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janeyseymour · 17 days

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La Cosa Nostra- pt 1

*clears throat* ...hi. i present to you, the first part of the fic that @schemmentis are co-writing. and damn, if i do say so myself.

Summary: You're a part of the mob. Melissa is a part of the mafia. Together... it makes for an interesting life.

Let us know what you think because we are having an absolute BLAST with this!

WC: ~3k

You really don’t know how you ended up in this position.

One day, you were working at the local hair salon, the next, you learned that your boss was tied up in the mafia and needed some help getting out. Luckily for him; you already had contacts. Just not on the side he was with. Which means you couldn’t entirely get him out of trouble but you could help. And you did. You had called your “Uncle'' Joe for a favor. A big one. Taking the loans of your boss at the hair salon off the Italian’s books and claiming them to the Irish instead. At least then, you knew exactly who needed to be spoken to for the loans and what was owed. And that’s how you met Melissa Schemmenti.

Melissa had been sent on behalf of the Italian’s. To negotiate taking the salon’s books. She hadn’t given it up easily. The only saving grace was the fact that the Irish taking the books meant the Italians didn’t have a problem to worry about anymore. It was hard not to want to agree from the Italian side of it. They had nothing to lose. And you were indebting yourself a great deal to your own “family” by taking it on. Except you knew you could turn a profit if you were given the chance. You argued with the red-head spokeswoman tooth and nail, like your life depended on it. Yours didn’t, not yet. Your boss’ life did, though.

When Melissa finally agreed to turn over the books, she’d shaken your hand with an all too satisfied smile. One that you hadn’t forgotten since. You went around everyone in your extended “family” to ask her out. You half expected her to cuss you out and make it extremely well known you had tried. Instead, she’d said yes and told you to pick her up at six.

Fast forward seven years: you now own the hair salon, that red headed woman is your wife, and you have two beautiful little girls together. Everything is great- you would even dare to say perfect. Your front is working perfectly while still being one of the best hair salons in all of Philadelphia, your wife’s restaurant has taken off and she’s been named one of the most up and coming restauranteurs in the city, and your two children are well on their way to blossoming into two of the smartest kindergarteners you know.

The day your daughters were born is second only to the day you married Melissa in the happiest day of your life. Deciding to start a family as soon as possible, you began to lay down the foundations for a family. It had been decided that you would carry while attempting to find a donor that was as similar to your wife as possible.

The two of you had tried a few times before and hadn’t managed to get pregnant. The day that you went in to take a test and the doctor told you that were indeed pregnant was one that you’ll never forget- Melissa jumping out of her seat and tackling you in a hug, her hand already resting gently on your flat stomach. And when you found out that you were blessed enough to be pregnant with twins, Melissa had gripped your hand, making a cross over her chest with the other. She thanked God for blessing you with two; she thanked you for carrying them since she couldn’t imagine being the one to.

Having you carry was risky though, and it never left either of your minds through the entire pregnancy that you were technically on the forefront of this illegal business that you found yourself a part of now. But you were able to make it through your entire pregnancy without a hair on your head touched (you’re fairly certain Melissa had threatened both sides that if you were even looked at the wrong way they would be taken care of).

Melissa, even five years later, is positive you were only flattering her when you had requested to name one of your girls in honor of her. She was the love of your life, after all, you had argued. Caterina Ann had been born first, and two minutes later her sister followed. Melissa named her Rosalina Marie. Gifting one of her sister’s middle names despite their estrangement. When the two of them did finally reconcile and Kristen Marie met your rays of sunshine, she wept at their names.

And then, it all comes crashing down on you. You’re out with your wife to pick up the girls from their day at school when your phone rings- and not your personal phone: the phone that you use specifically for your business.

“Hello?” you answer softly.

“Y/N,” the manager on call replies. “We have a bit of a problem over at the salon.”

“You can handle it,” you roll your eyes. “I’m out getting ready to pick up the girls.”

“They ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says lowly. “Insisting you come speak to them directly.”

You hazard a glance at your wife, who is looking at you with furrowed brows. “Let me pick the girls up, drop the family at home, and then I’ll be in.”

“Make it quick.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” you reprimand your employee. “Don't forget I can fire your ass.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t get down here sooner rather than later, there’s gonna be a much bigger problem on our hands than we have now.” He hangs up.

You stuff your phone in your pocket, look up at the sky, and audibly ask the question, “Why?” All you wanted to do was pick up the girls and have a nice family night. You’d finally been able to take the day off after almost a month of straight work. Now though, that was being taken away from you, and you couldn’t even get a clear answer as to why.

“Why what?” your wife asks you, clearly concerned.

“After we get Cat and Rosie, I have to head down to the salon,” you huff. “Tony called and said someone is down there specifically asking for me over some sort of problem. So, I’m either giving out a ridiculous credit or I’m dealing with...” you trail off, knowing she’ll understand.

Melissa squeezes your hand. “Go. I can handle ‘em. Just... please be back for bedtime, because then I have to head to the restaurant to prep for tomorrow."

“I’ll do what I can,” you promise her. You peck her lips, and you turn in the direction of your business wondering what the hell you’ll be walking into.

You walk in through the staff entrance of the salon, swiftly ducking into the back office before anyone up front can notice. You dig through desk drawers and the small filing cabinet in the corner. You quickly slip one binder, the ledger of the illegal side of the business into the space between your belt and back before you tuck your blazer coat back over it. You grip the other binder you’d grabbed, the legal ledger, as you step back out of the office and towards the front.

“Tony,” You greet your manager with a big smile. Your eyes flashing your annoyance at him. “Who do we have here?” You quickly turn your attention to the two individuals standing in front of Tony. You hold your hand out to shake.

Instead of a handshake, a badge is flashed from each of the suits now focusing on you. “Agent Danik, and this Agent Shaw, FBI. You own this establishment?”

“I do.” You confirm. “What can I help you with?”

“We have reason to believe this salon is laundering money. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Danik tells you lowly.

“I’d be happy to answer what I can.” You say, attempting to seem cooperative. You know it won’t help you to dig your heels in. “But I can’t imagine where you’d get the idea of money laundering. I’ve owned this salon for almost a decade.”

“And you bought it from Bobby Esposito, is that right?” Shaw asks, brow raised.

“That’s right,” you tell them honestly. “I worked for Bobby for a few years before that; managing the office and schedules. All that.” What you’re saying is true- for years you had sent out schedules, managed different finances, and became the best stylist your business has to offer.

“Were you aware Bobby was murdered a few years ago?”

You blink. You did know. It would be next to impossible for you not to know. “Uncle” Joey had ordered the hit on Bobby and informed you about it so you wouldn't be surprised. Now, you make an effort to look shocked. “Bobby? Murdered?” You echo, your brow furrowing. “Why would somebody do somethin’ like that? Bobby’s just…an old man by now.”

The agents’ faces don’t change. You feel a shot of ice down your spine at the thought they don’t believe you. “We were hoping you might have an idea about that. The PPD has been kind enough to lend us a room. You mind coming down to the station with us, have a chat about all this?”

“I don’t mind.” You answer as calmly as you can. “But I have two little girls waiting for me at home. I promised them a bedtime story and all, you know how it is. Couldn’t I meet you down there tomorrow?”

“I know how it is.” Agent Shaw answers with a sigh. “I have a little girl myself. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to miss the stories tonight.” He does seem a bit regretful at the knowledge of you having children, but it doesn’t change the fact that they need you down at the station tonight.

You curse in your mind. Not only are your girls going to be disappointed; so is your wife. Not to mention the binder you’re still hiding that is definitely going to be noticed at some point.

“Right…” You murmur, glancing away from the agents. “Tony, call Mel for me, won’t you? Let her know I’m gonna be late tonight.” You say before starting to follow the agents out. “Oh,” You say, pretending to remember something. You glance over your shoulder. “And tell her to take that ziti of hers off the menu, huh?” You pretend it disgusts you to even think about it. It’s something you’d never dream of saying seriously. Which is why you say it now. When Melissa hears you said to pass that along, she’ll know something is wrong. Very wrong.

As you make your way out of your business and are escorted to one of the cars out front, Tony practically shits himself inside. He knows what’s happening, and he does not want to be the one to have to relay this information to your wife. Still though, an order from the boss is an order from the boss. He calls her cell phone on his own.

“Hello?” she answers as she juggles making dinner, assisting the girls with their reading, and making a list of things she needs to purchase for her own business tomorrow.

“Melissa? It’s Tony,” your manager sighs into the phone. “Don’t shoot the messenger when I tell you this, but Y/N ain’t gonna be home for bedtime stories tonight.”

Your wife nearly fumes. “What do you mean she isn’t gonna be... yeah, Rosie, that says ‘think’, good job sweetheart... What do you mean she isn’t gonna be home tonight?”

“She’s handling her business,” Tony states. “And you need to handle yours. Y/N said to take your ziti off the menu- it’s lacking.” And then he hangs up.

Almost immediately, the redhead knows something is wrong. That anger that had been there just a few seconds ago disappears in a flash- you’re in trouble somehow. You would never, ever tell her that her ziti is lacking. It’s your favorite dish of hers, and has been- it was the first dish that she ever made for you and had secured a place for her in your heart. It was the dish that you insisted be at your wedding because you knew that it would only make the one of the happiest days of your life even better.

She knows she has to call her manager and let her know that she won't be in until late tonight, if at all. The restaurateur is able to relay this information, along with the ingredients that she’s managed to put on a list to go shopping for, before turning her attention back to your girls and the meal that’s being made.

Once dinner is on the table, Cat and Rosie chat your wife’s ear off about their days- and while she would usually listen avidly, her mind wanders to you and what you could be dealing with right now.

“Mommy?” Rosie waves a hand in front of her mother’s eyes.

Melissa blinks a few times. “Sorry, baby. Mommy’s a little distracted thinking about the restaurant right now. What were you saying?”

She makes an active attempt to stay as engaged with the girls as possible. And they’re fine, up until bedtime. They know you’re supposed to be home by now; you had promised them that you would be home for a family night and to read them a story like you haven't been able to for a bit now.

“Mam is running late,” Melissa tells them regretfully. “But I’m sure she’ll read you a story another time, so can you please just let Mommy read and get to sleep? You have school tomorrow.”

That throws both of your girls into absolute conniption fits, and your wife can only get them to settle with her in the bed that the two of you share, each of them clinging to one of your pillows. The woman who so desperately needs to attend to her own business sighs as she settles into the middle of the bed, one of your twins on either side of her, and prays that you’re okay.

You rub your eyes as you sigh. Both Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek are sat across from you at the small table. The small interrogation room feels even smaller than it did when you entered. It’s warm with its lack of windows. It takes a good portion of your concentration every few minutes to remember you can’t remove your blazer despite the Agents having removed their’s a long time ago.

“For the fifteenth time,” You grit out between your teeth. Your hand falling away from your eyes to thunk onto the metal table. “I have no idea who would wanna hurt Bobby. He was a nice enough boss even if he was clueless about how to balance his accounting. I didn’t wanna hurt Bobby. I bought the salon from him years ago, which would have been the only thing he’d have that I’d want anyway.”

“Y/N, you know that just telling us the truth would get you out of here a lot faster.” Agent Dinek says. She doesn’t lean forward or uncross her arms that are over her chest as she looks at you. She looks bored now.

Your hand on the table curls into a fist. You’ve let the interrogation go on this long, hoping it would just be a few questions you could bat off. A couple answers and then home. Now, it’s nearing three in the morning and you’re still sitting in the uncomfortable chair. The agents are still staring at you from their seats next to the door. You swear the thermostat has risen a couple times since you’ve been here.

This, being in an interrogation room at the PPD with FBI agents, is dangerous. Asking for your lawyer is even more dangerous. If you have to resort to that; you’re well and truly fucked. In the few times you’d been in interrogation rooms, you’d only had to answer a few questions, clear up a timeline. That was it. Those moments though were never with the FBI.

They had only been with the PPD. Police officers you were more than familiar with. People from your neighborhood. People who knew you. People that came to the salon or your wife’s restaurant. A small handful on the force know exactly who you are and what your business really is. Those people though are in the families pockets. Irish or Italian, or both. Paid for their information their unique positions give them access to.

Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek aren’t in anyone’s pocket. They seem to know exactly who is, at least on the streets, though. They’ve brought up plenty of names you’re overly familiar with over the last twelve hours or so. Triple checking how you know them, and how well you know them.

You’re reaching your limit. If you don’t ask to speak with your lawyer, force the “interview” to end, your only other option is to come clean. You think about emerald green eyes. The eyes you fell in love with practically the first time you looked into them. You think about little faces that look like little minis of your wife even though she claims they look more like you. If you come clean it isn’t just you paying for this. Nevermind the people beneath you and the rest of the families.

What kills you to picture is your wife and your daughters paying for it. You don’t really care what happens to the Irish or the Italians at this moment. The entirety of Cosa Nostra could fall apart and you wouldn’t give a damn. If your wife or your girls are touched even the slightest, even just inconvenienced, you would raise hell.

You slowly lean back in your chair, feeling the binder beneath your blazer press into your spine. “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.”

TAGS, and let me know if you want to be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

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missglaskin · 2 years

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Yandere (HOTD) Targaryen/Velaryon/Hightower family (together) HCS part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Note: Finally part 3 is here! Also, this probably is some of the longest hcs I have done. This starts from episode 3 to episode 7. Mainly platonic, but there could be a romantic pairing. Also, the reader is basically trying to keep everything from going to shit

The conflict between Alicent and Rhaenyra has persisted over the years. And you tend to find yourself directly in the heart of the fights. However with Viserys there; he’s made sure that you diverge away from their disputes. He has long accepted that his wife and daughter will never get along, but what they will not do is involve you in their conflicts.

Many children have been born throughout the years, and the two women made sure you were there for each. They secretly want you to prefer one over the other. Although you lack a dragon, Alicent and Rhaenyra made their children believe you are related to them by blood.

Similar to their mother, Jace and Luke are a bit possessive. While they can be a bit mischievous, the two typically listen to you, even more than their mother. Their faces light up when they see you and they run right up to greet you. Also, they like it when you watch them spar, asking whether they did well, grinning back when you tell them they did. While you have noticed how different the boys are, you chose not to say anything, even when Alicent argued with Viserys regarding it.

At least for the time being, Luke is the youngest of the bunch. He takes full advantage of it when the other kids are fighting for your attention. Such as pretending to be hurt so you can comfort him. It is well known that he follows you around the court and becomes agitated when you focus on someone else.

Like Criston, there’s a very similar chance that Harwin also begins to have tendencies for you. His fondness for you doesn’t go unnoticed by the court. He trusts you well enough that he isn't afraid to show affection towards Jace, Luke, and Rhaenyra. Harwin feels so strongly about you that even the smallest remark about you will prompt him to intervene.

Since they've likely spent the most time with you, Jace and Luke are the most jealous of Aegon and Helaena. Aegon and Helaena are also very attached to you. Aegon is frequently pressured by his family to fill in a role he doesn’t want. He appreciates having someone who is gentle and doesn't push him as the others do. Helaena, on the other hand, is attached to you because you're the only person who doesn't think of her as strange or give her odd looks; instead, you sit with her and listen to her go on about all the kinds of insects she has.

Aemond is a completely different case. You're used to possessiveness, but Aemond is almost always by your side. Being the second son, he is frequently overlooked or passed over in favor of his brother, never mind the fact that he is still without a dragon. Because of all the love and attention, you show Aemond, he grows quickly fond of you. Including his siblings, he is jealous of everyone. The fact that Alicent also forces particular ideas into Aemond's mind is not helpful.

Aside from Helaena- in contrast to his two brothers, Dareon is also the most pleasant. Throughout the years, he has always been gentle and sweet and has often given you the prettiest flowers as they remind him of you. Dareon had to eventually depart from King's Landing in order to go to Oldtown and serve as Lord Omund Hightower's squire. Before leaving, he embraced you and made you swear you would exchange ravens, no matter what.

You occasionally also spent time in Driftmark with Rhaenys and Corlys. Rhaenys makes you ride her dragon back and forth, as it is the fastest way to travel. There are times when you run into Daemon and Laena, and they are thrilled to see you. Likewise, Baela and Rhaena become very excited whenever they get to meet you.

Similar to the other kids, the two girls adore spending time with you. They find themselves missing you when they have to travel with their parents. Rhaena sometimes feels left out compared to her sister and enjoys any attention you give her. Baela, on the other hand, is more demanding and jealous than her sister. She often reminds you of Daemon.

Speaking of Velaryons, Laenor is content to reside in King's landing, even though he longs to return home and engage in battles. Your presence there is one of the few pleasant things he anticipates. Laenor, unlike the others, enjoys sparring with you and will gladly teach you how to fend for yourself. It's one of his favorite ways to spend time with you.

Rhaenyra has objected to the idea a few times, but when you beg her to reconsider, she eventually gives in. She has Harwin watch and Laenor promises that only wooden swords will be used. Alicent and Criston, on the other hand, are horrified at the thought of you wielding a sword even if it’s wooden, and possibly hurting yourself.

Criston develops a rivalry with Harwin regarding you. And it's possible that Criston already dislikes Harwin as a result of jealousy or a bruised ego. Criston is supposed to be your sworn protector, not him. He will not only support Alicent's animosity toward Rhaenyra, but also ensure that some of Alicent's animosity is directed at Harwin.

Viserys occupies most of his time with you as he gets older and his health deteriorates. While he prefers Rhaenyra to his children with Alicent, it gradually becomes clear that he favors you even more. Viserys always relies on you for solace, and you never fail to reassure him. He feels comfortable sharing his shame and suffering with you, particularly regarding Aemma.

As Rhaenyra gives birth to Joffrey, you and Laenor wait outside. Only to be confused when you see Rhaenyra carrying Joffrey already walking and ascending the stairs. Apparently, the queen wants to see the baby right away. You insist she rests while you bring the child to the queen, but she refuses. There is a glimmer of hope in Rhaenyra that this will help you realize just how cruel Alicent is in this whole situation.

Your focus is now on Joffrey in light of everything that is happening. You are the one holding him the most, along with Rhaenyra. Luke, who is accustomed to receiving the majority of your attention, is a little jealous of his baby brother. As Harwin requests to see Joffrey, you place the child in his arms. While rocking the baby; he grins, saying you’d be a great aunt to the boy.

Since you lack a dragon, the kids quarrel over which one you should ride. Jace argues you should ride his dragon, but Aegon counters that since his is larger, it’ll be better. Aemond says nothing during the entire conversation.

When the boys offer to give Aemond a pig for him to ‘ride’, Aemond immediately goes to you; telling you what they did as you console him. You confront the boys to scold them on the matter and Aemond can be seen almost smiling in the background.

At Pentos, Laena wants to leave, but Daemon is adamant about staying. The truth is that Laena misses her home, her family, and occasionally, even you. And to make matters worse, Laena is worried about the hightowers, and she can tell that her husband feels the same way. Besides, her daughters also miss you.

As stated, you frequently watch the boys spar, and they all like to show off. Viserys occasionally join you and express his desire for the boys to bond through sparring. However, an unfortunate event occurs when Harwin lunges at Criston. As Harwin is pulled back by four men and forced to leave, Criston feels victorious; this will make you see Harwin as the man he is.

Before departing, Harwin bids you and the children farewell. He promises to come to see you someday and exchange ravens with you. Harwin advises you to take care of the boys and your "sister". You're not aware that this is the last time you'll see him.

Like her father, Rhaenyra attempts to keep you in her vicinity as much as possible during that time. The rumors surrounding the court become too much, and she feels as though her friendship with Alicent will never be repaired. Laenor is also preoccupied with drinking at the moment. This all just makes her feel more isolated than ever. She desires to depart for Dragonstone and wishes for you to accompany her.

As you might expect, Alicent declines and assumes you'll stay in King's Landing. But Alicent is taken aback when you ask to accompany Rhaenyra. This was brought on by guilt—the guilt you felt for siding with Alicent more than Rhaenyra, and the guilt you felt for not being a good sister to her. Otherwise, she wouldn't feel so alone. Even when Alicent is pleading otherwise, Viserys allows you to travel with Rhaenyra for a time.

You are greeted at Dragonstone with the most heartbreaking news: Harwin and Leana are dead. Knowing how much she cared for him, you take a moment to console Rhaenyra. Jace comes to you for consolation as well, and you let him grieve. Luke is still too young to recognize Harwin was his father, but he claims to miss him and exhibits sadness over his passing. When you finally get to Laenor to comfort him over the loss of his sister, you don't hold any of his tears against him.

When you attend Laena’s funeral, there seem to be only a few who are truly grieving. While you’re used to everyone’s eyes on you, this time it feels unsettling. Baela and Rhaena are the ones you approach first, and you take them both in your arms. Later, Rhaenys joins, and the two of you share a hug and a private moment. Then you find yourself walking up to Corlys, who is speaking to Jace. The instant Corlys notices you, he immediately stands up and embraces you, too. Jace is gently nudged by you to go comfort the girls.

Your eyes meet Daemon's, but Otto stops you as you try to reach him. Otto hugs you while expressing his regret for what happened; all in front of Daemon. You both can see the anger on Daemon's face as he walks to you. Otto is pulled aside, and the two of them have a brief conversation; you can tell from the look on Otto's face that Daemon said something demeaning.

Aegon seems to prefer being anywhere else than here. He is standing near you most of the time and will occasionally take a cup whenever a servant passes by carrying a tray. Helaena chooses to entertain herself by catching a spider. She shows it to you, and despite your sorrow, you smile at her. You are aware of Criston and Alicent watching you the entire, and wonder why Criston seems content.

Later at night, you are summoned to the room because of an incident involving the children. Luke, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena come running to you the moment you enter the room. As Luke's face is the most battered, your attention is drawn to him. But when you see Aemond on the chair, you are horrified. Aemond then turns to fully face you, wanting you to see what they did to him.

Nearly in tears, Alicent demands justice. When Viserys refuses, she is left with no other option. Alicent grabs the king’s blade and heads to the children. She is stunned to witness you quickly running to put your body between her and Luke. More so, the look on your face when she cuts Rhaenyra. It was a look of fear. She could still hear Rhaenyra's words, "Now they see you for what you're."

Aemond breaks the silence by telling his mother not to mourn over him, and that this is a fair trade. He leans on his mother, but she is perplexed when he abruptly leaves her side to approach Rhaenyra and those nearby.

They realize you are what he is actually heading toward, not Rhaenyra. You still have Luke in one arm when he approaches you, and Aemond rests his head against your shoulder. You reluctantly embrace him while everyone looks on. With his good eye, Aemond turns to Luke, glaring ferociously. No one notices.

You then remain by Rhaenyra's side as the maester sews her arm. In another room, Alicent is distressed. She tells her father about the looks you gave her that night and how she might have lost your favor. How she must have frightened you. But she is reassured by Otto that this is untrue; you embracing Aemond that night proved there’s still a chance of you being on their side. You’re fond of the children, and Otto will use that to his every advantage.

At night time, you're taken aback when Laenor wakes you. He apologizes for being absent when the incident happened and for failing to offer you comfort when you needed it, as he was too preoccupied with his grief. Strangely, though, Laenor bids you farewell and mentions how much he values having you in his life.

In the early morning, you’re in Rhaenys’ chamber consoling her for the loss of her son. Viserys had intended to take you with him to King's landing, but after seeing how Rhaenys became childless in a span of days, Viserys let you stay to aid Rhaenys in her grief.

You soon serve as one of the witnesses at Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage. You are surrounded by the children, who are all in your immediate vicinity. You knew the marriage was not done out of love, but to prepare for something, and for that, you have begun to dread the future.

---

Taglist: @westernbaby @elsyyie @athelleen

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blingblong55 · 9 months

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To live without- 141+Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 1 (John Price), Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Alejandro:

A mission ruined what used to be something so special and unique. All because of a man who has too much pride to admit he is jealous that his friends and coworkers find you lovely and fun to hang out with. Currently, he is stuck having thoughts about some woman in his team, she's new and was sent from Laswell, so he knows she is just as good for his team.

The downfall of your marriage started way before her though, she was just the last nail in the coffin. He had been sneaking around for months and at first, it was because of the anniversary gift he had made for you. Now, he was sneaking around like some teenager. For weeks on end, he would have late-night gym sessions, early-morning meetings and excuses to extend his stay on base.

Tonight after a much-needed out in the town with him, he accidently slipped her name out. "Natalia, me puedes pasar mi teléfono por favor?" the second you both came to the realisation, he started to make excuses. You never said a word and that's when his insults came in, he bashed and cursed you out. Telling you how horrible of a wife you are, criticising your body, your way of speaking, cooking and even the once healthy sex life you both shared.

"Enough, Alejandro Vargas!"

That's when he knew you were absolutely upset and engraved by him. You only called him by his full name in moments like this. You looked at him as he kept driving.

"You keep fucking saying shit about me, but where the fuck are your own truths!" All he did was stay silent because now he has made the bomb tick.

"Amor-" he tried to calm you down. "Do not fucking call me that! You have lost that fucking right and you have lost me with it because having me, being married to me and even being in my fucking presence is a privilege!"

He tried to hold your hand and you pushed him away. "I know you are cheating on me, I am not as stupid as you think I am. Best believe if there is a stupid one in this marriage is you." Your words are like a dagger.

"Let me explain-"

"I am not listening to you give me some bullshit explanation, Alejandro. I am done with you and this bullshit thing we call a marriage." You gripped on your purse, knowing well you had to finally let it out.

"Please, amor-"

"I want a divorce." You don't look at him, not daring to even make eye contact after asking such a thing.

At that moment, he slowly pulled over and stayed silent, tears forming in his eyes as he looked at the dashboard. You are both silent. The end of a marriage and the beginning, for him at least, of the what-ifs. All you did to stay and all he did to keep you away. At this moment, for you, you thought of your children, and how hard this would be on them but it's better this way.

To live without

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kingsanddragonsandgods · 6 months

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About the Great Council of 101 AC

Is it just me or does it bother anyone else the changes the show did about the Great Council of 101? Like, Rhaenys was passed over when her father died in 92, that was it. 101 was about Viserys and Laenor, and if a woman could pass the 'right' to inherite the IT to their male children. Laenor lost, 20 to 1. They run away from the point to make it meaningless.

I don't think the Great Council was Jaehaerys being weak, this guy is literally remembered and regarded as a wise and smart King, he consulted with his son, an Archmaester over the topic.

It has already being established that a women can not inherit, there is more than one precedent in their brief history to this point: Rhaena, the eldest daughter of Aenys, was passed over; Aerea, the named heiress of Maegor, was passed over; Daenerys, lost her position as heir the moment Aemon was born; Rhaenys, had no brother, so she was passed over in favor of her uncle, who already had two male heirs.

This all created a precedent. No woman shall inherit, no matter if she's the eldest daughter, the only daughter, or the named heir, as long as there is a male relative(brother, uncle or cousin).

There is not much sense in the Great Council of 101, Baelon the heir died, sad, but he had two sons, logically, his sons come next. What could have motivated the Great Council? This was not about the lords, not about giving them power, this was about family.

The Baratheons, who at this point, were family, Boremond and Jocelyn were Jaehaerys youngest half-siblings, and Jocelyn is Rhaenys mother, they are unhappy that he 'displaced' Rhaenys as heir; and Corlys a ambitions man who wants his blood in Jaehaerys throne, he married Rhaenys believing he would 'rule' as King Consort, and this was taken from him, and he is also unhappy that his wife was displaced as heir. This is about resolving the problem that the Baratheons and Velaryons could be in the future.

SO, here we have King Jaehaerys indulging them, let's pretend they stand a chance, but all must agree to the result, no more disatisfaction, no more nagging, no fight. The Council serves to: put Rhaenys, the Velaryons and the Baratheons in their place without being to upfront about it (it's also a humiliation, but oh, well); to show his family, look this is the position of our subjects, they don't want a woman ruling over them, to force it upon them would't go nicely(20x1, this is a shit ton of lords against); to create another precedent: a woman can't pass the 'right' to the Iron Throne to a son.

By the end of the Great Council what has been plainly estabilished by Jaehaerys? No woman can rule, no matter what, and the right to rule can't be passed through her to her children.

Jaehaerys estabilishes once and for all a agnatic succession. He secures the throne for Viserys with these proceeds and then, four years later, Viserys fucks up, spits in everyone's face, and names Rhaenyra as heir.

Rules and laws do not apply to him. He's the law. He's the King.

Yeah, Rhaena, Aerea, Daenerys, Rhaenys were not usurped! It was rightful!

Their situation was not that different from Rhaenyra's but somehow oh, poor Rhaenyra, but no one even care or remembers about all those that came before. Is laughble that Rhaenys would fight and die for Rhaenyra, for the daughter of the man who usurped her throne.

Jaehaerys did everything as to not look like a hypocritical usurper, only for his grandson to come and commit precisely the stupidity he tried to avoid.

#house of the dragon #team green #aegon ii targaryen #anti team black #pro team green #anti team black stan’s #anti rhaenyra stans #hotd

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theenpcbracket · 8 months

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The TTRPG NPC Tournament FINAL MATCHUP: The Shrike vs. Mary Byram & HE

Images are in the order of the poll! Image ID included, click to see the full image please!

More about each NPC below the cut!

Character 1

Name: The Shrike Party: The Fosters Relationship to party: Mom, stepmom, former boss, current leader

What makes them the best NPC: She's a thousands-of-years-old gnomish planar-physics prodigy from the future. She's divorced. She's engaged. She misses her wife. She's an absentee mom and she's mom of the year. She bakes the best scones in the world. She will shoot you with a harpoon without hesitation. She invented robotics. She loves prime numbers. She built her own legs. She sold her soul to a dubious and unknowable god in order to save her species' future. She's even a lesbian. The Shike. Bwaaaa

Quote: "YOU DON'T GET TO BEAT ME AT THIS, MOTHERFUCKER. WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

To learn more about The Shrike, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Character(s) 2*

*Due to an agreement between the parties during a tie very shortly before the polls closed (and due to it being the semifinal round of the tournament), Mary Byram and HE, though not from the same campaign, move forward as a team. Both descriptions are listed below in the order of their images above.

Name: Mary Byram Party: Ambiscade Gang Relationship to party: Coworker, divorcee

What makes them the best NPC: Mary Byram is living proof that the song “No Children” by The Mountain Goats doesn’t just have to be about romantic relationships gone wrong. She’s a bright red tiefling rogue with a storied past, currently working for a guild called the Thinfingers alongside one of the party members. Previously, she worked with a tiefling rights movement called Hellflame, but something happened there that she doesn’t really talk about. She’s still passionate about both the movement and the group, though.

Our bard lovingly calls her “Mare-Bear.” She hates this. She’s a day drinker. She’s exhausted always. She cares so much but will never admit it unless under duress. I think she genuinely thinks that god cursed her by metaphorically putting her in a get-along shirt with our rogue PC. Their dynamic allowed our party to coin the term “Coworker Divorce” except they’re literally not allowed to actually get rid of each other. She is also constantly saddled with the skater-pilled rogue who was also submitted to the bracket, so she’s usually outnumbered when it comes to harebrained schemes. She’s largely anti-antics, but is down for some antics if she's in control of them. She’s a mastermind and usually gives the help bonus action either by telling people what they fucked up or by telling them NOT to fuck something up. She deserves a break she’ll simply never get.

Quote: "Thoughts?" -the warlock, asking Mary about a proposed plan. "...More than you. Apparently." -Mary

To learn more about Mary, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!

****

Name: HE Party: The Misdemeanor Mateys Relationship to party: Businessman, aggravating party stalker, final boss

What makes them the best NPC: Mysterious tiny man with static for a head, and the loudest screechiest voice you can imagine (DM once blew out their vocal chords because of him). Levitates and teleports at will, and can pop objects in and out of existence. Runs a business granting magical favors. Originally tried to hire the party to help his business but the group said "fuck no". Now regularly pops in to nag, cause trouble, or play meme songs on a calliope, and occasionally provides useful information. HE controls an alternate dimension called the Mercantile Pile full of items from different times and places, including lots of modern-day technology (unlike the D&D campaign setting). He can be summoned by writing out his name. His calling card is a 7 of Spades, which he can also use to influence the world & cast spells remotely. HE mainly wears business suits & suspenders, but has also appeared in a hazmat suit (riding a tricycle), turtleneck sweater and thigh holster, wetsuit with suspenders painted on, sequin jacket with '69' on the back, peacock burlesque, and nurse drag outfit. He once killed 20 guards with a snap of his fingers. He also destroyed a walkman with a flamethrower. Implied to be the father of the ultra-powerful kid whose primary pastime is handing out enchanted "friendship nuggets" [chicken]. His #1 business competitor is Michael's Wonder Emporium. Eventually turns out to be one of the most central characters to the story.

Quote: "STAY OFF MY THRONE!"

"You're going to call me when you need me!"

To learn more about HE, check out the extra propaganda in his tag here!

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catofadifferentcolor · 1 year

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Terrible Fic Ideas #30: A Maiden Dark and Fair, but make it f!Jon/Renly

As some of you may be aware, I have a slight obsession with female Jon Snow fics, in large part because of the pairings it makes possible to secure the Iron Throne. So many interesting houses, so many potential grooms...

To which, I've spent the last several weeks trying to figure out how to make an arranged marriage between a female!Jon Snow and Renly Baratheon work.

Just imagine it:

Robert Baratheon is not a particularly liberally-minded man. He sees his youngest brother prefers men to women and, rather than make other arrangements for the succession of Storm's End, concludes that Renly just hasn't been offered a woman pretty enough.

Bobby B has also always wanted to join his bloodline to House Stark. His son deserves a woman like his own beloved Lyanna to be his queen. Joffrey and Sansa are of age - only Sansa takes after her mother, so that would be like giving his son a Tully bride, no matter how beautiful. Maybe they can betroth Tommen and Arya?

But wait! Ned has a bastard daughter - a beautiful, of-age bastard daughter who is said to be Lyanna come again, Alys. A bastard, yes, but Robert can do a favor for Ned and legitimize the girl and do a favor for Renly by marrying him to the most beautiful woman in Westeros.

Naturally, the only one pleased by this is Robert.

However much all other parties do not want this marriage to happen (Renly has no desire to marry a woman; Alys was intending to become the next Old Nan; Ned is worried someone in the south will see Rhaegar in Alys' features; the other great houses are offended the king's brother is marrying a bastard, &c), Robert does, and it's his opinion that matters.

And so Alys Snow becomes Lady Baratheon of Storm's End.

Much to everyone's surprise, Alys and Renly become friendly on the journey back south. It makes the marriage rather more bearable, but doesn't change the fact that everyone in Westeros expects heirs from them before too long.

There are two ways I can see this going: 1) Alys, being a Northern bastard without recourse to the Wall or the Faith, has spent most of her youth training as a midwife. Before Bobby B got involved, it was her intention never to marry - in part to avoid complicating the succession, in part because she's asexual despite Westeros not having a word for it - and help care for her siblings' children. She takes a very practical view of things, and after some trial and error with a medieval funnel, their problems are solved.

Or: 2) After spending some time together, Alys and Loras get along well enough that the three of them settle into something of a polyamorous relationship. Bi!Loras facilitates sex between his lover and his wife - dealers choice on the details - and while it's nothing any of them would have sought out, it works well enough for them. And if one or two of the kids look more Tyrell than Baratheon? Well, who knows who Alys' mother was anyway?

Fast forward two or three years to the events of canon, with Robert dying (either killed by his wife or his own bad habits) and the War of Five Kings breaking out.

Perhaps Ned still loses his head, but I like the idea he managed to avoid becoming hand of the king and thus was safely in Winterfell at the time.

Perhaps Stannis declares himself as king, but perhaps Alys helps to mend fences between the younger Baratheon brothers. This involves visits to Dragonstone - and the discovery (via dragon egg, a very similar looking portrait, a purple-eyed child, &c) that Alys might have a claim to the Iron Throne.

And so the War of Five Kings becomes a war of two kings (Joffrey and Balon) and a queen.

Bonuses include: 1) Ned not revealing Alys' birthparents until long after she guessed it by other means. This should be an awkward, uncomfortable conversation that Alys by no means makes easy on her uncle followed by some screaming (Alys has a lot of built up anger and resentment about her treatment at Winterfell, however good she might have had it compared to other bastards) and lots of tears; 2) a cache of dragon eggs at Dragonstone, including one that hatches into a dragon that looks completely black except under certain lights, where her scales shine deep purple; and 3) Loras, quite unexpectedly, finding a BFF in his lover's Northern wife. Their relationship should be reminiscent of Kirk and Spock, and at least twice a week Renly should have cause to bemoan the fact his wife and boyfriend get along better than he does with either of them.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #female jon snow #renly baratheon #loras tyrell #renly x loras #jon snow is a targaryen

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seraphtrevs · 2 years

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Lalo Salamanca is gay

Disclaimer: I would be shocked if any of the writers/showrunners came out and said they conceived of Lalo as a gay character and intended for him to be seen by the viewers as gay. I would be even more shocked if they wrote him as gay, but then decided to conceal The Truth from the fans for some reason. This is not that kind of trutherism.

Instead, let’s put authorial intention aside and engage solely with the text of the show. In this actual essay I wrote because I’m obsessed with AMC’s hit teevee show Better Call Saul and Eduardo “Lalo” Salamanca in particular, I will prove that a gay Lalo makes way more sense than a straight Lalo.

1) Lalo’s attitude towards women. I’ve already gone into this here, but I want to expand on it a little further. The Latin American drug cartels are steeped in machismo culture, in which men have authority over women. To a typical macho guy, the way Kim speaks to Lalo in 5x09 would be unacceptable - not just insulting, but a threat to his identity as a man. Even if he thought she had a good point, he would not tolerate that kind of disrespect without pushback.

Lalo has all of the power in that situation. There’s no reason for him not to yell at her to shut up at the very least, even if he decides killing her and Jimmy would be too messy (although he’s heading to Mexico as a fugitive already, so what’s another couple of murders to him?) Instead, he quietly listens to her tirade, considers her arguments, decides she probably has a point, and leaves without another word.

This is a baffling reaction if Lalo is a typical heterosexual, macho narco. But what if Lalo is gay? His relationship with machismo culture would be a lot more complicated. He would engage with it to blend in, but he would see it as mask he wears rather than a core part of his identity. You can take a mask off. Kim was talking sense, even if she was being disrespectful about it. He doesn’t feel obligated to put her in her place to defend his masculinity.

2) Where are Lalo’s children? The Salamancas are a family dynasty. It’s hard to keep a family dynasty going if no one is having any kids. Tuco is an unstable drug addict who’s in and out of jail, so it’s understandable that he hasn’t fathered any children. The twins are reptilian weirdos who can’t separate from each other long enough to make it with a woman.

But what’s Lalo’s excuse? He’s handsome, charming, wealthy, and stable (relatively speaking). He’s in his late 40s/early 50s, so he’s had plenty of time to establish himself. He owns a nice home where he could safely tuck away a wife and kids. Or alternately, he could have a bunch of mistresses and father children with all of them.

Instead, he lives the life of a confirmed bachelor, with only his paid staff to keep him company. That’s very weird if Lalo’s straight, but makes perfect sense if he’s gay.

3) The Nacho factor. This one is a little fuzzier and admittedly ship-tainted, but bear with me. Lalo is horny for Nacho. Their first meeting in 4x08 can be seen as a seduction attempt from Lalo (especially if you buy into my Nacho Christ/Lalo Morningstar interpretation). Not a literal seduction like he was trying in that moment to fuck him, but he’s clearly being playful (in a menacing sort of way) and trying to see if he can get some sort of yes from Nacho, even if it’s just yes to food.

But Nacho stonewalls him. Imagine Nacho saying no to Hector about anything. He would be furious at the disrespect. Lalo isn’t. If anything, he seems intrigued. His whole bit about getting Nacho to eat his tacos is not him establishing his authority as Don Eduardo, the narco boss who must be obeyed. He’s trying to a) figure out what kind of guy this Varga fellow is, but also b) see if Nacho will play with him. It’s not ironclad evidence of his horniness since Lalo favors a softer touch with other people, too (Jimmy, for example). But I don’t think it’s a stretch to view this first interaction as flirtatious.

Lots of viewers wonder why Lalo trusted Nacho so completely by the end, especially since we know that Nacho had so much hatred and frustration brewing under the surface. Nacho put in a lot of work to earn Lalo’s trust, as I’ve already talked about, but Lalo’s attraction to Nacho also plays a role in blinding him to Nacho’s true intentions. Lalo’s a smart guy, but his dick is stupid, as dicks tend to be.

Let’s go further and take a closer look at 5x10. Thanks to Kim’s advice, Lalo has decided to trust Nacho and bring him into his home. Lalo is a touchy-feely guy in general (see him schmoozing at Don Eladio’s party)…but he sure is getting extra handsy with Nacho, isn’t he? And then, by the firepit, when they’re all alone and every doubt Lalo had about Nacho has been put to rest, Lalo tells Nacho he’s “halfway to being a Salamanca.” Kind of sounds like a little more than “you’re my most trusted lieutenant,” doesn’t it? How does he plan to get Nacho fullway into being a Salamanca? (I mean, they wouldn’t get married and their relationship would have to be on the DL, but in their hearts Nacho could be a fully fledged Salamanca as his partner.)

And then when Nacho suggests they break out something stronger, Lalo is extremely excited about having their own little party, just the two of them, all alone in the privacy of his home, where neither of them have to worry about prying eyes or cartel gossip. Makes you wonder where he was hoping the night would lead. (The answer is he was hoping to take the Blowjob Express to Pound Town.)

So there you have it. Lalo is a gay homosexual, and good for him. In fairness, let me briefly address potential Lalo-is-straight counterarguments:

1) All characters should be assumed straight unless the writers say otherwise – BOO, this is homophobic and we are doing a dead-author interpretation here so it’s not valid anyway, next argument

2) We haven’t seen Lalo fuck a man, ipso facto he is straight – well, we haven’t seen him fuck a woman, have we? In fact, he turned down the opportunity in 6x05. IPSO FACTO HE IS GAY.*

*ETA - it’s been pointed out to me that I worded this last point in a way that was not inclusive of trans identity, so I’ve reworded it. Thank you for the tip!

#point number 4 was going to be look at him #because...look at him #but i'll leave it to the graphically gifted to come up with lalo-is-gay visual evidence #lalo salamanca #better call saul #lacho #meta

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six-magnitude-girl · 10 months

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The Black Swan

Tags: Bandits AU, love at first fuck, painful sex, slight dubcon, implied noncon (not Mikasa), mostly smut, misunderstandings, loss of virginity, suicide, suicidal thoughts, child abuse, kidnapping, catching feelings, no beta I die in this hill, sleep is for the week, this is the result of that persistent feeling of exhaustion and not doing enough at the same time

A/N: This is for @eremikaauweeks! Day 2, Tier 3: Bandits AU (with a little bit of Tier 1: The Princess Bride)

Mikasa Ackerman is supposed to get married in a couple of hours.

She's on her way to the church when someone hits her on the back of her head.

Oddly enough, relief is what she felt before losing consciousness. She won't have to marry the prince after all.

When she gained consciousness, she found herself trapped inside a wooden trunk. Her layers of petticoat managed to serve as a cushion so she managed to get herself comfortable.

Mikasa didn't know how they managed to stuff her and her enormous wedding dress inside a box but she was impressed.

Judging how the box she is currently in is rocking back and forth, she figured she was currently being transported to who knows where.

She closed her eyes and wondered if her life was the training for this moment.

Duke Kevan Ackerman went on a voyage to an island in the East where he met Akemi Azumabito.

They fell in love and Mikasa was the product of that.

It turns out, Kevan is already married to someone in Eldia.

Being betrayed and lied to is one thing but living in disgrace is a tad bit too far for any lady to bear for the rest of her life so she killed herself.

Kevan went home to Eldia and made his wife raise his bastard alongside his legitimate children.

It was Akemi's last wish to have Kevan bring Mikasa with him to Eldia for a better life. Riddled with guilt, he obliged. (That or he was scared of being cursed by a bunch of Hizurans).

It went as well as anyone could have expected.

Maybe Mikasa was just as crazy but she was thankful that, unlike her mother, her place was clear from the start.

The relationship she formed with her stepmother and stepsisters is more reliable than what she has with her father.

Unlike her father who alternates between favoring her and closing one eye to the treatment that she got, Mikasa found that she could always count on her stepmother and stepsisters to sabotage her in any way they could. That is comforting in a way.

It got a bit too overboard when she caught the eye of the charming prince…

It was like a real-life fairytale to everyone but all Mikasa could see is a lifetime of more suffering for her. A slave changing one master to another master albeit with a grander title and prettier clothes.

Everyone sees Mikasa as the happiest and luckiest lady in the world for being loved by a prince despite her questionable birth. Their story is known as the 'greatest love story'.

Rather than a love story, it's all about a delusional little prince who has a weakness for damsels. He even managed to insult her by describing her as a 'delicate little bird' and that is impressive in itself as she's been called a lot of names.

The prince clothed her, gave her gifts, and even appointed and demanded some ladies to be friends with her. All that thought on what color of jewel would suit her but failing to realize that he's fighting a losing battle and nothing could change what she is.

So when the prince announced their upcoming wedding without even consulting Mikasa, she didn't fight or say anything. Like always, she listened and went along with whatever the prince wanted.

Kevan looked at Mikasa with stars in his eyes as if her upcoming marriage to the prince was a justification for his deceit.

The ones she paid attention to are the queen, the queen dowager, and her stepmother. She couldn't discount the jealousy of the prince's admirers and her stepsisters too.

It's ironic how her enemies are the ones that hold the key to her freedom but she's not going to complain. She makes do with what she has.

In the darkness, it's hard to take track of time. Her arms are numb with how tight they tied her hands at her back.

To distract herself from the pain, she tried to listen to what was going on outside.

"Move her to another carriage and make haste to the mountains of Shiganshina."

Shiganshina? It's a lawless borderland that's occupied and ruled by bandits. Anyone who passed by was intercepted, robbed, and killed. It doesn't matter if you are a convoy, merchant, or a traveler.

"Once you are done with her, be sure to throw her back naked at the royal capital for everyone to see."

Mikasa doesn't recognize the lady's voice who's giving the orders.

The men laughed but answered in the affirmative.

Raped and passed around? She thought she was only going to get killed but the people who ordered this wanted her broken and humiliated.

"I also want her face marred beyond repair. Is that understood?"

They continued to talk some more and actually set off multiple decoys.

If Mikasa could whistle, she would. How thorough. It's almost too good of a plan to be pulled off by her stepmother; the royals must have helped.

Should she kill herself by biting her tongue?

The rugged mountain road is rough and it momentarily distracts Mikasa from her plans. She gritted her teeth and resisted making any noises.

Mikasa's cold and thirsty. She wonders if death is like this. If it is, she wished her box could at least be big enough for her to stretch her legs.

She closed her eyes again and thought there would be no difference whether she opened or closed her eyes since it was all darkness anyways.

***

"I won't ask again. What were you all planning?"

The new men from their ranks that Floch brought in are animals.

A fraction of the truth was all Eren needed. He's disgusted and that is saying something considering he's their leader.

"We're going to present her to you." one of the men sensing Eren's mood quickly amended.

"Then what about her?" The woman giving the order took a step back at Eren's attention.

"She now knows where our base is."

"I-I'm just here to make sure you go through the end of your deal." the woman chimed in, trying but failing to sound authoritative.

"I just took your plaything didn't I?" Eren gestured at the trunk presented in front of him.

"Take her as a replacement."

The men didn't need more encouragement than that.

Floch sidled up to Eren as they watched the three tear at their employer.

"After they are done, I want them disposed of. Make it painful." Floch knew he screwed up so he got to kill and bury his messes.

"What about the… lady… afterwards?"

"Didn't you hear about the plan?" Eren asked sarcastically, "gouge her eyes out, cut her tongue, hands and feet then throw her naked at the royal capital." Floch paled at having to do such a thing but nodded. Eren's giving him a lesson.

Satisfied, Eren carried the trunk to his room.

Eren felt dirty just thinking about what happened earlier so he took a bath.

After fastening his robe, he stared at the trunk in the middle of his room.

Eren opens it and sees a black-haired lady in a fetal position. She's wearing a fluffy wedding dress with a translucent veil attached to her head.

"I know you are awake, open your eyes."

Gray eyes blinked several times to adjust to the sudden light and turned her head to look at him. He's staring back at her, mostly surprised by how subdued she is.

Realizing that they can't exactly talk properly with her still in the box, he carried her out and laid her in his bed.

Truth be told, Eren doesn't know what to do with her. She didn't do anything wrong but she already saw his face and their base.

He expected resistance, screaming, begging, and crying but she was calm this whole time. It made things difficult.

She's the one tied up, laying on his bed, staring up at him but he's the one who's unnerved.

He sat her up and lifted her white veil to get a proper look at her.

Looking at her, he could understand why she inspires so much envy.

"Aren't you going to beg?"

"For what?" even her voice sounded pleasant to the ears.

Eren didn't answer as he doesn't know what he wants her to do.

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Turn around."

She's obedient and cooperative, that made him feel better with his decision to untie her.

"Thank you."

There's a moment of silence again.

"Do you have any lovers?"

"No." she nodded as if satisfied with his answer.

It's normal to have questions if you get kidnapped but those aren't the type of questions you ask. "Why are you asking?"

"You can't let me go and you don't want to kill me either," her hopeful gaze that she was right with her assumption pulls at his heartstrings, "so the obvious solution is to make me your wife."

It was Eren's turn to stare.

"Did I read the situation wrong? ...Will I be passed around after you are done with me after all?"

"No!" He denied vehemently. What kind of thought process does this lady have?

The lady looked thankful and gave him a shy smile! Why is she looking at him like that? Eren doesn't understand! Is this lady mad?

"What's your name?" that question snapped him out of his thoughts.

They almost had him. He clenched his fists.

He's got to give them credit for being creative. His eyes narrowed at the lady in front of him.

How nice of them to send a top-class whore to seduce and spy on him. If that's the case, there's no need to hesitate.

"On your knees." is all he said.

Confused, she hesitated but did as he said and kneeled on the bed, looking as innocent as ever in her white dress.

That agitated him more than ever, so he grabbed her by the arm, "On the floor."

"Suck it." He smirked seeing her eyes widen because of his stiffening erection in her face.

Eren grabbed a handful of her hair to push her face into his crotch, forcing his tip into her lips to keep things moving when she still wasn't doing anything. He knows he's big but she's overreacting.

"If I feel your teeth I will knock every one out," he grabbed her jaw to force her mouth open.

"I… I don't know." she finally said, unable to look at him.

Eren gave her a hard look, "Open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue," She did and he knew she felt self conscious. He was tempted to humiliate her but he's bewitched by her pleading eyes.

She must have always used her angel face to get away with not having to service her patrons this way.

Playfully smacking her cheek with his hardness, he didn't give her any time to hesitate and entered her mouth.

She has her hands on her lap, fisting her dress for support as she struggles to accommodate each of his thrusts that gets deeper and deeper.

Doing all the work somehow made it better for him.

The twitching in her mouth must have surprised her because she attempted to move away but he used her hair as leverage to hold her in place as he fucked her face.

To her credit, after a while, she tried moving her tongue around and the feeling of his cock stroking back and forth across her tongue was heavenly.

He stopped. It felt good. Too good and he could no longer wait. He wanted to taste her. He let her finish coughing and panting on the floor.

Without a word, he hoisted her on her feet.

It's like unwrapping a gift. He nibbled her nape as he unlace or unbuttoned layers upon layers of her wedding garb.

When he felt her leaning against his touch, he bit her neck and felt her stiffening.

Eventually, he lost patience and decided to just cut her out of her dress with his knife.

As soon as she turned around to face him, he pushed her into the bed and mauled her.

Straddling her down, she tried holding him for support but he flipped her to have her lie on her belly to stop her from touching him.

He covered her body with his when he lay on top of her. He felt her shiver as he breathed directly into her ear.

Snaking his hands around her torso, he grabbed and squeezed her breast.

Liking the fullness that he feels in his hands. He smacked her bottom for being sinfully beautiful. Satisfaction welled him when he felt her nipples hardening against his palms.

It seemed like she didn't get the hint earlier and reached for him again, caressing his neck so he put one hand on her neck to push her face down the mattress, his second one holding her wrist and turning it behind her back.

She finally stayed still with her face down after a few seconds of holding her down like that.

Spreading her legs, he placed himself in between them to penetrate her.

He can already feel his eyes rolling back with just the tip inside her.

It was warm and tight inside her. He felt her stiffened and he caressed her back to soothe her. He couldn't help but close his eyes, feeling her insides pushing and fighting against him.

Eren grinned at the surge of wetness that he felt trickling down her legs. He takes her by her waist and pounded on her.

With the type of life he's living, he's had his fair share of women but no one was as quiet as she is. He felt her breathing heavily but there was just no noise apart from her lubrication with each of his thrusts.

He stroked her buttocks and moved them back and forth faster, plunging into her deeper but there was still nothing.

Did she pass out?

In the surprise turn of events, she has more fight in her than anyone realizes.

When he tried to flip her, she bent her body towards him but was determined to bury her face in the pillow.

When he saw her bloodied thighs, he quickly found out why.

If Eren was a better man, he would have stopped right then and there. If he's a better man, he would leave this poor lady alone and find some actual whore to finish. Unfortunately, he's not. He always gets what he wants and he wants her.

Gentle butterfly kisses are made to the base of her spine up to her nape before completely eclipsing her body with his. His arm supports his weight to not crush her.

He stimulates her body by giving nips on her shoulder, neck, and ear.

Reaching down, he gently rubbed her clitoris which made her squirm, and attempted to close her legs.

"Shhh… this won't hurt. I promise." he felt her pause before ultimately adjusting herself to give him more access.

She eventually faced sideways and saw her covering her mouth.

When he felt her pressing herself on his fingers, he knew it was time.

"Can I see you?"

She obliged by laying on her back.

Eren lay on his side next to her. She still won't meet his eyes but atleast they are making progress.

He continued rubbing her clitoris while he sucked on her chest.

Slipping his hand under her head, he lifts her and kisses her. He gently caressed her face and kissed her tear tracks away.

Both are hyper-aware of his cock pressing hotly against her backside seemingly trying to find its way inside her.

He positioned himself on top of her, pushing his tip experimentally to see how she reacts.

She doesn't seem to be in much pain but it bothered him that she had her arms placed firmly at her side.

After letting the tip sit in for a few seconds, he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, "I'll be gentle." He placed her arms around him while burying himself deeper into her.

She quickly covered her mouth when breathy moans came out of her when he started going faster.

"Does it hurt?" he smirked, knowing full well what the answer was. He held her hand so she wouldn't be able to cover her mouth.

Meeting his eyes, she shook her head and held on to him for dear life.

With her full participation, he had his way with her until the morning.

It wasn't surprising for him as his sexual appetite has always been like that but she pleasantly surprised him with her ability to keep up.

Eren still wants to go on but restrains himself seeing the dazed expression on her face and how her legs hadn't stopped twitching since the second round.

Their bodies are sated and are tangled up in sheets.

He's stroking her hair and hasn't taken his eyes off of her. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa" she answered and when she turned to look at him, he leaned down to kiss her.

"Your husband's name is Eren."

#eremika #eremikaauweeks #emperiod #eren x mikasa #eremika smut #day 2 #eremika fanfic

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aegor-bamfsteel · 1 year

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The HoTD showrunners decided to make the Velaryons blck, and then promptly ignored them. The show cut Laena and R's friendship, reducing her to a minor, forgettable character who only appears on screen for one ep and then dies. L is a irresponsible man who makes a big speech about stepping up on his duties as a father, but the next time we see him, he's running away to the free-cities with his bf (facilitated by the death of a black guard), pretending to be dead. V dies for telling the truth (1)

Corlys abandons his wife after their children's death, openly states that he prefers Strong bastards to inherit Driftmark over his own granddaughters, and eventually allies himself with a woman he believes murdered his son. Rhaena and Baela are one-dimensional characters, existing only to cheer Jacerys and Luke. The showrunners discarded the importance of the Velaryons in the books, and turned them into minor characters that can be depended upon to make the most illogical decisions (2)

I agree that they reduced and downplayed the Velaryons with taking away their personalities (Laena and her daughters), although I don’t think they were even written well in the novella (Laena has more depth but she still dies without doing much of note, Laenor is a stereotype, Corlys isn’t written consistently because would “a proud man” consent to the Strong scheme? Lol no) However, having the Velaryons played by black actors adds otherwise avoidable racial subtext that is never questioned when it comes to the Silent 5. The Velaryons were marginalized to prop up the Targaryens who did horrible things to them in the novella.

The theft of the Velaryon lands—Rhaenyra passing a child by a non-Velaryon father as the heir to Driftmark, reducing Rhaena an actual blood descendant to a consort—was already an outrageous sign of selfishness, but now in the show it’s attempted thievery of the lands/titles of what seems like the only black family in the continent by an entitled white woman in favor of her white son, over a black man/biracial girl. But what’s egregious in the show is that it tries to get us to sympathize with Rhaenyra over Vaemond, who instigated the theft. In the novella, after Laenor’s death and Corlys’ illness, Vaemond claimed to be his uncle’s heir on the grounds Rhaenyra’s children were Strongs. Rhaenyra sent Daemon to decapitate Vaemond and fed his headless corpse to her dragon, in an over the top display of cruelty. When Vaemond’s family sued Viserys for justice, he had their tongues removed because they had repeated the “lie” that the children weren’t Laenor’s, essentially giving Rhaenyra a blank check to hurt anyone to protect the kids’ (false) paternity. In the novella, it was during this order to mutilate them that Viserys cut himself on the Iron Throne, which nearly killed him and forced Maester Gerardys to amputate two fingers to save his life. Not some random stag hunt that was never mentioned in the books. In the books, a ruler cutting themselves on the Iron Throne is associated with them being lacking somehow, especially during that moment. Viserys wasn’t hurt because he failed to catch an ancient sign of kingship in the woods, he got hurt because he ordered the mutilation of a grieving family in order to protect his daughter’s right to do as she pleases. The show made Vaemond into an overt asshole, calling Rhaenyra a “whore” and her children “bastards” which he didn’t before, putting the focus on the sexism she faced in hopes of us forgetting she was trying to steal lands from a black family (it’s not gonna work because book readers know the politics), and ended up killing a rightfully angry black man. Instead of Rhaenyra ordering a hit on him and having Syrax eat his corpse—foreshadowing for when she gets fed to a dragon despite being “the rightful heir”—she just barely nods at Daemon (it had to be pointed out to me she okayed his murder) who cuts the man’s head off. There’s no Silent Five that shows Viserys to be a horrible enabler and tyrant by ordering Vaemond sons’ mutilation for telling the truth, and the implicit condemnation when he nearly dies after cutting himself while giving the order. So there’s no consequences for any of the Targaryens, because in the novella 3 of the Silent 5 joined the Greens in that war out of protest for what Rhaenyra/Viserys did, but in the show, Vaemond is graphically decapitated and it never comes up again. Alicent according to the episode synopsis even feels badly for Rhaenyra because of Vaemond’s words…even though Vaemond died for those words, whereas Rhaenyra gets coddled by her uncle-husband and father. The show allegedly focuses on sexism as a form of oppression, but casting the Velaryons with Afro-British actors adds racial dynamics to what the Targs do to them, and so far that’s been ignored in order to make the Targs look better.

Laena in the novella has a better personality and ending, even with her minuscule page time. She was a tomboy who tamed the fiercest and oldest dragon at 12, who was amenable enough to be friends with the difficult Rhaenyra and married to Daemon. She did die in childbirth, but it was with her husband and friend with her in her childhood home Driftmark, while she tried to ride Vhagar one last time. In the show, she gets barely any personality—they have a Stepstones battle with the Velaryon men and Daemon, so what was stopping them from adding Rhaenys and Laena on their dragons?—and instead of a peaceful end, the writer Sara Hess has her commit suicide (which must’ve been lovely for those who are triggered by suicidal ideation) by asking Vhagar to burn her alive; she says that’s “a dragonrider’s death”, but if that’s true, then I guess the victims of the field of Fire, King’s Landing Massacre, Varys, the Tarlys, the Rhaescape, the Stepstone warriors, were all dying like dragonriders too. It’s repeatedly shown how painful burning to death is in books and show. It’s not a dragonrider’s death; it’s a dragon’s victim’s death. Then her widower has sex with her sister-in-law after her funeral, so I guess she didn’t matter. Someone referred to show!Laena’s Suicide scene as a “strong black woman” death as opposed to her more peaceful send off in the books, and I agree to the extent that it was needlessly cruel and nonsensical.

Somebody wrote to me that “the writing was getting stupid” when they watched Laenor’s send off episode. I mentioned it before, but while I’m glad the black gay man wasn’t killed to facilitate the white uncle-niece from getting together, the fact they had him abandon the children who were legally his, abandon all of his old life even his dragon just for Qarl (basically exiling himself with no chance to return), and not even tell his parents who just lost their daughter and his mother at least is alone with grief…well, it makes him look terrible just to make the Targaryens look better letting him leave (see? We knew Daemon would never kill an innocent man! This is Game of Thrones “civilians don’t count”). That Rhaenyra just illegitimized her entire line hasn’t been brought up yet, and considering the writing’s approach to politics in this fantasy political drama, might not be. Her explanation to Jace that she’d tried with Laenor undercuts how the Strong children—and her efforts to silence those who pointed out they weren’t Velaryon—were an example of her selfishness and entitlement, that she could have children with whomever and the realm would have to accept they’re legitimately Laenor’s even though it’s obvious they weren’t. Needless to say, her crack about Laenor’s sexuality—saying he’d prefer her 4 and 7 year old half brothers, which just like Cole’s comment about him liking boys was equating homosexuality to pedophilia—was cut out completely, because Rhaenyra can’t be politically incorrect ever.

Rhaena and Baela don’t get much characterization in the novella—and Baela’s characterization in F&B including retconning away her burn scars made me furious—but they should at least be distinguishable from each other. Baela has short hair, is loyal, likes swords and riding Moondancer. Rhaena has long hair, more accepting of authority, likes dancing, and feels jealous she doesn’t have a dragon. HOTD took most of that away in their few scenes, leaving only the dragon jealousy and bravery.

Basically, nearly every character suffered so the show could focus on the Targaryens, who had many of their horrible actions downplayed, changed, or ignored (imagine trying to make the land thief the victim in the situation). Casting the Velaryons with Afro-British actors, but not doing anything to address the racial subtext of the Targs neglecting/abusing/murdering them (as well as turning them into absentee fathers or sexists to make the Targs look better), in addition to flattening their already thin characters, just adds to the mess of this show’s writing and themes.

#ask #anti hotd #rants #racism

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dysfunctional-family-fight · 9 months

Text

Propaganda for the Jiang Family

CW: murder, choking, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, homophobia

"*pats family* this baby can fit so much resentment in it. Parents dislike each other and fight, yell at children and pit them against each other leading to but not only choking each other, one of them sacrificing basically his life for the other, blaming one for their parents deaths, one of them kinda accidentally causes the other siblings death which then causes a whole body of other issues when the other one comes back to life, it's just not great overall."

"Yu Ziyuan is certain her husband doesn't love her and prefers Wei Wuxian, his husband's alleged lovechild (not actually his) over their own children, especially son, and punishes every member of the family for this. Jiang Fengmian is certain Yu Ziyuan hates him and is apathetic about it, accepting her "punishment". Jiang Yanli is mostly ignored and set aside because she has a weak body because of an illness and does like, 80% of tge actual raising of her younger siblings. Wei Wuxian, because of Yu Ziyuan, is certain he isn't actually part of the family and he should put his siblings', especially Jiang Cheng's, needs above his own (and not like, personal needs but the perceived needs as the head of the clan). Jiang Cheng, because of her mother, is certain his father prefers Wei Wuxian and he isn't good enough to be the next clan leader.

There's corporeal punishment, verbal eviscerations, lack of communication, and love. The love usually manifests as not telling family members that they are loved but instead making major unacknowledged sacrifices without consulting the person it actually concerns, and then keeping it a secret and distancing that family member. They love each other so much and yet are so bad at not hurting each other.

And then everyone except Jiang Cheng keep dying."

"omg. the parents are a somewhat arranged marriage and the dad was in love with some other woman and adopted her kid after she died, and his wife knows this and is insanely jealous because she knows the dad 1. doesn't love her and 2. loves his adopted kid more than his actual biological son. rumors fly around about dad's supposed infidelity. mom is verbally and emotionally abusive to the kids and dad is fairly passive in its face. the adopted son is treated as a brother to the heir of the sect (they are also a political family) and also as a servant, creating a deeply dysfunctional dynamic in which the adopted kid struggles to navigate an impossible set of expected roles. he wants please the mom (who hates him and punishes him for the smallest mistake, including being better than her bio son at things), get parental love from the dad (who favors him and makes him feel guilty for being loved more than the bio son is) without upsetting his adopted brother (who is deeply insecure because he knows his dad doesn't like him and the favored adopted brother is a genius who is better at him than anything). every family meal is a battleground. nothing gets done and everyone conforms themselves into shapes the others will approve of, except the mom who lashes out in bitterness and rage at everything.

before going to defend their home from an attack that led directly to their deaths, the parents messed up their children one final time. the mom said that the attack was adopted boy's fault and that she hates him, prompting him to sacrifice his life for the biological son in several tragic and avoidable ways.the dad likewise told adopted boy to be the protector of his bio kids, pushing adopted boy back into a servant role when he was also a traumatized child reeling . there's also an older sister in there but she's ignored by half the fanbase and her parents, usually. as we can imagine she's heavily parentified because her parents are useless. as adults the brothers are almost completely estranged because their sister died and one of them tried to kill the other one for it and their relationship was maintained by her anger translation. in a series spanning 25+ years, almost all the many issues in the mc (adopted boy) and his brother can be directly traced back to his parents' behavior. also bio son is homophobic to adopted son but that is relatively low on the list of ways their relationship is bad. he intentionally triggers him with his worst fear once he comes back from the dead. most insane family I have ever seen in fiction"

#propaganda #jiang family #mo dao zu shi

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Birth

Word Count: 9,406

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nettles

Warnings ⚠️: Spoilers for Fire & Blood; age gap relationship; minor smut

Description: Her hand went as cold as ice yet it burned. A tawny woman pulled her away as her grief turned to screams and curses. No one was there to answer her childish cries.

AN: This story takes place from 135 AC onward following the events of the Dance. I’ve also aged up Nettles a smidge and basically kept Daemon’s show age for reasons.

Chapter 1: The Visitor, Chapter 2: An Impossible Truth, Chapter 3: Spring, Chapter 5: Life

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136 AC- Mountains of the Moon

Nothing is without its price. Not even life. A price which is so very often death. Blood at the least. The Gods will always have their pound of flesh. It is a woman’s duty to bear it. Women are made for it. To deliver them their dues.To beg for the Mother’s gentle mercy that her offer will suffice. It was the bargain struck for life. The price owed. The sum that had to be paid.

The continued spring of 136 AC was a time for life. The Mountains of the Moon was not an exception to this rule. Late that year, in one of her glens, a woman labored. The last known dragonrider. Ushering in the birth of two Targaryen’s. Albeit their birth had caused their mother much strife and their father worry for her, such is the price of life. Life is a messy business. A strange business that stretched the mother to her limits.

Nettles felt as if she had been lit on fire during her second labor. Pain radiated out from her abdomen. Spreading throughout her body. Overtaking her being. Nettles could not concentrate on anything else. She could vaguely recall facts. Concentrated on them. Tried to focus on them to distract herself. Who she was. Who everyone was surrounding her. How she got here. Everything blurred, but she held onto her last shreds of sanity for dear life.

It was not as the last time. With her son. Her sweet boy. Her beautiful boy who had been called to the Gods before he could even live. Before she could know him and watch him grow. She had given him life, but not a life. Nettles had mourned and feared that same outcome then.

The contractions were gradual. Never all at once. A natural progression of events. Normal even until it was not. It was an easy enough labor though the outcome only led to sorrow, but this, this was different. This was unnatural. There was too much. She had been enveloped in a giant bundle of pain. An ache caused by round after round of seemingly never-ending contractions. A blur. Shrouding her in its tight grip. One after the other with no sign of stopping. Prolonging her suffering with no end in sight.

Coming in and out of her haze Nettles had seen that she had been moved to their bedroom. Her birthing chamber. The same ill-favored room as the time last. Five years ago. They had meant to be moved from here and into their new home on the other side of her glen, but fate as always had other plans. The babes could not wait.

Bess and Shalla, whose timing had been most fortunate as they had both come to check on her progress, made quick work readying their chambers. Stripping the bed and her person of the linens and her clothes. Their linen was swapped for sheets, pillows, and old blankets that she did not worry soiling and herself in a simple nightgown.

The Vale women had tried to shoo Daemon away. Shalla was an overly opinionated person and her opinion on the matter was the birthing bed was no place for a man. “You’ll frighten her. Breathing down her neck you old man.” This was a woman’s domain. Her domain. A sacred place for mother and child. Or children in this case. Away with man who fought to meddle, but the man in question would not leave Nettles' side.

“They are my children as she is my wife.” Daemon challenged the older woman. He wouldn’t leave. Not when his little wife needed him most. When she was half out of her mind and about to give birth to two babes. Not after what had happened to their babe. He hadn’t been there for their son's birth, but he would for her and their children this go around.

The Targaryen man’s violet eyes hardened as he stared down the mountain midwife. Who would not budge? It was a battle of wills. Who would blink first? In the end, her husband’s won out at Nettles’ insistence.

“Stay.” Nettles had managed to croak out reaching out to him. Her dread over his presence all but evaporated. She feared more than his disappointment. She just wanted him there beside her. He took her sweaty ashen hand and gave it a light squeeze placing a kiss on her forehead. Looking all too self-satisfied, but he was a comfort. Something normal to hold onto. She wanted him here. Seeing his lined face looking down upon her felt right. Familiar. Shalla grumbled, but she would not protest the wants of the mother-to-be.

Nettles was running too hot. Her temperature had risen considerably and quickly. A fever. Bringing on queer illusions. She was barely lucid. Her mind was racing. Between her present and some nameless void. Swarming with half-pictured frames. Never focusing on one thing for long. A mist had come over her. She was being haunted by the phantoms of her memory. Driftmark. The battles of gullet’s flames. Madam’s manse. Dragonstone. Maidenpool.

She recalled her mother's amber face among the echoes of the past. Calling her name. She dreamed of her before. From time to time. It was always the same memory. The last recollection of the woman who gave her life. Reaching for her as she lay in her bed. “My brave girl. You’ll be alright Nettles.” Her hand went as cold as ice yet it burned. A tawny woman pulled her away as her grief turned to screams and curses. No one was there to answer her childish cries.

Shalla and Bess had drawn her a bath. Daemon lifted her from her stupor to place her in the tub. Stripping her of her gown. Gathering what remained of the ice outside to fill in the bath. Trying to cool her down. She was hot as coal left long in the fire. “Your dragon’s must think I am one husband,” Nettles whispered when Daemon bent down to stroke her damp coils. It caused him to let out a laugh. A strained one. Cut short. One that did not reach his eyes.

It was all so very strange. The strangeness of it all would have comforted her. Had Nettles not already had a babe. Even with what had happened she could see that this was not right either. Too strange.

“You’ve got a ways to go Nettles.” Bess had tried to comfort her. Gentle Bess. Kind as she was. Giving her the same smile that her husband had bequeathed. Lightly clasping her hand in placation. She could see the worry in her eyes

Their efforts seemed to work. If only temporarily. Nettles was burning up once more when she was removed from her bath. Bess and Daemon took turns wiping the sweat from her brow before Bess was called to assist her aunt with other matters. Errands. Fetch someone. Or fetch this or that. At some point she lost track of her friend.

Nettles was handed what felt like an endless stream of tinctures. Daemon for each he questioned the effects upon her and their babes. Ultimately, he bent to the midwife and her assistants' judgments under the threat of banishment from his Netty’s bedside. He was a man of war and fire. The birthing bed was outside the Targaryen prince’s bounds.

Time continued to blur as the sands rolled by. It was hard to tell the difference between a minute and an hour. Day had become night and day again. Nettles’ only way to tell the time was by the dying day's light and the faces she saw. More faces than Shalla, Bess, and her husband.

Jon came. Some of the clan men and women as well. The men tried to pull Daemon away. Convince him that he would be better if he waited outside with them. He had declined their suggestions and countered with his own offer. One that involved forcing the lot of them from his home with the blunt end of their own axes. Driving them away with his foul temper.

The threat of an old dragon's fire. In truth, they did not believe his curses. The man himself was at his wits end worrying over their reverent fire witch. He did not mean harm, but they did not want to test the Rogue Prince's patience. His ire was enough to send them on their way.

Ages had passed when Nettles was finally allowed to push them halted, not what seemed mere minutes later. Her simple relief was taken away from her. Yet the urge was still there. It was hard to fight it. As she lay there. Thoughts poured through her mind. Trying to distract herself from the pain. Focusing on her breathing. Inaction was a poor substitute for the euphoria of action.

She felt as if she had been dunked underwater even without being so. A mirage. Like she could float away. Into her pain and away. Where afterward, she did not know. The unknown she supposed. Nettles was losing consciousness. Losing her grip on reality. The babes were taking too long.

They had turned away from her bedside. Eerie sentries gathered in the doorway of their bedroom. Huddled together. Speaking in hushed tongues. A litany of voices. Occasionally a gloomy head or two darted towards her way before turning back to the rest.

She could just make out some of what Shalla, who led the charge, had said. The look on her husband's face at the kindly woman’s words. Daemon looked as if he was seeing a ghost. His pale face had turned white. Drawn in. Hissing at her who gave him an earful back.

The babe was flipped. Coming out feet first. Wrong side up. They had waited as long as they could, but they could wait no more. The babe needed air. Needed out from her womb that would suffocate them if they did not.

Nettles did not need to read their lips or listen to their strained voices and gaze upon their pale faces to know what they meant for her. Turning her head away to face the open window. A choice would have to be made. It was not up to her. She was trapped here. In this bed. Awaiting their decision. Her husband’s decision.

Laena. She thought of Laena. Her thoughts turned to the woman her husband had loved before her. His second wife. A woman her husband had claimed to love before her. Who he had married based on his adoration for her as well as her name.

Daemon was not an easy man to love. He was never an easy man. He did not give his affection away freely. Rarely were you bestowed with such a gift of the Rouge Prince's love. Even when you were, it was such a fraught thing.

A son. He had wanted a son. An heir. Laena had sought to give him one. What other choice did he have except to give him one? His long-awaited heir. A legitimate Targaryen. One with the potential to inherit the Driftwood throne. If circumstances allowed it, perhaps even the future king of the seven kingdoms. A claim to the throne at least. A son of House Targaryen. Of unimpeachable pure Valyrian blood. She had failed to deliver him the son that he longed for.

She thought he would cut her open. They’d have to cut her. There was no other way. If he wanted the baby out he’d have to butcher her. Daemon swore he would not, but who was to say? The man had wanted an heir. The things a man will do for their wants. The things a man like Daemon would do for his wants.

Laena had taken matters into her own hands. Fled her birthing bed. Gone to Vhagar. Commanded her to light her on fire. The dragon had been reluctant, but Laena’s pleas had one out. Nettles had thought the woman mad when she had first heard the tale from Baela. The girl had been so young. She had blocked most of it out, but she could never forget her mother’s pleas.

“My uncle murdered his wife for a babe that survived but an hour,” Nettles recalled her violet eyes misting. Her voice became uncharacteristically low. “That was her worth.” A woman’s worth. Her only worth. To provide When it was all said and done, mayhaps Laena had not been so mad.

Mayhaps Daemon had only wanted their babes. He already had his heirs of course, but his relationship with his children baring Baela was contentious. This was to be his fresh start. His do-over. Not theirs. Not for the mother. Not for her. Nettles was a vessel. A wife was easy enough to find. Easy enough to replace. He meant to get what he truly wanted from her as he had with Laena.

Or mayhaps he had gotten bored with her. Of this farce. Realizing she was not all that he had dreamt her to be. She was not an exception. She was nothing extraordinary. She was Nettles. A simple girl. An ordinary woman. The spell she cast had been broken. Her charm worn off. At long last, he had come to his senses.

You’re too weak Nettles. That voice returned. The girl. The clearest thing she had heard since she took to her bed. You can not even give birth to his children. Dragons. You are not meant to mother such children. You can not. Even the Gods know it. It’s why they took away your boy. Why they will take away these babes too. You are not worthy. You know that. Bastard girl from Driftmark. You shouldn’t be here. Go. It would be a kindness.

They weren’t looking. Quiet. Stillness. If she was quick about it they would not notice. They would not see her absence. By the time they did, she would be halfway to Sheepstealer’s cave. By the time they did, she would be gone. It was her only chance. Her only option. Nettles took it. Grateful that their arguing distracted them enough to make her way out of the open window and into the early spring night.

The cool air did not bother Nettles. It should have. It was a cool night; the walk to the brown dragon's lair was far for a woman in the throes of labor, and she was only clothed in a simple slip of a gown. It should have stopped her, but the fire from her womb had sunk its claws into her. The only thought on her mind was Sheepstealer as she stumbled through the dark. Fighting through the pain that racked her body. Forcing her to pause at odd intervals.

She was only a quarter of the way to the dragon's lair before she heard Daemon calling after her. “Netty.” She hastened her speed. As best as she could in her state. A valiant effort. His voice only grew closer. “Netty.” A roar. A tremble that carried in the wind. She lost her balance. Tripped on a loose rock in her scramble. Skinned her knee. Tearing through her sweat-soaked gown. Staining the stones with her blood, yet Nettles remained determined. If she could not walk she would crawl. Away from here. Away from him.

The flap of heavy wings and a small screech was a glorious sound to her ears. Sheepstealer had sensed her turmoil. Moving to shield her with his scaly body. Nudging her with the bridge of his nose. Trying to rouse her as her figure lay prone on the ground. Covered in her darkening crimson and a layer of grime. It was a wasted effort.

Upon seeing the demon's shadowy figure let out another cry. The small dragon let the frazzled pallid man pass through. He failed to recognize the threat her husband posed to her. Even Sheepstealer was not her salvation. The traitor.

Daemon reached them with ease. His long legs had allowed him to travel at twice the speed. Not hesitating at Sheepstealer who obeyed his rider's husband rather than her. Lifting Nettles from the ground. Wrapping her in his arms. His grip was tight as he tucked her into him. She tried to break free of his hold, but she could not.

Frail. A broken bird. Even if she had her full strength she would have never been able to outrun him. The man was slightly out of breath, but his grip was strong. He held her as if she might disappear before him at any moment. Nettles tried nonetheless. Her words were her last defense.

“Please.” Another wave of pain rendered her nearly immobile. She took a breath trying to regain some of her strength. Fighting through the ache and mist. Through the burn to find her voice. Pain wanted to render her speechless as well. Blurring her vision. She pushed through. Rambling on.

“I don’t want them to cut me. Please don’t let them cut me open. Just leave me here please with Sheepstealer. You owe me that much.” Take to the sky. Convince him. It would be a mercy. This was her punishment. The price for her sins. Her death. Nettles was sure of it.

She thought of Rhaenyra. She did not like to think of the Black Queen. Daemon’s third wife. The mother of his sons. The woman who had signed her death warrant demanding her head many moons ago. A distant memory, but could not so easily forget it. She was going

She had stolen her husband away from her. His affections. His attentions. His ardor. A married man. Whatever had happened between the two, he was her husband and Nettles had made him choose.

He had made that choice. A choice that had cost the queen what remained and the younger girl, the younger her, it had saved her life. The stranger wanted blood. A life for another. The life of one who wanted her dead exchanged for her own.

It was still wrong. A wrong can not be paid with another. Her ghost had come for her vengeance. For her life. Her sin. A debt owed. A price she had not paid. One that the Stranger at long last had come to collect.

“I would never let them cut you Netty.” The rasp in her husband’s voice broke her reverie. Daemon went to caress her cheek. Hurt replacing panic. Moving her chin with the calloused pad of his thumb. So that violet met brown. “Never.” The moonlight reflected traces of tears on his pale cheeks. His eyes. Eyes. The eyes can never tell a lie.

The cold came in and with it shame. She was a fool. Sorry for the pain that she had caused him. For her lack of faith. The little voices in her head had nearly one out. Taking advantage of her state of confusion. Poisoning her mind with horrors. Nettles began to make her apologies. Scrambled too, but Daemon hushed her.

They were not needed. He could not blame her. She was not herself. She was unwell. He had seen it before. Bad spirits. Sickness propelled by the stress of birth. Her distress made her vulnerable. A fever had let in their ghosts. The ghosts he had made.

Laena. Who had broken herself to please him. Rhaenyra. Who he had nurtured her obsession to the point of madness. Mysaria. Who he regretted ever involving himself with. Even Rhea Royce. An unfortunate woman whose fate for a time he had been unwillingly tied to. He had not even tried with her. She had come into the union just the same as he and he made no effort.

The women whose lives he had been careless with. Whether ill meaning not, he had stoked their ire. Their need for perfection. Their madness. Their hate. Inflicting upon them injustices. There was no need to apologize for that. Not from her. His Netty wasn’t at fault. Not even for Rhaenyra. He had given his heart to her freely. He was at fault. He was to blame for that mess. It was his sins that had made her think that he would commit acts of cruelty upon her too. His ghosts taunting her. Pulling at the frightened girl that resided in her

That scared girl made her appearance far too easily. She had stoked her husband's fear. Her own fear. The small voice of doubt fed by a sickness. Rallying the memories of the past that haunted them. She had reminded them both of it. The fever played into it. Been guided to light the match that sought to destroy them.

Some shapeless phantom. A whisper. She had listened to it. Let it turn her against him. Her husband. Her prince. Her knight. Her Daemon. The man who was willing to give his life for her. The man that came back from his grave for her. Cheated the Stranger twice over for her. Her own dragon had seen the truth when she could not.

“Issa little ōños I will not abandon you.” My little light. She did not fight him as he placed a kiss on her brown cheek. Resting his head upon her hairline for a beat. “The only way you’ll be rid of me is through my death, sweet girl.” Wiping away her tears as he whispered the words. Stroking her frayed coils. Calming them both before Nettles went limp in his arms. He carried her back inside without another word spoken between them.

Color returned to Shalla and Bess’ pale faces when they came through the door. Helping her into her bed. “We’ll have to turn your belly lass.” Shalla gave her an apologetic half-smile as she squatted at the side of her bed. A white steady hand grabbed a hold of the feeble brown one. “That is all that we’ll do. I promise you. You have my word.”

Not for the first time that evening did Nettles see it was to run. The older woman never would have allowed Daemon to cut her open even if he had told them to. She would have kicked him out of the birthing chamber. Ordered Jon and the rest of the clan men to take the Targaryen man far away from her before she ever let that happen. She and Bess were there when Nettles had given birth to her son. When no one else was. The Vale woman had done all she could for her. She would do so again. She’d never leave her without a friend in the world. Not if she could help it.

“We’ll have your girls out before the sun's up.” Nettles let out a laugh at the Vale woman’s convictions on the sex of her children. The older woman was convinced that her young friend carried within her were girls. She insisted that she carried too high for her not to be. It was something hopeful to cling to when her mind wondered.

Shalla gave her hand one final squeeze. “I promise Nettles, you and your babes will be fine.” The woman pulled away with a conviction. Flitting to where the wash basin sat at the other side of the room.

Flipping the babe was an odd experience. Shalla was as gentle as possible, but It felt as if Neither was being stretched and twisted apart. It was a wholly unpleasant experience, but not as earlier. Then she felt as if she would break. As if her insides were being torn apart when she had tried to push. She felt like a reed now. She would bend rather than break.

Daemon moved to sit behind her. He would not stray from her side. She had frightened him too much. So he whispered encouragement in her ear. Held her hands and let her grab onto him as hard might. Giving her the strength to push when Shalla gave her the go-ahead.

Nettles thought she could not force herself to push anymore. It was strenuous work. She was so very tired, nearly wanting to give in to the dark void that seemed to want to enrapture her, but she was a reed. Bending in the wind. Going where it led her.

The first babe had to be helped along. Shalla instructed Bess to grab her some contraption she had brought to assist the child who refused to come out and greet her parents. Nettles heard the cry of a child before she no longer could no longer keep her eyes open. Bess held the babe up to the new parents for them to see. A girl. Their daughter. A beautiful red small squealing thing with a set of lungs on her and a flash of silver.

Her birth provided a breath of respite before Nettles' contractions came back with a vengeance along with the urge to push. Shalla had been half right in her assessment. Her son came quicker than his sister. Quieter too, but hale. Out into the world in the blink of an eye. Both babes were passed to their mother with haste. Laid on her chest for a breath before she was made to rest.

Her arms were too frail to hold the babes. Using what remained of her strength to keep her eyelids open. The new mother was out before she could make note of their features. Milk of the poppy was tipped into her mouth to lure her into a dreamless sleep. Shalla’s voice was the last she heard accompanied by a kiss from Daemon who stayed glued to her. “Rest now sweetling. You have done well.”

When she came to, she was greeted with a happy sight. Daemon stood rocking a babe wrapped in a white blanket in his arms. Whispering something to the bundle in Valyrian.They were beautiful little dears. Her babes. Hers that she had carried in her for eight moons and birthed. Healthy and whole. Her babes had made their entrance into this odd world. Small, but hearty. Nearly identical despite their sexes. Near, but near was not enough.

It was the eyes. In an eye to be precise and a streak or two of her father’s silver amongst her mother's dark mane. A violet eye. A brown one. Targaryen silvery blonde among a head of raven curls. A Targaryen in name and feature. Enough at least to denote her status as one. Daemon stared down at the babe reverently. He could not seem to take his eyes off her. Their daughter. Their son was nowhere in sight.

“Where is Addam?” Nettles croaked out. She had a splitting headache and her mouth held a putrid taste, but that mattered not. Only one thing, or rather one tiny person was the focus of her attention.

The name was what they had agreed upon. Nettles had not been convinced that she was having girls. She would not leave it to chance. She hadn’t wanted a Targaryen name for whatever son they had. She would not have that. Names meant something. The boy may be a Targaryen, but he was her blood too. He was more than the Targaryen name.

A name. The name of a friend. The name of a boy who had been kind to Nettles when she had little friends in the world. Honorable, faithful, and dutiful till the end. Who sought to prove himself though there was no need to. Never a need. Especially not in the face of callousness. Of baseless accusations put upon him due to his birth, a commonality they shared, what bound them in friendship for that brief spell. He remained as himself. Loyal to a fault.

Daemon finally peeled his eyes up from the babe to meet hers. Gifting her a grin as he made his way to sit at her side. He brought a hand down to cup her face. The little dear began to squirm in his hold. Letting out a small cry. A tiny hand broke free from her swaddle that Daemon quickly caught and placed a kiss upon.

“This one woke him from his nap, but Bess managed to put him back down.” Motioning over to the cot placed at the foot of their bed. Satisfied with his answer Nettles began to pull herself up. She could not resist the call of motherhood. One long overdue. Peering at the babe in her husband's arms.

“Set her here husband, and bring Addam too.” She did not wish to wake him, but she hadn’t had a good look at him. Or his sister for that matter. She wanted both her babes with her. By her side. He retrieved the babes and deposited their son in her waiting arms. Keeping their daughter for himself. Addam was a bit smaller than his sister. No Valyrian features to speak of. No discernable ones at least. Though she did believe he had Daemon’s nose. Certainly, he had his chin. Perhaps he’d have his smile.

“He has your eyes.” Daemon brought a hand down to stroke the downy soft skin of his son's cheek for a moment. The babe twitched in his sleep but otherwise remained in the land of dreams. Her husband sported a small smile. The same one he had gifted Daenerys with.

“And I believe she’ll have your curls.” Their children had a full head of hair. Daenerys with her curls and Addam with only a slight wave to his locs. The cause of her heart pain Shalla had told her when she had complained of it. Another one of her wife's tales. However, this one she had been right about.

“I suppose you’ll want a Targaryen name for her.” They hadn't come up with a name for their daughter. For daughters. Despite Shalla’s proclamations, Nettles had not planned for one. In truth, she had hoped for sons. She could never quite picture having a girl.

Whenever the young dragon rider did she could only imagine herself back at madams manse. The hazy faces of the girls there. Their trained smiles. What hid underneath them? The thought frightened her, but the little one was here now and she was healthy, full of life. Nettles herself had long since left that den of sorry. Her daughter would never fall into that pit.

The new mother reckoned it was only fitting to name her for her heritage. The babe looked like a Targaryen. Or enough like one. Enough to enwrap her father’s interest. “Alyssa mayhaps.” It went with Addam. It was his mother's name. Alyssa Targaryen. He had not named any of his children for her. He’d like that. The girl scrunched her nose and let out a cry. Mayhaps not.

“Daenerys.” He offered their daughter his index finger to grab onto. Her grip was strong. “She deserves her own name.” Nettles would not argue on that front. A Targaryen name, but her own. It would do for their little girl. Her mother let out a breath of relief

Addam cried out for attention. Not wanting to be left without it. Daemon moved to renew his cooing over their son. Quieting the babe. They sat in silence for a time, only interrupted by Nettles in her curiosity. Spotting some brown scales and a golden eye that appeared in the shadows cast by the moonlight seeping in.

“Have you taken them to Sheepstealer?” That earned her a kiss on her forehead and a round of laughter. Nettles scrunched up her own nose at his petting, but she did not truly mind it. She would never tire of his doting upon her.

He had in the end taken them all to Sheepstealer. The dragon was waiting for them. He had not moved since her recklessness last night. Sheepstealer looked down at the small bundles with interest. His golden eyes were trained on them. Bringing his snout down to take in the babes. Nosing them each.

Nettles felt herself breathing easier at her dragon's acceptance of her babes. Letting out a sigh she did not know she kept. He had taken to them just as he had when they had been inside her womb. An idea sprouted in her head. One which her husband wasted no time dissuading her.

“You are too weak Netty, and our children are too young.” Daemon chastised with a frown. He knew what his little wife was thinking while she rocked Addam in her hold. Doing her best to calm the boy who had begun to cry after he opened his eyes to come face to snout with his mother's dragon rather than her cheery face.

Nettles' eyes wandered over to where she kept Sheepstealer’s saddle as she hushed their son. “You are not climbing on him issa ōños.” My light. The man was right of course. Annoyingly so. A hypocrite, but he was right. Nettles was likely to fall off her saddle mid-flight. She needed to regain her strength before taking to the skies again. For now, she would heed his warning and save their twin's first flight for another time.

Perhaps it was the milk of the poppy still flowing through her. Or her hormones had dissipated, but a calmness came over her. She made a final promise to herself. The first promise to her babes as their mother. Nettles would let things ebb and flow as they may. To let go. To be thankful for what she had instead of waiting for and dreaming up her fears. She would let the scared girl go.

The Gods had blessed her. Nettles knew herself at any rate. Had to remind herself who she was. The little voice of doubt in her head, she had to kill her. It would not be easy to. She knew that. She had served her so well. Protected, but she was a wife and a mother now. She was a dragonrider. She had her duty and respect of the Burned Men. She had survived what would break lesser women. She had to trust herself. That Nettles was no longer a scared girl upon Driftmarks shores.

The new mother took her precautions. She was not naive and would not be so. Especially not when it came to her children. They were hers to protect. Nettles refused to be caught unawares. To be blindsided. It was not in her nature to stand idle. To pretend. She would never be that woman. In spite of what she had come from, she had not been made to suffer. She certainly would not see her children treated poorly by anyone.

Nettles looked for signs of Daemon's favoritism over their babes' first moons in the world. Her first duty was and would always be to her children. A mother's duty. She had carried them within her. Nurtured them. Birthed them. They were a part of her.

She had a chance at motherhood. Something that she had thought would pass her. Her children. No matter where they went or what they became, they were hers first. They were hers to protect.

The new mother loved them equally, but they were so very different from one another. In appearance and in personality. Twins on mere account of their birth. Too different for her not to worry. She knew what it could cost them. What could happen. Had seen the aftermath of what happened to one set of Targaryen twins. She would stand for it to happen to hers.

It was Addam who she worried for the most. He had grown into his features. Taking upon a more distinctive look. He was in truth a mixture of his parents. If one was to look long enough. It was too soon to tell what his coloring might be. Just now getting a tan like his sister and had caught up to her in weight, but he had his mother's dark hair and his mother's brown eyes to match.

He was a quiet babe. Would stare rather than let out cries for attention as his sister did. He followed his older twin's lead. Preferring to take the rear. Hesitated otherwise. He did not strike out unless Daenerys had first.

Daenerys, who they had affectionately given the nickname of Dany, had the making of her coils true enough but her hair was streaked with silver amongst the dark mane. Her father’s violet eye accompanied the brown one her mother gifted her. She was a loud little thing who was thankfully easy to pacify. Though overly curious and had a tendency to let out cries for attention when she was not the center of it. There was no denying that she had the blood of old Valyria running through her veins.

Of course, they were still babes. Newborn babes fresh from the womb. They were a blank sheet of parchment. Waiting to be written upon. There was much left in the balance. Still in a state of figuring out the world around them. Still had time to grow into themselves. What they possessed now they may not in six moons' time.

Nettles’ greatest fear for her children remained as a figment of her imagination. The mother held true to her. Daemon played his role as a doting father well. Just as he had been when they had been nothing more than a bean in her belly. If not more so. Enraptured by the babes. It was no small wonder why. They could in truth not ask for more perfect little beings than the ones the Gods had gifted them with.

He read to them. Spoke to them in Valyrian. They made excellent little students. Listened attentively to their own babbles. Did not mind the messes they made. Cleaned after their messes. Bathed them. Stayed up with her as she took turns feeding them. Was the first to awaken when they cried out for them. Ever the watchful father. He had been through this before. Too many times to name, but every babe was new. The joy of fatherhood renewed.

In spite of their many differences, Daemon was not unequal in his treatment of their twins. If there was any favoritism Nettles was unable to detect it. Her husband attributed Daenerys' innate curiosity to herself rather than the Targaryen blood he had gifted her.

“She’s your daughter Netty.” He was entirely too pleased when he had told Nettles so after she had taken the girl on her first dragon ride of many. The girl was not yet a moon old then and she had not so much as let out a cry in irritation. Only quietly gazed at the landscape of the Vale below them. A natural on dragonback. It was expected.

Her mother was after all the same woman who claimed and tamed a wild dragon without a drop of Valyrian blood. Who took up residence deep into the Mountains of the Moon and who had gained the respect of the aloof Mountain clans that occupied it.

Dany may look more Targaryen than her brother but it was she who had her mother's spirit. The small babe came alive whenever she was strapped to her mother and the two took to the skies upon Sheepstealer’s back. Who was the first to smile at her father. To laugh. To babble out the makings of her opinions. The first to reach her little accomplishments. Her mix match set of eyes eagerly absorbed all that was around her.

Her brother trailed after her. Learning from her lead as well as from his parents. The boy was much more cautious than his elder twin. His smile, his laugh, and his interest always came after her. His father seemed not to mind this. Surprisingly he not minded when Addam grew frightened at the sight of Sheepstealer either.

Crying when Nettles had tried to climb on top of the brown dragon with him as she had with Dany. The boy only quieted after being passed to his father's arm. Only when Daemon climbed on with them did Addam half his objections. His father serving as a source of distraction from his fears. Vanishing them in only a way he could.

To her shock, Nettles had been told later that it was how the great Daemon Targaryen reacted when his own mother had first saddled him with her on his first dragon ride. A confession that caused her to burst into a fit of giggles that could rival their daughters while her husband shook his head in good-natured amusement at her outburst. The burden from a mother's woe evaporating. She worried less when she saw that her children were equal in her husband’s eyes.

The babes took up most of their time in the first three moons of their life. Her occupation had become her children. It left little time for each other in a more private manner. Oh, they still found time to enjoy one another’s company. Nightly dinners. Sitting quietly by their hearth. Daemon’s sonorous voice lulling her to sleep. They could not long be parted from the simple pleasure of the other's presence. However, Intimate company was another matter. A fact of which made Nettles feel as if she was neglecting her wifely duties. Neglect born partly from newfound shyness.

Her husband was understanding. More than understanding. He kept to himself. He had an occupation that kept him busy. Their home, but the building of it was complete by the end of their children’s second moon. They were decidedly settled now. Time was on their hands.

Daemon Targaryen was an attentive husband and father. A good man to his little wife and their babes, but he was a man that needed to be kept occupied. That had needs. As did she if Nettles would admit to it.

“I’m not taking anything my prince.” Her defense, her excuse when her husband cornered her late one evening as she watched the twins sleep. Coming from behind to rain down kisses. Pressing himself into her. Feeling the evidence of his desire.

She did not turn away from their babes. Keeping her eyes trained on them. Which only served to make Daemon pull her closer to him. Moving some of the dark coils that she wore loose back to place a kiss on her neck. Briefly resting his chin on the dip at her clavicle before throwing her a smirk. Nettles found herself being lifted from the ground and into his arms. Causing her to let out a string of protests to put her down. His full name was spoken. Warning him not to wake their children.

“Do you wish to have more of my children Netty?” His smirk was firmly in place as he carried her into their bed chambers. He gained a reaction from her when he dropped her onto the center of their bed. She tried to scramble up the bed but he simply followed her.

Nettles bit her lip. Holding back her yelp as her husband flipped her around so that she lay on her back. Facing him. Spread out upon the center of their bed. Her shift was ridden up exposing her soft thighs to him. Making a pretty sight to the Targaryen man who hovered above her who prevented her from moving to cover up herself.

Her cheeks warmed at his words. The look he gave her. The thought of, but she brushed it all away. She was content. She loved them dearly. Her little cherubs, but Addam and Daenerys were all she needed. She did not think her husband would mind them remaining a cozy foursome. For now at least.

“You have more than enough children husband.” He let out a laugh. Bending down to endow upon her another kiss. This time placed closer to her ample bosom. Nettles felt the man reaching a hand up from its resting place near her waist to cup her breast. Stiffing at the action. “They’ll leak.” He did not appear to hear her. Or more like he did not care. Whichever one it was, the former Rogue Prince continued on. “Daemon.” That too he ignored.

“Your husband misses you.” He began to nip at her neck. Using her growing state of giddiness beneath her bashfulness to pull down the front of her gown. “My Netty.” Her breasts were freed. The brown peaks hardened as they were exposed to their chambers' cool air. His darkened gaze caused a shiver to run up her spine. A warm feeling spread out from her belly. She felt herself grow wet between her thighs. “Issa ābrazȳrys.” My wife.

She wished to say she was tired. He wouldn’t push her. He’d simply tuck her into bed with a kiss. Climbing in with her. Waiting for her to fall asleep to take care of himself. She could say it, but it would not be true. Not now.

Nettles had been when she first had their babes. Exhausted. Birth was a draining business. She needed time to heal. They had kept her up all night. Then after that, she had become swept up in being their mother. Watching them grow. It had been the perfect excuse.

She could lie, but she wanted him. Missed him as much as he missed her. Only vanity held her back. She knew how her body changed. Nettles had been careful enough to avoid stripping fully in front of him, but she could see that would do for her husband. He had waited long enough.

Daemon would notice. More flesh in places that were once toned from years of riding upon dragonback. She was not so little anymore. Skin lined with dark indentations that would never fully fade with time. Her breasts were overly sensitive to the touch. Engorged with milk. Her veins were made prominent against her brown skin by the strain. She wasn’t the same girl. Her husband would notice.

He did notice. Taking to stroking her scars with tenderness. “My beautiful little wife who thinks that she can hide herself from me.” Whatever assertions she was to make died on her lips. When the Rogue Prince brought his mouth down to hers. Their tongues entwined. Using the distraction to remove her shift in its entirety from her body. Leaving her bare before him.

Daemon parted from her briefly to remove his own nightshirt. Exposing his erect manhood. Joining her in nakedness. “Pretty thing. Why should you ever want to hide from me?” Between his murmurs seared into her skin, he left a steady trail of hot open-mouthed kisses on her figure. starting from the base of her neck.

“Good little wives do not hide from their husbands.” He paused when he reached her breasts. Thankfully he only took a nipple to suckle on gently, drawing no milk before moving on. Snaking his way down to her center. Pulling her thighs apart as he settled between them.

He took to staring at her. The preservation of her modesty long past. The violet of his irises blown out as he took a finger to her glistening cunt. “Issa byka ōños.” My little light. The Rogue Prince pounced upon his wife. Bringing his mouth down to languidly lap at her wetness.

“Muñnykeā hen issa riñar.” Mother of my children. His tongue dragged across her folds. Drawn out as if he could not get enough of the taste of her saccharine nectar. “Jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson. Issa Netty.” Love of my life. My Netty. He gave her no time to even form a reply as he latched his lips upon the pearl hidden by dark curls atop her mound. Nettles lost track of time to euphoria. Forgetting where he ended and she began. His fires had certainly not cooled for her.

“You could have turned me away from your door.” Netty lifted her head from his shoulders at the sound of his low voice. Gaining some clarity when he broke the silence that had fallen upon them after their lovemaking. Basking in the afterglow. She craned her neck up to face him. His gaze traveled to the open window that let in a light breeze. Cooling their heated forms.

Her husband's violet eyes were locked upon the still night framed by their windowsill. Idly stroking down her arm. Daemon had kept her tucked underneath his chin. Draping half her lush figure atop him. Occasionally pressing kisses into her hairline. A compromise after she protested bitterly when he finally pulled his spent member from her cunny. Her slackened limbs clinging to him. “I left you on your own for five years.”

It would be understandable if she had. Expected, but it was not in his control. He had his duty. He had been sick. She could not fault him for that. If he could have, he would've been with her sooner. He had every intention of following her. This isn’t goodbye, he had grunted out that night, but fate had separated them and then brought him back to her. They could not be parted.

He could have gone with her she supposed. Left Maidenpool together. Flow off with their dragons to wherever. Avoided the messy business altogether, but she would have never wanted to hold him back. Nothing good would have come from that. In the end, fate was in their favor. Things had happened as they were supposed to.

Daemon had fought his way back to her. Had crawled his way back to her. He had not given up. He had chosen her at every turn. Even when it had not been easy. He had chosen her. Would do so. Again and again. At every turn. Would never stop doing so. He bent every convention for her. His adoration was not the death of duty. For it simply became it.

“I’m not a saint and you're not a monster.” She pressed herself to his neck. Closing her eyes for a moment as she nuzzled against the pocket-marked flesh from battles long since past. As well as the fresh marks she had given him. Nettles felt his cock come to life where it lay underneath her belly. Her husband let out a half groan, trying to ignore the sensations she stirred in him for the time being.

He was a man. Made of flesh and bone. He was but a man and she was a living being. A woman, not a Saint. As mortal as the rest. Not without sin for she had sinned. She had seen her share of blood and war. Of the depravity of man. She had participated in it. Had committed her share of debauchery. They all had stains of gray.

“You are not helping your cause. Only a saint would deny they are one.” He let out a chortle that shook where she lay glued to him. “I’m not deserving of you Netty. Not the other way around.” Daemon continued to stroke down her arm. Rubbing gentle circles into the smooth skin there. Turning towards her finally.

“I’m a selfish man and you’ve knocked down my pride when it comes to you, so I’ll take your love little wife since you're so apt to give it to me, but I’m not worthy of you.” Nettles leaned into his touch. Shushing him as she reached her own hands up to place upon his cheeks. Resting them there as she took to hovering over him.

“I am your wife.” She leaned down to place a kiss upon the scars within her reach before pulling back to caress his pale well-lined face. A face she could never grow tired of. He gave himself so little credit. He could deny it all he wanted. The truth was in his deeds. He was capable of much more when he let himself. “I know you. There is light in you Daemon.” More than enough light. For her and her babes. For their children. For their little family. No, Daemon Targaryen was no monster. Not in her eyes.

The dragonrider enveloped her husband in a kiss. Catching the man in surprise by the sound of the unrestrained groan he let into her waiting mouth. She only parted from him for air. With a bit and a whisper against his lips. “You do not have to do anything you silly old man.” That earned her a breathless chuckle, a smile deepening the creases surrounding his eyes, and another caress. Her silly old man. “You already are deserving of me.”

It was Netty this time who did not wait for his reply as she pressed her plump lips to his. He parted for her with no hesitation. She ran her hand down to take his stiff shaft into her hands. Gracefully sinking down her drenched folds onto his cock.

There was nothing he could do to change her mind. Nettles would convince him of that fact yet. She had plenty of time to make her case. After she had her pleasure of course. The rest of the season to and more after. The future lay waiting, However, one stone from their past remained unturned.

The moons that made up their babes first year had been eventful. Addam and Daenerys seemed only to grow into their respective features and temperaments. Addam remained slow to action though there were sparks of independence while Daenerys only grew bolder in her little adventures.

A surprise waited for them at the end of that year. A day before Daenerys and Addams name day. A rather ordinary day. As with all great surprises, it came in the form of a visitor. A most unexpected friend. A reunion long in the making. One well worth the wait.

Bess was over. Playing with the babes while Nettles had gone out for a moment to gather some babies' breath. She wanted to make flower crowns for the children for their name days and had stopped to admire her garden. It was a clear spring day. A little picnic underneath the sun's warmth was in order.

Daemon stood in the doorway to their sitting room when she arrived back from her excursions. Lounging in the doorway gazing upon their babes with a smile gracing his face. His face lit up at the scene before him, she thought nothing of it. Everything appeared as normal as the day past. As she had left them when she had gone out for the wreaths. His relaxed disposition was not unusual.

The children had done Daemon good. He smiled easier. Laughed more. Had found some measures of peace. Ten years had worn off his person from keeping up with the little ones. Trailing after them as they explored their surroundings. Their curiosity amused their father.

He looked healthier. Refreshed. The lines upon his face appeared less notable. His coloring was as pale as ever. The lack of a tan was noticeable even among the hill tribes who had gained some color. Though to be fair Nettles did not know if he was capable of developing such, but her husband looked to be in ataraxis. A look he wore well. A man of one and forty rather than his one and fifty.

Daemon pulled her into him as he bent down to capture her little mouth in a kiss. Warming her up from head to toe. Leaving Nettles was left dizzy and disoriented when her husband seized his affections at the clearing of the visitor's throat. A voice. It was a voice that alerted her of the visitor's presence. A voice Nettles had not heard of in five years.

A sight she had not thought that she would see again, but was more than happy to. The silver-haired woman sat there bouncing her younger brother in her arms while little Lana and Daenerys played at her feet with a set of wooden dragon toys. The older of the two babbled on in childish gibberish to the younger who replied in a series of lively gurgles.

Addam looked up at her with curious wonder, but otherwise content being held by his newfound friend. His chubby hand grabbed a hold of her short white blonde strands that matched his father's. Placing them into his gummy mouth.

“My, you two have been busy.” The younger woman gifted them with a smile. A cheeky one that reminded her of Daemon who grinned at the sight of his children. Pushing his little wife to join Baela and the babes. It was a merry spring. Kind gentle and full of life. Marking the start of unadulterated elysian for the years to come.

Ao3 link:

#daemon x nettles #nettles x daemon #hotd fic #daemon targaryen x nettles #daemon taragaryen #nettles #nettles f&b #dattles #dettles #daetty #hotd fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #houseofthedragon #the rouge prince #nettles asoiaf #bnhotdfic

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falllpoutboy · 1 year

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i think the most frustrating thing about jaime/cersei shippers is that they completely, wholly and literally single-handedly missed the point of why twincest is gross and unhealthy and how celebrating it, misinterprets both jaime and cersei to a nth degree

we are told/shown that their relationship started out as confused children who mostly didnt know better. but when they're on the cusp of adulthood, cersei initiates their sexual relationship through manipulation and coercion. and its because of this coerced relationship and the circumstances that followed (jaime joining the kingsguard and taking a vow of celibacy), jaime has only been with one person in his whole life and fathers her children whilst having next to no relationship with them, meanwhile cersei got to know her fair share of various lovers and parent her children (most joffrey) as she saw fit.

i think the most heartbreaking quote regarding their twisted relationship is from a jaime pov chapter: “I don't have a wife, I have a sister" and to see these shippers in turn romanticize that line instead of them seeing the utter tragedy in a statement like that (re: see above) is mindblowing. seeing tweets like "jaime looked his best in season 1 and/or season 4" (the seasons in which he is the most devoted to cersei and coincidentally in which he looked the most clean cut and put together, just like cersei says so he can be her mirror image)

the show certainly did no favors towards showing the inherent fucked-up ness of their relationship but the canon facts i listed are still the same in that canon too. and i think the overwhelmingly negative reaction to their critically panned ending (jaime leaving somebody who loves him for being wholly himself for cersei, who only saw herself in him and what he can do for her and dying without facing the true repercussions of her actions) also speaks for itself.

idk how to end this but like. its just crazy for me to see this for like 4 years now

#this was gonna be a 4 sentence post 😐 lmfaoo #anti twincest #and yes i agree s1 jaime was hot but thats bc he’s the golden lion of lannister stuck by cersei’s side!!!#if anything the only thing about show jaime's ending is that it showed that some people can never truly escape toxic relationships #sad but realistic!#but asoiaf is not realistic so its gonna be very awks for twincests when book jaime never returns for cersei again #awks for them at least! not us jb bitches we’re having a ball on this bitch

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slaapkat · 4 months

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IT IS TIME... FOR THE FOURTH ANNUAL COMIX OF THE YEAR!

admittedly, this year i've been SLACKIN', but finally getting the job of my dreams will do that to a person. I've still managed to read a fair bit! this year was huge regardless, from a fantastic trip to MEMPHIS where amidst the glitz and glamor of all things Elvis and roll&roll I finally managed to find the much-coveted Green Arrow (1988) #90 (well, much coveted to me), to an INCREDIBLE trip to LONDON to meet with my best pal @ufonaut for the SECOND time this year and bought so many comic books I genuinely struggled to pack it back with me and was this close to having to check a bag. seriously, so many comic books.

that being said, still an amazing year for comics! so let's hit it!

Justice Society of America (2022)

-Part of the reason I think this year went by so fast is because most of it was spent eagerly awaiting the next issue of the long anticipated JSA revival, headed once again by Geoff Johns. One of the few series that so far has been hit after hit, culminating this year with issue #8 with the official introduction of Ruby Sokov and a peak at the slow unraveling of Alan Scott's past. Perhaps the best part of the series so far are the nods to actual Golden Age history, one of which inspired another placement on this list after its discovery. While retcons are continuous point for many fans, including myself, I feel Geoff manages to weave together old and new canon together with such passion it can't help but feel natural.

2. Stargirl: The Lost Children (2022)

-I'll admit, this one was a surprise hit. Ordinarily, I hate it when a writer breaks into the scene with a ton of random OC's in the effort to make his mark, and I even mentioned last year that the characters introduced at the end of The New Golden Age (2022) #1 had me apprehensive at first. However, seeing them all in action instantly changed my mind. Stargirl and Red Arrow made for a surprisingly organic team, and all of the newly introduced sidekicks alongside the actual forgotten Golden Age ones once again help the whole thing feel natural, breathing new life into the once stagnant mini-universe of the Justice Society. My only disappointment, maybe, was that robo-Hourman wasn't actually evil. Oh well!

3. Universal Monsters: Dracula (2023)

-Sleeper hit of the century. I had no idea James Tynion IV was coming out with a Dracula adaption until I came across the cover of #1 by accident while ambling through my comic book store and was instantly so struck that I bought it without even reading it first. It might have helped that I was in the middle of listening to the podcast adaption of Dracula Daily (Re: Dracula) and so I had the good ol count on the brain. The comic itself is a relatively loose adaptation, but Tynion's writing combined with the phenomenal art ends up depicting the story with a fantastic dramatical and dreamlike (and as a consequence, inevitably nightmarish) quality. As I reach the end of listening to Re: Dracula myself, I'm excited to see what Tynion does with it.

4. Jay Garrick: The Flash (2023)

-Jeremy Adams wasn't winning any favors with me at first, what with the way it felt the quality of his Green Lantern run had taken a steep nosedive in recent issues, but I'm a firm believer in reading anything at least once so that if I'm gonna be a hater, I'm at least going to have a reason why. Color me surprised when his Flash story ended up so far ahead the other two Golden Age minis that it simply no longer compares. Judy was a fast (no pun intended) favorite from the moment I saw her Who's Who entry in The New Golden Age, and further still in The Lost Children. The story weaves itself naturally between the past and present and truly make Judy Garrick feel as though she's been here all along. It's also wonderful to be able to see Jay's wife, Joan, back in the spotlight!

5. Green Lantern: Earth One (2018)

-After seeing the hc trade staring me right in the face on the shelves of my comic book store for AGES I was finally goaded into reading it and boy I'm kicking myself for not having read it earlier. Beautiful art, beautiful writing, fantastic characterization. As much as I like alt universes they can be hit or miss, but this one was absolutely a hit. Dared to try something new with the medium while still keeping true to the source material. Also, Hal should have kept that beard.

6. Flashpoint (2011)

-Another story I can't believe I put off for as long as I did, for as much publicity and praise it's had. At the time I was still wary of anything Geoff John's wrote outside of his JSA or GL and also didn't care much for the Flash as a character generally. However, inspired by how much I liked Flashpoint Beyond and curiosity piqued by The Flash movie, I gave it a shot and found myself MUCH more entertained than I thought I'd be. Finally reading this story brought a lot of context to Thomas' character development throughout his arcs in Batman (2016), Infinite Frontier (2021), and Justice League Incarnate (2021), as well as how this arc finally completed in Flashpoint Beyond (2022).

7. Silverblade (1987)

-Somehow, 1987-88 was truly the magic year for comics. I've lost count of how many weirdly incredible and advanced titles came out of that specific year alone. A weird story in and of itself, it's hard to describe what exactly the appeal of it was unless you just Get It yourself. An old, washed-up Hollywood actor with nothing but a starry- eyed manservant for company who suddenly gains the ability to physically transform into any role he's ever played, including a swashbuckling visage of his younger self? Viewed through the right lens, it's captivating.

8. Green Lantern: War of the Green Lanterns (2011)

-Now, I've read all of Geoff's Green Lantern already years ago and I couldn't tell you what compelled me to read any part of it again, but I did and now I'm deeply tempted to give it a go all over again. This entry specifically entails the War of the Green Lanterns arc, itself told intermittently between Green Lantern (2005) and Green Lantern Corps (2006). I don't know, something about it was so much more refreshing to read compared to many recent story arcs of today. Maybe it was the way it was essentially self-contained between these two books, maybe it was the way it felt like it had actual substance, a beginning and middle and end, with real identifiable character arcs for all involved. I might be biased in that case, because it's subsequently one of my favorite pieces of Sinestro characterization, but Hal and even Guy, John, and Kyle have some shining moments in it, too.

9. Diamond Jack in Slam-Bang Comics (1940)

-Who is Diamond Jack, exactly? Well, to the unassuming reader he might have just been a random one-off mention of a name that Geoff dropped in Justice Society of America #2 with no real consequence to the overall plot of the story. Most people might have missed it entirely. Not us! Not only is Diamond Jack real, he's absolutely batshit insane. Hailing from an obscure Fawcett publication and lasting a mere meager six issues, he can best be described as peak Golden Age antics. Absurd but in a truly delightful way, it makes you wonder just how someone like Geoff Johns stumbled upon it. He turns into a vampire! He fights a sky demon! He has a magic ring he got from a guy named Warlock the Wizard! What's not to love! My only hope is that Geoff brings him back in more than name only and we get to see what exactly has him spatting with the Golden Age Zatara.

#comix round up #comix of the year #dc #dc comics #ough next year i gotta read more #AT LEAST JSA CONFIRMED BOOK OF ALL TIME BABEY

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asoiafandotherbooks · 6 months

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TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: The Wedding of Rhaena and Aegon

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

We left off with Aenys exiling Maegor after he took a second wife. This won’t be the only controversial marriage during Aenys’s reign.

In non-marriage events, a new castle was being built atop Aegon’s High Hill: “built all in pale red stone, the king’s new seat would be larger and more lavish than Dragonstone, with massive walls and barbicans and towers capable of withstanding any enemy”. The citizens of King’s Landing named it the Red Keep.

In 41 AC, Aenys’ two eldest children were Rhaena (18 years old) and Aegon (15 years old). The two siblings had been close since childhood. Aegon was lean, tall, handsome, and flirtatious with the ladies. Grand Maester Gawen informed the Citadel that “If the prince is not wed His Grace may soon have a bastard grandchild to contend with.”

Rhaena gave no encouragement to suitors, preferring to spend her days with her siblings, her pets, and Dreamfyre (her dragon). Rhaena’s newest favorite, Alayne Royce, was the daughter of the Lord of Runestone. Alayne was a plump and homely girl but was cherished by Rhaena.

Rhaena loved to fly, at times she took Aegon, other times Alayne, but she mostly flew by herself. At sixteen years of age, Rhaena declared herself a woman grown, “free to fly where I will”. She flew to Harrenhal, Tarth, Runestone, and Gulltown. It was rumored that Rhaena lost her virginity to a lowborn lover on one of these flights. Possible suspects were a hedge knight, a singer, a blacksmith’s son or a village septon. No one seemed to look in Alayne’s direction and she is the most likely suspect.

Eighteen-year-old Rhaena was three years older than her parents when they were wed. Aenys decided it was a perfect time for Rhaena to wed and who better for a husband than her own brother? For some reason, Aenys was surprised at the huge outcry of disgust over the announced betrothal. He seems to not remember that he exiled his brother for taking two wives. And they weren’t even related to Maegor! Why Aenys thought the Faith would be fine with incest when they had a fit over polygamy is a mystery. How can he be so clueless?

The Faith were on a roll. They had successfully forced Aenys to exile Maegor, and now they condemned incestuous marriages as an obscenity. Any child born of an incestuous union would be “abominations in the sight of gods and men”.

Aenys decided to finally grow a spine and refused to break the betrothal. Visenya informed Aenys he had two choices: 1) Wed Rhaenys and Aenys to other people, 2) Mount Quicksilver and burn the Starry Sept down. Aenys did neither.

The wedding was to be held at the Sept of Remembrance, built atop of Rhaenys’ hill, and named in her honor. The day of the wedding the streets were lined with the Warrior’s Sons of the Faith. And no, they weren’t there to congratulate the happy couple. Many lords, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to make an appearance, stayed away from the wedding.

Aenys made the situation worse at the wedding feast by declaring Aegon the new Prince of Dragonstone. The crowd went silent as the attendees all knew Maegor was the Prince of Dragonstone. Visenya left the hall without the king’s leave, mounted Vhagar, and returned to Dragonstone. The legends states when Vhagar passed the moon it turned red as blood. Doubtful but it’s an ominous omen.

Aenys has messed up big time. He’s lost the support of the Faith and the lords. He’s lost the favor of the smallfolk. And he’s turned the two strongest members of his family against him.

Why did Aenys grant his son the title of “Prince of Dragonstone”? At this point, it’s not a hereditary title for the crown prince. Maegor was the first “Prince of Dragonstone”. Maegor’s exile was for five years, not a lifetime. He would eventually return to Westeros – and Dragonstone. And to not inform Visenya before announcing it to the public? Bad move. She is his strongest advisor and he disrespected her – in public! She’s not the type to tolerate such offense.

Most mindboggling of all – why did Aenys think the Faith would accept incest when their outrage over Maegor’s polygamy caused his exile?

Up next, Aenys has made a disaster of his reign. Can he make a comeback?

#asoiaf #game of thrones #house targaryen #rhaena targaryen #aenys targaryen #aegon the uncrowned #aegon targaryen #Visenya targaryen #Maegor Targaryen #High Septon #Faith of the Seven #Warriors' Sons #Alayne Royce #Prince of Dragonstone #twoiaf #Fire & Blood

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 2 years

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Abbé Proyart on the childhood on Robespierre

Source: La Vie et les crimes de Robespierre, surnommé Le Tyran: depuis sa naissance jusqu’à sa mort (1795) by Le Blond de Neuvéglise (abbé Proyart) page 19-51

Maximilien Robespierre was born in Arras in 1759, and was baptized in the Church of St. Aubert, his parish. His father was Maximilien Robespierre, a lawyer with little occupation at the Superior Council of Artois; and his mother Marie-Joseph Carreau, daughter of a beer brewer from the same town. He had a younger brother, who followed him in the career of crime and even to the scaffold. He had two sisters, one of whom died young. She who survived had had the advantage of a religious education from which she profited. But, as the mediocrity of her fortune kept her entirely dependent on her brother, she found herself obliged to go and live with him in Paris; and we don’t know what she might have become at the school of such a teacher. What would nevertheless appear to be in her favor is that her brother, at the time of his greatest fury against his Compatriots, chased her out of the house, and forced her to go and beg for an asylum in the town of Arras where she now lives.

The alleged genealogy that makes Robespierre related to Damiens, despite what all the newspapers of Europe have said about it, is absolutely false and confounded. Villainy is not always hereditary, and that of Robespierre may well do without ancestors. [1]

The father of Robespierre had the reputation, in the town of Arras, of a rather badly organized head, and above all to be very attached to his senses. Either from oddity of character or inconvenience of profession, on the run from a lost lawsuit, he abruptly left his country, where he left his wife and the four children of whom we have just spoken. We had ignored until now the route he had taken. We have just discovered that on leaving his homeland, he went to Belgium, where his family originated. He passed from there to Germany, and lived for some time in the town of Cologne, where, to survive, he opened a French school for children. Unsatisfied with his new profession, he left Cologne, announcing the intention of going to London and then to the Isles, where it was possible that he still lives: well done, in that case, if, by the silence of the differetion, he hides what would reflect upon him the shameful celebrity of his son. The Robespierre family, both on the paternal side and on the maternal side, had hitherto lived without reproaches. He was the first who dishonored it, and, unfortunately, not the last. But it is beyond our purpose to show how contagious his example was to his loved ones.

Robespierre, a few years after the disappearance of his father, lost his mother, and found himself orphaned at the age of nine. Not being heir to any patrimony, he had no resources for his subsistence except those which could be procured for him by the honest brawler Carreau, his grandfather, and the charity of good people, which were quite efficiently encouraged by two aunts of the same name, who lived in a great reputation for piety. One of them, with a mindset to secure bread for the children with which she saw herself charged, determined on one of those marriages which are called for reason, although often very unreasonable. She married an old doctor who, in addition to the present help he could provide to the Robespierres, also undertook to give the eldest an asylum in his house, when he would have completed his studies.

From his earliest childhood, Robespierre announced the gloomy and mechanical character that he carried throughout his life. He did not pass through the fine age of ingenuity. Concealed by instinct, before being able to so be by reflection, he always seemed to fear that someone would surprise him with the secret of thought and the way to get to know him was not by questioning him: one succeeded better by flattering him. He liked to be well dressed, and he sought to cast ridicule on children of his age who were better than him. Proud and disdainful with his equals, he was tyrannically harsh towards his brother and his sisters. As he spoke little, he found it bad that they spoke more than he did, he did not grant them common sense; nothing they said was well said. He missed no opportunity of mortifying or humiliating them; he lavished on them, for the smallest of subjects, the reproaches of rudeness.

In the state of poverty in which the young man found himself at the time of his first education, it was not to be presumed that he was to receive a very distinguished one. His aunts taught him to read; but he went without a Maître d’écriture, his aunts not having the means to give him one. So it was easy to see that he had never had one. He learned to write the way he could, by copying the first principles of the Latin language. As the College offered the resource of free Latin study, they hastened to send him to learn Latin in the College.

Soon pride, the only guide of his actions, kept him applied to study; and it didn’t take long to notice in him, if not the facility of genius, at least the patience of work joined with a great rigidity of character. The state to which he saw himself reduced filled his haughty soul with a painful feeling. The idea of his misery revolted him, and people were hastening to predict its sad consequences, lest he slow down the efforts he was making to escape it one day. Thus inconsiderate guardians are often the first to aid vicious inclinations in youth, the development of which will cause its ruin.

With application and ordinary dispositions, Robespierre distinguished himself among the scholars of his age. These first successes made his guardians conceive the hope of obtaining a scholarship, which would put him within reach of studying at the University of Paris. This prospect, new food for his budding ambition, made him make new efforts to attract upon himself the favor to which he aspired. On the recommendation of his protectors, namely a canon of the cathedral of Arras, he was provided with a scholarship to the College of St Vaast, one of the twenty-eight united with that of Louis-le-Grand since the suppression of the Jesuits.

It was in 1770 that Robespierre arrived in Paris. He was admitted as a scholarship holder at the College of Louis-le-Grand, for Classe de Cinquieme. It seems that his sinister inclinations had already manifested themselves in his country: at least they had not escaped a respectable mother who still lives, and who, having her son at Louis-le-Grand, wrote to one of the Masters of this house; ”I dare to hope, monsieur, that to all the kindnesses you already have for my son, you will be good enough to add that of supervising his societies a little, and above all of forbidding him any association with the young Robespierre who, let it be said between us, does not promise a good subject.”

However, the desire to distinguish himself among his fellow students followed him to the new theater which opened up to his ambition; and, although he had to fight first with competitors more formidable than those he had left in his province, he did so without being discouraged, and so obstinately that in less than two years he succeeded in shining among his peers in a Course in Truth which was not considered brilliant in the College, compared with those which had immediately preceded it. Having had only mediocre success in Rhetoric, in the compositions of the University, he did not hesitate, to avenge his humiliated pride, to start this class again; and as he had expected, application assured him, this second year, of the Palmes which genius had refused him the first.

During his course in Humanities, satisfied with this kind of superiority conquered by hard work, Robespierre aspired to no other, and feared nothing so much as losing it. Consistent in the false idea he had formed of what constitutes true merit, he referred everything to his studies, he neglected everything for his studies, his studies were his God. As for moral qualities, the finest ornament of youth, and the only precious fruit of a good education, he never seemed touched by them. In agreement with the philosophy of the day, even before knowing its principles, he feared, like the pitfall of talents, virtue, which alone has the right to stamp on them the seal of true greatness. Stubbornly occupied with the care of adorning his mind, he seemed unaware that he had a heart to regulate; and perhaps he was already depraved enough not to dare to hear its inclinations, or to despair of ever reforming them.

After having thus misunderstood or disdained the merit of virtue for himself, Robespierre ended up despising it and taking an aversion to it in others. Contemporary, in his College, of this amiable young man, so known throughout France under the name of the l’écolier vertueux, and of a large number of others who, with talents more marked than his, united the amenity of the character and all the charm of modest piety, Robespierre could not forgive them for enjoying among their fellow students a consideration from which he was excluded, and among the masters a confidence he did not share. A fervent and almost always unjust censor of their conduct, he found crimes in them in the slightest faults, and saw in them wrongs where no one would suspect them. Sometimes he took pleasure in ridiculing them with irony, sometimes in stinging them with causticity; and more often still, in mortifying them with disdain. The more one of his fellow students advanced in the career of virtue, the more Robespierre distanced himself from him.

A constant adorer of his thoughts, he always found them infinitely preferable to those of others. He spoke little, spoke only when people seemed willing to listen to him and always in a decisive and confident tone. Although greedy and insatiable for praise, when it was given to him, he received it with an air of cold modesty, which seemed to say: I still feel myself above your praise. If, in class, he was appointed to the first place, he went to sit there without haste, and as if in the only place which suited his talents. If he had the chagrin of seeing a number of his fellow students pass before him, he greeted them with a mocking laugh, which betrayed all the impatience of wounded pride; and he was not satisfied that he had not found an opportunity to avenge himself by some wicked dart, sometimes against those who had obtained the preference, sometimes against the judge who had bestowed it.

With these dispositions and this malignity of character, Robespierre made himself feared by his fellow students, and was loved by none. But, infatuated with his own excellence, he thought he had been harmed by the affection which his comrades denied him, by loving himself madly. Very often, during the private recreations which were taken in the study halls, he was left alone, and he had the constancy to spend entire hours alone. He thought he was compromising himself by taking a step to approach a fellow student; and, in the abandonment in which he then found himself, he liked to be self-sufficient and to find everything in the enjoyment of his thoughts.

In his lower classes, and however young he had been, he was very rarely seen sharing the amusements and games which most please childhood. His cold and misanthropic heart never knew those outpourings of lively and frank joy, natural signs of candor and ingenuity. Of all the noisy and endlessly varied amusements which make the public recreation of a college such an animated scene, none pleased him, and he preferred dark reveries and solitary walks. If someone, at these moments, approached him, he received him with a cold gravity; and answered him at first only in monofyllables. If he took it upon himself to praise his style and his scholastic productions, Robespierre did him the favor of striking up a conversation with him. But, however little one ventured to thwart him, one instantly became the object of some harsh and virulent trait. Camille Desmoulins, who lived at the same College and whose impetuous and muddled character did not go along well with Robespierre's philosophical arrogance, had from time to time grapples (des prises) with him; but, from then as since, the champions did not fight with equal strength. Always more thoughtful than the adversary who provoked him, and more master of his blows, Robespierre, spying on the moment, swooped down on him with all the advantage that cold Prudence has over Temerity.

This dominating inclination, and the fund of selfishness which formed his character, made him hostile to all kinds of constraint; and it is easy to imagine how the order established in his college looked in his eyes: he detested it. The wide variety of exercises he prescribed was for him only an unbearable yoke. He yielded to them, however, less because he feared the humiliation of reproaches even more than the embarrassment of subjection. Prudent and circumspect, he carefully avoided anything that could compromise him. It was in silence that he gnawed at the curb imposed on him by the Rule; or if he allowed himself to recount his troubles and to sigh his complaints, it was only aside, and in his secret confidences with certain subjects whose discretion he thought he could trust. It was for these people alone that the college was nothing but a prison, the students unhappy captives, and the masters despots, oppressors of the freedom of youth.

But, of all the exercises which are practiced in a House of Education, there was none which cost more to Robespierre, and which seemed to annoy him more than those which had religion more directly as their object. His aunts, with great piety, had not succeeded in inspiring him with a taste for it in childhood; he did not approach it at a more advanced age: on the contrary, the prayer, the religious instructions, the divine offices, the attendance of sacrament of penance, all that was odious to him; and the manner in which he discharged these duties reveals only too well the opposition of his heart to them. Obliged to appear at these various exercises, he bore to them the passive attitude of the Automaton. He had to have the hours in his hand; he had them, but did not turn the pages. His comrades prayed, he did not move his lips; his comrades sang, he remained silent; and, even in the midst of the Holy Mysteries, and at the foot of the altar charged with the feigned Victim, where the Surveillance contained his exterior, it was easy to perceive that his affections and his thoughts were far removed from the God who offers himself to his adoration.

The retreats above all, which are given to the youth of the College of Louis-le-Grand, at the beginning of each scholastic year, bored Robespierre cruelly. He could not suppress his aversion to these religious exercises. What good is this loss, he said to his fellow students? Couldn't we make better use of the time? He applauded himself, as with a stroke of wisdom, whenever, deceiving the vigilance of his Masters, he had succeeded in substituting the reading of some profane author for the pious readings which were prescribed or advised to him. As long as the retreat lasted, you saw him look embarrassed, bored, sometimes annoyed. It would have been difficult, in fact, for the great Truths of which he was instructed, and on which he was then obliged to fix himself in spite of himself, not to have agitated his soul with some importunate disturbances.

The necessity of going to confession every month tired Robespierre more than anything else; but the rule was expressed, and it would have been impossible for him to escape it with impunity; he got into it. The Ecclesiastics attached to the College of Louis-le-Grand were in the habit of confessing the young men who wanted to address themselves to them, leaving full freedom to others, to give their confidence to Confessors from outside, Chosen Subjects, whom pure zeal induced to devote part of their time to the important work of youth leadership. Robespierre tried some ideas, tried others. He even had the precious advantage of having during a time for Confessor M. l'Abbé Asseline, now Bishop of Boulogne. This Prelate, known for his zeal and his enlightenment, is, as Director of consciences, one of those men from whom a sinner can only escape by defying much remorse. It was not uncommon to see his young Penitents wipe their tears when leaving his confessional. But what was seldom noticed in the others, seemed sufficiently extraordinary to be noticed in the person of Robespierre. Some of his condiciples, one day, found him bursting into tears at the moment he left the Sacred Tribunal, and hastened to make known in the House that Robespierre was converted. Experience, which causes Impenitence to also have its tears and its sighs, in the Antiochus, waited, in order to pronounce, the less equivocal fruits of conversion; and these fruits did not appear.

In all well-regulated houses of education, frequentation of the Sacrament of Penance is prescribed, as one of the most efficacious means of purifying the morals of youth and of forming it in virtue; but it is not the same with regards to Communion. Its frequent use, fruit of the dispositions of the soul, can only be an object of exhortation and advice. Robespierre lived at the College of Louis-le-Grand at a time when Piety reigned there in all fervor. The general practice was that scholars should take communion once a month: a large number did so more often; and the virtuous Decalogne was not the only one who communicated at least every week. On the great Feasts of the Year, the number of Communians was such that Mass lasted half an hour longer. My eyes have seen this touching spectacle of a pious Youth rising in Mass, so to speak, to surround the Holy Table. Robespierre, in these 'Solemnities', would have been ashamed to get noticed by not associating himself with his condiciples; and he made arrangements, God forbid, to communicate like them. One even remembers a time when Communions were fairly frequent; which, added to his ardor for work, gave him a certain air of regularity among the fellow students. But the Masters, who had under their eyes the whole of his conduct, were more frightened than edified whenever they saw him participate in the Holy Mysteries. Which would again announce that it was hypocrisy and the intention of securing a reputation, much more than religion, that led Robespierre into this Christrian act. It was at the time of a revolution in the College of Louis-le-Grand, which deprived it of almost all its Masters, and at a time when it was no longer shameful to be absent from Table Saint, where Robespierre not only no longer approached it during regular days, he went so far as to defy the anathema of the Church and abjure the Easter Communion. He did not attend a single one the whole time of his stay in the College; more impious perhaps still, by open contempt for a sacred duty, than by profanation itself.

At the time when it is best to surround oneself with certain appearances of regularity, he had so little confidence in his Masters that, in the frequent visits which they made, to ward off from their College the contagion of bad books, few subjects were more scrupulously sought than him on this point. Robespierre, on these occasions, was always greatly piqued by the suspicions which seemed to be fixed upon him; he complained bitterly of it, crying about injustice and prejudice. The truth was, however, and some of his comrades were not unaware of it, that he was a possessor of bad books that were robbed of him. But, always prudent and circumspect, he deposited them in a neutral place, and went to read them, in the place of the House where one believes oneself sure of finding oneself without witnesses. One day, however, a prefect, suddenly opening a door, finds him on the commode reading a very bad pamphlet. Caught thus in flagrante delicto, Robespierre thought himself lost; and, forgetting his natural pride, he falls at the feet of the Arbiter of his fate; he comes down to the humblest supplications. The Master with whom he had to deal was neither inflexible nor fervent in his Morale. He was a man who had been heard more than once to exclaim among the Young People: "Long live liberty, my friends: far from us the hypocrisy.” It was the Abbé Audrein, who since deserved, by his apostasy, to become the Collegue of Robespierre in the Assembly of Factious, where he still sits. With such a judge, the affair of the bad book was civilized without difficulty, and did not even come to the knowledge of the other Masters of the House.

How guilty they are, let us be permitted this reflection, how guilty they are, and with what account they take upon themselves towards Heaven and Society, these weak and cruelly indulgent Masters, who fear to sacrifice what they call the fortune of a subject, by his expulsion from a college, and do not fear to sacrifice all the youth of that college to the scandals of a corruptor, and to raise again, in his person, a Plague for his Fellow citizens! If Robespierre had been expelled from Louis-le-Grand the day when it was proved that he deserved to be so; [1] then, without resources as he was, to continue his studies, he would have been forced to find an occupation, and then how many fewer crimes in France! How many innocent victims rescued from death! If they had done him justice by expelling him from the College, it is probable that by sparing him the crimes of a public life, he would also have been spared the shame of the scaffold. Is it not even possible that, in this order of things, the assault on the King would not have taken place, since it was he, as we shall see later, who first proposed it, who solicited with the most fury and determined it by a sophism?

Like all justly suspect young people, Robespierre, in his College, was horrified of surveillance, and always seemed to fear that the secret of his bad conscience would be stolen from him. The presence of his Masters fatigued him: he fled from it, and never breathed more at ease than at a greater distance from their gaze. It was not necessary for a Master to reprove or humiliate him, it was enough that he was his Master for him to hate him; so that it was rather authority he detested than he who had the power to exercise it over him. “The first care of the Young People, when they are given a new Master, is to seek to know him, and, for that, to hasten around him, to make him speak and to study him. Robespierre on these occasions, walked with disdainful indifference far from his comrades, and seemed to say to the newcomer: "I do not know you; but you must be my Master; and, for that alone, you are odious to me.”

It was not yet enough for him to live by this dreadful morality, he neglected nothing to propagate it; and he sometimes rose up with a sort of indignation against those whom he saw unwilling to share in its injustice and baseness. He called vile adulators those of his faithful disciples whose honest and grateful feelings condemned his misfortune. He made a crime of the attentions and respects of which a well-born young man never dispensed towards his Masters. If any of them, from the desire to learn, or from any other laudable motive, made themselves more alliduous with the Master during the recreations, Robespierre took an aversion to him, and left no opportunity to mortify him go to waste, and thought he had exercised a very noble revenge when he had said to him: ”Go and flirt with the Master.”

His aversion to authority was such that it did not spare even those of his superiors to whom he was indebted for particular benefits. M. l'Abbé Proyart, then sub-principal of the College of Louis-le-Grand, was one of this number, and he will not disavow what we are about to report on this subject. Robespierre had been recommended to him by a Vicar-General of his docese. Himself witness then, to the extreme misery of the young man, who, sometimes, speaking to the eyes, and producing himself by a strong bareness (il se produisait par une forte de nudité), M. Abbé Proyart asked for help for him from M. the Bishop of Arras; and the prelate did not make them solicit. One day only he observed, that he had often heard his diocesan spoken of as a studious subject, but never as a virtuous subject: to which the Patron of the poor Schoolboy replied: that, without doubt, the constant benefits of Religion would finally instill in the Young Man a taste for Religion, which, unfortunately, was still left to be desired. The Charity does not dispute with the misery: the Bishop of Arras continued his assistance to Robespierre. We will report on this subject a rather curious piece. It is a letter from Robespierre to M. l'Abbé Proyart, then retired from the College of Louis-le-Grand, and living in the City of St. Denys.

Paris, April 11 1778

Monsieur,

I hear that the Bishop of Arras is in Paris, and I would very much like to see him; but I have no tailcoat, and I lack several things, without which I cannot go out. I hope you will take the trouble to come and explain my situation to him yourself, in order to obtain from him what I need to appear in his presence. I am with respect, Monsieur, your very humble and very obedient servant. De Robespierre the older

Notwithstanding the obligations that Robespierre owed to him who thus protected him from his poverty, he never showed him more attachment and gratitude. Like that voracious animal which follows you when hungry, and takes from you the bone which you have given it, he approached his Benefactor when in need, and fled him as soon as he received the help. When M. l'Abbé Proyart appeared in Arras at the time of the holidays, Robespierre, the one of all the young people of this town raised at Louis-le-Grand who owed him more than what every disciple owes to his masters, was the only one who neglected him, and only saw him by chance. One would have said that to render him services was only to pay him a debt. No one was more careful to dispense with gratitude. While he was in Arras, a Canon of that town, M. l'Abbé Aymé, gave him his table out of charity: he would have liked to persuade his comrades that he only accepted it out of kindness. The memory of a benefit, like the presence of a Benefactor, tortured his pride.

This passion, the sole motive of his conduct, pervaded him in everything. Albeit scholar in the College; albeit reduced to the poverty in which we see him, he would have aspired to appear as well as the most well-off boarders. Most of the scholars do without a wigmaker; Robespierre goes to the expense of paying for one; and it was not rare to see him, with an elegant curl, a coat and perforated shoes. It was not enough for him to take on the tone of wealth, when he lived on charity, he still wanted to mimic the Nobility in the midst of the witnesses of his commonness, and he had his name preceded by a de, which all his young compatriots ridiculed. There is a pride which does not exclude the outward appearance of politeness, which sometimes even affects it; that of Robespierre made it coarse, to the point that, when he spoke of his Superiors, of the Men in place and of the Great, he only called them by their name, without preceding it with the usual title of Monsieur, which French politeness refuses no one. It is in this tone of irreverence that we see that in imploring the benefits of the Bishop of Arras, he calls this Prelate, quite simply, the Bishop, in the same letter where he foolishly calls himself de Robespierre.

What nurtures a mad pride in so many young heads, and what perhaps ended up making this vice incurable in Robespierre, is this perfidious facility that Youth finds in making their Masters excuse their coldness for virtue, not their successes in the sciences. Whoever has tasted the pleasure of being praised for the qualities of the mind, will rarely deserve to be praised for the qualities of the heart, and even more rarely for the virtues of the soul. Robespierre’s professors, who only saw him during his Classes, and when he had to offer them more proofs of his application to study than of the baseness of his feelings and the darkness of his character, flattered him without reserve, and as if a young man had fulfilled all his duties once he knew how to spread words and compose sentences. But none of his Masters contributed so much to develop the republican virus which was already fermenting in his soul as his rhetorics pofessor. An enthusiastic admirer of the Heroes of Ancient Rome, M. Hérivaux [2], who the students jokingly nicknamed the Roman, also found in the character of Robespierre a strong Roman physiognomy. He praised him, cajoled him unceasingly, sometimes even congratulated him very seriously on this precious similarity. Robespierre, no less seriously, favored compliments, and was grateful to bear the soul of a Roman, be it the atrocious soul of a parricidal Brutus, or that of a conspiratorial Catiline.

This particular affection of the Master disposed the Disciple wonderfully to profit longer from his lessons, and to do two years of Rhétorique under him. It was at during this period that Robespierre obtained a well-signalled favour, in a memorable circumstance, a favor of which he was doubtless the most unworthy subject, and which lends itself to very striking comparisons. In 1775, Louis XVI, after the coronation ceremony, made his formal entry into Paris, accompanied by the Queen and the Royal Family. Their Majesties, on their way from the Metropolitan Church to that of Ste. Génevieve, stopped in front of the College of Louis-le-Grand, where they were complimented by the University staff. This College, which survived only on the benefactions of our Kings, also owed a special homage of gratitude to Louis XVI; and it was Robespierre who was commissioned to present it to him in the name of his fellow students, in a speech in verse composed by his Professor. I was present for the event, and remember that the King deigned to cast a look of kindness on the young monster who, brought up in his House, was one day to take the first stab at him.

Robespierre, after having distinguished himself during the second year of Rhétorique, did not shine in Philosophy. This new kind of study greatly disgusted him at first, and he gladly gave it up. But, as the habit of work had made him in need of it, and as he was moreover jealous of preserving his reputation as a good student, he was triumphant over his repugnances, and ordered himself the measure of application necessary to protect oneself from reproach. But, to the study of his cayers, he joined the reading of Modern Philosophers; and soon the brilliant Sophisms of those Eternal Flatterers of human pallions appeared to him more conclusive than the arguments of Morality, which confounded his pride. It was this reading of impious Books, begun during his Philosophy, and continued during his course in law, which completed the extinguishing in his heart of all honest sentiment, and consummated the work of his depravity. And, what we know positively of Robespierre, do we not have the right to conclude from his Accomplices? It is necessary to want to be blind for pleasure, or to not know neither how to read or observe, in order not to admit that it was in this same oven of bad books that the Factious of the day, people for the most part without means of their own, drew all that they needed to determine the French Revolution or to prolong it. Also the principles of our former Ministers on the circulation of all the bad Books, without excepting even those which strike the most direct blows at the Altar and at the Throne, constitute a veritable enigma, or rather a mystery of blindness, which finds its solution only in the designs of an avenging Providence, which willed that great excesses should be punished by still greater excesses, and that Authority, accomplice in all the crimes of the Press, would itself become its Territory, in order to teach once and for all all the inattentive Kings, that the first of their duties, likewise their greatest interest, is to oppose the perversion of their People.

Always guided by selfishness and ambition, Robespierre, during his law course, a study which in Paris was only an abusive and financial formality, preferred to cultivate the eloquence of the Bar which leads to celebrity, rather than deepen the science which makes the Man of Law truly useful to society. He read the Curious Memoirs; he followed the famous Causes, he ran to the Palace, to hear the Pleadings of apparatus o the same, and pass judgment on the most famous Lawyers.

[1] It was the cruel inclinations of Robespierre, and his Motions of blood, in the Constituent Assembly and in the Jacobin Club, which made people imagine a relation between him and Robert Damiens; and it was to make it more probable, by an affinity of name with this Regicide, that right-wing Journalists, subsequently copied by those on the left-wing, called him, instead of Robespierre, Robert-spierre.

[2] By a provision very favorable to disorder, although authorized by the Parliament of Paris, the Principal of the College of Louis-le-Grand did not have the right to dismiss a Scholar without putting him on trial, and, this trial done, the schoolboy who had lost it could appeal, and lead his Superior from Tribunal to the Parliament. Whence it followed that the Robespierres, the Camille-Demoulins and other subjects of this stamp became, with the prudence of the Serpent, irremovable pelts in this House.

[3] M. Hérivaux, whom we knew well, is one of the victims of the French Revolution, in the moral order, whom we most regret. He was a man of noble and considerate countenance, very erudite and expressing himself with grace and dignity, sometimes perhaps in a tone a little too magisterial. His principles of Common Moral Politics were so pure that Abbé Royou had associated him for a time with literary works, the University was then divided into two Classes of Masters; and M. Herivaux was considered to belong to ”the good people”. Although he was only lascivious, he had been seen to practice the Christian Virtues in an exemplary manner until the time of the Revolution. Then the republican ideas turned his head upside down to the point where his friends no longer recognized him, and his own children were obliged to flee before his demagogic mania. Abandoned of what he once held most dear, he consoled himself in the hope that his disciple Robespierre would incessantly cause the days of ancient Rome to be reborn in France, and above all that that precious system of equality, who the just would be fully proud of the reproach made to him by the proud delicacy of our morals, for having, after the death of his wife, married another woman, virtuous indeed, but his servant-maid.

#robespierre #maximilien robespierre #abbé proyart #frev #desmoulins #i’m having a hard time choosing between this and robespierre’s ”danton said virtue was having sex with his wife so he must be a conspirator”#as most contrived way to denounce a person #ever #you know a kid is future satan when he keeps quiet and focuses on his studies…

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