Javivi's Books @javivi-books - Tumblr Blog

let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

aemondapologistfrfr

Silk Ribbons

maegor x niece!reader

Summary: Maegor crashes Aenys name day tournament which turns into more blood. He shows up unannounced to the feast where he gives all of his attention to Y/n before taking her back to Dragonstone.

Warnings: 18+ death, blood, blades, swearing, wine, bondage, oral (f receiving), p in v, it’s a maegor the cruel fic like wtf else can i say

Authors Note: this was a request from my bestie 🫣😮‍💨, pls i’ve never really read maegor ff so i hope i did him justice

Word Count: 4.2k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

ladyempty

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | English is not my first language. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

teamhelaena

Fic Masterlist

AEGON TARGARYEN:

My true joy - aegon gets taken on a "adventure" into the woods where you have hidden moments together. (Niece reader)

Watching the obsession - part two -

Aegon yearns for reader to return from dragonstone but tragedy strikes.

Have I truly won? -

Aegon thinking of his beloved (niece reader) in his last moments

To see him again-

“A swan will take its own life if its lover dies.”

AEGON THE CONQUEROR

Shattered-

He claims the Dornish princess he took as a prisoner for the death of Rhaenys

RHAEGAR TARGARYEN:

My Frail Sister- - part 2

“Rhaegar had believed since his sister was born that she was who he would wed but after she was born the maesters informed king Aerys the girl was weak. She wasn’t supposed to live long after her first breath but the girl had pushed through though frail and limited. Rhaegar went on to expect to marry her but Aerys would not trade a sons line for a daughters weakness seeing as if she was to become with child she would most likely die.”

MAEGOR TARGARYEN:

Lamb to the slaughter-

(Maegor/sister reader) reader is described as young and naive but no age is mentioned. Maegor is mean for no reason and visenya is the ultimate boy mom lol //slight Aenys x reader

Visenya Targaryen:

My Wildfire-

Visenya x sister reader (with a little aegon x sister wife)

teamhelaena

My Frail Sister

Rhaegar x sister reader / part 2

Tw- Targcest, frail reader, reader has Valyrian features, brother x sister, emotional cheating/just plain cheating (I love you Elia you deserve better </3)

Summary- Rhaegar had believed since his sister was born that she was who he would wed but after she was born the maesters informed king Aerys the girl was weak. She wasn’t supposed to live long after her first breath but the girl had pushed through though frail and limited. Rhaegar went on to expect to marry her but Aerys would not trade a sons line for a daughters weakness seeing as if she was to become with child she would most likely die.

From the very beginning, Rhaegar believed she was his. He was only six when she was born, standing in the cold corridor outside the birthing chamber with his father, his silver-gold hair tousled, his small hands clenched behind his back the way his tutors had taught him. His father had always informed him since his mother Rhaella became with child "If your mother is to have a girl.. you will have your future queen, wouldn't you like that?" Aerys always seemed more excited at the thought of having a daughter for his son while Rhaegar only nodded his head the small boy leaving his side only to attend lessons.

When the door finally opened, no joy met him. Only the heavy eyes of the wet nurse and the strained hush of whispers not meant for a young prince.

“She is weak,” the maester told the king. “Too small. Her lungs are soft. We fear she may not last the week.” King Aerys turned away with little more than a grunt, the scent of wildfire clinging to his robes. But Rhaegar, curious and solemn even at that age, slipped past the adults and found his way to the crib.

She was wrapped in white, barely moving. Pale as milkglass, with lashes so fine they were nearly invisible. But her eyes when they opened .. were violet, like his. And when she looked at him, really looked, Rhaegar thought: "She knows me." "She is to be my queen?"

He touched her tiny hand. It curled around his finger, too small to hold anything, but trying. Always trying.

And she lived.

The days turned to years. She did not die, though the maesters never stopped expecting it. She could not walk far without wheezing, could not play in the sun long without fainting. Her skin remained pale, her limbs delicate, her voice a near whisper most days. But her mind sharp as Valyrian steel and her eyes missed nothing.

Rhaegar visited her often. He brought books heavier than she could carry and sang to her when the nights grew cold. She loved his harp most. Whenever he played, she would close her eyes and lean into the sound as if it were warmth itself.

He told her of prophecy. Of the three heads of the dragon. “You were born for something,” he’d say, voice soft, gaze unreadable. “Born for me.”

She believed him.

And as she grew older, the way he looked at her changed. Not with lust or childish fondness, but with something deeper, something steeped in fate. He was only six years older, barely a man when she turned ten, and yet already haunted by duty. He watched her in the godswood, when she traced her fingers along the bark of the heart tree, or sat curled in the grass with a book, too tired to walk back to the keep. Rhaella was never far from her, always watching over her and if she was not a maid was ordered to be.

He saw the ghost of something beautiful in her the strength that defied the maesters’ prophecies, the fire that flickered but never died.

But their father saw only weakness.

Aerys saw her frailty as an insult, not a miracle. He stopped visiting her chamber after her third name day. He forbade talk of betrothal, of prophecy, of anything that might tie her to Rhaegar in a way that mattered. “A dragon with a broken wing,” he spat once, loud enough for the court to hear. “What use is that?” The girl had clung to life like a shadow, never strong, never loud, and never far from death. Yet she lingered. Aerys, for all his madness and fire, had once watched over her crib in silence, fingertips trembling above her brow, murmuring, “a princess.. so small.. rhaegar would break you.”

Rhaella worried. She’d seen what her husband’s madness had become, and though she kept her voice low and her thoughts hidden, she did not want her daughter tangled in it. She pleaded with Rhaegar more than once, in whispers outside his chamber. “She is not for thrones, Rhaegar. She could die at the slightest touch. You know that, don’t you?”

He said nothing.

But when he next saw his sister, he pressed a ring into her hand that was Valyrian steel, carved like dragonbone, inlaid with a single shard of garnet. “Not a crown,” he told her. “But something to remember.”

She wore it always after that, even when it cut into her skin.

Time went on, and with it, expectation. The court began whispering of matches, daughters of Reach lords, princesses from Dorne. Aerys began speaking more openly, mocking the very idea of Rhaegar wedding his sister.

“He’ll break her,” the king snarled, eyes gleaming in the firelight. “If the bedding doesn’t kill her, the child will. You think I don’t remember how she came into this world? A wailing, blue-lipped thing? The gods already made their judgment.”

But Rhaegar did not believe the gods had spoken yet. Not fully.

He still sang to her. Still sat beside her bed when her breath came too shallow to speak. He would brush her hair back from her forehead and tell her, “The song isn’t done. Not until the third head rises.”

And one day, when she had strength enough to answer, she whispered, “Then sing it louder.”

He smiled but behind it, pain.

Because he knew the truth his father feared to speak. If she carried a child, she would likely not survive. The maesters had said so. Rhaella feared it. Even Rhaegar, for all his belief in fate, could not deny what her body had shown them.

But love and prophecy are strange things, born of gods and ghosts. He could not let go of the vision he had carried since he was six years old. The violet-eyed girl in white, curling her fingers around his, refusing to die.

His queen, still. Even if the world refused to name her one.

She was sixteen now, and she was dying.

Not in the sudden, dramatic way stories told it but slowly. Quietly. As though each breath took more from her than it gave back. Her skin had grown thinner, paler, and her voice often failed her before nightfall. Some days she couldn’t rise from bed without help. Other days, she tried to walk the gardens and had to be carried back in Rhaella’s arms.

But she was still beautiful, in a way that made people uncomfortable. A quiet, ghostly beauty like a painting that never aged, or a statue left out in the snow. She was of age now, and the court watched her with sorrow, never saying what they all knew: she would never bear sons. Likely, never survive the wedding bed.

He found her in her solar, curled on the chaise beside the open window. The wind barely moved her hair. Her ring his ring glinted faintly on her right hand, the garnet dulled from wear. Her fingers trembled as she turned the page of a book too large for her lap. He could see how thin she’d gotten. Her wrists were little more than bone and skin.

“You shouldn’t be by the window,” he said gently. “It’s cold.”

She didn’t look up. “I like the cold. I can feel it. It reminds me I’m still here.”

Rhaegar stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he stood just before her. His hands were clasped behind his back. His silver hair had grown long, tied back with a black ribbon, and his eyes were lined with sleeplessness.

“Mother says I shouldn’t sit up too long,” she added, finally glancing up at him with that familiar glimmer of defiance. “She says I’m worsening. I am worsening, aren’t I?”

Rhaegar sat beside her without asking. “You’re tired. But you’re not gone.”

She gave a brittle smile. “Not yet.”

A silence settled between them. In the distance, somewhere in the keep, a harp string was plucked likely a court minstrel playing a poor imitation of Rhaegar’s own music. But here, in this room, it was quiet. Sacred.

“Do you know what they said at court today?” she asked, her voice thin. “They say you’ll wed Elia Martell before the spring thaw.”

He didn’t speak.

“I’ve never met her. I heard she’s kind. Lovely, even.” She looked down at her ring. Her breath caught, more from her lungs than emotion, but it sounded like a sob. “I want to hate her. Isn’t that awful?”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s honest.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he let her, even though Rhaella would have scolded them for it. Her weight was barely there, her warmth almost nonexistent.

“I always thought it would be me,” she whispered. “Even when I could barely walk, I thought… if I just lived long enough, it would be me.”

He took her hand in his, carefully, reverently. “It was always meant to be you. Father married his sister and many did the same before that.."

“Then why not us?” she asked, voice breaking now, cracked and young and full of every fear she’d hidden behind her perfect stillness. “Why not me?”

He closed his eyes. “Because if I have a child with you, it might kill you. And the realm our line .. it needs heirs. Not grief.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles, then to the edge of the ring. That night she kept him in her bed curled into his lap a hand looped into his own to prevent him from leaving.

Elia Martell arrived at the Red Keep draped in sunlight and Dornish silk, her retinue trailing like a river of gold and orange down the stone steps of Maegor’s Holdfast.

The court welcomed her with forced smiles and quiet approval. She was everything the realm had hoped for.. gracious, poised, with a laugh that softened the hard corners of old men’s faces. Rhaella greeted her with distant politeness. Aerys, already too far gone into paranoia and whispers, barely acknowledged her presence at all.

And Rhaegar. Rhaegar kissed her hand with a hollow courtesy, his eyes already elsewhere.

The girl in the tower had not come down to meet the princess. She rarely did anymore though still gazed out the window using the windowsill for support as her fingers tapped at the ring adorning her finger way to loosened for her liking now.

she heard the music from her chambers that night. The feast. The dancing. The laughter echoing up through stone and smoke.

Rhaegar did not come to her room.

He didn’t come the next day, either.

It was three days before he returned, and when he did, he looked tired. Hollowed out.

She was sitting by the fire when he entered, a frown on her lips as she stared into the fire her fingers playing with some of the fabric of her dress.

“You’re going to marry her” she said, without preamble.

Rhaegar knelt before her, taking her hand. “The betrothal will be announced by month’s end.”

She didn’t cry. There was no point. Her tears had long since run dry. Instead, she took off the ring his ring her fingers shaking more than usual. She held it out to him.

“It’s yours,” she said. He stared at it. “I gave it to you.”

“And now it doesn’t fit. Just like I never did.”

He took it from her, slowly. The garnet looked darker now, almost black in the firelight. He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to argue.

When he left, he kissed her brow, and whispered, “You are my first song.”

She didn’t answer.

The night before Rhaegar was to be wed she lay awake, staring at the canopy of her bed, her breath shallow and uneven. The fire had long since gone to embers, and Rhaella had finally fallen asleep in the chair beside her, head tilted against the wall, too weary to keep watch tonight.

She didn’t wake her. She rose. Not without effort, her body ached in ways that never fully stopped now, and her legs trembled as they carried her. The corridors outside her chambers were quiet, hushed by rain. Her bare feet made no sound against the cold stone. No one saw her.

His chambers were just across the east wing. She had only ever been there twice, once as a child, once when he’d cut his hand and she had watched him bandage it with quiet hands.

She knocked. Only once.

He answered in silence.

Rhaegar stood in a thin linen shirt, silver hair unbound, his face pale and drawn. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Like something inside him was already unraveling. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.

She didn’t speak. Only stepped inside. The door closed behind her, sealing them into a space that had never belonged to the world outside.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said at last, her voice soft and ragged. “I wanted to see you… before.”

“You look tired,” he said gently. “I’m always tired.”

A silence stretched between them like a thread pulled too tight.

She stepped closer. “Do you love her?” “I respect her.”

“Do you want her?” “I need her,” he admitted. “The realm does. My line does.” A sigh left his lips as his sisters eyes welled with tears, him being the reason. A thought crossed his mind, his fingers itching to reach out and without thinking he did, though slowly, like she might break—because she might. His hands were careful when they touched her shoulders, when they smoothed the fine silk of her nightdress. He kissed her like something sacred, not out of desire, but remembrance.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. She leaned against him, her breath short already from standing too long. He carried her to the bed. Not like a lover, but like a man who had dreamed of holding her like this his whole life.

No fire burned in the hearth. The rain whispered against the glass.

They didn’t speak.

He traced her ribs like counting the fragile bones of a bird. She touched his face as if memorizing it for the last time.

And when he entered her, it was slow. Quiet. Not claiming. Not conquering. But offering. A final gift neither of them could name.

She looked so frail under him a hint of guilt sinking inside of him as tears pricked her eyes when he fully pushed into her but quickly left upon her hand shakily reaching up cupping at his cheek urging him closer. She was crying. He was hurting her and yet she wanted him closer. His hand gripped at her waist trying his best to be gentle yet still knowing marks of his fingers would bruise her delicate skin come the marrow.

"Please..please tell me to stop.." he pleaded his mind itching to push her away, to make her leave his chambers but when a soft "no" had left those sweet lips with a push of her hips towards him he couldn't help but let out quiet groan burying his head into her neck placing kisses but not marks. "I love you. It will always be you.. you in my heart.." he was mumbling to himself as his hips moved desperately trying to be gentle for her sake, she seemed so tired already in his eyes but the soft sounds leaving her was too much for him and he was lost.

When the wedding came, the hall was full of firelight and music, and the sweet, heady scent of Dornish roses filled the air. Elia Martell sat beside Rhaegar on the raised dais, dressed in red and gold, a queen in all but name. Her dark curls were woven with thin chains of silver, and her smile was light, practiced, a delicate armor she wore with grace.

She was everything a future queen ought to be.

And yet Rhaegar’s eyes drifted again and again down the long length of the hall to where his sister sat in silence, cloaked in silver, pink and sorrow beside their mother. She was too pale beneath the torchlight, her violet eyes sunken with weariness. She hadn’t spoken much that day. Rhaella stayed near her always, her hand lightly resting on the girl’s wrist, as though afraid she might fade entirely without the warmth of touch.

She’d insisted on attending the wedding, though she was barely strong enough to sit upright.

“I want to see,” she had said that morning, voice a mere breath. “Just for tonight.” Now, hours later, she had grown quiet. Still as a statue carved from salt and ash. But Rhaegar felt her presence more sharply than anything else in the room.

She watched the wedding like a funeral. More tired than normal, eyes drifting and body weak.

The candles flickered in every corner of the great hall, the harpists strummed their ballads, and laughter clattered like broken glass against the stone walls. But none of it reached her.

Her spine ached from sitting too long. Her hands, now hidden in her lap, trembled faintly with the effort to keep still. The ring was gone, and though her fingers had grown too thin to wear it properly, the space where it had rested felt wrong, empty — like a promise stolen by time.

Rhaella kept glancing at her. She was worried. She always was.

But her daughter said nothing. Simply watched, as Rhaegar took Elia’s hand before the gathered court and bent to kiss her knuckles.

Only a night ago, he had kissed hers. Only a night ago, she had trembled beneath his hands, and told him

“ If I am to die, let it be with you inside me”

The wedding ended in fire and feast.

Wine was poured like rain, and songs were sung into the early hours. Lords cheered, ladies wept at the beauty of it, and the court clung to the illusion of joy like moths to flame.

She stayed only until the toasts began.

Her strength was nearly gone by then, and Rhaella saw it. The Queen stood, lifting her daughter gently beneath the arm, nodding politely as they slipped away through the side doors, unnoticed by most.

Most.

But not Rhaegar.

He turned in time to catch the shimmer of silver skirts and pale hair vanishing into the dark, held steady only by their mother’s arms. He said nothing to Elia, only excused himself when the moment allowed. A silent shadow in a hall of noise.

He didn’t go after her. Not then. Not yet.

But that night, when the torches burned low and the wine soured in the cups, Rhaegar stood on the ramparts alone, staring out across Blackwater Bay. His new bride slept in their shared chambers, the consummation fulfilled, the duty done.

But his hands still remembered softer skin.

And his lips still carried the echo of a different name.

When Elia ended up not only giving him a son but a daughter as well the realm cheered and his sister could only watch as Elia gave him everything she never could for if she tried she would never see him again and that fate was worse than watching the life she craved with him happen yet not with herself.

sunstiana

“The whole realm knew that the girl loved Daeron's bastard brother Daemon Blackfyre, and was loved by him in turn, but the king was wise enough to see that the good of thousands must come before the desires of two, even if those two were dear to him.”

vintagegirl01

It makes me so happy to find someone else who writes Aidas content! He’s the best! 🩵 Can I request an Aidas x reader where she’s his mate and they spend their first night together after accepting the bond? Thx! @ladyofstarfall206

In Our Own Bubble 🫧

Aidas, Prince of the Chasm x fem!reader

Summary: You and Aidas share a bath together after their first night together as a couple/accepting the bond. Fun and games ensue.

A/N: Thank you ☺️ for the request! Although I’m not too familiar with writing for Aidas the way I am with Hunt and Ruhn, I only hope that I did your idea justice.

obsessedwithlute

Aidas x Reader Chapter One

It was the Oracle's fault for letting Bryce blind her all those years ago, leading you to meet the cat the first time.

It was Briggs's fault for not actually killing Danika, setting off this whole damn chain reaction, ending you standing in your sister's kitchen as she grinned at the obsidian salt in her hand, the Shadow of Death paling behind her.

ladyofstarfall206

All For You

Pairing: Aidas x reader

Summary: Aidas is never too busy for his mate.

The vast throne room of Aidas's court in the Chasm of Hel was a symphony of shadow and frigid ice. The walls gleamed under the faint, otherworldly blue light that seeped from the jagged fissures in the ceiling. At the heart of the room, a massive throne carved from the darkest obsidian sat empty, for Aidas rarely deigned to occupy it when matters of his domain were being discussed with those he deemed... lesser. He preferred a more direct approach.

Before him, a group of his most powerful demons stood, their forms shifting restlessly, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and defiance. Aidas surveyed them with a cold, piercing gaze, his expression devoid of warmth or mercy.

"You failed," his voice resonated through the chamber, a low growl that held the weight of untold centuries. "The mortal lands were fertile ground for chaos, and yet you let it slip through your claws."

A demon, a hulking brute with horns like gnarled branches, shifted uneasily. "My Prince," he rumbled, "the mortal resistance was... unexpected. They wielded artifacts we did not anticipate."

Aidas's eyes narrowed, a glacial blue that promised a swift and brutal end to insubordination. "Excuses," he spat, the word dripping with contempt. "Your incompetence reflects on me. And failure will not be tolerated."

The demon flinched, his massive form shrinking under the force of Aidas's displeasure. Tension filled the room, the air thick with unspoken fear. Aidas's power rippled, a chilling wave of cold that seemed to drain the very life from the surrounding area.

As he prepared to unleash his wrath, a soft melodic sound echoed through the chamber, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. His mate entered the throne room, her vibrant fae form a stark contrast to the darkness. She wore a simple dress, her hair flowing around her like a halo, and her presence brought warmth to Hel.

Aidas's demeanor shifted instantly. The ruthless coldness vanished, replaced by a radiant tenderness. His eyes softened, the icy blue thawing into affection. He moved towards her.

"My love," he murmured, his voice now gentle. He reached out, his touch warm as he cupped her cheek.

The demons watched in silence, their fear replaced by bewilderment. They had never seen their Prince display such emotion.

"I missed you," She said softly.

Aidas leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "And I you, my heart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He then turned back to his court, his tone hardening.

"You are dismissed," he said, his voice laced with an unspoken threat. "Consider yourselves fortunate that there are... other matters to attend to."

The demons bowed and vanished into the shadows, leaving Aidas and his beloved alone.

“What about the meeting?” She raises a brow in confusion, eyeing the retreating backs of his soldiers.

He turned his full attention back to her, his gaze filled with adoration. "My power," he said, gesturing to the chilling aura, "is nothing compared to the light you bring. This domain, these servants, my very being... it is all for you, my Starlight. My power is only valuable in the strength it gives to protect you, to cherish you, to keep you safe."

azsazz

Creep

Kinktober Day 14: Aidas x Reader [Stalking]

Summary: Anon Req: CC men, do adias lurking on reader in cat form and when she attempts to shoo it away in the rain, he appears in front of her (they're at her apartment door) and brushes muddied water from himself "is that really how you treat a guest? Not to mention royalty?"

I kinda veered from the og request but I tried to get most of it down.

Warnings: Smut, oral (F receiving)

Word Count: 3,520

_________________________________________

The streets are cold but you look warm.

All bundled up in your winter gear; the fur-lined hood of your coat pulled high over your head. The thick, knit cap settled upon your head and the scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, the bottom of your face huddled inside of it to keep the wind from brushing across your face. The only skin exposed are those piercing eyes of yours, accentuated by the rose of your cheeks.

cassianandfenrysaremyboyos

Cormac saying this to Ruhn in hosab

Feel even heavier after Cormac's father saying this about him in hofas

Despite all the abuse they suffered from the hands of their fathers, they both retained their goodness. I'm not crying, you're crying

asaucecoveredsomething

A bit of ACOTAR discourse I've not seen is how terrifying the Autumn Court and Beron are.

Yes, we talk about Beron being a monster. Yes, we talk about him being the eldest High lord and an extremely cunning one at that, but we don't discuss how blindingly horrid the aspect of a highly intelligent fire-wielder is.

But, Rhysand is the most powerful!

What metrics are we looking at here? Because Rhysand hardly has a handle on Velaris, let alone the under court and Illyria. His court is 3 courts wearing a trenchcoat, pretending they're unified. Half of ACOWAR was Rhys trying to unify them for a central purpose. You know who doesn't have that issue? Beron. Yes, Rhysand has the others beat in raw power, but that is meaningless when his army is fragmented and self-serving.

Beron, who has outlived every other High Lord. Beron, who has played the game longer than them all. Beron, who has raised his sons to be perfect killers, willing to even take the lives of their own brothers at his command. Beron Vanserra, who has an entire army of firelings at his disposal, who are unified and willing to act at his command. Beron, who wanted to wait out the situation with Hybern because it wasn't worth his time.

The Autumn army isn't as large as Night, but while Rhysand would be scrabbling to bring his own men to heel, Beron could decimate the entire court. Based on his actions towards his family, Beron wouldn't have scruples regarding civilians either. He could apply scorched earth policies in a march to the sea in days on a whim. The only Court who would have a solid defense against him is Summer, with their water magics. Even then, water eventually evaporates.

So, tell me, who is really the most powerful high lord. The one who can't maintain his own court or the one who could blaze all of Prythian because they inconvenienced him?

Beron is a monster, but we should probably be thankful he isn't *worse*.

"One thought from me, and your city will burn.” “It is stone,” Maeve snapped. Celaena smiled. “Your people aren’t."

They weren’t burned, but they were left to die just as surely.

Body Counts Sean Strub

#sean strub #books and reading #quotes #book quotes #books #hiv aids #aids #biography

collegeburnoutsuperstar

All books I am reading for my Queer Lives Through Memoir class this semester. I will be trying to do a short review of each book as a finish reading them. I have already done reviews of Two Or Three Things I Know For Sure, Gender Outlaw, and Zami: A New Spelling Of My Name.

- Hiding In Hip Hop Terrance Dean

- Two Or Three Things I Know For Sure Dorothy Allison

- Gender Outlaw (revised edition) Kate Bornstein

- Zami: A New Spelling Of My Name Audre Lorde

- Before Night Falls Reinaldo Arenas

- Man Alive Thomas Page McBee

- Fun Home Alison Bechdel

- Tomboy Survival Guide Ivan Coyote

- A Body, Undone Christina Crosby

- Running With Scissors Augusten Burroughs

- Prairie Silence Melanie M. Hoffert

- Body Counts Sean Strub

“If it is a love match, then they risk knowing their enemies will go after him to punish her.” Arghun smiled as if to say he was already thinking of doing so.

Chaol snorted, and the prince straightened. “Good luck to anyone who tries to go after Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Because Aelin will burn them to ash?” Hasar asked with poisoned sweetness.

But it was Kashin who answered softly, “Because Rowan Whitethorn will always be the person who walks away from that encounter. Not the assailant.”

---

Tower of Dawn

#books and reading #quotes #book quotes #books #books quotes #throne of glass #tower of dawn #chaol westfall #rowan whitethorn

“I want to be able to fight alongside my men again,” Chaol said quietly. “To die beside them.”

And part of Yrene wondered, as she trudged through the palace, if Lord Chaol had not asked her to stop not just because he’d learned how to manage pain, but also because he somehow felt he deserved it.

Chaol and Yrene - Tower of Dawn

#books and reading #quotes #book quotes #books #books quotes #sad quotes #yrene towers #yrene westfall #chaol westfall #chaol x yrene #throne of glass #tower of dawn

He was done with politics and intrigue. He loved her, and no empire, no king, and no earthly fear would keep him from her. No, if they tried to take her from him, he’d rip the world apart with his bare hands. And for some reason, that didn’t terrify him.

#books and reading #quotes #book quotes #books #books quotes #dorian havilliard #throne of glass

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Javivi's Books