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crystalflygeo · 7 months

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Mark of an Archon ft. Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Focalors / Nahida / Neuvillette + gn!reader

cw/tags: Mostly suggestive but nsfw in some parts (mostly Zhongli, Neuvillette) marking, kissing.

notes: Alright so... this is different from anything I've written before but I got inspired by the concept of the elemental symbols used as marks by the Archons to denote those important to them. Just short fluffy little dabbles I guess, first time writing everyone except the dragon men heh. I tried REALLY HARD to keep this gender neutral and be inclusive in descriptions but regardless, reader bottoms lmao. Hope y'all like it. (Y'all will NEVER guess where did I get the inspiration for all the marks' placements hehe) Edit: Y'all I have never played obey me WHEEZE the marks placement actually comes from a very old magical girl anime I loved as a kid XDDDD (except geo, it was on the belly button but-//hit)

It is said that the Archons place a mark on the body of their loved ones. A symbol of protection, perhaps of “ownership”, imbued with their elemental energy. Legends has it that they remain mostly invisible to the naked eye, glowing brightly only when the Archon in question touches it, but leaving behind a distinctive trace able to be identified with elemental sight.

However, none of this has been proven at all, and remains mostly as a fantastic tale, just a rumor…

Or is it?

-Barbatos

Venti’s mark rests between your shoulder blades, the small Anemo sigil emulating tiny wings in the most appropriate of places. It makes him fond of calling you his “angel”, though, you know it cannot compare to his own real wings... it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

It remains mostly covered, and yet without fail, Venti’s hand would always gently rest on it before his hand slides over to your shoulder or waist. At this point the touch soothes you and you’ve come to expect it every time you enter Angel’s share and bright Aqua eyes land on you.

In the dark of night, those precious moments of closeness and passion among the bedsheets, Venti’s nimble fingers, calloused by the Lyre and the bow alike, trail along your spine and stop at the mark, before he leans in and places a kiss on it.

For the God of Freedom to brand someone like this… it would seem as a contradiction, but you know it to be his blessing, his vow to you and your love. As his lips go up to your shoulder and his hands slide down to your waist, sneaking between your legs, he closes his eyes and hums a soft tune.

-Morax

The Geo mark is found on a rather unusual place, and to tell the truth, it even embarrassed you a little at first. The golden diamond placed just below your navel, partially hidden by the line of your underwear. When asked about it, Zhongli simply murmured something about dragon mating, fertility or virility… his cheeks dusted red.

You admit though, that once you get used to it, you do find yourself idly tracing it from time to time. Sometimes it seems to glow softly, or feel warm, perhaps responding to the Archon when he thumbs gently at it, contrasting and comparing with his own blackened arms, etched with veins of gold. Amber eyes staring up at you with love and desire as he places a kiss on it making you shiver.

Zhongli constantly wants to mark you more, in all sorts of ways. Drape you in silks and cover you in gemstones and gold. Leave bite marks along your skin. Douse you in his scent. It appeases his draconic instincts. But nothing compares to that little geo sigil, a personal indisputable claim, tattooed on your skin.

In a way, the mark could be taken as the God of Contracts’ signature and an unbreakable oath to you, his mate. It makes the dragon purr as he rolls his hips into yours, sinking deep inside you and making you whine as his palm presses against it.

-Beelzebul

Right at the center of your collarbone, like a pendant held by an invisible necklace, that is where the Electro mark was placed by Ei. Sometimes it’s a real shame it can’t be seen normally by humans, it would make for a pretty nice tattoo…

It’s not like the Electro sigil is rare to see anyway, quite the contrary, a rather popular choice and common sight all over Inazuma with deep cultural and religious meanings alike honoring Her Excellency. But one look from a youkai or one of the mikos at Narukami shrine and you know this is different.

Ei could act aloof and have a hard time expressing or understanding feelings, but the way she looks at you as she straddles you… dark violet hair cascading down her back and sides, hands roaming your chest and settling at your shoulders. She pins you there under her intense purple gaze and then bends forward to kiss at the sigil before moving to your lips.

The Goddess of Eternity considers her choices deeply and rarely ever goes back on her word or breaks a promise, and that is what she bestows upon you with her mark, a promise. Of love, of respect, of loyalty. Who would’ve thought the Electro Archon could be so… passionate?

-Focalors

You couldn’t believe just where Lady Furina had placed a pretty, blue, Hydro symbol on your skin. When asked about it she’d just giggled and said everything had a reason when it came to divine marks such as these… then proceeded to not explain at all. But seriously, your inner thigh?!

You could only sigh but smile softly at her antics as she laid across the couch, head rested in your lap, taking a nap by using your thighs as pillow, or demanding to be fed more sweets and sputtering indignantly when you poke at her nose or cheek instead, blushing.

She often drives you insane, paying special attention to the hydro marking with kisses and nibbles when you need her lips to go just a little more to the side… but oh, how she enjoyed teasing and riling you up. Mismatched blue eyes blinking coyly under thick eyelashes.

This is Lady Furina’s pledge to you, her word of honor as the Goddess of Justice, to love and cherish you no matter what. For despite her innocent act, she is guilty of having fallen for you.

-Bonus: Buer (Platonic)

Many people underestimate and doubt Nahida. A grave sin, in your opinion. When she places her mark of Dendro softly in your forehead, you feel nothing but pride, willing to follow and defend her and her teachings, for it is an honor to be her acolyte.

You see her wisdom in her actions, in the contemplating looks at her beloved city and people, in the way she always tries to solve problems and learn from difficulties, in her kindness, gentleness and little smiles. You see her love in the way she helps the elderly and soothes the children, in the candied ajilenakh nuts she shares with everyone, in the sparkle of her unique green eyes.

Like any other Archon, her nation and all its inhabitants are like her children. Despite her preferred appearance, the way she holds your hand as she guides you along and brushes at your hair gently with comforting words and praise feel more akin to a mother.

Just as you trust her, she trusts you, that is the covenant her sigil represents. And in the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, one day you’ll reach the sky and stars above.

-Bonus II: Hydro Dragon Sovereign

You stare at the sigil in the palm of your hand. An ancient symbol of power, no doubt, but with a meaning long since lost to time and shrouded in mystery. Yet, its significance is crystal clear to you: “I am yours as you are mine.”

The way the Iudex would always, without fail, hold your hand gently and kiss your palm instead of the back of it as it was traditional would no doubt confuse some people, but it makes your heart skip a beat. This special connection, the knowing look from those gorgeous lavender eyes and the hidden smile pressed against your skin…

Your back arches with a moan as Neuvillette ruts softly into you, slow and reverent, peppering kisses and nuzzling at your neck. His hand takes a hold of yours, fingers intertwining and you shiver as the marking in your palm seems to react. Your grip his hand tighter, canting your hips as well and surrounding him with your legs, asking for more, more, more-

It’s unknown if one day his kind will return to power, just as it’s impossible to predict the flow of the elements and the energy in leylines or just what the future will bring. But for Neuvillette, having you by his side feels like the most refreshing spring water and makes life that much sweeter.

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

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|| time for another installment of Salem's going to hell and I'm taking you all with me

[Heads up!: oral (reader recieving), afab!reader ig, pet name used (good girl) Law is a cocky mf ok leave me alone bye, he's also a lil mean, orgasm denial]

You can't see anything.

It's intentional because when you reach to tug at the obstruction, there's the reprimanding click of tongue and the bite of teeth to the inside of your knee that makes you jolt.

"Don't move it." Law's voice is low and murmured against your skin, pressing a soft kiss to the soft plush of your inner thigh. "You said you'd listen to me, didn't you?"

The next kiss is higher, the press of his hand as he coaxes your legs further apart. Your breath is shaky, fingers twitching against the sheets beneath you. There's the pinch of his teeth again, pleasure sparking in your veins.

"Words," he commands, and you swallow.

"Yes," you answer, "I did." Your senses are heightened without your vision, and you can feel the sinful curve of his mouth against your skin.

"Good girl."

You make a quiet noise at the praise, getting a soft laugh in return before there's another kiss, inching closer to the apex of your thigh as he kneads the other with his fingers.

You want to yank his hat free of where he's demanded you pull the brim over your eyes, be able to see him and sink your fingers into his hair as you guide him to where you've been aching for the better part of an hour now.

This is his fault, after all.

You must voice some of your thoughts, because Law clicks his tongue. "Is that any way to talk to me when I'm taking care of you?"

Your fingers curl against the sheets. "No," you finally manage, shuddering when he blows cool air against your slick center.

"I could leave you like this," he muses. "I don't have to give you anything. Is that what you want?"

Your cheeks burn, pride and desire warring for several long moments before you turn your head. "No," you repeat, and you know that he's smirking.

Smug bastard.

"Then be nice," Law says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. You bite back the rise of words you want to fire back, force your palms flat to the bed.

Law watches the soft heave of your chest, the twitch of your hips, the familiar curves and dips of soft skin that make up your body ㅡ bare to him, save for his hat.

It's undeniable that you look beautiful like this, the way you're pretty and pliant making him twitch in the confines of his jeans, though he ignores his own arousal in favor of yours as he leans in.

The slide of his tongue against you is unexpected and gets a startled moan from you, cheeks burning even as your hips jerk, seeking more from the man between your legs.

Law follows the twitch and jerk of your hips as he works you with his tongue, delighting in every whimper and breathless plea that spills from your lips.

The flick of his tongue over your clit has a hand snapping down to sink into his hair, fingers curling to tug firmly, and the way Law groans against you makes you whimper.

He lets you get away with the little act of rebellion, shudders at the pleasure that ripples down his spine, his hips rolling instinctively against the bed for friction.

Well versed in the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm, Law ignores your cry of protest as he pulls away, eyes lust-darkened as he reaches up to tug at his hat, tossing it aside.

"Eyes on me now," he orders as he pinches your chin to keep you from looking away, shine of your slick on his lips making your heart hammer. "Eyes on me, or I stop. Understood?"

You swear this man will be the death of you — but you'll gladly let him if it feels anything like this, let him dismantle you to the very fibre of your being without a fight.

Law presses soft kisses down the plane of your body from collarbone to navel, nips at the dip of your hip before he sinks back between your legs.

The visual makes the sensation more intense, especially now that you can see his eyes close as you fist his hair again, the dark lock of his eyes on your face even as he presses his tongue as far into you as he can.

Law's warning is forgotten as pleasure threatens to incinerate you for how you burn with it, the pleasurable tension in your lower stomach as your back arches, head tipping back ㅡ and the sensation is gone, making you wail at the lack of stimulation.

"I told you," Law says when you look down at him, "eyes on me."

You want to scream, demand that he stop toying with you and let you cum — but all you do is whine and stare back as he resumes what he'd been doing.

Keeping your eyes on him is a struggle when Law knows exactly how to take you apart like this (and with his fingers, and his dick) but you fight hard to manage it, especially as the familiar crescendo of pleasure reignites.

Law is tempted to stop again as he feels the pulse of your walls, but your eyes are still on him, and he isn't that mean. So he renews his efforts, listens to your noises pitch higher and more pleading — and at the end of the day, who is he to deny you what you want?

Your orgasm slams into you with all the grace of shattered glass, white-hot pleasure making you gasp as Law works you through it, swallowing what you have to offer.

You regain cognizance to the low murmur of praise against your hip, sweet nothings that make you boneless in an entirely different way as you tug, coaxing Law up and over you. You kiss him, not caring that you can taste yourself on his tongue as you cradle his face.

"That was something," you say when he pulls away, and you get a huff of amusement from him in return.

"It was, but..." He says, trailing off as you catch the gleam to his eyes. He settles fully between your legs, the bump of his clothed erection against your sensitive core making you whine. "My pretty girl can take more, can't she?"

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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r1vrrr · 2 years

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Eddie Munson x Amab Reader

cw. bottom! eddie x dom! male reader

"Oh fuck!"

Y/N breaks into a well-worked up sweat as the Mustang shakes and rattles from movement within the car. Small, metallic creaks and clinks of springs and God-knows-what-else fill the small space with noise, but nothing sounds better than his baby moaning with every thrust of his hips. His jeans are halfway down his legs, belt buckle clunking against some goddamn thing near the foot-well of the backseat. His t-shirt was tossed somewhere earlier, by a very ravenous Eddie Munson.

Speaking of the pretty boy himself, Eddie was bare naked, no jeans, no shirt- not even socks. His pale skin practically glowed under the shaft of silvery moonlight filtering through the window. His gorgeous hair was damp, soaked in sweat and sticking to his shimmering skin like dark tattoos. His lips were bitten red and swollen from Y/N’s rough kisses. And his nipples were aroused and bruised with several bite marks that Y/N had placed there. Little wispy, breathless moans escaped his lips with every thrust, nails digging into Y/N's shoulders as he held on for the ride of his life.

"So good baby." Y/N hears himself growling, halting his own hips in favour of Eddie’s hips grinding down on him. He grabs him by the hips, feeling the muscles ripple smoothly beneath his fingertips.

"Wanna ride you." Eddie sobs in his ear, sounding drunk and out of it. He pulls back and gazes at Y/N with those damn eyes, pleading. Please lemme ride you.

“Go ahead baby. Ride me." Y/N obliges with that signature grin, gazing up at his princess. God, it should be a sin to look so good, he thinks. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s navel, dipping just below to feel the soft, supple skin there. He's baby smooth, like heated wax down there, completely hairless, just the way Y/N likes it. Eddie’s cock is hard, the firm length pulsing and warm in his hand. Y/N strokes him, slow and languid, setting a torturous pace that Eddie forces himself to meet just to get that glorious friction on both ends. Y/N’s thick cock opens him so wide that he almost feels it in his throat. His gasp is stuttered by Y/N’s hands coming to wrap around his neck, choking him.

The way lovers do. That's what Y/N had told him the first time they'd tried it.

“Oh- oh my Go- uh!" He chokes, feeling his stomach start to cramp up with the tell-tale sign of an orgasm. His nails dig even deeper into Y/N’s shoulders, leaving angry, red marks like kitten scratches. He pushes himself to keep riding Y/N like he's in a fucking rodeo, thighs burning deliciously with every roll of his hips. Y/N keep gazing up at him with a smirk, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. He likes watching Eddie work for it. Turns him on like nothing else and Eddie knows it. He loves it too, that's why he's never complained.

Not once.

He loves working for Y/N's cock. Loves having to use his body to get his boyfriend off. It's the most accomplished feeling in the world and Eddie’s secretly addicted to it. It gave him a purpose- something he hasn't had in a long time.

"You close baby? Hm?" Y/N asks softly, voice low and raspy in Eddie’s ear. He nods, unable to form a coherent response at this point. His movements are getting sloppy now, and more erratic.

"M'gonna cum princess." Y/N growls before gripping Eddie by the waist and holding him still.

"Tighten up." He orders, exhaling slowly when he feels Eddies tender insides clench firmly on his length. "Good boy."

"Oh- Y- ...Y/N..." Eddie whimpers, actual tears slipping from his eyes, down his cheeks. He arches his back at the feeling of warm cum spilling deep inside him. His toes curl up and his head is yanked all the way back as Y/N pulls on his hair. The bad boy licks his tongue up Eddie’s exposed throat, biting at his Adam's apple. He barely makes a sound as he cums inside the cute brunette, grunting as his hips jerk sharply.

"Fuck Princess." He sighs, glancing down at the mess Eddie had made of them when he came. He slides a finger through the small puddle of slick and then brings it to Eddie’s plush lips. He sticks his tongue out to lick it up, but Y/N stops him with a grunt.

“Look at me baby. I wanna see you taste yourself on my fingers."

Eddie obediently holds his heated gaze before resuming. His tongue licks Y/N’s slicked up fingers like a hungry puppy, cleaning off his own mess. He swallows with a small, timid smile before collapsing against him.

Y/N holds him close, letting him snuggle into his neck while he lights up a cigarette, still buried deep inside the boy.

#gay #male reader #stranger things volume 2 #stranger things x male reader #stranger things x reader #top male reader #x male reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x male reader

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doumadono · 10 months

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Warnings: smut w/o plot, no dialogues Synopsis: Koyuki and Akaza immerse themselves in a night of impassioned intimacy Requested by: my beloved, dearest @koyuki-the-flower - I endeavored to craft a sensual tale featuring Koyuki and Akaza, I hope it resonates with your desires and captivates your imagination 💙

MASTERLIST

Koyuki stood gracefully by the moonlit window, her silhouette exuding an ethereal charm. Adorned in a delicate, diaphanous bra and a scanty thong, she emanated an aura of alluring beauty.

Without a stitch of clothing adorning his body, Akaza approached her from behind, enveloping her in his embrace. His hands delicately caressed her abdomen as his lips planted tender kisses upon her neck. With effortless dexterity, his nimble fingers found their way to the front of her bra, unfastening the button with practiced ease. Stepping back slightly, he gingerly caressed the straps, causing the bra to glide down her velvety skin, unveiling the resplendent sight of her exquisite breasts.

Wordlessly, Koyuki turned to face him, her eyes reflecting a profound connection. She gently encircled her arms around his neck, drawing herself closer to him. Akaza felt the warmth of her breath upon his lips, compelling him to explore the sensuous realm that awaited. His fingertips gingerly brushed against her slightly moist lips, igniting a symphony of passion between them. Caressing his hands down her supple back, they descended further, gracefully landing upon her silken buttocks, exerting a gentle pressure to bring her even closer into his embrace.

The intoxicating essence of Koyuki's fragrance enveloped Akaza, rendering him utterly captivated. Their embrace deepened as they continued their ardent exchange of kisses. Engaging in a playful dance of intertwining tongues, Koyuki's lips curled into a knowing smile, symbolizing their shared desire and unspoken understanding. Driven by an overwhelming passion, Akaza, adorned with intricate tattoos, enveloped her in his strong, powerful arms, effortlessly lifting her weightless form, as if she were but a feather in his grasp.

Koyuki's embrace tightened around Akaza's neck, her lips seeking his in another fervent kiss as he effortlessly carried her towards the awaiting bed. With graceful ease, Akaza gently lowered her onto the sumptuous silk sheets, his desire unabated as he bestowed upon her neck a passionate mark, leaving a trace of their escalating ardor. Urgently, his hands ventured to caress her bosom, his touch insistent yet tender, igniting a fervent response within her.

Sensuously descending, Akaza's lips embarked on a slow, tantalizing journey, lavishing her neck with a cascade of delicate kisses, attuned to the melody of her soft sighs. The languid descent continued, guided by an unhurried rhythm, as Akaza's lips found their destination upon her opulent breasts. With lips filled with longing, he pressed against her pert peaks, tracing them with the cool caress of his tongue, teasingly nibbling at their tender flesh. Koyuki reciprocated, her delicate hands gently exploring the expanse of his back, relaying her approval through the angelic tones of her voice, reinforcing the mutual pleasure of their intimate game.

Akaza's tongue traced an ardent path, skimming from the curves of her chest down to her navel, encircling it in tantalizing circles before venturing further towards her ultimate desire. There, a solitary barrier stood between them and the realm of unbridled ecstasy. With a flicker of determination in his eyes, Akaza grasped the taut elastic band with his teeth, teasingly pulling it closer before his skilled hands joined in the pursuit. Effortlessly, the slender obstacle succumbed to his gentle yet purposeful pressure, yielding to his unwavering advance, tearing apart with ease.

As the final barrier crumbled, Koyuki embraced a profound sense of liberation, her essence bared in all its glory. A mesmerizing vista unfolded before Akaza—a resplendent pearl nestled within an enchanting shell. Moonlight delicately caressed her lips, their subtle sheen hinting at a promise of tantalizing pleasure. Vulnerable yet fearless, Koyuki willingly surrendered her boundaries, yearning to become one with Akaza, body and soul.

Akaza's lips descended upon her exposed bud, unleashing a symphony of impassioned moans that reverberated through the air. In response, she seized his head with her left hand while her right hand clenched the silk sheet with commanding force. The intoxicating kiss concluded, making way for Akaza's tongue to traverse her intimate contours, twirling in fervent circles, ascending and descending, ardently discovering the tender jewel that begged for his touch. Koyuki's moans crescendoed, transforming into a symphony of cries, a testament to the pleasure that would resound throughout the night.

With a firm grip on his hair, Koyuki guided him relentlessly towards her, urging Akaza to delve as deeply as his tongue would allow. Sensory receptors on his tongue were attuned to the pulsating rhythm of her fervent desire. Time seemed suspended in the ecstasy of the moment, as Akaza reveled in Koyuki's fiery embrace, his head caressed by her gentle strokes.

In an instant, Koyuki rose, her voice resounding with a sultry command that fueled Akaza's ardor, “Let me take care of you, my love.” Yielding to her allure, Akaza reclined upon the bed, his back meeting the sensuous fabric beneath him.

Koyuki claimed his lips with a searing kiss, descending upon him with her sweet, fervent lips. Akaza, prepared for any delight, was taken aback, for this was beyond his expectations. With her slender hand, she enveloped his throbbing member, her tongue teasing the delicate slit of his engorged tip. The tension within him intensified, a tempest of desire raging, making restraint a formidable task. Her tongue traced the contours of his crown, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through him, inching him closer to the precipice of release.

With the grace of a seductive sylph, Koyuki traversed the length of his pulsating shaft, her tongue tracing a tantalizing path from base to tip, lavishing it with a symphony of fervent kisses and kitten licks before retracing her steps in a bewitching dance. Koyuki enveloped the crown with her mouth, delicately applying a succulent suction that unleashed an untamed torrent of pleasure.

Akaza's body coiled in exquisite tension, his strength waning under the onslaught of overwhelming sensations as his strong hands slipped into her long, black hair.

In a swift, lightning motion, Akaza swiftly positioned Koyuki upon her supine form, his powerful frame descending upon her with unrestrained desire. A fleeting surprise flickered in Koyuki's eyes, yet her acquiescence prevailed, even as Akaza assertively seized her wrists, securing her submission to the bed. Anticipation filled the air as Koyuki willingly parted her legs, aching for the sensation of his fervent thrust, her heated flesh yearning to be filled by his presence. However, Akaza revealed in the knowledge of his dominion, savoring the moment with deliberate slowness, relishing in the realization that she was entirely subservient to his will.

With fervor interlaced with tenderness, Akaza's lips claimed hers in a passionate kiss, coinciding with his deliberate penetration of her quivering core, his engorged tip tantalizingly grazing her slick folds. The proclamation of her pleasure escaped her lips, caressing his ear, a whispered testament to the overwhelming ecstasy that coursed through her being.

The rhythm of their union was unhurried, their bodies merging with graceful synchronicity. With ease, his ample girth effortlessly glided within her velvet embrace, their shared lubrication enveloping them in a cocoon of exquisite sensation. In that moment, no other existence mattered but their intertwined forms.

Gradually relinquishing his hold on her wrists, Akaza enveloped her in an embrace, their bodies melding as one. Koyuki's hands roamed his back, her sharpened nails dancing playfully across his skin, evoking a feline grace within her. At this precise juncture, she embodied the allure of a cat, while Akaza stood as her devoted plaything, ensnared by her enchantment.

Koyuki's hands descended lower, her delicate touch gently squeezing Akaza's sculpted buttocks, guiding him into her with an urgency that conveyed her desire for an accelerated rhythm. Obediently, Akaza, ever devoted to his goddess, eagerly complied, quickening the pace as their bodies seamlessly merged. With each fervent thrust, their union transcended artifice and pretense, shattering all barriers that may have once hindered their connection. Here, in the raw essence of their lovemaking, authenticity reigned supreme, and genuine pleasure blossomed between them.

The playful caress of Koyuki's nails against his back transformed into a delightful ache, reverberating through the room, a testament to her imminent release. Sensing her nearing climax, Akaza eased the pace, burying himself as deeply as he possibly could within her. Koyuki pressed against him with an intensity that matched her ardor, her vaginal contractions enveloping him in waves of ecstatic sensation. With closed eyes, she embraced the blissful moment of pure ecstasy, while Akaza, enraptured by the sight, found greater fulfillment in witnessing her unadulterated joy than in any praise or flattery bestowed upon him.

Yet, Akaza's own release had not yet arrived. Granting her a few precious moments of post-orgasmic reverie, he gently maneuvered her, turning her over onto all fours. Koyuki, now facing him, revealed a mixture of surprise and anticipation, her readiness for the second half of their passionate encounter evident in the moonlit glow. Akaza firmly gripped her hips, delicately parting her legs wider, positioning himself behind her, and reentered her depths once again.

His shaft remained unyieldingly rigid, a testament to the overwhelming tension that coursed through Akaza's body as he strained to contain his desires. The sonorous echoes of their connection reverberated in the form of resounding slaps, the rhythmic collision of his hips against her voluptuous backside. Akaza's hand traced a gentle path along her supple spine, eliciting ecstatic howls of pleasure from Koyuki, her grasp on the long-suffering sheet growing increasingly fervent.

With seamless ease, Akaza plunged deeper within her, intensifying the pace of their union. Yet, amidst the ecstasy, Koyuki sensed a subtle weariness creeping into her back. As waves of overwhelming pleasure threatened to engulf her, Koyuki instinctively tried to pull away, seeking a respite from the overwhelming sensations that threatened to suffocate her in their embrace. However, Akaza's grip tightened, resolutely anchoring her hips within his grasp, denying her escape.

Koyuki burned, a fervent blaze that consumed her from within and without. The flames of passion raged relentlessly, driving her towards the pinnacle of pleasure once more. In a crescendo of ecstasy, Koyuki succumbed to the paroxysms of climax, her essence pulsating with an intensified fervor that surged through her being.

With a sweet, rapturous cry, Koyuki slipped free from Akaza's grasp, her body cascading onto the bed in convulsive waves, each breath a desperate attempt to reclaim composure. And Akaza, drained yet euphoric, collapsed in the opposite direction, their union leaving them both in a state of blissful surrender.

In the tranquil moments that followed, a serene stillness enveloped the room, punctuated only by the soft melodies of their slowing breaths. The moon, a silent witness to their ardor, cast a gentle glow upon their entwined forms, bestowing upon them a serene luminescence.

With a sense of contentment that transcended the physical realm, Koyuki and Akaza succumbed to the embrace of sleep. Their bodies, entangled in an intimate tableau, found solace in the blissful oblivion of dreams, where whispered desires and unspoken wishes danced in the realms of subconsciousness.

No words were spoken, for in the depths of their slumber, their souls communed in a language that transcended mere mortal tongues. Their intertwined beings, now unified in repose, found respite from the intensity of their desires, cherishing the tranquil respite that sleep bestowed upon their weary forms.

And so, in the hushed embrace of the night, they surrendered themselves to the realm of dreams, where the echoes of their passion gently faded, leaving behind a profound sense of fulfillment. As sleep enfolded them in its comforting embrace, they drifted, serenely, into a world where the boundaries of reality blurred, and the only existence that mattered was the boundless realm of their shared desires and unconditional love.

#akaza smut #kny smut #kny akaza #akaza kny #upper moon three #hakuji soyama #akaza x koyuki #akaza x koyuki smut #hakuji x koyuki #akaza dono #demon slayer smut #demon slayer akaza #smutty #kimetsu no yaiba smut #request completed

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chiwi-la-capybara · 3 months

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My top 5 Snape fics!

I wanted to share some of my Snape fics in the hopes that you will share yours with me in the comments or in your own posts. These are my personal favorites that I go back to reread the most. I have my own favorite tropes, so these are all somewhat angsty, hurt/comfort, and you might notice Snape gets bathed in several of these lol. Warning, these fics contain sexual content and are NOT appropriate for all ages.

5. Contempt, by Danpuff (2022)

Snarry

I don't normally like Snarry but this blew me away. This is the best enemies to lover fic I've ever read. The line between hate and love is thin my friends.

Excerpt:

The black and the white material hang open around Snape's thin frame. He's not beautiful anywhere, is he? Pasty skin with marks of discoloration. Old, faded scars. Wiry black hair. Concave chest, prominent ribs, soft belly. Harry feasts his eyes on the ghastly sight and trails reverent fingers down. Down over flat brown nipples and a long raised scar. Over a patch of rough, brown skin. Over coarse black curls. His skin is warmer than Harry expected.

4. The Underground, by me, Chiwi_la_Capybara (2023)

HG/SS

This is a shameless plug of my own fic. But it is one of my favorites.

Excerpt:

Snape licked his lips, looked up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. She looked carefully back at him, at the double wrinkle at the corner of each eye, and the purple semicircles that ringed his lower lids. The long thick black eyelashes gave his eyes a melancholy cast.

There was a certain magnetism about him. She lifted up the blanket and drew close to him, laid his head on her shoulder and anchored him to her. The warmth of his body against hers felt as close to sex as anything she had known in the past five years. He blinked at her sleepily, and his black eyes were two moons. Snape slept with his face pressed into the crook of her neck, his warm breath sputtering over her throat.

3. Traumlieder, by Rexluscus (2011)

Snape/Luna Warning, Luna is underage in this fic and there's dubious consent on both sides. This one's very smutty. Take this warning v seriously.

Snape being bewildered by Luna is such a joy. Rexluscus is an incredibly writer. They have this tone that's kind of sarcastic, kind of loving, and real perverse all at once.

Excerpt:

Snape dreamed of a creature. It had yellow hair and smelled like a cherry orchard, and it spoke with a voice both exotic and deeply, achingly familiar. Its hands were as delicate and fragile as a doll's, but its skin was warm and velvety as it tickled him below his navel. It was petting him, quieting him, and he was drifting into lassitude—all except for the exquisitely urgent want in his groin. The creature seemed aware of that; it was touching him there now, shocking like the touch of a naked flame, and as ecstasy radiated from his middle and flooded out the pain in his limbs he only now recognised by its absence... A warm breeze tickled his bare skin, and the creature laughed. He thought he could see its eyes somewhere far above him, round and lambent, like watery planets setting in a warm twilight.

2. Exaltation, by Eldritcher (2022)

Dudley/Snape.

I know Dudley and Snape sounds ick but trust me, its strange and wonderful. Only Eldritcher could have pulled this one off. Eldritcher once told me their writing has been influenced by the Greek poet Ovid, and you can tell.

Excerpt:

Harry was not taught to swim. Snape betrays the tell-tale signs of a man who has never learned to swim. Like Harry, Snape does not have fat on his bones to lift him up easy. He steps into the water, because Dudley asks him to. Dudley holds him by the waist, steadying him until he finds his level. Snape is pale, paler than the primroses closing and curling up for the night. It is all Dudley can do to refrain from catching the trembling bony shoulders to massage back the blood into circulation.

1. Self-Slain Gods on Strange Altars, Scumblackentropy (2013)\

SS/HG Warnings for an underage/student Hermione.

This is the fic that really got me into this fandom back when I was a teen. The writing is uneven, but Snape feels so real in this story.

Excerpt:

What, what, what?she asks herself as she slowly, slowly, slowly lets her palm flatten against his damp robes and slowly, slowly, slowly stands on tiptoe. His head pulls back as he tries to hold eye contact, but she never tries to look away. She vaguely registers that he has a long throat. Long. Muscled. Pale.

“You’re wrong.”

How?she asks herself as a strangled, indignant aching noise comes out of his mouth and she slowly, slowly, slowly presses herself into him, and his eyes widen in that way that breaks her heart, and she feels his blood-soaked body hard-angled and warm against hers, and she thinks that maybe she can forgive him.

#snape fanfiction #snape fandom #pro snape #pro severus snape #severus snape

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sweetsweetjellybean · 6 months

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Prince!Steve x Sleeping Beauty!Reader Masterlist

These are short blurbs with figurative fairy tale themes. Smut, PIV, Dirty Talk, Spit as lube. All kinds of fun. Without further ado...

In the flickering embrace of candlelight, you stir from your slumber, your senses waking with the ghost of his warm lips – the kiss of your dark prince. The room is fragrant with the essence white roses and cloves. A soft flicker of the flames casts dancing shadows upon the ornamental fairies and witches. The pleasant scrape of his blunt nails leaves behind pebbled skin as they travel over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs, igniting trails of fire. The exquisite ache of your need deepening as it radiates from the bottom of your stomach, like the desire from dreams that have filled your sleep, until it controls every cell.

Your fingers entwine in the long, golden-brown locks at the nape of his neck as you arch your back, your gaze fixed upon the gilded antique mirror suspended from the ceiling. The rich hue of your breasts' hardened peaks, visible through the diaphanous silk of your chemise, the ties carelessly undone. An opaque triangle, proof of your desire, burgeons at your center as your restless legs writhe against the midnight-blue velvet that drapes the baroque four-poster bed. A place where you've lain resting for far too long without his caress.

The freckled skin of his shoulders and back glides smoothly, rolling with every gesture as the material of your shift is inched higher and higher until it's gone completely, sliding like a waterfall onto the cold stone floor.

“My beauty.” His breath fans over the glistening wetness of your pussy, like moonlight on water. Carvings of golden acanthus leaves scroll up the posts behind him, framing his head in a regal crown.

“Please,” you whisper on a needy sigh as his lips trail along your navel.

"Shhh.” He silences your pleas as the rough skin of his large hands envelops the softness of your breasts, kneading and teasing and pushing them together, a feast for his black eyes. “Let me take you,” he murmurs, his desire and devotion evident, “I’ll make you my queen. And then, my love, I shall be yours to rule."

His britches are pushed down his hairy legs, forgotten amongst the bedclothes. He's hard and long as he kneels proudly before you. You wet your lips, hungry, as your eyes follow the veins of his thick shaft to the thatch of hair at his base.

His fingers clasp firmly around your calves, urging your knees toward your ribs, parting you with deliberate intention. Spit escapes his parted lips, dripping down your seam, collecting at your entrance.

“Watch,” he orders as his hand circles his base, guiding his crown at your eager opening. His gaze locks with yours as he thrusts with a moan, filling you completely, stretching your boundaries, molding you for his pleasure. Your insides pulse and ripple around him, euphoria waking from a slumber.

He falls forward as he keens, his hand sliding around your throat, fingers gripping with a hunger that matches his lips as they close over yours, capturing your breath. Your tongues tangle in a sensual duel. 'What is your command?' he murmurs, his voice a rasp against your skin. 'I'll give you anything,' he promises, intoxicated by pleasure, the rhythm of his hips quick and relentless. He slides out smoothly, teasing until you're almost empty before driving into you with the force of a tempest.

The kiss ends with a passionate tug of your teeth on the lushness of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, you guide him nearer, savoring the taste of desire as you press tender, lingering kisses along his temple, trailing down until his ear is at your mouth. “Make me cum.”

AN: Thanks for reading. 💋-Jelly

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #dark fairytale

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truetalesteam · 2 months

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Week 2 of our Season 3 Crowdfund!

Hello Everyone!

Here at True Tales of the Illuminati, we are humbled and excited to announce that with three weeks left in the campaign, we are almost halfway to our crowdfunding goal. That means that we’ve been able to release the second of our four crowdfunding minisodes, and we’re rounding the corner towards the third! You can listen to them, and to our first two seasons, on our podcast feed now.

That’s right, our marketing strategy for asking you help us make a third season is to make a mini-season and hold it hostage! Find another podcast that does that! (Okay Wooden Overcoats, sure. Fine, we ripped them off, so sue us, they’re our heroes. No you shut up)

If you haven't heard of us yet, we're an audio comedy about conspiracies gone disastrously wrong, fruitlessly spinning the wheels of history like a car in park when you floor the gas. Inspired by (and aspiring to be) BBC audio comedy like Cabin Pressure and Hitchhiker's Guide, with rapid-fire jokes in the vein of Archer, Community and 30 Rock, we're proud to have been Audioverse award finalists for our first two seasons.

Here are a few of the things we’re excited about in our third season:

New characters ripped from the real Enlightenment-era Illuminati! Watch Beck get drawn to this group of navel gazing nerds like a pannier-wearing moth to a flame! See Jackie fall under the influence of a mysterious new mentor figure! Listen to Ishmael swill coffee and make bon mots!

New Dal! Dared to find a hobby "besides murder," watch her harass and bully shop proprietors into giving her a personality a second dimension!

Five whole episodes with an explosive two-part finale that calls upon all of Ishmael's bravery, courage and brain cells!

Here’s where the funding is going to go:

Recording studio time rental! In the past we’ve recorded with our full cast all together at The Bridge Sound and Stage recording studio in Somerville, MA. Not only does that make our audio sound great, having our cast all together, able to bounce off of each other live as we record means we get our amazing cast chemistry bubbling away to make each joke land even harder.

Paying those amazing actors! Every one of our cast members is paid for their time and talent, and as we have a big cast and tend to pack character after character into a scene, that’s quite a large line item! Why do we keep writing scenes with 5 characters in them!

Sound design! We’re once again working with the phenomenal Beth Crane and Hedley Knight, who you may know from their show We Fix Space Junk. Beth and Hedley have an incredible ear for sound, and some of the finest comedy brains out there, and they use those gifts to make sure that when a character jumps through a pane of glass, that that is the funniest pane of glass that there is to jump through.

Administrative fees! Podcast and website hosting aren't free! Look, some of these are just going to be true, not fun.

Places where the funding does not go:

Our pockets - We make this show because we love making it, and because we want to make the funniest thing we can. Every penny we raise goes right into making this show better and making more of it. The only ROI we see is getting to put something we think is really good out into the world. Does this make us fools? Economically, yes! But spiritually? You decide! (Please say no we need a win so bad)

Local political contributions in New South Wales - (we’re only 80% on where it is)

Actual occult organizations - (We don't know how to join the illuminati, no matter how desperate or strange the marketing emails we get are)(we WOULD say this though, so keep trying!) PLEASE STOP ASKING US ABOUT THEM

Non-Fiction History Books About The Weirdest Shit We Can Find - We use the library, bitches. We didn't spend a cent on The Witch of Lime Street!

Intrigued? Generous? Cool? Please help us bring our next season to life over at truetalesteam.com/crowdfund

#true tales of the illuminati #ollominoto #ttoti #ttoti season 3 crowdfund #crowdfund #audio drama #comedy #podcast sitcom #please help us make our weird comedy project!

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quickreaver · 10 months

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Emptying my brain...

Recently, there was quite a kerfuffle in the SPN fandom, over the realization that several self-proclaimed “BNFs” had been Mean Girling fellow fans into hating on certain other fans and certain other members of the cast of SPN. Thoughts have been percolating around in my head about this for a bit. Here goes... There has already been some discussions of warning about how cult-like these tactics seem: the initial lovebombing, indoctrination, evolving into intimidation and threats if people don't fall in line. The hunger to belong and smug feeling of group-think is a helluva drug. The fear of losing favor and being ousted from the silo is also a helluva withdrawal. I wonder if there's a reason all these manipulative personalities, every one of them, have been from the Destiel quarter of the SPN family. Is it sheer numbers? Or does it begin with the selling of the ship as this monumental slow-burn greatest love story ever told (even though the show's actual canon does very little to support this fable)? The relationship between Dean and Cas has been romanticized to a legendary degree, and the fanon has become the preferred telling of the tale, replete with lengthy subtextual navel-gazing over lamps and fictional beer brands and artfully staged gif sets on tumblr. Every whiff of the show has been recontextualized to point to Destiel. A stroll through any given list of Destiel All-Time Fave Fics is chock full of AUs and characters that feel more like Any Two White Guys than the actual characters from SPN.

Maybe this primes D/C shippers to be more susceptible to grift, to believe anyone with charisma and confidence and leadership aspirations, who promises the fruition of some manner of Destiel endgame. Which, okay. I totally get how deeply we often feel about our fandoms and the dynamics, how we project onto the characters and idealize the ships as more than the show intended.

It'd be fine... if fans then didn't feel the need to evangelize for the ship and punish those who got in the way. Some groups have been actively attacking the cast and parts of our fandom for years, as well as making actual bank off it all. Under the guise of inclusion and camaraderie, they dangle paying admission into their sacred inner circles like worms on hooks. They took, and are continuing to take, money to offer glimpses behind the doors of their Patreons or special levels of their Discords, where those lucky customers would theoretically be honored with friendship (parasocial, much?), and gifted with the potential of supposed insider info, and/or proximity to the cast and crew at conventions. In return, that same congregation would be used as a tool to attack and discredit the parts of the SPN milieu that the grand poobahs dislike. They would be asked to buy their merch, to keep their secrets, to send hate mail to each other in order to place the blame on “the other side”, try to get competing fans (or even TV shows) canceled, carry the torches of hate, and the list goes on. I don't know where this is going exactly, but there's a difference between bickering over which ship has the best blorbos or whose fave is the most girlboss, and actively trying to generate a lemming-like mass of obedience, enough to impact the IRL health and well-being of other people. Fandom can rally to accomplish such good feats (and lord knows the companies and studios that own our favorite franchises have figured this out), but every coin has two sides. Just, be aware of which one you're on, I guess.

#thoughts on fandom cults #the whys and wherefores #spn fandom meta #quickreaverspeaks #and it's probably a bad idea #not exactly Destiel positive?#thoughtful wank

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rhodrymavelyne · 5 days

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Conversations with Christopher: Rhodry Part 1

Christopher finds himself speaking to another character dear to my heart in a fantasy world they're discovering together.

Christopher is used to the chill of shadows and mists, the whispering breeze. This breeze becomes a wind, whipping at his clothes and hair. It ruffles the golden waves of the boy standing beside him as he gazes down from a height upon a walled city below. Tiny shops and dwelling bunch together in winding streets leading up to a castle in the center. More elegant than the castle, off by itself…

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#A Suitor&039;s Challenge #Conversations with Christopher #K.S. Trenten #Rhodry Nevalyn #rhodrymavelyne #Stealing Myself From Shadows #Tales of the Navel #Trouble at Caerac Keep #Worlds of Omphalos #Worlds of Ouroborous

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wolverineatelier · 4 days

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Met gala spitball design 2024

2024 theme is Sleeping Beauty; reawakening fashion

A mans suit, gradient from shoulder to ankle. Impression of a sunrise.

15th century puff sleeve robe/gown, Full stomacher. Blue-white dark Gray. Inspiration a mountain with Spring avalanches and melt water.

Mexican dancer dress, The big fluffy ones that are a double circle skirt. Sunflower and or Daisy pattern so when she does the full display of the dress it looks like a flower blooming. Maybe a lily.

Something from alt fashion with big stumpy boots for break up season. Emphasis on protecting soft and tender things from the ravages of springtime. Larvae, Hatchlings, New babies, Rot, Decay, compost and fungus.

A crop top with something sheer over the belly and an applicae of a hibernating animal over the navel, evocative of a womb.

Concept, The rigid white standards of Eurocentric beauty melting away like snow and ice to reveal a more lush rich colorful way forward. Probably some version of paper on a train, Design sketches with inhumanly skinny proportions, falling away to a Sumptuous fabric. When was fashion ever woke? How can you reawaken something thats always been asleep?

Something about the process of textile making because sleeping beauty did prick her finger on a spindle and almost no one knows what a spindle is. And as long as we are going the fairy tale direction I want evil fairy godmother in there And as long as we are going the Fairytale direction I want an evil fairy godmother cursing newborns there. Maybe play that into the hibernation and spring hatch angle.

#Brainstorm #Met gala 24

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tokoyamisstuff · 2 months

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Breaking Bonds Ch. 6

Synopsis: Rabban and you have a long-due honeymoon on Lankiveil.

Warnings: Masturbation, unprotected sex A/N: I'm not good at writing smut but enjoy this lil' treat either way! 💌

"No man chooses evil for the sake of evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."

- Mary Wollstonecraft

[Previous Chapter]

There was no going back now - you've long since passed the point of no return. And still, no matter how much time passed, you couldn't shake this nagging conscience off...

...after all, you had selfishly become enamored with a man that had - and still causes - so much misery in the entire Empire and especially your home planet.

To be fair, while the Baron alone decided about the tax height, your husband has at least greatly lifted the burden on his colonies lately, concentrating on gathering ressources instead of harassing the populace. His men were advised to tone it down, and shall a village not be able to provide the demanded amount, they'll have two more chances before there'll be consequences.

That was his way of expressing what he could otherwise never put into words.

Rabban was snoring softly besides your insomniac self, shuffling close enough to wrap his arms around you. He pressed your body against his chest from behind, a content sigh escaping his throat at the feeling of your skin against his.

"Good morning, my Countess" he purrs, nose nuzzling against your neck before tracing kisses across your collarbone. You return the favour, nails tenderly raking across his scalp. "Good morning, my Count."

Your husband's touch soon becomes more eager, groaning shamelessly as his hands wander upwards to massage your breasts, who betray you and stiffen under the touch. "Glossu, you're insatiable."

"To my defense, I've waited more than long enough" he teases, nibbling on your earlobe. His hand rested under your navel just for a brief moment before wanderin downwards. "And besides, we still have an obligation to fulfill."

Your laughter soon turned into pleased moans as well, music in your husband's ears as he slid under the covers, head settling between your spread legs with an almost predatory glint in his eyes.

"Let me wake you up properly, dear."

This whole situation still felt like a bizarre daydream - one your past self would refuse to believe to ever become reality.

A short while back you loathed this wicked man with a passion, were nothing but repulsed and petrified whenever he was near you - but right now you were yearning for his touch at every opportunity.

After that first fateful night spent together marked the beginning of something more intimate, it was also new terrain for both of you.

While you expected a cruel joke, revealing itself just when he'd gain your trust, your husband feared his feelings being used to control him for your own benefit.

Needless to say, neither of it occured.

Maybe you had completely lost your mind, but at this point you couldn't care less - at least that was what you told yourself on this important day.

Since Harkonnen troops had now completely retreated from Arrakis, until your husband would be called to battle he decided to grant you this heartfelt wish of reuniting with your family.

The image of your planet in space was a sight to behold, never ceasing to amaze you. An ice world where seasons would last for years instead of months, known among the galaxy for it's precious whale fur.

From afar, it looked almost as sacred as your father had always described it in his tales.

He was a man of unbreakable faith - at least until the death of your eldest brother on the frontlines of the resistance. Your whole family stopped practicing the religion entirely since then, except for occasional prayers in time of distraught.

After his loss, your father said that god has left this planet the moment House Harkonnen set foot on it.

Whereas you still miss him painfully, the grief strickening to this day, you were also relieved that he did not have to see you like this - his beloved daughter, giving her heart and body up to the enemy.

"Welcome home" Rabban declared as you prepared for the spaceship to land, already preparing to descend towards the planet's surface.

You seemed both aloof and apprehensive at once, so it wasn't long until Rabban offered you his hand as means to placate. "It'll be fine."

Will it be, though?

Since birth you had been among them, attended this farce of a welcome committee alongsides the other natives. It was not a voluntary decision, presence was mandatory.

You remember very well how much you wished to have the courage and throw a rock at your oppressor - but knew what deadly consequences it'd bring for you and everyone else.

Yet right now you were on the other side of the coin, and taking a good look down on yourself - skin bleached through the lack of sunlight and dressed matching to your spouse - you wondered if they'd even differ, or simply see you with the same burning hatred that you felt back then.

"Now arriving: Your beloved rulers, Count and Countess Rabban!"

Eventually you felt nauseous as the shuttle opened and you were greeted with exagerrated fake applause from the capitol, retracting your intertwined hands before anyone could see.

With the planet being currently in spring, bright sunlight hit your face, eyes needing some time to adapt after the eternity you had spent on Giedi Prime.

The Beast looked at you with a mixture of worry and irritation, brushing his fingers over your back yet again you winced away. The current situation made it impossible to bid it any more concern, but your behavior left a bitter aftertaste.

Of course he understood. While in private you could act like lovestruck fools all you want, however it was dangerous to do so in front of witnesses.

Ironic, considering you're officially a married couple.

For that very same reason he was also unable to go too easy on your - otherwise the other Harkonnen's were to notice, and such weakness would not remain unpunished.

However this tiny act of affection might also be interpretated as courtesy among two weds...

...so why did you insist to tear yourself away from him?

As the two of you strutted through the tremulous crowd, accompanied by his best soldiers, he reminisced back to easier times.

Rabban vaguely remembered that at every arrival of his you stood out ouf the crowd - at least to his eye - even long before your ways would actually cross.

Oh, how drunk he got on your fear back then, excited by the defiance he detected in your eyes nonetheless. It was as if your emotions were written right on your forehead and damn, what a feisty little quim, weren't you?

He secretly prayed that one day you'd put those thoughts into practice, commit something so imprudent that he'd have an excuse to drag you into his chambers despite your status. Implementing his own means of punishment, without ever allowing you to escape....

...in hindsight, this might've been a precursor of this strange infatuation after all. Better keep this to himself though - even he knows this isn't exactly considered romantic.

In the midst of the formation your family awaited you - or rather what's left of it. Scatters of a once great bloodline.

Rabban looks over to you, only a silken dress cascading down your body in the shivering breeze. The cold did not seem to bother you at all, in fact the soft glow bestowed you an even more divine beauty.

The serenity you were radiating was slowly crumbling however, as you came to a halt far away from your kneeling loved ones. Seeing them like this felt horribly wrong, a perfect symbolfor the harsh reality of this marriage which you desperately tried to shove back into your head.

You were hesitating, eyes darting helplessly between your husband and relatives. "What are you waiting for?" Rabban speaks in this low, authorative voice of his. "You may leave."

His approval was enough for you to drop the composure together with your remaining dignity, running towards them as you broke out into irrepressible sobbing.

A sinister look decorated Rabban's face as you collapsed into your mother's arms, a dangerous mixture of jealousy and obsession stirring in his mind. He tries to ignore it, internally fights to contain himself for your sake.

You are the stunning image of your mother, he thinks, trying to distract himself with trivial annotations. The children however - your younger siblings, as it seems - he doesn't warm up to that easily. Not really his area in general, but he'll figure out once he has brats of his own. Better not think about it too much, the pending responsibility leaves him with an odd unease.

A girl around five years of age he overhears asking why you were accompanying the 'behemoth', timidly peeking over your shoulder as you had lifted her up. "You know, I can understand every word" he retorts flatly and in perfect Lankiveili. It catched you by surprise, since the Harkonnens on your planet kept mostly to themselves. Of course, as a leader it made perfect sense to at least know the common global language.

Sometimes you forgot that your husband was in fact a sophisticated man, just wildly - intentionally - underestemated.

"Leave my sisters alone!" your younger brother, barely eleven years old, leaped in front of you, a shakily pointing a wooden toy sword at the Beast.

"I thought we got rid of all the males in the Årud bloodline..." Rabban spoke in sadistic amusement, crossing his arms as he assessed the boy. Well, your mother was pregnant back at the time and the Count was not really paying attention the following years. But you wouldn't deliberately make things worse by pointing out his disinterest for politics, knowing he already felt inadequate.

"Please, dear husband" you try to appease him, hands clasping together in a begging manner. "He's just a child. No one's questioning your rule. It's not worth it."

"When I was his age, I already partook in huntings" the Beast harrumphed, face contorting into an almost-snarl. "Killed my grandfather a few years after." He reached out for your brother, who was rooted on spot, cowering in fear...

...and just when you were about to intervene, he put his hand on the boy's head, slightly ruffling his hair. "You have a brave heart. Become a good warrior and make your family proud."

Rabban then turned to you, looking at him absolutely flabbergasted. "Just leave" he spat, waving his men over. "Got important business to take care of. You'd be no help either way."

You crack a smile, tiptoeing to peck a quick kiss on his cheek before turning around, this unexpected public affection left this mountain of a man - and frankly everyone around you - completely baffled.

"What are you looking at, you dogs?!" he shouted at his squad and their chatters ebbed out with his command. "Get. To. Work! Anyone I consider useless, I'll kill on sight."

It wasn't until Rabban and his men were actually gone to run errands for his uncle that your folk was able to breathe freely again, now truly cheering and celebrating your arrival.

You were almost considered a national hero, your marriage being considered the most noble sacrifice, ensuring the prosperity of Lankiveil.

No one dared interacting with you more than necessary, though. It was simply not worth the risk of earning the wrath of the infamous Beast.

"This detestable waste of a mother's love! Threatening a child like that. Did you see how scared your brother was?!"

"Lower your voice" you interrupted your own mother, who felt comfortable enough to verbally lash out at the Beast now that you were in your own four walls. "My husband has eyes and ears everywhere. Just- just be glad he didn't actually do anything."

"Don't tell me what to do, young lady" she scolded you harshly. "You may be our Countess now, but you must never forget-" The words die in her throat, her soft caress of your cheek having pulled your hair far enough back over our shoulder to reveal the choke mark on your neck.

A mere lovebite of some sort - he had a bruising grip, and holding back was never his forte. This is nothing compared to what he's normally capable of, but a sadist remains a sadist.

You want to back away, but your mother got a hold of your wrist, pulling up one of the sleeves only to find more bruises scattered across your arm.

During the act you rarely ever notice - in fact it was rather enjoyable - but how should you tell your mother that the most hated person on this forsaken planet kissed those minor injuries afterwards, mumbling sweet affirmations as his hands draw circles on the sore skin?

She seemed desolate, on the verge of tears and yet may have realized at this moment to better not speak against a man that was capable of practically anything.

"Mother" you assure her, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between you licke a thick haze. "You needn't worry, I promise."

"...if we had been informed of your visit, we would've prepared festives" she croakes as she changes the topic, needs to do so in order to keep her grace. "We'll make up something right away."

Guilt was eating her alive and you knew it - the day when the Baron proposed this alliance, she had to pick between loss and loss.

As a leader, she absolutely chose correctly.

As a mother? Not so much.

All logic asides, it pained you to be reminded that she put the fate of strangers over your own. If your father was still alive, he would've rather let this planet fall into chaos than willingly lose another one of his children to the Harkonnens - if only metaphorically.

To a certain extend you sympathized with Rabban's rage- the feelings of a child abandoned by their own mother.

But then again, what's one ruined life compared to so many others, an entire civilization even?

...and do you truly consider your life to be ruined?

"Sure..." You swallow harshly, try to suppress your emotions to enjoy the scarce time you had with your loved ones. "That sounds wonderful."

Meanwhile Rabban was in the greatest hall of his mansion, slumped on the throne of your ancient monarchs - which he stole it for his private collection long ago.

He tries soothing himself through meaningless pastimes, yet materialistic luxury and fleeting pleasures did not hold the appeal they once had...

...they could not substitute your presence, at last - and without it his thoughts spiraled back to the only coping mechanism he knew: Violence, or worse.

This cannot be love, the feeling he had heard so much about yet never experienced in all his decades of life.

Why would anyone want to feel this way, being so desperate for someone else?

Sadly the attempt to drown his violent urges in expensive beverage only intensified his intrusive thoughts, dampening the little self-control he still possessed. Luckily sober him had all servants informed that he was under no context to be disturbed - otherwise not all of them would make it to sunrise alive.

Wait a second...why did he even fucking care what you'd think of him?

This was his planet, his servants, his everything! And you were his wife! Your whole purpose was to endure and obey each and every of your husband's whims, no matter how depraved!

Shit, this is the exact reason you'll always shy away from him in the end. He just can't get out if his skin - and right now it was itching for blood...

...all just because you were currently not at his side, enjoying yourself with people that were what he could never be for you.

He loathed this godamn ice block of a planet, it's people and rites and especially the fact that he could never replace or even imitate the home your heart has on here.

Now that he saw how you acted with people that you truly loved, it was all obvious to him: You had merely arranged yourself with the circumstances - but would never willingly choose him.

Rabban's frustration wandered right down to his pants, sent an even more pulsing desire straight to his cock as he remembered the ethereal way you walked besides him in that delicate sin of a dress.

Fuck, it's been an eternity singe he's done the work himself - after all, he he had countless women to pick from to tend to this need...

...but he knew damn well that unless it's you, he'd only be left unsatisfied and eventually kill them.

Your husband spread his legs on the throne, pulling back one leathern glove with his teeth while the other squeezed the hardened member swelling beneath his belt.

Growling moans he had bit back until now fell casually from his lips as he pulled his dick from it's confines, gripping the angry shaft fiercely. Swiping across the slid already leaking precum, he intended to make a quick end of it.

His eyes fell shut, head rolling back as he tried dwelling in pleasant memories of your naked form beneath him, the way you moaned his name like a sacred prayer each time you came undone.

"Shit, Y/N..." he rambled out, grunts and groans mixing with incoherent Harkonnen swear words as he eagerly stroked himself.

"Yes, my Count?"

The sudden appearance of your voice made his blood run cold, eyes snapping open only to catch your silhouette in the doorframe, calmly watching the scene unfolding before you.

His face instanty dropped into stern hostility, peering at you like he was considering murder as nerest solution to escape this humiliation.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he barks, not yet bothering to cover himself as to not admit his embarassment. "Enjoying the view, I guess."

"Bitch" he thought, contemplating to shove his cock down your throat just to make you shut up. Albeit you strode towards him keenly, a smug smile playing on your lips when his manhood twitches at your approach.

"You seem stressed, my love..." you chant oh so alluring in his ear as you lean over him, the nickname pulling at his heartstrings. "I can change that."

There was something so fundamentally wrong with doing it right here, giving yourself to an oppressor right on the throne of your people...

...maybe Rabban had already corrupted you, because that fact was exactly why it aroused you enough to discard all morality in exchange for temporary carnal pleasure.

All you knew was that right now you were in charge - and the very man that had done so much wrong was literally wax in your hands.

Irony of fate, one would say.

Your fingers teasingly ghost across his shaft and Rabban lets out a noise of both disapproval and desperation, hips bucking against your palm to find some release. "I missed you" you speak, invitingly batting your lashes.

"Stop lying" this utter wretch spat weak, tentatively, the lust in your scent feeling like being stabbed. You smile down on him in return, unimpressed by his vocal attempts to push you away.

His defense falters as you straddle his waist, kissing him with an affection like he was something precious and not in fact the most despicable person you've ever met. "I'm not lying, Glossu."

He wants to say something, anything, but his throat closes, a torn-out sob being all he manages to wring out.

Primal need takes the wheel again when you push your panties aside, folds sliding across his member in preparation and god you were so wet already, just for him.

Both of you sighed in relishment as you lowered yourself on his cock, meekly clawing into his shoulder as you adjusted to his size. Meanwhile Rabban's hands busied themselves on your ass, back, thighs, every damn inch of skin he can get while his hips chase yours.

The Beast kisses your pulse point as he pulls you impossibly close, face hidden in the crook of your neck so you won't see how he falls apart right in front of you. Yet your name keeps erupting from his lips as you ride him, not yet a plea but certainly endearing.

He holds you in an almost bonecrushing hug as you ride him, your tits spilling so scrumptiously out of your cleavage that he can't help but sink his teeth into the thin fabric, earning an ecstatic yelp in return. Soon his tongue dives into your mouth in exasperation, only ever breaking the kiss when the lack of oxygen became too hard to bear.

As the pace speeds up your husband finally brings himself to watch you grind on his crotch, the view enough to drive him over the edge. Both awe and passion wash over him in the tidal wave that was his orgasm, so much pulsing inside of you it borders on obscene.

Even long after overstimulation followed his peak, he couldn't stop the jackknife-like thrusts into your sensitive cunt as your high chased right after his.

Who wouldve thought that sex filled with laughter instead of cries could be this...enjoyable?

An odd tranquility sets above the two of you, remaining in the position for a while before either of you dared to move.

"Convinced now?" you ask between short, ragged breaths, heart fluttering while his practically beat like a drum.

"Dunno" he hums playfully, sweaty foreheads stuck together as he mirrowed your smile. "We might have to repeat this a few times, just to be sure."

Both of you broke our in boisterous laughter and you nudge his side, chuckling some sweet nonsense about him being insufferable.

"SERVANT" You almost fell down from the seat by surprise, and Rabban yelled for no one in particular once again. Panicking, you wanted to pop off his softening member and hide - yet your husband had other plans, still holding you tight.

"Nah -ah -ah" he gurred with a shiteating grin on his face as he felt his pride returning. "We don't want you to waste a single drop of my precious seed, don't we?"

Asshole. He really was incorrigible at times...

Gladly your dress had fallen down to your hips, far enough to cover your priavtes yet not enough to hide the peculiar embrace the two of you still shared.

"A partnership is no fight for dominance, you know?" you whisper as a maidservant entered - an elderly Lankiveilan woman looking down in unease. You wanted to be swallowed by the earth right then, being seen defiled by the enemy in front of one of your own people.

Oh, you just knew he was enjoying showing off what was rightfully his, didn't he?

"Just playful banter" he promised, hands still lazily roaming your body. "Run us a bath" he orders, "Then get lost. And leave some new attire at the door."

The servant nods and commits her work in silence, shooting you one last, pitying look before she disappeared as fast as she came. Rabban insisted on carrying you to the magnificent bathroom, sinking into the relaxing scented water and pulling you to his chest once again as he began to ponder.

For once he got what he wanted without taking it by force - you returned to him out of your own free will...

...and what an amazing feeling that was.

By Harkonnen logic, he should be terrified of the effect you have on him, put a stop to it immediately - all of what happened was considered pathetic weakness in his culture, nothing more than a flaw.

But damn it, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

"What are you brooding about?" you ask, fingertips tracing the several scars on his chest. "Why are you really here? Surely you did not just come for...this."

You snort in amusement, joking "I thought I'd look after my husband, before he gets bored and blows something up."

The Beast grinned at your words, allowing himself some sort of vulnerability as he seeks your reassurance. "I thought you'd seek the comfort of your old home."

His words made you furrow your brows in confusion, almost offended by his assumption. "This is my home now" you answer firmly, pressing a wet kiss to his knuckles. "You are."

The answer pleases him as it seems, pulling you in for another kiss, limbs tangled with each other in an inescapable embrace.

"Perhaps you want to accompany me tonight?" Your husband had helped you out of the now cold water, having stayed there until your discomfort became greater than the joy of closeness. "The people of the capitol will hold a small festival."

Rabban seemed bewildered, insulted even at the suggestion. "Why should I bother with those savages? This is beneath me." You roll your eyes at the man, not wanting to hear that belittlement for your culture coming from people who hunt others for sports.

Quickly towel-drying your hair before slipping into traditional clothes rather than the one he had picked out for you, he swallows the frustration of this separation through your different styles.

"Maybe because your wife is one of those 'savages', and so are you. You're half Lankiveili, hell, you even carry one of our names!" you correct him, pointing an index finger directly at his face just for him to gently slap it away. "You've been born and raised here, not on Giedi Prime."

"So?" he retorts matter-of-factly, glaring at you. "A dog born in a stable still doesn't nicker." You almost facepalmed, unnerved by his blatant stubbornness. "But you can't deny your blood. Your mother-"

"Was a Bene Gesserit, first and foremost." Rabban interrupted you, tired with the discussion already though he elaborates. "Their children are nothing more to them than means to an end."

There was a subtle hint of disappointment in his voice, one you could very well resonate with. "But- I mean, you weren't useful to her, right? Hence the younger brother."

Wow. That sounded way less insulting in your head - and you were sure had anyone else but you pointed this out, they'd been six foot under already.

"Thanks for the reminder that I'm inferior to my brother in every way" he gritted, not seeing the point of this useless conversation. You looked at him sympathically, cupping his face with both hands but he turned away in anger. "N-No, I didn't mean it like that. I-"

Well, things can't get any worse than this. Might as well speak your mind. "Bene Gesserit are ordered to kill genetically undesirable children immediately after birth..."

You see him clench and unclench his fists, but take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. "...and yet you're here. What do you think that means? She loved you dearly, I'm sure of it."

He twirls you into his arms, effectively shutting you up with a breathtaking kiss. Your lips searched his again as soon as he pulled away, yet he already went for the door.

"Alright alright, I'm feeling generous today. We'll go. Just don't complain if I ruin the mood."

That very same evening, your husband participated in the festival with you - well, more or less. He mainly remained on the sidelines, following you like a shadow and eyes shooting daggers at everyone looking at you for too long.

His soldiers he had warded off to another place, so they'd leave your people alone for tonight - and als that there wouldn't be any witnesses to his tameness.

This whole parade reminded him of a rather unpleasant part of his childhood, what it means to be born in between two worlds and fully belonging to neither.

Many years ago his mother, Emmi Rabban, had dragged him to such an event in an attempt to make her son embrace his heritage.

People would look at him with revulsion and hostility - a natural reaction, considering his Harkonen outerior, even though he was a mere child back then. He used to tell himself the mantra that being feared something to be proud of, more reliable than some feeble goodwill.

Ultimatively, when one of the other children started throwing rocks at young Rabban, he saw red...

...and like so often, only when his anger subsided and he returned to his senses, the adults were able to pull him away from the bloody heap he had beaten the other into.

It was not the first time his mother had looked at him that way: Shame, disappointment, fear of her child and what he was capable of. Regret of having kept him alive, if your theory was true.

This core memory only strenghtened his taunting disconnection and self-loathing.

After that day, Rabban's mother had stopped bringing him anywhere public at all. Kept him trapped at home as often as possible, like a feral animal restrained by a cage.

And yet here he was again, watching you enjoy yourself as you sang and danced in the streets, never breaking eye-contact and gifting him the sweetest of smiles. Whenever you returned to his side, you clung to his arm and babbled about whatever, not minding what your precious subjects or even your own family might think of you...

...kissing him so openly, so deeply, as if you were proud to be his wife, despite everything.

Maybe this planet wasn't that bad, all things considered.

"You know, you could stay here. Until I secured Arrakis for your arrival, I mean" he promised solemny later that night, as you warmed each other under the sheets. "And I'll take you to Lankiveil as often as I can."

Rabban's offer made you stirr in your almost-slumber, witnessing his pale face glow more lively under the chimney's embers. "Why would you do that for me?"

The question caught him off guard, fumbling with his words. "Don't mock me, woman. This is the first time I felt something like this. Its...difficult for me, to say the least."

"Well, I'm grateful for the offer" you mumble sleepily, guiding his hands to rest on your hip. "But my place is at my husband's side."

After this long and eventful day it was no wonder you couldn't stay up for much longer, the security your husband's hug provided guiding you into a sweet slumber.

Rabban lets out a shaky breath, unable to fathom how he deserved feeling such bliss. He covers you with the blanket, waits until your breathing pattern indicates you're fast asleep until he dares speaking his mind.

"I love you, Y/N" he whispers, feeling a profound sense of happiness encase him after confessing this - mostly to himself.

#dune #dune part two #glossu rabban #beast rabban #glossu rabban / reader #beast rabban / reader #self insert #writing #rape tw

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daddycardan · 1 year

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hey um i LOVE ur content!! okay so i have a head canon that my freaky children jude and cardan are super into giving each other hickies and jude will try to cover them up as best as she can but fuckin cardan will show them OFF and be like LOOK WHAT MY WIFE DID TO MEEE like if he’s got hickies on his chest u best BELIEVE his shirt will barely be buttoned

i fucking love this idea, sorry it took me so long to write it!

they love giving each other hickeys, for several reasons

first, they are sloppy and hot

second, kissing each other so hard that it causes small-scale internal bleeding and bruises is the type of harm they love to inflict upon each other

third, it leaves a mark

a mark that sends a very clear message to everyone

jude, though she doesn't like to admit, loves marking her territory, and cardan loves being subjected to it

but when it comes to bearing the mark herself, she prefers doing it discreetly

after a particularly hot & heavy night, she makes sure to wear a high-collared dress the next day

she applies a layer of concealer on areas that aren't covered by clothes—her jawline and the base of her ears

cardan frowns at her. "why are you doing this? are you embarrassed of the mark of my lips, my love?"

"no," says jude, a blush creeping across her cheeks, "i just prefer keeping our business to ourselves."

he cackles. "there's nothing about the king and queen's marriage that ought to be concealed from the court. they expect us to produce an heir any day now. surely, a few hickeys won't trigger a scandal."

jude shoots him a sharp look. "are you familiar with the concept of public decency? i hide hickeys just like i wipe your cum off my face: because the sight of it might make someone uncomfortable."

"why bother?" a lazy smile spreads on his face. "i wouldn't mind going into public with my lips drenched in your juices. i would wear you like a jewel."

jude snorts—the fact that he can't lie yet is able to make such a statement is... oddly charming.

and a little concerning.

as the day goes on, jude's attendance is needed at living council meetings, in the court of shadows, and for a brief visit in the tower of forgetting. she keeps busy, as always

cardan holds the front at being picturesquely lazy, as usual

in the evening, when jude returns to the throne room, she finds cardan lounging on his throne, listening to complaints and requests from a queue of courtiers

she makes her way up the dais, and takes a seat on her throne, next to cardan

he leans over and places a soft kiss on jude's neck, while the courtier to continues her long tirade

jude assumes the kiss is just a form of quick greeting

but he continues

his hand reaches over, palm sliding across her abdomen and hips, while his lips leave a trail of increasingly sloppier kisses along her jawline

jude's face hardens, but she doesn't pull away

her gaze fixes on the courtier and she attempts to focus on listening to her long-winded tale about her cursed kelpie, pleading for a solution from the high king

when cardan begins sucking on jude's neck, she finally nudges him away

"cardan, we have a job to do," she whispers.

he acknowledges it with an offended groan

"your story is dull!" he raises his voice at the courtier. "i don't care for your dead kelpie."

"it's not dead, it's cursed," the courtier corrects.

"well, i hope it stays cursed," cardan sneers. "it's the least you deserve for distracting my queen. now, get out of my sight."

the courtier scurries away, and the next one seems hesitant to step forward

"i'm not the one who's distracted!" jude protests in a hushed voice

only now, when she fully turns to face him, does she notice his loose, open collared shirt, which exposes an ungodly amount of hickeys

calling it open collared is a conservative term—it's split open in the middle, almost all the way down to his navel

the small, dark bruises span from his jawline and neck, through his chest, all the way down near his lower abs

jude's cheeks bloom deep red at the sight

anyone who casts their gaze at the high king—and let's be honest, everyone does—can clearly tell that the high queen has been busy with her mouth recently

jude's eyes dart around the room, and she can see several familiar faces

nicasia is feasting at the dinner tables, taryn and the ghost are dancing together, and her knight fand is standing at attention near the dais

"i hope you're happy," she scolds cardan. "i hope it does it for you. displaying yourself for everyone to see. not a decent bone in your body, cardan. you're truly the worst."

"oh, this isn't the worst i can do," he snickers. "i can show you more, my queen."

he stands from the throne, pulls his shirt apart completely, and pushes his pants down his hips, exposing a dangerously low part of his abdomen

"cardan, what are you doing?" she asks, throat gone dry in horror. it isn't hard to imagine that he will shed his pants completely

"look!" he says with a wide smile. he dips the edge of his pants to reveal a hickey there, just near the right side of the base of his cock

jude remembers when she put it there, of course

but now, everyone else in the room will also know

and jude is on the edge of losing her mind

but he looks so proud of himself

he wears those goddamn hickeys like badges of honor

and jude can't help but find it a tiny bit amusing

and finally, her mouth twitches, in what looks like a supressed smile

#jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan hcs #daddycardan headcanons #tfota hcs

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emilykaldwen · 1 month

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Three

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two

CHAPTER THREE - SORROW IN IDLE MIND

Aemond is the most put upon person in the entire history of Westeros. Aegon is the most navel gazing, half drunk prince to ever hold the title. Alyn Hull is just here for figs and a good time.

Traipsing through the narrow, winding alleyways of the Street of Silk was not how Aemond Targaryen wanted to spend this evening. Nay, this was not how he wanted to spend any evening. He mourned the cloak he wore, for he was certain that amidst the cloying scents of perfume and incense, and of the sour of human stink beneath, he’d never get the evidence out.

He wished for the quiet comforts of mother’s solar with a thick tome upon his lap as he read aloud to Mother and Helaena as they sewed. Better yet were the times when he could retreat to Helaena’s room and read only to her. She would card her fingers through his hair, brush and braid the long strands back as she always had. Other times, she’d lean into his side, soft and warm and smelling of the peppermint tea she always drank before bed. Her long curls would tickle against his neck where her head tucked perfectly, like it belonged there, on his shoulder. Aemond would adjust the warm blanket over their laps to ensure she was cozy. The book would span across them both and he would wrap an arm about her, fingers playing with her beautiful hair.

He’d read stories of the lands beyond. The tales of djinn promising wishes and sphinx spinning riddles from the furthest parts of the Essosi continent. The monstrous woman with half a snake body, and hair made of living vipers from the Basilisk Isles, would always draw gasps when he’d describe the garden of stone heroes the monster made. Helaena would gasp at all the appropriate places, look at him with wide eyes and would ask, “Do they make it out alive?” He’d brush a soft, reassuring kiss to the crown of her head and with a grin, tell her to listen.

They’d read into the night, and then when it was time for bed, Aemond would relish the sleepy kiss he’d receive, chaste and innocent, and still able to make him flush. “Goodnight, dear brother,” Helaena would murmur and he’d eagerly press a kiss to the warmth of her palm, over the lifeline, the blood they shared thrumming beneath.

Dear brother, she always said with such love and reassurance; such care and surety that he was her dearest brother, her favorite brother.

“Goodnight, my sweet Helaena,” he would tell her before floating his way back to his own bed.

Instead of all those pleasant options, he was left grimacing as a patron from the tavern they were passing expelled the contents of his stomach all over the cobblestones. His brother called his name with obvious exasperation.

“Uncivilized,” Aemond muttered, and narrowly avoided pitching forward into the mess when Aegon’s hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up between him and Alyn Hull, who clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

The smile that Aegon gave was not a jovial one, although the drinks he had at the previous tavern made him less sullen and more focused, more intent on forgetting; running as far as he could in another direction. Though not so unusual for Aegon, the lone man in his brown robe and bare feet on the corner beseeching men to return home to the loving embrace of their wives had turned Aegon’s frantic need to flee into something darker when his gaze turned inward.

Aemond saw nothing wrong with what the man said. After all, he wanted nothing more than to return to the warm fire and loving embrace of his wife.

“Gellys!” Aegon called and Aemond immediately tried to hide behind the elder boys at the woman in the doorway. “A room for us! Best Arbor you’ve got. Some Dornish as well.”

“Milord,” Gellys drawled with that familiar smile - the one burnt on the backs of his eyelids - knowing better than to address the one before her as Prince. “We’re happy to serve.” Eyes swept over the trio and Aemond tilted his head down enough that his hood made it more difficult to see, yet it did little. “And you’ve brought this sweet one again! How lovely. Bess, the usual for his Lordship.��

The brothel had changed little since Aegon had dragged him here for his nameday nearly two years ago. The tapestries which draped the sandstone walls were not so dissimilar to the ones his mother had moved into the gallery back in the Red Keep. It portrayed men and women in acts of carnality and some kind of sexual acrobatics. The acts portrayed were ones that Aemond is not so certain of, but he’d rather study the ones back at the castle and not amidst the ribald laughter that clashes with the music. Aemond was sure that beneath the flicker and shadow of the torchlight, they were littered with worn spots and moth-eaten edges.

Heleana would know the kind that dwelled amid the fabrics and he wondered if he might find a dead one to bring back to her. Something good could at least come from this ridiculous adventure.

Laughter and gentle music permeated the first floor, and Aemond was grateful to be here and not in the boisterous racket of the last tavern they’d been kicked out of.

A sandy-haired bard, pug nosed and red-faced, strummed his lute with a flourish. Along with his three minstrels behind him, also clad in various clashing frocks, the four held court along the far end of the room while women flitted between light and shadow to entertain the men. Aemond thought he also spied a few feminine patrons as well, among the settees and tables, surrounded by a variable spread of fruits, wines, meats, and cheeses.

Another yank on his shoulder by Aegon’s hand hauled him towards the staircase, and his stomach lurched with the unpleasant memories of the last time he was in this place.

It’s different this time, Aemond reminded himself while being jostled up the stairs, following his brother’s silver head, Hull bringing up the rear. He did not need to ‘wet his wick’ on this particular sojourn into The Pearl and Oyster; instead he was here to make sure that Aegon did not end up going too far off the drunken path. And as little as he paid Alyn any mind, Aemond knew that the elder boy would also ensure that Aegon did not end up dead in the river or with a knife between his ribs.

Why was this a concern now? Aegon had frolicked about Flea Bottom for years. Not even three moons ago, his brother was dragged back to the Holdfast with a split lip and double black eyes from his broken nose by two broad Gold Cloaks who’d pulled him spitting and scratching from a tavern brawl.

He gave his brother credit where it was due. Though Ser Criston taught him how to wield a blade, Aegon taught him how to throw a proper punch.

‘Blades are good for when you have them, but in a pinch, use everything you have’, Aegon had said as he whipped the apple he’d been eating with surprising accuracy straight at his forehead.

It had hit hard enough to momentarily daze him, but luckily no one was around to see.

Wariness kept Aemond from immediately divesting himself of the cloak when they entered the room on the third floor. A roaring hearth was set along the outside wall and the primary source of light for what Aemond assumed was some attempt at ambience. Swaths of dusty, crimson fabric wound through the rafters and draped down to give the illusion of some Dornish pleasure tent and not a private room of a brothel in King’s Landing. A thick rug, far too fine for an establishment like this, muffled their footsteps as they crossed the room. Woven strands of scarlet and cream, embellishments in gold etched a design that would not be too out of place in his sire’s room.

Past further drapes of fabric, Aemond could see an enormous bed in the corner. His stomach twisted uncomfortably with nerves that barely eased at the reassuring sight of his companions taking to the table by the hearth and no women bursting from behind the fabric like shrieking ghosts in the night.

When Aegon and Alyn weren’t looking, Aemond tugged aside a drape to confirm that there were none silent and hiding - assassins or whores or some secret, third option that was just as unwelcome, if undefined.

It wasn't long before a stream of women and girls arrived, bearing plates of simple fare to go with the bottles of wine bearing the marks of familiar orchards of the Arbor and the Dornish sun, and a bottle of what he was certain to be a golden vintage from the Jade Sea - the kind his sire ordered to be served only in the company of the most important foreign dignitaries.

There were young girls with downcast eyes and soft blonde curls, women with bold gazes and plump red lips, ones with Lyseni features and hair that glowed in the firelight - though nowhere as fair or pure as his Helaena. Brunettes with messy curls and giggles batted their eyes at him. A pair of raven haired twins with lilac eyes and hair shorn to their bared shoulders brought up the rear.

Alyn already claimed the twins before they even finished setting their plates of meats and fruits on the scarred wood, giggling as he pulled them in. Aegon’s half-sullen, half-hungry expression gave way to heavy-lidded eyes as a buxom brunette carded her fingers through his hair.

Aemond wondered if this was the best the brothel had to offer, for they were perhaps pretty at most, but none truly stood out. He skirted away from the curious hand of the Lyseni and narrowly avoided bumping into a little redhead swerving around him with a quiet, “Excuse me, m’lord.” Young, and pale, with straight hair, she cut a path between the other whores and set a platter of figs and dates before his brother.

The scrape of the platter against the wood drew Aegon’s eyes from watching the woman who was crooning to him up to the new arrival. His eyes opened slowly, a frown pinching at his face, and Aemond watched his brother’s hands flex against the edge of the trestle. In a fascinating display, Aegon lifted a hand to reach for a lock of that red hair, eyes glazed and face flushed deeper.

“Aye, this is one of our new girls. We thought she might be to your liking, m’lord.” A laugh shook from her, breasts jiggling close to Aegon’s head but his brother didn’t even turn to look. Instead, whatever spell overtook his brother shattered and the hand that was reaching out for the girl’s red hair smacked on the table.

“Out!” he roared at the assembled women. The redhead gave a yelp of fright and stumbled back, toppling over a chair as the brunette crooner came to get her up off the floor. It was difficult to tell what fed Aegon’s angry outburst more: the mess she left in her wake, or the mere presence of her. “Get the fuck out!”

Alyn looked stunned. The whores about them looked stunned. Aemond was stunned.

Aegon’s jaw clenched as he rose to his feet. His brother was not a large man, not like their grandfather who looked above all, but the fury on his brother’s face ignited a flame of unease in his gut. Out of the pair of them, Aegon was, strangely enough, not the one most prone to outburst especially without an obvious reason for it. “If I have to tell you again, there won’t be any money for you to share tonight. Get out!”

The room fell quiet as the door slammed shut behind the girls. Aemond slowly took off his cloak and looked at Alyn, who met his gaze with confusion and then something like dawning realization. Aegon ignored them both, pulling over one of the Dornish bottles to fill his goblet.

“For fuck’s sake, Aeg-”

“Don’t you start with me, Hull.” A pause and then Aegon reached to his right side, grabbing the chair and sliding it out. “Aemond, sit your pissy ass down and eat something. Mother’ll have me locked up should I bring you home in a cart faint from hunger.” He took a large swallow of his third cup of wine that night, garnet liquid dripping along his chin like blood and staining the old linen tunic and along his pale chest, revealed from where the laces were undone.

Alyn shifted in his chair, striking with the way his freckles stood out along his darker skin with the silver twists of his hair leaving his expression clear. Aemond met his gaze as he took the chair his brother offered. Alyn did not have purple eyes - his were a vivid jade color, but he looked far more Velaryon than his own nephews. Aemond reached a hand up to adjust his new eyepatch. He ran his thumb along the strap, where he could feel the embroidery in the leather that Helaena had worked so hard on for her dearest, favorite brother.

Aemond tried not to sigh. He would not get his goodnight kisses tonight.

A sharp kick hit his shin and Aemond gave a startled, “ow!” Indignant and annoyed, he focused back on Alyn who raised his brows with the clear look of what in the name of the Seven is going on with your brother?

What wasn’t going on with Aegon?

They both looked back at the man in question, who was tearing into a fig with his glowering expression and greedy fingers. Aemond’s stomach growled, and he grabbed one for himself before his brother could devour them all. He sniffed it first, unsure about trusting brothel food, but it smelled of warm honey. Biting into it, the taste of apple and strawberry burst on his tongue. Alyn was helping himself to one of the dried meats on another platter. It was a higher fare than Aemond had expected, but the relative cleanliness of the room belied the money that lined the pockets of the one who owned the place. At least Aegon hadn’t dragged them to something filthy and (obviously) flea ridden.

He recalled the first and only time his brother had brought him to a brothel. This very one. It was a different room, him alone with that Gellys woman who kept pestering him about the type of girls he liked, or if he’d ever touched himself. She’d brought in a Lyseni girl, young but still older than him. She had a sweet face, and for a moment he wondered if he could just pretend to get through the night.

Instead, she listened rather sweetly while he spoke of saving his sister from the unwanted betrothal with Aegon. His brother had not relished in the duty, but Aemond did. He had a dragon now, Vhagar, the largest and oldest of all of them. It was with his dragon, he explained to the Lyseni girl, that he had enough power to storm in and break up this farce of a betrothal, And they listened to him. Helaena was ever so grateful about it, charmed, and touched, and gave him a kiss on the cheek and called him her gallant knight. She didn’t even protest when he told her they would be married instead. Helaena had only hummed in her little agreeable way while mother tried to protest that they shouldn’t be too hasty. Aemond did not share that marrying Helaena, riding Vhagar, and having his mother acquiesce to his demands, might even mean that he would be who they wanted to make heir. Of course their father wouldn’t put Aegon on the throne over their eldest sister. But Aemond? Aemond rode his grandsire Baelon’s dragon, and he’d marry his sister, and he had started to outpaced Aegon in the training yard.

Aemond had proven them all wrong. They had laughed and gave him a pig, and he’d gotten Vhagar.

He was grateful Aegon was disinterested in throwing women at him this time, let alone in taking any for himself. He could at least sit here and eat decent finger foods and wait for his brother to either pass out from drinking or give up and head home.

“Did you get called into the tower as well today?” Aemond ventured in ill-disguised casualness, reaching for a piece of cheese this time. He didn’t meet Alyn’s curious gaze, for both of them were watching Aegon refill his goblet already.

A grunt was all the answer he supplied.

“What got you pulled into that old fucker’s room?”

Another grunt and a roll of his eyes. “Not blamed for once,” he muttered. “Just bullshit.”

How taciturn. Aemond shifted in his chair, and carefully offered, “You know, Abrogail got pulled into his office as well. He came to Helaena’s room himself to retrieve her.” Aegon’s flushed face reddened more, pink eyes narrowing over his goblet he held to his mouth but did not drink from.

Aemond pursed his lips and thought of the scene in the gardens earlier. Abrogail came back from their grandfather’s office far quieter than usual before so harshly snapping at his sweet Helaena and squashing one of her bugs. At the moment, Aemond had been rageful at the behavior, for his Helaena didn’t deserve that. But hours later, he had realized that, mayhaps, he’d been a little harsher than he ought to have been. He would not apologize, of course, but Helaena was always getting on him about his temper. It had been rather unusual for his cousin. He could not recall the last time she spoke so angrily that wasn’t caused by someone doing something reckless in the training yard - however that was far more mother hen than annoyed and snappy.

“Abrogail?” Alyn rolled her name around his mouth and drew it out in a tease. “And here I thought it was simply wine not getting your cock up. But Abrogail, hm? All of that yelling over some red hair?” A lazy shrug, dagger stabbing into a piece of meat before him. “Makes sense now.”

“I told you not to start,” Aegon warned once more before taking another mouthful of the Arbor red. His eyes were dark, a smirk slashing across his soft face. “Came to Helaena’s room himself, you say? Spend the night, little brother? Has our sweet sister finally let you beneath her skirts or did you creep in again even though Mother forbade it?”

Aemond felt his cheeks color, and he slapped his hand on the table. “Don’t talk about her like that.” A deep breath, the way his book from Bravos recommended. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center. Stay within the moment. Aegon’s eyes were slicing through him, as if he could peel back the layers of skin and see what lay beneath. A gaze even more dangerous, given his brother’s dance into the land of inebriation, but Aemond simply continued. “Abby got upset with us. Her eyes were red. It looked like she’d been crying.”

His brother made a sound and took another swallow. Alyn caught his gaze again and pinned him there until Aemond gave a slight nod, confirming that this was what in seven hells was going on. Whatever had happened in their grandfather’s office, whatever had his cousin crying and Aegon ready to bite everyone’s head off like Helaena’s pet mantis.

“Both of you pulled into the old Tower’s office this morning? Maybe it’s less about those two-” Alyn waved a negligent hand towards Aemond. “And more about, say, you finally getting under your little Maiden Marchpane’s skirts?” A laugh and the bastard Velaryon snagged up the Arbor red and pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it out towards the fire. “Then you what? Left her before sunrise covered in-”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that!” Aegon lifted the plate of figs and flung it across the table, sending the fruit scattering and the plate clipping off of Alyn’s surprised shoulder to shatter against the hearthstones. Aemond’s single eye widened, and he pressed back in his chair even though the trajectory was nowhere near him. “I didn’t fucking touch her.” The hand that flung the plate still hung in the air, trembling as his brother loomed over the table. He lacked any sort of threatening implement but Alyn raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “I didn’t lay a hand on her. I wouldn’t. I never do.” Defensive, as was Aegon’s nature. Defensive in the face of accusations that were true. Except for once, Aemond thought, phantom pain lancing through his face. Except for maybe now.

“Well, you mope about her enough. Fuck me, no wonder you got so worked up over the redhead. So what happened, hm? Did she accuse you of something? Did they say no more rides on the back of that dragon of yours?” A smirk at the double entendre, but he raised his hands in surrender before Aegon could throw something else.

Silvery hair, limp with sweat, fell into Aegon’s eyes as he shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” He raised his goblet for another drink and collapsed back in the chair, slouched and melancholy in the worst of ways. Aemond tried not to roll his eye again at the display of dramatics. “Worse.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “Worse?” he asked, confused. Dramatic, yes, but he also wanted to know what had happened.

A log in the grate popped and cracked from the heat as conversation fell silent. The brothel outside the door continued to bustle. There was the distant shriek and laughter of someone down the hall, but no sounds of violence. Aegon was staring into his drink as if it held all the answers he could ever need. Aemond supposed that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. His brother had gone to drink before anything else for years now. This wouldn’t be any different.

“They brought us up to go over all the missives asking for her hand,” he finally said. Aemond strained to hear him and Alyn leaned forward in his curiosity. “Had an entire basket of scrolls wanting the heir of Harrenhal. Mother was there, and her dog, who said nothing regarding his sister.” Aegon made a face and shook his head. “I’m marrying Abrogail.”

That wasn’t what Aemond expected. “Is that why she looked like she was crying when she came back to the gardens-”

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly fucking why,” Aegon hissed through his teeth and pelted him with one of the figs scattered on the scarred tabletop. It bounced off Aemond’s chest and rolled across the table where Alyn snatched it up. “Told her to be fucking grateful, stop lying about - it doesn’t matter. Made her cry, and she best get used to it.”

“Then why the hell are you complaining about it?” Alyn asked with a shake of his head. “Aeg, you’ve panted after her for years, now here she is. You don’t have to marry your weird sister, you get to bed someone you actually like. Sounds as if for once, Tower’s done right by you. What are you so fucking upset about? That you weren’t the only choice? You’re a jealous prick, you know-”

“Done right by me?” Aegon raged, his hand holding the cup gesturing out and splashing arbor red up his wrist and across the floor. He hissed and shoved at his sleeve, where deep red scratches stood out against his pale wrist.

Alyn looked at him with an almost bored expression. “They’ve given you a cherry ripe wife-”

“No, you fucking cunt, they gave me the fucking Maiden!” Clay and wine smashed against the wall as he flung it at his friend’s head and missed this time. “The last uncorrupted, perfect thing left in my life.” A stabbing finger punctuated each point, and the resemblance to the angry, spitting rage their father rarely showed was never more pronounced. “The last one who doesn’t look at me like they wish I were someone, anyone else. They give her in all that innocent glory on a fucking gold platter-”

Alyn bit into a date. “And you made her cry.”

“And I made her fucking cry!” Aegon’s sharp bark of laughter held the familiar, manic edge and it rang in Aemond’s ears. Tears spilled down Aegon’s face amidst it. Sad. Pathetic. The self-loathing in his brother’s face made him feel sick and uncomfortable, and Aemond said nothing, couldn’t find anything to say and left it for Alyn to navigate for the time being. “I’ve never fucking touched her ‘cause I… I can’t ruin her. I won’t. Get her sick with whatever the fuck is wrong with me. No. No, and you know what’s worse?”

“The others-” Alyn began patiently, prising open the fig.

“The fucking others! Bastard had a whole bloody basket filled with little more than filth not worth to look upon her, wanting to shove their cocks in her till she breaks giving them their muddy fucking brats.”

“But you wouldn’t break her.”

“I wouldn’t! Not unless she asked me to, and I’d make it so good for her. But no, she’d burn me as soon as I touched her. Too unclean to fuck her, get her belly full of me.” Aegon groaned and collapsed into his chair, palm on his chest. “She’d burn me and I’d sing her praises. Burn my filthy damned soul just to touch her, Alyn.”

Aemond did his best not to sigh, warring feelings of relief and annoyance that Aegon’s focus was on the baseborn Velaryon across the table.

On the one hand, he didn’t mind that his brother was mostly leaving him alone. Aegon knew he was only here because of their mother’s insistence on Aemond being his brother’s keeper. While he’d rather be anywhere but here, Aegon wasn’t poking at him or trying to get much of a rise.

On the other, every time Alyn Hull opened his mouth, every time the two silver-haired miscreants shared a laugh over some inside joke, Aemond wanted to scream. They spoke with easy familiarity to annoyed tavern keepers, and every time Alyn showed how close he was to Aegon, it burned something in the pit of his stomach.

He was used to jealousy since the day he could understand his place among his siblings. He was used to the jealous feeling that he would not be Aegon, had grown used to the jealousy that Helaena had been born for Aegon and not him. It was only with the breaking of the betrothal that Aemond felt a cooling of his blood towards his brother. However, now in the face of his so-called friendship with the bastard, it reignited. Aemond still felt awkward speaking up or inserting himself into the conversation, and both of them included him to a minimal degree.

Yet, Alyn was waving a hand at Aegon’s dramatics, and while Aemond also felt annoyed at it, he knew there was more. Aegon was snappish, perpetually amused, arrogant in the way of dragonriders, and thus closer to being a god.

His brother was moody and glassy eyed, flinching whenever their mother raised her voice or moved too quickly with wild gesturing. He became wide eyed like a little child whenever Ser Criston praised him in the yard, preening beneath the encouragement. Whenever Abrogail laughed in that bright and honest way of hers at one of Aegon’s dumb jokes, Aegon looked like he’d sprouted his own pair of wings to hover above the ground. She always laughed at his jokes. Every stupid one. She always had an encouraging word for him, for all of them, but he saw the way Aegon’s shoulders would straighten, the pink on his cheeks ill disguised.

It had been like that for as long as he could remember. For as long as there was the jealousy that he was not the eldest, that Helaena was not born for him, that Aegon had a bond with a dragon so innate that no matter how much of a disappointment he was, it seemed to be the only thing truly good about him.

Aemond had thrown him into their father’s jaws, and though surprised, Aegon didn’t even flinch. Aegon had stood stoic in front of the fire and without hesitation, had spoken the truth to their father’s face, to everyone’s face.

Alyn Hull would never have Aegon stand before their gathered family and protect him, them, and their mother. Aegon would for Aemond, and so Aemond would do his best to help.

He had the most relationship experience out of everyone here. Him and Helaena were practically married already, regardless of mother’s insistence on finding him a Baratheon marriage. Confident in his unique qualification for such a moment, Aemond would rise to the task the way their grandsire did. A true Hand, when his brother needed one most.

“Did you mean to make her cry?” Aemond broke the silence that had descended with his carefully worded question, and Aegon’s pink eyes, glossy and red from drink and the tears that threatened, gazed incredulously back through the strands of his silver hair. “You can be an idiot and careless, but you’ve never been cruel to her.”

Aegon had been plenty cruel to him and Helaena, the trio of them rolling in the dirt or knocking over side tables with the bites they took out of one another. Abrogail was different; she may have grown up with them and shared blood, but she wasn’t their sibling, rather, an innocent bystander to the theatrics of his family.

Alyn looked as if he might try to catch his eye but Aemond did not grace him with a return look. Hull needed to learn his place, and be reminded that he was Aegon’s brother, and knew him best.

“Skoros mōris aōhys issa, valonqus?” Aegon’s tone was flat and sullen and did a poor job of masking his wariness. His shoulders shifted quickly straight to the way he held them when Mother would broach the subject of Aegon’s doing better and Aegon’s acting more princely and Aegon’s doing anything but being Aegon.

What is your point, little brother?

What is your end, little brother?

Fuck, Aemond thought, fingers tapping on the edge of the table. Aegon never used their mother tongue, and only did so in the most dire, dangerous moments. He’d have to tread lightly.

“Have you bothered to ask her?” Aemond tried a different approach. Surely, his brother couldn’t know her inner thoughts without asking and the obviousness of such a thing shouldn’t stoke his brother’s ire. He was never certain of Helaena’s mind until he asked, and they were twin flames who rode the eldest dragons. Two halves of a heart like those songs that she so enjoyed.

It was foolish of Aegon to think he knew Abrogail’s mind, but luckily, he was here to offer guidance.

Aegon pointedly ignored him, turning his glare to Alyn. The older boy chuckled, “What? He’s right.” Alyn muttered something but he couldn’t hear. It did not truly matter.

Aemond continued, emboldened by the agreement, “Only, when Helaena and I argue -”

Aegon let out a laugh, his usual nervous idiocy replaced with a cackle and still with that mad sounding edge. “When you and Helaena argue? You, Mother’s Holy Voice of Reason? Dreamy little Helaena and her kingdom of bugs? Arguing?”

Dreamy little Helaena had left a scar on Aegon’s forearm from when she’d bitten him so hard she drew blood when they were young, but Aegon’s memory had been dodgy of late. Even in his growing annoyance and the heated flush creeping over him, Aemond could forgive.

He could try to forgive. Later. When his patience wasn’t running out and he wasn’t grinding his teeth so hard they might break.

“That’s not -”

“Which riveting topics ignite such quarrels between you babes? Whether you obsess over your blade and books too often? If Helaena’s upset about her stupid bugs being in the wrong place? Whether she actually likes you over the attention she’s been giving that squire lately and how she giggles for him instead of you? Do not presume to know my dealings with my Maiden, valonqus. You wouldn’t know passion if it were riding your cock.” Aegon was rarely cruel, but he was good at it, and the smirk that twisted his features was just that. Cruel. “Seven knows our dreamy sister has no interest in riding you, or she probably would’ve done it already..”

It felt foolish that the first thing Aemond thought of was that no simple squire could ever be a better option than he, for he was a Targaryen and above the laws and expectations of the simple, common man. They were as close to gods as any could hope.

The second foolish thing burst from him as Vhagar burned inside, his fury and embarrassment pulled him to his feet to lean across the table and get into his pathetic brother’s face. Aegon no longer loomed over him, and was no longer as intimidating as he once was.

Aegon may have the perfect bond with his dragon, but Aemond had Vhagar.

There was nothing left to be jealous of his brother for.

“At least I know what love feels like,” Aemond snarled, his single eye locked on Aegon’s face and his teeth bared, every inch of him vibrating with the insult, the desire to curl his hands around his brother’s flushed neck barely suppressed. “At least I’m not too stupid to recognize it.”

The air in the room vanished in the wake of his outburst. The world held its breath and not even the logs popped. Not even baseborn Alyn with his japes and his commentary made a sound.

Aegon was still before him, eyes bright and sharp with a focus he’d never seen before except in the eyes of a dragon. The instinct to pull away was screaming at him but Aemond remained pinned in place. His jaw shut with a click, his eye widening when he finally registered what he’d said.

Oh yes, he’d fucked it up.

Aemond could feel Alyn’s gaze fixated on him but he didn’t move. He felt like if he moved, Aegon’s teeth would sink into his throat and rip it out. He couldn’t move as the fear and horror trickled ice through his veins, quenching that jealous, angry fire.

Aegon’s face had gone ashen; the horrid, blank look he got when Mother or Grandfather screamed at him came over him. His wisteria eyes continued to pin him. Aemond’s mouth grew dry as his brother’s ashen pallor turned pink, and then slowly red.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and it was like Aegon was releasing him from a spell.

“Aegon,” Aemond rasped. “I didn’t-” He could speak but the abject regret and humiliation strangled him from being able to form any words.

Aegon’s face had turned a shade of purple and with a feral yell and the distant sound of a dragon’s scream coming from the open window, Aegon lunged across the table at him.

They went crashing ass over chair, food and goblets scattering and Aemond hitting the floor hard enough to knock the breath from him. A startled shout sounded somewhere, distantly, but it took everything in Aemond to focus before his brother’s fist connected squarely, solidly with his jaw. His face erupted in a million bursts of pain with a crack in his ear, yet Aemond’s fists reached up to push Aegon off, wordless yelling doing nothing to prevent his brother landing another blow.

Instinct drove Aemond now, Ser Criston’s training discarded in favor of the overwhelming voice that compelled him: get up or he’ll kill you. Get up or he’ll pummel you like Harwin Strong pummeled Ser Criston in the training yard until he was beyond bloody.

Even with his incandescent fury, Aegon was still closer to drunk than sober, and after spitting in his face, Aemond got his leg up and kneed his brother in the stomach, pushing him off and scrambling away so he was no longer pinned like one of Helaena’s favorite bugs to the display board.

Viscous blood spat from his mouth. “I take it back!” he yelled, shoving the chair in Aegon’s way while he scrambled to his feet.

With a roar, Aegon threw the chair and Aemond darted out of the way, the wood crashing against the stone wall. Alyn shouted Aegon’s name, another dragon call sounded over the city, and then Aemond felt Vhagar’s bond vibrate in his own chest, concern that was not his own clouding his mind.

Oh fuck.

“Aegon! Stop!” Aemond darted around the table to get it between them.

Alyn, the useless bastard, backpedaled out of the line of fire.

Aegon was on his heels and yanked him back by his long hair, landing another hit square on his nose. A sickening, dizzy feeling swept through Aemond at the stab of pain through his face, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Aegon reared back again.

Sunfyre was screaming across the city.

Aemond could not reach for the platter on the table to smack his brother with, and so he did the only other thing he could do: as Aegon went to throw his next punch, Aemond grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the balls.

Just like how Helaena taught him.

[Chapter Four]

#house of the dragon #asoiaf #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy

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clavissionary-position · 1 year

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cw: sexual innuendo. mdni. also route spoilers, somehow

🙋‍♀️: If the Ikeprinces were bananas, how would one go about peeling them?

👩‍🏫:

To peel JIN, you must do absolutely nothing. You must only sit back and watch while this banana peels himself, down to the navel, exposing his glistening banana pecs and fiber-rich abs

To peel CHEVALIER, you must prove yourself worthy. What are your banana-peeling credentials? What benefit do you bring to the table of National Banana Interests? Do you run at the first sight of the Brutal Banana? Meet him halfway by peeling halfway

To peel CLAVIS, you must be a banana with gorgeous thighs. He'll peel himself for you

To peel LEON, just go for it. He'll coach you through the whole process. You ever been teased by a banana? Don't answer that question. Please don't.

To peel YVES, you must promise him that you won't abandon him on a floor somewhere for some unsuspecting person to trip over. He's been there, having slipped on other banana peels despite being a banana himself. He knows the pain

You wanna peel LICHT? Weirdo. You adore him? Weirdo. He's a banana and he definitely hates you. Be gentle with him. Bananas bunched in pairs aren't cursed, with one bringing good bowel movements and the other bringing bad ones. Be gentle with him

To peel NOKTO, just say the word. But know that peeling him this way is only superficial. You won't know the true banana behind the banana unless you tell him that his life as a banana means something. That he's not an expendable part of your pantry.

To peel LUKE, you must place a bottle of honey across from him on the kitchen counter.

To peel SARIEL, you must make a contract. Studying to be a Banana Minister under the tutelage of the Devil Banana himself is a once in a life opportunity, and just maybe you'll find yourself hungry for a snack along the way and

To peel RIO, all you have to do is exist

To peel SILVIO, pull out one of those papers you get at the grocery store that lists what's on sale that week and ogle the bananas and make him think he has to prove his banana physique to you

To peel KEITH, you must be prepared to find a second banana inside the first. And thank him every now and then, will ya?

It is illegal to peel GILBERT. No one peels the First Banana of Obsidian and lives to tell the tale. You value your life, don't you? #ItsConfidential #BananabertUsesTheStemFromAnotherBananaAsHisCane #HisEyepatchIsJustHisPeelPulledPartiallyOverHisLeftEye #BiteHimHardForSurprisingResults

To peel RODERICH, first take off the second banana peel he uses as a hood

#ikepri spoilers #ikemen prince #jin grandet #chevalier michel #clavis lelouch #leon dompteur #yves kloss #licht klein #nokto klein #luke randolph #sariel noir #rio ortiz #silvio ricci #keith howell #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri hc #ikepri crack folder

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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The Silver Dragon (30/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 4559

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn is summoned to the Queen's chambers to fulfill a promise she made to Prince Jaehaerys.

Warnings: None

Author's Note: 30 chapters!!! And this pushes me over the 100,000 word mark! I honestly never expected this, but I still have so much more to go, and I'm not stopping anytime soon!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Storytime

They stayed in each other’s arms in the bath until the water had long gone cold, and Kiran begged them through the door to get out.

“Please, my Prince,” he said. “It is not good for the skin to let it wrinkle.”

Aemond laughed into his wife’s ear as he ran a teasing finger from the base of her throat to her navel. “Well, I certainly would never do anything to harm this exquisite skin, now would I?”

“Careful,” Arianwyn warned, though she arched into his touch. “Kiran is right outside the door. We don’t want him to hear anything that would disturb his innocent mind, surely.”

“Only two days ago, you were far more innocent than him, Aria,” he said as he retrieved a cloth from the table next to the tub and lifted her off his chest.

He helped her stand and exit the tub, taking his time drying her skin as he found himself frequently distracted by kissing her shoulders and nipping at her neck. She laughed at his every touch, the sound echoing off the bathing chamber’s stone walls.

“My Prince… should I go?” came Kiran’s timid voice from the other side of the door.

The Prince and Princess broke from their embrace to shout in unison: “Yes!”

The young handmaiden Elsie Granes had been relieved from her service to the Queen to assist Arianwyn while Brynna healed from her wounds.

Alicent had, of course, asked the elder maid for approval first. But after she was told that it was Elsie who had helped her Lady’s hair look so beautiful the previous day, she gave her enthusiastic permission. With the caveat that, as soon as Orwyle released her from his tower, she would give the young girl “proper” instruction on how to care for Arianwyn.

For now, Elsie was left to tend to the newest Targaryen Princess by herself, her small hands trembling slightly as she combed more of the salve Baela had given her through her new Lady’s hair.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Arianwyn said, watching the girl through the vanity mirror. “You did a wonderful job yesterday. I’m sure you can do the same today.”

Elsie smiled, brushing a lock of her chestnut hair aside so she could look the Princess in the eye. “Thank you, your Highness. I apologize.”

At that, Arianwyn laughed. “There is even less need to apologize than there is to be nervous, I promise.”

Finally starting to feel at ease at the sight of the Princess’ bright smile, the handmaid continued twisting each white curl into place. “I am very grateful for this opportunity, your Highness. I have already been able to do so much more for you than I ever did for the Queen. In her service, my duties were limited to silly little things like polishing jewelry and replacing broken laces.”

Arianwyn flinched slightly. “Yes, about broken laces…”

Though an invitation came from the Queen for the young couple to dine with the rest of the family, they declined in favor of spending more time together, just the two of them. So their meals were brought to their rooms, and once they had eaten their fill, they retired to the couch by the fire.

While Aemond had initially sat as a well-mannered Prince was expected to – with a straight back and both feet planted firmly on the ground – he allowed himself to relax at Arianwyn’s insistence. It was not long before he had discarded his boots and reclined across the couch with his little wife curled in his arms, again tracing Runes on his chest.

It was in this position that Ser Criston Cole found them as he arrived to deliver a message from the Queen.

“She has requested your presence in her chambers, Princess,” he said, bowing to hide his proud smile at the relaxed state of the usually tense Prince. “The Princess Helaena and her children always visit her at this time, and she was quite eager that you join them.”

Arianwyn let her head fall against Aemond’s shoulder as he withdrew his arms from around her waist. It had to be a sin to leave such a comfortable position. “Must I?”

“This morning, you said you could not disobey the wishes of a Queen,” Aemond answered.

She whined as he brought them both up to a proper sitting position. “This Queen cannot breathe fire, or eat me.”

Aemond laughed as he rubbed her back. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“If I may,” Ser Criston offered, stepping forward to help the Princess stand. “Prince Jaehaerys also asked that I tell you – and these are his exact words – that “you promised to read us a story, and if you break that promise, I shall never forgive you.’ He also asked that I make a face to show you how serious he was, but I would rather not do so, if you would permit me.”

“No, I should like to see this face,” Arianwyn said through an impish grin, though Aemond tugged on her shoulder as he stood to try and silence her.

“But we would never ask you to do something so undignified, would we?” Aemond scolded, more to his wife than the knight. She only smiled wider, leaning back to bump into him in acquiescence. He caught her waist, pulling her in for a kiss on the head before pushing her gently toward the new bookshelf. “Go on, my love, pick a story.”

“What kind of stories does Jaehaerys like?” she asked as she began to peruse the shelves.

Ser Criston came to stand behind her, retrieving several books from the higher shelves whenever she pointed to them. “He often speaks of a story the King told him,” he said, “of his namesake, King Jaehaerys, when he flew north of the Wall and fought the giants, wildlings, and other creatures that dwell there.”

Arianwyn whipped around to face Aemond, who leaned against the back of the couch, watching with amusement as she struggled to carry the dozen books she had already selected. At the question in her eyes, he shook his head. “The King made it up. Jaehaerys wanted to know about the man he was named for, but he would not have been so enthralled by stories of an old man sitting in council meetings.”

“So, he likes adventure stories?” she asked, handing several of her books back to Ser Criston to put away.

Aemond shrugged. “He likes simple stories. A hero defeats an evil monster and has a happy ending. If there’s a dragon, all the better.”

“‘Simple’ is just a nice word for ‘boring,’” Arianwyn said with a frown. She handed the rest of her assembled tomes to Ser Criston and instead retrieved a single, slim book from the bottom shelf.

It was one of the first books her cousin had ever given her, a little book of fairy tales from the First Men. They were not always happy, not like Valyrian stories. But she always liked them anyway, for these stories had always made her think. None of the tales within this book were ‘simple.’

When she turned to leave, Aemond recognized the book. He had never liked it as much as she did. The tales it told were too dark and often left him feeling sad and somewhat empty. They contained far too much truth to really be called fairy tales.

“Are you sure?” he asked, flicking his eye to the slim brown book.

She only held the book tighter to her chest and smiled. “He wants a story, so I will give him one.”

From the moment she entered the Queen’s parlor, Jaehaerys was nipping at Arianwyn’s heels and pulling at her skirts to get her to sit down and read. Alicent tried to get him to settle down so the adults could converse, but the little Prince was insatiable. At last, the Queen gave in and gathered everyone to listen.

Arianwyn was seated in an oversized wingback chair, Helaena on the couch beside her, with young Viserys slowly falling asleep on her lap. Alicent sat on the plush green rug before them, holding Jaehaerys against her chest while Jaehaera leaned against the couch, carefully rearranging her doll’s hair to better match Arianwyn’s curls.

“Are you ready?” Arianwyn asked, raising her brows to her over-excited nephew.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Read, read, read!”

With a smile, Arianwyn began:

“Many thousands of years ago, when the Long Night still lived in the memories of man, there lived a little girl named Rowan.

Rowan lived in a small village, the name of which has long been forgotten, in the woods just south of the Wall. Every morning, from a small round window in her parent’s cottage, she watched the sun rise, and paint the white ice of the wall in a hundred different colors.

For despite living in a small, nameless village, Rowan was a special little girl. She possessed an ability that few, even those who do not live in small, nameless villages, possess.

Rowan could find beauty anywhere and everywhere she looked.

Many in the village, who were not special, resented Rowan for her extraordinary ability. They envied her. For where they saw only endless white in the fields of snow, she saw boundless beauty reflected off of each snowflake.”

“Snow isn’t that pretty!” Jaehaerys exclaimed.

Alicent scoffed. “When have you ever seen snow?”

“Well, I haven’t,” he admitted, fiddling with the laces of his shirt. “But I know it’s white!”

“And so is your hair,” Arianwyn said, leaning down to ruffle his messy waves. “But is your hair not pretty?”

He blushed under the compliment and settled down enough for her to continue the story.

“There was one in her village who did not resent Rowan, but admired her: the village Wise Woman. Though her name has too, been lost to time, her gift has not. She so admired Rowan’s ability, and how kind and joyful it had made the little girl, that she wanted to make her something so beautiful that everyone would see.

The Wise Woman spent an entire year gathering the bright red berries that grew in the woods surrounding the village. Once she had several baskets full of dried berries, she made the richest red dye the world had ever seen. She soaked the best wool she could find in her dye, until it, too, was a brighter red than even the freshest blood.

And with this wool, she made a cloak so fine that any Queen in the world would have gone to war to wear it only once. But this cloak was not meant for a Queen, or a Princess, or even a Lady. It was meant only for Rowan.

Rowan was so delighted by the gift. At last, the whole village could see something the same way she did. Every day that followed, she wore her beautiful cloak.”

“Can I have a cloak like that?” Jaehaerys whispered to his grandmother.

“Of course, my sweet,” she answered. “For your next nameday, I promise.”

“One day in the middle of the next winter, Rowan was out in the woods gathering snowdrops when she heard a sound like a sad song. Pulling her red cloak tight around her, she followed the noise through the forest until she found from whom it came.

A Child of the Forest lay beneath a tree, surrounded by the small creatures of the forest. A squirrel laid a pile of nuts beside it, squeaking to encourage the Child to eat. Several birds flitted around its hair, weaving leaves and flowers into its braid. One of the birds took a snowdrop from Rowan’s basket and tucked it behind the Child’s ear. A snowy fox wrapped around its small throat like a scarf, attempting to keep it warm.

The animals were all trying to help, for the Child was dying. A trail of red blood stained the snow leading to the tree beneath which it lay.

“Are you friends with the Wolf?”

Rowan had never met a Child of the Forest before, much less hear one speak. The tongue of the First Men did not suit its lyrical voice, its words sounding like the song of a broken flute.

“I have never met a Wolf. Was it a Wolf who has done this?”

“Yes.”

“Why would a Wolf harm you? The Children are friends to all who live in the forests.”

“This Wolf is not of our forests.”

“Where would a Wolf be from, if not the forests?”

“I do not know. But this Wolf is no friend of mine. He has not only killed me but stolen from me.”

“What did he steal?”

“Supplies. For your Men at the Wall. It was my duty to fulfill the Children’s obligations from the Pact. Now I have failed.”

Rowan knelt by the Child, taking its small hand in hers. Its voice was fading, and she did not want it to die alone.

“You have not failed. An attack from a Wolf is not something you could have foreseen.”

“But it is, little red one. And now my mission shall never be complete. The Pact shall fall, and our peoples will be once again at war.”

Rowan had never seen war. But she had heard the stories from the elders in her village, and she knew that even she would not be able to find beauty in a time of war.

“I will complete your mission for you. Can you tell me where the Wolf went?”

“I cannot send you to your death, girl.”

“I will not die. I am of the First Men. I carry a blade, and I know how to use it.”

“He is no ordinary Wolf.”

“I am no ordinary girl.”

The Child smiled, looking at Rowan with its large golden eyes. She saw so much beauty in those eyes. It broke her heart to watch their light fade.

“The Wolf went south. His paws are large, he has left a trail.”

“I will follow it.”

“Not yet, little red one. Stay with me, until I am gone.”

“It would be my honor.”

So Rowan stayed, holding the Child’s hand until it had passed from the world. Even after it closed its eyes, and its bark-like skin had gone cold, she stayed until she had made each creature promise to bury it with all the respect it was due.”

“I don’t think I like this story,” Jaehaerys whined. “It’s sad.”

“Don’t fret, darling,” his mother assured. “There may be a happy ending yet.”

The Child had been right, the Wolf’s paws were massive. Rowan could fit each of her feet inside a single pawprint. For the first time in her life, she wished she had worn something not quite so beautiful. Not quite so easily seen.

“That is a beautiful cloak, little girl.”

The Wolf’s voice was deep as it echoed through the trees. Even in the snow of the North, it chilled Rowan’s blood. Ever a polite little girl, she bowed to him, through she gripped her knife tight beneath her cloak.

“Wolves can’t talk!” Jaehaerys shouted, once again breaking everyone from the story.

Arianwyn reached down to tap his nose. “This one can.”

“But why?” he cried, the very picture of impatience.

Alicent pulled her grandson closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around him to keep him in place. “If you let Aria finish the story,” she whispered, “I suspect you might find out.”

Jaehaerys whipped his head back to his aunt, eyes wide with anticipation. “Keep reading, Aria!”

She smiled and nodded before turning back to her book. “As you wish, my little Prince.”

“You are a beautiful Wolf.”

It was not a lie. The Wolf was beautiful. He was as large as a draft horse, with eyes as white as snow and fur as red as Rowan’s cloak. But the Wolf was not moved by her kindness.

“What is such a little girl doing in the forest all by herself, and with blood on her beautiful cloak?”

Rowan had not noticed that the blood of the Child had stained the hem of her cloak, for it was not as bright a red as the wool. Indeed, even after the Wolf told her, she could not find the stain. But she knew it was there, for the Wolf had said so, and Wolves could smell blood.

“I am collecting snowdrops to bring back to my village, so the people there can have some beauty.”

“Beauty in the middle of winter is a rare thing.”

“Not if you know to look for it.”

“You are an interesting little girl. It is almost a shame that I must eat you.”

Rowan slowly drew her knife, though she kept it hidden beneath her cloak.

“Why must you eat me?”

“Because I am a Wolf. And Wolves eat little girls.”

“Wolves do not kill Children of the Forest. But you did that anyhow.”

“I am no ordinary Wolf.”

“I am no ordinary girl.”

The Wolf took a step toward her and growled.

“Indeed you are not.”

“Give me what you stole from the Child, and we can both go on our way.”

“What would you give me in exchange?”

“You want me to trade for something you stole?”

“I do.”

“That is not very honorable.”

“Neither am I.”

“Very well. Would you like my snowdrops?”

“I have no need of flowers.”

“Would you like my basket?”

“I have no need of baskets.”

“What is a Wolf in need of?”

“Very little.”

Rowan realized then that the Wolf was speaking in riddles. To get an answer, she would have to ask the right questions. Thankfully, she was special. She was clever.

“What is a Wolf in want of?”

“Very good, little girl.”

She could swear the Wolf had laughed. But that was impossible. Wolves do not laugh. Just as they do not kill Children of the Forest. This was no Wolf.

“I am in want of beautiful red cloak. One to match my fur.”

“You want my cloak.”

“Yes.”

Rowan did not want to give away her cloak. But she had made a promise to the Child that she would complete its mission and prevent a war.

“Very well. May I put it on you? I do not want it to fall off and into the snow. And Wolves cannot fasten cloaks.”

“Such a kind little girl. You may.”

The Wolf’s mouth opened in a wicked smile as Rowan stepped toward him, showing her his many sharp teeth. She stopped at his side, her fingers hovering over the button of her cloak.

“You must tell me where the items you stole from the Child are first.”

“And why must I do that?”

“So that if you run away the moment I give you cloak, I still receive my reward.”

“Clever, kind, little girl. You will find the Child’s bundle beneath the winter plum tree. Now give me my cloak.”

“Thank you, Mister Wolf.”

Rowan unfastened her cloak. And as it fell to the snow, she drove her knife upwards and into the Wolf’s neck, spilling its bright blood onto the snow, onto her basket of snowdrops, and onto her beautiful red cloak.

When she looked back to the Wolf, he was not a Wolf. He was a man, with blood on his hands and bright, beautiful red hair. A man that Rowan recognized.

“You are from the village.”

“I am.”

“You killed the Child.”

“I did.”

“Why would you do such a horrible thing?”

“To provoke war.”

“War is terrible. You have heard the same stories I have. Why would you want war?”

“So I could become a warrior, and make myself special, like you.”

“But you are already special. No one in the village plays the flute so well as you.”

“That is not special.”

“It is special to me.”

The Man Who Was The Wolf looked up at Rowan, and saw in her eyes that she spoke the truth. He was just a man with no name, from a village with no name, but in the eyes of the most special person he knew, he too, was special.

Then the Man Who Was The Wolf died, with a smile on his face as he laid atop the beautiful red cloak.

Rowan stayed with him until his eyes went glassy and his skin turned cold. She laid the snowdrops she had gathered, now stained with his blood, around him. For she was only a little girl, and she could not bury him on her own.

The Child’s bundle was where he had said, beneath the winter plum tree. She strapped it to her back and carried it all the way to the Wall.

The men of the Night’s Watch were surprised to see a girl of the First Men delivering their supplies, rather than a Child of the Forest. They wrapped her in a new cloak of thick black fur and gave her hot stew and freshly brewed ale while they listened to her story. They called her brave, and gave her a new knife from among the supplies the Children of the Forest had sent.

When Rowan returned to the village, she did not tell them the whole of her story. To the people of the village, the Wolf was simply a wolf, and not the Man Who Was The Wolf. They wondered about where that man had gone, but soon assured themselves that he had simply gone south to make his name as a flute player. His music was dearly missed by all.

While the Wise Woman offered to make Rowan another beautiful red cloak, the little girl declined. She did not want a cloak, or any other item for others to be jealous of. From that day forward, she only ever wore dull, ordinary clothes. For she did not need to possess beauty to help others see the it, even in the mundane.

For even a Wolf, with blood on his claws and jealousy in his heart, could be beautiful.”

For the first time that evening, Jaehaerys was silent and still. Though, of course, it did not last long.

He pouted as he looked up to Arianwyn, expecting more to the story. “But Mother said there would be a happy ending.”

“I thought it was a perfectly happy ending,” Helaena whispered.

“But the Child of the Forest died,” he shouted, ignoring his grandmother’s pleas to stay calm. “No one in the village knew she was a hero, and she didn’t get a new cloak!”

Arianwyn closed the book, leaving it on the table beside her chair as she lowered herself to the rug. “Not every story has a happy ending, Jaehaerys.”

“Why not?” he asked with tears in his eyes.

Arianwyn moved closer to him and took his hand. “Can I ask you a question, Jaehaerys?”

Shyly, he nodded. As did the Queen, who smiled as she remembered a conversation, very similar to this one, that she had with her children many years ago.

“Rowan did not tell the village what happened,” Arianwyn spoke slowly to ensure she held the boy’s attention. “Why do you think she kept it a secret?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try and guess.”

“She…” he sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “She didn’t want them to know.”

“And why wouldn’t she want them to know?”

Jaehaerys whined, his face scrunched in anger. “Why do you keep asking me questions?”

“Because I want you to understand,” she said, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Why every story cannot have a happy ending, and why it is not a bad thing.”

He nodded, seeming to recognize that she had only good intentions. For long moments, he stared at the book on the table, thinking harder than perhaps he ever had in his short life. “The people in the village missed the wolf man’s music.”

“They did,” Arianwyn encouraged.

“They liked him, didn’t they?”

“I would imagine they liked him very much for bringing them music.”

“But they would not have liked him if they knew what he did.”

“No, he would no longer be the man who brought them music, but the man who tried to start a war.”

Jaehaerys considered her words carefully. When the realization dawned, his eyes lit up like a fire had been sparked inside him, and he beamed at his aunt. “She did not want them to hate him. She wanted him to be remembered as the music man, not the wolf.”

Arianwyn nodded. “The man, and not the monster.”

“That was very kind of her,” Jaehaerys said, taking his aunt’s hand. “He did bad things. He did not deserve her kindness.”

“But she gave it anyway,” she squeezed his hand, causing him to giggle. “And I think that is why she is a hero, more than her killing the wolf or preventing the war. What do you think?”

Jaehaera let out a small noise. Not a word, or a laugh, or even a cry. Just enough of a sound to draw the attention of the room to her. Her smile faded when she realized everyone was looking at her expectantly, but she looked to Arianwyn and nodded.

“See?” Arianwyn nudged her nephew. “Your sister understands.”

“I do too!” Jaehaerys shouted, not wanting to be left out. “I understand!”

The women were not entirely sure he did, but he seemed to at least be trying, which was good enough for them. So they let him babble for a while about what he would do if he met a direwolf or a Child of the Forest. Eventually, he wore himself out and had to be carried back to his rooms by his nursemaid. Helaena and the other children followed, leaving Arianwyn alone with the Queen.

They sat in comfortable silence, not entirely unlike the silence she so often shared with Aemond. But the longer they sat, the more a single question gnawed on Arianwyn’s heart until she could stay silent no longer.

“How is the King?” she asked.

Alicent’s soft smile fell, her face overtaken by exhaustion and grief. “He is still asleep, as he has been since he left dinner.”

“Will he wake?”

“On that, the Maesters cannot seem to agree,” the Queen almost laughed. “But I think I know, in my heart, that he will not.”

“I’m sorry,” Arianwyn whispered.

Alicent did not reply, for there were no words to express how she felt. She had loved Viserys, and she had hated him. He had made her his Queen and then abandoned her. Once, he was her entire world, and now he was dying. There was no predicting what would happen when he died. All she could do was pray that she and her children would survive.

“May I see him?”

The question startled Alicent. But the look in Arianwyn’s silver eyes was genuine.

“I know he is resting,” she said, struggling to explain her desire – one she did not know she had until it had left her lips. “But I would like to talk to him, even if he cannot hear me.”

“That is a fine sentiment, Aria,” Alicent replied, standing from the rug to offer her hand to the Princess. “Come, let us go see the King.”

Next Chapter

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