#treacherous power family

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere 7k Special:

With This Love of Mine

Yandere Crossdressing Duchess x Marquess Reader

The day your father announced (your name)’ engagement to Duke Claymoore, she was horrified. The young Duke had risen to power from killing all of his siblings and even his father to become the head of the family… Duke Claymoore was a tyrant.

“But father, he’s a tyrant! A madman-“ (Your name)’s head was thrown to the side when her stepmother slapped her across the face. Jezebeth’s face twisted with disdain. A face (your name) was all too familiar with since childhood.

“This is for your own good. No other man would want to be with a wild woman like you.” And whose fault was that?! (Your name had wanted to screech at the treacherous woman that stood confidently before her. Jezebeth had destroyed (your name)‘s reputation by spreading false rumors of her having a love affair with her childhood friend… her commoner childhood friend, Claudia.

“Perhaps the Duke will straighten out your brazenness.” Marquis (last name) sighed in defeat, the portly man pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “He will be here to fetch you this afternoon, so I recommend you clean yourself up to be more… presentable.”

(Your name) but her lip and cast her gaze to the floor. She never had her father in her corner so why would this sudden engagement change his coal black heart? The Marquis was only interested in more power and if that meant marrying off his only daughter, then he’d do it… an action that (your name) would never forgive until the day she died.

“Fine, but don’t you ever forget what date you had succumbed me to. For I will never land you a hand in your time of peril, even if you beg me.” (Your name) then grasped her blush colored skirts and rushed from the room so her stepmother didn’t see the tears that fell from her eyes. The young marquess didn’t want her ‘family’ to witness any more of her weakness.

“I’m sorry (your name)…” Marquis (Last name) muttered under her breath. “I’m so sorry.”

.

.

.

(Your name) swallowed the lump in her throat when her fiancé stood before her. He was a massive man, of mostly muscle, that stood at almost seven feet tall. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but his neat hair did little to tame the wildness behind those ruby red eyes.

(Your name) gulped at all the scars that riddled his face. She couldn’t imagine the ones that littered his body since he was wearing long sleeves, but she caught a glimpse of some burn scars on his neck. This man was terrifying… and she had to marry him.

“I’m here for my wife.” Duke Claymoore’s voice was low and raspy, as if he hadn’t spoke in a millennium.

“Oh, I hope her appearance isn’t embarrassing-“ The Duke slammed his shoulder into Jezebeth’s shoulder before he stood in front of (your name). His ruby red eyes studied her expression in wonder.

“I’ve come to take you home, (your name).” (Your name)’s face scrunched up in confusion at the Duke’s words. How did he know her name? She had never debuted in society since her stepmother had torn her reputation into tatters and she only had one friend up until their sudden disappearance.

“Home- oh!” (Your name) squeaked when the Duke threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Was he some sort of unsophisticated barbarian?! Why on earth would he carry her like this?!

There was only one person that had ever handled her in such a way but she had lost Claudia in a fire so many moons ago… plus this was a man that picked her up and not a woman…

The Duke chuckled when (your name) began to struggle. The giant man shifted her body around so that she now was in a proper bridal hold. His chapped lips pulled up into a soft smile that only made the large scar across them even more intimidating. (Your name)’s fiancé was terrifying…

“I’m taking my wife home. My men have the dowry money in my carriage.”

The Duke ignored the interjection of the Marquess and his wife and instead rushed (your name) to his dark carriage. His grasp was inescapable from how tight it was, his palms dug into her flesh like a pair of ticks. It made (your name) feel even more trapped.

She was gently placed into the carriage before the Duke crawled in beside her. His large, gloved hand slammed the door shut on her father’s face, the Duke grinned as he signaled the carriage driver to leave.

(Your name) could only watch out the window as her father’s portly body attempted to give chase, her brows furrowed in confusion on why the old man would even try to catch up to a horse drawn carriage.

“Your stepmother made jokes within the social circles that you were only worth a single gold coin so that’s all I gave him.” (Your name) jumped when she felt the Duke whisper in her ear, the young woman recoiled into herself.

“W-what?”

“They don’t deserve anything more than a single gold coin.” Duke Claymoore pressed a chaste kiss to (your name)’s cheek. “You’ll never have to be around them ever again. It can be just you and me… like it was always meant to!”

(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion at the Duke who seemed so suddenly chipper. Just her and him? She has never met this man before in her life!

“I’m sorry, but have we met-“ a beat up locket was suddenly thrust in her face which sent (your name) into even more confusion. This locker belong to Claudia… but Claudia had died almost five years ago.

“I didn’t think I’d pass so much for a man.” The Duke chuckled as he ran his hands through his pulled back hair. His raspy voice a bit shaky, “it’s me, (your name). It’s Claudia.”

“Claudia?!” (Your name) gasped, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head in shock. Claudia… was a man?! No…

(Your name) blushed when Claudia guided (your name)’s hands towards her chest. (Your name) was shocked to find the softest bit of flesh around those muscles.

“I had to train my body to the point bones snapped and I’d throw up, but it was all worth it! I have power and money now, I could easily eliminate our enemies!” Claudia beamed at (your name), her ruby red eyes filled with so much love. “My family tried to kill me since I was an illegitimate child to the Claymoore Dukedom. Who would have thought an orphan like me had noble blood?”

“Claudia, I was so worried about you… this is a lot to process.”

(Your name)’s cheeks were then cupped by Claudia’s calloused palms. The Duchess bent down to press a tender kiss to (your name)’s nose.

“I’m so sorry for pretending I died in that fire all these years ago. I saw it as an opportunity to gain power and influence to protect you.” Claudia’s face was merely inches apart from (your name)’s, their breaths mingled. “You don’t know how happy I was when I heard about how much you loved me…”

Love? Did Claudia believe the rumors (your name)’s mother had started?

“Claudia, I-“ Claudia pressed her chapped lips against (your name)’s in a searing kiss. One of her hands tangled in (your name)’s hair whip the other grasped her hip to pull her closer.

“Shh. You don’t need to say anything, I know you love me too.” Claudia peppered (your name)’s face with more kisses. “I’m so happy you accept this love of mine…”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (14/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kind of fingering, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Tell him the truth. Lying to my grandfather serves no purpose anyway. He's a skilled player. You have to win his trust." Said her betrothed, walking around her chamber with his hands folded behind his back as if it was simple, while she sat on her bed, looking at him in horror.

Lord Hightower had many reasons to doubt her loyalty, starting with her treacherous bloodline to the fact that, in all probability, Gwayne had convinced him that she had forced her way into his grandson's heart through his bed like a simple whore.

She lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fingers in nervous reflex – her lēkia approached her and knelt before her on one knee, taking her hands in his, slightly rough from holding the hilt of his sword.

"My grandfather is loyal to our family. I trust him. Do it, zaldrītsos."

Otto waited for her in the royal gardens in complete solitude, under one of the beautiful ancient arbours overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and hot, so she was dressed in one of the gowns of fine, thin fabric that she had ordered with her Prince's permission – she could have worn a garment belonging to his daughter, Queen Alicent, but she feared he would perceive it as an attempt of manipulation.

She was to be honest with him, as her betrothed demanded.

She sighed quietly, seeing his seated silhouette in the distance, silver trays full of lemon and apple cakes, caramelised dates, grapes and strawberries on a small white table in front of him. She blinked, coming closer with a rattle of stones under her feet, standing in front of him, feeling her heart stop in her throat.

Otto gave her a gentle, reassuring smile and held out his hand in front of him, pointing to the empty chair across from him, seeing how tense she was.

"My Lady. Thank you for agreeing to speak to the grumbling old man and listen to his concerns." He said lightly and she swallowed hard, sitting down, placing her hands on her thighs.

"Treat yourself. My daughter loves caramelised dates." He said and reached for one himself, taking a bite of it.

He chewed it and swallowed, nodding appreciatively, as if indeed their flavour appealed to him too.

"Do you know what my grandson's – and your betrothed's – favourite dish is?" He asked, looking at her curiously, as if he was challenging her.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, involuntarily grinning with amusement.

"I don't think such considerations occupy his head. He rarely delights in food, and if he does, it is more in the privacy of his own mind." She said calmly.

Otto hummed under his breath, as if her answer satisfied him, and nodded.

"Our Prince is a man of principle and loves simplicity. Deliberations on trivial things bore him and arouse his frustration, just like the romantic courting of women." He said, spreading out comfortably in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests, asking her the obvious question between his words.

How had she managed to seduce him?

She huffed under her breath and turned her gaze away, looking out at the sea stretching around them, the pleasant fresh breeze and shade cooling her sun-warmed skin.

"Like any man, he is not fond of empty words. He chooses his own deliberately and expects others to do the same. Unless he becomes enraged – then his fury erupts like a volcano." She said lightly, for some reason feeling no fear at the thought.

She had ceased to fear him long ago.

She knew that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to truly hurt her.

"The letter you found in your chamber was sent to you on my command." He said calmly.

She froze, staring blankly ahead, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

It was a trial, she suddenly realised.

He wanted to see if she was trustworthy.

For some reason, a wave of sadness and disappointment rippled through her heart.

She naively believed for a moment that her person could occupy her father's mind.

Otto continued, hearing her silence full of disbelief.

"I need to know what you want, child. I need you to put your desires into words so that I can understand what kind of person is sitting right in front of me to become my grandson's wife." He said slowly, as if carefully choosing every thought that left his lips – his voice was gentle and soothing, as if he was trying to reassure her that what she was going to say would remain their secret.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her heart pound like mad in terror – not because she was afraid of him, but because his question startled her.

She didn't know what to answer.

She had never thought about it.

Until now, she had only been the fulfilment of his desires, she thought with shame, playing with her fingers, feeling certain Otto would take her silence as a bad sign, proof that her intentions were not pure.

"I am what he wants me to be." She finally muttered, feeling tears of embarrassment under her eyelids burning as much as if they were living fire.

Lord Hightower looked at her in silence and twisted in his seat with a creak of wood, as if surprised by her answer.

"Do you wish to marry him?" He asked, and she nodded without thinking.

"I want to be by his side. His presence fills my soul and heart with a strange peace. When he is beside me, I am no longer afraid. Of my father, of war, or of what will happen to me. I am not afraid of death or dragon fire. Sometimes I think it would be better for me to die in battle than to live to see the moment when I realise I have lost his affection." She choked out in a trembling voice, feeling the heavy tears one by one run down her cheeks – she was wiping them off the warm skin of her face with her hands, but they flowed anyway.

Why had she said that?

Why was she letting him know her weakness?

Maybe because deep down she hoped that he would kill her one day, she thought.

That he would not let her live to see the day when her husband would love another woman.

"Our Prince holds you in a respect and esteem that he has never bestowed on any woman before. He allows himself to be vulnerable and weak in your presence. Men, dear child, experiencing physical fulfilment without a soul bond, feel an emptiness after the act. Their desire is like a cry of desperation for purely childlike attention and tenderness – then, in his chamber, seeing him in your embrace, I saw a boy who feels protected and comforted. I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you."

She swallowed with difficulty, choking on her own tears, looking at him in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest like mad.

I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you.

She shook her head, feeling that she could not accept those words.

He desired her, he enjoyed her, he was fond of her, but he did not love her.

"I dearly loved my late wife. She was my closest confidante, my beloved friend, the most beautiful of women. She was strong, and my grandson is weak. Filled with complexes, he lives to prove his worth, power and strength, not seeing that he is crushing the efforts of many years, made by me and his father. He needs guides, trusted advisors who love him and who want him to prevail. I know that it was because of you that my grandson told his brother about his plans regarding Rook Rest's. I know that you advised him against plotting behind Aegon's back and sought to rally them. You advise our Prince wisely and I wish you to be his wife. As the daughter of the Lady of Runestone, you are the blood of the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale, which will be crucial to us when the siege of Harrenhal begins. Your task to the Kingdom will be to rally the Lords against Lady Arryn's will and to stop my grandson from acting recklessly and violently. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked calmly, and she nodded quickly, wiping her hot, swollen cheeks with her hands.

"Yes."

As she was fitting her wedding gown, letting the servants and seamstresses check the length of the sleeves, she thought about Otto Hightower's words and how much they surprised her.

He was a shrewd and enlightened man, of that she was convinced – he also let her know that he did not see her as an enemy or a threat, but as an opportunity for them and the Kingdom as a whole.

For some reason, something in his words and the way he said them comforted her – she felt that, at last, the burden of the war and the Crown would partly fall off the Prince's back, allowing someone more experienced to advise him on difficult and complicated matters that would have overwhelmed the wisest of men.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and her betrothed stepped inside, searching for her with his eye.

"No!" She squealed, fleeing behind the light-coloured three-door screen standing nearby. "It brings misfortune. Leave."

He shouldn't see her in her wedding gown before their nuptials.

She heard his sigh of impatience and his lazy footsteps on the other side – when he stopped the servants bowed to him and left the chamber, leaving them alone.

"What did he say?" He asked calmly.

She sighed quietly, stepping closer to the wall of thin material behind which she could see the shadow of his tall figure.

"That he wishes me to win the support of the Lords of the Vale for you. That I would help him control your impulsive nature." She said, and he snorted, frustrated, turning his head to the side.

"Is that how he sees me? As an uncontrollable animal to be tamed?" He asked with a regret that made her swallow hard, her fingers touching the fabric as if she wanted to touch his chest.

His heart.

"No. But he and I know what your anger means and how dangerous it can be. That it is only when its first wave passes that your coolness and common sense returns to you. There is a fire running through your veins – that is your nature. We do not want you to burn in the heat of your own fury, regretting later the deeds done in a sudden burst of rage." She muttered and heard him draw in a breath, as if her words pained him.

"He is disappointed in me, then." He said coldly and she closed her eyes, feeling helpless against his low self-esteem.

"No, brother. He wants your victory, exactly as I do. If you craved sweet lies, you would allow Larys Strong to pour poison into your ears, surrounding yourself with lords who would praise you and your greatness. You, in your wisdom, sent for your grandfather, who is sincere, who cares for you and your family."

"Ours." He corrected her, and she smiled involuntarily with gratitude.

"Ours."

She heard him take a step towards the screen, his forehead pressed against the material – she did the same, on the other side, hearing his quiet breath.

"– I desire you –" He whispered, and she sighed, feeling his words in her nipples, her lips, the tips of her fingers and her throbbing, swollen cunt.

"– let's last until our wedding – let's make this the night we've waited and longed for –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling that she was losing the battle with herself, his scent, his presence, his closeness making her grow hot.

"– what are you suggesting? – that you won't spend upcoming nights in my bed? –" He exhaled, placing his hands on the screen wall, and she felt a wonderful shiver of pleasure run down her cheeks, along her breasts and down her spine.

"– lēkia –" She gasped and they both sighed as the door to her chamber opened and Lysa stepped inside, holding in her hand the jewellery casket she had ordered for the occasion.

"– leave us, brother –" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her womanhood pulsing greedily around nothing, a drop of her wetness running down the inside of her thigh.

"– visit me tonight –"

"– I can't – for at least a few days let me pretend I have dignity –" She mumbled and heard him swallow hard, as if her words caused him pain.

She knew he hesitated, that he wanted to say something more, but resigned – she saw him turn and move towards the door, Lysa bowed to him as he left the room without a word.

She exhaled loudly, stepping out from behind the screen, and Lysa gave her one warm, comforting smile.

She was her only friend.

"They have arrived, my Lady – hair adornments, a dagger and a necklace, matching your instructions in every detail." She said, tilting the lid open.

She smiled broadly as she came closer, seeing the objects lying on the cushion – a thin, delicate golden chain with sapphires framed so that they looked like three water drops – two small and one large that was lying between them – her hair pins in the shape of forget-me-nots, also made of sapphire stones, and a long, beautiful dagger, her gift for her future husband.

She had chosen her jewellery deliberately – her wedding gown was sewn from fabrics in light blue tones and browns – she wanted to show her future husband her devotion to him and her own allegiance to Runestone at the same time.

According to what she had heard, King Aegon began to slowly awaken, but he was dazed and was merely babbling, fed with the milk of the poppy by the Maester – they wanted to spare him the pain, which must have been immense anyway, looking at how much of his skin had been burned in the fire.

However, the fact that he was regaining consciousness worried her Prince, who pushed for the nuptials to take place as soon as possible – he was afraid that his brother, as soon as he found out about it, would forbid the Septon to marry them out of sheer spite.

They renounced grand ceremonies and processions – their subjects were starving, and they did not want them to think that during their great suffering they were drinking wine and dancing, mocking them.

"Thanks to my spies, we were able to prevent great misfortune – a dozen inconspicuous boats arrived under cover of darkness from Dragonstone to King's Landing, filled to the brim with food. They were to be passed on as gifts from Queen Rhaenyra to her subjects. Instead, the food will be distributed on the streets of the city just before your nuptials, so that the whole Kingdom can rejoice with you." Said Otto during the Small Council meeting – her future husband had dismissed his mother in revenge for her affair with Criston Cole, thus freeing up a seat at the table.

As she was a dragon rider and would be participating in the war, she needed to know what was happening, so she was specifically assigned a seat in the Small Council, right next to the Prince Regent's grandfather.

She threw her cousin a quick glance and saw that he was looking at her as well, his grin indicating that he was more than pleased.

"Excellent." He said.

Her betrothed, in keeping with her wishes, had allowed them to spend the nights before their nuptials apart, she knew, however, that he was frustrated and made that known whenever he could.

"No. You stay, hāedar." He said when he closed the meeting and she stood up as did everyone else gathered.

She swallowed hard when she heard the door close – she saw out of the corner of her eye that he stood from his seat and approached her with a lazy, unhurried step.

She gasped as she felt his large hand on her waist, wandering up and down, his other hand without any warning slipped under the fabric of her gown from above and squeezed softly her silky, plump breast.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a quiet moan of pleasure when she felt his parted, moist lips run over her neck, leaving a wet, sticky trail on her skin, his hot breath making her cunt, swollen with desire and longing, clench greedily around nothing.

"– stop –" She muttered, grabbing his wrist as his hand from her waist and hip slid down between her thighs, closing on her womanhood.

"– are you touching yourself? – hm? –" He asked coldly and she shook her head, panting heavily as she felt his hard manhood pushing against her buttocks, a drop of cold sweat dripped down her back.

"– no – I suffer just as you do, lēkia – please –" She mumbled and cried out, tilting her head back as his fingertips began to gently tease what was under the material of her dress, a wonderful wave of heat surging through her loins.

"– mmm –" He hummed and let her go, leaving her alone, thirsty and quivering with desire, walking out of the room without even giving her a single glance.

Contrary to what her cousin thought, it wasn't just for him that the wait for their night together was agony – her betrothed demanded that since he couldn't touch her, she couldn't either.

She knew that he also did not satisfy his urges in any way, which made him more mischievous – he would lurk for an opportunity for them to be alone and put his hand between her thighs to caress and tease her, whispering in her ear.

"– beg, and maybe I'll fuck you –" He hissed, her hand clenched on his arm.

"– n-no – please, please, stop –"

He let her go then, his jaw clenched in annoyance and some kind of awe, as if he didn't think she could really stand it – her whole body screamed before his eyes that she wanted it, and yet she still refused him.

It was a sign of strong will for him, proof that her words were not empty and her decisions were final.

On the day the nuptials were to take place, the entire Red Keep was put on its feet – Otto feared an attack from all sides, including poisoning, so guards personally chosen by him went to the Sept, as well as to the kitchens, to keep an eye on the cooks and make sure they didn't add anything to the food.

She was surprised by this, but she felt relieved that her future husband's grandfather was watching over everything.

From the morning, Lysa and the other servants had been helping her put on her gown – it fitted her body perfectly, revealing her cleavage and shoulders – the sleeves of the bottom dress clung to her arms, while the sleeves of her top dress, the blue one, was slit at the elbows, falling all the way to the ground.

Some of her hair was pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, decorated with small sapphire flowers, while some fell in waves down her back.

A necklace completed the look – it adorned her long neck and accentuated the colour of the fabric of her gown, however, she actually hoped that this and her sapphire hair adornments would be the only things left on her body during their wedding night.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and she saw Queen Alicent before her – she stepped down from the small dais and bowed to her as did her servants, whether she wanted to or not having to show her respect.

The Dowager Queen stopped before her and sighed, folding her hands in front of her.

"Do you know what kind of man you will marry? Who my son is?" She asked, and she swallowed hard, wondering how a mother could know so little about her own child.

She thought she was simply afraid of the answers to the questions she was asking herself and didn't want to know them, separating herself from who her son was in her mind.

"Yes, Your Grace." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. "Our Prince holds you in deep esteem and hopes to earn your praise."

She saw Alicent's lips twitch, her eyebrows arching in an expression of regret, as if her words had caused her pain, her large brown eyes filled with nothing but sadness.

She nodded, as if accepting her words in her heart, and gestured to her servant, who held a small chest in her hand.

"I wish to offer a blessing to you and my son. I ask that you accept this small gift from me, along with my desire for you to be protected by the gods themselves." Said the Queen and opened the lid – she saw a fine gold chain with a small pendant in the shape of a seven-pointed star.

She nodded, looking at it, wondering if, when she went to see her son, she would find at least a few warm words for him.

The journey in the carriage through King's Landing seemed to last for ages to her – the streets were full of happy people – Lord Hightower, according to his plan, began handing out food to the people, leading to a sudden outburst of joy.

The smallfolk, in keeping with his desire, saw this event as a sign, recognising that the gods had supported the marriage between the Prince and his relative by sending them revelry, putting an end to their hunger.

However, for how long will the supplies stolen from Princess Rhaenyra last?

When will their suffering begin anew?

She swallowed hard at the thought that the war had to end as soon as possible, but both her future husband and Dragonstone knew that neither of them had enough advantage to bring the other to its knees.

When she arrived before the Great Sept and the carriage doors opened in front of her, she froze, feeling panic – the people around her were shouting her name, throwing flowers, reaching out to her as if she were some kind of semi-divine being, a symbol of the life they would never know.

She felt overwhelmed and stunned, alone among the crowd, small without her dragon and bow, dressed in a long gown like a doll.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

"My Lady." She heard a voice in front of her, then saw Otto Hightower walking towards her between the guards. "My Lady, give me your hand."

She swallowed hard and did as he asked, placing her palm on his, rough and large. With his help, she walked down a few steps to a small wooden platform, and from it to the ground, feeling that her legs were trembling with fear.

"I am not your father, but I will be more than happy if you do me this honour. It is a difficult journey and no young woman should have to walk it alone." He said calmly, and she looked at him with big eyes, noticing something in his gaze that could have been sympathy or simple concern.

She had always dreamed of someone looking at her like that.

The way a father would look at his daughter.

She nodded, thinking in the back of her mind that if she let go of his hand she would just fall, her legs soft as cotton wool.

As she walked with Lord Hightower into the Great Sept, she heard the sound of trumpets, young girls, daughters of lords and knights throwing flowers at her feet.

It all seemed unreal to her – the temple around her was so gigantic that it took her breath away, the great, tall statues of the Seven Gods towering over those gathered to form a circle, enclosing the entire structure.

At the very centre, on a raised platform stood the altar at which stood the Grand Septon and her betrothed, a sweet emotion squeezed her throat as she looked at his face.

Though he stood erect, with his hands folded behind his back like a statue, she could see that his gaze was hot, vulnerable, his eye large, his lips parted in a heavy breath as if he longed to cry at the sight of her – the fact that she had chosen not the colour of his or her lineage, but his colour, the blue of his sapphire, something only he could understand, the expression of her devotion, her understanding, her affection.

When they stopped at the steps Otto let her go, but she, seeing her cousin's face felt more confident – she grabbed the front of her gown and lifted it, not wanting to step on it, climbing slowly upwards, her steps echoing loudly around her.

She sighed quietly as she stood in front of them, not daring to look at his face, feeling that if she did she would cry for some reason.

It was really happening.

She was to become a wife.

She looked at him and it was a mistake – she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw him draw in the air loudly when his gaze met hers, as if he felt something deep inside himself that frightened him, his lips slightly parted in a shuddering breath.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Her cousin swallowed loudly, looked at the Septon and then behind him, nodding – Gwayne Hightower approached him with a long black cloak embroidered with green threads from which the figure of a three-headed dragon was formed at the very centre.

The crest of their family and the colours of the Hightowers.

She bowed humbly as he threw the cloak over her shoulders with a sweeping gesture, making sure the material did not slip, and she closed her eyes.

He took her under his protection.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Said the Septon – her betrothed extended his hand to her, standing proud and upright, so she placed her palm on his – the priest entwined their joined hands with a wide, bright ribbon.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." He said, and they looked at each other, her heart pounding in her chest once before they both opened their mouths and their lungs left the words spoken surprisingly confidently and calmly.

"Father,

Smith,

Warrior,

Mother,

Maiden,

Crone,

Stranger

I am hers | I am his

and she is mine | and he is mine

from this day, until the end of my days."

They fell silent, and though she thought he would not do it, that it would be beneath his dignity, he took her hot cheek in his hand and leaned down, looking at her as if he held the entire heritage of Old Valyria in his fingers.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." He whispered, only a quiet sigh escaping her throat as his full, fleshy lips pressed against hers in a deep, warm, moist kiss, so tender and soft that she felt a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

My love.

When he broke the kiss he didn't move away for a moment, just looking at her, and she smiled in a way that must have made him happy, because he smiled too, shyly and sweetly, like a little boy.

They were husband and wife.

[gyundo]

“A Meeting I’ll Never Forget”

Lee Jeno (Jeno) x Male Reader!!

SMUT! Interact at your own risk!

Plot: Two princes meet fatefully, and fit each other like a long-lost lock and key

Prince L/N Y/N was the oldest son of the king of Escrow. The Escrowian empire had started with the prince’s great-grandfather, who had risen to power as a mercenary that had fallen out of favor of another kingdom and had come to Escrow to establish his own empire.

Y/N, on the other hand, had no desire to rule over his kingdom. He was obviously going to accept his position as his father’s heir, but the duties didn’t particularly strike him as interesting. Y/N always had a preference for tasks such as cooking, baking, and the arts, such as singing and dancing, which earned him many scoldings from his parents.

Y/N’s parents cursed him on many occasions, explaining to him that his preferences were that of commoners, but it fell on deaf ears. Y/N continued to do as he pleased, and he never attended his swordsmanship lessons or any physical training. This, for a prince, Y/N was quite weak. Although, thanks to the nagging of his father, Y/N was stronger than the average person and did have some minor muscle definition.

As young people often do, Y/N neglected his responsibilities, and for a royal, this was intolerable. As Y/N’s father received an invitation for a meeting, he realized this was the perfect opportunity to put his son in order.

“You will be escorted by my personal order to the Kingdom of Travania in order to attend the meeting on the 25th of this month, Y/N” the King spoke with confidence in his throne room.

“B-but that’s so boring father, why should I sit in a carriage for 5 days with no proper food to go meet some random crusty king in a faraway kingdom?” Y/N complained, in a typical young adult fashion.

“King Jeno is an extremely influential man in his area. You mustn’t forget that your grandfather was from Travania himself. It is in our best interests to make relations favorable between our empire and his kingdom, if we wish to avoid any wars for hundreds of years.” the emperor promptly replied.

“B-but father, I don’t wanna go—,” Y/N whined.

“That’s enough out of you. Remember I’m not just your father but the emperor as well. You will go meet King Jeno. Do whatever it takes to curry favor with him,” the emperor bellowed.

Y/N stomped out of the throne room and ordered his servants to pack his things and prepare the carriage. He knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter and before he knew it, he was sitting in the carriage and already left the capital.

Y/N was angry as to why he had to leave his fun in the palace to go meet a random King who was old and would have nothing to talk about with Y/N. Y/N figured that he would just offer some items that were made by the Escrowian Empire that were sure to pave the way for a trade deal. Y/N was even more frustrated that his father had sent him in his stead.

Little did Y/N know, King Jeno was nothing like what he imagined.

The envoy arrived after a long, treacherous journey that saw many bumpy roads, many forests, and many plains. Y/N was more exhausted than he could describe, and he was everything but jumping for joy when he saw the palace of Travania.

Y/N treaded gracefully, in awe of what he was seeing. Sure, his familial palace in Escrow was large, but the Travanian royal family's estate was lavish in another sense of the word, with large fountains adorned with figures of greek worship. Garlands of roses adorned the edge of the roof of the main palace, which stood so grand Y/N had to turn to be able to see it all. The garden was artfully carved and decorated, with each bush and tree pruned in a most detailed fashion.

Y/N realized that the days-long journey to Travania was worth it from the view itself. Remembering almost as an aside that there was a meeting for which he had came, Y/N walked further to the main gate of the palace.

There, a tall figure stood awaiting him. As Y/N drew closer, he observed the elegant rhinestones embedded in the crown of bearer. He paid attention to each stretch in the royal garment, which stuck to each individual muscle on the man's built body. The biceps, large to the point that the seam was stretched, the pecs, which filled out the top, and the pants, fully conforming to the large thighs made Y/N realize he was in the presence of a man truly fit to be king.

"You must be Prince Y/N of Escrow, your highness. I am King Jeno of Travania. It is with great pleasure I welcome you to our empire and our summit this afternoon," the man spoke with a great smile, reflected in the expression of his eyes.

"Your highness, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and to be the recipient of such great hospitality. Our nations are sure to grow closer relations from this monumental event," Y/N spoke eloquently while shaking the hand of the other man.

Jeno, not blind to the way Y/N had previously stared him up and down, understood the situation very well. As a show of diplomacy, Jeno transitioned the handshake into a bodily embrace common between royalty of different nations to show closeness. From the viewpoint of others, this was completely normal.

The reality of the embrace was known only by Jeno and Y/N, from the way Jeno reached underneath the cape of Y/N and fondled his buttocks in a way not visible to any. He continued kneading the large protrusions of the prince as he increased his pressure.

Y/N, still in shock from the abruptness and how suddenly these developments had occurred, refrained from any immediate movements and let out a small moan that he thought was only audible to him.

Jeno, however, had also heard the moan and understood that his actions were received well. Letting go of the younger, King Jeno continued, "My attendants will give you a tour of Travanian royal palace while I prepare for our summit. They will lead to the room of our summit after the tour, so you shan't worry, Prince Y/N."

"I stromgly appreciate thy kindness and will sincerely revel in the beauties of your artful palace, King Jeno." Y/N gracefully responded.

The attendants continued to show Y/N around the various areas of the palace, which included hanging gardens, exotic flora collections, the royal bathing chamber, the surrounding farms, and the servant quarters that seemed better than the prince's own bedroom. An hour had elapsed before the head attendant spoke, "King Jeno has finished prepared for your meeting. He awaits you inside these doors and has requested that you enter alone. It has been a pleasure giving you a tour, my liege."

Y/N gave a show of his appreciation and opened the grandiose doors that seemed like that of a bedchamber. He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him and expecting to see a large round table with artisan-crafted chairs. Instead, he was met with a large, silk sheet draped over a large mattress, lush purple velvet curtains, and most striking of all, King Jeno dressed in a red robe that unveiled his extremely muscular upper body, with a significant bulge in the clothing covering his private area.

"Ah, I see that you've arrived. We can start discussing matters of interest to us once you take a seat here, my prince," Jeno spoke lustfully.

Y/N, absolutely shocked, but being the honest man he was exclaimed,"Never have I seen such a meeting, but I am more than happy to take you up on your offer, my King."

Jeno looked pleased as Y/N sat down on the bed, embracing him the moment he did. Y/N felt the warmth of Jeno's muscular body on his own, while sensing great pressure from his large muscles in his upper body and his bulge that was separated from Y/N's only by cloth.

The king moved his lips closer to that of Y/N's, looking at his with concupiscent eyes that asked for permission. Y/N, without words, gave his approval by moving his face only slightly forward, to which Jeno responded by firmly crashing their lips together, pushing Y/N down onto the sheet, and rubbing his hands under Y/N's tunic.

Y/N reveled in the pleasure of Jeno's masterful techniques that mingled their tongues together with sounds that could only be interpreted as sinful. Their lips met again and again, with short breaks for air, only to be crashed together as violently as when they first met. Suckling sounds and shared strands of saliva spoke to the passion between the two men as their mouths melted in the pleasure of each other.

Jeno pulled away as Y/N motioned, "Hurry, my King, I feel urges and a steady heat rising in my body. Only you can help me."

With a sly smirk, Jeno replied,"Anything for my guest, my prince," while peeling off Y/N's clothes as he went in to resume their lip lock.

Moments later, a fully naked Y/N was below Jeno, still in his robe, with their legs intertwined and lips connected as the younger felt Jeno's arm around his back and his waist. The two continued making out and enjoying the pangs of pleasure released by the meeting between their lips.

"It's time to discuss the foundations for an alliance," Jeno joked while unbuckling the belt holding his robe on. Y/N looked with nothing but desire at Jeno's large pecs, his well-defined abs, his sculpted shoulders, and his large, perfect dick that was fit for a king. Jeno's cock stood proudly in front of Y/N, with veins and a deep red tip that Y/N wanted to break him. The sheer thickness of his cock made Y/N want to take Jeno forever, who would stretch Y/N and surely leave him crying for mercy.

Jeno understood the desires of the younger well, and not being able to control his own, Jeno flipped over Y/N onto his stomach.

Tapping his cock against Y/N's hole, Jeno heard moans of impatience as he began to slap the prince's hole with a thud that spoke to the weight of his penis. His eight inch cock was sure to break in Y/N quite nicely and leave him unable to live without Jeno forever. This experience would give Y/N such a pleasured pain it would unlock new levels of lust in his brain.

"I see you are well-prepared for this new connection between our nations," Jeno spoke as he observed wetness at the Y/N's opening, speaking volumes to the younger's insatiable appetite.

Jeno, unable to control himself any further, roughly plunged his cock into the deep, moist entrance of Y/N's ass, as the younger let out an audible yelp. The corners of his hole began to slightly bleed to accomdate the first-time stretch.

Overwhelmed from the sudden introduction of seven inches, the thickness of the pole inside him, the pain of his hole ripping slighlty, and the new feeling of being filled, Y/N let out large tears that stained the white sheet below him. Jeno, being the diplomat he was, moved his face closer to Y/N's, cooing at him before encapsulating his lips once again.

The pleasure of the kissing distracted Y/N as the radiating pain from his lower body retreated and only a feeling of fullness remained. Jeno experimented with a small thrust, resulting in an audible moan Jeno heard through their connected mouths. He proceeded to pummel his thick rod into Y/N at a faster pace, enjoying the squeals of the former virgin who felt a constant pressure on his prostate and inside all areas of his passage.

Jeno continued further with a rough animalistic pounding that elicited the arching of Prince Y/N's back and moved him back and forth across the bed with each powerful thrust.

The feeling of the all encapsulating walls of Y/N hugging and squeezing Jeno's cock was emphasized through the various groans the older let out. Y/N was addicted to the pleasure of having his walls filled and stretched out fully, as well as the warmth of the large veiny cock inside him that sent waves of pleasure each time Y/N's prostate was brushed by.

Jeno's thrusts grew more greedy as he became less gentle, eliciting almost musical moans from Y/N, that sounded like he was asking for more. HIs manhood stretched out Y/N's hole fully and gave him a good dicking down that showed a king's true power.

The hilt of Jeno's thick cock smacked Y/N's rim with indescribably pleasureful force that Y/N's eyes could do nothing but roll back. The thought of a large, muscular man, such as Jeno, pounding him with a large cock that fit inside him like a key and satisfied the itch of emptiness inside him that arose earlier in the day led Y/N to a seventh heaven he knew he would have to reach again and again.

"Enjoying my large cock squelching in your boyhole, my prince? Petite little princes like you are designed perfectly for taking a large kingly dick that is far too large for any woman. I'll have you bouncing on my cock and asking for mercy through your moans like this for as long as the two of us live. I'll pound you to the point that you become mine and only mine, my cock is what you'll need to live every single day," Jeno proudly whispered.

The wet sounds of Jeno's large cock infiltrating Y/N's passage, along with their skin slapping together, filled the room with auras of sin and desire.

"UHHH, YESSS, fuck me as rough as you can, your highness. I can't get enough of your large dick, my king, I'm so glad you decided to take me and make me yours, that is exactly what I deserve to be, your cocksleeve and whore," Y/N responded with nothing but pleasure filling his head.

The sounds of sex became more unholy as Jeno's large cock released pre-cum that further lubricated Y/N's walls and increased the squelching, making both more horny as Jeno continued to wreck Y/N's hole mercilessly.

Jeno's golf-ball sized testicles slapped Y/N hard with each thrust, reminding Y/N what a true man's dominance was and felt like inside a bratty boy like him. Y/N wanted nothing more than to succumb to and embrace the fact that he was being manhandled by a true man whom he could never compete with. All he wanted was to be done again and again by Jeno's large cock, be subservient to his desires, be creamed and de-masculinated, and to have his slutty whoreish bussy pummeled like it was asking to be.

Y/N's hole began to slowly comform to Jeno's cock and grow used to it as the thrusts increased, sticking to his massive dick and not letting go of each vein as he pulled out prior to each thrust. Y/N's hole was basically becoming like a real pussy that bulged outwards almost like a flower blooming and reflected each action of Jeno's merciless cock.

Jeno bulged Y/N's stomach with each thrust, rearranging his organs in the process and growing his desire to breed the prince with copious amounts of cum deposited in his hole. Jeno continued to ravage and do Y/N with the sheer girth of his cock that entered Y/N's asshole like a lock fitting in a key. Y/N's prostate was being abused greatly with each rubbing of Jeno's cock's veins against it, resulting in waves of pleasure clouding the minds of both.

Jeno lost control and felt his climax nearing as he pulled out to his glans and pushed over six inches back all in one go for his last thrust, that pushed Y/N over the edge and led to his orgasm while Jeno released multiple spurts of thick cum into Y/N's passage, as a sort of signature on the documentation of their alliance. Jeno continued to push his cock further inside Y/N's hole as each spurt hit Y/N's walls more forcefully, overstimulating the younger. Y/N tiny hole remained stretched well by Jeno's fat cock inside of him that the prince begged to let remain inside.

Jeno reveled in his training of the younger prince and being the one pound and cream his greedy boypussy for the first time, knowing that peace between the kingdoms was secured for all eternity.

"This is a meeting I'll never forget," Y/N sighed with satisfaction while staring at Jeno.

[dykealloy]

i keep going back to this moment. obviously there's the palpable devotion from zoro towards luffy which is all very insane, elicits the urge to chew through drywall etc etc. but I can't help but get caught on the way this is phrased. suggesting maybe zoro isn't the only one mihawk is talking about here. as in, I'm getting opla shuggy rant energy, i.e.

which is about as blatant and transparent as it gets in terms of the older wiser figure with a connection to shanks speaking about his own experiences (under the weak veil of this being about Luffy). but back to mihawk talking about zoro whilst also talking about himself. I'm having to extrapolate a fair bit here given my limited knowledge of his history, but here's what we do know - mihawk never belonged to a crew, was a "rival" of shanks before he "lost interest" in killing him at some point after he lost his arm ("it's always for the sake of another" - given how powerful shanks still is at this point - one of the four emperors - i'd like to think there's something more to this).

when zoro falls to his blade outside the Baratie and he tells luffy "that's a more treacherous path than even mine" after hearing his main goal is to become king of the pirates, do you think perhaps there's a chance he's projecting some old buried anxiety/fear from his youth about the thought of facing shanks, standing by his side and falling. It's giving "I am not worthy until I prove I'm the best", which if true, was followed after many years by "Now I am the best and it's hollow and empty and I regret all those days I could have had with you".

luffy gave zoro direction - a greater purpose and a family. luffy enables his aspirations, but he also provides zoro the freedom to have something more than just this obsessive structure where the only thing that matters is becoming top dog - something beyond years and years of endless relentless training fueled in part by his loyalty to kuina but also the grief of her loss. without luffy, zoro could very likely have followed mihawk's path, something @joyish-little-boy pointed out in one of @assiraphales' posts.

despite being recognised by the world at large as the greatest swordsman alive, and supposedly having achieved all there is for him to strive for, mihawk has never struck me as a man awfully satisfied with where he is.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Silver and Gold (M!Siren!Reader x M!Pirate Captain)

Pairing: Male!Flirty!Siren!Reader x Male!Pirate Captain

Genre: Pirates, Flirting, First Meetings

Word Count: 2570 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: For living a life in a sailor’s death trap, you think you’d be used to handsome pirate captains, rushing headlong into adventure. But something about today’s quarry seems different.

Request May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

A/N: Alright now THIS one should be accurate to the request lolol. You guys get a two for one special!

Life in the Dragon’s Teeth was shockingly boring.

Its reputation is infamous, the majority of sailors being sensible enough to leave it well enough alone. Of the people who dared to enter most were young and braggadocious sailors looking to prove their worth, who often made for quite boring sport. They always thought they were somehow better than siren magic, that pure belief could beat an enchantment powerful enough to literally make men wantonly fall to their deaths.

Bo-ring.

You think, watching one such ship entering into the gorge, men lined up the sides like pigs ready for slaughter. Your ravenous siblings all leap for the chances, hiding behind treacherous rocks or laying alluringly on outcrops, all ready for a taste. Despite the ship you all sank just one week ago, their bellies never seem to fill.

You however, have grown tired of this. Too easy, too monotonous. Maybe it’s time you finally spread your fins and leave the gorge, head into open water and explore the seas. Would be much more interesting than this, that's for sure.

You roll back over on your fins as the siren’s begin to sing, a haunting chorus bouncing off the chasm as the ship deftly avoids the rocks. Rolling your eyes, you daydream about the Great Barrier Reef, wondering if it’s as magnificent as they say.

But then-

“Ugh, come on!” A particularly voracious sister of yours hum to a tune of discontent, harshing her usually sweet melody. “I’m hungry! Why is this taking so long?”

“I don’t know.” A more rational brother of yours whispers, just loud enough for you to hear from your outcrop. “They should be overboard by now.”

That’s enough to have you turning over, eyes lazily sweeping over the ship, now deep in the Dragon’s Teeth. To your surprise, every sailor still seems hard at work, keeping mindful of the edges of the ships, but fulfilling their duties. Even the watchman at the crow’s nest, isolated as they are, stays perched and at the ready, looking over at your beckoning family with nervous yet un-enchanted eyes.

Now this is new.

You slide down a mossy outcrop, slipping in between the confused masses of your siblings, whose songs grow more and more discordant. Some have even swam up to the sides, clawing at the bows and preening like young pups. Still, the sailors ignore them, not paying any mind.

For a whole ship to be free of a whole horde of siren’s is a shocking thing, a terrifying thing, a wonderful new thing. You have to know more, so you crawl along the rocks, exploring the entire hull with watching eyes. 

Is there some boon they’ve brought with them? Did they find a witch and ask for safe passage? Has Poseidon himself blessed their voyage?

You wander from man to man, trying to find a hint of any wills breaking. But while curious eyes occasionally steal a glance at your siblings, curiosity is its reason, not compulsion. Any who dare get a sharp retort from the man at the helm, though they hardly deem to notice.

It’s then you realize, all these men are deadly silent. Not a peep between them, not even shouting orders. Except the helmsman, all the others silently following a preapproved pattern, a routine.

Oh, and what a helmsman he is.

It's easy to see how much better dressed he is than his men, a crimson coat that falls to his knees, closed by several belts and buckles over a ruffle white shirt. Gold studs decorate up and down his ears yet he is sparsely decorated elsewhere. Long black hair peppered with gray is tied in a low ponytail, healthy and silky despite a life at sea. His beard is less maintained, more scraggly, split apart by the occasional scar across his jaw. His boots are polished leath, not a scratch or stain on them, and his trousers are well fitted. Especially across his buttocks, which you take the time to appreciate.

The other thing that catches your eyes are his hands. Hands which swiftly attend to the wheel, in fact are tied to the rudders. His breathing is labored slightly, his cheeks darkened from focused exertion. Still, he keeps his eyes straight, shouting loudly to a young third mate who dares to ean over the side of the ship. The man ignores him, up until the captain kicks at a nearby can into the man's leg, shocking him to attention.

Oh, I see.

Seems you’ve found yourself an interesting prey.

—

Royce felt like a fool.

All his life he’s been a pragmatic man. Where other Captains gambled, brawled, and squandered their lives in stupid feats of bravado, he had always kept a level head. Sure, he’s a pirate and knew to have some fun, but he always did so with care.

He had weighed his options heavily before deciding on the Dragon’s Keep. It wasn’t easy, nor without risk, but the quickness of the route and the assurances of his men had convinced him. His plan would allow them to reach their next port in half the time, beating out any other rival crews to what was rumored to be an excellent bounty. He had even concocted a plan to ensure casualties would be at a minimum, scrounging for texts and stories about the fabled place to be best prepared.

But he had just been so goddamned curious.

“Cotton in the ears, huh?” 

A melodic voice knocks Royce out of his focus, thanking the gods for his resilience and not flinching at the site of the siren, now hoisted up the side of his ship. He thanks his foresight in tying his hands to the wheel, knowing that even without a song, the siren could easily lure him to his death.

“It’s a good plan, surprised you’re the first to think of it. There’s always a risk of course, that we’d be louder, but it seems they’ve packed those eardrums full.” The siren drags a clawed hand across the railing. The siren has a more human disguise, fins and teeth and scales all out to show. It does not make him any less alluring. 

Glowing yellow-green eyes dance up and down the captain’s form, a black tongue wetting the siren’s lips.

“So why not you, Captain?” The title drips out of the siren’s mouth like honey, his beck arching as he relaxes along the railing, precariously balancing his weight yet not a care in the world. “Is it supposed to be a challenge, a test of your willpower?” Sharp eyes dart to his tied hands “Or just plain ego?”

Royce takes a deep breath, meeting the beast’s gaze. He is a proud man, maybe too proud, but he’s not stupid.

“I am an example for my men, siren. I cannot be bested by a simple song.”

“Hmm, a likely story.” The siren sits upright, tail now swung over and onto the ship. He leans forward, a gleeful look in his eyes. “You are doing rather well. Most men would have torn their arms clean off by now.” A heat lingers over Royce’s arms, the siren’s gaze covetous. “It would’ve been a shame, they seem like very nice arms indeed.”

Royce tries not to feel flattered. These are games, that is all.

“I have faced many challenges in my life. None of them have claimed me yet.”

Royce keeps the details to a minimum. He’s content that he’s able to keep his composure this much, the siren testing his strength.

The siren’s laugh is as frightening as it is charming.

“Ah, so ego it is. Though you seem smarter than other idiots who have tried it before.” The siren goes back to his tied hands, to his tense posture. “And far more handsome. Awfully bold, coming into a territory like this looking like that.”

Royce scoffs. 

“Are you here only to play with you food, beast? Or do you find joy in plying me with compliments instead of singing?”

“Ooh, some sass! Good to know your words are as sharp as your sword, Captain.” The siren licks his lips. “And that jawline. My, my, I think you put even my kind to shame.”

Royce rolls his eyes, only making the siren laugh more. It seems that this Siren is less interested in eating him and more in entertaining himself.

“I have to ask, most others who pass through here are looking for a fight. A chance to prove themselves. You seem rather content on passing through, your men as well. Why come through this place?”

Royce stays quiet, thinking over any potential danger in revealing his plans to siren. If anything, nothing could be more dangerous than the position he is in now.

“It’s the quickest route. My men seemed up to the challenge, and so was I. We’re pirates, it’d be unbefitting for us to cower away from the riskier route.”

The siren nods. “True, true. Still, quite a risk indeed.” The siren flashes a smile full of glittering fangs.

The ship rocks, several of his men thrown to their knees as a stray rock scrapes against its side. The siren rocks with the waves, easily keeping his balance.

Royce grits his teeth. Is that what this was? A distraction? But the siren seems disquieted, slightly annoyed.

“Gah, fucking ridiculous that lot. So gluttonous.” The siren leans over, hissing an angry song. Royce almost wishes for the cotton, but finds no compulsing rhythm.

The ship stops rocking, the sound of rushing water as sirens fall to the wayside. The cacophonous songs fall to the side, though some still linger, waiting for a fortunate accident to occur.

“This place you're going to, will it have adventure?”

Royce raises his eyebrow.

“One would hope. Treasure too.”

The Siren’s smile is giddy, almost like a child.

“Then it’d be a shame if you got stuck here, then.”

The siren leans over the side, raising his hand, pointing to the portside.

“You’ll want to turn 20 degrees. There's a hidden outcrop that will cut through your hull.”

Royce grits his teeth, but follows the siren’s instructions. The ship sails smoothly, barely rocking.

“Now 10 degrees.”

  Royce turns again, just missing another jagged set of rocks. Sirens hiss in the water, Royce’s companion hissing back.

“Seems dangerous, betraying your own kind like this.”

“Bah, they’ll survive. They’re not even hungry, just peckish.”

The siren eyes him up and down again.

“Though you have me absolutely ravenous, Captain.”

Royce focuses on the wheel, hoping the siren doesn’t see his ears tips turn red.

—

This is definitely the most fun you’ve had in the while.

The Captains is as cunning as he is handsome, deft hands talented with the wheel. He peppers in anecdotes from his times at sea, a casual tone for such riveting stories.

In between instructions you take the time to eye him up more, those thick thighs and that strong back. You weren’t lying, he does put some sirens to shame.

“You’ll want to avoid those.” You point toward a deceptive spot of calm water. “The area alone sank an entire Navy Ship once. We feasted for weeks, though the meat was less than exemplary.”

“With only military rations, I’d imagine they aren’t very tasty.”

“Exactly! Gods, you’d think I’d be the only siren with taste around here.”

You see the faintest of a smirk from The Captain, which he quickly stomps away. He shares your dark sense of humor, quite fitting. You’ll get a laugh out of him yet. “15 degrees, starboard-side.”

The Captain follows with ease, your directions trustworthy by now. The crew still seem wary, unaware of the conversation due to the cotton in their ears, but they continue their work. Either their trust in their captain is strong, or they're too terrified to disobey in such treacherous waters.

The sun has begun to peak through, the end of the gorge insight. Your mind is slightly conflicted. A sadness, that the most interesting person you’ve met will soon be on his way. A glee, that this might be your best chance to leave the Teeth and explore the world.

The Captain clears his throat.

“It’s got its ups and downs, pirate life. Plenty of boring days, plenty of dangerous ones, plenty in betweens.” The Captain’s eyes stay on the horizon, safety so close for him and his crew. You smile.

“Would this be one of the ups, or one of the downs?” You wave to the jagged rocks, to the hungry eyes that linger from the water.

“I’m still undecided.”

You and your arm on the railing, watching the tides front the gorge clash with the ones outside.

“Still, it’s better than the same thing everyday. I think that's why most men go to sea, for the adventure, the undiscovered.”

Your eyes must be sparkling, minds filled with whales, sea turtles, with sunken ships and glorious battles.

The sun now speckles the hull of the ship, men visibly relaxing as the bow breaches the Dragon’s Teeth and splashes into safe waters. No one removes the cotton from their ears, however, still aware of your presence.

“I must thank you for your service, siren. I do not think we would’ve made it through unscathed if not for you.”

“____, It’s ____.” You say, eyes still on the wide ocean, on all the possibilities.

The Captain smiles, a familiar longing in your eyes.

“And it’s no problem. I think you’ve helped me more than you know.”

You whisper, heart thrumming. 

“You could join us, you know.” That has you whipping around, eyes wide. “I think you’ve proven yourself more than trustworthy. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone as powerful as you aboard.”

Your heart rises, bubbling up with excitement. But the fearful gaze of the rest of the crew still stings on your back, hackles raised.

“I think I’m gonna go out on my own for a while.” You hum, tapping your claws against wood. “See the world, really prove myself.”

The Captain keeps the quiet, nodding along silently. 

You sigh. Just a couple of hours with this man and you’re already melancholy to leave. For shame, ___, don’t you know better?

“Well, it’s a big ocean, Captain. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” You ready yourself on the rail, sitting upright and pivoting your tail to the outside of the ship. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be especially hungry next time.”

The Captain smirks, clicking his teeth.

“I’ll put up a hell of a fight, ___.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will-”

“Royce, the name’s Royce. Captain Royce.”

You smile, scaly cheeks glittering like diamonds in the sun.

“Until we meet again, Captain Royce.”

You give him a wink, eyeing up that gorgeous body of his one last time, and jump tail first into the ocean.

His ship fades into the sun as you swim away, hopeful that you’ll bump into it again one day. A day when you’re more worldly, have more adventurous stories to share.

You eye up the reef, several sirens slinking away, discontent with their food stolen. Whatever, they’ll get over it.

Your older sister might be a little upset about your abrupt departure, but she’ll get over that too. After all, she often leaves to visit that pirate paramour of hers, so what's the big difference?

Hell, maybe next time, you’ll come back with one of your own.

[milliesdiary]

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; you and aemond targaryen grew up together. as a pair of royal children, you shared smiles, feasts, and hushed talks of duties — until a physical altercation changed your relationship forever. after six years, you find that the young boy has become a fiery man and your betrothed. seeing each other again is difficult, but dealing with old feelings is harder. 

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; aemond targaryen x princess!reader

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; arranged marriage, descriptions of past violence (physical fight between young aemond and reader)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; to be as inclusive as possible, i do not mention the reader’s parents’ descent. i also do not specify the reader’s skin tone, body type, eye/hair color, or hair texture (braids are used but they contribute to most hotd hairstyles). enjoy!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭; pic 1 — pic 2 — pic 3

“𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑.”

Those were your father’s words when you asked why you had to marry Aemond Targaryen.

Perhaps it was to be expected. As the daughter of a king in Westeros, you found that power was a constant battle to be fought and that you would not be shielded from the crossfire. In order to ensure a stable, unchallenged reign, you were to be wed to another child of royal descent — which meant being auctioned off to the most powerful house your father could get in touch with. 

It also meant being fucked, then laying in a birthing bed and living a life of what you considered to be imprisonment. And due to your family’s faithful history with the Targaryens, the wielders of dragons, and the king’s desire for ancestral power, for elite grandchildren... it shouldn’t really be a surprise, should it?

You don't wish to argue with your father, but you don't want your frustration to go unnoticed either. Although your feelings have no real impact at the end of the day, there is value in them. They matter.

But why him?

You may have dreamt of being married to a charismatic Baratheon or a seductive Velaryon. Someone who would pledge to take you on a tour of the realm's most intricate castles and verdant gardens, stealing kisses and embraces. 

Things cannot be so simple, can they?

You begged to call off your betrothal to Aemond, claiming that you would not get along, though your mother seemed to think otherwise with her rekindled political ties to the Targaryens. It was no use. Your parents had their minds set. 

This is the world you are condemned to, in which, despite yourself, you must somehow live. 

And now you are expected to meet your old friend after all these years, after that terrifying, horrific night. The night Aemond stole Vhagar, how he was beaten, how you contributed, how he left scarred for life.

The memory is still fresh in your mind. Six years ago.

One night, long after dusk, you heard arguing in the dragon pit. Curious, you approached the scene only to find Aemond in a stand-off with his nephews and nieces. He spoke of treacherous things, but was effectively shut down by Baela and Rhaena’s assaults. 

It wasn’t long before Jace and Luke both engaged in the conflict. They could not be stopped. Violent, uncontrollable rage could be heard in the loud cracks of knuckles meeting flesh and bone. Jace attacked Aemond at some point — a terrible idea — because Aemond took a swipe at him and sent him into the dirt, leaving you just... standing in shock, fear, mouth agape.

When Aemond grabbed Luke by the front of his tunic and prepared to bash his face in with a stone, you were no longer frozen. An anger brash and hot consumed you, and before you knew it, you reacted on impulse.

You ran over and pushed Aemond in the chest, effectively launching him to the ground. The boy looked up in shock to see who appeared; you remember watching the look of surprise on his face, and then the betrayal that flashed across his eyes. Before he could even speak, you had him pinned to the dirt and slammed your fist into the bridge of his nose.

His head snapped back up to look at you after that. For a moment, he stared at you wide-eyed, before his face screwed into an expression of rage. It must had been a mix of fury and instinct, because Aemond retaliated. 

Quickly, he shoved you off of him and threw a punch your way. The harsh force of it struck your cheek, painful, hard enough that you heard something crack. You were knocked over and ended up with your face pressed against the sandy pit.

You can’t recall what happened after that. There was a bunch of screaming, and then the rushed footsteps of guards who had heard the commotion. Someone had gripped your shoulders to urge you to your feet, and you almost fell forward again when everything blurred into blotches of red. The rest of the night was almost traumatic with the Queen challenging Rhaenyra, and your parents vowing to never bring you back to House Targaryen again. 

The greed for power over the years must have revoked that plan. 

You’re still not ready — not ready to confront the reality of what has become of your friendship. It hurts to even think of Aemond being impassive toward you, as you’re sure you will be to him. 

You’re not even sure what he looks like now, but you have heard stories of the man he has become.

He doesn’t need a weapon anymore. He is a weapon.

Which begs the question: how much change can a person endure before turning into someone else completely, before it is almost considered murder?

You feel sorry for the rest of castle servants and commoners; they didn’t get to experience him the way you did. They didn’t get to see what you saw when you were with him. Gods, he was perfect. 

Although it was probably your parents and the Queen who encouraged you and Aemond to meet all those years ago, they were delighted to learn that you were friends. Your father had just been crowned king, and it was necessary to meet the other Houses in the realm after doing such. You and Aemond just seemed to click after that. 

You two had identical souls, the only children who understood one another in a life that ate people alive. He never teased you for hating the duties that came with being a princess, and you never teased him for not having a dragon. When you were unified, you were more powerful.

It’s funny how things can turn out. 

Now, because the marriage in King’s Landing is next moon, you will be attending a feast tonight to see your betrothed: sitting at the same table as Aemond to dine, speaking about marriage, engaging in talks of bearing children.

It’s all too much.

Enduring change can hurt. It's frightening and adds to the lengthy array of things that make you scared. But that does not mean that it should be deemed unnecessary or ignored. You understand that.

Still, you curse this life as you step out of the carriage and onto the land of Dragonstone, peering up at the palace ahead of you. You curse it to hell.

The second you step into the Targaryen household, you realize that you are not really sure what to expect. It has been so many years. You are not prepared for this, not in the slightest.

And you certainly aren’t prepared to have the Queen greet you at the palace door instead of the knights.

It seems like a decade since you last saw her in the flesh as opposed to your memories. Her face is the exact same somehow, as if she had long conquered the battle of aging, and her brown hair is sweeped into a wavy half-up style. The emerald dress she wears sparkles with sequins, draping over her beautifully and accentuating the strings of gold jewlery along her neck. A small smile upturns the corner of her lips, and she seems pleased. Sympathetic. 

It must appear that you’re somewhere far away in thought — which is relatively true, you suppose — because Alicent says your name in greeting to grasp your attention. With a smile, you dip your head in a bow. 

“Your Grace.” 

Alicent lets out a breath of... is it relief? She moves toward you quickly, enveloping you into a bear hug. You let her. You know what she’s trying to do. 

She’s trying to reduce the rift that has grown over the years of being kept at a distance. Her embrace is a white flag, a message of peace, a silent apology. It’s successful. 

“You have grown into a fine woman, my dear,” Alicent says softly into your shoulder. 

The words conjure a strange knot in your chest; they hurt, but not out of hate or animosity. They hurt because they make you nostalgic, make you realize how much you missed House Targaryen. Your eyes prickle with the onset of almost-tears which you blink away rapidly.

And you reckon that today, in spite of Alicent's weight in your arms, you're going to have to consider what you want regarding the future. Talk about it with Aemond.

This is not about your mother, father, or the current state of your House anymore. This concerns you and your future husband.

Alicent pulls away after a few long moments, setting her hands upon your shoulders as she looks you up and down. “Your gown is lovely,” she says fondly, the statement lilted by her accent. “It suits you. Your House has always been exceptional when it comes to fashion.”

She’s right about that; your hand-maidens have always been sure to dress you beautifully. Today was no exception. 

You’re wearing a silky fitted dress, made with an airy chiffon that fades from a silvery white to a dark, shadowy hem. Sparkling silver vine details adorn the chest, drawing attention to your breasts, along with a gem-stone belt that hugs your waist. A white cape is fastened around your shoulders, accentuating the graceful flow of the gown and nearly sweeping the floor. The necklace hanging from your throat gleams — a moonstone gem — and although it’s gorgeous, your hair almost always gets tangled in it. To prevent it from happening, your servants have started pulling your hair back into a half-up dutch braid crown, not a single strand out of place. It takes hours, but the end result is worth it.

You’re practically glowing.

You offer her a kind smile as you see her eyes light up. Your stomach churns and the nape of your neck prickles, but this woman has the same open expression that Aemond had when you first met him. It brings you a jittery sort of optimism. 

“Thank you,” you say bashfully, dipping your head in thanks. Alicent then beckons over your father from where he stands behind you, two armored-knights stationed by his side. 

“It has been too long, Your Grace,” your father says, plastering a polite smile onto his aged face. Alicent returns it with one of her own.

“It has,” she agrees. “The King would dearly desire to be here, but he regrettably cannot due to his health.” She must not be willing to say much else on the topic, because her face drops. She turns on a heel to face the hallway then, holding her arm out for you to grab. “Shall we proceed to the feast?”

Upon entering the dining room, it’s exactly how you remembered it to be. 

Warm light fills the space; swathes of bronze and gold from the setting sun dip through the windows on one side, illuminating every crevice of the room. The food is already splayed out along the table, where Halaena and Aegon sit in their respective chairs. Aegon gives you a perverted look over, seemingly surprised at how much you’ve changed. If he senses your disgust, he doesn't express it. He’d likely find delight in it anyway. 

On the contrary, Halaena beams and jumps up to give you a massive hug. It fills you with such a great warmth. You’ve missed this. She was always like a sister to you.

Halaena comments on your dress and makes a pathetic attempt to mold her joyful smile into something more polite by saying, "You look beautiful, Princess."

Of course, she fails horribly, and you compliment her back. She pulls away with a giggle and loops her arm around yours to lead you to a seat — and then you see him. 

There, Aemond is seated at the end of the table, leaning back in the chair with practiced poise. Cool, composed, unmoving.

You lock eyes. 

Aemond’s hair is his crowning glory; diamond-white, perfectly straight, and soft as sin as it sweeps along the edge of his jaw. The long strands drape over his broad shoulders, a stark contrast against the black high-neck tunic he’s wearing. Silver buckles pull the leather taught across his wide chest, definitely tailored to fit his well-built frame. 

And his face... Gods, his face. It looks so much more different than you could have ever imagined. 

He has the type of profile that marble sculptors carve: a razor-sharp jawline and high cheekbones, lips drawn into a serious expression and one eye a gleaming blue. The other is covered by an eyepatch, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat when you see the deep-set scar that stretches along his face. 

You understand it now: the Gods didn't drive away darkness when light was made. Instead they created the color obsidian, ravens, and a person known as Aemond Targaryen. A wild, fiery man sculpted from the elements.

Aemond stares on back, and you can see how he takes a heavy breath. His eye scans you up and down, studying the silk gown, your braided hair, and every curve of your body. For a brief moment, he focuses on your breasts — almost as if he’s realized you’ve grown into a beautiful woman: more mature, more composed, fertile and ready for the taking. Something dark rests in the twist of his lips before he brings his attention back onto your face. Your cheeks feel impossibly hot. 

It looks like he wants to say something, but bites it back with a slight nod of his head in greeting. 

The earth seems to pause and cease its spinning. Your heart slams frantically against your ribcage, like a pendulum or a hare trapped in a cage, lungs refusing to completely submit to your breathing. Slowly, you tread over to the chair adjacent to him and sit down in it.

He feels the shift in the atmosphere too. Same place. Same family. Different you. 

“Princess,” Aemond finally says. His voice is so much deeper now, smooth and rich with that accent of his. It has your stomach flipping. 

You take a slow breath and urge yourself to glance at him, because you know you'll hate yourself later if you don't. You will stare into that intense eye of his, even if it kills you. You’re sick of all your regrets. 

“My Prince,” you respond, trying to control the tremor in your voice by busying yourself with your fork. If Aemond notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “It has been awhile.” 

Aemond hums in acknowledgement. “You are surprised by what you see, I presume.”

"And why do you say that?"

“You were staring,” Aemond says coolly. You can feel a heat climb up your cheeks — was it that obvious? “Though I cannot say I blame you,” he adds, finally picking up his utensils and cutting into his meat with a fork and knife. 

"You are rather confident, My Prince," you murmur under a breath. “Have you not gained restraint over the years?” 

"That is a virtue I am hardly accused of possessing. Don't pout, Princess, it ruins the shape of that pretty mouth.” 

You remain silent, blinking at Aemond dumbly while trying to think of a response. He must be able to tell of your embarrassment, because his eye gleams with a feeling too intense to be stated in words. The best word to describe it is pride. Stupid pride. 

“We are not married,” you respond in a rush. “Yet you speak dangerously.”

Aemond only stares at you, analyzing your expression, the ends of his lips slightly curled. You take the moment of silence to stuff your mouth with the delicious food in front of you, trying your hardest not to glance back up at him. 

The clock is ticking. When will the shouting start, you wonder. How long before there are tears, recriminations, and pain? 

A part of you wants to talk about the fun you and him had as kids, but you would feel guilty for bringing it up. Who’s to say that Aemond thinks fondly of those times anymore? Have the good memories been tarnished by the bad? Are they now piles of debris, comprised of grit, black dust, and ever-vanishing with time?

Does he even want to talk about the past at all? You could explain your viewpoint, how you reacted on fear, anger, and impulse that night — and he does deserve to know, because if you were in his place, you would care. You would care to know why the one person you trusted contributed to your downfall. 

But … but now is not the right time. Not when your father is indulging in a chat with the Queen, or when Halaena is enjoying her food as Aegon drowns himself in wine. Especially during a supper that is supposed to be joyful and unmarked by the shadows of what’s happened. 

Some things are better left unsaid.

So you remain quiet, attempting to listen in on any conversation available.

“Tell me; how do you feel about the betrothal?” Aemond suddenly asks. It takes you aback. 

You work up the confidence to look at him again, searching for anything concrete, but all you see are ripples of emotions you don't understand. Swallowing thickly, you bring your attention to your goblet and press the metal to your lips, sipping down some wine. You’re going to need it. 

“It was to be expected,” is all you say. Setting your cup down, you clear your throat. “And what are your thoughts?”

Aemond says nothing right away, placing his cutlery onto his plate as his face melts back into a cool expression. You steel yourself for whatever retort he may toss at you. 

It doesn’t come. 

Instead, his tone is steady when he speaks again. “Marrying you is my duty, Princess. I do not intend to stray from it."

“Well then.” You give him a polite nod. “Your family is very lucky to have someone so dedicated to the cause.”

“I take it that you understand your duty as well,” he says. “And it’s significance.”

“Of course. I’ll do what must be done.”

You watch the bob of Aemond’s throat as he swallows. He looks off into the fireplace that sits across the room, seemingly in thought. Just when you think he’s done talking to you for the night, he speaks, voice almost musical.

“Did you perhaps find a man of interest over the years?”

It’s a question that has your mind reeling and both eyes flying up to him. He’s not looking at you though; his stare remains on the dancing flames, expression scarily neutral. Despite that, you can see the distaste on his lips. 

“W-why?” you ask, before steeling your surprise and resorting to humor. “Afraid I might replace you?”

“It is a fair question,” Aemond states. The man leans further back in his chair, the wood squeaking under his weight as he presses for an answer. “I would prefer to know if my wife will be engaging in secret escapades with a low-born.” 

Truthfully, you don’t know what to say. Aemond asking about your past love life wasn’t on the agenda for today.

You debate telling him that you still thought about him all these years. That you never thought of another man, or searched for a suitor. Yet the words stick in your throat, and the thought of his handsome face screwing up in protest makes you sick.

The silence urges Aemond to spare a glance your way. His stare alone could have you on your knees, dark and vindictive; you see the spirit of the dragon in his blood, and imagine that’s why you always found him — find him — so much more magnetic than anyone else. 

You change the subject. 

“Once we marry, you are to be associated with my House forever.” Before he can question the switch in topic, you quickly add, “It will not be good for your image. I love my parents, but they only think about status these days. People may think you are marrying me for strength. To gain power.”

Aemond seems to mull this over. If he agrees, you wouldn’t know; he has trained his face to remain neutral. It tells you nothing. “Then let it be.”

You tilt your head at him now, a slight frown blooming upon your mouth. “So I am to marry a prince who does not pay any mind to what his subjects think of him?” 

“A tragedy that is,” Aemond says sarcastically. He crosses his legs and rests an arm on the table, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose. “I am grateful that our roles are not switched, for I would have dove headfirst into the Dragon Pit had I been in your place.” 

“You should have your tongue removed for that,” you say boldy, half-joking. 

"My body is yours. Do what you will.”

You’re honestly surprised at his answer. It’s not supposed to be dirty, no, but there is hidden intent behind it. It plants some interesting images in your head. Aemond’s cold eye is still on you now, chilly and unrelenting. You are vaguely aware of how he taps his fingers along the wood of the table, awaiting your reply. 

“Do not say such things,” you almost stutter. “Your name cannot protect you forever.”

“The name you will be taking?”

Your mouth slightly agape, you can only stare at him. Aemond turns his attention back to his food, lifting his cup to his mouth; but before he takes a drink, you catch his gaze flit over to meet yours. It almost looks like he’s fighting a smirk, the way his lower lip seems to quiver. 

It feels like he’s taunting you. Testing you. You don’t like it, not at all. And even still… it reminds you of the days you used to gently tease each other. A fond memory. 

You can’t bring yourself to actually be mad. 

“Does something humor you, My Prince?” you ask anyway, egged on by him. You try to sound upset, but fall short; a tinge of glee laces your tone.

“Hmm,” Aemond quietly hums, setting his goblet down. You think you can see the ghost of a smile on his face: barely there, almost invisible. “Not a thing.”  

Much to your delight, the dinner went well. Better than expected.

You had engaged in conversation with Halaena after awhile, listening to her stories of the bugs she has caught over the years and what they do. In return, you tell her of the things you have done which she listens to with an unbridled joy and sparkling eyes. 

Aemond had watched everything in silence. Not an angry sort of quiet, but one where there are no words that have to be said. If anything, he seemed sort of pleased with how well you and his beloved sister were getting along.

Now it was late, with the sky having melted into a navy-black, pitted with the dappled light of stars and wisps of clouds. You have been thinking of Aemond ever since you made it back to your chambers earlier, changing into your night gown and undoing the braid in your hair. Although you tried your best to repress the gnawing feeling, there was one thing you knew you must do.

You need to talk to Aemond.

There is no dodging the elephant in the room. You need to sort out boundaries, talk about the wedding, children. 

So, gathering as much courage you could possibly muster, you slip out of your bedroom and pad down the corridors. One thing you notice is that the Red Keep is remarkably calm at night compared to how active it is during the daylight hours. Tranquil, almost. The only noise you hear are the echoes of your feet on the stone floors. 

You reach the entrance of Aemond’s chamber quickly, remembering exactly where it was from when you were kids. Taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on the wooden door.

You wonder how much courage it will take to engage in casual conversation with Aemond again, something that has never given you trouble with him as a child. A worry you experienced with other people but not with him. Never with him. When will you be able to speak to him about normal things?

Nothing happens for a couple moments. But just when you are about to knock again, the door swings open to reveal Aemond on the other side. 

There’s no more of that boyish charm.

Aemond holds himself taller now; his shoulders look broader, his back looks straighter, and his head is held higher. He appears serious, yet also perplexed, probably wondering why exactly you are showing up to greet him in the middle of the night. He must notice that you are in your night clothes, judging by how his attention turns to the flow of your silk gown. “Trouble sleeping, Princess?”

“Do you … wish to discuss some things?” you suggest gently, which brings Aemond’s eye from your body and onto your face again.

“It is unavoidable, is it not?”

“Yes,” you agree. Aemond hums. 

He opens the door wide then, gesturing with a hand for you to walk in.

Walking into his room slowly, he closes the door behind you before standing beside the fireplace, clearly falling deep in thought. A part of you wants to give up and abandon ship, but before you can even take a single step, Aemond turns his head to meet your eyes.

You offer him a rare smile which he responds to with a look of suspicion, clearly picking up on your agenda for coming here. “You wish to speak about the wedding, I presume,” he finally says. You nod. 

“Humor me, then, Princess. What will you need in this marriage?”

“It’s not what I need,” you tell him softly, crossing your arms over your chest in thought, thumbs stroking at smooth fabric. “It’s what I want. For the future.”

“And what would that be?” Aemond replies, the fireplace’s flames painting swirls of orange and yellow upon the razor-edged plains of his face. 

“I want to have freedom. I do not wish to be condemned to the palace all day. I also want to keep our children out of as many political affairs as possible. The court is no place for kids.”

“Already pondering the idea of children?” Aemond taunts.

It’s a struggle for you to keep your composure at that. You’re actually a bit embarrassed. "If we are to be wed, we are expected to produce as many children as possible. To spread the Targaryen name. It is not abnormal to plan these sort of things out.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond states simply. “I admire your resolve, Princess, but you speak of something that cannot be done.”

You try to ward a potential frown from spoiling your face. “You are the Prince. I am sure you can figure out something. Or are you not as clever as I have heard?” 

Aemond gives a small smirk. His tone conveys some form of appreciation which makes you feel proud. “You have high expectations of me, then.”

“I suppose,” you admit.

“I have the same high expectations for you.”

You fight back the shyness that his statement causes, but you doubt you’re as successful in appearing deadpan like him. “And?” 

“And,” Aemond continues lowly, “You have upheld them and more.”

You nearly choke, both surprised and flattered by the answer. Aemond can tell; he has a dark amusement in his profile, which you flick your gaze down to avoid. It is hard to ignore him for long though: Gods, he's just so gorgeous.

He’s the balance between elegance and danger. Distant because of his righteousness, and having such a moral fortitude that he is beautiful in a seductive and forbidden way. 

You curse him. Curse him for having hair as fair as snow and eyes the shade of Lobelia flowers. Curse him for having the grace of a panther and skillful, slender hands.

That’s when you get the feeling that Aemond is just waiting for the right moment to unload what's been going on in his life. You beat him to it. 

“How have you been?” you murmur. It seems to catch him by surprise with the way his lips slightly part and his brow softens into a straight line. He pauses and turns beside the fireplace, one hand propped against the stone. 

When Aemond says nothing, you add more boldly, “Did you miss me, My Prince?”

He glances over his shoulder then and just stares, soaking in every piece of you he can. Each feature of his face is adorned with conviction. Your skin begins to tingle, goosebumps dancing along your spine, radiating outward to your exposed arms with a hair-raising energy.

“You ruined me,” is all he says. 

You notice that he's trying to withdraw from the situation — not physically because he's firmly planted in place — but rather by burying any emotional aspects of himself. His face is awash with frustration, distress, and contempt.

“I have done nothing to you, My Prince,” you defend. 

Aemond’s eye swivels to you slowly. That once-familiar stare is suddenly unnerving, forcing your breath to halt in your throat and your body to freeze like a frightened animal. You are ready. You know what he is going to say. But it still rips into you and burns as fiercely as barbed wire coiled around your heart, twisted until the organ may burst.

“You betrayed me.” 

“I did not,” you say, voice shaking. “You were out of line. You stole Vhagar and proceeded to toss insults around. Hurt your nephews and nieces.”

“I was doing what must be done. The Valeryans had their chance to claim Vhagar,” Aemond retorts. “Is it my fault that they waited so long? That my nephews are not proud of their name?” 

“Everyone was angry because the second you got a dragon, you acted like you were better than them. You humiliated them. And now?” You take one heaving breath, your entire body trembling. “People are afraid of you. I have heard the rumors of how you can be when you train with others. It’s not training with you. If you had a sharper edge to your sword, they would be attending their own funeral; you know it, I know it, they know it. You bully others just like you were. Does that make you proud?”

For the first time since you’ve reunited, you glimpse a hint of hostility in Aemond’s eye. He is obviously making an effort to appear composed and unbothered to impress you. But you’ve hit a nerve and his gaze hardens to glare daggers at you.

“So that is all?” Aemond proclaims harshly. His tone is wolfish now. “You have come here to remind me of my proclaimed wrong-doings? To spit in my face everything you have been wanting to say all these years?” 

“When did you become so bitter? So hateful?” You stare at him wildly, profile twisted into something turbulent. “I was just protecting the people I consider my family!”

It must trigger something in Aemond. The words knock down those walls of his, burst the damn, sending that fury inside him whirling, coaxing him to raise his voice and finally yell: 

“I was your family!”

The only way to express the sensation that explodes inside your chest is to imagine walking slowly on a broken window. So slowly that you can feel every bit of glass pierce and glide upward into the heel of your foot, each step digging red, horrific lines into your skin. 

The tempest in your soul has officially burnt out.

And here, with your blood thundering through your body and drumming an even rhythm upon his, Aemond is just a boy. A vulnerable boy that could be stopped by a sharp enough blade, as long as its your hand on the hilt.

Those words Aemond said — they were ones of anger, yet none had the intent to injure or bruise. You should know how approach him, except you don’t. You need to say something that can release you from the desolate and ominous silence that fills the room. 

“I’m sorry,” you eventually whisper.

You expect Aemond to retaliate. To fight back, defend his honor. He doesn’t though. Instead, he fixes his gaze onto your profile and speaks.

“I used to think the Targaryen name was descending into one ruled by hatred. I presumed it was our doing, that the blood feud ruined all that was honorable,” Aemond says gravely. “But I have been hateful for a long time.”

You know what he means.

His nephews. The ordeal with the pig. Being dragonless and teased by his peers for it. Feeling like the odd one out, overlooked by others by his incompetent brother’s potential future reign. It all invoked an anger in him that he buried — until it was dug up by family and unleashed one night, black-red and hot and stinging.

But it’s not the complete truth.

“You weren’t hateful,” you say slowly. “Not to me.”

It’s scary: you expected that to spark something inside of him, to wither the hurricane brewing. But Aemond is so calm in the throes of shock that it's as though any breeze would be nothing more than a breath whispering over him. There is no tremor in his jaw, no twitching in his shoulders, and not a single tear on his ivory cheeks. Nobody blinks.

You told yourself that no words could heal the broken trust between you. Despite that, they continue to tumble out. “I understand if we cannot go back to the way it was before. That’s alright … well, it’s not, but I understand why. I really do. And—” 

“Who am I to you after so many years?”

You don't immediately understand what Aemond asked, and it takes a moment for it to process. But then you do realize, and it comes with a painful stab in the chest and a wince, because Aemond thinks you loathe him, and he shouldn’t … he shouldn’t be thinking like that because it could not be further from the truth. 

You really want to have a break down. Not one that has you going mad, throwing shit and screaming, but perhaps a cry with panting breaths and shivering and a few tears. One that is completely internal and rips you apart from the inside out.

When you look up, Aemond is directly in front of you. He had bridged the gap at some point. You just keep staring and staring — because there is nothing else you can do but ogle him as if he were the most extraordinary thing you have ever seen. Finally, you speak. 

“You’re Aemond,” comes your response. Small, meek. “You’re Aemond.”

The middle of your core stings then, like the fireworks that laid dormant there had finally been set aflame, torching every artery — as if the weight of the man’s stare was too much, as if being looked at by Aemond was unbearable. 

And it is, you suppose. But not in a bad way; unbearable in that you wanted him. You wanted to meld your friendship so bad that it hurt. You're preoccupied with the way your subconscious shouts the truth: you adore him endlessly. 

You cannot hold back anymore. 

You kiss Aemond Targaryen with everything you have, drenching every worry of yours and love for him onto his lips, knowing that you … you are acting appropriately this time. This feels good. This is right. 

Aemond releases a low, deep grunt as a surprised response, urging you on. You kiss him fiercely, to taste the warmth of his mouth, and feel stars erupt and dissipate behind your closed eyes. He swallows down the desperate sigh that spills out of your mouth as you steady his pointed jaw with both of your hands. 

There’s the ridge of his scar under your thumb, the drumming of the blood in your jugular, and the softness of his platinum hair as you move to twine your fingers in it. There’s the sweep of his hands — sliding over your hips, waist, ribs — soothing burning skin as he reels you closer against him. 

It feels like an eternity before your lips separate with the slightest sound. You rest your hands on Aemond’s wide shoulders, pressing your foreheads together between trembling exhalations.

“I could never hate you,” you assure, squeezing the leather of his tunic in your hands as your noses brush together. Aemond has a palm on the nape of your neck, holding you in place with the heaving rise and fall of his chest, gazing at you like you’re something celestial. His one eye, so intense and blue and electric.

You don’t want to let go. Not when the edges of Aemond’s lips coyly turn upward and he tilts his head to kiss your neck quietly, followed by more kisses that are sprinkled across your collarbone like a vow or a promise. You let out a shaky sigh and he finally pulls back, his voice deep and rich but soft. So, so soft.

“Ride Vhagar with me. See what it means to be with a Targaryen.”

You look up at him in surprise. “Right now?”

“Tomorrow,” he corrects.

“I have never ridden a dragon—”

“And?”

“I do not know how.”

“No one knows how to ride a dragon until they ride a dragon.”

Your expression must soften, because Aemond’s does in return. There’s a few seconds where neither of you say anything, until his calloused fingers come to settle on your cheek. 

“I will see you tomorrow at dawn, Princess.” 

At a loss for words, you offer him a weak nod, breath coming out as a stutter. Aemond trains his eye on you, searching for a single bit of protest. When he comes up empty, he leans down to whisper close to your lips, hot breath puffing along your chin. “Be ready for me.”

In that beautiful, terrifying moment, there’s an epiphany. A realization.

An understanding that maybe... just maybe ... this can be fixed. This rift, these burnt bridges of the past. You can see the yearning in Aemond too: he wants the same thing. 

It can be mended. Your friendship, your trust, your love — the feelings are still there between the two of you.

Bent, but not broken.

[novantinuum]

mmmmmmm. messy ass ramble thoughts ahead. this is not coherent, it is 1am, you have been warned.

so i've been thinking about that "i can fix anything! i can just keep messing up and fixing things forever, and you'll never have to know or think about any of it!" line during steven's lil manic panic moment in the ep everything's fine in the context of like... og SU episodes

this whole lil manic slip is one that's like... it seems a little extreme for him as a character at first, when one looks at the situation on surface.

but i think it really does shed a LOT of light onto one of his deepest fear. the same fear he's harbored for a good damn deal of the show.

"i didn't wanna hurt anyone!"

this moment comes just a few eps after the S3 finale 'reveal' of rose shattering pink diamond. in that final scene of the season, steven gets 'confirmation' from garnet that this happened, and seems to accept it for what it was- a difficult decision made amidst a treacherous war.

but also, he Doesn't.

because he's the legacy rose left behind. because each and every day he's growing more into his power. because now, with this reveal of rose's decision to shatter on the table, he's putting each and every decision he makes under a microscope.

he had no choice, he claims. she wouldn't let him help her.

he had no choice. it was self defense.

but is that true?

isn't that the same thing his mom probably told herself before ending a gem's life forever?

even though she poofed bismuth and holed her away for suggesting the very same idea??

rose became a hypocrite... so what if HE becomes the hypocrite, too?

see, with steven... i think it's really easy in the main show to sorta... observe all his actions on the mere surface without considering the deeper tickings of his psyche. like... take lars being brought back to life. from audience POV, that's a good deed. steven just saved someone with his magic! positive moment.

but genuinely... i think this was one of the worst moments of his entire life. i think he's still haunted by it- by the fact that he can just "fix" people in that way. and i think fixing jasper's shattered gem only made the specter of that day worse.

steven believes his role is to be the Shield.

the protector.

the one who is willing to do whatever it takes- even up to turning himself in for a crime he didn't commit- to protect his family and his friends.

and like, we all know that it's not steven's FAULT that lars died. BUT- he still died while under steven's protection.

and so the same way steven blames himself for "hurting" bismuth, jasper, and eyeball, he blames himself for killing lars. mentally, he Takes Responsibility for his death. yet another tick mark in the box of horrible "mistakes" he's made, yet another tick mark landing him just a little closer to the rose he's desperately trying not to become.

and worst of all... it's a mistake he "covers up."

because his tears are able to bring him back from the dead entirely.

and years later he realizes this is true for gems as well ;-;;;

so yeah, i absolutely think lars' death was also at the back of his mind when he said that line at the beginning

what steven saw in the depths of his mind as he was panicking there was him slipping down a slippery slope of violence that he couldn't escape from

first, causing harm to other gems and calling it self defense...

then, letting your friend die protecting YOU when you're the one who should be protecting him and facing NO consequence for this misgiving because you bring him back to life

then, expressing anger so visceral it can shatter floors, destroy whole rooms, flip vans. out of control. inexcusable.

then... outright shattering a gem in a duel while training to hone that anger. once again, facing NO consequence because you bring her right back.

then, that sudden, terrifying thought of "what if i shattered white diamond"

like, steven has absolutely no framework by which to separate his actions from genuine desire or just plain abstract thought.

he has no framework by which to understand the beautiful tool of adding a "man would it be fucked up or what-" to the beginning of those sorts of intimidating, dark musings.

he has no framework by which to understand the complexities of his trauma, and the way in which genuinely fighting back against someone he once called an enemy might feel empowering- instead, it would seem he's disgusted in retrospect with how deep he pressed into that fight, how much a part of him ENJOYED it, all because of the horrid destination it led to.

anyways at this point steven thinks he has now become the Hypocrite like his mom, and that he's just destined to hurt everyone around him forever but never be punished for it and Ouch

this post has no end, these were just ramble thoughts, the end. goodnight. i am sleepy and need to prepare to make Wig tomorrow bc OH boy i am con crunch.

yeehaw .

[atopvisenyashill]

the two betrayers were always very flat especially when they’re standing next to fucjing ADDAM and NETTLES they simply can’t compare and i’ve seen some grumbling but i actually really like the way they’ve incorporated ulf & hugh. folding them into the story by focusing on the fact that t they’re not just baseborn but lowborn as well. giving them real stakes in the war beyond “cartoon villain who wants power” by giving hugh a family to fight for, to grieve for, to eventually fall from grace for. giving ulf all these insecurities about these stories his mother told him, the way it’s been this dream he holds onto that maybe one day he’ll be drinking with the upper crust if only the stories were true. really digging into why THEY claimed the specific dragons they claimed by giving hugh this amazing moment where all he can do is stand his ground against a dragon and SCREAM in defense of another dragonseed, another baseborn lowborn cousin, and ulf being claimed by silverwing instead of the other way around simply bc she could see the goofy light heart in him and connected it to her previous rider’s love of song. making jace increasingly suspicious and angry over lowborn bastards claiming dragons because it clearly and obviously undermines his own claim as rhaenyra’s child. ulf and hugh are not just treacherous villainous touchy bastards overreaching anymore, they’re living breathing members of the smallfolk trying desperately to survive a war they don’t understand and don’t care about….until they’re given dragons and suddenly two bastards from flea bottom have tangible reasons to care about who wins this war they still couldn’t care less about.

[arceespinkgun]

One thing I really love about the UK Marvel continuity is how it handled Decepticon leadership. All of the leaders were so unique and well-defined characters! There are so many civil wars among the Decepticons that I actually lost count. I think they each show different aspects of Decepticon culture, too. In this post I wanted to showcase the leaders and discuss why I really enjoyed the way they were portrayed!

Megatron: used to be the equivalent of an Olympic athlete. Started the War by preying on political unrest caused by preexisting tensions between the city-states, an aging Autobot council who wouldn't listen to their one radical voice (Emirate Xaaron), and a lack of resources. He started the War with a plan to equip giant engines to Cybertron to pilot it around the universe to conquer other planets lol Megatron is a dictatorial strongman at heart, and his major trait seems to be his indomitable will. No matter who tries to brainwash him or how embarrassed he ought to be by his defeats and stupid mistakes, he keeps going shamelessly.

Shockwave: used to be the ruler of Tarn, and constantly tries to take leadership from Megatron, probably missing the control he had over his city-state. Has a brains vs. brawn dynamic with Megatron, but tends to get extremely frazzled when things don't go his way and don't follow his twisted, self-serving idea of what logic is. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't emote.

Starscream: used to be a figurehead dictator of Vos. Generally tries to backstab whoever's in power, which is probably informed by the fact that he wasn't #1 in his own city-state back before the War. Also, props to Starscream for killing more people than Unicron (the majority get repaired, but still)! Something I find interesting is that Megatron preyed on the war between Vos and Tarn, but usually Starscream and Shockwave work well together in present-day, which suggests the whole war thing was entirely about power and not personal. They're both also ultimately cowards out for themselves.

Soundwave frames Wild Rider when, of course, Soundwave had been the real traitor the whole time

Soundwave: this continuity has such a good version of Soundwave... unlike Starscream, whose treacherous actions are big and loud, Soundwave's treachery is quiet. He serves under nearly every leader and never faces the consequences of blackmailing and betraying any of them, until eventually he is left as the ultimate leader in at least one future timeline. He is such a snake!

Straxus: initially was the leader of the Decepticons while Megatron was on Earth. Despite only being leader for a short time, he leaves a lasting impression with his absolute brutality in the way he melts POWs down to make ingots, beats his own soldiers, and is obsessed with taking over Megatron's body. He also has lasting impacts on the story overall because the identity of Megatron becomes questionable due to Straxus's attempts to subjugate his mind with his own.

Ratbat: originally kinda like Straxus's Laserbeak, Ratbat takes over and becomes one of the most intelligent leaders! He used to be an auditor and his entire philosophy surrounds being as energy-efficient as possible. He even gives Shockwave a negative performance review LMAO Interestingly, he's positioned almost as more of an enemy to the Witwicky family than to the Autobots at times. He also likes to use his own enemies as test subjects and slaves. Eventually, though, his string of successes leads to him being too arrogant for his own good.

Scorponok: wow, I don't even know where to begin. Introduced as the archenemy of Fortress Maximus, he becomes a Headmaster commander by teaming up with the evil Nebulan politician, Zarak. Scorponok begins as a complete mess, with hilariously idiotic plans like using bubbles against his enemies or humiliating the Autobots by having his soldiers defeat them in wrestling matches... and on Earth, he and his soldiers live in a dump. Literally, they live in a dump. He also has more truces than battles with Optimus Prime as he comes to know him, never having seen him until Earth. But Scorponok's ineffectual villainy and eagerness to team up with the Autobots actually leads up to something, as it becomes clear that he actually wants what's best for all transformers but needed to be inspired by Optimus Prime's compassion and support to become confident enough to risk losing the Decepticons' respect and aim for peace. Scorponok (and Optimus) show the strength that lies in choosing to give up conflict and try for peace. In some ways, Scorponok is more like Optimus Prime than Optimus is in this continuity!

Thunderwing: really fascinating. At first he kinda comes across like a generic distillation of what a Decepticon leader is, with all the traits you'd expect of one, and he even takes a test to become one... not the norm given that it's usually backstabbing and civil war that decides who comes out on top. He also thinks he fails the test because he gets distracted by revenge, but then he passes because that proves he's a true Decepticon!!! It's Thunderwing's relationship with the Matrix that is especially interesting. He's obsessed with it, but it's the Matrix's own desire to have new experiences that's corrupting his mind and eventually possesses him. Thunderwing is actually honorable and it's his goodness that allows him to temporarily fight back against it. By current TF standards, Thunderwing would actually be a Prime, since he opened the Matrix, but the Matrix isn't benevolent here. It's more like a little kid that wants to learn by acting out, and Thunderwing is a casualty of that.

Decepticon leaders don't look like this anymore!

Megadeath: the reason Thunderwing is like That™️, and the reason five specific prominent Autobots are the way they are. I mention him because he only appears in a single story in one of the annuals, yet his actions were so unspeakably horrible (the Autobots he traumatized certainly thought so) that he's one of the most sadistic Decepticon leaders ever.

Galvatron: such a multi-faceted and cool villain, that I already made a whole post about him! Notable for his cunning, his fears, and the fact that he was made from at the very least both Megatron and Straxus.

Bludgeon: introduced as part of the Mayhem Attack Squad, which is the Decepticon equivalent of the Wreckers. Specifically, he's introduced hunting down former Mayhems for fraternizing with Wreckers! Bludgeon hates the possibility of peace and loves war, to a religious degree. He thinks he believes in honor, but to be honest, he really doesn't. He's also incredibly fake in that he will pretend to be all for peace just long enough for the Autobots to let their guards down. I'm impressed by how much I love to hate this character given how short Bludgeon's time on-panel was.

There are a few other minor ones that appear as well, so there are even more! I'd like to say that while it probably shouldn't be given that this was like... the first continuity ever, as a fan who became introduced to TF during the Aligned continuity, the way the Marvel UK stories approach Decepticon leadership is so refreshing.

One reason is that Megatron is not portrayed as special just by nature of being Megatron. Yes, he started the War and founded the Decepticons, but he's not given more respect from his troops or his enemies automatically, and he gets his shit rocked constantly. Shockwave's intro was to immediately beat him up and take over, and Megatron embarrasses himself constantly. That's not to say that Megatron isn't worthy of being a Decepticon leader, no—but it means he's often shown clawing his way back up and constantly battling legitimate threats to his position. As a fan, it made me respect him a lot more.

Another thing I appreciate is the way the Decepticons are humanized. There are a lot of blatantly evil ones, but there also many of them who have a sense of honor and goodness, and it's clear that both many Decepticons and Autobots feel stuck and don't even remember why the War started at this point. And even the Decepticons who lack compassion or honor have very understandable struggles, such as facing trauma and trying to overcome it.

Along with the above point is the way the story of Scorponok is handled. I love that Scorponok is a Decepticon leader who always secretly held values that align with Autobot values, but then he ended up stuck in this bloodthirsty culture and endless conflict where he felt like he couldn't do anything, and I love how this is slowly foreshadowed throughout the comic. His friendship with Optimus is also excellent. I really enjoyed how they didn't meet until Earth and slowly became friends as they continually teamed up against greater threats. I appreciate that the Decepticon leader who's best friends with Optimus isn't like... Megatron, who started the War. I feel like a lot of newer continuities make the War center on the falling-out of two friends, which I think is a ridiculous way to handle the conflict.

Speaking of Megatron and Optimus, I appreciate how this continuity just doesn't have a lot of the dynamics that are typically present regarding these Decepticons. Megatron and Optimus are definitely each other's oldest enemy, but their conflict is de-centered in the narrative and they never had a falling-out. Instead, they always disliked each other from before the War. It's actually Shockwave who becomes the nemesis of both Optimus and Megatron for many issues! A lot of Optimus's deepest trauma was inflicted by Shockwave. Also, Megatron and Starscream still have a conflict, but that conflict is rarely present. Starscream causes problems for everyone and is mainly linked to Shockwave for a long time. And as I said before, it's Optimus and Scorponok who become friends.

I think a lot of the approaches this continuity took with the Decepticons should be used in the future!

[anxiousnerdwritings]

It okay, I know you've been busy and Tumblr sometimes eats the asks and trust me, I try not to he too persistent Bout asks and I deeply apologize :(

In the ask, that scene where Tyrion played the game of thrones with Petyr, Lord Varys and Maester Pycelle about who he was going to propose a marriage between Myrcella with either Robin Ayrryn of the Vale (it's been awhile since I've watched it), Theon Greyjoy of the Salt Islands or even to Doane so she would be safe if King's Landing fell

What IF he also did the same thing for Joanna!lookalike? He knows that ever since Joffrey became king, things have been going down and Tyrion worries if his nieces will live through it; so thats when he sets plans into motion:

He tells Petyr Baelish that he plans to marry Myrcella to Robin Arryn and Joanna!lookalike to Robb Stark in hopes of ending this war

To Lord Varys, he tells him that he plans to wed Myrcella to Theon and Joanna!lookalike to Euron Greyjoy (not like he really would, he just testing for allies, plus Cersei kill him)

And he tells Maester Pycelle about marrying his nieces off to Dorne; when Myrcella wedded to Tristan I think his name was, and Joanna!lookalike to Oberyn Martell

And of course, Cersei is furious when she finds out as not only is it an insult to her, but to HER oldest daughter; forced to marry a man half her age just like Cersei was to Robert, plus Oberyn already has a paramour AND bastard daughters! So it's basically an insult to her daughter!! 😤

But Tyrion wants his nieces safe, especially for his eldest to he away from her overbearing family, forced to live in the same place as his mother as they basically dehumanize her from being her own person; so its best for her to he spirited away, have a breather away from her suffocating family... :(

In Tyrion’s mind he’s doing everything in his power to ensure Myrcella and Joanna!lookalike!Reader will be safe and protected but to Cersei this is just him trying to take away her precious children and a way to just simply hurt her. She sees nothing about this being for either of her girls’ safety. How could selling both her daughters to treacherous men in a cruel world come anywhere close to being protection??? The best protection either girl has is Jaime or the Mountain and both of them are right there in King’s Landing so why even bother outsourcing.

If Tyrion is so hellbent on sending away one of her daughters then Cersei would much rather have Joanna!Lookalike!Reader stay by her side where they belong. As much as she loves her darling Myrcella, Cersei can’t have the Reader taken away from her again.

Meanwhile, Tyrion isn’t just trying to keep his nieces safe, he’s also trying to get Joanna!lookalike far away from Cersei. He knows his sister and he knows she’ll only take Joanna!lookalike down with her in the end. At least this way the Reader will have a better chance at having some semblance of a fulfilling life so long as they’re away from Cersei and Tywin.

Speaking of which, without a doubt Cersei will run to their father to tell him all about what Tyrion is trying to do. Tywin will surely put a stop to it, at least he’d put a stop to Joanna!lookalike!Reader’s proposals. Myrcella would still end up being shipped off one way or another, sooner or later. But not the Reader, they’re off limits after all. And Tywin would have some very choice words for Tyrion for even thinking of doing such a thing with Joanna!lookalike!Reader in the first place.

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part Eleven)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Smut

After the earth-shattering revelation that Thomas Shelby was your long-lost uncle, your world was turned upside down. The truth weighed heavily upon your shoulders, casting a dark cloud of desire and forbidden love that enveloped your every thought.

Yearning for a real father figure and a sense of belonging, you found solace in Arthur's attempts to embrace you as his own. Yet, deep within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tugged at your heart. The news of Arthur being your father was a bitter pill to swallow, especially as you had already fallen under the spell of Thomas. Despite the twisted nature of your newfound familial ties, an undeniable thrill coursed through your veins at the mere thought of him.

Polly, ever perceptive, was aware of your forbidden desires. In due course, she orchestrated your induction into the Shelby Family, much to your mother's displeasure. In the midst of a family gathering, you were welcomed as an equal, officially cementing your place within the Shelby clan.

Within weeks, Polly took you under her wing, unveiling the intricacies of the Shelby name. She showed you how to navigate the treacherous waters of their empire, providing you with the tools to forge your own path. In her tutelage, you learned the art of negotiation and gained the confidence to command respect from those who once stood above you. Your transformation did not go unnoticed, as your newfound assertiveness radiated like a beacon.

Linda, resentful of Arthur for allowing your rise within the Shelby Company Limited, would often remark, "You truly are a Shelby." In the bustling office, you commanded attention with your sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude. Even the other Peaky Blinders marvelled at your ability to tackle any challenge that crossed your path. Your formidable uncle, Tommy, couldn't help but be drawn to this "new you."

"I see you've settled right in, taking charge like a true fucking Shelby," Tommy proclaimed proudly upon his return from the United States, where he had forged an alliance with Al Capone.

A mischievous twinkle danced in your eyes as you replied, "Indeed, Tommy," fully aware of the captivating presence you now possessed. Tommy's gaze lingered upon you, unable to tear himself away from the magnetic force you had become.

As such, his desire for you quickly resurfaced when he returned to the office after you had last seen him three weeks ago, and this desire was now becoming stronger with each day.

Your desire for your newfound uncle, however, had never really been extinguished even though, deep down, you knew that this forbidden infatuation could never be. The more you tried to fight it, the harder it seemed to resist.

Now that he was back in Birmingham, this was going to be problematic, and you could not help but tease him, making sure that he knew that you still did not care about the fact that he was your uncle.

Thus, one day, as you were engrossed in analysing some financial documents, you became aware of a pair of intense eyes fixed upon you. Raising your gaze, you caught Thomas giving you that infamous Shelby smirk, glimmering with a mixture of admiration and something darker.

"Enjoying the view, Tommy?" you quipped, unable to resist the temptation of toying with your uncle and letting him know that you knew he was watching you. After all, power breeds confidence, and confidence tempts fate.

Thomas leaned against the door frame, his voice dripping with the perfect blend of arrogance and desire. "The view is quite remarkable indeed, but it's not the scenery that has captured my attention, Love," he mused, and the air between you crackled with an intoxicating mix of tension and attraction.

“I didn’t think it was, uncle,” you teased and little did you realise just how deeply Tommy still desired you, his thoughts consumed by the forbidden possibilities.

***

As days turned into weeks, though, the flirtation between you and your uncle escalated. The stolen glances, lingering touches, and suggestive banter left a trail of electric anticipation in the air.

However, Tommy, consumed by his position and familial responsibilities, fought tooth and nail to keep the burgeoning attraction at bay. He knew all too well the dangers of allowing desires to steer his course, especially when they involved his own flesh and blood.

Reminding yourself of the bond you shared as a family, you tried to suppress the growing feelings within you as well. This was a line that should never be crossed again, no matter how tempting it may be.

One evening, though, as the sun dipped below the Birmingham skyline, you found yourself alone with your uncle in his dimly lit office. The cogs of desire turned ceaselessly in both of your minds, threatening to break free from their self-imposed restraints.

"You know damn well what you're doing to me, don't you Love?" Tommy whispered his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“I do, Thomas and I am enjoying it. You were the first man I have ever slept with, and I most certainly don’t have any regrets, even after finding out that we are related,” you smirked before a moment of tense silence hung heavy in the air like a thick fog, the unspoken truth lingering between you. The forbidden fruit was tantalisingly close, the taste both bitter and alluring.

“But, I respect your decision. I know how important the elections are for the company, and I also know how important you are to this family of which I am now part. So, I won’t stand in your way,” you reassured your uncle, your voice filled with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. The weight of the upcoming elections for the company and the significance of your role as a member of this esteemed family was not lost on you. You knew that your uncle's leadership was crucial, and you didn't want to impede his progress.

As he stepped closer, his presence enveloped you, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, igniting a desire that surged through your veins. The intensity of your emotions was almost overwhelming, but you managed to maintain your composure.

His response was immediate, his voice dripping with an intoxicating blend of passion and confidence. "You could never stand in my way, Love," Tommy declared, his gaze locked with yours. It was as if time stood still at that moment, and you couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over you.

A shy smile played on your lips as you absorbed his words. "No?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Tommy's hand gently caressed your face, his touch both tender and possessive.

"No, never," he assured you, his smile radiant as he pulled away slightly. He seemed to savour the tension between you, revelling in the unspoken connection that bound you together. "I have a gift for you," he revealed, his voice filled with anticipation.

With a delicate flourish, he presented you with a beautifully wrapped parcel. The vibrant green satin dress nestled within shimmered in the soft glow of the room. Its luxurious fabric seemed to come alive, whispering promises of elegance and allure. It was a testament to the exquisite taste and attention to detail that Tommy possessed.

You couldn't help but be captivated by the dress, its beauty mirroring the complexity of your emotions. It symbolised the delicate balance between duty and desire, representing the choices you were faced with in this intricate dance of power and love.

"Before I knew that you were my niece, I had something special planned for your birthday. This no longer seems appropriate now as it involved a date at the pictures and several hours of fucking. But I wanted you to have this dress anyway, as it was custom-made for you. It should fit you perfectly, and perhaps you could wear it at your birthday party next week,” Tommy exclaimed, hearted.

The beauty of the dress filled you with conflicted emotions - gratitude, desire, and a tinge of sadness. You couldn't ignore the fact that Thomas had desired you before discovering your blood connection. It was a bittersweet gift, a reminder of the love that could never be.

***

The day of your birthday had finally arrived, and Polly spared no expense in hosting a lavish celebration for their newest member. Arrow House was adorned with twinkling lights and fragrant roses, the grandeur of the occasion evident in every glittering detail.

As you walked down the sweeping staircase adorned in the green satin dress gifted to you by your own uncle, the room fell silent. All eyes were on you, the long-lost daughter of Arthur Shelby, now officially welcomed into the Shelby Family.

The dress clung to your curves, accentuating every tantalising inch of you. Thomas, unable to resist the sight before him, felt his desire for you intensify with each step you took. It was as if the very air around him crackled with a forbidden energy.

He couldn't tear his gaze away, mesmerised by your beauty. He cursed himself for the wicked thoughts that danced through his mind, yearning to touch and taste what he knew he could never have again.

The music swirled through the room, a melody of voices and laughter, yet all Thomas could hear was the pounding of his own heart, a wild beat that threatened to expose his desires to the world.

In a quiet corner of Arrow House, beneath a veil of shadows, you mustered the courage to approach Tommy to thank him for his generous gift. The ache within you had become unbearable, the desire to kiss him consuming your every thought.

“Thank you for the dress,” you told him almost shyly as his penetrating gaze met yours, and you could see the struggle in his eyes.

“You are welcome, Love,” Tommy responded as he looked at you, desire mixed with guilt, creating a tempestuous storm within his troubled soul.

"You look stunning in it, just as I had anticipated,” he whispered, his voice tinged with need. It was a dangerous game he was playing, his words a tantalising invitation into the forbidden depths of his desires.

Lizzie Stark, who had harboured affection for Thomas for years and who was carrying his child, watched your interaction with a mix of envy and resentment. The rivalry between you and Lizzie had always existed, but now it had become intertwined with the complex tapestry of desire and blood that bound Thomas to you.

She knew about past intimacy between you and Tommy and thought that all of this was in the past now that you were part of the family.

“Lizzie is clearly still worried about you and me,” you smirked, causing Tommy to chuckle as you both noticed her eyes on you.

“Well, Lizzie has always had a dislike for women I am associating myself with, and you are clearly no exception,” Tommy acknowledged, causing you to laugh.

“But you are not associating yourself with me anymore. She, of all persons, should know that now that she reminds me of our family bond every day, referring to you as my fucking uncle,” you said with some annoyance in your voice, causing Tommy to chuckle.

“Does she now?” Tommy chuckled, causing you to nod.

“Yes, Uncle Tommy. She does. And perhaps you should have a word with her about it and tell her to stop being so pitiful,” you told Tommy before you beckoned him with a mischievous smile.

“Now come, I need to show you something,” you then told your uncle before leading him upstairs to one of the guestrooms in Arrow House, and as Tommy followed you silently, desire burned hot between you, pulsating with a fierce urgency.

“Show me what, Love?” Tommy ought to enquire as, confidently, you pulled him into the empty room before, in the dimly lit corner, you pressed your lips against his with a passionate fervour, your hands exploring his body with a mixture of longing and desperation.

It was a kiss laden with desperation, a passionate struggle against the convictions that threatened to tear you apart. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered, and the world outside that room ceased to exist.

But just as quickly as it had begun, Thomas pulled away, his face a maelstrom of regret and self-reproach. "No," he said, his voice ragged and filled with torment.

His grip on your shoulders tightened as he tried to find the words. "Y/N, I am your fucking uncle,” he said, his voice thick with anguish. It was a reminder that echoed through your mind, a harsh reality that threatened to shatter the fragile illusion of forbidden love.

“Yes, I know, but it is also my birthday, and I am already drunk on the champagne,” you told him, realising once again how much you still loved him as, in your eyes, disappointment mingled with frustration.

Thomas looked torn, his resolve waning under the weight of his desires. But his sense of duty fought fiercely against the raw passion that had entwined your souls. It was a battle for his moral compass, and he knew it would forever change the dynamic of the family if he surrendered to temptation.

"I can't Love. It's not just about us. It's about my fucking reputation, the elections, and everything that holds our family together, and you fucking know that, don’t you, eh" he repeated again, using the same words that he used on you two weeks ago. His voice was heavy with self-restraint. His eyes bore into yours, an unspoken promise of love and longing, even as he denied himself the pleasure of surrendering.

The corner was filled with unspoken words, thick with regret and longing. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you caught in a web of desire and familial ties. The room buzzed with excitement, oblivious to the intricate dance of passion being performed in that secluded space.

Frustration coiled within you, growing with each passing second. The truth of your blood connection was like a spectre haunting your every thought. The intensity and complexity of your feelings made it difficult to see beyond the throbbing ache in your heart.

Thomas abruptly stepped back, creating distance between you as he battled conflicting emotions. He turned away, his jaw clenching with determination. "I'm sorry. I should've never allowed it to go this far," he said, his voice heavy with self-loathing, not even realising that you both were being watched.

Without another word, Thomas walked away, leaving you standing there, trembling with a potent mix of desire, frustration, and heartbreak. He walked toward the door, his footsteps weighted with regret.

As he turned the doorknob, you couldn't hold back the desperation in your voice. "Thomas, please... don't leave me here. Not like this, on my fucking birthday,” you begged, and Thomas froze at the threshold, his resolve wavering for a precious moment. His eyes were lost in a tempest of conflicting emotions. But then, with a final sigh, he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, leaving you alone in the room, your heart shattered.

Tears streamed down your face as you collapsed onto the bed, the weight of the forbidden desire crushing you. You wondered if you could ever find a way to navigate this treacherous path, one that defied both morality and convention.

Unbeknownst to you, as you lay broken and defeated, Thomas stood at the end of the hallway. His fists clenched, his features twisted in anguish. The battle within him waged on, torn between the love he knew was wrong and the restraint he knew was correct.

Lying there, adrift in a sea of despair, you wondered how it had come to this. How had fate forged such an intricate web, weaving together desire, longing, and the damning truth of your shared blood?

You felt like you had been short-changed by life, and after wiping away your tears, you, too, put on a solid face to return to the party downstairs.

Lizzie Stark, her eyes filled with triumph and pity, brushed past you on your way down to the ballroom, her voice barely concealing her smug satisfaction. "Tommy will never truly be yours. Blood is thicker than desire,” she barked, and you resisted the urge to confront Lizzie, unable to find the words to refute her taunts.

The weight of Thomas's rejection bore down on you, suffocating your spirit and casting a dark cloud over the extravagant celebration that had once held so much promise.

As you meandered through the festivities, your mind raced with thoughts of escape. Perhaps leaving Birmingham was the only way to mend your shattered heart. But even as you entertained the notion, a part of you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, love could conquer all in the end until, somewhat suddenly, you were approached by a man you had not met before. His name was Liam O’Connor, and he was the newest member of the Peaky Blinders. Handsome, tall and dangerous.

[rex3o]

The Eternal Enigma

A/N: The Eternal Enigma is deeply inspired by the movie of La Belle et la Bête which I watched recently so I put two and two together and yh here we go. Also this story does NOT follow the jujutsu kaisen plot. But I hope u lot enjoy it as much as I do as I post more out lol.

Summary: In a cursed kingdom ruled by the fearsome Ryomen Sukuna, a former general turned demon king, Y/n—a noblewoman whose family fell victim to Sukuna’s wrath—is delivered to his ominous fortress. Expecting to be treated harshly, Y/n is instead met with Sukuna’s cold indifference and an outrageous demand: she must fall in love with him. When Y/n protests, Sukuna’s fury erupts, and he declares her forbidden from leaving his domain. As Sukuna storms out, Y/n is left to navigate the treacherous path of her new, dark reality.

Ryomen Sukuna X Reader

>> chp 2 / chp3

In the waning light of dusk, the land lay cloaked in a somber silence, broken only by the mournful whispers of the wind through twisted, barren trees. Once a flourishing realm of beauty and grace, the landscape now bore the scars of darkness—a kingdom lost to the curse of an ancient power.

At the heart of this cursed domain stood a fortress of eerie majesty, its blackened spires reaching toward the heavens like the gnarled fingers of a dark deity. This was the domain of the Eternal Enigma—a being whose name was whispered in fear and awe: Ryomen Sukuna. His fortress, a towering edifice of obsidian and bone, loomed over the land, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the light itself.

The tale of Sukuna’s darkness began long before his rise to power. Born into a world already steeped in suffering, Sukuna resided in the womb of his starving mother alongside his twin. As the days of deprivation wore on, the infant Sukuna, driven by a primal instinct for survival, consumed his sibling. Even then, his existence was marked by a monstrous hunger.

As he grew, Sukuna’s insatiable drive for dominance and power led him to become a general of unmatched bravery. His prowess on the battlefield earned him great acclaim, yet it was his ambition that ultimately led him astray. Driven by a desire for eternal glory, Sukuna made a fateful pact with forces beyond mortal comprehension. In his quest for immortality, he sacrificed not only his humanity but the very soul of his kingdom, sealing his fate in a curse that bound him to a grotesque and eternal imprisonment.

Now, his form was a grotesque mockery of the noble warrior he once was: the size of a grizzly beast, with four monstrous clawed arms and four eyes glowing red with a cold, malevolent light that reflected the torment of his eternal punishment.

The people of the land spoke of him in hushed tones, recounting tales of his cruelty and the legion of cursed spirits and demons he commanded. The once-vibrant courts of the kingdom had become hollow echoes of their former splendor, their power and beauty overshadowed by the darkness that reigned supreme. Those who dared to speak of Sukuna’s name faced his wrath, for the curse that bound him extended to all who crossed his path.

On a fateful night, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, a young woman was delivered to the fortress gates. Y/n, a noblewoman of grace and beauty, arrived with a heart full of trepidation and hope. Her family, once powerful and respected, had been destroyed in a failed attempt to defy Sukuna’s dominion. Now, she was a mere pawn in a game she scarcely understood—a gift offered to the overlord in a desperate bid to placate his anger and prevent further bloodshed.

The carriage rocked as it trundled along the forest path, its wheels grinding against the overgrown roots of ancient trees. Y/n sat in silence, her pale hands folded neatly in her lap, her heart heavy with the weight of her fate. Beyond the veil covering her face, she looked upon the thick mist outside, Sukuna's fortress looming—a twisted silhouette against the blood-red sky. Her thoughts were abruptly cut short.

"They say no one returns from there," whispered the old servant who sat beside her, his voice quivering. "Once you enter the Demon King's domain, you are lost."

Y/n stared ahead, her face expressionless, though her heart pounded with fear. She had heard the rumors—stories of a man turned into a beast, cursed by the gods to rule over cursed spirits and demons. Sukuna's cruelty was legendary, but no one could explain why he had demanded her as a tribute.

The gates of the fortress creaked open, and a cold wind swept through the air as the carriage crossed into Sukuna’s domain. The once-proud noblewoman took a deep breath, knowing that her life would never be the same again.

As the carriage came to a halt, and she stepped out into the foreboding realm. The cold air bit at her skin, and the eerie silence of the fortress seemed to swallow her every step. The gates behind her loomed after her, ancient and imposing, their iron bars etched with dark symbols that whispered of forgotten sorcery.

Y/n’s eyes met those of the gatekeeper, who regarded her with a mixture of pity and apprehension. “Welcome, my lady,” he intoned, his voice trembling with the weight of unspoken fears. “May the gods have mercy on you.”

The doors creaked open, and a footman greeted Y/n as she stepped into the darkness beyond, her old servant closely following behind. Her heart pounded with a blend of fear and curiosity. She had heard the tales of the cursed king—of the monstrous being who ruled with an iron fist and a heart of darkness. But what lay beyond the shadows of his fortress remained a mystery, one she was now bound to unravel.

The footman led her through the foreboding halls of the fortress, her senses overwhelmed by the oppressive gloom that pervaded every corner. The walls seemed to whisper secrets long forgotten, and the flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows that danced like specters in the dark. The halls were deathly quiet, with servants passing in complete silence as they moved through their tasks.

In the dim glow of a grand chamber, Sukuna awaited her. His form, though majestic in its own right, was a stark contrast to the splendor of the once-great fortress. He sat on his dark and imposing throne, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. His presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying, a paradox of beauty and horror.

As the footman and Y/n approached, her heart raced with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The Eternal Enigma, the cursed king, awaited her presence, and with it, the unfolding of a tale that would intertwine their fates in ways neither could have imagined.

As Y/n entered the grand chamber, her eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure seated on the dark throne. Sukuna’s presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying. The throne room was dimly lit by flickering torches that cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the scene even more surreal.

Sukuna looked down upon Y/n with an indifferent gaze, his four red eyes glowing like smoldering embers. Despite his fearsome appearance, he seemed almost disinterested in her arrival. He gestured lazily for her to come closer, his monstrous form shifting slightly as he leaned back against his throne.

Y/n approached cautiously, her heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. She had braced herself for harsh treatment or some form of ritualistic cruelty, but Sukuna’s demeanor was unexpectedly nonchalant. He could hear her heart racing and noticed her trembling form, almost chuckling at her fear. Yet, for Y/n, the lack of immediate threats or displays of malevolence only heightened her unease.

"Well, you’re here," Sukuna said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that filled the chamber. “You remember me, yes? Your family was obedient, but your useless father had to mess things up. Such a pity he’s dead.” Sukuna smirked, his gaze disdainful as he looked down at her. To him, her father was a mere annoyance, a fly in his grand plans. “To shorten this meeting, brat—you’re staying here, in my palace.” His attention wandered, as if Y/n were a trivial matter.

Y/n blinked, trying to process his words. “You insult my dead father and then order me to stay? As a prisoner, you mean?”

Sukuna replied with a sneer, “And what will you do about it? You’re as useless as him. Whatever you do can’t surpass me, so I suggest you listen and comply.” He grinned evilly. “Prisoner? If that’s how you want to see yourself, fine. But for me, you are to be my future wife.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “You sick, cruel man… You can’t expect me to fall in love with you. You have loyal consorts who would force their daughters to kneel and beg to marry you. What you ask of me is insane!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. The casual indifference that had marked his demeanor vanished, replaced by a storm of anger. His massive form tensed, and with a violent motion, he flipped his throne, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar. The force of his rage shook the entire chamber, and the walls trembled under the impact.

“You dare to defy me?” Sukuna bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. He stormed over to her, his build overshadowing her as he gripped her face with his hand. His face, marked with deep black ink-like scars, was a terrifying visage of fury. His four demonic eyes burned into her face as he spoke, “You are forbidden from leaving my domain! You will stay here until you fulfill your obligation!” He shoved her away, causing her to fall onto the floor. Her face was scratched by the sharp ends of his nails, blood trickling down her skin.

The entire fortress reverberated with Sukuna’s fury as he stormed out of the grand chamber, his footsteps causing the ground to rumble. The echoes of his anger reverberated through the halls, shaking the very foundations of the once-majestic fortress.

Y/n lays there, stunned by the sheer force of Sukuna’s wrath. The reality of her situation crashed down on her like a wave. She had been thrust into a world of darkness and cruelty, with a cursed king who demanded the impossible.

As the echoes of Sukuna’s fury faded, Y/n was left in the cold silence of the chamber, her mind racing with fear, confusion, and a burgeoning sense of helplessness. The task before her seemed daunting and absurd, but she knew she had no choice but to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead.

A/N: YOOOO hope u liked it lol I'll make another part soon shorly after this.

[dailyhistoryposts]

A Rundown of Henry Kissinger's Life

“Once you’ve been to Cambodia, you’ll never stop wanting to beat Henry Kissinger to death with your bare hands. You will never again be able to open a newspaper and read about that treacherous, prevaricating, murderous scumbag sitting down for a nice chat with Charlie Rose or attending some black-tie affair for a new glossy magazine without choking. Witness what Henry did in Cambodia – the fruits of his genius for statesmanship – and you will never understand why he’s not sitting in the dock at The Hague next to Milošević. While Henry continues to nibble nori rolls and remaki at A-list parties, Cambodia, the neutral nation he secretly and illegally bombed, invaded, undermined, and then threw to the dogs, is still trying to raise itself up on its one remaining leg.”

--Anthony Bourdain (2018)

It's difficult to be precise, but all told Henry Kissinger killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in pursuit of American business interests.

EARLY LIFE

Henry Kissinger was born in 1923 as Heinz Kissinger in Fürth, Bavaria, Germany, to a German-Jewish family. Throughout his youth, he was relentlessly and violently harassed and discriminated against by members of the Hitler Youth and authorities. At the age of 15, Kissinger and his family fled Nazi Germany, settling in New York City. He finished high school at George Washington High School in NYC and began studying accounting at the City College of New York, but his undergraduate studies were interrupted in 1943 when he was drafted into the US army.

In the army, fluent German speakers were in short supply, so Kissinger was quickly assigned to military intelligence. During the American invasion of Germany, he worked to set up civilian administration of conquered cities and tracked down Gestapo officers as a Special Agent of the Counter Intelligence Corps. He received the Bronze Star Medal

After his time in the army, Kissinger returned to his studies. He graduated summa cum laude in political science from Harvard College, as well as his Masters and PhD. He taught at Harvard, and his studies focused on international 'legitimacy', when an international order is widely accepted by international leaders, without regard to public opinion or morality.

POLITICS

Beginning in the 1950s, Kissinger began to be more active on the political stage. He was a consultant for the National Security Council and a study director for the Council of Foreign Relations. He notably was against Eisenhower's massive retaliation nuclear doctrine, where the United States would respond to a nuclear attack with a much, much greater nuclear attack. Instead, Kissinger advocated the use of tactical nuclear weapons on a regular basis in more wars.

In the 1960s, Kissinger began working with Republicans running for office as an advisor in foreign affairs. He contributed to the Nixon campaign, and when Nixon took office in 1969, Kissinger was appointed as National Security Advisor, and later Secretary of State. As a diplomat, Kissinger heavily used Realpolitik, the in-fashion Cold War approach focusing on pragmatism and realistic outcomes rather than ideological or moral purity. In international politics, it largely has to do with obtaining and maintaining power on the world stage.

Kissinger focused on relaxing US tensions with the USSR and China, leading an American foreign policy that supported Taiwan on the face but in the shadows removed all support for Taiwan and essentially waited for it to fall apart.

In 1974, he directed the National Security Study Memorandum 200: Implications of Worldwide Population Growth for U.S. Security and Overseas Interests (NSSM200), sometimes called the "Kissinger Report" the official United States policy for many years, though it remained classified until the 1990s. The Kissinger Report advocated for population control in undeveloped nations to ensure easy resource extraction and protect American business interests abroad. Projects were designed to reduce fertility while keeping up the appearance of improving quality of life--the plan specifically attempted to avoid an appearance of "economic or racial imperialism". Birth rate was particularly noted due to concerns about an adequate global food supply and because young people more readily fight back against corruption and imperialism. The Report also brought up increasing abortion rates as a method of obtaining this goal.

In 1975, policies based on the Report went into affect. The National Security Council would recommend withholding food and using military force to prevent population growth, prioritizing aid for small families, and even paying people to get sterilized. Thirteen countries were named as particularly problematic to US interests. Of note, Nigeria lost development and the United States took control of Nigerian resources, and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) was responsible for some of the 300,000 forced sterilizations in Peru--largely impoverished or indigenous women--during the Fujimori administration. The Fujimori government has been accused of crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court for these abuses, and today the Peruvian economy suffers due to the low population resulting from these sterilizations.

ACTIONS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA

The Vietnam War had started back in 1955. Kissinger had originally supported it, but as time dragged on began to view it as harming American prestige. Kissinger leaked information about peace talks to get into power at Nixon's side, and then failed to end the war in 1972, leading to the Christmas bombings. A very similar agreement was signed the next month, leading to a ceasefire (that would collapse) and the withdrawal of American troops--bitterly seen as a betrayal by South Vietnam. When Kissinger and Vietnamese diplomat Lê Đức Thọ were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for this, Thọ declined to accept it and two members of the Nobel Committee left it in protest.

It was in the middle of the Vietnam War, and during the Cambodian Civil War, that Operation Menu and Operational Freedom Deal went into play. From March 1969 to May 1970, the United States Strategic Air Command carried out a series of first tactical and then carpet bombings in eastern Cambodia. Then, from May 1970 to August 1973, the United States provided close air support and widespread bombing. Part of a 'secret' war to support the Kingdom of Cambodia/Khmer Republic against communist rebels, it ultimately failed and the communists would take power in 1975.

In the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971, Nixon and Kissinger supported the Pakistani president Yahya Khan. It was in this that the strongest dissent in the history of the U.S. Foreign Service, the Blood Telegram (named after sender Archer Blood), was sent. It reports the US was about to lose, describes systemic abuses, and uses the word 'genocide' to describe the actions by US-supported Pakistan. It said the US government was morally bankrupt. Blood was recalled early from Bangladesh, and US interests were lost when Bangladeshi Independence was secured within the year.

MIDDLE EASTERN POLICY

Kissinger was originally excluded from any policy-making on Israel, as part of Nixon's orders to exclude all Jewish-Americans from such work. Still, in 1973, when Kissinger became Secretary of State, he was included in all US Middle Eastern policy. This means he was largely responsible for the handling of the Yom Kippur War--this handling included not noticing precipitating factors leading up to it (he was so engrossed in Paris peace talks he didn't notice the Egyptian President Sadat ready to move on Sinai), delaying telling Nixon about and stalled negotiating a ceasefire, hoping Israel would push across and fully obtain the Suez Canal.

Kissinger's diplomacy included giving equipment to Israel, but not as much as he'd promised, and selling weapons to Saudi Arabia at the same time, in exchange for access to Saudi Arabian oil. By largely handling to event and not involving France or the United Kingdom, and by minimizing the power of the Soviet Union, Kissinger took large steps in giving US power over much of the Middle East.

It should be noted that this was done purely to protect US interests rather than any form of Jewish security. When questioned about the persecution of Soviet Jews at the same time, Kissinger said

"The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy, and if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern."

-Henry Kissinger (1973)

Also in the region., Kissinger supported Iran against Iraq.

TURKISH INVASION OF CYPRUS

In 1974, the Greek military regime and Turkiye invaded the island of Cyprus. The military regime had been supported by Kissinger, and anti-Kissinger sentiment was strong among young people. Cyprus is now an independent island country, though its northeast portion is de facto separate, making up the self-declared Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. Kissinger considers his own handling of the Cyprus Issue unfavorably.

LATIN AMERICA

With Kissinger's influence, the United States maintained relations with non-left-wing governments regardless of commitment to democracy. It was with Kissinger's input that the CIA encouraged a military coup against Chilean president-elect Salvador Allende due to his socialist ideals.

Operation Condor, a US-backed program of political repression by right-wing dictatorships of southern South America, was also Kissinger's work. It included assassinations, the Dirty War in Argentina, and supporting Brazil's nuclear weapons program because it would benefit the U.S. private nuclear industry.

SOME OTHER STUFF

Kissinger's policy on post-WWII decolonization was mixed, based on what would benefit the U.S. He helped transition Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) away from White minority rule, expressed moderate support for the Portuguese Colonial Empire, and helped Indonesia occupy East Timor.

After Watergate forced Nixon to resign, Kissinger stayed on under President Ford but left office when Democrat Jimmy Carter came into power. He was offered an endowed chair at Columbia University, which was canceled due to student opposition, but was appointed to Georgetown University instead. He ran a consulting firm, supported the Chinese government in the Tiananmen Square massacre, and served on the 2000 Commission of the International Olympic Committee. He was supposed to help President Bush respond to the 9/11 attacks but stepped down because he refused to reveal if he had a business conflict of interest.

In 2010, he took a strong stance urging world governments to destroy all nuclear weapons. In the 2014 Ukrainian crisis, he said that Crimea should remain under Ukrainian sovereignty, but in the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine said that Crimea and Donbas should be given to Russia.

Kissinger was a board member of Theranos, Elizabeth Holmes' biotech scam.

In response to the 2023 Hamas attack on Israel, and seeing pro-Palestinian protestors in Germany, Kissinger called Muslim immigration into Germany "a grave mistake".

DEATH

Kissinger died peacefully in his home in Connecticut on November 29th, 2023,

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Konnection ||

Pairing: Dragon Shifter!Ari | Drakaina Shifter!You.

Trope: You hate his guts and he loves it aka my favorite.

Description: You are a bratty little Drakaina. And do you know what happens to them? They get disciplined. By their Dragons.

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), smut with plot, chase kink, shifter couple, you straight up hate Ari, power imbalance, age gap, he's a warlord, size kink (gone wild), infantilization, humiliation, ass play (not his dick), his cock is too big, degradation, spanking, manhandling, hair pulling, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, doggy style, allusions to exhibitionist stuff, angry Ari, Daddy kink, he treats you like a kid and calls you one, cum play, brat taming, boob play, minor overstimulation, fear kink-ish. MDNI.

Note: I had so much fun writing this lmfao. Pissing off scary men so they can fuck me up hell yeah! Unedited because it's late and I am tired but I want to see something. Let me know if you liked it, thank you <3 

MASTERLIST 

. . .

You have always done whatever you please. Restraint and denial aren't— or rather, weren't concepts you were familiar with before you caught the eye of the tyrannical brute named Ari Levinson. It did not help that your stupid and treacherous spirit reached out to his when your eyes locked with his electric blue ones for the first time and konnected with him before you could stop it. As if Ari is not rich enough with his generational wealth and noble family, the fact that he leads the Military Legion of the Draconic Empire you belong to hence all the real power doesn't help your case. 

You hear a deep growl behind you and you angrily flap your shiny crimson scaled and gold streaked wings. They are miniature when compared to his colossal black ones that are scaled a dark teal and streaked silver. The sound of them cutting through the air as he chases your tiny form through the sky is so heavy that it puts strain on your eardrums, their enormous size causing actual turbulence in the air itself. 

Ari is a warlord and his Dragon form a battle hardened, much experienced arsenal full of tricks, infinite strength and agility and much training. You know you don't stand a chance against him, you didn't when you angrily transformed when he was about to put the band of his claim around your neck during your betrothal ceremony and you won't even if you by some miracle grow into his size all of a sudden. But his smug smile had been too much for you to handle, the lewd whistling and remarks of his filthy fellows only making it worse. You had confessed to him in a letter that you didn't want to marry him and you wished to revoke the konnection, you had always been clear about not mating in the Draconic way, and you did not want to marry anyone, least of all a filthy wardog covered in mane like some earthly animal. 

The thought makes you sick to your stomach. 

You hate your family for putting you through this. Not that you have any faith in Ari's decency to think that if your father had refused your hand to him he would have taken it as an answer, you still resent how your parents and other family members jumped upon the opportunity to serve you up on a gold platter just because a Levinson asked for your hand in marriage. 

You feel the sky tremble again. He is growling a warning to you. It is a prompt for you to stop and know better. To help yourself while you still can. Save yourself before things become irreversibly complicated. 

But you wouldn't be you if you weren't stupidly stubborn and childish. 

And so you spin midair and wheeze out angry smoke before you burst out the most scorching fire you can muster out right at Ari. Of course, the range and intensity is inadequate. The brute is too big and hard. You huff out and dash downwards and out of his grip because he reaches you at once, his already cunning Dragon features not looking too impressed with you. You chuckle as you go fly in the other direction, thinking you have fooled the assholic mass of scale, muscle and tyranny.

But alas! 

Your eyes widen and your mind doesn't comprehend it at first. It happens much too fast for both your perception and expectation to understand. And by the time you catch on, Ari's claw that easily holds you like a toy is tossing you on a mountaintop like you're nothing more serious than a doll before he deescalates himself on top of you and you gasp, your pearly beige wings darting to shield your eyes from what you suspect will be the crushing of your body under the brute's. 

“Shift.” You know not how he does it but the beast crash-lands against the ground with such force that the whole mountain shakes from the weight of his anger and yet he doesn't hit you. Dust clouds erupt all around you and you cough, squinting your eyes as you peek up at him from behind your wings to find he has surrounded you in the curtains of his own to shield you from the change in environment as your body lies between his claws and he glares down at you with his electric blue. 

You whimper and feel your jaw twitch as your lips tremble. Your forehead aches and you feel your eyebrows raising in an obtuse angle as a reaction to your condition. Ari— or rather, his form is titanous as he looks over you like the shadow of destruction, the air that his flared nostrils angrily exhale out fanning the entirety of your tiny form. You feel yourself beginning to break, anger giving way to regret and better sense scold your impulse. But then—

“Right now.” He emphasizes on his previous words and you hear an actual snap in your head before you feel your eyes blaze with anger. 

“Nu.” There is an unreadable shift in his harsh gaze for a few moments as he just watches you, wordless. Did you, a foolish little girl from a family of humble means, tell him; Ari Levinson, who has been nothing but generous to you despite your constant displays of dimwittedness, no? 

“I will not repeat myself.” To someone not belonging to your species, your conversation would seem like soundless mouthing for the pitch your kind uses in this form is inaudible to lower life forms. But you hear his threat loud and clear. 

“Yur nut the boss o' mee!” You owe the lisping and baby-like voice to your tiny form. Although it's normal for Drakainas to be smaller than Dragons, their smaller size comes with speed, a feminine cunning, sharper claws, short ranged but molten breath and expendability. But it seems in your case that when the sun was granting his children, your kind, their abilities, you were knocked out somewhere with a food induced coma. 

Though Ari has had enough encounters with you to know better, he still stops to stare at you; your unwavering foolishness. Are you, something so defenseless and vulnerable against him, seriously saying that to him when he is already so angry?

You stupidly gain confidence in the wake of his disbelieving silence. When you should be quiet, submissive and apologetic, you instead push yourself off the ground with the v-shaped mid joint of one of your wings and use the other one to wipe your eyes clean of their glaze. Your claws ball into tiny fists and you huff up at the mountain of a Dragon, pouting from how your nape hurts when you do. 

“Ugh, I tuld yu I din wan' marry yu, yu dumby brute!” You jump up with the use of your hind legs so you can bang your miniature fists on his firm chest protestingly. “Hate yu, hate yu, hate yu! Leamme!” You give him a smash with each word, glaring up at him like you're in any position to. “Dun wanna—!”

Ari is in actual disbelief of your sheer audacity as he stops his mouth from falling open simply because he is not used to this. If anything, he is a foreigner to this attitude being directed at him. Because do you even realize just how monumentally fucked you are?

“You either shift and make it somewhat easy for yourself,” you gasp and slip back onto your ass with a gulp when he lowers his great head to put emphasis on his words. “Or I rip your petulant little kiddy ass open as is.” Your eyes widen when you feel the tip of his monstrous form graze against your small leg. 

Fuck.

His Dragon cock alone is bigger than your whole Drakaina form.

There is something about the murderous glint in his electric blue eyes that finally makes you cease your race with reason and you let it infuse with you. 

Your body reacts before your mind can even form the intent of obeying him and you pout softly. Your traitorous little desperate soul and the damned konnection! 

“Oh, no…” Your speech returns to you as your body begins to shift and from the baby dragon form emerges a fully developed young woman. 

Exactly what he likes. 

“Oh, yes.” There is a deafening crack in the air before bright light hits your darkness accustomed eyes and you wince before bringing a hand to them for protection as you wince from the overflow of sensory data. 

“S- Stay back!” You warn and hop backwards as though you're still on your haunches. It'll take you a bit to readjust to your human form. It's not very common except for cases like weak Drakainas like yourself. 

Ari's cock is an angry red as it curves against his stomach. The sight makes you gulp and his not being bothered about it only makes it worse. Not that you mind being in your natural state too much, but right now you feel so exposed and vulnerable under his electric glare that you can't help but hug yourself. 

“You're only making it harder for yourself, kid.” 

“I am telling you, stay—” you quickly bend down to pick up a rock before you hurl it at him. “Stay back!” Ari turns sideways and his long hair flops along. When he turns to look at you, a crimson little cut glints in the sunlight for just a millisecond before his skin naturally comes together and closes on itself. 

Of course. 

“Ugh! I don't like you! Why don't you get it!” Your fists are balled at your sides as you huff and puff. 

The man only sighs as he closes in on you. 

“I swear— ah!” You scream as your foot slips off the edge and your body goes to tumble down, arms flailing about but before anything devastating can happen, a rough grip on your hair catches you and drags you back onto the ground. “Oh m- my—” he doesn't let you recover from your shock.

“Stupid and petulant girls like yourself never know what's good for them” you pout and whimper as your hair goes to cup over his that is holding your hair tight. “That is why they need someone to show them what's good for them” you jump like an animated character with a cartoon-like noise when his free hand swings through the air to crack against your ass. 

“Ow! Oh!” Ari doesn't stop. As he walks you back to the middle of the mountaintop with your feet barely touching the ground because of how he holds you, he cruelly warms your ass up until it's flushing a humiliating shade of red. “Stop! You brute!” You bounce on your toes as you try to dodge him by swinging yourself left and right but to no avail, Ari is too fast and his range is too great. 

“You don't say that when you fuck yourself stupid on my cock and cry like a little kid who is getting handled by their Daddy” your blood runs cold as the feeling of his words calling you out like a splash of ice cold water. 

Okay. 

Maybe your weakness got the best of you one or two times. 

Or a couple.

But that's not the point!

It's his fault, he's the manipulative tyrant! 

“I— ow!” You cry again because his assault on your ass is unceasing. “I— I've no idea what you mean, meanie!” He scoffs as he places you on your soles so he can bend you over to target your sitspots. 

“I am sure.” Your body rocks forward with his beastly hits. Your ass is stinging and you're sure he has blistered it with his stupid warlord hands. “Now get your tail out.” The humiliation makes you want to throw up. Cold sweat threatens to drown your body and your ears turn beet red. 

“What?! No!” You cry out when your words make him target your sore spots. “I- I dunno how to in this form!” He scoffs again. 

Your audacity is what keeps him going. 

“Do it how I taught you” okay, yes. But he's a bossy mean tyrant who doesn't back down if you deny him! And no one helps you because he's both your Konnection made and fiancee. 

As well as literally Ari fucking Levinson. 

You never really have a choice with him. These kinds of tricks aren't common for someone with your strength and state of underdevelopment most because you've never really cared about the Dragon stuff but one day the depraved dictator decided that he wasn't going to let you cum if you didn't grow out your Dragon tail while still in your human form. He went so far as to even threaten you with a spanking. And your readers can judge you all they want but if they had ever been stuck balls deep on Ari Levinson's monstrous cock with their pussy sore from the frustration and their hips so desperate that they throbbed with need, they'd understand why you laid weakly against his chest and surrendered yourself to his will before carrying out his messed up wish. To be fair, not that you would ever be fair with him, he had praised, kissed and spoiled you a lot after that. 

Not out of the goodness of his heart though.

No.

The pervert loved to stroke your tail and play with its base when he made you sit on his massive lap. 

“Or what?!” You demand angrily. 

It's a thing. You always submit -under his evil coercion, you must add- and do what he says. But then you recover and you act like you don't know him. 

Ari loves it. He has seen it all and there isn't much that isn't mundane to him. But you, you keep him on his toes. 

His ferocious little fireball. 

Ari finally stops the spanking. You wince as you feel your cheeks seethe. He brings you closer to his hairy face by the grip he has on your head. There is a complex look on his face. He looks done and unwilling to do to you what he must if you keep this up. 

“You know you don't want to find out” you watch his face for a slip, trying to sway his heart with an expression or two of your own. But as always, it doesn't work with the brutish dictatorial tyrant of a giant. 

So you whimper and try to look away but his hold restricts you. Choosing to avert your eyes from him instead, you whimper as you focus on fulfilling his demand. As you go about it, you cannot help but wonder why Ari wants you to do this right now. Usually when he does this, it's when you're cuddling— you mean, when he's cuddling you, okay?! Ugh!

“Oh…” You groan as you feel the crimson and gold tail growing out just above your ass. It's not painful but it makes you uncomfortable. As well as humiliated. 

“Stay still, or so the Sun help me” you don't need to be told twice. Never when you're so tightly held in his grip. It's too late. 

You feel Ari grab your tail and you whimper from the sensitivity, gulping down the bile that forms in your throat when you feel his long and thick fingers grazing the soft scales -he likes to call you a kiddie Dragon because of how nonlethal you actually are- as he slowly strokes the length. His fingertips feel the hot base for a few moments and your knees nearly buckle shut. The firm hold on your head helps keep you remain in the inverted 90° angle he's made of your body.

Ari spits on your pucker and you almost jump from the sensation of his hot spit landing on your hole. Oh, yes. It becomes too exposed for comfort when he bends you over like this. And no, it does not mean that you know this because he does it often. Absolutely not. You uneasily try to shift away but he hooks one knee in the curve between your stomach and thighs to keep you upright as his fingers work the natural lubricant in and work it open a little. The next blob lands on your tail and something about the sensory overload and his attitude makes you angry but you're too caught and weak. 

But still, before you can try to hold your own, the warlord is pushing the tip of your tail in your pucker and your eyes widen in shock. You begin to struggle. He has never done that before. 

“W- What are you doin— ah!” Even though your Drakaina skin is soft, the sensation of the rigid dents and your own body being forced into your tiny hole causes an explosion of scorching blood in your face. “Oh—! What are you doing, you! Oh my— owie Dada!” You break and though you don't see it, a crooked smirk of satisfaction makes its way onto his face. “Pleasie!”

There. 

You talk big game, but a little bit of pain and you're the most compliant little thing alive. 

“You look so pretty, kid” your features scrunch in discomfort as you squint at the ground because there isn't much else you can do. “Stuffed full of your own bratty little tail” your ass is so full of yourself. The humiliating sensation makes you pout. He gives a firm pat on your plugged ass before moving on and you nearly retch from the embarrassment. “Get on your knees” he finally releases your hair and you land on your hands just in time. 

“Y- You…” And your mouth is trying to run again the moment he isn't holding you. Ari snorts under his breath as he gets on his knees behind you. “Y- You're so twisted and weird! Military men—”

“It takes some nerve to act like that when I can literally see you messing yourself up like it's your job” you feel like screaming. You hate it and you hate him. He always gets what he wants and your traitorous body only aids his pompousness. “Dripping yourself silly like a soppy little bride slut” you feel the rough skin of his hands stroke against the sides of your sore thighs before he pulls you back towards him. “It looks like you pissed yourself like the stupid little baby that you are” your wrists become jelly and your upper body collapsed on your elbows when his scarred fingers dip between your legs to collect your sweetness on them before he spreads your petals to both feel your warm cunt and coat as much of his digits in your slick as he can.

“D- Daddy…” You hate it. The twisted use of the word scalds your tongue. And yet you cannot help it. Your thighs only quiver more. 

Ari brings his fingers to his lips and puts them in his mouth before sucking at them. “Hmm” his bigger body rocks against your much smaller one to rub his own spilling cock on your spanked skin. “Tastes like a silly little kiddie brat slut” your sensitive and tender skin does well in pampering his stiff skin and Ari uses your ass like a plush little pillow to stroke his cock.

“D- Daddy— I mean, you brute!” Sparks go off in your mind when you feel him stroke the summit of his dick against your drenched pussy as one of his hands hold you to his while by the grip he has on the curve of your hip. “Stooop! Owie! No! It won't fit!” And true to your word, your small pussy rejects his cock with a bratty squelch. It's one part of your body that is just like you. And Ari has punished it on several occasions for his misbehavior exactly as he does you. “I- I am too small you giant! Not everyone can be a colossal like you- ouchie!” 

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Too small now, are you?” He is breathless from the strength it's taking him to be patient with your opening's constant rejection of his cock whenever he tries to push in. “You weren't acting like it when you made a spectacle of our engagement like I am some lowborn pauper that you can just humiliate like a peasant wife who doesn't have a whole generation of noble wives to represent” he bites back a harsh curse when his cock slips away again. His fingers tighten on your side and he pushes you tighter against him before realigning his cock with your bratty hole and slowly forcing it in with slow rotatory movements where he penetrates you spec by spec. “You weren't too small when you challenged your future husband and tried to burn him with your pathetic little candle fire” the insult makes you angry but his cock has intruded you and his satisfied pat to your ass coupled with your pucker clenching around your scaled tail renders you speechless.

“O- Owie!” It feels good. But the strain his girth puts on your poor band is almost too much. You fear you will rip. “D- Daddy, please!” That always softens him up. Oftentimes just a little but beggars can't be choosers. 

“You will shut up and take it if you know what's good for you…” But he is far too angry today. His hairy chest drapes over your back and the coarse hairs make your tender skin tingle. “Even though we both know you're too dumb to understand that” you feel him pull out of you almost all the way out before he plunges himself back in, his length cruelly pushing your velvet walls apart and reaching your cervix already. But Ari doesn't hit it just yet. 

“Oh!” You squeak out when your body rocks with another thrust and then another. He is gaining pace. You don't notice it but your ass has managed to push your tail nearly halfway out and Ari stamps it back in at the same moment he snaps his hips against yours. “Daddyyyy, hnng!” Regardless of your dislike of the name, it is the one you find yourself calling him when he has you bent over like this. 

“Tell me you're sorry for what you did” he peers at the sun that is changing its colour and Ari decides he can thoroughly address this later. It is not like you are going anywhere. You are his and he will never allow it. “Tell me it's because you're a stupid little kiddie brat who hasn't had a day's discipline in her life and that is the reason you need a husband like me to keep you on a short leash” the sound of his cock moving in and out of your tight pussy is so loud that it is clear even in the heavy winds. Your pucker blinks around your tail. “Say it!” The harsh strike he gives to your ass has you crying and parroting out his words before your mind can catch on. 

“I- I am sorry for… for… ah!” His stiff tip touches your cervix and the bittersweet pleasure makes you choke him out. His baritone groan grinds its way into your ear from how his colossal form is bent over yours so he can reach your neck and hear your whimpers. “I am sorry for what I did today, Daddy!” 

“Keep going” he demands with a smack to one of your tits now. You jump up from the shock. Damn, you didn't even know he could reach you like this. He continues to fuck you like a hound taking his bitch. 

“I, uh…” You rake your mind for what he demanded of you, sighing in relief when you remember though his assault on your sensitive spot makes you arch your back. His beard digs into the skin of your jaw and shoulder when his mouth reaches for your carotid pulse. “I—” he takes a beastly sniff of your bubbling vein and you nearly give up but a pinch to your nipple brings you back to your task. “It's— oh, yes!” You finally remember his words and get to it, your sore ass cheeks clapping from how rapidly he is fucking into you. “It's because I've never seen a- a-” your eyebrows furrow and eyes flutter shut when his lips latch onto the skin of your neck in an unfriendly way. “Ah!” His fingers find their way to your throbbing cunt and you let out the most obscene moan you have ever heard. 

“Say it.” He growls before he begins to suck a mark of his ownership into your tender skin.

“It's because I've never seen a day's d- discipline in my life and— fuuuck!” The feeling of his rough finger pads is delectable against your soft folds and your head collapses between your shoulders. The vibration of Ari's hum against your skin along with the breathtaking jab he gives to your cervix makes your head spin and you give up. You are yet to build tolerance to his touch. Your high bubbles out of your loins like molten lava and your toes curl as your body tries to stretch to both react to and withstand the strong orgasm. “I am a stupid k- kiddie brat slut who needs a hubby Daddy to keep her in her place” you mumble out in one breath as you let yourself rock back and forth along to his thrusts, mind numb and pussy dumb. 

Or is it the other way around?

“And who is your hubby Daddy?” Ari lets your cunt go to grip both your hips so he can go into his incubus-like trance. 

“You” your words are nearly incoherent but he hears them just fine and with much satisfaction. “Only you are my hubby Daddy…” You are thankful for the temporary vertigo that has taken over your senses. It renders you deaf to the filth he makes you say.

“Here's what's going to happen now” he says once he has run his tongue over the very noticeable bruise he has made on your neck. “I am going to fuck all the funny little thoughts out of your rebellious little head until you're rightfully wearing my cum” the overstimulation makes you uncomfortable and both of your holes sensitively clench. “And then we are going to fly back to the venue and you are going to thank me and kiss my hand to show your gratitude after I put the band on you” you feel his speed increasing and you further lower yourself to hold your head; bracing yourself. “You are going to kneel as you do, so everyone can see you for the hypocritical little whore you are.”

And Ari Levinson always gets his way. 

. . .

I appreciate reblogs <333

[kbagraces]

Flip A Switch - Lando Norris

Lando Norris Mafia AU

As much as we try to suppress the stigma, strong women will continue to be perceived as intimidating until you learn to love us.

PART 1 - Unnecessary Violence

Women are small. They should act naive, innocent and weak. That's what you were told. That's what i was still told. Mother said it's the most attractive thing a girl can be. My brother said it's the safest thing a girl can be. Daddy said it is the most stupid thing that i could be. 'Be strong', daddy said and to that i would reply with what my mother and brother had instilled into me. Anger would rise up, "You're a bright girl y/n, but you trust too easily. That'll do you no good if you follow in my footsteps."

I wanted to follow in his footsteps, i really did, but i was stuck in the contrasting beliefs of society and my father's expectations. I wanted to do him proud, he after all risked his life everyday to keep our family safe. But i was just a girl, what could i have done?

Daddy never got a real funeral, that's just the way it was for us kind of people. I think of him everyday, but no one dares to utter his name which leaves my mind to be his only place of rest. After he passed, my mother went awol, i haven't seen her in months. My brother is now mad with power, thinking that he can drag daddy's organisation from the pits it collapsed into. He is wrong. Daddy always said Keegan didn't have the ability to work in such a treacherous environment, but of course he never listened.

"Keegan, daddy wouldn't have wanted this. This is so far from how he'd organise things" I exclaimed, chasing after him down the halls of our family home. It was supposed to be an 'event' of sorts to celebrate my fathers life, too little too late i thought, Keegan never celebrated his life when he was actually alive. I was certain this was an attempt at gloating to his so called peers about his ever so important role, despite it being quite the contrary, he is only making things worse, which is literally impossible, but somehow not for Keegan.

"Just because you were dad's favourite does not mean that you know how to run this company, y/n. You're still a little girl. You know nothing. I learnt it all the day Dad bailed on us. Stop acting like he was a Saint, because, if you actually knew anything about how to run this, you would know he was far from it."

I wanted to fight back, but causing a seen was wrong, unnecessary and exactly what he wanted, and you would see me dead before I followed another mans orders, related or not.

The halls were starting to burst with people. The luxurious fabric of suits and gowns brushing against my bare arms as a turned from my brother and stormed away from his ignorance.

The corners of my mouth slightly turned upwards as i caught glimpses of those that i knew but not enough to allow them to want to stop for a conversation. The amount of people i didn't know however most certainly outweighed those that i did and that was how my brother worked. Quantity, not quality. All ego, no class, clarifying to me that this is in no way what my father would've wanted and is unfortunately all down to my brothers stupidity and selfishness.

The mafia is a dangerous place. Being the daughter of a previously feared leader does underpin you with some stereotypes. I, however, wasn't as conformist as the other girls that i knew. I wouldn't let the sleazy sons of other organisations tempt me into going against my family for a below average shag in the back of a stolen car. I'd like to think i had a little more class. As i looked disgustingly at the girls who were doing just that the mingling started as the sound of erratic jazz music drowned out the painfully boring conversations of controversy. Not even a week earlier most individuals were likely to have been literally at war.

I glanced across the room, my mothers 'friends' dotted around, judgemental scowls plastered across their faces. There we certainly some unusual and dangerous occurrences unfolding in front of me.

The jazz music cut off abruptly as my brother clambered on stage a few feeble looking goons following him in a pathetic attempt in looking intimidating, my hand instantly raising in humiliation.

"Well, that's embarrassing." the presence beside me uttered into my ear. My eyes raising in the attempt to recognise who the husky voice came from. Empty eyes were starring into mine, looking as disappointed as i was at my brothers underwhelming speech that he's spluttering out. I hummed in agreement turning back to the mess unfolding in front of me.

"I'm Lando."

Lando.

I recognised his face, flashes of my fathers profiles flickered through my mind as i tried to put name and face to his crime. He once worked here, but was found to be a rat.

"Norris?" Rat.

His eyebrow raised along with the slight quiver of the corner of his lip. "Impressive, you really are your fathers daughter. Perhaps it should be you that is up there." He nodded towards the stage.

An unsettling feeling rushed through my body, pushing his shoulder i questioned, "what do you think you're doing here? Do you not have an inch of respect?"

"I-"

He was cut off as Keegan pinned me as the next victim of his embarrassing 'speech' if you could even label it that. "And there she is." His eyes dark, filled with hatred. "The attention seeker of the family. The reason that dad died. The reason that i was neglected as a child. My father never appreciated me, i was the one destined for this life. I worked so hard to make him proud but princess y/n/n always stole the limelight. Which is why, you're out sis." He spat.

I felt empty, shocked. Out?

A hand wrapped around my bicep dragging me through the crowds of people. My senses finally kicked in after i was out of the hall.

I shook off the grip, "get off me!" I yelled. One of brothers goons looking into my eyes. "Out." He stated, nodding his head towards the entrance of my home. I tilted my head in shock.

"No. Fuck you. This is my fucking house. Who do you think you are?" My arm swung for his face, knuckles connecting to his cheek with unexpected force, after the shock had escaped him he grabbed my arms, pinning me to the wall my face pressing onto the cool surface. I felt the barrel of a gun press into my skull. Fuck. "You just find it so easy to fuck things up don't you. Keegan didn't say kill you, but i do fancy seeing your brains splattered against this wall."

"Why because you think it'll make Keegan love you a little bit more. Aw so cute-," i heard the gun being cocked and then suddenly all of the pressure he held against me fled my body, bang.

Swinging round, I was expecting pain to hit my body, nothing came. There he was lying on the floor, Lando standing above him, gun in hand starring at the victim on the floor. Silence filled the corridor and the hall that i was just forced out of. "Out. Now." he glared at me, his eyes flickering to the entrance doors behind me.

We began walking towards the doors before the guest in hall, looked out in curiosity to see a dead boy on the floor, blood pouring from his head. "I didn't need your help." I demanded as we excited what was once my home.

A snort left his nose, "you know, some how i don't think that is true and you're welcome by the way." We reached his car, to which he nodded his head to.

"You're joking, right? You really are mad if you think i'm going anywhere with you, whether you saved my life or not, i do not want to be around you.", now it was my turn to laugh.

"So you admit that i saved your life?" I rolled my eyes and began to walk down the road.

"They'll be after you. We can help you." he shouted down the road.

"See you around, Norris." I yelled back. No way in Hell am giving him what he wants, at least not right away.

***

Keegan hadn't tried to find me, but opposing gangs had and although i can certainly fight my own in a 'normal' situation, when fifteen groups of ruthless and revenge hungry men are after you it becomes hard to leave your house.

"You could just give Norris a bell." Mandi suggested. Sitting in her box room which in fact had been my bedroom for the last two weeks. She was my only friend and the only one who knew everything about me. But things such as what she just stated shows how she can still be so out of touch.

"No."

"Y/n. Think about it. Your life is at risk and as much as your dad hated the McLarens*, he would've hated you dying more." She attempted to reason, and she was right,. "And who gives a damn about your brother, do you not want to help McLaren in taking him down? He literally tried to kill you!" she exclaimed.

Rolling my eyes, "well no he didn't, just one of his goons."

"You trust too easily. Please just think about it, gorgeous. You're the strongest person i know but right now, you can not fight this battle alone." She sighed getting up from my bed, "love you, goodnight."

"Night Mands."

I don't need your help, but I think we can come to a mutual deal.

-y/n

Y/n, I knew you'd come round. Are you currently busy?

Yes i'm going to bed. I'll discuss terms tomorrow. Night.

————

Masterlist

A/N

*im using the car names as gang names as I'm just that uncreative!

[libertyybellls]

FEVERS !

finnick x reader series

pre seventieth-hunger games

contains; angst, heartbreak, second perspective, little to no use of ‘y/n’.

the water is anything but a mirror of your stagnant body, the waves are fighting the shore- crashing angrily as if to make a point of the fury climbing through your body.

you’re still, despite the slight water droplets tickling your bare legs. another year, another reaping, a handful of deaths. and with reapings in district four, came finnick, finally returning from the capitol.

it wasn’t hard to go on with your life without him, the most difficult of times being when you’d wake up with things to tell him, not knowing what was going on in his life. remembering how he looked down on you, how he laughed pointedly in your face before treating you like one of his fangirls- pretentiously slamming the door in your face.

but you were fine on your own now, over four long years had passed by in a flash and you’d left him alone- though he was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

you didn’t see him at the lighthouse near the pier, you didn’t hear him lauging when you’d walk to school together, you didn’t smell the sea salt whenever he’d walk into any room, didn’t feel the water spraying over you shivering body when he’d shake his wet hair out of the beach.

none of it mattered, your best friend was gone. you’d unfailingly remember the day finnick had been reaped, he wasn’t too sterling on putting on a mask back then. his eyes blown, his hesitance to step up to that stage. his eyes would’ve found yours in any crowd then. you thought you’d gone through the worst of it all losing him- oh, how you thought it was all over.

it was a dark morning in district four, you were simply just impending your attendance at the reaping to conclude, then return back to your bed, easier said than done.

your body distastefully pulled itself from the sand as the sun creeped up on the shoreline, signaling the end of your escape.

your mind was elsewhere- zoning out into your own world of issues until that familiar hue of lilacs from the hydrangea bush near your home caught your eye.

the trek from the beach was short, and your home was small. despite the fact that district four was amongst the wealthiest districts, the balance came in practical ways; enough food to go round, electricity and power for each family, but still treacherous working conditions.

finnick is standing behind the placemats of where the tributes will stand minutes from now, he can spot you in any crowd- but it scares him in a way. why can he only see you? despite the sea of girls your age surrounding you he can only see you.

the video plays, the same video that plays every year before finnick gets to get a good look at his tributes. it’s snow, he talks of war, of despair- as if the districts are a stranger to it.

usually he zones out, usually he doesn’t mind the names called. but something feels wrong about this day in particular. something that makes him easily strartled, like he should run.

you keep your eyes to your shoes, to the sand that covers the tips of them- but you can still feel his eyes, they’re burning you. not quite like the sun that scorches your eyes, but a burn you couldn’t hide from.

“ladies first!” your escorts voice is too peppy, it scratches your ears wrong. you just want to go home, more than usual. you want to close in on yourself.

the crinkling of the unfolding paper echoes through the microphone, a smile on the escorts painted lips, you almost feel like your dreaming.

you and finnicks minds are brought back to reality when your name is called. finnicks mind must have made it up, maybe hes been plagued with sun poisoning. his excuse is cut short as the girls around you form a gaping path from you to the stage, he knows you want to disappear, a part of him does too. your mother lets out a wail, but you can’t look at her- only as the peace keepers who lead you with hands on your back your back to the stage.

finnicks guilt consumes him wholly, it was surely his fault. something he did, something he said- he got your name into that bowl far too many times then it needed to be. he sees your face, he sees your tense shoulders as you walk your way up the stairs, onto the placemat on the stage. he knows you feel closed in at the stares, at the eyes of everyone- the cameras.

this is sickening, how well he can read you after all these years. how he has instantly promised to any god that was listening that he would not sleep until you made it out, that he would not quit the pleasure and charms of the capitolites until they gave you all of the materials you needed.

sickening, how your hair had waves it in- and he instantly knew it was from you taking your hair out of braids after they’d gotten wet from the saltwater. how you were slowly blinking- your dead give away at calming yourself down.

he cursed the crowd, he cursed snow, he cursed himself. how has nobody volunteered? how could snow try and hurt you after he’s spent so long shielding you from this exact moment? how could he let himself sit here and do nothing?

“and now, the boys!” the escorts voice makes finnick sick now, he swears he can feel blood dripping down his ears. the same voice that called out yours- that tried to take you to your death. “lux dagon!”

you’ve heard of him before, he’s a year older than you. he’s said to be charming, smart, likeable. all of your premonitions are proven to be true when he squares his shoulders off, a captivating smile flooding his mouth. unlike you, he doesn’t hesitate to stride up to the stage- he was a career child.

he’d waited his whole life for this moment, he was smarter, stronger, taller, and faster than you. his eyebrows were thick and dark, just like his round eyes. olive skin, and dark hair that fringed down to his forehead.

you were sure you were dead this moment, you were dead and you couldn’t even put up a fight. it was slightly enthralling, how your last bit of hope for survival was crushed at one mere name.

luxs smile reappears when he turns to you, the color was drained for your face- mouth slightly agape. he winks incredulously as he sticks his hand out to shake yours. you take it, well aware of the fact that your hand is very-likely soaked in sweat.

you can’t keep eye contact with him, all you can see is your mother being held back by peacekeepers- her face would be etched into your mind for some time. her only child, only family- you felt saddest for her most of all. because you knew this would be the last she saw of you before you’d be killed on television- you didn’t want to think about how helpless she’d feel, how she’d never quite be the same.

you try not to pay any mind to finnick as you make your way to the train car. infact, you don’t pay mind to anyone.

but nevertheless, finnick is hot on your tail- leaving no room for personal space. you’re sure it will be a long train ride, silent on your part.

the walls are dark grey, lined with gold. light fixtures decorate every surface. a plethora of food and drinks await you, none of it is fish nor vegetables. you don’t know what it is, but your stomach can’t handle the sight of it.

you sit on a red couch, gold hugs the ends of the seat. lux joins, taking the spot next to you. you don’t cause a stir when finnick sits in front of you, and certainly not when mags sits diagonal.

it almost feels like a sick joke to finnick, the idea that you’re infront of him after all these years, and not saying a word. you’re alive but you’re about to face issues larger than you’re ready for. it feels like he might never escape, like he may never rid himself of being tormented.

a voice tears him from his thoughts, “so, what can i do to win?” lux asks eagerly, his hands are clasped and his elbows are on his knees- eyeing finnick and mags.

finnick is solely not in a fit state to humor his excitement. looking to his lap with a sigh then pinching the bridge of his nose. “that’s a broad question.”

lux can’t sense the bitterness in his words, it almost seemed unprofessional of finnick. your district-mate mutters soemthing about how he’s already well equipped to kill, “water? what if it’s dry land?”

mags gets up from her seat, coughing- off to the bathroom. lux then splays his hands on his jean clad knees, and pushes himself up, irritated at the lack of response.

you can’t help but agree, if you’d really cared that much- if you were truly that desperate to win, and had been asking for advice to no avail, you’d be indignant as well.

one out of sight, finnick looks straight at you. your back is leaning into the cushion of the couch, hands fiddling. he wants to know where you are right now- that sinking dazed look is in your eyes, all he wants is to throw the rope and get you out of your head. “they love him already.”

you snap your head at his words, he doesn’t say your name- but it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice speak to yours in years. his words are covering the sweetness in his voice. you take this chance to study his face, a lot has changed- you just wished it wasn’t in these circumstances that you’d see your best friend again.

he sighs, “y/n.” finnicks eyes are pleading with yours now, “focus, if you can’t beat him, join him. we can’t have him being district fours favorite.”

your eyebrows furrow, you want to scream at him, it doesn’t feel right simply speaking to him- it felt too soon, but so long. “i’m sorry.” you let out a sigh, “can you speak in simpler terms, the poverty back home has given me brain rot- mr odair.” the ridicule in your tone has him seething, knuckles white as he grips the chair.

you’d never been one to simply forgive, you always held grudges, but never with him- it never should’ve been that way. finnick didn’t know what he expected when he thought he could simply prance into your life once more and beg for you to do as he says. he should’ve known you’d come up with a million reasons as to why he thinks he’s better than you, he knew you’d tricked yourself into thinking that he was on some sort of capitol high horse after winning.

but it’s what you’d do, what you’d always done. as if you were in a constant state of survival- this only scared him. finnick knew he’d make you a winner, no matter what it would take. he had nothing left to give to the capitol, his dignity, his body, his mind, but he swore he’d get you out of this- though he also knew the victors life would tear you to shreds.

you didn’t want to treat him this way, it was only the way he looked at you like he was high and mighty. so egotistical, nothing like the boy you once knew. as if his mind was superior to yours, like he was too snotty to be in your presence.

he sits up in his chair, running a hand through his hair before leaning close to you. “i’m just trying to help you.”

you knew this, yet you couldn’t take it. his advice burned your ears, it made you feel small. to have him try to teach you, after all that’s happened.

after a few beats of your eyes latching onto the ground- neglecting eye contact as he desperately tried to gauge your interest, he stood up, almost disappointedly. you supposed this was him turning in for the night.

the sceneries whizzed past you in the window, greens and brows in a haze. you just wanted to be back home, on the beach- far far away from the capitol. though like many things, it seemed too good to be true.

you couldn’t help but think about finnick, how all you needed was him right now- his laugh, the way he’d always know what to say. but you didn’t recognize him, the times you’d forget you weren’t friends, or even civil haunted you.

how did either of you forgive yourselves for letting things become this way, to have gone from a connection you were born to have built, to being unable to speak.

your mind blames him, blamed the fact that he’d changed and forgot to tell you, the fact that he’d slammed the door in your face. but your conscious thoughts blamed yourself, for not understanding what he’d gone through, for not being more patient.

and so you’d close your eyes, thinking of the times finnick had helped your mom cook fish- insisting to her that it’s impossible to burn fish. he wore a sweet smile then, his hair was shorter- he looked more comfortable in his own skin. you wondered when that had all changed, when things had been turned this way.

ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

a/n: this was just a preface! not an actual chapter. i actually hate this with my whole heart but i needed to get this out of the way so the story would make sense. trust they’ll work it out !!

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