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prythiansprincess · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER ONE

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🤎 pairing: azriel x reader.

🤎 song inspiration: dark matter by rivals.

🤎 author’s note: surprise! it feels strange to be writing for azriel again after such a long break, but here I am returning to my roots. this series has been sitting in my drafts for a year and now i've finally got it fully fleshed out. let's just pray to the cauldron that I actually get the motivation to finish it all the way through.

Every mission required you to play a part.

Over the years, you have worn many faces. The thief. The seductress. The assassin. The dagger in the dark that no one ever saw coming.

Tonight you were a tavern wench from the Western Isles, eager to attract the attention of a nobleman who hailed from one of the oldest families in the Night Court. Given his societal standing, his voice of dissent against Rhysand and Feyre’s rule and rumored sympathies towards Hybern’s cause had not gone unnoticed. Certainly not by you nor the High Lord and High Lady themselves.

For Rhysand to send you out to personally deal with the lordling meant that the situation required your level of skill and discretion. The High Lord usually preferred to keep you close to home so you could monitor any potential threats in Velaris, but this pesky little lord had caused enough trouble to warrant your involvement.

For centuries, you had served the Night Court well. Even before Rhysand assumed power, you moved in the shadows like a phantom, setting matters straight when threats arose and making sure your beloved city was safe.

At present, the threat before you took the shape of a High Fae male, who in all honesty, had a rather lofty opinion of himself. You could tell he was unseasoned and unblooded from the way he carried himself, moving with the ease of someone who had never seen the toils of war and strife. The lordling likely lived in the luxury of grandiose balls and palaces filled with servants tending to his beck and call. No was not a word in his vocabulary.

He had a pretty face and a cruel mouth, those gray eyes of his raking over your figure with unabashed scrutiny. The dark veil covering your face reveals a sliver of your amber eyes, concealing your identity and drawing him into the mysterious aura you perfectly crafted with ease.

You had dealt with his type a thousand times over. Males who looked at you like a challenge, a prize to chase after and inevitably conquer before tossing you to the side for the next pretty little thing that crossed their path. Little did he know that once you set your sights on him, his fate was as good as sealed.

Judging from the finery of his clothes and the gold rings adorning his fingers, this one was a rich little lordling, probably the heir of some cranky old bastard who would have known better than to engage with someone like you. It was glaringly obvious that the male had never learned how to spot an enemy, so he didn’t know any better when he sidled up next to you, completely unaware of the blades concealed underneath the simple cotton dress you were wearing.

A small smile graced your lips, playing the part of the shy and demure maiden who was unfamiliar with being approached by handsome lords.

Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it.

“What does a lord have to do to get a pint around here?” He greeted with a smirk as he slammed down his empty glass. You didn’t miss the way his oily gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts peeking out from your tight corset.

“It’s on the house, my lord,” you said sweetly while you poured ale from the flagon in your hands, filling his glass with amber liquid.

The lordling threw the drink back in one gulp and slammed his hand down on the wooden table with a loud smack. From the far end of the tavern, his companions hooted and hollered at his little performance.

In the three days that you’ve been tracking him, they’ve never left his side. Two of them were his personal guards — trained soldiers who you would’ve liked to toy with if you had the time, but unfortunately your schedule wouldn’t allow for deviations no matter how much you would thoroughly enjoy carving those traitors up. Instead, you settled for incapacitating both males for the rest of the evening. The rest of the lordling’s company was inconsequential, too busy gambling and pulling females into their laps to take note of you.

“What about you? Are you on the house as well?”

Your fingers itched to reach for the twin blades sheathed on your hips, but you resisted the urge and offered a smile instead. “I’m afraid not.”

He grabbed your wrist, pressing his lips close to the shell of your ear. The heady scent of ale was heavy on his breath. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to lie with a nobleman? I promise I’ll treat you like a lady.”

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, surveying the boisterous crowd in what appeared like self-consciousness, but in reality you were assessing whether or not you would be able to slip out with your mark without anyone noticing.

“But what will your companions think?”

The lordling chuckled. “They think whatever I pay them to think.” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “But you need not worry, I have a room all to myself upstairs.”

With one last look at the crowd, you lured the male right into your trap. Pushing those golden curls out of his eyes, your fingers traced the outline of his lips. “In that case, lead the way.”

Compared to the boisterous tavern downstairs, the dark room he ushered you into was quiet and intimate. Clothes were strewn all over the wooden floors and his sheets were unmade. Moonlight streamed in through the glass windowpane, leaving half the room shrouded in night. The male wasted no time and pressed you against the closed door, his eager mouth nipping at your neck impatiently. His hands sidled up your spine, deft fingers tugging at the veil tied behind your head.

You caught him by the wrist, preventing him from untying the fabric before pushing him towards the bed. “Not so fast, my lord. I need you to savor this.”

Dark, lustful eyes drank you in as you crawled across the mattress, straddling the male and effectively trapping him in a vulnerable position. You lifted his arms over his head, tutting your disapproval as he tried to reach for you. He was so drunk with desire that he didn't even question the rope you pulled out from beneath your skirts.

“Be patient and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

He inhaled sharply, his body thrumming with anticipation beneath you. “You’re no lady, are you?”

At his words, you unleashed a glimpse of your true self as your lips curved into a seductive grin. “You have no idea.”

You tied his hands to the bedpost, twisting the rope into a secure knot. Slowly, you unbuttoned his shirt, trailing your fingers down the hard muscles of his chest. The male shivered at your touch, bringing a smile to your lips. He was making this way too easy.

“I’ve been watching you for days.” You discarded his shirt to the side, making your way down to unbuckle his belt. The bandolier of knives secured around his waist fell to the floor with a soft thud. “You never go anywhere without one of your sentries. You’ve made it very hard for a girl like me to get you alone, my lord.”

“I’m here now,” he responded in a low voice. The fog of lust dancing in those sharp gray eyes clouded his vision.

“Indeed you are. I’ve been waiting a very long time to get you all to myself, Lord Covington.”

At the sound of his name, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I never told you my name.”

You laughed mockingly. “No, but I know exactly who you are. Declan Covington, heir apparent to the Western Isles. An avid supporter of Hybern’s cause. A loyalist through and through, hiding in plain sight. Your family provided the gold for weapons and supplies to our friends in the West, did they not?”

He bucked underneath you, pulling at his bound hands. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of the High Lord and High Lady,” you said with a devilish grin. The sharp edge of your blade gleamed against the moonlight as you traced his torso with it. “Rhysand sends his regards.”

Panic set in his features. “Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it. My family has great fortune. We have connections. Name your price and it’s done.”

This was always your least favorite part. The bargaining, the pleading. It was all so tedious.

“You couldn’t afford me if you tried.” Your fingers threaded through his golden hair as you tugged his head backwards. “What you will give me is the name of every family who helped support Hybern’s cause.”

“Over my dead body,” he said defiantly.

“I can arrange that, my lord.” Shifting your hips on his lap, you examined his face. You almost felt sorry for him. He looked so young and naive. The lordling didn’t stand a chance against you. “Though I’d hate to waste such a pretty face. Give me their names and I’ll grant you a swift death.”

Anger came next. He spit in your face, which only made you throw your head back in laughter. You always liked the feisty ones. Watching the fight go out of their eyes brought you a sick rush of power.

“My father will hear about this! He’ll drag your lifeless corpse through our lands and gift your head to me on a golden platter.”

As far as hateful vitriol goes, the little lordling was rather creative, but neither he nor his father could stop what was about to happen. These males were all the same. They never recognized the danger you posed until it was too late. It was a weakness that brought you great pleasure to exploit.

“I’m afraid your daddy won’t be able to get you out of this one, Lord Covington.”

Deciding his fate, you untied the veil and let it fall to your lap. His eyes widened in fear and for the first time since he laid eyes on you, the severity of his situation settled into the worried lines on his pretty face. A silhouette of fire materialized from your body as you unleashed the beast within. Your true form was a nightmare personified, murderous and bloodthirsty, composed of the fury and vengeance that you tried so hard to restrain. Tonight, you loosened the reins to give her what she wanted.

Mine, she whispered as fiery tendrils caressed the lordling’s pretty face. The victims who saw her never lived to tell the tale.

“You’re her,” he breathed, his voice full of trepidation. “The fire priestess. I thought you were a myth.”

The crimson slash of your smile served as confirmation. “I’m no one and I will stay that way even after you’re long gone.”

Lord Covington narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t always, were you? You’re the exiled priestess of the Autumn Court. Lady Thorne.”

Kill, your transfiguration hissed. She hated that name and so did you.

Silence fell upon the room. Whatever pity you might have felt for him vanished at the mention of the girl you used to be. The one who died the minute you crossed the Autumn Court’s borders.

“Like you said, I’m no lady.”

You pressed your blade into his cheek and crimson droplets dribbled down the front of his chest. The male shivered as you licked away the blood, savoring the sweet taste of his fear. With crimson dripping from your lips, you opened your mouth and sang. The lordling fell into a daze, his silver eyes clouding over with fog as your voice wrenched through his mental defenses. With a jolt, you invaded his thoughts and drew out his deepest fears.

Everyone was afraid of something. This little lordling’s weakness was snakes. The spell of the song took hold, making him see what you wanted him to see. Serpents appeared all over Lord Covington’s body, crawling through his arms, tangling in his limbs, and twisting around his neck until he was gasping for air. The illusion was plucked from his own personal version of hell.

A nightmare, that’s what you were.

The veil of the illusion slipped, swallowed by the living flame of your true form. Whatever fear the serpents invoked paled in comparison to what he felt as he looked upon the monstrosity of the reality before him. A creature of fury, a demon of vengeance.

Lord Covington screamed and begged for his life, but the ward you cast in the room swallowed the sound. No one was coming for help.

Just then, a pulse of magic thrummed against your wards. You stopped singing and reigned in your flames. Your true form hesitantly retreated into the darkest pits of your heart, rattling against the cage you kept her in. Even as the flames receded, you could still hear the echo of malice. The small taste of blood wasn’t enough.

It was never enough. Someone was going to pay for the disruption.

Out of instinct, the dagger in your hand sliced through the air. Without missing a beat, the male who materialized out of the darkness caught the blade with precision. He hurled the blade back at you swiftly, making you twist in an uncomfortable angle to snatch it out of the air.

Glowing hazel eyes appraised you with scrutiny as the familiar silhouette of wings darkened the room, belonging to the tall and lean figure of the warrior standing before you. Cold, beautiful, and utterly lethal, Azriel flashed you a smile that chilled your bones.

The shadowsinger briefly took in the male squirming beneath you. With a voice like cold death, Azriel’s drawl made your skin crawl with irritation. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with your food?”

Your head whipped in his direction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The Illyrian warrior moved in a shroud of darkness, shadows twisting across the dark leathers adorning his powerful form. The blue siphons on his armor glowed brightly, bathing the dark room with a soft cobalt light. Azriel paused at the edge of the bed, leaning against the wooden bedpost with a bemused smirk.

“It’s nice to see you too, princess.”

The nickname grated your nerves. In fact, everything about Azriel had the same effect. He seemed to have a special talent for getting under your skin.

“Bite me, shadowsinger.”

Whatever sarcastic remark was dancing on the tip of his tongue was interrupted by the male pinned between your thighs. Distracted by your hatred for the spymaster, you nearly forgot that he was even in the room. Freed from the spell of your song, he returned to consciousness and thrashed underneath you.

Lord Covington released an ear-splitting scream that ravaged his throat. His silver eyes flickered to the shadowsinger, fear and trepidation undulating from him in violent waves.

“Please,” the lordling pleaded. “Please, get it away from me. Kill me if you must, but please don’t leave me with her — don’t leave me with it —”

“For Cauldron’s sake.”

You drove the hilt of your dagger against the lordling’s forehead and he fell slack, mouth hanging open with unspoken pleas. Rising from the bed, you marched towards Azriel and shoved an accusatory finger at his chest. The action failed to even startle the shadowsinger. If anything, the cock of his head displayed nothing but amusement.

“Why are you here?”

“I need you to come with me, Thorne.” You paused for explanation, but none came. Azriel only stared at you as though his vague words were enough to make you drop the mission and go traipsing off with him to the Cauldron knew where.

You waved your blade in the direction of the unconscious male. “What about him?”

“What about him?”

The glare you directed at the shadowsinger would’ve sent lesser males to run off with their tails between their legs, but the Azriel only repaid you with equal venom. Needless to say, the dislike was mutual.

Without warning, Azriel disappeared into a shroud of darkness and the void of his shadows swallowed the lordling along with him. He reappeared a moment later with his arms crossed. The red and golden membrane of his wings shimmered at his back, blocking the only source of light in the room.

You balled your hands into closed fists. “Where did you take him?”

“The dungeons.”

“You had no right! I’ve been tracking him for days. He’s mine.”

You shoved at his chest again, but Azriel was immovable. His gaze dipped down to your shoulders and you realize with a start that the laces of your corset had come undone, leaving your collar bones exposed. The bloodstone necklace that you never took off peeked out from the swell of your breasts. The shadowsinger’s eyes lingered for a split second before his unrelenting stare flickered back up to your face.

“There’s other pressing matters at hand. We need to meet the others.”

You fumed with anger. You’ve been working on your mark for days and now thanks to Azriel, you wouldn’t even get to reap the benefits of the hunt.

“I don’t answer to you, shadowsinger. Rhysand sent me here for a reason and I don’t intend on coming home empty handed.” You screamed in his face and though you’ve always been on the taller side, you barely reached Azriel’s shoulder. He had the nerve to blink as though you were merely conversing about the weather. “Now return the lordling at once or you and I will have a very unpleasant discussion with the High Lord.”

You blanched as he closed the gap between you, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. His voice was smooth and steady, washing over you like shadows given form.

“Who do you think sent me here?”

Your mouth fell slack as the shadowsinger held your gaze. You hated it when Azriel looked at you like that. Like you were some sort of puzzle that he was on the verge of deciphering.

One of his shadows darted towards you, but before it could touch your cheek, Azriel took a step back. Without a second glance, the shadowsinger held out a scarred hand in your direction.

“Come, princess. The High Lord has need of you.”

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar

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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

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When Fire Meets Fate

Part 14

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt, (Y/N)'s thoughts become filled with reminders of his family on the opposing side.

CW/TW: Typical Got/HOTD warnings, violence, Ser Erryk's death, not-so-subtle period typical sexism, Ser Alfred and Lord Celtigar are their own warnings at this point

someone get this man a ticket to the summer isles asap

~~~

His hobbies became less enjoyable with each passing day. His eyes skimmed the words on the page, reading them, but his mind could not process them due to the turmoil within. The days of devouring books, reading hundreds or more pages were gone, halted by the war seeping through the cracks of barely contained peace.

(Y/N) thought of his niece's son, and couldn't help but wonder what his sister thought of it all. Did she despise them, despise him? Did she believe them free of guilt or had her futile hope died when the sword sliced through her grandson's throat?

He squeezed his eyes shut at the image, unable to think of the child without thinking of his own toddlers. With the death of Jaehaerys still fresh, everyone remained on high alert for a counterattack or another enemy taking advantage of the unsteady Realm by sowing more mayhem. Many'd chosen to remain neutral, some such as House Tyrell and House Greyjoy, but neither house seemed like the type to send assassins to kill children in their beds. Lord Tyrell was a mere boy whose mother ruled as regent and the Red Kraken faced his enemies head-on.

A quiet sigh brought his attention to Elinda as the handmaiden followed Rhaenyra to finish braiding her hair, only for his wife to walk forward again, too lost in her mind to give Elinda enough time. (Y/N) closed his book and set it aside, a trickle of amusement pouring in when he took in Elinda's twisted lips. Rhaenyra stared toward the window, her hands tightly clutched and her brows fixed into a near-permanent furrow. Worry had never been a good look on her.

"Nyra," He spoke, snapping her out of her distant trance. "Allow Elinda to finish working."

"Ah," Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at the brunette before snapping her head forward sheepishly, the skin along her cheeks gaining a soft pink color. Elinda, in all her patience, simply smiled and resumed working swiftly, her fingers moving automatically from the countless times she'd helped do Rhaenyra's hair. "My apologies."

"It is quite alright, Your Grace. Please try and lay down; it has been a weary day." Elinda spoke softly, finally finishing the long braid and resting it along Rhaenyra's back.

With a sigh of agreement, (Y/N) twisted around to tug down the pillows resting against the wooden headboard before he leaned back into them and sunk into their soft cushion. Rhaenyra joined him soon after, tucking her legs beside his underneath the covers and fluffing up the pillows with the heel of her palms. Elinda watched them solemnly as she placed empty teacups onto a tray and approached the bed with a sympathetic frown.

"You must sleep tonight," She told them gently, "Let me ask the maester for some draught."

Rhaenyra exhaled heavily through her nose, her body naturally curling into his side once she placed her head on his chest. "Perhaps that would be best." She murmured and draped her arm across his stomach. His fingers crept up her back until his palm settled on the curve of her hip. "Thank you, Elinda."

"Of course."

Elinda crossed the room to continue tidying up, but her work was cut short when the door opened and a familiar man stepped inside. Immediately, the couple sat up in their bed with near-bated breath at whatever news he could possibly be bringing them at such an hour. Even Elinda straightened up, the calm of her features disappearing into worry.

When the knight remained quiet as he stepped further into the room, Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. "Ser Erryk?"

The sound of a sword unsheathing echoed coldly through the room and dread settled uncomfortably in (Y/N)'s stomach. "Believe me," he spoke through gritted teeth, "I had no choice."

"Brother!" An angered shout followed the door being thrust open by a copy of the man already standing in their bedchambers. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, (Y/N) quickly realized, but who was who? (Y/N)'s arm shot out in front of Rhaenyra, his body scooting forward whilst his arm pushed her behind him. Her quickened breath filled his ears and her nails dug through the thin fabric of his sleeve as she clutched at his arm. "Do not do this. I beg you."

The twin who'd entered their room, Arryk, spoke heatedly but the slight tremble in his hand when he pointed his sword at his brother spoke for his true thoughts. "You are the one who betrayed us, Erryk,"

The two knights continued facing each other, one pushing forward and the other stepping back tentatively, the hesitation in their limbs keeping them separate until Arryk suddenly lunged toward the bed with a cry and his sword raised high. Rhaenyra yelped in surprise, her hands tugging and dragging her husband along with her as she scrambled backward until the two were pressed up along the headboard but thankfully, Erryk sprang into action immediately, blocking the swing of his brother's sword. Elinda dropped the tray onto the nearest table and ducked down behind it, her widened eyes jumping frantically between the couple and the brothers.

"Elinda, go!" Rhaenyra called to the panicked handmaiden, her voice mixing with the frequent clashing of metal against metal. "Run and find Ser Lorent!"

Hurriedly nodding, Elinda scooped fistfuls of her dress into her hands and raced toward the open door where she disappeared into the hallway. The knights took a moment apart, their chests heaving and features concentrated, but (Y/N) caught the flicker of relief on one of their faces when Elinda's footsteps became distant. Ser Erryk.

"Come," He breathed to his wife, reaching around behind him to grasp her arm and pull her as he scrambled toward the edge of the bed where Erryk stood closest. The knight glanced over his shoulder and followed their movements, using his body as a shield when Arryk swung again.

"(Y/N)," Rhaenyra whispered shakily, pressing herself against the stone collum and wincing with each clash of swords.

When Erryk's leg was struck, (Y/N) took her wrist and ran, the clanking of metal that followed them making his throat tighten. Rhaenyra cried out when she tripped on the ends of her nightgown, forcing (Y/N) to stop and duck down toward her as Arryk's body tumbled forward and onto a vase with a shove from Erryk. He wrapped his arms around her swiftly and cradled her whimpering form close to his chest, heavy and quick pants leaving him whilst he watched the brothers swing at each other.

"Your Grace, My Lord!" Ser Lorent appeared, rushing down the steps leading further into their bedchambers and waiting for the knights to move away before he raced forward to them. "With me!" He ordered, one arm behind them to guide them toward the other door and the other arm keeping his sword trained on the two for any sudden movements toward them.

Wiggling on the doorknob, (Y/N) cursed in frustration when it wouldn't turn, the adrenaline flowing through his veins beginning to give way to panic fueled by Rhaenyra's whimpers and watery eyes. The knights had tangled themselves together, concentrating their fight on each other but with their features and injuries, (Y/N) could no longer tell who was who. They only watched hopelessly as one began strangling the other.

"We were born together," One wheezed, voice strained from the hands clamped around his throat. (Y/N)'s hand tightened on the doorknob, finding his eyes unable to tear themselves away from the sight and words spoken. Alicent, Alicent, Alicent. His sister, his twin, the other half of his soul and body. Had she known of this? No.. not even their father would think of such a thing... would he?

"You parted us!" The other wailed through blood and tears, his body trembling from exhaustion and grief. Aching familiarity flooded (Y/N)'s chest and filled his eyes with salty, warm tears. "But I still love you, brother."

The one pinned between the floor and the wall dug his fingers into a cut on the other's leg, prompting a pained cry as he toppled over onto the floor. He dragged himself toward a tossed-aside sword on the floor as the other did similar. They stood up, faced each other, and charged, but instead of the dreaded clanging, (Y/N) heard the horrifying noise of cloth and flesh being torn into.

They held onto each other, stumbling and staggering through sobs.. until the dead weight of one forced the other to finally step back. The remaining twin panted heavily, his tears mixing with sweat and blood whilst he stared at the corpse of his brother.

"Your Grace, My Lord," He exhaled heavily when he faced them on unsteady feet and quivering lips. He turned his sword onto himself, shoulders slumping with exhaustion as soft sniffling left him. "Forgive me."

(Y/N) blinked. "Erryk-"

His words caught in his throat as Erryk collapsed down onto his sword, impaling his midsection and covering the floor with blood. (Y/N) turned Rhaenyra toward him instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head into his neck. The late guards that'd stormed the room at the last second stared aghast at the bodies, both men familiar but only one had been loyal to their cause.

His eyes roamed down to the floor, meeting the blank blue eyes of Erryk. Was this how he and his twin would reunite? Forced to look upon the body of the other in the end, with no way of reversing time and doing it right?

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut. When had been the last time he'd told Alicent he loved her?

"He is the basest of villains." Jace's voice held barely restrained anger in it, an emotion his son had grown so used to throughout his childhood. Always the storm, the spitfire, the one who lost his temper with mere words or looks. (Y/N) felt exhausted, too tired to deal with a son that reminded him so much of his younger self but when a hint of irritation flared in his belly, he remembered the wide-eyed, teary look on Jace's face upon seeing them alive and without injury before he'd rushed into their arms like a frightened child. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"They formed together in the womb, Jace." (Y/N) muttered, feeling the dirt escape between his fingers and onto the knights below. They said the dead often looked as if they were sleeping, but not even the Silent Sisters could hide the look of death on their faces; olive skin was now ghostly pale, and once pink lips a purplish tint. "They were born together, they died together. They were halves and now they're whole again. Leave them be."

"We cannot fault him for keeping his oath," Rhaenyra added softly, tiredly, mimicking her husband and releasing the dirt clutched in her hands onto the bodies below. Grief had become a numbed feeling, one circling their minds but too muddled with exhaustion and muted anger to take them fully into its clutches once more.

(Y/N) stepped away from the grave, unable to stand the sight of watching dirt slowly cover the twins any longer. He'd hardly slept, and the few moments of sleep had been filled with dreadful nightmares of what would come of him and his family. His uncle would send knights and soldiers out to help King's Landing, many among them being his blood. Gwayne came to mind specifically, his older brother with a level head on his shoulders but an eager desire to please their father.

The smallfolk and soldiers were always the first to die in conflict; it made him wonder if he'd ever see his brother again with eyes full of life.

"Father," Jace caught up with him, his curls bouncing and reminding him of Alicent in her youth when her curls had begun having some definition. He made a face and the tip of his ears turned a light red. "Apologies. My Lord." He corrected himself, eyes darting toward the knights and servants escorting them back to the safety of the castle. He was a little boy no longer but he thought himself too grown.

"What is it, Jace?" (Y/N) turned to him, studying the side of his son's face and being unable to stop himself from picking out the traits that reminded him of his family; a mesh of his mother and siblings' faces stared back at him whenever he gazed at Jace, from the curls of his hair to the slope of his nose.

"Is it not..." Jace trailed off, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lips. "Is it not unjust to bury Ser Erryk alongside the man who attempted to kill him, who attempted to kill you and Her Grace? It's despicable what he did, what he chose to do. And... for Ser Erryk to..."

Exhaling softly, (Y/N) looked forward. "Siblings are siblings but.. it's different with twins, Jace. You are born together, they are the first face you meet.. you are one soul, one heart, almost one body. I remember the pain of losing Corren, one of my older brothers. I can only imagine that very pain would be intensified tenfold if I were to hear of Alicent's passing."

"She is a traitor." Jace scoffed. "She placed the usurper on the throne. She wanted Princess Rhaenys to bend the knee to him. She-"

"Is still my sister." (Y/N) interrupted softly. "Just as Ser Arryk, traitor or not, was still Ser Erryk's brother. You may not understand as your brothers are too young to yet inflict any sort of betrayal... but it's complicated. There may be hate and grief and frustration but the love will linger.. the hope. You'll understand, someday."

Jace frowned at that, jaw tightening. "I'm not a child to be coddled-"

"You will always be a child, Jace, to us." (Y/N) told him, a hint of a dry chuckle following. His gaze drifted toward the woman standing on a balcony, watching them with curious eyes. Their savior; the woman who'd alerted the guards of Ser Arryk's trickery. "You will always be the boy with round cheeks, gentle waves, and a penchant for trouble. Now, head inside and check on your brothers."

His hand grazed Jace's shoulder before he parted from his son, making his way up the cobbled steps where Lady Mysaria waited, her hands intertwined before her and the hint of a smile on her lips. Truthfully, (Y/N) had expected her to depart after giving her warning as some sort of way of evening out the field. They'd kept Daemon's promise and in return, she'd helped them. Yet, there she stood, gazing thoughtfully at him before the echoing shrill of Seasmoke brought their attention out to where the dragon flew. He'd grown restless in recent times, dancing in the sky after his flights and filling the air with his cries.

"They are... curious creatures." Lady Mysaria spoke, seemingly captivated by Seasmoke. He hardly blamed her. He himself saw the dragons in fleeting moments, sometimes even allowing Rhaenyra to convince him to join her on a flight or two with Syrax. For the smallfolk, seeing a dragon close must've been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Seasmoke was a beauty with his pale silver skin but frightening in his bursts of irritation. He loved Laenor as much as a dragon could, (Y/N) knew that much. "Have you ridden one?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Before the youngest arrived, yes. Rhaenyra enjoys taking to the skies and she enjoys sharing her hobbies. I would not say it's a favored pastime of mine." His words drew a quiet laugh from her.

Footsteps filled his ears and he glanced over his shoulder, his arm immediately extending toward his wife to coil around her waist. Rhaenyra gave a quiet sigh and leaned into his side, fingertips brushing away a loose strand of silver hair. She appeared conflicted at first but she wiped the look off her face to address Lady Mysaria with a polite smile, eyes briefly flickering to the dragon in the distance.

"We were told you turned back from your ship to bring warning."

"I was not believed at first." Lady Mysaria stated, her head remaining forward but her eyes flickered toward them, obversing and waiting. The sea breeze ruffled back her raven locks, and she turned to look at them. "What is the life of a queen worth these days?"

"You wish to be rewarded." Rhaenyra mused, withholding a heavy sigh.

A hint of a smile graced Lady Mysaria's lips, playful in a way but not mocking. "As I would think you would wish to reward me." She said, her brows briefly lifting and voice nearly drowned out by another cry from Seasmoke. (Y/N)'s attention darted between the two, trying to focus on the woman before them, the woman he now owed his life to, and the dragon that'd once belonged to his close friend.

"What price would you set?" Rhaenyra questioned, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her voice tight and guarded, slightly worried. Maybe even paranoid. Now were hardly the times to owe anyone anything, not with war rearing its ugly head and castles being so easily breached. His fingers danced the curve along her side, tips pressing against the rough texture of her dress to ease her nerves. She exhaled through her nose and spared him a glance, but it did little to cease the way she toyed with her fingers.

"A place.. at your court." Lady Mysaria revealed, dark eyes watching them closely.

"You wished to free yourself from the webs of court, and yet now wish to find yourself a place in it?" (Y/N)'s brows dipped inward, perplexed. The castle had been breached by a knight with the sole goal of slaughtering a queen and he'd nearly succeded. Anyone else would've collected their things and raced for the next ship away from the Crownslands, away from the infighting. Lady Mysaria's shoulder lifted with a half-shrug.

"And you let me go. You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised." She said gently, a shadow briefly casting over them when Seasmoke flew in front of the sun. "I know the workings of the Red Keep and the movements of those who serve there. That is worth more than gold to you now."

Rhaenyra's lips pursed, eyes squinting when she spared Seasmoke a glance at his call. "What is our worth to you?"

"I would punish the Hightower for what they have done, to me and those who served me. But more than that, I know the struggles of the smallfolk of King's Landing. They will be ruled, either by you or by the usurper. And only one of you has shown yourself to be merciful."

"Well, I hope you do not confuse mercy with pliancy."

Another shriek, one much closer, interrupted the beat of silence that passed over them after Rhaenyra spoke. It almost seemed purposeful, urgent. (Y/N) watched Seasmoke's distant figure twist in the sky and dip downward toward the water, skimming it briefly before rising again. His flying seemed purposeless; no hunting, no playing, seemingly no enjoyment coming from it. Was it the equivalent of pacing? Or an attempt at communication without his rider to decipher it for them? (Y/N) frowned. Could it be...

"Seasmoke, my late lord-husband's dragon. He's grown restless as of late." Rhaenyea turned away from the sight and gave another tight yet polite smile, her hand rising to touch her husband's back briefly, signaling to him their departure. "We can not know why."

"Maybe he's lonely." Lady Mysaria said, and Rhaenyra halted, eyes darting back to her before turning to her husband.

Their departure from the balcony was quiet, with Lady Mysaria staring after them until she resumed her watch of Seasmoke. Rhaenyra stared forward whilst they walked down the hallway, her lips twitching into the beginning of a frown and brows furrowing. They had news for Rhaena but (Y/N)'s mind remained consumed with other things. Dragons and their riders were bonded, united as one in more ways than one; rumors and speculations the bond was emotional, possibly even bound by souls. Syrax had grown restless during Rhaenyra's early labor, shrieking and roaring within the caves she and the others called home. It was enough to prove there was something there, some sort of connection... one that would be severed after death.

His lips brushed over Rhaenyra's temple, his legs leading him in the opposite direction of their bedchambers. He needed more time with his children, now more than ever. His chest constricted with the beginning of grief.

They'd gone years without hearing a word from Laenor or his lover, as they'd agreed upon to avoid rousing suspicion, but Seasmoke's restlessness, his constant shrieks and cries... the chance it was his way of mourning was high. Lives were lost so easily, fragile things capable of breaking at any time and any place. And so far from home.

Rhaenys and Corlys had mourned their children for years and felt the turmoil of not having been there for Laena during her time of need. Lady Jane Arryn would take good care of the children but it hardly shook away the worries.

Could he survive losing another child, let alone one of the youngest? Could Rhaenyra? What would come of Jace if he lost Joffery, Viserys, or Aegon? His eldest son was already brash yet withheld his impulses, but (Y/N) knew the flush of youthful anger and arrogance all too well. It was all-consuming and dangerous.

Council meetings were wearisome. How his father managed to attend each and every one for decades was a mystery to (Y/N), a mystery he thought about as he sat in his seat and listened to the droning of the other lords. In a fleeting desire, he desperately hoped once the waters calmed, he'd be able to do as other consorts did and stay far from the Small Council and its squabbling men.

"Still no sightings," Rhaenys announced as she strode into the room, peeling her gloves off as she approached her seat beside him. It'd been early afternoon when they'd heard of an army leaving the gates of King's Landing, its destination unknown and unclear thus far. "No men, no horses, no ships... no dragons." She gave a quiet sigh, tossing her gloves upon the table and sitting down.

"Good. Then we must seize the hour and act before our enemy does. They have penetrated our castle walls and now the Riverlands are aflame after the Battle at the Burning Mill." Ser Alfred spoke, turning his attention onto Maester Gerardys expectantly. "How fares Prince Daemon with our army?"

Maester Gerardys grimaced. "There has been no word from Prince Daemon, Your Grace."

"Then we must press what advantage we do have."

"And what's that?" Lord Staunton questioned from beside Ser Alfred, eyeing him with a level of uncertainty (Y/N) could not fault him for.

"Dragons." Gods. "Send all of them out. Start turning Green strongholds to our cause and burn those who resist."

"No," Rhaenyra spoke up with a dismissive shake of her head, her fingers tightly wound together and lips slightly pursed. "If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. Fear of it is in itself a weapon. The Greens will make the same calculation."

Ser Alfred's dry laughter followed, mocking as if he were faced with a child rather than his ruler. "The value of a sword is not within its scabbard."

"We will secure victory with armies, not with dragons alone. The Greens understand that." Rhaenyra swallowed, her jaw tight from Ser Alfred's attitude and chest falling with a deep exhale. "The Vale and the North will send men. We must give Daemon time."

"Your Grace," Lord Gormon Massey spoke next, shifting in his chair and leaning back into it as he looked toward her with a small sniffle. "You have witnessed firsthand just how vulnerable you are. Prince Daemon is abroad, Lord (Y/N) is more skilled with words than with swords, and Aegon's factions are enraged at the death of his son. You have never been so exposed!"

"Perhaps it is time for you to think about secreting yourself somewhere safe while we remain here as a source of distraction for the enemy." Lord Celtigar proposed, and (Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that tumbled free from his lips. The lords turned their attention swiftly onto him, brows furrowed at his amusement but (Y/N) simply arched a brow, eyes flickering between them all.

"You expect Her Grace to turn and cower away whilst you do what exactly? Appoint a regent in her stead? Play pretend as children do so that you may indulge in fantasies? Age has truly emboldened too many of you, made your tongues loose and brains hazy, it seems. You act as if you are speaking to your daughter, your sister, or wife. You speak too freely in the presence of the Queen." (Y/N) inhaled heavily and leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table and studying them each. His tone remained icy, cold and distant whilst he addressed them to further watch them shift uncomfortably in their seats. "What do you think Her Grace's enemies would do if they caught wind of her.. 'secreting herself somewhere safe'? They would call her a coward, and what House would wish to follow a coward?"

"My Lord, t-that is not what-"

"And what would you do, Ser Alfred, if we were to send all our dragons away to fight and left Dragonstone vulnerable? The riderless dragons may be prompted to attack, sure, but without riders, they have no loyalty. Dragonstone's inhabitants would be left to face the same fate as Harren the Black or the Harroways of Harrenhal." (Y/N) raised his brows at the man, turning away when he parted his mouth to speak and leaving him to clamp it shut.

"You sit here and act like children who've been gifted their very first sword whilst simultaneously disregarding the very reason we have dragons at our disposal. The rulers of the Targaryen Dynasty may have been men thus far but we have seen women rule before, or have you all forgotten of Dorne? It was Princess Meria Martell who led her people against the conquest and won. Perhaps, instead of opening your mouths, you should open a history book."

(Y/N) scoffed softly and stood from his seat, prompting the rest of the men to stand as well with their heads bowed. "Oh, and Lord Massey," (Y/N) watched the man swallow before he lifted his head to look at him. "Nearly all of my brothers are knights. I was taught how to fight in my youth. That I choose words is not a flaw, for someone else may have chosen to cut your tongue if they felt slighted." He turned away, moving to stand beside Rhaenyra as she too rose from her seat.

Coiling her arm around his, Rhaenyra gave him a fleeting smile before looking over her council. "Let us not speak or entertain such an idea again. It'd be inconvenient amid a war to have to charge someone for treason, wouldn't it? If there is nothing else of value to inform us of, we shall take our leave."

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 4 months ago

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🖤🩶🤍💜 Happy Ace Week, Bookish Bats!

❓ What was the last book you read that featured asexual characters? If it's been a while, here are a few to consider adding to your TBR!

🖤 Aces Wild - Amanda Dewitt 🩶 Loveless - Alice Oseman 🤍 That Kind of Guy - Stephanie Archer 💜 We Awaken - Calista Lynne 🖤 The Kindred - Alechia Dow 🩶 Scavenge the Stars - Tara Sim 🤍 Fire Becomes Her - Rosiee Thor 💜 A Snake Falls to the Earth - Darcie Little Badger 🖤 Forward March - Skye Quinlan 🩶 The Romantic Agenda - Claire Kann 🤍 The Reckless Kind - Carly Heath 💜 Summer Bird Blue - Akemi Dawn Bowman

🖤 The Charm Offensive - Alison Cochrun 🩶 Meet Cute Diary - Emery Lee 🤍 Cupid Calling - Viano Oniomoh 💜 The Bruising of Qilwa - Naseem Jamnia 🖤 The Loudest Silence - Sydney Langford 🩶 Kiss Her Once for Me - Alison Cochrun 🤍 So Let Them Burn - Kamilah Cole 💜 Dear Wendy - Ann Zhao 🖤 Exes & Foes - Amanda Woody 🩶 The Final Curse of Ophelia Cray - Christine Calella 🤍 Firebreak - Nicole Kornher-Stace 💜 Never Been Kissed - Timothy Janovsky

🖤 Bury Your Gays - Chuck Tingle 🩶 Baker Thief - Claudie Arseneault 🤍 The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester - Maya MacGregor 💜 The Story of the Hundred Promises - Neil Cochrane 🖤 Adrift Starlight - Mindi Briar 🩶 Help Wanted - J. Emery 🤍 If You Still Recognize Me - Cynthia So 💜 Bad At Love - Gabriela Martins 🖤 The End Crowns All - Bea Fitzgerald 🩶 The Winter Knight - Jes Battis 🤍 The Meister of Decimen City - Brenna Raney 💜 It Sounds Like This - Anna Meriano

🖤 Fallen Thorns - Harvey Oliver Baxter 🩶 Don't Let the Forest In - C.G. Drews 🤍 Just Lizzie - Karen Wilfrid 💜 The Siren the Song and the Spy - Maggie Tokuda-Hall 🖤 Wren Martin Ruins It All - Amanda Dewitt 🩶 She Who Became the Sun - Shelley Parker-Chan 🤍 Poisoned Primrose - Dahlia Donovan 💜 How You Get the Girl - Anita Kelly 🖤 Lord of the Empty Isles by Jules Arbeaux 🩶 Moth to a Flame - Finn Longman 🤍 Little Thieves - Margaret Owen 💜 Someone You Can Build a Nest In - John Wiswell

#books #ace books #asexual books #asexual #queer books #book list #book reader #book reading #batty about books #battyaboutbooks #ace week #asexuality #queer #queer fiction #queer pride

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rosieethor · 1 year ago

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Aromantic Books Let's Go!

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath

Black Wings Beating by Alex London

This Dark Descent by Kalyn Josephson

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Fire Becomes Her by Rosiee Thor

Not Even Bones by Rebecca Schaeffer

This Golden Flame by Emily Victoria

Immoral Code by Lillian Clark

Tarnished are the Stars by Rosiee Thor

The Last 8 by Laura Pohl

Hullmetal Girls by Emily Skrutskie

Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman

Loveless by Alice Oseman

Take Me To Your Nerdy Leader by Hailey Gonzales

Being Ace edited by Madeline Dyer

Queerly Loving edited by G Benson and Astrid Ohletz

Common Bonds edited by Claudie Arseneault, C T Callahan, and RoAnna Sylver

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria

Godly Heathens by H. E. Edgmon

The Grimrose Girls by Laura Pohl

The Butterfly Assassin by Finn Longman

At the End of Everything by Marieke Nijkamp

Switchback by Danika Stone

Tell Me How It Ends by Quinton Li

Awakenings by Claudie Arsenault

Stake Sauce by RoAnna Sylver

The Ice Princess's Fair Illusion by Dove Cooper

The Threads That Bind by Cedar McCloud

Not Your backup by C. B. lee

Fallen Thorns by Harvey Oliver Baxter

Natural Outlaws and Fractured Sovereignty by S. M. Pearce

Wander the Night by Sydney Cobb

Stones Stay Silent by Danny Ride

The Story of the Hundred Promises by Neil Cochrane

Two Dark Moons by Avi Silver

The Bruising of Qilwa by Naseem Jamnia

An Accident of Stars by Foz Meadows

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

Syncopation by Anna Zabo

Dear Wendy by Ann Zhao

The Loudest Silence by Sydney Langford

Lord of the Empty Isles by Jules Arbeaux

Our Deadly Designs by Kalyn Josephson

The Final Curse of Ophelia Cray by Christine Calella

#aromantic #aromantic spectrum #aroace #aromantic awareness week #aromantic books #aroacebooks #queer books #lgbtqia books

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aroaessidhe · 2 months ago

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faves of 2024: books with no romance

Calling of Light

Fallen Thorns

The Stardust Grail

Edinburgh Nights series (so far in the series, anyway)

Pluralities

The Scarlet Throne

Moth To A Flame

The Hysterical Girls of St. Bernadette’s

Small Gods of Calamity

Lord of the Empty Isles

The Chronicles of Nerezia

Far Removed

#read in 2024 #certainly not the only books I read with no romance!#there's a few others that i liked more than a couple of these but also they have a *smidge* of maybe-a-romance so i wouldnt include them #in a post like this without context #Calling of Light #Fallen Thorns #The Stardust Grail #Pluralities #The Scarlet Throne #Moth To A Flame #The Hysterical Girls of St. Bernadette’s #Lord of the Empty Isles #Far Removed

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lavenderlight · 3 months ago

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"In fair Summerset we set our scene, In Alinor, built from glass, or insect wing, A single hulkynd on her own, One day, she dreams, of the throne…"

Alright, here we go.

Introducing Sirieth Morag, a hulkynd (Altmer who was disowned as a child for being 'imperfect'... yeah... in Medieval TS2 terms, this means Orphan+Outcast).

"Morag" means "woodsman/forester", and since Sirieth doesn't have/know her family name, she took that one for herself now that she is an adult. Sirieth dreams of properly joining Altmeri Society, ashamed of her past as a burdensome child at a monastery for Stendarr and desiring a place in the world and identity as well as to perhaps meet her One And Only, as a Hopeless Romantic...

Having been forced to live off the land to survive, Sirieth was shown mercy when the lord of the rural outskirts of Alinor put her on the books as a hunter for the lesser townsfolk. It is her hope that by being dutiful, pious, and striving for Alaxon, she can get somewhere...

-------

Now for the gameplay talk! I've always wanted to try the Warwickshire Renaissance Challenge - like do the full thing, and have a hood following it. Problem is, every time, I got way too overwhelmed. Still, the idea of playing the overachiever perfectionist iron-laced society of the Summerset Isles with this ruleset was too tempting, hehe.

One thing I'm trying is that instead of working "top down" like the WRC guide asks you to do, I'm playing with a more MCC style "bottom up". In other words, while I do have my main hood with the Alinor Royal Palace, I made the royal family and called it there. Sirieth isn't going to be interacting with nobility anyway, so I don't see a point in burning myself out building. Right now I have a sort of "fog of war" thing going on where I have empty lots named with whatever it'll be, but no sims or builds until Sirieth gets there (if ever)

Anyway, Sirieth is a serf since looking at the rules, all a born-outcast that has become an adult has to do is... commit to being one lol. Sirieth's first goal will be to rise to Peasant. Can she do it? Let's see!

Also, I will of course, be tweaking rules as I go to fit Altmer history rather than European human. As an example, no gender roles are in place. Rather, the eldest child. Skills, social relationships, and family history will be of great value. AL witches will be a big player in Clerical Favour stuff since Altmer religion has a huge huge huge focus on, and appreciation for magic.

Of which, Sirieth doesn't have a single lick of knowledge on. Yet.

#tes #playing: ts2 medieval #hood: summerset #challenge: wrc

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celtigxr · 5 months ago

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The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. x: What a Pity

Chapter Summary: Helaena tells Valeana something she doesn't want to hear. And Floris tells Aemond something that he does.

Word count: 3979

Sneak Peak: “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!”

Warnings: I'm sorry, y'all are gonna still hate Aemond a little bit longer 😬 don't shoot me. *Fatphobia (forgot to put this in earlier)

T H E R E D S

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Valeana couldn’t remember all the details of the events of the previous night. She knew what had occurred, but her sense of time was off. She didn’t remember how she got to Aegon’s chambers; her first memory was his hands grounding her and his voice pulling her back from the fog. Of all people, Aegon Targaryen was the last person she would have believed to have done that for her.

Helaena was pulled from her bed, and with a surprising amount of clarity and consciousness, took the reins from her brother. Helaena was gentle as she took Valeana to her bed, tucked her in, and even got her lavender tea. The rest of the night, the princess spent combing through her hair until they both fell asleep.

It would have probably saved Val a headache had she insisted on being brought back to her bedchambers, but ultimately it was probably the best she remained with Helaena. It was the most peaceful, dreamless sleep she had in a while. Instead of waking up to Shyla’s repetitive singing, or Floris’ shrill yelling for her to get out of bed, it was Helaena’s gentle hums as she plaited her hair, the distant chirps of birds outside and crickets in miniature cages.

Her empty bed sent a wave of panic for her family, which quickly was nipped in the bud when she arrived before their first meal with the princess. Helaena helped her explain what happened, gently, and with very few details and small truths. Valeana confessed she had fallen and it had triggered something in her mind, but she didn’t evoke Aemond’s name, nor had she told them it was Aegon who had found her. Helaena told them that she did, and then brought her back to her quarters, because it was closer.

“I understand her mind,” the princess told Lord Bartimos. “It is similar to my own. I knew how to take care of her.”

Bartimos and Ursula thanked her from the bottom of their hearts, and Helaena simply nodded and told them it was her pleasure. She didn’t leave as Valeana’s family fretted over her; she sat patiently, head tilted with a gentle smile upon her soft face.

Valeana’s father fretted over her leg, making sure she wasn’t wounded, then started to make arrangements for a raven to be sent back to Claw Isle to commission a new prosthetic to be promptly made. One made of sturdier wood, with stronger joints and sculpted more elegantly. Clement simply took his sister’s shoulders in his hands and leveled his eyes with hers, asking in earnest if she was truly well. She nodded stiffly, and while he did not truly believe it, he accepted her answer. Shyla’s face was white with concern, and she paced around the room berating herself for not realizing her sister was gone sooner.

“I should have known! No snoring! Oh, how sound a sleep I was…”

Ursula caged her in her arms, hand running through the crown of Valeana’s head as she pressed her cheek to her breast. Her eyes were dewy with worry and the knowledge that she was not there for her. While not her birth mother, Ursula had assumed the duty of being Valeana and Clement’s mother like she was born to do it. It had pained her almost as much as Bartimos when she learned what happened to her through a raven, and it was torturous watching Valeana allow herself to waste away in her room for all those years.

Then there was Arthor, who lingered in the archway that separated his shared bed chambers with his brother. He remained silent, like an observing crow on a lamppost. Floris was just as quiet, but she was a simmering pot of water in the corner. Her frown aged her, putting lines at the corner of her lips and around her eyes and between her furrowed brow. Her unblinking leer was glued onto her step sister and her mother.

Her mother.

And Heleana watched her. She watched how her lips disappeared under her teeth, and her fingers stiffly curled into her gown, reminding Helaena of the twitching legs of black widow spiders.

When Bartimos insisted on having Valeana shadow him that day, to keep an eye on her, Helaena sat straight and asked if she could accompany her instead. Bartimos couldn’t deny the princess of the realm, and Val mouthed words of gratitude towards her.

The two girls ended up between the protective roots of the Heart Tree in the Godswood. Helaena sat cross legged as she examined a fat green caterpillar that was devouring the tomato in her hand. Valeana was on the other side of a large root, laying flat on her black, her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms behind her head as she stared up at the crooked and bent branches of the the weirwood tree, and how the sun shone through the leaves, creating splotches of red shadows that coloured everything beneath it.

“This is the one thing I truly missed about King’s Landing,” Valeana spoke, breaking the prolonged comfortable silence they had built. “We don’t have a godswood at Claw Isle, and no weirwoods.”

Helaena hummed, eyes still glued onto the little creature in her hand, “It misses you too, the tree.”

Val craned her neck to look at the princess, allowing a brief pause before she asked: “How do you know?”

“I just do,” the answer came immediately, almost like she had answered that question millions of times before. “I don’t know how I know… I just know things. They come to me in odd ways. Like last night, I dreamt I was running down the corridor outside our apartments, crying in pain. Then I woke up, and Aegon was there telling me that it was you who was running in the corridors in pain.” Helaena pulled her attention away from the caterpillar and regarded Valeana with a neutral stare. “I am sorry for what happened, Valeana. But you must know it was a mistake.”

Val remained on the ground, staring at the princess with a furrow in her brow. She understood why others thought Helaena was mad; she said many things that made little sense. But she was kind-hearted, soft, and Val severely doubted that she would make up stories in order to make herself look mysterious and wise. Even without evidence, Valeana believed her. And without context, Valeana understood who she was referring to.

But accepting her words was still difficult to swallow.

“He hates me,” Val stated in a small voice.

“He wants your forgiveness.”

Valeana sat up straight, hands migrating to grip the roots that embrace her body, “He attempted once at the request of the King, and since then he has been nothing but vile to me, and at best he has avoided me, Helaena. If this is his way of vying for my forgiveness, he has a queer way of doing things.”

Helaena doesn’t answer right away, instead she directs her attention back to the tomato in her hand, now a quarter of the way eaten by the finger-sized caterpillar.

“I know my brothers quite well. Better than they know themselves,” She brought the fruit up to her eye level as she examined the insect’s mouth. “Aemond will never listen to his heart, no matter how much it screams at him. He will shut down before he allows it to win over his mind, because he sees it as a weakness. I had to witness him abandon his heart after what he had done to you back then. The same thing happened again last night.”

Valeana just stared at her, a lump in her throat and tears glossing her eyes. Her initial fall and her friendship with Aemond was a topic she wished never to think about. For years, it plagued both her mind and heart, sending her into a spiral of darkness that she did not believe she would be able to free herself from. When she got better – when she started to walk – she found that hobbies and work were the best distractions. Keeping her mind busy with other pursuits left no room for Aemond. Eventually she’ll hear his name from a neighbouring conversation and realize she hadn’t thought about it in moons.

Though all that effort came crumbling down the moment the King’s invitation arrived, and now Valeana had to come to the painful realization that the wound had never actually healed. The betrayal was still fresh, the heartache still there like a crater formed from a violent earthquake. She had tried to mask it through veiled indifference and avoidance, but there he was, reminding her of how much he dislikes her at every turn. Continuously validating her every insecurity, and forcing her to armour herself in hatred for him.

But the truth… the agonizing truth of it was…

Valeana could never hate him. Not her Aemond; not the boy who had held her hand while they scaled down steep hills, or bandaged her bleeding fingers from needle pricks, or surprised her with gifts and treats in complete spontaneity. No, she loved that Aemond. She mourned for that Aemond.

As if she could read Val’s thoughts, Helaena broke the silence, “You miss him, I can see it. Your Aemond is still here… He’s the same boy you loved, Valeana. Just older, more scarred, and hidden away.”

Valeana shook her head and quickly wiped a stray tear that escaped and rolled down to her chin, “He’s not the same, Helaena. We’re not the same. I–I do…I do miss him. I miss our friendship, but–” She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head again before directing her eyes onto her laced fingers. Val pulled her knees up to rest her chin on them, “He’s too far away, I do not think I could reach him. Mistake or no, his actions last night was a clear enough display of how much he desires to push me away from him… Like a bad memory.”

“Valeana…” Helaena’s tone of voice sounded almost reprimanding, even in its softness. “You’ve pushed him away the moment he spoke to you.”

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Val squeezed her eyes shut at the sour memory of their first meal reunited. It felt like so long ago. Now she felt embarrassed by herself and how sour and vindictive she was from day one. It was a bitter tonic to swallow, to realize that had she been civil on that first day, all of this would not have happened. Had she taken Aemond’s olive branch —had she been the better person, instead of consumed by resentment— they might have at least found some sort of cordial co-existence, and perhaps one day they could renew their friendship. While her childhood heartbreak was difficult to forget, she always knew in the deepest pit of her chest that she still longed for him. She wanted nothing more than to feel his hand in hers again.

Valeana took in a shockingly sharp inhale, “Fuck.”

She hated having to admit that she was wrong. She hated even more having to admit to herself that she still loved Aemond Targaryen.

Helaena’s hand found her shoulder, “You know what you have to do.”

She does… But somehow she doubts that it will fix anything. How could she ever get him to open up to her, when his pride and resolve was made out of Valyrian steel?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Floris Grafton was a woman with simple tastes. She was content with floating around the Holdfast or the gardens, conversing with other ladies of the court. Floris loved gossip, or rather craved it more like. She missed King’s Landing purely for the gossip she would overhear the court ladies say when she was a child. Claw Isle was dull when it came to juicy morsels for her to sink her teeth into. In the past there weren’t many young ladies at the Keep outside her own sisters, so Floris sought out the company of the adult women of the court during her childhood. Sure, she spent many an afternoon chasing after the four princes, but during the moments when they were at the Dragon Pit or training or doing what boys do, Floris much preferred sitting with the adults.

Her presence was often a nuisance to them, since they couldn’t speak on topics not appropriate for youthful ears, but Floris would refuse to leave. With her own mother at Claw Isle for moons at a time, she desperately sought the companionship of the other mothers of court, especially the Queen. When it came to the crown princess, Rhaenyra, she did not have as much of a close relationship as she would have liked. The heir seemed far more aware of her uninvited presence and wanted her away from adult conversations.

But then Rhaenyra preferred Valeana’s company. Floris bristled at the memory. The Princess always loved her sister’s chubby cheeks and loved to plait her thick ivory hair. Everyone loved Valeana more than her… even her own mother.

Floris’ face twisted hideously at this thought. She was lucky that the Royal Sept was near empty when she entered it, because Floris was not hiding her expressions in the slightest.

She knelt down in front of an altar filled with melted candles, the image of the Maiden hovering above her. Instead of prayers, she muttered curses and heated insults. She took a match, lit it with the nearest candle and lit another with it, in her own name.

When Floris left, she did not feel any sense of relief. Her prayers to the Maiden were riddled with sour thoughts and imaginings of Valeana’s hair cut all off, or her peachy stomach bursting out from a tight corset. Generally, these intrusive thoughts were infrequent, but it had picked up a considerable amount when they returned to King’s Landing. Praying to the Maiden and the Mother was her only moment to keep her peace of mind; she would pray for her success in finding a marriage, for love and beauty and all things an unmarried lady longs for. Though that day was different… Her spoiled, attention-seeking step sister just had to occupy more space in her mind.

Floris gripped her burgundy gown in a vice as she descended down the Serpentine Steps that lead to the lower courtyard. Her head was bowed, watching her feet and trying to keep her step sure footed whilst having fake conversations in her mind. That was her unspoken hobby; she always thought of conversations that never existed, or possibly could exist, where everything she said was witty and unchallenged. Many of them focused on her taking Valeana off her high horse, or putting her parents in their place, or being the center of a party where everyone was hanging off her word as if she spoke the gospel of the Gods.

She very nearly lost herself in her little day dream, but with the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs her attention was pulled back to reality. Pausing at the half landing, Floris took the moment to curtsey when Prince Aemond crossed her path.

“My Prince,” she spoke demurely, but her forehead was still stitched with the annoyances of that morn. She seldom crossed paths with Aemond, so she wasted no time in pulling him in small talk. “How is your day fairing?”

He gives her a curt nod, barely sparing her a look, “Lady Floris. It is fairing as much as any day.”

Her head tilted at the tone he used. She knew Aemond to be a stoic and serious prince, but his voice was always levelled and composed. Now she could hear a hint of frustration in the graininess coming from the back of his throat, much like a growl.

Floris may be a woman of simple tastes, but she was not simple minded. She was quite intelligent, quite cunning, a skill she seemed to always have but didn’t realize and appreciate until she was a woman grown. She knew she was not a beauty, but her mind more than made up for it.

“Oh dear,” she said carefully, eyes examining the stiff muscles of his face. “I hope it is not bold of me to ask, my Prince, but does something weigh on your mind?”

She was treading murky waters, she knew, but the gears behind her eyes were working diligently, meticulously, as she watched Aemond closely. Aemond, the one who maimed her step sister; Aemond, who extended the first branch of peace on their first day, who was promptly rejected foolishly by the same step sister. The greatest point of tension in the Red Keep was the broken and strained relationship between Valeana Celtigar and Prince Aemond. While not much had not happened in the last sinnight, the whispers were hard to ignore.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive him? Poor dear, I just see him every day drowning in distractions ever since they got here.” “I once saw him watch her from the courtyard as she was walking past the second floor balconies. He couldn’t take his eyes off her!” “Neither can Prince Aegon!” “Oh, oh, don’t get me started on that!” “I heard from Lady Perra, who heard from her maid, that she spotted Prince Aegon pull Valeana into a closet with him!” “No! The Scandal! Surely that can’t be true!” “That must be what that whole show was about in the training yard. My boy was training there that day, and saw the whole thing! They were at each other’s throats. Men only fight that way over the hand of a woman.” “Oh, to be desired by not one, but two Targaryen Princes! What a lucky young lady.”

Oh, what a lucky young lady indeed. Valeana doesn’t even wish to be married, let alone married to a bloody Targaryen prince. And why in all the Realm would they both hold interest in her? Her step sister might have lost 5 stone, but she was still fat. She did well covering it up with all those skirt layers and stiff bodices, but Floris knew what she looked like underneath it all. She was one of the few who did. Large thighs and a pouch stomach that reminded her of an apron, and her heavy breasts and soft biceps were striped with stretch marks. No, her step sister did not have the body of the Maiden. What a disappointment her future betrothed will have once he lies with her.

All this attention for her fat step sister disgusted her. Valeana did not deserve it, and she especially did not deserve two fucking princes fighting over her!

“What weighs on my mind is not of your concern, Floris,” he still didn’t look at her directly, which irked her. The tick in his jaw and the shuffle of his feet betrayed his need to remove himself from her presence.

She decided to ignore his statement. Her large doe eyes narrowed a bit as she chose her next words carefully.

“If it is about Valeana, Prince Aemond, it should please you to know you do not need to worry about her health.” What she said had the desired effect. He looked down at her and a shadow went over his eye, casted by his strong nose. Floris kept her eye contact, “She is well.”

The way his nostrils flared told her she plucked the correct chord.

“And why would I worry about her health?”

“Apologies. I thought you were aware… Princess Helaena returned her to our apartments earlier this morn, claiming she had a fit and allowed her to stay in her quarters.”

His eyes narrowed at her, and his chin slowly tilted, “You speak as if you do not believe it.”

“Because I don’t.”

Aemond turned to face Floris fully now, “Why wouldn’t you believe it?”

Floris shrugged a single slender shoulder, “I know my sister. She hungers for attention… I do not believe she had any sort of fit in the halls,” she rolled her eyes at the idea. “I’m sure she acted out one, for whatever damned reason.”

His eye narrowed a bit, and she wondered if he was dissecting this interaction as much as she was. It gave her a little thrill at the prospect that he was – she had yet to meet anyone to match her intellect.

“Valeana does not like attention. She abhors being the center of it.”

Floris raised an eyebrow at him, “You speak as if you are still chums. I’ll have you know, my Prince, she is not the same girl you once knew. When we returned to Claw Isle all those years ago, everyone was at her beck and call. She got carted around on a liter like some spoiled fat Dornish princess. I guess she got addicted to the attention so much it changed her character. She got lazy, forced people to do things for her, and when no one was regarding her for a second, she would pull something childish ploy to ensure everyone was fretting over her. It never changed after all this time – she still pulls stunts like this to get pity.”

Aemond leaned back against the balustrade, crossing his ankles and arms. “And why are you sharing this with me?”

He was assessing her, she knew, trying to piece together her motives. Though she had little doubt that her motives to besmirch her step sister would be any different to his own with Aegon. They were the same in that way. Perhaps that is why she found herself approaching him, a step too close to be proper.

“Valeana will try to guilt trip you and never offer you the absolution that you need to appease your father’s wishes. It’s her little revenge, I suppose, whilst receiving what she desperately craves from everyone else: pity. Quite childish, if you ask me.” Floris extends her neck, nose pointed in the air as she continues with an overtly formal curtsey. “But as your humble servant, my Prince, I feel it is my duty to warn you about her intentions. And as an old friend, I do not wish to see you painted as a villain or a fool.”

Aemond pursed his lips and lifted his chin as he gave a soft, “Hm”. His eye was assessing her still, and Floris did her best to keep eye contact, lest she betray her fibs from lack of confidence in them. In her world they were true of course, but she knew in the deepest pit in her chest that she exaggerated and stretched the truth. Oh, her step sister loved getting coddled, but other than being resolute in her bitter resentment, Valeana wasn’t smart enough to concoct an intricate plan of revenge that involved emotional manipulation. That was all Floris’ genius.

His head tilted the other way, making it obvious that something clicked in his mind. He gave a little nod and stepped off the balustrade, letting his arms fall to his side, “Thank you for sharing this information with me, Lady Floris. It has been… illuminating. And I am grateful.”

Floris smiled, the ends of her lips twitching, threatening to pull them into an impish grin as she watched her seeds start to take root.

“It is my pleasure, Prince Aemond.”

He regarded her for a moment, and she felt a heat bloom from her bosom up to her neck and then ears.

“If it does not impede on your time, Floris, would you care to join me on a walk around the courtyard? I wish to pick your brain.”

Oh, that just went straight to her cunt.

Not able to control her grin any longer, she nodded eagerly, “Pick away, my Prince.”

Notes: Please, just let me cook. It's a long story, we aight even halfway done, my loves.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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lgbtqreads · 4 months ago

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Hi! Do you know of any books with lavender marriages or LGBT people in platonic marriages/relationships? I've been struggling to find anything, thanks!

So I am not super helpful with contemporary lavender marriages, but in historical, check out A Bluestocking’s Guide to Decadence by Jess Everlee, and coming up, The Unbecoming of Margaret Wolf by Isa Arsen (1/7/25) and Mutual Interest by Olivia Wolfgang-Smith (2/4/25).

For books with queerplatonic partnerships, here’s the list I have on the site right now, but a caveat that they’re not always the endgame relationship, like IIRC in the Kann YA, the MC (who’s ace) leaves a QPR for a romantic relationship. I might be wrong - it’s been a while - but that’s my recollection.

Lord of the Empty Isles by Jules Arbeaux

Baker Thief by Claudie Arseneault

Journey Home by May Barros

Seafoam and Silence by S.L. Dove Cooper

The Witch King by H.E. Edgmon (YA)

Go Truck Yourself by J.R. Hart

The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath (YA)

If it Makes You Happy by Claire Kann (YA)

Fire Becomes Her by Rosiee Thor (YA)

The Heretic’s Guide to Homecoming by Sienna Tristen

The Wolf Among the Wild Hunt by Merc Fenn Wolfmoor

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siremasterlawrence · 1 year ago

Text

Alternative Lifestyle: My Fallen Angel

Trapping Angel is the most exciting thing in the world one day when I was laying in the grass of a private garden area on the estate of my old family home as I explained the light of the sky.

The stars in the sky are blowing up in a sea of next in a super crazy storm blowing up in my face as the sky spins giving me a load of a massive headache leaving me spinning in the midst of it.

A shooting star falls from the sky in a golden arrow like hot trajectory smashing in to the isle lawn of my ground as it opens up in to a wide hole growing up covering up all of the land.

The entirety of my home is left in a shred as it dishevels the land roaming under my like a tunnel cracking open with the light burning from under me a strange man rises to the mainland.

Clearly I am lost not expecting to see him be able to stand up tall to full height with these bright eyes, bold expression, and wings that goes for miles and I can’t believe the white light.

I knew I am having a religious experience at this point he stares down at me offering a hand for me to take and help me up to my feet once more and he tightens his grasp on my hand.

“Do you comprehend this experience?”

“This is a religious experience and you are an angel.”

“Absolutely correct! Why am I here?”

“This is my next question”

“You are a chosen one”

“Am I? What is this some sort of hell?”

“Far from it”

“I am here with a offer”

“Excuse me!”

“One time only”

“I get it”

“Great! Take my hand, close your eyes and make a wish.”

I shake my head sighing a bit taking both of his hands in mine as a flow of energy over took me swirling in to the air with a cooling effect connecting us on one line surging in between us.

Something is off though my mind begins to lose it suddenly my body shoots upward in to the sky as my mind transfers in to my oh so hateful neighbor.

Across the street my soak soars pushes all the way past his window in to his bedroom where he is wasting time standing in front of the mirror posing his body in all sort of position.

The angel frowns knowing that I want to see him pay for what he did to me but he knows the deal it’s to give me whatever I want and whatever I wish to happen plain and simple for me.

Angel stares at me shaking his head he look up to the sky raising his finger in to the air as he waves his hand as the room fades from existence and all his left is three of us in a empty white space.

Mason Anlen suddenly woke up from a true deep soul trance by flailing in to an old and lengthy anxiety ridden panic attack holding his chest, breathing harder and backing in to the chair.

“Who are you ? You did this dweeb”

“Fuck! Stop!”

“How the fuck did you ?”

“Shut the fuck up”

“Bastard”

“Fall to your knees”

“Pathetic! Like the pig you are”

“Make your wish “

“I wish my guardian angel…”

“You cannot place an angel in…”

“Zip it! Immediately “

“In fact! I wish you would become powerful blank slate to your core replacing Mason Anlen in the timeline”

“Hold on! Now wait just a damn blasted second.”

“I am your lord and Master”

“Obey”

“I…no…aaaahhhhhhh”

“You rewrote the rules”

“I shall commence “

“Oh My God!”

“Can I help you?”

“You corrupted me”

“I remade you “

“In your image “

“I am so powerful “

“You are everything “

“I own you now”

“ I love it “

“I worship you”

“Thank you for this body “

“It’s perfection”

The end

#robbie amell #alternate timeline #mind warp #body possession #Angel #shooting star #crater #male body possession #possession #Alternative Lifestyle

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lilbannannerssimblr · 24 days ago

Text

Forever and a Day | Chapter 7: A Restless Swirl of Unanswered Questions

Upstairs, the meager ingredients for his supper mocked him. Years he'd been here, ever since that dizzying fall from… somewhere. He knew nothing of his past, a gaping void where memories should have been. And the bar… well, he hadn't exactly set the world alight with his bartending skills. Was he doing something wrong?

But his mind always drifted back to her. The woman from his dreams. Raven hair, sky blue eyes… a face both achingly familiar and impossibly distant. She appeared in his dreams a few months ago and he can't stop thinking what her deal is. He’d clung to that image for a while now. Sleep offered little respite, a restless swirl of unanswered questions.

The next morning, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the desolate landscape. Lucier emptied his frustration into the target, each shot a momentary release. He paused, wiping sweat from his brow, when he saw the familiar lumbering shape of Bojack, coming up the dirt road.

"Hey, Bojack," he murmured, scratching the horse's neck. The animal nuzzled his hand, a silent, comforting presence and Lucier can't help but to feel a smile creep onto face. He likes animals more than people, anyway.

Back at the bar, the air had shifted. A low hum of voices replaced the oppressive silence. Lucier hadn't even noticed the bar picking up business. He stepped inside, finding Lord Eric Elo, a portly man with a florid face, slumped in a rocking chair, glowering beside a nervous-looking soldier. "Where in the seven hells is the service?" Lord Eric roared, startling the young soldier, Sir Joaquin Le Chien. "I'm not paying good money to sit here like a blasted scarecrow!" He turned away in a huff to the other side of the bar, leaving the soldier looking thoroughly flustered.

Another soldier, Sir Sergio Romeo, joined Sir Joaquin. Lucier slipped behind the bar, grabbing a rag and pretending to polish the already gleaming surface. He couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"...Princess Tayassa, have you seen her, Joaquin?" Sergio was saying, his voice hushed with awe. "Of House Goth-Munch. Rides like an angel, they say." "Aye," Joaquin replied, equally impressed. "A shy thing, but beautiful. Raven hair, like ink, and eyes the color of the summer sky. Skin like pearl. Lips as red as rubies."

As they described her, a sharp pain lanced through Lucier's head. His vision blurred. Images flooded his mind. Not just fleeting dream-like visions, but vivid scenes, memories that weren't his, yet felt utterly real. The woman they described… it was her. The woman from his dreams. He never seen the princess but by their description, the woman in his dream matched her perfectly.

He massaged his temples hard, fighting the rising tide of disorientation. He had to know more. Who was Princess Tayassa? And why did her description unlock something so profound, so painful, within him? He started to sweat as he cleaned the countertop. He needed to know more. He'll ask them later. But for now, he was going to serve them and see if he can remember anything else.

(Simblr story is based on OG story by me & @sulfurandsugar) 🎵

The dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight slicing through the gloom of The Crumbling Isle's bar. Lucier leaned against the worn counter, the silence pressing down on him like a damp shroud. Another utterly barren day. He sighed, the sound lost in the cavernous space. Closing early seemed the only sensible option. Upstairs, the meager ingredients for his supper mocked him. Years he'd been here, ever since that dizzying fall from… somewhere. He knew nothing of his past, a gaping void where memories should have been. And the bar… well, he hadn't exactly set the world alight with his bartending skills. Was he doing something wrong? But his mind always drifted back to her. The woman from his dreams. Raven hair, sky blue eyes… a face both achingly familiar and impossibly distant. She appeared in his dreams a few months ago and he can't stop thinking what her deal is. He’d clung to that image for a while now. Sleep offered little respite, a restless swirl of unanswered questions. The next morning, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the desolate landscape. Lucier emptied his frustration into the target, each shot a momentary release. He paused, wiping sweat from his brow, when he saw the familiar lumbering shape of Bojack, coming up the dirt road. "Hey, Bojack," he murmured, scratching the horse's neck. The animal nuzzled his hand, a silent, comforting presence and Lucier can't help but to feel a smile creep onto face. He likes animals more than people, anyway. Back at the bar, the air had shifted. A low hum of voices replaced the oppressive silence. Lucier hadn't even noticed the bar picking up business. He stepped inside, finding Lord Eric Elo, a portly man with a florid face, slumped in a rocking chair, glowering beside a nervous-looking soldier. "Where in the seven hells is the service?" Lord Eric roared, startling the young soldier, Sir Joaquin Le Chien. "I'm not paying good money to sit here like a blasted scarecrow!" He turned away in a huff to the other side of the bar, leaving the soldier looking thoroughly flustered. Another soldier, Sir Sergio Romeo, joined Sir Joaquin. Lucier slipped behind the bar, grabbing a rag and pretending to polish the already gleaming surface. He couldn't help but overhear their conversation. "...Princess Tayassa, have you seen her, Joaquin?" Sergio was saying, his voice hushed with awe. "Of House Goth-Munch. Rides like an angel, they say." "Aye," Joaquin replied, equally impressed. "A shy thing, but beautiful. Raven hair, like ink, and eyes the color of the summer sky. Skin like pearl. Lips as red as rubies." As they described her, a sharp pain lanced through Lucier's head. His vision blurred. Images flooded his mind. Not just fleeting dream-like visions, but vivid scenes, memories that weren't his, yet felt utterly real. The woman they described… it was her. The woman from his dreams. He never seen the princess but by their description, the woman in his dream matched her perfectly.He massaged his temples hard, fighting the rising tide of disorientation. He had to know more. Who was Princess Tayassa? And why did her description unlock something so profound, so painful, within him? He started to sweat as he cleaned the countertop. He needed to know more. He'll ask them later. But for now, he was going to serve them and see if he can remember anything else.

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