#story: peach wine

[minglana]

an anecdote i find really funny/coincidental is that on my mom's side, both of my grandpa's and grandma's families have aragonese ascendants, so préssec amb vi (peach with wine) was a common dessert, or something to do if you had a lot of peaches about to go bad. both families considered that a normal dish, and when my grandma married into my grandpa's family, they considered it normal too. one time, my grandma was talking with another woman from the village, and told her how at home they put peaches with wine. the other woman had never heard of that, which my grandma was surprised about, seeing that it was common at home. then you go to the semontano and the plana de uesca and you see that for the town festivities there are barrels full of peaches with wine, and stuff starts to make sense

[nebulaafterdark]

Marry Me

Summary : Rhaenyra’s daughter is off limits, but Aegon won’t allow her to marry anyone else. Based off this request.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Princess Y/N Velaryon is easily the most beautiful woman to grace the seven kingdoms, by all counts of every Lord and Lady.

Alicent reminds her son often, “she cannot speak. There is more to it than the King lets on and we’ve no way of knowing if the same condition will be present in her heirs.”

“Y/N has plenty to say, to those who will listen.” She does not speak with her voice, but through written word, through her eyes, her laugh and her smile.

“I’ve said no.” Alicent snaps, “it is out of the question.” She slams his chamber door shut behind her.

Still Aegon makes it a point to check in with the Princess, to be kind. Even if they cannot marry, surely they can be friends.

This day, she is nose deep in a book when Aegon spots her in the gardens. “What book is that now?” He asks.

Y/N smiles, lifting the bound pages to present the spine.

“A Tale Of Two…” He cocks his head to the side to make out the rest of the title, “Dragons.“

She nods.

“Is it any good?” Aegon wonders, taking a seat beside her in the grass.

Y/N slides the open page into his lap, pointing to a passage on the left.

“A love story,” he realizes.

Y/N stares down at her hands.

Aegon taps a finger to her chin, “you should write a book.”

She shakes her head.

“I would read it.” He tells her truthfully, taking in the full effect of her peach colored gown in the afternoon sun.

The princess returns her attention to the book pages.

————————————————————————

Some weeks later, Cregan Stark arrives from the North, on behalf of his house, to negotiate a potential alliance with the Riverlands which the King has the final say in.

Viserys hosts a feast in Stark’s honor, followed by festivities in the grand hall.

Aegon is polite enough when Cregan comes to collect wine from the table.

“I could not help but notice the Princess while you were dancing.” Stark says, making harmless conversation.

“Y/N,” Aegon smiles, fondly.

“She is beautiful.” Cregan is equally entranced, “I must speak to her.”

“She does not speak.” Aegon reaches a hand out to stop him, with a forced grin.

“To you or to anyone?” Stark continues staring at Y/N over Aegon’s head.

“To anyone,” Aegon tells him. If she did speak, it would be to him first. Not some stranger.

“Well that’s no matter.” He pats Aegon once on the shoulder, “I’m going to introduce myself.”

Aegon stares, eyes wide as Stark crosses the room to Y/N.

Taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “Cregan Stark, your grace.”

Y/N smiles, nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“This is my darling daughter, Y/N.” Rhaenyra says, proudly. Brushing dark waves behind her daughter’s ear.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” Cregan says, “I was wondering if you might like to dance.”

Y/N nods, allowing him to lead her out onto the floor.

Aegon reaches for another cup, drowning his sadness in it.

“That is a fine match.” King Viserys says, watching them from his chair.

“Indeed, Husband.” Alicent agrees.

“Mayhaps a betrothal, in time.” Rhaenyra beams at her father.

————————————————————————

Each day Stark comes to Y/N with an offer of courtship, a new way they might spend time together. He appears to her with flowers, and little gifts he’s acquired from the North. He tells stories of his homeland and the things they might do together, as Aegon plots his murder.

Squeezing his glass so forcefully at supper that night it shatters in his grasp.

“Aegon!” Viserys shouts, as the red wine bleeds onto the dinner table.

Y/N pushes away from the table, rounding the line of chairs to his side. Plucking shards of glass from his skin, with her bare hands and covering his bloody palm with the pristine white fabric of her napkin. She stares at him, expectantly.

Aegon sighs, with a shake of his head. Leaving the dinner table, quietly. Sometimes, it is best not to speak, especially when no one cares what you have to say.

————————————————————————

In the week that follows, Aegon becomes more withdrawn.

Y/N can’t help but think it is something she’s done. Mayhaps their friendship is not something that interests him any longer. Which will make it easier now that Cregan has asked for her hand.

When Alicent gathers her children to break the news that the official betrothal will be celebrated that night, Aegon nearly refuses to attend the procession.

Do they truly expect him to sit there and be merry as Y/N is given away to a near stranger?

Y/N taps her mother’s hand anxiously, before the announcement is made.

“It’s alright,” Rhaenyra assures her, “there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Y/N shakes her head.

“You must marry, sweet girl. Cregan is a good man, he will treat you well.”

Her eyes plead with her mother.

“Who then?” Rhaenyra sighs.

The woman’s gaze flits to Aegon across the room, staring at her with clenched fists.

Aegon inhales sharply, moving toward her on unsteady legs.

“Don’t you dare.” Alicent catches his arm, but it is too late.

Aegon tears his arm free, Y/N is already moving toward him. Pulled together by some invisible force, neither one can explain. “Y/N, I first wish to apologize for the distance between us as of late.”

Y/N’s eyes soften, alight with a fondness reserved only for Aegon.

“But I do not want some Stark bringing you flowers. I want to do it. I cannot stand the sight of you dancing with him when I want to dance with you. I do not begrudge you happiness but I…I love you and I’d like you to be happy with me.” Aegon drops to his knees, “marry me.”

“Aegon!” Alicent protests, only to be silenced by her husband, the king.

“Please.” Aegon says, ignoring his mother’s outburst.

Y/N tugs at his hand, until he stands. Her eyes searching his.

Aegon cups her face in his hands, chest heaving with nerves. “You will want for nothing so long as I live, I swear.”

Y/N rests her hands over his, nodding.

“Yes?” Aegon stammers, “you’ll marry me?”

Another nod and blinding smile.

He pulls her into his arms. “Thank you.”

Y/N holds him just as tightly, tapping at his back a moment later.

“What is it, my heart?” He pulls back, ever so slightly.

Y/N presses her lips to his, sealing the deal.

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / cisfem!reader / scent kink

something nobody ever considers about satoru gojo is that he’s very particular about scents.

it’s a weird side effect of the six eyes that is rarely ever spoken of, by him or any other; along with his fantastical sight, his ability to distinguish minute details kilometres away, to read the ever-twisting flow of cursed energy, yadda yadda yadda — the extrasensory perception he was granted the second two gametes fused into a zygote had skyrocketed every perceptible sensation above the level of the average human. leagues above the level of not-so-average humans, too, but that’s a story for another time.

beneath the slightly dusty smell of skin cells and flesh, each person is different. diet and exercise play a huge part, of course, but then there’s the more obvious things — perfume, toiletries, surroundings. nanami always smells like paper and sandalwood. nobara, sweet and fruity, with a sneaky undertone of something synthetic — something almost hospital-like. yuji smells like grass and citruses, like he’s just popped open a can of something fizzy and caffeinated on the lawns of jujutsu tech. but if he had to choose a favourite…

“could — could you, um—”

one really must forge their own little bits of happiness in this line of work. the constant death and despair really puts a damper on one's lust for life. for gojo — sweets, cute little figures, themed cafes and expensive cakes, things that pleasantly appeal to and delight each one of his six senses. you, in a similar way, enjoy the finer things in life — cashmere and vicuña wool, luxury furniture for your top-floor apartment, century-old wines with names you cannot pronounce — and, to gojo's delight, perfumes.

oh, you have one for every day of the year, he's sure. white florals bursting with zesty citrus, bergamot and black tea when the weather cools. there's fluffy vanillas and sugar-sweet marshmallows, tempered with the smooth depth of sandalwood. osmanthus seeping with syrupy apricots and and peaches. cloves and nutmeg and cypress for the days when the clouds split open and tokyo turns grey.

with your back pressed against the couch and gojo flush against you, hips slotted between your pillowy thighs, he's able to dig his nose right into the curve of where your jaw meets your neck, exactly where you spritz your perfume every morning. today, it's one of those delicious, good-enough-to-eat type of smells; white chocolate and macadamia nut and — fuck, he almost moans against you. sugar and spice and everything nice — you smell like everything he's ever wanted to gorge himself on. he's reminded of the cheap, strawberry body spray you used to use back in high school — how the scent would catch on his nose when you walked past, how it lingered on his jacket when you brushed against him. he shivers.

he lifts his lips from your skin — lifts his nose from the cradle of your neck to give you a distracted, slightly disgruntled, "huh? what?"

it's only without the smell of you clouding his nose that he suddenly realises that you're squirming against him — the heat of your clothed pussy pressing against his hardened cock, layers of cotton and denim and linen between you both leaving you with only the slightest, most irksome hint of pleasure. even with his blindfold fastened over his eyes, it's all so much.

"just — i need something," you say, exasperated. your forehead's dewy with sweat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your pretty nose. "you've been at this for ages."

"ah, my bad." but he doesn't stop. how can he tear himself from your warmth, the heat of you radiating from your skin, your arms wound around his neck and fingers in his hair? how can he leave even a single inch of space between you, when your chest is heaving with excitement and the musky sweetness of your arousal is reaching his nose? he satisfies both your needs for stimulation with slow, curling rolls of his hips, dull pleasure tingling up his spine and leaving him shuddering. "i thought you were more patient."

"you — you're the one that dragged me in here," you say, even as your breathing gets heavier, even as your head falls back with a whine, baring the column of your neck to his greedy, seeking nose. "i told you i have plans, so unless you—!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, though all of your arguments about the time have been half-hearted at best. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you — real good care."

"you sound like such a sleaze when you say stuff like that."

"mhm." for a moment, he lifts his head — and he doesn't have to look at his reflection mirrored in your eyes to know that his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink. you're not much better off — for all your whining and posturing, your proverbial claws aren't much more dangerous than those of a scrappy little kitten. beneath it all, your breathing is laboured, your blood vessels dilated. you smell sweeter, like your body is a ripening fruit or blooming flower, opening for him. your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, heating up the fragrance oils still dotted along your flesh, turns it all heady and head-dizzying.

you want him — you can deny it all you want, but he can see it clear as day. the reminder sends what little blood remains in his head straight to his cock.

"you smell sweet," satoru says, blank and dumb. "when you're horny."

for a moment, you pause. embarrassment — and arousal, though you probably won't admit it — has you locking up. a hint of bitterness turns your fragrance — like burning chocolate — before you huff suddenly, smacking at him until he begins to back up. "oh, my god — you're so shameless, satoru—"

"no, i'm serious! h—hey, stop!" he argues, wriggling until he's back in your good graces again. he dips his head to your skin again, teasing you with little nips along your neck. you'll see the bruises it leaves tomorrow and demand he make it up to you with sweets that he'll just have to eat with you, earrings that glimmer in garnet. for now, though, he’ll get a little serious.

"you get a little sweeter when you cum too, y'know," satoru coos. he tugs at his blindfold, blinking as unfettered light filters into his retina. it's sensory overload, overstimulating and overwhelming, but it's exactly what he wants: to see you, feel you, taste you, smell you — be engulfed by you in every way he can. as if drawn there, his hand sneaks between the tight fit of your bodies, slipping under the hiked-up hem of your skirt and petting at your underwear — soaked, as he’d expected, coating the tips of his fingers. "like syrup. i wanna smell you like that.”

his tongue peeks out over your pulse point, touch reaching up and up and up to that fantastic little ball of nerves he adores. you let out a moan so loud that even he’s taken aback. giddiness bubbles in the pit of his stomach — giddiness, horniness, it’s all the same to him — and he shoves his nose so hard into your skin he swears it’ll bruise. ah, there it is. he’s barely even touched you, too. it’ll be even better when he does.

“g—god, you’re horrible,” you say, arching into him, like you can’t bear to be apart for even a second.

“me?” satoru laughs. you’re distracting from the task at hand, though he usually doesn’t mind. he can’t help but respond, giving you your own attitude back a thousandfold. it’s just now, when it’s been so long since he’s gotten his fill of you, he’s just… a little impatient... “oi, don’t get all embarrassed — you always get so mean.”

“then stop saying things like that, and i won’t have to be — a—ah!”

satoru suckles at the cold-hardened flesh he’s just taken in his mouth — your mouth falling open in wonder and your chest heaving as he takes your nipple between two dull rows of teeth, humming. between his fingers and his mouth, you’ll soon be rendered almost completely silent, shuddering and twitching in what he knows will be a strong, satisfying orgasm — sweet with sweat, salt and musk gathering between your legs. looking up at him with glassy eyes and calling his name. his mouth waters.

he better get a move on, though: you have plans, after all.

[ma1dita]

Duddee, now you gotta write luke proposing to trouble, you simply cannot now IBHBHKK

the perfect weekend

a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

alternate universe masterpost

words: 1.2k (this was too cute the word count escaped me)

summary: alternate universe - the perfect weekend with your perfect boy, even if he thinks otherwise

a/n: happy luke happy luke happy luke FIANCE LUKE 

(posted 2/4/23 unbetad and written on caffeine)

—

This weekend felt like a dream.

Luke took you to your favorite spots that you’ve both carved memories out of in Westport, buying you and his mom gorgeous fresh flowers from the farmers’ market, and he let you drag him around his hometown, spending hours in tiny antique shops and the record store on Main Street. He couldn’t get over how you always found fun in the simple things— even going to the pharmacy to pick up his mom’s medication felt like going to Disney World with you. He couldn’t be more sure of his decision, it was almost inconceivable to spend another day without you being his fiancee.

But luck wasn’t known to be on his side, after all (yeah, thanks dad). Luke’s always had to work harder to get what he wants, and he’s spent the past few years trying to prove himself to your dad—though deep down, he thinks Mr. D doesn’t mind him as much as he makes it seem. (Asking him for his blessing last week over a bottle of wine and a bone-shaking hug scared the wits out of him. He pretended to not notice the god cry.)

Luke just wants to give you what you deserve. And if he needs to spend the rest of his life working on it to prove it, he ought to do it with you by his side.

But he couldn’t think of how.

He tried proposing over dinner last night, with the smell of burnt cookies in the air, but that wasn’t romantic at all, and his hands were shaking so hard he knocked a glass over, prompting you and his mom to fuss over the mess and giggle over his silliness. You both chatted deep into the night, Luke sitting quietly and nodding at two of his favorite women babbling about who knows what (Sometimes he’s still convinced you like his mom more than him, but the way you both take care of him makes him tear up if he thinks too hard about it).

When you went horseriding this afternoon, he set up a picnic for lunch, which was romantic. Chocolate-covered strawberries and sandwiches made by mom, sparkling cider twinkling in the sun. Luke was sure it was going to be great timing— until he realized the ring box fell out of his pocket again, and he slipped in manure trying to rush you back to the house (The sound of your laughter at clumsiness made his heart warm though, and it almost made up for the three hours he looked for the stupid box in the grass that night when you fell asleep with his tiny Star Wars-themed flashlight).

He woke you up early before the sun rose, carrying you out to the car still bundled up in his old Toy Story throw blanket that you wouldn’t let him toss out when he brought it to college (The faded pictures of Buzz and Woody kept a smile on your face, and the memories it brought make you feel connected to 9-year-old Luke). The drive to the beach was short, a sleepy smile on your face as you felt Luke grab onto your hand, sand getting between your toes before he laid out a blanket and the both of you sat down.

Cracking open a redbull for the both of you to sip on, you leaned against his muscled frame, legs hanging over his lap as he wiped the sand off your feet, holding you close as he smiled.

“Good morning, handsome,” you grinned, leaning up for a kiss. Luke obliged, savoring the taste of you mixed with sleep and artificial peach. Your noses nudge against each other before he mumbles a reply, “Good morning, pretty girl.”

“Y’know? I could die happy just like this. I can’t think of anything else that would make this weekend more perfect.”

Luke hummed in contemplation, “I could think of a few things,” he said, as a laugh bubbled from his lips. A noise of confusion rose from you as you reached up to dust lint off his shirt before your knee nudged something hard in his pocket, and your eyebrow raised in mischief.

“Dirty boy, you get me out of your mom’s house and you’re already excited?”

And he laughed the stress off until it freed itself from his bones, pure elation radiating off of him before Eos even had a chance to spread her first rays of light into the sky. 

He’s never needed perfect.

He just needs you.

His hands dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring box that’s caused him so much trouble this weekend. But a life with you should’ve already prepared him for that—and the shock on your face became funnier when you launched yourself on top of him, kicking up sand and taking the air out of his lungs.

You both hit the ground with a loud thud, your nose buried in his chest as he chuckles at your scream. Why was he even worried to begin with? 

“Wait, wait, I still have something to say trouble, don’t jump ahead of the script!”

His hand rubbed your back in gentle strokes as he popped the box open to reveal a delicate golden band with two diamonds juxtaposed against each other sitting pretty on top.

“It’s always been you and me. And I’ve spent hours thinking of what to say, days trying to figure out when the time would be right, months working for a pretty ring that’s perfect for you, years loving you… and well… I want more. I want this, you and me spending the rest of our lives together because I can’t comprehend a future without you. I’d do anything for you trouble, and I don’t believe in much, but I believe in you. Us.”

You’ve cried so hard by this point that you’re convinced it’s so goddamn ugly but Luke smiles at you like he’s been promised immortality. And perhaps he has, with the future you two will have scrolling through his mind like an old film, a house on a hill, kids, a dog, shit—whatever you want as long as he’s with you it’ll be the closest thing to forever he’d have.

“Are you sure?” you said sniffling, and your boyfriend wiped your tears away like he has countless times before, though happy tears are something he’ll have to get used to.

“I literally ruined your proposal, I just thought you were horny, oh my gods…” Whining loudly and laughing, you held your shaking hand out as he sat up to put the ring on your finger.

“Well, we can fix that later. I still have a question to ask, after all.”

Luke grinned when your head nodded rapidly, finally shutting up so you wouldn’t interrupt him again.

“Will you,” he says so surely now, saying your name before continuing, “let me have the honor of spending the rest of our lives together as your husband?”

“Gods, yes. Fucking hell angelface, did you really think I’d say no?”

The both of you laughed through tears and snot as he placed the ring on your left hand, and still, it couldn’t be more perfect.

“A life with trouble is the life for me,” he mused, laughing as you covered his face in kisses before the both of you fell back into the sand a tangle of lips and lust and love.

You jolted up from your fiance’s embrace just as he thought he was going to get lucky, almost emptying your entire wallet of drachmas into the sand-covered blanket to Iris message your friends.

---

(pics are not representative of reader's appearance or gender just a lil visual for funsies)

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

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[avoidthings]

shoot it up | c. tejada

About: You have been dating Cane for months and have grown tired of being in the dark about his elusive lifestyle. Inspired by Shoot It Up by Teyana Taylor. [word count: 2.4k] Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of gang violence, alcohol use, unprotected PIV, oral (female receiving), dash of breeding kink

It was unlike Cane to not speak to you for days, and you were approaching a week of no contact. You had been texting and calling to no avail after the first morning without word from him. By day three, you considered driving up to the Tejada home, but with the heat on their family, you did not want to take that risk. Tonight, you were in your apartment enjoying your pick of medical dramas on Netflix, ‘your stories’ he once called them affectionately, and drinking sugary wine. 

“You sure you don’t want me to come over there?” Your friend Shaunie could be heard on the other side of your video call. She had a right to be concerned, saying that you were coping similarly to when you broke up with your last boyfriend, Tyrell. Except Cane wasn’t officially your boyfriend, and if he was, he’s not acting the part right now. 

“One-hundred-percent sure,” you hiccuped. Shaunie cocked an eyebrow at you. “I got my girls…Stella,” you lifted the peach moscato to the camera, “...and Shonda. I’ll be just fine. I don’t need a man.” You both knew that a man was never a need, but your feelings for him wouldn’t depart so easily. 

“Try not to worry about him too much. He’s probably crashing out on some black Soprano bullshit. I heard they whole family ain’t been right since—”

“Too far, Shaunie,” even if he was being an ass, you knew grief all too well. You could only pray that this was not what his disappearing act was about. Cane didn’t open up himself often, but he had expressed his desires for vengeance, specifically against some college kid that weaseled his way into his family affairs. When he would speak like that his eyes would darken, and just a glimpse of that side of him was enough to send a chill up your spine.

Where you grew up in Queens, it was commonplace to encounter your share of dealers and scammers. Your parents raised you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble, focusing on your studies to stay busy. Unfortunately, that did not stop trouble from coming across your very doorstep. The casualties of a gang war claimed the life of your brother before your sixteenth birthday, he, only five years your junior, while playing on your front yard.

Shaunie quickly realized her misstep and apologized, “I’m so sorry, honey. Just tryna cheer you up is all.” You nodded, trying to brush off any thoughts of Cane being in danger. It wasn’t that easy for him, he was the oldest son, a junior, and the lifestyle was his birthright. Opting out meant putting his livelihood at stake.

“I know, and I love you for that,” you assured your friend, holding the phone just a tad higher so she can see you clearly. You wore your favorite robe, a floral satin number, and adorned a pore strip on your nose. As someone who knew you best, both were among your greatest comforts.

“I love you too, girl. I guess I’ll let you go,” Shaunie bid you a goodnight before leaving you to your own devices. It did not take long before your thoughts returned to your absent lover.

When you first started fooling around with him you knew the risks. Cane meant late nights and clouds of indica on your couch where he’d take you, bent over at its arm and crying for more. He wasn’t scrambled eggs or lounging around for the morning after, when you would yearn for his attention the most. Cane showed his care for you in other ways, like leaving stacks of money on your dresser and buying you your first rifle. For protection, he reasoned, since you refused to let go of your rent-stabilized apartment.

He wouldn’t answer when you’d question him about the scars you noticed when he came over, nor his whereabouts beyond his family home that most knew not to cross. Not knowing whether he was honestly trying to shield you from his life or keep you hidden in it, hurt. You sought to release the burden from your mind, so you tried to start by clearing all traces of him from your phone. Your thumb swiped open the screen to your text thread with Cane, a lone black heart next to his name.

Your heart skipped seeing three gray bubbles hop on your screen, letting you know he was typing a message. Caught between relief and annoyance, you anxiously waited for his text to appear.

I’m outside

The bittersweet feeling in the pit of your stomach had soured completely. He had a key, so the message was just a formality on his end. As soon as the door opened, a scowl greeted him at the entryway.

“What are you doing here, Lorenzo?” Cane winced at your use of his government name. Your eyes, still scolding, scanned him for any signs of injury. To your own disadvantage, you’d come to discover that he was still as fine as the day you met him, cloaked in a jacket you knew cost a few bills.

“I came to see you. Baby, look I know it’s been a couple days—” he stepped forward, and you took one back. He knew he fucked up, but he was not at all prepared for your cold shoulder.

“Five. It’s been five days since I heard from you, and I had no clue where the hell you been,” You snapped, his own expression unchanging. Scoffing, you had little expectation for him to reasonably explain his absence.

“I had to handle some business, a’ight? It wasn’t nothin’ you need to worry yourself with,” you felt dismissed by his ambiguity. It was always business with Cane.

“You’re right, I don’t need to be worried about this shit anymore,” you gestured between the two of you petulantly. He scoffed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Nah…nah,” he muttered to himself at first, “What’re you saying to me?”

Filling the space between you in a few measured steps, you met his gaze. “You can see yourself out. And leave my key on the hook.” His stature was solid against your own, standing close enough to count the rise and fall of his chest.

“So you can give it to some other nigga? Fuck that.” You rolled your eyes at the notion of you being so quick to do so.  Cane would be lying if he didn’t think you looked sexier when you were mad. The days without your touch were not easy on him either.

Crossing the lapel of your robe tightly over your chest, you started to walk away from him, and he caught your elbow in one swift motion.

“Tell me to leave again,” it was his turn to stare as you spun back to his view. He tucked his bottom lip in to his teeth, waiting on your response. You wanted to hold yourself to what you started, but your resolve was cracking. “Cane…” you whispered.

He leant in closer, and his stubble kissed your cheek. “Tell me to go and I’ll go,” his mouth was at the shell of your ear now, knowing a single touch to the skin just below it was enough to make your knees buckle. Cane was calling your bluff, and you knew it. His hands took purchase on your full hips, squeezing at the flesh that stretched the fabric. He was testing his limits with soft kisses along the crook of your neck. You found yourself sighing into the embrace.

He backed away, for you to pull him right in, connecting your lips with fervor. Cane’s mouth was one of your favorite parts of him, sucking you in with sweet nothings and coaxing orgasms out of you with ease. His fingers tugged at the thin belt that marked the barrier between him and your bare skin. A hand spread beneath to hold the curve just above your ass, drawing you closer to feel just how much he’s missed you.

You moaned, allowing his tongue to meld into yours. You didn’t even realize the two of you were moving until the back of your knees met your bed frame. He withdrew from you with a soft pop of your lips parting. You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, shirt and jeans to follow.

Pillowy lips found your neck again, nipping at your collar and jawline. “I need you, Cane,” you whined.

“You gon’ let me take care of you?” he asked with a kiss to the column of your throat.

Your robe fell to a pool of satin at your feet, exposing you to him completely. Cane bit back a noise at the sight as if he hadn’t seen it many times. He followed you up bedding beneath you, fixating on the ways he could make you fall apart.

Cane took your breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue with each kiss until your nipple stiffened. He repeated his motions with the other side and let his hand venture between your thighs. You were leaking on his fingers, busy massaging a dizzying pattern on your clit. Your legs were growing weaker as they spread for more. “So fuckin’ wet for me, so perfect,” he praised you, slipping two digits inside of your hole.

A pleased sigh left your lips as he pumped them in and out of you. He was mesmerized by how you clamped around him, ruining your sheets already. Your thigh twitched when the heel of his palm bumped against your clit. Cane made sure to do it again and sped up his pace, adding a crook to his fingertips with every thrust.

Butterflies frenzied inside of your stomach as he watched you intently. You could barely make out curses between shattered breaths. He swallowed your sounds in a kiss that turned you in to mush. Cane didn’t let up between your thighs when you came, only waiting until you barely caught your breath to taste you. Your mouth dropped watching him bring his fingers to his mouth, a delightfully obscene sight.

“Ass up,” was his command, tapping the swell of your bare hip. You flipped over and braced yourself with your hands on the mattress.

“Arch that shit for me, baby, yeah…just like that.” You teased him with a wiggle of your waist, earning a stinging slap.

Cane lay a kiss on one of your cheeks, spreading them apart for a better view of your pussy, slick and weeping for him. His nose nudged your second hole as he sucked kisses to along your slit, already clenching around nothing.  You scrambled for the sheets above you as he ate you sloppily. “Oh my fuckin’ God,” The sound of his lips smattering made your body eager to drip more on his awaiting tongue. He managed to keep you still beneath his grip until your back bowed forward, the overwhelm of another orgasm sweeping over you.

His name left your mouth in a mantra, tongue still drawing circles around your clit, stopping only to taste what spilled at your entrance. Your knees dug deeper into the mattress as you burst from the pressure.

“Mmm…mhm,” he grumbled, still lapping at your folds. “Please…p-please, Cane!” He finally let up and you mustered any might you had to look where he stood behind you. He had taken off his briefs, and his dick stood tall, jerking against his abdomen.

“How you want it?” Cane kneaded your hips lightly, pressing thumbs at your lower back. You reached underneath to cup him at his balls, and whined, “Fuck me baby, right here.” The grunt that left him prickled goosebumps on your spine.  The first stretch of him seared through you, leaving you gasping for air as he did exactly what you asked.

He pulled out slowly, “This pussy too fuckin’ good, so pretty gripping me,” Cane thrusted back in and bottomed out completely. With his hands on your waist, he helped guide you until you could meet his thrusts on your own. Skin slapped against each other as he sunk in and out, watching you gush atop of him.

Sweat sheeted the dip of your back and dampened the sheets you sprawled on. You were dripping everywhere, chasing your high with each grind of your hips. “You gon’ let me take care of you?” he asks again, hooking a hand around your throat. You blinked back tears and shook your head up and down.

“Yeah? Put you up in that big penthouse downtown,” he gritted by your ear.

You couldn’t tell him no like you have in the past in this position, waves of pleasure caging you in with the snap of his pelvis against yours. Cane’s hold tightened at your neck. “You gonna have my babies too,” he could feel you throbbing around him at the thought.

“How many?” His hand struck you to speak. “F-four baby, I want four...” you couldn’t believe your own ears, he had fucked you delirious. He took control when your hips stuttered, the force knocking you flat against the bed. “...ooh, you’re gonna make me cum,” you huffed.

“Cum on daddy’s dick, let me see you make a mess,” he groaned.

“Oh fuck!” Your body stiffened as your orgasm washed over you. You could feel his pulse inside, knowing he wasn’t far behind. Quickly losing his momentum, Cane lost himself in the feel of you losing control.

 “I’m cumming…I’m cumming,” he groaned. “Shit, ma,” his eyes crossed as you milked him, unable to move as bliss claimed his body.

He slipped out and turned you over, limbs pliant and spent. The sheets were strewn waywardly, and you managed to knock a few pillows to the floor. With your eyes still fluttered closed, you could sense Cane hovering over you. He dropped a lingering kiss to your lips that dared to ignite more. “Baby…” you panted.

“I meant what I said.” Your eyes peeled open, and his face was solemn. “I never mean to scare you baby, I’m sorry,” your breath caught in your throat at his apology. “It’s enough hell in this world I go through to not come home to you.”

“So stay,” you grabbed his face. Cane relented, allowing himself to remain in your embrace for the night.

Author’s Note: Basically, our Reader found herself riding the business instead of standing on it. Yes, Cane is a softie and a trick in my heart. If you made it to the end, thank you!

[undertheorangetree]

Cherry Wine

Summary- Coriolanus returns to the Capitol with his most prized possession.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Female reader. Technically TBOSAS spoilers. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Really incredibly toxic relationship. Choking. Fingering. P in V sex. This is technically kidnapping.

Author’s Note- I wasn’t sure if this was ever gonna actually see the light of day but I am a lush little creature so enjoy. This is part 2 to In the Woods Somewhere but can probably be read as a standalone?? Either way full story linked below :)

She hates the Capitol. She has hated it since the first moment she set eyes on it. Admittedly, she had not seen much when she first arrived- thrown in a cage at the zoo, paraded through the streets, dragged into the arena- but it had been enough to forge an opinion. She hates the opulence, the disgusting displays of wealth. The way everything of value is flaunted and passed around as if it’s frivolous and easily replaced. How the towers loom over the wide streets, so different from the ramshackle buildings that make up Twelve. The way garbage is swept from the roadside the moment it appears, refusing for even a moment to appear as anything less than immaculate. Everything manicured. Everything perfect. Designed to make an impression, everything about it seems to grab you by the jaw and force you to look at the perfection of it all, nails dug in lest you attempt to look away. A perfectly ripe peach, all sunset pink with its soft, near endearing fuzz, hiding the rotten, maggot-ridden center underneath.

It's enough to make her miss the coal dusted streets of home.

The Snow penthouse- Coriolanus’s penthouse- seems to be the perfect example of Capitol excellence. The perfect patterns built into the tile in the bathrooms, the marble floors that seem to glitter beneath her feet, the paintings displayed behind thin sheets of glass to keep them perfectly preserved. She can see everything from up here, the highest apartment in the tallest building, and the longer she stares out the window, the more she comes to realize she hates to be so high up.

Or perhaps she simply hates that this bay window is the only view she gets of the outside world. The only view she has gotten in weeks.

She had regretted following Coriolanus onto that train the moment she set foot inside it but by then it had been too late. The doors had slid shut as silent as a wraith and she knows her face must have changed as he had half hauled her into one of the padded chairs and made her sit, watching her with his too blue eyes as if he were waiting for her to run. And had she thought she stood a chance, perhaps she would have. She should have. But then she had caught sight of the Avoxes serving them, standing silent and resigned in the corner and knew that should she cause a scene, she would likely share their fate.

So she had sat there uncomplainingly. Let him parade her back home and listened as the lies he told Grandma’am and Tigris flowed off his tongue like honey, hating the bits of truth sprinkled throughout. Holding her hand like a shackle as he told them how they had fallen in love. That he couldn’t possibly leave her behind. That she wasn’t really district, was she? Not like the others, not when she had never truly been one of them, not now that she was a Victor. The perfect lovestruck boy and his pretty little prize. Who could make them part now, separate them so soon after they had found each other? They had fawned all over him- and Tigris over her- so quickly it had made her skin crawl but still, she had said nothing, offering smiles she knew didn’t reach her eyes.

She had continued to say nothing when she heard him tell the Plinths just how sorry he was for Sejanus, that if he had known what he was doing, he would have stopped him. As he told them how dear his dead friend had been to him. Best friends. She had listened silently as the Plinth’s rewarded him for his devotion, handing him the keys to a lavish new penthouse for little more than his supposed loyalty, for loving their sweet, kind Sejanus. The keys to her self imposed prison.

Coriolanus had never told her how the Capitol had gotten its hands on the jabberjay that damned his lone friend to the hanging tree but he didn’t have to. She has had plenty of time to put that story together herself, sitting alone in his locked apartment while he attended the university and worked under Doctor Gaul planning for the next Games.

She is a Victor and though perhaps that should mean something, it has become clear that it doesn’t. Though people watched her Games, though she made an impression, the memories of those in the Capitol are fleeting. No Victor is remembered following their Games. They are congratulated for their victory and sent home on the first train, never to be seen or heard from again. They fade from the public eye quickly, forgotten before the next moon, and perhaps she would have been as well had she not caught Coriolanus’s attention. Had he not been her mentor, so enamoured with her that he would cheat to save her.

She blames herself just as much as she blame him. Curses herself for not being able to see behind that perfectly curated mask he presents to everyone who looks at him, for being distracted by his pretty blonde curls and handsome face. Had he been ugly or cruel or anything other than deceptively kind, perhaps she could have escaped all this unscathed. Gone back home to Twelve without having him falling behind her like some forgotten shadow. Even if she had lost the Games, at least then she would be free of him. But instead she had been little more than a moth drawn to a flame, her wings now singed and leaving her an easy meal to the predator who first spotted her.

Read the full story here

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Three: The Long Night

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's note: Thank you for the warm reception to the first two chapters! We're about to go 0-100 real quick, so hold onto your butts. This is also the longest chapter of the story, hence the title of "The Long Night". It's around 10k words. ୧⁠(⁠＾⁠ ⁠〰⁠ ⁠＾⁠)⁠୨ A few lines stuck with me while writing this chapter from the song Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain:

“And if you hate me. Please don’t tell me. Just let the lights bleed all over me.” - Ethel Cain, Gibson Girl.

Chapter Warnings: Aegon window scene, emotional abuse of a child, if the reader has zero lovers haters Aemond is dead, COCSA.

The afternoon air was refreshing to the eldest son of the king, the sun warming the ruddy skin of his cock as he stroked it to total hardness. As Aegon grew older, the more the days seemed to drag on in an endless loop of mind-numbing misery. Duties, lessons, and more raging from his mother on the importance of said responsibilities until the time all muddled into one continuous circle. Wine, cuffing Aemond, and fucking his prick raw seemed to be the only things that could bring him out of this dull, never-ending cycle. 

Each day, Aegon discovered a new object that made his member pulse with a flush of blood. It was part of what made it so distracting. One day, a young serving girl with exceptionally long legs caught the prince’s eye. Her quickly shifted gaze did not deter him in the slightest. The next was the thrill of danger, each time seeking completion at new depths of peril. Once atop his mighty dragon Sunfyre, his pink membrane wings sparkling against the white clouds as he rutted against his saddle, and another, at where he found it the easiest, perched atop his window ledge, stark naked as the day he was born. The threat of being discovered always sent a thrill down his spine and straight to his stones. 

Most recently, much to his chagrin, Aegon had discovered you, his sweet, albeit annoying niece, was the object of his desires as you ate an overly ripe strawberry. The pink juice dribbled down your fingers and chin, staining your lips red. He felt disgusted with himself at the time. You were his niece! This bothersome little urchin who followed his heels like a duckling, yet he attended luncheons with you, Jace, and that other one.

At first, he thought that maybe it was not you that caused his body to have that primal response but the object itself. It couldn’t possibly be you. However, after much trial and error, at one point attempting to have an intimate time with a fruit, he found the reason. Aegon soon discovered that after spending several meals with you, intently observing how you sucked the leftover yellow-orange meat from a peach pit, it was you he was aroused by, the way your tongue moved to lick the sticky saccharine liquid from your digits and thus became his ritual.

He would attend lunch with you and your brothers as that was the only meal you ate alone, observing how you consumed creamy puddings that he snuck from the kitchens, supplying fruits that would squirt their nectar onto your skin when you bit into them. It would send a thrumming inside his bones as he watched you chew, a simple act that no other maiden could seem to replicate. Aegon would wipe away the stickiness from your flesh with the swipe of his moistened thumb, feeling his stomach tense at the contact and dipping back into his mouth to gather more as you innocently giggled and swatted his hands away.

Then, when the meal would end, the prince would find himself in his room as he was now, clothes thrown about the area as he stroked his cock within the ledge of the windowsill, the images of you devouring the foods he gave you playing in his mind’s eye. And the best part, the detail that sent Aegon frequently rutting into his fist at all moments of the day, was that you didn’t know any better. You perceived it as your Uncle being kind, and you were eager to receive praise or attention from the person you admire.

What you didn’t understand wouldn’t hurt you, he reasoned.

Aegon was almost there. He could feel it, sense the impending release he had stored since lunch as he spat on his cock, pinching the ruddy head to stave it off just a moment more. It wouldn’t be long now. He could hear the bells that signaled the new hour in the distance. His stomach tensed, digits curling into a stone pillar for purchase as he released a gasp of your name through gritted teeth. 

“Whose idea was it?” Alicent’s voice rang out to the sound of the bell tower, throwing him from his fantasy as he stumbled off the ledge and onto his mattress, knocking his cup of Arbor Red out of the window. She repeated her question once more, disregarding the state of undress in which she had discovered her child. 

Aegon was embarrassed and disheveled, minding reeling as he struggled to catch his breath and understand her question. It annoyed him that he was cut off abruptly as if his mother had no regard for her eldest son’s privacy. 

“Whose idea was it? The pig. Was it your plot?” Alicent interrogated, ringed fingers clasped over her abdomen as her dark brows drew together in a scowl. 

It took a moment for Aegon to come to his senses as he brushed unruly strands of his curly blonde hair from his face, covering his exposed parts with his bedsheets. “No. It was Jace and uh… ” he stammered, picturing the other curly-mop-headed boy he could never remember the name of. 

What was it? Lorgan? Leander?  

It didn’t matter. Aegon couldn’t keep up with the children his half-sister popped out. Every day, a new babe seemed to cry in the Red Keep. “The-the other one, not the girl. I can’t be sure,” he eventually answered, squinting his eyes as he stared towards his mother.

“Aemond is your brother,” she sharply reasoned, disappointedly shaking her head and taking steps toward her slouched son. 

“Well, he’s a twat ,” Aegon childishly countered as frustration welled up at having his release stolen from him. He couldn’t believe she showed such nonchalance seeing his boyish body, let alone him being bare as the day he was born as he stroked himself to completion. 

“We are family,” Alicent lectured, brown eyes flicking across her son’s pale face. “You may cuff him about as you wish at home, but in the world we defend our own.” 

“It was funny,” the prince sighed with a shrug and realized his defense was weak. It was only a joke. It wasn’t Aegon’s fault that Aemond was such an odd, fragile little boy who couldn’t take his teasing. This would make him less of a bore to be around.

“Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? As things stand…,” she continued with her velvet voice, her grave tone rumbling in her chest. “Rhaenyra will ascend the iron throne and either her daughter, or Jacaerys will be her heir.”

Aegon shrugged his sinewy shoulders, an expression of indifference on his pale face. He knew this already. He knew this when he couldn’t think and did not understand the importance of the sudden lesson in inheritance. “So?”

The Queen groaned, nearly at her wit’s end, as she looked at the Seven above for guidance in dealing with her incompetent son, fists clenching. 

“You are nearly a man grown. How is it that you can be so shortsighted?” Alicent finally became level with her son, kneeling on the filthy mattress and rumpled sheets. She needed him to listen and hear the seriousness of the future for him, his siblings, and his potential children’s lives would be threatened should his half-sister become Queen. “If Rhaenyra comes into power, your very life could be forfeited. Aemond’s as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession.” 

Aegon’s jaw trembled, lips twitching into a pout as his nose burned. His mother was so frightening when she was mad that he couldn’t help but feel like a child again. “Then I won’t challenge-” 

Faster than the prince could blink, Alicent’s digits pinched his pale cheeks together, startling him into submission as his brows scrunched in pain.

“You are the challenge, Aegon! Simply by living and breathing!” she shouted, words rattling in her throat. 

Silence hung thick between mother and son, a sense of catastrophe burrowing itself into Aegon’s heart as tears threatened to spill. He would not cry . He refused to cry in front of his mother as she screamed into his very soul that his half-sister would murder him and his brother when she became queen. The prince still did not believe it. She wouldn’t do it if he did not stand in Rhaenyra’s way. Kinslaying was the greatest crime one could commit in the eyes of the law and the divine. She would never. 

“You are the king’s firstborn son,” Alicent continued, squeezing Aegon tighter as she moved to smack his chest with her words, “and what they know and everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones, is that one day you will be our king.” 

The Queen stared into his frightened eyes, which flicked over her like a rabbit cornered by a fox. Realizing the severity of her outburst as guilt washed over her, Alicent stroked her son’s untamed hair, a brief halfhearted smile on her plump lips, as she spoke to him with a sudden reserved tranquility that chilled Aegon. 

“I aim to propose a match between you and her eldest as an attempt at peace in the following days. She already offered Jacaerys to Helaena, but if Rhaenyra sees reason as you think her to have, she will have no option but to accept.” The Queen leaned onto her haunches as she swallowed, her mouth feeling of cotton as she looked anywhere but at her fearful son. “Seeing as you are smitten with the only good thing that has yet to emerge from Rhaenyra’s continued indecency, you will have no objections. Get dressed .” 

The eldest Prince struggled to steady his breathing as his mother left, heart beating as if he was plummeting from his window. Aegon didn’t know what to think or feel as his mother sighed profoundly and left without another word. 

He would wed his niece? Aegon thought that someone as pious as his mother would never allow a match between kin, let alone ones so close. It made no sense. She would reject one proposal only to give another of the same caliber. You and Aegon were the two eldest children and subsequent heirs, the most obvious match, yet Rhaenyra did not offer it. There must have been a reason that his mother refused to acknowledge.

It was all too much. It felt as if Aegon was lost out at sea and attempting to keep afloat, seeing landfall just out of reach as wave after wave of saltwater stung his eyes and filled his lungs until he sank into the cold and murky waters below. Aegon needed a drink to quiet his nerves and a good release, for that matter, as his eyes traveled to the colorful array of exotic fruits resting in a bowl on his nightstand. 

The evening was upon King’s Landing as you and your brothers readied for bed. A maid ran a silver ivory tooth comb through your brown hair, detangling the knots and frizz accumulated during the day. Jace and Luke prepared with their man servants in the adjoining room, the younger running across the stone floor and into your room, declaring he was not tired. You couldn’t help but giggle at Luke’s childish actions as the servant chased him onto his neatly made bed, sliding across the sheets and causing them to wrinkle.

Moments later, your mother and father entered to say their goodnights, their presence whipping your brother back into good behavior as the manservant put him into his night clothes. Your mother always came to tuck the three of you into bed, even when there was a new addition to the family. Frequently, Ser Harwin followed behind her with a regaling of stories when your father wasn’t able to do the same, but this time, he was here, and the three of you crowded into Jace’s bed as you awaited your father to tell you of his journeys this past moon. 

He retold tales of sailing throughout the Narrow Sea with his father Corlys and the squire Ser Qarl. Your father sang bits of the same shanties his crew mates did before your mother stopped him as the three of you giggled. He spoke of battling pirates with silver and gold teeth and missing limbs who tried to board his ship on a misty morning. He could barely see three paces before him due to the fog on the calm waters as enemies boarded your grandfather’s boat. He proclaimed how Ser Qarl saved his life when one of the dreadful pirates knocked your father’s torch out of his hand. 

“The world around me transformed instantly, shrouded in a gray hue. The menacing figure of the one-eyed pirate, with his glinting gold tooth, vanished from view. Anticipating the bitter bite of a blade tearing through my flesh, I braced myself for the inevitable. Amidst the deafening percussion of my adversary’s approach, I stood steadfast, poised for the final confrontation. Bereft of vision, I awaited the fatal blow, resigned to my fate. Yet, like the Warrior himself, emerging from the mist, Ser Qarl materialized and drove his sword deep into the pirate’s heart, sparing me from inevitable demise”.

As your father recounted the tale, his hands danced through the air, adding flair to every word and making you and your siblings feel like you were with him. Jace and Luke were captivated, hanging on to every detail as your father wove the story with the skill of a master storyteller. As he spoke, it felt more like a fantastical legend than a real-life experience. The mere thought of your father not returning from his daring escapades sent shivers down your spine, prompting you to intertwine your arms and absentmindedly play with the delicate strands of hair between your fingertips.

With a watchful eye, your mother sensed your anxiety and gently reassured you with a kiss on your head and comforting words. “Don’t worry, my dear. Your father won’t be embarking on another adventure for a long while. He knows that his rightful place is with his family,” your mother consoled, lightly caressing each of your dark locks while sharing a meaningful glance with your father. “Enough storytelling. It’s time for you to go to bed. There’s much to learn in tomorrow’s lessons, and none of you will skip them.”

She looked at you with raised brows, her violet eyes wide enough that you could see the pink veins decorating the white. You tightened your mouth in shame and looked away from your mother’s piercing gaze as you, Jace, and Luke muttered in unison.

“Yes, mother.” 

A deep sense of relaxation washed over you as you slid beneath the cool, smooth silk sapphire bedsheets. It had been an eventful day, and now, finally lying in bed, you released a breath. Your mother first kissed your brothers goodnight as your father did the same for you, switching between the three in your separate rooms.

“Father,” you called out softly as he walked to Jace and Luke’s room. He turned towards you, his eyes holding a mixture of weariness and unspoken understanding as you buried your flushed cheeks beneath the calm, comforting embrace of the blankets. “I cannot stand the thought of you continuing to brave the seas alongside Ser Qarl and Lord Corlys. The danger is too great.”

You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. The idea of your father setting sail on your grandfather’s proud ship and never returning filled you with an indescribable dread. You couldn’t fathom a world where no one would swing you around, regaling you with vivid tales of swashbuckling adventures and stirring escapades on the high seas.

As Laenor listened to your confession, a faint but genuine smile graced his features. His eyes softened as he glanced at your tiny, fidgeting feet, a clear sign of nervousness. At that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness toward you. Despite what others may say to him, you were his little girl. He knew that you often cared too deeply and worried too much about others, which weighed heavily on his mind. Seeing the effects of overwhelming anxiety on your petite frame heightened his concern for your well-being.

As he looked at you, he silently promised himself that he didn’t want to be the cause of your distress. With a wistful smile, he nodded and excused himself, reaching his sons. Deep down, he knew that a part of his soul belonged to the sea, but he couldn’t bring himself to share this with you.

He hoped his inner turmoil was not visible as he exited, but he knew you were astute enough to have noticed. Despite your tender age, you possessed a perceptiveness that belied your years, and Laenor couldn’t help but worry more about deceiving you than he did about his wife or mother. As he departed, he steeled himself for the impending storm of reproach from Rhaenyra upon receiving the maids’ reports about the tangled knots you had wrestled out of your hair while asleep.

Your mother’s warm and affectionate smile appeared shortly after your father’s as she settled onto the edge of the luxuriously soft feather mattress. She gently kissed your warm cheek and enveloped your small frame in a tight embrace as you responded in kind, nuzzling into her lavender-scented neck. She beamed with delight as you squeezed her tighter, pressing an extended, heartfelt kiss onto her cheek. In response, she let out a tender laugh, which quickly spread to you, causing both of you to erupt into a chorus of infectious, toothy giggles.

As you prepare to drift off into sleep, you feel the loving warmth of your mother’s heartfelt whisper. “Sleep tight, my heart. I love you.” She gently brushed her fingers down from the crown of your head, through the fabric of your soft cotton nightgown sleeve, and finally to your hand, where she gently massaged the tender skin of your palm, creating a sense of comfort and security.

As you settled into your feather pillows, your mother’s words filled your chest. “I love you too, Mama,” you replied, feeling a surge of emotion.

You could sense her watching as you nestled into your soft sheets, envisioning her gentle smile as she observed you finding comfort in your bed. Her soft sigh seemed to carry a hint of amusement as she watched you, her only daughter, wrapped in the embrace of the fabric, and it was almost as if her exhale itself held a trace of laughter.

What an endearing girl. My beautiful girl, Rhaenyra, mused as she rose to her feet. She took her time extinguishing the flickering candles one by one until only a single flame remained on the nightstand. The soft glow of the candle illuminated the room, providing a presence of solace for you, who had always been afraid of the darkness that the Red Keep brought. Though she would never admit it aloud, the princess regretted allowing Alicent to name you. She felt like an imbecile for the days after her first labor. 

Rhaenyra had a name for a girl. She had one since her mother was pregnant with her last child. You were a Targaryen, a descendant of the Conquers, and deserved to have a name like one. Alas, in a desperate attempt to create everlasting peace between the Princess and the Queen, she allowed her forgotten friend to name her daughter. An act that proved fruitless.

It was a mistake Rhaenyra would never make again as she opened the stalwart oak doors of your chambers, leaving one last expression filled with unyielding love.

You could still feel the whisper of your mother’s goodnight kisses on your face, releasing a deep sigh of relaxation as you turned beneath the elegant blankets and burrowed deeper into your soft pillows, arm tucked under your head. It took you a moment to comprehend the foreign object hidden underneath the satin-covered feathers as you grasped it with small fingers. 

You revealed a piece of parchment folded into fours underneath the candlelight and unraveled it curiously, wiping at your sleepy eyes with the back of your hand. 

It was a note from… Aegon , bewildering you beyond measure as to why he would do such a thing and how he got it in here without notifying your guard. The contents were of messy handwriting as if a chicken had written it, squinting in an attempt to decipher what almost looked like a foreign language. 

“I have a secret to tell you, niece, but you must promise that you shall tell no one, not even Jace. Follow the map I have drawn and meet me. I’ll be waiting. - Aegon”

Excitement rushed through your veins as you quickly went to your wardrobe and pulled on a midnight blue cloak. Slowly, as noiseless as possible, you crept over to the door separating you, Jace, and Luke’s room, carefully pulling it shut. You held the note in your hand as you followed your Uncle’s instructions, sliding your vanity mirror out of the blocked path he wrote out and stopping momentarily as the wooden leg scratched across the floor, ensuring your brothers did not hear. Your fingers felt along the stone wall, pushing with all your might against the innocuous slab until it gave way and a torch-lit passage emerged. 

You knew you shouldn’t be venturing out of your chambers at such a late hour, but the thrill of adventure was too enticing. Pulling the hood of your cloak over your loose hair, you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Aegon had never done something like this. He never sought you out to spend time together, let alone at such a late and secretive hour. It provided a good distraction from the worry that clung to your eyelids as you slipped down the dust-covered redstone stairs.

You heard rumors about hidden tunnels throughout Maegor’s Holdfast that he employed skilled architects and builders to construct them, and when they finished, he led them into the passages and killed every single one. When questioned about it, Maegor claimed he didn’t want rats to scuttle inside his walls . The thought sent shivers down your spine at the notion that within these very halls and alcoves could be the bones of a dozen or so men murdered in cold bold by your ancestor. 

The scuffle of shoes stole you from your mind, causing a gasp of fear to shake you as Aegon clamped his palms on your shoulders. Your Uncle cackled at having caught you unaware, sounding like a hag and flipping his unruly blonde hair back. 

“You got my note?” he asked as you nodded eagerly, showing him the parchment. “Does Jace know?”

You took a step back, brows scrunching together in offended confusion as you shook your head. Why would it matter if your brother knew? He wouldn’t tell anyone if you asked him not to. You were two halves of the same soul, bound together no matter the circumstances. 

“No, Uncle. You told me not to.” Despite wishing to do so. 

Aegon grinned, pleased with your obedience. Your submission to him was what allowed him to tolerate you. Your Uncle knew how close you and Jace were, practically joined at the hip, and even if he wanted to do something alone with one or the other, the other would always show. He was sure you would tell Jace when you felt the note underneath your pillow but was relieved nonetheless. 

As his eyes observed your attire, violet orbs flicked to your loose hair, white nightgown, and finely tailored cloak with a grimace. Aegon should have told you to dress down, seeing as he wore a tan undershirt and black trousers, but it was too late now. He would have to be extra careful. She looks common enough, he thought. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” the prince confessed, placing his hand on your back to guide you. “I know your mother is strict with your bedtime.” 

You frowned as Aegon escorted you to Seven knows where. His insinuation of such a juvenile schedule deeply wounded you. As you understood, he didn’t adhere to a bedtime enforced by Queen Alicent, which only furthered your insecurities about your place compared to your aunt and uncles.

The narrow passage was filled with the high-pitched squeaks of mice and rats, making you startle and stand on your toes with each scurry past. Despite your protest, Aegon found amusement in your discomfort and callously kicked the next rodent that darted in your path. You supposed it was his way of protecting you, but the sight of the injured creature and its harrowing screech left you with a deep sense of disgust and sadness in the pit of your stomach. 

It brought to mind a painful memory of your Uncle crushing a butterfly that you and Helaena discovered in the garden, another instance of Aegon’s unjustified cruelty that you struggled to comprehend.

Water droplets echoed in the vast expanse of the underground tunnels as you and your Uncle ventured deeper into them. You glanced at Aegon, seeking guidance, and were met with a wide grin that stretched across his face. In the dim torchlight, the sparkle of his white teeth was visible, and the sudden image of your mother flashed into your mind. You found a strange comfort in your Uncle’s resemblance to her, starkly contrasting the unease you felt around the Queen’s children.

Despite being your mother’s siblings, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond seemed distant to her, lacking the typical bond between brother and sister. Usually, aunts and uncles were much older than their nieces and nephews, taking on a more parental role than a playmate. This dynamic blurred the line between family and friendship, making it difficult to feel at peace with them. You found yourself grappling with the contradicting ideas of respecting and listening to them as you would your mother or father while treating them as one of your companions. You did not enjoy the disturbance this caused in your heart, burying those thoughts and feelings deep down, refusing to confront or acknowledge their existence. If you did not speak it, it was not real. 

You could no longer deny your curiosity about Aegon’s plans as you trailed behind, though the uncertainty stirred excitement within you. “Where are we going, Uncle? What secret did you want to tell me?” 

Aegon didn’t hide the way he rolled his eyes in annoyance at your insistent questioning, commanding you to be patient. He gripped your hand without much choice on your part as he led you down one of the dark tunnels with jagged rocks until you came upon a corridor with winding stairs. You peered curiously as he abruptly dragged you up the stone, your shorter legs struggling to keep in time with him. 

Soon, you found yourself underneath the starless night sky, walking a few paces before Aegon in the courtyard until he abruptly yanked you back into the shadows, a guard marching across your path. You were stunned momentarily at your Uncle’s foresight, staring into his concentrated gaze in shocked admiration, confident that he had done something like this before. Holding your breath until you could no longer hear the rhythmic clank of his armor, a burst of excitement filled your veins as you released a hushed giggle, Aegon following suit. 

You arrived in the wine cellars after a few more thrilling close calls. Bottles, barrels, and casks lined the dim room from floor to ceiling as a chilly draft swiftly passed through the area. Peering questioningly at Aegon, he studied the wooden crisscross rack of the different beverages until he decided on one and pulled it out of its cubby. 

“What is that one?” you interrogated, peeking over his shoulder. He shamelessly turned to you along with the glass bottle, carelessly flipping it in his grasp. 

“Arbor Red. I thought we might have a drink to accompany us. ’Tis a favorite of mine,” Aegon replied as he picked the wax off the cork and neck. 

You observed him with interest, hesitancy beginning to creep into your mind as you pinched at the fine hairs on your forearm. “I’ve never had that before. Mama only allows me to have ciders or a sip of white wine if I cannot sleep.” 

“She isn’t here now, is she?” he jeered, removing the wax with great effort to pop the cork. “Here.” Aegon offered without choice, holding the dark purple bottle out with one hand, tipping it in your direction when you stalled. 

You nervously accepted the wine with tight lips, tentatively taking a sip as you felt the saccharine liquid burn your tongue and ears, scarlet heating your cheeks. It was treacly sweet for your liking, causing a gag of disgust to erupt from your throat as you shoved the Arbor Red back into Aegon’s grip. He laughed at your disgust and took a swig of it without a care, expelling a sigh of relief as the cool, red liquid slid down his throat. 

“That’s positively rancid!” you giggled, wiping away the remnants from your chin. “How do you drink that?”  

Aegon held the neck of the bottle in his grasp, stealing another from the rack he thought you would like as he took a long gulp. “Like that.” 

You laughed in surrender, accepting the lighter wine that he picked and stealing a small taste as it turned your blood to fire. 

Your Uncle’s next destination was the kitchens as he led you up another set of worn stairs, following his heels like an eager pup to its owner, wagging your tail. There were only a few servants in crimson robes and dresses, their smocks an off-yellow color from years of usage as they tended to their late-night duties. Aegon kept you out of sight in the darkness as he took swigs of the Arbor Red, hiding patiently like a stalking cat waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. 

When it happened, he took your wrist, expertly leading you through the multiple counters and tables, snatching a tray full of almond cakes and drying fruits as suddenly a kitchen maid appeared. The tray of prunes and oranges nearly slipped from your grasp as you jumped, swiftly recovering as Aegon grabbed your cloak and pulled you back from crashing into the servant, running at impossible speeds. The woman shouted and scolded both of you as you nearly tripped over your nightgown, bounding down the steps three at a time, laughter echoing in the halls. 

Once Aegon felt that no one was on your trail, he stopped on one of the unguarded battlements of the Holdfast, both of you laughing breathlessly as the adrenaline left your body. Placing the tray of fruits onto the ledge, you uncorked the bottle of wine Aegon chose, spilling some of the bubbly liquid. You took small sips, finally appreciating the refreshing white grape flavor as you and your Uncle snacked on the stolen goods underneath the silent moonless sky.

“My mother plans to betroth us,” Aegon declared through the quiet, making your eyes grow wide in response as you shoved a piece of powder-covered almond cake into your mouth. “She worries that when Rhaenyra comes to power, she’ll try to hurt Aemond and me because we’re boys.” 

You turned to face Aegon, licking the white dust from your lips as you stared at him in confusion. “Why would mother try to hurt you because you and Aemond are boys? You’re family.” They were your mother’s brothers and much younger at that. She would never try to hurt them for any reason at all. 

“Because the people of the realm believe only men can rule and they will do anything to ensure that I do,” he replied, bitterness laced in his tone. 

Sadness overtook your limbs as you slumped onto the ground, your woolen cloak catching on the stone. You could feel Aegon’s hopelessness as if it were your own and leaned your head onto his standing legs.

“They may believe that, but they are wrong. My mother will ascend the throne and I will after her. She will create a new order throughout Westeros and people who think that we cannot rule simply because we are girls won’t exist,” you announced with great conviction, stealing a glance as your Uncle looked over at the thousand twinkling village lights.

“You believe that you will rule after her?” Aegon questioned dispassionately, his lithe digits flicking in disregard. 

“Yes,” you replied without a thought. Your mother had not officially declared you her heir. That would only happen once your grandfather passed, a notion which brought you grief, but you knew she would choose you. After all, you were the eldest. You sighed, touching Aegon’s knee to get his attention. “Besides, you won’t challenge her. If you’re married to me, you’ll still become king.” 

“My mother wants us to marry to make you a prisoner bound in chains of false love and children– to prevent my half-sister from taking the throne when they put me on it. How can you not see that?” He turned to you swiftly, staring down at you with an intense look that struck you to your core. “My existence is opposition enough to Rhaenyra’s claim, and it seems my mother and grandfather will stop at nothing to groom me into the next heir even if it is something I do not want. Rhaenyra will stop at nothing to get you back when they do so.” 

“Queen Alicent will use me as leverage to stop my mother from taking her rightful place…” you whispered aloud as tears brimmed at your lashes. “You’ll still be king even if my mother is Queen. You’ll be married to me! Isn’t that enough?” 

Suddenly, Aegon kneeled before you, taking your shoulders harshly in his grip as his fingers burrowed into your flesh. You winced and tried to lean away, but he stopped you, his face so close you could see the fair, wispy hairs of a growing mustache above his lip. “What don’t you understand about this?” he yelled, his pale cheeks growing blushing with ire. “My mother and grandfather will put me on the throne over Rhaenyra no matter who I am married to, especially a bastard. Mother only wants for us to wed so that yours will not have the option forcefully to take her rightful place with her daughter in the way.”

“I am not a bastard!” you screamed into your Uncle’s face, tears falling freely down your cheeks as you shoved him onto the ground, nor were you your mother’s favorite. “My father is Laenor Velaryon, and my mother Rhaenyra Targaryen. I will rule the Seven Kingdoms and wear the crown of Jaehaerys like grandfather does and how my mother will!”  

Aegon groaned, head tilting to the sky in exasperation as he laid his limp hands between his legs in surrender. There was no point. You wouldn’t see reason. “Of course you are,” he sighed, sitting on his haunches. “Twas foolish of me to say otherwise. Come here and not let these treats go to waste.” 

Aemond sought solace in the library’s serene, dimly lit atmosphere during challenging moments. While he cherished his family, particularly his sister and mother, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his oldest brother exploited his loyal affection. Despite societal expectations dictating that he turn to his elder siblings for advice, Aemond often found himself shouldering Aegon’s responsibilities.

He observed how Luke frequently sought guidance and support from you and Jace when making decisions and taking action. While Luke turned to his siblings for solace following a frightening dream or when Aegon was particularly unkind, Aemond lacked this support. Instead, he assumed the role of mentor, offering guidance to his older brother and comforting his older sister during challenging times. Unintentionally, his family burdened Aemond with the responsibilities of a caregiver, parent, and older brother despite his status as the second son, with seemingly no prospects besides living in the shadow of the firstborn.

In times of turmoil and uncertainty, Aemond sought refuge in the timeless embrace of books. Their weight in his hands provided a reassuring sense of substance, their unchanging inked pages promising stability in a world of instability. The authors had already mapped out the characters’ journeys within those hallowed pages, complete with predetermined destinies and unyielding conclusions.

Immersing himself in these literary sanctuaries, Aemond would momentarily escape into realms where he could envision himself as a formidable dragonlord of Old Valyria, astride a majestic and fearsome beast, commanding the submission of his adversaries. While it was the only place where a fleeting sense of happiness fluttered within him, he hesitated to label it as true to the elusive emotion.

As the moon hung high in the sky, Aemond found himself immersed in his usual pursuit of a tome that delved into the intricacies of war strategy. Unlike his niece, he had always eschewed fanciful tales and romantic novels, who took great pleasure in playfully mocking him as “a bore.” Although he never revealed it, her words stung, and he often retorted with a feigned air of anger.

He harbored a deep-seated jealousy towards his niece and nephews, which he vehemently denied. Underneath that denial, there simmered a potent brew of hatred. Aemond’s royal lineage, as the son of a king, set him apart from them, but that fact seemed inconsequential. They were the offspring of his father’s beloved, his sole child, and the source of his utmost joy. Viserys’ grandchildren held an irreplaceable position in his world.

Training sessions were held in the courtyard, and the king’s attendance was for something other than his and Aegon’s. He was there for Luke and Jace, the sons of Rhaenyra. Whenever there was a showcase of skills to display the dancing prowess Helaena and his niece had acquired, the king’s praises were reserved solely for Rhaenyra’s daughter.

Aemond was fiercely determined to outshine his sister’s children and earn his father’s approval. He longed for acknowledgment and validation, believing he possessed talents superior to those of his nephews and niece. Jace struggled with memorizing High Valyrian glyphs, and while Aemond could speak basic sentences, Luke feared his dragon. At the same time, Aemond charged head-first into mounts that did not belong to him, and his niece’s enigmatic challenges bolstered Aemond’s confidence in his abilities.

He struggled to find any significant flaws in her that would be readily apparent to an adult. Aemond observed that her persistent need for validation, love, and recognition, coupled with a hint of arrogance, could be irritating. However, he realized that the impact of these traits as either faults or strengths depended on the recipient of her unwavering loyalty.

His niece would go to lengths for those she sought admiration from, even losing her strong sense of justice when it came to it. Aemond could recall times when she protected Helaena from Aegon’s taunts and torture, nearly breaking his nose in recompense. She was carefree and joyful, unburdened with the weight of duty and pressure he faced, but when it came to the things that mattered, she showed restraint, unlike Aegon. He felt that one day, her fierceness and unapologetic service to the ones she cared for would be her ruination, which Aemond could not wait for.

Though he loathed to admit it, a part of him yearned to inspire that same devotion in someone. Aemond would never want it from his niece. She was not her father’s child. He did not need her love, but he still craved it. Whether it be from someone he despised or not, he would take it.

Aemond’s eyes wandered across the stacked books until he stumbled upon one that piqued his interest. He carefully reached for it, feeling the rough texture of the old parchment underneath his fingertips. As he flipped through the worn pages, he caught a whiff of the distinct fragrance that only old books carried, which spoke of centuries past. Taking a moment to appreciate the weight of history in his hands, he tucked the stiff leather-bound tome under his arm. He exited the library with his index finger delicately hooked in the ring of his lit candle holder, casting flickering shadows around him. The night air enveloped him as he embarked on the journey back to his quarters, the faint aroma of the ancient book lingering in the air around him.

Though he hid it underneath an annoyed facade, Aegon was terrified. He did not want to be king, nor did he want to marry you. He did not want to marry anyone, for that matter. Yes, you were a rather attractive creature, only when you ate , and frequently, he felt less than in your presence, but you were still a silly little girl who saw things for their surface beauty and not in their entirety. You could not comprehend why his mother and grandfather would still force Aegon onto the throne even if he would wed you. 

Despite what the entire lot of you claimed, you and your brothers were bastards. You had no Velaryon features. There was no hint of your father’s dark skin or white hair. Saying that all four of Rhaenyra’s children took Rhaenys’s attributes was stretched too far for any competent person to believe. But it didn’t matter. No amount of reason from Aegon, the Queen, or the court would convince King Viserys or the rest of you where your true parentage lied, not that it mattered to him. 

Hastily, you wiped away the tears and snot of frustration, nodding timidly to Aegon’s silent apology as you shoved a dried orange into your mouth. The pair of you sat in a noiseless trance filled with the sounds of crickets and intermediate chewing, taking sips of your wine. You refused to be the one to break the quiet, seeing as you weren’t the one who caused it. You allowed Aegon to stew with the lie of calling you a bastard as the bubbly liquid dribbled past your lips. 

Your Uncle’s fingers soon wiped away the drops before they could become sticky against your skin. He tended to do it whenever you made a mess of yourself, often when you ate or drank in his presence. You giggled demurely and smiled as you watched him lick the wine from his fingers. Aegon was always so silly like that. It was rare for him to be seen without a lopsided grin on his sharp face. 

The same hand he used to remove the liquid on your chin found itself on your thigh, gradually working his thumb in circles. It startled you. Aegon never touched you without the intent to hurt or shove you somewhere as your muscles clenched, but when no blow or ridicule followed, you relaxed, resting your head on his pointy shoulder as you often did with your brother. 

You enjoyed the happiness touch could bring and often initiated it with whomever would allow you to. You wanted those you met to feel the same comfort you did and to know that you cared for them so much that actions were the only way for you to explain.

“Can I do something, niece? But it must remain our secret,” Aegon whispered into the darkness. The torches whooshing filled the air as the wind swept through the cold night air, casting eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls. The flames danced and swayed, casting a warm, golden glow illuminating your secretive conversation.

Under the obsidian moonless sky, you uttered, “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going tonight. Don’t you trust me?” Hoping to convey sincerity through your expression, you kept your plans a secret from your mother and brother. To them, you were just in bed, peacefully dreaming of riding Gaelithox across the vast lands of Westeros.

Aegon smiled and released a puff of air out of his nose, which you assumed was a laugh, as he began to bunch the skirt of your nightgown in his fist. You hadn’t a clue as to what he was doing, observing him with a curious but unworried expression as his fingers pulled back the small piece of cloth between your legs. Turning your gaze from your Uncle’s hand to his face, you peered at him peculiarly, your head tilted as you observed his concentrated expression, his breathing becoming faster. Aegon’s cheeks and ears were bright pink, beaming like a beacon in the night as you smiled. Even though his face held an intensely focused expression, you could sense satisfaction radiating from him that flowed into you. 

Aegon’s fingers didn’t feel like much as he spread the skin of your privy parts, dragging his digits up and down like he was stroking a swatch of fabric. The sensation was more foreign than anything, like learning to write for the first time. You could feel every ridge and swirl of his fingerprints against your dry skin as he suddenly dipped down into the hole between your legs. It startled you, his single digit causing a slight burn of pain as you jumped in response. 

Your Uncle’s gaze faced you, his once violet eyes now eclipsed with a black that threatened to swallow you whole. He assured you that you were fine, and you felt him move beside you, helping you stand upright, leaning your back against the battlement wall, and rucking your skirt up again. You watched as he fiddled with his breeches, an inquisitive expression pulling your brows taught as he revealed his private  part. 

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen one before. You, Jace, and Luke often bathed together with the help of your maids and Mother, but Aegon’s, his, looked different. It was a lot longer than your brother’s, a bright, rosy color standing straight out from his body, unlike the downturn of your siblings. You looked to him for an answer he refused to give, rubbing his member against yours, creating an uncomfortable, raw sensation. 

You didn’t know that those two things could touch each other. It wasn’t a thought in your mind that you could use it like your hand to grasp another, but as long as Aegon was happy, you were happy, so you allowed him to continue doing what he wanted in silence as he spat on your area. You shouted in protest at such a disgusting action, attempting to push him away, but Aegon held onto your waist tightly, forcing you to glide over his manhood. 

“Aegon, that was gross! Why did you spit on me?” you interrogated, attempting to push him away, but Aegon paid you no mind, continuing to rub himself against you in faster motions and quicker breaths. The more he moved, the more your privy area started to hurt, a burning sensation that reminded you of when you slid your knee across a floor rug after falling. It didn’t feel like nothing anymore, and soon you wanted to stop, pushing your Uncle away, but he held. 

“Aegon, you’re hurting me. Please, stop,” you commanded him. But he ignored your plea, his hand positioning his member at an angle as he pushed forward.

You screamed . 

You screamed and screamed and screamed as you shouted for Aegon to stop, a feeling as if a piece of molten metal had stabbed through you, radiating up your entire body and searing your insides. Your Uncle groaned, releasing a sigh of relief as his hands searched for something beside you. He took a fistful of plum and orange slices and shoved them into your mouth to get you to silence. He covered your lips with his palm, forcing you to chew the fruit if you wished not to choke. 

Aegon waited too long for his release, which Alicent had interrupted hours prior. He was not eager to seek out his niece unless with the purpose of gratification. You were so desperate to please him with whatever he asked of you, even if it would harm another, that Aegon found it endearing. He began to imagine a life with someone as devoted as you by his. Would he finally get the validation he desired from his mother and father? Would you allow him to pursue his lust as he wished and welcome him with dutiful arms each time? Your well-being was no longer a thought in his mind. The idea that he could finally have someone who gave him anything he desired and would never be able to leave was far too intoxicating. 

Aemond strolled beneath the crimson stone arches of the Keep, looking forward to slipping into his warm bed and immersing himself in the world of literature that awaited him. The night was serene, devoid of the moon’s glow, causing Blackwater Bay’s tides to remain calm and the air to hang motionless. It seemed like the ideal moment for reading, and he felt a revitalized spring in his stride.

As Aemond strolled past one of the stone parapets of Maegor’s Holdfast, the sounds of a soft, high-pitched voice caught his attention. It piqued his curiosity, making him ponder whether to ignore the sound or investigate. Suddenly, another voice, more urgent and resonant, joined the first. Aemond immediately recognized it as his older brother, Aegon. It seemed that he was attempting, and likely failing, to charm another maid again. Aemond sighed profoundly and glanced toward his chambers, wondering if he should intervene or retire for the evening. 

It was merely a brief stroll. Aemond could have retired to bed without concern for his older brother’s mischief. Nevertheless, he couldn’t bear the thought of disregarding the plight of the unfortunate servant girl and failing to intervene. Aemond Targaryen prided himself on his sense of honor. With each step, he could feel the weight of exhaustion and the burden of his conscience as he ascended the ancient stairs to the battlement. 

He stopped as he reached the top, finding his niece and brother in a state that would cause even the most experienced man to gasp in horror. Aemond observed how Aegon forced himself onto his younger niece, tears clumping her thick lashes and streaming down her cheeks. Shock gave way to anger as he recalled that same bleary face once jeering at his misfortune of not having a dragon, the girl who laughed at Aemond as his eldest brother gave him a pig to ride instead. 

Exhale. Inhale.

The prince remained motionless, a strange sense of eerie tranquility enveloping him. He felt nothing as he slowly retreated, the sound of the scuffle causing you to turn your head abruptly. Amidst the storm’s chaos, with no respite from Aegon’s relentless, tormenting attacks, your gaze locked with Aemond’s, the taste of your tears and ill-gotten gains mingling in the air.

Exhale. Inhale. 

You finally comprehended the significance of Septa Marlow’s teachings on ‘virtue.’ It was more than just a concept, but a tangible essence that one could embody and manifest in their actions. It represented the honor and reverence for one’s existence, acknowledging the inherent value of being alive and holding steadfast to one’s moral principles. Aegon’s actions cruelly deprived you of this intrinsic moral fiber, callously usurping the very essence of your being for his selfish gain.

Exhale. Inhale.

Aegon’s hand pressed firmly over your mouth, cutting off any pleadings as you desperately looked to Aemond for help. Aegon’s knowledge that it was wrong was evident in how he silenced you, his own set of virtues twisted and contorted into something unrecognizable by an external force.

Exhale. Inhale .

Aemond stood frozen on the staircase, one foot on the lower step and the other on the top. His bright purple eyes darted back and forth between you and Aegon. Inside his head, he couldn’t help but feel that you deserved this. He seethed with anger at all the wrongs you and your brothers had done to him. The injustices he felt burned within him—from the mistreatment of the pig to your unworthy existence, to the love and affection you received from his father, which he believed should have been his, and to your manipulation of his mother’s affections, deceiving her into seeing you as anything other than a sinful bastard.

Exhale. Inhale.

Your eyes, the teary pools of dark essence that threatened to pull him beneath it to feel your desperation and helplessness, tore into his soul and exposed his core for only you to see. Aemond was just a child, as were you, thrust into an ill-fated life before he had a name. No longer did you see your Uncle as someone who desired to hurt you but as someone who had hurt , both of you perpetuating the cycle that existed before your conception. You and Aemond were doomed to suffer unless one rose above and changed the narrative. 

Exhale. Inhale. 

“Aegon. What are you doing?” Aemond’s firm voice sounded, rising to the top step. 

His brother jumped in response, abruptly pulling away from you as you collapsed to the ground with a yelp. Aegon attempted to stuff himself back into his breeches as if that could hide what he had done. The blood on his brother’s pale skin made him unable to conceal it. 

“We… We were just having a bit of fun. Weren’t we, niece? We’re to be betrothed after all,” Aegon expressed as he steadied his breathing. “We’re simply celebrating preemptively.” 

As your eldest Uncle reached out his hand, a pleading look in his eyes conveyed a sense of desperation that might have influenced you in the past. However, this time, you met his imploring gaze with steely determination. Your breath caught in your throat as you resolutely pushed his reaching hand away, refusing to succumb to the unspoken agreement it symbolized.

Aegon turned to look at you; his expression was devastated, as if you had deeply wounded him. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips swollen from biting them, a silent attempt to contain his earlier excitement. It was the first time you had rejected his warmth in years, and it felt like you had torn his heart out. Turning his gaze to Aemond, fury replaced the emptiness in his chest as he realized that neither of you moved from your positions, causing his chin to quiver.

You were Aegon’s friend first. He could not change your mind, regardless of how desperately he wished to, and Aegon refused to subject himself to any more rejection as he pushed past Aemond and hurriedly descended the stairs, taking them three at a time, tail tucked between his legs.

You and Aemond remained in your positions for a moment after Aegon departed. As you stood there, your blue cloak draped over your shoulders and white nightgown concealing your slouched figure, tears streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably. Aemond, unsure of how to offer comfort, hesitated awkwardly. He struggled with his emotions as he silently observed you, feeling conflicted and unsettled by the situation’s intensity. He was at war with himself. 

A part of him found satisfaction in seeing you cry, a small measure of justice after enduring Aegon’s taunts for so long, but the other understood the great injustice and consequences you had endured, even if it seemed you did not. All he could do was noiselessly watch as you cried into the emptiness of the night, words of solace stuck in his throat. 

Your body hurt, sore, and trembling in places you had never felt pain before. You were so tired, so drained of life and energy that you felt as if you could sleep right here within the battlements of the Red Keep, but you knew that you would get into trouble if caught. Sneaking out and stealing wine and food from the kitchens would surely get you a reprimand from your mother, which was something you did not want. You were already in serious trouble for disobeying the Dragonkeepers and did not want to further your punishment.

With a great breath from your lungs, you wiped your tears, putting your legs underneath you and pushing yourself up. Severe pain shot through your body as you fell back to the ground with a shriek, skinning your knee. A fresh wave of sobs erupted from your chest, but you held them in and pulled your quivering limbs to stand against the wall. It felt as if you had been horseback riding for hours, your privy place sore and raw. 

Wincing as you made another step, you looked to where Aemond was, expecting him to be gone, but he was still there, gazing at you intently with a serious look on his freckled face. “I need to go to bed before someone discovers I’m gone,” you declared, wordlessly asking your Uncle to help you with your struggle. 

“You need the Maester,” Aemond countered, unmoving, eyes fixed to your feet. “You’re bleeding.” 

Quickly, you looked down to where he stared and saw your pristine white cotton nightgown stained in places with the crimson liquid of your blood. Your knees busted whenever you landed on the stone, red soaking through for all to see. 

“No,” you refused, tousled hair swaying in the wind as you shook it. “I can take care of it myself. Please, just-” Your lungs hiccuped as they tried to return to their regular pattern.  “Help me, Aemond. Please.” 

Your Uncle did not move. His expression curled into a slight grimace as you managed to stand beside him, placing a hand on his bicep. Some of you expected Aemond to walk away when you touched him, but he did not. Instead, he bristled under your damp palm and sucked in a noiseless gasp of air. 

The prince had not felt the act of a tender touch initiated without something negative associated with it since before he could remember. His mother always consoled him after being teased or Aegon guiding him to his misfortune, never just the simple act of human contact.

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond questioned, turning his stiff posture to you. 

“Don’t let me fall,” you softly commanded, a waiver to your voice. You worried Aemond would leave you if you said or did something wrong. You understood him to be very erratic around you in most situations, but you didn’t blame him for it. You were not always kind. 

Like a vision of divine benevolence, your Uncle wrapped an arm around your torso and hooked it around yours in support as he led you down to the torchlight aisles of the palace, using the shadows as cover. Worried that you could not find your way back the way you came, fresh tears sprung free. There would be no hope of hiding your disobedience from your mother if you returned to your chambers from the typical entrance, and the fear caused you to stop your shaky stride. Aemond turned his annoyed face to your frightened one, eyes wide like a fawn caught within the jaws of a wolf as you threw yourself into his embrace. You just needed someone to hold you, to cradle you like your mother did whenever you hurt yourself playing with your brothers. 

Your Uncle stiffened like the cold stone statues in Sept, under unusual affection and uncertain how to proceed. The last time you shared touch like this was in response to ridicule, and immediately, Aemond grabbed your biceps on instinct and attempted to push you away, but the broken cry you released at his rough handling caused him to pause. It was a noise that cut straight through the years of armoring his soul to the torment he suffered, making his nose burn. You were such a happy child, to the point where it irked Aemond, and to see you reduced to such a state even weaker than his after Aegon’s jests broke his hatred-covered heart. 

Perhaps it was because he now had someone else who shared his silent agony, a bond formed with tears and blood. Or because you finally understood how your actions affected those around you. A dark, twisted part of Aemond relished in your pain and hoped you were the victim of more if it meant you would come to him like this, weak and clinging to him as if he was the very air you needed to survive. 

“My mother… I-” you heaved, salty snot dribbling down into your mouth as you attempted to speak. “I can’t go back to my rooms the way I left. She’ll-she will know that I was out this late, and she’ll be upset with me!”

Aemond gazed down at you incredulously, and his upper lip curled in disbelief at how immature you were. No wonder you and Aegon got along. “Your mother will not be cross with you once you tell her what my brother did. Be reasonable,” he commanded as your cheeks glistened in the yellow glow. 

“No, no,” you shook your head vehemently, causing your dark locs to caress your Uncle’s digits and the smell of your citrus oils to waft into the thick air. It was a smell so uniquely yours, and despite Aemond aversion to such scents, he thought they weren’t as horrendous as he initially believed. “She is all ready upset with me for skipping lessons and disobeying the dragonkeepers. She’ll be furious if she finds I snuck out of my room!”

Your thoughts were like a fortress, impenetrable and infused with a heady titian aroma. You had ventured too far beyond the realms of reason, your breath quickening, leaving you feeling weightless and unsteady on your feet. Emotions surged uncontrollably within you, bubbling over like an overfilled pot of boiling water. You clawed at your neck, your face, and your scalp, leaving painful welts in your wake. The intensity was unbearable. The sight churned your Uncle’s stomach, but he couldn’t look away. You yearned to escape from this overwhelming torrent of emotions, to shed them like a second skin.

Aemond watched in paralyzed horror as you clawed at your flesh like a mange-ridden animal, with dark eyes staring a league away from reality. He had never seen something like this before, and it scared him to the bone. A rush of fear gripped him as he thought that you might dig your fingers into your skull and harm yourself. He grabbed your wrists to stop you, but your fingers yanked the roots of your hair, ripping out chunks of tangled brown. 

Aemond gasped in shock as your chest began to take gradually deep breaths, and a sudden serenity came over you, like a warm blanket in winter. An intense expression painted his shadowy countenance as he wrapped his slightly larger hands around yours, taking the clumps and tossing them aside.

“We shall go to my rooms, and we’ll tend to your scrapes,” Aemond stated in finality as you nodded swiftly, swallowing your briny spit. “We’ll need to get rid of your nightdress too. It is…”

Your Uncle could not finish his sentence, his violet eyes trailing to your slippered feet. You knew what he meant. It was covered in blood , and noiselessly, you agreed to his plan without objection as he led you by a single wrist into the barren Keep. 

This was a pact of secrecy sealed with neither words nor a handshake. It was a silent understanding born of shared anguish that you were now forever bound by eternal suffering at the hands of Aegon. Your existences doomed you and Aemond; with that, you would suffer together for eternity. 

Masterlist of Series

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How is everyone after that? Are we okay?

Rape and SA is typically not done with just the intent of sexual gratification, but to have power over someone. It's for the assailant to feel in control over someone who physically or mentally could not counter them. Whether it's because they've been SAed in the past or they feel like they have no control in their lives could be a reason.

When I heard that fact it hit me close to my heart as I was molested when I was a child. I've thought for my entire life that he did it only because he was curious because he was only about 8-9 years older than me, but I realized he most likely did it to me because I was powerless against him and he knew I wanted to be "cool" like him. I was around 6-7 years old.

My personal experience with sexual assault heavily inspired the dialogue and dynamics in this chapter. (Nobody can tell me it wasn't realistic!) Unlike the reader there was no one to help stop it and help me through it. I was so young I didn't even know it was wrong at the time, and even though he went to trial and was a registered sex offender, his record was cleared when he became an adult. In fantasy and real life, crimes like this still go unpunished.

If you, or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual assault, no matter how long ago it was, please talk to someone professionally or go to the authorities if possible. You truly don't realize how it skews your view of sex, love, relationships, and trust until the damage is done and is extremely difficult to work through. I do want to mention quickly as the story progresses you will see how a single act that one perceives as minor can cause you to do things without realizing that's the real reason why.

Thank you again for reading and all the kind words. I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations. (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @livcookesgf , @nessjo

[morbific-or-felicific]

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who scared the shit out of you when he asked you out because he was so gruff that you honestly though he might have been planning to kill you instead of planning to take you out to dinner

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who hates going out to restaurants and only took you out to dinner because he thought that was the only way you would agree to go out with him

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who only has one friend because he hates almost everyone except for you and Kazuha

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who always gets upset with you when you aren’t taking care of yourself because how dare you not take care of his girlfriend

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who didn’t want you to meet his moms for the first several months of your relationship because he thought they wouldn’t like you

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who didn’t know what to say when the two of you ran into his moms while you had dragged him out to some restaurant for a date

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who tried to get his moms to leave you both alone, but despite his best efforts they ended up moving to your table

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who was surprised by how much his moms liked you and how well the three of you got along

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who wanted to climb into a hole when Yae had had too much wine and started telling stories about him growing up

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who stayed the night at your place after because he was convinced Ei was going kill him for not telling them about his lovely girlfriend

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who takes after Ei and can’t cook to save his life

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who tries to help you when you make the two of you breakfast the next morning but somehow manages to burn half the food (at least the coffee was unscathed)

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who tries to hide from facing a lecture from his moms by spending the day driving you around while you do errands

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who brought you with him when he went back home so that his moms couldn’t be too harsh with him (it’s not because he wants to watch a movie with you…unless you wanted to of course…)

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who dragged you up to his room so he could hide from his parents

Your boyfriend Scaramouche who wrapped you in blankets on his bed and cuddled you while you both watched a movie

Your boyfriend Scaramouche <3

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @yourlocal-bunny

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[chiaraswritings]

Gossip and Galas

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Alcohol, derogatory language, crowds, sexual references, comfort. 18+.

Word Count: 1.9K words

Summary: Shortly after her engagement to Bruce Wayne, fem!reader is met with the gossip that comes with it at one of his charity galas.

Author's Note: Finally made a masterlist, so go ahead and check that out for more fluffy stories like this. Comforting fics like this are just what I like for winter weather. I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday season, and I hope you enjoy.

My bracelets clinked against each other on my wrist, sliding down my arm as I lifted my hand to brush back my hair, my focus never leaving the man whose arm I was grasping. He stood tall, the suit looking almost small on his frame, smiling politely while he escorted me into the ballroom. This year’s charity gala was quite full, very few people had sent their regrets. The champagne gown that hung over my body glittered, matching the diamond jewelry framing my face.

One diamond I kept hidden in my fiance's arm, dodging the prying eyes full of curiosity. Everyone wanted to see the size of the rock he had placed on my finger, desperate to be the first to share the flaming news. He had only proposed a week before, and it had hit the news almost overnight. Now, it was a free-for-all to see who could get the inside scoop first.

Breaking through my thoughts, he tilted his head downwards to hum, “Did I tell you that you look stunning tonight?” 

His comment pulled a smile out of my peach-tinted lips. “You’ve said that six times.”

“Then let me say it a seventh time, you look absolutely stunning.” With the gentlest touch, he placed his hand over my arm in a comforting gesture. The affection made me forget everything for a moment, before the inevitable began. 

Guests from all directions began to approach us, important names from all over Gotham, curious voices disguised with polite words. His smile opened ten different conversations at once, and I contented myself with the image of a silent trophy wife. Naturally, I had plenty to say, many words I wanted to make heard, but this was neither the time nor the place. 

As I moved my left hand away from Bruce’s arm to brush away a strand of hair from my face, someone caught it in a tight grip. 

“What a beautiful ring this is! What a size! Your finger is going to get tired of wearing that…” My hand was immediately surrounded by a group of five or six women, all peering down at the newly acquired engagement ring. My natural reaction was to jerk my hand back, but as I did, I was met with disapproving and disheartening looks from the curious viewers. I slowly let my hand slide back into place, allowing them to inspect with judgemental astonishment. 

I turned my head back to Bruce in a silent plea for rescue, but he was occupied with a champagne glass in his hand and several well-dressed gentlemen holding his attention. Now a small crowd was gathered around my hand, many pairs of eyes leering. Using my sweetest smile, I was slowly able to pry free from the spectators and rejoin my fiance in the moment. The moment didn’t last very long. 

As more and more people moved past, my lips became a straighter and straighter line. When Bruce noticed that my grip on his arm was becoming a little too tight for comfort, he turned to me with a whisper. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, can we… start walking?” I turned my head in the direction of the bar. 

“Of course.” He gently guided me in the alluring direction of sparkling wine glasses, leaving a small trail of party-goers behind us. 

Several exchanged words later between the bartender, and he placed a glass of wine in my hand, which I began to sip instantly. “Sorry I’m getting so uptight, I always think I’m going to handle parties better than I do.” 

“It’s okay. Don’t think twice about it.” He placed a kiss on my cheek before eyeing another group of guests walking towards us with conversation topics written all over their faces. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, of course not. Go on, have fun.” My smile was fake, but my love was real. I watched him move off into the crowd, entertaining the many who were trying to catch his eye. He was going to have a good time, socialize, and later tonight I’d get all his attention.

I moved into a corner, next to a large, decorative ivory pillar where I could ease my tension and finish my glass of wine. I watched another party of women moving past me, their stares nearly piercing my left hand. Quickly, I shifted my glass into my right hand and put my left behind my back. Not only did I feel judged, I felt ridiculous. Tonight I was supposed to be the princess on the arm of my prince, ravishing in the glory of the spotlight.

It didn’t feel like glory, and I didn’t feel glorious. I didn’t want to be on his arm right now. As exciting as it was to be nearly royal for a night, after all the comments, whispers, and questions, I felt used, almost dirty. Tonight I’d been called many things in overheard conversation. So far I could mark gold-digger, leech, and other appealing titles off the list.

As I took a rather embarrassing gulp of my wine, I could hear feminine voices moving closer on the other side of the pillar. I turned my head, ready to move to a more secluded spot, before I caught a snippet of their conversation. When I heard my name, I sucked in my stomach, trying to disappear behind the stone to eavesdrop. 

“Did you see how vain she looked on his arm? I can’t believe how proud she is.”

“Especially after he probably pulled her out of the gutter. Who knows how many rich, brainless guys she’s played around with.” 

“You know she’s just waiting to sink her teeth into that divorce settlement.”

“Can you believe he’s so dense that he’d buy her such a huge ring? Somebody’s gotta tell him before she runs away with the next moneybag that smiles at her.”

“He’ll definitely be single in a few months. Don’t worry, Liv, you’ll get your shot with him.”

“Where’d she even come from?”

“Streets, no doubt.”

“You know, that’s probably why he’s with her! He hired her and then…”

“He fell for her the first time she gave him head.”

“Girls like her…”

“I know. What a slut.”

Gold-digger I could handle. Leech hurt, but it was fine. Slut was a cut I couldn’t manage right now. Maybe if my social energy wasn't gone, I might’ve appeared from behind the pillar looking like a goddess and given them a smart remark that would leave their glossed mouths gaping and their confidence rattled.

But that wasn’t where I was at right now. 

Instead I was back at the bar, fleeing their snickers and giggles, asking the bartender to hand over another bottle of Cabernet and to not ask questions. With the bottle tucked safely under my arm and the stem of a wine glass between my fingers, I fled to the safety of the private quarters of the manor. Before I ascended the first flight of stairs, I kicked off my heels, letting them lay where they landed on the floor. My feet immediately felt relief even while climbing flight after flight of stairs till I reached the master bedroom Bruce and I had come to share. 

Realizing I had no corkscrew with me, I glared down at the bottle, calculating the quickest way to open it. I don’t need all my teeth, I thought to myself. Before I could get a chance to pry out the cork, the bedroom door opened behind me, startling me. I whipped around, my heart racing, feeling guilty for abandoning the gala and running away to drink alcohol.

“Thought you might need this.” Bruce stood in the doorway with a corkscrew, his face riddled with concern and a bit of amusement. 

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I ordered, marching to him and taking it from his hand. “And don’t act like you don’t have a thousand people downstairs asking for you. Duty calls.” I tried to shoo him away with my hand before he caught my wrist and pressed a kiss to my palm.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I saw your face when you left.”

“Go away, I have a date with a wine glass. I’ll tell you later.”

“(Y/N).” He calmly ushered me away from the door and sat me on the foot of the bed.

“I heard some… people… saying… things… about me.” I managed to get out. 

“Which people? I’ll have them removed right now. What did they say?” His fingers brushed away loose hair that hung in front of my face.

“Nothing. I don’t want to think about it. Let me just…” I looked at him and then at the waiting bottle of Cabernet. 

“Absolutely, want some company?”

Yes. “No, it’s okay. You need to get back.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do! The gala has two more hours to run!” 

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll go next year.”

“Right. I’m serious, you’re going to be missed.”

“I’d rather be missed by them than by you.” His eyes glared into mine with stubborn insistence. I sighed.

“I’m not getting rid of you, am I?” 

“Not at all.”

“...Okay.”

Bruce grinned triumphantly before making his way to the cabinet in the corner of the room and retrieving another wine glass. When he returned, his arm automatically wrapped around my waist. “Tell me what they said about you.”

“It’s not worth it,” I replied, finally managing to open the bottle of wine.

“Allow me,” Bruce took the bottle from my hand to pour both our glasses and pressed a kiss behind my ear. “You’re going to tell me after you finish this glass anyway, might as well tell me now.” 

My glare wasn’t enough to deter him from his quest for an answer. “They said you pulled me from the streets, and that I was a slut, and I was going to divorce you and run away with somebody else…” 

“But that’s not true, is it?” He caught my chin with his fingers and tilted it upwards, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I didn’t find you on the streets, I found you doing what you’re best at, working hard and making a career for yourself. I can’t think of a more admirable thing you could be doing.” 

I smiled at the flashback to when we had crossed paths in a business meeting. “Mhm.”

“If anything, I don’t deserve you. Not only are you beautiful, you complete me. You make me better.” 

My eyes closed as he pressed a very passionate, loving kiss to my lips. His hand rested on my waist, stroking with his thumb, sending tingles up my spine. When my eyes opened again, he was smiling. I couldn’t help but do the same. “Okay. Thank you for… all of this. Leaving the party for me.”

“You will always come first. What else did they say?”

“They said you fell in love with me the first time I gave you head.” 

He tilted his head, pretending to ponder the statement. “Well…”

Laughing, I gently shoved his shoulder. “Bruce!” 

“Okay, okay.” 

Below, the party-goers searched for us, but we didn’t return. The feeling was transforming, suddenly I felt like the most important and beautiful woman in the world. His world. There, with him, I started to feel myself not care what they said about me or what names they came up with. Here, I was just his. And that was enough.

[toxicanonymity]

This protector. Left in Lincoln, pt. 1

3k | dark dads' best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader

story master list / joel miller master list

Premise: Bill and Frank raised you after you were orphaned by the outbreak. They left Lincoln to get treatment for Frank and asked a neighbor, Joel, to look in on you (early 20s) while they were gone.

He rubbed your arms harmlessly, then his hands grazed your breasts lightly enough to pass for accidental as he hugged you. His breath deepened and his jeans twitched. He slipped his arms under yours and you tried to settle in, still nervous. You sat for what felt like a long time. Eventually, you relaxed into him.

Warnings/Notes: NSFW 18+ (not graphic yet), creepy!joel, dark!Joel, pervy!Joel, big legal age gap, very inexperienced/naive reader, angsty premise, dry humping, touching over clothes, pressure, blue balls, alcohol, pining. Slow-burn horror. Post-outbreak but playing fast and loose with a couple of ages.

When Frank got sick, he and Bill went in search of treatment and left you safe at home in Lincoln. They knew you could manage on your own, but they still asked a trusted neighbor, Joel Miller, to look in on you. You knew Joel from when he came over for meals, but he didn't talk much, so you didn't feel like you knew him very well. You felt like he knew you, though. He knew a secret.

- - -

The secret was that one time, you went on Joel's property and helped yourself to his fruit. It wasn't your first time there, but it was your first time picking any fruit. You snuck in from the back and stayed deep in the orchard. You didn't think he'd see you.

Joel would've been more than happy to pick some fruit for you, or even with you, but you were shy. He was intimidating. Plus, you wanted to take your time to enjoy the orchard. He had the most beautiful peach and apple trees. You were still getting over Jesse and being there reminded you of him. Jesse kissed you there, way in the back, after dark when no one would know. This was your first time there in broad daylight.

You admired the peach in your hand, lightly brushing your thumb over its curves, captivated by the gradient of yellow to pink, then plum.

"You picked a nice, ripe one." Your face went cold as you looked at the peach in your hand. You turned around to see Joel Miller half smiling at you, then he slowly stepped forward and put his hands on his hips with his knee out. "Should be juicy," he added. He didn't seem mad at all, but it made your heart race. It was your first time stealing and you got caught.

"Mr. Miller, I–"

"Call me Joel," he said. "Come on in, let's make some apple juice."

"I really shouldn't. . ."

“C'mon, I just cored a bunch of apples."

He was reassuring, but you were too embarrassed and said you should get home. He told you to come back any time, but you never did.

-

The next time Joel came for dinner, you answered the door and he handed you a jar of apple juice. He normally just brought hard cider. Knowing you didn't drink, he brought a jar of juice that night to commemorate your trespassing.

"Wow, thanks," you said.

"’welcome, peaches," Joel whispered in your ear, and his thumb brushed your opposite cheek as it burned.

You prayed he'd never say it in front of anyone else, but that brief teasing was the most personality you ever saw from him. He almost always wore a scowl - he and Bill had that in common.

That was also the night you realized Frank was truly unwell. He tried not to show it, but he kept steadying himself, and it wasn’t because he was drunk. He only drank one cider and Bill teased him for not having any wine. Later, you overheard your dads weighing the options. They mused that Joel could check in on you if they left. You were embarrassed at the thought - you could still feel Joel's touch on your cheek.

When Frank's health got worse in the following weeks, they decided to go.

- - -

Your first night alone in the house after your dads left, it took you hours to get to sleep, then you barely slept. There was an eerie silence, eventually broken by a creaking sound. You brushed that off as the house settling, but soon you heard rustling, then a thump. You couldn’t recall what the night normally sounded like. Each one of those noises made your heart jump. Unable to sleep, your mind drifted to Frank. You worried and cried.

The second night was even worse. You got to sleep but awoke to a repetitive scratching noise that sounded like it was right outside. You knew it was probably an animal, but you were too afraid to look. The wind howled, and you could have sworn you heard voices.

-

Once Joel came by, you were relieved to see him. Too relieved to be embarrassed. He was somber when you answered the door, though.

"Sorry 'bout your dad…"

It brought everything back to the surface. You nodded, unable to speak with such a knot in your throat. Your head throbbed and your eyes welled up. He jammed his hands in his pockets and hung his head. You could no longer hold back the tears.

Joel's Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow. "Shit, I'm sorry, I shouldnt’a mentioned it." He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and awkwardly opened his arms for you. The hug was rigid and obligatory until you collapsed into his arms like you really needed him. Then it changed. His body relaxed. His thick arms wrapped softly but strongly around you and he rubbed your back. His broad chest swelled against yours with a deep breath as he inhaled you. His flannel smelled like pine, cotton, and sweat.

You stood there resting in his arms for a good minute or so before sniffling, "sorry," and pulling back to dab your swollen eyes and look at him. His eyes were different. Less aloof. His scowl had softened. You wondered how long it had been since someone hugged him. You asked, "do you wanna come in?"

Joel sat you down on the oversized sofa and got you a glass of water. Then, he comforted you as you tried to get a hold of yourself. It was refreshing having someone there. You hugged him from the side, and his armpit was warm and a little damp against your shoulder. Then you started thinking about Frank again and folded forward with your face in your hands.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, rubbing your back. Then he put his feet on the ottoman and gently pulled you back against the couch with his arm around you. You cuddled up to him again like a big, surly teddy bear. He rubbed your arm, then began to brush the inside of your elbow with his thumb. It was a comforting gesture. Entrancing, too. A little sensual. It certainly relaxed you. Somehow, you fell asleep with your head on his thighs.

-

You woke up when his lap shifted under you. He was stroking your head, and you could feel he was hard. You pretended not to notice, but when you sat up, he didn't shy away from adjusting himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was.

You wouldn’t know. You were mostly homeschooled and there was barely anyone your age, or even generation, in the community. By this point, it felt like there was no one left in Lincoln. Jesse was just gone one day, no kiss goodbye, not even a word. He always talked about going West, but you thought it was just a dream. Even Ellie and Riley went their own way when Ellie turned 18. You knew how hard that was for Joel, especially when he already lost Tess.

You averted your eyes from his jeans, then asked Joel, "What do you do? To deal with everything?"

Joel swallowed and clenched his jaw. His his eyes were dark. He hesitated, looked you over, then said, "Tell ya the truth? I'm the worst guy to ask. . . Shit, I knock myself out. I drink. I take pills."

You were flattered by his honesty and felt respected as an equal. Emboldened, you asked him, "Can you gimme some? I can't stop thinking about it. . .I cry every night."

“What, give you whiskey and pills?” Joel laughed, then saw how serious you were. It was surprising because you were so straight laced. You were of age but still never drank more than a sip of wine, and that was only if Bill or Frank insisted you taste a pairing. Never really snuck out. Never done more than kiss a guy - although you'd like to think you would've.

"I don't think your dads would like that, darlin'. I'm s'posed to keep ya safe–not sayin' you need keepin' safe–but I'm sure as hell not s'posed to give ya drugs 'n whiskey."

"I'd never tell," you promised, desperate for anything to get your mind off it and let you sleep. "if either of them ever makes it back." You started to cry again.

"Sorry, peaches." He kissed you on the head and you got butterflies. He stayed with you awhile longer until you stopped crying, then said good night.

You didn't expect to miss Joel, but you did, as soon as he stepped out the door. When you sat back down on the couch, it was even worse. You never realized how huge and deep that sofa was until you sat on it alone that night after Joel left.

You thought about Joel more and more. It was hard not to – he was the only person left. At least Jesse hardly crossed your mind anymore. Finally, after all that time wondering why he didn't say goodbye, you decided he just wasn't man enough. You wondered if you were ever truly attracted to Jesse anyway, or if he was just the only guy around.

- -

The next time Joel came over, you surprised yourself with your girlish reaction. Your cheeks burned as soon as you saw him, before you even answered the door. And when you noticed the whiskey bottle in his hand, your whole chest went hollow, making room for your affection. He was really treating you like the adult you were. You greeted him with a hug and his nose brushed your ear as he inhaled you. He smelled like whiskey, aftershave, and pine.

You got two glasses from the kitchen. He poured you a drink and slouched with his legs wide open and his long arm on the back of the couch. His other hand rested on his inner thigh. You asked if he was going to have a whiskey.

"Nah, had enough. Any more and I won’t be good company."

You wondered what that meant, but didn't pursue it. You sat shyly at the other end of the sofa and winced as you took a sip of your drink alone. You coughed and he came over and patted your back. Then he talked you through your next sip.

"Straight to the back of the throat. Can’t let it linger. Do the rest all at once.”

You took it as a shot.

“There ya go, darlin’. Good girl."

He resumed his splayed out posture at the other end of the couch and you sat where you were, still wincing and recovering from the drink. He gave you a subtle, knowing smirk and nodded toward his end of the couch.

You only moved half way down the sofa. "Get over here, darlin'," he said and patted the space right in front of his crotch. He brought his closest leg up onto the couch then coaxed you back between his arms and legs. You settled back into him, a little stiff at first. Nervous.

"Relax," he whispered. "You're safe. . . You're with me."

He rubbed the sides of your arms harmlessly, then his arms wrapped in front of you. His hands grazed your breasts lightly enough to pass for accidental as he hugged you. His breath deepened and his jeans twitched against yours, giving you butterflies between the legs. He slipped his arms under yours and you settled in like that, still nervous. You sat for what felt like a long time, and eventually, you relaxed into him. You felt the buzz of the whiskey.

Your head fell back against his shoulder. He stroked your head. He kissed you on the crown of your head every minute or so, comfortingly. Then, one time, his lips lightly touched the bare skin of your temple. Then your cheek. Then his hand nudged your face up toward his. You shifted your body to look at him and your hip moved against the bulge in his pants. He inhaled deeply at the friction, and your cheeks burned.

You studied his furrowed brow, wondering what he was thinking. Your heart raced and your skin felt hot from the buzz. Emotions ran high. You kind of wanted to do something, or you wanted him to do something. You just didn't know what, or how. He was still intimidating. You didn't know anything at all and were afraid to make a fool of yourself.

With heavy eyelids and rosy cheeks, Joel looked from your eyes to your mouth and back, then leaned in. When his nose brushed yours, you offered your lips and he closed the distance. He sucked in a chest full of air through his nose with his lips pressed into yours. You stayed mostly still as his tongue parted your lips and he seemed to suck the air out of your mouth. His tongue brushed yours and arousal flooded you. Then your lips embraced his and you let him taste your mouth.

His manhood swelled against you, much harder now, sending a rush to your core. Your heart pounded when you realized how wet you were getting. You scooted your butt forward, self-conscious of your contact with his privates. When you broke contact, Joel broke the kiss.

-

He stroked your head gently again and kissed your temple.

"You’ve never felt one before, have ya?" He asked soft and low as he slowly palmed the hard bulge in his jeans behind you.

Your face burned and you just barely shook your head no.

"It's ok, baby. It's s'posed to feel good."

"What is?" you asked shyly even though you figured you knew. You wanted to shrink into the sofa, but you'd be shrinking into him.

He gently pulled you back against him. With his hand on your stomach, he pulled you all the way in. His arousal was already stiffer, larger.

He lowered his voice and said, "Feelin' this against you, knowin' it's there." His hips lifted gently, and his hard package swelled against you. "It's s'posed to feel good. Nothin' to be ashamed of"

Butterflies swarmed inside you, multiplying, filling up your ribcage, your pelvis. He coaxed you into relaxing back on him again. He cradled you from behind and caressed your thigh for a minute, then his masculine hand slid between your knees, gently nudging them apart. His hand slid up one inner thigh and your legs opened for him all on their own.

"Feel it here?" he asked before he flattened his fingers and slowly, lightly felt the crotch of your pants. You didn't answer. You didn't have to. With several fingers, he ghosted a line from the seam of your pants up to your clit, driving you mad.

He pressed his hardness into you again with a soft grunt. His voice was low as he reassured you with his hand still between your legs. "See, what you're feelin' right here, it's natural. It’s right."

His other hand stroked your stomach, gradually approached your chest, then caressed your breast lightly with his hand mostly flat. His chest rose and fell under you. You inhaled deeply, your breast swelled into his hand, and he cupped it, grinding his hardness into you harder than before. Your nipples hardened and you got goosebumps all over.

You knew there was a pool in your panties, and you didn't want him to feel it if it seeped through your pants. If it hadn’t already.

As though reading your mind, Joel said in a near whisper, "and when it's wet here, that's a good thing." His thick fingers ghosted the crotch of your pants. "Means your body wants more."

"More what?"

"Well. . . We can figure that out together, darlin'." You weren't that naive, you just wanted to know what more meant to him.

He pressed his crotch into you again, hard as a rock, his fingers still lightly stroking you between the legs. “When you’re wet. . .makes me feel good, too. . . .” His breath was hot on your neck, then he began to leave open mouth kisses there.

Joel shifted behind you so you could see each other again. He took your hand in his. "Wanna feel it?" He put your hand on the hard bulge in his pants and thrust against it, biting his lip and lowering his already half-closed eyes. He was so hard, it made your whole body tingle. You could feel the outline of the head. It overwhelmed you with a level of arousal you never knew was possible.

-

"I think I should go to sleep," you said. It came out as a whisper

"Want me to tuck you in?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye, wrapping you in a hug. It was tempting. You suspected he meant more than that. Maybe he'd even stay over. You hated to see him go. It would be a jolting contrast to be all alone in this big house on all this land, not knowing when he might come back. But you couldn't bring yourself to say yes. It was something in your gut.

"Not tonight," you said.

Joel looked in your eyes and studied your face thoughtfully, then brushed your cheek. "Ok baby," he said. "Not tonight." He kissed your cheek. Feelin' a lil better though?"

"Yeah," you said. At least your mind was off things. You stood up and fidgeted with your hands behind your back.

He put his hands on his knees and stood up with a groan. You tried not to stare at the major protrusion in his jeans. He hugged you tight, and when you felt him from the front, it took your breath away.

"Why don’t you come by this week? We can go for a walk, pick some fruit. Trees are lookin’ real pretty.”

“Okay,” you said.

"Night, peaches." He kissed you on the cheek.

He left the whiskey there, but you wouldn't touch it without him.

-

You felt like you were aging a year a minute that night. Adults did these things. Even teenagers did these things. You were embarrassed to be several years into adulthood with no experience, no idea what you were doing. You were so far behind. You thought about Bill and Frank's attempt at "the Talk" – how precious you were and that you could love anyone, but needed to protect yourself. Especially from men. Joel seemed like the protector. Not someone you'd need protection from.

It was all happening so fast after years of nothing. You worried that if you didn't slow down, you'd miss it.

-

PART 2

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! It's really motivating to me and means the world 🖤

While you're waiting for the next part, consider catching up on my series that just wrapped (different story, Joel, & AU): Silence can never be bought, only rented.

-

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Lincoln tag list: @fan-fiction-floozy @ivyblxnde @lhymer1995 @sugarspiceanthrax @isimpforfictionalmen @zynbsblog @swedishscumfuck @sadgirlstoohightocare @steveharringtonswh0re @skythighs @aoziety @leeeesahhh @jupitersmoon-cal @peekymoon @dtfawn @pedrosbabygirl @shotgun-shelby @romanarose @reader-without-a-story @shewantstoknow @jaxxiepup @yvonneeeee @elvinaa @internetobssesed1234-blog @jbcalway

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxiousus @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime  @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore

[correlance]

Paradise Lost: How John Milton's 1667 work influenced "Hazbin Hotel"

I've been thinking about why the "fruit of knowledge" in Hazbin Hotel is depicted as an apple, as opposed to another fruit that would've been more accurate to the Middle East during the Fall of Man, as well as how Paradise Lost by John Milton (1667) influenced the show.

Per one source:

"Because the Hebrew Bible describes the forbidden fruit only as 'peri', the term for general fruit, no one knows [what exactly type of fruit it was]. It could be a fruit that doesn't exist anymore. Historians have speculated it may have been any one of these fruits: pomegranate, mango, fig, grapes, etrog or citron, carob, pear, quince, or mushroom."

Per Wikipedia:

"The pseudepigraphic Book of Enoch describes the tree of knowledge: 'It was like a species of the Tamarind tree, bearing fruit which resembled grapes extremely fine; and its fragrance extended to a considerable distance. I exclaimed, How beautiful is this tree, and how delightful is its appearance!' (1 Enoch 31:4)."

In Jewish and Islamic traditions, the "fruit of knowledge" is commonly identified with grapes. The Zohar explains that Noah attempted (but failed) to rectify the sin of Adam by using grape wine for holy purposes. Today, the "Noah grape" is still used to make white wine.

Furthermore:

"The association of the pomegranate with knowledge of the underworld as provided in the Ancient Greek legend of Hades and Persephone may also have given rise to an association with knowledge of the 'otherworld', tying-in with knowledge that is forbidden to mortals. It is also believed Hades offered Persephone a pomegranate to force her to stay with him in the underworld for 6 months of the year. Hades is the Greek god of the underworld, and the Bible states that whoever eats the forbidden fruit shall die."

So, how then did the apple become the foremost symbol of the "fruit of knowledge"? You can partly thank Paradise Lost by English poet John Milton, a work which the lore of Hazbin Hotel is based off of.

Milton published the book in 1667, a time when the hedonistic Restoration era was in full swing. The exiled King Charles II was restored to the throne as King of England in 1660, and was a party animal, with dozens of mistresses, and nicknamed both the "playboy prince" and "Old Rowley", the latter after his favorite lustful stallion.

However, the association of the "fruit of knowledge" began with a Latin pun long before Milton immortalized the association in Paradise Lost. Per the linked article above by Nina Martyris for NPR:

"In order to explain, we have to go all the way back to the fourth century A.D., when Pope Damasus ordered his leading scholar of scripture, Jerome, to translate the Hebrew Bible into Latin. Jerome's path-breaking, 15-year project, which resulted in the canonical 'Vulgate', used the Latin spoken by the common man. As it turned out, the Latin words for evil and apple are the same: 'malus'.

[...] When Jerome was translating the 'Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil', the word 'malus' snaked in. A brilliant but controversial theologian, Jerome was known for his hot temper, but he obviously also had a rather cool sense of humor.

'Jerome had several options,' says Robert Appelbaum, a professor of English literature at Sweden's Uppsala University. 'But he hit upon the idea of translating 'peri' as 'malus', which in Latin has two very different meanings. As an adjective, 'malus' means 'bad' or 'evil'. As a noun it seems to mean an apple, in our own sense of the word, coming from the very common tree now known officially as the 'Malus pumila'. So Jerome came up with a very good pun.'

The story doesn't end there. 'To complicate things even more,' says Appelbaum, 'the word 'malus' in Jerome's time, and for a long time after, could refer to any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. A pear was a kind of 'malus'. So was the fig, the peach, and so forth.'

Which explains why Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel fresco features a serpent coiled around a fig tree. But the apple began to dominate Fall artworks in Europe after the German artist Albrecht Dürer's famous 1504 engraving depicted the First Couple counterpoised beside an apple tree. It became a template for future artists such as Lucas Cranach the Elder, whose luminous Adam and Eve painting is hung with apples that glow like rubies.

Milton, then, was only following cultural tradition. But he was a renowned Cambridge intellectual fluent in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, who served as secretary for foreign tongues to Oliver Cromwell during the Commonwealth. If anyone was aware of the 'malus' pun, it would be him, and yet he chose to run it with it. Why?

Appelbaum says that Milton's use of the term 'apple' was ambiguous. 'Even in Milton's time the word had two meanings: either what was our common apple, or, again, any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. Milton probably had in mind an ambiguously named object with a variety of connotations as well as denotations, most but not all of them associating the idea of the apple with a kind of innocence, though also with a kind of intoxication, since hard apple cider was a common English drink.'

It was only later readers of Milton, says Appelbaum, who thought of 'apple' as 'apple', and not any seed-bearing fruit. For them, the forbidden fruit became synonymous with the 'malus pumila'. As a widely read canonical work, 'Paradise Lost' was influential in cementing the role of apple in the Fall of Man story."

To tie this back into John Milton's relationship with King Charles II of England, as mentioned, Milton originally served Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, and the English Commonwealth, which was formed with the overthrow and execution of King Charles I on 30 January 1649, following the bloody English Civil War (1642 – 1651).

The King's two sons - the newly-christened King Charles II, the elder, and James, Duke of York (King James II), the younger - fled into exile on the European continent. However, with the death of Oliver Cromwell on 3 September 1658 came the 2-year-long dissolution of the English Commonwealth, and the restoration of the monarchy.

As for Milton himself, we can look to an article by Bill Potter.

Milton, born on 9 December 1608, was around 51-52 years old when King Charles II was restored to the throne. He attended Christ's Church, Cambridge in his youth, and mastered at least six languages, as well as history and philosophy; making him, perhaps, the most knowledgeable poet in history. He spent more than a year travelling across Europe, conversing with and learning from intellectuals, linguists, poets, and artists, including the famous Galileo Galilei.

However, Milton was a controversial figure of his time, being unafraid to criticize institutions of authority; arguing that "divorce was Biblical", for which he was routinely condemned; joining the Puritans; penning the Areopagitica, a treatise on liberty in favor of Parliament and the Roundhead rebels, during the reign of King Charles I, arguing that the King must be held accountable by the people; and agreed with and justified the murder of King Charles I, for which Parliament hired him in 1649 as a propagandist and correspondence secretary to foreign powers, on account of his fiery manifestos against "the man".

The collapse of the Commonwealth with the death of Oliver Cromwell in 1658 did not deter Milton from continued political writing against the monarchy and the new public sentiment that brought about its Restoration under King Charles II in 1660. On the contrary, Milton - now totally blind, having lost his eyesight by the age of 44 in 1652, a decade earlier - began writing Paradise Lost in 1661, and spent the next six years dictating the work to transcribers.

A supporter of regicide, Milton was also forced into exile himself, and faked his own death, as Charles refused to pardon - and sought to execute - any of those directly involved with his father's murder. Milton's friends held a mock funeral for Milton on 27 August 1660, just months after the coronation of King Charles II on 23 April 1660.

King Charles II commented that he "applauded his [Milton's] policy in escaping the punishment of death [execution for treason] by a reasonable show of dying", but insisted on a public spectacle nonetheless by having Milton's writings burned by the public hangman.

After eventually obtaining a general pardon from King Charles II, Milton was imprisoned, and released, likely due to political friends in high places. He died, aged 64, in 1674. His theological views were sometimes considered heterodox by the best Puritans, and his political views came close to getting him executed on several occasions. His poetry, however, has endured as some of the greatest works in the English language, especially Paradise Lost; much of his greatest work was written during his 22 years of complete blindness.

One of the main factors in King Charles II deciding to grant a pardon to Milton was, ironically, Paradise Lost. While originally written by Milton as a scathing criticism of King Charles II and the monarchy - depicting Lucifer Morningstar as a sympathetic rebel against God, with King Charles II claiming that is right to rule came from "divine ordainment" - Charles II enjoyed the work, and authorized its publication on 20 August 1667. We know this because a 1668 copy of Paradise Lost in royal bindings by Samuel Mearne, bound lovingly in a fine red leather made of goat skins tanned with sumac, and stamped in gold with the royal cypher of King Charles II, was found. The endpapers bore a watermark with the royal arms of Charles II.

Per one Miltonian scholar: "The most single important event in Milton's life was the event against which he struggled most: the Restoration of Charles II, [and his relationship with the King]. Had it not come, we might have never had Paradise Lost...certainly, we should never have had [it] in [its] present power and significance."

Milton followed up Paradise Lost with Paradise Regained in 1671, three years before his death, with advice for King Charles II, urging the hedonistic Charles to "reign over himself and his passions":

"For therein stands the office of a King, His Honour, Vertue, Merit and chief Praise, That for the Publick all this weight he bears. Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules Passions, Desires, and Fears, is more a King; Which every wise and vertuous man attains: And who attains not, ill aspires to rule Cities of men, or head-strong Multitudes, Subject himself to Anarchy within, Or lawless passions in him which he serves." - John Milton, Paradise Regained, Book II, lines 463-472

To summarize: "If we must have a King back again, my Lord, please try to be a good man, unlike your father, who fell to his pride, [which was also the downfall of Lucifer]."

To quote another source: "Though the passage begins by noting that the office of a King is to bear the weight of public concerns, it is the control of one's private concerns that truly set a King apart as a virtuous character. Indeed, so important is self-command that any wise or virtuous man who attains it is like a king; any king who does not practice [self-command] is nothing more than a mere subject, ruled by anarchy and lawlessness."

Milton's words, too, echo a work written by Charles' grandfather, King James VI/I of Scotland and England: Basilikon Doron ("Royal Gift").

Per Wikipedia:

"'Basilikon Doron' (Βασιλικὸν Δῶρον) means 'royal gift' in Ancient Greek, and was written in the form of a private letter to James' eldest son, Henry, Duke of Rothesay (1594–1612). After Henry's death, James gave it to his second son, Charles, born 1600, later King Charles I. Seven copies were printed in Edinburgh in 1599, and it was republished in London in 1603, when it sold in the thousands.

This document is separated into three books, serving as general guidelines to follow to be an efficient monarch. The first describes a king's duty towards God as a Christian. The second focuses on the roles and responsibilities in office. The third concerns proper behaviour in daily life.

As the first part is concerned with being a good Christian, James instructed his son to love and respect God as well as to fear Him. Furthermore, it is essential to carefully study the Scripture (the Bible) and especially specific books in both the Old and New Testaments. Lastly, he must pray often and always be thankful for what God has given him.

In the second book, James encouraged his son to be a good king, as opposed to a tyrant, by establishing and executing laws as well as governing with justice and equality, such as by boosting the economy. The final portion of the Basilikon Doron focuses on the daily life of a monarch.

All of these guidelines composed an underlying code of conduct to be followed by all monarchs and heads of state to rule and govern efficiently. James assembled these directions as a result of his own experience and upbringing. He, therefore, offered the 'Basilikon Doron' ('Royal Gift') to his son, with the hope of rendering him a capable ruler, and perhaps to pass it down to future generations.

Overall, it repeats the argument for the divine right of kings, as set out in 'The True Law of Free Monarchies', which was also written by James. It warns against 'Papists' (Roman Catholics) and derides Puritans, in keeping with his philosophy of following a 'middle path', which is also reflected in the preface to the 1611 King James Bible. It also advocates removing the Apocrypha from the Bible."

King James VI/I further instructed his son and grandson:

"A good monarch must be well acquainted with his subjects, and so it would be wise to visit each of the kingdoms every three years."

"During war or armed conflict, he should choose old-but-good captains to lead an army of young and agile soldiers."

"In the court and the household, [a royal] should carefully select loyal gentlemen and servants to surround him. When the time came to choose a wife, it would be best if she were of the same religion and had a generous estate. However, she must not meddle with governmental politics, but perform her domestic duties."

"As for inheritance, to ensure stability, the kingdom should be left to the eldest son, not divided among all children."

"Lastly, it is most important...that [a royal] would know well his own craft...to properly govern over his subjects. To do so, [one] must study the laws of the kingdom, and actively participate in the council. Furthermore, [one] must be acquainted with mathematics for military purposes, and world history for foreign policy."

"[A royal] must also not drink and sleep excessively. His wardrobe should always be clean and proper, and he must never let his hair and nails grow long. In his writing and speech, he should use honest and plain language."

King James VI/I further supplemented Basilikon Doron with a written treatise titled The True Law of Free Monarchies: Or, The Reciprocal and Mutual Duty Between a Free King and His Natural Subjects.

"It is believed King James VI/I wrote the tract to set forth his idea of absolutist monarchism in clear contrast to the contractarian views espoused by, among others, James' tutor George Buchanan (in 'De Jure Regni apud Scotos'), [which] held the idea that monarchs rule in accordance of some sort of social contract with their people. James saw the divine right of kings as an extension of the apostolic succession, as both not being subjected by humanly laws."

Milton's own Areopagitica was a follow-up on De Jure Regni apid Scotos by George Buchanan, and also to The True Law of Free Monarchies, as well as the idea of the "divine right of kings". It takes its title in part from Areopagitikos (Greek: Ἀρεοπαγιτικός), a speech written by Athenian orator Isocrates in the 4th century BC.

Most importantly, Milton also wrote on the concept of free will: "Milton's ideas were ahead of his time in the sense that he anticipated the arguments of later advocates of freedom of the press by relating the concept of free will, and choice to individual expression and right."

The concept of free will, too, was a major topic explored in Paradise Lost. Per one source: "In 'Paradise Lost', Milton argues that though God foresaw the Fall of Man, he still didn't influence Adam and Eve's free will. [...] God specifically says that he gives his creatures the option to serve or disobey, as he wants obedience that is freely given [or chosen], not forced. Some critics have claimed that the God of the poem undercuts his own arguments; however, Milton did not believe in the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination' (that God has already decided who is going to Hell and who to Heaven), but he often comes close to describing a Calvinistic God. God purposefully lets Lucifer (Satan) escape Hell, and sneak past Uriel into the Garden of Eden, and basically orchestrates the whole situation so that humanity can be easily ruined by a single disobedient act. In describing the Fall of Man before it happens, God already predicts how he will remedy it, and give greater glory to himself by sending his Son [Jesus Christ] to die, and restore the order of Heaven."

In Hazbin Hotel, Adam also describes the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination', and that "the rules are black and white":

However, "This possible predestination leads to the theory of the 'fortunate fall', which is based on Adam's delight at learning of the eventual coming of the Messiah [from his bloodline]. This idea says that God allowed the Fall of Man, so that he could bring good out of it, possibly more good than would have occurred without the Fall, and be able to show his love and power through the incarnation of his Son. In this way, the free will of Adam and Eve (and Lucifer/Satan) remains basically free, but still fits into God's overarching plan."

However, there is one major flaw with this, and that is that we don't know if Jesus Christ exists within the Hazbin Hotel universe or not. Yet Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith, and the "Princess of Hell", is depicted as a savior-esque figure within the show who, like God in Paradise Lost, encourages lowly sinners to choose obedience to God out of their own free will. More interestingly, Charlie does not come from Adam's bloodline; yet, while Lucifer decries 'free will', Charlie supports 'free will' instead.

Perhaps is is merely because Charlie, being the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, claims to want to fulfill Lilith's "dream" of humanity being empowered in Hell ("The mind is its own place, it can make Heaven out of Hell, or Hell out of Heaven" - Lucifer, Paradise Lost); however, I think it also stems from Charlie having a genuine belief that 'free will', and people choosing to do good instead of evil, is "good" and "Godly".

True to Paradise Lost, this is also in fulfillment of God's plan; and, according to one fanfiction, why God allowed Charlie to be born to Lucifer and Lilith, so that sinners may be redeemed through Charlie.

For more on differing interpretations of 'free will', I suggest reading: "Free Will and the Diminishing Importance of God's Will: A Study of Paradise Lost and Supernatural" by Kimberly Batchelor (2016)

Excerpt: "'Paradise Lost' –and Milton’s purpose for writing the poem— is rooted deeply in postreformation Arminianism and this is apparent in its employment of free will. Chapter 1 argues that Milton turns to free will as a tool to justify the actions of God. Freedom of choice is God-given, and sets up a morality in which right and wrong are dictated by God. Chapter 2 shows that in 'Supernatural', free will is not given by a higher power; and, in fact, free choice functions as an act of defiance against God's will."

This raises the question: Is 'free will' given by God, using Lucifer as his vessel, in Hazbin Hotel, as in Paradise Lost? Or is 'free will' not given by a higher power; and, in fact, an act of defiance against God?

This brings us back around to our first question: Why is an apple, or 'malus', used to depict the "fruit of knowledge", especially if 'malus' means 'bad or evil', whereas Milton depicts 'free will' as God-given?

Well, for one, Lucifer still chooses to associate himself with apple symbolism and imagery, despite being skeptical of free will:

Based on the introduction to Episode 1, Charlie also views 'free will' as a gift (Miltonian), whereas Lucifer appears to view it as a curse.

However, Charlie also notes that it was through the 'gift' of free will that the "root of all evil" entered the world, for if mankind could choose to be good, then they could also choose to be evil ('malus').

John Milton states in Paradise Lost: "Of Man's First Disobedience, and the Fruit Of that Forbidden Tree [malus], whose mortal taste Brought Death (evil, malus) into the World, and all our woe."

Thus, the use of an apple specifically is likely a tie-in to what others have been speculating about a character that series creator Vivienne Medrano (Vivziepop) alluded to a while back: "The Root of All Evil".

However, "Roo" itself is depicted as possessing the body of a human woman, presumably Eve, the first one to eat the "fruit of knowledge":

Thus, we can discern that "Malus" likely refers to this character. (Also see: "Maleficent", a name that also uses the root word "mal", "evil".) As for Roo's intentions, if Charlie is "good" - and, if, in fact, Alastor was sent by "Roo" (Eve) - then they may want for Alastor to work on their behalf to "corrupt" Charlie, or make sure the hotel never succeeds.

This is because demonic power is tied to human souls, and there are "millions of souls" in Hell, which likely fuels the great power of "Roo". The more souls there are in Hell, the more powerful "Roo" becomes. The Overlords also get their demonic power from "millions of souls".

The deal between Eve and "Roo" might even be the first contract, or deal, between a human soul and a demonic entity; in exchange for 'free will', and the knowledge of good and evil, Eve allowed the "Root of All Evil" to inhabit her body, and to escape the void or prison it was confined to by Heaven (Hell?). (For one cannot be 'all-good' unless you attempt to 'eliminate' or 'ablate' evil; and, in Greek mythology, Zeus imprisoned the Titans in Tartarus for all of their evil deeds.)

Another possibility, brought up in an article by Gillian Osborne, is that Lucifer sees the "fruit of knowledge" as an apple, but it may appear as different fruits to different people, depending on how they view it. This also fits with Lucifer and angels being able to easily shapeshift.

In Paradise Lost, only Lucifer describes the fruit as an "apple" (malus), as he associates malus with "bad, evil", while the narrator also describes the fruit as "a mix of different colors" and peach-like. This then begs the question: "Did the fruit of knowledge of good and evil become 'evil' because Eve harbored resentment towards Adam?"

Quote: "Lucifer (Satan) gives Eve yet another hint that this tree may be more complicated than he wishes her to believe: although elsewhere in Milton's poem Eden is heady with its own newness, sprouting spring flowers left and right, the tree of knowledge is already old: its trunk is 'mossie'. Nevertheless, Lucifer claims to wind himself around the tree 'soon'; the quickness of his reported arrival stands in contrast to the timescales required to cover a fruit tree with moss (PL 9.589). Placing Lucifer's winding body between these two timescales—an easeful present and the inhuman scale of natural history—Milton suggests that there is something dangerous in entangling the past with the present. Yet, 'Paradise Lost' also makes deep biblical history feel like present politics for its readers. When Adam and Eve wander out of Eden at the end of the poem, they famously make their way not only into an earthly paradise, but also into the present. Eden's mossy apple tree therefore represents the pitfalls of conflating nature and history, of seeing any action in human history—even Eve's eating of an apple—as natural, if by nature, we mean inevitability. For Milton, history, unlike nature, is directed by humans, progressive, and, like the reading of 'Paradise Lost', hard work. While trees may inevitably collect moss the longer they live, Adam and Eve's labors in the garden, and our labors of reading, require agency and effort. Milton's poem refuses mourning the loss of Eden, [and the perfection of Heaven], in favor of a perpetual, melancholic, recreation of paradise: a present perfecting."

To quote Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier, which also draws inspiration from John Milton's Paradise Lost: "It's an unfortunate situation...but you do have a choice [i.e. free will]."

[xxhispieceofheavenxx]

All is peachy || Regulus Black

Summary: After spending the summer hooking up with his brother's best friend, Regulus convinces himself she only wants him because she can't have Sirius. Or where Regulus masturbates with a peach but he is sad while doing so. (basically, the peach scene from call me by your name)

CW: slight angst to fluff, smut, male masturbation, oral sex (male receiving), self-dought, French!Regulus, French!Sirius, fem!reader. Let me know If I missed something.

Word count: 2.9k words

Hiii! I'm back with a Regulus one-shot. I had this in the back of my mind for a while now and I'm so glad I could write it down. I said that this fic wouldn't take me long, and it didn't because I've been writing it nonstop, but it's still the longest story I've written. With that being said I hope you enjoy it!

Request are open

Masterlist

The loud laughter makes his eyes roll as his mouth puffs out a breath. Sirius' voice is boisterous while joking around with his cousins Juliette, Lèon and Manon. It usually wouldn't bother him as much as it does today, but among his family, he can hear the sweet laughter that's been plaguing his mind for the entirety of the summer.

She's waist-deep in the water, squinted eyes as Sirius continues splashing water around the group. The sun shines bright, making her hair and skin look even more lively than usual. He should join them; the heat is almost unbearable even as he sits under the shadow of a big tree, pretending to read his worn-out copy of Moby Dick. He should be in the water enjoying his summer, but he can't, not when she's there, looking even more beautiful than he remembers ever seeing her. She's wearing a flowery bikini, her skin looking darker thanks to the sun.

When this summer started, Regulus never thought he would be in a situation like this; when Sirius told him he had invited a friend to spend the holiday with them at their summer manor in the South of France, he never thought he would end up falling for her. She was the loveliest from the moment she entered their house, even making his usually stern parents smile and comment about how Sirius had finally found a friend worth their time. It was hard not loving her sweet voice and laughter, the smell of her hair while she flung it over her shoulder, talking animatedly with his cousin Juliette, easy to make friends when they arrived at the holiday manor. He never thought he would have a chance with a woman so bright she could face the sun and still shine more, not him, not his gloomy face and grey eyes. But he was wrong about that again, and only a week into the summer, Regulus found himself kissing the woman of his dreams.

They had been drinking outside, near the lake, where they were swimming now. Regulus had gotten up to find more drinks when she, always the enthusiastic helper, offered to help him carry them back. Unsure how it happened, they were kissing in the wine cellar. Her body pushed against a wall, her legs around his waist, her finger tangled in his hair. Regulus thought it had all been a dream when he woke up with a killer headache. It became clear it wasn't when she tentatively pressed a hand to his back and gave him a knowing smile during breakfast, the kind that holds a secret only they share.

The next few weeks were spent sneaking around, tasting each other and enjoying furtive glances and touches. That was until Regulus decided she couldn't like a guy like him, not when she had Sirius around, the extrovert, the funny and witty brother. Why would she choose him over Sirius when he was everything his brother wasn't? Introverted, quiet, nose always stuck in a book, never able to defend himself or speak his mind, always afraid about what he could do wrong. That's why he has spent the last week making up excuses, looking the other way when her eyes tried to find his.

Giving up on distracting himself with his book, he closes it and gets up. Quick steps guide him inside the kitchen where house elves are busy prepping for dinner; out of the corner of his eye, he sees a basket full of ripe peaches and quickly grabs two, taking them upstairs to his room.

Tossing the book on his bed, he grabs the bottom of his flowy linen shirt and places a peach on his nightstand. He takes it off, allowing the cloth to fall to the floor. He lays down and starts taking the pit out of the peach in his hand. The sweet juice runs down his fingers all the way to his wrist; he manages to lick them up before the dops reach the bedding. Regulus grabs his book once more and becomes determined to get the girl out of his mind. He opens it on the marked page and aggressively chomps down on the peach.

After rereading the same line over ten times and finishing his peach, he accepts defeat. Closing the book, he places it on his nightstand and lays back, looking at the ceiling like it is about to give him the answer to stop his despair. He thought he had a chance, he really did, but that was just plain wishful thinking. He had seen himself as lucky all those times she had allowed him a taste of her lips or allowed him in her bed. But of course, it was just a distraction for her, so she wouldn't have to face Sirius' escapees alone. He knew it was all too good to be true. His brother was always the desired; he was the oldest, the more handsome, the charismatic and witty. He was still the same brother that had invited her and then left her alone with his family to meet his multiple summer affairs, leaving her to try and console herself with always-number-two Regulus. 

He blames himself for even thinking that her touches were ever directed at him. Even if they were on his skin, he knows that in her mind there was only one man, and it wasn't him. All her kisses, caresses, moans and whispers weren't for him. 

Groaning, Regulus looks down at the tent that formed in his summer shorts. Which had been happening a lot more often; whenever he remembers her and their endeavours. His hand had started failing him as well, no longer giving him enough pleasure. But after feeling how soft, wet and warm her cunt was all summer, it isn't a surprise. Another sight leaves his lips when he reaches for the forgotten peach by his bedside. Closing his eyes, he rolls the peach between his fingers. The soft skin reminds him of her, extra soft, after applying sunscreen all summer. 

Regulus opens his eyes slightly, focusing his sight on the peach in his hands. His index finger starts gently caressing where the stem used to be, softly feeling the curves of the fruit. His breathing becomes slightly ragged as his thoughts continue to flow. No, he can't do that; it would be weird. Shaking his head, he stabs the top of the peach with his thumb, juices falling all over his chest and abdomen. He is quick to gather them with his fingers and lick them clean. He finally gets the pit out and sucks on it, getting as much of the flesh as he can, then he rolls it between his fingers and chucks it across the room, still upset at his thoughts.

Regulus hitches himself higher up, allowing his back to rest on the pillows. Tentatively, he brings the peach into his mouth, sucking the flesh exposed in the hole he left after taking the pit out. He nibbles and lets his tongue roam around the hole, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, only one thing on his mind. He can't help but compare her to the fruit, sweet and soft, juices wetting his lips and face as he explores it with his mouth.

He opens his eyes, knowing that he has lost the battle with his thoughts. Regulus lets one of his hands tread slowly down his body to the button of his shorts; his other brings the fruit into his underwear. Regulus bites back a moan, letting air out his nose, and pushes into the hole. He lets his eyes close again, feeling the sensations; how wet it is, how if he squishes it just a little bit, it feels like her cunt fluttering around him. Her face is clear behind his closed lids, mouth slightly open with pleasure, no noises coming out of her with how much he was making her feel. It doesn't take much more than that image to release, his semen filling the fruit in his hand. 

Disgusted with his actions, he quickly places the peach on his nightstand. He casts a quick glance as his cum drips in a long, slow drop down one side and turns his back to it, ready to forget about what he has done.

Hours later, the bright sun is much duller coming in through the window. Soft steps pad through his bedroom floor until they reach the edge of his bed. A smile touches her lips as she watches Regulus lie asleep on his sheets, slack jaw, eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. She sits on the mattress, careful not to wake him up and laces her finger to his soft curls. She bends over, letting her lips place kisses all over Regulus' naked chest.

His eyes flutter open, dazed, as he watches her kiss down his abdomen, all the way to his unbuttoned shorts. Her hand reaches down, pulling his semi-hard dick out and placing it in her mouth. He sighs and looks as her face scrunches up in shock.

"What did you do?"

That is enough to fully wake him up, realising this is not a dream and she is currently inside his room sucking him off.

"Nothing." His all-too-fast answer is enough to make her look around his room, not taking long to find the peach on his nightstand.

"Oh, wow..." she says as she reaches over him for the fruit.

"Stop." Regulus sits up and tries to get it out of her grasp.

"What? No, this is very interesting." A grin takes over her face as she chuckles.

"It's nasty."

"Yes, it is." Her smile grows. She sticks her tongue out, trying to get the drop that fell off the side.

"Stop, don't do that." Regulus tries to take the fruit away again, but she quickly avoids his hand. "Seriously, stop." His hand misses hers a third time, and she tries to lick his cum off the peach again. "Just stop, please." A sob escapes his body suddenly, tears start streaming down his face.

"Reggie, what...?" Her words get lost as he bends over her, hiding his face on her lap. "What's wrong?" Her fingers tangle on his hair again, helping her concerned voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm..." He raises his head and wipes furiously at his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry." She lets the peach down on his other nightstand, the closest to her. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was only joking." Her concerned eyes look for his.

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry." His eyes refuse to meet hers.

"Reggie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, don't worry." He sniffs and tries to get up. She grabs his wrist, making him look at her, a surprised expression on his face.

"Something is clearly wrong. Talk to me." Her gentle voice makes tears prick his eyes again. He lays back down, letting his arm cover his eyes so she cannot see them.

"I just,... I don't know." She lays down, placing her head on his shoulder, humming, letting him know he can continue. "I..., why are we doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Kissing, making out, having sex." His arm falls down, and he stares at his ceiling once again, refusing to look at the woman on his shoulder whose eyes are boring into his face.

"You don't like it?" She whispers, voice unsure.

"I do, but do you?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't do it if I didn't." That makes him turn his face to her.

"Do you just like the sex?" The commissures of his lips go down, threatening new tears. "Because I'm sure you can find sex somewhere else."

"What?" Her eyes search into his, hoping they will give her an answer.

"If what you enjoy is the sex, I'm sure you can find someone that is not your crush's little brother to give it to you." His voice turns slightly venomous at his words. He can't believe she is making him spell it out for her. He had enough humiliation as it is; allowing her in, thinking that he was enough for her, only to realize Sirius was the one she wanted and couldn't have.

"Wait, wow, wow, wow." She sits up, her arms moving defensively in front of her. "What are you talking about?"

His brow furrows, and he sits up on the bed as well. "You have a crush on Sirius."

"Ew, what the fuck?" She makes a disgusted expression. "Who the fuck told you that?"

"I, hm... no one?" 

"Why do you think I like Sirius?"

"Because... everyone does." He looks as confused as her, not understanding her disgust and shock at the revelation.

"Who the fuck is everyone? Reggie, why would I have sex with you if I wanted Sirius?" Her frown deepens.

His mouth relaxes open, confused sound spill out while his eyes look around the room, trying to find an answer. She doesn't...? But all those looks she sent Sirius' way, they coy smiles and jokes between them. They had to be more, hadn't they? "I..., you're not having sex with me because Sirius isn't interested?"

Her mouth gapes open. "What? No." The disgust returns to her features. "I mean, I love your brother, he's one of my best friends, but he is the sluttiest man on Earth. I'd only have to ask him, and he'd be dropping his pants in a second."

Unsure eyes look at her.

"Reggie," She says softly, her hands cupping his cheeks. "I like you, not just the sex, not just the kisses. You. I like you." His eyes shine with tears as he looks at her, looking for a hint of a lie.

"I just came inside a peach." Is all he can muster out after a moment of silence. Her laughter erupts in his ears.

"Yeah, you did." She finally says in between giggles. "It was sexy." More laughter leaves her, and he smiles, unable to stop himself from how happy she sounds.

"It was?"

"Yeah," She finally breathes. "It made you taste sweet." Her fingers dance on his thigh, making their way up his stomach. She caresses where the juices from the peach fell, where she had been kissing him moments ago.

"Oh..."

"Oh indeed." She looks at him with a rueful smile. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I know." His hand grabs her, stopping her caresses, and he brings it to his mouth, placing a kiss on her palm.

"You know, normally, when someone confesses their feeling for you is polite to let them know if you feel the same way or not." She says, her voice tentative.

His eyes widen, and he looks up at her, her hand still over his lips. "I like you, yes, of course, I do." His rushed words make her smile. "I'm sorry, I'm not good at feelings."

Her other hand reaches his cheek. "It's okay. We'll learn; together. I just need you to talk to me, please." His hand cups the one on his cheek. "I knew something was weird this past week, but you didn't talk to me."

"I know. I'm sorry. I tend to get in my head and not talk with people when I think something is wrong."

"Just promise you'll talk to me next time, no matter what it is." Her sad eyes are all he needs to kiss her.

"I promise." He breathes once they break apart. His hands make their way from her cheeks to her waist. "I'm sorry." Is all he whispers while he lays her down, their lips locked.

"Reggie." She breaks the kiss as her head hits the mattress. "I'd love to, but I came up here to tell you dinner is ready, and you need to come down." His forehead touches hers.

"You were the one that started blowing me."

"Oops?" His stern eyes look into hers, making her giggle. "We can do whatever you want after dinner, I promise."

"You'll finish what you started?"

"Only if you do the peach thing again." He groans, his head going back and then falling on her shoulder.

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Nope." She over-exaggerates the pop sound and softly pushes him off her. "Come on, put your shirt on. I don't want your parents sending anyone to check on us."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs and walking past the archway, they walk into the dining room, where everyone is waiting for them.

"Look who finally decided to join us." Leon's words are accentuated by his french accent.

"Sorry." Regulus quickly apologises, sitting down on one of the free chairs. He reaches for his glass of water as a house elve starts pilling food on his plate.

"Is everything okay?" Orion asks as he sips his wine.

"Yeah, you guys took so long to come downstairs." Sirius pipes up.

"All is peachy." Her cheery voice makes Regulus choke on his sip of water. Eyes look at him as he tries not to cough out a lung. "He fell asleep, took me a bit to get him up."

"Oh, you're still cranky when you wake up, Reg." Manon's teasing voice says.

"Yes, I guess." His cheeks are red as he prays nobody has realized the actual situation. Regulus' eyes have a glint in them, one that she recognises. She grins at him, fully knowing she's in for a lot tonight.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Just imagining, in a world where Wukogn wasn't immediately trapped in the scroll of memory after Azure freed the rest of the Brotherhood, he'd have some things to say. I'm thinking TMKATI au post Wu is Wikong reveal

Wu: MK... who helped you get me out of there?

MK: Oh, this only friend of yours. Called himself the Azure Lion?

Wu, immediately going pale as a ghost: Azure Lion!? MK, please tell me you didn't listen to him or make any deals!

Pigsy: What? Why would it be such a big deal? He's your friend isn't he?

Wu: Azure is anything but a friend! He's the reason I was trapped on the Furnace and under the Mountain to begin with, him and his rebellion!

Tang: Uh, what? But all the stories say it was because of the Havoc you caused!

Wu: The Peach Festival I crashed and ruined was hardly important enough for Heaven to do what they did to me, even with the pills and immortal peaches and wine I had stolen. It was just the catalyst. I was still a cub back then, a stupid, reckless cub who was impressionable enough to trust the wrong person. And then Azure had left me to take the fall for the rebellion he had started! Whatever you do, don't trust Azure!

Tang, taking in the implications: ...I'll kill him.

+Bonus:

Even if Azure did not realise it himself, he had built Wukong up in his mind to be the matyr of the Rebellion. And when Wukong surrendered, rather than die for it, Azure became convinced it was a great betrayal.

There's even hints of Macaque recognising/suspecting this sort of manipulation all the way back during their carefree Brotherhood days. There's a split second in "New Adventures" just after Azure convinces the others to make Wukong the leader of the rebellion, when Macaque is clearly unhappy/thinking about the situation. The only reason he doesn't speak out then and there is because Wukong seemed so sure of it. We see a similar look again just before they head out on their first attack.

And of course there's the memory Tang wanders into in "Court of the Yellow Robed Demon" thats very telling;

Peng: "Wukong is a traitor! He'll end us the first chance he gets!" Yellowtusk: "Yes. The Stone Monkey is unpredictable. Now he's thrown his lot in with the Celestial Host, there's no telling where his true allegiances lie." Peng: "You're characteristically quiet, Macaque!" Macaque: "I just think we should consider all our options before we—" Peng: "What's to consider? Wukong's made his choice. I say we strike him down now while we have the chance!"

The Trio are discussing attacking Wukong for aligning himself with "the Celestial Host" [i.e helping Tripitaka on the Journey so he can do parole] - the memory taking place within Camel Ridge.

Macaque's reaction brings up a super interesting twist to the story told in JTTW. Was the whole plan of disguising himself as Wukong and taking the scriptures not his own? Did the other three or an unknown villain working in the background insist he do so? Did he do it to stall Wukong so that his best friend/mate did not fall into a trap from the rest of the Brotherhood? Did Macaque die trying to give Wukong another option less the Monkey King risk being captured or worse at the hands of his former sworn brothers?

Macaque recognised that *something* was super wrong in how the Brotherhood treated Wukong, especially how Azure directed the situation. But being the same, barely-a-cub, age Wukong was at the time, Macaque wasn't sure/confident enough to speak out about it.

And ofc this whole thing with the Brotherhood would come to a boil in the TMKATI au when Macaque and Wukong are having their Big Fight.

Wukong/Wu had long since recognised that Azure was grooming/manipulating him for the fall, but isn't sure why he tried attacking him afterwards. Macaque is a bit proud in a "I told you so"-way and says that Azure had expected Wukong to *die* in the war as a matyr rather than live as a prisoner.

Wukong: "Why didn't you say anything!?" Macaque: "I was as young and stupid as you were! I only wanted to see you happy!" Wukong: "Oh yeah! Like you did when you left me under that mountain!" Macaque: "You weren't exactly grateful for the company at the time." Wukong: "Uh, need I remind you that before I was imprisoned, I had just spent 49 days being broiled alive!? I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. You could have atleast tried to visit me after a few years!" Macaque, uncharastically quiet: "I wanted to..." Wukong: "Huh?" Macaque: (*goes silent and leaves the room*) Wukong: "Wait! Mihou! What do you mean "you wanted" to!?"

note: Tang is accidentally privy to this convo cus he was in the stairwell when it started and got nosey. Then he kinda gets kidnapped by a baby bull demon before he can ramble his discovery to Pigsy and/or Sandy.

Wu gives the clipnote version of events to the gang as he's trying The Big Stupid, and they are horrified. The Monkey King, one of the most infamous tricksters in folkore, was ultimately a groomed teenager at the time of his punishment! And the Macaque was in the same boat, just more cautious...

When things are said and done - Wukong and Macaque go out of their way to tell their kids to always be wary of powerful people who put you on a pedestal. Perhaps not delving into their personal history (they are Normal Demon Parents™ afterall), but using the story of the Monkey King and his Brotherhood as an aesop. The Monkey King had many friends who thought he should lead them, but they shrunk away for whatever reasons when he chose to live and not die in heaven.

MK thinks its the saddest "superhero backstory" ever.

So when S4 of TMKATI comes about and the memory curse gets loose...

Azure Lion: "Ah, Monkie Kid-" MK:

Legit the only reason Azure is able to get away unscathed is because he's the only one who knows how the Scroll works and MK and the rest of the babus want their parents back.

Red Son is on standby (fire ready) outside the Scroll in case Azure tries some sh-t. But of course that doesn't last long.

Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy: (*released from the scroll. Sees Azure Lion*) All three: "YOU."

Then again this is all with the idea that someone else was additionally pulling the strings to ensure the demons downfall...

[the-karma-cafe]

Medium honor Arthur picks up character but it’s for a crime she didn’t do! Oh and outdoorsy love stuff

a/n: omg ok i dont know what you mean by outdoorsy love stuff is that SEX or is that FLUFF (im giving you both) thank you for the request !!

warnings: DID NOT PROOFREAD, sex (hell no !!!), spanking, he's a little mean but not really (as medium honor usually goes), mildly dubious consent

Warm | Arthur Morgan

It was the age-old story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I discovered Mrs. Braithwaite on the floor一thick, wine-red blood pooled beneath her chest一I’d barely had a second to react before one of her sons screamed, tackling me to the ground. His fingers were bruising against my arms, shaking me, asking what the fuck was the matter with me, telling me I’d fucking swing for this. 

I don’t even remember how I got away from him, slamming something into his skull and breaking free from that iron grip, leaping off the balcony without a second thought.

It was only miles away on one of their prized horses did it finally hit me that whatever case I’d had to defend myself with was long gone. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in Rhodes again一or really anywhere else一with a high-profile family like the Braithwaites on my ass.

I kept riding further north, hoping to put as much distance between me and that damn corpse as possible. Of all the people, it had to be her, and it had to be me. 

By the time I reached Valentine, I’d felt more sorry for myself than I had in a long time. Thanked my lucky stars I always kept my money on me and bought some supplies there to… well, live on the lam, I supposed. 

But for the first couple nights, I moped. Stayed in the saloon every morning and the hotel every night一not much else to do in a livestock town. 

When I felt a bit better, I sold the Braithwaite horse. It was big and proud and all sorts of attention-grabbing. I bought a different one一drab and small, but fast. 

Sooner than I thought, the news had travelled. A new bounty poster was slapped right on the wooden post outside the saloon, my sketchy reflection glaring back at me. MURDEROUS MAID. 

I pursed my lips. They could’ve spared me the alliteration.

Tore it down, stuffed it in my bag, and left town. Wouldn’t take long for a small town like Valentine to put two and two together. 

The bounty was nothing to sneeze at. I was almost flattered. Wanted alive, $500. I figured it’d take a lot to deter bounty hunters from $500, so I took to the mountains. It was likely just a matter of time, but by god was I going to make them work for it.

Now, here I was, having found some barn to hole up in, next to the remains of a torched homestead (I’d briefly picked through it and rescued a dented can of peaches and a lock box holding some fancy necklace). Would’ve preferred the house, but shelter was shelter. Peaches (affectionately named after said can) seemed to like it in here, at least.

“You want one, boy?” I held one out to where he sat a foot or so away from me. For only having just met me, he was a sweet horse, resting his head on my lap while I slept, following me around while I hunted (although I quickly found he loved to scare off game, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to just stay put, goddammit).

Peaches leaned his big head forward and sniffed at the proffered fruit. To my surprise, he snorted and turned away from it, flicking back his ears and giving me a severe side-eye. “What!” I laughed, bringing it back away from him. “Now you tell me.”

He huffed out of his nose, like it should have been quite obvious, thank you very much. I giggled and continued to eat, idly watching the flame flicker in one of the lanterns hung from the ceiling. 

I eventually drifted off to sleep, still not any closer to figuring out my future than I was a month ago.

The next morning, I ventured back into the wilderness to hunt. So far, I’d been a bit less successful than I’d hoped, but I had done well enough for myself. 

I breathed out slowly, my arm steadily following the movements of a buck a couple yards away. My breath puffed out white in front of me, warming my nose. This was the closest I’d ever gotten to game this big.

The buck lowered its head, nosing past the snow to the damp grass below. I kept my arrow aimed above, where I knew its head would return. A breath in. C’mon…

It raised its head, staring off to its right somewhere, and I stretched back the string, my grip still a bit wobbly against its force. Another breath out. 

A whisk of air whooshed over me, and I startled, releasing my grip on the arrow. It flew a couple feet away before planting headfirst into the snow. Something forcibly tightened around my torso, crushing my arms against my sides. What the hell?! I yelped in surprise and wobbled from my perch, falling backwards.

My head dented the snow behind me, sending it down my collar and into my hair, freezing my neck and ears. “Ahh!” I struggled against the coil around me, simultaneously flinching away from the cold now assaulting my warm skin.

Footsteps crunched over to me, and an upside-down face and chest soon came into view. He looked down at me with a pleased expression on his face, or at least it seemed like it, it was hard to tell behind that high collar and tipped hat. 

He rounded to my front and his gloved hands yanked at the rope, pulling me slightly up from the snow to face him better. He squinted at my face, now surely pinkened from the snow I could still see on my lashes. His chest rumbled with approval, and he nodded, more to himself than me. “Thought so.”

“What?” I exhaled, staring up at him dumbly. 

He cracked a smile, and this time I could tell. “The murderous maid, I take it?” 

My blood ran cold. Oh, fuck. I had almost forgotten, tucked away in this silent, snowy haven. 

Apparently my expression was all it took to confirm things for him. His smile turned to a smirk and he tugged at the rope, bringing me up to stand. I instinctively pushed away from him, but he held me firmly to him, his arms thick and strong (my god this man was big). He looped the rope around me again before tying it securely at my front. 

Then, he promptly threw me over his shoulder and began to walk. 

“Let me go!!” I thrashed from my perch, kicking at him. 

He growled and tightened his grip on my thighs. “Kick me again and I'll make you regret it, girl.”

A fearful whimper slipped past my lips and I stilled. 

“That’s what I thought,” he grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen. 

He whistled, loud and sharp, and I heard the familiar sound of hooves approaching. The image of Peaches by himself in the barn flitted through my head.

“Um, mister?” I whispered, my tone timid and polite. The tone I used to use with the Braithwaites. 

He heaved a sigh, annoyed with me. “What.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to anger him further. “My… my horse. He’s in a barn nearby, I don’t want him to be stuck up here all by himself.”

He didn’t respond to that. I grimaced. If I’d kept the Braithwaite horse at least he would’ve saved it to sell it一Peaches was likely barely worth the walk to a man like him.

His horse slowed to a stop nearby, and the man none-too-gently threw me over its back. I winced, feeling its butt dig into my stomach. 

The bounty hunter made quick work of me, tying my legs together and then securing me to his horse. He patted my thigh, “Comfy?” I could almost hear the smug look on his face.

“More ’n ever.” I grumbled, mostly to myself. He barked a laugh and pulled away from me, leaving me cold. He mounted up on his horse and began to ride.

I couldn’t see much from my “seat,” but I began to vaguely recognize the path he followed.

“Are you…” I started, my voice quiet. I turned my head to look up at him, and raised my voice. “Are you goin’ back for him?”

He didn’t answer, and made no move to indicate he had even heard me. 

Not wanting to push my luck (or Peaches’), I stayed quiet.

Sure enough, we reached that barn and he dismounted. When he returned, Peaches was in tow, neighing happily when he saw me.

I laughed brightly despite the situation. “Hey, boy!!” The bounty hunter released his reins and Peaches bounded up to me, nuzzling and snorting into my hair wetly. I giggled and tried to move my head away. “Oh my god, Peaches, gross.”

“Peaches?” the man echoed, a note of disbelief coloring his tone.

I turned and smiled up at him. “What?”

He shook his head, gesturing to the horse. “Ain’t he a boah?”

“So?” 

He snorted, but didn’t answer me, instead mounting back up on his horse. My smile faded from my face as we continued. My last days of freedom.

I stayed quiet as we rode, figuring that was the best way to get on his good side (I didn’t need to get smacked for yapping). The horse’s gait made me feel sick enough that I didn’t want to, anyway, its back poking into me, alternating between every corner of my stomach with each step.

Eventually, the snow began to taper off down the path, though a chill still hung in the air. I shivered, the back of my jacket still wet and cold against my neck. The sky was beginning to darken, subtly and colorlessly as winter skies often did. 

Wordlessly, the bounty hunter turned us off the path and into the trees, likely seeking some spot to set up camp for the night. Peaches followed dutifully behind us, although he seemed to have sobered a bit, as if sensing my discomfort. 

He must have found a spot he liked, as he dismounted and reached by my side for his tent and bedroll. He pulled them off and got to work setting everything up. 

I felt my eyelids droop, my body finally able to relax with the horse stopped. 

Not ten minutes later, I was jolted awake by hands grabbing me off of the horse and hoisting me up. I made a small noise of surprise in my throat, feeling him drop me back onto his shoulder, carrying me over to his makeshift camp. Truthfully, I had thought he’d just leave me on his horse for the night. 

I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.

The bounty hunter dropped me to the ground by the fire, and I huffed, adjusting myself to sit upright. The warmth wafting off of it confirmed that this was definitely better than being stuck on that horse all night. I leaned closer to it, and made to bring my hands up, but was cruelly reminded of the ropes keeping them by my sides. I heaved a sigh.

A bottle appeared in my vision. I blinked down at it in confusion, before looking up at the man who held it. “Whiskey?” I prompted.

“If there’s any time to drink, it’d be now.” He nudged the lip of the bottle closer to my mouth.

I held his gaze for a moment longer before turning to it. “…Can’t argue with that.” I pressed my lips against it. He lightly tipped the bottle, letting a good mouthful flow past my lips. I choked it down, then another, then another, then another, before finally wrenching my face from it, coughing. “Jesus!”

He laughed, corking it and tucking it into his satchel. He knelt down behind me and I felt a pressure on the ropes before they snapped away. I brought my arms forward slowly, rubbing my hands over them. He stood and rounded the fire, plopping down on the other side of it. I looked up at him in confusion.

He grinned. “Gave you enough whiskey that even if you try to hop away,” He paused, his grin turning wolfish, “You won’t get far.” He stretched out languidly, finally allowing himself to relax. 

Heat crept up my neck, flustered at his reasoning. “You just get all your bounties drunk?” I spluttered.

He shrugged.

I huffed, holding out my hands towards the fire to warm them. “Creep.”

“I ain’t the one goin’ around killin’ old ladies.” He retorted.

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “I didn’t kill her!” 

“Sure sounds like you did.”

I raked my hand through my hair. “Why the hell would I kill the woman payin’ me to live?” I met his gaze again. 

He didn’t seem very sympathetic. Another shrug. “Lots of people wanna kill their boss.”

“Not me!”

He snorted. “I’m shoah.”

I shook my head at the fire, deflating. “I had it made working for her. Easy work, good pay, didn’t really have to talk to anyone, and,” I shrugged my shoulders, “best part of having a lady boss is she won’t let the men get away with being terrible to you.”

He stayed quiet, and I felt myself ramble more, “I mean, sure, she was a miserable old hag, mean ’n sour, but as long as you stayed out of her way and did your job, she was cordial enough.” The image of her on the ground flicked through my mind. “Shit.” I pressed my palms into my eyes, wiling them to cast it from my brain. “Can’t believe this is how it ends.”

The drink began to encroach further into my head, making my thoughts hazy. I cursed again under my breath, the reality of the situation truly, truly, settling in. This was it for me. Swinging from a rope for a crime I didn’t commit. 

“You really didn’t do it.” 

I scoffed, not meeting his eyes. “Been sayin’ that, haven’t I?”

“…That you have.” 

Silence fell between us once more, each left with our thoughts. It felt nice to be believed by at least one person before the end. 

A gust of wind blew by, and I shivered, reminded of the wet coat I was still shrouded in. I glanced over the fire at the bounty hunter, but he didn’t look up, eyes hidden under his hat.

“...Mister?”

He raised his head, and that piercing gaze met mine. I faltered, almost losing my voice to it.  

He heaved a great sigh. “…Arthur.”

“What?”

He sighed, raising his hat momentarily to rake a hand through his hair before placing it back down again. “Call me Arthur.”

I smiled softly in spite of myself. “Okay.”

“…And what did you need?” Arthur prompted, as I had already forgotten. Perhaps he was right about that whiskey.

I rubbed my hands on my arms. “Do you have any… drier clothes I could wear?”

He nodded, pushing up from the ground. I watched him make his way over to his saddlebag, watched him rifle through it for something dry. 

It had to be the whiskey. Or that he was the first to believe me. Or that he was really the first person I’d seen in weeks.

His back was just so… broad. My eyes followed how the muscles underneath his shirt moved, following his arms’ movements. My mind helpfully supplied how one of those big arms felt wrapped around my thighs, how that big hand felt patting my thigh, so close to…

He turned around, and I forcefully muted my thoughts, spreading a polite smile on my face. He made his way back to me, some bunched up garment in hand. I began to shrug off my coat, struggling with it as it snagged on my undershirt and held tight to my shoulders. 

Arthur watched me try to figure it out, but eventually I just gave up, so fatigued from the day that I just didn’t care anymore. He chuckled, kneeling down next to me. “Outsmart you, did it?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I’ll deal with it in a second,” I offered a small smile, “Thank you.” 

“I got it,” he said, and at first I wasn’t sure what he meant. He dropped the coat in his hand and moved in front of me. I watched him wordlessly, suddenly feeling very tired of talking anyway. 

Arthur’s eyes met my own for a moment, searching my face. Whatever he found there, he seemed satisfied with, and he moved his hands to the buttons of my jacket. He started from the top, unbuttoning each at an impossibly slow pace, or at least it felt like it.

He smoothed his hands up to my shoulders, and gently pushed off each sleeve, taking out my arms. I shivered again, my skin now freshly exposed to the cold. I spied the slightest twitch of his lips. He reached around me, his body hovering slightly above mine, his neck an inch from my lips. I felt myself lean forward, my nose brushing up against him. His hands pulled the rest of my coat off from behind me, and he sat back, bunching it into a ball. He then took his dry coat and pulled it over me in its place, rubbing his hands slightly up and down my arms. “There,” he said, and rested back on his heels again. 

I blinked up at him, my lips slightly parted. His face softened, his lips pulling down into a teasing smile. He reached out and cupped my cheek, and I leaned into it almost immediately, not caring enough to be embarrassed by it. So big and warm. “Lookit you…” he cooed, his thumb stroking my skin. “Feelin’ that drink already?”

I hummed noncommittally, too focused on the newfound warmth from his jacket around me and his hand on my cheek. 

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, “Guess that’s a yes.”

He stood, dropping his hand from my cheek, and my head dropped slightly. I sighed, snuggling into his jacket to make up for it. It wasn’t the same. 

“‘M still cold.” I complained.

“Yer insatiable.” He said, but knelt back down again nonetheless. I raised my head to meet his gaze. He thinned his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever had such a whiny bounty.”

“Sorry, Arthur.” I mumbled, looking over at his tent longingly. It wasn’t my barn, but it would give at least some protection from this wind, as opposed to sleeping out here. 

Before I could ask about it, air whooshed beneath me, and I yelped in surprise. Arthur had hoisted me up into his arms, and began to carry me to his tent. My eyes widened slightly. “A..Arthur?” I whispered, subconsciously snuggling into his chest. He was so strong, it was like I weighed nothing to him.

“You’ll just whine all night if I don’t let you stay in here.” He explained, ducking past the flaps to drop me down on the bedroll. He was probably right about that. Or maybe this was just another way of making sure I didn’t escape while he slept.

I rolled under the cover, snuggling into it as far as I could. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him, so much stronger here than on his jacket. My eyelids fluttered closed. 

I felt him sigh and enter the bedroll next to me. It was a tight fit, Arthur pressed against my back to keep any amount of cover atop him. His hand rested on my hip, heavy and possessive. “Warmer?” He whispered, his breath tickling my ear. He was so close.

“Mm-hm,” I hummed, my voice barely coming out. 

I thought that was it, but then…

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “…You sure?” 

A shiver ran through me. What? His hand squeezed my hip lightly, pulling me closer into him. His breath ghosted past my ear, against my neck. Was he…?

I exhaled shakily, some deep part of my whiskey-addled brain telling me that this was my chance. That if there was anything that would convince this man to let me go…

Lightly, I pressed back into him, sighing when I felt his hand smooth to the top of my thigh. “Could use a bit more,” I murmured.

It was all the prompting Arthur needed. Hot lips pressed against my neck, his hand insistent on molding my ass against the hard line in his pants. My breath hitched in surprise, and I felt myself rock back against him before I could think. He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand forward and between my thighs. I attempted to part my legs, allow him better access, but was met with resistance. 

Oh, right. The rope. 

He laughed behind me, smoothing his hand back to grab my ass instead. I squeaked in surprise, feeling him push me onto my stomach. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ out of those anytime soon,” he promised. I flushed at that.

Arthur yanked me back, forcing my ass into the air. I felt his hands palm me, smoothing circles into my pants. “Looks even better like this,” he muttered, and I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or himself. 

Before I could respond, he reached around and unclasped my pants (much faster than my jacket), pulling down at the sides just enough. The rope bound me mid-thigh, so he could only get my pants down so far. A cool breeze blew past the tent, and I felt a bit of it ghost against me. My face reddened, feeling all at once how wet I was. Really? I felt surprised at myself.

I squirmed, rubbing my thighs together. “Arthur, are-“

A slap to my ass silenced me. I squeaked and jolted forward, the heat in my face increasing tenfold. “Dealt with enough of yer whinin’ for one night.” He bit, soothing his hand over where he slapped. 

I exhaled, burying my face deeper into the bedroll, feeling my hips sway against his hand, begging for more. 

His hands smoothed down my ass, reaching down to squeeze my thighs apart, to better see me, see how wet I already was for him. I hoped he couldn’t see. It was bad enough to have him feel- 

“A-Ah…” my breath hitched, feeling his thumb drag down through my folds. 

He hissed, sliding the pad of his thumb against my clit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re soakin’,” 

I squirmed against his touch, trying not to moan, unsure if I’d be punished again for it. He pushed his thumb back up, pressing it inside of me, and I felt myself try to part my legs again, to feel more of him, deeper, and almost cried in frustration when I couldn’t. 

I heard him chuckle again behind me. “Aww, I’ll take care of you, darlin’, don’ worry,” he said, moving his thumb out to trace back down to my clit, pushing another finger inside of me in its stead. I muffled my moan into the pillow. 

Arthur continued working at me, circling my clit with those deft, rough fingers of his, slowly pushing in and out of me. I pushed back against him, desperately trying to feel more, but every time he just shoved me right back where I was before, keeping up his torturous pace.

All at once, he pulled away, and I whined. Another slap to my ass as a result, and I let out a muffled groan, feeling my eyes roll back. “What’d I say about whinin’?” He admonished.

I wiggled my hips back, hearing him undo his own pants. Please, please, please. He was all I could think about, my legs desperately trying to separate, to take in more, more, more. 

I almost wept when I felt him nudge against me, coating himself in the wetness he’d created. I pushed back, trying to take him in, knowing if I angled it right he wouldn’t even need to help me. His hand kept my ass steady, soothing circles onto it. “So needy…” he mocked, smoothing his hand down to my hips, to my waist, squeezing there. 

Slowly, god, so slowly, he pushed into me, forcing me open around him. I moaned obscenely, unable to keep it back anymore. He didn’t seem to care this time, letting out a low curse of his own under his breath. Almost there, almost there… and he thrust into me, making me gasp at the sudden movement. 

He pulled back and rammed back in, setting a bruising pace. I pushed back into him with each thrust, the ropes cutting into my thighs with how I fought against them, trying to take in as much of him as possible each time. 

His hands gripped the tops of my thighs and part of my ass like a handle, using me like some kind of toy. “God-damn,” his voice came out staccato, matching his movements, “you’re so fuckin’.. tight.. for me…”

I whimpered, arching back, so lost in pleasure that I truly didn’t care what he did to me. He could have whatever he wanted, as far as I was concerned. 

Drool dribbled out of my mouth, wetting his pillow. I felt limp under him, only kept upright by those rough hands of his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his movements becoming less regular, more frantic. He swore again before pulling out of me, spending onto my ass and back. 

We stayed like that for a moment or two, catching our breath, before he swiped off my back with something and collapsed next to me. 

I flopped onto my side to face him, my legs still bound together. “Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered, “I’m much warmer now.”

Arthur snorted, snaking his arm around me to pull me to his chest. “My pleasure.”

-

The next morning I awoke alone in his tent, hearing him shuffle around outside. I blinked blearily, reaching up to rub the crust from my eyes. I yawned, laying onto my back, stretching my legs apart.

Wait. Stretching my legs apart?

I glanced down to visually confirm the sensation, finding my legs freed from the rope. I also noticed my pants had been pulled back up to cover me.

I sat up, peeking through the tent flaps. He sat at the fire, his back to me. Was he just letting me sleep comfortably before we left?

Despite the threat of death hanging over my head, I felt myself warm at the thought. This was a much sweeter awakening than I had expected.

Before I could think about escaping, or at least putting off our trip to the hangman, Arthur turned, as if sensing I was awake. "Mornin'," he greeted, his voice soft and low. I shrank a little under his gaze, and whispered a greeting back before creeping out from the tent. 

Once outside, I shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around me. Arthur grunted, beckoning to me. "C'mere,"

I obeyed, walking over to where he sat. He spread his legs, patting the ground between them. I blinked down at him blankly. 

He rolled his eyes and snatched at my hand, pulling me to the ground. I made a small noise of surprise, falling to sit between his legs. His arms and knees caged me in, bringing me back into his chest. This was so strange. 

But not unwelcome.

I snuggled back into him anyway, not about to turn my nose up at the last physical affection I'd ever receive. 

We stared into the fire for who knows how long. I almost didn't breathe, trying not to remind him that we had places to be. 

Arthur squeezed me lightly, propping his chin on my shoulder. "Y'can relax," he sighed, his accent thicker now, in the morning. "'M not bringin' y'in." 

What? My breath hitched, my heart beating faster. Was he serious? I turned in his hold slowly, craning my neck to look back at him. I didn't trust myself to speak.

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. 

"...Thank you," I said dumbly, breaking eye contact. Well, now what? 

Now, I certainly didn't want him to change his mind.

I turned a bit more in his hold to better face him, feeling his arms adjust around me. I smoothed my hands up his shirt and met his eyes again. He watched me carefully, suspiciously, like he was expecting some kind of attack. 

I moved slowly, not wanting to startle him, inching my face closer to his. I watched his eyes drop to my lips, his own parting in anticipation. I hadn't noticed before, but I seemed to have some sway over this bounty hunter, readily accepting whatever touch I offered him. 

I smiled softly at that, and closed the gap between us, gently pressing my lips to his. Warm. 

He melted the slightest amount, his shoulders sagging, his chest leaning closer to me. He was sweeter, now, in the morning. Softer, more patient. I slipped my hands up behind his neck, scratching lightly at the hair poking out from beneath his hat. He sighed into my mouth, his arms squeezing me closer to him. 

I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, warm and close. When we broke apart, he cleared his throat, looking past me to not meet my eyes. "You..." his voice scratched out and he cleared his throat again, "Y'can stay with me, if you want. 'Till this whole thing blows over."

I had a sneaking suspicion it would be a long time yet. I nuzzled my nose against his jaw. Staying with him was safer than anything I would try on my own. "Thank you, Arthur."

He hummed. 

a/n: on a scale of 1-10 how terrible is it that i posted this from class NOT WROTE IN CLASS posted from

anyway teehee hope you enjoyed and also hope it wasnt obvious that i kinda had no idea where to go with this teehee im just a girl

(also posted on ao3 under same user)

[meatballlady]

Good Omens Season 2: What We Know So Far Dottie and Sadie Edition

All of the info about GOS2, especially Dottie and Sadie, in one place. (Note, this is satirical and there are no actual spoilers in this post afaik)

For the most up to date details, check out the tag #special spoilers on Neil Gaiman's tumblr.

Cast

Returning:

[Fennec foxes, various] as Crowley

Michael Sheen as Aziraphale

Jon Hamm [Chinchilla, name unconfirmed] as Gabriel

Note: there have been no official announcements regarding the casting of the following new characters:

Michael Sheen as Dottie (unconfirmed)

David Tennant as Sadie (unconfirmed)

Michael Sheen as The Master Spy (unconfirmed)

Giant Pretzel

Sadie's Brother

Aziraphale's Mother-in-Law

Sadie's Kittens

Production Note: Someone (undisclosed) was bitten in regards to the fennec foxes filming with Crowley's wife.

What do we know about the Season 2 episodes?

There will be 6 episodes.

So far, two specific episodes have been announced (although it has not been confirmed which episodes they are):

"Jam Factory" episode, which contains a magic poster covered in jam

"Girls Night Out" episode, in which we will spend a lot of time with Dottie and Sadie (Crowley and Aziraphale's wives)

The Plot

First, a detailed plot summary of Season 2:

"Crowley and Aziraphale, who in this season are both undertakers in Birmingham, and their wives, Dottie and Sadie, go on holiday together to the South of France. The boys get very drunk at a wine tasting, and their wives have to bring them home to the hotel, where Aziraphale (still drunk) puts on the gorilla costume he finds in a closet. Imagine Crowley's shock, when he sees a gorilla climbing out of the window of the hotel! Now, it just so happens that a master spy who looks exactly like Aziraphale hid the microfilm plans for a missile in Crowley's bathroom, and has returned to obtain the microfilm, which is hidden in a book of naughty seaside postcards that Dottie found earlier and threw out of the window. When the police turn up looking for the gorilla, they find the master spy but think it's actually Aziraphale. Fortunately Sadie realises that the pineapple-shaped birthmark has vanished from Aziraphale's left elbow which means that he's an imposter and she and Dottie set out to rescue him in his gorilla costume from the circus that he's been sold to by an unscrupulous animal welfare centre operative. And then there are lots of cats and horses. The end."

Additional plot details:

Crowley and Aziraphale and their wives will go on their honeymoons at the same time in the same little French town, during the annual marmalade convention.

Aziraphale will have a new Season 2 Catchphrase - "Ooh-heck, it's the wife!" (at one point, he will shout this whole clutching a toilet plunger)

Several stories will be set in the tomato sauce factories they all work in.

Dottie's phone will be broken at the outing to Blackpool.

In episode 4, it will be revealed that Dottie and Sadie and their husbands have unknowingly all been booked in the same hotel room.

There will be a pie fight scene at the inflatable gorilla factory (which will clarify a lot about Aziraphale and Crowley's interpersonal relationships).

Aziraphale will attempt to summon a magic gorilla, in order to obtain one of the four fruits of the apocalypse (e.g. the Banana of Doom).

The Giant Pretzel will give Crowley a magic peach.

There will be a very moving scene when Dottie thinks that Sadie is pregnant but actually Sadie is planning to get a kitten.

This detail about the kitten(s?): "The arrival of the kitten will also be delightful, but I'm not promising it doesn't mean that the season won't end with the patter of tiny feet. Let's just say that two sets of twins would mean double the fun for everybody."

Aziraphale will be dead by the time Crowley goes on his secret mission. Aziraphale's wife will inherit the book shop, which she runs with her brother.

This detail about Gabriel's story arc: "Gabriel came to Earth to go on holiday to Spain with Aziraphale and Crowley and their wives, Dottie and Sadie. He's working as an art critic and when he sees the picture hanging in Crowley's bed and breakfast bedroom he realizes it's an original painting by Jerry Picasso (Pablo's baby brother) and resolves to steal it on the same night that the neighborhood Dress as a Burglar and Win a Fridge competition is held. Hilarity ensues."

The flashback scenes will be of where Crowley and Aziraphale both met their wives.

Season 2 will end with a dance-off mix-up on a French Nudist Beach, with several enormous inflatable animals and Aziraphale's mother-in-law dressed in a gorilla costume.

On Goncharov's influence on Season 2:

"The whole of Season 2 of Good Omens was inspired by Goncharov. Dottie and Sadie, Aziraphale and Crowley's wives, were basically my take on Perdita and Brigitte, the two tourists who worked in the condom factory, and the whole Goncharov helium balloons and clowns sequence. For that matter, without Goncharov it would never have occurred to me to have made the comedy in episode 4 the fact that Dottie and Sadie and their husbands have unknowingly all been booked in the same hotel room, or to have had the Archangel Gabriel played by a chinchilla. "

[sosa2imagines]

You, me and Vegas! Part 11

Warning- Angst, mean parents, toxic mentality.

Winnifred, Bucky's mother, was the first to break the silence. “James,” she said, her voice a strange mixture of surprise and caution. “Who is this?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair again. “This is Peach...” he said, clearing his throat. “We...we're...”

Peach, seeing Bucky flounder, stepped in quickly. “We're friends!” she confirmed, sending Bucky a subtle look. She could see the surprise on his parents' faces, they obviously thought there was more going on.

Bucky shot her a grateful look, silently thanking her for not revealing the truth.

The atmosphere in the room was a little tense, filled with unanswered questions. Bucky's parents were both watching them, their eyes darting from Peach to Bucky and back again.

“Just friends,” Winnifred repeated, her tone a little doubtful. “How...how long have you two known each other?”

Bucky and Peach exchanged a glance. They hadn't prepared for this.

Peach was the one to answer, her voice calm despite the tension in the air. “Oh, a couple of months.” she said, trying to keep her tone casual. “We met at a party and hit it off.” Secretly Peach was feeling proud, of her acting skills and the script she made.

George, Bucky's father, raised an eyebrow. “A couple of months,” he repeated, his voice dry. “And you're staying here?” He didn't look completely convinced by their story.

 ”I'm here for dinner, isn’t that right Bucky?”

Bucky caught on quickly, nodding along with what Peach was saying. “Right,” he confirmed. “Peach is staying for dinner.”

Peach continued smoothly, “We were just...hanging out before you arrived.” She smiled pleasantly, ignoring the disbelieving looks on Bucky's parents' faces.

The tension in the room was still palpable. Bucky's parents were clearly suspicious, but they didn't have any concrete evidence to disprove what Peach was saying.

Winnifred looked between them, her eyes sharp. “I see...you're both very close for just being friends…” she observed, her glance catching the way Bucky's hand was still close to Peach's.

Bucky could read his parents' expressions easily. They clearly didn't trust Peach, they were questioning her, silently judging her. He hated it.

But, as usual, he couldn't say anything in her defense. His parents had always been strict and judgmental, and over the years he'd learned to just go along with their opinions, whether he agreed or not. He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists, feeling the anger and frustration building inside him.

He glanced over at Peach, seeing the subtle hint of discomfort beneath her composure. He knew she could handle herself, but he still hated that she had to endure this. He wanted to say something, to defend her, but he knew from experience that it would only lead to an argument with his parents.

As they all sat for dinner, Bucky felt the urge to strangle his parents with every critical look they sent Peach's way. They scrutinized her from head to toe, her clothes, her jewelry, her make up. He knew they were silently judging her, and it made his blood boil.

In his eyes, Peach was perfect in every way. She was the purest, kindest, and most beautiful woman he'd ever met.

But his parents saw only someone who wasn't good enough for him, someone from a lesser background, someone they thought was beneath him. Peach's casual nature was refreshing to him, a breath of fresh air in his structured life. But here his parents were, silently disapproving of her.

George, Bucky's father, took a sip of his wine, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked across the table at Peach. “So, Peach,” he said, his voice polite but distant. “What do you do for a living?”

Peach, who had been silently bearing the tension, smiled at George's question. She was proud of what she did, and she had no qualms about it.

“I'm a writer,” she answered, her eyes not leaving his. “I write articles for various online publications.”

Bucky, who had been watching the exchange silently, couldn't help but pipe up at this. “She's getting her book published soon.” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Peach shot him a grateful look. Bucky was quick to defend her, not minding contradicting his parents.

Despite Bucky's proud announcement and Peach's eagerness to talk about her achievement, his parents' expressions remained unconvinced. George gave a non-committal grunt, taking another sip of wine. Winnifred just gave Peach a thin smile, her eyes still judgemental.

They were clearly unimpressed, not because they didn't believe in Peach's skills, but because they thought her writing wasn't worthy of Bucky's time or respect.

Their behavior was like a slap in the face for Bucky. He wanted so badly to explode, to stand up for Peach and tell his parents exactly what he thought of them and their snobby, elitist attitudes. But he knew it would only lead to a fight, and Peach didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire.

So he sat there, gritting his teeth, his hands clenched into fists under the table, feeling powerless and frustrated.

After the discussion about Peach's book, the conversation turned to Bucky. His parents, as usual, had a multitude of criticisms about his appearance, his recent decisions, his life in general.

“And that haircut,” George said, shaking his head in disapproval. “When are you going to get a proper haircut, son? You look like a child.”

Bucky clenched his jaw at the criticism, but he said nothing. He knew if he mentioned that it was Peach who had cut his hair, they would just pick fault with that as well.

Peach, watching the exchange, felt a pang of hurt. She'd been so happy to give Bucky that haircut, to make him feel more comfortable and relaxed, and now it was being criticized by his own parents.

“You always look so unkept,” Winnifred chimed in, looking Bucky up and down. “And that stubble...don't you ever shave?”

Peach, seeing Bucky's frustrated expression, couldn't stand it any longer. She was tired of them picking at him, and she wasn't going to sit silently and watch anymore.

“I think the haircut suits him,” she said, speaking up firmly. “And the stubble gives him a rugged, handsome look.”

Her words hung in the air, the room going quiet. Bucky's head jerked up to look at her, his eyes wide in surprise. His parents were also shocked, not expecting her to defend Bucky against them.

George, feeling affronted by Peach's interjection, looked at her with a glare. “I didn't ask for your opinion!” he said coldly, his voice carrying a clear message for Peach to mind her own business.

“You're an outsider,” he stated, his eyes narrowing. “You have no right to interfere in our family matters.”

Winnifred nodded her agreement, her lips pursing in disapproval. “That's right,” she echoed. “Our son's life is none of your concern.”

The implication was clear. To them, Peach was an outsider, a temporary figure in Bucky's life with no real significance.

George and Winnifred continued discussing Bucky's life, still completely ignoring Peach. They moved from criticising his appearance, to criticising his love life.

“And what about Dot?” Winnifred asked, raising a brow at Bucky. “We quite liked her.”

Bucky gritted his teeth at the mention of Dot. The memory of their disastrous date was still fresh in his mind. But his parents, blissfully unaware, continued talking about how great she was.

“Yeah, we thought she would make a fine match for you,” George said. “She comes from a good family, she's educated, and she has a stable career.”

Bucky wanted to explode, to tell them that he had no interest in Dot, that their one date had been a nightmare, that he had no plans to see her again. But he couldn't. He just had to sit there and listen to his parents' ignorant praise of someone he despised.

Their comments continued, with them subtly comparing Peach to Dot. They spoke of Dot's prestigious job, her family wealth, her high-class behaviour, all things they saw as markers of suitability.

And the more they praised Dot, the clearer it became that they were insulting Peach. The way they spoke about Dot made it clear that they saw Peach as less-than, as unworthy of Bucky in their eyes.

Peach, sitting silently, could feel the sting of their words. She felt out of place, like she didn't belong. And the fact that Bucky was just sitting there, not defending her, only made it worse.

Bucky could see the hurt in her expression, the way her shoulders slumped slightly each time his parents made another veiled insult. He wanted to speak up, to tell them to shut up, to tell them how wrong they were. But he couldn't find the words, stuck in a web of silence and old habits.

His parents continued their conversation, oblivious to the discomfort they were causing. They spoke about the kind of woman they wanted for Bucky, a woman like Dot, a woman who was 'on their level'. And the more they spoke, the clearer it became to everyone at the table, they did not approve of Peach.

Peach, who had been silently bearing the whole time, had had enough. She was done listening to their subtle insults, their comparisons to Dot.

She slammed her fork onto the table, the sound making both him and his parents to stop and look at her. “Excuse me, but I have a few things to say.” she said, her voice trembling slightly with anger.

“Firstly,” she said, looking at both of them, “I don't appreciate being talked about as if I'm not here. Secondly, I may not live up to your standards of suitability, but I am who Bucky spends his time with, not Dot.”

“And thirdly...” she continued, her voice growing stronger now, “You don't get to decide who's good enough for your son. He's a grown man, he can make his own decisions, and he chose me.”

His parents, both shocked and appalled, quickly masked their surprise with disapproval. George looked at her sternly, his expression one of deep disapproval.

“Who do you think you are, speaking to us like that?” he snapped, his voice laced with anger. “We're your elders, we deserve respect!”

Winnifred, whose lips were pressed in a thin line, spoke up. “You are out of line, young lady. You're an outsider. You have no right to tell us how to treat our own son.”

Bucky could feel the tension in the room rising. His parents were clearly not happy at Peach's boldness. They had expected her to just sit there and take their criticisms without a word, like she had been doing up until now. But she had stood up for herself, and they clearly were not appreciative.

As the argument continued, Peach's gaze flicked to Bucky, silently hoping he would say something in her defence. But he was still sitting there, silent and motionless, looking down at the table.

Seeing his inaction, hurt her deeply. She had hoped he would stand up for her, to his parents, but he hadn't. He was betraying her again.

Feeling a pang of disappointment, she stood up from the table, pushing her chair back. “I'm heading to Wanda's for the night...” she announced briskly.

Bucky's head jerked up at her words, his eyes widening in surprise. He hadn't expected her to just up and leave. But he couldn't blame her. After everything that had happened, he knew she needed some space.

“Peach, wait...” he started, standing up too, but she cut him off.

“Don't bother,” she said, her voice cold and flat. “I'll see you tomorrow at the 'office'.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the dining room, leaving Bucky standing there speechless, his parents watching the whole scene with shocked expressions.

“Is, that type of people you want to associate yourself with?” “She is mean, shameless, and above our class! You are no longer allowed to be her friend, James!”

Bucky was only half-listening to his parents as they continued to criticize him. Their words about how he shouldn't associate with someone like Peach were just background noise to the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He couldn't get the look on Peach's face out of his head. The way she had looked at him, hopeful, then hurt and disappointed when he didn't speak up. It was all he was thinking about, the guilt and regret growing with each passing second.

Part 10- Part 12

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