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chemicalreal · 10 months ago

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Viserys is just as despicable as Daemon and Otto, except in a different way

It's weird enough how King Viserys is widely well seen by the audience despite his evident selfishness, which is perhaps one of the most pronounced traits throughout the show. This perception is predominantly fueled by Rhaenyra's camp, who views Viserys' unequal treatment of his children in her favor as a redeeming quality of his character.

The subtle detail of Rhaenyra eagerly desiring a sister while her mother is still pregnant often goes unnoticed, just like her displease of the life she is supposed to endure going through many difficult pregnancies. Her strong insistence that it will be a girl contrasts with her father's wishes, hinting at an awareness of the changing dynamics within the royal family in case a boy is born. Despite spending her early years as the king's only child, the frequent pregnancies of Rhaella imply the king's persistent efforts to secure a male heir to the throne.

Therefore, Rhaenyra is effectively being sidelined as a potential heir in favor of a yet-to-be-born phantom brother. The king's intense desire for a male heir leads him to make the drastic decision of sacrificing his own wife during childbirth. While it's understandable that a mother would prioritize her child's life over her own, the scene becomes disturbing due to Aemma's clear distress and pleas for help let alone the fact that she was literally cut open while being awake, highlighting the king's unwavering determination that will lead to others suffering and this is a leit motive for the rest of his life, be it physically or emotionally.

The claim that Viserys, a now seasoned king, was manipulated by a teenager into marriage is one of the most absurd ones in this fandom, especially if we take into account how Alicent is portrayed. In reality, it was another self-centered choice driven by his own desires. Alicent, despite being urged by her ambitious father to seduce the grieving king (much to her horror), maintains the demeanor of a respectable lady. During her time with Viserys, the focus is on shared interests such as history and books, creating a dynamic more akin to a father spending time with his daughter. Alicent even mends the temporary rift between him and Rhaenyra giving him genuine advice. Viserys undoubtedly married Alicent out of his own desire, not coercion as some suggest. The scene where he announces it reveals Alicent's almost shocked reaction, indicating her lingering hope that he might not proceed with the idea. If Viserys were a virtuous man, he would have found Alicent a suitable match with a respected lord to acknowledge her services and simultaneously spite her father's ulterior motives.

Viserys continues to treat Alicent as an object throughout their marriage, often demanding her to fulfill his physical needs, even after he is plagued by illness and Alicent shown to be visibly uncomfortable because of it. After a somewhat "honeymoon" phase, which is still marred by a strained relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra which puts the former in isolation despite her efforts to show support for her as the heir, Viserys is suddenly consumed by guilt for his actions towards Aemma. At this point, Alicent and their son Aegon (and by consequence their future three children) cease to exist for him. It's important to highlight that despite this epiphany and subsequent emotional neglect, Viserys' requests for physical intimacy with Alicent persist, which only makes him more of an hypocrite who still can't help but indulge in his selfish needs at the expense of others.

Viserys' insensitivity towards Alicent is further emphasized when Daemon returns to King's Landing and both he and Viserys mock Alicent's attempts at conversation about the new tapestries. Even Rhaenyra is visibly appalled by their behavior and chooses to support Alicent to prevent her from feeling humiliated. The temporary resumption of friendship between the two women adds layers to their tragedy, as their later falling out is ultimately induced by the men who view them merely as tools of power.

In addition to Daemon's emotional hold on Rhaenyra that will lead to their scandalous marriage, Otto's influence over Alicent, and his manipulative schemes, Viserys perpetuates the conflict through his inaction and convenient stance in the middle ground. He neglects his other children, projecting guilt towards Aemma onto them and Alicent. While he outwardly shows love and favoritism for Rhaenyra and ignores her infractions, it seems more like a projection of guilt rather than genuine support, as he fails to take concrete steps to legitimize her ascension, especially now with the presence of sons. Viserys' actions ultimately work against Rhaenyra's favor, rather than supporting her. His handling of the family feud after Laena's funeral closes the door for any potential reconciliation between the queen and the princess.

The truce dinner in episode 8 is unmistakably a ticking time bomb. The Rubicon was crossed years ago, but Viserys prefers to maintain the illusion of a happy family, akin to the illusion of Alicent being Aemma, for his own peace of mind. Rather than addressing the underlying issues, he opts to create a facade to avoid dealing with the potential chaos of his family members turning against each other once he is gone.

In conclusion, Viserys embodies those problematic people who often evade accountability for their actions due to their seemingly kind and sympathetic demeanor. His ability to project an amiable facade masks the deeper issues and consequences of his decisions, allowing him to avoid the scrutiny he might otherwise face.

#viserys targaryen #king viserys #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #aemma targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #anti viserys i targaryen #otto hightower #asoiaf #just a rant

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the-moon-devi · 4 months ago

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Spiritual, Nurturing & Caring Aspects || Synastry Observations PT.2

Sun 4h overlay: If you had 4h overlays, you know how comfortable they feel, especially when it's a benefic planet like Venus, Moon, & Jupiter. You feel very close & secure with that person. Within this connection, it seems like the two are on solid ground, and you can trust each other. There is a wanting to settle down and start a family. I always say that within synastry, the sun shows where most of the energy will be focused on, and major themes that will play out. So here there is a sense of spirituality, nurturing, and caring for each other. Especially on behalf of the house person. Sun lights up these qualities within the 4h person.

Moon 4h overlay: This overlay shows that you feel very comfortable with each other on an emotional level. There is likely even more of a wanting to start a family. Both can feel very sensitive about each other, and there's more likely to be a lot of expression of how the other feels and when they don't feel secure. The moon is very up & down like the waves of the ocean, and the 4h shows us our home so there can be many changes in your home, the moon person can change the security of the house person a lot. These two are very close. You'll likely see them in the corner cuddling together at a party. On a spiritual level, they can feel like they met each other from somewhere before. And likely they have, on an intuitive level, they know that something is there but can't quite put their finger on it. When these two do live together, you can almost guarantee their home will be so cozy.

POF-JUPITER: "Our cup overfloweth" This aspect is similar to POF-Neptune, which I explained in Part 1 is very spiritual. The difference here is that Neptune is more transcendental. While Jupiter is more grounded spiritually. These two together bring important lessons into each other's lives. There is a desire to explore and learn more. They can be fairly different and come from different backgrounds. Pof is our fortune & Jupiter is the planet of luck. Especially with the quintile & conjunction, there can be a lot of money made together. When these two are together, they attract a lot of wealth & blessings. Things seem to come out better when they work together. With POF-Jupiter, Jupiter person expands personal luck & freedom. Jupiter acts as a teacher/ spirit guide towards the person. Travel, spirituality, business, etc. are all things that will have fortune while these two are together. These two do it big, and there's so much opportunity for growth & abundance. Major wealth indicator as well. (Conjunctions, quintiles, sextiles, & tries)

Ps: Anytime someones pof is conjunct one of your planets, or vice versa this shows that they or you are a part of your fortune. This does also represent fate.

JUNO-CERES: This causes a very protective union. From Ceres especially there is a lot of care & nurturing. Juno will feel so comforted that they want to commit to Ceres. Domestication & home life are something that these two value as well as loyalty & commitment. Juno is the goddess of childbirth, and Ceres is fertility/children. I wouldn't be surprised if after these two got married or entered a long-term relationship, they had children. This is a great fertility indicator.

VENUS CONJUNCT CERES: This aspect is beautiful. Just know that home life will be glorious, and alone time is intimacy for these two. They enjoy spoiling each other much like Ceres overlay 7h. They love living together and want to create a family. They can make wonderful parents. Venus loves how Ceres is so nurturing & understanding. They have so much patience & serenity within their connection.

VESTA-VENUS: "You lit up the flame inside of me." This aspect is purely spiritual. Venus is the planet of love, harmony, beauty, luxury, etc. Meets the asteroid Vesta, which shows the sacred flame, devotion, and heart. When these two energies come together, Vesta teaches Venus person the lesson of sacredness & purity. In Greek mythology, Venus is represented as aphrodite. Together, these two can blend the different energies and realize they are more compatible than they think. Venus admires the sacredness of Vesta and urges them to show their inner beauty. Venus can feel like they have found what brings their fire back. Venus helps Vesta get more in tune with their sexuality. This can turn tantric, and kundalini sex can occur. This is a very devoted aspect. The home is a sacred & beautiful place for these two if they choose to live together. Vesta introduces Venus to this spiritual side of life, and it's so much love they can create. This can feel like a soulmate connection. This aspect alone shows they both come from different walks of life, and they have met with each other for a higher calling. This sacred energy is ignited through love & devotion. (CONJUNCT, TRINE, QUINTILE, SEXTILE)

Eros conjunct Psyche: "We've done this before" This is a very rare aspect to have. I see it as a soulmate indicator and one of the strongest. Most of us know the story of eros & and psyche, but if you don't, I hugely recommend you enlighten yourself. Eros & psyche were pushed away from each other due to jealousy & hate. Psyche went through many trials & tribulations to get back with Eros, and Eros hadn't known there was a conspiracy to get them to break apart. Eros can hide themselves from psyche. Initially, eros is usually the one who is taken aback by psyche. Psyche feels something there, but they just can't put their finger on it. (Conjunction orb: up to 8°)

CERES 7H: When someone's ceres enter your 7h, just know that this will be a very protective & nurturing person regarding the relationship. There will be healing & unconditional love. The house person will view ceres to be comforting & they can become very dependent on them. This is also a very touchy Feely aspect.

AKASHI 7H/ CONJUNCT DSC: Akashi represents the sky or the akashic records. This configuration shows a past life relationship, you two probably have met multiple times and have contracts to complete together. This shows it was meant for you two to encounter. When you are together pay attention to the signs the universe sends you they always have a message.

Moon conjunct Jupiter: This is a classic marriage aspect to men because the moon represents the wife, and Jupiter is the hubsand. If you want more of an explanation, I did a post about this on my other hand - @hot-astrology. Here's the link. But anywho, this aspect is very soulful.

NOSTALGIA 7H/ CONJUNCT DSC: Similar to the aspect above this shows a past life connection, however, this shows that there's a presence about the Nostalgia person that the house person recognizes but doesn't know exactly where, how, or why. They just have an inner feeling that they have met the other before, this feeling can go both ways.

Venus 12h overlay / Venus-Neptune

TRISTAN 7H/ CONJUNCT DSC: Tristan represents where we have had our first. Tristan is devoted & passionate. This may show that this is one of the party's first serious relationships or long-term relationships. There could be a lot of first f ok r the house person. They can be each other's first love. There can be a theme of strong infatuation & sacrifice for the other.

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝐷𝑒'𝐿𝑢𝑥𝑥𝑒

𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐴 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐻𝑜𝑡 𝐴𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑦

#astro community #pretty caramel #astrology posts #astro notes #astro observations #astro posts #astro placements #natal chart #astrology #asteroid

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lorynna · 4 months ago

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Day 298493 of saying that religions are - without exception - mysogynistic.

Specific topic today is husband and wife not being allowed to touch during certain times in orthodox judaism, which a woman named Miriam elaborates on. She owns a Tiktok account and regularly talks about her religious practices and jewish customs.

She has mentioned this custom before in reference to her period, through which she and her husband are not allowed to touch each other and have to sleep in seperate beds.

Now, recently she has had her 5th baby and talks about the fact, that she is also not allowed to touch her husband directly after birth, all the way through postpartum until the moment she stops bleeding, continues to have no blood for 7 days straight after and then has immersed herself in the water of a jewish bathhouse, called Mikva. This also includes not being allowed to directly hand things to each other. She claims this is not due to impurity of the woman but spiritual reasons.

Miriam has spoken about this matter before, where she states that waiting for 7 days after any uterine bleeding stops to touch again, for example after a period makes the husband and wife reunite again when the woman is in her fertile window again. In this video she only slightly touches on this topic by making a comment on what is advised by midwives/doctors for when a husband and wife are allowed to engage in physical intimacy again after childbirth, which is generally 6 weeks after birth.

Due to listening to Miriam I get the idea that she wants to make this seem like all of this happens in order to protect women in these circumstances but I cannot help finding these "means of protection" regressive, outdated and exhausting. Imagine bleeding for weeks after childbirth, now having 5 children you have to care for and always having to think about not touching your husband when both of you try to manage daily life after birth.

I'd really like her to dive deeper into why she thinks that this spiritually even makes sense. Again, for me it just comes across as "the woman is dirty for bleeding, a man can't have sex with her anyways plus she's not able to get pregnant during that time so let's just tell her to stay away during that time".

I feel really sorry for women following any religion. All it does is add more unnecessary rules to abide by, each day. More mental load to consider each day.

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminists do interact #feminism #radical feminist community #radical feminists please touch #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do touch #gender critical #gender abolition #terfsafe #terfism #terfblr #religion #criticize religion

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aphroditesmoon · 1 year ago

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children of the empire

king!jacaerys valeryon x reader

summary: the tale of the king and the slave.

warnings: slave!reader, infidelity, hurt/comfort, angst, childbirth, grief, death, inspired by paul and chani from dune book series.

A/N: just jace and reader being wholly devoted to eachother

wc: 1.4k

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HE KNEW THE two of you were destined to be together from the moment he laid his eyes on you. After the coronation held for him as King, multiple houses that had changed the course of their loyalty at the last minute had begun to seek the now young King Jacaerys’ favor. And so began the parade of gifts from ornaments, jewels and women were presented. Exotic slaves from colonized lands were brought forth to the king. He had sat on the throne as if it was made just for him. The throne his mother had not been given the privilege to sit on for even a whole year.

By his side, was his once betrothed and now Queen Baela. Their union was celebrated the way their parents would have wanted, and the two tried their hardest to uphold all the traditions and rulings to make worth of the sacrifices and bloodshed in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

In everyone’s eyes, the pair was unstoppable, a united front with grudging respect for the other. A pair not only blessed with deserving power, but also with love.

But no one knew what really lied behind closed doors. The King Jacaerys and Queen Baela Targaryen had not loved one another. They might’ve liked each other in a way, back then. But the war and deaths have changed them both forever. They could not find any semblance of romantic attraction or comfort in the other. They had mourned their families in such a similar way, yet somehow still jarringly different. To find intimacy with the other was to face unspoken grief.

Jacaerys had thought that the loveless marriage would be the end of him ever experiencing a pure, tender bond with anyone. But he had seen you in a line of tired looking, plain and pretty girls, and he had sworn he’d seen you in a dream before.

If his mother was alive, she would be cursing him off his head. In fact, sometimes he hears her too. Yelling, and calling him a failure of a son, as he’s holding your thighs open, plunging himself deeper inside of you. An affair had by kings wasn’t uncommon, but he wondered how many of them were of love and not lust. He knew he would love you like his mother loved his father. But no matter how much of him is his mother’s son, he would not let you suffer the same end as his father.

He learned quickly that you weren’t as docile as you looked. Ask the wrong question and you’ll snap back. And yet, you were also not as hostile as you make yourself to be. You scold him like no one dares to do to the King, and you call him names on days he’s being particularly irritating, receiving a rising reaction from his shocked and baffled advisor and guards. But he knew that you were harmless. And you knew that a man like him can take a few jabs. And as much as the insults keep on coming, you advise him like no one does either.

You run your fingers through his hair like you’d give up everything you have to be able to touch him. And he looks up to your standing figure through his mussed-up hair as he kneels down with his arms circling your waist, like no one could ever look to even the greatest of kings.

“You will carry my children.” He had once told you.

The late-night silence where only the wind was able to speak louder than either of you, making anything he was saying sound possible. “Your queen will hold a knife to my throat.” You responded, feeling him pull you closer to his chest as he rests his chin on top of your head. “I would not let any other woman be the mother to my children except you.”

You let out a hoarse laugh that sounded almost too cynical to his liking. “I am not your woman, even if I am your property. Any child you have with me is a child destined for a life of suffering.” Had he not been so tired, he would have presented a stronger case after seeing you argue with much more fire even in such an hour. But instead, he only shook his head hard enough for you to feel his disagreement. “You are not my property.” You hummed with your ear to his heart. “I would be yours if you’ll have me, and I’d let you rob me naked if that be your heart’s desire.” You let out a scoff you always do when you’re finding him ridiculous and drunk. Only soft kings dare to dream, a reminder you bring up constantly to him. All because you knew what usually happens to those kinds of rulers, and even if you wouldn’t say it out loud, you cared for him too much to see him resigned to such a fate.

Three months later, you were with child. Brimmed with joy, Jacaerys had vowed to legalize the babe as soon as it comes out. And even with his queen’s relentless challenging to his title and responsibility, he refuses to send you away. He asks her forgiveness for the disrespect the child’s birth would be to her, but his mind was set.

An illegitimate royal child was not unheard of, and Jacaerys’ fortunate case of being a man helps lessen the cacophony of riots and disagreement within the council. But when it had been confirmed that the child would be legalized and appointed as his heir. How can a scion of the Targaryen family be a bastard made by bastards.

And yet with every voice raised against him, his assurance only becomes stronger. Every drink you take and every meal you eat will be tested first for poison. And every move you make would be supervised and followed by personal guards that were starting to make you regret being with him. 6 months into the pregnancy, you had relented into staying in your chambers, his overprotectiveness had become more obvious. Not even the Queen was granted to visit you, in fear of bad intentions.

His actions had hurt Baela, for she expected him to know better what kind of person she is in terms of morality.

When your water finally broke, he was 20 minutes late. When a guard had run to him in the throne room to announce the birth, he didn’t need to be told twice to get himself off the iron throne, running to you as fast as he could. You had given birth to a set of twins. A girl, and a boy. He had made it to you in the last few seconds before you let out your final breath. You had whispered his name as he squeezes your hand in a fist while apologizing profusely. “I couldn’t have belonged to anyone else, even if I wanted to.” He had cried by your side. You responded with a confession you’ve never uttered aloud, though both of you already knew what it was. You had breathed out so quietly, words only meant for his ears, “I love you.” The lights in his eyes died out the second you were announced deceased.

He sat by your cold body for hours before he could be convinced to let his grip on your dead arms off. He held both of his babes for the first and last time in his arms that day before spending the next 2 days locked and isolated in his chambers. Rhaenyra and Lucerys Targaryen. A storm brewed in the sky of Kings Landing. Wild winds and lightning as devastating as his own heart. The people stayed inside as the weather rips off wooden houses and floods the streets in every corner that is

Baela had tried speaking to him, as gentle as she could, reminding him of his children. But he was non-verbal. And so, she gave up.

On the third day, Rhaena Targaryen had rushed to her Queen sister, screaming in pure terror as she held up a folded and opened envelope of a letter. The doors to the King’s chambers were slammed open, only to find the place empty. The King hadleft. He had exited the castle to the storms.

And in his letter contained his want for his wife to rule in his stead until his daughter Rhaenyra reaches the age of 10 and 8, old enough to be wed to her brother, and then after, she’d take her rightful place as Queen.

A legitimate claim to the throne.

The only other thing written besides his will, was a sentence among the lines, ‘Only a soft king dares to dream. And I am as weak and soft as it can be.’

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon #jace velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #jace targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #hotd #jacaerys targaryen

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astrologged · 10 months ago

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Haumea (136108) represents transformation, regeneration, and renewal. Named after the Hawaiian goddess of childbirth and fertility, Haumea's influence in a birth chart indicate areas of life where profound change and growth are likely to occur. It encourages people to embrace evolution, both internally and externally, and to navigate through periods of transition with resilience and adaptability. Haumea's placement in the chart focus on where and how someone's likely to experience transformational processes and where renewal and regeneration are needed.

1st house: personal transformation and renewal, indicating a strong focus on self-improvement and identity evolution.

2nd house: transformation and regeneration in areas related to finances, values, and possessions. There's a need to reassess your material resources and security.

3rd house: transformation and renewal in communication, learning, and local environment. There's a talent for transforming ideas and sharing knowledge.

4th house: transformation and regeneration within the home, family, and emotional foundation. There's a deep connection to your roots and a desire for emotional healing within the family dynamics.

5th house: transformation and renewal in creativity, self-expression, and romance. There's a desire for self-discovery through creative pursuits and passionate relationships.

6th house: transformation and regeneration in health, daily routines, and work environment. There's a need for healing and renewal in your physical and mental well-being.

7th house: transformation and renewal within partnerships, relationships, and collaborations. This placement may suggest a focus on healing and growth through intimate connections with others.

8th house: transformation and regeneration in areas related to shared resources, intimacy, and psychological depth. There's a profound interest in exploring the mysteries of life and death.

9th house: transformation and renewal through higher learning, travel, and philosophical exploration. There's a desire for spiritual growth and expansion of your worldview.

10th house: transformation and regeneration in career, public image, and life goals. There's a strong drive for success and recognition, with a focus on making a meaningful impact in the world.

11th house: transformation and renewal within social circles, community involvement, and long-term goals. There's a desire for progressive change and collective empowerment.

12th house: transformation and regeneration in spirituality, subconscious patterns, and inner healing. There's a deep connection to the collective unconscious and a need for spiritual transcendence. Deep rooted traumas.

#haumea #houses #in the houses #astrology

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diejager · 10 months ago

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Alright so reader ends up pregnant, mom thinks it's horangis kid, reader moves in with him and we have the whole nursery situation

What happens next, like how will they treat her when she's 7 months pregnant? How will they deal with her cravings and stuff?

And what will happen when she gives birth and the baby's a carbon copy of konig? Will the mom be like "🧍‍♀️oh well that's interesting" or will horangi and Konig take reader away and disappear from the face of the earth? Or even worse, they make sure the mom's not gonna bother them anymore (yknow like ⚰️💀⚱️🪦)?

The whole story line is amazing btw and if I could, i would kiss your brain because of how amazing it is

I’m gonna expand on Baby Scenario since it’s almost the same principle. Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, childbirth, tell me if I missed any.

Your mother had adamantly encouraged you to move in with Horangi, it would only make sense, no? Since he was the father of your kid. You’d have more space from both her and your stepdad, and would be able to spend more time with Horangi, to build that intimacy and relationship that you’d need if you were to care for a child. You would have extra room for your stuff and a nursery fro your upcoming child in Horangi’s home since he lived alone, his ultilitarianlydecorated house was a perfect place to start building a warm home —a blank canvas coaxing you to paint.

You reluctantly agreed to her proposition, not having much of a choice when she was obliviously overcome with joy, König’s hard stare and Horangi’s tightening grip on your hip, low enough to make you uncomfortable but not too much that it was improper. The move was made quick, the sudden change of your environment left you disorientated, confused and lost while they carried box after box into the living room of your new house.

They hadn’t made a move on you since the test, leaving you alone to do your own things: fix your side of the room, paint and move furniture around the nursery when Horangi and König were busy with other things, or reading on the bean bag you moved near the window for better lighting. It made the move a bit better, neither feeling as oppressed as you felt nor as freeing as you used to be, but it worked nonetheless of your change of ownership. It, however, hadn’t last long, they were quick to lay a hand on you, their fingers kneading and wandering over your sensitive skin, moving you to the bed and leaving you mewling and panting from their mouth and fingers alone.

When your cravings knocked down the door with weird and changing tastes, both men were eager to help, buying or ordering whatever you’d cried about wanting even if you ended up throwing it away because you didn’t want it anymore. They were accommodating to your growing needs, at your every beck and call when you had a sudden craving or sickness. Your mother couldn’t be any happier about how it turned out, that you were with someone she could trust to care for you and not a boy who’d leave you the second he heard you were pregnant, she booked everything for you until the assumed date of birth.

But on when you gave birth, staring at a boy with auburn strands and brown eyes, and a girl with black locks and pale eyes, your mother looked as horrified as you were, much unlike Horangi and König’s pleased gaze. She fought with him, screamed her head off and tried to pry them away from you, to protect you from the men who forced themselves on you and knocked you up. You learned that she kicked König out, throwing all his items out and had tried to have them both removed and taken away from you, but there was little she could do against powerful men. Their names and reputation the blade of their defense, to use and to wield to take you away from her.

The last time you saw her, she was in tears, sobbing and fighting against someone’s arms, clawing her way towards you while you were pulled away and into a black SUV. They cut your contact with your mother and the rest of the world, keeping you in a locked box of their own making. You didn’t know what happened to your mother or how she was, you were completely cut off from anything than your penthouse. Your only physical contact was your kids and the men who called themselves your husbands, caring for Leon and Yoon-Suh and making sure they had food when they came home.

And it wouldn’t take long before they’d ask for another child.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

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fanficapologist · 10 months ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

“Do not think this means I forgive you for lying to me.”

After breaking their fast together following their coupling, Aemond brought Maera to peak again twice more. The minute they had finished eating, the one-eyed Prince removed both of their clothes completely before leading them to their shared bed.

He sat down, reclining back against the headboard before guiding Maera to straddle him, hands on her hips as he slowly lowered her onto his stiff cock. Aemond rocked her back and forth in a rolling motion, hitting her spongey spot just right with every movement, burying his head in her full chest as his breathing became heavier. She gripped onto his shoulders desperately, throwing her head back as she felt her climax slowly build, her arousal coating his cock and thighs with her release.

The second time she peaked was by Aemond once again feasting on her with his tongue, head between her rounded thighs as she lay back on their bed, lapping up their mixed essence with his skilful tongue as he coaxed her orgasm from her, like a starving man who had not known sustenance for an ungodly amount of time. After cumming again, Maera lay on her husband’s chest, a tangle of limbs and warmth in the soft glow of the morning light through the windows.

The Prince’s toned, slim torso pressed against Maera's curvaceous form. His muscular arms enveloped her, one hand gently stroking her hair as they basked in the afterglow of their passion. With his eyepatch removed, the sapphire nestled in the hollow of his eye socket gleamed in the soft daylight, casting a mesmerizing glow across his sharp-featured face. Maera's body was a canvas of curves, her skin bore the faint flush of their shared ecstasy, enhancing the natural beauty that radiated from her every feature. Her brown curls, tousled and wild, framed her face in a cascade of unruly elegance, the silver streak shimmering like a celestial thread woven into the fabric of her being.

Aemond met her gaze, the softening of his violet eye betraying a depth of emotion, though his face retained its stoic exterior. His fingers tenderly weaved their way through her locks as he spoke, "I respect you enough to never presume that forgiveness is easily earned."

Maera shifted her body to lay on her side, aligning herself to face him, prompting Aemond to mirror her movement. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange of understanding. She teased him with a playful sternness, "You are still paying back the debt for being an arse to me all those years ago."

A silent laugh escaped Aemond's lips, his affectionate gaze never leaving hers. "A debt I will no doubt be paying for until the end of my days," he acknowledged, reaching out to delicately move a strand of hair from her face.

Maera responded with a contemplative hum. Despite the intimacy they had shared, the specter of Aemond’s deception loomed large in her mind. Her heart, heavy with the weight of their shared history, yearned for reconciliation, for a restoration of the bond that had once held them fast. Yet, amidst the tender caress of his touch, the echo of Alys's presence lingered. The spells the witch had woven, binding Aemond and Maera together through dark sorcery, whispered like sinister echoes in the recesses of Maera's consciousness, their implications casting a pall of unease over her thoughts.

Anger smoldered within Maera, a seething fire fueled by the knowledge of Aemond's laying with Alys and the tragic consequences that had befallen her extended family. Betrayal gnawed at the edges of her resolve, a bitter taste lingering on her tongue as she grappled with the weight of Aemond's deceit.

Confusion gnawed at her soul, twisting and turning like a tempestuous sea, as she grappled with the conflicting emotions that warred within her, as well as questions she still longed to know the answer to. “If she knew we were fated to be bound, that our union had to happen… why did you treat me with such hostility the moment I returned seven months ago?”

Aemond’s expression softened, his gaze drifting as he searched for the right words. “I was angry, I suppose,” he admitted with a shrug, the admission heavy with the weight of his past actions. “Angry at our fractured friendship, and angry at the sense of inevitability Alys had painted about our future together. It felt like I had no control.”

Maera’s eyebrow arched in skepticism, prompting Aemond to offer further explanation. “I thought that by pushing you away, I could change the course of our lives. But as it turns out, you cannot change fate.”

She focussed on his words. Fate. Helaena also said fate could not be changed. Lady Gael in her dreams said fate was foretold by the Gods. Was everything truly written by the Seven and they were merely acting out their pre-conceived roles? Or could it be altered, even a fraction of an amount? Alys had told Aemond although fate could not be changed, it could be swayed.

Sensing her introspection, Aemond gently cupped her face in his hand, their eyes locked in a shared moment of vulnerability. "I never meant to hurt you, nor dishonor you in the eyes of the court," he confessed, his sincerity evident.

Maera frowned, her fingers tracing the jagged scar beneath his sapphire eye. "What's done is done," she murmured, a mixture of acceptance and resilience in her voice. After a moment of reflection, Maera spoke again, her tone measured. "It will take me some time to trust you again. You will need to accept that."

Aemond nodded, his gaze filled with understanding and a quiet determination to prove himself worthy. With a sigh, Maera's gaze wandered down to her swelling belly, her hand instinctively resting upon the curve of her abdomen. "As tempting as it may be to mount Ēbrion and escape from it all...I want this marriage to succeed."

Aemond's hand found hers on her stomach, a gesture, this time, that brought a sense of solace. Maera continued, her voice tinged with determination. "Not just for the child I carry, but for us as well. We exchanged vows before the Gods in the Sept. With House Targaryen divided and a war raging around us, our child needs parents who are..."

"Who are?" Aemond prodded gently, his curiosity evident.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Maera finished her thought with a stubborn resolve. "United."

Aemond chuckled softly, sinking back against his pillow with a wry smile. "That's not what you were going to say," he teased, his eye dancing with amusement.

Maera propped herself up on her elbow, her gaze fixed on Aemond as she prepared to speak her mind. “What did you expect me to say, husband? Some grand declaration of love or poetic verses about our supposed magical bond?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful sarcasm.

Aemond's smirk only widened. “I would not necessarily oppose that,” he replied, his eye sparkling with amusement.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Maera continued, her expression turning more serious. “My feelings about you at the moment are... complicated, to say the least. I doubt you would care to hear them,” she confessed, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond lifted his arm to rest behind his head, his features softening with a hint of seriousness. “I will gladly accept whatever feelings you have towards me, Maera. The good, the bad, the confusing ones too. Your words may burn, but I am a dragon. I can endure,” he assured her, his gaze unwavering.

Maera sighed, resigning herself to the conversation ahead. “You speak of burning, but you forget the wreckage you have left in your wake. My heart has been shattered by you more times than I can count,” she began. Maera glanced at him from the corner of her eye and could see he was listening intently. She continued, “We were children of nine when we first met, and I believed we shared a bond unlike any other. But that bond was shattered when you claimed Vhagar, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our broken friendship.”

Her words continued to flow with an undercurrent of emotion, her hands gesturing animatedly as she sought to convey the depth of her anguish to her husband. “Then I return for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, hoping for reconciliation, and you treated me with disdain, as if I were beneath you.” Aemond listened in silence, his single violet eye fixed unwaveringly on her face. His expression was a mask of solemnity, his features drawn tight with the weight of her words.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, her green eyes fixed on a point in the distance as she gathered her thoughts, the weight of her memories pressing heavily upon her. “Yet, despite your cruelty, I found myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, only to be burned time and time again.”

Maera then balled up the sheet covering her body within her fist, gripping it intensely as her anger spilled over. “You entertained the notion of witch’s prophecies, foolish enough to give a woman who practices dark magic your blood and seed. And now my aunt Viserra, my last link to my mother, and her kin, are gone. Sacrificed at your hand, all to bind me to you, to ensure that I am yours and yours alone.”

She shook her head in disbelief, realising how absolutely preposterous this sounded, each chaotic event painting a sad and broken picture of her life with Aemond in it. “You chased away suitors, denied me happiness outside of your grasp, refusing to let me have anything that did not involve you. And now, with the revelation of your manipulations, I question whether my feelings for you are genuine or merely a product of your meddling.”

Maera’s eyes began to water at this. She was afraid, afraid that none of this was real. Aemond’s hand wandered to touch her arm lovingly, a silent affirmation of his attentiveness and empathy, a glimmer of understanding flashing across his face. With each hesitant breath, Maera spoke her next words with brutal honesty, staring him down as tears began to flow freely. “You are cruel, Aemond. And arrogant. And selfish.” Throughout her words, Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable as he absorbed her criticisms. There was no trace of hurt in his features, but rather a contemplative expression that hinted at deep introspection.

Maera sighed once more, her frustration momentarily abated. “But you are more than that.” She reached across and traced his contoured jawline with her finger, using a feather light touch. “More than your Targaryen blood. More than a dragon rider. More than the second son.” Her head leant down as she traced his jawline with her lips, the satisfying sound of a groan catching in the Prince’s throat. “More than your duty. More than the expectations of the Realm or your family. More than your past choices.”

Closing her eyes, she ghosted her lips across his, hesitant for the next words to leave her mouth. But they were true, and they were needed in this moment, more for herself than for him. A reminder and vow as to why she was with him of her own volition instead of just a political alliance or the spell cast by a witch.

“Ao issi ñuhon,” You are mine, Maera whispered against him, feeling him shift next to her, and his neck crane upwards, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. “Sepār avy jorrāelan.” And of course I love you.

Aemond’s sighed deeply at her words of devotion to him. Yet as he leaned in for a kiss, she pulled back, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stood from their bed, slipped into her robe and rang for her servants.

“But you still have much to atone for, my Prince,” she warned him with a smirk, chuckling to herself as she took in his wide-eyed expression. In that fleeting moment of hesitation, she asserted her independence and agency, a reminder to Aemond that her love was freely given and not to be taken for granted.

And ‘atone’ he most certainly did. For a month, he toiled in her service in order to win back her affections, unknown to other members of the court. The gestures started off small. Instead of retreating to the Tower of the Hand to work alone, he now made a conscious effort to complete his paperwork at Maera’s side, sending for her to join him or setting up his writing desk in their shared chambers.

He sought to express his love and devotion through lavish gifts, each carefully selected to reflect Maera’s diverse interests and passions. Uncensored scrolls from the Citadel offered her unrestricted access to knowledge and information, while new paints from YiTi promised to enrich her artistic pursuits. And when it came to her weapons, Aemond spared no expense, adorning her old dagger with sapphires and emeralds that sparkled in the candlelight, as well as a fresh polish to the metal of the blade.

Aside from these, the Prince also helped the dragon keepers in the design of Ēbrion’s saddle, fit to be used by Maera as a rider. The saddle, fashioned after the design of Vhagar's legendary equipment, was a formidable sight to behold. Crafted from black leather and adorned with intricate chains and ropes, it exuded an air of strength and resilience. The chest harness provided a sturdy foundation for the saddle, while reins attached to the saddle allowed for precise control over the beast's movements.

As the dragon keepers worked tirelessly to fit Ēbrion with the new creation, Maera stood watchful by his side, a calming presence amidst the chaos. Although she was reassured by the Vovnik that the beast would not feel a thing due his tough hide of scales, Maera still winced at the sound of the saddle being bolted onto her dragon’s chest and back. Yet she remained poised and vigilant, soothing Ēbrion with gentle words and comforting touches.

Aemond stood at a distance, watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and longing. He understood that the beast’s fierce nature required delicate handling, especially in the midst of such significant changes. Maera had explained that since Aemond still evoked some negative feelings, she did not want this to be transferred to her mount, which could possibly result in the death of more Keepers or even her own husband. And as much as he still angered her, she did not wish true harm to befall him.

During his month of atonement, Maera kept the Prince at arm’s length. Although she was grateful for the gifts and his newfound attention, she was still hurt, and had not invited Aemond back to her bed since the day she rode Ēbrion. And the Prince had not presumed to join her, which Maera found oddly admirable, her resolve began to soften as the nights grew colder and lonelier. After a week of restless sleep and silent longing, she finally relented and allowed him back into their shared bed.

That night, and each night after, Maera couldn't deny the comfort of Aemond's warmth beside her. She curled up against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Aemond would wrap his arms around her, pulling her close in a protective embrace. In the darkness of their chamber, they found a sense of peace in each other's arms, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

Most mornings, she was now awoken to Aemond indulging himself between her legs, calloused hands stroking up and down her soft thighs as he feasted on her, his violet eye shut with bliss. When she was awake enough to realise what was happening, Maera hands would immediately fly to his hair, grabbing onto fistfuls of the silver locks for dear life as pleasure coursed through her very soul, now so much more intense as she entered the second part of her pregnancy.

With each gesture, Aemond hoped to demonstrate his unwavering commitment to Maera, to show her that he was willing to go to great lengths to earn back her trust and affection. And as the days turned into weeks, Maera couldn’t help but be moved by his sincerity, gradually allowing herself to soften in his presence, to once again find solace in the embrace of the man she loved. She had not forgiven, nor forgotten, but the sting of his transgression hurt a lot less than before.

On a windy day during the fourth month of the year, Aemond and Maera worked tirelessly in their shared chambers at their own pursuits. As the storm raged outside, the sky was a canvas of gray clouds, swirling with the promise of heavy rain. Leaves, tinged with the fiery hues of autumn, danced on the wind before being swept away by the downpour. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, a reminder of the changing season.

Inside, Maera sat at her easel, her paintbrush moving with fluid strokes across the canvas. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls as she carefully crafted a new painting, another to add to the growing pile in her room. This one was destined for the nursery of their unborn child. Her brushstrokes were deliberate and precise, capturing the essence of a tranquil night sky.

In the painting, a full moon hung low on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the landscape below. Against the backdrop of stars, nine dragon silhouettes soared gracefully, each representing a member of House Targaryen connected to the new babe. Maera meticulously painted each dragon, infusing them with life and vitality despite their stark black outlines. Two larger dragons, one representing Maera and the other Aemond, stood as parents guarding the night sky. Surrounding them were the dragons of Helaena, Aegon, and Daeron, the aunt and uncles. Two smaller silhouettes represented the child's cousins, Jaehaera and Maelor.

A subtle, keen eye could discern two faint, almost imperceptible silhouettes. One symbolized Lady Gael, Maera's late mother, a spectral presence in the family's celestial tableau. The other, a smaller dragon, paid homage to Prince Jaehaerys, a reminder of the family's tragic loss. Lastly, a particularly radiant star stood out among the rest, symbolizing Maela, Helaena's lost babe, whose memory shone brightly in the night sky.

Softening the lines of the faded silhouettes with a damp sponge, a low hum from Aemond distracted Maera from her work. She turned at him and cocked her head to the side, curious as to what was on his mind. The Prince did not even have to look up from his writing to know the green eyes of his wife were on him.

“It seems that twat in the cells finally succumbed to his torture,” Aemond grumbled, causing Maera to frown, not understanding to whom he was referring. From her lack of reply, Aemond looked up, his brows furrowed. “Blood.”

The butcher. One of the men who had slain Jaehaerys. The one who had been caught at the Gate of the Gods two days later. And who had been under torture in the dungeons ever since. Maera clenched her jaw at the thought of such a monster.

“Death was too good for him,” she replied coldly, before turning her attention back to her painting, softening the edges around the dragon that represented Jaehaerys. “Did he reveal anything useful?”

“Yes, actually. It turns out he was working for one of my uncle’s favourite whores. And that he was asked to bring Jaehaerys’ head back to Dragonstone as a prize for Daemon,” Aemond answered, his words causing Maera to tense. He continued on, “Towards his end, he gave up the names of other spies in Kings Landing, probably some feeble attempt to keep himself alive. So now I am tasked with signing their death warrants.”

Maera let out a shaky breath. “Anyone we know?”

“No one important, just a few guards. But they have patrolled our corridors, stood watch outside our doors,” Aemond sneered, noticing that Maera had now frozen at her easel. She heard his chair scrape along the stone floor as he rose from his seat, striding towards her before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder, his single violet eye looking at the masterpiece of a painting his wife was producing for their child.

Maera’s gaze lingered on the painting, her thoughts drifting to the uncertainties of their future amidst the looming threat of war. How many more dragons would be reduced to faded silhouettes if their enemies continued to plot against them? The spies lurking within their midst, their presence only now coming to light, cast a shadow of fear over the once secure halls of their home. The prospect of further losses weighed heavily on Maera’s mind, each potential death a painful reminder of the fragility of their house and the dangers that surrounded them.

“We are not safe here. None of us are,” Maera whispered, as if not wanting to breathe life into the fact she knew well. She turned to Aemond, her eyes filled with concern.

His gaze softened. “Come the morrow, those traitors will lack heads,” the Prince proclaimed with reassurance in his voice.

Before Maera could respond, Aemond lifted his hand and revealed a piece of parchment, addressed to her, bearing the seal of House Baratheon, a sight that sparked intrigue within Maera’s curious nature. Eager to uncover its contents, she reached out to snatch the parchment, only to find Aemond teasingly withholding it from her grasp. With a playful pout, Maera’s annoyance was evident, but Aemond relented, allowing her to claim the letter with a mischievous shove in return.

Breaking the wax seal, Maera’s eyes scanned the contents of the letter with keen interest, a smile gracing her face as she immediately recognised the handwriting.

“It’s from Luthor,” Maera beamed, before quickly scanning the words.

Dearest sister (Or should I refer to you as Princess in our correspondence now? Royalty or not, we still threw food at each other at the dining table not that long ago),

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Father recently shared the joyful news of your pregnancy with me, and I couldn't be happier to hear that I will soon be an uncle again. I do hope for both your sakes that the new babe is just like your husband, even though I do not know what he was like as a small child. Memories of your mischievous nature and the mere size of you when you were born is enough to put anyone off having more than one child.

Maera’s chuckling caught Aemond’s attention, his single violet eye looking in her direction as he settled back onto his writing desk.

“He says he hopes our baby is more like you than me,” she chortled, the thought of their child filling her with joy. “Apparently I was quite large when I was born, and a difficult child as well.”

“You being described as a handful stuns me,” Aemond replied sarcastically with a smirk, picking up his quill and commencing his writing once again.

Maera rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Tis just as well you are not a jester or we would all be bored of your unfunny material,” she teased before turning her attention back to the letter.

In other news, I am pleased to inform you that I am now wed to Lady Cassandra, the eldest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon. Our wedding coincided with that of Prince Daeron and Lady Ellyn Baratheon, and I must say, the poor prince seemed quite terrified. I did my best to offer him comfort amidst the festivities. Thank the Gods for whatever the Maester gave him to perform in the bedding ceremony, lest I do not think this would have been completed otherwise. Unfortunately for his new bride, the Prince returned to his duties and flew back to the Reach after bedding her, with the promise to return in a few weeks time.

“My brother is wed, as is yours. And Daeron was able to fulfil his duty, the poor boy,” Maera announced to her husband, a pang of sympathy for the youngest Targaryen Prince in her voice. Aemond simply hummed in response as he continued writing his documents. She read on.

Of course, I had no qualms fulfilling my duty and bedding my new wife. (I will spare you the details. Hearing snippets of what happened on your own wedding night was enough to make my skin crawl, and I shan’t wish that on you in your current condition.) The Baratheon girl seems pleasant enough and I find myself still getting to know her. Lady Cassandra possesses the typical Baratheon traits of black hair and striking blue eyes, and I must admit, I am surprisingly eager to earn her approval. A simple laugh at one of my jokes during dinner felt more rewarding than winning any sparring match.

Father is adamant about the importance of fathering an heir, as a male child could potentially inherit Storm's End. Yet, I fear his ambitions may overwhelm my new bride. I tread cautiously, not wanting to frighten her away. I will fulfil my duty, yes, but I will not pressure nor force the Lady to bear me a child in such haste.

A sad smile graced Maera’s face. Happiness was such a rare thing in political marriages. But Luthor was trying and, for this, she felt proud of her elder brother. Maera was not surprised of her father’s pressuring agenda yet it did not stop her from feeling irritated. Every Lord that steps foot into the Red Keep is so full of self-interest in an attempt to get close to, or even sit upon, the Iron Throne. She could not understand why Lord Jasper would push his children so hard just to have his blood be apart of the tapestry that made up the great Houses of Westeros.

Maera understood Aemond’s desire for the throne. He had worked so hard throughout his life, only for it to be given to his oaf of brother, simply because Aegon was born first. Yet as stupid and ill-equipped as her brother-in-law was, she was glad it would not be a burden that would be passed onto her own children. That ugly metal chair brought nothing but chaos and destruction to those who sat on it.

The specter of war looms large, and I worry for your safety in King's Landing, especially given your marriage to the King's brother. I'm uncertain if the Crownlands will prove a safe haven for your growing family. Please know that even though I am far away, I am always here for you. If there is anything I can do to assist or support you, do not hesitate to ask.

Your brother,

Luthor

With a sigh, Maera folded the letter over and joined Aemond at the writing desk. Anxiety swarmed around her about the safety of her family, as well as her wards, the youngest whom would be the next King of the Seven Kingdoms after Aegon. All the while, spies for the Blacks loomed about the Keep, their identities just now coming to light. And given how easily Blood and Cheese had entered and murdered Jaehaerys, who is to say it would not happen again?

The Prince stopped writing, looking up at his wife to see concern painted across her face.

“What is wrong?” He questioned, clearly confused by her sudden dip in mood.

“Luthor is right,” Maera confessed defeatedly. “We are sitting ducks here in Kings Landing. The Blacks will come for us.”

Aemond placed his quill back in its pot of ink to reach across for Maera’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as she spoke on. “Whilst I can justify the adults being caught in the crossfire, it is not fair on the children. Our child may nestle in the safe confines of my womb, but Jaehaera and Maelor are more exposed.”

The Prince sighed thoughtfully and nodded. “What do you suggest?”

After a moment of hesitation, Maera finally came to a conclusion. “The children need to be in a place of safety. Outside of Kings Landing.”

Notes: Let’s be honest, this chapter was a filler, which is why I was struggling to finish it. What finally got me to post it was the reminder that in these chapters there’s still key information in these chapters that will be important later on.

Tags: @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #aemond smut

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sunspearesque · 10 months ago

Text

‘Tis You, My Great Love

Summary: I've been betrothed to fear since the mists of memory, “the bride of despair,” they named me. And there, by the shore, you found me… sorrow veiling my face, and wounds blooming like tulips in my hands. But lo, you, my great love, now stand, lifting the veil and bidding my fears depart with each tender kiss. “Stay,” I say, “stay for all eternity.”

A/N: hello hello beautiful friends!!! i wrote this piece while feeling extremely sentimental and sappy after a conversation about motherhood with my best friend.. i was contemplating motherhood, marriage, and intimacy in general, but then tried to imagine how that would translate to Nala's and Oberyn's relationship.. so, this fic is mainly fluff with a sprinkle of smut :3 and lots of poetic dreams… hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); talks of motherhood; fear of loss and abandonment; fear of motherhood; talks of dreams; pregnancy; childbirth; fluff on steroids with a sprinkle of smut; dad!oberyn (my favorite oberyn to write); brief p in v sex; oral (m!receiving); breeding kink

WC: 2.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

“Love me so strongly that the echoes come to me here, at night, in the hours of insomnia, where I am waiting for you. I kiss you, I kiss you madly.” — Albert Camus to Maria Casares, Correspondence, January 9, 1950

His breath, slow and warm, caressed her neck as he nestled closer. His arms, like bands of fire, encircled her soft belly. With a grip as tight as the grasp of a man fearing the loss of paradise slipping through his fingers, he held her close, as if she might vanish like the elusive dream of Eden he chased in his sleep. Just when he thought he could taste its waters, they turned to fire, scorching his throat and consuming him in flames, jolting him awake from his slumber. Yet now, she mused, he sleeps peacefully.

She traced her finger over the scar adorning his shoulder, much like the marks she bore on her own body from bearing their son—for when love leaves its mark upon us, not even the shadow of fear can erase it.

Her fingers deftly threaded through his raven locks, prompting a soft hum from him as she pressed a tender kiss upon his brow. Never before had she known such serenity, as sleep gently stole her away in his arms.

—

The sun, basking in its warm and inviting glow, reached its luminous tendrils into the chambers of their castle. The soft sounds of nature at dawn whispered promises of new beginnings. These beginnings ushered in healing and prosperity to souls who had yearned for the clasp of death for so long, forgetting how to revel in life's joys and surrender to its tender embrace.

Life in Dorne, akin to a nurturing mother, a goddess, a woman… the dunes of sand beneath their calloused feet, and the blazing sun in the sky, stood as an impregnable fortress of strength akin to Nymeria, their burning star. She was the mother of both land and people, her warmth forging indomitable resolve within her children. She is the sun—their sun blazing fiercely, instilling in them an unyielding grit against any rival, yet within their hearts lay a gentle warmth that embraced love as steadfastly as a sacred oath.

And like the sun and the earth and Nymeria, Nala harbored the urges of motherhood within her, which was a concept that she held in reverence, yet it also stirred a deep sense of dread within her. She longed for the life burgeoning deep inside of her, for a part of herself to wander this realm and embrace life under her vigilant care and unwavering devotion. However, she couldn't shake the haunting memory of how motherhood had claimed her own mother's life, how she harbored guilt for the tragic fate her mother endured.

If only I hadn't been, she might have fled the castle and escaped her dire end...

This lingering wound within her soul was the sole reason she had shunned the idea of bearing children until she met him.

He, adorned in all his splendor, tended to her wounded soul the very instant he professed his love to her, at a time when he himself was most in need of solace. This bastion of a man, generous, gracious, and gallant, freely bestowed his love, protection, and tenderness, even amidst the shadows of his wrath and vengeance.

For you, my great love, I ache with an unbearable keenness, feeling the wounds within me slowly mend, sewn shut with the thread of your love—a needle of devotion stitching together my injured being. Though painful, it is an insatiable need, a piercing sting I have yearned for throughout the passing years. It closes the chasm within me, that gaping void where the winds of despair and sorrow once freely roamed, leaving me as naught but a specter, undeserving of love, joy, or autonomy.

Your love, my great love, is what ignited within me a hunger for life after an endless fast of fear—fear of loss and abandonment. Your love bestowed upon me the strength to embrace love once more, despite the inevitable sacrifices. Did you know that you visited me in my dreams? You kissed me with such tenderness and held me close. “I was adrift,” I told you, my voice laden with fear, “take me..” I whispered, “Take me with you.”

When she pledged herself to him in marriage, she knew she needed to fear no one beneath the gaze of Gods and men. With him by her side, no rivals could breach her defenses; even in death, his spirit would haunt any who dared to harm her through all Seven Hells and beyond.

You told me once, do you recall? As we strolled the shores, my steps were heavy with dread or joy, or perhaps it was the dread of the joy that awaited me. I struggle to remember the last time genuine happiness graced my soul before that day. When the sweet taste of happiness touched my sorrow-laden lips, I froze in place, wary that this cruel existence might snatch it away, as it so often does.

You whispered to me, my great love, your love with such fervor, you told me how it frightened you, unable to resist the pull of our inevitable fate. “How could I?” you pondered, “You are inescapable.” You told me that sorrow is the price of love; to shun one is to forsake the other. Yet, you vowed not to evade me, you kissed me and swore to me that you would not allow my love to elude your grasp.

You told me how I melt into your dreams, whisking you away in my embrace mere seconds before the phantom hands could encircle your throat. Those same hands, which once tormented you each night, wrenching you from slumber, now find themselves impotent against your newfound peace. You impute to me your salvation, though I doubted my own. You rekindled a dormant tenderness within me, long thought doused by the harshness of life. ‘tis you, my great love, who rescued me… It was not I who saved you, but you who saved me.

She recalled a day they spent amidst the Water Gardens, a few moons past:

Reclining upon the grass, the soothing melody of a nearby water fountain lulled her into a serene state of repose. The laughter of Dorea and Loreza filled her ears, joyfully engaged in play with their father. Nala shut her eyes, savoring this heartening moment with those she holds most dear.

“W–Wait, papa, wait,” Dorea uttered between pants, attempting to conceal her sweet giggles. “I heard Arianne say that you engage in battles,” she inquired, her small hand resting on her waist as she sought to extract the truth from him.

“Yes, I do,” Oberyn replied, seated on the grass, attempting to catch his breath after chasing them all morning. “Why would Arianne tell you that?” He narrowed his eyes at his daughter, intrigued by the smirk that widened before Loreza jumped on his back, encircling his neck and hanging from it, ambushing him. “Papa, fight!”

Nala opened her eyes to witness the victorious father, besieged by little hands and tiny feet, playfully striking his stomach and chest, surrounded by laughter that compelled him to yield, lying flat on his back.

Dorea brandished a stick of wood, pointing it at his face, and murmured, “Surrender!” with a broad, toothy grin. Loreza, seizing the opportunity, delivered a playful punch to his soft middle. “I surrender, my lady, I surrender!” he exclaimed with feigned fear and defeat, eliciting more giggles from Loreza. “Have mercy on this old man, my lady, please!” he continued, jesting while maintaining his scared demeanor.

“Loreza,” Dorea commanded with a stern expression, feigning seriousness, “this soldier will join our army,” attempting a deep, authoritative voice. At that moment, Oberyn stealthily swept them both from their feet and hoisted them onto his shoulders, prompting a chorus of screams and laughter. “You shall never trust your enemy, girls,” he declared, his voice playfully admonishing.

Her faith in his paternal prowess never wavered, evidenced by his eight resilient daughters. He showered them with love and fierceness to such an extent that Nala's own heart ached with longing to bear his child—a primal yearning that twisted within her.

Each time he lay with her, she offered fervent prayers to the Gods, beseeching them, “Grant this union fruitfulness, let it take, let life flourish abundantly within me.”

When the soft stirrings of life within her ignited a radiant glow from deep within, his love grew even more tender, gentle, and expansive; even greater than the swell of her stomach. She marveled at the dichotomy of this fierce and dreaded man seeping such tenderness. How could hands, once stained with the blood of his foes and weathered by battle, now caress her with such delicate care, as if she were the most delicate of petals?

“Tell me,” he panted as he thrust into her, “Tell me how much you love me, Nala.”

“I do,” she said, her words strained with pleasure, melding into a moan, “I do, my viper, I adore you.”

As she entered the throes of labor, he sat steadfastly behind her, his legs parted to rest on her sides supporting her back against his chest, his words of praise gently murmured into her ear. Amidst his curses at the Gods, he avidly wished to shoulder her pain, to bear it in her stead.

When they were greeted by the piercing cries of the fruit of their love—a child, glorious and perfect in every way, red and squealing, a reflection of his father in demeanor, soul, and visage—she cradled him in her arms, while Oberyn enveloped them both in his protective embrace.

Their eyes locked upon the tiny, fragile form before them, and as a rare tear escaped his forbearing facade, she reached out to brush it from his cheek. With a tender whisper, she said, “Look, my love, he bears your likeness.”

She reclined upon her side, nursing their son at her breast, nestled between herself and Oberyn. His gaze lingered upon the tender scene, his eyes laden with unspoken emotions that he dared not voice, lest tears betray him.

Do you remember, my great love? Do you remember how the fear wilted, its head bowed in shame? The fear that once gripped me, releasing my hand as it gazed upon you with eyes filled with dread.

“Fret not,” you whispered to me while I sat in sorrow by your side. Though you lay in a deep slumber for days, your voice broke through the darkness just when I feared I might never hear it again. When all semblance of peace metamorphosed into a looming specter, jeering at me, taunting my joy and desperation. “Oh, you naive child,” it sneered with a voice steeped in bitterness. “I am no child,” I retorted, yet I felt the weight of my old fears returning. “You never learn,” it spat, before your voice shielded me from impending despair. You whispered, “Fret not,” and I believed you, my great love, as I always do.

And now look... Look at him... How can one lay bare their heart to the world, a heart with little hands and tiny feet, and not fret?

—

Gently opening her eyes, she sensed the chill of the empty space beside her—a void she cursed and despised. Rising slowly from her slumber, she beheld him: bare-chested, glorious, as beautiful as a man can be, cradling their son in his arms.

Their embrace enveloped them in warmth, their skins melding as one, while the soft cooing of their child resonated faintly in the chamber's silence. Amidst the peaceful atmosphere, punctuated only by the hushed footsteps of her husband and the tender sounds of their boy, her heart pounded within her chest like a Sand Steed galloping across the Dornish plains, threatening to burst forth. The love she felt surged within her, surpassing all expectations, growing fiercer, more profound—unbearable. It was a love that dissolved her fears like the northern snows beneath the scorching sun.

In the treasured instants shared with his children, Oberyn found solace in moments where the chaos of the world faded into oblivion. Each time they gathered around him, their youthful spirits ignited a spark of joy within him, particularly in those tender early years when they sought refuge in their father's arms. Yet, amidst this warmth, a pang of sorrow lingered as he gazed upon his son, his thoughts drifting to memories of his nephew Aegon, the son of his sweet sister Elia.

He couldn't help but imagine how Aegon might have flourished had fate been kinder to him or his sister or their mother. A gentle touch from Nala drew him back from his sorrowful reverie, and as he turned to meet her tender smile, he leaned in to press a soft kiss upon her lips, mindful not to disturb the slumbering child cradled in his embrace.

“Why did you not awaken me, my love?” Nala murmured, her gaze tenderly fixed upon their son.

“I wished for you to rest,” he replied softly, his eyes warm as they met hers, before he moved to lay their child gently in his crib, nestling him into the plush bedding.

Returning to their bed, he settled himself against the sturdy wooden frame, patting the mattress beside him, inviting her to join him. She approached, crawling between his legs, prompting a raised brow and a smirk from him. “And what might you be doing?” he inquired.

“I long to savor you,” she declared simply, positioned between his spread legs and deftly undoing his breeches.

“And your wounds, my love?” he gently reminded her. “You are not fully healed yet.”

“This will be my remedy,” she replied, her voice hoarse and tinged with sleep and yearning, almost on the edge of a whine.

She felt his cock swell and throb in her grasp, searing and already slick with desire. With gentle strokes of her hand, she evoked muffled groans from him, meeting his gaze as she whispered, “I love you beyond reckoning…”

Lowering her head to his glistening tip, she teased the slit with tiny licks, relishing every drop of his precum. His head fell back, a deep moan escaping his lips before she buried him in her mouth.

She swallowed him deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed within her throat, his leg jerked beside her as she moved him in and out of her wet and wanting mouth. A low hum accompanied her fervent ministrations, her hand tenderly caressing his soft belly, a part of him she had adored over the years.

Pulling him from her drooling mouth to catch her breath, she panted between words, “If not for my wounds, I would not have wasted your seed anywhere but deep within my cunt,” she licked his sensitive tip, and he whimpered quietly, “taking me day and night… today and tomorrow and the day after, and spilling your seed within me over and over ‘til it takes,” she confessed before taking him again, squeezing him within her tight throat, his primal groans filling the air and filling her with an immense sense of pride at her actions.

She swallowed around him once, then twice, until she felt his warm, salty cum spurt into her eager throat, eliciting a guttural growl from him as he filled her up and came down from his climax. She withdrew his softened cock from her mouth, gathering the seeping cum from the corners of her lips before eagerly sucking her digit clean. Crawling up to lie atop him, she rested her head upon his heaving chest, pressing kisses to his golden skin. He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly, yearning to merge with her until they became one.

You, my great love, ‘tis you who will always reign until the end of times, in every lifetime, in every plane of existence.

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fangswbenefits · 2 years ago

Text

Intimacy

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Lack of intimacy after childbirth can weigh a relationship down. Thankfully, Miguel always finds new ways to keep the spark alive.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Lactation kink. Fangs. Implied breeding kink. A comprehensive study on intimacy with Miguel O’Hara.

“She’s finally sound asleep.”

Holding back a yawn as you entered the living room, you were promptly met with a very heavy-eyed Miguel O’Hara on the couch, enjoying the comforts of home.

“Thank you,” he said truthfully, straightening up lightly in his seat. “Come here.”

You paced towards him, lazily settling on his lap, both legs framing his as two big and warm hands sprawled across your back, pulling you into an embrace.

Instinctively, your eyes fluttered shut once cheek came to rest on his shoulder, taking in his body warmth and enjoying the steady heartbeat that drummed against your chest.

You figured you might just fall asleep and don’t fight against it. Taking care of a baby had been taking a toll on you both as of late, but it was to be expected.

Still, you missed moments like this. No talking, just feeling right at home in a silent embrace.

Miguel planted a few kisses to the back of your neck, but they were void of any sexual bearing. You knew what he meant with those. Absolute gratitude and devotion.

“Next time, I’ll put her to sleep,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hmm.”

His hands glided along your back, fingertips applying just enough pressure to raise goosebumps across your skin.

“I mean it.”

“You’re also tired,” you drawled out with a yawn, body slumping fully into him. “Work and all that…”

Another tender kiss. “But I have responsibilities here, too.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“You taught me how.”

Point taken.

Silent seconds ticked by and you shifted on his lap into a more comfortable position, ready to enter the valley of dreams.

“I miss you,” he said all of a sudden.

His hands settled on your arms to straighten you, a pair of red eyes encasing yours.

“I miss us.”

Miguel wasn’t a man to deliver empty words as filler, so you knew that he genuinely meant it, which had your heart to skip a beat.

His digital suit began to fragment and reced, exposing the skin underneath. Your placed your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscles flex under your touch.

He was so handsome. Almost unfairly so.

“Let me kiss you,” he whispered.

You nodded, bringing your lips to meet his in a lazy kiss as you dragged your fingers along his hair, earning a moan of approval.

It was a slow and steady kiss. You were in no hurry and wanted to make the most of this rare opportunity.

One of his hands slid to grope your breast and you felt him groan against you lips, breaking contact.

His half-hooded eyes were now on your chest, and as you followed his line of sight, you realised what had caught his attention.

Your shirt was getting soaked with milk.

Damn.

Two round damp spots spread across the fabric that covered each nipple, and you felt instant embarrassment take over. “Sorry… wanted to pump before putting her to bed, but she—”

“Don’t ever apologise for this,” he silenced you at once.

You tried to slide off the couch to fix yourself, but he kept you in place with both hands gripping your waist, pushing you down on him.

“Stay.”

Oh?

“I’ll help.”

Oh.

“Miguel…”

Masterful fingers worked their way down the buttons of your nightgown to reveal your heaving breasts.

You knew that look on his face.

Hunger.

“So full,” he said more to himself, cupping both of them softly.

A few droplets coated both nipples and he brushed the pad of his thumbs along the sensitive skin, earning a jerk from you.

The tingling between your legs emerged in full force from just the sight of him staring at you like he could devour you whole.

He craned his neck just enough to capture one nipple with his lips before latching hungrily.

The overwhelming sensation was enough to have you clinging to his broad shoulders for support. You squeezed your eyes shut and gasped once you felt him sucking gently.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the growing pressure between your legs from his hardening cock.

“Be gentle,” you moaned, caressing his cheek that would rhythmically hollow as he downed your milk.

“Hmmm.”

Then your hand came to his neck and you gently gripped it, feeling his Adam’s apple bob with each gulp.

You stared adoringly at him, slowly grinding into his covered cock. A raw groan reverberated through his throat, and you could tear your eyes away from the sight of the warm liquid pooling in the corner of his mouth.

The latch was just perfect and felt too good.

You brought your hand to caress his face once more, brushing a few strands of his hair away.

“You’re so good…” you moaned.

His cock twitched at your praise, and you could feel the wetness damping his own underwear. Now he was the one leaking for you, his body full on auto-pilot as precum readied him for more.

A couple of droplets began to run down his chin, dripping and drenching his underwear.

“No fangs…”

You’d felt them grazing your skin lightly, but you couldn’t really blame Miguel. His fangs would emerge from either extreme anger or blinding pleasure. A roll from your hips with added pressure was enough to tear his lips from your nipple, head falling back and mouth parting with a raw moan.

He bared both sets of fangs as both hands gripped your waist. Your own mouth dropped open as haziness filled your vision, absolutely revelling in seeing your own milk dripping from his lips and down his muscular neck.

“Fuck,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut.

You hurried to collect some of the beads of milk from his skin, but Miguel intercepted you midway, capturing you into a searing kiss. His tongue hurriedly slipped past your lips and you tasted sweetness.

Parting yourself from him, you focused on the grind of your hips and Miguel snapped open his crimson eyes, lust dilating his pupils.

“I’m not… I’m not…” he mumbled incoherently, too lost in his pleasure. “I’m not… lasting…”

You leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I’m surprised you lasted this long,” you whispered seductively, pressing a quick kiss to the pulse point on his neck. “So much stamina…”

Miguel was a sucker for praise and it was the easiest and fasted way to get him to crumble.

Your clit rubbed against his covered cock in a steady rhythm as more droplets of milk kept dripping from your nipples. Your eyes roamed along his chest that was glistening as beads of white liquid streamed down.

Suddenly, Miguel pulled you into him, your breasts now squeezed in between you two, more liquid pouring out.

He titled your head and immediately latched his lips against your neck, fangs nearly puncturing the flushed skin.

“You ride me so good,” he murmured hungrily against you.

A moan tangled in your throat and your hips surged to encourage his, ruthlessly intensifying the pleasure. Miguel picked up the speed again and you felt each burst of bliss at every thrust and desperate to feel the next.

Your orgasm was upon you faster than you had expected, the sense of urgency in his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Miguel… Miguel…” you moaned, your panties completely drenched.

“Inside… please…”

Desperate fingers clawed at your underwear, sliding it to the side as the tip of his cock nudged at your entrance. He slid inside effortlessly, bottoming up in an instant, and after a moment he gave a harsh cry and shoved himself so deeply and tightly against you that you gasped, clenching hard around him.

Miguel buried his face in the crook of your neck in a failed attempt to muffle his groans.

He kept grinding and rocking against you with stifled grunts, spurting hotly inside.

Only the sounds of your harsh breathing followed, and you sank against him weakly as if drained of all energy.

A familiar waile filled the room, making you wince.

“Shit… were we too loud?” you asked, trying to ease your breathing.

Miguel was still buried deep inside you, beads of sweat rolling down his face. “I’ll go check on her.”

You could tell he reluctantly slid out, easing you on your back. The sudden emptiness made you clench involuntarily, and you felt some of his warm cum spilling

“Keep it in,” he said, pressing your legs together as he planted a kiss to your forehead.

Masterlist

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