#Dance among swords

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Hektor Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843-1902) Dance among swords, Detail, 1881 Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[gamesline]

Bulletin+: Nintendo Direct 6/18/24

Big and small reveals, mostly quite exciting, came from today's Nintendo Direct! Here's a Bulletin+ rundown of what was shown. Read the full article

[autumnoakes]

i'm lowkey excited for the next 3D zelda game because i want to see where they go AFTER botw. will they keep some elements of the open world? will they include aspects of environmental storytelling? what will they do? i'm excited to see it

[arolesbianism]

I need to make a new pmd story right now or I'll explode

[redsnerdden]

Every Announcement From June's Nintendo Direct

Every Announcement From June's Nintendo Direct #Nintendo #VideoGames #NintendoSwitch #NintendoDirect

There was a lot to take in at this month’s Nintendo Direct. Three monumental announcements were revealed today, and each one made fans lose their minds completely, Capcom finally giving fans that long-awaited Marvel vs Capcom collection, Rare’s Perfect Dark got that Nintendo Switch Online release, and Metroid Prime 4 finally has a release date window. Let’s take a look at the newest…

[s-lverwing]

DEATH KINK

pairing. emperor caracalla x empress!reader.

summary. Devotion between you and Caracalla is measured in blood.

word count. 1.5k (short one :3)

warnings. dark themes. blood. toxic relationships. slaves and concubines? weird relationship dynamics i guess. character death ? ig (not reader or caracalla dw). english isn’t my first language.

a/n. i don’t remember the scene very clearly so you have to bear with me. wrote this in like two hours so it’s not edited no nothing we die like the twins. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛.

It was no surprise that you, the recently crowned Empress, would draw every single gaze whenever you walked into a room; draped in the empire’s most expensive silks, your skin gleamed beneath the weight of Rome’s all gold—rings encircled your fingers, necklaces coiled around your throat and chest. Even when you entered the triclinium, side by side with the Emperors.

As always, you were seated close to Caracalla, always beside Caracalla, but never within his brother’s reach. There, you were often seen as a prize —though inaccessible— and a curse.

The scent of sweat and blood thickened the air as the clash of steel echoed through the hall. You weren’t even paying attention. Caracalla shifted in his throne, restless, predatory, his lips twitching with dark amusement. And maybe Geta did the same.

Then came the gladiators.

“Swords,” Caracalla groaned, his voice slurred. Childlike in its craving. His eyes, hazy with intoxication, shone with a dangerous hunger. “I want swords.”

He let out a mocking laugh, his ringed fingers caressing your leg with a pressure that could only mean he was far from consciousness; his touch heavy and unsteady. Like he was most likely trying not to slip away. The intoxication mixed with his own disease blurred his senses, yet his grip remained intense.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. His need was so raw, so unrestrained. “A fight to the death! No quarter to be offered, or given” you raised your voice as a sadistic thrill dancing in your chest. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the unpredictability of his madness seeping into your bones.

You loved him to death.

It was almost amusing to see how they all believed—how they fantasized—that you, a noble-born girl, now a woman, could ever hope to civilize a creature so deranged and unhinged as Caracalla. Kicked and left alone at such a young age, rotten to the core and probably to his mind too. Citizens whispered among themselves, imagining that love, care, tenderness, could redeem the blood-stained mind of Caracalla. How sweet was their foolishness. Their faces—so full of hope, of pity, such a beautiful lady trapped in such destiny—always crumbled in disbelief every time you spoke, every syllable that escaped your lips reminding them of your control over a man who could burn an empire with but a whim.

They fantasized about you being his tamer, as though you could tame what was never meant to be tamed, and cure what had long been beyond healing. The truth was bittersweet. For what they all failed to understand, or what they would never understand, is that you weren’t a healer of broken things. How could you explain that your heart warmed at the sight of him relishing in violence? His madness now belonged to you, woven into your very soul. And love? Love could never soften the edges of such brutal spirit—it could only feed the fire.

You adapted. You survived. You thrived in the shadows of his cruelty, and the power it gave you. You learned to enjoy and yearn for the taste of blood, the sound of a life taken with a mere word from your lips. You reveled in the control, the pleasure, the satisfaction. It almost wasn’t a mad thing under your eyes. It was an act of love. Even Macrinus, so quick to label you as bloodthirsty, so eager to brand you as a woman gone mad and turned dangerous, could never understand and always shows himself surprised.

The fight started and you had to roll your eyes at Hano’s words. It felt like an intrusion, a stain. It ruined everything for you.

While everyone was enjoying the fight, one of Caracalla’s discarded concubines—a slave you’d thought long forgotten—had dared to reach for the emperor’s knee, his delicate fingers grazing his upper leg with insolent familiarity. Caracalla did not pull away. Instead, his body softened, inviting the touch with ease, indulgent in a way that twisted something sharp and venomous inside your chest.

Jealousy came to you like a big black wave, something sharp and unyielding; carved from the same iron as the swords that painted Rome’s conquered territories red. It lodged itself beneath your skin, festering, until it became as familiar as brething—a constant ache you could neither purge nor embrace fully. It wasn’t simply desire or the hunger for possession. It was something wretched: the need to be the only one Caracalla turned to when the sickness in his mind became too loud to bear. To be the only one he desires and needs every single time. It often felt like a wound that never healed — and it never would.

He was pure chaos wrapped in imperial red—a creature of untamed anger, both cruel and relentless—but he was yours. Not because he loved you in the way poets sang of, nor in ways little girls dreamed of, but because you understood the shadows that devoured him, ones that fed on you both. Your bond was forged in the smothering heat of violence, in whispered commands that condemned lives, in glances exchanged over bloody arenas where human lives were torn apart for sport. It was a language you both spoke so effortlessly, the language of violence.

While Caracalla never promised fidelity, never whispered of devotion. He understood long ago he didn’t need to. Your understanding went beyond mortal vows, or words. You stills remember the first execution that had twisted your stomach, nausea clawing at your throat as the blade struck flesh, severing a life at your own whispered command. It was a slave; a gift from his twin brother Geta. The only thing she had done wrong was to stare for a second longer in Caracalla’s way. He’d found you later, hands still stained with blood, and kissed you like he was trying to consume your bare soul. And you had let him, because surrendering to him just felt right. Dreamy even.

By the second time it happened, for you it was a lot easier. By the third, you no longer turned away. And then Caracalla simply no longer lusted for carnal pleasure outside your marriage. You learned to savor it—the thrill of power, the satisfaction of everyone’s disapproving glances, the realization that you, too, could be merciless. Whispers said that bloodlust, it seemed, could be contagious.

And Caracalla needed you, as you seemed to be made from the same shattered pieces he was. You were forged in the same merciless burning fire, twin flames consuming everything in their path.

“Careful” You whispered as your hand shot out with precise cruelty, striking the boy’s wrist hard enough to sting, though he didn’t knew the true punishment would come later. Your lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile when you saw the concubine’s startled expression, quickly masked by a defiant laugh. Good, you thought. Let him believe he had won something. Let him feel safe.

Later, when the games were done, when the blood-soaked marbled floors had cooled, you went to Caracalla—not to beg, but to demand. You crawled into his lap, as you have done many times, let him bury his hands in your hair, and whisper what you wanted like it was a sacred invocation. Gods’ spoke through you. He easily obliged, giving it to you, not only because of love, but also because your voice was the only one which could still the storm in his head, the way you could channel his fury into something he deemed purposeful.

“Him.” Your voice cut through the cinnamon scent filled air. You didn’t even bother looking at the concubine—his fate was already sealed. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on the faces around you, enjoying the flickers of recognition and fear that bloomed like flowers. A sardonic smile tugged at your lips, as an unspoken reminder of who actually held their lives…

Caracalla was always watching you, always listening, always poised between affection and destruction. The small crowd of concubines and imperial guards, and maybe the citizens too, might have believed Rome’s fate rested in his hands, but you knew better. His power was tempered and magnified by your will.

Without a word, he reached for you, tracing the curve of your jaw as though in reverence—maybe to ask for forgiveness. His lips brushed your forehead. This was his acknowledgment, his devotion in the only way he knew how. You were bound by something the Gods themselves wouldn’t dare name.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto his guard. The command that followed was calm, almost indifferent—“His head.”

And when the concubine’s lifeless body was dragged through the dirt at her feet, Caracalla’s dark eyes gleamed with understanding. As he pulled you close, their breath mingled like a shared secret, and you knew you were his. But not because you had tamed him—as no one could. But because you had matched his cruelty with your own, answered his violence with your own form of devotion.

You would eternally consume each other—because love, in its purest yet darkest form, was conquest.

a/n 2: hi again i just love a reader who would match caracalla’s freak 🫦🫦🫦

[lunarsilver]

What are their sexual fantasies?

18+, minors do not interact

A reading regarding your partner - your current one (asking about their permission would be in good taste), or next one, or the most important one, or your future spouse... Whatever you prefer.

(Psst! I will be grateful for your answer to a simple question.)

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

PILE 1

Six of Swords - Strength (R) - Three of Wands (R) - Back of the Deck: Knight of Swords (R)

Six of Swords literally fell out as I was shuffling, which suggests to me this one is pretty important. Six of Swords is about change, leaving something behind and going on new endeavors. It looks like they’re really eager to try something new, maybe their earlier experience with intimacy wasn’t the best for them. Then we have Strength in reverse which seems to confirm that they felt or feel kind of trapped, and they fantasize about lashing out their raw emotions. The deck I use does not have a sexual theme, but this specific card has one of the most sensual imagery among all the cards in this deck: a woman, full of confidence, poses in just heels and lower underwear, a bra tossed aside. She’s very flexible and has a snake tattoo on her leg. I think your person wishes to be so flexible and confident in their body. The imagery brings a strip club or a sexy dance for a partner to my mind, and while there is a chance your person would like to see someone doing this kind of act (I guess going to a club like this would fit the theme of trying something new), for most this card is simply about having the courage to embrace one’s body and desires. Reversed Three of Wands says this person experiences some delays, some problems on their way to express themselves, and this leads to frustration. Knight of Swords in reverse confirms that. Your person is pretty frustrated sexually, and for some reason is unable to take action. As a side note, both Six of Swords and Knight of Swords in this deck show swords, so maybe some people here would like to try knife play? What’s interesting is that, in the way they lie now, all these swords point in the same direction, but what is exactly this direction? That’s unclear. Let’s pick up some more cards.

I asked for the reason why your person cannot fulfill themselves sexually and why they feel frustrated, and the cards are Seven of Swords (R), King of Cups, The Tower (R) and at the back there is Six of Cups. To put it short, it looks like they have this mental blockage. They may feel like they aren’t worthy of it, or it simply doesn’t fit them. For some, they grew up taught to think about sexuality as something shameful. I think the King of Cups represents them, and if so, they look really lovely and in tune with their emotions. They are at the start of their personal transformation and rediscovering what they like. No specific fantasies came here in this reading, other than the desire to have the courage to try to do what they are or may be into. It could be good to create a safe space for them, tell them that if they want to try something, you may always discuss it together. Whether you’ll actually do it is another matter, but letting them know having sexual desires isn’t shameful is pretty important here.

PILE 2

The Tower (R) - The Hierophant (R) - Two of Wands (R) - Three of Cups - Back of the Deck: Knight of Wands

Only after I realized I pulled four cards instead of three, I guess they have a lot to say lol. We’re starting with The Tower in reverse, so your person wants some inner change. The Hierophant in reverse is about questioning the rules, about freedom. Your person fantasizes about exploring, most likely about doing some kinky stuff. They’re excited about it, they want to do it, but they’re not ready and lack a proper plan or preparation (Two of Wands in reverse). However, it is clear they fantasize about celebrating their and their partner(s) bodies, treating sex as fun, as shown in Three of Cups. For some, Three of Cups suggests them fantasizing about threesomes. A side note, but a lot of cards show some pets, some on a leash, and I cannot help but wonder whether your person fantasizes about some kind of pet play. I think the reversed Knight of Wands at the back represents your person: impulsive, ready to action, fiery and with high libido, but probably they should do some research first. I felt like pulling some charms, asking what this person has to tell you, and the messages are “it will be better”, “I am with you”, “you are a master” (or maybe they want to say you are their master; whether “the master of their heart” or a master as in a BDSM dynamic - I feel like for quite a lot of you, pile 2, your person is a proud bottom, maybe a power bottom or a little a brat lol), “do what you love”, “you can count on me” and “fresh perspective”.

PILE 3

Ten of Cups - The Empress - Knight of Cups - Back of the Deck: The Magician

Okay, all upright, three out of four cards show people, two Major Arcana and two cards of Cups, plus three out of four cards are mainly pink and red. This person knows what they want and they like to be as clear as possible, they’re emotional and aren’t ashamed of it, that’s what I get right off the bat. Ten of Cups shows they’re pretty romantic, they fantasize about an ideal, fulfilling, committed relationship. The Empress and Knight of Cups represent you and this person - and I feel like for most of you, you are represented by the Empress and they are Knight of Cups, given how romantic and emotional Knight of Cups is, and how romantic is your person. The Empress and Knight of Cups look at each other from their respective cards. They look tenderly, smiling a little, and their eyes are on the same level. This person clearly fantasizes about an equal relationship, where at the same time they can adore you and spoil you. The Magician at the back suggests they manifest this relationship. Like, your person is so sweet, I asked about sexual fantasies and all that came out is that they want love. As an afterthought, the Empress is the only card having different colors than the rest, which only further proves the rest of cards is their energy and the Empress is you. I asked for some messages from your person to you and pulled out these charms: “I’ve been looking for you everywhere :*”, “I love your smile”, “something nice will happen to you”, “it makes me want to live”.

[harunayuuka2060]

*The audience, especially Vil's fans, are expressing concern and worry about how the NRC group will fare, since they are the last to perform.*

Maleficia: What is causing all this commotion among the people?

Baul: I believe it's because Their Highness's group is performing last, putting them at a significant disadvantage.

Maleficia: My grandchild's group? At a disadvantage, you say?

Lilia: There's no need to panic.

Malleus: Indeed. Being the final act can provide an opportunity to create a lasting impression.

Baul: You say that, but...

*Some audience members wish to leave early due to exhaustion from the earlier performances.*

Random person A: Can't we just vote already?

Random person B: But Vil hasn't performed yet.

Malleus, Maleficia, Baul, and Lilia: ...

The emcee: I appreciate your patience. Now, without further ado, it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for... the NRC group!

The audience: *cheers*

*MC, Vil, Rook, Epel, Ace, Deuce, Kalim, and Jamil entered the stage in their uniforms, taking their respective positions (with Vil, of course, at the center).*

*The stage lights dim, and the moment the music begins, the lights brighten again, revealing their historical ikemen outfits.*

The audience: !!!

*Fifteen minutes before the performance, MC spoke to them about their chances of winning the competition.*

MC: I admit I didn’t realize we would be the last to perform. Still, do I think our chances of winning are low? *smiles* Not at all.

MC: We will enchant the audience with our performance, almost akin to the feeling of falling in love.

Lyrics:

Kalim: Everything I know is the melodies and symphonies

Jamil: Everything I know is a life without light

Kalim: (I will always be alone)

Rook: There's a longing inside my soul

Vil: And in the deepest void where time is but a scenery

Vil: I'll be waiting for you!

All: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

Vil: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like to leave it all behind

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la""

Deuce: Dancing gracefully to the beat of your heart

Epel: Until the morning comes TO STEAL YOU AWAY!!!

Ace and Deuce: All I ever knew was that you and me were meant to be

MC and Vil: All I ever knew was the taste of your lips against mine

Rook: (You are mine forevermore)

MC: We were bound for eternity

Vil: Now I am lost inside this everlasting reverie

Vil: And I'm losing my mind

All: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

MC: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like to leave it all behind

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la

MC: Come away with me through the echoes of time

All: Until the morning comes to steal you away!

Vil: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

Vil: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like...

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la

All: Come away with me through the echoes of time

All: Until the morning comes to steal you away

All: So you looked into my eyes and brought me back to life

Vil: I still think of you in the dark of the night

Vil: A silent lullaby

Vil: I'll be waiting here 'til the end of all days

Vil: *a tear rolls down his cheek*

Vil: My nocturnal serenade...

The audience: ...

The audience: *all stood up and cheered*

Malleus, Maleficia, Lilia, and Baul: ...

Baul: *starts ugly crying*

Maleficia: It's beautiful...

Malleus: *proud dad smile*

Lilia: Their performance has just finished but the song is etched in my mind.

Ace: AHH! FINALLY!

Epel: *was actually scared earlier* I thought I would make a mistake!

Rook: *chuckles* You did well, Epel!

Vil: *feels restless*

Rook: Roi du Poison?

Vil: ...

Vil: Rook, do you think we've done enough to defeat Royal Sword Academy?

Rook: ...

Rook: *smiles*

Rook: Roi du Poison, while I’m uncertain about our chances of winning, it's clear that you are the fairest of them all, and everyone recognizes that.

Vil: ...

Vil: *smiles*

Kalim: Guys? Do you know where MC is?

Jamil: They went to greet their grandmother.

Maleficia: Congratulations, my dear. *pampers MC with light kisses on the face*

MC: *chuckles* Nana, the results haven't been announced yet.

Malleus: *clears throat* *waiting for his turn to congratulate his child*

Maleficia: You can wait.

Malleus: ...

Lilia: *laughs*

MC: *notices that Baul isn't with them*

MC: Where is Sir Baul?

Lilia: Maybe he got hungry and went to buy some food.

Baul: *looking sternly at Ruggie*

Ruggie: ...

Baul: You.

Ruggie: I don't know you, sir—

Baul: YOU WERE STARING ADMIRINGLY AT THEIR HIGHNESS!

Ruggie: NO! AS IF!

[madamabelladonna]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: House Dayne of Starfall, bearing the sigil of a white falling star and a sword on a field of lavender. Though sparse in men and coin, House Dayne is renowned as one of the oldest in Westeros. Sworn to House Martell, under the decree of their liege lord, Lord Julius Dayne dispatched the Sword of the Morning, his second son, Ser Merek Dayne, along with his only daughter, to King’s Landing as emissaries of Dorne. Little did they know, the twinkle of a star could ignite the passions of men, dragons, and wolves alike. 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Drama, Coming-of-Age, Explicit Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Violence, Gore, War, Reader eating cheerios with Luke and Helaena while Jace, Cregan, and Aemond duke it out 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 Young Lady Dayne never truly grasped what it meant to be a high-born lady; her mother and father had sheltered her from the vipers lurking in the shadows. Yet, as fate would have it, their protection could only shield her for so long before she was cast into a den brimming with treachery. Green or Black? The choice is hers, but she finds herself drawn to the hue of violet…

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 Young Lady Dayne, finds herself adjusting to her new life at the capital. A gift from Starfall, a steed with a mane like freshly fallen snow. As she immerses herself in the pages of her books, a small figure unexpectedly scampers into her chamber—a boy lost in the game of hide and seek. She finds herself teaching the boy how to read. Only to be seated in the company of Princess Rhaenyra and her small family, sharing a quiet tea.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫 Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕: 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 Young Lady Dayne knew survival in the Red Keep required more than caution—it demanded influence. After keeping her distance from Jacaerys, she finally accepted his apology, truly forgiving him. But as he left, she realized it might be long before she saw him again. In his place, a prince in green awaited.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 Young Lady Dayne watched the Red Keep, no longer as crimson as it once had been, now draped in the creeping embrace of ivy and moss. It looked more like an overgrown garden than a fortress of kings. Only Aemond, with his hard gaze and sharper tongue, stirred no sympathy. But Helaena—sweet Helaena—her heart ached for the gentle princess. Such a delicate flower, doomed to marry the vile Aegon. How cruel the gods could be.

[More in pending...]

This is my first post so I hope you like it, personally, House Dayne is my favorite and I hope it gets more recognition in the next book.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @boiolay @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @mellylla @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @milksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @agoldenwoe @moonliightbabes @day2dream @geminizmoonz

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 0 - Prologue

[Lament of the Fallen]

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"I have lost everything."

The relentless battle against the Honkai beasts rages on, your katana slicing through their monstrous forms with a desperate fury. Explosions erupt around you, the searing heat mixing with the blood and sweat that drips down your temples. The ground is littered with the fallen, comrades who once fought beside you now lifeless amidst the swarming beasts summoned by the Herrschers.

"My family..."

The horrifying sight of humans, transformed into mindless Honkai zombies, fills you with dread. Your grip on the handle of your Divine Key falters as you witness your little sister and brother among them, feasting on the remains of fallen soldiers. Tears blur your vision as you dash towards them, the agony of what you must do tearing at your soul. With a heart-wrenching cry, you end their suffering, beheading the only family you had left. You had promised to protect them, to create a peaceful world for them.

"My dear comrades..."

A wall of flames engulfs the encroaching monsters, giving you a momentary respite. Kalpas, your grey-haired, masked comrade, stands before you, his power saving you once more. Exhaustion is etched on his face, but he urges you to keep moving. Before you can respond, a piercing laser beam shoots through his chest, and he crumples to the ground. One by one, your friends fall, their bodies lifeless on the battlefield. The bonds forged in blood and battle, severed in an instant.

"My world..."

The battlefield is a graveyard of Honkai beasts and fallen soldiers, their bodies buried beneath layers of ash. The sky above is a mournful grey, reflecting the lifeless desolation around you. You stand alone, the sole survivor amidst the ruins. Have you won the war, or merely survived its horrors? The answer eludes you.

"And..."

In your hand, you clutch your new Divine Key, forged from the shattered remains of 70,033 blades and the essence of twelve Herrschers. You gaze up at the bleak, grey sky, the weight of your existence pressing down on you.

"I realize now..." You unsheathe your Divine Key, Nihility, unleashing your Active Honkai Reaction. Golden cracks spread from your right hand, blossoming into ethereal flowers. Your hair turns snow-white, your skin pale as ivory. Golden horns sprout from your head, and your eye color turns into gold.

"I've lost myself."

"...That the ultimate fate of this world is nothingness, and therefore, worthless... or even the whole universe?"

With a final, devastating swing of your Divine Key, you begin to unravel the very fabric of this world, reducing it to void, to nothingness. The ground beneath you crumbles, the sky shatters, and everything you fought for dissolves into oblivion. As the world collapses around you, you raise your katana high.

"Yet... I still want to stay..."

With a heavy heart, you turn the blade upon yourself, splitting your soul in half, and embracing the void.

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Snowflakes drift gently from the dull, grey sky, their delicate forms hitting softly against your window. You stare blankly at the wintry landscape, your mind lost in the endless dance of the snow. Your right hand, adorned with claw-like metallic finger guards, rests against the cold glass. As you blink, the serene snowflakes transform into ashen rain, and the snowy ground becomes a graveyard, littered with swords and corpses.

Startled, you stumble back, your heart pounding in your chest. The haunting vision fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving you standing in the quiet room. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a cold line down your cheek. You wipe it away, confusion mingling with the sorrow etched on your face.

"... A forgotten memory?" you whisper, your breath fogging the glass.

Before you can ponder the vision further, a knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn away from the window, your expression hardening. "Come in," you command, your voice firm yet distant.

The door creaks open, and a Fatui Skirmisher steps in, bowing deeply. He holds a letter in his trembling hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Lord Innamorati," he begins, his voice wavering with fear. "A letter from Her Royal Highness."

'Her Highness?' The title feels foreign, a distant echo in your mind. You frown, trying to grasp the fleeting memory.

"Can you remind me of her name?" you ask, your tone soft yet icy, sending a shiver through the skirmisher despite his thick winter coat.

"H-Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, the name stirring something within you. A fleeting sense of purpose, lost in the haze of your fragmented memories. "Thank you," you say, your voice carrying a trace of melancholy. "My memory... it often fails me."

The skirmisher quickly hands you the letter and exits the room, his relief palpable. You turn to your desk, the weight of the message heavy in your hand. If the Cryo Archon herself has written to you, it must be of grave importance. Did something terrible happen? Or have you forgotten another mission?

You break the seal and unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the contents. With a sigh, you crumple it and toss it into the trash. Your hand instinctively moves to the scabbard where your Divine Key, Nihility, rests.

"A funeral..., huh?" The words hang in the air, heavy with sorrow and resignation.

You move to the window once more, the snowy landscape a stark contrast to the inner turmoil you feel. The snow outside is pure and untouched, but in your mind, the vision of the dead and the desolate ground lingers. You know that each snowflake, each fleeting memory, is a piece of the past that you can never fully grasp.

In the quiet of your room, you can't shake the feeling that you're losing more than just memories. You're losing yourself, piece by piece, like the snow melting away under the weight of the ashes.

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[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Hektor Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843-1902) Dance among swords, 1881 Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[seneon]

OF ART & SWORD ──── samurai¡ touya × geisha¡ reader.

about. oh but to love a woman who is already married to art. set in edo period, rural japan! au. romance. mentions of alcohol and suggestive content ( very short & uncompleted sex scene, it's intimately beautiful ) wc of 4300+

notes. the long awaited fic that's been sitting in here for months LOL. these rural jp themes & titles are based on research. anyways, no grunge dabi content this week.

SUNDAY NIGHTS were the only night that all the well respected samurai of the shogun had all for themselves. the gruesome days of protecting, engaging in battle, and training during the day were seemingly like a preview of what hell is like.

during this one night where they are granted freedom to sprawl all around the kingdom, many of the samurai's loyal warriors are seen in brothels. they engage in nothing but sugar-coated conversations with the women there and the next thing their bodies entwine.

tonight, the elite men all decided to spend their nights watching performances led by the women from the best okiya in the entire city. tonight is the night of artistry.

it is hard to tell if the samurai were here for art or not, since they all knew that a specific tayū of eternal beauty resides in this okiya. a woman who married the concept of art and ingrained it all throughout her soul.

the highest ranking of geisha which stands on par with those beautiful oiran of pleasure, you, a tayū. a woman of art and a woman who never fails to shine a sort of hopeful light around her customers.

the calmest of turquoise eyes watched as the said tayū danced above the little stage.

your arm ever so elegantly tracing the strings in the air as your fingers dipped in the invisible waters. occasionally, you would turn around, your feet carrying you so lightly it looked as if you were dancing in heaven's clouds.

it sucked the samurai’s soul in a captivating trance as you danced to the shamisen’s tunes that your maiko played. your movements were so fluid that it reminded the samurai with pure snowy hair of the calmest waters of a lake.

he couldn't take his eyes off you, even when the performances were finished and all the geisha in the okiya surrounded themselves among the samurai men, mingling around for a little fellowship.

he swore he was the chosen one the moment you choose to offer him your attention, sitting at the empty spot beside him.

“good evening, sir. is it alright if i serve you tea?”

hell. your voice sounded like those heavenly angels who sang melodic songs. your words so smooth it simply rolled off your tongue. it is enough to make the samurai's heart race with your voice.

and gosh. has he ever seen such beautiful eyes before? those eyes that draw him close so that he can drown in an unending pool of your gaze. they were so kind that it taints his heart with the purest of colours.

he simply nods, never a verbal man. either way, he couldn't force a single word out of his throat with the way that his insides are all over the place.

you simply smiled and poured him tea, as you said you would. you only poured tea for him, never one for yourself. that made him want to push a few words out, a little distracted from his feelings.

“pour for yourself,” the samurai murmured, avoiding your gaze as you said a simple all right before pouring an empty little cup of tea for yourself.

“i’ve never seen you here before.”

“that's because i never came here before,” he replied almost immediately to your words as he took a sip of his tea. “those men have been here several times though.”

you glanced over him before focusing your gaze back on him. “yes, i know them. but i don't know you. what is your name?”

his turquoise eyes flickered to your face as you asked him for his name. it seems like common courtesy for a pretty geisha to ask for her customer's name so that she will appreciate and remember the faces of those who pay attention to the artistry of the geisha.

“it's todoroki tōya.”

tōya's name rolls down your tongue like a prayer.

ONE MONTH of knowing you and that is all it took for the elite samurai todoroki tōya to start sponsoring you. he is the only man capable of such riches and wealth and the only one whose patronage was accepted by you.

tōya's comrades were surprised. they did not see it coming— how he is such an aloof soldier yet was noticed by the most beautiful woman of the geisha world.

now, the samurai with hair as white as the winter snow sat on the tatami mat, watching as you executed solo performances for him and him alone, a way to show gratitude to your danna.

he watched as the fan in your hand flew in the air, your fingers skillfully performing tricks with such a nimble little thing. even with a tool used in your dancing, he was impressed by your skills.

“how'd you do that? the fan thing,” tōya asks as you continue to swing your arm elegantly in the air, following the nonexistent music which only plays in your ear and yours alone.

“i simply throw it in the air and hope to catch it the right way,” you replied, giving him a slower demonstration of the skill as you saw tōya tilted his head in confusion. you chuckled before your movements came to halt.

“there is no way you just hope to catch it the right way. there has to be a skill. just like samurai with their blades and kenjutsu.”

you sauntered over to the man before setting your fan aside and taking a seat opposite of him.

“but there is. when you have a skill, you hope to make the best out of it. you believe in the skill which you've perfected. that is hope. when i perform, i hope for the best. when i hope and believe in that light, then i can perform perfectly while holding onto that simple little light that lives within me.”

gosh, even your words sound like sweet honey that drowns itself into the back of his mind. the way you perceive a word as simple as hope has him listening intently, even if he isn't really into that kind of overwhelming genre.

by now, you already know he isn't a man of many words but just a few. you do almost all the talking, filling the air with your heavenly voice that tōya loves to listen to every time he murders his free time basking in your calming presence.

being with you simply makes him forget about all the samurai work that he has. in your presence, he forgets how to wield a blade, how to lead an army, how to fight for this country because all he could think of was how to hold your hands, how to lead you into his embrace, and how to fight for you.

it's pathetic to him how he forgets that he is a samurai, yet an elite one, whenever he's with you. and sometimes, he forgets what he wants to say and ends up uttering the utmost outrageous thoughts of his.

“you are my hope, y/n.”

THE MOON GLEAMED, like a massive white bone china plate, hanging high up on night heavens. its silver glows illuminated on the skin of a figure slowly and elegantly moving her arms in the air, forming a magical aura all around her. your hair danced along the cold winds accompanied by the soft waves of the lake.

you slowly moved, following the tunes that the earthly nature offered up to you as a gift for entertaining them with your dancing. to dance freely and to have no other soul tear your confidence away is such longing peace that you have been looking for this whole time.

when have you ever danced like this all alone without having to worry about anything at all? without the eyes of men burning their gazes into your soul.

you felt so free, telling your okasan that you wanted to take a nightly walk through town but here you are, all alone by a lake where the moon favours your absolute beauty.

there were extremely faint sways of the roots that danced in joy at the performance you are giving them, serving mother nature with your grace.

now it is tōya's turn to lay his eyes on your dancing figure. you slowly spun around, arms moving in the most graceful and beautiful manner he has ever seen. he doesn't know what to think or feel at that moment where he hides behind a tree to watch you twirl like a soft and light leaf which is being carried by the wind.

the samurai watched in absolute awe, unknowingly admiring such beauty that unfolds right before him from a distance.

turquoise eyes usually resting and pupils never forming into a lovely circle of whatsoever, they widened just a little bit, giving the samurai some emotions that perfectly portrayed his features. his lips parted a little, letting the cold mountain air kiss his lips dry.

if there was a way to keep his lips moist, it would be to have his lips on yours.

wait—

what was the samurai's most elite samurai, todoroki tōya, thinking..? to have his lips on yours? to keep his lips moist? to kiss you...?

tōya blushed. his cheeks grew a field of red roses, freshly bloomed and ready to decorate the rest of his face deep red. he covered his cheeks so quickly that the sound of a slap echoed through the night.

shit.

the sound has caught your attention. you have ceased dancing, now looking at the direction the odd sound came from. tōya completely hid himself behind the tree, hands still covering his mouth. a smile crept up your cheeks when you saw the beautiful white hair that immediately strikes out from the greeneries.

there was an incredible silence for a long moment, before a shuffle was heard.

"let's dance," you whispered into his ears, fingers gently wrapping themselves onto the hands of the flustered samurai as you pulled him along with you to lead him around the lake where you danced for nature.

tōya simply let you do as you wished, not uttering a word of disagreement to your offer or even shaking his hands free from your grasp. you have him cornered and wrapped under your pretty fingers. you made todoroki tōya all flustered and shy.

what could be a greater achievement than that?

when you took tōya's calloused hands and went for a run under the moonlight, he couldn't help but feel secure with a strong sense of comfort. love and affection began to brew inside of him from the moment your smile influenced him to curve the corners of his lips upwards too.

EIGHT DAYS AND STILL COUNTING, yet you've never felt much more empty and lonely with the lack of tōya's presence.

he has gone away to fight with the rest of the king's army of samurai, soldiers, and warriors. all courageous men who have pledged their utmost loyalty to the king and the kingdom.

eight days is excruciating for you, even if you tell yourself otherwise. tōya has been visiting you a lot more often than ever, and suddenly he gets drafted to lead an army after his long hiatus.

and pray tell, there was never a night where you wouldn't gaze out at the moon from your room just to wonder if he's also gazing at the same moon you set your sights upon.

you wish that the moon would convey a message to him through your eyes and thoughts that the moon hears. anything would be fine. would be better if you received some sort of message through the stars about the young samurai.

another eight lonely days and nights of engaging and socialising with the townspeople passed in long dreadful hours. in total, it has been sixteen days. mere two weeks and two days where you last heard the voice of the well respected samurai and ever since you saw his ocean eyes.

and here you were, eyes slightly widened at the sight of the said samurai you missed so much. tōya's eyes gazed into yours as you felt your breath being brought to an end at that moment.

like a sculpture, a smile slowly carved upwards of his cheeks, your own heart fluttering at the sight of your beloved danna. your widened eyes melted like ice-cream, softening at his little smile before you walked to him at the entrance of your okiya.

“welcome back, tōya-san.”

“hello to my favourite lady, y/n-san,” tōya did a little bow before chuckling to himself. he then handed out a small bouquet of peonies that was hiding behind him, awaiting to be presented to a lady.

“i never forgot about you,” said the samurai as he looked at the pretty pink peonies that made him smile. “in fact, i’ve always been thinking about you. on the battlefield, when i rested, even the moments where i cleaned my blade free from the stains of the dead.”

tōya's description has your face twisting into an indescribable facial expression, the silence you emit so deafening it makes his lips pursed in awkwardness at your odd reaction.

“sorry, i didn't mean to uh, say the last part.”

“no no, it's fine. surely you don't think of me when you see blood, do you?” you raised a brow.

his fingers moved up to scratch his cheeks. “of course not. what i meant to say is, i can't keep you out of my mind.”

and it makes you chuckle before you take the bouquet into your hands to sniff the peonies because you couldn't get him out of your mind too.

“i’m glad you're safe and sound. unharmed and untouched, tōya-san.”

you really thought he wasn't coming back.

THE CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL makes every other night spent differently with tōya. the finest sake ran down your throat like how it was when tōya poured you a small cup. the flavour of alcohol is so fruity and floral it messes with your mind almost immediately after consuming a few cups.

as tayū, your alcohol tolerance is so high that you could drink as many jugs as you wish. it definitely surpasses the level that your patron has.

for some odd reason, tonight the universe declares your alcohol tolerance to sink into merely nothing more than a low, innocent, maiko who awaits her turn for alcohol consumption.

neither of you knew what time it is. it's somewhere around 21:38. you think. the candles looked way too funny to read. by the time the candle runs out, your time with your danna should be over. but it seems that your candle still has a long way to go.

your mind wandered off somewhere to the dreamland where only the best possible outcomes happen in there and never in reality. all while tōya takes unending sips of the liquid that has already drugged his mind with ecstasy.

he fixed his vision onto you where you sat so elegantly and so poised, the cup in your hand as your hands rested on your lap. your eyes are half-lidded and lazy.

noticing your flushed cheeks— your pretty lips that were covered in a light layer of squeezed rose petals from the west. the sake left a trail of dripped liquid at the corner of your mouth and he so itches to clean it up for you.

so when his proximity with yours closes and he nears you, his nose so close to your face when he exhales you could feel it fanning your cheeks.

you glanced at him just a little bit, eyes locking onto his own and seeking for anything in them just to be pulled into an ocean that you start to drown in.

the tension is thick— one could probably cut it with a katana and it will not break. perhaps a lance could pierce through the broadness of the air. either way, the tension between you and the samurai is so heavy that it makes you forget how to think for a moment when tōya's lips gently touch your own.

he does it so slowly and carefully, pulling away to look at your pretty features, as if he's drinking every one of them sip by sip. then his fingers moved to graze your cheeks. slowly and carefully, he holds your face and cups it, not wanting to break you as if you are just like a fragile porcelain doll.

“you're so beautiful...” tōya whispers and your heart flutters. each day you hear the same thing over and over again by every soul you set your sights on. but when tōya says it, it becomes new and unspoken words to you.

truly, it makes your stomach flutter with how many butterflies that trashed around at his praise.

“c-can i kiss you again..?” asked the samurai and you nodded like a fool, pressing your lips onto his before he could.

you shouldn't be kissing your patron, your danna. hell, you shouldn't be kissing any customers at all. but you're here, drowning in the ecstasy of his lips and the way his hands feel on you.

the taste of alcohol on tōya's lips is so divine that it heats you up along with the kiss that grew more intense as the candlelight softly burned in the far background.

committing a crime against the rules and laws of the artistic world, you paid no mind to it. no rules or regulations exist to you in this moment where you back softly hits the wooden ground and tōya crawls above you to trail his lips down down your jawline and to your neck.

alcohol is forgotten, rules ceased to exist, and kisses marked your neck where kimono collars could cover them the next day.

tōya pays his mind in remembrance that you are still a geisha, still the daughter of art and servant of beauty. that much he wants to keep, although he isn't sure how much longer he could keep himself off you.

while he kisses your neck and marks them with bites that reeks of pure love, his fingers move to loosen the obi that holds your kimono in place.

once they've come undone, you could feel his hands peeled your garment off your shoulders as his kisses on your neck came to a halt.

your breathing is all hitched and messed up, letting the samurai undress you bare underneath him while his drunken turquoise eyes gazed at your body.

no words were uttered, just his lips that tells you how much he appreciates you whole. they drive down to your neck and shoulder, before going lower to your chest, stomach, and he pulls up to look at you before it could go any lower.

“why'd you stop…?” you whispered, your eyes looked up at him and your lips slightly curled in a pout, never wanting his sweet kisses to stop any sooner.

“as much as i want to do this, you could lose your career,” he answers and rests his hands on your cheek. “i don't want that to happen.”

“but tōya-san, i want you. i don't care about being a geisha if it means i could be with you. besides, you could just buy me.”

his cheeks grew a field of roses at your words as he remained silent for a moment. “then i’ll proceed with the transaction later. you're all right with that?”

you nodded. “more than all right,” your affirmative whisper has tōya pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, giving it a few chaste kisses while his fingers hooked at the band of your undergarment before slowly pulling it down, his own breath growing shaky.

just a few more moments later and his tongue is buried deep inside you after the work of his coated fingers of your slick. his hands kept your thighs opened while you gripped on his precious white hair as he pleasures you with his tongue.

the candle still looks like it has hours to go, which is perfect and foreseen of this moment where you revel in ecstasy.

and when he pushes in and out of you while letting out praises and affirmations through his lips, you feel nothing but the deepening love for elite samurai tōya todoroki.

you don't want to continue being a geisha tayū anymore.

OKASAN SITS YOU DOWN. she's brushing your hair like any mother would. so sweetly and filled with so much affection in the brushing, her hands felt like mother's love to you.

she starts off the conversation with a simple update on the okiya and how business is going. it's progressing well, she tells you, and thanks you because of the successful business. then she mentions about your maiko and her coming of age.

your precious maiko which you've seen grown up into a beautiful young woman. she's now read to take the next step from apprenticeship to the real thing, to be formed into a geisha. and if heaven allows, your maiko would take your place as tayū. hereditary, it seems.

“you’ve given your innocence to the samurai?” okasan asked softly as you visibly tensed, causing the older woman to rest her hand on your shoulder. “do not fear, i am not angry.”

you nodded in response as you could hear the woman practically smiling through her gentle voice, hands lifting your shoulders to resume the brushing of hair.

“was he any good? i don't want my girls to give their purity to men who isn't of art.”

a firm blush painted your cheeks a bloody hue before you fidgeted with the hem of your kimono sleeves.

“he's… tōya-san’s really gentle. considerate too. he kept asking permission and fearing my career more than i did.”

the woman hummed in response. “that's really great. and what do you feel about it?”

“what do i feel about it ..? like, him being gentle and considerate?”

“yes. had he made it an honourable and unforgettable experience for you? did his kindness touched your heart?”

you thought for a moment. “to answer all your questions at once, yes. to be honest… i don't want to entertain anyone else other than him.”

“negative, y/n, negative. you do not just entertain people, especially the samurai. you share and show people your art. and you are art.”

okasan takes a ribbon to tie a low ponytail to your hair after brushing. once she tightens the knot, she takes a seat opposite of you and looks into your eyes.

“you mean a lot to the samurai. there's a look of love in his eyes whenever you are around. the same goes the other way with you. but remember, y/n. you are a tayū, highest of the geishas. you are tied to art, not to a man. and to be tied to a man, you must cut ties with art.”

so the next time tōya came to visit the okiya, you have already cut the ribbon that ties you and art together. however, when the samurai came, he's brought many things to the okiya with him. all gifts, for the women of the okiya, your okasan, your maiko. and of course, to you, the woman he kneeled on one knee to propose to.

THREE YEARS LATER and the geishas of the okiya where you once worked at are all gathered in the living room of the todoroki mansion.

your maiko— now a beautiful young tayū, carried your two-year old child around, swaying back and forth while singing the tunes she'd used to play on her shamisen for your performances.

okasan and the other geisha speaks to rei and fuyumi, the mother and elder sister of your beloved samurai, as you're in the kitchen with tōya, preparing food for the big company.

“tōya, no, put the onions in! not shallots!” your mouth filled with the unagi you just made, tasting it before your exclaims reaches your husbands ears.

“sorry! i can't tell the difference,” your husband grumbled in annoyance and held up an onion and shallot for you. “which is which, love?”

“onion’s that, shallot’s the other one,” you pointed as you told him, swallowing the unagi before beaming in satisfaction. “perfection.”

the samurai lets out a little scoff at you before turning back to the cutting board and knife, beginning the slicing of onion. “how can you tell the difference anyways?”

“my dear, i've been cooking all my life. it's easy once you get used to it,” you went to him and peeked over his shoulders, smiling at how skillfully he cuts the onions.

“is this you when you went to war three years ago and thought about me in the middle of the battlefield?”

tōya flushes red at that memory and cut the onions even faster, earning a “ah— slow down!” from you, before a chuckle emitted.

“not like i didn't think of you all the time back then,” he murmurs and slides all the onions into a bowl, handing them to you once he's done. “y/n, you've always plagued my mind like an artwork i could never forget.”

“i’m just very artistic, aren't i?” you pressed a soft and chaste kiss on his cheeks, a few cuts visible from his recent mission with the shogun.

“yeah yeah, so very artistic until i fell in love with a merely unforgettable art,” he leans down to kiss your lips instead.

“eww! get a room, nee-san!” your apprentice calls out before your child attempts to follow her in her coos.

“just showing love to my favourite lady,” tōya pulls away and pecks a kiss onto your forehead. “let’s continue cooking, yeah? i love you, my favourite lady of art.”

TAGGING ★ @seumyo @solvisun @syverse @lezviie @sanariafr @bbluefllame @onlyyemanii

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[flowerandblood]

The Downfall (Oneshot)

[ Hamlet • dark Aemond x Ophelia • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, fingering, virgnity loss, violence, suicide, angst, smut, obsession, remorse ]

[ description: When she attracts the attention of Prince Aemond during the wedding feast of his brother and his sister, she knows that something terrible is going to happen. His figure lunges towards her like black storm clouds and she feels that, along with his desire, he will bring on her downfall. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Tis I who should receive this honour. I, second son, rider of the greatest dragon in the world, experienced in wielding the sword, educated in history and philosophy, 'tis I who should…" He didn't finish, pressing his lips into a thin line. He stopped in the middle of the chamber, not looking at her but at the floor, his eye wide open in rage, his nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

She swallowed hard, clenching her fingers on the material of her gown, sitting in one of the chairs at the table, fearful of him as usual when he behaved in this way, making her unsure how to act.

To endorse his words would have meant betrayal, so she had to remain silent, though her heart was pounding like mad in her chest, a drop of cold sweat running down the back of her neck.

Their betrothal had come as a surprise to her; the prince had caught sight of her at a grand wedding feast held in honour of his brother and his sister, dancing among dozens of other couples.

She dared not look at him, knowing of the arrangements between the Red Keep and Storm's End, not wanting to ridicule herself by begging like some of the women for his attention.

Apparently that was what made his bright, cold, dangerous eye notice her figure and his sight did not leave her until the end of the evening. At first she thought she was just imagining it, then, however, glancing towards the table standing in front of the Iron Throne she met his gaze, his lips curving into a grin that was disturbing to say the least.

She was terrified.

The next day, her father was asked to extend their stay in the Red Keep and enjoy the King's hospitality, though it was not explained to them for what reason.

She was frightened because she understood what it meant – she never went anywhere alone, always taking a servant with her, having heard numerous stories of what Prince Aegon did to women who caught his eye.

She didn't want to see for herself if his younger brother was the same.

It seemed to her that black clouds had gathered over her, that it was a matter of time when something would happen, and indeed, when she came across him passing through the courtyard during one of his sparring sessions, though she turned her head away, his deep, mocking voice stopped her.

"My Lady."

She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn't answer anything, if she didn't look at him, she would commit a great discourtesy and offend him.

She couldn't afford it.

Therefore, she turned towards him, looking at the ground, seeing only his legs and waist clad in black leather garment, bowing before him.

"Your Highness."

She felt for a moment that her heart stood in her throat – the only thing she could hear around her was the clinking of steel and the voices of servants discussing something with each other behind her back. She saw the legs she was looking at move towards her and she closed her eyes.

"What a scared little bird you are. Hm?" He hummed, his voice soft and teasing at the same time, amused, as if he were speaking to a small child.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him – he towered over her with a smirk that was mysterious and unsettling, his healthy eye bright and wide open, his gaze piercing to the core, his lips swollen and full.

She felt herself grow hot with shame.

What was she supposed to answer to such a question?

The prince cocked his head, apparently ignoring her silence, taking advantage of the fact that they were standing so close to each other, watching her as if she were some curious being he had never seen before.

"I watched you dance last night. Did you feel my gaze lingering on your figure?" He asked, and she swallowed heavily, lowering her gaze, involuntarily betraying herself. The Prince grinned under his breath, seeing her reaction.

"You did." He said and looked to the side, as if he wanted to make sure no one would hear what he was about to say, leaning over her ear. "I will marry you."

She drew in the air loudly, shocked and surprised, freezing for a moment, tense, looking at him with big eyes – she shook her head, not understanding how he could say such a thing. He, however, only grinned broadly in a way that made her shudder and stepped away from her, turning to Ser Criston Cole, letting him know that they could continue.

Ser Criston gave her one terrified look that told her everything.

She was doomed.

She didn't tell her father about the prince's words because she was convinced that he was mocking her, wishing for certain that she would succumb to him and spend the night with him, only to disappear from his life forever.

She knew she couldn't let that happen if she wanted to marry any self-respecting lord and decided she would just stay inside her quarters.

And then their betrothal was announced.

There was a feeling of emptiness in her mind as she looked at him, at the wide, mischievous grin stretched across his face as he sat at the table, while his mother, the Queen, spoke to her of the King's decision, apparently persuaded by his son, wondering how she was supposed to tame such a man, tame such a fiery, unpredictable nature.

She was scared.

To her despair, her father had been invited to take on the role of one of the treasurers under the direct authority of the Small Council, which he welcomed with joy. It meant that their family was to stay in the Red Keep, and her betrothed could slowly clamp his claws around her neck.

He followed her like a wraith, sinking her further and further into his darkness, making her slowly melt into one with him, not knowing where his soul ended and hers began.

On the day he was to see his nephews again years later, she locked herself in her chamber, unwilling to watch this theatre of malice and humiliation – she knew what her betrothed thought of them, how often he mused about slitting their throats or gouging out their eyes to later gift them to his mother.

She knew he was furious, wanting to show her off like a pretty object he had in his possession, but she offered him a passive resistance that drove him to the brink of madness.

She drew in a loud breath as he surprised her by silently sneaking up to her chamber at night – she heard the loud creak of the wood beneath his body as he lay down behind her.

His one hand took place on her womb, as if he was already imagining in the back of his mind as it swelled from his seed, the other went under her jaw, stroking her skin warningly, his lips against her ear.

"You're hiding from me. You're avoiding me. You move through the keep like a shadow." He whispered, however there was no threat or frustration in his words, which she felt instead in his hand that slowly clenched around her long neck. She swallowed quietly, looking ahead at the night, starry sky outside the window.

She did not answer him.

She rarely used words in his presence.

Unfortunately, this only deepened the state she aroused in him.

A curiosity bordering on obsession.

She tilted her head back and sighed involuntarily, feeling the tickling heat spilling over her lower abdomen as his moist, full lips ran over her cheek, the tip of his tongue leaving a wet, cool trail on her hot skin.

"– I needed you –" He hissed in a trembling voice, pressing his body against hers from behind – his hard, swollen manhood hidden under the material of his breeches pushed against her buttocks, pulsing steadily. Her nipples hardened at his words, a shiver of fear and excitement ran down her spine.

His hand from her womb slid lower, between her thighs, his fingers closed on her womanhood – she knew how he learned these tricks, knew that he had played with whores before he met her, but she couldn't convince herself that she particularly cared.

The delicacy and uncertainty of the movements of his fingers did not match how she perceived him: apparently it seemed to him that one too aggressive gesture on his part and she would fall apart in his hands.

Thus, he merely teased her through the material of her nightgown, waiting as usual for her breath to grow heavy and ragged, for her buttocks to begin to roll to the flicks of his wrist and rub against his throbbing erection.

They both moaned quietly as his hand impatiently lifted the material of her long robe, seeking the warmth between her thighs and finally found it, her pulsing, swollen slit leaking from her sticky wetness.

The fingers of his hand from her neck rose higher, to her cheeks, closing on it in a rough gesture, forcing her to turn her face in his direction – she didn't resist him as his slick tongue burst deep between her lips, as his mouth pressed against hers with a loud, lewd click in a greedy, ravenous kiss that took her breath away.

She let him do whatever he wanted with her lips – he was sucking, licking and biting them, as if he were some kind of animal that had grabbed its prey and wasn't going to let her go until he devoured her.

She didn't care, because her mind seemed to be muffled, as if she was underwater, focused only on the touch of his fingers as they dug into her puffy, delicate folds, teasing again and again her warm, pulsing opening.

Her body tensed like a string, knowing what he was about to do, and then at last the tips of his fingertips broke into her hot, throbbing interior with a quiet click of her moisture.

She moaned a tad too loudly into his mouth, making him sigh deeply into her throat, freezing for a moment, his hard erection slapping impatiently against her buttocks.

"– fuck –" He gasped, startling her completely – he let her go and turned her onto her back, laying on top of her, looking at her with his mouth parted wide, breathing heavily.

She had thought that, as was his custom, he would just simply take out his manhood and make her squeeze it with her hand, touching her at the same time to give her fulfillment.

He, however, after he untied the material of his breeches, grabbed her nightgown with his hands and lifted it above her thighs, making her voice froze in her throat, her hands clasped helplessly on his shoulders.

"– n-no – no, please –" She muttered, knowing that if he took her maidenhood, took what he desired, he would never marry her, would send her and her father back to where they came from humiliated and ridiculed.

"– I need this – I need to feel you –" He breathed out, as if he was in some kind of frenzy, heedless of her helpless attempts to stop him, forcing her to spread her thighs open. She cried out, tilting her head back, closing her eyes as she felt the head of his cock begin to push against her swollen slit.

"– no – please, Aemond, please –" She whimpered, raising her trembling hands to his cheeks, stroking his jaw, trying to give him what he wanted, what he was apparently dreaming of in his black, grim mind.

"– you don't understand –" He growled, in a sharp, impatient motion trying to slide deeper into her, opening her little cunt on his throbbing, long erection. "– I fucking needed you today –"

She whined as he forced his way deeper into her body, filling her so much that she felt like he was going to tear her apart from the inside – she clenched her fingers against the material of his leather tunic, shocked at how foreign, frightening, painful and exciting this sensation was.

"– I know – I know, just a little bit more – it's almost in – shhhh –" He hushed her, stroking her head with his broad hand as he thrusted his thick root all the way in into her, one last cry of effort left her lips.

She seemed to feel him with her whole being, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling like she was suffocating – her heart pounded like mad, her whole body quivering in his arms, his lips placing warm, moist, reassuring kisses on her cheek.

"– that's it – there we go – I'm going to start moving now –" He hummed, in a slow, lazy manner beginning to rock his hips, sliding out of her a little and sliding back in with a quiet click, trying to force her body to adapt and receive him with greater ease.

He hugged her face to the hollow of his neck, without accelerating or making sudden movements, letting her fingers tighten vulnerably on his back.

"– good girl – calm down and let me fill you with my seed –" He whispered, as if he wanted to soothe her, to reassure her that he took no pleasure in her discomfort and suffering, even though he himself was the cause of it.

She nodded, not having the strength to stand up to him, breathing loudly to relax, to endure what he wanted to do to her. A low, loud groan of pleasure erupted from his lips when he felt it, and his thrusts became a little more sure, deep, loud.

"– g-gods –" She breathed out, feeling with horror that he was teasing a spot inside her from which shivers ran through her, waves of cold terror and hot pleasure surging through her body, causing a complete void in her mind – all she could focus on was the wooden canopy of the bed above her head.

"– yes – ah – so fucking wet for me – all warm and soft –" He breathed out into her ear, licking her hot cheek with his tongue, pounding into her with sharp, deep thrusts of his hips, making her feel the tickle in her lower abdomen, in her puffy lips and in her hard nipples, the bed beneath them began to creak loudly.

She felt the familiar hot tension building within her, the tension that he aroused in her when he touched her with his fingers, that, to her despair, she began to take pleasure from this animalistic, simple act of slapping their naked, sweaty bodies against each other.

She tilted her head back and sighed as she let her hips tentatively begin to roll to his thrusts, her hands slid from his back to his bare buttocks, stroking them. He shuddered all over and groaned, blindly seeking her mouth with his own, joining her in a sticky, messy, loud kisses, licking and sucking her lips.

"– yes – yes, just like that, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkk –" He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers, slamming into her so quickly and aggressively that he was barely sliding out of her, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again, opening her wide on his throbbing, fat cock.

They both were moaning shamelessly, looking at each other wide-eyed with their mouths open, listening to the shameless, sticky sounds her slick cunt made with each of his thrusts.

"– just a little more – ah – f-fuck, yes –" He groaned in elation, his final, deep, messy slaps prolonging the inevitable – she heard and understood little as a wave of pleasure shook her and something hot spilled deep inside her, their mingled wetness ran down her buttocks.

"– such a good girl –" He gasped, pulsing inside her for a moment longer, filling her with the remains of his spend.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, feeling her little cunt clamp down on his half-hard manhood, sucking it inside her again and again.

He fell on top of her without strength, panting heavily, and they both remained silent for long time. She finally heard him swallow hard, not even daring to look at her, his face sunk into the crook of her neck.

"– will you forigve me, little bird? –" He muttered in a weak, deep, trembling voice.

At his question a single tear of sadness, regret and emptiness ran from the corner of her eye down to the side of her face, falling onto his forehead.

He felt it and lifted himself on his arm, wanting to look at her, but what he saw apparently made something inside him break.

He clamped his eyelid shut, swallowed hard and pressed his body against hers, burying his face in the pillow.

She didn't know why her hand lifted and laid on his head, stroking his hair with gentle, calm movements, why she felt a squeeze in her heart, why she wanted to comfort him.

Why she let him stay with her that night, cuddled into to her as if he were a small child.

And then the King died.

Her betrothed walked into her chamber the next day, pale, not looking into her eyes, twitching all over, as if in shock.

"My father is dead…" he began, and her mouth opened wide, looking at him in horror, "… and my grandfather demands that I marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters."

She stared at him dully, feeling her heart stop in her chest, her stomach twisting in pain as if she was about to vomit.

"I admitted to my grandfather what I did to you. I refused to let him send you away. You will become a Septa. You will be safe and retain your dignity I wrongfully took from you." He said and flinched hard as she grinned at his words, looking at her in disbelief.

"Do you think I'm surprised? I knew you wouldn't keep your word the day I saw you."

It seemed to her that something in her words broke him, for his lower lip began to tremble without the participation of his free will, his eye turned red, his nostrils twitched in heavy, accelerated breathing.

He was unable to get anything out of himself.

On the evening of the day before she was to leave the Red Keep, she demanded that a bath be prepared for her.

She knew he would come to her, she knew his conscience would not let her go without a farewell, she knew he would want to take her one more time before he abandoned her once and for all.

When she was left alone she slipped under the water, sinking her head into it as well, and closed her eyes, feeling strangely calm as the air stopped flowing into her lungs, a shudder shook her body indicating that some part of her still wanted to live.

It was said afterwards that the prince had found her and pulled her out of the water, that he had sobbed and wailed over her bare body, that he had locked her in his embrace, not allowing anyone to come near her, kneeling with her cuddled into his chest on the cold stone floor.

It was said that after that evening he stopped to speak and leave his chamber, staring dully into the fire for hours, playing between his fingers with a lock of her hair, the only memento he had left of her.

It was said that the prince's heart had died with her.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Burn with Me

Pairing: Viserys III Targaryen (Game of Thrones) x f!reader Warnings: Smut, imbalanced power dynamics, abuse of power. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Viserys shares a piece of his ancestry with his concubine.

Author's note: Day one of Smuffmas - candlelight and collaring. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She steps into the tent that has been erected to serve as Viserys’ personal bathhouse and is immediately enveloped in humidity that clings to her skin like a shroud, as the opening falls closed behind her. True to his Targaryen nature, he favours the heat and, as such, always demands that the water be scalding before it fills the wooden tub, with as many candles lit as the surrounding space will allow, to ensure that it retains its heat.

The atmosphere within the canvas walls is one of resplendence; the rounded tub that sits in the far corner wafts viscous steam up into the air. The water’s surface reflects the vibrant orange glow of more candles than she can possibly count, all casting flickering shadows that dance upon the ceiling. The heady fragrance of Myrish oils lingers in the air, a potent aroma of cinnamon and ginger. Viserys refuses the use of Dothraki spiceflower in his bathwater, despite it being in abundance, and far less costly than oils and spices from the Free Cities.

“It is insult enough that I must exist among these savages,” he had once told her, “I will not smell like them too. See that my command is heeded, or you shall wake the dragon.”

He stands beside the bathtub, spine rigid and eyes narrowed in annoyance. She had come to him the moment she was summoned, yet she can tell from the subtle flare of his nostrils that he is impatient already.

Despite the gossamer fabric of the dress that drapes over her body, she can feel sweat prickling the back of her neck, dampening the hairs that rest at the base of it. She knows this is due to the stifling heat of the bathing tent, but the fearful hammering of her heart as Viserys eyes her in displeasure only serves to exacerbate it.

“About time,” he snaps irritably, beckoning her closer with a restive click of his fingers.

“Your grace,” she greets courteously, before he has the chance to scold her further, “allow me to help you.”

She steps in front of him, deft fingers moving over the forest green wool of the tunic that covers his lithe frame. It is a wildly impractical choice of fabric, considering the climate of Vaes Dothrak, but Viserys shuns more traditional garb in favour of wool and silk. One by one she pulls open the clasps, revealing the creamy, white flesh beneath.

During her time in the pleasure houses of Lys, she had lain with many men and grown accustomed to the sight of skin marred by battle scars and hardened by the ravages of hard labour. Viserys bears no such afflictions. He is thin, an unfortunate consequence of a life lived in squalor, but he has never known battle, he is soft and smooth, unblemished by conflict. She has silently wondered on many occasions how he could possibly ever hope to rule as king of Westeros if he is not competent with a sword, a musing she will never give voice to, lest she pay with her life for it. She has no doubt he will take no issue in wetting his blade with her blood, if provoked into doing so.

Despite his rakish appearance and short temper, she cannot help the appreciative gaze she casts upon him as she strips him of the remnants of his clothing. For all his flaws, Viserys is a handsome man; soft, silver waves of hair frame the hard lines of his face, a strong nose and chin accentuate the pierce of his gaze. His eyes carry madness within them, enticing with dangerous allure.

“Careful with that,” he commands, nodding to the tunic which she has picked back up to fold, “what’s in the pocket is worth at least five times more than what I paid for you.”

“Of course, your grace,” she replies simply, noticing the subtle weight the garment has to it that isn’t usually there.

“Bring it here,” he says to her, stepping into the tub and sitting down. The motion causes steamy water to slop over the sides, soaking into the clay coloured earth of the ground below, as he leans back, resting his elbows behind him on the edge.

“Not the tunic, stupid girl,” he spits, scowling as she steps forward with it, “just what’s in the pocket.”

She blinks rapidly, bowing her head, a fruitless attempt to will away the humiliation that burns hotly at her skin. Reaching into the pocket, she wraps her fingers around something hard, that feels cold against her skin despite the heat that hangs heavy in the air.

Pulling it free, she can see that it is a steel choker. Thick silver plates inlaid with large rubies make up the bulk of it, with a dainty chain that fastens it at the back. She has never held anything so valuable in her hands before, the very weight of it feels representative of its significance.

“I don’t suppose you have ever seen such opulence before,” Viserys tells her, drawing her attention back to him, to where he reclines in the bath, a smug smirk upon his face as he regards her pridefully.

She places the choker in his upturned, waiting palm. “Won’t it rust if you get it wet?”

Viserys grins, the gesture lighting up his face in a way that seems almost unnatural, as the ever present madness dances within the lilac of his eyes. “It is Valyrian steel, forged in dragon fire, it won’t rust, it can’t. Now disrobe and join me.”

He plays idly with the choker, running the chain through his fingers and holding the rubies up to the candlelight as she undresses, though it does not take her long. The near translucent dress is the only item of clothing that he will allow her to wear when tending to him, and it is rare that it stays on for long.

She hisses quietly at the burn of the water against her flesh as she climbs into the tub, the all encompassing heat making her legs tingle. She does not understand how Viserys can stand it, but then there is blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, so she supposes he barely notices it.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and she does as she’s told, presenting her back to him as she faces away. She can hear the splash of the water as he advances upon her within the small space, feel the water moving with him.

Dampened hands scoop her hair away from her neck, before he places the choker around it, carefully fastening it. It chills her skin, a strange juxtaposition to the clamminess that their surroundings elicit. It feels heavy and tight around her throat, more like a collar than a necklace, and as Viserys turns her roughly to face him, sending yet more water cascading over the sides of the bath, she can see that that was precisely his intent.

His eyes are wild as he appraises her, lips slightly parted. “This is hundreds of years old, it would have been worn by a Targaryen princess from the days of Old Valyria,” he tells her, his voice lowering, taking on the seductive timbre that he affects only when aroused. He hooks two fingers beneath the centre ruby, giving it a tug. “How does it make you feel?”

She swallows thickly, considering her answer, wanting to offer words that will please him. “It makes me feel…fortunate…to have the opportunity to wear something of such significance.”

He hums, clearly satisfied with her answer, giving a slight nod as he grasps her hips beneath the water and manhandles her into his lap. She can feel his hardened cock prodding insistently at her most intimate area as she settles into the position of straddling him, winding her arms around his neck, as his hands keep a firm grip of her.

“Ser Jorah came by this on his travels,” he tells her, eyes fixated upon her throat, “he was going to give it as a gift to my sister, but I have taken it for myself. I do not see why she should lay claim to such a valuable piece of our shared ancestry, just for spreading her legs and siring a whelp for that savage, Drogo.”

The tone of his voice drips with jealousy, and it makes her uncomfortable to be faced with his arousal, not for the first time, while he speaks of Daenerys. She knows that the Targaryens existed on a foundation of bloodline purity, however, those customs are queer to her and to be faced with the reality of their incestuous nature makes her stomach churn.

All thoughts leave her mind, however, as he tugs her downwards to meet his upward thrust, spearing her open on his cock with a grunt elicited through gritted teeth. She moans at the exquisite stretch, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she clings tightly to him, her breaths hot against his wet skin.

Viserys keeps his hands upon her hips, helping to guide her movements as she rolls her pelvis against his, bouncing herself upon his aching length. Though he is often cruel to her, when he holds her close like this, and it is just the sounds of their mingling pants for breath and the slap of their skin, it is easy for her to forget that she was purchased for his pleasure, a means to distract him from the want to defile his sister.

When he holds her close, his harsh features contorted in ecstasy, the madness that dances within his eyes conveying only lust, she can allow herself to believe that she is special, that he chose her alone to travel with him and warm his bed because he wanted only her, not because the Beggar King could not afford more than one concubine. 

In her own foolish heart, she has allowed gratitude to be misplaced for love. The fondness she feels towards him for him having taken her from the pleasure houses of Lys, and rescuing her from the life of a common whore, in her mind, is romantic. 

So when he takes one of the stiffened peaks of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinches harshly, she mewls wantonly as the sensation causes her sensitive walls to clench around him, wanting him to know just how good he makes her feel, how eager she is to please him.

If he did not return her affection, why else would he allow her to wear the choker that currently sits snug against her throat?

She speeds up her movements, the bathwater undulating around them with more intensity. The head of his cock bullies relentlessly at a spot inside of her that, coupled with the lightheadedness she feels from the heat of the water, makes her forget herself entirely. Before she can stop them, the words tumble carelessly from her lips.

“I love you.”

He halts all movements, and she freezes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage as she realises what she has just said. She opens her mouth, wanting to apologise, to take it back, to beg for forgiveness, but before she can he’s grasping her jaw, forcing her to meet the intensity of his stare.

“Say it again,” he orders quietly, leaving no room for argument.

She is hesitant at first, but he tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, not allowing her to look away, so she relents. “I–I love you.”

He snarls, tugging harshly at her hair as he resumes his brutal thrusts up into her. “That’s right, you fucking do.”

For the briefest of moments, she had allowed herself to believe he might say it back, and is not even given the respite to experience disappointment, as he chases his release within her. Her confession of love having been enough to stroke his ego to the point of climax, evidenced by the insistent pulsating of his member as he pumps it in and out of her with renewed vigour.

He holds her tightly against himself, pushing himself as far up into her as he can go as he peaks, spilling inside of her with a shameless groan, before settling back down, her body pliant against his as they both catch their breath.

“I’m finished with you for tonight. Leave me,” he says despondently, as his rapidly softening cock slips free of her.

She offers a curt nod, disentangling herself from him and climbing on shaky legs from the tub, bathwater and Viserys’ seed both dripping down her thighs, as she reaches for her dress, clutching it to herself to protect what little remains of her modesty.

“Wait,” he snaps, and for a moment she believes he will tell her he has changed his mind, that he longs for her company. Instead he snaps his fingers, gesturing to her neck. “The necklace.”

Her heart sinks, but she forces her expression to remain stoic, unclasping it and depositing it back into his outstretched palm. Her neck feels immediately lighter, having been freed from the weight of it. However, as she walks from the tent, it is replaced with a heaviness upon her heart that reminds her irrevocably of her place - or lack thereof - in the world of Viserys Targaryen.

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[tarotbyjam24]

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pile 1 : Hi pile 1 , let's see what's there for you through this reading:) you're good at thinking out of box ,you've open mindset ,ready to accept new things , you've broad horizons , you're also good at praying so like in the sense of sprituality you can get your wishes granted by doing prayers . I'm also getting hopohopono prayer . You're also good at fighting be it verbal or physical means you just have a good body built or you could have air signs dominancy in your charts even mercury too . You also have a great gift of instropection which makes you shine among others . I also feel your throat chakra could be very active too if not you should work with that chakra . You also have the ability to come out of the saddest situations . No matter how much hurt you have been you alsways come out through it breaking all the walls and face it all with great responsibility without being embarrassed about your life's situations. I also feel you have an amazing ability of leading things innately . People may also get hypnotize by you when they see you . People may also like to do what you say without questioning it . You have ability of creating a mind map for the things in your brain like those people who will think it all in their brain first from zero to end and then put it down on paper . This is giving solving a biggg equation in your mind and then just writing a single line answer . I feel people may get happy after they see you like you've this vibe to yourself that changes the air of the room you enter in . It's your aura that does it . You're also the one who don't likes to take advice from others and just do whatever their heart truly desires . You don't run from problems . You fight them with the swords in both hands . When life throw lemon at you ,you make lemonade Outta them . That's all pile 1 I hope you enjoyed the reading . Bless you 🍪 see y'a soon🖤

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pile 2 : Hi pile 2 ,let's see what's there for you through this reading :) you have this magical ability in yourself through which you can see through dark and be the light for others . You're also kinda magic stick that helps others to find the magic within themselves. I feel you may also have good physique without working out or you may have a strong gut with fast mukbang metabolism. You're the person who likes to be in their world . If you're alone it won't bother you at all but you're most likely to create something when you're alone like you can get mind-blowing ideas when you're in your own world. You're for real super innovative. You're also definition of live more lives dance more dances . You also got thid motherly nature to you regardless of genders .you maybe the mama bear of your friend group . You're also the one who can protect everyone . You're people's rock pile 2 .You're also super passionate. You've this constant fire to move forward in life doesn't matter if people stay with you or not . You're constantly levelling up all 4 seasons but you also take care of yourself which sometimes people forget . You're someone who doesn't get swayed away . You've very strong supportive system build for yourself whether it's you alone or people around . You can also be your strongest support system. It doesn't always need to be people around us . Sometimes they're the one who breaks it . That's all pile 2 I hope you enjoyed the reading . Bless you 🍪 . See y'a soon🖤

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[evandsolo]

𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Bang Chan

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Bang Chan x f!reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : royalcore!Bang Chan. Flirt. Smut (more suggestive than fully described but still.) MDNI 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.426 𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭 : Amid whispers of silk and shadows, a lady-in-waiting and the kingdom's fiercest general find themselves entangled in a dance of flirtation and unspoken promises. WARNING UNDER THE CUT ! UNDERAGED PEOPLE PLEASE DO NOT READ! 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : This was actually written for one of my friend whose a Stay ! But i thought it should not stay in my computer, so enjoy ! ✿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, aftercare. Please let me know if i've forgotten any.

The room was packed. The orchestra had played non-stop for hours. The rustling of silk and taffeta had filled the room all evening. It was a magnificent reception. One that no one will forget. One of those evenings that celebrate love and union. The ballroom was decorated with flowers, from floor to ceiling, the buffets overflowing with food. I had never seen such beautiful decorations before. Everything was simply sublime. Generals, soldiers, highnesses from all the surrounding kingdoms, everyone breathed joy and jubilation.

I could never have dreamed of a more beautiful event for the princess I had accompanied my entire life. Alina deserved the union of love she had experienced today, so much did her heart overflow with love and kindness. Everyone knew it, she would be a wonderful sovereign.

The crowd had ended up scattering, dissipating, as the night wore on. The bride and groom had received many congratulations until the last minute. They too had ended up slipping away, to enjoy this new union together. Only a few people remained in the room, who were still accompanying the orchestra. Some were still waltzing and would surely do so until dawn.

“You’re not dancing?” A voice called out from behind me, over the flying notes of the violins. “You’ve been here all night, making merry for everyone, but you haven’t stepped on the dance floor once.”

I turned around to look at the person who had surprised me, tearing a heartbeat from my chest. I come face to face with broad shoulders, covered in a velvet soldier's jacket. My breath chokes in my throat. I would recognize these shoulders among many others. General Bahng, head of the kingdom's armies. 

“How do you know I did not dance, sir ?” I answered, catching his huge brown eyes. 

It wasn't the first time we met. He was always there, around, since Alina's engagement. Watching over her, over the kingdom. I was always lucky enough to be able to admire him. He wasn't very tall, but he knew perfectly how to handle swords, which didn't take away from the natural charisma he gave off. In the outfit he wore tonight, in the colors of the kingdom, he shone all the more. A few strands of rebellious hair fell over his forehead and his smile could have melted any of the ladies present tonight.

“I’ve been watching you. You’re glowing, how could I look away?” He said with an amused smile. The sparkle in his eyes had never seemed so bright to me as it did at that very moment.

“So you didn’t have an eye on the bride and groom? You’re failing in your duty, General.” My tone echoed his. I clasp my hands behind my back, looking completely innocent. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Come dance with me. That way I can keep an eye on the apple of the kingdom.” He then extends his gloved hand towards me and I observe him for a few seconds before slipping my hand into his. “I hope you are a good dancer, General. I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of this huge crowd.” I joked before following him a few steps further, onto the dance floor.

The last couple still present leaves the dance floor and we find ourselves alone, with just the orchestra. The violins begin to resonate, then all the sweetest notes of the wind instruments follow and finally, the piano rises in turn. 

I feel his hand come to close on my waist while the other one tangles around my fingers. We were so close that I could feel his breath, crashing on my face. I come to place my hand on his shoulder and in rhythm, we begin to waltz. His eyes catch mine and I think that at that precise moment, I forget reality. I dive into his gaze and there is nothing more than him and me. Everything disappears in the room, as if a bubble had formed around us. 

The music takes me somewhere else. I forget everything, I think of nothing more, except the warmth he diffuses in the hollow of my waist. The ease with which we understood each other in gestures. Everything seemed terribly natural. As if we had always danced together. Then, his hand leaves mine, to come and grab my waist, letting me gently go backwards, before coming back to hold me against him. His smile does not dissipate and in his gaze, I see only joy and a certain form of tenderness, which I had never seen in him. My smile became wider as my cheeks turned a little bit rosier. 

“Why're you blushing ?” He said. “Are you that surprised to see that I can dance ?” 

“Actually, I am ! I never thought you were so talented. I have to admit that the surprise is rather pleasant.” I admitted, with a slight smile. “Did you practiced for this evening?”

“Not for tonight in particular. But any self-respecting man must know how to turn his date’s head. And I was hoping one day to have the chance to make you twirl.” 

Those words took my breath away. For a few seconds, I found myself staring at him without really understanding. Our steps stopped abruptly and I almost fell, tripping over his feet. Have I heard correctly? Or even understood what he meant?

“Be careful my Lady.” He said, catching you. “ Never thought that admitting I've been thinking about you day and night, would have that effect on you.” I see the mischievous glow in her eyes and the small smile that adorned her lips. All signs that did not deceive. I had understood well the first time.

“ You can't say that, General.” I mumbled, blinking a few times trying to stop the rush in my chest. 

I could not deny the fact that the General was probably the most handsome man I had ever seen, nor even the attraction that might exist between him and me. It was not the first ball we shared, there had always been this particular feeling in the hollow of my belly when he was close. Like a cloud of butterflies, which suddenly fly away. My gaze was undeniably drawn to him. 8So hard that it was difficult to look away. There had always been this tension between him and me. That kind of invisible link, against which I could not go. 

“Why? I have said nothing...” he breathes with a smile of amusement, making me whirl again, before stopping on my wrist. His thumb traces the edge of the ribbon that was tied on it. A garnet red satin ribbon. A gift he made me at the last ball we attended. We had been talking until late at night, by the fountain in the winter garden of a neighboring kingdom’s castle. Around a huge bouquet, I found a ribbon, which he had untied, before coming to tie it around my wrist. He kept some in his jacket pocket. Since then, this piece of cloth has never left my skin. It was dear to me.

“You kept it...” he said in a whisper, the eyes shining with a new light. “It beautifully brings out your porcelain skin. Red suits you so well.”

“Why should I not keep it? You don’t throw away a present. I like it. It reminds me of that wonderful evening we shared.” Say I in a breath, while his thumb continues to electrify my skin, as he holds me so close, that I feel his breath on my cheek. In a graceful movement he makes me spin again on several turns, before abandoning me in the middle of the track, alone. His laughter echoes through the room as I look for him. I find him further away waving something red between his fingers. It is fine and above all, it reflects the light. I quickly understand what it is, when I look down on my wrist, now naked. 

“If you want it.... Come and get it, My Lady.” He said before running away into the halls of the castle in a playful laugh. 

“General ! Come back !” I shouted, before I set out to chase him. 

I do not know how many corridors or intersections I take, just by following the echo of his laughter. It sounded like a little bell, which pointed the way. I felt my breath burning in my chest as I walked across the open patio to look for him. Suddenly, his laughter fades and I stop, my chest rising at a frantic pace, as I try to catch my breath. 

“General, where are you hiding?” I throw, breathlessly. I hear noise on the stone behind me, but when I turn around there is no one. Frustration fills my entire being as I call again. "General? Give it back to me!” 

“Don’t you like to play, my Lady ?” I heard, as a distant voice that reached me like an echo. I turned again to move forward, but I had the impression of chasing a ghost, under the lights of the torches that adorned the walls and the moon, which entered through the openings. I knew how much he loved to play. It was his thing. Charm and play. But tonight it was getting cold and especially it was late. Yet I wanted to get back what was mine. 

As I turned into another corridor, wishing he was there on the other side waiting for me, a hand grabbed mine and I suddenly hit the cold wall. I found myself surrounded by his perfume, the scent of mint, mixed with apple, geranium and vanilla, intoxicating me. His breath is stranded in the hollow of my neck, all against my skin and it’s a huge shiver that runs through me. 

“Do you plan on giving me my ribbon back now?” I throw while trying to keep up. He runs my skin with light kisses for a simple answer before facing me. “Don’t be so hasty... Why not make the evening last a little longer?” He said, drawing a line of kisses along my jaw.

“We’re in the middle of a corridor.... That’s not right. Someone might see us.” I whisper, eyes half closed, while one of my hands comes to slide around his neck, to go caress his hairline. 

“Who cares ? Don’t you think we should finish what we started… that other night?” He stands up and looks into my eyes. I can read a lot of emotions in it. The glow that shines is no longer just playful. The flame that now inhabits his eyes, makes me shiver. 

“Here? Now?” I ask, in a small voice. I had no apprehension, I was perfectly confident. “General. Your impatience will lose you...” I breathe, letting my hands slide on his shoulders. 

“Here, now. I can no longer contain the envy that devours me. Is it worthwhile to wait? I want you.”

I want you. 

These words resonate in me like an echo. They trigger like a cataclysm. Suddenly, I feel dizzy again, as if some barriers had fallen. I watch him lean down, getting closer and closer to kiss my cheek, then the corner of my lips. I lose breath.

“I want every inch of you.” He whispered against my skin, before locking his words in a kiss. It is hot, desperate. I savor the depth of it. I give it back with much more aplomb. Nothing holds me back. It was as if, all the desire I tried to restrain, had escaped to take possession of every cell in my body. One of his hands leaves my waist to go up along my bust and run down on my chest. The contrast between the warmth of his skin against the fabric and the freshness of the marble against my back, gives me the feeling of consuming myself on the spot. 

I could feel this knot take possession of my belly, as our skins rub against each other, intertwine. I end by breaking the kiss, to let my lips run aground on his jaw. I feel his hands, on every inch of my skin, like a thirsty man looking for an oasis in the desert. Quickly I feel it in my back, come to grind the fabric of my corset. The latter is undone more quickly than it should be, piteously lying on the ground. 

“I wanted you for so long… You cannot imagine how long my soul has been calling to you.” He utters between two kisses laid down along my skin, pulling me almost a whimper. I feel it coming to mark my skin along my bust, on the curve of my chest, up to my belly, covered with lace. His hands, meanwhile, were already exploring my legs, under the silk of my skirt. “Let me love you as no man will ever love you.”

“Love me. Make me yours.” I whisper slightly tilting my head back as I feel the pulp of his fingers go up along my thigh. It’s so close and my whole body is burning to know it even closer as it goes up. It’s slow. Almost too slow. It gives birth to desire in me, it animates, and gives me the impression of burning from within, so much the envy seems to consume me. I had never felt anything so strong, but never had I wanted it so much. I was his, in the shadow of the moon, only spectator of what was happening. 

A moan escapes me as it makes its way under the fabric to seek what was most intimate in my core. I cling painfully to him, my hands seeking support where they found it to keep me in balance, while waves of pleasure are making their way into the hollow of my belly. His kisses rise up to come and run down my neck. His fingers were playing with me, as if he already knew me by heart. I could feel it everywhere and nowhere at once. On me, in me, it felt like it was in every inch of my core. 

I come to tighten my grip on it, as I feel this bubble growing in the bottom of my stomach. It is threatening like a wave that grows again and again as it comes to stoke the fire. I drop my head on his shoulder in a moan. It is omnipresent, I feel like I have only him, all around me. To be surrounded only by his being, his perfume, his skin. 

“Not so fast, my Lady.” he whispered in the hollow of my ear, coming to take off his hand, and I suddenly felt like an orphan. I wanted more. I whine in protest. I almost begged him with my gaze. I wanted it, without waiting. What was he playing at? 

In a burst of frustration at having been cut off in my flight, I reversed our positions, to come in turn steal countless desperate kisses. I come to mark his neck, while I am busy on his jacket, which falls to the ground in a deaf noise. Quickly and clumsily, I come to untie his shirt to infiltrate my hands under the fabric. I needed his warmth, his touch, to feel his skin under my fingers. I feel him tremble at my passage, as I leave a line of wet kisses on his skin. I savor the lines drawn of his musculature under my fingers, tracing it without forgetting a tiny patch. 

“Why make me wait if you wanted it so much?” I ask against his skin, as I now snatch up to the buckle of his belt. I trace it with my fingertips. “I don’t want to play anymore.” I mused as I now stared at his hungry look. “You knew I would die of envy. Why leave me there, consumed by desire?” 

“It will only be more delicious.” He says in turn, as I slide my hand under his belt to feel all his desire, marked by the lack of space and the stretching of the fabric under my fingers. “It’s better to reach the summits together, my sweet.”

I finally untied the buckle of his belt, then the opening of his pants and let my hands venture to the edge of his underwear and finally under the elastic. I grasp the full measure of his desire, trapping a little bit of my lip between my teeth, without ever ceasing to stare at him. I could almost see the flame dancing in his eyes. There is lust, love, passion in the way he looks at me, while my hand plays with him, surrounds him, tastes him. As a fair return, of the game his hands had played a few moments earlier. A moan escapes his throat, and it’s my turn to leave his skin. I take my hand back, with a slight smile on my face. “Not so fast, Christopher...” I threw, amused, teasing him with his name muttered. 

“I didn’t know you were such a player...” He said, as I came to prick my mouth with countless kisses, while I found myself again, cornered against the stone wall. His hands quickly come to grab the fabric of my dress to pull it up to my waist. The pulp of his fingers against my skin electrifies me and I gurgle with impatience against his lips. “P-Please…” I beg him with a breath, as his thumb touches me. I wanted it all. I wanted no more barriers between us. I’m busy sliding his pants down his thighs, while quickly, I feel the lace grounding at my feet. 

Then, finally, he comes to grab one of my thighs and lifts it up against his hip, so that our bodies can align perfectly, and in a passionate kiss, our bodies unite, with a slowness, but a passion that knows no equal. He waits a few moments, before I look at him and beg him to continue. I feel it everywhere, in the slightest movement. Each thrust takes me into a world where there is no more than us. 

I come to put my head in the hollow of his neck, to try to smother pitifully the moans that escape me, while he fills me with the most natural way. I feel it collides with the center of my pleasure and I cling not to lose my anchor with reality. But I feel the waves take possession of my lower abdomen. The knot is febrile, it threatens at any moment to explode and overwhelm me completely. 

“More.. please…” I groaned against his skin, I needed more. I wanted to touch the heavens under his touch. He tightens his grip on my hips, before coming to slide his hands under my buttocks to lift me completely and I close my trembling legs around his waist. I feel it further away at each thrust and none of us is able to hold the slightest sound that escapes our bodies while our eyes cross again.

“You’re perfect.” He said, while thrusting harder, deeper, until I felt the knot exploding. My vision fills with stars, and for a few moments nothing is clear around me. My breath is short, jerky. I feel my core clenching around him as he reaches his high. He then let his head fall back on my shoulder, while he moaned my name in a last stroke. 

Our bodies separate after a few seconds and I rest my feet on the ground, without really letting go. I still needed an anchor to make sure that I had not dreamt what had just happened.

“Are you okay, my Lady?” He blows, lifting the cloth up on his body to cover himself again. I nod my head, while taking a breath. “I am fine, marvellously fine.” I finally confirm without turning my eyes. “We should take care of you tonight.” He adds, while lifting me in his arms, making me laugh as I grab his neck. “ What a playful gentleman you are.” I chuckle, as my heart gently thumps in my chest. “Where are you taking me?” I finally ask, as he climbs the castle stairs. 

“Where my love for you has no limits,” he said, with a smile full of riddles. 

After making sure that everything was fine, the night ended between the delicate sheets of his apartments and I felt at last complete, surrounded by his tenderness, his laughter and his warmth. I felt more loved than ever.

I really hope you appreciated it, do not hesitate to reblog or to leave a note i’d love to read all about your thoughts. ✿ Evandsolo, 2025 ✿