#the known dead horse abuser

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

unstoppable force (rabid hunger for tma content) meets immovable object (15 seasons of s*pernatural)

[queers-gambit]

Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[xomakara]

Wanted Dead Or Alive

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | A handsome cowboy is injured while tending to a wild horse he's rescued miles from town. You're on the run, and can't afford to stop on your way to your destination – but you can't ignore the wounded man when you see him, and decide to help him despite the personal risk.

PAIRING | Mingi x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | Cowboy!Mingi, Heiress!Reader, Western au, non-idol au, smut (with some plot), consensual sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), slight fingering, dirty talk, pet names (darlin', sweetheart, etc), praise kink, bathtub sex, bed sex, gunfights, mentioned abuse

RATING | Mature, Explicit, 18+, NSFW, MDNI

LENGTH | 7,929 words

TAGLIST |  --

NETWORKS |  @cromernet (reuploaded so only tagging nets that haven't reblogged it yet)

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Excuse me, while I go bathe myself in holy water.

You can't help but spur the horse forward, your heart thudding in your chest. It had been hours, but the adrenaline was still running rampant in your system, your stomach clenching with dread.

You could hear the sound of hooves, and your body was tense and tight as you pulled the reins, hoping the sound wasn't heading toward you.

It had all started when you woke up with your ex-husband's hands around your throat, a wild look in his eyes. He'd seemed desperate and he had looked at you with an unfamiliar expression as he tightened his grip.

The memory of his hands squeezing the air out of your throat, the burning in your lungs as he tried to squeeze the life out of you. The memory had tears springing into your eyes, and you swallowed them back, forcing the panic away.

He had almost succeeded, if not for the fact that you were more desperate to live than he was for you to die.

You'd fought him with everything you had, and with the steak knife that you hid under your pillow, you stabbed him in the hand so that you could breathe.

And then you ran.

You had a small fortune that you'd stashed away, and you had a bag packed for days like this.

It wasn't enough to keep you safe for very long, but it was enough to get you where you needed to go, and it was enough to keep you warm, and fed and hidden from prying eyes.

You had planned to slip out of town under the cover of darkness and disappear. You'd heard that it was possible to disappear entirely, to leave the country, and you were prepared to do it.

You had no ties, no one waiting for you, nothing to keep you in town except for the fear of being found.

The sun is rising over the horizon, and you know you should probably stop for a rest, but you don't think you can.

You want to keep moving until you can't anymore.

You know there are men on your trail. They're not smart enough to keep up with you, but you know they're going to follow you for as long as it takes.

They'd followed you to this little town, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they found you again.

And they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted.

You know it was the money they were after.

After all, your family had a lot of it, and your husband had known about it and had wanted to get his hands on it for some time.

That's why he married you.

Sure he was rich and everyone knew it. But with the way that he spent it, he was drying out his funds, and he knew that if he didn't find some source of income, he'd be destitute within the year.

He wouldn't tell anyone, oh no, that would damage his reputation.

Instead, he'd taken a loan and used that loan to buy the nicest ring that he could afford.

And then he'd gone and found himself a rich wife.

He'd been careful in his planning. He'd been charming and he'd made you feel things you'd never felt before. He charmed his way to get your parents' favor, and they'd approved of him almost immediately.

The wedding had been the biggest social event that had happened in town in a long time.

But it didn't matter how well the two of you were liked, because your ex-husband didn't know how to stop spending, and now people were beginning to talk.

And they were beginning to ask questions.

You had been his perfect cover, his perfect alibi, and now that he was losing his power and prestige, he wanted to keep the one thing that was left to him.

And that was the money.

You didn't mind giving him the money, he'd been good to you, and he'd loved you, and had cared for you. But when the love turned to abuse, and the care turned to control, you decided you were better off without him.

So, you left him. Divorced him.

And now he was coming after you, and after the money.

He would not stop until he got what he wanted.

And neither would the men that were chasing you.

Your horse had been galloping for hours, and you were starting to slow down. Your body was sore, and your legs were cramping, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

You could hear them getting closer, and it made your blood run cold.

Your eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a place where you could stop. Somewhere you could hide, maybe.

There was a corpse of trees not too far from the road, and you veered towards them, hoping that they were thick enough to hide you from the men who were pursuing you.

And then you see him.

Tall and handsome, leaning against the side of a tree, holding his side. His head is tipped back, his face twisted with pain, and you feel your heart drop at the sight.

You pull your horse to a stop, your hands trembling. You're afraid. You're so scared. But you can't just leave him there, bleeding.

He's a big guy, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, but right now, he looks so small.

He opens his eyes, and his gaze finds yours. His eyes are dark, and you can see the pain in them.

He lifts his hand, and he waves at you.

"Hey there, little lady." Voice hoarse and gravelly. "Looks like I could use a bit of help."

You couldn't help but dismount your horse and carefully walk up to him. "What happened to you?"

His face twists and his shoulders rise as he inhales deeply. "Long story short, I got shot trying to round up some horses for Ol' Man Kim. A bullet got lodged in my side. I ain't sure if it went clean through, but I need a doctor. I can't make it to town."

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. "I can't take you into town, Mister. I can't afford to draw attention to myself."

He gives you a strange look. "Why would that draw attention to yourself? Do you have a criminal record or somethin'?"

You shake your head. "No. It's a lot more complicated than that. It's a long story."

"You can make it short like I did mine."

You laugh softly, your heart skipping a beat. He has a nice smile, and he's even more handsome when he laughs. "Okay. Well, long story short, I'm on the run. My ex-husband is trying to kill me for my money. And some other guys are after me. I can't stop here or else I'm putting myself at risk. I have to keep moving."

He studies you for a moment, his dark eyes boring into yours. "If you're willing, I could be of some assistance. I'm good with a gun, and I can keep you safe."

"But you're injured, mister."

"It's just a flesh wound. I can still use a gun. If you're worried, I can ride along with you, and when we get to the next town, I'll find a doctor. Until then, I'll watch your back. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. "Why would you do that? You look like the type that would rob me instead."

"Nah, I may be a cowboy but I don't harm women and children." He reaches out his hand, palm up, a kind smile on his face. "I'll protect you, Miss. And when I'm healed up, I'll help you get to wherever it is that you're going."

You swallow, unsure if you should trust him or not. But he seems like a decent guy, and you could use all the help you could get.

"I don't know..." You bit your bottom lip. "I can't afford to pay you right now..."

"That's alright." He smiles again, and it's a reassuring smile. "I don't need any money. Just some help."

You hesitate, your heart racing. "Okay."

He grins. "Well, alright then. What's your name, miss?"

"Y/N."

"Mingi. A pleasure to meet ya."

"Likewise." You nod and walk towards your horse, taking hold of his reins. "You think you can get up on your own, Mingi?"

"Sure thing." Mingi grunts and pushes himself away from the tree, his hand clutching at his side. He takes a few steps, his face twisted in pain. He staggers and nearly falls, but you're quick enough to catch him before he hits the ground.

You grunt and strain to keep him upright. "Easy there."

He looks down at you, and you can see the embarrassment and pain in his eyes.

"Sorry."

"It's alright. Just lean on me, and we'll get you up on the horse. We're not going very far, and I think I saw a doctor a few miles back."

Mingi nods and takes a deep breath. You can't help but notice that his hair is messy and windswept, and his clothes are rumpled. Despite that, he was still very handsome.

You put your arms around his waist and help him climb onto the horse.

"Thank you." He says, his voice soft.

"You're welcome." You reply a small smile on your face.

You can't help but notice the way his broad shoulders taper into a narrow waist. He has the build of a man who does hard work for a living, and his dark brown eyes are bright and clear. He's the first man who's been honest and kind to you in a long time.

As you climb onto the horse, Mingi wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest.

You feel safe and secure, and you can't help but notice how his arms feel around you.

His scent is warm and masculine, and you feel yourself relaxing into him.

"We should get going." You say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Right," Mingi says and nudges the horse forward.

As you ride away, you can't help but notice the way he tightens his arms around you, and how his lips brush against your ear.

You shiver, and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you, and the safety you feel in his embrace.

For the first time in a long time, you feel hopeful.

You arrived in the small town that you passed a few miles back and the first thing that caught your eye was a doctor's office.

Mingi had been quiet the whole ride. The pain must have been intense. You pulled your horse to a stop and quickly dismounted. You helped Mingi off the horse and slowly made your way into the building, his tall frame leaning on you.

"I need a doctor! Now!" You shouted and looked around the waiting room.

"Please wait your turn." A woman, who looked like a nurse, muttered as she sat at a desk looking over some papers.

"Ma'am, please get the doctor or help me." Mingi softly said, the woman looking up at him. Mingi smiled down at you, his face pale. "My little wife here is worried and I'd hate to see her cry."

The woman blushed, and got up from her desk, quickly hurrying down the hall.

"Wife?" You questioned.

"She'll give us priority. Trust me." He softly grinned at you. "It's easier to get what we want this way."

"How's that fair to the other patients?"

"Life's not fair, sweetheart."

"You're lucky that I find you charming." You huffed.

"You find me charming? Well, aren't you sweet?"

"Shut up." You softly chuckled and rolled your eyes.

"Sir, ma'am, follow me." The nurse came back into the waiting room and ushered you down the hall and into an examination room.

After some time, Mingi was patched up, and per the doctor's orders, you had to stay a few nights in town. You were worried about the men that were following you but Mingi assured you that you would be safe.

"So, where are we staying?"

"With a friend of mine."

"Friend?"

"Yep. He'll take good care of us. He owes me a favor and it's his fault that I got shot in the first place."

"Is it Ol' Man Kim, you mentioned before?"

Mingi nodded. "Just don't call him old. He's only a year older than me but I like to mess with him. We grew up together and we've always had each other's backs."

"He sounds like a good friend."

"He's one of the best." Mingi grinned, the pain meds kicking in.

"Alright, well, we better get going then." You sighed and helped Mingi get out of bed. "The doctor said that the medicine will probably make you drowsy."

"I'll be fine. Let's go."

You helped Mingi back to your horse and got him situated on the saddle.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Where to?"

"Kim's place. It's not far from here."

"Alright." You mounted your horse and started heading out of town.

You rode for a few hours, the sun beginning to set. You were about to suggest that you should camp somewhere for the night, but Mingi told you to continue straight ahead.

"This is a long stretch of nothing, are you sure we're heading the right way?"

"Yes. Keep going, the house should come into view soon."

"Okay." You said, keeping the horse moving.

It was growing darker, and the air was getting colder.

"Mingi, we really should stop and rest. We can continue tomorrow."

"Not yet. We're almost there. Keep going."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright."

You continued to ride, the sky turning darker.

"I'm getting worried, Mingi. It's getting too dark to ride safely."

"Don't worry. The house should be coming up soon."

"Okay."

The moon was high in the sky and the stars were shining brightly.

You were about to give up and insist on making camp when a large house appeared in the distance.

"See? Told you."

"Well, I'll be damned." You sighed.

"It's not much, but it's home."

You followed Mingi's directions and guided the horse to the front door.

"Who's there?" A man opened the door, pointing his rifle at the both of you.

"Calm down, you old fart. It's just me." Mingi waved his hand at the man.

"Mingi?" The man lowered his rifle and squinted his eyes at him. "What the hell happened to you, man?"

"Got shot trying to wrangle up your horses, that's what." Mingi joked before looking at you. "This little lady here helped me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name, Miss." The man smiled at you.

"Y/N."

"Nice to meet ya. Name's Hongjoong. You can call me Joong."

"Joong, this little lady needs our help. She's running from some bad people." Mingi leaned his head against your back, his voice sounding groggy.

"Bad people?" Hongjoong questioned, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Yes. My ex-husband is trying to kill me." You explained. "He's hired people to come after me. I've been on the run for months now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Y/N."

"Thank you."

"Mingi, why don't you take Miss Y/N and get settled in while I bring your horse to the stable."

"Okay."

Mingi helped you down from the horse, his arms wrapping around your waist as he slowly lowered you to the ground.

"Careful." You softly spoke, helping him down from the horse.

"Thank you, darling." Mingi smiled.

"You two, get inside and get warmed up. I'll take care of the horse." Hongjoong took the reins and led the horse to the stable.

You helped Mingi inside, the two of you entering the large ranch house. You placed Mingi on the couch before taking a look around the house. It was simple but cozy, and it smelled like vanilla and pine.

"Make yourself at home. Joong won't be long." Mingi leaned back against the cushions.

"Thank you." You smiled and went back over to him, sitting on the couch next to him.

You studied his features, his eyes closed and his face relaxed. He looked so peaceful, and you couldn't help but admire his beauty.

"What are you thinking about?" Mingi suddenly asked, opening his eyes and looking at you.

"Nothing. Just how handsome you are." You admitted.

"Well, thank you, darlin'." He smiled. "You're pretty yourself. Real pretty."

"Thank you."

"I'm glad you decided to stop and help me. I owe you my life."

"You're welcome." You smiled and leaned back against the cushions.

"So tell me your story," Mingi muttered. "Why is your husband out to get ya? Is it just for the money or is there something else?"

"It's a long story, Mingi." You sighed, a frown forming on your face.

"I got all night, sweetheart." He smiled, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. "C'mon. Indulge me, please."

You rolled your eyes. "You're lucky you're hurt. You're being very cheeky."

Mingi laughed, his dimpled cheek pressed against the cushions as he closed his eyes. "I am indeed. Tell me about ya. About yer marriage."

"What's to tell?" You shrugged, leaning back against the sofa and closing your eyes. "I met a man I thought would take care of me. He charmed me and my family but in reality, all he ever wanted was my money. Because he was on the verge of being broke." You began, re-living the memories. "At first, he treated me nice and it was wonderful, until it wasn't. It was his love language, lavish gifts, and trips. And then all of a sudden, what I thought was love turned into abuse and control. He wanted to spend my money on everything. When I said no, things went badly and his abuse became physical."

Mingi reached out a hand to you and put it atop yours, giving a little squeeze. "That bastard. I know his type. Those were the men I robbed and stole from. The greedy ones that hurt women." He let out a sigh and laid his head back. "I was an outlaw, for a long time. Joong and I were always looking out for each other. He was the brains and I was the brawn. But, a couple of years back we fell on some rough times and realized we weren't as invincible as we thought. When Joong's mama passed, she left him this property. We went legit and bought some cattle. Things are good now but we were still doing odd jobs. Helping friends and such." He smiled.

You studied him. "You two seem close. Friends can be good to have."

Mingi smiled at you, his dark brown eyes piercing into yours. "Joong and I are good at taking care of ourselves. Never needed anyone else until now."

"Until now?" Your eyebrows raised.

He shrugged a shoulder, an eyebrow lifting. "You never know what the future holds. Better to be prepared."

Mingi chuckled and stretched his limbs.

"I like the way you think." Your lips turned upward as you spoke to him.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence. Mingi's presence brought a feeling of ease to you. A moment later, Hongjoong came through the front door and removed his boots at the entrance.

"Hey, Joongie." Mingi greeted with a sleepy smile.

"How are ya holding up?"

"Better now." Mingi looked at you with a smile on his lips.

"Hey now, don't be all flirty up in this place-"

"Don't get jealous, Joong." Mingi cut him off.

"Me, jealous of you? Hell no." Hongjoong made his way over to you and sat down on a loveseat opposite the sofa. "So Miss Y/N, you got some crazies after you? What for? You some kind of heiress to a fortune? I can't see you doing any sort of wrong."

Your face reddened a bit as the men watched you. "I uh...well you could say that. My parents are wealthy, yes, and I was married to what I thought was a wealthy man...but he was on the verge of being broke. He only wanted my money so he could fund his extravagant life. Over time, he changed and became abusive. Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore so I divorced him. Stabbed him in the hand with a steak knife and ran away. Now he's sent thugs and goons after me. As long as he can get his hands on my money, he doesn't care if I'm dead or alive."

"Unbelievable." Mingi sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Well, I have to hand it to you, Y/N. Most women wouldn't have the strength or gall to stand up to an abuser or their spouse." Hongjoong admired you.

"I have to get out of the country. That was my plan all along." You sighed. "Get out of the country and try to live quietly, like normal. Not to offend, but men like you aren't exactly low-key."

Mingi chuckled. "Good point."

"And now you're saddled with the poor cowboy you've rescued and stuck at a ranch house on the outskirts of nowhere."

'What if they come here?" You bit your bottom lip.

Hongjoong shook his head. "You don't have to worry. Mingi and I are more than capable of handling a few thugs."

"Right." Mingi smiled at you. "Now, how about some food and bed? I'm starved, wounded, and exhausted."

"As am I."

"Okay, you two." Hongjoong stood. "I'll get dinner started, so rest up."

"She's in there!" You heard yelling. "We'll kill her if we have to! Bring her here, now!"

You were thrown on your back, a male body covering yours as you blinked your eyes awake. The tall cowboy covered your body as best he could with his own, a rifle aimed and firing out the window into the night.

"Stay low," Mingi growled in your ear, a primal protective tone. He aimed the rifle once more as shouts and screams pierced the air. More gunshots and the air turned electric. He spoke to you in a hushed tone. "Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Yeah." You had been forced to learn back with your husband and his controlling nature. You would never use a weapon to harm, though.

Mingi looked to see that you nodded, reaching over he dug in a side drawer of the dresser next to his bed and handed you a pistol.

"Just in case. Try to stay low until it's clear. But if it's an all-out war, don't be afraid. Protect yourself. I don't mind dying for something worth it and you're something worth a lot in my eyes. I promise you, you'll come out alive and whole."

You turned and locked eyes with Mingi. Mingi held eye contact for a second before hopping out of bed.

"You ready?" Mingi moved to the window and looked out over the land surrounding the home, the firelight casting an orange glow.

You swallowed your anxiety and nodded to the cowboy.

"Okay." Mingi readied his weapon and hopped up onto the window, gun first, and fired. He took cover in the window frame, a thump sounded like a body landing, but you weren't sure. You held the gun ready, gripping tight to it tight as sweat lined your palms.

There was no more yelling. Only the crackling of the fire was audible. Mingi sighed heavily. His head dropped and then you watched his chest inflate and fall quickly as his nerves calmed down.

"You good, Darlin'?" He turned his eyes to meet yours.

"I'm...okay."

"Good." He nodded. "Remember to stay low. I'll draw their attention away, then you run like hell. Head to the stables and get on one of the horses. Head to town and find Yunho, the sheriff. Hongjoong and I will be right behind you. Okay?"

You nodded. "Okay."

"Good girl." He gave your knee a light squeeze. "Stay low and quiet."

Mingi disappeared. You took a few breaths, listening to the silence. You then dropped the window and began to make your way through the house and to the stables. You heard the sounds of horses stamping the ground and snorting. You looked over and saw Hongjoong climbing through the window.

"He okay?" Hongjoong whispered, moving his head out the window and seeing Mingi wasn't following you.

"Yes." You looked at him, sadness lining your eyes and fear welling in your voice.

"Hey, he's tough. The guy has been in much worse jams and walked out unscathed. This time isn't going to be any different. Trust me." Hongjoong had his revolver out, keeping his eyes focused on any movement outside. He hoped his words were true and the Mingi was alright.

A second later you heard Mingi's boots hit the floor. You were relieved. He moved quickly to the window.

"Four men dead."

"Is that all of them?" Hongjoong asked.

"Yes. They rode in fast. Just the four men. Heard one of them saying that there's more on the way."

"Damn, you're ex-husband wasn't playing around," Hongjoong grumbled.

Mingi approached you. "Darlin', let's go."

Hongjoong looked at you. "Go with Mingi. I'll hold down the fort. This is my goddamn house after all."

He clasped Mingi on the shoulder. "Just go and get her safe."

"Yeah." Mingi nodded.

Hongjoong loaded the pistol and cocked the hammer. "This ain't goodbye forever, Miss Y/N. I promise." He saluted the pair of you with two fingers, a genuine smile on his lips. "Be safe, you two."

"Take care, Hongjoong. See you on the other side, my friend." Mingi then took your hand and led you to a horse already packed with bags. He then picked you up by your waist, lifting you as though you were nothing more than a pillow. His strength never failed to impress you and excite you at the same time. You tried to situate your skirts appropriately but decided to tear a good portion of fabric from the hem for easier mobility.

You felt Mingi swing up behind you on the horse and place an arm around you. "Hang on. We're heading on to town to get Sheriff Yunho and let him know what's going on. Then we'll head on to the next town over." Mingi clicked his tongue and kicked the horse's flanks gently with his boots and the pair of you raced off the property. You were overwhelmed and felt as though things were starting to go wrong, again. Would the nightmare ever stop? Was there no safety in the world for you? And now, you were putting a new man and his best friend into the situation. Men who weren't bound to you in any way. 

Men who owed you nothing. Who have both saved you already, when they barely even knew you. How could you thank someone for something like that?

After stopping in town and telling the sheriff what had happened and disguising yourself in men’s clothing, you and Mingi were on the road to the next town over. With Mingi behind you and one hand on the reins, you gripped the saddle and tried to focus on breathing. Your heart wouldn't slow down, and Mingi could sense how anxious you were.

"Talk to me, darlin'." Mingi patted your arm and leaned forward a little to listen.

"Oh..." You hadn't noticed until now just how tense your shoulders were.

"It's gonna be fine." Mingi's voice was warm and comforting, the complete opposite of the situation at hand.

"How can you say that?" You looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with him, tears already lining your waterline.

Mingi's breath hitched a moment when he met your gaze. It was an intense moment the two of you sharing, his large eyes drawing you in, pupils dilating ever so slightly. You were breathless when his face lowered to yours, his mouth suddenly pressing to yours in a firm yet gentle kiss. You relaxed as the shock melted away and leaned into him, Mingi's arm sliding over your waist and pulling you against him.

Your hand lifted and rested upon his broad chest. You could feel his heart thrumming away against his ribcage. A soft growl vibrated his throat when his lips parted against yours, allowing the hot sweep of his tongue to dance with yours. You were enjoying the moment, but the stress still lingered and ate away at you.

You were caught completely off-guard by Mingi's actions. Especially considering how you had only met him just a day earlier.

"Mingi..." You gasped a little, a redness spreading over your cheeks as the cowboy pulled back and smiled.

"I promise everything will be just fine, Y/N," Mingi muttered. "We'll be in town soon and on the next train out of there. Then we'll be off far west. Free from that bastard and his goons."

"You're going through all this trouble, and danger, to protect someone you don't even really know." You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling bad for endangering such a kind and wonderful man like the man behind you.

"Hey." Mingi reached over and brushed a stray tendril of hair from your face. "You're the real deal. I can tell, just by meeting you and hearing your story. Besides, this is me getting away from the life that Hongjoong and I led until just recently. This is redemption in a way, to help a pretty woman and save a good soul." Mingi moved one hand up your neck, fingers sliding along your skin making gooseflesh ripple along the trail.

"But the cost-"

"I think I know the price better than anyone. I was an outlaw, Y/N. Threw in my hand with the wrong people when I was a young idiot. Was lucky to be alive, and eventually met up with Hongoong. So I've seen all there was to see and can read people well. And, it's never too late to change and to choose the right people to surround yourself with. I've realized that I have to help others – the right way. And, besides, if I have to be in a sticky situation, I'm glad it's with someone like you."

You looked up to see Mingi staring down at you, his hands touching your waist.

Mingi grinned a bit as you seemed surprised. You were lost in his gaze for a moment, before coming back to your senses.

"Thanks."

Mingi stroked your cheek softly, admiring the details of your face for a moment, taking note of a certain spot he wouldn't mind having a chance to mark later on. Your face had a healthy dusting of sun-kissed skin that shined. Mingi stared in awe. He's known many a beautiful woman, but you were special. "Come on, darlin', we should keep moving. Should be in town soon enough."

You rode together the remainder of the way in silence. Your mind races over how the last day has unfolded, the danger the beautiful stranger was putting himself in, and the feelings stirring up in you for him. A few hours ago you didn't know him. Now you wanted to protect him and save him from danger. Was there something else driving you? Something hidden deep inside that only this kind-hearted stranger was capable of revealing?

Your mind drifted off and before you realized it, you had arrived in town. It was early morning and the streets were quiet, save a few people starting their day. After tying the horse to a post outside of the inn, Mingi gathered his rifle and your pack then helped you to the inn. After booking a room for both of you, Mingi gently grabbed you by your arm.

"Let's take it easy today, stock up on supplies, and then board the train tomorrow. Better get some rest while we can."

You nodded. Mingi rubbed your arms as your eyes fell. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything to you." His expression softened as your eyes opened and focused back on him. "Not unless you want me to."

You smiled lightly and followed Mingi upstairs to the room you both had booked. Mingi kept the rifle close to him while entering the room, scanning the area, double-checking the closet and any potential hiding places, and making sure the window was locked, before relaxing his shoulders.

"I could use a bath right now." You said as you stood next to the bed.

"My thoughts exactly." Mingi smiled lightly.

"You'd like to bathe too, I presume?" You asked him, turning to the cowboy who was removing his gloves.

"Only if it's alright with you. No worries, I'm fine to wait for another day." He rested his gun and belongings at the foot of his bed. "Wouldn't be very polite of me to invite myself. And I don't want you thinking less of me." Mingi sat on the edge of his bed and started taking his boots off.

You wanted a bath but also a partner to be with. Even after all those kisses on the road, he was still respecting you, and wanting to make sure you were comfortable with him. What a rare and wonderful man you had stumbled upon.

"Well...I'd rather like someone to...bathe with me..." The sentence slipped out as a shy request, barely above a whisper, but Mingi heard and immediately looked over his shoulder with a sweet grin.

"Is that so?"

You nodded timidly and brought your bottom lip in between your teeth as his gaze made your nerves fire up. Mingi smiled, biting his lips as well in thought and lust.

"Well alright, Darlin."

You watched Mingi cross the room and follow you to the door leading to the tub in the corner of the room. "Shall we?" Mingi gestured, his palm opening outward and he held his other palm and wrist to you.

Your hands grabbed onto his and he gave a soft reassuring squeeze before releasing a hand, opening the bathroom door, and letting you inside. The tub was large and sturdy-looking and would easily fit two people. Your back faced Mingi while you started to get undressed, as he slowly shut the bathroom door.

You kept your eyes forward, hearing Mingi undo his belt buckle, and let his gun holster drop to the floor. His shirt followed the rustle and whooshing of cloth hinted at what was happening. He stood behind you, pausing and waiting.

"You still want my help, darlin'? I'm not going to push you into doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable. If you'd rather me keep the rest of my clothes on, just say the word."

You turned with wide eyes, biting your lips at his naked chest and broad, sturdy shoulders. Mingi held a knowing, charming grin on his lips as he teased a single button open on his trousers.

"Yes." You breathed, hypnotized by the delicious sight of a gorgeous and almost nude Mingi. "Mingi...I..."

"Shh..." Mingi closed the distance between you and met your mouth, claiming your lips once again, his hand gripping your side firmly. You placed a hand over the larger, muscular one that rested upon your side. It felt incredibly soft and so strong. Your free hand started to play along the band of the loosening trousers. Mingi grunted lowly, moving your hand to slip inside the waistband of his trousers.

Your fingers gripped gently, a needy moan escaping him as you got a taste of his size.

"Fuck..." He muttered, pulling back and kissing along your neck. He groaned, then tugged your shirt up over your head and you pulled your hand back from his waist. He tossed the shirt to the side, a hand rubbing along the delicate curve of your hip and tugging down the waistband of the trousers you were wearing.

"You sure about this, Darlin?" Mingi whispered against the shell of your ear.

"Very sure." You muttered back as you kissed his neck.

Mingi hissed as your mouth sucked softly, his skin vibrating beneath the skin of his throat. He continued to lower your trouser hem, the palm of his hand skating over the naked skin of your thigh, leaving behind a trail of tingles in its wake. 

"Fuck, Darlin..." he breathed, eyes latching onto the sight of your naked hips. Your hands skated down his toned belly and played over his trousers once again.

"Lower.." he asked, his lips pecking your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek.

You complied, fingers brushing and kneading over the growing heat. Your hand pulled his length out, fingers brushing the smooth and hardened skin. Mingi released an exhale, as your thumb grazed the swollen tip of his cock, massaging the fluid that leaked from his throbbing tip.

"Christ..." He buried his nose in your hair, grunting. "We're not even in the bath yet. Fuck.. Y/N.."

"Mmm?" You teased lightly, still stroking the solid flesh gently and slowly.

He chuckled, the hand at your hip brushing gently over the juncture of your thighs, then dipping down to stroke your intimate entrance. You cried out, pressing your body tight to Mingi's while his lips attacked your throat, sucking at your collarbone.

He turned your body around, your back pressing against his front, and slowly steered you towards the waiting tub. Mingi took a seat in the steaming hot water, stretched his legs out, and carefully lifted you into his lap. You moaned at the feeling of Mingi's cock prodding your backside as he brought your hips closer to his own. Mingi growled lowly and purred as your behind settled into his lap, grinding down a little and humming at the hard, thick rod nudging your tailbone.

Mingi laughed through a moan and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your head before you felt his tongue playing with your skin. "Ready?"

"Yes." You muttered back in a gasp. "Mmmmmm..."

"No worries, Darling. You'll enjoy what I do to you." Mingi purred.

"Promise?" Your back arched in pleasure, his thumb dipping low and swiping against the delicate bundle of nerves nestled amongst the folds of your sensitive clit.

"Mmhm..." his finger slid around your inner folds, coating the digit, and he plunged inside, his lips sucking softly on your neck.

"Oooh god..." Your back arched, mouth agape, and hips bucking into the sweet feeling of Mingi's skilled hands pleasuring you.

Mingi hooked his chin on your shoulder and grinned, loving to see the effects his ministrations were causing you.

"Look at you, Darlin'." He gave a harder rub of his finger against that little nub hidden at the peak of your heat. He bit back a moan feeling you clench against his thick finger that was currently prodding your sweet wet center. He shuddered and your hips squirmed. Mingi lifted and lowered his fingers until both sank inside the hot core and massaged. Your back was arched, and a whimpered sob of utter bliss was loud and clear.

"Mingi..." The name came out breathlessly and your hands reached back to grip his forearms, the pads of your fingers gripping tightly as you turned and your eyes locked with Mingi's. Mingi pressed closer to you, lips trailing back up to the side of your neck, and claimed another hungry kiss. Your moans vibrated, Mingi growled in pleasure as he removed his fingers and snaked around you, turning you so that your legs ended up straddling his waist. Mingi sat back, the ends of his hair soaked, strands curling against the nape of his neck and temples as he watched you lower yourself on his cock.

"Just like that, beautiful. God, you feel fantastic." He muttered, reaching up to brush his lips back over yours. "How do you feel, darlin'? My size okay? Any pain? Need me to go softer or harder?"

You bit your lip, marveling at the sweetness the cowboy was treating you. Your insides squeezed, your muscles contracting and pulsating around him. A cuss of pleasure came from him as he slid up a little more, hands taking your waist, guiding you to lean back against his wet chest. The suds and bubbles moved away, exposing more of the heated contact to the cooler air.

Your nails scraped gently up Mingi's thighs and you sank further, feeling a slight resistance, but still feeling wonderful.

"Oh god, Mingi."

"I know, darlin'..." One hand rested on your hips under the water, the other cupping your breast and kneading, enjoying the warm mound beneath his palm. "Tell me, darlin'. How does this compare to your ex-husband? Be honest..." He breathed, burying his face into the back of your neck, kissing the hot skin.

"He never filled me like this...so good...so full...God..."

He ground his teeth a little, groaning through his teeth as he nipped your earlobe, keeping his eyes trained on your back and sides. You moaned, not caring how much noise you were making. Mingi leaned into you and stole another hungry kiss before whispering, "No worries, you can scream as loud as you like with me, darlin’. I'll take you harder and fill you even more."

"Yes, please. Fuck, Mingi...." Your breathless and heady voice caused Mingi's self-control to break. He thrust a little harder and gripped you tightly.

Mingi snaked an arm around the front of you, grabbing your wrist and pushing his weight to the back of you. With each thrust the water began to slosh, threatening to spill from the edges of the tub and onto the wooden floor. "Mingi-" 

The thrusts turned rough, yet there wasn't any pain. You reached out, searching and grabbing, anything, needing something to hold onto. Seeing what you needed, he repositioned you so that your breasts were now pressed against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, rocking against him. You didn't care if the water had gotten everywhere by now. Your pussy throbbed and clutched. He felt so big and you were impossibly full with him, the way his thickness was lodged inside and caressed every inch of your walls.

"Is this all you need, darlin'?" He asked. His words came out short and clipped as he panted.

Your response was only a loud mewl.

His hands pressed tight against your back, keeping you close, and the arm hooked beneath your bottom increased its grip.

You bounced upon his lap, your movements jagged, unable to do anything more. All you could do was cling to Mingi.

"There, Darlin...such a good girl for me..." He mumbled through a moan. His voice was gruff and it made your skin prickle.

"More..." you moaned back.

"Yeah? I'mma need to move this elsewhere to give you more, Darlin'." Mingi spoke against your shoulder, peppering a kiss to soothe you. His cock felt so good inside you. "Don't worry, Darlin'. I'm not done with you, yet. We still have the bedroom, and I need to have you ride me." Mingi purred while his mouth searched your body.

A throaty chuckle erupted from Mingi as he heard your cries for him.

You yelped and whined, surprised as his arms maneuvered you, and lifted you right out of the tub. The world blurred around you, Mingi's wet flesh clinging to your own. A second later, you felt yourself land upon the cool sheets of the mattress. The fluffy bedding was a welcome feeling as Mingi's wet frame pressed to you, your lips reconnecting once more.

"We didn't wash up..." You let out a small moan of contentment against the warmth of Mingi's neck, the skin dewy and soft.

"Guess not, but I certainly enjoyed a bath with you nonetheless, Darlin’." Mingi purred against your shoulder, flipping to lay on his back and bring you on top of him. He spread your legs further and gripped your hips in both his palms as you slid down on him. "Damn...Y/N..."

"You said you wanted me to ride you, didn't you?" You smirked, settling back on him.

"Oh...that was one of the best ideas I've ever had...aight, show me what ya got..." He placed one hand on your waist while the other was laid above his head, his grin impossibly wide and goofy as his eyes met yours. "By all means, show me, darlin'."

Fuck, bathtub sex was good but being atop such a fine specimen like Mingi...this was even better...and a whole other level of sensual.

"Mingi...my god..." Your breath caught, eyes slamming shut and rolling into your skull as you sunk deeper and began riding him with more passion.

He cursed under his breath. "Fuck, your pussy is fucking perfect." He smiled, watching the view from under. Mingi was lying there, watching you move above him and he groaned.

"So hot...the way you are riding me...damn." He was straining with how good you were feeling. Your pussy squeezed around Mingi's thick cock, and your hand slid along his broad chest and down his sculpted torso. You trailed along his muscles, and Mingi watched you explore his body while you bounced atop his erection. He loved this.

"Look at you, Y/N.." Mingi smiled.

"So big.." you were stretched in a way you had never been before. "So full..." You whined, completely lost in him.

His hands wrapped tighter around your hips as he helped bounce you up and down his cock.

You continued riding the cowboy for a few more minutes. Mingi brought a hand up, running his thumb along the wet folds of your pussy and you whimpered, gasping when he started circling your clit. "Mingi.." his name came out louder, turning to a wail as you were right on the verge.

"Do it, cum all over me, let me feel it, I'm getting close. So close, darlin’." Mingi barked back, a growl emerging and his hands gripped hard as he pounded up and into you.

"Ooooh, yes!"

He sat up quickly, kissing you again as he thrust deeply until he could go no more, releasing. He jerked, pumping every last bit into you before easing down onto his back with an exhausted and spent laugh.

You collapsed over him and snuggled in closely.

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow." Mingi agreed and he looked down at you and your naked form, which was intertwined with his. You snuggled in closer and were amazed at his energy. "Better than with your ex-husband?"

You let out a laugh and you pulled his hands and wrapped them around your waist. Your hands ran across his skin and his face had an easy smile, those chocolate eyes softening. You pushed yourself closer to him, which he welcomed. "Most definitely."

"How would you feel if I stayed with you to protect you and ensure you arrived wherever you wanted to go? I promise to make sure you aren't in any trouble. That's if you would like the company."

A smile spread over your lips, and you nodded your approval. You'd love nothing more than the company of a handsome man with a good heart such as Mingi. He smiled in return placed a small kiss on the tip of your nose and held you tighter, drawing the covers of your bed over the both of you. You smiled a little as you looked at him. The night air filled with a beautiful silence. It was comfortable. Neither of you spoke, but eventually, Mingi whispered into the dark:

"Y'know what Darlin'? I reckon we can manage life together just fine."

You giggled and nodded. "I have a feeling you're right about that."

[darkbluekies]

I'm sorry to bother you, I just wanted to see the Yandere's reaction when they found out that their S/O has a lot of scars because of their father who was a very abusive man with their mother and their S/O when she was just a child

Warnings: abuse, murder, beating someone to death with a lamp, celebrating a death, bruises, dragging someone behind a horse, beheading,

Silas: 

Would become furious. Everything suddenly clicked into place, all your out of pocket behaviors. He would set out every man he could find to make sure your father paid the price for what he did to you, while rescuing your mother in the mean time. She would get her own little house with Silas’s guard staying around 24/7 to make sure nothing would happen to her. Silas would stay with you the entire night, just to talk to make sure that you wouldn’t feel lonely. He would hold you close and let you talk about your childhood, giving you reassurance. 

“He will never get close to you and your mother again. If he does, I will strangle him myself. Might do it myself, actually. My men are just toying with him a little right now. What they’re doing? Let’s just say that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

Dr Kry: 

He would notice it when you change into the hospital gown. His heart would sink down to his stomach. He would ask you about it, and if you decided to tell him, he would sit with you and reassure you that nothing was your fault and that you were safe at the hospital. And then, he would kill your father when you were sleeping. If you didn’t tell him, he would dig out the information himself, until he got the answers he wanted … and then he would kill the father. Dr Kry wouldn’t admit that he had done it. After all, he is the sweetest doctor you’ve known, he would never have done something. But he would smile every time he thought about emptying him of blood.

“Why I’m smiling? I’m just thinking about some memories. How are you feeling? Still thinking of your dad? You shouldn’t be, it only brings you pain. The bastard’s dead now, and he will never hurt you again. Never again.”

King Edmund:

Would have had your father dragged through the gravel on the front yard behind a horse while he stood on the stairs with his arms crossed. He would have enjoyed seeing his face scratched open on the small stones, creating a bloodstream behind him. When Edmund would have been satisfied, he would have gone over with a sword, cut his head off and kicked it around like a ball. The body and head would be burned — nothing should remain of him. Then he would return to you and hold you tightly, kissing your head over and over again. 

“I have obliviated him. He can never return. He will never hurt you again, my jewel. Do you know how much I enjoyed hurting him? I would have loved for you to watch his suffering, but you are in no state to see that. His ashes will be used in the shit bin. That’s what he deserves. I will have everyone who knew about his deeds on you beheaded and hung at the city center. I promise. The one daring to shield that scum will be dealt with.”

Jerry: 

You would have been at your childhood home and she noticed that something was wrong. You accidentally let out that your father was a horrible man. She would shoot up from the couch right then and there and grab the nearest weapon, this time it happened to be a lamp. You ran after her, but couldn’t stop her from beating your father to death with the lamp. She would turn to you and her mother and wipe her forehead from sweat. She would reassure the two of you that the two of you get the best protection. Her men would move your mother far away, give her a new identity and shield her, all on Jerry’s demand. Jerry would lay down on the couch when you got home and hold you close to her breast. 

“He deserved this, and you know it too. Bitch deserved even more than that. You’re safe now. How about we celebrate this fucker’s death? Some champagne? Some cake? The bitch is dead, finally! Get up, let’s go buy fireworks!”

Hedwig:

First, she would hold you in her arms, crying with you, and then she would call up her hitmen. That man would not be alive in the morning hours. You would get the news from your mother and Hedwig would pretend to not know anything while hugging you. She would smile behind your back and look worried when you looked at her. The two of you would go pick up your mom and have her stay with Hedwig until everything was settled. Hedwig would take such good care of your mother. She would buy her presents and sit with her in the evenings to talk to her, to let her clear her head. 

“Your mother is doing okay, Y/N, don’t worry about her. How about the three of us go on a little trip together. You have both deserved it so much. I love you so much, and I cherish your mother a lot. I want her to understand how much I love you and your family. He’s gone, and now it’s time for the two of you to get the life you deserve.”

[ineffable-opinions]

Danmei tropes in My Stand-In

This is a quick introduction to some popular BL tropes that are fairly new to live-action BL:

wife chasing crematorium

substitute lover

transmigration

(Contains spoilers)

All corrections and critiques are welcome.

As you probably know My Stand-In is based on the danmei novel Professional Body Double. Specifically, it belongs to 188男团 (“188 group” where 188 cm is the height of every gong (seme) in the novel series). It is a shared universe of novels with characters from one featuring in another and almost all gong are very scummy (or “red-flag” so to speak) initially.

Trope #1: wife chasing crematorium

What 188 group novels all have in common is the trope popularly known among English-speaking fandom as “wife chasing crematorium”. This is a super-popular trope, not only in danmei.

origin 追妻火葬场 (zhuī qī huǒzàng chǎng; chasing his wife’s crematorium) derived from the longer phrase 傲娇一时爽，追妻火葬场 (àojiāo yīshí shuǎng, zhuī qī huǒzàng chǎng; Tsundere was on his high horse for a while, now chasing his wife’s crematorium.) Alternative form: 追夫火葬场 (zhuī fū huǒzàng chǎng; chasing husband’s crematorium) – usually involves scum shou (uke) chasing after his gong (seme) after initially abusing gong’s love.

The trope involves the love interest being initially cold or even cruel to the protagonist who is in love. This continues until all of that love gone. By then, the love interest would have come to his senses, eager to seek forgiveness and chase after the protagonist. In some cases, the love is already lost irrevocably, especially when the protagonist is dead – hence, literal crematorium. There are also works where the love interest is discarded all together and protagonist moves on to someone else. Rarely, there are works where the protagonist is the scum.   

In 188 group novels, this is how the basic structure of wife chasing crematorium:

Shou loves gong. Gong treats shou terribly.

Gong goes too far. Shou is fed-up and leaves gong, one way or other. Gong realises that he has been in love all along.

Gong regrets his action and chases after shou. Grovelling ensues.

Gong and shou gets back together. Gong dotes on shou and the couple face other challenges (family, villains) together, if any. Happy ending.

Fans are in it for the melodrama. They want to watch scummy gong to go too far, the relationship to break down and for the gong to grovel and make amends through various selfless deeds, until they reestablish the relationship and trust (as much as possible). Every one of those stories end with a happy ending with the gong endlessly doting on shou and the relationship having turned wholesome.

Trope #2: substitute lover

Other than the previous trope Professional Body Double and its adaptation My Stand-In involves the “substitute lover” trope.

Substitute lover trope involves, usually the gong, having a 白月光 (white moonlight): a person whom he loves a lot but can’t reach/touch. This is usually his first love and has a profound impact on him.

Aside: White moonlight in itself is a common trope. Both Vip Only and Sahara Sensei to Toki-kun used white moonlight trope to in a typical kishōtenketsu narrative structure.  

Since white moonlight is unattainable, gong finds a substitute lover.

The relationship between gong and substitute lover is usually just physical. This is because gong doesn’t plan to move on from white moonlight, instead stubbornly carries the torch. Gong doesn’t plan on betraying the pure feeling he have for his white moonlight by giving any of his love to anyone else. So, he tries to ensure that no love leaks out of the dam he has built to store his love for the white moonlight. This is, from gong’s POV, a kind of emotional fidelity which he extends to his white moonlight. A tribute of gong’s unshakable love for his white moonlight.

The substitute lover sometimes resembles white moonlight in some way –

in body – first ever live action BL (shonen-ai actually) adaptation Summer Vacation 1999 (1988) based of Hagio Moto’s The Heart of Thomas plays around with this trope, a lot. More recently, Playboyy sorta lampshaded it with the twins premise.

in spirit – a recent example is Love is Better the Second Time Around wherein prof. Takashi sleeps with his assistant Shiraishi Yuto because the assistant (or his desperation at least) reminded him of his white moonlight Miyata Akihiro.

Aside: There is only one live-action BL that actively subverted this trope: HIStory3: Make Our Days Count. The series introduced a doppelgänger of Yu XiGu (Xiang HaoTing’s white moonlight), a perfect candidate for substitute lover trope. But instead of pursuing it, they subverted the trope.

There are usually two outcomes to the substitute lover trope:

gong falls for substitute lover. In some cases, this involves white moonlight turning into rival or villain.

gong and his white moonlight get together. In this case, substitute lover turn into rival or get a lover of his own.

Itsuka no Kimi e, first ever live-action adaptation of a yaoi manga, employed substitute lover trope in one of its best executions. It is so brilliantly done that I can’t think of anything topping that, unless 4th volume (particularly the case-solving plot involving the photography club) of Takumi-kun series gets live action adaptation.

Trope #3: transmigration  

Basic premise of Professional Body Double and its adaptation My Stand-In revolves around transmigration of soul.

This too is a popular trope in BL. One of the most popular danmei Mo Dao Zu Shi and its adaptation The Untamed involves this trope.

Maybe I should say set-up instead of trope for this one. Transmigration involves soul of a character getting transferred to a body different from his own at the time of triggering event.

Own body, different time – either past or future. When past is involved, it is likely a do-over story where the protagonist gets to redo their life, change their love interest, make different life choices, take different course of action, etc.

Reincarnation – completely different lifetime but with retained memories of past-life/lives. Until We Meet Again; Choco Milk Shake (different lifetime for the pets)

Different body, present (near-present) time – character’s soul enters a different person’s body. The character gets involved in his previous circumstances but now in a different capacity. Revive (2016), that danmei adaptation no one ever talks about, went to town with this set-up.

Different body, different life – soul enters character in a book, game, simulation, etc. and would be primarily tasked to thrive there. One Room Angel (2023) explored a type of badro with this set-up.

With transmigration set-up, it is common to have one of these two:

Transmigrator retaining some connection to previous life.

Transmigrator’s previous life doesn’t matter anymore.

These Tropes in My Stand-In

These tropes are explored to varying degrees and with different levels of efficiency in Professional Body Double. In its live-action adaptation, there are a bunch of limitations. Primary one being the cultural difference – audience of a danmei novel are already familiar with these tropes to some extend but the live-action audience is one which has been primarily consuming sweet BL from Thailand that are inherently deficient in BL literacies.

Another is the khujin problem. Branded pairs are very important to Thai BL industry, so they cannot have two different actors playing before and after transmigration. (Actually, this was not impossible but there hasn’t been any precedent. Also, The Untamed enjoyed success by having Xiao Zhan play pre- and post-transmigration Wei WuXian. I wish they tried two khujin (UpPoom & UpWinner) one couple, since they chose to introduce Winner as pre-transmigration Joe. I don’t know, maybe that’s asking for fan wars and pitting actors against each other.) [In the tags, @deliriousblue reflects on what having two different actors could do with example from Cupid's Last Wish (a series I haven't watched) and its impact on audience on an emotional level. @myezblog has commented that Alchemy of Souls (another I haven't watched) is an excellent example of transmigration played two different actors.]

Third limitation is one that comes from medium – you can’t have long monologues in live-action. This deprives audience of the inner workings of character’s minds. Most of the motives, especially Ming’s trouble with warring desires of his heart, is inaccessible to the audience. @clairedaring have posted a deep-dive by Liltsu into some of that here.

Aside: Another interesting trope is giving watch (a taboo gift) – Chinese superstition rising from 送钟 (gifting watch) and 送终 (to bury the dead/attend funeral) being homophones. Taboo gift trope - white lilies associated with death and funerals - have appeared in Summer Vacation 1999 (1988) and Forbidden Love; both of these have substitute lover and death.

Ming’s characterization as a young master, coming from money and prestige that breeds arrogance and deficient in empathy (this post by @tungtung-thanawat is particularly enlightening) is a highlight of his cruelty as a 188 group gong.

While redemption of scum gong is what 188 group offers its audience, it is not necessarily what live-action audience would be wanting from the set-up. It is likely that a part of the audience was in fact looking for revenge plot.

As @lurkingshan highlighted in this post there is no exploration of identity (tied to Joe’s body pre- and post-transmigration) forth-coming precisely because this isn’t that kind of story and body is only treated as a temporary shelter for the soul for most part when transmigration trope is involved. Moreover, the novel is steeped in Confucian values. So, most of the resolution to what it means for Joe to have a mother now is dealt through his selfless gratitude and the filial piety he offers her.

The same is the case with his old body – a proper funeral for that body is what he owes his own parents for having given flesh and blood to the body which housed his soul previously. Remarkably, his own house figures prominently as an inheritance and as an enduring connection to his own parents – a bond more precious to that him than the bond he had to his old body. I am unsure how much of those core Confucian values they will retain in the live-action adaptation, given the cultural difference.

As @befuddledcinnamonroll discusses here, it is tied to cultural ideas of self, religious beliefs, etc.

@bengiyo has pointed out a weakness in execution of the transmigration trope over the substitute lover trope: the latter is a recurring and inverted trope in this series while the former plays out straight. Even though it is clear that coma!Joe is basically friendless and his career already dead (or that he has no career to speak of), it might have been better to hint at a lack of resolution and impending doom, and build anticipation by leaving clues about the troubles that coma!Joe has left behind. That way when the substitute lover trope peaks again, audience would feel as trapped as Joe.

This is where I think Revive (2016) did a better job with friends, colleagues, past-lovers and rivals especially with such similar set-ups: entertainment industry, classism, scum gong, and intersecting lives pre- and post-transmigration.

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love...

Chapter: I -Eyes-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 2.1k+

♠︎Warning: physical abuse, dead animal, non-consensual touching, murder, stalking, nudity.

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist

Far away from the mellow kingdoms, was the realm of Jeon. From far away, the gloomy, blue-grey sky was evident. No one from other kingdoms even dared to look towards that domain.

It reeked of sins. From far away, one could hear the screams of the commoners. No one dared to even think about following the path after the sun dimmed down. But the thing was that the kingdom was miles and miles away. It took almost three days to travel from the nearest kingdom to Jeon’s realm by horse. That single fact sent chills down others’ spines. Even from that far away, they could hear the wrong happenings.

The skies above his realm looked dull, blue-grey. The clouds of madness always covered the sky. It was all hunted. The King haunted the realm. His bureaucrats danced with the movements of his fingers. They were his puppets and he was the puppet master.

No one has ever seen his face other than those who worked in his castle. The commoners always heard that sometimes, the King himself would come patrolling but all of his warriors wore heavy masks. Dressed in black cloaks hiding half of their face. The lower half would be covered with black cloth. Metal chains dangling from the big wide metal ferronnière.

They rode their dark horses. Whenever they passed by, the zone would become quiet, eerily quiet. No one in their right mind would raise their head to look at them and go against them. The fear among those peasants was his majesty's pride. He loved the look of fear, the way their eyes trembled, and mouths mumbled for forgiveness even though they did nothing wrong.

This was just one per cent of his wickedness. The dirty secrets remained in his realm but his dirty secrets remained in his castle.

The castle.

It was far away from the region where commoners lived. Everything that came in the way of the castle was creepy. The mist always covered the path. They say that this mist was the souls of those who died there. And there were many… mounds of them. And most of them didn’t die naturally.

It was as if dark mist spiralled over the realm.

“Coronis! Bring back the calf! Draco has to go to get meat from the Henrys,” Coronis’ mother asked from the kitchenette.

“In a moment!” Coronis looked at her reflection through the water in a wooden bucket. Her hair was black, her pretty eyes were painted with Kohl. Her lips were chapped but the tint from the beetroot she patted a while ago was making her lips look luscious. And the natural tint on her cheeks.

She was known to be beautiful in the village. Men felt honoured even if she breathed in their path. Though she didn’t come out of her shack as much. She lived there with her parents, Draco and Martha, an older brother named Onyx, and a younger sister of eight years, Circe. She herself was eighteen soon to turn nineteen.

After being satisfied with her looks, she hummed and went inside and picked up the rope and took a sharp knife with her. Letting her mother know, she stepped out to get her calf back.

Knife.

She wasn't going to kill anyone. Unless.

The chilly air threaded through her hair and her white gown fluttered along the wind.

On her way to the meadows, she saw a man beating a woman, most likely his wife, with a whip. Her face was red and blue from the punches she had received. But no one paid any attention to them.

A little further, she saw a dead pig on the side of the path, and an old man was slicing it open. Coronis scrunched her eyebrows and looked away. It was common to see these heartless humans doing bloody shit.

This realm moved with the saying ‘You live until you survive.’

Near the meadows, she saw a girl being touched by much older men, probably without her wish. Her cheeks were soaking from tears. Her delicate hands were trying to push away the men but her hands were delicate and those men were dedicated.

Reaching the meadows, she made it quick to find the calf. Seeing her stamp on the calf, she tied the rope around its neck and pulled it to follow her back to their shack.

There were stamps embroidered on every cattle. It was to mark them as their property. The one's without the stamp were usually killed for food, leather, and jewellery. The animals that were bred to be killed were reserved only for the castle. The men would come on their horses and would fill up their carriers with goods and take them to the castle.

As Coronis was returning, the sound of horses’ clops started coming closer along with their neigh. She knew better and pulled her calf to the corner of the path and kept walking. The horses started passing her. The village quieted down. Only the horses and their riders could be heard.

The path was broken and uneven, and small and big rocks were peeking out of the ground. A man stumbled and fell in front of a horse that was coming from the opposite direction, making it stop. The man got off the horse and picked up that old man with one hand and made him stand again.

“How dare you stumble our way!” He yelled. “Do you not see who is crossing?!”

The old man fell on his knees and held the feet of the patrolman. “I-I-I st-stumbled a-and fell, master! P-please, for-forgive me!”

The patrol man’s chuckle could be heard. He pulled out his sword and made a quick job and sliced his head off.

To Coronis’ bad luck, the head fell just in front of her feet. His bony face was ugly. His teeth were rotting and his beard was dirty. The blood was pouring from where his neck was supposed to be. She looked up at the man who was now getting back on his horse.

But her eyes fell on the man behind him. His eyes were boring holes into her skull. They all wore black cloth from the nose and down, and their foreheads had metal ferronnière but his was heavier and had sharp, long spikes pointing out. The chains were dangling down and were attached to his mask, decorating his face. He wore heavy chains around his neck. His horse was different from others.

She knew he was not any other guard man. He was different. He held power. To what strength, she wasn't aware of that. The higher-ups kept themselves hidden away from the eyes of the commoners.

Coronis didn’t look away from his eyes. They looked into each other’s eyes. Her eyebrows were frowned up. Her face was covered in disgust.

Slowly, they passed by. But that one man remained behind and passed even slowly all while looking into her eyes without blinking. Just like her, he too had kohl painted around his eyes.

She looked at him up and down, his fingers had heavy jewellery and metal nails attached to them. His cloak covered his head. (Lower left picture in the mood board).

His eyes held darkness. The darkness in his eyes was darker than the whole realm and the night itself. He screamed menace. After what felt like a long moment, he passed by and kept moving while she looked at his back.

It all happened slowly. The picture was stuck in her head. It sent chills through her spine. She wished to never cross her path with him. Ever again.

Turning back around, she inhaled sharply seeing that head still laying there. She kicked it away and kept walking.

The moment she opened the door to her shack, her mother's voice rang, “Those men passed by! Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I'm alright,” she said and went inside the slot that she shared with her sister. “Where is Circe?!” she asked.

“She was in the slot!” her mother said.

“Circe!” Coronis called and went outside. “Circe!” the younger girl turned around and looked at her older sister. “Go back inside! How many times do I need to tell you not to go outside without any of us by your side?” She held her arm and dragged her inside. “And the escorts are marching outside! Do you know how dangerous it is?”

“I'm sorry! I wanted to wander around for a moment. It has been days since I last saw the outside world!” Circe huffed.

“Outside world?! Do you know how bad it is?!” she held her head out of frustration. “Ugh, you will realize one day.”

Coronis was about to turn around when she saw someone outside the window but with a blink of her eye, it was gone. She shook her head and exhaled.

Maybe she was tired.

…

“Here is your liquor, majesty,” one of the guards bowed as he presented the drink to the king.

The King took the glass. He removed his mask from below and drank it all in one inhale and threw the glass away. “Lord, that is Danny's workshop. He still hasn't paid us the tariff. He is behind by one day and owes ten stones.”

The King smirked under his mask and nodded. He turned his horse and proceeded towards his castle. “You know what to do.”

His eyes moved towards a house where that lady with calf went. He smirked and moved ahead. “You too will realize…”

…

The whispers woke Coronis up. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. She looked around and saw her sister still sleeping.

It was typical to hear people crying, screaming, or talking outside. But these whispers were eerily low and were coming for one side. She knew exactly what was wrong.

She stood up and walked outside. The people were surrounded by the tall wooden bar that had an arrow above it, there lay a man who was known as Denny. His wife was tied to the pole, naked, and abused. Dead.

Coronis looked at their shack… Burnt.

“Go inside,” Draco asked his older daughter.

“Two hundred and sixty-seventh,” she looked at her father. “This year. On this pole. In only five months,” she remained and counted them too.

“Try to not be the next one,” he said and took her back inside.

“What is going on?” Circe asked.

“Nothing,” Onyx said. “Stay inside.”

“They are doing this more often. They were only a day late in paying the tariff. Just yesterday, when I went to Denny's Housewife for a new knife, she said they would pay the tariff today. Poor them,” Martha sighed and placed the salad on the table with a teapot filled with brewed tea. “Have it.”

Everyone sat around the table and ate their meal. “I'm going to the east,” Onyx said. “They asked me to bring a new supply of opium.”

“When will you be back?” Draco asked.

“Soon.”

…

After an early meal, Coronis helped Onyx with packing. Later she went to her slot and took out clothes for her to wear and stepped outside to take a bath. The wooden buckets were already filled with water that they brought from the well every day.

After getting rid of her clothes, she used soap and washed herself up. All the while she felt someone staring at her. She looked around but saw nothing. But then her eyes fell on the tree in front of her. It was dense. One could easily hide inside it. There she saw a pair of eyes looking right into hers. She gasped and stumbled back. She quickly picked up the drying cloth to cover herself and ran back inside.

Her breath was huffing. She slid down the door and tried to control her breath. Her eyes fell on the fresh clothes that she took and wore quickly and waddled into the kitchenette. “Do not bathe outside,” she gritted. “There is someone up in the tree.”

Martha looked at Coronis with wide eyes. And then at Cirice who was already looking haunted. Then nodded her head. “Are you alright?”

Coronis shut her eyes tightly and let out a sigh. “No,” she whispered. “Just don't go outside.”

She was afraid. This never happened with her. There were times when she needed to attack people just to come back home with her dignity still intact but this was so much worse. She was even afraid to look outside.

But being protective over her family, she looked outside through the window to see if the man went away or not. There was no one on the tree. She looked around and checked everywhere in her sight but no one.

She turned around but stopped. Turning back she looked at the place where she had left her dirty clothes… all were gone. Even the underclothing.

“Don’t look out. Put that cloth on the window and come back,” her mother said. “Betty's mother has some vegetables left after the sale, I'll get them and come back as soon as possible. Please, look after yourself and Circe,” she opened a drawer and took out a butcher's knife. “Keep this with you,” she whispered and took the smaller knife with her.

.....

Sanaa’s note:

The chapters will get bigger I think? There are so many details I wanna include. Hope you liked this part! Lemme know your thoughts on this one. Feedback really helps me and motivates me to write more. Take care!

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes; @darkuni63 @mageprincess7

Have a nice day/night💓

[the-bitterest-breakups-poll]

Poll: Round 1c #7

[ Image ID. An image of the first volume cover of The scum villain's self-saving system, and an image of the poster for Major Grom: Plague Doctor. End ID]

*Reminder that Break up is being used loosely here and not all relationships may be romantic in nature

Propaganda under cut:

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan:

<tw: child abuse, slavery, torture>

- Child slaves who bonded very closely with each other through shared trauma. Ended up kind of feral about each other.

- Shen Jiu ended up being bought by a rich asshole solely for the purpose of making his life hell, after he saved Yue Qi from being trampled by said rich asshole’s horse.

- Yue Qi tries to save him over and over again, but fails every time, eventually runs away to become a cultivator and promises he will come back.

- Three years later, Shen Jiu snaps and kills the rich asshole and his family and runs off to apprentice under a notorious criminal. He assumes Yue Qi is dead.

- A year after that, he finds out that Yue Qi is not dead, but instead the head disciple of a cultivation sect, now known as Yue Qingyuan. Shen Jiu is very upset finding out that Yue Qi had abandoned him.

- Yue Qingyuan gets Shen Jiu a place in the sect, and eventually he becomes the second in command of the sect, while Yue Qingyuan is the leader.

- They don’t become friends again, even though their positions require them to interact. Instead, any time they have a conversation, they part on bad terms within five lines of dialogue.

- Shen Jiu, now Shen Qingqiu, kind of ends up being a terrible person because he has no idea how to cope with his trauma and is constantly lashing out. Yue Qingyuan tries his best to reconcile and accommodate him to the point where he often turns a blind eye to Shen Jiu’s actions.

- Eventually, Shen Jiu ends up imprisoned and tortured by his former disciple Luo Binghe as retribution for his abuse. Luo Binghe uses Shen Jiu to set a trap for Yue Qingyuan, and Yue Qingyuan dies very badly, which is what ends up completely breaking Shen Jiu.

- Later, you find out that Yue Qingyuan hadn’t abandoned Shen Jiu, but instead he had tried so hard to get strong enough to come back to save him that he ended up very nearly dying, going through horrific trauma of his own. By the time he got out of the cave he had been trapped in, he went to get Shen Jiu but found the estate burned down and assumed that his old friend was dead.

- They could be interpreted romantically or just as friends, but their breakup kind of ended up basically causing the destruction of the world over an awful misunderstanding.

- Anyway I am very feral over them.

Igor Grom and Sergey razumovski:

It's a friendship breakup! Except neither of them had made a friend in a long time so they didn't *realize* they were friends even though it was super obvious and other characters saw it. [SPOILERS FROM HERE] The unsaid made the breakup worse when Igor (the cop trying to catch the Plague Doctor (who makes some good points but goes about it in a bad way, like many movie villains)) finally understood that the Plague Doctor was Sergey. But neither of them knew that it was actually Sergey's alter personality. So Igor thought the Plague Doctor was Sergey's best friend, then learned that the guy had been dead for years, then went to see Sergey fully convinced that it was yet someone else, *anyone else*, that Sergey could help him find. Meanwhile Sergey had offered Igor his help to catch the Plague Doctor, and was happy to see his new friend come see him, just to learn that said new friend now suspects him of being a terrorist (give him a break T_T) The messy part is that Sergey immediately crashes a bottle on Igor's skull, then regrets it because he thought he killed his friend, then, because obviously Igor's not dead, sets him up so that Igor's colleagues think that *Igor* is the Plague Doctor and throw him in jail. When of course Igor breaks out and goes to confront Sergey (without any backup, because he doesn't want to endanger his two allies who are now the closest he's got to friends), they talk with their fists. And the furniture in the room. And also flamethrowers. It's messy. At some point during the fight Igor's plan is to throw both of them, Sergey and himself, together, from the window. Which he does. They're on the top floor of a skyscraper. That is such a reasonable, thought-out, restrained reaction to being disappointed by someone (/ironic). They only survive because other people catch them.

[enby-jellyfish]

Once Upon A Dream

Part of the Baldur's Gate 3 Fairytale AU Collection

Sleeping Beauty!Astarion X GN!Prince Phillip!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your, They/Them

Summary: Astarion gets a second curse after accidentally upsetting Cazador, however shall he get out of this one?

Warnings: Canon typical abuse/torture, minor character death, crying, graphic depiction of violence.

Word Count: 2952

A/N: Don't mind me, just giving Astarion some more angst :) (don't worry, it has a happy ending)

Once upon a time there was a young elf who, after a terrible incident where he was assaulted and almost killed by a gang of Gur, was turned into a vampire by the self-proclaimed ‘master of all evil’, the Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr.

After his turning, Astarion was forced into servitude and the only interactions he was allowed besides with his master was when he was made to seduce and lure unknowing people back to the Szarr palace for his master to feed on while he was made to make do with dead rats and bugs.

If Astarion were to disobey in any way there would be a harsh punishment; beatings, starvation, cutting, isolation. The isolation was the worst.

One night when Astarion was on his way to fetch another poor unfortunate soul for his master he got almost run over by the horse drawn cart of an old woman, falling and ripping his doublet in the process.

The old woman had profusely apologised as she helped him up, insisting for him to come with her to her cottage not far up the dirt road so she could fix up his torn clothes. Astarion tried to refuse at first, fearing what his master would do to him if he didn’t manage to bring someone back, but eventually caved, agreeing to go with her if she would be quick.

The old woman had been overjoyed, practically dragging him onto her cart and prattling away about how it has been so long since her children had come to visit, how she misses spoiling them, and how she recently became a grandmother.

When they arrive at her quaint cottage, she sits him down in a far too soft armchair and puts on a kettle before grabbing a basket with various dyed wools, comparing the colours to the one of Astarion’s doublet whilst continuing to make conversation with him.

When she finds the closest match, the kettle starts whistling and she pours two cups of tea, handing one to Astarion and keeping one for herself as she sits by an old spinning wheel and gets to work.

Astarion doesn’t drink the tea, he can’t consume anything but blood since his turning, but still feels a sense of comfort from the warmth of the cup. Listening to the old woman talk isn’t that bad either.

The warmth of the cup mixed with the smell of the tea, the soft chair, and the sound of the old lady’s voice and the soft creaking of the spinning wheel puts him in an almost hypnotic state of calm. He hasn’t felt like this in years.

After spinning enough thread, she asks for his doublet and expertly mends the tear. When she is done it’s like it was never torn to begin with.

When Astarion ‘finishes’ his tea, he poured it in a plant when she wasn’t looking, she waves him off, telling him to come by any time.

Astarion continues what he was let out of the palace for, the kind spinster in the back of his mind.

After that night he stopped by the cottage every time he was on his way to town, the old spinster welcoming him with open arms and a hot cup of tea waiting for him.

Unfortunately, Astarion should have known he was not meant to have good things.

Cazador had become suspicious at his spawn’s increasing change in character, he had become more calm, less jittery, and decided to follow him, not at all liking what he saw.

The next time Astarion visited the cottage it lacked the familiar warmth it usually had, a cold chill running down his spine when he entered. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my pathetic excuse of a spawn. So, this is what you have been doing while you should have been doing what I sent you out for.”

Astarion feels sick to his stomach, fighting every instinct in his body to turn around and face his master instead of running away. It’s not like he could go far anyway.

“Master, I-” He tries to explain. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You broke the rules Astarion.” Cazador tuts like he is scolding a child. “Although, maybe your new friend here would like to hear an apology, you are the cause of her impending death after all.” He roughly pulls out the old spinster from behind him. “Go on.”

Astarion takes a shaky breath. “I- I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” Tears start rolling down his face. “Oh, hush child. I know, and I forgive you.” She is crying too now. “I am sorry too, one day you will receive all the love and kindness you deserve, Astarion. I promise.”

Cazador interrupts them with a sound of disgust. “What a sickening display, that’s enough out of you.” He grabs the spinster by the sides of her head and with one swift movement jerks her head to the side, breaking her neck with a sickening crack.

A pained noise escapes Astarion’s mouth, a cross between a sob and a gasp, his hand quickly coming up in an attempt to prevent more noise from coming out. Tears are streaming down his face when Cazador harshly grabs it, stepping over the dead body of the spinster.

“Now, what to do with you, hmm?” Cazador looks around the room, his gaze landing on the spinning wheel in the corner. “The isolation always had the biggest effect on you, hadn’t it? A month in the dungeon should suffice. But what about future offences?”

He walked over to where his staff stood propped up against a wall. “If you break the rules again,” The staff begins exuding a lime green light, the air growing thick with magic. “, you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into a dreamless sleep, never to awaken, trapped within the darkness of your own mind.”

Astarion falls to his knees. “NO, please master I beg of you, have mercy!” Cazador scoffs. “Mercy?” He pretends to think about it. “Fine, I’ll be merciful, you have been bringing me my prey as I ordered, despite your… escapades.” Cazador inhales sharply. “All right, I’ll give you a chance to break your curse.”

The staff brightens again. “Your curse shall be broken by receiving a true love’s kiss.” The light fades and Cazador grabs Astarion’s face again, smiling down at him. “As if you could find anyone that will be able to love you.”

Astarion spends the following month in the dungeon. His cell is small, cold, and moist. He feels utterly and absolutely alone. That is, until he falls asleep. Ever since that unfortunate night he has been having a strange dream.

He is dressed in formal clothes, dancing on the clouds with someone. He can never remember anything about this person when he wakes up, except the overwhelming feeling of love he has for this person.

Every day, it's the same dream, and every night, it's the same nightmare.

The dream continues when Astarion is let out of the dungeon. Part of him is happy it stayed; the dream provides him with the only comfort he has in his forced servitude. Another part is upset, because the dream reminds him that this will always be what it is, a dream.

Years later, Astarion is on his usual way to town, practicing his memorised lines as he walks. Lost in thought he suddenly gets pushed into the ditch. “HEY, watch where y-”

“I AM SO SORRY, I don’t know what got into him, are you hurt?” Astarion looks up, rubbing his head, squinting as he watches his, apparently unwilling, assailant jump off their horse, rushing to his aid.

You pull him up. “Are you hurt?” You repeat, looking the stranger in his ruby eyes.

Huh, there’s something familiar about him.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, lost in each other’s beauty while trying to figure out if you’ve met before.

Astarion breaks the silence. “Uh, no, I’m fine.” You are confused for a second before remembering your question. “Oh, right. That’s good.” You reluctantly let his cold hands go. “Say, how about you let me buy you a drink?” The question spills from your lips before you can stop it.

He has an odd look in his eye. Was that too forward? “Uh, to make up for my horse pushing you down!” Astarion takes in your question. On the inside he’s panicking. Who is this person? Why does he feel this way? Pull. Yourself. Together!

“And what makes you think I would accept a drink from a stranger? For all I know you could be a murderer, waiting for a moment of weakness before you strike.” The words come out just as he had practiced, smooth, flirtatious. He regains some of his confidence, only for it to be completely shattered again by the laugh you let out. “Oh, but we aren’t strangers!”

“Aren’t we?” Astarion is sure you’ve never met before, he would have remembered, yet he can’t shake that familiar feeling. “No, we’ve met before, once upon a dream.” It’s corny for sure, calling him the man of your dreams. But he is, isn’t he? You’ve had that same dream since you can remember.

Astarion is stunned. No, they can’t be- but maybe? “Right, how could I forget.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, deciding to just surrender to the moment. “I’ll allow you to buy me a drink, but I want to know your name first.” You smile and tell him your name; he repeats it before telling you his.

With that the two of you go off to find a tavern. You spend the whole night talking, drinking, and dancing. It’s almost too good to be true.

Astarion wants this night to last forever, but alas. The sun is coming up soon. He had to get going if he didn’t want to get burned.

“Same time tomorrow?” He smiles at you. “I’ll see you in my dreams before then, darling.” He kisses your hands and departs for the palace.

When Astarion enters the palace, he is met with an eery humming sound coming from above. In a daze, he follows the noise up several flights of stairs, to a room in a tower he’s never been before.

The room is empty, except for a spinning wheel, seemingly spinning on its own. Astarion feels an uncontrollable need to touch it. The humming is almost deafening as he gets closer, reaching out his hand.

With a hiss Astarion pricks his finger on the spindle and immediately feels woozy. Tearing his sluggish gaze from the bead of blood on his finger, he notices a dark figure standing in the doorway before everything goes dark.

Astarion doesn’t show up the next night, or the one after that. Your dreams have also stopped. Whispers have started circulating throughout town about a cursed palace. It’s not much to go on but considering it all happened at the same time you take it as a clue.

You start asking around, learning that the palace belongs to the feared Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr, and that he hasn’t been seen since the supposed curse. With that information you take off, with your trusty steed, strong armour, and a sharpened sword, ready for anything you might find.

The first thing you notice is the plant life. What once must have been beautiful roses have overgrown the palace, its thorns digging into the stone, making sure nothing can get in, or out. You hop off your horse, unsheathe your sword and start cutting away at the thick stems. With some effort you manage to clear an entrance and enter the palace.

“Either you are incredibly stupid to try and break into a cursed Vampire Lord’s palace, or that snivelling worm actually succeeded in making someone fall in love with him, which would also not make you the brightest.” Startled you turn to face who you assume to be Cazador. “You’re talking about Astarion.” You grip your sword a little tighter.

He laughs manically at you. “Look at you, his knight in shining armour! I’m almost rooting for you, almost. But to truly win me over you’ll need to defeat the dragon first, of course.” You don’t like where this is going. “Dragon?”

He laughs again, his eyes now glowing a lime green. His voice starts sounding distorted, deeper than it was. His bones start shifting and he begins to grow.

You sheath your sword and take off, not needing to see what is happening to know he is turning himself into a dragon.

The ground shakes beneath your feet as Cazador follows you, letting out a growl and flapping his giant wings.

You find yourself in a ballroom, catching your breath you quickly formulate a plan. The tall room has several pillars holding up the ceiling, a staircase ascending to a balcony that overlooks the room, intricate banners hanging from the balustrade. You can make do with that.

With that thought, Cazador bursts through the entrance, taking down the door and part of the wall with him. Quickly you run for a pillar, managing to hide behind it right when Cazador sends a burst of fire your way, the flames just barely missing you. You try and slow your breathing, waiting for his next move.

Impatient with his now giant body, Cazador smashes his tail through the pillar, forcing you to start running for the stairs. You almost make it until a giant clumsy claw scratches at your arm, ripping off the armour. You scream in pain and stumble to escape up the stairs, just barely missing the next fire burst from Cazador’s mouth. You make your way to the balustrade and pry off a banner, grasping the heavy fabric close to your chest.

Your lungs are burning, beads of sweat are rolling down your face, and your arm hurts like hell, blood dripping down the limb, mixing with your sweat. Shakily you stand, facing the dragon.

You throw the banner at Cazador’s face before he can blast more fire at you, forcing him to stop and swat away the fabric so he can see, but he isn’t quick enough. You use the balustrade as a step, jumping to the dragon’s face, unsheathing your sword in the process and stabbing the dragon through its shout.

The both of you go down, you roll away with your sword as soon as you hit the ground. You shakily get up, watching Cazador starting to shrink, clawing at his face. He may not be dead, but he’s definitely incapacitated for a bit. Good enough.

You sheath your sword and rush back to the now destroyed entrance, running through hallways and up stairs until you finally find what you came here to find.

The tower is almost empty, a wooden coffin sits nailed shut in the middle. You use your sword as leverage to break open the coffin. Inside lays Astarion, cold, not moving, not breathing.

You are too late.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you cup his face. “I’m sorry.” You whisper tearfully before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

You stay there for a moment, your forehead pressed against his, until you feel his chest start to rise and fall. Confused you press your hand to his chest, feeling the steady thumping of a heartbeat. You watch stunned as his eyelashes begin to flutter and he opens his eyes. No longer are they ruby, but sapphire instead.

You mutter his name in disbelief. He looks at you with a dazed expression his hand coming up to hold yours. He feels warm.

Astarion slowly sits up, running his tongue over his teeth before looking at you in shock. “You’ve broken both of my curses?” You laugh nervously. “What can I say, I’ve always been an overachiever.” He laughs too, squeezing your hand.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. You’ve been here long enough” You pull him up and the two of you stumble down the tower, almost exiting the palace before you hear a gargling sound.

You turn and are met with the sight of Cazador, back in his usual form, crawling towards you on the floor, his face covered in blood. The viscous liquid dripping down his neck and onto his expensive shirt.

Astarion looks from his former master to you, a mix of rage and grief thundering behind his eyes. You unsheathe your sword for the final time, extending the weapon to Astarion. “You can do with him as you please.”

Astarion takes your sword and stalks over to the bloodied vampire on the ground. He grabs Cazador by the hair, turning him over to face him before stabbing. Astarion drops the vampire and uses two hands to drive the sword through his former master again, and again, and again. Eventually he stops, Cazador long dead, dropping the sword as he lets out a tortured scream. Astarion is sobbing now and covered in blood.

Carefully you move to kneel next to him. The second you put your hand on him he flings himself at you, crying into your shoulder as he releases the grief over all those years of torture and abuse.

Eventually he calms down and you both get up, exhausted as you leave the palace. You help him on your horse, who miraculously stayed through all that, and start riding back to town.

You stop only briefly to watch the sunrise, Astarion closing his eyes and basking in the sunshine, knowing that the two of you will now be able to continue to live happily ever after.

The end.

Masterlist

Tag list: @glitterandgoldfinds

Thank you for reading <3

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Three Toronto police officers are facing misconduct charges after allegedly failing to investigate properly calls for service at a North York shelter, where a woman was later found dead in a room with her alleged killer last summer.

Notices of Hearing provided to CP24 documents what allegedly transpired at the shelter on June 29, 2023, involving constables Adam Yurkiw, Victor Lai and Sivapragasam Sivachandrian.

Shelter staff first called the police on June 28 shortly after 9:30 p.m. for two occupants who refused to leave the building. No units were available until the following day at 7:25 a.m. when Const. Sivachandrian and his partner responded. The documents said Sivachandrian was the "coach officer" for his partner, who had recently become a police officer.

Dispatch informed the two of them that a male and a female occupant were known drug users and had barricaded themselves in the room, according to the tribunal documents. The two were also advised that one of the occupants had an outstanding warrant. [...]

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Tagging: @politicsofcanada

Note from poster @el-shab-hussein: too busy trampling Palestinians with horses to go save an actual domestic abuse and femicide victim. Thanks for the extra funding Olivia Chow.

[silaslich]

Nothing tastes like the kiss we shared

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Warnings: references to SA with no actual depictions (not Arthur), dubcon if you squint (alcohol involved), smut, mid honour Arthur

Length: 6k

You’re hit with two strokes of bad luck at once. Then you meet Arthur Morgan.

There’s a part of you that wishes you had stayed.

While small, that part of you plagues your mind more often than it should. Always at inconvenient times too. It makes you second guess yourself. Every choice you make from then on; it’s a leap, a quick rash decision before you force yourself back into a hole to wilt away.

That house had been the stuff of nightmares. Everyday you were told to be grateful. They provided you with food in your belly and clothes on your back. Did that make up for what he did? The man of the house as he liked to be known. Some man. You had memorised the sound of his footsteps. The heaviness to them that his wife didn’t have and the ever present messiness to the stride that was brought on by his beer and whiskey. He’d come creeping to your room in the night while his wife and children slept. A hand over your mouth or your face stuffed into the pillow. Neither were uncommon. As wrong as it felt, you knew that this wasn’t out of the ordinary. You knew other girls that worked like you were suffering the same. Labeled as hired help for the chores and the children only to be the target for all frustrations and problems.

Mr Hall cared not for your comfort or wellbeing. If his wife knew of the abuse, she never raised her concerns for you.

So you fled. While riding to town for canned goods and other supplies - you rode toward the horizon and didn’t look back. With only the ten dollars of cash from the Hall’s that was meant to buy their supplies and what little money you’d managed to try and save on your ten cent a week wage, you barely had twenty dollars to your name. It wouldn’t buy you a room anywhere and it certainly wouldn’t buy you passage to some place far far away from here. Yet, you’d try.

It’s a few days after fleeing and your saddle bag is full of crackers and biscuits and cans of corned beef to tide you over for your journey to wherever your horse carries you. The way you had lived the past few years had been sheltered. Placed in a home for girls at a young age and then bouncing from one work house to the other. Ending up at the Hall’s home in the countryside. You didn’t know the area in which they lived well. You were never given much more information than the nearest town to stock the house with food and other necessities.

The day bleeds into evening. The once bright burning sun is no longer sat high in the sky scorching everything it reaches; now it sits low on the horizon, its violet-peach hue stretches and dances across the sky. Melting together. It’s beautiful. It’s something you’d never taken the time to admire. Kept too busy with work usually. By the time you’re relieved of your duties it’s already late in the evening. The sky outside a navy blue, often scattered with stars. Looking up at the sky now you understand why people can sit and stare for so long. Watching as the clouds race by, pale blues and light purples and rich burnt orange.

As you’re watching the sky your eyes catch something reflecting in the distance. Slightly off to the left side of the path you’re riding on. It’s a large mass of something. A solid block of something dark you can’t quite see clearly yet. You near closer and closer and your horse throws its head. Clearly agitated. When you come up to the side of what is lying at the side of the road, you see why. It’s a striking black horse. While dead, it’s still a thing to behold. Large and stocky. It’s left fore leg looks broken and as you inspect the scene you’re quick to notice that his rider lays beside him. Also dead. A gunshot wound.

You’re not sure if you’re the one to stop or if the horse does so on its own accord. Either way, you’ve stopped dead. Staring at the sad thing that has occurred. You’re not sure of the circumstances, but alas, it still gathers a lump in your throat. Then something occurs to you. It flashes in your mind like the crack of a whip. It hurts like one too. The saddle bag that the black stallion is wearing looks fit to burst. With what - you’re not sure. It’s instinctive the way you slide yourself out of the saddle and step towards the dead horse and rider. There’s a sharp pain in the back of your mind that seems to be warning you away. And yet, you don’t even try to stop yourself.

When your fingers meet the inky black fur of the horse’s coat you note that he is still warm. Freshly dead. Another pang of sadness hits your chest. The saddle bag’s buckle clinks as you open it, hands blindly rooting for whatever could be inside. There’s canned food and a small coin pouch. Looking again you find a book about tinctures and then your fingers touch something cold. Something made of metal. From the instant you touch it you know what it is. You pull it out to reveal a revolver. Its metal is bright and well polished and its barrel is engraved with charcoal black swirls and patterns. While you know nothing about guns, you can tell this is some moneys worth.

You hold the revolver up in the light, watching as it practically gleams. You wonder how many men this gun has killed. How many men met their doom at the end of its barrel. Suddenly, there’s a sympathy of beating hooves and loud grating voices that pull you back out of your thoughts. In an instant, you’re now facing down a dozen barrels yourself. “What did you do to Harold?” One man exclaims, waving his gun. “He didn’t pay you or somethin’?” Shouts another. They’re riding right up to you. Your horse spooks and bolts and suddenly you’re being crowded back. Some of the men dismount, their guns still aimed. Others stay in their saddles, watching.

Two men advance on you and instinctively your fingers tighten around the gun. Those footsteps. Heavy and messy. They ring in your ears. They echo over the ones that are heading right toward you. Hitting the mud with such urgency it makes you scramble backwards, but in doing so you trip over the dead man lying on the ground. Your spine connects with the solid earth and you’re winded. Pain shoots through you and the gun clatters across the grass and far from your reach. The men sneer. “You killed him didn’t ya? Fucked him for cash and didn’t like how much he thought you were worth is that it?” He spits at you, angry and wild and imposing. Your eyes widen in panic but any retort that pops into your head dies on your tongue. Then it hits you, you’ll die either way. Fuck it.

“I wouldn’t have fucked him even if he shoved a gold brick in my hand” you seethe, biting your lips back over your teeth to show just how much the thought disgusts you. The man seems so much closer, close enough that when he swings the butt of his gun down toward your head he connects well and with force to the side of your face. The pain is blinding and it knocks you flat to the ground. Even trying to balance yourself on your hands is a bad decision. You watch as a large booted foot slams down onto the back of your hand. Searing hot pain explodes all the way up your arm. You hear something crunch and you cry out in pain. Tears do spill now. But you remember - you would have been killed either way. Then you feel something cold press into the side of your head where it’s bowed toward the ground. Submissive, even now. You hate it. You swallow at the same time as the gun cocks.

The sound splits your head with pain. But your head remains intact. A loud thud and splat. Your eyes fly open and you’re suddenly staring the man in the face. But his face is blown apart. Oozing blood as his throat gargles and his eyes wobble. You’re horrified. Only seconds ago he threatened your life, now he’s lost his. Commotion and noise thrash the air around you. Shouting and screaming and horses hooves and another gunshot. Then another. And then another. Thump after thump after thump. You don’t know what to do other than flatten yourself into the ground. Pretend to be dead. They’re being ambushed. Or they’ve turned on each other. You don’t even know.

The seconds bleed and then it’s a minute. Utter silence. Other than the swaying grass and the cicadas. You open your eyes and try and scan your surroundings slowly. You push yourself up and as you turn you’re met with a pair of dusty boots. You follow the line of sight up a pair of jean-clad legs and up a wide chest, eventually meeting a pair of deep green eyes. Almost the colour of emeralds. The man tilts his head, “how long were’ya gonna play dead for, hm?” He asks. His demeanour strikes you as non combative. If he were going to rape, kill or rob you he would have done it by now - surely? You stare at him dumbly. Eyes wide and mouth probably wider. He clicks his tongue. “Are you slow or somethin’?” He asks, voice firm yet curious. You sit up a bit straighter, nursing your clearly broken hand against your chest. “No sir” the words fall out of your mouth quickly. Force of habit you fear, speaking to a man in such a manner. It’s been a standard and a staple all your life, especially to those perceived to be helping you.

It takes a few seconds for you to get yourself to a shaky stand. Your adrenaline is running rampant and your head and your hand are in agony. It’s a lot to take in and you’re not used to it. Becoming free and suddenly being cut down again like that, it’s humbling to say the least.

The man is quite tall. Taller than you at least. His chest is wide and solid from what you can tell. He takes up all of your vision from where you’re both standing. His hair is a light wash of brown and it contrasts with his striking green eyes. You can’t help but stare. “There somethin’ on my face?” He half laughs as he asks the question, shaking his head as he snakes his thumbs into the lip of his belt. He seems so collected for a man that just shot another. Or six.

You tilt your head to the side, one eye is now obscured by the blood that seeps from the top of your head on that side. You try to blink it away and wipe it with your sleeve but you’re just making more mess. As you try to smear it away the man extends his hand to offer you a handkerchief. It’s not the cleanest looking thing in the world but you supposed your sleeve was no better. “Thank you mister” you say, nodding your head at him. He grunts in response and the two of you stand there for another few seconds. It’s slightly awkward the way he just stands there looking at you without saying a word. Only offering so much as a blank stare and not trying to engage in a real conversation. He has no real reason to be stood staring at you as you go about metaphorically licking your wounds.

The man then nods his head deeply, sighing. He watches as you look toward the bodies strewn around the ground, watching as the blood stains the grass. “I was gonna kill’em anyways” it’s nonchalant in the way he says it. He steps away from you, leading back to where his horse stands waiting between the trees. “Been following them fellers for hours waiting for a good time to get rid of ‘em” he turns back toward you, gesturing at you with his hand. “Then here you were” there’s a flash of teeth from his smile, “perfect little distraction”.

You don’t say anything back. How can you? He wasn’t saving you out the kindness of his heart or because it was the right thing to do. He wanted those men dead anyway. So if they had shot you dead he wouldn’t have cared. Out here it’s a more dog eat dog world than you could have imagined. You knew it’d be tough. Never thought it would be anything else, but you’re still taken aback.

Your eyes follow him once more and you watch as he pulls himself up into his saddle. His horse is as pale as buttermilk but its mane and tail are as black as midnight. He notes that you’re watching him still, his spurs dig into the barrel of his horse as he urges the stallion to walk toward you. The man tilts his head down, glancing to where the revolver sits in the grass. He points a gloved finger. “You might wanna keep that” he says blankly. You’re quick to speak up. “No point” he looks at you sharply, “I don’t know how to shoot”. You look up at him and the man makes a rough noise in the back of his throat. As you look up at him, it’s like he’s battling something inside. As he looks from you to the setting sun behind you where the horizon sits heavy and ever darkening as night approaches, he half sighs - half grumbles. Then he turns toward you again. “Where’re you headed?” A beat “I don’t know”. It’s like the answer you’ve given is the one he was expecting. He nods to himself. The man brings up a gloved hand to rub his chin in thought. “You want a ride?” You’re taken aback by his offer. “Excuse me?”. You’re not sure you’ve heard him right. “I’ll ride for another hour until I have to camp for the night. You’re welcome to join me and I can drop you off into town in the mornin’. I’m headed there anyway”. His face is devoid of any clear emotions, he looks sincere, but you raise an eyebrow. He laughs. “No funny business I swear” he drops his reins and raises one hand in the air while the other flattens to his chest where his heart lays. It’s a gracious offer, but it’s one you’d be foolish to take, despite how good his intentions might seem. He watches you mull over his words and he’s quick to keep talking. “You need t’get that hand looked at and your head ain’t lookin’ too good neither” he points out. His points are all valid and his explanation makes sense. Still you feel so torn. “There’s a doctor in town, real cheap” he adds.

As you look down at your boots weighing up your options, it becomes clear to you; there are no other options. Not ones in which you live that is. Your horse is long gone with your food and remaining money and you have no idea where you are or where to go. If this cowboy ends up maiming you then better it him then someone else or some kind of animal. It’s an irrational way of thinking. Yet it’s the reason you scoop up the revolver from the grass and clasp his waiting hand that he’s held out toward you. Pulling you up till you’re sitting atop his horse’s hindquarters. Instead of letting your hand go once you’re seated, he pulls it to rest around his waist. “Hold on”.

~

You had never tried whiskey before. But now you had. And you don’t like it.

It burns your throat in a way that reminds you of vomiting. The aftermath of it. That awful taste that burns your tongue and stings your throat. Lingering no matter how desperately you try to get rid of it.

The man’s name is Arthur. You’d asked some time into the ride. Barely audible over the wind racing past your ears as the horse lopes along the dirt road. He had asked for your name in return and you gave it gladly. Despite what you had witnessed not even an hour ago you can tell this man isn’t like them. He told you he was going to kill those men either way, telling you to your face that your life meant little to him - but he didn’t seem sure. His tone and his face and especially his eyes. This is a man that doesn’t want to admit he’s a good man. Deep down underneath all of the rough and gruff you can see that there’s a softness. He wouldn’t be allowing you along for the ride if he truly didn’t care. He would have left you back there in the dark.

Instead he builds a camp and gives you his bedroll for comfort. Placating you with his whiskey bottle while he cooks meat over the fire he’s started. You don’t ask what meat it is and he doesn’t tell you. It’s delicious either way. You were fed table scraps back with the Hall’s. Never meat as fresh and juicy as this. You swallow a decadent mouthful. “Did you hunt for this?” You ask, casting your eyes to where Arthur sits on the opposite side of the fire. He nods, chewing. “I did”. It’s second nature to him. Not a big deal at all. He wonders if you’re from a big town from how little you really don’t know about the world around you. There’s nothing street wise about you at all and it shows.

With a full belly and a bleary head you start to come up with so many questions. You’re curious. Always have been. About a lot of things really. Perhaps it’s just nosiness too. As you stare into the fire it hurts your eyes, you need to focus on something else. Then from behind you, there’s the sound of Arthur’s horse grazing. The beast blows air through his nostrils loudly. You turn to watch as he grazes, “he’s beautiful” you say to Arthur, still facing his horse. Arthur hums, “don’t let him hear you say that” he laughs breathily and it draws your eyes to him. You notice he’s polishing a knife with a square of cloth. It’s a skilled chore you can tell. “Have you had him long?” The horse continues eating as you turn to watch him again, memorised by how calm and peaceful he seems. Arthur sighs, as if in thought, “must be about four years now, I tracked him for weeks. Real pain in the ass” he laughs again. It’s easy for him. Laughing that is. He seems as at peace as his horse does, speaking freely with someone he’d just met.

You frown. Confused by what Arthur means. “Tracked him?” You question, a weary brow raised as you focus your attention back on Arthur. He’s still polishing his knife. Arthur looks up from his task and then puts the knife down by his side, focusing on the topic. “He was wild back then” he says, eyes flitting from you then toward his grazing horse behind you. “Spotted him while out riding my old girl one day and I just knew there was somethin’ about him” you lean closer - intrigued. “My old girl was about ready to give up on this fast paced way of livin’ and I knew I’d have to replace her sooner or later” he scratches his chin. “Saw that he was strong and fast. Young too from what I could tell, he didn’t have a herd of his own yet so it seemed like a good time to tame him before he moved onto someplace else”. You can tell there’s a fondness to these memories in the way Arthur speaks about his horses. Riding out the way he does for as long as he does there’s no wonder he bonds so strongly with them.

You’re fascinated. Eager to listen when Arthur continues on with his stories, fuelled only by your questions. The stars sit high against the midnight sky but neither of you are tired yet. Despite the day you’ve had, you feel more awake than ever.

“So where’re you from?” Arthur asks. His speech is impeded by the candy he has pressed against his tongue. He offers the bag to you and you’re quick to stand up and round the fire to where he sits. Parking yourself next to him to answer his questions. “Don’t know really” you say. Trying your best to think up a way to explain your lacklustre life up until this point. You jostle the sweet in your mouth and it clacks against your teeth, “my momma died when I was young and I never knew my daddy so I grew up in a girls home”. Arthur hums, listening along. Maybe he understands, the part about lacking parents. “I was sent to a workhouse when I was fourteen and I’ve moved around since then but never really known where I’ve been goin’ to” the candy is starting to dissolve in your mouth. You can’t look at Arthur directly. Choosing to flick your eyes from the fire to his horse and back again. Each time you catch his eyes it sends a licking heat down your spine. You’re convinced it’s the whiskey. It’s the only explanation because you’ve never experienced alcohol or funny feelings in your stomach like that before. It must be connected.

Arthur gets more comfortable. Moving from his upright sitting position to splaying his legs out in front of himself and balancing himself with one of his elbows against the ground. Perhaps he’s growing tired. “How come you were on that road? Workhouses don’t usually allow their girls out alone like that” it’s a genuine question and one that rings true. Workhouses usually don’t let their girls out at all unless it’s important. Even then they’re never out alone. You half-laugh. “I wasn’t coming from a workhouse” you say. You wish you had. Maybe you wouldn’t have run away if you were still there. While not pleasant they were still better than the likes of the Hall’s. At least the worst abuse you suffered at the workhouses was working never ending hours or having your hands caned for lack of standards. You look over at Arthur and notice his raised brow, confusion etching the lines of his face. “I was working for a family” you clarify and he nods in understanding. “Not a nice family then I take it” he says and again you force a laugh. It overtakes your urge to cry or scream. The thoughts and the memories of that place would stay with you forever. “They were fucking awful”.

From there the conversation diverts again. Purposeful on Arthur’s behalf. No good talking about that kind of thing when you’re only having each other’s company for the night. What good are strangers when they know intimate details about your upbringing and struggles? You don’t ask him anything personal for this reason. Because he would have told you if he wanted to and because his topic of conversation couldn’t be further afield.

“What d’ya mean you don’t like it?” He asks, nearly offended. He thrusts the whiskey bottle back towards you but you refuse. Smiling as Arthur tilts the bottle up towards your mouth. He’s had a few healthy swigs himself and it shows. He’s not drunk but he’s definitely loosened up. He’s crept into your space from where you were both sitting and he’s asking you all sorts of crazy questions about crazy topics. You can’t say you mind at all. He’s endearing. Your skin feels alight and your stomach feels all funny in a good way when he looms close. His arm or thigh pressed to yours and his scent invading your nostrils. He smells herbal and dark. Like gunpowder and yarrow. Like the soil of the earth but in the best way. Like petrichor. Like the soil after a fresh downpour of rain.

Arthur watches you with narrowed eyes. You see as the heaving of his chest deepens. His blood slow with the alcohol as it ebbs at his senses just the right amount. He stops pushing the bottle towards you. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and your heart sinks into your stomach. He looks away from you and into the darkness, where his horse grazes idly somewhere. “You’ve got something on your lip” he says, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking the healthiest swig he’s had all night. Instinctively you reach your fingers up using your good hand, skimming your fingertips along your lips but finding nothing. You turn towards Arthur sharply. “You’re an ass you-“ you’re cut off. Arthur’s lips are pressed to yours and his hand holds you still by cradling the side of your face. It’s a soft gesture but there’s a harshness to it too somehow. The slight pinch of his fingertips into your cheek, warning you not to pull away. How could you? Heat explodes not only in your tummy but in your mouth too. He hadn’t swallowed the whiskey before. Instead he pushes it into your waiting mouth. His tongue teases at your lips and there’s no resistance on your behalf. You’re at Arthur’s mercy. You moan without exactly meaning to and it gives him more room to explore your mouth. The whiskey slides down your throat as you swallow and Arthur moves to deepen the kiss. Practically pulling you closer. Needing you closer. All night you’ve both been inching towards each other. Seemingly not meaning to. And it’s all lead to this.

~

You can hear as your blood rushes past your ears. The sound of your racing heartbeat echoes around in your skull. Your body moves but your mind is elsewhere. It’s screaming. It’s in overdrive. You don’t know where to put your hands. You don’t know how to kiss him back. You try to follow his lead but you can tell that Arthur is allowing you room to proceed how you want to. He kisses you fiercely, but he doesn’t rush you on. It’s worlds away from Mr Hall. He’d never kissed you - and you’re glad of it. But this, what comes before sex, it’s something you’re unversed in. You’re scared. You want this, desperately you fear. But you don’t know how.

Arthur has liquid courage on his side. You don’t. It makes him pliable. He trails his lips from yours down the line of your jaw and towards your throat, kissing all the way. The gentlest of touches. Ghosting. Barely touching you at all. At some point Arthur had manoeuvred you into his lap, your thighs spread over his hips. Still he doesn’t push further. Merely grips his hands into any flesh of yours he can find. Your thighs. Your hips. He holds your jaw as he finds your lips again. His touch burns and you’re scared he’ll set you on fire. The same way you daren’t open your eyes incase you find his. His green eyes are suddenly like a smouldering fire and he’ll only ignite you further.

His lips leave yours briefly to bury themselves in your neck. Sucking a bruise against your skin. Your head lulls back and a sound escapes your throat. It makes Arthur’s chest vibrate against you where he has you held to him. Flushed together. Despite the fact that it’s night, you’re still so hot. Sweat slicks your skin and you feel the way your hair sticks to your forehead. It makes your head pound. Everything is happening at once. “A-Arthur” your words stagger and it fuels the sting of his teeth against your skin. You moan again. Feeling how hard he is between your bodies. It’s evident. An obvious outcome to all of this. Still, Arthur lets you guide, if only you knew what to do next. You look to ground yourself against his shoulder, pressing the heels of your palms into him so that he untucks his mouth from your neck. His name falls from your lips once more but this time it seems to sober him up. It sounds desperate. But not in the way he wants.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sincerely. Wide eyes meeting yours. You can see they’re glazed over. Almost lost. He puts a measure of distance between the two of you. Or he tries to. He at least makes it so you’re not sitting right on his cock. You’re heaving. Practically breathless. “It’s just-“ you look away but Arthur is quick to right that. Using a gentle guiding hand so your eyes meet his once more. “It’s okay” Arthur swallows. “We don’t have to. I’m sorry I got so carried away it’s-“ Arthur starts to move and his words spill quickly but you don’t want this to stop. “No it’s not that!” You’re quick to take his face in your hands this time, cupping his cheeks. His stubbled beard bites into your palms but you don’t relinquish your hold. “I’ve just never done this before” you spit the words. Almost embarrassed. Scared to admit you don’t know what you’re doing incase he loses interest all together. Arthur’s brow furrows. “That’s what’s got you so worried?” He seems genuinely confused at the issue. How could you have thought this would bother him?

You swallow thickly. “Well I have” you take your eyes away from his, thinking of the right thing to say. His hand rises to take hold of your wrist where you still cup his face, his thumb rubbing circles. This man is soft. You had known it. From the very second he held out his hand for you to sit on his horse with him. “I’ve just never done it willingly”. You’re ashamed to say it. Yet you meet Arthur’s eyes nonetheless. His eyes tell you that he understands. That this is what he was expecting you to say. He shakes his head. “It’s not the same thing” he tells you. Moving your hand toward his mouth and kissing your fingers. “Let me show you what it’s supposed to be like”.

By the time you’ve nodded your head and stolen his lips again - he’s undressed you. Your top half at least. Your breasts are free to the open air and your nipples react to the temperature; but Arthur remedies that quickly. With one nipple encapsulated by his lips and the other attended to with his fingers, you feel spoilt. Your hands fist into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. They’re just long enough to grasp. You moan unabashed and Arthur uses his free hand to guide you by the lower back, smoothing your hips back and forth against his erection.

Again - you feel as if you blink and then Arthur is pushing up your skirts. “Fuck” he hisses through his teeth when he realises you’re not wearing any proper garments underneath your slip like dress. You were never given anything proper when you were with the Hall’s. You hate the reason why. But there’s a new found love for it where Arthur is concerned. There’s merely a layer of cotton between him and your cunt. His attentions from your breasts fall and suddenly all of his attention is garnered to what lies between your legs. Your breath quickens and you all but fall apart when you feel Arthur’s fingers press against you through the thin fabric. You hadn’t realised you were wet. Is that normal? His reaction tells you so. His chest rumbles. Then he kisses you again. Again and again as he messes with his jeans between your bodies. You hear the zip and the he hisses through his teeth again. When you look down you can see that he has his cock in his hand. Pumping idly. You’re mesmerised. Slightly in awe at the size of him. You’re not sure how that’ll work. Yet, for Arthur, you’d try your best.

There’s some difficulty when moving your garments aside without having to take them off completely. Yet the two of you manage. All the while you clutch onto Arthur for dear life and he sucks purple welts into your breasts like he’s staking his claim. Perhaps he is. You hope so. Deep down.

Arthur moves up to your throat. Kissing and suckling and leaving a wet trail in the wake of his lips as he moves to kiss your lips. You kiss him back, curling your tongue into his mouth as you hold the base of his neck. You never want to let him go. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The slight tipple of courage it’s given you. If it even has at all. You’re not sure. One thing you’re sure of though is that this is something you hadn’t realise you wanted. Something you needed. For yourself.

Arthur spits into his palm and slides it against his cock. Slicking himself. Your juices won’t be enough. No matter how much he’s wound you up. Arthur guides you. Gently. Still not rushing despite the way you can feel his heartbeat in your palm where it lays against his throat. You’re still straddling him and he moves you until the head of his cock is barely pressing against the lips of your pussy. You both shudder. “You okay?” He asks. Voice wavering. You can only nod. Words aren’t something you can manage right now. Arthur nods with you and slowly guides his cock between your folds. Testing the waters. The noises you make aren’t of your own accord. Your body reacts separately. You have no control over this.

“Good girl” Arthur drawls. Lip between his teeth as he very slowly guides his cock into your hole, having you inch down onto him carefully. For your benefit. Not his.

The rhythm, despite everything else tonight, is set quickly. Once Arthur finally sinks fully into you, there’s no stopping him. He kisses you with tongue and teeth. Clashing as he fucks up into you. His strong hips pushing up into yours. You try your best to meet his rhythm. To match it. But he leaves you behind. The dull pain lingers but it’s soon overtaken by a deep rooted sensation of pleasure when Arthur presses his thumb into your clit. You don’t understand what he’s doing. All you know is that you don’t want him to stop. You press your forehead to his and look down where the two of you join. It’s messy and wet. Arthur’s cock feels as though it fits perfectly inside of you. Both of you cut from the same stone. “Fuck” he spits. Eyes blown wide as he matches your gaze. Watching where his cock disappears into the warmth of your pussy. Hot and smooth like velvet. You’re so wet. He can hear it over the sound of your shared breathing. The vulgar wet smack of wet flesh meeting.

While Arthur can feel his orgasm creeping he pushes you toward yours. Yet, you don’t know it. There’s a heat in your stomach that begins to bloom and you feel the way your fingers and toes tingle but you think nothing of it. Arthur told you he’d show you how this is done properly. You trust him.

When your vision blurs and flashes white at the same time, that’s when you realise that you’ve been missing out. When heat explodes from your stomach outward to your other limbs and travels back to you again. An ignited fire shooting up your spine and out of your fingertips. You realise that sex can be so much more. Not an obligation or a chore. But enjoyable. Rewarding.

There’s a different kind of warmth inside of you. It oozes where yourself and Arthur are still joined. When your ability to hear comes back you hear Arthur grunting. He swears over and over again. Pressing his face between your breasts. Coating you with his sweat. He whispers into your skin but you can’t quite catch it. It sounds like “good girl” and “so fuckin’ good” but you can’t be certain.

~

You watch from the wooden deck in front of the doctor’s office as Arthur rides away. The revolver feels heavy in its new holster as it lays against your hip and your pocket is heavier with the notes Arthur had stuffed in there despite your protests. He grows smaller and smaller as you watch him ride into the distance.

You don’t grow angry or upset. You can’t. There’s no room for it. Not when your chest feels so full already. Still bleary eyed and heavy headed.

He promised you’d see him again and you had held him to it.

“Here’s to seein’ you again, Arthur Morgan”

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy acts like Hazel's dad more than Hades does and Hazel is more Percy's platonic soulmate than Jason is Nico's,idc i said it.That's his daughter and she deserves him and if it weren't for getting force outed Jason would've never fucked with Nico until Percy intervention seeing as the only reason 'J*sico' has 'proof' is the og Dead Sea Siblings retcon and it's very telling Percy's dynamic with Hazel which is part of his accidental afrolatino-coding and his accurate punkhood gets erased for fucking pedestary to pretend he's not canonically mentally disabled and grew up abused by the system for it to call him 'privileged' and to ignore the ONLY darkskin black fem in the entire verse unless we can make a harmless no trauma softgirl bit.The full Dead Sea Siblings is Nico,Percy and Hazel and there's no such thing as 'The Big Three Boys' and Hazel's one animal that wasn't scared of her being horses aka Percy's animal is cosmic connection shit and so's Nico bringing her back from the dead so they could all be together without even knowing that was what he was doing but they know eachother,they've always known eachother.World's apart but never in heart

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark!Aemond x reader

Ashes Burn: chapter two

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, gore, blood, dubcon

🔷Summary: Your hometown will soon fall, and you become noticed by the one-eyed Kinslayer who lays siege to it.

🔷Author's note: Dark!Aemond is not something i throw around lightly. It is not something i take lightly as a warning. Just so you know. Some people sometimes click on dark aemond but they dont want dark aemond, and thats fine but this is dark dark aemond so i warn ya as my author, my job is to warn ya (((apparently))

🔷Wordcount :7939 (THAT CANT BE RIGHT THATS HUGE)

Warnings below the cut but mind your step!

Gore, abuse, kicking heads, dub-con, licking, fingering (f) orgasm denial, orgasm control, smut, spankings, pussy smacking, erections, blood, guards are terrified of aemond. Trauma. Dead family members. Normal hotd stuff, basically.

Did you miss part one? Catch up

or dont and jump right in.

Im not your parental figure.

im your wine aunt

You hold your brother's head above your own as you are paraded around town. Terrified villagers have been forced out of their homes and are forced to watch the parade of your brother's body. Aemond has placed you in front of him on the horse, his hands casually holding the reins of the horse and your belly that is filled with fear and anxiety.

You try to remain strong and brave but everyone knows when you are paraded around what will await you. Your ass still stings from where he hit you earlier. His intentions are clear as crystal and you fear you won't be a maiden for much longer.

You shake and tremble on the horse, muttering prayers you learned and messing them up in the process that is how fast you are muttering them. 

People you have known all your life all rounded up and watch as you and the prince parade over a road of blood and corpses, him as the clear Victor of this battle. 

You eventually reach your home, your arms hurt from holding the head. Aemond simply grabs your wrists, taking your brother's head from you. You can make out Karst's eyes and his wonderful features that remind you of your father.

He laughs as he throws your brother's head on the tiles outside of your home, in the courtyard. Aemond kicks it through a window inside, causing a disturbance and an uproar of terrified servants. He does not bother to collect you. For a moment there is hope.

You take the reins he abandoned, your ears pulsing with blood as you feel your heartbeat rise. Until a voice reminds you coldly that you are a prince's pet now. An object for the prince to entertain himself with. ‘’Please, my Lady. The prince shall punish you if dared to run. He will capture you, and so many innocents will die as punishment.’’ It is the Dornish commander.

You blink back tears.

‘’I don't care.’’ Yes, you do. You care and you care too much at that, sadly. But he made you taste your brother's blood. He has your family, yes. But they are not bastards. They are pure blooded and you know Aemond will kill you once you bore him.

The commander decides to risk his life by standing in front of the horse. ‘’Yes you do, my Lady. You have a good, gentle heart. Please get off the horse, I won't tell him. I promise.’’ You have to believe him. You have to trust he will keep his word. You lower yourself from the horse and follow the Dornish commander back inside your old house.

Already, you can see someone destroyed antique vases by the door. Two soldiers are busy slamming a chest and trying to break it. It is locked tightly and contains scrolls. You doubt they know that, however. For them it could contain riches, fame and money. No one, not a single commander, the Dornish one included, stops them from ramsacking your home. 

 You find Aemond sitting on a chair in the dining area, watching as terrified servants run around him. Some have dropped food and plates.  ‘’Someone collect me my pet.’’  He orders. You know it is you who he speaks of.

He notices you and grins, straightening his back. ‘’Ah, there you are. I was just about to fetch you.’’ You refuse to meet his eye. He grins, letting you be rebellious. ‘’I like your home. It is quite poorly decorated but it fits you.’’  There is an insult there yet you do not dare to defend yourself.

The Dornish commander gently gives you a slight push so you stumble in the direction of the prince. Aemond puts the head of your brother on the table, crossing his own legs. ‘’You must think me a monster, feeding all those traitors to my dragon.’’ You agree but you know he will turn the tale around. He wants you to see it from his point of view.

You huff. ‘’They were no traitors. A traitor would have run.’’ And that is the truth. Karst was not a traitor. Diandra was not a traitor. Neither was your father or the men who followed him. They were heroes and loyal and fought for their home.

He gets up.

The prince grabs you suddenly by the hips, bringing your bodies closer to one another. His hot breath grazes over your cheeks as you feel blood rush to it. ‘’So she speaks, at long last. I was worried you had lost your tongue.’’ He mocks, you can tell he was never worried about your inability to speak ever again.

You put his hands from your hips.

‘’Only my appetite.’’ You remark. Aemond does not seem to hear you. His gaze is focused on Midy, your favourite kitchen maid. She is as always whistling and singing to herself when preparing food, even now where other servants are terrified or in hiding. She is a special soul, your father would say.

You worry for Midy, as you can see Aemond has clearly noticed her. ‘’You. You have a name, I presume?’’ Midy nods, turning around with a broad smile, while cutting a dead chicken to pieces. She even makes a little curtsy.

‘’Yes, my Lord. Midy my Lord.’’ You want to warn her but one glance from Aemond and you are silenced again. You know what is at stake. Her life. Perhaps even your own.

‘’You know this Lady?’’ He asks, gesturing vaguely at you. Midy nods, enthusiastically. Of course she knows you. You are the bastard of the Lord she served, and the only one of his daughters that had patience and kindness for servants.

Midy does not understand the danger she is in. She does not know that Aemond is not her friend. ‘’Lady Y/N my Lord of course I do! She is sweet and kind. She has been here since she was a baby.’’ She adds, with a smile, as if cherishing those good old days. ‘’It is high time someone would try to court her.’’ She really is too good for this world.

Courting. Not a conquering. A Courting. That would be fun. It would make Annalysa mad with rage and jealousy. This night would end with your stomach fluttering not filled with dread. Eryka would murder you. Karst would murder Aemond. It would be a fun and unrealistic scenario. Because why would Prince Aemond even entertain the thought of bothering with a marriage with you? He hates bastards. 

You glance at Aemond who has trouble hiding his smirk at her description. You pull your nails as a single tear falls from your eye. Aemond will not court you. He talked about conquering you, making you his ‘pet’. 

For a brief moment, you consider what would happen if you would tell Midy who Aemond really is, what he is really after and what he will really do. But one look at her kind brown loyal eyes and you know it won’t end well. She will perhaps attack Aemond in your defense, he will miraculously avoid, clearly favoured by the Seven damned gods themselves, and you will lose your friend for nothing. So, you remain silent. ‘’You know what my Lady likes?’’ He asks, as you silently cry.

The answer comes within mere moments as Midy thinks this an act of kindness. ‘’Strawberrycupcakes, lemoncakes, pastries and cakes, my lord. Although, she is not allowed much of the Lord of the house. His ladybitch took care of that.’’ Midy murmurs, acting too familiar with Aemond, who laughs, amused by this knowledge.

‘’Midy, be kind.’’ You warn her. ‘’She does her best.’’ Lady Fyona is not the kindest to you, but she is not as horrible as her two daughters. She at least tries to tolerate you.

‘’Arrange something delicious for her and me.’’ Prince Aemond interrupts you sharply. ‘’I wish to try your delicious cooking and to feed my pet.’’ Finally Midy understands.

The blood leaves her face likely and she looks at Aemond as if he is the Stranger himself, here to collect her. ‘’Y-You're not here to court-’’ She knows now.

Aemond grins and you know he must enjoy her fear.

‘’No. I'm here to conquer. Which I did, but now I'm hungry.’’ He gestures to the kitchen as if to send her away. She obeys and leaves him instantly.

The prince turns his head to you.

 ‘’I have no use for you if you were to faint. When was the last time you ate, if at all?’’ He asks, taking in your trembling hands and roaring stomach.

You had a bowl of soup yesterday. 

‘’Last night during supper.’’ You try to quiet your stomach. 

The prince looks out the window, to where his horse is peacefully eating outside. ‘’Supper? It's almost dark again.’’ You can tell.

You stumble, leaning for support on the table where your family used to dine at. ‘’Sit with me.’’ He orders you. ‘’Sit down, and get something inside that stomach.’’ You aren't sure how to. You aren't hungry ever since he killed all those people. All the heads he cut, the corpses he burned with his dragon. It is too much for you.

And you can't sit down. Not at that table. You aren't allowed to. You are a dirty bastard to sit at your family's table would be treason and your stepmother has hit you enough in the past for it. Aemond thinks however you are insulting him. ‘’What is it?’’ You have trouble explaining it. It is embarrassing.

Yet you know you must explain it.

‘’I'm a bastard. I'm supposed to eat away from the family table.’’ You tell him, your voice timid. 

He chuckles. A few men join in as you stare at your feet. ‘’Did your daddy not like it when you ate at his table, sweet pet?’’ You shake your head, your stomach roaring once more.

‘’No.’’ Your voice is a quiet soft muttering. You rub your arms.

‘’Were you spanked, if you tried?’’ Aemond wonders. You have never been spanked before and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks at his suggestive little smirk.

‘’No.’’ You mutter again. 

‘’You know what? Your daddy is my prisoner now, pet. I think you can sit your pretty bastard ass down.’’ You do as he wishes, picking the chair that normally belonged to Karst. He won’t ever sit that chair again. You won’t ever hear his voice again. Aemond made sure of that.

You feel a soft smack on your hand and flinch, shocked that the prince lightly smacked you.

‘’No, little pet. I want you to warm me..’’ He murmurs in your ear and your belly roars as you subtly try to free yourself, but it's no use as his grip only tightens.

He is thinking of his lap. You know it. But you must try to deflect his intentions. ‘’Shall I bring candles?’’ You mutter. ‘’Or perhaps a blanket?’’

He scoffs. He does not need a blanket. He is not truly cold. He is simply making use and a spectacle of you. To mock you. He sits back down in your father's chair.

You are grabbed and squeak afraid. ‘’You're a witty clever thing.’’ He speaks, before sitting you down firmly on his lap. ‘’No, you'll warm me. I told you you were to keep me warm during my conquest and you will.’’ You whimper.

He chuckles, kissing your hair. ‘’My pretty pet.’’ He murmurs. You don't feel pretty at all. You feel weak and small on his lap. You try to move, to find comfort but it is no use. You are frightened and terrified. 

Midy comes back from the kitchen with a tray of food. She does not help you fight Aemond. She does avert her eyes, ignoring you both. ‘’I will feed her anything first.’’ He barks at her suddenly, causing you to flinch. ‘’Just in case you thought to poison me.’’ He adds. Great. As if being his pet is not bad enough; you'll be forced to be a taster too.

Midy is not impressed by his behaviour. ‘’I figured. I made the muffin for her lady. All the food is poison free. But please, feed her first.’’ She places various pastries with fruit bases in front of the prince and you. You can't move.

Aemond picks up one of the plates with a strawberry muffin on it.

‘’What is going on here exactly? My pet has not been fed.’’ You avoid looking at Midy.  ‘’She told me she had food. Last night. What is the meaning of this?’’ 

You had time for breakfast this morning but someone ran off with a horse and got herself into trouble. ‘’I had to save Diandra first.’’ Your sister will always be a priority.

Aemond grabs your chin so firmly that you cry out. Midy sets a foot in your direction but understands her interfering will do more harm than good. ‘’You will do no foolish things anymore. You are mine now. And I want you well fed for what comes next.’’  He warns you with a soft slap on your knee.

You repeat his words in your head, becoming anxious. What can he possibly need you for?

‘’Leave us.’’ Midy waits for your command, ignoring the prince, her conqueror and the man that holds your lives in his hands. ‘’Wench! Leave us!’’ He yells. You nod quickly, granting her permission. And Midy leaves.

Aemond cuts off a piece of the muffin. ‘’Open wide.’’ He tells you. You quietly burst into soft sobs. He grabs your hair and pulls it, lifting your head in your neck so he may feed you easier. ‘’Wide.’’ He groans again.

This time you obey and the piece of juicy strawberry muffin is laid on your tongue. You chew and swallow like an obedient girl. Aemond brings his thumb to his mouth before making it wet, cleaning your lips of crumbs and juice. ‘’Tonight, I will ask the same of you. You best obey then.’’ You nod, absent at his words. You try to understand what he could possibly mean.

‘’You wish to kiss me? Is that it?’’ You are insecure.  You have never been kissed before.

He scoffs again. ‘’If you call that kissing, of course my sweet; let us call it kissing.’’ You try to reach for a fork but he grabs your hand slamming it on the table painfully before you can. You whimper once more, in pain as you put your hands on your lap. ‘’I don't trust you with silverware yet. You will be fed.’’ He tells you running a hand down your left knee.

You nod hesitantly. Aemond cuts the lemoncake in pieces for you and brings the pieces to your mouth, feeding you as if you can't eat yourself. 

It should not feel intimate. It should not feel as exciting and unknown to you as it does. But sitting on his warm warrior lap, having his unprovoked attention, and him, a prince feeding you, a bastard makes all sorts of confusing things happen. 

You don't pay attention, and some of the juice ends up on your chin. You try to wipe it away.

‘’Come here, clumsy thing…’’ Aemond whispers in your ear. Your face is turned to his and he brings his mouth to your chin, licking away the lemon juice as you gasp softly and stiffen. Aemond's hands hold you tightly so you may not escape. 

A soft delicate moan leaves his lips, coming straight from his gut, perhaps his manhood. ‘’Mhm…’’ You never heard such an intriguing yet terrifying sound.

Once you sit back comfortably against his front you can't help but notice a small irritation that is poking you from behind. ‘’Do you have a belt perhaps? Something is poking me. Irritating me.’’ You try not to sound too whiny. It is not as firm as a rock, but something is bothering you and poking your tailbone.

He smirks. ‘’My apologies.’’ That is all he says with a chuckle. 

You don't understand at first.

‘’Just take it off.’’ You tell him as another piece of cake  is shoved in your face. You obediently open your mouth, and Aemond feeds you another piece of delicious cake.

You chew and bite, savouring the good taste.

He whispers in your ear again.

‘’I can't do that, unfortunately. I'm very attached to that part.’’ You remember reading a romance book where the female lead was engaging in behaviour unsuited for her station, which brought her male lover so much joy that he felt...

One word crosses your mind. Erected. ‘’O,’’ You manage to squeak out. ‘’I-’’ You become at a loss for words and embarrassed, mortified and silent.

‘’Just enjoy your cake for now.’’ He softly touches your shoulders when feeding you another price. The cake is good. It might be the only good thing left in your life. Will this be a regular thing? How long until he trusts you with silver? How long until he bores of you and kills you? All sort of unpleasant thoughts you don’t want to think of. And yet you do.

Aemond leaves a soft kiss on your head. ‘’Good girl.’’ He coos in your ear, approvingly. You stiffen a bit more, blood rising to your cheeks. You never liked it when someone called you a 'good girl' and he is no exception. ‘’Interesting.’’ He comments a moment later after studying your reaction.

You hope he is pleased for now. ‘’What is?’’ You nearly shout, uncomfortable with his staring.

But to think he would make this easy would be a mistake.

‘’Nothing.’’ He shrugs a little too, grinning as you worry only grow and grow.

He decides to change the subject as well. ‘’I'm glad you decided to eat.’’ As if you had a choice. He would have shoved it down your throat, you are sure of it.

You sniffle, scoffing.

‘’Was it an option to refuse? What good am I without food? A human can't think without food.’’ You are thirsty too. You need to eat and to drink so you can work out a escape plan for you and your family.

Aemond sighs, before impatiently tapping with his feet against the ground. ‘’Damn servants. Someone get in here!’’He shouts loudly, and you flinch at his hard voice. A servant maid comes rushing in, someone else than Midy. You don’t know her name. She is fairly new. She makes a curtsy, her hands shaking. ‘’My prince?’’

‘’Get us wine.’’ He says, as if its that obvious. ‘’One of you wenches gave me food, without wine. I should have her flayed to say the least for that crime.’’ You stare at the cake, forcing your anger out by staring it down, because you can’t hit Aemond.

The girl gets to work, searching in cabinets and chests alike until she finds you two different cups and a bottle of very poorly aged wine. ‘’What a useless servant. I should have my dragon fest upon you. But Vhagar does not appreciate stupid wenches.’’ Aemond speaks to you after she is gone. 

You are handed a cup first, by him. You taste it first for the prince, aware this could kill you.

But you trust your servants. It is a good wine. Not old, not ancient, not anything Aemond would have been given. It is decent. But after the day you had, it is perfect. ‘’How does the wine taste?’’ Aemond asks after watching you drink as eager as a kitten by a mother cat.

You feel better, still terrified and worried, but you aren't hungry anymore. ‘’Quite good.’’ It is the truth. The sweet taste of the wine makes your head a little lighter and a little less troubled. You do remind yourself to watch out around Aemond with the alcohol. You don't know how this will end.

He sits a little straighter, moving you unintentionally over his lap, causing an unfamiliar sensation burning between your legs. ‘’I wish to taste your wine.’’ His voice is a few octaves deeper, his pupil is slightly widened.

You obediently hand him the other remaining cup. You have no desire to fight him or to get angry. It is just wine.  ‘’Yes, you shall.’’ 

But you are not prepared for what happens next. Instead of taking your cup, he throws it on the ground, spilling it and grabs you by the bodice of your dress, dragging you closer. His mouth opens and roughly pushes onto yours, as his strong arms restrain you until you stop fighting him. Once your guard is down, his left hand slips from your wrist that he pinned to your legs. Your lips open for a moment to breathe and he takes this moment. He kisses you and plunders you too.

His tongue licks out your mouth, tasting every drop you had as your lips press against one another. ‘’Quite good indeed.’’ He tells you when you are panting softly. ‘’I see you are a quick student.’’ He looks at your chest area where your nippels have hardened as two gemstones.

You curse yourself and quickly try to cover yourself after that kiss.

‘’I didn't mean to-’’  You have to defend yourself. You are not a harlot.

He chuckles slowly, almost disheartening and mockingly.

‘’Such a needy girl. Good thing I captured you, hm? Is your cunt wet as well?’’ He wonders out loud, and you are thankful your servants are all dismissed.

You remain defiant.

‘’I don't know what that is.’’ Yes you do, but you have no desire to play his games.

Aemond's good eye slightly twitches before it lowers suggestively to the space between your legs, that is still covered with the fabric of your dress. You know what he referred to. Yet you pretend you don't know.

He speaks, wettening his lips with the edge of his tongue. ‘’It's what a man fucks when his lover is on her knees. It's a little small gate to pure delight, one can enter and pleasure will build if you keep fucking it.’’ He describes it oddly. It sounds painful and shameful. ‘’It's fun for the woman too.’’ He adds once he sees your judgmental glare.

You never heard that before outside of your romance novels. Pleasure was never a reason for you to marry even as a bastard. ‘’Is it?’’ You ask, your voice is a little timid. You are curious. Of course you are. You pleasured yourself before but a man, an actual man of flesh and blood...

He nods, clearly enjoying how eager and patient you listen to him. ‘’Yes, pet. It can be very fun for the woman too, if she finds herself a skilled lover.’’ You wonder if he is such a skilled lover. 

But you wonder so quietly. He is not a lover material. He is the opposite of it. He killed dozens of innocent people and trapped your father and your sister. He killed your brother and made you carry his head around. 

You can not deny that he is handsome, as a conqueror that came straight from a historic book, but you can not deny that he is your enemy either. It is best to remain wary and to keep up your guard.

His hands rub your left knee softly patting you when his right hand caresses your face, feeling the warmth of your flesh. ‘’But, as we are just master and pet, well, I'm afraid your pleasures must be earned.’’ Earned. You don't like the sound of that. He chuckles and leans in a little closer.

And the words 'master' and 'pet' send shivers down your spine.

‘’What of your pleasures?’’ You wonder, putting your own needs aside. You need to know what will happen to you.

His response is short and brief.

‘’Isn't that obvious? You'll take care of that from now on. And don't you dare to....disobey or I will punish you too.’’ He grins and you can only imagine how horrible he will punish you. You don't think you saw what he is fully capable of yet. And yet what you already saw terrifies you. You don't want to meet this monster. You don't want to see the bloodshed.

And there is one final question to be asked. Until now, there have been unsubtle innuendos about his plans with you. Slapping your ass, calling you his and now the pleasure and the face licking. He plans on taking you as his conquest tonight, part of you understands it. And you are terrified. ‘’So you'll...You'll…’’

Aemond suddenly snaps his head at his two soldiers. ‘’You two. Go find another person to bother with your needless breathing. Me and the Lady wish to be alone.’’

They understand they can better leave than stay if they wish to remain alive. ‘’Enjoy, my Prince.’’ One of them says, referring to you as if you are just another fruity pastry. You glare at him, causing Aemond to chuckle. ‘’Show that little cunt what dragons do with sheep.’’ He adds when he sees your fiery glare. ‘’Should you bore of her; We always look for strong-willed whores.’’

And there is your fear. You fear Aemond will bore himself with you soon and pass you down. You expect Aemond to chuckle. But instead you feel him push you to stand up and hear him stand up and hear flesh connect with flesh and a sharp grunt. ‘’That's quite enough familiarity. I'm your prince, do not forget yourself.’’ The soldier has a handprint on his face and you understand that the prince must have disciplined him.

‘’I am sorry, I thought the girl was spoils.’’ You never suspected he would go as far as to hit one of his own men for you. Over an insult too.

You understand that Aemond did not do it for you. He did it for himself.  ‘’She is. But she is my spoils. I will claw out the eyes of every man that looks at her funny, and take the tongue of every soul who dares to insult her. Do you wish to be the first?’’ He asks.

You speak up. ‘’That won't be needed, my prince. I am not insulted-’’ you have to try to save the man's life. So what if he called you a whore? He does not need to die for his own foolishness, all men would die if that was the case.

Aemond does not need to move an inch in your direction or to raise his voice. All he needs to do is be and exist and look in your direction. ‘’You'll be quiet.’’ Is all the prince says.

You obey, silently wiping at your eyes with a soft nod. The prince smacks the man again, drawing blood. He seems to like that. ‘’Well? Will you be the first?’’ He asks the soldier.

The man shakes his head afraid.

‘’No, my prince.’’

Aemond grimaces a little disappointed. ‘’Good. Then let me fuck my sheep in peace.’’ You whimper wordlessly as the guard leaves. Sheeps are common export in your town, but you fear he is not talking about an actual sheep. He is talking about you. 

Aemond walks back to the table where you obediently sit, quiet and shaking like a leaf. He counts the silverware. You understand that you had an opportunity and did not take it. A fork or a knife would be great to defend yourself with. And what did you do? You watched your captor abuse another man.

The silence that follows is worse than any word he could have spoken. You watch as he cuts off a piece of the strawberry cake and takes a piece himself, his fingers red with the juice that looks like blood.  ‘’Little Lamb. I like that for you.’’ He speaks as he brings the strawberry cake to his lips. 

Your shaking becomes worse.

He scoffs. ‘’You know why it fits?’’ He asks as if you are a stupid little girl. You know why he likes the sheep for you. Because of your home town.

‘’We are known for our sheep.’' You mutter. You don't want to talk about it. You want to go to your bedroom and forget this even happened.

There is that scoffing little laugh again. ‘’It could have been as simple as that, but it's not. A sheep is a flock member. It does not understand or want things. It only does what its shepard wants.’’ That is not true. You know the sheep too well to understand that sheeps certainly have wills and minds of their own.

You imagine he has not seen a lot of sheep. ‘’Sheep are stubborn animals. They are often underestimated.’’

He scoffs, and you understand he must have taken your words as a warning or even a threat. You did not intend for it. ‘’I found out a long time ago I am not a patient man, little Lamb. If you rebel or disobey; you will regret it deeply.’’ He warns you his voice is cold.

You are quick to apologise and to appease him. ‘’It was not meant as a threat…’’ You hope he believes you.

Aemond ignores you, simply throwing a plate on the ground causing you to flinch. ‘’I think it was. I think you are ungrateful.’’ You are not. You know that. 

He sighs before approaching you, grabbing you by your neck. You are yanked in his direction with your face and you sniffle when he brushes your face, smearing tears everywhere. ‘’Perhaps, I need to be firm. You are mine now. You will likely disobey sooner or later and I must put you in your place whenever you do such a foolish thing.’’ You don't like the sound of that.

He continues to softly rub your lips with his fingers, his eye looking at you as if you are a delicious reward. ‘’Why would I wait for you to rebel or to disobey? If I punish you right now, you would not even think of it.’’

You weakly protest. You have to remain calm and obedient. You need to calm him down.  ‘’I don't want punishment.’’ It is a weak soft request, a beg for mercy and a coward's path. You should not let fear rule your life but this man terrifies you.

Aemond has finished his cake.

‘’No, I imagine you don't. It would not be effective if you did.’’ He grins. ‘’I shall clear the table. You can lay with your chest on the top, I shall remove your skirts and small clothes and-’’ your mind fills with terrible images. 

‘’No, gods…’’ You mutter unsure if anyone can hear you. You even eye the door to the entrance of your home, debating if you should run. Judging by his smirk and slightly narrowed eyes, he has seen that you want to flee and challenges you, no begs you to give it a try. So he may capture you, and punish you.

Aemond ignores your cries. ‘’And I will spank you. I won't fuck you yet. But you can rest assured you will be punished.’’ This is the second time he mentioned spanking and you wonder quietly if he is sane.

He pats the table, inviting you over when rubbing his hands, after he threw all the food the maids worked so hard on away or simply on the ground for the rats the find. ‘’Lay down, so we can begin. ‘’He speaks folding his hands on his back. ‘’I won't hesitate to collect you.’’ He adds when you don't move an inch.

You bend on the table, your face and chest on the cold marble. Aemond takes stand behind you, lifting the skirt of your dress, revealing your legs and your small clothes. He sinks his fingers inside of your small clothes, before pulling them down as you wordlessly gasp. You feel his hands cup and touch the cheeks of your butt.

You never had another's fingers so close to your entrance or so close to your skin. 

You hear him almost groan or moan again, before squeezing your cheeks.

‘’Mhm..’’

You try to bring your stiffened body to ease. You calm yourself down and tell yourself the prince will only spank you for now. He said so himself. 

Your breath becomes less chased and ragged and your nerves settle. Until you feel something soft poke the area between your cheeks, poking and mocking you. Your hips are grabbed and you are slightly tilted. He can see your lady parts Fully now.

You close your leg with a yelp.

‘’Spread them, I have not finished inspecting you.’’ He commands you with a firm slap on your front. You cry out and obey, spreading for the prince in a instant, in a impulse to avoid more pain.

‘’This wasn't part of the agreement. I would be spanked!’’ You yell in anger and frustration.

He only grins, but does discipline you for your outburst by hitting your wet folds two sharp times. You cry and moan at the same time, tears shining in your eyes.

‘’You'll get it in a moment, you can rest assured.’’ You would know better than to trust his word.

‘’A maiden's cunt.’’ He says after he takes in your wetness. His cold fingers press softly against your front before he slips a finger down between your folds, gently touching and rubbing your pearl as you are overwhelmed with too many emotions at once.

Grief. Denial. Anger. Humiliation. And finally...arousal and acceptance.

Aemond likes the soft gasps and moans that leave your throat as you are touched by him. You worry if anyone can see you this way  ‘’So nervous. No need pet. I am just looking at how well you respond to touch.’’ He says, as if this is a game. He rubs a few times over your pearl, your sexual needs rising. ‘’As I suspected. You respond very well. Good girl. Just enjoy yourself. Just get your cunny wet.’’ You don't want to. You want to stop your own desires.

He grins as you cry and fight your emotions. ‘’So wet. I wonder why. It can't be the thought of having the big bad prince spank you, that has you this way can it?’’ You will kill him.

‘’Please…’’ You beg, and a lonely tear escapes. Do you beg him to continue, to let you be, to stop, to kill you or to have mercy? You don’t know. You really don’t know. And you don’t want to know.

You are spread on your father's table with a man between your legs, rubbing your cunt. This is wrong. ‘’You are so innocent and sweet, my little lamb.’’ He coos in your ear. ‘’What is with the little tears hm?’’ He mocks you now too

‘’Are you worried about the pain of the act? Or are you worried I will kill you afterwards? What troubles you so?’’ You worry for both now too.

You confess your fear to him. It is best to be honest. You know he will do what he likes anyway. Your fears wont stop him. ‘’That you will bore yourself to death with me and pass me to your men. That I'll be defiled and shared.’’

A horrible image is again formed in your brain where Aemond watches as two of his guards....

You shiver and Aemond squeezes your folds, pinching the soft delicate and wet skin. ‘’As long as you can keep my interest, that won't be happening.’’ He says as if it is that simple.

And that is what you are worried about. You open your mouth but before you can speak his finger is inserted between your legs, entering your pure untouched body. You never met someone as daring and bold as him, fucking you on his mere fingers without even taking you out for dinner first.

You have instincts that become awakened. The urge to roll your hips to his fingers and the urge to hold his hands so you may fuck in peace. Yet you force yourself to remain silent and still. You will not make this easy.

Eventually the fucking stops, leaving you high and needy. The finger is drenched in white transparent substance almost like sweat or perhaps something that looks like poorly made whipped cream. 

Aemond forces his dirty finger against your lips. You do not open or respond. ‘’Taste it. Suck my finger off.’’ He commands you, in his rough aroused voice.  ‘’Taste your own wetness.’’ He adds, shoving the fingers against your lips and letting your lips taste your own juices.

You push his hands away in a hurtful and confused moment. You feel like he asked too much of you.  ‘’No. That is gross. I've entertained you enough.’’ You declare.

Sometimes in history books, maesters write when heroes knew they had dug their own graves. This was your moment. You knew it.

Aemond drops the finger, insulted and slightly tilts his head, studying for a cold good minute before speaking. ‘’No? You have not? Have you forgotten who of us rules this town? It's not you, which is why your cunt is within my grasp.’’ He tries to touch your cunt, but you have had enough of him. You act on anger and rage.

You strike the prince across his face. It is not very impressive or a strong smack but Aemond might understand his attention is not wanted. 

But one look at the prince and you know that you have only made things worse. Much worse.

He undoes his leather belt, rolling it up casually when you gulp. You watch as he approaches you, belt in hand and ready to use it. You have heard stories. Never read them, as pain terrifies you. 

Aemond chuckles. ‘’O, you will regret that dearly, little pet.’’ He smacks your face down on the table, causing you to cry out. You crawl away over the table, your dress causing trouble, but don't get very far.

He drags you back by your ankle, your legs and finally your hips and forces your dress further off your body, properly stripping you of whatever dignity you had left. You hear him chuckle and that's when you feel immense pain on your lower back, your ass, and upper back respectively. You wail and whine and complain and cry but none of it matters.

The prince uses you as his whipping toy until there is blood on his belt and he is panting.

He rolls you on your back, and spreads your legs. ‘’Watch. Follow the belt.’’ He tells you, his voice a little hoarse. You nod obediently and nearly cry when the belt is placed on your wet sensitive maiden cunt. 

‘’My prince, please no-’’

It is too late when you see his grin grow twice the size and the belt cracks down on your skin, causing pleasure and pain to mix inside of you as you roll your head in your neck and just scream for the gods to hear. 

Aemond hisses slowly before he briefly turns his back to you. You catch your breath before the finger is pushed in your face again.  ‘’Suck, now.’’ He tells you.

This time you open your mouth and take his finger in your own hands, guiding it inside your mouth. Your lips smack when the finger enters and you obediently suck his nails clean for him, removing your own juice and taste of his soft and yet dangerous fingers. 

You have never done anything like this before. But you come to the conclusion you quite like it. It is relaxing. You have a task, a clear task and are kept busy too. You like it because for a moment you forget your troubles and misery.

‘’Such a shame I needed to make you bleed to get you to listen to me. I don't like seeing my pet bleed.....’’ You don't know if that's true. You don't want to know.

You suck a little harder, as he exhales deeply. ‘’You have good soft lips, little Lamb. Your muscles need training, but I see potential. I would not have taken you as my pet if I did not see what a beautiful obedient little pet you can become for me.’’ You feel shivers run down your spine yet ignore it.

‘’Take the finger out if you wish to speak.’’ He challenges you with a grin. You rather not. You have spoken and he punished you. ‘’No? You're such a little craven. You rather suck my finger and remain quiet hm? It's safer for you that way.’’ He grins, moving his finger up and down in your mouth. Your lips suck and smack at his commands and his movements, your eyes never leaving his own.

‘’My dragon, Vhagar, loves maidens.’’ Aemond grins leaning in to sniffle your neck and to smell your fear. That is when you speak up to beg for your life.

‘’Please my prince…’’ Your voice shakes the moment you speak becoming a soft emotional squeak. 

‘’Do you apologise, little lamb?’’ Aemond asks, ignoring your cries and your heartbroken voice.

You nod. ‘’Yes, I am sorry.’’ It takes great effort to lie to him. You are a woman of the truth. You would never lie if it wasn't needed.

He nods approvingly but there is a warning glare in his good eye.

‘’The next time you raise a hand to me, you will lose your hand. Is that understood?’’ You nod again, terrified.

‘’Yes.’’ You know he prefers verbal answers. 

He clicks his tongue. ‘’Your wetness is all over the table, naughty thing. I think you'll actually enjoy me fucking you tonight. You sure seem ready for a good, through, and proper fucking.’’ You are not ready. Not at all. So why does this idea excites you? Perhaps you are just in need for company, more than you thought you were.

And he knows this. Of course he does. ‘’Though, You are of age, unmarried and alone. So that does makes sense, to long a husband, to long feeling bred.'' You have trouble picturing it. You remain silent instead of making a witty reply. To that he laughs. ‘’Yes, I bet my little lamb will scream all sorts of delicious little cries when I make her come all over my cock. You seem like the type that enjoys it rough.’’ You have been with no lover. You know better than he what you like, however. 

There are moments when you are reading and are overcome with desires and needs. You touch yourself to get rid of the feelings. So you know how your own desires work. You know so perfectly. ‘’I-i prefer it gently.’’ You admit, softly.

The prince does not like that answer. ‘’You're a maiden. You don't know what you prefer.’’ He speaks as if you are foolish and chuckles in a condescending manner. You have trouble keeping your face neutral so he won't smack you again.

It leaves your mouth before you can stop the words. ‘’Yes I do. I touch…’’ You stop yourself, as blood raises to your cheeks and you become quiet. 

Aemond grins in approval, liking where this conversation is heading. ‘’Go on. It's rude to not finish your sentence.’’ He says. You would rather be rude than be thought of as an easy harlot.

You refuse to let him have power over you. ‘’I touch myself.’’ You obediently say. Aemond's last remaining eye takes in your naked body, as if picturing where your hands would be when you are doing this to yourself. 

‘’Show me. Show me how you do that.’’ He says, commanding you. as if you are his dog. You obey and look around briefly for spectators or witnesses. Aemond sits down in the chair and plants you on the table, so he can see you properly. 

You sit down and start touching and rubbing your breasts. ‘’You are a slow one, hm?’’ Aemond comments after he has watched you for 2 minutes. It is difficult to raise arousal when he is watching. You are worried you will ruin it.

‘’Your breasts have had enough. I think another part of your body wants pleasure.’’ He means your cunt. You hesitate. ‘’Are you perhaps scared?’’ He grins scoffing and leaves a kiss on your hair. 

‘’No need for that. I'll see it tonight anyway. I already took a peek. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’’ He says. You bring your fingers to your entrance and start touching yourself when the prince watches you. 

‘’Such an eager little thing.’’ Aemond comments as your fingers go a little faster and harder, as you become aroused. He watches with his brow raised. You never were this wet so quickly. ‘’Are you this way for every man that cages you and your family and kills half your town or am I the only one?’’ He wonders, ruining your pleasure with the hard difficult truth.

You try to restart but it is difficult with the thought of your brother now haunting you. His head is literally on the floor behind the table where you are sitting.

‘’So amateurish. Poor girl. I will have you praying for the gods when I fuck you.’’ You know you do it wrong but you don't care. You do it as you like it. 

And finally you give up.

A smack shows what the prince thinks of that. ‘’I didn't tell you to stop, did I?’’ He asks his gaze aimed at the triangle between your legs.

‘’No my prince.’’ You mutter, rubbing the spot on your thigh where he hit you. He grins.

‘’Continue.’’ 

You pick up where you left off and touch yourself again in front of him. ‘’I rather just avoid my officers and officials, drag you off by your hair and tie you to the bed until your belly is swollen with my seed and all you taste is my cum. I want your nails to drag over my back and I want your voice to be hoarse from all the screaming you did.’’ Your fingers go smoother and quicker. ‘’Perhaps I'll buy you a whore. Perhaps I'll make you fuck her when I watch. Or, make her fuck you, that's seems to be the likely scenario.’’ You picture yourself with a beautiful woman laying under her as she takes you roughly with Aemond watching. 

You cry a little louder, your pleasure building rapidly as you fuck your own fingers.

He sees your changing body and knows. ‘’You can stop.’’ He cheerfully says. You are confused and glare, rubbing one final time.

‘’I said: 'stop'.’’ He groans, hitting you as a warning. You whimper, still aroused. ‘’You fucking whore.’’ He adds, grinning wildly. ‘’You disgusting little whore. You have no loyalty at all, hm?’’

You break into tears at his cruel words. You sob helplessly. ‘’I did what you wanted from me.’’

‘’What I want from you is more than your little fingers gently rubbing your cunt. I want to fuck you bloody.’’ He declares, his voice  raspy. ‘’You know what soon will be in your body?’’ You shake your head afraid.

Aemond grabs you from the table, forces you to stand and to meet his front with your behind. You feel it poke you so clearly now. His erected cock, through his pants.  ‘’My cock, as I fucking impale you on it and fuck you senseless.’’ He smacks your ass.

‘’You are too gentle when you touch yourself. You need it firm and clear or your bastard peasant mind will wander off.’’ You understand he must really hate you. And the fact that he wants you? He hates that even more.

a/n thank you for reading!

I shall be back when ...the stars allow it.

And my inspiration.

[k0koii-yu]

I think I now get where all the Angela hate (and mischaracterization) came from

(Posting another ramble dedicated to my beloved yay)

I might sound like I’m beating a dead horse here since the Angela hate has died down as of recently but I still can’t help but wonder why she had received that much hate in the first place. What warranted her to get this much hate even until recently, whereas other characters who are written similarly to her, or have done much worse, are not as actively hated? Where did the popular fanon conception of her— one that portrayed her as an abuser, stalker and even r wordist at one point— also come from?

After some thinking and also me having known this fandom for 3 years up to this point, I think(?) I was finally able to trace where all this hate came from and where the infamous fanon version of her came to be.

CW: spoilers for WE and mentions of abuse/stalking/sexual assault and other potentially triggering themes. Please proceed with caution.

Also note: I do not intend to harass or call anyone out with this. Therefore, I will not be naming any names (if any) nor will I mention any works that can be triggering. This is simply a meta analysis trying to dissect a character’s fan reception, and while I may give my own thoughts somewhere down the line, I will also try to be as objective as possible with my observations.

0. Pre-C42

Before C42 came out, Angela did not receive as much hate. She wasn’t as popular as Jack or Elliot either, yet people didn’t have a reason to hate her at all prior to IPS. It was likely because she didn’t have much to remember her by other than being “Lars’s wife” or the S3 coroner, either due to the fact that she doesn’t have as much screen time as compared to other characters, or simply doesn’t have anything that makes her stick out as a character or as iconic as others in the team (e.g. Jack, Elliot and Marina for their designs, Lars, Carmen and Elliot for their attitudes towards the team and other people around them in general).

This, however, will be a topic of discussion again in a while, so please keep this in mind as we move on to the next point in this analysis.

1. The aftermath of C42 and C56

This seems to be the starting point of this whole hullabaloo, and understandably so. Angela had just murdered someone, betrayed us, and tried to frame other people for it (C42) and of course, people were upset about it, yet there were still those who had hope for her and tried to sympathize with her. And then came C56, where she returned, but as a colder, more aggressive version of herself that has pledged loyalty to SOMBRA and was willing to carry out their orders so dutifully that she was willing to plant a bomb. This, of course, likely fueled the hate and people had more of a reason to hate her when she made fun of Dupont’s death. Although one take in particular did stand out to me (and not in a good way):

The idea that she doesn’t genuinely love Lars.

Yes, I do understand that this is a very old take from 2016 and things may change from there, but I would just like to highlight how dangerous it is to perceive characters this way. Takes like these erase the complexities of her writing and essentially reduce her— someone who has had to make a lot of hard decisions to even be with Lars, which became the basis of the person she was up to that point— into a nothing more than a caricature of how people think morally gray characters should be based on whether or not they are deemed “good” or “bad” in the traditional sense.

I also do think certain plot holes in PS’s handling of her character in the final case also contributed to it. It felt ridiculous to see how a character whose most defining trait is being family oriented suddenly turned cold and bitter towards her old team, unhesitatingly claiming that they were enemies now as if their previous friendships did not matter. Maybe this was where the idea that she’s manipulative and/or possessive came from: since she was still clinging onto Lars and the triplets (that her literal last wish was to see them again) while showing this lack of compassion that would be unnatural to her past self.

With that said, the fact that she wasn’t as memorable as a main character but was more iconic as a traitor/antagonist did contribute to mixed opinions from the fandom back then. While a lot of people seemed to be mad at the things she’s done, there were some who thought it made her more interesting as a character. I guess it depends on subjective interpretation in this case, though unfortunately, back when WE first came out, many people fell into the mindset of black-and-white morality, and end up hamfisting complex and nuanced characters into extremes based on whether or not they like them.

2. Fanon/“Yandere” Angela

Following the events of WE, this seems to be a very common fandom perception of her. This subject is somewhat hard to accurately put into words, but I will try my best to give my analysis and thoughts on it, so please correct me if I get something wrong.

For those who don’t know, this is what a yandere is supposedly defined as:

TL;DR: yanderes are known to be violent, possessive and obsessed with a particular love interest. This may even go to the extent of hurting any potential “rivals” or even their love interests themselves.

If you have been in the fandom long enough, and especially if you’re into WE or Angela, you might find that there have been numerous fanfics that described her this way: as an absolutely horrible person who abuses and even stalks Lars in some, along with getting upset when others get close to him.

It may have originated from Wattpad, where there were two fics (afaik) focused on the concept of Angela being a yandere in itself. This, and considering the fact that there is barely any fan material of Angela (most especially fics) and that almost every fic that has her in it at the time either has her play an antagonistic role or use her as a plot device (usually for other ships to happen) may have contributed to the whole idea of her being a “yandere” that was almost universally accepted as the basis of her character in fics.

There is also that perceived manipulation and “sociopathy” from earlier that may have contributed to the idea of yandere Angela. A common fandom perception of her is that Angela has a warped idea of what love is and ends up displaying unhealthy/dangerous behaviors towards Lars as a result of her obsession (which she perceives as “love”). And as a result, she ends up resorting to actual criminal behavior in some of these fics: stalking Lars, physically abusing him and in one extreme case, even raped him. (Disclaimer: I will not be naming any of these fics since I do not condone hate or harassment towards the authors, nor do I want to further trigger anyone reading this by openly naming said content.)

This may have also been a big factor in contributing to Angela hate as the normalization of this depiction of her has led to people almost unanimously accepting this as her actual character.

I would like to say that I very much disagree with this take on her character. While yes, it is true that Angela does have questionable morality (e.g. she understands that what SOMBRA did to children is wrong and actively condemns it, yet was willing to blow up the Bureau hq knowing that Elliot and Sanjay are inside), her love for Lars seems to be genuine and even healthy for the most part. Time and time again, she has shown that she really loves him— hell, her laptop password even has his name on it.

3. Popularization of these misconceptions

As these fics were the only depiction of Angela in the fandom for a time, they are, by far, the most infamous depiction of her. This, along with the “I hate her because she’s a bad person and did bad things” majority, has then led to her getting this much hate from the fandom.

Moreover, there was a time in 2023 where there’s an influx in WE-centered fics, and that also resulted in most of the anti-Angela fics for the most part. This may explain the more recent hate directed towards her as compared to characters from other seasons.

Conclusion

Much of the hate towards Angela in particular stems from both severe misinterpretation of canon events and her character’s actions/intentions, and this version of her being extremely popularized to the point where people treated it like it’s actually her. The former mostly applies to around the time WE was still ongoing to after it ended (2016-2017 ish) while the latter could explain the more recent hate. Fortunately, it seems as though more people have the media literacy to read along the nuances of her character and understand her intentions before forming an opinion.

Anyways this was A LOT— probably even longer than the Carmen/Angela post but I’ve been thinking about this for just as long (there was a time I was afraid to admit I liked her because of how hated she was). Thank you for listening to my TED Talk, I guess.

[thaisibir]

Faith, Science, and Lessons to Learn in Claymore

Here come my thoughts I've articulated the best I could on why I absolutely love Claymore for over ten years. I love how faith and science are represented and explored in this series, especially how they are not only compared side by side but brought together. And I don't exaggerate when I say this series had taught me valuable life lessons and how to be a better person.

Faith vs science: Rabona represents the institution of faith. The organization is an institution of science. As Claymore is a story centered on, of course, the Claymores, and the world as they know it, we see a lot more than the institution of faith how the institution of science operates. And it's a very cruel, brutal operation. Girls are salvaged and trafficked to be subject to experimentation and training, conditioned to think and work like cogs in a machine. Their entire lives revolve around constant, endless missions of killing yoma. All the while they're fighting against their own inhuman side. They're ticking time bombs destined for nothing but a violent death. It's a vicious cycle. A system set up to doom them from the start.

I have to mention how incredibly disgusting and clever the psychology behind the organization's system is. 47 Claymores are deployed and scattered throughout the continent at all times, but few ever come across one another. I'm sure that after training, most full-fledged warriors go through their entire careers without ever meeting another of their own. The few times they meet up are strictly for missions only. No time for real bonding and fraternizing. In fact, it seems to be discouraged and deliberate. And there is no care or effort whatsoever put into fostering friendly relations between Claymores and the common folk. They have no home, no family, not even friends, no autonomy, only complete dependence on the organization. Not unlike a toxic relationship where the victim has no choice but to be shackled to the abusive partner. That's exactly how the organization wants it to be. They want their subjects to be powerful, dependable, but expendable and replaceable at the drop of a hat. The lonely and isolated lifestyle imposed on Claymores, along with the rules, keep them in line. Keep them apart and they would never get a whiff of the skeleton in the organization's closet and entertain the idea of rebelling. We all know that didn't last forever. (More on that in a later section...)

All right I think I've been beating a dead horse talking about how horrible the organization is. In contrast to their operations involving exploitation, dissection, and separation of Claymores, Rabona is the site of their unity and humanization.

Rabona is the pivoting point for bringing together a Claymore and three humans in their efforts to take down a yoma. It's where we learn that bonds are stronger than the carnal desire to awaken and feast on guts. Years later, it's also in Rabona where the same cooperation happens. Just on a much greater scale. Humans and Claymores collectively learned to fight alongside each other. Irene proved that it's possible to survive outside the organization. Galatea took it a step further, being the first to show that it's possible for a warrior to live happily among humans, albeit in secret. By the end, an era of a truly peaceful coexistence begins. It's a beautiful irony that the city well known for its spirituality, image of holiness, and rejection of the "unholy" becomes the first place to openly welcome Claymores.

The organization topples and falls apart from a single decisive strike. Meanwhile, despite multiple assaults from powerful Awakened Beings, Rabona still stands. And I'm sure it will continue to endure and flourish with the Claymores as its new resident defenders. An institution built on fear and blind obedience is much weaker than one built on the warriors' true sense of allegiance, belonging, and home.

That is not to say that science is all bad in Claymore. After all, surgery is what physically brought Teresa and Clare together.

Father Vincent: I need to talk about this man and how vastly underrated he is. In a story full of incredibly strong and kickass half-monster women, Vincent is not only one of the few ordinary men in the cast, but the best of them morally speaking (second to Raki). That scene of Vincent with Galatea, Clarice, and Miata made him my favorite male character in the series. He had come a long way since his first appearance. Even then, he had come around from a position of prejudice and his city's idea of holy vs unholy to acceptance and gratitude for Clare. His brief sharing with Galatea of that turning point shows incredible self-awareness and introspection, a mindset we should all strive to have. Then, as the head priest of the religious order entrenched in Rabona, he initiates that change at the greater societal level, turning Rabona into a sanctuary that welcomes all Claymores. I especially love that panel where he raises a hand of blessing to Galatea and says he wants to pray "for her and her wonderful companions." I found that incredibly touching. Those words must mean the world to Galatea, and to any Claymore if they heard. After all, they're so used to being dehumanized and reviled. Vincent is the perfect foil to the terrible men of the organization, second to Raki when it comes to showing empathy and compassion to Claymores and regarding them as more human than monster. Vincent sets a great example of what it means to be a decent human being, and just what it means to be human, to be capable of growth and change for the better. I'm sure we all want to be badass like the Claymores, but really we must try to be the Father Vincent in people's lives. You don't need yoma power to be an agent for good and change.

The measurable versus the immeasurable: In this world where only the strong survive, power and rank is everything. Or so it seems. Like I mentioned earlier, the organization is insidiously clever in using a ranking system to define the Claymores and keep them in line. Claymores have very few possessions to call their own: the emblem and armor they wear, the sword they wield, and the number they're given. Numbers are what separate and define them, what seem to give them identity, worth, and purpose. Enter Clare, the series protagonist, who flips a giant middle finger at all that. Unlike some Claymores who obsess over numbers (lookin' at you, pre-timeskip Helen), Clare doesn't let her low rank define or upset her. Mathematically and rationally speaking, with the flesh of a half yoma warrior, she's only a quarter yoma, therefore half the strength of a typical Claymore and the weakest of them all. Clare gives that rationale the middle finger too. What keeps her alive from beginning to end is her limitless, immeasurable, astounding courage and endurance that impressed Teresa from the beginning. And there's her great capacity to love and care for others. Love forged those strong, lasting bonds with Teresa and Raki. The lengths she went to save Jean inspired a loyalty like no other, and what leads to one of my favorite quotes in the series: "She saved my life. Her rank meant nothing then and it means even less to me now."

The Seven Ghosts embody true sisterhood allowed to flourish outside the confines and prying eyes of the organization. Living, hiding, and training together, sharing survivors' guilt from that massacre in Pieta, they are fueled by a drive that's far greater and more enduring than mere petty competition for ranks within the organization. They don't fight just to survive, but to honor the memory of their fallen comrades. Years later, those old ranks they were given mean nothing. The Ghosts become more than that, undefinable, and for all their strengths and weaknesses they come to regard each other as equals, as true friends and sisters ought to.

And finally, the most powerful manifestation of love is none other than Teresa and Clare, the twin goddesses who defeat the one horned monster. The organization had tried and failed many times to replicate that perfect synergy. They left out one important part of the equation. Clare and Teresa's love for each other makes their union a truly powerful thing that defies the limits and bounds of numbers and stats. Many times throughout the series, especially by men from the organization, it's brought up that Clare's true abilities and potential don't align with the number she was given. She's truly a wild card, defiant in the face of obeying the organization's rules and rationalities. It's human nature to assign numbers and ranks to things because we like to compartmentalize, but the real world is a lot messier than that. Clare is there to teach us that we are not defined by the numbers we earn or are given.

All of this is to say that the most important lesson I took away from Claymore is this: it's what you do for others that truly counts, not what others think of you. Love and compassion is enough to move the most powerful being in the entire series to tears.

[aikoiya]

I just do not understand the insistence that animals must be sentient.

Because if they were, then why are the animals that kill other animals not labeled as murderers?

Hell, why aren't cats seen as malicious, mini, jigsaw killers considering how they play with their food. Why aren't ewes looked upon with disgust for often trampling orphaned lambs that a farmer tries to get them to adopt? Why aren't wolves seen as bullies for hunting in packs to kill prey? Why aren't dolphins more acknowledged for being effing rapists?

If you believe that animals are capable of reasoning, then that automatically makes all animals that eat meat into exactly what humans that eat meat are, thus they should be looked upon with every bit as much scorn as certain vegans look upon regular ass people. And it'd also mean that any animal that hunts is a murderer.

Hell, many animals are cannibals! In fact, plenty even eat the young of other animals or even their own young if they're so much as lacking in B12!

Literally! Mother hamsters are known to eat her own babies if she's put on an all-corn diet! They don't even have to be dying because of it!

You can't claim that animals are all sentient & then not hold them responsible for their actions! That's hypocritical! Because if these animals are sentient, then they are making the active decision to commit these actions & should be held acountable for them! Period!

Seriously, unless an animal is specifically an obligate herbivore, they will likely still eat meat given the chance!

And, whether you like it or not, animals are only as vegan as their options. As soon as times get tough for a deer, it's gonna be eyeing up any little Tweeties or Thumpers they come across. Same with horses, sheep, ect.

In fact, if animals are as deserving of life & respect as us, then doesn't that make having pets the same as slavery? And how do cat owners even justify feeding their pets? At least those that force their cats into a vegan lifestyle are being consistent even though they're abusing the poor things. Those cats aren't gonna live to be 10 years old on a diet like that & they'll be miserable the whole time.

Like, how do people twist their brains into so many directions just to justify their lifestyles??

Seriously, humans are so freaking unique within the animal kingdom. We are probably the only creatures who would do all this nonsense for the sake of critters that honestly don't give an eff.

Like, dude, whatever. You don't wanna eat meat, then don't. No skin off my brow. More brisket for me! But don't moralize your choice & don't demonize those who love a delicious steak.

Here's what some don't seem to understand; those animals are gonna die anyway, whether it's by the hand of man, a predator animal, sickness, or old age. Their days are numbered no matter what. And, quite frequently, they'll still get eaten. So, in the end, what's the difference if a sheep is eaten by a human or a buzzard or a coyote?

You didn't save that sheep's life. You only postponed the inevitable. Because if you're not the one who eats it, then someone or something else will. You cannot stop it.

And it's likely going to hurt regardless, so saying shit like "anything to reduce at least a little bit of the pain in the world" is just pure naiveté. You haven't reduced the pain in the world even a little. And in fact, considering how a lot of animals don't even care if their food is all-the-way dead as they're eating them, you could even say that that animal might end up experiencing even more pain than if they'd been killed by a human.

And that isn't even taking into account sickness or accidents! How do you know that that animal's last moments won't be spent in complete misery or abject fear??

Because one of the things about humans is that, for the most part, we prefer our food dead-dead before we eat it. And we intentionally go out of our ways to make death as painless a transition as possible, even for the animals we're gonna eat.

If we're gonna keep it 100, ya'll. Humans can be some of the gentlest, most merciful killers on earth.

Hell, we have laws against animal cruelty!

And, the thing is, animals... don't. Period. In fact, most don't make it to old age.

So, in the end, your efforts were meaningless.

[witchthewriter]

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐀𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

ESTP

Slytherin

Chaotic Neutral

Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Sagittarius Rising

The eldest daughter of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaena Targaryen, she had a younger twin sister, Rhaella. They were the spitting image of each other.

When she was a young child, Aerea's personality was shy, introverted, timid and very sensitive. She was constantly overcome with tears, bed-wetting and fear. Almost everything scared her; horses, dogs, boys with loud voices, men with beards, dancing and on the top of that list - dragons (according to Grand Maester Benifer.)

After the coronation of her uncle Jaehaerys, Aerea had turned into a rambunctious, quick-witted and adventurous girl. Spending half her days in the kennels, stables and dragonpit.

This led to rumours that Aerea had switched places with her twin-sister Rhaella. Who was a novice at the Starry Sept in Oldtown.

Afterwards, she was forever known as willful, stubborn, and bold. According to Lord Rogar Baratheon, she had a "fire" in her. Archmaester Gyldayn likewise described her as a "fiery young girl".

When she was eight, Aerea reportedly loved horses and would later say that the time she spent working in the stables of the Red Keep were the happiest years of her life.

It was the whole of the Red Keep that Aerea loved. She adored the excitement, the colour and attention she received as the King's heir. Before her ninth birthday, she became the leader of a pack of young girls who terrorized the Red Keep.

However, her mother Rhaena, sent for her to return to Dragonstone. During her time there, she became a 'terror'. Defying her septa, mother and maesters, abusing her servants, and insulting others.

Aerea was eager to return to the royal court, and it is said that she counted the days until she could mount a dragon and fly away.

Rhaena introduced her daughter to the many dragons on Dragonstone, wanting to make her feel comfortable. In 53 AC, Aerea was finally replaced as the heir of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen when Queen Alysanne gave birth to Princess Daenerys. Aerea was not happy with being replaced. This only brought more terror to the island.

Aerea's only friend on Dragonstone was her mother's companion, Elissa. When she left, after Elissa's brother (married to Rhaena) had murdered practically everyone on the island in revenge, Queen Alysanne (Rhaena's younger sister) visited to bring her condolences and comfort in person.

In the months afterwards, Queen Alysanne visited the island to give comfort to her sister and niece. Enraged, Aerea rejected the queen, stating that she did not care the women were all dead.

To her aunt, the Queen, she readily voiced her anger about being replaced as heir as well as deep hurt that her mother had placed a dragon egg in Alysanne's cradle, but had done nothing for Aerea but give her away as a young child.

And so, Aerea begged her aunt to take her back to King's Landing, but her mother denied the request. Even though the Queen of Westeros had asked, Rhaena still denied her. That night, Aerea and her mother fought with much anger. After that, Aerea refused to speak to Alysanne.

Within a year or so, Aerea disappeared from Dragonstone; she had claimed Balerion, flying away on him, the same dragon who had killed her father.

Her mother believed she had returned to King's Landing, but upon arrival found that she had not been seen. Ravens were sent to all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. There was no sign of Aerea. Anywhere. Even though Rhaena travelled everywhere, trying to find her daughter.

King Jaehaerys began to fear she was dead; he told his small council that Balerion had likely thrown her off his back. Surprisingly, Septon Barth disagreed, citing that Balerion would likely have returned to his lair on Dragonstone if he had suddenly been without a rider.

Aerea and Balerion were missing for more than a year.

In 56AC, a severely ill Aerea clinging to the back of Balerion, landed in King's Landing. Reports say she was unrecognizable. Stick thin, barely wearing clothes, hair a tangled matted mess. Her eyes were bloody.

She choked out, "I never," and then collapsed.

Aerea was carried to Grand Maester Benifer by Ser Lucamore Strong of the Kingsguard.

Maester Benifer quickly worked on Aerea in his chambers with Septon Barth, who had been summoned to administer the rites for dying.

Only those two men saw her last hours; the maester forbade all others, including the king and queen, from entering. Benifer gave the sickly young woman milk of the poppy, and immersed her in an ice bath to reduce her fever.

As the sun set, Septon Barth announced Aerea dead. She was cremated the next day at sunrise.

To the world, it was said that Aerea died of a fever - only partially true. Ser Lucamore said that the princess's fever was so hot that he could feel it through his armor. She had blood in her eyes and her body had "something inside her, something moving", the knight said, until the king forbade him from speaking of the princess.

Benifer left no account of Aerea's death, but according to an account in Barth's private papers, Aerea's fever was one unlike anything he had seen before. The septon described her as burning, with a red skin and having barely an ounce of flesh upon her bones, appearing gaunt and starved.

The origins of the creatures that lived inside Aerea are unknown. Barth speculated that Balerion, not Aerea, had chosen their destination; as likely the only living creature in the world that had known Valyria before it was destroyed in the Doom, Balerion had returned home, where accursed creatures as those found inside Aerea now lived.

A raven was sent to Queen Rhaena on Estermont, but by the time it arrived Aerea had already been cremated. Rhaena traveled to the Red Keep, where she took possession of her daughter's ashes. Although King Jaehaerys offered to have the ashed interred on Dragonstone with other Targaryens, Rhaena stated that Aerea had hated Dragonstone, and had wanted to fly. She took Aerea's ashes into the sky upon Dreamfyre and scattered them "upon the winds".

Following Aerea's death Balerion became the first dragon to reside in the Dragonpit, guarded by the new Dragonkeepers. Barth began studies that caused him to write Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns.