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genz420 · 1 year ago

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The Fire That Burns With Us - Chapter 96: The Dance of Dragons.

Master List

Previous Part

138 - Harrenhal

The news had not yet reached Harrenhal.

The news that the Reds had taken the capital.

That his innocent sister Helaena had thrown herself out her window in her grief.

That the mighty dragon that is Morghon had been killed by Vermithor and the dragonseed Hugh Hammer.

That the Blackwood knight had disappeared after the revelation of the death of Queen Helaena.

That the all dragons in the dragonpit and the young prince Maelor had been killed.

Or of what Aegon had done on Dragonstone.

Aemond had yet to know that the Velaryon fleet led by Corlys and Laenor was searching Blackwater Bay for any sign of Visenya. But the mangled pieces of Silverwing, Vermithor, and Morghon had been littered on the water's surface.

Aemond had returned to Harrenhal after receiving a letter from their forces that the rogue prince and the blood wyvern were approaching. He was accompanied by a dragonseed Nettles and her dragon Sheepstealer, who seemed to be flying towards the Vale.

The one-eyed prince would not allow his uncle to seize Harrenhal while they took the capital away from the greens. Aemond was fully ready to embrace his name as Kinslayer. To end the life of the mighty prince Daemon and his deformed dragon.

He plans to remove Dark Sister from Daemon's soon-to-be-burned corpse and give it to Visenya, for she should wield the sword while he takes Blackfyre and the conqueror's crown. A fantasy that the prince holds onto like a fool.

Aemond hadn’t missed Harrenhal. The only thing bringing him back was the thought that Daemon would try to have his children harmed and that he could end the Rogue's life. But deep feelings in his stomach warned him that death would come, maybe not for him.

The cold and bitter weather of the Riverlands was like a warning that he chose to ignore. As the mighty prince dismounts his dragon, the feeling of impending death does not leave him. That feeling only rises in his chest as he watches Daemon dismount Caraxes.

The two dragons had both lived a long and eventful life. Bringing greatness to House Targaryen and being blessed with some of the best riders the house has ever seen. Vhagar is a seasoned war criminal who helped shape House Targaryen from a minor Valyrian house to one of the strongest Houses Westorest has ever seen. Caraxes has bonded with Aemon and Daemon, fighting in the step stones and the Fourth Dourinsh War. But most importantly, the two dragons have bonded throughout the years, flying together with Alyssa, Baelon, and Aemon and then Daemon and Laena. But not the bond and feelings the Dragons had once shared are erased with the hate their current riders feel for one another.

The older of the two was wearing his dragon armour, Dark Sister at his hip. Daemon, too, was in the dark about the events happening in the East. Caraxes lets out a whistling whine of disconnect as Daemon leaves his side. Unlike his rider, Caraxes knew what was to come.

The two self-proclaimed Prince Constorts did not waste any more time; the air was thick and foggy as the two left the safety of their dragon's side and met each other in the middle. Both knew the fight would not start on land but in the air, another beautiful but tragic dance between dragons. Unlike Daemon, Aemond was not clad head to toe in armour, the simple chestplate that Rob had gifted him.

As the two reach each other, the tension rises with each moment they watch each other. Not long ago, each one of them held respect for one another and almost cared about the other. Perhaps they would have been closer if things were different, if the Greens had never schemed for the throne, and Daemon had never left for Pentos. For Aemond is Viserys son, yet he took after Daemon more than his own father.

“You were a fool to come alone,” Aemond is the first to break the tension, his voice deep, commanding yet soft as velvet. His tone is that of a man who knows the weight of his words but, yet Daemon can not help but think he sounds like a boy trying to command authority and power.

Aemonds grip is like a viper on the hilt of his sword. He was weighing the choice of drawing his sword and trying to end his uncle where they stood, but he did not have a valyrian steel sword like Daemon. He wasn’t wearing armour to protect himself. But surely he could be fast enough to draw his sword and drive it through Daemon. He has the advantage of youth and possibly more rage. Yet his body remains unmoving, and he almost looks like a beautifully carved statue as he glares at Daemon. The eyepatch burning against his skin, the sapphire underneath forever cold, like it held the souls of those claimed in this war, for that fateful night on Driftmark was the reason this war had advanced so fast.

Daemon shifts his weight onto one of his feet, his hands resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. His hand wrapping itself around the pommel, he has killed hundreds of men with the sword and no doubt the next victim would be the boy in front of him. A son for a son was not enough; he should avenge Lucerys by spilling the blood of his murderer.

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon retorts, far more relaxed than the younger Targaryen. His shoulders were not tensed like Aemond's, and he could be mistaken for having a civil conversation with his nephew if it wasn’t for the matching grips on their sword.

Daemon knew that he could unsheathe Dark Sister now, drive it through the younger's stomach, and be done with it. Vhagar might burn him to death, but Ceraxes would be safe. Ceraxes would be available for his sweet Rhaena to claim.

Aemond would have come even if Daemon was not by himself, and he knows that Daemon would have never tried to approach Harrenhal again if Visenya had not gone to King’s Landing. A father is scared of his own daughter and what punishments he might face for daring to enter the Riverlands again.

Aemond brings his lips together in a tight line. Perhaps Daemon was right, but what could he have brought to make him waver in this fight? The dragonseed he had formed a relationship with? The Black Queen on his spoiled dragon? Daemon had no more allies that would make Aemond nervous about killing. No, he was the one with the allies. He could have stayed in King’s Landing, told Visenya about his plan, and asked her to occupy him. Brought Morghon and the Cannibal with them. But he refuses to make his wife a kinslayer like himself.

Both of them knew that going against one another was the only way they had a chance of killing each other.

“Yet you are, and I am,” Aemond tells Daemon, grip leaving the hilt of his sword as his arms apart and almost daring Daemon to unsheathe Dark Sister to kill him. Aemond doesn’t allow his feelings to affect his voice, the slight nerves he feels for the battle to come. Instead, he relaxes his shoulders to mirror Daemon and lets out a soft hum as a smirk creeps onto his face. “You have lived too long, uncle,”

Daemon puffs his chest out, eyes narrowing at Aemond as he speaks before slowly nodding, agreeing with him about the statement. Daemon has lived out many people dear to him. His mother, father, brother, grandmother, Aemna, Laena, his Strong Boys, and now his two daughters sired by Rhaenyra.

Daemon had lived on borrowed time since he fought in the step stones.

“On that much, we agree,” Daemon tells Aemond, giving him one final nod before turning his back towards Aemond, not fearing that Aemond might stab him. Aemond spares his uncle one last look before he does the same.

Both princes return to their dragons, praying to their gods for safety.

Daemon prays that he will be able to return to Dragonstone to give his wife the good news of Aemond's death. To see his daughters, all of them, once again. To be able to watch his sons grow. To bring justice to his son's death, to give justice to Lucerys.

Aemond prays to also return to his wife to give her the news of the death of Daemon and Caraxes. To remove the last power of the blacks. To be able to watch his children grow up in the red keep. To see his wife on the iron throne. To send his brother to the wall and allow his sweet sister to finally be happy and safe. To wear the conquered crown. To mend the realm and prove himself worthy of the name Targaryen.

But neither would have their prey answered. It is as if the gods had finally punished them for the peace and happiness they had lived in and punished them for their sins.

Because neither could return to their wives, the two Queens are now dead.

Rhaenyra burned by her usurper brother and his half-dying dragon. Aegon, the younger, forced to watch as his mother became ash and dragonfood. Only leaving a few charred pieces of her left.

Visenya having a dragonriders death. Killing the dragonseeds, Hugh Hammer, Ulf the white, and the two dragons Vermithor and Silverwing. But also, in the process, ending her own life, along with one of her dragons, Morghon. Both of their remains sinking to the bottom of Blackwater Bay, allowing Visenya to rest in the same waters as the rest of the Valeryons, just as she wanted. The cannibal flew East after circling the bay for two straight days.

Neither of them would see their children again. To watch their sons and daughters grow.

Aegon, the younger, now traumatized after witnessing his mother's death. Viserys is thought dead now in the lands of Lys. Baela is scarred from her battle with Aegon. Rhaena is safe and with her new hatchling.

Laenor, Daenys, and Aenar are being held within the ruins of Harrnehal, which is within his eyesight. If only Aemond had shared the gift of foresight, he might have climbed on his dragon, flown to Harrenhal, and brought his children to the now-claimed King’s Landing.

On that day, the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 138 AC. Aemond and Daemon, along with Vhagar and Caraxes, lost their lives. The two sets fall into the god's eye once Daemon leaped from Caraxes and plunged Dark Sister in Aemond’s one good eye.

The battle above the god's eyes would be the last battle of the Dance of Dragons. The Blacks dissolved quickly into the Reds. The Greens followed suit after the death of Aegon, the usurper on Dragonstone. The red held the capital but without a queen, leaving the succession of the Spiky Chair up for debate to the three small councils.

Once the arrival of the winter wolves and the Black Aly arrived in the shambles of King’s Landing, they made quick work of breaking the betrothal with Daenys and Rickon and instead betrothing Daenys with Aegon the Younger and Laenor to their daughter, Sarra.

Daenys becomes the “first” legitimate queen of the Seven Kingdoms with her consort Aegon II. A marriage that was closer to a friendship rather than a marriage. Yet both still did their duties to the realm.

Robert Tully denied the position of Daenys hand, instead returning to Riverrun to see his wife give birth to a daughter. She was quickly betrothed to Aenar, who later became lord of Riverrun, with his wife, Catelyn Tully, taking most of the title's responsibilities—a match made by the gods.

Benjicot took the role of the hand of the queen instead, along with taking on the responsibilities of raising the three children, not allowing anyone to hold or be near them for close to three years after the war, fearing that something might happen to the last connection he had to Visenya and Aemond. The Blackwood knight also protected the little Princess Jaehaera until she married Bloody Ben in secret one faithful day, becoming the lady of Raventree Hall.

The dance of the dragons was the true downfall of the house, Targeryn, for even years after the war in peaceful times. No house looked at the house the same; the death of the dragons allowed the once perfect marble of the house to crack and slowly, through the years, fall apart.

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Last chapter. I loved writing this story in the beginning as it was just a little daydream that my friend told me to write. I never thought that it would get this far, ever. I know that this story is cheesy, badly written, and probably full of plot holes I don't see. But I am dyslexic, and I never thought people would read this. Thank you all who have commented and read this far along. Truly the comments are the only reason why I didn't just give up on this story and delete it; they mean more to me than you could know.

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Taglist:

@tempt-ress @kassies-take

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bohemian-nights · 1 year ago

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I think daemyras' worst headcanon/disillusionment about Daemon is that he loves Rhaenyra's bastards as if they were his own (I get chills when I see them putting Daemon as their big daddy) whilebin the show what is shown he is indifferent to them at the very least and at most he feels irritated that Weak boy #1 wants to boss him around, what makes it worse is that they saw him being an absent father to the twins, but suddenly, he's an excellent stepfather to the bastards just because they are the children of his "soulmate" and he loves everything connected to her 🥴I always had the impression that Daemon wanted a boy so much since he was still married to Laena because he knew that Weak boys were bastards and that that would be enough to take her away of the succession and he needed a male heir to be able to challenge his nephews with the power of House velaryon behind him after all, it is not said that House Velaryon could challenge both the Green and Blacks when did Daemon marry Laena? I'm not saying that he didn't love her and wasn't happy with her, because I believe that he really liked her and her free spirit, but that the marriage did have political reasons behind it and there is nothing wrong with that, by the great council of 101 daemon had a claim too, which was certainly more legitimate than rhaenyra's after she committed high treason

I think their most delusional take is that Missy Anne was his soulmate(we all want our soulmate to abandon us when we've lost our marbles for another woman and chokegate), but that kinda ties into this take.

The fact of the matter is if Daemon really truly viewed those boys as his sons(and if he loved everything about Miss Maegor) this would've never happened:

Imagine getting your a** handed to you as a child(in a 4 on 1 fight) to where you need your younger brother to come save you and yet you still haven't learned how to fight six years later. I almost feel bad for laughing, but this is downright comical🤣

Anyone who thinks the Rogue Prince Daemon freaking Targaryen would let his sons go around not knowing how to at least protect themselves is a moron.

I'm not going to comment on it further cause what more needs to be said🤷🏽‍♀️

Show!Daemon really is a father to no one. Book!Daemon is a little better(hey at least he's not a misogynist towards his daughters), but ultimately he leaves his children to fend for themselves* after falling into a depression cause in order to save Nettles he had to let her go. He's not winning Father of the Year anytime soon.

*If he actually wanted to save them he would’ve gone back to Kings Landing like Missy Anne wanted him to, in order to sort things out and get back-up to help him defeat Aemond/Vhagar. Does he do that? Only in a Dumbnyra fanfic ☕️

Moving on, I do believe Daemon found Laena to be very alluring I think it's pretty obvious he loved her, but yeah their marriage was politically motivated.

He knew what he was doing when he married her(especially given how her parents were butthurt over being snubbed twice over). He probably was very likely to stake his own claim to the throne(although that would've involved usurping Aegon, but I don't think he'd have a problem with that). There's no way Daemon doesn't at least try to ensure his own flesh and blood wears the crown.

This is why Nettles was Daemon’s purest love/relationship. She offered nothing and I do mean absolutely nothing to him, not titles, not blood, not a crown, not armies and yet homeboy was ready to end it all cause of her. He abandoned his queen for her. He was going to give up his life for hers. He might've even lived and crawled back to her(queue Hozier Work Song🎵). That's his soulmate right there🫀

Is it perfect, no. Daemon is a piece of sh*t, he's old as hell and he keeps getting with girls/women half his age. He murdered children. The man straight-up abandoned his family. I mean I love him as much as GRRM does, but he's the worst(well second worst cause of Gollum who should've been thrown in the fire), but he did love Nettles and he saved her(she’s my fave so I won’t hate)☺️

#bnasks #bnask #i love him #he's a mess but I love him #these fans are delusional #this man cared about basically no one #daemon targaryen x nettles #nettles #daemon targaryen #dettles #daemon targaryen x laena velaryon #daela #laena velaryon #miss maegor #anti dumbnyra #anti dumbnyra stans

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blue-mint-winter · 4 months ago

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Musings about the timeline of deaths and speed of the travelling news (in F&B)

After the betrayal of Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White in Tumbleton, the events of the Dance of the Dragons seem to follow in quick succession. However, it was surprising to learn that 5 months passed between Daemon's death on 22nd May and Rhaenyra's death on 22nd October 130 AC.

I'll try to put the events in order:

The First Battle of Tumbleton and the Betrayal.

Rhaenyra orders Addam's arrest and Nettles' execution, Addam escapes, Corlys is imprisoned, grandmaester Gerardys is sent to Dragonstone.

Lord Mooton receives his orders, maester Norren tells Daemon, next morning Daemon goes to Harrenhal, 14 days later fights with Aemond in the battle of the God's Eye and dies on 22nd May - that means Rhaenyra's orders arrived in Maidenpool on 7th May.

Attempt to rescue Corlys, hanging of the 2 rescuers, on the same day after sunset Helaena dies after half a year of captivity - so it's at least in June? The six months could be a maester's exaggeration.

The rumour about Helaena's murder causes a riot so it must be within a few days of her death if not the very next day.

Next day after riots Rhaenyra learns about Maidenpool disobeying her, Nettles escaping and Daemon's "betrayal", then storming of the Dragonpit happens on that night.

Rhaenyra leaves King's Landing at dawn, ser Perkin installs king Trystane, the beginning of the Moon of 3 Kings, Larys is back in court, Orwyle and Corlys are freed.

News about unrest in King's Landing reach Tumbleton.

Belated news about Aemond's death reach Tumbleton, Hugh Hammer wants to be a king.

Next day: Hugh wears a crown, kills Roger Corne, the Caltrops plot in the night to kill Hugh and Ulf.

2 days later, in the night - Second Battle of Tumbleton, Addam Velaryon attacks with a Riverlands army that he gathered.

Next morning after battle Ulf declares that he'll be king.

Next day Hobert Hightower poisons Ulf and himself.

Rhaenyra is on the road for unspecified amount of time, but she's turned away at Rosby, stays for one night at Stokeworth.

Rhaenyra stays in Duskendale for unspecified amount of time, on the condition that it won't be long, manages to send 3 ravens to Dragonstone but gets no reply from Gerardys, because Aegon II took over there - it's safe to assume that only happened after she left King's Landing. During her stay in Duskendale Rhaenyra sends ravens to Cregan Stark and Jeyne Arryn and gets their replies, then lady Darklyn asks her to leave because she overstayed her welcome.

Rhaenyra goes to Dragonstone and dies on 22nd October, Aegon II sends ravens to lords.

Sunfyre dies on 9th December, Aegon II almost executes Baela.

Borros Baratheon takes King's Landing after hearing about Rhaenyra's death, ending the Moon of 3 Kings.

Aegon II returns to King's Landing in the last days of the year (around 22nd December).

The fact that Rhaenyra on the Last Day in King's Landing received news about Daemon's "betrayal" but not about his death makes me think that this was still before the Battle of God's Eye. Obviously lord Mooton wouldn't inform her that he turned cloak, so someone else on her side had to uncover this. Too bad that it's not said if Rhaenyra got the information from one of her loyal lords by raven or if an informant travelled all the way to King's Landing to tell her what happened. It's likely that one of Black loyalists in Maidenpool, who didn't know why lord Mooton turned cloak, went to inform Rhaenyra.

Even looking at the map and how roads are laid out, if the courier is sent from Maidenpool, he has 2 options - turn west and go by Kingsroad or turn east towards Duskendale and take the road from there. Information between Tumbleton and King's Landing probably also goes by road, because Greens aren't sending ravens.

Map from Atlas of Ice and Fire

The thing is that Greens in Tumbleton got news about battle of the God's Eye after they heard about riots in King's Landing. Tumbleton is southwest of King's Landing and further away from Harrenhal than the capital. It would make sense for Rhaenyra to get the news about Daemon's death before the Greens, but she didn't. It must be because she'd left the city before the news came.

The news about the battle of the God's Eye must have reached King's Landing first before it belatedly reached Tumbleton. Harrenhal doesn't have a maester to send a raven and Alys wasn't in a hurry to tell anyone what happened, also Riverlanders hate Aemond so there's no one who would rush to inform the Greens about his death. That's why the information spread more slowly and the news from Harrenhal came so late to Tumbleton. It's possible that it first came late to King's Landing and then Larys and/or Orwyle sent a quick message to Tumbleton. Or they got the information in a normal time then kept it from Tumbleton and the ambitious Betrayers. They could have wanted to stall to give time to Aegon II and Sunfyre to recover to a fighting condition.

It is rather frustrating that it's unknown how much time passed between Tumbleton learning about the riots and about Aemond's death. The book gives the impression that it wasn't that long.

As word of the unrest at King’s Landing reached Prince Daeron’s host, many younger lords grew anxious to advance upon the city at once. Chief amongst them were Ser Jon Roxton, Ser Roger Corne, and Lord Unwin Peake…but Ser Hobert Hightower counseled caution, and the Two Betrayers refused to join any attack unless their own demands were met. Ulf White, it will be recalled, wished to be granted the great castle of Highgarden with all its lands and incomes, whilst Hard Hugh Hammer desired nothing less than a crown for himself. These conflicts came to a boil when Tumbleton learned belatedly of Aemond Targaryen’s death at Harrenhal.

Hugh openly wanted the crown even when he thought Aemond was still alive? Lol. One thing is for sure, the news of Aemond and Daemon killing each other must have been like an early Christmas present for him. He became the one with the largest dragon.

The Green army could have gone to King's Landing even without Hugh and Ulf. There were no dragons defending the city and they had Daeron's Tessarion. I guess Hobert was cautious because to his knowledge Daemon was still at large and he could take down Tessarion, so the Greens still needed to keep Hugh and Ulf around to fight him. But even with that, if the other lords were so impatient to march, Hobert couldn't hold them back for very long. After the news about Aemond's death, the events started moving very quickly. The Second Battle of Tumbleton happened only 3 days later.

Theories about symbolic timing of deaths

I was thinking if it was possible for Rhaenyra to die on the same day as Daemon. It would have been immensely tragic - Daemon sacrificing himself to kill Aemond, thinking this will protect Rhaenyra, unaware that at the same time she's killed by Aegon on Dragonstone while she's thinking that Daemon betrayed her for Nettles. That's incredibly tragic and angsty.

However, looking at the timeline, it's impossible for them to die on the same day because of Rhaenyra exchanging messages with the North and the Vale when she's in Duskendale. Ravens aren't that fast, so I'd give it a month for her to send letters and receive replies.

Also, Addam Velaryon needed time to gather Riverlands army and go with it to Tumbleton. It had to be after Aemond's death, because otherwise Aemond would have stopped the army.

It could be interesting and more plausible if Daemon's death and the storming of Dragonpit happened on the same day. Last day of Rhaenyra's reign in capital is the same day her husband and protector dies. It's possible as it gives 14 days for the news about Daemon and Nettles to travel from Maidenpool to King's Landing. That should be enough time. I just think that waiting until June would have been too suspicious. Lord Mooton received Rhaenyra's orders on 7th May, there is a time limit of how long Rhaenyra can wait for his reply as Maidenpool isn't that far away. Especially damning should be that Daemon didn't return on dragonback within a day or two.

Knowing just how honorable lord Mooton was, I doubt he sent a false message to Rhaenyra after he openly turned cloak and changed his banners. I think he just went radio silent and didn't send anything. The longer Daemon didn't come back and there were no ravens from Maidenpool, the more suspicious it must have looked to Rhaenyra. If it went on too long, it would look like a confirmation of betrayal. Not to mention she could send ravens to Rook's Rest or someone else closer to Maidenpool to ask them to check what's going on there and why they aren't replying. She couldn't rule out Aemond killing Daemon and burning the city.

Helaena dying after half a year in captivity which kickstarts the riots would place her death sometime in June, probably the second half. Could Rhaenyra really wait over a month for information about Maidenpool without suspecting anything? She reacted with rage to the news, so she wasn't expecting the betrayal. That leads me to believe that not enough time passed to make the lack of contact suspicious to her.

This makes the timing of Helaena's death slightly off. I think it was earlier than June and she wasn't a captive for full 6 months. I could accept if it was around 1st June, because then if she killed herself because Mysaria told her about Maelor's death, it would be on Children's Day and that makes it even more cruel and tragic.

Unspecified time in Duskendale

One thing I'm rather annoyed with is that the Moon of 3 Kings lasts around 3-4 months. Another is Rhaenyra staying so long in Duskendale. Even if travelling there took longer than usual, it's just not that far from the capital, so I'd give it maximum 2 weeks on the road. That would mean that she were in Duskendale for months, which was a time she could have used to travel to the Riverlands or the Vale and her more accommodating allies. As I said, communicating by raven with the North and the Vale could take her around a month, so after that why would she stay even longer in Duskendale doing nothing before she takes a ship to Dragonstone?

Rhaenyra stayed in limbo because the author arbitrarily decided that Aegon can retake the throne only in the end of the year. I'd say moving those events earlier seems better in this case. Tumbleton could happen soon after the riots in June, then Rhaenyra dies in July and Aegon II comes back to King's Landing in August. It doesn't collide with anything else and eliminates the awkward sitting around in Duskendale for months.

Thanks for reading, as always I'm open to more discussions. Timelines are rather fuzzy in ASOIAF, so it can be a source of endless speculation :)

Next post will be about Mysaria and Nettles situation.

#fire and blood #dance of the dragons #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #book spoilers #my thoughts #asoiaf theories

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arabellasleopardcoat · 5 months ago

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My thoughts on Episode 7 SPOILERS AHEAD

I am guessing this will be a heavily Black episode on account of the dragonseeds. Edit: I was right!!!

SYRAX AND SEASMOKE MEET AGAIN! Addam is very brave and he seens very taken with Rhaenyra. He really likes her or believes in her. Good god, he has the medieval man ™ ego. Leave fame and memory indeed. Do great things, a calling. She is so pleased.

Ugh. Alicent this season has gotten on my nerves. From patriarchy victim, to patriarchy ally, now she thinks herself a victim again. But she is the female influence in the raging misogynists she raised (Aegon and Aemond I am looking at you) Why did she expect to be loved by the commonfolk if she did nothing for them? Neither did Rhaenyra, really, but at least she wasn’t firing and giving an abortive to the victims of her rapist son.

Larys is so wrong about the mystery rider. Aemond is sending men from the revolt to the wall

Jace. His face as he hears the news about Addam is a poem. Trouble there. Corlys’ face? Also a poem. I bet he thinks it’s Alyn.

Mysaria, as always the voice of reason. Pure blood… Rhaenyra girlie, come on. She hesitates on using the commonfolk as dragonriders. Army of bastards, she calls them.

Corlys and Addam! Addam has won me over already, he remains humble. Corlys is such an awkward father.

The Tullys! And the horrors! Baby Oscar Tully setting Daemon right. He is so brave. I love him. If he had inherited sooner, Daemon would have been whipped into shape much sooner. King consort. I am laughing so hard, he is getting roasted by a child. So now they are allies, and the kid carries a sword bigger than himself. He is very regal. Daemon keeps interrupting him and making things worse. He is very smart and has guts. I like him. Daemon looks about to pounce on the poor boy.

I agree with his punishment. Raping and looting as a war tactic is not right, and the Blackwood ruined plenty of lives. All in all, nicely handled. He will be a great player, one day. Family, duty, honor suit him well. I have to confess he changed my opinion on the Tullys (Who I despised in Got)

And Daemon hesitates. Killing his ally seems to traumatize him, which shows a hint of humanity in the man that gave orders again to pillage and rape.

Viserys again. Crown hallucination + wise advice about wanting the throne and the crushing weight of it on the one who wears it.

Aegon y sus tres pelos tratando de recuperarse, me da demasiada risa. Larys appears. Cheers on him, a mix of praise and tough love.

Alyn and Corlys, he is giving him more important tasks. Huh. So that explains the mystery about Celtigars, Velaryons aren’t dragonlords either. Interesting about their mother. Corlys guesses she is the one with Valyrian descent. I wonder how beautiful she must have been.

Rhaena watches the babies leave and doesn’t go. Fabulous costume worn by Lady Arryn. We track a dragon.

Poor Alicent’s Kingsguard, forced into a camping trip from hell.

Ohhh, Jace upset about mixed blood claiming dragons. Insecure because the dragonseeds might look more Valyrian than him. Jace worries about when Rhaenyra dies, worried the lords will not follow him because his hair us dark. Ohhh, he throws Harwin in her face. His argument to succeed was having a dragon and now she takes it from him. She is set on it, it could give them the edge they need. Suddenly, Addam is a sign of the will of the gods. I see how it is.

Mysaria sends notice to the dragonseeds in King’s Landing, along with the boats Alyn organized. Ulf is going, it seems. So is Hugh, who is Saera's. I fucking hate Targaryen men, so many abandoned children. Assholes. Poor couple, they lost their little girl.

It’s mentioned some women are going too, and it makes me a bit angry knowing they scrapped Nettles because no successful dragonseed will be a woman.

Alicent cut off the self pity. Drowning is not even such an efficient method, but it appears she was just swimming and not trying to die. A dragon? passing interrupts her.

Ah, now the dragonkeepers rebel too. Dragons are too sacred, the last of old Valyria to give like toys. They quit. Their order won’t partake. I love Rhaenyra’s motivational speech after they get yelled at in a language they do not know. Lovely. Also, her dress is gorgeous. She still wears the necklace Daemon gave her.

We start with Vermithor, who has a dramatic entrance fit for him. I love Emma’s acting. Their Rhaenyra truly acts and feels like a Queen. Subdued Vermithor and gave a smug grin, even (So hot!!)

First to try, and everyone royal + Addam leaves??? Feels so feudal. They truly see them as less, as more expendable. They watch on a little platform, increasing the otherness. Whoops. There they go, up in flames.

I loved the claiming of Silverwing and Vermithor. Has to be my favorite scene this season. It was brilliant, from the twist of the script to the way the camera moves following them. You feel as if you are the one being chased and tumbling down. Hugh was especially compelling to me, trying to help a stranger and distract the dragon and instead ending up claiming him. I doubt anything they do can top this scene from me. The last focus being Rhaenyra’s smiling face with teary eyes is so strong. She knows she sacrificed so many lives in a matter of minutes, but she now has Vermithor so it’s worth it. She looks both haunted and pleased, give Emma their Emmy now!! As for Ulf, I liked how Silverwing chose him after giving him a good sniff. She keeps grumbling at him as in disbelief by how dumb he is, that he doesn’t pet her. But Vermithor is the one I loved the most.

Green council. Daeron is name dropped and he now has a big enough dragon. But interrupting the news is Silverwing (I think?) Aemond is on a horse to get to Vhagar and face him, which will never be not terrifying. She has taken down two dragons now, but they flee.

Haunting shot of Rhaenyra surrounded by all her new dragons. The stakes are higher than ever before. Perfect last scene.

#hotd season 2 #hotd episode 7 #hotd spoilers #useful for my writing

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lemonadecroc · 6 months ago

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LEMONS FIRST OPEN ASK! CHOOSE THE FATE OF THE GYARU GATOR!

The Croc walked in and looked around seeing the lone chair "Hey everyone! okay so i got a call to just come over here, and just wait here, and i would be given some kind of treat!" the gators eyes sparkled, then a smug cat like 3 mouth appeared "There so dumb, there gonna come in and im gonna get like so much more than what they ask, im good at negotiating, They also told me something like, put my arms behind here, weird request but whatever"

Over time, the croc waited, two people came in with a coil of rope, The croc still entirely oblivious, still not realizing the trouble shes in, as she was now there captive, being bound up rather tightly, removing the rag on her, just enough to still speak enough, entirely rambling on about what prize she'll be getting "What kind of treat you think ill be getting?, im hoping its donuts, cuz i love them there so cute!, you think there gonna feed me? cuz i mean naturally i am a princess, A QUEEN AFTERALL, its why i wear the crown afterall, it must have fallen as i sat down" just rambling on and on, still not seeing the danger shes in lmao, The Blonde would then continue to talk about everythng and nothing at the same time. Now the question is, What will happen to our Croc? what would you want to happen to her? (Send in asks to choose the next part of the story!, this was originally recorded as a meme for @pinkdocs, but i liked it enough to make a full open starter for it, and also because Nettles Mun, likes to be mean and give me requests like this lmao, so should we save her guys? or just let her figure it out?)

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thebowynntradition · 6 months ago

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Bowynn Gods: Kalma

Kalma (right) sitting in Daunnat with her beloved Chumash

Kalma (Kal-mah) Queen of the Daunnat, divination and oracles. She is the consort of Chumash, the king of the dead. Unlike many faiths of the ancients, Daunnat is not a place of damnation or fear. It is a most blessed place. And it was Kalma who made it as such. By her will she let the great fields grow green and orchards filled with eternal and ever plentiful foods and valleys carpeted with wildflowers. Kalma is the daughter of Phoenix and Sumon and the sister to Rhya and Kauldra.

Amongst Kalma's duties as queen of the land beyond is that of calming the soul and spirit, showing there is no need for fear death nor the beyond. Her very name means 'Calm'.

Kalma and sisters were charmed by the three kings of the immortals and in particular it was Chumash that wished Kalma to marry her. But Kalma refused his hand unless Chumash proved his love. Of all the gifts Chumash bestowed on her, its was acrown of nettles that Kalma loved the most. She finally accepted his hand only after Chumash promised her equality as Queen of Duannat.

Kalma is seen as a mother-like goddess in appearance; she is elegantly dress and wears a crown of nettles made of gold on her head. Other times, it is a plain crown, like that if her sisters. Being a queen, she is seen most wise, bearing a small scepter in her hand. Kalma very rarely leaves the comforts of Daunnat. Yet when she does, she will often appear as a cat, her totem animal. Sacred gifts offered to Kalma are that of flowers, incense and votive images of cats.

#bowynn #pagan #paganism #pagan witch #paganlife #faith #gods #goddess #virtues #element #Kalma #Queen of the next world

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princesssszzzz · 2 years ago

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Why are your predictions so funny lmao. Why would Daemon kill Rhaenys or Jace tho😅 Rhaenys will be killed by either Aegon or Aemond and people will hate them sm

😂😂 I was so serious about my theories your the third person who said that. I have a long answer to the Daemon theory because it includes Daemon’s end, the Targ dynasty, and some other characters. Condal wants villian Daemon so I’m leaning towards him killing Jace unless the writers change Daemon last minute then everything I’m saying makes no sense. Killing Rheanys is less likely but if she wants to make big moves with Baela and Rhaena (taking them somewhere to be safe and away from drama) and he doesn’t I can see a fight between them. I don’t think him and Corlys agree about the names vs blood thing when they interact in S2 and Daemon’s real feelings start coming out more bc so far he’s been standing back and observing mostly. In my opinion he’s waiting for an opportunity. Condal implied in some interviews Daemon’s outrage is about Viserys. So it’s emotional need to fight them and losing access to the throne to Alicent’s line that doesn’t use the Targaryen sigil and they’re a detached branch from House Targaryen with Andal blood. If we’re getting book!Daemon who’s more Rouge Prince, his goal for the throne comes first but now the crown’s being controlled by Otto/Alicent and taken from House Targaryen. Plus like the Hightower faction, Jace only has one parent with Valyrian blood. My S3/4 predictions is that Daemon tries to marry Baela or Rhaena to Aegon iii and the irony of his death would be him dying before he gets to see his son as king.

It’s completely in character for him to want his own children ruling, not Strong/Hightowers. One of the big parts with Daemon’s Targ supremacy is the difference between Rhaena and Nettles. Rhaena to Daemon should be peak Targ, she wears black/red (Laena and Daemon’s daughters are like 80-90 something % pure blooded with their parents and Rhaenys’ Baratheon blood) and Laena rode the biggest dragon so I do understand why they wrote him neglecting her for not having a dragon despite complaints. He’s in Pentos reading and obsessing over Valyrian history and their ancestors. Legacy is important to him and he refused to even consummate a marriage with an Andal woman. So unlike Rhaena, Nettles who I personally believe has no Targaryen blood, claiming a wild dragon would be a big deal for Daemon. I think Nettles’ heritage is some non-Valyrian from Essos. One role Nettles would play is changing his views about Targaryens, purity, dragon riders and he finally changes his outlook but dies right after when he sends Nettles away and fights Aemond. This probably won’t be added to the show but it would make sense for him to want to kill Aemond and the Hightower bloodline, but not Vhagar. Dragons dying off weakens the house and I don’t think Daemon wants to do that, but he has to fight them and kill dragons in the process. His obsession with blood and dynasty would effect his decision making during the war so since his kids have the most Targ blood I’m sure he’ll be in his Otto era and want to marry a teen to a baby so he has control over the future of the house. He could be given some Tywin traits where he wants to win by any means necessary and in the process his kids are traumatized by all the loss and stress they endured. Of course if he killed Jace, Baela wouldn’t know but one of his kids could have some suspicions 👀 If they really want to show his seriousness over wanting to win for Team Targaryen instead of Team Black him being willing to kill Jace who he’s already butting heads with is so perfect. Jace is protective over Baela and Rhaena like if Daemon is #teamdoingtoomuch and putting his daughters in danger it’s just another thing they would fight over. Daemon doesn’t have to kill Jace, but if he does it out of tunnel vision during the war and desperation, it says a lot about his character. He could honestly send Jace to the wall to get him out of the way but Jace has to die.

Some Targs in Westeros generally have had understandable god complexes because of the power dragons give them. Daemon is the perfect Targaryen to focus on that complex when they’re losing dragons and dealing with Jace. He could kill Jace and grow to regret it before he dies, and I think that would make sense for Daemon and be an actual arc. After everything that happens Daemon gets what he wanted; Rhaena is finally a dragonrider with Morning, Baela chills with the smallfolk and goldcloaks, Viserys is doing whatever he’s up to lmfao that kid is my Rickon. Aegon iii is paralleled heavy with him only having kids and being happy when he’s with Daenaera, a Velaryon and the Targaryen bloodline continues with pure Valyrian blood. For Daemon, his punishment is that he never gets to see any of this come to fruition. Long story short it makes sense for Daemon to kill Jace or have him killed because Daemon’s storyline should be “I won but at what cost” and feeling guilty about Jace, alienating Rhaena, and the dangerous situation his children have to live in now.

•Side comment for the Rhaenys/Aegon fight I hope in their attempt to make Aegon redeemable they don’t demonize Rhaenys and make it seem like she deserves to be killed by Aegon or make it seem like she attacks them and they have to defend themselves. Aemond fought little kids and told Rhaena to ride a pig lmfao the general public already doesn’t like him they really don’t need to do anything extra on that part plus Vhagar is kind of a cheat code I kinda want Meleys v Sunfyre

#hotd asks #hotd thoughts #he could kill greens all day but killing someone from team blac is like woahhh has real weight behind it #they didn’t let him kill Laenor there hasn’t been any show of how he’s the Rouge Prince and willing to do anything

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lya-dustin · 1 year ago

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All is bliss

Chapter 40

Cw: mentions of family deaths, depression and a blood oath

Gif by @asongoficeandfiresource

Taglist @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @alexandria-millie @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Driftmark and Dragonstone had fallen once more and what was left of the loyalists scattered making the Battle of the Gullet a victory for them but comes at a great price.

Only a third of the fleet was able to survive and no one is surprised that it was Lys’ part that was left untouched.

The Lyseni Admiral brought gifts and two dragonseeds who turned cloaks seeing the battle lost.

Hugh Hammer and Ulf White would be given lands in the Reach if they managed to quell the rebellious lords.

Addam of Hull and Nettles had regrouped in Celtigar Isle before joining Daemon in the Riverlands, but not after ordering the dragons in the Dragonmont be unchained.

Perhaps having Silverwing here will aid Aemma’s spirits now that Jacaerys is dead.

Baela would likely escape and avenge her betrothed, but Dreamfyre would return to Helaena and provide some safety for the city when Aemond leaves it unguarded.

“Oh, good, I need your advice, little brother.” Aegon acts as if this were any nameday and not less than a day after his wife’s younger brothers were killed in his name.

“What do you think of this crown for Aemma. I know hers matches mine perfectly, but I want something she can wear with colors besides red.” Aegon shows him the gold diadem with seven jewels laid in seven-pointed stars and its matching jewelry.

It was a lovely thing; she’d like it well enough, and he says so.

Of course, material things don’t hold much meaning to her because when you grow with all the wealth and luxury at your fingertips it stops being special.

Fuck, Aemond’s lost count how many times mother has given him seven-pointed star pendants.

The way to Aemma’s heart was through meaningful gifts, something Aegon thought a waste of time because they weren’t spectacular enough for him.

“What did you get her?” his brother asked knowing he can mock it all he wants because it is always something simple and understated.

“A book of poetry.” With red carnations pressed on a poem about forbidden love.

Red carnations signified love and passion, and he was counting on Aemee knowing that.

She’d only see it in private where she’d be free to bite her lip at the romantic meaning of it.

“You are so boring sometimes; I don’t see what she sees in you.” Aegon smiled with pride thinking he had the best gift.

“A functioning cock, perhaps.” The prince regent said with a casual shrug.

This brought out the darkness in Aegon. “How did you know?”

“Jena, she warned me that my services are far from over.” The One-Eye answered unafraid of the bitter edge in his words.

Gods, he hated serving as Aemma’s concubine.

He enjoyed being her lover, but utterly loathed he was must toil for another man to reap the rewards.

Vhagar’s eggs had been plenty, varying from Silverwing’s silver white to the Cannibal’s pitch black.

The greatest of these was the great black one with dark green webbing.

Balerion reborn.

Aegon will want it, Aemond will be forced to offer it to him.

But he wants it for his son.

He had hoped he’d been wed to Aemma by now and if that had occurred, the egg would he placed in the cradle with their son as is custom.

Perhaps he can offer the golden egg Vhagar got from coiling with Syrax, after all Sunfyre and Syrax had been clutchmates even if the latter had hatched four and ten years before the former.

Aemond knows which one Aemma would choose for Aenys: the blood red one that may be Meleys’.

“The Gods give, and the Gods take. If I had known this was going to happen, I would’ve taken Sunfyre and left instead of hiding in the Sept.” his brother spoke with regret and did his best to shove it away the moment his sunken eyes threatened to mist. “But mother and grandfather never cared to listen to us, so why mourn what could have been, eh?”

Aemma’s hair is arranged like a veil made of two braids divided in seven ways and the rest is gathered up in a bun, Aegon’s gift fits her perfectly and yet the seven gemstones are as lifeless as hers.

There had not been a peep about Luke, Arrax had been shot down, but its rider remained a mystery.

There was hope yet.

“You can’t let yourself leave like that again. Do you hear me? You. Cannot. Give. Up.” Baela shook her by the shoulders when the nagging pit in her stomach told her Luke was dead as well.

“If not for us, for your babe.” Baela held back her tears as bravely as she could, but in the end both girls stand there on her rug clutching to each other as the grief overtakes them. They sit in front of the fireplace where just seconds ago burned offerings to their dead.

Baela in her rage and grief had cut her hair up to her chin, burning her silver mane as they prayed in High Valyrian for a peaceful afterlife for their dead.

She loved Jace, they were set to wed on her six and tenth nameday because Jace wanted her to be sure and have the power to refuse if she didn’t wish to marry him.

Their dragons had chosen each other as mates and Vermax was supposed to bring forth a clutch of eggs on the next moon.

Now all those hopes and dreams Jace and Baela had for their future had died with him.

Eventually, Baela would be made to wed a man loyal to Aegon because she is a ward of the crown. Perhaps this husband will be a good man and deserving of her, but Aemma doesn’t think it likely.

All is bliss in the court of Aemma the Great, Alys Rivers’ words become more ironic and crueler with each passing day.

“I won’t, I promise.” The young queen nods in understanding and pulls herself together.

“Then prove it to me.” The girl said pulling out a hidden dagger and cutting her palm. “Let us swear a blood oath: we will avenge them, and we will take what they have stolen from us. With Fire and blood.”

Aemma takes the bloody knife and repeats the oath as she bites back the pain as they bind their hands with the ribbon Jace gave Baela, “We will avenge our dead and take what is ours with fire and blood.”

When Sharako Lohar enters the Throne Room as a hero, Aemma knows Baela’s knife won’t be the only thing to kill him the moment he is alone.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #all is bliss (in the court of aemma the great)#ocappreciationtag #aegon ii x oc x aemond

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marysunburn · 2 years ago

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Three Crowns

Azir wears three crowns during his second life.

One is his imperial crown, the one that symbolizes a power that wasn’t earned and that he squandered once already. It’s gold and thick and heavy, ostentatious to a fault.

One is the crown of nettles Xerath imposes upon him. It’s a source of torment and a mockery of his old self.

The third is Taliyah’s coronet.

She weaves him as a surprise, based upon his own tastes. It’s fine, artisanal; but not royalty. Yet it fits him and it’s lightweight. Each gem represents one of his friends or lost family, their supports look like small sun discs and it shimmers in the light.

It’s perfect.

Azir has other garments he puts on his head – two main ones for each phase to be exact.

In the imperial phase there was his golden helm, the one in the shape of a falcon head, and the bejeweled headband he had when he came back to life. All symbols of status and royalty – only the latter being authentic to Azir’s true self. Hence him wearing it in his first act of kindness.

The humiliation phase has the cowl of his tunic and the leather falconry hood. All garments that dehumanize him and exist to reduce his power. He didn’t choose any of them and only appreciates when they him avoid heatstroke or feel safe and alone.

The atonement phase has his half-helm, mostly used for battle, and a white silk shawl lined with pearls. It’s delicate and fine, but practical as well. Expensive, but not imperial. Sometimes used as an ornament to embellish his look, sometimes as a veil to conceal himself, since it’s mostly sheer, as the trauma never truly left.

And crucially used to wrap and shield others too.

#league of legends #lol #azir #emperor azir #omah azir #azir’s new groove #aesthetic

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violentdelightstheseviolentendss · 2 years ago

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Now I may speak. I am innocent

╰ cis female , she/her☆𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 … we’re introduced to ELORA GEDIA , the 25 years old SEAMSTRESS at A DREAM STITCH AWAY from enchanted falls who bears a striking resemblance to DOMINIQUE DEVENPORT. the whispers in the wind tells us of their LOYAL and STUBBORN reputation, that’s why the townsfolk often are reminded of fairy lights strung all over, always finding the silver lining, flower crowns, wishing on every first star you see. they are often haunted by dreams of a life lived as ELISA ( THE WILD SWANS ) .

Once Upon A Time

There once was a King, whose Queen started many rumours in their kingdom. Many claimed that her beauty and her kindness were unmatched, that goodness seemed to radiate from her. Yet she never spoke a word. Not with the King found her living in a cave, not when they were wed, and not even when she gave birth to their daughter. Not a word came out of her lips.

Then the other rumours started. The ones claiming she was a witch who had the King under her spell. They claimed she danced in graveyards with ghouls all around her, and took nettles and created clothing with it. The rumours became so bad that eventually the King had her arrested, and still she didn't explain what she was doing. She was found guilty and sentenced to death.

Even as she was pulled onto the stand, she still worked on the mysterious clothing. As they tried to pull it from her hands, eleven swans descended and she threw the clothing onto them, turning them into eleven men. Finally, she broke her silence screaming that she was innocent.

As she collapsed into one of the men's arms, they revealed that she was a princess, and their younger sister. Their wicked step-mother had cursed them into being swans by day and human at night. The only way to break the curse was for Elisa to make coats out of nettles for them to wear, but if she spoke during her task then they would all be killed instantly. Before there was even a chance to try and revive her, a new curse washed through.

The present

Elora was still a baby when her mother died and her father remarried. Her step-mother publicly loathed her step-children, and her father barely looked at her as she looked too much like her mother. Despite that, it was a happy childhood, with her brothers filling in the gaps for her. And then she feel pregnant. Her daughter is everything to her, and with a job she loves, she is perfectly content with her life.

She was a quiet girl, but she always tried to be kind no matter what the situation was. Kindness was free, and she was always willing to be an ear for someone who needed to talk.

Dreams

At night, her dreams are full of swans, and stinging nettles. Other nights she dreams of her death

#i am innocent | elisa #dream yourself back again | elisa | intro #ef.intro #there was a version where she had a baby so I stole that. though said version then got very strange so I skipped the rest of it and went #with the original

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thesunfyre4446 · 1 year ago

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i love this take so much. Rhaenyra wearing Viserys's crown is a symbol that she is like her father.

rhaenyra downfall was a result of her own actions :

she imprisoned corlys and lost the velaryon fleet as a result.

she treated the smallfolk like shit and they rebelled against her

she wanted nettles killed = house mooton turned to the greens, daemon never came back to her.

rhaenyra was a bad ruler, she made shitty decisions and paid the price - this is what happens when you play the game of thrones! you make bad choices = you die. it's as simple as that. rhaenyra being portrayed as this perfect queen is honestly an insult to book!rhaenyra's character.

It never ceases to amaze me how futile TB is. I saw one of them saying that in the teaser Aegon seemed so uncomfortable with a crown because he is a usurper who is not worthy of her, while Rhaenyra's it was perfectly placed in her head because she is the rightful heir and this symbolizes that and this had so many likes as if it were a fact and not a biased attempt to make Rhaenyra look better. They can't think beyond that. They don't see that Rhaenyra wearing Viserys's crown in book demonstrates that she is weak like him and that she destroyed everything that the first owner of that crown built and that she will later lose this crown that will never be recovered. Jaehaerys might be a sexist, but subsequent kings tried just as hard to be admired as he was, loved and feared in equal measure. That crown represents the Targaryen rise and fall. She will lose that crown because she failed in every aspect of being a righteous ruler. Aegon may be just as bad, but at least he didn't ask his men to fight while he was throwing parties at the castle, while his people languished from hunger

I agree with you that this fanbase is dumb as hell but we really cannot trust the writers to accurately portray the fall of Rhaenyra.

They do not respect Fire and Blood. They don't respect GRRM. They don't respect some of the actors as well.

They will do everything in their power to portray Rhaenyra as the Queen whose wings were clipped by the waves of jealousy, envy and misogyny from her opponents, which we all know is only partially true since much of her downfall is the direct result of her incompetence, dismissiveness and entitlement.

They will never highlight Rhaenyra's flaws. Only in passing. Then pass the blame of her circumstances to other parties.

Cowardly writing at its finest. That is why I will remain enjoying the Greens. At least they are allowed to be flawed, three dimensional and realistic characters in the time they're set in.

Everything else in the story feels like a 2022 California fever dream.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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fall from grace

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?”

“Your name.”

REQUEST/WARNINGS. (royal au, mutual pining, praise kink ) fake dating au, mirror sex, slight manhandling, fingering, body marking, prejudice, mentions of abuse, injustice, and inequality + unedited (I’m so lazy to edit tbh, I’m so sorry, just bear with me if there are typos or grammatical errors)

NOTES. I LOVE AND HATE THIS STORY

WC. 7k+

SONG INSPO. Ashes (Celine Dion)

The prince himself lifted his chin up higher; long, slender fingers deftly grazing against the pad of your knuckles that were pressed on his chest.

The tips of your ears burned at the sight of people pausing from their conversations all to witness the scene – one that was so rare to have come from the infamous Crown Prince known to have bedded more women than he could count.

“Your Highness,” you pinched your brows together, leaning closer into him to bring you the least bit of comfort. The dress you had to wear today had nothing but itchy lace; albeit elegant, you preferred the loose materials of your dance clothes, painted red lips fighting back a grimace. “Must we really do this in public?”

The Crown Prince laughs, his white hair fluttering against the soft kisses of the wind. Beautiful, you think, beautiful, you are reminded, prompting you to dig your free hand deeper into the flesh of your thighs.

“What would be the point of our ruse if we are not a little flashy, My Lady?”

You frowned at his words, head ducked down as you avoided everyone’s prying eyes. You supposed you should be used to this – you are a performer, after all – but the attention was terribly unwelcomed yet expected from your previous agreements.

The said agreement, however, did not affect your standing as a person, something you had to remind the happy-go-lucky Prince. “I am not of that title.”

“People regard you of it,” he commented at an off-beat, his crystalline eyes sweeping over the crowd with a chilling command, a slight bite of a challenge that asked his people to dare him. When they shifted away, scurrying behind fluffed up skirts and pressed down suits, the Crown Prince snickered, smiling down at you with a flash of his pearly whites. “You are, after all, hanging prettily off my arm.”

“Because you asked me to, Your Highness.”

“Ah, are you forgetting already?” he paused, his long and elegant stature towering over yours. “I’m doing this for the both of us. The agreement was clear – you steered me away from my arranged marriage, redeem my nettling reputation, and in turn, I shall pick you up from where you’ve fallen,” your lips parted in protest, finger raised to correct that no, you had not fallen, that was not the situation at all, but he silenced you when he leaned down close enough that his eyes twinkled before you, lips turned at the side arrogantly. “In fact, I am more than capable of providing you more than that.”

“I am well aware of that, Your Highness. I truly am indebted to you.”

Should you be humiliated? Forming an agreement with the Crown Prince would be the last thing that would ever arrive even in your craziest dreams, yet there you were, in the middle of the town square, leisurely strolling with the Kingdom’s heir as if it was but a daily occurrence.

Thoughts running back to your latest predicament – which he just had to bear witness to – you winced, swallowing the resigned sigh that threatened to spill.

You did not have enough shame in you to be humiliated, not when he was right. It was a mutually beneficial agreement.

“You do not have to be,” Prince Satoru blinked at you, gray lashes fluttered against the pads of his cheeks. “I take extreme pleasure in saving a damsel in distress,” Your lips puckered out, tireless with the need to tell him it wasn’t like that, and the Prince easily read through you, tugging you back into his arm as he laughed. “Even when I know you are not. Still, it does feel nice to take a walk in this fine day, don’t you think?”

You snorted at the heavy sarcasm under his sweet tone, “It feels a little embarrassing.”

“You feel embarrassed that you’re with me?”

“Yes,” you gritted at your teeth, the lace of your gloves digging into your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to rip it off, the material a silent reminder of the requirement that must be met to fool the crowd. “You’re a prince and I am—”

“I thought we already established titles mean nothing when we both mutually benefit from one another,” he cut you off, hands coming up to caress at your cheeks. You immediately froze at his touch, the iciness behind those eyes doing nothing to soothe you until he spoke, the Prince’s words oddly gentle and warm like the sun that shone down on you that fine day. “Worry not about that. I do not care what people think of you. All I care is that you do well and I shall do my part gracefully in return,” he declared for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

Back then, you never believed that people had power just because they were born with it. Power had to be manifested, trained, earned – yet Prince Satoru wielded it with his lips so effortlessly that in that moment, you believed magic really wasn’t a myth.

“Kiss me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Everyone is looking,” his eyes darted over the on looking crowd, his bare hand still caressing your warm cheeks, hot enough that it put the sun to shame. “Lest you want this plan to fail, I suggest you kiss me, darling. Passionately.”

The Crown Prince was right. Everyone was looking.

Your body’s response was instantaneous. A hiss of a breath, muscles tensed and fingers curled into a fist at your side; you could feel bile rising from your throat out of panic.

Then Prince Satoru leaned forwards, eyes snapped shut and his lips colliding with yours. The single touch had all the tension flooding away as you kissed the Prince, his lips tasting of cinnamon and sugar, vanilla and spice wafting off of him delicately that you had to fist at the collar of his shirt to prevent yourself from gobbling him up whole.

He would find that rather displeasing, claiming that you had little to no table manners, so you forced yourself to relax as he breathed air into your mouth, large hands cradled around your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled between kisses, the mere scent of royalty and forbidden elegance dripping off of him making you fearful to open your eyes. It felt illegal to touch the most wanted bachelor in your Kingdom this way, felt wrong to have his hands roaming down the slopes of your body while everyone looked at your shameless public display of faux romance. But if it was wrong, then why did he hold you so tenderly, not moving to push you away even as you nipped at his lips once more?

“You’re alright – I’ve got you.”

It was not easy being a no-name ballerina. You’ve crafted your skill for what seemed like your whole life, yet getting even a step closer to your dreams proved to be a daunting task. Even as your toes bruised and your muscles ached, pants heaved from your chest while you bended your body at will, you couldn’t stop thinking about how no one told you it was never easy to reach your dreams.

The fairytales had lied to you. They made it seem to easy to grab a star, never really explaining on how to be a star.

It felt so far away – the galaxy and universe you’d longer your entire life to be a part of – yet the Crown Prince stood at the corner of your studio, eyes dark as he watched you sway to the music.

A few weeks prior to your spontaneous arrangement, you were foolish enough to believe you could become that star easily. You were the lowest of ranks when it came to other girls; orphaned, no-named, broke, and loveless.

Unlike your peers that were bred of the finest titles and fed with silver spoons, nannies and courts running after them in their growing years, you had to survive on scraps, taking three jobs at the young age of thirteen just to get into dance school and afford the fees.

You believed title or ranking shouldn’t have had to do anything with talent and worth, but then again, you were foolish beyond your years.

The moment you heard you were chosen to be the Black Swan of this season, allowing you to debut, you squealed behind your skirt, training day and night to the point you’ve skipped your meals just to perfect your routine.

That was until your classmates’ parents had come inside the school, twirling their moustaches behind soft fingers that had never known a day’s worth of work, belly round with cupcakes and all the delicacies only they were privileged enough to eat, the nervous laughter of your ballet master enough to let you know what it all meant.

Your classmate – the prettiest and the richest one – came rushing past you as she giggled over the announcement that she would be the Black Swan.

She was far many years younger than you, spoiled and with an attitude that tasted as bad as your leftovers, and definitely not skilled enough to debut – but of course, nothing was ever impossible enough with money, right? Before you could even defend yourself, your ballet master had cleaned out your quarters, your skirts and shoes thrown onto the muddy dirt while you cried under the rain, begging for another chance.

Second chances? You wanted to laugh.

Only people who did wrong should ask for it, and yet you sat there on your knees, hands clasped in a prayer that should only be reserved for wish bearers, desperate pleads of please don’t do this to me echoing into the empty night.

Was it fate then that the Crown Prince was half drunk inside his vehicle, shades slipping off his nose as he turned your way, your cries rudely interrupting the music blaring inside his car?

Perhaps it was – a cruel or a wonderful fate; no one could tell – the only thing that mattered now was that the Crown Prince had yet again found interest in a woman.

Only this time he didn’t lust after their body, wished nothing to do with their hands on his, completely sober around your presence as he watched you train endlessly in your studio, your sweat making your clothes stick like a second skin.

Prince Satoru leaned back against the walls then.

He should’ve brought a drink with him. Had he known that watching you dance sensually with such a blissed out expression he was mostly familiar with when he had his legs wrapped around another warm body would set his body alight, sober, then he would’ve left long ago.

Still, the Prince is rendered frozen at the edge, eyes trailing over your graceful form as you bended, legs flying out into the air while you arms dipped and curved into the most graceful of arcs and bows that put his combat figures into shame.

You weren’t even trying to seduce him and yet he was wholly captivated.

He wants to say that the woman he saw that rainy night and the woman stood before him now, figure bathed in the small slivers of sunlight that peeked through the blinds and stockings hugging each and every curve and dip of your body were entirely two different people, but the longer he looked, there was no mistaking it was still the same person. The passion burned through your eyes, the soft melodious tunes of the music guiding you – or rather you guiding the beat before you fluttered to another.

Prince Satoru smiled.

It first came off as a joke that he wanted to know more about you – his pretend lover – because everyone knew the Crown Prince was too frivolous to ever settle down and find interest in a woman beyond her looks. The confused pout you gave him as he followed you inside your studio burned at the back of his brain, a silent warning that you were different; that you were not someone he could touch lest he wished to burn and break you, though that would be a lie, it seemed.

For every strong ripple of your muscles and flowy movement of your body as you completely delved into the space of your own home and comfort, the Prince knew – you were not someone he could crush into the palm of his hands.

He came here out of boredom.

He left the studio with a confused heart, cheeks resting on his palm as he asked his chauffer, when is the next show?

The birds chirped above you, your fingers stretched out as you peeked from under it, lips pressed into a flat line. You were in the royal garden after persistent invitation from the Crown Prince himself. Speaking of, said Crown Prince had his limbs sprawled out beneath you, the edges of his hands slightly playing with the frills of your dress as he took his afternoon nap, a youthful smile on his face.

“Your Highness,” you huffed out, “What are we doing here? No one is looking. There is no need for us to continue our act.”

“I know,” he cheered a little too brightly for someone that looked to be deep in dreamland, “I just wanted to hang out with you without worrying about others. Not that I ever did, but it’s nice to be alone with you every once in a while. The prying eyes can get a bit too much.”

You hummed at the thought; he did have a point. This arrangement turned out to be a lot smoother than expected. The Crown Prince wasn’t lying about his intentions and not once had he laid a hand on you – without your permission, anyway – and he turned out to be…a lot more docile and easy going than what you originally thought of him. Not that you had much thoughts to begin with anyway, the Prince was a celebrity and therefore not someone that concerned you.

In your mind, he was merely your leader, more often than a not a name spoken between hushed whispers and dreamy moans.

This side of him was different, and all the time you’d spent him with was filled with nothing but ridiculed stares and taunts. The Crown Prince was a hilarious man who never feared trying out new things, always happy and eager to try exotic foods with you in the night markets or joining you in your spontaneous dancing during midnight ‘dates.’

He was the closest you could consider as a friend, and you relaxed against him, laying down on the flowery fields right next to him as you sighed in content. “I will miss this, Your Highness.”

“Miss what?”

“You and I – hanging out,” you mumbled a little dreamily, “I have a strong feeling things will finally get better for me. When I get scouted by a better company, I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore,” Silence befell the both upon you, the rustling of the wind against the flowers sounding like a far off memory. Soon, it would be. “I will miss this.”

“You could always call me. Or who knows, maybe I’d even drop by to watch your performances sometime.”

You snapped your eyes open, chuckling when the Prince had now sat up halfway, his regal face cradled in his hands while his elbow laid flat under him. He blinked innocently at you, and that’s when you realized – he was serious. That had you bursting into laughter, hands clutched at your stomach. “Please, you? You do not even enjoy ballerina!”

“I enjoy watching you,” he confessed in a heartbeat, his gaze falling from your crinkled eyes and all the way down to the silhouette of your body. “There’s something about the way you move that’s just so graceful and...phenomenal.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his heated gaze, the mere trails of his sight enough to warm your entire skin despite the cool wind. This was the Prince concerned though, and you had to guard your heart, eyes narrowed playfully at him while you desperately ignored the need to rub your thighs together.

“Are you flirting with me, Your Highness?”

The Prince snorted, “Flirt with you? My pretend girlfriend?” he clutched a hand at his chest as if the assumption offended him, “What makes you come to that conclusion?”

You chucked your handkerchief at him, still a little in disbelief that you were greeted by his laughter when it hit him right in the face.

You would miss this indeed.

Your gaze softened as you sat up, thighs pressed to your chest as you directed your gaze up in the sky. Prince Satoru may not always be around when the time came, but at least you still had the sky to remind you of this brazen and unexpected friendship that helped you grow.

“Thank you, though,” you squished your cheeks onto your knees, a lilted smile plastered on your face. “Dancing has always been a passion of mine. I can’t ever imagine a time of my life where I wasn’t moving with music. It almost feels as if I was destined with it; it speaks to me and deeper than the recesses of my bones, guides me until I’m one and entangled with it,” you ended with a dreamy sigh, turning your head to the side to look His Highness in the eye, stilling for a moment when you’re met with his solemn gaze.

Your throat parched dry. “Have you ever fallen in love with something like that before?”

“I don’t think so,” one of his shoulders lifted up in a lame shrug, voice turning deep and husky as he asked, “How do you know when you lack something or not?”

“If it comes to love...” you tapped your chin with a finger, “I think a life lived without one would feel quite empty. Hollow, I would say, and the skies would just be a plain blue instead of a calming yet mesmerizing one,” the courage that soared within you was an unexpected one, but it was enough to let you look him in the eye, form vulnerable and words slipping past your lips before you could control them. “If I were incapable of love, I’d say your eyes are nothing but gleams of sapphire.”

“And if you were capable of it? What would my eyes be?”

“Like cerulean galaxies crashing against one another,” you whispered, “Stardust sprinkled and heavens birthed out of passion and the desire to be something more. You’d be azure and brazen instead of crestfallen; the magnificence of the universe’s creation attesting to itself that it is wholly capable of designing divine beings.”

“Hmm,” he tipped his head to the side as he mulled over your words. His jacket was discarded somewhere along the grass, top three buttons of his shirt left opened and hair rustling with the wind. Beautiful, the image etched into your skin. “Are you sure you are a dancer and not a poet?”

“People say all sorts of beautiful things when they’re in love.”

The Prince straightened up, lips pursed. For a moment, you grew fearful, your heart frantically thumping in your chest as you thought, this is it – this is when he pushes you away. He does nothing of this as he scoots closer to you, using his rough thumb to tilt your chin until you were looking up at him, wide eyes sparkling – the sight of you vulnerable like this making the Crown Prince lick his lips.

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?” You shivered as his thumb moved up to graze at your bottom lip, almost prompting it to jut out, to which you happily complied with a shaky breath. “What would you say then?”

“Your name.”

The Prince smiled to himself at your hearty answer. To hide both of your nervous chuckles, the Prince took it upon himself to ease both your worries as he kissed you, nothing but the warmth and fluttering of butterflies rampaging in your stomach mixing at his sweet taste.

Beautiful, you hummed into his mouth. You could fall for as long as you wanted, but would the Prince ever fall from grace as he moaned into your mouth, tugging you until you were situated in his lap, arms wrapped tight enough around you in refusal to let you go? Maybe, your mind sighed, hands tugging at his hair when the Prince kissed you fervently, murmuring one word that made you melt right then and there.

Beautiful, he finds you.

Both your loud laughter echoed in his training grounds, the horses’ hooves padding against the firm earth. “Not fast enough, my Lady,” he taunts, his smile bright and wide as he sat perched atop his white stallion. “How would you catch my heart if you cannot ride faster?”

“I will catch up to you, just wait and see! Not everyone grew up riding horses, you know?”

“I bet a fine coin you do ride well, though, my Lady,” he remarked with a wink, his statement enough to tap the sides of your feet harder against your horse to catch after him.

“Your Highness!”

As you two chased around each other the wide field, carefree laughter and clothes swaying against the wind, skin warm from the flush of the sun, the Crown Prince’s servants stood at the side.

A particular woman – the servant that had been loyal long before the Prince was born – remained under a parasol, her wrinkled face tight with a frown.

“How nauseating,” she scrunched her nose, arms crossed on her chest. “To think I dedicated my life into raising the little prince to be a fine king someday, and his future would be tainted by a lowly performer who cannot even make a name for herself,” turning to one of the young boy servants, she narrowed her eyes at you. “Where does she work again? Is she of name?”

“She is an orphan, Madam, taken in at a young age in a dance school before she had to pay the fees herself, if the rumors are correct. I heard that she and His Highness met when she was kicked out by her own ballet master due to her stealing the original Black Swan spot for this season’s show.”

His old nanny’s face grew more gruesome. “Wasn’t the Black Swan supposed to be one of the Earl’s daughters?”

“Yes. Rumours had it that His Highness’ new plaything seized the spot to prove herself. Look at how that plan backfired.”

“How repulsive,” she spat out, venom laced in her tongue.

The roles had reversed, the Crown Prince insistent in catching you this time around, and you rode after him with panicked laughter, hands clutched tight on the reins. Although you’d only swished past the small group of servants that always seemed to be around, you’d heard enough.

“We must protect His Highness at all costs before this wretched woman rips his future away from him. The fate of the kingdom lies on his shoulders; we cannot afford him making mistakes.”

“Indeed, Madam.”

You stopped in your tracks until the horse slowed down with confused huffs, your Prince following behind you not long afterwards. Looking back at him again, you were no longer able to smile at him genuinely, not when discomfort, and most of all shame, had to be forced down deep into your system. Beautiful, you resigned, he was too beautiful.

His servants were right. Maybe you really were ruining everything for him. His reputation was frowned upon to begin with for his less than infamous sexual endeavors, that he was more often sighted in casinos and bars instead of his study room.

The barrack guards had grown tired and weary of trying to stop the Crown Prince from leaving the royal grounds. No matter what they did, he always found a way to escape.

The only difference this time around was that their Prince no longer frequented such sinful places and met with women of all titles and backgrounds. No, this time, the Prince leapt from the tall walls that had never been much of a challenge considering his tall frame, not bothering to get a car or even a horse as he dashed straight to your studio.

Sweat dripped down from your face as you slammed a fist on the floor, tears about to erupt. You couldn’t complete this routine that you were so close into perfecting.

Your mind was simply just in a mess.

There was a conflicting war inside you – one with your heart that yearned to stay longer in His Highness’ presence out of mere selfishness, and one with your mind that told you it was dishnoroubale to taint his name like this. The last thing you wanted was to destroy and push both of you even further into falling from grace; both reputations and name already tarnished.

You’d truly be heartless if you kept going on.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were feeling comfortable with him, having found home in the Crown Prince’s warm arms and spontaneous kisses of all places.

Was it absurd? Undoubtedly so.

Could it be helped? You certainly could try.

And you’d been doing a great job so far; quite a daunting task you patted yourself in the back for. Avoiding the Prince when he’d made it clear he also enjoyed your company proved a lot harder than reaching your dreams, but you pushed through, locking yourself in the unused studio and training day and night.

It wasn’t working well – not on your part, anyway. You’d been here for hours, your clothes uncomfortably sticking to your skin and your water bottles were all emptied.

You’d never felt this tired.

You fell on your knees, palms flat on the floor and sweat salty as it trailed down to your lips. With a groan, you untied your shoes off and stared at the bruised and blued toes, a witness to the countless years of hard work. Your lip quivered as you massaged the sore muscles, tears about to spill as you remembered the Prince.

Beautiful, he was, flawless and porcelain in each movement and breath.

But you? You were battered, scarred, broken and bruised – why would he want you of all people? It was clear he’s had multiple lovers before you. No, scratch that, you were never a lover to begin with. It was all a sham, an agreement formed out of lame survival. There was no beauty in a lie.

The music playing from your stereo kept repeating on loop, this time the tune no longer unrecognizable as your soft cries echoed around the studio. You weren’t beautiful – not enough for him, at least – everyone made that very clear to you.

Just as you wiped your tears away at the back of your hand, standing up to continue another set as you refused to come back home without completing one perfect routine, the doors slammed open. Heavy breathing entered afterwards and you scowled – you worked tooth and bone to claim this place as yours, who dared enter? “This studio is private—” your words fell dry on your skin when a tuft of white hair trudged over to you, his usual placid face replaced with a firm sneer. “Y-Your Highness?”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

His voice was nothing but demanding, the authority behind them only natural and befitting for someone like him. Each step he took forwards equated to a step backward until your back hit the mirrors, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Your voice came out weak. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he pointed a finger at you, then scoffed, hands running through the soft locks of his air while he shook his head. You stood there grasping at your tights; having never seen the Prince lose his composure before. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Every time I try to contact you, you never respond. When I ask your friends where you’ve been, they all tell me you’re busy practicing.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice again, tone heavy and biting. “I am busy practicing, do you not see that?”

“It’s not the only thing you’re occupied with. Clearly, you are quite determined to stay away from me too,” he bellowed, his loud voice bouncing back from the emptiness of the room. The booming sound must’ve snapped him back to consciousness because Prince Satoru sighed, stepping closer until his warm hand cupped your cheek, starry blue eyes filled with worry and anguish. Had you caused this?

Beautiful, you frowned, that even in his demise he managed to look like fine art. “Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?” he softened, breath warm on your lips. “If yes, then tell me and I’ll do everything it takes to make up for it.”

You fisted his shirt; cheek faced his way because you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. There was no way you’d let him see you cry.

“I don’t understand you, Your Highness,” you murmured, “You’re about to be King – why do you bother yourself with someone like me? I’m nothing compared to you, and I detest being compared to you for I am more than worthy despite not being born of a high ranking like yours.”

Prince Satoru froze. “Is this what this is about? My title bothers you?”

“We should stop whatever we’re doing,” was all you said, pushing him away as gently as you could, ignoring the gnawing pain that grew inside of you when your palms landed on his chest. “It is lowly of me to take advantage of the Crown Prince’s kindness anyway. My success should be paved out of my own hard work and not because of my lame connections to the Crown Prince.”

“Lame connections? Is that all I am to you?”

“You are my Crown Prince, Your Highness,” you reminded him of the stark difference firmly, “You mean a lot to your people, but I do not mean anything to you. I am just another nameless performer lost in the crowd of a thousand other girls who wish to reach their dreams, even if such a star is far beyond our reach,” Tears had now fallen until they formed into crystals on your cheeks, and he blinked back, unsure of what to do. “Could you ever understand what that feels like? To yearn for something you know you could never have but hope for anyway?”

“It would be a lie if I said I did,” he admitted quietly, “But I think I’m beginning to understand. It would make sense to me now – if you keep pushing me away, that is.”

You shook your head begrudgingly. “Your Highness...we shouldn’t.”

“And why not? Who said we couldn’t?”

You don’t stop him this time when he stepped closer once more, trapping you between his arms until you clutched desperately at his shirt, his erratic heartbeat pulsing under your touch. “It’s just you and I – neither a prince nor a performer – simply man and woman who crave each other’s touch. What could be so wrong into giving into one’s desires?” you gasped when his lips fell at the juncture of your neck, your head immediately tilting to the side as you allowed him to ravage you. “You still haven’t given me the chance to let you know what I feel,” he cradled your jaw, caressing your skin as he breathed you’re your ear, voice low and sultry, begging even, “Would you really deny me the pleasure of showing you how beautiful you are to me right now?”

“Satoru,” you keened at his teeth tugging at your skin, fists clenched on shirt. “Touch me.”

“That’s all I ever wanted to do, darling.”

Satoru swept down to capture your lips in his, his grip firm on the swell of your ass he kept you close to him, pressed hip to hip and his hardened front grazing your core through the tights. He pulled a moan from you as he flipped your body over, lips finding home in your neck while his large hand cupped your breast, the other trailing down to finger at your clothed, damp pussy.

In this angle, you could see the despondent way you easily spread your legs for him, your pants like music to ears.

“Do you still not believe me when I say you are worth more than a pound of gold? Look at you – your dripping cunt shines harder than the diamonds I keep in my room,” the both of you groaned when he pushed a finger through your hole, your tights stretching and sucked in by your walls enough to outline the arousal that seeped through. “Maybe I should keep you instead, hmm, don’t you think? You’d be a far grander treasure than all those riches.”

“I am a woman,” you tugged at his hair, panting heavily as he kept fingering into you, his thumb grazing at the sensitive bundle of nerves that swelled under your tight clothes. “I am not to be reduced to a possession you acquire.”

“No, of course not. Nothing could ever replace you in this world,” he growled, harsh in his movements as he tore your clothes with minimal effort.

You yelped when your precious tights had been ripped to the sides, a hole revealing your core and your breasts barely covered with the flimsy fabric. Satoru shuffled his pants down before placing you right on his cock, swallowing your moans with each inch of his length that slid inside you.

Hands dug painfully into his hair, Satoru hissed at the pain, grinning to himself at how wet you were through just light touches and a sloppy kiss. You’ve been good for him, though, you were always good for him that he had to reward you, show you how beautiful you were, and he spread his legs apart, relishing in the sight of you being fucked onto his cock.

“Nothing feels better than your tight pussy, huh? Take a good look at yourself, you’re so fucking precious, taking me so well,” you could only moan in response, unable to take your eyes off the way his length disappeared inside you, a shiver chilling your spine when he grasped at your breasts, nipples tweaked between his fingers. “Nothing, nothing, nothing could compare to this. You feel like heaven, taste like bliss and forgiveness,” he licked at the salty sweat that drowned your body, one of his hands now rolling your clit between his fingers. You screamed, bouncing yourself harder on him with your nails dug deep into his thighs. “You will be the redemption of my darkened soul, are you not?”

“Maybe I will be,” you cried out, head lolled onto his shoulder.

Satoru hummed, his eyes dark and coated with lust when your breasts bounced in front of the mirror. Thanks to years of dancing, you barely felt a stretch when Satoru suddenly lifted your legs up until your thighs were embarrassingly squished against your chest. You knew why he did this; it wasn’t that hard to understand why when he narrowed his focus on the way your juices slipped down his cock, the sounds of your pussy squelching drowning out the operatic music.

Satoru kissed your cheeks to wipe your previous tears away, his hands nothing but grabby and possessive as he gripped the flesh of your thigh. “You already are, sweet thing.”

Pleasure had completely taken over you at this point, that familiar heat building up in your stomach until it snapped into two. Pupils blown wide open, you gasped as you came all over him, your cum creaming down onto his cock until it lined with a thick ring of cum.

It was filthy to say the least, and your body burned at the thought that you were disrespecting him, defiling him with the mess you’ve made. But the Prince only fucked into you harder, his teeth grazing at your already abused skin with relentless and merciless thrusts. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d show you how beautiful he found you, going hell and beyond because you felt nothing but worshipped when he kissed you feverishly, his moans romantic as he came. “S-Satoru!”

“That’s right,” he slipped a finger, the stretch adding a slight tinge of pain that had your hips rutting out in sensitivity, your hole clenching around his everything. “Cum for me. Come on, I know you can do it for me. You’re so good, sweetheart, come for me.”

You were mindlessly babbling his name as both of you came down from your highs. Satoru doesn’t stop once from running hands everywhere, gripping your hips, flicking your nipples, rubbing your clit, and running a finger down your slit to wipe your juices everywhere. It had become too much that you had to push his hand away, legs locking around his arms that refused to stop cupping your pussy.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he cooed, shameless and teasing when he brought his hands up to your face, fingers stretched to show the webbing of your arousal between them. “We made such a mess,” he chuckled, his kisses a lot softer now on your neck.

Beautiful, you whimpered internally as you fluttered around nothing.

Satoru must’ve grown an addiction to kissing your lips for he dived in one last time, murmuring the word you always tied him with until they felt printed, tattooed, on your skin. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in this, your kisses slow and sensual as you both enjoyed this serene moment.

He came to this studio to prove you something.

He left the studio with a swelling heart, cheeks resting on your breast as he wrapped his arms around you in the comfort of your worn-out mattress as he asked, can I stay here longer with you?

The cheers and applause directed your way were deafening, the spotlight blinding as you bowed. You gasped for air, every muscle in your body screaming both with delight and exhaustion.

You could barely fathom the crowd hidden in darkness before you, the sight like a black sea, but instead of feeling like you were drowning, you don’t think you’d ever been able to breathe this well before. The smile on your face was bright – brighter than the star you’ve become and bigger than the galaxy and universe you’ve made for yourself – and you waved your arm gracefully, toes pointed outwards while the roses and flowers thrown your way came flooding like a waterfall.

You’d made it.

And through the crowd, at the back where someone the likes of him wasn’t supposed to be, His Majesty’s white hair stuck out like a sore thumb. His draperies were replaced with finer ornaments of gold embroidery, those large hands that had grown accustomed to holding yours and marking handprints on your delicate skin covered with gloves as he applauded, following the crowd from where they all stood.

Your smile directed him was nothing less of a beam, the stars he’d hung for you reflecting back in your eyes. Tears blurred the vision of him for a moment until you saw him again – crystal clear – his expression both proud and longing.

The memory of you and him had been a beautiful one, but it was distant and with each passing day, it blurred until it became nothing like swirls of I love you’s and good luck’s whispered onto one another’s skin. Your heart still soared and broke each time at the sight of him, the majestic Queen hanging off the arm that was locked with yours just years ago a painful reminder that there would always be an invisible divide between you and the Prince you’d fallen in love with.

There was no regret, however, in where things had led. You knew he loved his kind wife as much as he loved you, and he knew you loved him as much as you loved your career, and things were simply just…meant to be this way, you concluded.

It was never supposed to be a great love story that told of breaking traditions. Not all stories were meant to go against the odds; some were told to show that people could be capable of change without having to change anything. You were thankful, still so extremely grateful you met your beloved Prince even as he left the theatre before people crowded around him, leaving you to your devices until you retired back into the changing room, a set of rare flowers only a certain person could afford.

Beautiful, you cried as you picked up the card, his once messy scrawls improved into a neater cursive befitting for the new King.

And so it was that you parted ways, with him leading his country into further prosperity while you moved away and stole people’s hearts with each phenomenal show, one after the other.

Your summer rendezvous with the Prince was not meant to be a love story that went against all odds; you were there to save each other from reaching damnation, loving one another as passionately as your souls were able to until you picked each other back up.

Once the other stood firm, tall, and ready to take on the world with their bare hands, you pushed one another in your respective directions.

Beautiful, you smiled as you clutched at his present close to your heart where he’d built a garden out of itself, that we’d saved each other from falling from grace.

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