#return of the vengeful queen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freedomfireflies · 1 year

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Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours.

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true.

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut.

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind.

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door.

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs.

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies.

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?”

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail.

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up.

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you.

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so.

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls.

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you.

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling.

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

“We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw.

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be.

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie.

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you.

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw.

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy.

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart.

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…”

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips.

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you.

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression.

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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superprincesspea · 1 month

Text

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 14 - Secrets and Sapphires

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Maris’ anger had not diminished in your absence, and she was certainly glad of the thunderous scolding you received from your father.

His finger pointing, his voice booming so loudly you imagine half the keep can hear it.

Stupid, careless, girl.

He was right, you had been careless. You’d lost yourself in Aemond’s company and what could be more careless than that?

Except, that wasn’t why he was angry. You'd gone missing for hours and your mothers' cheeks were still stained with tears.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“You shouldn’t even let her join us in the hall tonight!” Maris pipes in when the shouting has dwindled down to a halt, her eyes narrowed and vengeful.

But her attempt at siding with your father is soon thwarted because Borros Baratheon doles out the punishments, not his daughters, and a fresh wave of anger washes over him.

“Quiet girl!” he snaps, before returning his attention back to you, his voice booming again, “you’ll get changed and you’ll do it quickly or so help me!”

You don't need to be told twice, and rush to your room, pulling a yellow gown from your armoire before thinking better of it.

Maris already thought you were trying to steal Aemond and, in her mind, yellow was the colour to do it in. So, you reach for the sapphire blue, making tonight its third outing of the summer and perhaps its final one too.

You’re still fiddling with the tiny buttons when Cassandra sneaks into your room with a pitying look.

She sits patiently on the bed, waiting for you to finish before picking up your brush and nudging you onto the stool next to your vanity.

“We can’t have you looking like this,” she says, her voice cheerful as she gently pulls the brush through all the knots which had formed in the rain.

Trying not to wince each time she hits a snag, you sit quietly, miserably , worrying the skirt of your dress and wishing your father had forced you to stay behind.

You're still shaken from the way his voice had boomed in your ears, and you’d rather curl up in a ball and cry, instead of facing an evening of polite conversation and Maris’ seemingly endless supply of anger.

“She’ll get over it,” Cassandra says, and you know she’s right but that doesn’t make it any easier. If you could skip forward to a place where Maris didn’t hate you, you would, but there was no quick fix, only time.

“And...” she begins, waiting for you to meet her eye in the mirror, “ I think we both know she never had a chance.”

Heart suddenly in your throat, you look at your hands, hoping to hide any of the thoughts which may have escaped onto your face.

But Cassandra doesn’t need any confirmation of what she already knows to be true.

“I do not believe I’ve ever seen Prince Aemond look at Maris the way he looks at you,” she says, and you stiffen, it was exactly what the Queen had said at the tourney.

“If you knew why , you would be ashamed to have me as your sister.”

You look up from your hands just in time to see Cassandra’s eyes widen with horror, the brush stopping its progress.

“Do not tell me you have given him your virtue?”

“No! ” you say quickly, surprised by her suggestion.

Though, for one brief moment, you can’t help but imagine what that would be like.

High Valyrian rolling from his tongue, long fingers wrapping around your waist instead of books. Would his kiss be gentle, hesitant even? Just a soft, momentary press of lips to test your willing.

Or would it be certain? Urgent? Would he push you up against the bookcases, hard and feverish, his lips devouring yours before finding the racing pulse at your neck, his hands moving from your waist, hitching up the skirts of your dress and-

Clearing your throat, you banish the thought away, but not quickly enough. Your cheeks are more than a little flushed when you admit, “I met him before we came to court.”

“Where ?”

“On the beach below the keep.”

She laughs, her brow knitted with confusion, “why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because I was alone… and I was…” you hold your tongue, could you really tell her the truth?

“I was swimming ,” you whisper, and it feels both cathartic and terrifying at the same time.

Cassandra’s fingers fall from your hair altogether and you dare not look at her in the mirror. Instead, you turn to meet her, face to face, your heart pounding harder than before, your palms slick with sickening nerves.

Yet, instead of shame you find anger, an emotion which barely ever registers on her face, and her voice is low, tense .

“Did he hurt you?” she demands in a hushed whisper which is no less powerful than your fathers bellowing.

“No ,” you gasp, knowing precisely what she is thinking as you reach to touch her arm and reassure her, “he only looked, but he has teased me about it all summer.”

She laughs then, relieved , her hands returning to your hair. “No wonder he looks at you like that .”

“Like what?”

“Like he is constantly on the brink of kissing you.”

Your cheeks flush yet again, but Cassandra’s tone hardens, scolding you. “You know you really should have told me this months ago. And Maris. How could she ever stand a chance when Prince Aemond had already fallen in love with you?”

“He loves tormenting me, nothing more.”

“If you say so,” Cassandra teases before shaking her head, “I still cannot believe you thought you could keep this a secret. Heavens, you can be so wilful sometimes.”

“But you’ll promise not to tell anyone?” you say, desperately, and by ‘anyone’, you mean Maris.

“We are sisters, your secrets are mine to keep, not to share,” she reassures, sliding the last pin into your hair and you relax, turning on the stool to hug her tightly.

It was strange, but despite all your torment, you hadn’t realised just how much you’d needed such comfort until her arms were wrapping around your shoulders and she was kissing the top of your head.

It was no secret that you and Cassandra had never been as close as you and Maris, who were like partners in crime compared to your perfect, angelic, older sister. But her embrace is so steadfast, that it seems impossible to imagine you could have any better friend or sister than her.

“You know...” she starts, as you pull away from the embrace, “we never did get to the bottom of who sent us these gowns...”

You look down at your dress, the sapphire bodice glimmering with gems, and she was right. After trying to thank Tyland Lannister, you hadn’t really wanted to think who could have bought them. Or why.

“Helaena told me that when Aemond lost his eye, they offered to replace it with gold,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “he chose a sapphire instead.”

“A sapphire?” you choke, picturing the way it might glitter beneath the patch across his eye. So beautiful, so radiant. Just like your gown.

Then you think of the times you’d wore the dress in front of him and feel as though you might be sick. From nerves, from anger, from the sheer audacity of the knowing smiles you’d seen on his face each time.

Were you really wearing something he’d picked out?

You didn’t want to believe it, but who else could afford such a thing?

Who else would choose this exact shade of sapphire blue?

Hurrying towards your armoire, you reach for the yellow gown once again but it's too late. Your father's voice is booming into your room and it's time to leave, whether you’re ready or not.

Cursing the entire situation, you trail behind your family all the way to the hall, wondering how long it would take them to notice if you decided to slip away. If you hadn’t gone missing this afternoon, you would chance it, but you’re not sure you can withstand any more of your father's anger.

Instead, you think, so what if Aemond chose your dress? It didn’t mean anything .

Except, you can’t even hold that lie in your brain for more than a moment before it falls apart. Because it did mean something. Everything he’d done meant something .

He’d met you on the beach in spring and thought of you often enough to invite you here for summer, to choose the books on your nightstand, and purchase the most beautiful gown you’d ever seen, for no other purpose than to see you standing in a room wearing the exact shade of his eye.

Yet, the same man who’d done all those things, had also stolen more than one look at your naked body, threatened all your suitors, toyed with Maris, told everyone you couldn’t dance, embarrassed you in front of his mother, and killed Ser Glover in cold blood.

He was impulsive, arrogant and completely ignorant to anyone’s feelings but his own. You still hated him, a few hours in the library couldn’t change that.

You could only pray that he would not be in the hall tonight because hating him and facing him were too very different things.

Yet there he was. Across the room. A dark line of fine black leather, his eye meeting with yours, holding all your attention before it slowly sinks to your dress.

The slightest twitch of a smile quivers at his lips, and you know, beyond any doubt, that he was the mysterious secret admirer who’d sent three gowns to the Baratheon sisters. One pink, one lilac and one sapphire blue.

You swallow hard and he begins to move, abandoning the people he was in conversation with, his usual cocky gait carrying him quickly across the room and, more importantly, directly towards you.

He’s already made it halfway before you jump into action.

Seven hells!

What was he thinking?

He was Aemond Targaryen. When he walked, people watched.

Maris watched.

He couldn’t just walk right up to you like this. He wasn’t the kind of man who walked right up to anyone- unless he was threatening them.

Breaking away from your family, you skirt around the edge of the room, and he changes direction. Another smile twitching at his lips, as though he’s enjoying the chase. But you’re not going far, just far enough so Maris cannot see past the crowds.

You wait for Aemond by a thick stone column and, when he’s close enough, you push him behind it, so you can be hidden from all the prying eyes that might be watching.

“We can find more privacy than this if you wish to have me alone, issa jorrāelagon,” he says, a devilish smirk now filling his cheeks entirely.

You sigh sharply, “that is the last thing I want!”

“Are you certain?” his gaze scrapes down, to where the tips of your fingers are still pressed against his chest, “then why are you pinning me against a wall?”

Embarrassed , you snatch your hands away, knotting them behind your back, your heart thumping as he laughs, enjoying every ounce of your torment as per usual.

Then you let out an exasperated sigh, wondering, yet again, how you’d spent so many hours with this man.

“You cannot just walk right up to me in front of the entire room,” you warn and, though a small frown creases into his brow, amusement still holds sway over his face.

“How else am I to ask you to dance?”

“You cannot!” you exclaim tartly, appalled to think that was what he was planning on doing. “You cannot even speak to me in front of them. I forbid it .”

“You forbid your prince?”

“Yes , Maris hates me enough as it is and, if you consider yourself my friend , you will do no more harm between us.”

At that, you try to leave, feeling you have already spent far too long with the most conspicuous man in the room, but his hand slides to your waist, holding you still.

“Do you consider yourself my friend?” he asks, and you cannot think of anything more dangerous than friendship with a dragon, but you’d say anything to placate him.

“We can be friends if you stay away from me.”

He snorts, “that's a strange recipe for friendship, would you not say?”

“Not if the friendship is already strange,” you retort before pulling away from his grasp and heading straight towards your family, only to be intercepted by Lord Boremund before you can even make it five paces.

“Little cousin,” he says, taking your hand, “please allow me the honour of your first dance this evening.”

You accept, glad to be away from Maris for as long as possible and surprised when Ser Robin asks for your next dance, then Lord Thorne for your third.

It seemed Aemond had not only allowed Tyland Lannister to resume the pursuit of your hand, but half of court too. Yet, like Tyland Lannister, it only made these men seem both spineless and fickle.

Were they all afraid of a dragon?

So, instead of feeling pleased to be dancing with them, you find yourself feeling increasingly annoyed, and you’re not the only one.

Throughout every turn you make around the floor, you see Aemond pacing the edges like a caged animal and three dances is all it takes before he breaks.

He strides fast, unconcerned by the movement swirling to avoid him, and you watch his every step with both heart pounding surprise and gut-wrenching exasperation, as he sweeps into Lord Thorne’s place and steals your hand without a single word to the other man.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath, extremely conscious of the scene he is creating.

“It seems I cannot be your friend, ” he retorts, but you hardly hear him, you’re too busy looking around. Pleased to see that people are not pointing or staring, and the dance is continuing as though nothing is amiss.

It’s only Lord Thorne who looks out of place, his cheeks flushed with anger, his steps faltering as he tries to move around the other couples.

At this point, you think it might actually draw more attention if you stop dancing, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about the situation. You’re so mad at Aemond, you could stamp on his stupid foot.

“You could have at least waited for the next dance,” you scold, knowing you would have rejected his offer, if he had actually asked.

“I want all your dances, including this one,” he says, leading you into a turn and when you’re facing him again, you glare, ensuring he knows that, despite your current actions, you’re still very much annoyed.

“And you think nothing of what I want?” you say. It was not half an hour since you’d told him not to speak with you, let alone dance with you. Yet here you were, in his arms.

“Would you rather dance with them instead of me ?”

Words stick on your tongue, and you're glad for another turn, so you can think of an answer, because you can’t exactly tell him ‘no’ .

You wouldn’t rather dance with them.

Lord Boremund was your cousin, Ser Robin was far too tall, and Lord Thorne was perfectly fine and perfectly handsome, except his touch did not set your skin ablaze as Aemond’s did.

You face him again, and you must say something, so you think of propriety and all the rules which had been drummed into your head since you were old enough to walk. “As an unmarried lady, I shall not be obliged to give special treatment to anyone, even his grace.”

“Then marry me.”

What?

You’re so surprised, you can’t help but laugh, your mind spinning, your cheeks heating beyond reason. “ Be serious, ” you say, almost choking on the words as they splutter from your lips.

“I am,” he replies with a low voice, and he isn’t joking. He’s waiting, wanting, but you cannot possibly give him the answer he craves.

You cannot even speak as he draws you in, holding you far closer than any man should in a room full of people. One hand on your lower back, the other brushing the length of your arm before he curls his fingers into yours.

If there had been butterflies in the library, there are dragons now. Hatching carelessly in the pit of your stomach. Hot and dangerous, long wings reaching to the very tips of your toes until you feel flimsy in his sturdy embrace.

You open your mouth, but there are no words, and what’s left is far worse than any words could ever be. You hate the sound which pants breathlessly from your lips, soft, submissive , welcoming his advances wholeheartedly.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were enjoying this. But you’re not. You don’t want him. Not as a friend, not as a husband.

Yet your eyes still graze his lips, and you find yourself wondering, for the second time in a single evening, what it would be like to be kissed by him.

"Marry me, Lady Baratheon,” he says again, and you both miss a step in the dance, almost colliding with another couple, before you regain control of your senses and wedge your free hand between your chest and his.

Gods. You cannot meet his eye.

“You do not dance well enough for me to condemn myself to marriage,” you whisper, your voice strained, before you force another laugh to break the tension.

If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it, his tone is still light, playful even. “Is it marriage you disapprove of, or your prince?”

You breathe out another shaky breath, but your voice is a little stronger when you say, “I do not disapprove of marriage. ” Only dragons.

Aemond’s huff of amusement is light, meant only for your ears, and you’re grateful when the dance requires you to break from his arms and weave between the other partners.

Inhaling a lung full of air, you’re certain not to let him reel you in again. Instead, you hold yourself rigid, your palm pressed against his chest to prevent any further encroachment into the battlements you’re trying desperately to defend.

“Now behave yourself or I shall be forced to return to my room, for yet another evening,” you warn, daring to meet his eye.

“Good ,” he smiles triumphantly, seeming to enjoy the way you’re struggling to hold him at bay, “I shall meet you there.”

“With the guard outside the door?” you say hotly, imagining the look on Ser Maurin’s face if Aemond tried to waltz into your room without a chaperone.

He leans in harder, forcing your arm to cave against his strength, “I shall climb in through the window.”

When you turn again, you jab his rib, not too hard but hard enough to make him wince and remind him how difficult climbing would be with such an injury, “I think not , and in any case, I shall bolt it to be certain.”

He chuckles and, though you’re not looking at him, you can picture just how smug his smile must be as he says, “you imagine a bolt across a window could stop me?”

“No ,” you glance back to meet his eye, “but I’d hope his grace would not force himself into someone’s company if they had asked him to stop .”

The music finishes before he can reply, and all the other couples break away with bows and curtsies to find someone new.

But not you and Aemond. Aemond wants all your dances, and he does not relinquish control of your hand despite your efforts. He holds it tight, possessive, and you can feel as people begin to stare.

“I shall scream if you do not let me go this instant,” you hiss under your breath, trying to remain composed.

His jaw tightens, frustration seeming to cling to every muscle in his body just as he loosens his grip, sliding his hand behind his back so his stance is as formal as it is unyielding.

When you turn to leave, you notice Maris who’s been staring at the whole scene with daggers instead of eyes.

“If you truly care about me at all,” you begin, purposely avoiding his gaze, “you will ask someone else to dance this instant or I fear Maris will never forgive me.”

Aemond snorts, “when you are here and she is in Storms End, it will not matter what she thinks.”

“It matters to me!” you say, a little too loudly, but you’re so painfully annoyed with him that you can hardly be expected to contain your temper, “not that you seem to think of anything but your own selfish desires.”

When you walk away, you feel him step to follow before he hesitates and turns on his heel to walk in the opposite direction.

Not that you dare to look back or feel any relief that he has not followed you, you’re too anxious for that.

Instead, you make it to where your sisters are standing with Belis, and Maris laughs as she says, “it seems Prince Aemond is pitying all the wallflowers with a dance this evening.”

Then you do look at him and, just as you’d asked, he’s escorting another to the floor. Lady Staunten, who’d not danced all summer and seemed more terrified than pleased to be in his company.

“Shall we take a turn of the room?” Cassandra offers with a warm smile and you’re grateful for another opportunity to leave Maris’ bad mood behind.

“Did you ask him about the dress?” she says, when you are far enough away from the others and, quite honestly, you’d forgotten about the dress altogether.

But you don’t say that, or anything, you’re too distracted, craning your neck to watch Aemond as he moves methodically across the floor, as though the dance holds no joy, only steps.

Did he really just ask you to marry him?

It was such a surprise, it felt like you could have imagined the whole thing. In fact, you wish you had imagined it. Then you wouldn’t have to think about it, and you were quite certain you could think of little else.

It wasn’t every day a man asked you such a question- o r ever. But you couldn’t be entirely sure of Aemond’s motives. Did he truly want marriage and all that it entailed, or was it just another hot-headed impulse?

Though you suppose none of that really mattered, since there were no circumstances in which you would agree to be his wife. Even if he wasn’t the most arrogant man in the world, he was still a Targaryen, and they were a strange family with even stranger proclivities.

Yet, by the time you’ve walked an entire circle of the room, he’s asking another wallflower to dance, and you feel the unmistakable claw of envy, scratching at your skin.

You turn away, wanting to forget about him but there was really no forgetting Aemond Targaryen.

There wasn’t even safety in the bosom of your family. There was Alicent, talking to your mother with a coy smile and, for one heart stopping moment, you wonder if she knows . If they both know.

Because marriage would not be a choice if your mother was involved. There would be no question about it, you’d be given to the crown without a single thought for your wishes, and that would be that .

“Ah, Lady Baratheon,” Alicent says, noticing the way you’re lingering in her periphery.

You curtsy politely, heart pounding as she waves her hand to beckon you closer.

“We were just discussing how pleasant it would be to enjoy the last days of summer with a picnic in the Kingswood. Do you ride?”

“Yes ." You even enjoyed it under usual circumstances.

"Good,” she laughs, the curls in her hair bouncing with the movement, “there is not much room in the wheelhouse for so many ladies and the fresh air will give you vigour.”

You start, thinking your mother might have something to say about the suggestion but she’s nodding along with the Queen. “You mean for me to ride all the way to the Kingswood?” you confirm, thinking it an unlikely ask for a high borne lady.

“I’m sure one of the men will keep you company,” Alicent says as though it's the most natural thing in the world. But what she means is, Aemond will keep you company .

Without thinking, you turn to look at him, annoyed that you cannot seem to retain autonomy over your own gaze, which seems intent to seek him out despite your wishes.

When you turn back to look at Alicent, her smile reminds you so much of her son that you almost tell her to hell with the Kingswood and to hell with Aemond. But you’re sure your mother would have some choice words if you humiliated her in front of the Queen.

So, you return her smile, thanking The Seven that Alicent has no idea her son just asked you to marry him. But she’s expecting it, you can see it on her face.

What had Aemond said in the library?

That she would finally think he was consenting to giving her a grandchild. Well, you aren’t consenting. As far as you were concerned, you had two older sisters and it was only proper that they should marry first.

~~~

Thank you for reading!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader #enemies to lovers #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #slow burn

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mymarsmoonandstars · 1 year

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It's been a week since I saw Wakanda Forever, and ever since, it's consumed my thinking. There are a million things I'd love to discuss about the film, but what keeps me up at night is Shuri and Namor.

Shuri had every right to gut his ass. Namor brought flooding and destruction to her home, killed her mother, all while knowing she was suffering from the death of her brother. Hell, Namor nearly killed her (by impaling her, which how did she survive that idk, anyway). And what was the worst thing that Shuri had done to him? Say no to his alliance to go to war with the surface world? Shuri wasn't the one who killed Namor's two subjects. She actually tried to save them. Yet just like T'Challa, she's forced to deal with the consequences of other people's actions, and when she stands over Namor with a blade to his neck, her internal struggle with this flashes across screen. It's a powerful sequence, but the one that captures me the most is when we hear her mother telling her to show Namor who she is. Not only is it one of many callbacks to the first film, but really, who is she? Who is Shuri? She is struggling with her identity, as grief often does to a person.

When audiences first met Shuri, she was the genius younger sister, the comic relief, who took solace in her lab. But now all this has been taken from her, and taken so suddenly. She's now front and center, now her country's most powerful figure, no longer the jokester, no longer a sister, no longer a daughter, and feels like a failure. The moments where she stands over Namor is us watching her return to herself but also become someone entirely new. She sees the destruction reverse. Sees Namor's hope. Sees their mothers and their nations. She understands that they are similar just as much as they are different. She finally realizes that ending Namor's life cannot reverse the destruction nor her pain, but sparing him is the answer to ending the cycle of it. She recognizes that even though her mother and brother are gone, she is still sister, still daughter. Death in Wakanda is a beginning.

Above all, Shuri understands she cannot think of only herself anymore. She cannot push her people to war because of her own grief and vengefulness. She becomes a leader, in granting mercy. A protector. And extends this protection by offering it to Namor and his people. This brought a bitter taste in my mouth at first, but it isn't about who's right or wrong, especially when both sides have a little right or a little wrong to them. It's about navigating the actions of their forebearers in the best way they can.

Her multifaceted character is symbolized by her panther suit--it's reminiscent of T'Challa, Kilmonger, and her past self. Now that she's burned her mourning clothes, hopefully in the next movie, we'll see her accept this role with newfound confidence and surity of its purpose. I'm also hoping that Shuri kept Namor's little baby ankle wing that she sliced off and puts it up somewhere to serve as a reminder that she bested him. Can you imagine? I can't wait to see more of her.

Then there's Namor. And dare I say it, he was justified in his feelings of wanting to kill Queen Ramonda. She was cunning and tricked him and had two of his people killed in the process. Remember the scene where he's cradling his subject's face as she dies? And she asks if he can save her and he does not answer because he knows he cannot? And then--was it Namora?--who says, with such blame dripping in her voice, that he was busy meeting with the queen during Nakia's attack. Namor is so angry, and very possibly, so ashamed (and scared?). His ultimate goal is to protect his people, and he failed. He's a god and Ramonda made him look like a fool. To him, she had to go.

Ryan Coogler said that despite Namor being about 500 years old, he wanted him to still feel somewhat childlike. And is he! He's rash. He focuses only on the immediate response without thinking of the ramifications. He seems almost charmingly innocent in his hopefulness that Shuri would want to join him. There's no doubt they wanted us to feel a romantic connection betweeen them, or perhaps just from Namor's end. I don't know who gives clearance on the music, but whoever does, they are always very intentional and unique about it, and a love song plays during That One Mesmerizing Scene. The theories that Namor is infatuated with Shuri just weaken me. She's the first person to ever see Talocan. The bracelet. The mural. Him acknowdging her power. Him waiting for her to beckon him. I. have. folded. No one look at me.

I really hope the MCU explores their relationship. And though I'm sure it would never be a romantic one, that does not make it any less intriguing. Ryan is phenomenal with his villains. Just like Kilmonger challenged T'Challa not just with war, but challenged his core beliefs, Namor did the same with Shuri. The only difference now is that Namor is still alive, and this sets us up for a delicious exploration of a complex relationship between two leaders who have similar wants but conflicting perspectives.

Man. I love them. MCU, please let us see more of them. And if we do, please. Be careful with them.

#and the fact that this is between a black woman and brown man like PLEASE #seeing black women in multilayered relationships is something I did not know I starved for until now #shuri #namor #wakanda forever #shuri x namor #anyway let me talk next about how killing queen ramonda was a thematic mistake!#wakanda forever spoilers #black panther #black panther spoilers #wakanda forever meta

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pockeymcmockey · 2 years

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𝔄𝔫 𝔈𝔶𝔢 𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔄𝔫 𝔈𝔶𝔢 | 𝓐𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷

Summary: After Aemond takes the eye of his niece as revenge, he realizes he's made a mistake he may never get to fix...

Warnings: Angst, violence, blood, major injuries, ages follow the show and not the book, Reader goes by female pronouns, reader is the only child of Rhaenyra and Daemon, conceived during the brothel scene, cute matching moment between Aemond and Reader.

Author's Note: This is the edited version whereas I realized the original did not build as much of a relationship between Aemond and Reader as I would've liked. I hope this is much better to read!

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ | 𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱

A belching roar echoed throughout the stone walkway. Aemond's hand clutched the eye Lucerys attacked using his brother's dagger. Jacaerys stared with wide eyes at his uncle, whom was yet to react in any other way except sob for his missing eye. Guards and handmaidens rushed in at the gargling cry that intruded the quiet halls. Princess [Name] stood, frozen in horror at the act her younger brother has committed.

As the children were gathered in the King's chambers, Rhaenyra and Laenor were quick in their steps to reach their own children. Laenor checked on the boys while Rhaenyra sought out any scars upon her eldest's skin, only to find her unscathed. Rhaenyra held her daughter to her chest and turned to face her father and the Queen.

"What has happened? Why are my children scared out of their minds?" Rhaenyra breathed heavily, scared out of her own mind, worried about her children ending up as corpses one day. This wouldn't be the first time she found herself defending her children, finding that Alicent quite enjoyed trying to push punishment on them, especially her boys.

"Is this how you raise your children, Princess?" Alicent antagonized the Targaryen Princess with mocking words. "Allowing them to strike their own kin because of a beast?" The Queen narrowed her eyes at her former best friend, holding her youngest child close to her chest much like Rhaenyra. Aemond, while in his mother's hold, wouldn't take his stare off of his niece. She was older than him by two years, same age as his older brother, only months apart.

Aemond always had quite the strong feelings for his niece. Since he could remember she was always in the background, braiding his hair, sewing his clothes, fighting his battles. She was a gift from the gods to him. But he didn't want her to fight his battles. In fact, he almost resented her for thinking he was too weak to fight for himself. That resentment bubbled up into hatred, and he could think of nothing but.

Princess Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne, sent her boys back to their respective bedrooms before checking once more that her daughter was unharmed. The younger Princess kept her apologizing gaze on Aemond, brows furrowed and a frown evident on her lips. Her eyes said "I'm sorry" but Aemond could only see pity, blinded by the hatred he grew to have for the girl.

Princess [Name] Targaryen, First of Her Name, returned to her bedchambers to sleep off the frightful events of the night. She found herself having trouble falling into slumber, fluffing up her pillow did not serve to alleviate her insomnia. Out of options—and patience—the princess asked for a bath to be prepared. When the white, pristine tub was displayed in front of her and the handmaids assigned to her aided in her undressing, [Name] sunk into the scolding water that would boil any other man.

The Princess dismissed her handmaidens, wanting isolated time to think upon what has transpired. Silence filled her chambers until a creak of her wooden door alerted her of someone's presence. Aemond stood with his hands behind his back in a defensive stance. His expression was one of true spite, vengeful, even. Before the princess knew what was coming to her, a scar was plastered on her left eye.

Blood slowly seeped out of the jagged wound slashed across her eye. The Princess held a trembling hand over it but the blood kept pouring. She used the undamaged eye in her possession to look up at her uncle, he wore the face of a boy who'd kill for his own greed. He was unfazed by the tears welding up in his niece's eye, or how she whispered his name repeatedly, asking him why he would do such a thing.

"An eye for an eye." Is all he spoke before storming out of her bedchambers to hide in his room. The Princess stood in the tub, droplets of translucency rolling down her figure and back into the mahogany puddle of blood. She used one hand to wrap herself in a robe while the other tried and failed to keep any more blood from spilling out. During her fiasco of dressing as appropriately as she could, Jacaerys and Lucerys both charged into her room.

"Seven Hells!" Lucerys cursed, earning an elbow nudge from his older brother. "What happened to you?" The youngest finally asked. Before the Princess could answer, their mother walked through, wondering why her children were still up. When she saw the damage made to her daughter's eye, the heir lost her resolve and sent a guard for her father.

When the King and Queen enter the Princess' chambers, they both find horrified expressions upon their faces. Rhaenyra sits beside her daughter, holding her protectively as Daemon checks his daughter's eye to see just how much damage his nephew caused. When the Rogue Prince was complete with his task of scanning his daughter, he turned to his brother and the Queen.

"That little cunt of yours blinded my daughter, brother." Daemon rested his weight on his sword, the Dark Sister, before speaking up again, "I'm sure he won't mind being a cripple for the rest of his life. I'll make sure he's still able to use his arms." Daemon chuckled at his own jest. The King raised a hand and shook his crown-bearing head, scolding his younger brother for speaking in such manners, about his own nephew at such.

"I'll personally have a talk with my own son if that's alright with you, dear brother?" Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andal, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Prince of Dragonstone, slouched toward his granddaughter. The two Targaryens, Grandsire and granddaughter, had quite a close relationship. Since she was born Viserys has done nothing but spoil her. She had the best than her own brothers.

Rhaenyra asked her father to step outside the chambers with her to discuss the issue at hand. The heir offered to leave for Dragonstone, feeling as the Red Keep is no longer safe for her children anymore. Viserys reluctantly agreed, wanting nothing but safety for his daughter and grandchildren. The Princess Rhaenyra calmly walked back inside the bedchambers of her oldest child, born full Targaryen with platinum hair and violet eyes that could pierce any mans heart with just a look.

The Targaryen heir and her children headed for Dragonstone that night. Just before leaving, [Name] caught the eyes of Aemond whom heard his parents quarrelling about his stunt this evening. Her gown blew behind her from the evening breeze and her hair that glistened like snow under the moonlight made her much better to admire from afar. Aemond looked away and to his hands, clenching them to where his growing finger nails left crescent stab wounds in his palms.

That night, the King and his wife, Alicent Hightower, berated Aemond for committing such a heinous act. The King more visibly upset about it than the Queen, whose only hope was that her son's recklessness wouldn't get him in too much trouble one of these days. Aemond spent the rest of his hours of the night wallowing in regret, knowing he mistook his hatred for Lucerys as his hatred for [Name], acting out on her instead of his attacker.

•⚔•

𝕾𝖎𝖝 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗...

The Princess [Name], given the title "The Princess of Vanity and Vengeance" for her breathtaking Targaryen beauty and the relentless fist she pounds into her enemies. On this day, the princess bares an eyepatch over her eye, hiding the consequence of her moment of weakness. Of course, no one would blame her, she was just a young girl, but the older princess, the one who pierced armour and led armies, would not allow herself to be seen as such any longer.

The eyepatch she wears reminds her of her biggest failure. Failing to protect her family and herself. Would things be different if she had told on her brother? Would she still have her eye? Questions she asks herself everyday hoping she'd somehow, someway, come up with the answer. But for now, she will head to the Red Keep with her parents and brothers. Being the only daughter, and the oldest at that, came with many challenges as men were more hesitant to listen to her than if it were her brother Jacaerys or even Lucerys.

Riding in on dragon-back, [Name] lands her dragon, Llanerion in the center of the courtyard, announcing her presence through actions. The white-bellied, blue scaled dragon shook the grime off his scales and allowed guards to lead him to the Dragonpit. As the Targaryen family entered the Keep, Rhaenyra and Daemon split up, heading toward the King's chambers. The children were made aware of the King's illness but do not know the extent of it which is best left unsaid.

Jacaerys called for his brother and sister to join him on the training grounds, wanting to get some practice in if he is to be King someday. [Name] was offered the role of heir by her mother but has denied that privilege, only wanting to live alongside the King or Queen as a warrior fighting for her people. Her mother had never been more proud of her.

The Princess [Name] noticed a crowd of men circling two others but paid them no mind, offering her helping services to her brother who gladly accepted, knowing his sister was one of the best sword fighters in Westeros. The two eldest children of Rhaenyra stood at attention, their swords crossed in an 'X' position, readying for a match. As their swords began to clink and slice against one another, the attention of the men surrounding Aemond and Ser Criston were redirected to the heir's kin.

[Name] ducked under the blade of her brother and kicked at his calf, knocking him off balance and bringing her sword around to dig into his neck just a bit. "If you are to be King someday, you must know how to outsmart your opponent, Jace." The princess offered her advice to the boy on the receiving end of her blade. Jacaerys huffed and took the hand of his sister who helped him up.

Applause startled the princess when she turned around, only to find the matching eye of her uncle staring at her with an expression unreadable. She glared swords at him and sheathed her own into its holster, climbing the cobble stairs from the training grounds to the halls of the Red Keep. Lucerys and Jacaerys noticed the longing gaze their uncle gave their sister and they followed her actions, narrowing their eyes at the man who ruined their sister's life.

Aemond returned to his chambers after training, removing his eyepatch, noticing how the loss of the eyepatch did little to repair his vision. He smirked at his remembrance of his niece with an eyepatch as well, giving her the benefit of looking almost unnoticeable to the prince. But Aemond knows her eyes, he knows her lips and he wishes he knew her touch but he allowed anger and revenge to cloud his mind. He ruined what he could've had with her and now he may never get another chance.

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jozor-johai · 3 months

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It's no secret that the Red Temple of Volantis, and the vast majority of the R'hllorists in Essos, are considering Dany to be Azor Ahai reborn.

And it's equally no secret that Melisandre is off making a splinter sect of her own—rather than agree with the Dany-as-messiah hegemony, she's set her sights on Stannis Baratheon.

But these separate sects—and their potential—take on ever more meaning with the biblical parallels of their respective figureheads.

Dany has a series of paralleled images with Moses, if not wholly chronologically aligned: leading her people away from slavery, leading her people through a desert, communing with a magical fire and returning with a deified presence. I believe, in fact, that in the sense of this parallel she's in the middle of her trip to the top of Sinai, where some her followers believe her dead and begin to follow a false god leader in her absence.

So the Essosi branch of R'hllorism has this figurehead who is heavily paralleled with Moses...

and then Jon, then, for his part, is a heavy-handed Jesus figure, as we all know, with his betrayal and death at the hands of his brothers, his close allies with those who society rejects (Sam the effeminate scholar and Satin the prostitute), who is the de facto "king" of a refugee minority (the Wildlings) and who will be resurrected to return as a deity in truth.

The truth of Jon's return has the possibility to unite the two major factions of R'hllorists in Westeros. There's the small sect which is the Brotherhood Without Banners, or at least those not following Stoneheart, because the majority of their faith was earned through the proof of resurrection (of Beric) and who might follow another leader if he, too, seemed chosen by R'hllor (and was not as creepy or vengeful as LSH). Then there is the slightly larger sect which is Stannis' host and the Queen's Men in particular, who follow Melisandre's lead and believe in Stannis as Azor Ahai. If Melisandre changed her opinion for whatever reason—perhaps also through the "proof" of divine intervention via resurrection, then she and her followers, too, might follow Jon in the "cult of resurrection" so to speak.

Which would give us a geopolitical religious split along R'hllorist belief in who exactly is Azor Ahai, the Essosi sect believing that it's Dany, slave-freeing Moses-figure, and the Westerosi sect believing that it's Jon, resurrected king Jesus-figure.

Of course all of this comes with the caveat that Dany has her own Jesus parallels (wise men visiting her, "born" under a star) and Jon has his own Moses parallels, and of course that Jesus and Moses have plenty of parallels even themselves. I mean their status as major messiah figures is probably more nuanced than Moses/Jesus but it does make for an interesting divide. Not sure what it all means, to be honest, beyond noticing it.

#asoiaf meta #asoiaf analysis #jozor thoughts #twow speculation

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asumofwords · 9 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello babies, wooooooo only 2 more chapters to go. The last chapter is next, and then we have the Epilogue.... HOLY FUCKKKKKKKKKKK! I can't believ it honestly!! How crazy is that? Anyway... Enjoy <3

Chapter 108: Ash

On the grass before the mouth of Blackwater Rush, fire consumed the bodies of those who had been responsible for crowning Aegon as King, and aiding in keeping him there.

The people who had aided in keeping you trapped in the walls of the Red Keep, to be subjected to two brothers cruelties. Those who had broken their oaths to your mother, to King Viserys, those who had turned cloak against them.

Lady Alicent Hightower, a woman who was conniving and bitter, a woman who conspired against your mother, was now naught but a charred and blackened lump on the grass, surrounded by her peers.

She had screamed out into the air, much as they had, but it was short lived as Vermithor’s flames consumed them, until soon enough, their bodies, and hers, were charred and nothing but ash and bones.

And you watched them burn, as their cries of agony became silenced, until all that could be heard was the flames that roared from your dragons mouth until he pulled away growling beside you. You looked at those accountable, and felt nothing but triumph.

Joy.

Elation.

As though you were drunk, or high on the milk of the poppy or the sweetest and richest of ale from Dorne.

Of no doubt were you angry, vengeful, and out for blood, but in that moment, watching them die? It was sweeter than any honeyed wine in Essos, any spiced wine from Dorne. Sweeter than the nectar of any star fruit, or the taste of lemon tarts.

It was cathartic.

It was justice.

And it was final.

They were gone, just like the others, and an example of what was to come if anyone dared try to question or go against the Queen again.

You would make sure of that.

Your father would make sure of that.

But despite the sense of finalisation of your mothers rule, there was something that pulled at your gut, a whispering in the back of your mind, and almost nagging that you knew, not all was done, and that there was something else that you still needed to do.

You turned, pressing a hand to Vermithor’s neck, patting over his scales as his crackling purr came out loudly into the air. You whispered to him, that you missed him, that he did a good job, and that you would be right back to be with him again.

The dragon huffed, spreading its wings wide before moving to take off into the sky again, flying down and around the cliff to make his way to the entrance of the Dragon Pit.

The Lords and guards dispersed slowly, casting back feeble glances at the smoking bodies of the traitors before making their way back inside of the Keep. You walked with determination, strides confident, until you stood before your parents, who looked at you with pride.

“There is something I need to do.”

Daemon and Rhaenyra cast uneasy glances at each other before looking back at you. Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, lips parting to speak.

“I promise I will return.” You assured them.

As though Rhaenyra knew of what you meant, and Daemon sensing such shortly after, the Queen nodded to you, and pressed a hand against your cheek as she kissed the other, thrice, allowing for you to walk back inside of the Keep silently.

Aemond’s chambers were open, and as you walked inside, the smell of blood flooded your senses. Your stomach roiled, tears gathering in your eyes, but you steeled yourself with a steady breath, counting in your head as you walked.

But by the thirteenth step, when you finally reached his bed, you were met with nothing but a pile of bloodied sheets and pillows, the red having turned brown and crusted, an almost outline of his body pressed into where he had laid.

As you looked at the empty bed, you felt his presence beside you.

In your periphery, Aemond stood at your side in black, looking down at the bed he had passed in. His hair was pulled back in the small braids you had coaxed him to wear, and his usual sweeping black coat was atop his broad chest.

His face however, was impassive. Not sad, nor angry, nor relieved.

Just plain.

Unfeeling.

Unmoving.

A stark difference to Helaena or Lucerys.

Silver hair shifted over his shoulder as he turned to look at you, the sapphire of his eye catching the light in the chambers.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a sob worked its way up as a small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his seeing eye. But then his head kept turning, until he looked over his shoulder and down at the floor.

The Sept.

The frame of the painting was cool to the touch as you pushed it open, slipping through the dark shadows of the passage way, making your way down to the Sept. Each step had your breath hitching in your throat as you felt him follow behind you, and you had to remind yourself that he could not hurt you.

That he wasn’t real.

That he was gone.

King Aemond Targaryen lay on the cool stone slab of the Sept, still in nothing bar his bloodied breeches, not having been cleaned nor prepped for a funeral as no one knew what to do with him.

Was he to be treated as a traitor, cut into seven pieces and mounted atop the seven gates as a warning? As a lesson?

Or was his burial to be swift, and quiet, down in the Sept, locked away beneath stone to never be seen again?

His hair was caught beneath him as you made your way over, brushing it away from his face with gentle and shaking hands. Though you knew he was dead, that he had passed and it had been at your hands, it still shocked you to find his skin so cold, so icy. So different to how it had been.

To how he would shower you in his warmth, nestled against his chest. How he would sit at your side and hold your hands in his, warm and confident. How he would press his heated lips to your cheeks, to your eyes, to your lips, the top of your hair, your hands.

All the warmth that the man once had, that he had once given you, had bled from him at your hands.

And it hurt.

It ached to know what you had done.

A betrayal most foul.

A crime that you would have to live with for the rest of your days. Something that you could never forgive yourself for, and worried that the Gods would not either. That soon you would meet their punishment for having slayed him, another act of Kinslaying, a premeditated act so foul that you heaved a gag, stomach emptying beside him.

Leaning down over him, you pressed another kiss to his lips, cold and stiff beneath yours, “I’m sorry.” You whispered to him, stroking his cheek, “I am sorry for what I have done. I have betrayed you, betrayed you in a way that you did not deserve. Not in my eyes. I wish you would be here to see it all now. To see reason. If only you had seen reason, I would not have been pushed to do what I have done.”

A tear fell onto his cheek, which you wiped away with your thumb, “I do not regret it. I cannot. If I regret such an act, I will drive myself to madness. So I must live with this, Aemond. Live with knowing I have slain my love. The man whom I wed. Who I grew with. The father of my child.”

Your sobs echoed in the Sept below, footsteps were heard behind you, their soft feet scuffling across the stone floor.

“You will always be with me.” You whispered down to Aemond’s body, hand coming to press against your stomach, “Always.”

When you turned, you came face to face with your brother Jacaerys, and behind him a Septa.

You swallowed, brushing away the tears that fell across your cheeks, “Please have his body removed and taken to the Dragon Pit.” You commanded the Septa quietly, who bowed and moved back into the shadows.

Short steps took you to Jacaerys, whose face was fraught with concern, eyes darting from you then to the body behind you.

“Walk with me.” You asked, looping a hand through his arm.

And he did.

As the two of you walked, a silence surrounded you both. One where there were too many questions left unanswered, and the static energy that flickered between you like flames made you speak first.

“I loved him.” Your voice came out unsteady, feeling Jacaerys’ eyes on you, “Against all odds, I did. And I know that I shouldn’t have, that he was cruel and unkind. That he took Lucerys from us. But I did. And I won’t apologise for it. Nor will I desperately seek the reasons as to why. It just is, and I hope that you can, some day, come to see that and forgive me.”

Jacaerys stayed quiet, holding your hand in his, his palm callused and dry, rough skin rubbing against yours.

“It has not been an easy journey here in this Keep. Being alone, subjected to their cruelty for months on end, it changes a person. But Aemond also changed, he became someone I could trust. Someone I could confide in. I know you may not belie-“

“-I believe you.” The young Prince interrupted you softly, his head turned to watch you carefully as you descended the steps toward the Dragon Pit, “I only wish that you had not been pushed to act as you have.”

You paused your steps, turning to face him.

Much of his boyishness had gone, and his face had hardened into a man, a light layer of stubble dusted his jaw and chin, and his cheeks had lost the soft charm that Lucerys had, and had hollowed to defined cheekbones.

He looked so much like Ser Harwin Strong.

“I have missed you.” You smiled tearily, patting his hand gently.

Jacaerys smiled back, leaning down to press a kiss atop your head, “And I you, more than you know.”

You resumed your walk, content to leave the quiet around you. Your challenges in the months past can be shared with your family later, perhaps when the dust has settled and all tales of survival could be told without tears.

Perhaps then, you could tell them the truth of it all, and not just mere notes.

As you came to the Dragon Pit, the sounds of dragons filled the cavern loudly. It strange. It seemed so full of life again, many returning to a place they had not been in years, some joining for the very first time.

You walked until the pit opened and the light from outside momentarily blinded you, causing the both of you to blink rapidly so that your eyes could adjust. Each step you took, took you closer to what you knew you needed to do.

It was a short flight, over the beach of Kings Landing and to the rolling green hills that lay further down in the realm.

To ride upon Vermithor’s back after so long away was strange, and you could not help but cry tears of joy. But as you gripped onto him, holding a worn rope that had been slung upon his neck, you made a note to ask for a seat to be placed atop him.

No more would you ride without one.

The wind caught in your hair as he hovered above the ground, before moving slightly forward to land heavily atop the grass. You slid from his back, the view of Kings Landing behind you as the sun slowly began to set.

There on the grass, hastily wrapped in burial cloth was Aemond.

Vermithor stretched his large head down to the body he had carried and sniffed at it, a soft cooing sound coming from deep within the bronze dragons chest. You patted his neck softly as you made your way over, looking down at the swaddled corpse before bending down to place one last kiss atop his wrapped head.

The cream cloth had begun to stain red where some parts of blood had not dried fully and stained it burgundy.

It was the smell that was the most horrid of it. Thick, and irony, the blood that coated his body made you breathe through your mouth in avoidance. But the breeze carried it away shortly after, and you stood back to look at the man you had loved.

A man you had grown up with, stuck to each others sides.

A man you had fought with, whether in the tunnels of the Keep, in the sky above Storms End, or the chambers that had been yours and his.

A man you had fought for.

A man who had taken so much from you, your freedom, your life, the unscarred skin of your flesh. Your brother. Your sanity.

And a man who had given you so much.

Joy. Pleasure. A child.

Love.

Your lips parted as you moved to speak the command, but your voice was lost with the wind as it crackled and split, a soft sob falling from your lips as tears fell from your eyes.

Vermithor purred beside you, head nudging into your body softly as you continued to look down at his body, dry lips cracked and bitten raw as you tried to breathe the command again to the sky.

“Dr… Draca-…” Another sob, wracking your body as you smoothed your hands down against your sides. You lifted your chin high, sucking in a sharp breath, and then, you whispered it out against the wind.

A word that had been whispered in your ear for months. A word that had haunted you to no avail. A word that you didn’t wish to utter in that moment.

“Dracarys.”

The Bronze Fury reared his head back, before dropping it forward, fire engulfing the dead King’s body in flames, the sound blaring in your ears as you watched.

It was not a pleasant smell, burnt flesh, but it dissolved quickly in the wind as his body became ash and bones, the dragon not stopping until it was sure that it was enough.

The flames subsided, and smoke rose from the ashes that lay at the scorched grass before you.

Did the Gods truly create this path for you?

A path of pain and destruction?

No end to the suffering that would follow you for the rest of your days, the shadows of the past, the whispers of those lost, the ones that you took?

There was no end to it.

No end in sight.

The smoke around you simmered away from the fire that had raged on, and now all that was left was ash.

The ashes of the man you wished had stayed.

The ashes of a man who had all hope taken from him as a child.

The Gods path for him was a cruel one, starting from the moment he was born. No dragon. Loss of an eye. Everything taken from him, his life taken from him.

The chance to see and watch his child grow, taken from him.

But everything had been taken from you too.

You had lost everything.

And all for the throne.

Was it worth it?

All that loss? All that suffering? The scars on your body and mind?

Was the culmination of all those worth the final moment in which you stood?

There was no certainty into what the future would hold.

Perhaps the Gods were not quite done with you yet, but deep down, all you could think; Was this all you had been made for?

To suffer at the hands of others?

Had you not given enough?

Your mind, your body, your freedom, your spirit?

But Rhaenyra, your loving mother, she had given everything too. She had losses that almost mounted yours. Your brother. Her father. Your sister.

Was it worth it?

It was then, as you looked down at the ashes, the wind blowing the blades of grass that survived around the singed patch, disturbing the embers and what little bones remained, that you saw a glint of something.

A reminder.

On unsteady feet, with silent tears tracking down your cheeks, you saw the round sapphire orb that you had spent what felt like an eternity looking into.

There, on the grassy knoll, the Red Keep looming not too far way, and Vermithor shifting behind you, it was then, as you both looked at the surviving piece of Aemond, that you came to a conclusion of your questions.

Yes, it was.

Or, it would be.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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noroi1000 · 7 months

Note

Hello Noroi ! I’m the anon who requested vengeful love. it was amazing i loved it. i hope you’re doing well. Could i get a gojo oneshot where it’s like biker!gojo and a part time model reader who’s very famous in the campus. so like they’re in university. so the main plot could be fake dating w gojo but then it’s kinda different where gojo falls first but harder too lmao ? yeah. but yeah no smut really needed BUUUUT you could add suggestive flirty moments where gojo is the shy one :P. ( sorry i’m a virgin bitchless gojo preacher forever ) also for attitude of reader it can be similar to the reader in vengeful love but more extroverted/outgoing and a little mean in a playful/harmless way. Yeah that’s all ig

Have a good day Noroi 🌻 lots of love ur way

Popular boy who looks at you

Summary: There was this one popular boy who suggested you go out fake. But for as long as you can remember, you've seen the way he looks at you. How he gets distracted around you. Because this "playboy" isn't really one.

You remember these people's words from the beginning of school. "Gojo Satoru is looking at you!"

Who exactly was Gojo Satoru?

He was that popular boy at school who had been keeping an eye on you since your first day here.

Your friends squealed when they saw him. They bought magazines with his photos.

A man who has a part-time job as a model. And not just any model... The model of the largest companies!

He is a student at the same university. As far as you know, his family is rich. He drives his own motorbike wherever he likes. This dark blue bike with purple lightning bolts on the side. All you had to do was walk past this bike and you felt like you were standing next to a beast. Two large motorbikes standing next to each other, and no one will even dare to go there and touch the expensive vehicles. Blue and purple and black and gold with a dragon. Didn't they, some friends, become a bard?

You and your best friend only had the same key chains on your bags.

To be honest, you weren't the queen of the school. But people respected you and liked you. That was the most important thing.

But since blue eyes are constantly focused on you, you make other girls jealous.

Gojo Satoru who often bumps into someone because he is looking at you and not the road in front of him.

Gojo Satoru who even hit a pole in his path because he was watching you talking to your friends.

But why should you care about some high school playboy who supposedly "has had so many girlfriends that their number is greater than the number of students at your university?"

Oh yes, you could believe it, but you weren't entirely sure. After all, he talked about how he had so many relationships.

Even though there were school speculations that he was lying.

However, there was one thing that became true.

That popular boy who had been looking at you for so long, he asked you if you could be his fake girlfriend.

Your brain was like "wtf?!" But your friend has decided. She convinced you to do it.

And you became the fake girlfriend of the most popular boy in school.

His reason was that his parents wanted him to have a girlfriend who didn't just want his money. You were nice, and he didn't think you were. Plus, you weren't empty like the others.

And his parents... They believed in your relationship! They were so happy! It was so nice to see the smile of the woman who was his mother. But there was doubt in you. Because at some point your fake relationship has to end.

He knows you and you know him. This was for you the most important thing. You could keep this game going as long as you need. But you're tired of playing his girlfriend.

Even though he looks at you with that look, he avoids it when you return the look. He turns away from you.

Is he bored with this game?

Even better for you. You won't have to worry about him, you'll just find a boy who will truly love you!

Can a person who plays badboy and playboy really fall in love with you? You didn't want to hurt his mother who was happy about your 'relationship'...

But unfortunately, on the day you wanted to end it, or even tell his parents the truth, you didn't have the heart to do it.

Because before you could do anything, your heart clenched as you learned the truth about Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru, the playboy from school. A model, someone who often even causes trouble. There were rumors that he would be a good fit for the mafia. Despite this, he had exemplary grades and excelled in exam results.

But in reality, Gojo Satoru is a boy who can flirt, but he is a loner by nature.

You learned everything from his mother.

After all, you are his 'girlfriend'.

Since he was born he has been a special child. But he had to grow up fast. His childish behavior is manifested by the fact that he began to play like a child at an older age. Addicted to sweets... He didn't like people who assumed they were weak right away. Everything he does works for him. His appearance is the reason that he became a model to start doing something. Slowly he was on the covers of magazines. He seems very confident, and he is. However, there was never anyone in his heart. He only has one friend who really understands him. There are no people who understand him. Because the world (physical and mental) he lives in makes it impossible for them to keep up with him.

However, his mother saw the change.

There is no longer Satoru whose smile is unwavering. He most often embarrassed someone. He was having fun, irritating someone, teasing someone. Always without a changeable smile. Gojo Satoru knew no fear. He didn't care what people thought of him. He only cared that he was a person who was different from everyone else and no one could threaten him.

Well, it was true. He was the best at everything...

Even though you weren't afraid of him, you felt small next to him. Just because he's tall and muscular.

And then you found out something that made you giggle or be surprised.

He never had a girl to bring home...

And he...

"Gojo Satoru is a Virgin?!" your friend screamed, almost choking on her drink.

He put a finger to his lips to silence her and looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening to you.

You're not cruel enough to spread rumors about your private life. Everyone thinks you're together.

"Shh! Maybe it's funny, but keep it to yourself! I do not know if it's true!"

If it were true, you could laugh at him just like when he laughed at you for feeling embarrassed to kiss him at school...

But then you got angry and you pulled his clothes to kiss him passionately.

So what if people were watching? You kissed him so suddenly to spite him. To at least try to embarrass him. And when you pulled away, you didn't see much of a change in his face. But it looked like he was holding something back. And his ears were pink...

Earlier you wondered why he left so quickly...

Isn't he embarrassed to kiss someone and be dominant, and when someone dominates him in a kiss, he suddenly starts blushing?

Don't say that... Gojo Satoru has that virginal innocence that shows when a girl initiates intimacy?!

Could it be that he likes to see others blush? But it's when you're direct and sudden with him that makes him blush?!

Can you shame him?

Isn't he sweet...?

"Earth to (y/n).” your friend called out, waving her hand in front of your eyes.

"Huh?"

"Did you look like you were starting to smile? Are you thinking about your handsome virgin boyfriend~?” She laughed.

"... Tell me... When did you know that you and Kento were in love?" you asked.

"... You know, Kento is different from Gojo... Kento is a serious, but internally soft person! That makes him perfect!"

"But-"

"Did I see that Gojo may have fallen in love with you? Yes! Girl, can't you see the cute little steps this guy is making?! Who would have thought that a guy as confident as him would be shy as shit when he falls in love with someone!

"Wait wait! This is not a real relationship! It will end the moment he realizes that this is the case!" You said quickly.

"I don't see him ever wanting to end it~." She wagged her eyebrows. "A proposition for you, take the first step and he won't be able to stand it and will confess everything to you! You just know... Take care of the situation and he will admit everything ~."

"Does this sort of thing work on Nanami–."

"These are my secrets! Take care of your boy because I think you like the thought of this big guy as your sweet boy who is madly in love with you." She whispered in your ear before walking away, leaving you with your thoughts wandering.

All you could think about was what had just happened. Does she really see what's going on between you?

Gojo is often weird! But you can't say anything else about you... You're weird because you agreed to become his fake girlfriend.

And now you find out that he fell for you?

What were these events in your life?! It didn't make any sense! It was supposed to be an ordinary arrangement that could never last forever! So why do you feel like this arrangement between you is no longer real?

This has been going on for... Almost a year, right?

His family treats you as one of them... He acts so naturally around you...

And then there was the matter of why he chose you as his candidate for a fake girlfriend...

It was also something you might have wondered about.

There are so many girls like you or even better! Why did he choose you?!

The narrator is rushing you to answer now.

Because ever since he saw you, he felt his heart start beating faster. Your smile when you talked to your friends. Your slight dark side which clearly showed that you are not a shy girl. You're not afraid to get a little carried away. But you weren't the kind of girl who would do anything for fun either.

You were just perfect.

What's more, you didn't pay attention to him like others did.

He was the most popular at school. Every girl had hearts in their eyes when they saw him. But not you.

Sure, you thought he was handsome. But it wasn't like adoring him for nothing. You were nice and natural to him.

Everything you did was beautiful. You were beautiful.

That's why he couldn't take his eyes off you.

That's why he wanted you.

But despite this, he pretended to be unfazed by what was happening between you. He was trying to do this to see if you could like him as much as other girls.

His plan to play macho almost backfired when you were one step ahead of him, making his cheeks begin to blush.

It's a different feeling kissing someone just like that and kissing someone you have feelings for. This is something completely different.

That's why when he got a boost of self-confidence, he went to you.

He knew you were talking about something with your friend who later left. He paid no attention to her. Because he was thinking about what he had to think about. About what he should do and say.

But when you didn't turn around once as he walked towards you, he felt that this might be a little harder than it seemed...

Standing behind you, he placed a large hand on your head, waiting for you to look at him.

With his eyes almost closed, he saw your eyes move to his. And he gave you a big smile.

"Hey, baby. Shall we go for a ride?" he asked, pointing his thumb at the school gate.

You knew what that meant.

And to clear your mind you had to agree.

____

The motorbike engine wasn't so loud when you were thinking about something else.

His helmet was on your head while he was riding without it. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you didn't even pay attention to the flashing lights around you.

You didn't even know where he was taking you.

But you thought you could do a little test.

Your hands slid lower, drawing small patterns on his stomach before moving down to his lower abdomen.

"(y-y/n)...?" He called out loud enough for you to hear him.

"Focus on the road." you said, pressing one finger on the muscle above your belly button.

Did you have the impression that he really started breathing differently?

Did his heart beat a little faster when you held your cheek on his back?

It was sweet...

You couldn't see much from this angle with you being behind him. But you were sure he wasn't unmoved.

Because Gojo Satoru blushes when you're direct.

You may not have seen it, but his face became nervous and red. Your smaller fingers rubbing his stomach? You touched him as low as ever! And you've never even had sex with him!

He was almost unfazed when he saw women on the beach in very revealing swimsuits. But the one time he saw you in your underwear, he had a pants party...

He couldn't stop thinking about you until he put his hand down his pants and went to the bathroom.

But he still remembers the sight of your body in black underwear you had. He didn't even come into the room while you were changing, only he saw a small fraction of it.

But after days of fantasizing about you, when he finally saw you in person, his reaction was intense.

Because this high school playboy is so in love with you that the fact that you are closer to him for a little while will make him do somersaults with happiness.

But it doesn't change the fact that he is surprised by your brave gestures. Especially when you do it specifically to irritate him.

Just like now your fingers were massaging his stomach.

It would be easier if you accepted his true feelings! Then he could act as he wanted as your boyfriend! And now you have established boundaries! He didn't want it this way! He wanted you to be his girlfriend and his closeness would be there for you anytime and anywhere! He would provide you with everything!

Once you accept it...

For a year he has been showing his area at school. For a year he has been marking the territory that other boys can enter. And he is highly respected at school.

No one could approach you because he was with you and yours.

Like a guard dog.

He was dangerous to protect you. But with your sweet words and touch, he became a puppy. So eager for what you have for him. He melted. He was a mess.

Cheeks slightly pink when you complimented him or touched him.

Maybe it was weird, but it was the real Gojo Satoru. A man who loves your attention too much. Even though he was dangerous all around, because he fell in love with you, he became a shy boy who brings a gift to his crush.

And you... You were his love...

Seeing a three-second gap between the moving cars, he accelerated and took a sharp turn into a smaller street, driving there as if he had known this road for years.

The higher you were, the more trees you saw. And that seemed as weird as it did cool to you.

Your arms were wrapped around him as you began to look to the sides, realizing that you were higher up, in a small forest.

Until suddenly he stopped and turned off the engine.

"Where are we?" you asked, taking the dark helmet off your head.

He nodded towards the open space to your left.

You got up from the bike slowly and walked to the metal barrier to see the panorama of the city in the sun.

"I didn't know there was a place like this here." You told him, looking at the distant buildings.

"Maybe we should spend more time together then. I know a lot of places you don't know about." He said.

Looking at him, you saw his small smile as he leaned against the seat of the bike. His dark glasses low on his nose.

"We already spend a lot of time together and you've never shown me anything!" you laughed and took a few steps towards him.

His hands reached for your waist and he moved to him, placing your legs between his knees.

"I want more." He replied, looking into your eyes.

"You want more?" You hummed and leaned down, grabbing the collar of his red t-shirt.

Suddenly you kissed him and then pulled away. Your fingers stroked his chest.

You giggled at the sight before you. Running your thumb over his lower lip, you licked your lips.

"You look quite cute when your cheeks are rosy." you told him, and then he realized that he was blushing.

Yep... It's when you're direct that it makes him a mess.

His mind processed your words for a few minutes before he blushed a little more.

And your hands rubbed his thighs.

You were alone here. Could you...

His face became redder and the muscles in his thighs trembled under your touch.

Even though he seemed a little against it, his body was showing you that you could do whatever you wanted.

He wanted your first intimate encounter to be at some romantic moment. In a moment of euphoria. And not when you just want to have fun.

But he couldn't say no to your touch. Because your hands felt so nice on his body. Always been like that.

You fit his arms perfectly. And your smaller hands always felt so good on his body. Even though all you did was accidental touches, holding hands, hugging, sometimes kissing. He felt something like that.

But he could imagine your hands roaming all over his body, without exception.

How would you react to his body?

Your index finger stopped just above his belt buckle and you stepped back, looking at his red cheeks and ears.

Just like you thought, you touching him like that means a lot to him.

"(y/n)..." He murmured and reached for you with his hands.

"First tell me what you want from me now." you said with a small smile.

You didn't know what exactly to expect.

But you couldn't have expected what he actually said.

"I want you to be my girlfriend." He said, looking straight into your eyes.

"...I'm already?" you laughed lightly.

"No no. I want you to be my real girlfriend."

He must be joking, right?

You feel good with him and you don't have any intrusions when he is your boyfriend. But did he of all people have to say it?

You thought he might say he wants sex now...

"I want you to be with me for real. Because I love you…” The small pink in his cheeks didn’t fade as he waited hopefully for your response.

With a small smile, you leaned into him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

And before you saw the disappointment in his eyes, you kissed his lips, letting him hold you as close as he wanted.

Love is not a hare, it will not run away. You are sure that you will love it as much as he truly loves you.

And he showed it to you in these little steps from the beginning. To now finally show you all this in three words.

This is the end of your fake relationship with the popular boy at school who looked up to you.

He fall in love with you. So you can fall in love with him. And this will be really quick.

Because you already started loving him.

#jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #jjk #gojo #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen

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minaturefics · 1 month

Text

Whispered Words

Request: Can I request an aragorn x reader where the reader is a queen from a faraway land? The fellowship came to his land to ask for help and Aragorn instantly fell in love? Whatever you like to add!

A/N: Ngl, I feel like I went off the rails a bit here (still trying to get into the groove again). I tried to create and integrate a somewhat convincing land/people. And the fic is mid-war so idk how romantic it really is. Still, I hope you enjoy it!!!

Aragorn x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

2.5k words

---

You sat back in your throne of twisting coral and straightened the crown of mother-of-pearl shards on your head. All the torches in the throne room were lit, the fires flickering blue and purple, and the faded banners of your country adorned the walls. The coastal guard had alerted you to intruders — a company of four — that were swiftly captured and brought to the crumbling castle.

Who would dare sail the black waters? Who would dare to venture so close to the graveyard of the Númenóreans? There was only one, you thought, who would be desperate enough, bold enough, to endeavour such a treacherous trip — the returned heir of Gondor.

The rumours had flowed to you, to your kingdom, carried by the waters of the Anduin and the creatures that inhabited it. There were stories of the encroaching shadow of Mordor, of the growing strength of the Corsairs of Umbar, even of the awakening of the Ents. For years you had hoped that the dangers would remain on the continent, but it seemed that the kingdom’s luck had run out.

You reached for your sceptre, a beautiful thing of wrought gold and pearl, and nodded at your guards to let them in.

The large wooden doors creaked open and revealed a curious array of companions — a man, an elf, a dwarf, and a wizard. The wizard you knew, one of the fabled Maiar, but the rest…

They walked forward hesitantly, eyes scanning the room, until they stood before you. They were waterlogged and bedraggled, their clothes creased, sticking to their forms, their hair hanging in stringy strands. Even the elf, so noble and graceful, stood in a dishevelled mess, and you fought a smile.

The wizard bowed first and the rest followed suit. You eyed the man, taking in his dark hair and his ripped clothing. This was the heir of Gondor? He looked like a mere Ranger, a man of the land. He raised his head and a pair of keen grey eyes pierced you.

Your breath hitched in your throat and your fingers tightened around the sceptre.

“I know why you have come,” you said.

The elf and the dwarf shared astonished looks, but the man stood straighter and said, “Then you know there is not a moment to lose. I will speak plainly if Your Highness allows.” You inclined your head and he continued. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathron, heir to the throne of Gondor. My companions — Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gandalf the White.

“We have come to request your aid against Sauron of Mordor. Your kingdom may be safe for now, removed from the continent, but it will only be a matter of time before Sauron turns his eye towards the west.”

That, you already knew. But even so, to send your creatures, your people, into battle… There was little hope in defeating the overwhelming forces of Sauron, but here, sequestered away and shrouded by a vengeful sea, your people might still yet live.

“What will you offer me in return?”

“In return?” Gimli frowned, his chest puffing. Aragorn raised a hand to silence him and the dwarf fell to quiet grumbling.

“Land,” Aragorn said. “A home, an island, close enough to the continent for trade. It is wild and empty, but the land can be worked.”

“You speak of Tolfalas,” you murmured, thinking of the rocky and lonely island in the Bay of Belfalas.

His offer was a good one. It was not an easy life for you or your people, surrounded by tumultuous seas, battered by frequent storms. The bay would be sheltered, there would be plenty of catch and the weather would be temperate enough to farm properly, and of course, there would be trade with the coastal cities. It could be a place where your people could grow and thrive.

“Our people once were allies,” you said to Aragorn. “When your ancestors’ hubris destroyed them, it nearly destroyed us too.”

“This is not hubris, Your Highness,” he said, voice firm and impassioned, stepping forward. “Hubris would be to sit here and think that your kingdom would be beyond his reach. Hubris would be to think that you alone could survive him. Together there is still a chance we might drive his forces back, but alone we would fail.”

Aragorn straightened and squared his shoulders, he lifted his chin, and there in the ghostly light of the hall, he stood, a true king.

A heat flared in your stomach.

“Very well. You have our support.”

He broke into a smile, and gone was the solemn son, the honourable heir. Instead, before you stood a man, handsome and strong, and your traitorous heart thudded in your chest.

Aragorn settled down in the hull of the ship, feeling each sharp rise and fall of the waves, and tried to get comfortable on the cushioned bench. Rain pelted the deck above him like a volley of arrows and the sky rumbled like a distant war drum. It was unfortunate that they had to sail back to the continent in a storm, but you had supplied them with a ship of your people, sturdy enough to withstand any tempest. He was glad that they had secured your allegiance, and he had no doubt it would be invaluable when Sauron began his assault in earnest.

He had heard and read about your kind, the Númenórean’s oldest allies, people of land and sea, shapeshifters of a sort, but to meet one, to meet you…

He thought of how you looked on your throne of dead coral, formidable and beautiful, your gaze sharp and your painted lips grim. He had seen the flicker of amusement on your face, the hint of a smile, when they stood, dripping onto the black marble floor. Such a lovely, lonely queen, the leader of a dying race, the steward of a fading land.

Were it not for the weight of war on his shoulders, he would have been convinced that he had wandered into a fairy tale. For so long all he had been concerned with was his relentless work as a Ranger, of his inescapable duty as king, and yet when he had laid eyes on you those swirling thoughts vanished. Proud, noble brow, beautiful, determined eyes, graceful, strong shoulders.

His heart had leapt from his chest and he was still yet to retrieve it.

He reached for the strange pendant around his neck and held it up to the lantern. It was an iridescent shell, gleaming purple and pink, that curved and spiralled to a point, much like a war horn. The memory of you giving it to him rose in his mind.

“It is the custom of our people,” you said with an amused smirk. “It allows us to speak across leagues of land and sea.”

“I have not heard of such a thing,” he muttered, turning the shell in his hand, running his dirty thumb over the polished surface.

You tugged a similar shell out from under your robes. “They are a matched pair.”

His heart stuttered. Was it possible that you felt the same inkling of connection as he did?

“They were originally used by lovers, but they were soon adopted for logistical arrangements,” you said and he pushed down the rising feeling in his chest. “Though,” you continued, smile growing mischievous, “the way to use them has not changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“To harken to the paired shell, one has to kiss one’s own. There is a limit to how much one may speak, but it should be sufficient for us to arrange where and where to deploy our armies.”

Aragorn twisted the shell between his fingers. It felt too intimate to press his lips to it, to speak, knowing you would be holding yours close to your cheek, listening.

“Aragorn!” Gimli called from the top of the stairs. “We are emerging from the storm.”

“I can see the continent on the horizon,” Legolas added.

Aragorn glanced down at the shell. Perhaps now would be a good time to test it. He listened for their retreating steps and, feeling foolish, brought the shell hesitantly to his lips. It was cool and smooth, and it carried the scent of the ocean. It glowed, illuminating a sphere of light around it.

“Aragorn?” Your voice was clear, but quiet, and he brought it closer to him. “Has something already gone awry?”

“No,” he chuckled, strangely relieved and soothed by the sound of your voice. “I simply wish to inform you that we have made it out of the storm. Dol Amroth is in sight.”

“That is good news. I am corralling my forces, we will soon follow behind you. The larger fleets we will send to Dol Amroth to defend against the corsairs, and our smaller army of creatures we will send up the Anduin.”

“That will do for now.”

The shell’s light pulsed and began to fade.

“We will not be able to speak for a few more hours,” you said, voice faint and thin. “Until then…”

“Until then,” he murmured but the shell’s light had already vanished.

It had been a gruelling three weeks. True to your word, you had deployed your armies as you had planned with Aragorn. In the Bay of Belfalas, the dark ships of Umbar were repelled by the hallowed vessels of your people, and up the Anduin swam swarths of sharp-toothed monsters to Pelargir and Osgiliath. For three weeks you had muttered into your shell, had cradled it to your ear, savouring the snatches of conversation with Aragorn.

“We are entering the Paths of the Dead soon,” he said. “I hope we will emerge with good news.”

“Be careful, Aragorn. I, too, have heard the stories of that path. The Dead will not be forgiving.”

“I do not fear them.”

“But I fear for you.”

“I promise you, we will be on our guard.”

“I had forgotten how enchanting the race of men can be,” you said. “Even in war they play their flutes and harps.”

“The people must take pleasure where they can.”

“When this is over, I think I shall learn.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and soothing. “Dol Amroth is known for its skillful harp players. I’m certain you will be able to find a good teacher.”

“Perhaps one day we can welcome you to Tolfalas with the sound of harps.”

He hummed, a low, pleased rumble. “I look forward to that day.”

“Aragorn, for Valar’s sake, please answer,” you grit out. “Word of Pelennor has reached me. Are you alive?”

There was silence, and then, a whisper, “Yes. But we have suffered greatly.”

“The sun, it has been blotted out.”

“The men are losing hope.”

“I have faith, Aragorn,” you whispered, picturing him standing in your halls, strong and noble. “I have faith in you.”

“That brings me more comfort than you know.” His voice was soft and tender, and your heart stirred. “You bring me more comfort than you know.”

“We are marching for the Black Gates,” he said, grim.

“You go beyond my aid. We will repel what forces we can here in the bay and along the Anduin.”

“If you do not hear from me —”

“No. We will see each other again, Aragorn.”

“We may not,” he said. “And so now I say: I am glad to have met you. I am glad that we were able to honour our ancestors’ history.”

The shell pulsed.

“Aragorn…”

And the light faded.

You had seen, had felt, the destruction of the ring, even all the way in Dol Amroth. There had been cheering in the street, tears of grief, of relief, and the Sea-ward Tower’s bell chimed in victory. Aragorn had answered you desperate calls, assuring you that he was alive, and made promises to ride down to the coastal city when his troops had settled.

You sat on the docks, dangling your bare feet into the cool water, and watched the setting sun paint the sky orange and pink. An odd look perhaps, for a dignified queen, but after the horrors and terrors, you felt that it was a necessary indulgence. You stared at your rippling reflection, wishing you could shift form and vanish into the embrace of the ocean, just for a moment. Alas, that would be too much of an indulgence; you needed to be available should any matter arise.

You thought of Aragorn, of his steely grey eyes, his peppered beard, his toothy grin, and your heart fluttered. Who would have thought that a descendant of the Númenor would stir your heart so? Or perhaps it was not so much of a surprise, given the blood that ran through both your veins.

Aragorn’s voice rang out, calling your name, and you fumbled for your pendant.

“Are you on your way? Shall I inform the Prince of your arrival?”

He chuckled, sounding clearer and closer than he had in weeks. “I am already here.”

You whipped around and he stood a few paces from you. You rose to your feet, taking in his eyes, soft and silver in the evening light, and his lips, cracked but smiling. He was unarmoured, but dressed in his kingly robes of black and silver. You swallowed, suddenly conscious of your damp robes and bare feet, flush rising in your cheeks.

Valar, what had come over you? You were a queen of your own right.

“I wish you would have told me of your impending arrival. I would have sent word to the princes to prepare the city to welcome you.”

He waved his hand. “There is no need for such things.”

“You are a king.”

“I did not come as a king.”

His gaze was sure and full of meaning. He stepped closer and the breeze carried his scent of cedar and pipeweed to you. He was so much larger up close, broad and imposing, but also so much more charming. You ran your eyes over his face, the lines on his forehead, the creases at the corners of his eyes, his slightly unruly beard. Yes, underneath it all, still a man.

“I did not come for them, the people of the city,” he muttered. “I came for you.”

“Aragorn…”

He reached for your hand, and when you did not move away, he wrapped his fingers around yours. “Do not tell me you do not feel this also. I have heard the change in how you say my name.”

Your heart swooped, but you shook your head. “I have my people to care for, a home to build.”

“As do I. We need not make any formal promises as of yet.” He squeezed your hand. “I only ask that we continue to speak as we have these last few weeks. I do not wish to go a day without hearing your voice.”

You nodded slowly and he brought your hand up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, a smile breaking over his face. “How long do you have before you must return?”

“A day or two.”

You hummed, gripping his hand tighter, and faced the sun. The air was crisp and clear and the rays warmed your skin. There was laughter from the homes and music in the streets. The Sea-ward Tower’s bell rang out, loud and joyous. Aragorn glanced at you, smiling, and you grinned.

“Then let us enjoy this peace for a moment longer.”

---

Aragorn is so grim and broody sometimes I find it so hard to write him, to show passion and feeling in a way that's not out of character. I hope he didn't come off as too flat here.

#aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn x y/n #aragorn #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr

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sotwk · 4 months

Text

Historical Event in the SotWK AU:

The (Non)Involvement of Thranduil in the Sack of Erebor

Could Thranduil have helped kill Smaug and save Erebor?

Disclaimer: The content in this post is mostly headcanon created for the SotWK AU, founded on canon details from the books and movies.

Context: Timeline of Thranduil's History in the Third Age

c. TA 1000-2000 - Thranduil, his family, and their people spend one thousand years fighting and enduring against the rise of Dol Guldur and the darkness and evil creatures that have infested and overrun the southern regions of Greenwood the Great.

Alas, by TA 2000:

Nearly all the woodlands south of the Old Forest Road had been abandoned.

The Woodland Realm's population had been reduced to nearly half of the great number it reached during the Golden Age of Thranduil's rule.

Many Silvans were killed by the onslaught of spiders, orcs, and other dark creatures or poisoned by the sick forest itself (air, water, food). A few even faded from grief and despair, which never before happened to the resilient Silvans.

The Silvans' famously high birthing rate dropped to nearly zero, leading to a "lost generation" and fears of gradual extinction.

TA 2063 - Crown Prince Mirion dies in direct combat against the Necromancer, resulting in Thranduil's vengeful razing of the fortress (SotWK HC), and the Council of the Wise's investigation (through Gandalf), all of which forces Sauron to abandon Dol Guldur. This begins the period known as the Watchful Peace.

During the 400 years of the Watchful Peace, the Silvans regain hope and courage, and with that, their ability and desire to have children again.

TA 2210 - Thorin I abandons Erebor to join his kin in the Grey Mountains in TA 2210. The Lonely Mountain is abandoned for three-hundred and eighty years.

TA 2460 - The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.

TA 2509 - Princess Itarildë’s mother, Nimeithel (oc), dies trying to defend her cousin Celebrían from the Orcs. Lady Celebrían sails to the Undying Lands the following year, and Queen Maereth is devastated by the loss of her two dearest friends.

TA 2589 - When their halls in the Grey Mountains come under attack by Cold-drakes, Prince Arvellas dies attempting to aid the Dwarves (defying his father's orders for the only time in his life). Dáin I and younger brother Frór are both slain, and Thrór inherits the kingship.

TA 2590 - King Thrór returns to Erebor with the Arkenstone to re-establish the Kingdom under the Mountain. Thrór's younger brother Grór leads others to the Iron Hills.

TA 2601 - Prince Turhir leaves Mirkwood, unable to cope with the trauma and guilt over his brothers' deaths. (Further details withheld to avoid fic spoilers.) His departure strains Thranduil and Maereth's marriage in a way it has never suffered before.

TA 2746 - Thorin (Oakenshield) is born in Erebor. Maereth sends gifts to honor the birth of the new prince, in an attempt to heal the friendship with the House of Durin that was broken after Arvellas's death. The gifts are accepted, but the rekindled friendship remains tenuous, especially since Thranduil has lost his desire to remain allies with the Dwarves he holds responsible for Arvellas's death.

TA 2760 - The continuing strain on their marriage forces Maereth and Thranduil to agree they need time apart. Maereth leaves Mirkwood to reside in Imladris for several years. (This is the only separation they have in the 2,900 years of their marriage.)

TA 2765 - Thranduil (trying to prove to his willingness for peace with the Dwarves again, as Maereth wants of him) commissions the jewel-smiths of Erebor to make a necklace from the White Gems of Lasgalen. However, when he comes to claim the finished necklace, he is turned away by Thrór, who (under the influence of dragon-sickness) claims that the gems were ill-begotten treasure from Khazad-dûm, and belonged to the Durins by birthright. Thranduil holds in his anger at the insult and does not press the matter, not wishing to completely sever the alliance that means so much to his wife.

TA 2770 - Smaug lays waste to the town of Dale and captures Erebor with all of its treasure.

tldr: Thranduil was not at his best when Smaug came to attack Erebor. He had many problems of his own, and he had very legitimate grievances against Thrór and his kin.

Unfortunately, Thrór was never forthcoming with his grandson, Thorin, about the deep history between the Durins and Thranduil's family, so as far as Thorin and his people believed, the Elvenking and his family just "lacked all honor". Nothing could have been further from the truth.

How did Thranduil react upon hearing of the attack?

The Elvenqueen was still in Imladris during the attack, and was therefore not present to give Thranduil council. Because of their separation, Maereth's mind was closed off to Thranduil's, and so she could not be reached through ósanwe. The younger princes, Gelir and Legolas, lacked the ability to telepathically communicate across that great a distance.

It was Gelir and Legolas who pushed their father to ride out with their army to help the Dwarves. Even though the bitterness of Arvellas's death still remained, Thranduil heeded his sons.

They had a solid plan to kill Smaug.

Thranduil had fought against fire-breathing dragons during the War of Wrath, and he knew what it would take to kill one: nothing short of a hero's self-sacrifice.

There was one weapon in Mirkwood that was surely powerful enough to pierce dragon hide and flesh: the great broadsword (or claymore) of the late Crown Prince Mirion.

Mirion's sword was forged by the prince himself (he was the best bladesmith in the realm), and was made from a special steel sourced from Khazad-dûm centuries before its fall. (Thranduil's sword was made from this same steel, which was also crafted by Mirion and given to his father as a gift.)

The sword was so large and heavy, only three people were known to be able to wield it: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Only Mirion had the strength and sufficient practice to wield it single-handed when needed.

Therefore, any attack using the sword would have to be carried out by the Elvenking himself.

For reference, Mirion's broadsword is about as massive as "Ice", Ned Stark's Valyrian sword from Game of Thrones.

In order to defeat Smaug, Thranduil's strategy would have been to attack the dragon himself with the sword. Gelir, Legolas, and the rest of his army would provide enough diversion to allow the Elvenking to get close without being burned by dragonfire.

What actually happened during the attack?

Thranduil was gripped by indecision and did not act as soon as he received the news of Smaug's descent. He already knew that any action they take against the dragon would mean loss of life for his people, and that made him hesitate, which caused some delay.

But he DID gather his army, his last two sons (who refused to be left behind), and marched out with the intention of engaging.

However, once Thranduil saw with his own eyes he fiery wrath of Smaug and the destruction he was capable of, and sensed the dragon's greed and evilness, the reality of the situation and the weight of old memories crashed down on him full force.

He remembered how he almost died from dragonfire, how painful those burns were, and how long it took him to recover from the physical and emotional scars. (And he only survived due to Valinor-level healing!) Did he want his soldiers to suffer the same, even if they survived?

He remembered that he had already lost one son (Arvellas) to dragons, who gave his life to help these same Dwarves, and received little gratitude for it in return. Was he ready to risk his last two sons?

And lastly, Thranduil realized, with almost full certainly, that killing Smaug would cost him his life. Was he ready to leave his wife a widow, his sons fatherless, and grandson saddled with the burden of kingship in such dark times?

The answer to all those questions was NO. So he made the difficult decision to turn back.

Thranduil's real mistake (that you can fault him for. Maybe.)

An argument could be made that even if Thranduil didn't want to directly engage with Smaug, he could still have sent his army to shield the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale and help them get to safety. Less civilian lives could have been lost.

They didn't have to completely turn around and go home. They could have still tried to to something--as his sons (especially Gelir) would argue later on.

However, at that point, Thranduil choked on his reluctance to risk anything any further, after everything his family and kingdom had already been through. His sons were especially chomping at the bit to slay the dragon, and things could have easily gotten out of hand if they stepped into the same field as Smaug.

By retreating completely, Thranduil eliminated all risk.

And yes, the bitterness of Thrór's treatment (those damn jewels), and the way Arvellas's death was handled (the Durins never properly honored the prince's sacrifice) still lingered. It certainly factored in the decision to (selfishly?) leave the Dwarves to their fate.

Thranduil HAD warned Thrór "of what his greed would summon", especially after the fatal attack of the cold-drakes on the Grey Mountains. And Thrór certainly did not listen.

What was fair, then? How much responsibility still fell on Thranduil to help the Durins, given all these facts?

Aid was delivered in the aftermath; but the Dwarves considered it "too little, too late".

When Smaug had finally locked himself up in Erebor with his precious treasure, Thranduil did send out aid to the refugees of both Erebor and Dale. When Elvenqueen Maereth finally returned from Imladris, she spearheaded this effort.

Mind you, it's not like Mirkwood was swimming in excess resources at this time. But they still gave whatever they could to the thousands displaced, including medical aid, food and clothing, and even temporary shelter.

The men of Dale accepted the aid and help in finding new dwellings, including resettling in Esgaroth.

The Dwarves accepted the Elves' aid, but only to some extent.

Thrór wanted Thranduil to prove his allegiance by helping them to force Smaug out of the mountain, which of course Thranduil flatly refused to do.

The proud and angry Durins therefore declared him and his people faithless, and chose to move south to Dunland, instead of accepting Maereth's offer to help them rebuild near Mirkwood.

The Elvenqueen's final attempt to reconcile her family and people with the House of Durin would be during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793). However, her tragic death only worsened the divide between Thranduil and the House of Durin; we see this in Thorin's anger during his capture in the events of The Hobbit.

It all ends happily.

Healing and reconciliation would finally be achieved a century and a half later, during the Battle of Five Armies (TA 2941), where the Elves of Mirkwood play a role in saving the lives of King Thorin and his nephews. Once Erebor is reclaimed by the Durins, the two kingdoms become fierce allies and remain so for the rest of their histories.

(Yes, the SotWK AU is proud to be a Durins Live AU. <3 )

This HC post was written in response to an Anonymous request for a "Family Historical Event" submitted back in July 2023.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @acornsandoaktrees @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @quickslvxrr @spacecluster @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

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sky-kiss · 7 months

Note

Hello my friend!! My stinky cheese!

Do you think Raphael would bond at all with a Tav who also hates their father (cough cough kinda like Durge cough cough)?

If so, could I request a prompt where Raph reacts to Tav (female) just getting really angry/upset about that familial void that he can so relate to.

I know this isn't gonna be easy, but I wish you luck wrangling the beast 🫡

A/N: I opted for mother vs. father. Since you vetoed me from using Durge, it’s a Tav. A Lolth-Sworn Drow. This….is not quite the prompt. I’m sorry, love.

______________

In nearly two thousand years of living, Raphael has welcomed all sorts of souls to his door. Spurned lovers, vengeful rulers, petulant children; he is all things to all people, as any devil worth their salt could attest. And for all those souls and all those years, he can say he has felt true camaraderie only a handful of times.

He counts the drow among them.

Tav regards him with interest from the start. No fear, only a culturally conditioned lust. He is power and ambition made flesh; he is a steppingstone and tool, or so she imagines. Bless her little heart. She will use him and expects to be used in turn; it is a charmingly simplistic exchange.

Tit for tat, love. Information for the Orthon. A hammer for a crown. He comes to her in the aftermath of the invasion, surprised to find her languishing in the Elfsong. She has talked of naught but her return to the Underdark.

“You linger, little mouse. Have we grown fond of the surface-dwellers?”

She smiles, teeth too white in the elegant darkness of her face. A curtain of platinum hair falls over her shoulder. Tav is a stunning representation of the breed. She steps aside to grant him entry to her suite. “Don’t be foolish. My delay is purely practical.” Tav settles in one of the rich wingbacks, looking for all the world a queen. “I wanted to make certain you’d find me.”

“Oh, always, sweetling. Wherever you go, rest assured I will find you.” He plucks her hand from the armrest, kissing the back of her knuckles. “That lovely little soul of yours bears my mark.”

“Lolth will not be pleased.”

“The Spider Bitch was long since defanged. Her dissatisfaction means nothing to me. ” Tav’s expression softens. Her eyes remain the rest of those sworn to the mistress of the Demonweb pits, but her loyalties have shifted. “But your satisfaction, my little treat, means everything. Tell us what you need.”

“I’ve been absent from Menzoberranzan too long. Before the,” she hesitates a moment, “incident. I had intended to wrest my House from the Matron Mother’s control.”

“Matricide, is it? How delightful.”

“You know how parents can be.”

“Don’t I just.” Raphael chuckles. He seats himself beside her. The proximity of the chairs and his size leaves his knee fetching up against hers. Tav shifts, hooking her foot behind his ankle. Brave girl. “And you are lucky, pet. I have a soft spot for rebellious princes and princesses.”

She rests her chin in the palm of her hand. Lovely and so willing to treat with him. He’s struck again by how odd it is to see yourself reflected in a mortal vessel. There are scars across the pretty things back, left by lash and more inventive forms of torture typical to the species. And he sees the same hate in her eyes. A burning desire for more, to take what she's owed. “Let us discuss terms, love of mine.” The endearment makes him laugh; there is no love, not even an echo of it, in her voice. Only hunger. “Passage to Menzoberranzan.”

“Only passage? I might offer you power. And more.”

“And more?” She arches a brow, stroking his calf with her foot. “And the cost?”

“Negotiable, pet. We might even defer it…a Matron Mother will not lack resources. Power today for payment tomorrow. A generous offer, no?”

Tav chews at her lower lip. “And if I proposed an alliance? To swear myself to you for this power, to pledge my House to your service…what would you offer?” And it is odd, so odd, to feel a pang of lust after so many centuries. “I would see my mother consumed by her damned spiders. After that…” she shrugs. “I’ll admit to having a fondness for rebel princes, myself.”

“How convenient.”

And she enjoys his words from so many months prior. “Isn’t it just?”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #asks #my writing #he was originally gonna give her a smooch and change her eye color #but i still have a case study to write lol #please know that he shows up at her house in the Underdark after she's conquered #and they throw down

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neverchecking · 5 months

Text

Does it count as a marriage if only one of them is aware?

AN: Is this a Sage and Aaliyah piece? Yeah. Am I proud of it? A lil. I don't know if it falls into their 'canon' timeline, but I think it's funny. Shoutout to the tweet that I got from pinterest that inspired this. May I hopefully find you one day.

He was going to commit a murder. An atrocity. A war crime so heinous they would carve it into stone tablets as a warning to future generations. She already was a thorn in his fucking side and then she pulls this shit?

Un-fucking-believable.

Slamming open the door, he remains ignorant to the lab assistant’s yelp, practically snarling as he spots Purah. She boredly looks at him over her shoulder, snapping her fan closed with a huff. “And a good morning to you-”

“Where the hell is she?”

Purah grins. It’s something big and bright and he hates it. Asshole was probably in on it now that he thinks about it. Sheikah unity and all of that other bullshit. “Whoever do you mean?”

“You know who I mean, now you tell me where she is or I’m lighting Lookout Landing on fire.” He hissed low and dangerous, a firebulb already burning a hole in his pocket (not literally). He was going to get the information he wanted, whether they wanted to give it to him or not. He’d find her somehow, even if he had to scour this entire, goddess-forsaken fucking land.

He’d find her and then he’d kill her for the shit she pulled.

“Tick tock,” He mocked, reaching for the tablet on his hip. Purah scoffed with a grumpy furrow in her brows. “She’s in the depths, where she always is lately.”

He took that for what it was, leaving and slamming the door behind him.

When they couldn’t hear his angry cursings any longer, Purah turned to Josha with a grin. The girl looked positively frightened, as she often did when Link came around ranting and raving, but Purah paid it little mind. “He’s looking for his wife.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware he was married?”

“Neither was he.”

<><><><>

He should’ve checked here first. He was a fool to think she’d be anywhere otherwise, but yet? There she was. Sitting on a throne made of rock and marble with a devious grin on her face. She looked like the cat that caught the canary. In her left ear was the cursed piercing, still red and fresh, but holding a golden hoop.

A part of him was thankful she didn’t get the idea to pierce his ears in his sleep. Another part of him was angry enough he could blow her up here and now and walk away, not a care in the world to be had.

“What did you do?” He snapped, baring his teeth in her direction as Rauru’s arm flared to life. He had no intention of using any of the powers bestowed upon him, but it seemed to be a good deterrent for making her talk. Should she be feeling merciful enough.

Alas, however, it didn’t seem so as she leaned her chin on one of her hands. Her nails, long and sharp, glinted in the light of the torches around her. She looked like a vengeful queen tasked with the punishment of a traitorous soul. A cruel, wicked tyrant of a ruler.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He’d destroy her kingdom yet.

With a tense breath in, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to plaster on a well-mannered grin. “Well,” He let out a bark of ironic laughter. “You see, I was going on my way to visit the Sage of Water, just to check up on him and you wanna know what he told me?”

“You know I do.” She smirked.

It took every bit of his patience to not wipe that fucking smirk off her damn face himself. Instead his fingers clenched into fists as that same anger bubbled up into a livid inferno that lapped at his insides and scorched his tongue. “He congratulated me for my recent marriage to the Sage of Spirits!” He spat, feeling comparable to the way he did after Ganon first returned. Angry and pissed and so blinded by red he didn’t care what happened.

The woman paused, brows raised, and for the slightest hair of a heartbeat, Link almost thought she didn’t know what he was talking about (which just made him even more pissed). But then she snorted. The snort then turned into a giggle, which turned into several, which she tried to hide behind her hand before she was tossing her head back in an uproar of laughter. It rang in his ears, harmonic and heavy, but he couldn’t find himself to care.

What a bitch.

“Oh,” She breathed out at last, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with a thumb. The rings on her fingers glinted and he noticed a suspicious lack of a gold band on her left ring finger. She did, however, have the earring so it was understandable. “Priceless. I was wondering when it would get back to you. I was almost getting bored. Feared I’d have to ruin the fun and tell you myself.”

He grit his teeth so hard he was half surprised they didn’t turn to dust. “What do you mean-”

“Glad Sidon did it for me though. He’s always had a big heart.” She waved him off before uncrossing her legs and standing. “It’s been fun though. Glad we could have this talk-”

“I’m not-”

“But there’s shit to do. Little time, lots of work or however that saying goes.” A grin spread on her face. It wasn’t kind and it wasn’t nice. It was the equivalent of a wolf snarling at its prey. To show the nasty teeth often hidden in a warning.

He was so distracted by her dumb face he didn’t even notice her taking out her own Purah pad.

“See you later, hubby.” And then she was gone.

Link blew up her throne before leaving, the only remainder being a selection of pebbles and small rocks.

It didn’t make him feel better.

<><><><>

Everywhere he went it was the same fucking thing.

“How’s the wife?”

“Oh, you haven’t gotten your piercing yet? I bet you’re aching to do that!”

“Must be preparing for the honeymoon, hey Link?”

And his personal least favorite. “Your wife had just stopped by! She said to expect you!”

Like Aaliyah had any idea of what he did. She didn’t know his schedule. She didn’t know him at all! And he was just…what? Expected to roll with this? Go to the first fucking Gerudo vendor he saw and ask for a piercing?

Not on his fucking life.

He’d tear that piercing out of her ear yet and leave it bloody right in front of her dumb face.

The matter was just getting close enough.

It was true he was, admittedly, following her. He needed to get that fucking piercing. Word travels like wildfire in Hyrule and he knew she had some sort of ulterior motive. He just knew it. And he would either find out what it was or he’d make sure she wouldn’t be able to claim she was married to anyone else ever again. Win-win if you ask him. He’d either get in on whatever scam she was planning, take over and leave her with nothing, or he’d get the revenge he yearned for for sullying his infamous name.

Now it was just a matter of tracking her down, which was easy enough. Aaliyah, if nothing else, was competitive. She liked a good game between them. She’d leave little tricks and clues for him to find in the most convoluted game of hide and seek he’d ever played. Maybe a certain berry was left lying around-- one he knew didn’t grow in that region-- or maybe there was a stray arrow, singed by the remnants of a bomb flower, lying broken on the path.

She knew he was after her, and she probably knew what he’d do when he found her, but that was all this was to her. A game. This was one big giant game and he was the challenger.

Or, contrarily, this was one big fucking joke to the Sheikah and Link was yet another punchline in this comedy act of a life.

<><><><>

“Looks like the dove finally got snared?”

He watched, amused, as she pulled against the ropes wrapped around her. It was sneaky and underhanded, but at some point (and he’d rather fight the King Gleeok all over again before admitting it), he grew desperate. So, he rigged up a monster camp with muddle buds. Lots and lots of muddle buds. Every Bokoblin had at least four on their body, every Moblin six and even the TNT barrels were covered in them.

Of course, when in the depths, if there’s an active monster camp, there’s a good chance Aaliyah wasn’t far behind. So, despite all odds, she took them out. The Bokoblins were taken out with the barrels, an arrow setting them all off, however she got cocky. The bow was put away and she sauntered into the camp, eyes on the chest prize in the middle.

A Moblin saw his chance, reared up and slammed his muddle bud lined head down. The Sheikah had dodged, but Link knew he’d won. He saw the expanse in her pupils, how the black seemed to swallow the gold irises and her cheeks became almost instantaneously flushed. She was dazed, but still finished off the disgusting beast with a practiced ease.

Link, of course, saw his opportunity and took it. And now, here she was. Writhing about under him like the fucking worm she was and glaring up at him. Her eyes never focused, like she couldn’t make heads or tails on what she was seeing, just that she knew she didn’t like it.

He nudged her with his boot and nearly got bit in the process.

“Ooh, feisty little dove.” He teased, crouching to her level as he hauled her into a sitting position. She let out a low growl before trying to bite his face-- not that she got far with him holding her shirt the way he was.

“Muddle buds? Really? That’s cheap, even for you.”

“Even for me?” He feigned a pout. “That’s a little harsh. I was tryna have a decent conversation with you.”

“I will fucking skin you and hang your ratty pelt like drapery.”

He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “So violent. Shouldn’t women like you be more docile?”

He nearly didn’t avoid the third snap of her sharp teeth.

“What do you want? In case you haven’t noticed, some of us actually do our fucking duties. I have-”

“Shit you need to do, yeah I’ve heard.” Link rolled his eyes before returning them to the dazed Sheikah. “What’s your angle?”

“My fucking what-”

“Why tell people we’re married? What do you get out of it? Explain it to me.”

Aaliyah blinked slowly, brows furrowed as the information loaded in her brain, processed and she came up with a response.

“Make me.”

Was what said brain came up with. He’d kill her yet, he swears. With a scoff, he glared at her, watching as something akin to amusement brushed over her features. “I am. You think I’d drug you and tie you up for tea?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re lonely.”

“Aaliyah-” What was the goddess thinking when making her? What part of the divine plan looked at him and went ‘Yeah, let’s make his life twelve times harder than it needs to be’? Because he had a complaint. Lots of complaints. Maybe there was a suggestion box where he could put in his very reasonable request of having her smited so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. “How’d you do it?” He settled on.

She hummed distractedly, head lolling about before she raised it to look at him. “You see, I went to Gerudo. They have these things called needles, and those needles pierced my ear, gave me the second hoop and then-”

“I know how fucking piercings are done!”

“Then it was just a matter of telling people we got hitched.” She grinned lopsidedly before pausing. “It’s very rude to interrupt by the way.”

He grabbed her chin with a rough pinch of his fingers. “Yeah, well, it’s also not very nice to just decide you’re married to someone because you wanted another piercing.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know lots of people have liked my piercings in the past.” Aaliyah gave a salacious smirk, eyes darting down to her own chest before back up to him.

What nipple piercings had to do with this, he wouldn’t know. “Name one person who liked your piercings.”

“Your mom-”

He let out a war-hungry screech as she flitted away into blue.

<><><><>

“Is it for tax purposes?” He called out, sliding to take cover behind a tree. An arrow pierced itself right where his head would’ve been and he quickly pulled it out and loaded it into his own bow.

“You think I pay taxes?” Aaliyah called back, waiting for him to pop out and aim before letting a bomb arrow fly. It forced Link to roll out of the way, the edges of his shirt singed with ash.

“I don’t think you do anything except make my life harder.” He snipped, shaking his hair out before letting a keese-eye arrow loose. It followed the Sheikah even as she darted behind a tree. It stabbed too deep into the trunk as she ducked for it to be reused, and she cursed, grabbing one of her own.

“It’s a hobby.” She grinned. She didn’t have very many bombs left, less Keese eyes (This trip was supposed to be a restock trip before her loving husband showed his ugly face), and was running out of options just short of things that could cause serious injury.

The quip she was waiting for didn’t come and she almost dared to poke her head out. Instead she laid low, watching the branches above her.

Which did her no fucking good as a hand wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the trunk. Fucking Sheikah armor.

“Then why?”

That’s all he’s ever been asking and it was starting to get on her nerves. No- how did you come up with such a great idea? No-Wow, you are so incredible and smart and what would I do without you? No- Wow Aaliyah, how did I get so lucky you decided to marry me?

Ungrateful fucking ass.

“I mean, you’ll get to claim me on your taxes and people will stop hitting on you- not that I can imagine many do with your ugly mug.”

Link got up in her face, nose to nose and she could feel his sweaty breath on her chin. He should go away.

“You could work with me, you know. Instead of against me. We could tear down this rotten fucking kingdom and build it anew.” He spoke at last, soft and hoarse. His eyes shined with vindication and valor and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

So she scoffed. “But I’m having so much fun. Learning what makes that little brain of yours just tick in agony and annoyance.”

A beat passed between them.

Then she raised a foot and kicked him square in the chest. Along the horizon the light dragon let out a strangled roar as it swooped close enough one could paraglide their way to its back. The whole reason Link was here, she’d bet.

“Send her my regards.” Aaliyah gave a salute, letting shrine travel take her away yet again.

<><><><>

The fire flickered underneath the metal pot steadily, licking up the sides and heating up the meat inside. He watched it blankly, mentally counting in his head before scooting over on the log he sat on. Predictably, there was a weight that sat right beside him, slumping with a clank as their gear was discarded beside them.

Stables were neutral. Neither wanted to piss the horse god off, so they’d behave themselves here.

Even if his skin itched with her sitting right there. There was nothing he could do, would do, unless she started something first.

“How’s the lizard girlfriend?”

“The fucking what-”

Early he had guessed this to be a game or a joke, but now he was certain she had just lost her mind at long last. Hurrah! He figured it out and eventually she’d be taken out back and put down. Something quick and merciful so she didn’t fall torment to her decaying mind.

He did glance over to where she was watching the sky, golden eyes trained on something or another. He followed her line of sight and nearly lost his shit subsequently.

“Are you-...Are you talking about Zelda?”

“Zelda, lizard girlfriend, same thing.” She rolled her neck before stretching her arms out above her. “Weren’t you two supposed to get married before this whole Ganon thing?”

And the gears started turning. They turned and creaked and groaned, but they were moving in sync before it hit him. “Golden goddess above-”

“You look like you’re about to pass out-”

“You are a special kind of wicked.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere-”

He turned to her and she suddenly clamped her mouth shut, like she could see what he was thinking. He was sure to an extent she could and she didn’t like what she was seeing. “That’s why you did it?!”

“Did what-”

“You started this whole campaign so you could say you married me before Zelda?! I was never gonna fucking marry her! Why do you think she’s still up there in the first place?!”

The color drained impressively fast from the Sheikah’s face before she stood with a start. “This has been… something. Let’s talk again soon-”

“Nuh-uh-” Link grabbed her wrist before she could disappear again. “Tell me that’s not the reason.”

Aaliyah blinked, stared at him, and opened her mouth. Only to then let out a shrill whistle. Somewhere behind her, her horse came galloping up, its dark eyes locking on her as she grabbed its saddle on the way by.

“Talk to you soon, hubby!”

<><><><>

Months later, he’s trekking in fuck-knows where, grumpy and grouchy. He hated the group of men he was with and he hated working for that fraud Hylia yet again. The boys around him never shut up and they never knew how to mind their own fucking business.

“Awful lot of jewelry.” One of them drawled with a lazy smirk on his features. Sage, as he had been proclaimed, scoffed. “I’m taking this from you? Your scarf looks like a fucking royal curtain.”

The man sputtered before righting his features with an indignant scoff. Sage snickered before running his hand through his hair. “It’s not all decorative.”

“It’s not?” The youngest whirled around to look at him. “I thought you just like getting your ears pierced.”

“I don’t. The first ones I got in the military. But this one?” Sage’s finger brushed against a second golden hoop hanging in his left ear. “This one means something.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Blue scarf barked, probably still offended Sage didn’t immediately lie down and take the teasing.

“Means you need to shut your trap and keep walking.” He threw back, stomping forward. “I have a wife to get home to.”

#yandere linked universe #legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #linked universe #loz #aaliyah <3 #aaliyah x sage #that's not a tag yet?#omg?#honestly fair #Sage #Lu Sage #its sage #cinder writes

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 10 months

Note

Heyyy could you write where Erik obviously takes over the throne & gains the queen ( tchallas wife) in the process, after weeks of disdain for Erik.. she caves in/let him have his way with her

To everyone else, T'Challa was the King. He was the Black Panther, beloved by all and adored. Honest, brave, elegant, and caring. He put the welfare of his people before his very life. That was the miracle of T'Challa's rule.

To you, he was your life. He was your partner, your teammate, your support, your lover, your husband. Photos and mementos lay scattered before you as you reminisce, bitterness and twisting thoughts causing you to sear in your anger. You can't help but think that he should still be here. There's no good reason why he isn't.

There's a knock on the door that you ignore. Every time someone in the palace speaks to you, it pisses you off. They are traitors, living comfortably in a palace they don't deserve, serving a murderer.

They knock again, asking if you'd like to come out for dinner with the new King. Everyone seems to have moved on, you think angrily. Everyone but you.

"I'll come to dinner when that imposter you call a king is in chains and beheaded. Serve me his head on a platter and my appetite will have returned sevenfold."

You pick up a polaroid you took of T'Challa and look at the date. It hasn't even been a month since it was taken, only 9 days since T'Challa's death.

When the news travels back to Erik that you still refuse to comply with his requests, he isn't surprised.

"Who's been giving her food behind my back?"

You should've been crawling to him, begging for something to eat.

"If I ask again, none of you, including your families, will eat. I'll make sure of that."

Erik noticed the chef look at a Dora.

"You."

His finger curved, beckoning her near to his throne. When she was close enough, he threw a blade, striking her directly in the forehead. Her body thudded to the ground.

"And that wasn't even vibranium."

The cook lowered his eyes in horror. The Dora couldn't decide whether to hold their positions or fight back. The palace staff was broken.

"What," Erik challenged. "Y'all look like y'all wanna do something! Come'on," his lip curled under ferociously, bearing gold fangs.

No one stepped forward.

"The next person I hear stepping foot near Ms. Queen without my permission? You can look forward to joining your friend in the afterlife. Am I CLEAR?"

Typically, Asira would sneak into your corridor, and you'd unlock your bedroom quarters to accept fresh and sweet warm yeast bread and water, but she hasn't shown in two days. You're famished, sleeping it off between bouts of mourning.

Finally, there's a quiet knock. You rush to unlock and open the bedroom door, but it's not Asira. Killmonger pushes the door wide.

"So this is the king's suite."

You start to walk out, but remember your chest of memories and dive to gather the scattered photos, putting them back inside. He steps on one as you grab it.

"You really loved him, huh."

You freeze, weighing your response.

"I used to have love in my life. It was taken from me. Three times. First time, it was my father. Airships from Wakanda came down from the sky, and by the time I made it in the house... he was dead. I'd never seen so much as a sign of visitation before then. Lost my uncle in the same night. Of course, you called him Zuri."

Your lip twitches, the hint of a snarl forming.

"Uncle James was a traitor just like his nation. Just like all of you. You're all cowards!"

One drag of his boot rips the photo.

"Why should you be happy..."

Angrily, he pulls you up by your shoulder and captures your ornately twisted afro bun in his grip, turning your face so he can look at your cowardice up close.

"You married into a family of murderers and you have the nerve to judge me?! Look up at me!"

Something sharp plunges into his chest, piercing him with familiar pain.

Your dark brown eyes are vengeful and shining with all the grief and fury you've felt the past few days. Killmonger took your husband, your shared dreams, and the one true king.

You look directly into his eyes, your face scrunching while you push your letter opener into his heart with all your strength. Panting, you look down on him as he labors.

"For my husband."

Turning your nose up at his dying gasps, you turn away. The Dora should've done this. Anyone with allegiance to Wakanda should've done this.

With labored breathing, Erik looks down at the blood around the jeweled letter opener lodged in his chest cavity. Direct hit.

You step back slowly, thinking you've done something, but all you've done is turn a battle into an all-out war. Not a war between territories, but a war between his will and yours.

"You think you can kill me?"

His eyes on you, he chuckles.

"Cute."

This is the first pushback he's gotten since T'Challa. He watches you closely, grimacing and sweating as he pulls the letter opener from his chest. It's costed in blood, but thanks to the powers bestowed on him by the herb, he'll heal.

Pulling himself to his feet, he goes to take the corner of your pure white duvet, cleaning the blood from the small blade. He pants silently, still in recovery.

"You understand why I killed him..."

He swings the knife low with his gait as he approaches you. "Up until now, your leaders have been content in doing nothing, at peace with the bare minimum. T'Challa-"

"Don't you DARE insult T'Challa in MY presence," you point, stopping him in his tracks.

"T'Challa," Erik stresses, looking you in the eye. "As noble as he was, he needed to be replaced by someone with some real fire."

"You can go to hell," you nearly whisper, enraged.

He steps forward.

"There's one person in this entire palace with the guts to oppose me, and you’re not even a trained fighter... I can take you down at any point. You and I both know that."

"So why don't you?"

"I have other plans. I'd like you to remain Queen to convince our citizens to trust in my efforts. I'd like you to join me as an advisor at my side. Afterall, everything I do as King is for the advancement of Wakanda and the African diaspora."

"I'll never join you. You may as well kill me."

"Tempting," Erik's eyes narrow. "But no. I believe in my vision, and that vision includes you. You have the opportunity to use that anger to help a lot of people. I believe... after you've spent a few more days in here without food or water, you'll either come to the same conclusion or you'll waste away quietly. Either way."

He looks you up and down. Whatever you choose, he's prepared.

"As long as I live, so will his legacy. I will never stop fighting you."

"I believe you," he nods. "Even as I approach you with a knife, you don't run. You're not suicidal. You've been planning your next attempt on my life."

He stops inches from you and trails the bejeweled letter opener from your cleavage up your open and smooth brown chest, up your neck.

"I like it. You tough."

The light bounces off of your supple skin. It looks soft and bouncy, covered in a layer of raw shea butter.

He brings his face close enough to your neck to smell your gentle fragrance.

He doesn't acknowledge the sound of your gurgling stomach or your glare of hate as he dangles the blade in front of your face.

"Whether you join me or die is completely in your hands, but as for this? I'm keeping this."

He leaves, and the door closes behind him. When you open it, the Dora you once loved are blocking you in. They stand firm with their spears, shame on their faces as they avoid your look of judgment.

Asira isn't among them, which means she's probably dead.

You close yourself back into the room as you resign yourself to join her and your husband.

The hours are long. The hunger and thirst is strong. You patch the ripped photo and stash it safely with the other memorabilia, meditating and sleeping as a distraction. It's already been a couple of days with no food or water. Still, you hold out.

Four days in, you're dying slowly in a torture that feels unbearable. As honorable as your intentions are, T'Challa wouldn't want to see you suffer this way. You imagine he's with you, lying next to you. Right after teasing you about your body temperature being too high for cuddling only to bring you in closer, he'd tell you to take the food. Live at any cost. It feels selfish when you know T'Challa can no longer enjoy these things with you, but you know it's not. You're doing it FOR HIM.

If you're going to kill Killmonger. You have to eat.

When the news travels to Erik that you've finally come to your senses, his elbows prop on the dining table in wait of what's sure to be another interesting encounter.

You arrive in a modest white dress and matching headwrap, the traditional mourning color. He killed your man, and you want him to feel guilty seeing you as widow. He doesn't. He doesn't even really care.

"Sit closer."

He stares, watching you play musical chairs to keep your distance until you're right beside him. You look perfectly weak, tired, and hungry... More willing.

He doesn't miss the hesitation as you consider using the dinner knife as a weapon. Part of him hopes you'll give him a reason.

"I'm not your enemy."

The subdued murderous rage seeping from you despite your exhaustion is admirable.

"You are my sole enemy as far as I'm concerned," you mutter.

He turns to you fully, having been thinking about telling you something specific since he last saw you.

"I've done nothing but try to show you a system that's been broken from the start. I didn't SNEAK into the borders, though I could have. I EARNED passage by killing the black market arms dealer who murdered Wakandans and somehow eluded not one but two of your black panthers. I did that, and I didn't SEIZE the palace, though I could have. I followed your protocol and let you arrest me, taking me straight to the King who I defeated by YOUR OWN customs. You wanna vilify me? Go ahead. I didn't start this. You did when you killed my parents. I'm finishing it."

You stab at the food as he watches the conflict in your mind. His words are reaching you even if you hate him.

"I haven't been challenged in my power and authority since T'Challa," he repeats. "You're the only one who seems to give a damn that he's dead."

You look up quickly.

"-and that's a broken system. I've been where you are. Even being from the Panther Tribe, these people destroyed my family, betrayed my father's memory, and abandoned me. They are the weak links who, out of fear and tradition, won't challenge authority. They won't stand up for what's right. They wouldn't know right from wrong. They are selfish, and they are cowards. They are the traitors."

His words reflect how you feel. Everyone has fallen in line to the new regime as if T'Challa wasn't just here a couple of weeks ago, walking the halls. They smiled to his face then, but act now as if he never existed.

"We're not so different." He holds up a finger for you to listen. "Our responses have been to rebel. To honor the memory of our loved ones. But this goes deeper than us and our pain. I'm asking you, will you remain Queen and fight alongside me to change this broken system for good?"

You hesitate, wondering how it would look. Despite that, having the power to supervise Killmonger and affect change is appealing.

"As long as it's made clear that we are not together, I will agree... to keep an eye on you."

You watch him closely as he's watching you.

"What is your plan?"

"First, we have to unite the tribes," he says without thought, but the tribes are already united as much as they can be. The council exists. You kiss your teeth.

"There's tension with the border tribe... You haven't had contact with the Jabari in decades."

You look him up and down, rolling your eyes back to your food. You wonder about his approach to politics.

"How would you unite the tribes?"

Days turn into weeks as you listen to Killmonger's wild ideas that border on treason. He seeks power, that much is clear, but he has a plan for reform that you're beginning to believe in. You've been walking the palace and even traveling the country alongside him, training and directing him, showing him the ropes. He's adapting quickly and surprisingly open to your suggestions, quick to adapt your corrections.

"Yes, queen," has been his public response when you've chastised him. He's made good progress. It almost makes you not want to kill him anymore... Almost.

"When are we doing something about the ritualistic combat component in the road to becoming king?"

"I'll let you think of that," he says, leaving it to you. You'll have to think about it and come back.

You head back to your quarters to think alone, passing the treacherous Dora who only guard the throne. You haven't forgotten. Turning your nose, you close yourself into your vast bedroom and sigh, removing your dress and headdress. Lying down, you're in your thoughts for a while until you fall asleep with dreams of T'Challa.

You've been away for a couple of hours, and it's time for dinner. Erik looks up from his work load. You haven't returned to the discussion. He needs you to look over a new idea regarding vibranium, and you can do that over dinner, so he goes to your door and knocks.

When you don't respond, he confirms with the Dora that you are in fact in there. They unlock the door with a spare key. Clearly, he announces himself on his entrance.

It's not enough. You're asleep in lingerie, a peaceful expression on your face. He's never seen you without lines in your forehead.

Sitting on your bed, he strokes your face, watching it turn more and more angelic. You must be having a good dream. Slowly, he leans and kisses your lips. You'll never know it when you wake. He leans off of the bed, but in your sleep, you reach out, so he sits back down.

"Ms. Queen," he whispers, trying to wake you before deciding, "Fuck it."

He pulls off his black robe that he'd been sitting in all day along with his black pants and loafers. Sliding under your duvet, he lays in what must've been his cousin's spot, holding you against his chest. Your skin is soft and the gentle smell he's gotten accustomed to fills his nostrils.

He remains awake, lying there through dinner until he realizes you're not getting up. Then he can sleep.

Something suddenly doesn't feel right. He feels your body shift from his arms. At this point, he's been asleep a few hours. Instead of opening his eyes, he waits. He can feel you hover as if you're hesitating. You're probably going to stab him. He prepares mentally to sense where your blade might go. How big is it this time? Is it a kitchen blade? Did you get your hands on a spear? You're stronger now. Still not strong enough to actually kill him.

He waits and waits, but the blow doesn't strike. Opening his eyes, he finds you sitting on the side of the bed with a defeated look in your eye. When he sighs, you flinch and look over. You thought he was still asleep.

"Well... Don't feel bad," he grumbles, still groggy. "It's always harder to kill someone at their most vulnerable."

"That's not it..."

Oh? He waits for you to elaborate, but he can see it the more he looks at you and tries to put himself in your shoes. You're conflicted about more than just killing him.

"There was so much life left in him; so many dreams we shared and planned to live out. I wanted children. I wanted to travel the world with him as parents. I wanted us to grow old together. I never once considered that I'd lose him so soon. I thought you had time. And YOU killed him," she looks back suddenly with a growl. "You took that from me."

He lays still, watching your expressions as tears drop from your eyes. Either you're venting or having second thoughts. If it's the latter, it means damage control.

"So then... why," you gasp. "Why do I feel like this? I should hate you."

It wouldn't be wise to move. Letting you vent would be best. Again, he'd been there to know exactly how you feel.

"Look at me!"

He's already looking. His eyes widen in apology. He can't give you the one you want and you know why. He isn't sorry for killing T'Challa. He'd do it again if he could.

Your face scrunches as you crawl back in the bed, and after assessing the situation, he decides to put his hand on your arm to show you you're not alone.

To his surprise, you pull his arm to hold you for comfort. He does and for a while the two of you lie there until you turn over, seeking something more to dull the ache in your heart.

He knows exactly what he can offer for that. Gently, he kisses your expose skin. Your shoulder, your arm, your stomach, your thigh, your knee, your leg. When your thighs fall open, he kisses up the inside of your leg and thigh up to the outline of your panties. He looks up to check in.

"You sure?"

'Cause ain't no going back. You grab his locs, guiding him down and he pulls your panties off, tossing them off the bed. With one last look, he goes down.

You sigh and moan under him, ultimately whispering T'Challa's name. You must be thinking of him, but Erik doesn't care. Not yet.

Right now, it's T'Challa, but with time, it'll change. With careful guidance, YOU will change... just like everyone else in this palace who's come under his submission.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo

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a-d-nox · 10 months

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Hello! I hope you're doing great ^_^ I read your post on asteroid circe. I was wondering what it means to have circe in 8th house and aspecting to sun and pluto in natal chart? Thank you in advance :))) <3

circe (asteroid 34), what’s her sign/degree, where she sits in a chart, and her aspects

thank you for your patience and for sending me your chart!!! but after receiving quite a few asks and comments about circe aspects and placements i decided to continue the series (reminders: @bitchimrawlikethat , @mishap-missy , @herwonderlandmentality , @oolabb )!

all of this is in my opinion. some of it you may be like how tf did she come up with this. my answer: intuition and experience with other people's charts that i have available to me. warning i can be harsh: please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. plus let's not forget orbs matter, dominance matters, etc. it's never just circe (34). this is just a starting place for when examining a single asteroid in an entire galaxy. take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

*all of these observations are based on a natal chart - solar return and persona charts will change all these observations because the context is different*

!!! RETROGRADE (click here for circe rx) MAKES ALL OF THESE THINGS LISTED BELOW SUPER STRESSFUL OR SLOW TO APPEAR IN YOUR LIFE !!!

signs/degrees

aries (1°, 13°, 25°): you too may enjoy being the queen of the island. you love power, but circe felt threatened by odysseus and his crew's presence initially as she wanted to be rid of them. you could be opposed to adventurous-spirited people and/or those who are too curious about you. you may try to get rid of those who are too curious about you or that pose a threat to your power. you may find you are easily bored - you may find it hard to follow through with a ritual (like cord cutting - you may be the type to walk away because it's taking too long (please never walk away from cord cutting rituals)) or with finishing a portion of study, but if you really want something, you can have it.

taurus (2°, 14°, 26°): you totally would turn someone you view as a threat into a pig - you'd probably sell them too. you are likely a stubborn lover - you have an unshakeable love for people, which makes it difficult when they decide to break things off with you. you are the type to reject that it is happening. you may even turn it back on them that they take you and your presence in their life for granted - and they totally do. a love like yours is rare - you would do anything for the people you love. you may do magic and manipulate others to turn a profit though.

gemini (3°, 15°, 27°): you are probably the type of ex-lover / vengeful lover who ceases communication. i have seen people with this placement and even the degree completely withdraw from communication with the people they "love" when they do something "wrong". and it sucks because we really do take your communication/conversation for granted - we only know it after you are gone. but with great power comes great responsibility - you may tend to manipulate others because you know just how badly they want you in their life. on the other hand, though these placements tend to have extensive knowledge about the occult - they enjoy studying the world of magic and have a natural curiosity about it.

cancer (4°, 16°, 28°): you are probably a vengeful lover being ruled by the moon with this placement. your mood and feelings towards your lover change often - one day, you'll be devoted to them, and the next, you'll be almost (or totally) spiteful towards them. you are likely opposed to the newcomers in your life - you have a lovely home and garden; why do you need some strangers coming in and ruining that for you? you are likely an introvert who likes doing their own thing - people might take for granted that you "like being alone" or "being in your home" though and don't invite you places (odysseus didn't invite circe to go back to the mainland with him). you are the most likely of the signs to practice ritual magic.

leo (5°, 17°, 29°): your courtships might be complicated. you might be super loyal to a person who is not as committed as you are… you are likely to experience a courtship where you are deeply in love then the other person leaves. chances are you might have (will) felt (feel) secure in the connection, and thought that there was no way they would leave. they could be with you for a long time, you might have a home together, maybe even children… then they do leave. if children are involved, leo circe people do tend to manipulate their children into disliking their ex-partner.

virgo (6°, 18°): you are likely a critical romantic partner - if they wrong you, you will do whatever is in your power to ruin their day. you are the type of vengeful that will take the fridge lightbulb, the spinning table in the microwave, poke a hole in their tire so they have a slow leak, etc. you want them to feel the pain. you are also very convincing to listen to because you carefully tell the truth in such a way that it could even lies are true (fae complex is strong in this placement lol).

libra (7°, 19°): the people you think are your companions are often the ones you should trust the least - like circe you are experiencing the lovestruck nature she had toward odysseus. your partner may also be brave and adventurous, both of these traits pique your interest, but they also may leave you to continue their life's adventure. if you don't agree with them running off and they didn't tell you beforehand that that was always the intention - you are likely to search for justice. like circe your voice likely draws people in - it is magical and musical sounding. you could be a great enchantress and/or manifester with this placement.

scorpio (8°, 20°): this is circe. at least, this is what i feel is her truest placement. you are passionate and would do anything for the people you love. but also you can be cruel and resentful towards those who have wronged you. this is the ultimate vengeful lover placement. your passions are often taken for granted - in fact, people often use you when they learn that you care or when they know you like a specific thing they will manipulate you into doing it for them. you are prone to resentment because you often only recognize that you were used after the fact. you give off extremely witchy vibes and probably practice any magic that you learn about.

sagittarius (9°, 21°): traveler often visit these placements. you are not big on traveling; you do however find yourself in the company of adventurous and well-traveled individuals. you likely aren't a very vengeful or spiteful lover - you understand what it means to live momentarily and love temporarily but fully. you are likely a very devoted partner - you could even idolize them. you likely practice culturally based magic specific to your ancestry - you may even be able to contact your ancestors (you could be a medium)!

capricorn (10°, 22°): you may take your presence in the world a bit too seriously - not everyone is supposed to become a god, queen, or famous in a lifetime. you'd be best served taking some of the expectations and responsibilities off of yourself. you will find that life gets better when you aren't anxious to be perfect. you may even find that success comes more readily then. that being said, you are likely a great presence to behold. you may be pretty intimidating due to your power. you may be a professional astrologer or witch. you may know all too well what it is like to be abandoned by others - you may find yourself utterly alone / isolated at some point in life.

aquarius (11°, 23°): you probably get too close to people too soon - you might even be too trusting towards the wrong people in your life. you may not like explorers and adventurers in your proximity, but when they prove they are brave enough to confront your mystical energy or outsmart you, you likely drop your guard. be aware though: that is still a stranger - recognize that just because wish to explore curiosities doesn't mean that you should invite them into your private realm. there are nuances to knowing people: acquaintances, friends, and intimates. try not to go 0 to 100. you likely aren't that manipulative or vengeful, which is why i am laying it on thick in your description - this might just be the most vulnerable of the circe placements. especially since you are likely a very gifted spiritualist - people may use you for your abilities.

pisces (12°, 24°): you may find you are deeply connected to everything around you - to the point that people may say you are intuitive. circe knew that the men were no good at first sight. but you may also have your rose-colored glasses on; circe saw odysseus as a hero and someone to worship - sometimes you may take gut feelings too far. circe ended up being abandoned because she didn't stick with her initial intuitive feeling - you, too, may overlook possible negatives after the first observation. you may seek revenge because you put too much stock into situations and feelings. you may love too hard and feel betrayed too harshly. you are likely a schemer; you don't like when people betray you, and you often deal out a deserving punishment. you are likely very magically inclined.

houses

1h: people likely take your ability, attitude, and confidence for granted. you have a mystical energy around you - your aura is likely very strong and of a deeper color variety. you aren't the type to get revenge on just anyone in your life; you understand the karmic cycles and you understand that the universe has your back. your morality is of a higher variety - you wouldn't willfully harm someone that has done you wrong unless they have gone too unchecked in the world. and because your attitude and morality are superior to most a lot of the time you have the power to sway/manipulate others to see the way you philosophize the situation at hand. you are likely seen mystically.

2h: you know what you give and what you receive - you keep tally. so you seek revenge on your lovers in an equal measure. you won't allow others to use you and get away with it. you will not let someone be indebted to you or you to them. you might be someone who is particularly well versed in the world of debts; thus, you can easily convince/manipulate other views on what they are owed and how they should acquire what they are owed. you may be someone who frequently does exchange readings.

3h: you may have travelers/wanderers for partners - people who take for granted that you will always be around because you yourself are most likely not a traveler. sadly, it is likely that your lovers frequently leave you and that their presence in your life is merely temporary. while they tend to come from worlds away, they often discover that they prefer where they came from as opposed to where you are. you however can persuade/manipulate/convince your romantic partners to stay longer than they would have if you were not there. with this placement, you can inherit a grimoire and/or be very talented in the art of runes or manifestation. you might be someone who reads or writes about witches (serpent and dove, a discovery of witches, near witch, etc.).

4h: you are likely a domestic queen - you know how to survive on your own and take care of yourself as well as the land around you. you likely have an impressive herb collection and/or garden. herbs are probably very imperative to your spellwork. when someone messes with your little ecosystem (the homestead and your peace within it), you are very likely to attack theirs. people may always assume that you will remain peaceful, calm, and be a homebody - they do not believe that you would leave the comfort you find there to find them. you totally would, especially if they messed with you. you likely come from a line of witches or those with ancestral roots in the practice.

5h: your lover might leave you with a child and dip. this will likely infuriate you because they promised you to stay, and it was not the case… thus you might use your child to exact your revenge on your previous lover. you might even turn your child against them and build up your child's beliefs that your ex-lover is a bad person. you do tend to be taken advantage of for your ability to love people, so you do tend to make those who have wronged you feel truly hated. you might really enjoy plays and films about witches (macbeth, stardust, the craft, etc.).

6h: your constant, unwavering presence in a person's life can be taken for granted. people tend to always assume that you will be there for them and that is not the case. you will not be the person who stays if they betray you - in fact, you are the first to leave at any hint that they are hesitant towards you. you will seek your revenge by ruining their day-to-day life - suffering is not done in a vacuum when it comes to those who have done you dirty. they say that those with a routine are the most vulnerable of people - you don't mind exploiting their own routine to get back at them. these people often have a familiar in my experience - you might have a cat or some sort of creature that is always by your side. you likely practice ritual magic.

7h: you may assume that your partners are just as committed as you are, but that doesn't tend to be the case - and when that happens, you step into your villain era and become the ultra circe. your dislike for past partners is no secret. people take advantage of your love, and you never react well to that - you don't let them get away with it. you could be manipulative in the area of agreements and romances just like you could have a gift for love magic.

8h: your vengeance against a lover is complete when they are dead, or they find they can't live without you and you have moved on. nothing is sweeter to you than total revenge - they are dead and you aren't, they can't move on but you can, etc. you can be convincing with your displays of passion - people think that you care more than you do or you care a lot about something and now the other person also cares a lot about something. but people also tend to take advantage of your passion. when they see that you love something, they exploit it and use that thing against you. on a lighter note, chances are you are passionate about the occult - you can be a very talented magic user.

9h: your revenge is often extremely meditative; it is no secret to the people around you that you are after someone. you are devoted to getting even with those who have wronged you. people take advantage of your devotion to them. if they know that you love them, they know you will do nearly anything for them - learn new languages, bring their entire family into your home, etc. they simply take advantage of this knowledge. but you tend to be on top of your game in that you are extremely crafty with your knowledge and beliefs - you can convince people of a different reality than the one that they are living in. and this could go on for years - odysseus saw really no purpose in traveling home when circe kept telling him it wasn't safe and that he should stay. but more often than not your lovers do go where you can not follow them. you could be very good at deity work, ceremonial/ritual magic, and could even have your own grimoires.

10h: you likely target the ambitions, status, and career of your ex-lovers to take them down. you don't let them have their reputation intact when they leave you - you likely don't let morality or dignity get in your way. their downfall is all that matters; you don't care how bad you look when causing it. which is ironic because they likely took advantage of your morality (they knew you would take them in when they were down on their luck), popularity, or even your professional status to get ahead - they assumed you would not do anything to tarnish their reputation if it risks your own. they are dead wrong though. you likely can be seen as right even when you are wrong because you can twist the morality in the room to favor you. you could be a professional occultist.

11h: you, like the 10h circe, target social standings to get your revenge on an ex-lover. people tend to take advantage of your group mentality - they assume that you will always be their friend even if they abandon you. you might just be "friends" with your ex-lovers so they know that you will always be there to take them down if they try to hurt you more. you might even have a shared friend group with your ex-lover because oftentimes your lover's friends become your friends (you tend to welcome those from your lover's world into your own). you have the gift to socially manipulate/convince them that you are right and those that don't agree with you are wrong. you could be good at manifesting - a lot of your wishes come true.

12h: circe had a following of large animals, so you, too, may like or have exotic pets that others typically do not have (snakes, scorpions, etc.). your greatest weapon is likely your ability to manipulate others into doing your dirty work for you. you may prefer to live in isolation - circe lived on the island alone until odysseus and his crew showed up. you may have an interest in the unknown - in terms of magic, you may find yourself curious about meditation or astral projection. you get your revenge on your ex-lovers the most frequently of the placements - mainly because you keep a lot of blackmail. you don't let other's treachery ruin you; you spin it back on them. you also have a very intriguing presence that most people are incapable of ignoring.

aspects from circe to

sun: positive aspects: you are likely an accomplished occultist - you have a natural gift where magic is concerned. you know when to be humble in the presence of those who outsmart or outrank you. you are loyal to those who have gained your respect. you are self-sufficient and have many survival skills and talents. negative aspects: you target your ex-lovers by tearing down their achievements, dignity, and fame. you may even abuse this power by turning those that are loyal to them against them. you might have an herb allergy or sensitivity. you see outsiders as people who are trying to distract you and ruin your self-sufficient lifestyle. your ego may tell you that you are acting against others in retribution meanwhile it is petty revenge.

moon: positive aspects: you are likely someone who lives very peacefully and does a lot of things for yourself. you likely maintain your household and land all by yourself in the most impressive of ways. you likely have charms throughout your home to protect its energy: sigils, selenite above doors, bells, etc. you are likely a very good cook and some may even say a magical one - you likely can make many things from scratch: lip balm, sugar scrubs, cleaning supplies, etc. you are likely very good at potions and craft work in terms of magic. negative aspects: you are cautious when letting people into your home and tend to avoid it if you can. it's not that you are insecure about the looks of where you live, you just know that when people come over they tend to stay longer than you planned and you are someone who doesn't like a lot of socializing as it tends to be very emotionally draining. people tend to take your homemaking for granted - they might not respect your home (e.g., they likely wall on your new carpets with shoes on, then could break a decor piece, etc.). you could also struggle with motherhood - your child could look like your ex-lover.

mercury: positive aspects: you could have a strong connection with animals in which they are extremely protective of you because they love and respect you. you could be very dedicated to your magical studies and have the correct mindset when practicing which allows for favorable outcomes. you can be a very convincing communicator - people frequently believe the things you tell them. negative aspects: animals can be extremely scared of you because they see/sense your power as threatening. you aren't someone who trusts others easily. you definitely aren't a fan of close groups - you likely see them as cliques and dangerous. you likely aren't a big communicator - you tend to "shoot first, ask questions later." meaning you can be on the defense in a dialogue. though often it is because you feel threatened by the unknown of the situation - often your first encounters with people tend to be abrasive. you tend to use your knowledge of others to get revenge on them.

venus: positive aspects: you have a very witchy aesthetic that is dark and intriguing. you have a high aptitude for magic and occult practices - they tend to yield positive results. you are likely a very loyal companion when you trust the other person - it can be a very intense and intimate feeling to outsiders. a lot of your new contacts develop into romantic ones when you feel attracted to them. you could be a good singer, which intrigues others to want to know more about you. you could also have an expansive garden that has so many things in it that you hardly know what everything is. negative aspects: your diplomacy could use some work for sure - a lot of unnecessary drama unfolds because you tend to be overly aggressive when people are merely curious about you and what you are doing. believe it or not, not everyone means you harm. you don't need to default to shaming others or making a spectacle of them (circe turned the crew into pigs). you could be involved in a marital affair - often it is the case that a married individual is involved with you (you typically aren't the one who is married). people tend to invite themselves over to your space - without your own knowledge or okay. a warning to the gardeners - you are likely growing something that is poisonous to you or that you have an allergy to.

mars: positive aspects: you can be a very active individual in the realm of homesteading or magic. you might have a blog of some sort that is controversial though it likely has very honest and likely has accurate thoughts about the community and/or the topics at hand (some of the youtube homesteaders i see with this aspect say things like "i'm a real person with a real budget," "this is just how it [their home] looks on a normal day," "damn that plant died - whelp that happens, not everyone has all day to babysit one plant and drip can't save every plant," etc). you keep it real. you likely are someone that helps out other individuals - you help them to maintain their "main character" energy (typically it is a romantic partner). negative aspects: you are prone to attacking others - just like the mercury aspecting people, you "shoot first, ask questions later." you are typically on the physical defense - you likely make people feel small and insignificant (circe turned the crew into pigs). you likely don't care if what you do hurts others - you want them to feel pain in hopes that it causes negative feedback/reinforcement so they stop doing what they are doing (very pavlovian lol). you can be a very cruel individual - your temper is not something others should mess around with. you may be prone to lustful activities as well - let's not forget that circe and odysseus barely knew one another, then next thing you knew, she was having three of his children.

jupiter: positive aspects: you have an abundance of witchy power (could be a known witch to society) that should not be wasted. talent like yours is not frequently found. you exchange your energy with very powerful entities be it gods, spirits, demons, or the universe. you are nonetheless a very loyal individual and always show your gratitude and appreciation. you never let these entities do something for you without recognition and appreciation. you are also someone that does a lot of your own studying and research in the world of the occult and witchcraft - similar to 3h placements you likely read a lot about witches in your spare time even in the fictional sense. you are also a very self-sufficient individual - you can do it all on a homestead. negative aspects: you likely abuse the power you have and use it for "evil" and torment others (piss-jar with wasps and chili powder in it type of energy with these placements for real). you need to be very careful that you aren't crossing the lines of magic because the entities that gave you abilities will not be pleased if you aren't showing your appreciation to them - it is giving angry toxic parent vibes "i brought you into this world, i can take you out of it". they gave you your abilities, they can and will take them away. if you think that you owe no one your power, you are dead wrong. be a loyal servant to the world you live in and the energy in it. all magic has a cost association. on a lighter note, be careful who you do exchanges with; they are likely to use you and not repay the exchange (but that might just be because you aren't repaying your entities - so they are the pawns meant to collect debts).

saturn: positive aspects: you like living in solitude; there is something so peaceful about it. it might just be because it allows you to take your time - "slow-living" is a homestead quality; it takes time to make things of quality! you understand that. I feel like this placement makes poppets and guardians - there is a lot of waiting and patience involved in those magic processes. but you have what is required to collect what is necessary, wait for astrological events, make the figures, etc. you are a very attentive and studious individual, so you don't mind taking the time to have all the details correct in your practice. negative aspects: you may be constantly on guard about others taking you for granted or manipulating you into doing what they want. you are prone to animosity, contempt, and disdain towards others. but that does not mean closing yourself off to the world (which you are for sure guilty of doing); you should learn to stifle these fears without disciplining/withdrawing from others. simply be on guard. you have a natural mistrust toward others. you may have a cold disposition. you likely enjoy when justice is served (you probably watched the heard v. depp case closely and were excited that depp won).

uranus: positive aspects: you like circe love the freedom associated with being completely alone and away from your kind. you would likely enjoy trading humanity for cows on a farm or a home in louisiana where alligators are rather close (pearl, is that you?). you are all good to pull an H. D. Thoreau to be one with nature. others are very likely to view your life as unconventional for this reason. but you like weird and bizarre things and don't care what others think. you could probably shock someone with your skills of persuasion. this uranus aspect often reminds me that magic and occult are not always just about myth, astrology, spell jars, herbs, etc. but rather modern magic is science! you may find that you are rather gifted at inventing new technology or scientific techniques. negative aspects: you can ruin your ex-lovers, and you totally would/will. you can very suddenly upend their entire life without so much as a second thought. your romantic life seems to follow in the footsteps of circe's - very quickly falling in love and trying to make/plan a life together - but be aware: your partners aren't often able of adapting to your lifestyle and frequently leave.

neptune: positive aspects: witch aesthetics for days. everything in your realm has a little bit of magic in it. you might be someone who really enjoys witch stories and tales - you probably specifically look for myths, fiction, movies, and tv shows about witches like 3h/5h placements and mercury/jupiter aspects. you might just write your own tale about witches. you might be prone to falling in "love" quickly. these placements tend to be oracles in their own right. negative aspects: you are likely playing a dangerous game and practicing black magic - i implore you to read my warning to jupiter negative aspects. be careful with the entities in your realm; they do not tolerate people using them or abusing the power they gave them - they don't mind letting karma catch up with you. you likely blackmail others with the information they gave you - but not without being betrayed first ("release the receipts"). these aspects tend to experience a lot of betrayal in life, which leads them to the world of "dark" magic. you have the power to curse others but should be careful because there is always a price/debt that will be paid with or without your agreement on what that will be.

pluto: positive aspects: you are probably the strongest of the magic users on this aspect portion of the list - though it may be a toss-up between you and the jupiter aspecting people. you have the power to transform those around you and even yourself. you can even manifest others to appear in front of you. you could also control/guide how karma catches up with people - though it is a delicate art to conquer. negative aspects: you like the venus aspect people are likely to end up in adulterous relationships - you likely aren't the one in a committed relationship though, know that having this knowledge and continuing doesn't make you any less at fault. often if you do continue on these relationships tend to end with them leaving you. you then tend to resort to underhanded behavior that takes down your ex-lover in a very complete/final way. like mars aspecting people, you are prone to lust - love is different than lust, and a lot of your romantic struggle can be resolved by learning to differentiate the two.

asc: positive aspects: you likely have a very dark aura consisting of various shades purples, blacks, and whites. you have a witchy energy and aesthetic. you are seen by others as someone very strong and independent. you can show people what you want them to see. you have an intriguing/mysterious vibe that makes others curious about you. negative aspects: people can be very put off by your presence - they may even be intimidated by your power. people may feel as though you are constantly looking down upon them and making them feel less than you. you might throw off illusions/glamours different from who you truly are.

mc: positive aspects: people know of you as strong feminine energy with a lot of power. people also know you to be generous and willing to help those in need. negative aspects: you can have a reputation as a cutthroat who doesn't mess around. many may know you as someone who demands a lot of respect from others. you might tend to abuse the power you have and manipulate others.

hermes: positive aspects: you have respect for the higher powers and trust them to give others information about you who have good intentions towards you. you trust higher powers to bring you equals and those you need into your life. negative aspects: there are people around you who are willing to exploit your weaknesses and make you susceptible to those around you. people in power around you do not hesitate to exploit your vulnerabilities and make you powerless in your situation.

odysseus/ulysses: positive aspects: you easily fall in love with those around you - you tend to be starstruck by brave and heroic individuals. you might have a thing for travelers and foreigners - they tend to intrigue you because you wish to know where they have been. negative aspects: you likely have bitterness toward your ex-lovers - there is very little chance that you stay friends with them after a breakup. you are someone who seeks revenge and will likely turn others against your ex-lover. you aren't someone who does your own dirty work - do with that what you will because it is both a smart yet troubling methodology that you don't get your hands dirty but do not care about involving innocent people.

penelope: positive aspects: you might have a common taste in men as other women around you. you might see the same good qualities in the men around you as other women do. negative aspects: the other woman motif. you are easily jealous of other women who interact with a man you view as "yours". men tend to leave you for their past lover(s).

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