Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It was a lot of fun participating in the Loumand Microfic Event 2026!
This was my first time taking part in an event for the IWTV fandom, and I had an great time writing for the weekly prompts for the past 7 weeks!
If you'd like to read my entries, you can find all of my prompts for the challenge on AO3 under LadyWithAnErmine.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Individual fics listed below ↓↓↓
Return to sender (Week 1, Distance/Refusal): Armand reaches out once a year.
All that is left (Week 2, House/Haunting): Some time after Paris, Louis begins to sleepwalk.
Night of the hunter (Week 3, Hunt/Contain): Whenever Armand noticed Louis losing interest in the things that made eternity bearable, he knew it was time to put their game in motion again.
A guiding hand (Week 4, Shatter/Smoke): Louis is taught the fire gift in an unusual way.
A promise made under the stones (Week 5, Chivalry/Oath): Louis remembers an oath he made to himself.
A Denial of Companioship (Week 6, Kiss/Fist): Louis denies that he and Armand are companions in front of the coven. A discussion ensues.
A Sweet Awakening (Week 7, Free Space): The first time Louis bottoms for Armand in Paris.
The grand marble halls of the Palatine Hill glowed golden under the setting Roman sun. Empress Y/N gazed out over the sprawling Forum, her silk stola cascading around her like water, the fine fabric embroidered with golden laurels befitting her station. A servant entered quietly, bowing low.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” the servant said softly, head bowed, “the Emperor awaits you in the gardens.”
Y/N smiled faintly, already knowing what this would mean. Lucius Verus Aurelius, her husband and the newly crowned ruler of the Roman Empire, often found peace among the blooming flora of their private sanctuary, far removed from the relentless politics of the Senate and the demands of the people. She dismissed the servant with a wave and made her way to him.
She found Lucius standing beneath an olive tree, his golden-brown curls illuminated by the dying light of day. He wore his imperial toga loosely, the purple of royalty draped casually over his powerful shoulders. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his face breaking into a rare, unguarded smile reserved only for her.
“Y/N,” he said warmly, closing the distance between them. His hands found hers, calloused from years of training with the sword, yet gentle as they enveloped her smaller ones. “You’ve been hiding from me today.”
“I’ve been thoughtful,” she replied, her tone teasing but her gaze searching his. “Your Senate meetings are as tedious for me to hear about as they are for you to attend.”
Lucius chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You’ve no idea. If I could abandon them all and spend my days here with you, I would.”
“You’d miss the thrill of the arena,” she countered, raising a brow. “And the glory of Rome.”
His expression softened. “Rome is nothing without you by my side, Y/N. I meant every word I said when we wed. You are my equal in all things.”
Her heart swelled at his words, though a shadow of uncertainty flickered within her. What she had to tell him now would change their lives forever.
“Lucius,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “there’s something I must tell you.”
His brow furrowed, concern flashing in his amber eyes. “What is it, my love?”
She took his hand and placed it over her abdomen, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am with child.”
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Lucius stared at her, uncomprehending, before the realization dawned. His eyes widened, and a joyous laugh escaped his lips.
“By the gods!” he exclaimed, lifting her effortlessly into his arms and spinning her around. “An heir! Y/N, you’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”
His exuberance was contagious, and she found herself laughing as well, her worries momentarily forgotten. He set her down gently but kept his hands on her waist, his expression turning serious.
“Are you well? Have you seen the physicians? You must take no risks. Tell me what you need, and it shall be done.”
“I am well,” she assured him, touched by his concern. “And I have already consulted with the palace medics. They say all is as it should be.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze fierce and tender. “You must promise me, Y/N. No more long walks in the heat, no late nights with the advisors. I will not have anything threaten you or our child.”
“I promise,” she said softly, placing a hand over his. “But you must promise me something in return.”
“Anything.”
“You will not let the weight of Rome crush you, Lucius. You are a warrior, but even warriors need rest.”
He smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “As long as I have you, I will never falter.”
---
Months passed, and as Y/N’s belly swelled, Lucius grew more protective. He personally oversaw her safety, ensuring no harm could come to her. Their nights were filled with quiet moments of intimacy, his hands resting on her abdomen as they spoke of the future.
Finally, the day arrived. The palace was thrown into a flurry of activity as Y/N went into labor. Lucius refused to leave her side, despite the protests of the midwives.
“Stay with me,” Y/N whispered, her face pale but determined.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, his voice steady despite the fear gripping his heart.
Hours passed, each moment stretching into eternity. Y/N’s cries of pain tore at Lucius, but he held her hand, whispering words of encouragement and love.
At last, a sharp cry filled the room, and the midwife held up a squirming, red-faced infant.
“It’s a girl,” she announced, her voice reverent.
Lucius stared in awe as the child was placed in Y/N’s arms. Her tiny features were delicate, yet she cried with the force of a storm, filling the room with her presence.
Lucius knelt beside Y/N, tears streaming down his face as he touched the soft cheek of his daughter.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Our daughter. Our future Empress.”
Y/N smiled weakly, her exhaustion evident, but her joy radiant. “She will rule Rome one day, Lucius. And she will do so with strength and wisdom.”
Lucius pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his heart overflowing. “She will be the greatest ruler Rome has ever known. Just like her mother.”
He held his daughter in his arms, marveling at her tiny fingers curling around his. “You have my heart already, little one,” he murmured. “I will protect you and your mother with my life.”
The room was quiet now, save for the soft cooing of their newborn daughter nestled against Y/N’s chest. The midwives had retreated to give the imperial family a moment of privacy, leaving Lucius, Y/N, and their child surrounded by the glow of flickering oil lamps.
Lucius knelt beside the bed, his fingers brushing against the baby’s cheek in awe. Her tiny features were a perfect blend of them both—Y/N’s delicate nose and soft lips, framed by the faintest wisp of golden-brown hair, like his own.
“She’s so small,” Lucius whispered, his voice filled with reverence. “And yet, she already feels like the strongest part of me.”
Y/N smiled through her exhaustion, cradling the baby close. “She’s already taken your heart, hasn’t she?”
“Completely,” Lucius admitted, his amber eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the top of his daughter’s head with infinite tenderness. “I’ve never known love like this, Y/N. Not until you, and now her.”
He straightened, his expression shifting to one of solemnity as he looked between his wife and child. “She deserves a name worthy of her destiny. She will not just be our daughter; she will be a symbol of hope for Rome, a future Empress who will rule with wisdom and grace.”
Y/N tilted her head, her tired eyes soft with curiosity. “Have you chosen a name, my love?”
Lucius nodded, a small smile breaking through his seriousness. “Aurelia. For the golden light she brings into our lives and the strength she will carry as our heir. Aurelia Verina.”
“Aurelia,” Y/N repeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked down at their daughter. “It’s perfect, Lucius.”
Their daughter stirred in her arms, her tiny fingers curling instinctively around Y/N’s thumb. Lucius watched the interaction with awe before gently taking one of the baby’s hands in his own, marveling at her fragility.
“She will be loved, cherished,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “And she will know the strength of her mother’s heart.”
Y/N reached for Lucius’ hand, entwining their fingers as they gazed down at Aurelia together. “And she will know the courage of her father,” Y/N added softly. “With us, she will never lack for love.”
Lucius settled onto the edge of the bed beside Y/N, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For a moment, the weight of Rome seemed distant, unimportant compared to the warmth of his wife and daughter in his arms.
Aurelia shifted again, letting out a small cry. Y/N chuckled, adjusting the blanket around the baby. “She already has your spirit, Lucius. Fierce and demanding attention.”
Lucius laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “If she has your patience, she’ll balance it well. Together, she’ll be unstoppable.”
As the baby quieted, Lucius leaned his head against Y/N’s, his lips brushing her temple. “This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, Y/N. A family. A future.”
“And Rome will be stronger for it,” Y/N murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
For the first time in what felt like years, Lucius allowed himself to relax, to be not just Emperor, but a husband and father. As Aurelia drifted into sleep, Y/N leaned into Lucius’ embrace, and the three of them shared a quiet moment of peace, wrapped in love and the promise of tomorrow.
In the stillness, Lucius whispered to his daughter, “Sleep well, Aurelia. You are the light of our lives and the hope of Rome. I will protect you with every breath I have.”
And with that, Lucius tightened his hold on his family, feeling an unshakable sense of purpose. Rome’s future was no longer an abstraction—it was here, in his arms. And he would ensure it would flourish.
Omegaverse fanfic with Omega Ilya and Alpha Shane. Ilya is a troublemaker with a terrible past, but he doesn't allow it control his present. Shane works in cyber security and decides to buy an omega for the first time to appease both the world around him and his parents in equal measure. It goes just how you'd expect. Top Shane. Power Bottom Ilya. Very, very smutty if you are searching for a new itch.
Do you read a lot of fic? Do you happen to have any recs? 👀
Oh I do! These are definitely not all fics that I love in this tag but a few of my absolute faves:
AUs:
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same by @thefairylights — modern AU, it’s beautiful, it’s perfect, it’s all i ever wanted
It’s like a sucker punch straight to my heart by @thefairylights — coffee shop AU, this fic has made so many of my days better recently
Practical Ethics by @prouvaireafterdark — university AU told from Armand’s POV, i think i’ve read this entire fic about 10 times already
his rightful home by @louisredsuit — modern AU, louis rents his house to lestat, it’s chaotic and i love it
Saveur de la Maison by @suikamelon6 — the AU where louis is a chef and lestat is in the mafia and it’s a delight, i couldn’t stop reading
Wishful Desires by DolphinSpirit — modern AU, very cute story of loustat being happy together, also claudia is awesome
The plans we made by @showmey0urfangs — the AU about what would’ve happened if claudia’s plan to kill lestat had failed; very dark, but so gorgeously written!
Is this too much? by @weather-mood — the AU about what would’ve happened if louis had said no in the church, such a brilliant read
Fluffy stuff:
what love will do to you by Astrally — a beautiful oneshot from claudia’s pov, such a lovely fic
Darker stuff:
pyre by @baberainbowao3 — a very dark take on what might happen in season 2, 1/2 chapters so far and i cannot wait for more because this is probably the most grim thing i’ve ever read in the tag but it’s such a delight
Let The Tale Seduce You by MythicalTzu — very different and very intriguing premise, such an interesting read all throughout
The Right Regrets by @dreamofme9 — debated putting this in the very well-done smutty stuff category but it made me sad because it’s so tragic, hence it’s in the darker stuff category
Very well-done smutty stuff:
Filthy/Gorgeous by @old-long-john — the characterisation in this is top-notch, just like the smut
Drunk On You by @dreamofme9 — so sweet and so hot at the same time
Right to the bone by @undecimber-of-joy — this literally made me blush
sore must be the storm by @louisredsuit — really good characterisation and beautifully written
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ms romcom, do you have any loustat fic recommendations?
charades, what happens in vegas, and all in were the last ones i read that i LOVED (but they're not brand new fics, i was just late to read them).
i'm going to take this ask as a chance to recommend fics i haven't read yet but are on my tbr list 😂 i know that might seem weird, but these are the ones i'm dying to get a chance to read (all finished, no WIPs):
I saw a post talking about the lost art of fic rec lists and thought yes I do miss those !
then I thought: be the change you want to see.
These are some of my absolute favorite fics after about a year of obsessively reading Louis/Lestat, ordered by word count.
Of course this is only a fraction of the great stuff that's out there. If people like this I might do recs more often.
Enjoy!
every atom of me by murph_y (6k - post S2 reunion)
In the sea of fic set in the moments after the reunion, this one is my favorite. Soft and sweet and sad.
Of Mercy, With Choice by shavir_light (6k, post-S2)
Louis and Lestat roleplay a hunter/victim fantasy and it doesn't go like they expected.
I like a lot of this author's canon fics but this one just hits me right in the feelings. I don't want to spoil it but what happens between them here is like...the most romantic thing in the world while being deliciously fucked up.
a dream is a wish your heart makes by bicuscupid (10k - human!AU)
beautiful slice of life of gay bar owner Louis and drag queen Lestat in a longterm relationship taking Claudia to Disney. That sounds saccharine but while this is definitely fluffy it's also just...real. The author is also writing a prequel of their relationship developing and I'm already obsessed with it after two chapters
just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it by TardisRos (11k, post-S2)
Lestat kind of accidentally overdosing and Louis coming to help. hits that perfect sweet hurt/comfort spot.
Up Against Her Purring Heart by That_is_right (13k, post-canon-ish with trans!Lestat)
Basically a trans Lestat fic with Louis loving on her new body. Also purring vampires. Just a really sweet lovely little fic that's exactly the kind of fluffy thing I need sometimes.
we'll be diamond when the golden days are gone by rickybobby (43k, post-S2)
one of my favorite longer post-S2 fics that really get into the hard stuff around these two idiots getting back together.
Neck, Wrist, Draw by thepettymusingsofmeat (71k, WIP, human!Louis/vampire!Lestat AU)
I'm sure anyone who's been reading Louis/Lestat is already reading this one but my god is it amazing. The tension is scorching, every moment between them is electric, I have reread it about 20 times and it isn't even finished I am just...obsessed.
and then the spell was cast by flashindie (series with 4 works, 145k total, post-S2)
4 fics set at various points post-reunion, one immediately after and then the next three during the situationship era. I love their dynamic here and the sex scenes are very good and there are moments of romance sprinkled throughout that are just stunning
Honorable mentions to
The Proposal (117k, romcom AU)
the birth of venus (158k ballet dancer!Louis/sexworker!Lestat AU) peach (51k, human AU with age difference/cheating)
all of these are WIPs so they might still disappoint but I'm liking them a lot!
Also I limited this list to one fic per author but most of these authors have tons of great stuff!!
content warning: explicit (18+) pornstars au, wrestling, explicit sex, comeplay, blind dates (with a twist), if you know what this is inspired by i'm kissing you, shocker! their chemistry is great on screen and off
"Fine. We make a deal," Ilya tells him, "If our video hits top viewed in say…a week, you come work with me?"
"There's no way." Shane dismisses, shaking his head in Ilya's grip.
"You have not seen what you look like while getting fucked, sweetheart. They are going to be obsessed with you." Ilya tells him.
A warmth spreads over his body at the endearment outside of the intensity of a scene. Like it was totally fucking natural for them.
Shane couldn't even be bothered to care.
Shane takes a chance on a blind date, except this isn't really your typical blind date at all.
Or, pornstar's Shane and Ilya meet up for a video collab as strangers and find out just how amazing their chemistry is.
I'd love to read something about the reader wanting to learn swordfighting and defending herself coming to the north, and asking Cregan to hold 'ice' but it's so massive she falls over. He smiles suggesting fetching her a smaller sword, but secretly he's all heart eyes at his wife being badass.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Tags ✢ post-Dance, war time angst, grief/mourning, political marriage, marriage of convenience, eventual falling in love, eventual happy ending
Wordcount ✢ 5,000
Summary ✢ As Cregan Stark takes over King's Landing during the Hour of the Wolf, you see in him the opportunity to protect your niece Jaehaera and escape the men who turned against your family.
Series Masterlist ✢ Cregan Masterlist
CHAPTER ONE ✢ The Hour of the Wolf
Cregan was weary, even more so under the looming presence of the Iron Throne. On the morrow they would bury a king that had been slain by his own men, and it did not matter that he had been his enemy, the ordeal left a bitter taste in Cregan’s mouth.
The honorable way would have been to meet him on the battlefield, and instead the first and only time he had set eyes on Aegon II, he had been in his bed, cold and grey, a pitiful sight.
There was no honor to it, only decimation and betrayal.
With a great sigh, Cregan sat at the bottom of the steps to the cursed throne, looking down at the large hall. Some of his men had suggested that he could take it for himself, and he supposed he would have been able to gather some support easily. The Targaryens were nearly devastated, but there remained a lawful king, and he would not take a boy’s birthright from him.
In truth he did not wish to remain as Hand—he longed for the comfort of his home.
His son would have grown and perhaps would not recognize him. Months were years to children that age, and their memories were fickle. He felt older than his years, a weariness in his bones, sitting heavily on his shoulders, dragging his spine down until he felt he might collapse to the floor.
Such were the duties of men, to shoulder the burden of bloodshed so that women and children could be safe, and older men could take a rest. Still, it burned deep in his chest, this aching loneliness. It was in those moments that he thought of Arra the most. While the pain of her passing would likely never fade, he had to admit he felt the call to marry again, and find comfort in the companionship of a woman.
Cregan was pulled from his low musings by the sounds of footsteps coming from behind him—his closest friend, Cley Cerwyn, came to sit at his side with a groan. He leaned into his shoulder for a second, which Cregan responded to and the two men waited in silence until Cley found it appropriate to speak.
He cleared his throat, looking up at the high ceiling. “How long do you think we shall stay?”
“Are you in such a hurry to ride home?” Cregan answered, knowing of the harsh winter that awaited them, and that several of the wounded would need to remain in the capital for a while longer.
“Are you not?” Cley asked.
It was Cregan’s turn to clear his throat, slightly irritated at his friend’s attitude, fully knowing he had an argument to make. “Say your piece,” he ordered, meaning it to be biting, but instead it came as a sigh.
Cley rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, looking at him with a tired expression on his youthful face—he had started to grow a beard, much like Cregan, and it was rather an odd sight.
“You have done your duty. You have done right by your friend, and that is more than most men can say in their life,” Cley said gently, perhaps gentler than he had ever addressed him.
“I made a vow,” Cregan replied, looking away at the large doors of the throne room, almost expecting Queen Rhaenyra or Prince Jacaerys to cross them.
“Now you may leave the throne to those it belongs to,” Cley continued.
“The king is a child,” Cregan said regretfully—it seemed a tragedy to leave such a fractured realm in the hands of a fractured person such as Prince Aegon, but the laws of Gods and of men agreed that he was the rightful ruler, for better or worse, and there would be dire consequences to go against it.
“And he shall have regents,” Cley replied.
Cregan sighed out loud, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the same ceiling Cley had been gazing at. “A hundred and thirty years of reign and now…” he murmured, unsure of what he really meant to say.
The size of the hall and of the throne at their back was almost dizzying, and yet its emptiness and coldness had robbed it of all its glory. It seemed a ruin now, even if it had not been destroyed during the battle.
“If you wished to take it, I would bend the knee,” Cley said with humor, but there was a dark edge to it.
The fate of the whole world could topple so easily, it seemed to Cregan. It should all have felt like victory, and instead it all felt like ruin. He shook his head. “I have no wish for it.”
“What do you wish for, then?” his friend asked, almost too quiet.
“Respite.”
The moon was high in the sky that night, and you could almost swear the howling of wolves could be heard from the kingswoods. From the window of your chambers, turned holding cell, you watched the dark mass of the forest far on the horizon. The black of the bay did not bring you any more comfort, nor did the numerous lights from the city below.
Restlessness and grief were your only companions these days, since the passing of your sister and your mother, you were utterly alone at court, and in the world. The war had decimated your family, and you were now the last of your siblings.
Once, you would have thought you would have been furious, vengeful, but instead you found yourself utterly devastated, longing for quiet and reprieve from your grief. You found herself entertaining the thought of taking Jaehaera away, far from the capital and the court, far from the throne which had caused your family’s downfall, far from the young king who sat where your brother once had.
Lord Cregan Stark was holding court from the bottom step of the Iron Throne. You were surprised he had not seized the throne for himself, as he very well could have. His army held the city with an iron fist and all seemed to fear him, even the Rivermen—it could have been the start of a Stark dynasty, and some seemed to think it was, in all but name.
You had been confined to your chambers on his orders, and you felt as though you were standing in ruins, waiting for your own end. You could hardly stand the sight of the red bricks anymore; this place was forever soiled. So you clung to your niece, the poor girl in dire need of motherly love, and in loving her you endeavored to keep your sister alive in memory. Keeping the girl safe was your utmost priority, and you feared she would not be until she was freed of this red-walled prison.
Morning came and brought no relief from your nightly torments. Instead a maid came to bring you tea and collect your linens, but you stopped her before she could leave you alone again. “I was wondering if I would be allowed to pay my farewells to my brother,” you inquired.
The maid hesitated, looking at you with obvious pity. “You are to remain confined to your rooms.”
“A sister cannot say goodbye to her own brother? My niece, who now finds herself an orphan, could not say goodbye to her father? Surely the lord that now rules this place isn’t so cruel,” you pleaded.
“I shall ask,” was all the maid replied before she left, still giving you a quick curtsy.
In the end, and to your great surprise, your wish was granted. In the later hours of the afternoon, a pair of guards came to fetch you and Jaehaera, and the two of you were escorted to see your brother in the crypts, where the Silent Sisters were keeping watch over him.
In the privacy of your own mind, and for only the Gods to hear, you vowed to his still and cold form that you would take his daughter away from this dreadful place which had eventually been his downfall.
Cregan had been surprised to hear your request to see your brother, but had seen no reason to refuse you. No matter the fact that he had been his enemy, he resented that the man had been murdered with such cowardice. He could give him back some honor in death, and in allowing you and the young princess a farewell, restore some dignity to the whole tragedy.
As was your right, you had refused to see him upon his arrival in King’s Landing, remaining confined to your rooms in prayer. Cregan had honored your wish until now, and it was by chance that he came upon you in the Red Keep—if he had not known you resided here, he would have thought he’d come across a wraith, or any creature of the shadows.
You were dressed in a black gown void of any embroidery, with a veil upon your face, which made it impossible to see your eyes or the lines of your face in the darkness of the corridor. The only thing he could notice was that your grip on Princess Jaehaera’s shoulder tightened as he approached. As he came upon you, you bent to pick her up, carrying her on your hip, clutching the girl like a lifeline.
“Princess,” he greeted with a small dip of his head. “Princess,” he said with a tilt of his head and the ghost of a smile for Jaehaera. The girl buried her face in your neck without a word.
“Lord Stark,” you said, sounding wary behind your veil.
“Might we have a word?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” you refused in a quiet tone, and when he frowned, explained. “I need to tend to my niece.”
“She will be safe with her nurse the time of a conversation,” Cregan assured you, but you refused him yet again.
“There is nothing for me to say, and nothing for you to say that would appease my torments,” you said, your arms tightening around the little girl.
“It does not please me to have you a prisoner in your own home,” Cregan tried.
Tears welled in your eyes at his statement, and you watched him for a moment before you answered. “At night, when she sleeps, then. I would not part from her.”
As agreed he came at the hour of the bat, finding the girl was curled up in your bed, under the covers, her white hair splayed on the pillow. It made Cregan long for his own son, wondered if he still refused to have his hair cut, intent on growing it long. He would write to his sister later, and promise a quick return.
You were the perfect picture of a Targaryen princess, and for a moment Cregan wondered how such a feat could have been accomplished when your mother was a Hightower. The blood of the dragon ran thick, he supposed, in most of its heirs.
Without your veil to hide your face, the way you were looking at him unsettled him—it wasn’t quite fear, and certainly not reverence. You seemed exhausted and he felt sorry for the state this whole war had put you in. You were a royal princess and it desolated him to see you so diminished. He regretted the downfall of this dynasty—now a child would rule and the women and children would suffer.
“She wakes in the night, crying,” you said, glancing at your niece.
“I am sorry.”
“You bring war to my doorstep, do not offer me apologies.”
“I only ever upheld the vows my father made. He bent the knee to his king and swore allegiance to the heir he had named. Words might be wind to you, but to me they mean life,” he explained.
At that you turned away, crossing your arms over your chest, and he thought he heard a shaky intake of breath that betrayed the presence of tears. “I shall see that you are settled, before I return to Winterfell,” he told you carefully, gently as he could, but it seemed you did not care for his consideration.
“Why do you care, my lord?” you asked over your shoulder, your eyes wide and glossy with unshed sadness.
There was a softness to you, even in anger, and his heart throbbed to witness such a sight. “Because you are my responsibility until I leave,” he replied as honestly as he could. “When I am gone, rest assured that the king will take care of you.”
Turning to face him again, you looked at him with a broken expression, anger hiding the deepest, most primal heartbreak he had ever seen. “The king is no king at all. There will be no caring for us here,” you hissed, and deep inside he feared you might be correct.
With one last bow he took his leave, afraid this conversation had not served any purpose but to upset you and unsettle him.
When Cregan visited Aegon in his chambers the following day, it was only to contemplate the same ruin he had found when conversing with you. You had been right in a way—the king was no king at all, but a child with a crown and the weight of an entire dynasty on the verge of collapse.
“I wish them no harm but I do not wish to see them, either of them. I should have them sent away,” the child-king told Cregan when asked about the fate of those who were now his wards.
“It would be unwise to send them to the Hightowers. It would cultivate ill will and it might awaken the spirit of revenge,” Cregan offered.
“Dragonstone, then, away from my sight!” came the broken cry, and Cregan realized that you had been correct in your fear that you would not find any care in the capital. War had ended but you were still prisoners.
“The council shall soon discuss the matter of your succession,” Cregan said, disgusted at the prospect of such talks when children barely older than his own son were concerned. “It might be well to consider the option closest to home.”
Aegon’s face fell, contorted in what wanted to be fury but could only ever be devastation, and Cregan left without another word, once again faced with the fact that this conversation had only served to upset all parties involved. Words would not resolve any of this, he feared.
In the hallway, a knight carrying a message was waiting for him. You had behaved in a barely disguised hostile manner when he had come to your chambers the night prior, so it was with the greatest surprise that he received your request for an audience, and after thinking on it for the better part of the afternoon, he relented to seeing you again in the evening.
This time it was you who came to him, upon your suggestion, and he wondered why. As you stepped into his temporary quarters, which he had set in the Hand’s tower, he was struck with the image you made.
While he had only ever seen you dressed in black, you had changed into a dark blue gown and forgone your mourning veil. Instead, your hair was falling in heavy weight about your shoulders, some of it tied at the back of your head. Your eyes stood out, darker than they ought to be for such a fair face, and rimmed with red.
“Lord Stark,” you said, curtsying to the northern lord respectfully, and his nerves only grew at your sudden change of demeanor.
“You wanted to speak to me, princess,” he replied while pouring two cups of wine. The dark liquid looked almost black, but it was much sweeter than what he was used to in the North.
“I realize I am in no position to negotiate. However, I have seen you carry yourself with honor, I have come to the conclusion that you are just and fair and therefore I would respectfully make a request,” you said, taking a tentative step towards him, keeping her eyes low.
Cregan frowned, slightly displeased at your bold approach and obviously rehearsed words, when you had been so hostile towards him, all the way to the day prior. “I have heard that there are plans to betroth Jaehaera to Aegon. I have come to beg for her to be spared from that fate,” you said, her voice breaking. “She is but a child, a girl who has seen so much horror already. This will crush her.”
Cregan turned fully to face you, putting down the cup he was holding for you, sudden understanding dawning on him. “She has had to endure the massacre of her brother, then the loss of her younger sibling, then saw her mother succumb to grief,” you continued.
“The match is a logical and advantageous one. It would bridge the gap between Greens and Blacks once and for all,” Cregan replied.
“I am sure there are others that would do,” you retorted with a quiet strength that picked Cregan’s curiosity. “Please do not subject this girl to such an ordeal. I beseech you. You have a good heart.”
“You do not know me, princess,” he replied, solemn, and yet you did not falter.
Your eyes rose to him and held his gaze, and he was struck with the strength of your resolve, and how much you were sacrificing by coming to him, begging for your niece’s sake. “No I don’t, but I have seen how you treat your enemies,” you replied. “You gave my brother a proper burial. You told me my niece and I were your responsibility.”
Cregan sighed, appreciating the way you were ready to set some of your pride and resentment aside for the love of a child. “What do you have to offer me, in return?” he still asked. “In negotiations, one cannot make a request without a reward. What do you have to offer that I do not already possess?”
It seemed you had come here with determination, and had already prepared an offer, as your reply came without any hesitation. “While I am not exactly innocent, as some men aren’t as considerate, I remain a maid.”
Cregan was disturbed that your mind would take such a path, and his heart seized with sudden cold. “You would offer me your maidenhead, in exchange for your niece’s safety,” he clarified.
“Yes, my lord.”
Cregan could admit feeling unsettled, faced with the desperation of a woman who had nothing to negotiate with but herself, and her own dignity. “What if I turned out to be cruel and decided to give you to my men? To be passed among them,” he challenged your proposal, his wariness making him crueler than he needed to be.
“Then I would happily submit myself as a spoil of war, my lord. I would please you now, if you wished," you offered, taking a few careful steps forward. “You could claim your spoils right this instant.”
Before he could add or ask anything else, you had gone to her knees in front of him, your trembling hands reaching for him. To his absolute horror, his loins stirred at the prospect of a woman tending to him—the nearly two years of war had been long and lonely, and he had hardly tended to his needs since the passing of his wife, upon the birth of his son. Little Rickon would soon be six of age.
However, to see royal blood so diminished made his own blood boil. “No,” he replied, harsher than he needed to be, which made you flinch. “This is beneath you, princess.”
“I thought—” you hesitated.
“It was but a moment of weakness.”
He reached for you, bringing you to your feet by the arm. The woman he was faced with in this instant, as you rose again with nothing gained for your niece and nothing else to offer, softened his resolve. He was tired of the schemings of war, of the plots and alliances that led only to ruin. He could not see a path where such choices ended peacefully and there you were, with an honest request and a brave offer, and he had to admit, he respected you all the more for it.
“I will think on the matter,” he promised.
“Thank you, my lord,” you replied.
Cregan’s foul mood was still with him when he rose the next morning and presided over the day’s council meeting. He watched the proceedings with much on his mind, as each question was brought up and resolved, and he could not make himself take part in it.
It was only when the Maester brought up your name that he finally decided to end his neutrality. “There is the matter of the princess. She might share blood with the traitorous king, but she is of royal descent, the last living child of King Viserys, and she is of marrying age,” the Maester said.
“She could perhaps be a good way to appease Dalton Greyjoy?” Tyland suggested. “Or to bring House Velaryon back into the fold. Lord Alyn is still unmarried as well.”
Without thinking on it further, his instinct taking the reins, Cregan stood up. “I shall take her.”
Lord Peake laughed as though the statement was ludicrous. “Surely if you’re in need of a woman to warm your bed, Lord Stark, any other would do,” he replied with humor. “A choice closer to home might be appropriate. Alysanne Blackwood is still unwed.”
Cregan closed his fists on the tabletop, looming over the Council, and did not back down. There was an instinct in him that he could not quiet, much like the one that led him through battle, that he could not in good conscience leave you.
You might have been too bold for what you could afford, but once the shock had passed he had admired your determination, and your lack of fear. If he called himself honorable, then he could not watch idly as you were being sold to the highest bidder, and your niece used as an instrument for peace.
Perhaps it was arrogance, to think himself the lesser evil, but he knew himself enough to know.
“I have sacrificed enough for this realm. Prince Jacaerys was a trusted friend of mine. We made a blood pact that his first-born daughter would be joined in marriage to my house. His death doesn’t annul such a vow. House Targaryen owes me a daughter, and I shall take the princess.”
Unwin Peake looked unconvinced, but Thaddeus Rowan nodded his acknowledgement, and Cregan continued his argument. “If you are so worried about the Velaryons and their loyalty, there is an easy way to remedy this,” he explained. “I have looked at the prospects. Daeron Velaryon has already proposed the hand of his own daughter as wife to young King Aegon. Surely allying the two bloodlines on the throne would strengthen the realm.”
Peake scoffed, crossing his hands on the tabletop. “Lord Stark, I wonder about the justifications of this sudden campaign of yours—”
Cregan did not let him speak, uncaring that his change of mind was so sudden, and that such a demand he was making was perhaps not the most logical one. “It would do this Council well to remember that without my men, victory was impossible. The Crown owes a debt to the North, and I shall take that debt in flesh.”
His statement quieted them for a minute, and even the insufferable Peake looked uncomfortable. After a while, Tyland, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat.
“How about we ask the king? Surely he will be glad to have the last child of Alicent Hightower out of his sight,” he remarked, and while it served his cause, Cregan loathed how easily he was swayed, and how he never stood his ground, only taking the side of the argument he perceived as favorable.
“He is a child,” Lord Peake protested.
“Nearly the same age I was when mine own father passed. My uncle was appointed regent, but I was still well capable of having a mind of my own,” Cregan countered.
“Let us not bother the young king with such matters,” the Maester reasoned.
Thaddeus Rowan cleared his throat to silence the protest Peake was about to voice. “Your proposal is a sound one, Lord Stark. Perhaps it would be beneficial to take the remaining Hightower princesses away from the capital.”
“Princesses, plural?” Peake scoffed, and Cregan closed his hands into fists in annoyance at the man’s obvious self-interest. It was known to all that he had hopes for himself and his house that extended beyond the reach of a man of his position, and Cregan found a wicked sort of pride in taking the prize he coveted.
“Yes. I assume your marriage to the princess would include taking her niece as your ward?” Thaddeus asked, and Cregan was relieved that he would not need to elaborate on the matter.
“Indeed,” Cregan confirmed.
“Very well,” he said, rising in turn and putting an end to the negotiations. “It is decided then.”
All that remained to be done was to inform you, and Cregan knew that despite his insistence at council, he would not impose his will upon you. It was his intention to free you from the prison you were currently captive in, and he would not be able to live with himself if he was to imprison you in another, one of his own making.
It was true, his motive was partially selfish as Unwin Peake had suggested—he longed for the presence of a woman at his side again, the softness of married life, and he thought he could find it in you, just as you could find solace in him.
The way you had surrendered all for the sake of your niece had shown a quiet strength he admired, one that would surely benefit you as his lady wife in Winterfell, if you were to accept. Perhaps such was the path to the respite he longed for.
He came in the early afternoon, when he knew the young princess Jaehaera was asleep, and as predicted, found you in the nursery, watching over her as a mother would. “Princess,” he greeted from the threshold, suddenly hesitant.
Setting your embroidery aside, you rose, glancing nervously between him and the sleeping child. “You swore you would think on it,” you said, mistaking his hesitance for an omen of bad news.
“Fear not, your niece is safe,” he said, approaching carefully. “Daeron Velaryon’s daughter is currently on her way to the capital to wed the king. I would ensure your niece is kept away from the scheming of the court, until she is of age at least.”
Your shoulders dropped in relief, a heavy breath pushing past your lips, but your weariness had not abated. “Would?” you asked with a slight frown.
Cregan swallowed his sudden nerve and planted his feet firmly into the floor—while he was skilled and fearless on bloody battlefields, the quiet of a nursery and the expectations of a woman were somewhat more complex to face. “My offer is a proposal of marriage,” he said rather bluntly. “I would take you to wife, and Princess Jaehaera would come with us, as a ward in Winterfell.”
Cregan could not decipher the next exhale that came from you—it could have been relief, or horror, he did not know, as there was only surprise on your face.
“I will not take you to wife against your wishes. If another prospect is more agreeable to you, then you may let it be known and I shall ensure it,” he promised.
For a moment too long you could not find your words, nor your breath. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest at the most unexpected offer, but you felt the Gods had answered your prayers. It was true, you knew little of the North, but you knew that this man, your enemy, had done more for you and your niece in mere days than your allies in months of war.
“Surely your offer comes with conditions,” you said hesitantly, searching his stormy eyes.
Cregan shook his head, his frown softening. “I already have a son and heir so it will not be required of you, but Rickon needs a mother,” he explained, his voice softer than it had ever been while addressing you, and it seemed for the first time that you were faced with the man rather than the warrior.
At that you nodded, looking at the crib once more, your heart aching. “Just as Jaehaera needs a brother, or a companion, at the least,” you admitted, wondering if you would ever see her smile again, hear her laugh, or if she was doomed to an existence of sadness and grieving without end. “I would still be expected to be a true wife, to perform my duties, wouldn’t I?”
Cregan took a step closer to you, but somehow you did not feel threatened—his shoulders were hunched forward, and he looked younger in the soft light of the nursery than he had ever. It was only now that you realized he was not wearing his usual attire. While his furs and leathers were still strapped across his chest, his sword was nowhere to be seen, and his hands were bare, the gloves tied to his belt.
“You would be the Lady of Winterfell, but as I said, I would not take you against your wishes,” he replied.
Grateful tears came to your eyes, and you wanted to fall to your knees again. The Gods were cruel in a way, making it so that you would owe such a debt to your enemy, but he had shown in these last few days that perhaps, the warrior had been your foe, and the man would be your salvation.
In three words, you sealed your fate, and that of Jaehaera.
“Then I accept.”
Author's Note ✢ Dividers by @/arcielee. Please ask in the comments if you want to be tagged in this series! Next chapter will be posted in two weeks, on July 8th.
Shane is the best hockey player on the goddamn planet and nobody knows this better than his husband, who plays on the same team as him and is privy to all of his overlapping intricate rituals and basically fucking grew up with him and is so fucking proud and smug of the fact that he's married to the best hockey player on the planet that sometimes he zones out in public with his eyes in the middle distance and the most self-satisfied smirk on his face and his hand shoved deep in the back pocket of Shane Hollander Hometown Hero Hockey Jesus' jeans.
"You can't make that face in public," Shane hisses, and Ilya squeezes the part of Shane's body he's got lovingly cupped in his hand and that, for some reason, is worthy of some clickbait on TMZ where Shane looks bored out of his mind because he's going to that place in the back of his brain where he used to hide from all of his desires and now mostly just uses as a way to avoid crying or getting hard in public. Next to him, Ilya just looks fucking smug. Because he's got his hand on the ass of the best player in the NHL.
(Second-best ass, though. Ilya knows where his assets lie.)
Ilya also knows with no hint of uncertainty that he can never tell Shane that he knows that he is the best hockey player in the entire fucking world. Shane once told him that when Ilya told him so, that night at the 2021 All-Star Weekend, he'd gotten the ick so hard that he'd almost asked Ilya to pull out.
"The Ick?" Ilya said. "What is this, the Ick? Like you were grossed out--"
"I dunno, kind of? Like when something turns you off, takes you out of the sex--Rose said it's called the Ick--"
"Is called a turn-off, Hollander, fuck! What is this fucking...the Ick..."
("You are a curse on my fucking marriage," Ilya tells Rose, some time later, and she smiles serenely and tops off his already impressively full wine glass while Shane yells incoherantly about the Detroit team captain's machinations to be traded to one of the Florida teams in exchange for what Shane is only referring to as 'PISS AND SHIT' but is apparently, Ilya gleans through context clues, a rookie center and two retirement-age defensemen)
So Ilya knows that he's married to the best hockey player in the league. He also knows that if he tells him this, stops competing in any way for the label, that it will read to Shane as some kind of pity, some kind of gentle acquiescence, and that Shane will get so mad about it and so sexually disappointed that Ilya may have to crawl into Anya's dog house with her and earn his spot back in his marital bed via a series of labors that would make Hercules himself lie down and die.
He can't even brag about this shit to other people because those people inevitably cannot keep their mouths shut. His marriage almost fucking ends one night in November because Ilya is engaging in some lighthearted negging with his own fucking husband and the idiot in the seat across from them on the bus (Formerly known as Troy Barrett, but Ilya is taking those privileges away until Fucking Idiot learns from his mistakes) says, "That's not what you said the other day, Roz," and then physically flinches because Shane turns a look onto him that could peel paint and Ilya immediately begins manifesting Troy's imminent and perpetual stubbed toe.
"Oh my God," Troy says, out loud at the looks. "All I meant is that Rozy told me he knows you're the best player in the league, Hollander. He's proud of you."
"Shut up," Ilya says. "Barrett, I will literally kill you."
"What is happening."
"Don't touch me," Shane says, when Ilya puts a hand on his knee.
"Baby," Ilya croons, "Baby, no. Your edges were shit tonight. That fall you took in the third period? Fucking embarrassing. You looked like a fucking turtle. Cute and helpless. Maybe you needed a big Russian man to help you--"
"Not in the mood," Shane says firmly. Ilya begins plotting Fucking Idiot's goddamn demise.
Will be murdering your boyfriend Ilya texts Harris after an hour spent staring at the back of Shane's neck while he lays on the edge of the bed with his phone in front of his face and his arms crossed. Sorry not sorry.
Harris doesn't reply. Doesn't even read the stupid text.
Ilya throws his phone to the end of the bed and rolls over, shoves a hand down the back of Shane's pants, massages his asscheek.
"Ilya," Shane says, warningly
"I tell you what you are the best at," Ilya murmurs into the back of his neck. He sinks his teeth in, sucks a kiss over the mark.
"Don't wanna hear it," Shane snaps. "I don't need you to pay me fucking lip service. I need you to keep showing people that we're not going soft on each other. We need to keep playing our best, we can't get complacent, we can't--"
"You," Ilya growls, "are the best fucking hole in the NHL." He yanks Shane's sweatpants down over the curve of his ass.
"Oh," Shane says, all of the wind out of his sails. "Fuck."
"So good at taking cock," Ilya continues. Hand between Shane's thighs, smoothing warm and firm on the soft skin inside, broad side of his thumb nudging the silky skin of Shane's sac, a warm and plush place on Shane's body that should have Ilya's fucking name written on it because only he ever gets to see or touch it.
"Yeah," Shane says. "Yours. Your cock."
"Prettiest fucking cockslut," Ilya says. "Nobody loves getting fucked like you. Can't even call you a whore because whores expect something in return. You take cock and say thank you. You take cock and ask for more cock."
"Yeah," Shane whines, back arching, phone dark and clattering to the floor. "Fuck. Fuck. Please."
"Say it."
"I want your cock. Please give me your cock. Fuck, can I--"
Ilya flips him completely onto his stomach and looms over him, shoves his own pants down his thighs and slides the throbbing ridge of his cock along the fluttering pucker of Shane's hole.
"Tell me what a good slut you are, Hollander."
"I'm--I'm a good slut--"
Ilya slaps his ass, hard, slides a finger into his crease and rubs dry at his hole and watches the muscles in Shane's back go crazy.
"Fucking tell me what you are, Hollander."
"I'm the best slut," Shane says, almost incoherant in the pillow. "Fuck, fuck, I'm the--the best cockslut in the world--"
Ilya shuffles down, spreads Shane's cheeks apart with his thumbs dug ungently in until flesh wells up on either side, white-red mottled with blood that will burst and bruise. He spits on his hole, watches it clench.
"They should call that thing the Hall of Fame," Ilya growls.
"Oh my God," Shane babbles. "Oh my God."
("Who asked this?" Ilya asks, microphones in his face after their game the following night. "Why are we talking in riddles? What was the question again?"
"Do you feel increased scrutiny from hockey fans now that Hollander is on the team with you? By most metrics, Hollander is the best player in the league, and it's hard not to draw direct comparisons between your records and play styles in light of Hollander's transfer to the Centaurs, not to mention your former rivalry and marriage. Are you feeling the pressure?"
"Hah," Ilya says. "First mistake is assuming that rivalry is over. It is very much alive. Hollander and I still keep score."
"Yeah, it's on a white board in their kitchen," Bood jokes, and the press scrum titters, and Ilya reminds himself that Bood is the father of a toddler and that toddlers love to make messes with glittery gifts bought for them by well-meaning hockey uncles.
"Second mistake is calling Hollander best in league," Ilya says, then shrugs, then winks. "Always room for improvement.")
The idea that Claudia's rape was 'made about Lestat' is such a profoundly idiotic, 2012 Tumblr level of 'criticism' I can't take it seriously.
Lestat is being raped in the scene. He is not being told of Claudia's rape, he is not reacting to it, his own rape is happening on screen. Claudia's is being narrated, we don't see it because 1) she is dead 2) it's her own words.
The reason why people don't get why is being paralled is again, the same reason people don't get anything in this fucking fandom: giving Louis some accountability for his own damn actions.
The reason why Lestat and Claudia's rapes are being shown at the same time is because that's what Louis did. He aired them both to world, he got them both exploited in that book. It has nothing to do with Lestat knowing or reacting to what happened to Claudia. So no, it was not 'made about Lestat' or 'it's the trope where they make a woman's rape about a man'.
The only person that made her rape (and Lestat's) about himself is Louis. He made it about his guilt, he made it about how Lestat recounting his was the only way he 'forgave him'. And the show's narrative is calling him out on how fucked up and exploitative that was.
But you can cover your ears and sing lalalalala if that makes you feel better.
just so we’re clear, what magnus did to lestat has always been rape. anne even used that exact term in later books. but it always has been that magnus SAed lestat, and i’m so sick and tired of people pretending like that isn’t what happened in the books.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary - She came for him in the night, a predator seeking prey—but when her fangs met Azriel's, everything changed.
As he awakens to the darkness she gifted him, desire, betrayal, and power twist around them.
He is drawn to her, hungry for more than blood. She is drawn to him, yet torn, because her heart still belongs to the one who made her eternal.
Bound by blood and haunted by lust and vengeance, they spiral toward a collision that will test love, loyalty, and the very limits of immortality.
In the end, choices must be made—between life and the hunger that comes with eternity.
Tags - vampire AU, angst, lust and desire, conflicted feelings, betrayal and redemption, darkish romance
Contents -
꒷꒦︶꒷ One
꒷꒦︶꒷ Two
꒷꒦︶꒷ Three
꒷꒦︶꒷ Four
꒷꒦︶꒷ Five
꒷꒦︶꒷ Six
ACOTAR Masterlist
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
This story came about because I found one of my old one-shots that was a vampire AU, and it inspired me to expand on the idea!
I decided to flip the usual dynamic and make her the vampire instead of Azriel—it felt fun to take a twist on how most vampire AUs are written and explore a different perspective :)
This is my first time writing a full-length vampire fic, so it was definitely a challenge to balance plot and character, but I tried my best x
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
Queen Of The Dramas @wildflowernightmere - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto
