be more important than Rhaenyra legally being heir, in order for their blood to sit the Iron Throne. But for the majority of the houses what's tradition compared to breaking an oath, one of the three biggest taboo's in their society? And for a side who has already committed at least one other taboo of Kinslaying. Also another contributing factor is that after 20 years I think the houses just got used to the idea of Rhaenyra being heir, it was what they expected when Viserys refused to waver on that choice. I did find that in the trailers for season 2 Alicent was being very contradictory because one minute she is saying that Viserys knew that no one would support Rhaenyra's claim and in the next she's saying Rhaenyra's supporters will believe what they will, but if Alicent truly believes that no one would support Rhaenyra as heir then how does she have supporters. Alicent is kind of telling on herself there but I do genuinely think she is in denial and is driven by the fear she has for her children. I honestly think that the greens will be surprised in season 2 by how much support the Blacks do actually get from the noble houses and its going to be a bit of a rude awakening.

[peachymilkandcream]

Hi! I have a scenario in mind. After giving birth to their firstborn, Evelyn realises that Levi treated her a lot better during her pregnancy. Post-delivery hormones fogged up her brain and in a stupid split second decision she concluded that if she couldn't run away from him, she could at least try to make her life easier during those nine months. So she decided to ask him for another baby. What would be his reaction?

Levi x Evelyn -> No Escape

(A/N: Ooh this is a good one, we've never seen a slightly mind broken Evelyn before so I think this is going to be a good one with a sweet sweet prompt. We love to see it ;) Also it doesn't help that I've been looking at Levi as a dad arts on Pinterest :P)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, manipulation, mind breaking, yandere themes, yandere behaviour, domestic violence, slightly soft and good father Levi should be a warning in and of itself, etc.

=============================================

Evelyn watched Levi with their firstborn son, Furlan, he had bragged to her months prior that he would be just as strict with her as their children, but he was unusually loving and sweet. He held their child with such care and love, talking to him in his soft voice, bouncing him gently.

"Did you know you're the descendant of the strongest bloodline on earth? Oh yes, personal guards for the king, a line of warriors and soldiers, the most feared in the land."

Despite herself Evelyn let a small giggle escape. "I thought you never cared about where you came from."

A smile creeps onto his face. "Oh I don't. But he'll care. My reputation is shitty at best, respected and loved only because I'm feared. He'll be different, respected because he is the first Ackerman in a long time. We're better than any of those stuck up rich pricks, our name's been around longer than theirs."

She shakes her head playfully. "The feared part might stop if you keep acting this way towards him."

"Mm, he won't fear me. He'll be in awe of his dear Papa, riding on the front of my horse and seeing what a hero he is. He'll be disciplined, but that doesn't mean I can't spoil him, I'll buy him a pony, that way he can become better than everyone else, show those other rich brats he's the best."

She rolls her eyes as the little bundle squirms and cries. She stands and takes him from her husband. "It's time for little one to go to bed."

Levi's reluctant, but hands him over. "I'll leave you to it wife," His hand cups her cheek, a glint in his eye. "Come to me downstairs when you're done."

She shivers, but nods in agreement, watching him as he retreats downstairs.

As she settles in the child her mind starts analyzing Levi's change in behaviour over and over. Had the birth really changed him that much? Changed them both? Here she was thinking warmly of her abuser, smiling and laughing at his sweetness. Even during the pregnancy, he had treated her differently, he didn't have sex with her as roughly, he didn't beat her and was overall loving and sweet. He was like a real husband, tending to her needs, a life without stress or work as he took care of everything.

She looked into the face of the sleeping infant, and her heart squeezed. He looked just like his father, the same raven hair and grey eyes, she was trapped. She couldn't leave Levi now, where would she go? And if she thought escaping on her own was difficult enough, if she ever left with his child that would be unforgivable. Levi would hunt her down with more vigour. Where would she go? A single mother with a child? No one would take her in, and the thought of the little one on the streets when he could stay here and have everything he could ever want in life? The choice was simple, she had to stay. But that doesn't mean she couldn't make it easier on herself in the process.

==========================================

Evelyn stole into the living room, trying to gather the courage to speak to the man she called husband. His expression was as stern as ever, focused on his book. But she knew that it was just his focusing face, she had come to learn his expressions, all of his quirks and habits. Despite everything it was still Levi, the same person she struggled and cried with, and rejoiced at their victories. They had been best friends, telling each other everything. Her mind went back to those nights on the beach before all of this mess, their pants rolled up and barefoot in the sand. Her singing some song they both knew as he chased her to throw her in the waves, showing his smile and laughter that no one ever saw. She missed that Levi, and if having his children brought it back, it would be worth it.

"Levi?"

He looks up, nodding with approval. "You came, good, come sit by me."

"Uhm...before that- can we talk?"

Levi rolled his eyes, undoubtedly waiting for one of her rants about his behaviour. "What is it?"

She shifts between feet, trying to find the right words. "So, I was thinking," She takes deep breaths, trying to keep herself in check. "delivery wasn't as difficult as I thought-"

"Well that's good I suppose." He had already gone back to his reading, half listening to her.

Finally she blurts it all out. "I want another baby."

He freezes, turning slowly to look at her. "What did you just say?"

"I want another baby."

He scowls at her. "That's not something to tease me about wife."

"I'm not."

He shuts his book aggressively, coming to stand in front of her. "And why all of a sudden do you want to have my child when before you fought me so hard?"

She shakes slightly, his intimidating presence getting to her. "I...I like being mom."

At this he softens, taking her hands gently in his. "Oh honey...you really feel this way?"

She nods, tearing up a little, this kind of niceness she wasn't used to. "I do Levi...honest..."

He brings her gently into his arms, holding her close. "Okay, okay, we'll start trying soon, alright? Once you're all healed and everything then we'll start trying."

She held onto him, thankful that this had gone off so smoothly.

[jimblejamblewritings]

The Dragon Heir | part 5.

Summary: What happens when King Viserys' only current heir is a choice between his twin daughters? The realm will not accept a woman but you have no care for what the realm thinks it won't accept.

Warnings: it's the game of thrones realm, and obviously incest comes with the Targaryen package but it still deserves a second warning

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x black!reader, Daemon Targaryen x targaryen!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The flames cooled until they were gone and glass remained where sand once was on the beach. Daemon ran the moment he saw you. He covered you with the cloak you had handed him. You looked down at yourself, picking at the white sleeping gown still left on your body. 

“I severely underestimated the heat of dragonfire,” you said. “One more dress would have been smarter.” 

Daemon grabbed you by the sides of your face. “How long have you known you were a Dragon?” 

“I didn’t really.” You felt Daemon’s hands squeeze you a little tighter. “I always tested myself with candles after accidentally knocking one over when I was small.” 

“Are you mad?” 

“It worked.” You turned to look at the dragon. “Vhagar, Soves.” 

The dragon took off, returning shortly after. Rhaenyra threw your shoes at you before pushing Daemon out the way. You braced yourself for your sister hitting you in the shoulder. 

“What were you thinking? What if you had died?” 

“Ah, ah, Rhaenyra. That actually hurts, you know. Rhaenyra!” 

She pulled you into a hug. “Do not ever do that to me again.” 

You looked at the rest of the court. “This matter is finished. The children are still not allowed at the dragon pits until I say it. Aemond, you will be given first pick of eggs any dragon lays until you find the one that suits you. I never want to hear about this business again, from any of you.” 

The children didn’t say anything. You accepted that as their reluctant agreement. Rhaenyra stepped away from you, letting you go to Daemon. You patted at his chest, searching for the parchment. Your fingers graced it. With the parchment still safe, you stood up a bit straighter. 

“I am no fool. I’ve heard what a lot of the castle whisper about my nephews, the current heirs to my throne if something were to happen to me who is currently without child.” 

“What?” Alicent started. “That is no—” 

“It had been discussed years ago with the King and you know that.”  

“You couldn’t have been serious.” 

“Rhaenyra is the next-born after me, she and her children would be the ones to inherit the throne.” 

“Aegon is the first-born son!” 

“But he is the third child. Unless you’d like to kill all three of my sister’s children to put your own on the throne.” 

“Are you trying to insinuate something, Princess?” 

You ignored her. “It is interesting to see you once again as Hand, Lord Otto.” 

“Princess,” he said with an awkward bow of his head.  

You pulled the parchment out of Daemon’s pocket just enough for people to see. “I do not think we need to be reminded that questioning the princes’ legitimacy is an act of treason I could have you all executed for. We’ll settle this issue as well. I think we all know about the one lord that managed to hold my affection tragically passed away in battle. I know questions about heirs are starting to come about again. I don’t want to hear it.” 

Otto Hightower cleared his throat. “If you don’t want to hear it then the right thing to do would be to name Aeg—” 

“To name my firstborn son as heir or my daughter. Perhaps I have neglected my own duties without meaning to. I will marry Prince Daemon and we will sire an heir.” 

“This is an insult to the queen. There are heirs right in front of you.” 

“The insult is insinuating the queen consort is above the heir and letting her cut the future queen without consequence, disregarding the fact that when my father differs to me, I speak with the voice of the King. My word is forever above the queen… consort. Further insult was the Hand of the King trying to promise the heir to his infant grandson in hopes the grandson would sit on the throne instead.”  

“Princess.” 

“Of course the only other solution I would agree to is marrying Baela to Aegon after Daemon and I combine houses. They would share the throne together as equals. No one is above each other. However, I would have to honor Lord Corlys’ wishes to grant Baela use of her maternal name when she ascends the throne. It would stand should she have any sons as well.” 

“You would end the Targaryen rule?” 

“Willingly.” 

You raised an eyebrow but Otto didn’t say anything else. The parchment with your writing on it was tucked back into Daemon’s pocket. You patted it a couple of times.  

“If that proposal isn’t favorable I will happily return to my first words… Wonderful, I will grant Lord Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra their request to occupy Dragonstone in this present time. Prince Daemon and his daughters will move to King’s Landing with me. That should satisfy all questions of claims.” 

The court turned to look at Viserys. When he didn’t do anything, it was clear to everyone that he had already approved it. You looked up at Daemon who was still holding you. He pulled you into a hug, chin resting on your head. The tight way he held you let you know you made the right decision. Daemon was able to protect you from everything. He wanted to protect you from everything. 

The matter with dragons was completely put to rest. Your new focus — or rather, your father’s new focus — was on the upcoming wedding. You didn’t want to have a large wedding. Daemon sat in your lounging chair, watching you pace back and forth, with a smile on his face. You were back in King’s Landing to prepare. You had suggested getting married in the way of Old Valyria but your father insisted that wouldn’t do. You were the heir. It had to be big. 

Maybe Viserys knew what he was talking about. The entirety of King’s Landing, possibly all of the Seven Kingdoms, was buzzing about your wedding. The notion of you being heir was less questioned in each conversation. You suspected it was because they believed Daemon would control everything behind you. He was a good ally, already doing his job and the two of you weren’t even married yet. 

You closed the door on another maiden who came to ask you a question, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Daemon.

“Do you hear what he’s on now? He wants to move Balerion’s skull into the outer yard. Is it necessary for all of Flea Bottom to attend? I barely got him to concede to not putting wings on the shoulder of my dress. He won’t move on having the wedding anywhere but the Godswood.” 

Daemon extended an arm until you reluctantly stomped towards him. He gently held your hand. “I thought you always wanted a wedding in the Godswood.” 

“Not when the entire realm gets to watch.” 

“The entire realm?” 

“Those not seated in the wood itself get to watch from the castle windows. Then we have to make the rounds at the festival not just here but in the outer yard.” 

Daemon tugged on your hand a bit. “Sit.” 

You sat on the little space there was since he was laying across the chair. 

“Now, calm yourself.” 

With a very loud sigh, you relaxed and let your back fall against Daemon’s chest. “I don’t like you telling me what to do.” 

He chuckled. “Ah, we all know you will be telling me what to do soon.” 

You played with his hands that were wrapped around your middle. Occasionally, Daemon pressed light kisses to your hair. You two had been spending lots of time with each other since announcing the marriage plan at Driftmark. Both of you wanted to know each other in ways you never cared to before. It was important for a happy marriage. You poked one of his fingers. 

“You don’t think it will be tiring? Honoring the Seven and the Old Gods and our Valyria.” 

“Showing you represent the entire Realm means incorporating their traditions with ours. We are all one.” 

“I just wanted the ceremony to be small.” 

Daemon’s humming became the only noise in the room. You let yourself relax more, sinking further into his touch. He moved one of his hands from around you. Fingertips danced on your scalp as he kept humming. You felt Daemon slowly undoing the haphazardly done braids and pieces pinned up. 

“Now it is your hair that is a mess.” 

Daemon sat up a little bit, forcing you to follow suit if you wanted to be comfortable. He reached for the oils on the small table by your lounging chair. A small smirk crossed his face when you let out a small moan at him tugging on your hair a bit. You turned around and pushed his shoulder. 

“Don’t laugh.” 

“I’m not laughing.” 

“Yes, you are. I can see that you want to.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You can see that now?” 

“There.” You pointed at the raised corner of his mouth. “Right there, you are about to laugh.” 

“I’m just smiling. Is that a crime now?” 

“You are a headache, Daemon.” 

“I am the headache?” He turned you back around, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. 

The feeling of Daemon doing your hair was nicer than any servants. He was oddly delicate with what he was doing. He kept humming as he braided pieces. The humming stopped when you tilted your head all the way back to look at him. 

“When did you ever do hair past pushing it away from your face?” 

“Baela and Rhaena,” he said simply. 

Daemon leaned over a bit. He kissed your forehead before pushing your head back up. You didn’t move anymore so he could do his work. You both were a bit surprised when the door to your chamber opened. No one would ever dare to just enter the room with even a knock. Baela and Rhaena approached you two without a care in the world. You and Daemon looked at each other. 

“Vhagar laid eggs,” Rhaena said with excitement. 

Baela held out the egg in her hands. “We brought this one for you.” 

They set the stone-like eggs in your lap. You admired them for a moment. The eggs were slightly larger than normal but that was typical for eggs from dragons as big as Vhagar. You picked it up. 

“Thank you, girls… And thank you, Jace and Luke.” 

The two boys appeared in the doorway. “How did you know we were here?” 

“I have never seen the four of you apart unless it is time to sleep.” 

They had nothing to say because you weren’t wrong in what you said. Your nephews came in with the other two eggs Vhagar laid. The four children made themselves comfortable in your chamber much to you and Daemon’s annoyance. He kept braiding your hair as you two listened intently to whatever the children were rambling about.

The same way you and Daemon were learning each other, Baela and Rhaena did the same with you. You didn’t want them to think you were replacing their mother but you didn’t want to be only a stepmother to them as well. 

Daemon finished your hair. You moved aside so the girls could get their hair done as well, going to sit next to your nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys groaned when a member of the Kingsguard knocked on your door. They were just as annoyed as you were about the wedding. As your nephews, they were expected to participate not just attend.  

Baela and Rhaena left shortly after the boys. Daemon took the eggs from you, going to place them in the fireplace of your chamber. You watched him poke and prod as he tried to settle all four eggs in a certain position. 

“I’ve moved chambers,” he said, moving to place the second egg into the fireplace. “I’ve taken the one right next to you so I’ll be closer if you ever need me. Move the painting to the left of your bed and you can come in whenever you want without being seen.” 

“I think I will still walk through the front door. I’d rather not stumble in when you want to turn your chamber into a pleasure house.” 

“The days of pleasure houses are over. I didn’t even with Laena.” 

“Is it because you were starting to love her even if you don’t care to admit it?” 

Daemon let out a short laugh. “Perhaps.” 

“But we are politics. I wouldn’t stop you. I would never be angry either.” 

“Calling in whores underneath the nose of our queen makes you weak. The simplest things they might turn the other cheek at Viserys but will question you like they did your sister.”  

He strolled back over to you. Taking both of your hands in his, he crouched in front of you. Slowly, he kissed one hand and then the other. For the first time since your father had told you about the decision to name you heir, you felt the gravity of the situation. Daemon wasn’t smiling anymore.  

“We may be politics but you are the first queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You are mine, now, as I am yours. I promise to you that I will never do anything to hurt you. I will always stand in front of you in the face of our enemies. I hope you will put good faith in all my words.” 

“I believe you, Daemon.” 

“Good.” 

~~

King’s Landing practically came to a halt when your wedding day finally arrived. You sat in your chamber, leg constantly bouncing up and down as you waited. You wanted to scold yourself. It was stupid to be nervous. It was just Daemon. Well it was marrying Daemon… in front of the entire realm. That was the part that concerned you. The entire realm would party for a week straight. 

Rhaenyra came in with Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena. You were a bit surprised at seeing your younger half-sister there. Helaena never had problems but she also stuck to herself, easily manipulated by the other members of her family. You supposed with Viserys around it was easier for her to do what she wishes. Still sticking to herself, Helaena moved to prep your bath water. You were directed to get in. 

You watched from the water as they fluttered about. Helaena was combing over your jewelry. You tried to hide a snort. Apparently, she didn’t agree with what pieces had already been laid out. You stared at the dress Rhaenyra was laying out on the bed. It had multiple skirts to add volume. The dress sparkled as you looked at its coloring, something you fought your father on and lost. You wanted red, one of your house colors. He wanted white, a symbol of sorts for unity in the family.

In the end, you both didn’t get your wish. The dress was a gold pale enough to be mistaken for white in the right moments. The sleeves were long, ending right at your wrists. The neckline was square and meant to show off your neckline and shoulders — the gown had rounded shoulder bits that stuck straight up, as if it was stuck to your arm instead of being draped over your shoulder blades, still creating a shoulderless effect. The entire gown was embroidered in thread that matched the color of the gown. 

Baela and Rhaena did your hair as you soaked to no end in the water that was slowly becoming tepid. You were starting to wonder if your curls grew overnight. How much hair could they make into various braids?

It seemed like they would never end. The scent of the orange blossom oil they used for your hair finally started to reach your nose. Once your hair was finished, you were allowed out of the tub. 

Rhaenyra helped you dress. You admired yourself in the mirror as your sister made sure the dress laid correctly. Helaena made you stick out your arms. You looked at the new jewelry she selected. All of it was dainty. Even the necklace she put on you was dainty as well. Thin and gold. The only thing that had much weight was the crown made specifically for your wedding. The girl gave you a nod and started to walk away, her job done. 

“Helaena.” 

She stopped when you called her, turning ever so slightly. You beckoned her back over. When she was close enough to touch, you pulled her by the wrist into a hug. Your hand cradled the back of her head. She froze up for a moment before her arms slowly reached out to wrap around your waist. You gave her a few pats to the head before pulling away.

Helaena looked at where you were still holding her hand to make sure she didn’t leave. You searched your jewelry box for the rings made out of the White Hart antler. It had made more than enough rings and whistles. You had enough left over to make hair pins and hair forks. You grabbed a hair fork, sticking it in your half-sister’s hair. Finally, you loosened your grip on her hand. 

“Okay, go,” you said with a little tilt of your head. 

Helaena looked at the fork in the mirror before leaving. Despite having your hair done and being fully dressed, you weren’t complete in wedding preparations. Baela sat you down on the lounging chair. She looked through the lip pigments.

She picked a small tin of beeswax that had been colored with grounded up pink rose petals and flavored with the nectar from honeysuckles. You sat deathly still and let her spread it over your lips until they were just tinted pink. The two girls left, needing to get the flowers for their part in the ceremony. 

It was just you and your sister left. The two of you looked at each other through the mirror, silent for a moment. Her dress was the red that you originally wanted. The more you looked at your dress, the stranger you felt. You should have been married years ago to one of the second sons in the North. Waiting for him to return from battle instead of insisting he didn’t go was your fault. You felt like it was your fault. 

Or maybe you should have been married later, with someone you loved. You looked your reflection in the eye. There was no later. You were getting married and you were getting married now. There were no choices. It was Daemon or risk more fighting in your own House. The House of the Dragon wasn’t allowed to tear itself apart. That was your father’s wish and you would honor Viserys’ wish. Keep the family together and make sure the realm is looked after. 

Marrying Daemon was a legitimate claim to the throne despite the fact that you were first born. It added validity. Rhaenyra’s sons could’ve been enough. But when the realm saw your beautiful brown-haired nephews without the known blonde-white of their supposed father, it was all ruined. You gave your sister a smile when you realized she was studying your face. She wrapped her arms around you, resting your chin on your shoulder. 

“I am sorry,” Rhaenyra said. “If Laenor and I had even had one, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. The Realm was so ready to love Jacaerys.” 

“I think when they believed my fertility complications they were praying for me to never marry after finding out you had a first-born son.” 

You both chuckled. Rhaenyra squeezed you a bit tighter. 

“How it would have been easier if I could have just had one. Or one with my hair, that would’ve been enough.” 

You placed your hands over hers. “No, Rhaenyra. It is me who should be sorry. I should’ve never asked you to take my side when we were younger. I should’ve never used you to satisfy the realm. It would have been better if I had married Aegon when Otto Hightower suggested it.” 

“No,” she said with conviction. “I wholeheartedly agreed with your decisions and you were not only disgusted at betrothing Aegon when he was only a babe. You hated the thought of political marriage. I agreed for you. I am still free to do whatever I please, you aren’t. I wanted you to marry for love like you always wanted to.” 

“Well look at where we are now.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

A knock on the door took you both out of your moment. 

“Come in,” you coughed out. “Father, where is your cane?” 

“I cannot walk you with my cane.” 

You immediately rushed over to him when he was about to run out of wall to lean on. Rhaenyra nodded to you, leaving so she could take her place in the wedding. Your eyes darted to the ceiling when the bells started to ring. It was time. 

You tapped your father’s hand, encouraging him to use your arm as a crutch if needed. It wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell that he was doing that instead of simply escorting you. You were to walk a good portion of the castle, greeting all the guests that you could see before entering the Godswood where the invited nobles were. Viserys and you were announced — the King and Her Grace. Everyone kept greeting you as you walked through the halls, constantly saying ‘My King’ and ‘Your Grace’ respectively. 

It felt like ten years before you reached the Godswood. This was the start of the wedding for the realm. You could see Daemon’s back as he stood in front of the Septon, who had a small table in front of him, at the base of the weirwood tree. The tree was to honor the Old Gods of the North. Your sister smiled at you, trying to elicit the same response from you. The music started again.

(part 6)

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[lady-rose-moon]

I have you || Prologue ||

A/N: welcome to the prologue to I have you! Let me offer you some context before we begin! You are the adopted daughter of the Queen of Midgard's Moon, known as the Demon Goddess. You have a sister. You have magic. There won't be any description of Y/N past the colour of the fingernails just to let everyone view themselves in this role! Without further ado, shall we begin?

Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter One

The winter solstice had just ended, and the parties had ceased their music, parents were gathering their children and guiding them home from a long night of celebrating the next change of season, though it shall not happen for the next few months. Asgardians old and young had gathered to celebrate that they were in the deep of winter and spring shall soon bloom. 

In the Asgardian Palace, the Aesir royal family had just finished their evening celebrations with their fellow lords and ladies of the other realms, apart from Jötunheim’s King, Laufey. Asgard and Jötunheim hadn’t had the best track record so it was best that they be left to themselves. The golden walls caught the last fires from the torches that hung from them, showing a slight regality of the now dominant darkness outside.

At the head of the large table, King Odin finished his chalice of wine and set it down, rising to his feet to look down the table. Thor, his firstborn, was surrounded by his friends as they discussed the latest battle they had snuck away to fight. Odin admired Thor’s bravery and need for battle but did not approve that he sought out a fight when it was not needed, if he carried on then it could lead to more than just a verbal thrashing from the King and Queen of said realm. The old King sighed and raised his staff, Gungnir, high in the air before bringing it down on the stone floor to make a loud bang which brought all attention to him. 

 “Welcome to newer times of the year, my friends. I hope the next year will be as peaceful and thriving as this one has been,” Odin spoke, and the table listened to him as he spoke, truly enamoured by every word the Allfather spoke, “I apologise for my brief appearance, but I must retire for the night. I wish you all safe travels home, goodnight.” The table chorused a soft goodbye and Odin stood, departing from the dining hall with his wife on his arm.

Everyone resumed their conversations once the doors to the dining hall shut behind the departing King and his Queen. About halfway down the table, a boy sat beside Volstagg and a black-haired girl that couldn’t be much older than himself. This boy was Loki Odinson, second born to Odin Allfather and Queen Frigga. The boy did not look happy to be attending the dinner that his mother had firmly demanded he attend. He had wanted to stay in his room and read all night, watch fireworks from his window and celebrate his own way but Frigga would not allow it. 

 ‘You are almost 1,000 years old now, Loki, you must make a name for yourself.’ His mother had said to him that morning. But Loki had already made a name for himself, he had married young to a giantess, Angrboða. With her, he had sired three children: Fenrir, Jörmungandr and Hel. Loki loved his children with his heart, he had tried his hardest to keep Fenrir close to him so that Odin could not get his hands on his beloved son but while Loki was in the bath one night, a member of Odin’s Einherjar had snuck into his room and stolen his firstborn. 

Angrboða and Loki mourned the loss of their son and continued to do even after Angrboða informed Loki that she was with child once more. The child had been born strange, an egg instead of a baby. Loki had been confused as he held the bloody egg, but he felt nothing but love as his baby grew inside it. The same happened to his egg that happened to Fenris only this time, it took less time. Angrboða was watching over her egg fondly as Loki was meeting with officials from Vanaheim when a member of Odin’s Einherjar came in from a door behind her and promptly knocked her out, stealing the egg. The next Loki heard of the egg, Odin informed him that it had been thrown into the oceans of Midgard and Loki grieved, grieved for the loss of his first son, for the banishment of his second and for the love he knew he will never receive off Odin now.

When Hel was born, Loki saw her half-dead body and sobbed, resting his head on Angrboða’s chest as his child suckled her nipple for milk. He wasn’t sobbing because he didn’t want this child, he already loved her so much! He cried because he knew she would also be considered a monster by Odin and sent away just like her elder siblings. Loki and Angrboða tried to convince everyone that she had lost the baby, that it had been stillborn but the Allfather had not believed her. Loki had taken it upon himself to keep Hel close and to protect her, he did not leave her in her cradle for a bath, he did not let her sleep away from himself and Angrboða.

Loki was terrified of losing his only little girl, he had always wanted a girl and cherished her cute giggles and excited squeals whenever he showed her simple magic tricks. Even through all this added protection, Odin had torn his only daughter from his arms and banished her to Helheim. That day came and went, many more passed and soon even Angrboða left him, she had died of a broken heart at losing all three of her children but Odin passed the death off as the flu to his citizens and life went on. 

Then there was a time, three hundred years later, when Loki decided he had had enough of grieving for his family, and he wanted to ruin Odin. Loki decided it would be funny to seduce Odin’s current warhorse, Svaðilfari. It had been all fun and games until she discovered she could not turn back from a mare into her human form, she had used her magic to scan herself and found another little bundle of magic beneath her own. Loki’s heart stopped and she realised she could not stay near Asgard’s palace while she was pregnant with her child and so she ran. Many warrants went up all over the Realm to find the prince and as she was reaching her eleventh month of pregnancy, she had hidden to wait out the rest in the mountains and away from any other life.

When her son, Sleipnir, had been born and she could shift back into her human form, she held her son close to her and looked down at him lovingly, appreciating this blessing from the gods. Sleipnir had been born a foal as she had carried him that way for the whole duration, she watched him change into a normal human as his magic slowly built up over the few hours, she spent holding him. He looked just like her, ebony hair already on his head, deep green eyes, and the cutest smile he’d ever seen since… her heart skipped a beat as she remembered Hel and her smile. Sleipnir had Hel’s smile and she was so proud. 

Two months later, when he was sure that Odin wouldn’t think him to be the culprit of Svaðilfari’s disappearance, he returned to Asgard castle with Sleipnir. Odin had been suspicious of course, but Sleipnir showed no reason to be a threat, so he wilfully ignored the child for once. Loki had been thankful for this, and he had shown his son around the castle with a bright smile, listening to Sleipnir’s cooing and enthusiastic squeals. 

Then they arrived, queen Serena and her two daughters, Serenity, and you. It was widely known that princess Y/N was adopted after her father had saved her from her mother and sent her to live with the royal family of Midgard’s moon. At first, he took no notice of princess Y/N as he was still nursing Sleipnir and recovering from his birth but later in the night, when cuddling his already asleep son, you walked up to him with a gentle smile.

“May I hold him, your majesty? I won’t wake him, I swear,” you smiled and looked at him with a curious look in your eye and he reluctantly handed his son to you, watching you carefully as if  you would turn away and take Sleipnir from him. You didn’t. You took a seat beside him and gazed down at the young boy in your arms with a soft smile before you began to speak again, “is he yours? Mother had me and Serenity informed of your fluidity to respect you! He’s so beautiful, he looks like you.” 

 Loki looked at you with surprise evident on his face before he smiled and nodded as he gazed down at his son, “his name is Sleipnir. I love him more than life itself and if something happened to him…. I wouldn’t forgive myself…” He mumbled weakly and smiled gently at you before huffing and wiping his eyes quickly, “I’m sorry, I’m still very hormonal. Mother says it will last a month longer and then I shall be back to normal.” He gently took Sleipnir back from you and smiled lovingly at his sleeping son’s face. 

Smiling, you tucked a bit of hair behind Loki’s ear and watched him curiously, “forgive me, the Allfather spoke of you and said your reputation was horrible, that you cared for no one but yourself and your son.” That made Loki laugh as he looked up from his baby to meet your eyes, his heart so full of grief and pain that you could see it so clearly on his face and you reached your hand out and cupped his cheek, flinching back when Loki instinctively flinched away from the contact.

“Please don’t,” Loki mumbled, looking away from her and down at his son, “I’m not at all crazy about contact after what has happened to my family.” He sounded so broken, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears and you hated yourself for taking all this time to get to him, to get to your soulmate.

“I’ve gone through many lovers, Y/N, I’ve never been able to hold them. Please don’t think you’ll be the first to try to stay with me, either the last one died because of me and my family.” 

You sighed and nodded, giving him a smile before you stood up and moved to kneel in front of Loki and Sleipnir, pushing away some of Sleipnir’s loose hair and you giggled when Sleipnir started to rouse from his sleep, “I suggest we should move him, your highness, if he wakes right now, he shall not sleep the night.” Loki nodded right away and led you through a side door and down a corridor or two until he got to the grand doors of his chambers, and he turned to you  with a shy smile.

The way your heart fluttered when you saw Loki’s smile was indescribable! You had just met the Godling, and you already knew that he was the one you were assigned to by Ymir and the Yggdrasil. Gently stepping back, you gave a small wave to Loki and to Sleipnir’s slowly rousing face before you turned on your heel and left. 

Loki watched you leave with a sad smile before Sleipnir started to get fussy and he laughed, walking into his room and over to his bed after locking the front door and all the windows, “you are a fusspot when you just wake up, sweetie!”

Laying Sleipnir down, Loki undressed him from his onesie and proceeded to change him before giving him a new nappy and conjuring up a bottle of warm milk as he paced around his bedroom, smiling down at his son as he watched the young boy drift off again while drinking the milk. Sighing in relief, Loki slipped into bed and laid Sleipnir down beside him and held his tiny hand in his own before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

He had let his guard down. Odin had backed off. Everything was supposed to be fine! He had merely stepped into the next room to grab you and show you that Sleipnir had finally said “mummy”! When he came back, though, his son was gone. His son was gone, along with the last of his heart. Dropping to his knees, he stared at his bed where his child had been not two minutes ago. He broke. His heart was now sawdust blowing in the Asgardian summer. You knelt beside him and rested your head on his shoulder as you tried to hold back your own tears. It had been a year; you had known the broken family for a year and had become quite attached to Sleipnir, so this loss affected you deeply. You watched as your soulmate’s heart shattered and the boy in front of you barely looked like the proud mother he had been just three minutes ago... He looked so vulnerable, so broken, so helpless and you hated seeing him so. 

“It can’t be so, I just left for a moment! How did... how did he get in here...?” Loki mumbled weakly, more to himself than to the woman holding him so lovingly. He stood abruptly and started pacing around the room, trying to figure out the fateful lapse in his judgement. Why had he walked out on his son? Did his son cry? Did he call for his mummy only to be taken away still? Where had Loki gone wrong in his watch? Why did he look away?! 

“Loki, you’ll burn a hole into the marble if you carry on pacing,” a gentle voice whispered by his side, a warmth surrounding him as you took him into your arms and sniffled, “look, I will mourn for them alongside you, but you must remember that I can easily break the treaty with Asgard for this, you know Serenity will agree to my choice when she finds about this.” you stroked your hand through his silky hair and frowned when Loki shook his head.

“No, this is another of my father's malicious tests of loyalty. Pull out now and he’ll forbid your return to Asgard the moment the comment leaves your mouth. I can’t lose you too, darling, you’re the only one left!” Loki begged you, his weakness shining through now that he had lost all of his children. You helped him cling to you as you shushed him gently, stroking his hair and frowning.

Delicately, you cupped his cheek and smiled lovingly at him as you lifted his head so he could look at you, “I’m never leaving you, I have you, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @iamsherlocked1479

[huh-huhyourself]

The typewriter and the typist, in the rain…

So this is my first OC, not perfect, even not good. It's an alternative universe which shits didn't start from 1933 (or not so much), mixed both classic one and DE. I don't want to plague the most of original story, so I only want to put her in background people if I can draw more next year just in case.

Sure the profile contains many grammatical errors. Which one's more difficult, drawing, fighting Omicron and my ADHD, or writing this in English with a help of Google Translate, it's all of above.

No more paper dolls next year, I swear.

I should buy a tablet, the cheapest one, though it won't change anything.

I should finish the game first…

(I may edit the following anytime. Not sure if there are any logical errors.)

About Her

Name: Lucetta Leonforte

Nicknames: Lu, Moon

Alias(es): Moonshine

Gender :Female

Birthdate: May 31st

Nationality: American

Place of birth: Detroit

Current residence: Lost Heaven

Spoken languages: English

Occupation: Assistant of home bakery(day), side work typist of LH Paint & Wallpaper Co.(night)

Eye color: Grey

Hair color: Blonde

Height: 5'7"

Scars: A perforating gun-shot wound on right waist

Sibling(s): A brother (7 years older than Lu)

Father: Lorenzo Leonforte, Enzo the baker, sounds familiar?

Mother: A women from Milan

BACKGROUND STORY

As a third son, Enzo immigrated to America with his wife and his firstborn in early 1900s for some family businesses.

One year later, 3 cugini (Lu's) joined the Leonfortes in Detroit, it was a hard time for everyone.

At some point before 1910, Lucetta was born on a stormy night.

Lu had a bad cold before she could remember, after that she got a husky voice and tears fall out when she sees the sunshine during the daytime. She always wears a hat/8-piece on sunny days when she's outside.

Her mother left them when Lucetta was sick, her parents had a major fight because her mother didn't want herself and her son trapped in this life. Enzo never mentions them again and Lucetta never asks.

In some year of early 1920s, the Leonfortes moved to LH to do a favor for an old friend.

Now they rent a building in Little Italy which used to be an old small hotel (not far from the bar), the first floor is their bakery.

TRIVIA

I heard you paint houses.

"I heard the Leonfortes are good executors, too bad the youngest one's a girl." says an anonymous person.

The side work is working for someone named Baskerville.

Lu's father is a distant cousin of Vincenzo, because I want to so she can call him uncle Vinny LEGALLY.

The Leonfortes are actually doing the bakery business (taste the peach pies), meanwhile they "import" something like explosives and others too complex to say right now. They are not a part of the Salieri family, more like one of the suppliers.

"Best Powder Best Dough" printed on the bakery's front windows.

They have their own delivery cars but also have a fake Rothco's Bakery one, cause they're everywhere in the city.

Lu does some of these deliveries about 3 times a week, bread, cakes, and other things better handled with care.

She only does the deliveries for her family now.

She likes uncle Vinny's business more than her father's.

Some of the side work's outfits are her father's, so don't fit very well.

She loves sitting on a bench near the lighthouse, watching the clouds, the sea waves, thinking nothing.

She's a good listener, usually she won't give any advice.

She hasn't watched the end of Sadie Thompson because she has slept.

Yes, she has a bike.

Family motto (to Lucetta)

Don't in. (Don't get involved in things you can't handle.)

Don't out. (Don't run away from your own family.)

Don't ask. (Don't question the order.)

Don't talk. (Just don't be a rat.)

Don't date with mobs/cops/lawyers/doctors especially shrinks.

​Don't get caught.

Don't die. (Be safe.)

"Generally 'Don't do this, don't do that. '" says Lu.

"'I won't put any bread which is made in a factory into my mouth!' says Don Salieri." says me.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Natalie - Character Analysis

This is part four in a series where I talk and rant about my versions of the creeps and what they’re like

Click here for BEN Click here for Toby Click here for Jeff

Clicking here will take you to the song I reference in this

Content Warnings: Sexism, Misogyny, Parental/Domestic Abuse, Sexual Assault

Ask me to tag this if needed

Name: Natalie Walters

Age: 26

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 153

Sexuality: Bisexual

Natalie is a character that, for a long time, I didn't really have any lore for. It wasn't that I really liked her OG story, (certainly not considering it is included in the creep stories that.. Aren't fantastic), it was mostly because she in my opinion is an extremely complex character. Unfortunately, she doesn't get requested much so I haven't had a large opportunity to write for and about her, but she's a character that I spend a lot of time thinking about and working on.

Natalie is an extremely strong-minded character in my eyes. She's been through a lot, but she does her best to not let it get to her. If I had to assign Natalie a song, as I have done in previous character analysis posts, it would be "Better" by Kerli. I think that this is a song that reminds me very strongly of her, as I can see her identifying with the lyrics of it.

"Watch me as I'm getting up

And see me shaking off the dust

'Cause I'm starting again

Didn't think that I could

I didn't think so, did you?"

Natalie is a person that does not like letting those that have wronged her win in the end. No matter how hard she's hit, no matter how badly she's affected, she is going to stand back up and continue moving forward. She's someone that longs to be a free, strong person, and she doesn't like to let her trauma hold her back from that. 

"'Cause I see, to fly you need to fall

And that I won the war

The battle's that were lost

Now don't matter

I won't blame the world

'Cause everytime it hurts

When I went through the worst

I came out better"

Natalie actively tries to improve herself and improve upon the trauma she's received. If you were to ask me in what order the creeps would be able to overcome their trauma, she would absolutely be first. Is it easy? Absolutely not- She's not perfect, not the best in the world, but by god, she tries. She may still have her moments, still have her breakdowns and episodes, but she gets right back up after everyone and works harder at pushing forward.

I've been thinking for a while about why I always saw Helen and Natalie as so connected, why they'd be able to get along so well, and it came to me one day when I was thinking about my Natalie lore. It's because they share the same trauma, but on opposite ends of the spectrum. Something I keep from Helen's original story is that his parents wanted him to be a girl. Well, something I decided to change in Natalie's backstory, is that her parents wanted her to be a boy. 

In my canon, Natalie's father was a very prominent person, a very high figure in society, I don't have it absolutely nailed down, but think something like a big CEO. Someone that would need to pass down his position to his children. Well, her father was also a rather bigoted person, someone that was extremely sexist towards women. If he was going to pass on his company position, it was going to be to a son, not a daughter. And so, when her mother gave birth to her, the firstborn child, and a female, things started to go downhill from there.

Her father hated her from the moment she was born, and that was known by everyone involved. By connection, as his wife was the one to give birth to her, he hated his wife for giving him a daughter after she had promised him for so many years that they'd have a son together, and despite it being his own fault for the fact that the males determine the gender of the baby. He would ruthlessly beat his wife for what had happened, and in turn, he would also beat Natalie. She was not allowed to act feminine in any way, either. She had to dress in boys' clothing, do male-oriented activities, have short hair, etc. He might not have had a biological son, but he still refused to have a daughter, even referring to her as Nathan instead of Natalie.  This abuse carried on until Natalie turned the age of 4, and her mother had fallen pregnant again. This time, when she gave birth, it was to a baby boy.

For a while, things were fine. Natalie was still not allowed to be feminine in any way, but she wasn't hit or abused in any other way as often as she had been before, considering her father acted like she didn't exist now that he had a son. It seemed that things had been looking up for the family, at least, until the newest member of the family became severely attached to Natalie. This had set off the balance that had started happening, and everything came crashing back down. After all, her father couldn't stand it- his son loving Natalie? The person he hated most? It was unthinkable and should have been impossible. So, much to the misery of the little boy, Natalie was to be locked away from him, kept separate from him entirely.

The son was taught to never trust Natalie, to hate her, to never be nice to her, to never accept her. Thankfully, the little boy was just as headstrong as she was, and the two of them stayed close in secret, never turning against each other. They were each other's solace. Things weren't too horrible in the household, at least, so long as Natalie evaded her father's line of sight because if he caught her, he'd be sure to let her have it, beating her until he was satisfied. It was once Natalie began to hit puberty that things started another decrescendo into despair in the household. 

Natalie had always been headstrong, but with the added hormones of puberty and the changes in her body, that definitely didn't help anything. She started to physically develop, taking on a more feminine shape, something she tried desperately to hide with baggy male clothing to stop her father from having something to be even angrier about. However, Natalie had started to long to be more like the other women she would interact with- longed to have longer hair, to have feminine clothing, to be able to do girl's things on occasion. When she had reached the age of 15, she had finally started sneaking female clothing into her wardrobe, changing into them at school and back into her male clothing when coming home. She was happy, at least, until her secret had been blown. 

Normally, her father would do room checks to keep her in line, and she'd always hide her stuff in advance so he couldn't find it. That worked for a while, until one day he'd done a check two days in a row, finally catching all of the female clothing and items that she'd been hiding as she'd taken them out of their hiding place when she was out of the house. She'd come home to her father waiting for her, house empty, and she knew something bad was going to happen, but she'd tried to play it cool, she'd tried to hold back. He'd asked her what the clothes were, and she said just that; clothing. He'd asked why she had them, and she'd said, awkwardly, that it was because she liked them and wanted to wear them. "You're supposed to be a boy" he'd told her, and she had quietly muttered, "What if I don't want to be a boy" while looking away indignantly, and that had been what had started the fire. 

They had devolved into a loud screaming match, both hitting each other, both fighting, trying to shout over the other to assert themselves. It had never been more unfortunate for Natalie that the house had been empty because maybe if it hadn't been empty, the following events wouldn't have happened. His father had said the following line in a cold, quiet, firm voice, and Natalie's blood had run cold at the sound of it, "Women are only good for one thing." And she'd known what he meant. He'd started yelling again, "So you want to be a woman, huh?!" And she'd tried to get away. She'd tried to run as he undid his belt, she'd tried to run as he yanked down her pants, she'd tried to run as he pinned her down, but she wasn't strong enough. She screamed, she cried, she begged, but nothing stopped him. It continued on without anyone knowing for a few months, at first. 

He'd corner her, continuously assaulting her when the house was empty, and throughout it happening, he'd always ask her, "Are you sure you want to be a woman?" And she'd always answer yes, and it would always continue. Eventually, her mom found out, and Natalie had hoped that her mom would be angry at her father finally, that she'd take her side- instead, she'd been hit with a smack across the face and her mother calling her a whore for seducing her own father. So, the abuse continued, and she'd seemed like she had no way out. She'd continued to spiral with what seemed like no way to escape, at least, until it had come in the arms of her brother. 

She had been 17, and he 13, and after dealing with his sister suffering for so long, he'd caved. He had snuck her many gifts over the years, one of them being a rare, vintage pocket watch that she treasured above all else, but his final gift had been one she'd never expected. A pocket knife. She'd looked at him in confusion when he'd given it to her, but when he gave her a sad, bittersweet smile, she'd known what it was for. What he was telling her to do. And so, when it had come time, when she was again alone with her father, she hadn't resisted that day, allowing him to draw closer to her. 

In an act of self defense when he was close enough to her, she'd attacked- whipping out the knife, she'd stabbed her father, although, the stab hadn't been enough to do him in, much too shallow. The two of them wrestled around, both at full blasts of anger. At one point, he'd taken the knife from her, and attacked back. Slashing once down the side of her face and cutting into her left eye, and once, thankfully shallowly, across her neck, and leaving many more slices across her body, carving out skin, stabbing into her. He'd been trying to go for her throat again when she'd landed a strong enough kick to him, and she'd gotten the knife back. After a few more moments of struggle, she'd been the one to deal the final blow. 

Her brother had been the next home, finding her injured and bleeding, and he'd done his best to help clean her up. They'd formulated a plan, of course, because her mom was still alive- he'd play the victim, say Natalie had killed dad and tried to kill him too, and that she'd escaped, which by the time her mom got home, she would have. She'd left that house with nothing but her knife and her treasured pocket watch, and that was that.

I'd originally thought I'd make some way for her watch to still end up in her eye, but honestly, I just couldn't come up with a good reason that was realistic enough. I've always headcanoned her as having a glass eye, and thus, she got the glass eye from having her left eye severed. 

Natalie, as I said, is a very strong character. For the most part, you'd never know about the things she'd lived through if it weren't for the scars littered across her body. She only breaks down in private, when nobody can see her. She'll cry, she'll heave, letting out all the stress of the issues she's pushing so hard to work through. The only thing that remains, much to her chagrin, is her love of "masculine" activities. She's still carried that on throughout the years, although sometimes she'll allow herself to be a bit feminine, even though it's hard as it brings back unwanted memories.

Not many in the mansion know what she's been through, although mostly because she doesn't talk about it. If you ask, and she trusts you, she'll tell you- after all, to her, there's no point in hiding what's already been done. However, many don't feel the need to ask her because they don't want to pry, and she's just fine with that. Her trauma is her's to carry, hers to bear, and her's to move on from. 

She's protective, she's loyal, and she's caring. She lives with a smile on her face and tries not to let her misfortunes get to her, no matter how much pain it might make her feel. Because, as she often says when people ask her how she can seem so optimistic- no matter how hard it rains and storms, eventually it'll clear back up and the sun will shine yet again.

[thoughtdumpshitposts]

Emotional Breakdowns Lead To Passably Poetic Ramblings

26.06.21

word count: 2.15K

I never write because I need everything I write to be evocative. I need it to be painful. What's the point of writing something if the reader doesn't hurt? It hurt me to write this, and I hope it hurts you to read.

I've always imagined putting my thoughts into words, but I don't know if I want them to be on paper or my phone. Digital is easy, it's good, it's clean. It's easy to edit, to navigate, to save; it'll probably live on forever. It won't erode and disappear like the writing journal I had for six years, eaten away by the same termites who ate my entire closet from the inside. His name was Reggie, and he deserved better. I'd kept him safe in the closet, but I learnt too late that nothing was safe in the closet. Nothing physical, existing is ever safe from the World and it's beasts – Man or insect.

But paper is personal, it's real. It's beautiful. Sure, sometimes my brain and heart think of words faster than my hands can keep up, and the words are barely legible and my hand-writing's not pretty anyway, but that's the beauty of it. That's what makes it mine. But someone I know can stumble upon these words and read the truth of my existence. But maybe I want them to stumble upon it, one day. Maybe I want them to find my words and understand, really understand, who I was and what I am and what I kept locked up inside of me. That I wasn't some selfish, ill-mannered brat. That I really loved them, but sometimes it was hard. My mother always tells me no one can ever trust anyone but family, that even if she screams and shouts and scolds at first, at the end of the day she'll always have my back, and I know that's the truth.

But my cousin molested my other cousins and I, and she cried when she found out after years because she had to hear it from the other side of the family, and she cried because she'd told me so many times that she'll always have my back if something like that happened to me and she keeps saying family and family and family, and trust and trust and trust and how family is my parents and brothers and that's all we can ever trust but how do I tell her that the reason I said nothing when my cousin did it was because I was used to staying silent when my brother did? It's all so funny because I was blessed enough to have been born to parents who would never blame me for being abused in a society in which the blame- and shame-game is prevalent, but what do you do when the victim is your daughter and the abuser is your son – your firstborn, the first "nawasa" in the family, your pride and joy, the prince charming. You've loved him for seven more years than you've loved me. I understand. You don't deserve to suffer the truth. I saw how you were when you found out the truth about the cousin, I remember the things you said about family and trust. I know you have your own issues. You don't deserve to suffer. You don't. I love you all. So much. So so much. I won't let you suffer. I won't let you be the collateral to his sins. I'll protect you, and you'll never know.

And I'm okay, so why would I say anything? When we're happy and whole and great? Why would I say anything when I'm actually, genuinely fine and unaffected? Why would I ruin us? How could I say anything? And I'm fine, I really am. I'm okay. And I know my friends think I'm gaslighting myself when I say that I'm fine and it hasn't effected me much and it wasn't that bad because I was never actually physically hurt, but it's true. I'm used to laughing and loving the people I hate. I'm used to hating the people I love without an ounce of real hatred. I know what it sounds like, but it really isn't that way. It's okay. I'm okay, and no one should worry, even if sometimes I want everyone to worry. Even if sometimes I want everyone's pity and attention and love and sympathy, and I want them to hurt for me, like I hurt for the people I love. Sometimes I just want validation, I want people to know everything so they understand me. But everyone wants to be understood, so that's nothing special. I'm okay, and that is the only thing what matters.

I wasn't raped; I was molested. There's a difference.

I wasn't raped, and honestly I only remember a few instances with clarity. Everything else is a blur – it's all just snippets and flashes of memory spun together to make a vague, dramatic montage. But I wasn't ever physically hurt, and of course I know that it was still terrible and horrible and I didn't deserve it, but understand that it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I'm fine and genuinely, actually okay and I'm only affected when I have a mental breakdown, but that's almost always because I'm pms-ing. And it hasn't happened in a while now. It stopped. I think it's been four years? And it happened for five? six? I was 9 or 10 when it started? And he was 16 or 17? Okay, that – Oh, God oh fuck that sounds bad doesn't it? I'm 18. My younger brother is 10. I couldn't imagine– I can't. God.

But it actually wasn't as bad as it sounds. I was asleep – of course I wasn't asleep (but I think sometimes I must've been? I don't know) – but I was "asleep" when he did what he did. And he did do a lot, to be honest. His hands, everywhere on me. His mouth – everywhere. His–

Why is it so hard to write? I think it's harder to write than it is to think and speak of it.

But I don't know what happened to me. I don't know. I don't remember what happened. I wish I'd kept a better record, but I didn't. Oh, I remember a lot of things that happened, but I don't remember it all. I wish I did but I really don't. I wish I could read and revisit and do a shitty psychoanalysis of him. But I can't, and now he's the only one who knows what really happened, and I'll have to live with it.

There were no words. Never any words, never any pain. So again, I'm fine, and I'm okay. And he's great and fun and funny and I love him and I care about him and I'm always joking with him and he's a terrible person and I hate him and I wish I knew how his brain works and what he was thinking and still thinks and I'll never forgive him, but it's okay. It's really okay. As long as I was the only one who suffered. As long as I'm the only one who continues to suffer for my silence.

I think the only reason I still think about it so much is because I never got closure. I never got an explanation. I never understood why. I don't know if he's an irredeemable monster or if he at least feels guilty. I don't know what he was thinking, because there were never any words. And I'm glad there weren't any words and I was "asleep" because it makes it easier to interact with him and pretend it never happened, that it was someone else and everything's still okay.

But there were never any words, so I don't have anything to work with. Nothing to draw conclusions from, nothing to psychoanalyze him with. I don't know what he was thinking, I don't know what happened. I want closure, I want to understand. But I'm scared of whatever will lead up to the conversation, and the conversation itself. I'm scared of the acknowledgment and how it'll change everything irrevocably. I'm scared of getting closure, but I need it too. I need to understand.

Did you feel bad? Did you think of how it'll hurt me? Did it hurt you? Or were you indifferent to it all? Did you just not care or –fuck–was it some big joke? Was it funny? Was it amusing? Do you feel entitled to me? How fucking dare you? How could you? How fucking could you? You loved me. You were great to me, you still are sometimes. You're my big brother, man. I loved you. I love you. You were supposed to be my hero and I fucking swear to God you were. What the fuck happened to you? What made you this way? How could you do that to me? How could you do that and still look at me in the fucking eye? How? Why? I deserve to know.

But please don't tell me. I don't know what I'll do if I find out the extent of your monstrosity. I don't want you to fall even lower. I like to think you can't, but I know that's not true. Especially after what I learnt about Z- There's always room to fall.

But anyway – Reggie. I'd been brave enough to write a chapter of my life for the first time in that journal. It was the last story Reggie got to know. I'd never been brave enough to actually write about how I'd been hurt. I could never even write his name when I tried to make a record of what I went through – I was always smart (or sentimental?) enough to try and and keep a record, some proof, dated and organized. I was smart enough – but not brave. Maybe because my coping mechanism was pretending he was two different people, or maybe because writing it would make it real; I'd lived long enough without acknowledging it (even more so without understanding it), maybe if I ignored it long enough it would just go away. But the story I wrote in it wasn't even about that exactly. It was an older story; It was about how all of it might've been my fault. About how maybe I was always a fucked up child. But the story also brings me comfort – it reminds me that I've always been me, that the person I am today is because of the person I always was. That there was no influence that made me this way. I am what I was.

The termites consuming Reggie also reminded me of the old Islamic story about how the Boycott of Banu Hashim ended – the parchment holding the banishment declaration by the Meccans had been eaten by termites, except for the word Allah – the name of God. I thought it'd be interesting if this was God's way of sending me some message I have yet to decipher.

But I don't believe in God. Maybe life would've been easier if I did; if I could have found peace in He who I could not see, could not touch. If I could've found the same relief that my friends and family find in His words, His presence.

But I never felt His presence. I tried, I really did (maybe I didn't, maybe I should've tried harder?). During my last try, I made the resolution to offer all my prayers one Ramadan. I thought if I manage to nail down all the worship obligations, actual faith might follow somehow.

I lasted two days. I cried on the prayer mat during Fajr both times, like my mother does all the time, but I doubt it was for the same reasons as her, or lead to the same result. I did not feel at peace, and I did not feel seen and heard by the Creator; I had never felt more alone, more abandoned. My heart did not feel a little less heavy; it had never felt heavier.

I cried because I was desperate the cycle wouldn't repeat. I wanted to believe there was someone who could make it stop, someone who could make sure that others didn't follow in his footsteps. It did stop, eventually. But I think that's just how it was supposed to be – not because some deity cared enough to make it stop. He doesn't care about us, but if you don't agree with that, I envy you. I wish I believed what you believe.

But I'm also glad I don't. So I will just exist, till one day I don't. And you won't remember me, and He won't care, and no one will greet me at the Gates of Heaven or throw me in the depths of Hell, because neither exist.

I hope.