#MAID BLADE SAVE ME......

[beloveds-embrace]

Noonaaa can I possibly request more angst Dukedome without kiong pretty please? 🙏🏽

You kept this pretty vague for me lovely so i went a little crazy on it ��🏻

Dukedom au masterlist

Dukedom angst, no könig

It began during one of the smaller gatherings in the duchy- a midday luncheon in the grand dining hall. Though informal, it was still attended by the many members of the household, key ones, and that obviously included: John, Kyle, Johnny, and several senior servants and as always, a special invitation extended to Simon.

You rarely attended such gatherings anymore, but John’s clipped instructions had left you with no choice and you didn’t want to make him upset at you. So you dressed simply, more out of habit than care, and sat at the far end of the table, an unwanted ghost in the company of the living.

Conversation flowed around you, lively and warm as always, and as always, you were left out. The words blurred together into white noise while you toyed with the edge of your napkin, staring at the untouched plate before you. The cooks had oh-so-kindly prepared yours in advance, and so you knew it was cold and bland even without tasting it.

Then it happened.

A maid- young, recently hired, and eager to impress- stepped forward with a fresh carafe of wine. As she refilled glasses, her gaze darted to you, a spark of something sharp in her eyes. Her lips twisted into a smile that wasn’t kind, and you prepared yourself in advance.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, syrupy sweet. “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t touched your meal. Is it not to your liking?”

The table stilled. All eyes turned to you, and you froze under the weight of their scrutiny. You managed a small, polite shake of your head, your voice barely above a whisper. So softly said, you doubted you’d disturb dandelion puffs even if you tried. “It’s fine.”

But she didn’t stop.

“Perhaps you’re saving your appetite?” she continued, the tone of her voice sharpening. “Though, I suppose it’s not surprising you wouldn’t eat much. After all, you’ve grown so thin… like a shadow. It’s almost hard to tell you’re here at all.”

Her words rang through the room, cutting sharper than any blade. A ripple of unease passed over the table, but no one spoke. Not yet.

“Be quiet.” Kyle muttered, his tone warning and cutting her a sharp glance, but the maid wasn’t finished.

“Apologies, sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly, though the venom in her voice remained dripping off each letter like fresh ink. “It’s just… Her Grace is so very quiet these days. One can’t help but wonder if she’s even meant to be here at all. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable elsewhere? Somewhere she’s actually wanted and needed.”

The last sentence struck like a thunderclap.

Months of this. Months of this. Hours, days, weeks, months spent under this cruel treatment and thinly-veiled resentment.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You rose abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor in a sound so loud it scared even yourself. You could see the maid flinch back, not having expected this. The room felt too small, the air too thick. Your chest heaved as you struggled to contain the emotion clawing its way up your throat, but it was no use.

Your composure shattered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your breath came in gasping, broken sobs that clawed their way out of your aching chest. For a moment, you looked around the table, searching- desperately- for something. A kind word, a gesture of comfort, anything.

But there was nothing.

You turned and fled the room, the sound of your sobs echoing behind you. No more- you couldn’t stand being there anymore. You didn’t care. Couldn’t. What did it matter anymore?

The maid’s cruel words hung heavy in the grand dining hall, a dark echo that left no one untouched. Her sharp tone and pointed barbs had started with smug confidence, but as you had risen and fled, your tears visible to everyone, the air turned cold and she faltered, falling silent.

The silence you left behind was deafening.

No one moved at first. Every pair of eyes shifted between the maid, whose face had paled as the reality of her actions set in, and the now-empty seat at the far end of the table. Even the usually indifferent servants, who kept away from interacting with you in general, shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping to the floor and shame curling in their veins.

It was one thing to quietly resent the Duchess, to mock you among themselves. But this… this was something else. The cruelty had been too deliberate, too naked. And it had broken you, right in front of them all. What could anyone even say?

John had never felt colder in his life. The weight of the maid’s words hit him like a physical blow, but it was your tears- the way you’d crumbled before them all- that haunted him. He sat frozen in his chair, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

When he finally moved, it was with an urgency that surprised even him. He strode toward your chambers, ignoring everyone and everything, his mind racing with half-formed apologies, excuses, something to make you understand that he hadn’t meant for things to come to this. He hadn’t liked you, but that- it was too much. Too far. A line that shouldn’t have been crossed. He had never seen you cry- not openly, not like that- and that image of your broken form looking around for anyone to support you will haunt him.

But when he reached your door, it was already locked and your sobs muffled. He knocked softly at first, then louder, calling your name.

There was no response.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Please, just… let me in. I need to talk to you, please.”

Still, nothing.

He pressed his forehead against the door, guilt clawing at his chest. Stupid, stupid- he should have stopped the maid from the damn start.

In the grand dining hall, Kyle and the head maid dismissed the maid immediately, his voice sharp and cold in a way that made her turn even paler and understand how severe her mistake was. But the satisfaction of snapping at her did nothing to ease the twisting guilt in his stomach. He had allowed this to happen. No, worse- he’d encouraged it.

He wasn’t the only one: the head maid, an older woman, simply stood there, biting her chapped lips as she stared at the door you’d fled through and then Duke Price went to. She didn’t have the time to say anything before Kyle was following, as well.

When he reached your door, John was already there. Kyle stopped a few paces away, unsure if he had the right to intrude, but the memory of your tears spurred him forward.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard it. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. Please, let us talk.”

Silence.

Kyle exhaled slowly, stepping back, his shoulders heavy with shame. He could tell John had received the same answer, as well. Closing his eyes, he made his way back to the other butlers; ordering them to their posts with a sharpness he hadn’t displayed in months. “We’re done with this,” he barked. “No more of this disrespect. Do I make myself clear?”

He also ordered the maids to care for you as they should have all along, making it clear that any further mistreatment would not be tolerated.

But his authority rang hollow in his own ears. He knew it wasn’t enough- not for you.

Though they weren’t the only ones buried in guilt;

Simon had been the first to stiffen when the maid spoke, his eyes narrowing as her words grew sharper. He wanted to interrupt, to stop her, but by the time he opened his mouth, it was too late.

Now, hours after that mess, he stood outside your door with a small tray in hand. On it was a book, the newly released next part to one he knew you liked to read by your lonesome, and a steaming cup of tea. Between the pages, he’d slipped a note that simply read:

You deserved better. I’m sorry.

He hesitated for a long, dragging moment before setting the tray down gently by the door. He didn’t knock.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

In the kitchens, Johnny’s chest burned with shame. He’d always thought himself kinder than this, better than this, but the truth of his inaction was undeniable. He hadn’t stopped the maid. He hadn’t said a single, blessed word. His mother would’ve disowned him if she knew how far he’d gone, how little and much he’d done.

Now, he hovered by your door, a freshly baked loaf of bread and a warm stew in his hands. He shifted his weight awkwardly, his throat tight as he tried to think of what to say. You… didn’t even get to eat.

“Lass- Your Grace?” he began, his voice faltering. “I, uh… I brought ye something. Ye dinnae have to open the door. Just… just eat, aye?”

He set the food down carefully, lingering for a moment before stepping away.

Inside your room, you sat on the floor with your back pressed against the door. The sound of their voices reached you- pleas, apologies, hesitant words- but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

You hugged your knees to your chest, tears streaming down your face as their voices faded into silence. The weight of everything pressed down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

You wished they did not see you now.

(Come morning, the head maid would leave a fresh tray of tea and an apology letter outside your door. The scullery maids ensure your office is spotlessly clean and leave fresh flowers from the garden on your desk. The cooks, spearheaded by Johnny, prepare your favorite dishes and leave them outside your room, warm and carefully covered.

The door to your room remains closed.)

[hisfavegirl]

Shadows - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

summary : your marriage to aemond was based solely on his obsession and regret for not being able to have your sister, helaena. you were just a shadow of your sister in his eyes, and you were determined to make him realize that he was wrong.

You leaned your head against the headboard of your bed, fingers lightly gripping the book in your hands. The soft glow of the nearby candles illuminated the delicate pages, the words blurring slightly as your mind wandered. It was a gift from your mother, given to you on your 18th nameday just yesterday. Her thoughtful gesture had filled you with warmth, a rare comfort in the cold, stony halls of the Red Keep.

Your eyes shifted to the door as it creaked open slowly. For a moment, you thought it might be the wind, but then you saw one of your maids step inside, her eyes lowered respectfully. She curtsied, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

“Princess,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Prince Aemond has asked for you to come to his chambers.”

Your heart tensed at her words. It was late. The moon was high in the sky, and most of the Keep had retired for the night. For a moment, you considered refusing. You were tired, and the quiet of your chambers felt safe, peaceful. But you knew Aemond. He was not a man to be denied.

With a quiet sigh, you closed the book gently, running your fingers over its cover before placing it on the side table. The weight of duty settled over your shoulders like a heavy cloak. Your maid moved forward, ready to help you with your robe, but you raised a hand, stopping her.

“I’ll go on my own,” you said firmly, and the maid bowed her head, stepping aside.

The halls were dim, lit only by the flickering glow of torches mounted on the stone walls. Your footsteps echoed softly with every step, and with each echo, your heart grew heavier. The walk to Aemond’s chambers felt longer than usual, each step carrying with it a mix of anticipation and unease.

When you reached the door, the guards outside gave you a brief nod, stepping aside to let you in. You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing the heavy door open.

The warmth of the room hit you first — the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth bathed the chamber in a soft orange light. The rich scent of burning wood mingled with the faint hint of leather and steel. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for him.

There he was. Aemond sat in the large chair by the fire, legs spread slightly, one arm draped lazily over the armrest while the other toyed with the pommel of his dagger. His eye was sharp, focused, and his face unreadable, save for the slight curve of his lips — not quite a smile, but something close to it.

His eye lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He tilted his head slightly, his silver hair falling over his shoulder.

“Come in, wife,” he said softly, his voice smooth and sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft thud. You didn’t move further, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he had summoned you so late. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching you, his gaze as steady and unyielding as stone.

“You called for me, husband,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, calm.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. His gaze never left yours. “Is it so strange that I wish to see my wife?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. Aemond was never direct — not with his words, not with his emotions. Everything he said, everything he did, had layers beneath it. And you had spent far too much time trying to unravel them.

“I was reading,” you replied, lifting your chin slightly, not wanting to seem small before him. “A gift from mother.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered, barely a shift, but you noticed it. His eye lingered on you longer now, sharp as a blade, as if he were trying to read you the same way you tried to read him.

“Our mother gives you books,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “I give you more than that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hated the way he twisted things, how every word out of his mouth was both truth and poison.

“Is that why you called me here?” you asked, your patience thinning. “To remind me of what you give me?”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, dark and quiet. He tapped the pommel of his dagger twice against his knee, his gaze never straying from you.

“No, my sweet wife,” he said, rising slowly from the chair. Each step he took toward you echoed in the quiet chamber, slow and deliberate. “I called you here to remind you of something far more important.”

Your heart began to race as he closed the distance between you. He stood before you now, taller, broader, his gaze pinning you in place like a hawk cornering its prey. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Everything you have,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, “is mine.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling a little faster now. His fingers lingered on the side of your face, the touch deceptively gentle, but the weight of his words pressed down like iron shackles.

“You know that, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you more closely. His eye, clear and sharp, searched your face for an answer. “Say it, wife.”

Your throat felt tight, your pride warring with the reality of your position. But you knew what he wanted. He wanted to hear it from you, to have you say the words so he could hear them aloud.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to force it out. “I know.”

His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before he let it fall away. His gaze softened, but only slightly. He leaned in close, his lips just a breath away from your ear.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Remember it.”

You stood there, your eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth, your heart growing heavier with each passing second. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold you felt within. You glanced at Aemond, his figure moving with slow, deliberate steps as he circled you like a predator stalking its prey.

Your patience thinned, your voice sharper than before. “Why did you call me here at this hour, husband?” you asked, turning your head to follow his movements. “I’m tired.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was steady, piercing, his lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that always made you feel as if he knew something you didn’t. His eye, sharp as a blade, watched you with unnerving intensity.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the loose strands of your hair. He toyed with it, twisting a lock of silver around his fingers as if it were silk. The gentle tug made you inhale sharply, but you stood your ground, refusing to let him see how he unsettled you.

“You shouldn’t leave your hair down like this,” he muttered, his voice a low hum, almost thoughtful. “It makes you look too much like her.”

Your breath hitched. Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, trying to read the meaning behind his words.

His fingers lingered in your hair a moment longer before he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He tilted his head, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead, an intimacy so gentle it could have been mistaken for tenderness — if only it had been real.

But then, he whispered her name.

“Helaena.”

Your entire body tensed. The name echoed in your mind, louder than the crackling fire behind you. You froze, your breath caught in your chest as if he’d driven a dagger through your ribs.

Slowly, you pulled back, just enough to see his face. His expression was unreadable — calm, cold, as if nothing had happened. But you knew. You knew.

All at once, it became so clear. Every glance, every touch, every moment you had tried to convince yourself that maybe he saw you — it was never you. It was her. It had always been her. Not because he loved her more, but because you looked like her. Because you shared the same silver hair, the same eyes, the same face.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as anger and something far more painful welled up inside you. You pulled your head away from his touch, your eyes burning with an emotion you weren’t ready to name.

“You called me here for this?” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “To remind me that I’m just a shadow of her?”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze cool and unaffected. “You are not a shadow, wife,” he said, his tone too smooth, too controlled. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.”

The words stung worse than if he’d slapped you. Your throat tightened, but you refused to look away from him. You would not let him see you break.

“Then perhaps you should call for her next time,” you said, your voice sharp as broken glass. “Not me.”

His eye flashed with something — surprise, anger, or perhaps amusement. It was always so hard to tell with Aemond. But you didn’t wait to find out. You turned on your heel, your steps firm and unyielding as you moved toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, gripping it tightly.

“You forget yourself, wife,” Aemond said, his voice louder now, commanding. “I called for you. Not her.”

You froze, your back to him, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. Slowly, you turned your head, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

“No,” you said quietly but firmly, your eyes burning with something far stronger than pain. “You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.”

His face hardened, his jaw tightening as his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it.

Without another word, you pushed the door open and stepped out, letting it close behind you with a dull thud. The sound echoed through the corridor, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the storm inside your heart.

You walked away, refusing to look back. This time, you wouldn’t let him see you break.

You walked slowly, each step heavier than the last as if the weight of Aemond’s words had settled on your shoulders like an unshakable curse. The cold stone beneath your feet echoed with every step, the silence of the Red Keep pressing down on you from all sides. Your breath was shallow, your chest tight with a storm of emotions you couldn’t quite name—anger, hurt, resentment, and something far more dangerous: love.

His voice lingered in your mind, his words like poisoned thorns that refused to be pulled free. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.” No matter how many times you tried to push it away, it echoed louder. A reflection. Not a person. Not you.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, grounding you in the present. But it wasn’t enough to silence the flood of memories that surged forward.

You remembered the day you gave birth to your first daughter—his daughter. The pain, the exhaustion, and the overwhelming relief when you heard her first cry. You had waited for him, had told the maester to send word to Aemond the moment it was over. You wanted him to be the first to see her, to hold her, to tell you that you had done well.

But he never came.

You had waited for hours, lying in that bed with your newborn daughter cradled against your chest, her tiny hand clutching your finger. You had thought, he must be on his way. He’ll come. But he didn’t. Not that day. Not the next.

Later, you learned why.

He had been with her.

Your heart twisted in your chest at the memory. Your sister, Helaena, heavy with Aegon’s child, had been feeling unwell. He had stayed with her, comforting her, attending to her every need. Her. Not you. Not the mother of his child.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You bit down on your lip, your head held high as you walked through the dimly lit halls. I will not cry for him. Not again.

When you reached your chambers, you pushed the door open with more force than necessary. The sharp creak of the hinges echoed like a scream. You stepped inside, slamming the door behind you, your breath shallow, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

Your eyes swept over the familiar room—the soft glow of the candles, the bed that suddenly felt far too large, the book your mother had gifted you still lying open where you’d left it. The sight of it brought a bitter smile to your face. Mother always said I was strong. She had believed in you, trusted in your strength. But right now, you felt so fragile, so breakable.

You leaned back against the door, sliding down until you sat on the cold floor, knees pulled up to your chest. Your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold the pieces together.

Why wasn’t I enough? The question clawed at your mind, a whisper that grew louder with every heartbeat. Why her?

You hated how much it hurt. Hated how much you still wanted him. Despite everything, you wanted him to choose you, to see you, to love you for you. Not because you shared Helaena’s face, not because you reminded him of something he could not have.

But you knew the truth. No matter how many children you gave him, no matter how many times you stood by his side, he would never look at you the way he looked at her. She was his comfort, his light in the darkness. And you? You were just the shadow she cast.

A sob built in your throat, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling it before it could escape. Your chest ached with the weight of everything you had tried to hold in for so long. The pain, the jealousy, the love you still felt for him even when you knew it was foolish.

Minutes passed—maybe hours. You weren’t sure. But slowly, the tears dried, and the ache dulled into something colder, something harder. Your breathing steadied, your heart slowed, and the storm inside you quieted into a sharp, bitter calm.

You lifted your head, your eyes sharp with a new resolve. If he wanted a reflection, if he wanted something he could never have, then you would show him exactly what he had chosen to ignore.

If he will not love me, he will fear me.

The morning sun bathed the garden in a soft, golden glow, but your presence outshone it all. Each step you took was deliberate, purposeful, the soft rustle of your gown trailing behind you like the whisper of a storm about to break.

Today, you were different.

The gown you wore clung to you in ways it never had before — tailored perfectly to your figure, the fabric flowing like water over your curves. The sleeves were sheer, the neckline daring but elegant, revealing just enough to draw attention but not enough to be called improper. The color was striking, a rich, deep green that matched the jewels on Queen Alicent’s crown. It was a choice no one could ignore, and that was exactly what you intended.

The whispers began the moment you stepped into the garden. Servants and ladies alike glanced your way, their eyes narrowing with judgment, their murmurs growing louder as you passed.

“She’s trying too hard.”

“Did you see her dress? How shameless.”

“She’s just desperate for attention.”

The words floated around you like gnats, insignificant and easy to brush away. Your chin lifted higher, your gaze fixed straight ahead as if none of them existed. You could feel their stares, sharp as daggers, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Let them whisper. Let them stare. They will learn.

Your steps were slow but steady, the click of your heels on the stone path echoing with every stride. You felt powerful in a way you hadn’t before, as if each glance thrown your way was feeding something inside you. For so long, you had felt unseen, unheard. But not today. Today, you would be seen.

Ahead, you spotted familiar faces—ladies of the court gathered beneath the shade of a large tree, their eyes darting toward you like vultures watching prey. Their gazes lingered on you with envy, disapproval, and a hint of fear. Good.

You didn’t look away.

Instead, you met their eyes, one by one, holding their gazes with quiet defiance until each of them shifted uncomfortably, their confidence faltering under the weight of your stare. It felt satisfying, far more than you had expected. Let them know who I am.

Further down the path, you spotted him.

Aemond.

He stood near the edge of the garden, speaking with Ser Criston. His posture was as rigid as ever, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his gaze focused on whatever the knight was saying. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you knew he would. He always did.

Your heart tightened in your chest, that familiar ache threatening to return. But this time, you smothered it before it could take hold. No more waiting for him to see me. No more hoping for something that will never come.

With slow, deliberate grace, you continued down the path. You knew the moment he noticed you. His head tilted just slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward you. His one violet eye narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the sight of you.

You did not stop.

You did not lower your gaze.

You let him look. Let him see you.

When you passed him, you didn’t glance his way, didn’t offer him a word, not even a nod. It was as if he were the one invisible now.

You felt his gaze burn into your back as you walked away, each step as steady as the beat of a war drum. Let him stare. Let him wonder. Let him want.

Today, you had become something more.

And from this moment on, you would never let anyone, not even him, make you feel small again.

The soft, sweet voice of your daughter calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, and there she was — your little girl, her silver hair catching the sunlight like strands of pure silk. Her wide violet eyes, so full of warmth and innocence, gazed up at you with pure adoration.

A smile tugged at your lips, softening your expression as you knelt in front of her. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, pressing a gentle kiss to her round cheek. Her giggle was like music, light and pure, easing the weight you had been carrying in your heart.

“Mother,” she said, tugging lightly on your hand, her small fingers curling around yours. “Grandmother wants to see you.”

Her voice was so sure, as if she had taken it upon herself to be the messenger of important news. You nodded, letting out a small breath of amusement. Of course, mother would send for you.

“Then we shouldn’t keep her waiting, should we?” you replied softly, brushing your thumb over her tiny fingers. She beamed up at you, eyes bright with joy.

Hand in hand, the two of you walked together, her small steps quick and eager to match your stride. She hummed a soft, tuneless melody as she skipped beside you, her little feet tapping lightly on the stone path. You glanced down at her, heart swelling with love at the sight of her carefree happiness.

But then, you felt it.

A shift in the air, like a sudden chill despite the sun’s warmth. The weight of a gaze heavy on your back — sharp, unyielding, and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Him.

Aemond.

His presence was as tangible as a blade pressed against your spine, the intensity of his stare burning through every layer of you. You knew that gaze too well — piercing, calculating, always watching. Your fingers curled just a little tighter around your daughter’s hand, grounding yourself in her warmth.

Don’t look back.

You kept walking, kept your chin high, your pace steady. You would not turn. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how aware you were of him. He always looks. He always watches. But he never comes closer, does he?

Your daughter’s humming continued, her small, soft voice unbothered by the storm that raged behind you. You envied her innocence, her blissful unawareness of the complexities that twisted between you and her father.

You could hear his footsteps now, slow but deliberate, following at a distance. His shadow lingered just beyond the edge of your vision, never too far away, but never close enough.

Always watching. Always waiting.

But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t turn. Not today.

Today, you had more important things to do than worry about a man who only knew how to watch from the shadows. Your daughter’s little fingers tugged at your hand, and you glanced down at her, your heart softening all over again.

“Will Grandmother have lemon cakes?” she asked, her voice hopeful, eyes shining with excitement.

You smiled, leaning down just a bit to whisper, “I think she might, but only if you ask her nicely.”

Her giggle filled the air again, sweet and unburdened by the weight of everything you carried. And for a moment, just a moment, you let that warmth chase away the cold burn of Aemond’s gaze.

Let him watch.

You had more important things to hold on to.

As you stepped into your mother’s chambers, the soft hum of quiet activity greeted you. Alicent stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Her handmaidens worked around her, adjusting the delicate green fabric of her gown and brushing her auburn hair until it gleamed. The faint scent of sage and chamomile filled the air, bringing a sense of calm to the room.

Her eyes lifted from the embroidery in her hands as you entered, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. “There you are,” she said, setting the embroidery aside. “Come, sit with me.”

She gestured toward the cushioned seat beside her. You guided your daughter to a nearby chair before taking your place beside your mother. Alicent’s gaze lingered on you, taking in every detail, her eyes filled with that quiet, watchful intensity she always had. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as her eyes trailed over your gown — a gown that was different from your usual choices.

“You look… different,” she remarked, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. It wasn’t disapproval, but something closer to curiosity. “Is there something on your mind, dear?”

Her voice was soft, careful, but you knew better than to think it was a simple question. Alicent never asked without reason. Her eyes were trained on you like a hawk, waiting for any sign of weakness, any hesitation.

You shifted slightly in your seat, glancing at your daughter, who was humming to herself while playing with the lace on her dress. For a moment, you considered how much to say. How much to reveal.

“It’s nothing, Mother,” you replied, straightening your posture. “I simply wished for a change.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “A change, is it?” she repeated softly, her tone thoughtful. She leaned forward just a bit, her gaze sharp as she studied you with that look you’d seen so many times before. It was the look of a mother who knew something wasn’t being said. “And who is this change meant to impress?”

Her words were pointed, though her voice remained calm. You could feel her searching your face for a reaction. She was too clever, too perceptive. She saw more than you wanted her to.

“No one, Mother,” you answered firmly, lifting your chin. “It’s for me.”

A pause lingered between you. Alicent’s eyes remained on you, unblinking, and you held her gaze. For a moment, you weren’t just her daughter — you were a woman who had learned to wield silence as a weapon, just as she had.

Finally, she leaned back in her chair, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good,” she murmured, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “It should always be for yourself.” Her voice lowered, her eyes hardening slightly. “Don’t let anyone else dictate who you must be. Not your husband. Not even the king.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt the weight of them, knowing she spoke from experience.

“Now,” she said, her tone lightening as she glanced toward your daughter. Her face softened as she leaned forward, her smile more genuine. “And how is my sweet granddaughter? Have you been keeping your mother in line, little one?”

Your daughter giggled, her smile bright and innocent as she nodded. “Yes, Grandmother! Mother is always good.”

Alicent laughed quietly, her eyes crinkling with warmth. “Is she, now?” she teased, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

For a moment, the tension lifted, and the room felt lighter. You allowed yourself to laugh softly with her, the warmth of her presence washing over you like a shield from the world outside. But even in that warmth, you still felt the weight of unseen eyes on you — the memory of Aemond’s sharp gaze burning into your back earlier in the day.

But for now, you let it fade. Here, with your mother and your daughter, you felt a fleeting sense of peace — and that, for now, was enough.

You were seated beside your mother, watching your daughter play with the lace on her dress, her soft giggles filling the room like the chime of little bells. Alicent sat gracefully, hands folded neatly in her lap, a serene smile tugging at her lips as she watched her granddaughter with quiet affection.

“She has your spirit,” Alicent remarked, her gaze never leaving the child. “Bold, unyielding, and far too clever for her own good.”

You chuckled softly, glancing at your daughter. “She’ll need it,” you replied, your tone carrying the weight of experience.

Just as your mother was about to speak again, the sound of the door creaking open drew both of your gazes. The soft murmuring of servants hushed instantly, and the familiar heavy thud of boots echoed into the room. A figure stepped inside — tall, commanding, with silver hair that caught the dim glow of the chamber’s light.

Aemond.

He didn’t say a word at first, his single eye locked onto you with that unwavering intensity you’d grown used to. He didn’t look at Alicent, didn’t look at your daughter. His gaze was for you alone. There was something sharp in the air now, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, standing from her chair, her brow raised in question. “Is there something you need?”

But Aemond didn’t answer her. His steps were slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, only watched him with wary eyes. When he reached you, he didn’t ask, didn’t explain. His hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and with a single tug, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. “We need to talk.”

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice came sharper this time, her gaze darting from you to him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Mother,” he replied curtly, still not looking at her. His focus stayed on you, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a storm cloud.

You glanced at your mother, searching for her guidance, her permission — but Alicent only watched you, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hard to read. She said nothing.

Heart pounding in your chest, you turned back to Aemond. “Can we not do this later?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, steady. “I’m with our daughter.”

His grip on your wrist didn’t loosen. His eye narrowed, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Now, wife,” he said with quiet finality. His tone wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It left no room for argument.

Your daughter’s playful humming faded as she glanced up, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Mother?” she called, her voice soft and unsure.

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat. Slowly, you turned back to her and forced a smile. “Stay with Grandmother, my love. I won’t be long.”

Your daughter hesitated, her small fingers curling into the lace of her dress, but Alicent approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come, sweet girl,” she said softly. “Your mother will be back soon.”

With that, Aemond tugged you forward, leading you out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, sealing you both away from the warmth and safety of the chamber.

The hallway was colder, quieter, and somehow it made his presence feel larger than it was. His hand remained on your wrist as he led you forward, his pace faster than yours, forcing you to keep up.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, trying to pull your wrist free. “What is this about?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

“Aemond,” you said again, sharper this time. You dug your heels into the floor, yanking your arm back with more force. It was enough to stop him, though his grip didn’t release you. Slowly, he turned to face you, his face shrouded in shadow, his sapphire eye gleaming like ice.

“Why do you wear that dress?” he asked suddenly, his gaze flicking down to the gown you wore.

Your breath caught in your chest. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said, his tone colder now, colder than the stone walls around you. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw something dangerous in him — jealousy, rage, something darker. “You know what I mean.”

You pulled your wrist again, and this time he let you go, but his eye never wavered.

“It’s just a dress, Aemond,” you said slowly, your eyes narrowing. “Am I not allowed to dress as I please?”

His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. “You know it’s not just a dress.”

Silence stretched between you. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Why do you care, Aemond?” you asked, your voice sharp and unforgiving. “You barely looked at me when I bore your child. You didn’t come to me. You didn’t see me. But now you care about a dress?”

His face remained stone-cold, but his eye flared with something fierce, something wild. He stepped forward, close enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him.

“You are mine,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if daring you to argue. His gaze bore into you, unwavering and unyielding. “Not theirs. Not anyone else. Mine.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Yours?” you repeated, your eyes flashing with defiance. “When have I ever been yours, Aemond? You love her. Not me.”

His nostrils flared as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I will remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t lower your gaze. Not this time. Not now. “Then act like it,” you shot back, your voice sharp as a blade. “If you want me to be yours, Aemond, then claim me. Stop looking at her. Stop leaving me in the cold. Stop pretending that I’m a shadow of her.”

His face twisted, his features caught between fury and something else — something you couldn’t name. His breathing was shallow, his lips parted, but no words came.

For a moment, you both stood there, silent and still, breathing the same sharp air that filled the hall.

Then, slowly, his eye softened, the edge of his rage dulling. His gaze lowered from yours to the floor. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He only stood there, his silence louder than any argument you could have had.

You stared at him, waiting for him to say something — anything. But he didn’t.

With a deep breath, you stepped back, lifting your chin high. “When you figure out who you truly want, Aemond, you know where to find me.”

You turned on your heel, walking back toward Alicent’s chambers with your head held high.

He didn’t follow. He only stood there, alone in the cold, just as he’d left you so many times before.

You stepped back into your mother’s chambers, closing the heavy wooden door behind you with a soft thud. The warmth of the room embraced you instantly, a stark contrast to the cold tension that had filled the hallway with Aemond. The soft glow of the fire illuminated the chamber, casting golden light onto Alicent’s face as she sat with your daughter on her lap.

Her gaze was sharp, searching, as she watched you cross the room. “What happened?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was calm but firm, the way only a mother could be.

“Nothing, Mother,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile as you approached them. “All is well. There’s no need to worry.”

Alicent didn’t look convinced. Her eyes, as sharp as ever, studied you in silence. She had seen too much in her life, endured too many lies and half-truths, to be deceived so easily.

“Is that so?” she asked quietly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Then why does your face look as if you’ve been at war, child?”

You felt your breath catch in your chest, but you didn’t answer. Instead, you turned your gaze to your daughter, who was watching you with wide, curious eyes. Her little hands tugged at the hem of Alicent’s sleeve, her small voice breaking the silence.

“Mother?” she called softly, tilting her head in that innocent, curious way children do. “What’s wrong with Father?”

Her words were like a dagger to the heart. You froze for a moment, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You glanced at your daughter, her wide, expectant eyes staring back at you, waiting for an answer.

How could you explain it to her? How could you explain that the father she adored so much had left cracks in your heart that you couldn’t mend? That he looked at you but didn’t see you. That he touched you, but only as a reminder that you were his — not because he wanted you.

You crouched down in front of her, forcing a smile onto your face even as it strained the muscles in your cheeks. Your hands cupped her small face gently. “Father is just… tired,” you said softly, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “He has many responsibilities. It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetling.”

Her brows pinched together as if she wasn’t fully convinced, but she nodded slowly, her little hands reaching up to touch your face. “Don’t be sad, Mother,” she whispered, her voice filled with childlike concern. “I’ll stay with you.”

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her close. “Thank you, my sweet girl,” you murmured against her hair, feeling the warmth of her small body pressed against yours. “That’s all I need.”

From behind you, Alicent’s voice rang out, quiet but certain. “He should not make you feel this way.”

You didn’t turn to face her. You didn’t have the strength. “It’s fine, Mother,” you replied, your voice muffled as you held your daughter closer. “It’s always been fine.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

You spent the afternoon with your mother and daughter, their warmth and presence offering you a fleeting sense of peace. But a restlessness settled in your chest, and soon, you found yourself longing to see your sister. The thought of Helaena brought back memories of simpler times, times when you both leaned on each other without the weight of politics, duty, and marriage pressing down on your shoulders.

So you left your mother’s chambers, your daughter staying behind under Alicent’s watchful eye. The hallways of the Red Keep felt colder than usual, the torches lining the stone walls flickering faintly. Each step echoed softly as you made your way toward Helaena’s room.

Her door stood ahead of you, the carved wood familiar, almost comforting. You raised your hand to knock, but before you could, a sound from inside stopped you.

Laughter.

Not just any laughter — his laughter.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart tightening with an uncomfortable pressure. You knew that laugh too well. Aemond’s laughter was a rare thing, something that had always felt like a secret meant only for a chosen few.

But he had never laughed like that with you.

You stood frozen in front of the door, hand still raised but unmoving. Your fingers curled into a loose fist, and for a moment, you debated walking away. Don’t go in, a voice in your head warned. You already know what you’ll see.

But curiosity — or perhaps something more painful — drew you in. Slowly, quietly, you pushed open the door just a sliver, careful not to make a sound. The sight before you made your heart sink.

Helaena sat by the window, her head tilted back with a soft, joyful smile on her face. Her laughter was like bells, light and innocent, as if she had no care in the world. And there, sitting close beside her, was Aemond. His gaze was fixed on her, his lips curved into a smile — not the cold, sharp smirk he often wore, but a true, unguarded smile.

He looked at her like she was the only light in the world.

You gripped the edge of the door tightly, nails digging into the wood. A bitter taste filled your mouth, something between rage and heartbreak. You had seen him smile, yes — but never like that. Never for you.

The urge to slam the door, to march inside and demand answers, burned hot in your chest. But what would you say? What could you say? That you were jealous of your own sister? That you hated how he looked at her like she was precious while you felt like an obligation?

Your breathing grew shallow, and you stepped back, letting the door close softly. You felt your heart pounding, a mixture of fury, sadness, and something else — something more dangerous.

Why her? you thought bitterly, turning away from the door. Why does it always have to be her?

Tears threatened to rise, but you refused to let them fall. You straightened your back, shoulders tense with the weight of pride and anger. If he wouldn’t see you, then you wouldn’t let him see you break.

With quiet, deliberate steps, you walked away from Helaena’s door, your face a mask of cold indifference. If love was a game of thrones, then you would play it too — not as a sister, not as a wife, but as a woman who refused to be forgotten.

You ran toward the gardens, your breath sharp and uneven as you tried to escape the storm brewing in your chest. The world around you felt distant, the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds drowned out by the thudding of your heart.

Why her? Why always her?

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t let them see you break — not him, not her, not anyone. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire of betrayal burning inside you.

You came to a stop near a large tree, leaning against it to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell quickly, and you closed your eyes, pressing your hands against the rough bark as if grounding yourself to the world.

Then, a sound.

A low, familiar chuckle echoed behind you. It was sharp, almost mocking, but far too familiar to mistake for anyone else. Slowly, you turned, wiping at your face quickly as if to erase any sign of weakness.

There, leaning casually against a stone pillar, was your brother, Aegon. His eyes were half-lidded, his smirk lazy but sharp, like a blade hidden behind a smile. A cup of wine dangled from his hand, as always. He raised it slightly in greeting, taking a slow sip as his eyes watched you like a cat watching a bird with a broken wing.

“You look upset, sister,” he drawled, tilting his head with mock concern. “Did something happen?”

You didn’t answer, your lips pressing into a thin line. You hated the way he always knew. Aegon was many things — careless, selfish, and drunk more often than not — but he was never blind.

His grin widened as if he could read your mind. He pushed off the pillar and walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice low, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “He’s with her, isn’t he?”

Your whole body tensed. His words hit harder than they should have, his casual tone like salt on an open wound. You hated that he knew, hated that he could say it so easily — as if it were obvious, as if it were inevitable.

“Shut up, Aegon,” you hissed, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. “Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” He took another step closer, his eyes scanning you with slow, lazy interest. “Poor little sister. Stuck playing second to the precious Helaena. Must be exhausting.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, turning away from him, trying to put distance between you. But you heard him follow, his steps crunching softly against the gravel path.

“You think running will change it?” Aegon called after you, his voice carrying the cruel edge of someone who knew too much. “He’ll always go back to her, you know. Always.”

You stopped in your tracks, your fists clenching at your sides. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing with quiet fury.

“At least I don’t have to drown myself in wine to forget who I am,” you snapped, your voice low and sharp like a dagger. “You’re pathetic, Aegon.”

His smirk faltered, if only for a second, but he recovered quickly. His eyes darkened, his grin shifting into something colder.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, raising his cup as if in a toast. “But at least I see things as they are, not as I wish them to be.”

You didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say. You turned on your heel and walked away, heart pounding harder with every step. His laughter followed you, lingering in the air like smoke from a dying fire.

“He’ll always go back to her.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, tasting copper. No. You wouldn’t let that be true. You couldn’t. But as much as you hated Aegon, there was something far worse about the fact that his words had struck something you already feared.

What if he was right?

You turned to face Aegon, your eyes filled with a quiet sadness that even he couldn’t ignore. His grin faltered for a moment as he tilted his head, finally taking in the change in you. The way you held yourself, the way your gown clung to you with deliberate elegance, the fire in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping over you like he was seeing you for the first time. Then, just as quickly, his grin returned, sharper now, more knowing. His chuckle was soft but cruel, cutting through the stillness of the garden like a blade.

“Well, well,” Aegon muttered, taking a long sip from his cup. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he lowered it, licking a stray drop of wine from his lip. “Look at you, little sister. Finally decided to remind him of what he has, hmm?”

You said nothing, your eyes narrowing as you folded your arms across your chest.

Aegon let out a louder laugh, tilting his head back, his silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. It was the kind of laugh that grated on you — not because it was loud, but because it was laced with too much truth.

“You think he’ll notice?” Aegon asked, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Men like Aemond never notice until it’s too late. He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown.

“That’s enough, Aegon,” you said firmly, your voice calm but laced with warning.

“Is it?” he asked, his grin widening as he leaned in, his breath reeking of wine. His voice dropped to a low, taunting whisper. “You know I’m right. You could dress like a queen, shine brighter than the sun itself, and he’d still be chasing her shadow.”

Your heart ached, but you didn’t let him see it. You lifted your chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“At least I don’t drown in my misery like you,” you shot back, eyes hard as steel. “I know my worth, Aegon. Can you say the same?”

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something like anger or maybe regret, but it was gone in an instant. He smirked, leaning back with that same lazy arrogance he always wore like armor.

“Careful, sister,” he said, pointing at you with his cup. “That fire of yours might just burn you first.”

“Then let it burn,” you replied coldly, turning on your heel. “At least I won’t waste away, watching from the sidelines like you.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You walked away, each step more purposeful than the last, your gown trailing behind you like a banner of defiance. You could still hear him laughing, the sound echoing in the garden like a ghost that refused to leave.

But you didn’t stop.

You wouldn’t stop.

If Aemond was too blind to see you, then perhaps it was time to remind him what he stood to lose.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown pooling around you like a quiet storm. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the lone candle flickering against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows. But your mind was far from calm. Aegon’s words from earlier echoed in your head like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.

“He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your bed, your jaw clenching as the realization settled in. You had spent too long waiting for Aemond to see you — to truly see you. You had given him everything: your heart, your body, your devotion. But it had never been enough. Not when her name was still whispered between breaths, not when his gaze lingered just a little too long on Helaena’s face.

Enough.

If Aemond would not see you for what you were, then you would make him see. And to do that, you needed someone who knew how to play the game better than anyone. Someone who had spent his entire life weaving lies, indulgence, and chaos into every step he took.

You needed Aegon.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you stood from the bed. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, like it knew the weight of what you were about to do. The cold floor beneath your feet was a sharp reminder that there was no going back from this path.

Walking over to your mirror, you stared at your reflection. Your silver hair spilled over your shoulders, untamed and wild. Your eyes, once so soft and full of hope, now burned with quiet resolve. Slowly, you reached up and undid the loose tie of your nightgown, letting it slip just enough to bare the curve of your collarbone and the tops of your shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to remind anyone — everyone — that you were not a woman to be overlooked.

Your gaze hardened as you pulled the fabric back into place. No more waiting. No more hoping. You would seize what was yours, even if it meant playing with fire.

Without another thought, you walked to the door. The cold metal of the handle sent a shiver up your spine, but you didn’t hesitate. The hallway outside was dim, but you knew exactly where to go. Each step echoed softly in the quiet of the Red Keep, your heartbeat matching the rhythm of your footsteps.

When you reached Aegon’s chamber, you paused. Your fingers hovered just above the door, your mind swirling with doubt for the briefest moment. Was this truly the way?

But then you saw Aemond’s face in your mind — cold, distant, always watching someone else. And suddenly, your hesitation vanished.

You knocked.

There was no response at first, but after a few seconds, you heard a shuffle from inside, a low grunt followed by footsteps. The door creaked open just a sliver, revealing Aegon’s familiar, half-lidded stare. His hair was a mess, his tunic loose and wrinkled like he’d just woken up. He raised an eyebrow at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe with a lazy sort of interest.

“Well, well,” he muttered, leaning against the doorframe, his grin already forming. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, sweet sister?”

You didn’t flinch under his gaze. You stepped forward, just enough for him to see the determination in your eyes.

“I need your help,” you said, your voice steady but low. “With Aemond.”

That got his attention. His grin widened, slow and wicked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. He let out a soft chuckle, his gaze sharp as a blade as he leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

“Oh, little sister,” Aegon whispered, his voice dripping with amusement and something else — something darker. “This is going to be fun.”

You stood still, your breath caught in your throat as you felt the cold brush of Aegon’s fingers against your back. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as he slipped the cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. The air felt colder against your skin now, but it wasn’t the chill that made you shiver. It was him.

His eyes moved over you slowly, like a lion watching prey, but there was something else there too — something sharper, more knowing. He tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Foolish brother,” Aegon murmured, his voice low and smooth like silk soaked in wine. “Blind as a bat, that one.” His fingers brushed over your bare shoulders, not rough but deliberate, each touch a claim, each glance a challenge.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see the tremble in your hands. You had come here with a purpose, with resolve. This wasn’t about Aegon. This was about Aemond. About making him see you. But you can't be sure now that he touched you like this.

“Does he even know what he has?” Aegon continued, his voice a soft hum as he circled you, his gaze heavy as it lingered on the curve of your neck and the line of your night gown. “All that pride, all that control… yet he can’t see what’s right in front of him.” He laughed, a short, breathy sound, bitter and amused. “Typical.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to look away. “Are you going to help me or not, Aegon?”

His grin widened, sharp and wicked, like a fox that had just caught the scent of a trapped hare. He stepped closer, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you — not of fear, but of certainty. He would help you. Not out of kindness, not out of loyalty, but for the thrill of it. For the game.

“Help you?” he repeated, tilting his head as though weighing the offer. His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone, his eyes narrowing with mock thoughtfulness. “Oh, sweet sister, I’ll do more than that.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll make him beg for you.”

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. If he thought you were afraid, he was wrong. You had been afraid long enough. Your heart pounded, not with fear, but with something fiercer, something that had been building for far too long.

“Then do it,” you said, your voice like steel wrapped in silk. You turned your head slightly, letting his breath brush your cheek. “Make him see me, Aegon.”

His eyes flashed with something wild, something dangerous. He laughed again, the sound rougher this time, more real. His hands slid away from you, and he took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, sister,” Aegon said, his grin sharp as a blade. “He’ll see you. I promise you that.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as aegon took off your nightgown, you could feel his gaze filled with lust and passion. his hands lifted to cup your breasts and squeeze them gently, you moaned at his touch. He smiled slightly and whispered "you even have a beautiful voice, sister. Our brother is really stupid because he doesn't know what he's missing"

You closed your eyes as he started to kiss your lips, your hands found their way to his hair, tugging and squeezing it gently. He let out a small moan in between your kisses, he guided your body towards his bed. Laying you down without breaking the kiss, you sighed in disappointment as he pulled away from you, he laughed softly "You have to be patient sweet sister, isn't it unfair that you're already bare while I'm not?"

You stared at him as he slowly took off his tunic, his signature smile never leaving his face. After he took off all the clothes on his body he went back on top of you, he looked at your face with a soft gaze. You had never seen this look from aegon, he stroked your cheek gently. He slowly lowered his face to capture your lips again, his kiss was soft and more demanding.

His hands began to stroke your body, starting from your chest then down to your stomach, and ending in front of your wet core. You moan as you felt his hands stroke your folds, he looked at you. Your silver hair spread beautifully on his pillow, your eyes closed because of him, your moans that were heard because of his touch. Something inside him woke up, you sighed because of him, not your husband, not your brother. but him.

"Aegon, don't tease me. Please" You said softly, he smiled then slowly he inserted one of his fingers which made you moan softly. He could feel your walls squeezing his finger, you felt him kiss your stomach as his finger started to go in and out of your core. His finger movements were slow and intense, he then added a second finger and sped up his movements. You moaned at his touch, your body arching up as his finger hit that spot.

He stretches your cunt deliciously, you are already drunk even with just his fingers. How will you be if he enters you with his hardened cock? he looks at you and pulls his fingers out, again you sigh in disappointment as you feel empty. He licks his fingers that are covered by your Arousal, you look at him with lust. Maybe you ask him for help, but there is also a hidden intention.

"Are you ready?" He whispered in your ear as he rubbed the head of his cock against your core, you nodded and begged him to fuck you. "Please aegon, fuck me. Fuck me like i'm one of your whores"

He kissed your neck before finally sliding his cock inside you, both of you moaning together, feeling your walls stretching with pleasure. "You are not a whore, sister. You are a goddess worthy of being worshipped" he whispered softly in your ear.

He stretches you deliciously, his size is different from Aemond's. Aegon's is thicker than him, he fills you deliciously unlike Aemond's. He lets you adjust to his size, Then he guides your legs to wrap around his waist. With this position you can feel him getting deeper inside you, and you like it.

“you squeezing me tightly sister, fuck” Aegon’ low groan breaks the silence, he loves the way your clenching walls are tightening around his length.

The moans spilling out from your mouth only serves as further stimulus for Aegon to pull back and slide his entire shaft inside you before pounding you in a rough rhythm. Aegon doesn’t hold back, “All mine.”

You could see something in Aegon's eyes, lust, furry, — or something darker. He found your neck and chock you softly, you moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the pleasure he was giving you.

He keeps fucking you like there's no tomorrow, you can feel his cock twitching inside you. You stroked his cheek gently, then you captured his lips and kissed him gently. The knot in your stomach tightened and was ready to be released as Aegon kept abusing your cunt.

He broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, "You are mine from tonight, if Aemond is too stupid not to claim you. then I will be the one to claim you." You who were blinded by lust nodded wearily, "Yes, yes, oh gods. Aegon." Aegon smiled and thrust his cock into your cunt again, before he spurted his seed inside you, you moaned softly feeling the warmth.

your breaths met, aegon slowly lowered his head to capture your lips once more. his kiss was softer and more meaningful, he slowly pulled out his cock which was starting to soften. He lay down beside you and hugged you from behind

The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the dying fire, the soft crackle of embers the only sound breaking the silence. You lay beneath the warmth of the heavy blanket, the weight of it grounding you as much as the arm draped over your waist. Aegon’s breath was steady against the back of your neck, warm and slow, the rhythm of sleep just beginning to claim him.

His hand rested lightly on your stomach, his fingers brushing against your skin with a lazy tenderness you had not expected. His other arm was tucked beneath his head, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder. It should have felt wrong — it did feel wrong — but you didn’t pull away. You stayed.

Your fingers traced soft circles over the length of his forearm, feeling the rough texture of old scars and the faint ridges of muscle beneath his skin. It was a mindless motion, something to distract you from the weight of everything that had just happened. The air still smelled faintly of wine, sweat, and something sweeter — a scent you couldn’t quite name but now felt branded into you.

Your eyes flickered toward the ceiling, unfocused. No amount of darkness could hide the thoughts swirling in your mind. What have I done? The question echoed, quiet but persistent. You had made your choice. Aegon had been more than willing to play his part, and for once, you had felt seen — truly seen — even if it wasn’t by the one you had wanted.

The ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. You’d done this for him — for Aemond — but he wasn’t here. He was never here. And yet, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of Aegon’s arms, it was easier to forget. Easier to believe, if only for a moment, that you had taken back some control.

“Still awake, little sister?” Aegon’s voice was a low rumble against your back, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of knowing in it. He could always tell when you were lost in thought.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers stilled on his arm, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “I’m thinking,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Dangerous thing, thinking,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. His hand shifted, fingers curling slightly against your stomach, pulling you just a little closer. “Better to stay here. Warm. Quiet.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Can it ever be quiet again?

He hummed in response, his breath slow, lazy. He didn’t press you for answers, didn’t push. That was the thing about Aegon — he didn’t demand anything from you. Not your loyalty, not your love, not even your words. He just took what was freely given and gave as little as was required in return. And tonight, that had been enough.

Silence hung between you for a while, thick and heavy but not uncomfortable. You closed your eyes, letting your breathing match his. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your skin, his touch light but present, grounding you even as your mind wandered.

Will he know? The thought crept in like a shadow. Will Aemond know? Will he care?

You clenched your eyes tighter, willing the thoughts away. This was not about him anymore. This was about you. About being seen. About being wanted.

Aegon’s lips brushed the back of your neck, his voice low and drowsy. “Sleep, little sister,” he murmured, his words slurred with the pull of sleep. “No one can hurt you here.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words heavier than he could have known. Slowly, you let your eyes drift shut.

No one can hurt me here.

Except, perhaps, yourself.

The sky was still a deep shade of indigo, the first light of dawn barely a whisper on the horizon. The Red Keep was silent, its cold stone halls eerily empty as you made your way back to your chambers. Your footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, each step a quiet reminder of the night you’d just left behind.

The warmth of Aegon’s arms still lingered on your skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade. His scent clung to you — wine, smoke, and something else uniquely him. For the first time in a long while, you felt… lighter. Not weighed down by longing or rejection. Not haunted by the feeling of being second to someone else. In Aegon’s arms, there had been no questions, no comparisons. Only touch, warmth, and the quiet, simple truth of being wanted.

You ran your fingers through your loose hair, attempting to tame it as you walked. Your gaze remained forward, unwavering, even as a few passing servants glanced your way. You could feel their eyes on you, hear the faint rustle of fabric as they bowed their heads. But you didn’t care. You didn’t shrink away. You didn’t lower your gaze.

Let them look.

You reached your chamber door and pushed it open with a slow, deliberate hand. The familiar comfort of your room greeted you, the soft glow of the dying hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. You closed the door behind you, leaning your back against it for a moment longer than necessary.

Your heart was steady. No guilt. No regret. Only a quiet certainty.

This is what it feels like to be loved.

Not in whispered promises or stolen glances. Not in cold, fleeting touches or moments of duty-bound affection. But in the firm hold of another who saw you — truly saw you — and did not turn away.

You moved toward the vanity, catching sight of yourself in the polished bronze mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips faintly swollen. Evidence of the night you’d had. You tilted your head slightly, brushing a thumb along the side of your neck where the faintest mark remained — a brand left by Aegon’s mouth.

Your fingers hovered over it for a moment before slowly dropping to your side.

You didn’t feel ashamed.

Let Aemond see it if he dares to look.

Your thoughts flickered to him then — your brother-husband. The man who was supposed to love you, to cherish you. But he had only ever seen someone else’s shadow when he looked at you. His gaze had always been for her. His heart had always been hers. No matter what you did, you would never be enough for him.

But for Aegon…

You breathed in deeply and turned away from the mirror, already untying the laces of your gown. It slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet as you moved toward your bed. Climbing beneath the sheets, you felt the soft warmth of the blankets surround you.

The sun would rise soon. Aemond would return to his duties. You would wear your gown and play the role of his wife, his shadow. But for now — for just a little longer — you would let yourself feel loved.

No guilt. No regret.

Only love.

The first light of dawn streamed through the window, casting a soft golden glow over your chamber. Standing before the polished bronze mirror, you carefully ran a brush through your hair, letting it fall freely over your shoulders in silver waves. No intricate braids. No pins or jewels. Just you — unbound, unhidden.

Your fingers hovered over the faint mark on your neck, the warmth of your touch bringing back the heat of last night’s whispers. “Let them see it. Let him see it.” Aegon’s voice echoed in your mind, his words dripping with mischief and certainty.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Yes, let them see it.

For so long, you had played the obedient wife, the forgotten sister, the overlooked daughter. But not today. Today, you would be seen. Not as someone’s shadow. Not as an echo of another. But as you.

You set the brush aside, letting your fingertips glide one last time over the mark on your neck. It wasn’t large, but it was enough. Enough for curious glances. Enough for whispers. Enough for him to see.

The green gown you had chosen for the day hugged your frame perfectly. The sleeves draped elegantly down your arms, and the neckline was just wide enough to leave the mark barely visible — a deliberate choice. Not too obvious, but not hidden either. If someone looked closely, they would see it. He would see it.

With one final glance in the mirror, you tilted your chin higher, a quiet pride burning in your chest. You had spent so long waiting to be seen, waiting to be loved. But no longer.

Today, you would no longer shrink into the background. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. Let him seethe.

With steady steps, you left your chamber, your hair swaying freely with each step. The soft rustle of your gown echoed down the stone corridor. Servants glanced your way, their eyes lingering on you a moment too long, faces flickering with surprise — perhaps even shock.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

When you reached the dining hall, the air grew still. The sound of conversation quieted as eyes turned toward you. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, a goblet in hand, his gaze already fixed on you. His lone eye scanned you from head to toe, his jaw tightening the moment his gaze settled on your neck.

His fingers curled slowly around the goblet, knuckles turning white.

He saw it.

You stepped forward, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. You did not bow your head. You did not avert your eyes.

For the first time, he was the one forced to watch you.

You moved gracefully toward the table, your gown flowing like water with each step. All eyes followed you, but you only paid attention to one. Aegon. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, his eyes half-lidded with mischief as he watched you approach.

You took the seat beside him, your movements slow, deliberate. His gaze lingered on your neck, and his grin widened knowingly. “Good morning, sister,” he greeted you, his voice smooth and soft, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Good morning, brother,” you replied, your tone just as sweet but layered with unspoken meaning.

Across the table, Alicent’s sharp eyes were already on you. Her gaze flickered to your neck — to the mark. Her brows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with that distinct look of a mother who knew exactly when something was out of place.

“What’s that on your neck, my dear?” Alicent’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge of suspicion in it. Her eyes darted between you and Aegon, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her goblet.

You blinked slowly, tilting your head slightly as if only now realizing what she meant. Your fingers lightly brushed over the mark, feigning surprise, before offering a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, this?” you said, glancing at her with an innocent smile. “I tripped last night while reaching for a book. I hit the edge of the table.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, eyes searching yours as if waiting for a crack in your composure. But you didn’t falter. You had spent too many years perfecting this mask.

“Clumsy of me, I know,” you added, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing it would only draw more attention to the mark. Your smile didn’t waver.

Alicent’s eyes flicked toward Aegon, who sat far too quietly beside you. He took a long sip from his cup, his eyes glinting with amusement. When he met Alicent’s gaze, he gave her a slow, lazy smile, as if daring her to question it further.

The Queen’s lips pressed tighter. She knew something was amiss, but with Aegon grinning like a cat who’d caught a bird, she could only let it go — for now.

“Be more careful, child,” Alicent said finally, though her tone was colder than before. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer before she turned her attention back to her meal.

You glanced at Aegon, your fingers resting lightly on the table. He leaned in, his lips brushing just close enough to your ear for you to hear.

“Careful, sister,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Or you’ll end up with more marks for them to question.”

Your eyes flicked to him, meeting his with quiet defiance and hidden amusement.

“Let them,” you whispered back, your voice as sharp as a blade. “Let him see.”

Aegon chuckled under his breath, his grin growing wider as he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with your answer.

On the other side of the table, Aemond sat in tense silence. His knife sliced through his meat with slow, deliberate precision, his gaze never leaving you. The muscle in his jaw ticked as his eye trailed the line of your exposed neck, and you knew he had seen it.

Good.

You reached for your goblet, taking a slow sip, letting the silence stretch just a moment longer. You didn’t look at him — you didn’t need to.

He was already watching.

Alicent cleared her throat, breaking the sharp tension that had settled over the dining hall. Her eyes shifted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her brow slightly furrowed in quiet disapproval. But as always, she maintained her composure.

“Come walk with me in the gardens after this,” Alicent said, her voice calm but firm, the tone of a mother who expected to be obeyed. Her gaze softened when it landed on your daughter, who was busy playing with a small wooden dragon on the table. “Bring her along. The fresh air will do her good.”

You glanced at Alicent, your heart slowing its wild rhythm. Her invitation wasn’t really a request — it was a command disguised as kindness. Still, you nodded, offering her a small, polite smile. “Of course, Mother,” you replied, brushing a gentle hand over your daughter’s silver hair. “I think she would love that.”

Alicent smiled at your agreement, but her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, sharp and knowing. You wondered if she had noticed the mark on your neck. She must have. Her gaze was too calculating, too perceptive. But she said nothing. Not yet.

Across the table, Aemond’s stare remained relentless, cold fire simmering beneath the surface. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he continued to watch you. Let him watch, you thought again, straightening your posture with quiet defiance.

Your daughter tugged on your sleeve, pulling your attention back to her. Her big, curious eyes looked up at you, and she smiled with that innocent joy only a child could have. “Can we pick flowers, Mother?” she asked, tilting her head with that soft, sweet look she always gave you.

You smiled down at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Yes, my sweet flower. We’ll pick as many as you like.”

Her giggle was bright, a sound that eased some of the heaviness clinging to your heart. You turned to Alicent and nodded once more. “Shall we, Mother?”

Alicent glanced at Aemond and Aegon one last time, her lips tightening into a small, unreadable line. “Yes, child,” she replied, standing from her seat with slow grace. “Let us go before the sun grows too hot.”

With your daughter’s tiny hand in yours, you followed Alicent out of the hall. You didn’t look back. Not at Aemond. Not at Aegon. But you felt them both watching you, their eyes like shadows following your every step.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers surrounded you, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on your chest. Your gaze remained locked on your daughter as she giggled and chased a butterfly through the field of blossoms, her silver hair shining like threads of moonlight. Her joy was a stark contrast to the quiet tension that lingered between you and your mother.

You didn’t have to look at her to know Alicent was watching you. You could feel it — the sharp, piercing weight of her gaze on the side of your face, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her silence wasn’t aimless. It was deliberate, calculated, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your jaw tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. But patience had its limits, and you were done pretending not to notice.

“If you have something to say, Mother,” you said softly but firmly, still watching your daughter twirl among the flowers. “Then say it.”

There was a pause. Long enough for you to hear the distant call of crows circling above the Red Keep. Alicent’s sigh was quiet but unmistakable, the kind of sigh that only a mother makes when she’s both disappointed and trying to be patient.

“I have always taught you to be careful,” Alicent finally said, her voice calm but edged with warning. “To be wise. But now, you walk the halls as if you want the whole castle to see you.”

You turned to face her slowly, tilting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her green eyes, sharp as polished glass, met yours without hesitation.

“Is that what you think, Mother?” you asked with a wry smile. “That I want them to see me?”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stepped forward, closing the space between you. Her eyes flickered briefly to the faint mark on your neck — the mark you had left uncovered. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long before returning to your face.

“Do you think Aemond won’t notice?” she asked quietly, her voice like a knife hidden in silk. “Do you think he won’t care?”

You lifted your chin, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I hope he does,” you replied, your voice as steady as stone. “I want him to.”

Alicent blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. Disappointment, perhaps. Or maybe something else entirely. She studied you, her gaze sweeping over your face as if trying to decipher a riddle she hadn’t expected.

“You think this will give you power over him,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost sad. “But men like Aemond do not yield. They burn. And when they burn, they take everything with them.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke after a wildfire. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t bow your head.

“Then let him burn, Mother,” you replied, your voice colder than before. “I am tired of being the ash.”

Alicent’s eyes softened just for a moment, a flicker of something like sorrow crossing her face. But just as quickly, it was gone, hidden beneath her ever-composed mask. She glanced at your daughter, who had plucked a handful of wildflowers and was now weaving them into a messy little crown.

“You have more to protect than yourself now,” Alicent reminded you, her eyes returning to yours with quiet intensity. “Don’t forget that.”

Her words lingered as she turned and walked away, her green gown trailing behind her like a shadow stretching long in the sun. You watched her leave, feeling the weight of her warning settle on your shoulders.

Your daughter ran up to you, holding the flower crown high with a proud grin. “Look, Mother! It’s for you!” she beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

You knelt down to her level, letting her place the crooked crown on your head. Her little hands patted it into place, her giggles filling the air like birdsong.

“Does it suit me?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

She nodded eagerly, her eyes glowing with love. “You’re the prettiest queen ever, Mother!”

You smiled at her, pulling her close for a hug. Your eyes drifted to where Alicent had disappeared among the trees, her words still echoing in your mind.

“Then let him burn,” you repeated silently to yourself, holding your daughter just a little tighter. “Let him burn.”

You walked slowly through the long corridors of the Red Keep, the soft glow of sunlight streaming in from the high windows. The sound of your daughter’s giggles and her tiny, delighted murmurs filled the air like a melody, bringing a rare warmth to your heart. Her little hand gripped yours tightly, her steps uneven but determined as she tried to keep up with you. Her silver hair shimmered in the light, so much like her father’s — a thought you quickly pushed away.

Your smile lingered, but it faltered as soon as you noticed him.

Aemond.

He stood at the far end of the corridor, his tall figure framed by the light behind him, casting his face in shadow. But even without seeing him clearly, you knew he was staring at you. His one eye was fixed on you with that sharp, unyielding intensity that had always made you feel so small. His steps were slow but deliberate, his boots echoing with each heavy step as he made his way toward you.

Your heart clenched. There was no mistaking the storm brewing in his gaze. It wasn’t rage — not quite. It was something colder, something that sat beneath the surface and lingered like frost on a blade.

You braced yourself, fingers tightening around your daughter’s hand. She didn’t notice. She was too busy humming a little tune to herself, blissfully unaware of the silent battle unfolding in front of her.

Aemond drew closer, his lips pressed into a firm line, his gaze flicking to you and then to the child at your side. His eye lingered on the faint mark on your neck — the one you hadn’t bothered to hide. His jaw clenched. You saw the muscle in his cheek twitch, and for a moment, you wondered if he would stop walking entirely.

But before he could reach you, another figure appeared.

“Aha! There she is!”

Aegon’s voice echoed down the hall, loud and lazy as always. He strolled toward you with a grin, his arms wide as if greeting old friends. You barely had time to react before he swooped in, his movements quick but somehow still unbothered.

“Come here, little dragon,” he cooed as he scooped your daughter up into his arms, lifting her high into the air. She shrieked with laughter, her small hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Uncle Aegon!” she squealed with delight, giggling as he spun her around in the air. “Higher! Higher!”

“Your wish is my command, little lady,” he grinned, his voice full of playful charm. He twirled her once more, her silver hair flying in wild loops around her face.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. “Aegon, careful,” you warned, your voice firm but not harsh. “You’ll make her sick if you keep spinning her like that.”

He glanced at you, flashing that devil-may-care grin that had gotten him into trouble too many times to count. “Nonsense,” he said with mock seriousness, lowering her only a little. “This one’s a Targaryen. We don’t get dizzy.” He tapped his temple with a wink.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your daughter’s laughter was too infectious. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

But then you felt it.

That gaze.

Aemond hadn’t moved. He stood still as stone, his eye burning into the side of your face. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had gone pale, his hands folded neatly behind his back, as if he was restraining himself.

His eye flicked to Aegon, watching as he cradled your daughter close to his chest, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on her back. Aegon wasn’t even looking at him. His attention was fully on you and the child in his arms.

“She looks just like you,” Aegon said suddenly, his voice quieter than before. He glanced at you, his grin still in place, but something in his tone had shifted. “All fire and pride.”

You tilted your head, unsure if he was complimenting you or mocking you. “She takes after her mother,” you replied coolly.

“Of course she does,” he agreed with a knowing smirk. His eyes met yours — and lingered a moment too long. A silent message exchanged. One only the two of you could understand.

Aemond saw it.

He saw everything.

You could feel his anger like a second heartbeat in the room, slow and steady but undeniable. His breathing was controlled, his shoulders squared, but the flicker of his eye betrayed him. He was seething.

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice finally cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Icy. Absolute.

The air grew cold.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, his grin unfading, but he lowered your daughter from his arms with exaggerated care. She pouted at him, disappointed that their game was over.

“Uncle Aegon will play with you later, little one,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Go with your mother for now.”

Your daughter nodded, still pouting, but she took your hand obediently. Aegon gave her one last playful wink before turning his eyes back to Aemond.

There was no laughter now.

The two brothers stared at each other in silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the corridor like smoke after a fire.

Aegon’s grin was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. “Brother,” he greeted with mock politeness, tilting his head slightly as if offering respect. It was anything but.

Aemond’s lips barely moved. “Aegon.”

For a moment, you wondered if they might come to blows right there in front of you. But Aegon, always the one to avoid true confrontation, only shrugged.

“Don’t glare at me, brother,” Aegon drawled, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. “You should be thanking me. After all, someone has to remind her what it feels like to be seen.”

The silence after his words was deafening.

Your breath hitched, heart thudding in your chest. You didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful for Aegon’s boldness.

Aemond’s face was still, so still that it was almost inhuman. But his eye — his eye was a storm. His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. The weight of his anger was like thunder rumbling in the distance, waiting for the lightning to strike.

You squeezed your daughter’s hand, forcing yourself to remain calm. You could not let them see you break. Not now. Not ever.

“Come, darling,” you said softly to your child, brushing your fingers through her hair. “Let’s not waste our time here.”

You didn’t look at Aemond as you passed him. You kept your head high, your chin lifted, your steps slow and deliberate. You knew he was watching you. You could feel it, the searing heat of his gaze following your every movement.

Aegon’s chuckle echoed behind you, soft and full of mischief. “See you at dinner, little sister,” he called after you, his tone light and carefree. But you knew better. His words were never as simple as they seemed.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

But you felt it.

The fire.

The storm.

The weight of Aemond’s gaze burned hotter than dragonflame, and this time, you didn’t run from it. You let it sear into your back like a brand, unyielding and undeniable.

If he was going to watch you burn, then so be it.

Let him burn too.

You walked down the quiet corridor with your daughter by your side, the soft click of your shoes echoing in the stone hallways of the Red Keep. The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a silvery glow on the floor beneath your feet. Your appearance tonight was different—more daring. Your silver hair, usually left to fall in gentle waves, was now loosely braided down your back, and the dress you wore hugged your figure in a way that felt more bold than your usual attire.

As you reached the door to your mother’s private solar, you paused for a moment, steadying your breath. You had made the decision, and now there was no turning back. You were determined to stand tall, regardless of the consequences.

When the door opened, you were greeted by a mixture of expressions. Your mother, Alicent, stood in the center of the room, her eyes wide in confusion as she took in your appearance. Her gaze flickered to your daughter, who tugged at your hand, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air.

But it was the other two men in the room who caught your full attention. Aegon, leaning casually against the stone wall, stared at you with a dark, unreadable look in his eyes, his lips curling into a slight smirk. There was something almost predatory in the way he watched you. And then, there was Aemond. His face was a mask of barely contained fury, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Aegon’s voice broke the silence, smooth and laced with an edge. “Well, well… someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

But it was Aemond’s glare that pierced through the air like a sword. His fists clenched at his sides, his expression darkened, and his voice came out cold, sharp. “What is this?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving you.

For a moment, you hesitated. The weight of their gazes pressed on you, but you refused to let it make you falter. This was your moment. You had decided this path, and no matter how much it hurt, you would not back down.

“I’m simply here,” you said, your voice calm but resolute, “to have dinner with my mother. Is that a crime?”

Aemond’s anger was palpable, and his voice came out with a bite that made your skin tingle. “It’s not your presence that’s troubling, it’s the way you choose to present yourself, wife,” he spat, stepping forward. “You think you can—”

You didn’t let him finish. You could feel the tension between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it control you. “I am not your possession, Aemond,” you said firmly, locking eyes with him. “I don’t need your approval.”

There was a moment of silence before Aegon chuckled softly, the sound almost mocking. “Aemond, I think she’s made her point,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you should stop trying to control everyone.”

Aemond’s expression tightened, and his lips curled into a thin, angry line. The room seemed to close in around you as the weight of his fury bore down on you. But you didn’t look away. You had lived in his shadow for so long, but now, you were ready to step out.

“I think we’re done here,” you said finally, your voice a low whisper. You turned to your mother, who was still standing, her expression unreadable.

“Let’s go, darling,” you said to your daughter, your voice soft, almost a comfort to her.

As you walked past them, you could feel Aemond’s gaze following you, sharp and unforgiving. But you didn’t look back. You had made your choice, and now you would live with it. You would no longer let Aemond or anyone else dictate who you should be. You would forge your own path, one that was yours and yours alone.

You approached Helaena, who was seated gracefully with her twin children playing at her feet. Her gentle smile greeted you like the soft glow of dawn, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of warmth.

“Go on, sweet girl,” you whispered to your daughter, nudging her toward her cousins. She glanced up at you with bright, trusting eyes before running off to join them, her giggles mixing with those of the twins. The sound was soft, innocent, untouched by the weight of the world around them.

Helaena tilted her head, watching you with that faraway look she so often had. “She’s grown so much,” she said softly, her voice like a dream. “She looks like you.”

You smiled, brushing a hand over your gown. “She has her father’s stubbornness,” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt.

You turned and made your way to the table, your steps slow and deliberate. Your eyes scanned the room, and you immediately caught the heavy gaze of your mother. Alicent sat straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, her eyes locked on you. There was no mistaking that look. It wasn’t mere observation — it was scrutiny. A silent demand for answers.

You didn’t falter. You met her gaze head-on, unblinking, unyielding. She raised a single brow, a silent warning, but you kept walking.

Aegon was already seated, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. His sharp eyes followed you as you approached, a grin slowly curling at the edges of his lips. He shifted just slightly, making space for you at his side.

“Looking radiant tonight, sister,” Aegon remarked, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes dropped briefly to your neck — to the faint mark you had chosen not to hide. His grin widened. “It seems you’ve found yourself in some mischief.”

You sat next to him, ignoring the way his fingers briefly brushed against your arm. He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping lower so only you could hear. “He’s watching you,” he murmured, his eyes flicking toward the other end of the room.

You didn’t have to turn to know who he meant.

Aemond.

He choose to sit with Helaena tonight. His posture as stiff as ever. You felt the weight of him before you even glanced his way. He was quiet, but his presence was louder than the chatter of everyone else in the room.

He didn’t look at you directly at first. His gaze flickered from his plate to Aegon’s hand, which lingered a moment too long on the back of your chair. His jaw tightened. The muscle there tensed, his lips pressing into a thin, firm line.

“Brother,” Aemond finally said, his voice cool and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You seem particularly lively this evening.”

Aegon chuckled lowly, tipping his cup of wine toward Aemond. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a fine night, after all.” He glanced at you, his grin widening. “And I have fine company.”

You felt Aemond shift beside you, his body leaning forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known. You turned your head slowly, meeting his eye. His gaze was sharp, cutting, filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Anger? Jealousy?

“Strange,” Aemond muttered, his gaze flicking briefly to the mark on your neck before returning to your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d need company outside of your husband.”

Silence fell over the table. Your mother’s eyes sharpened, her lips parting slightly as if to intervene. Helaena blinked slowly, still playing with her twins, as though she hadn’t noticed the shift in the air. But she had. You could tell.

Your heart pounded, but you kept your face calm, composed. You tilted your head, allowing a faint smile to tug at your lips. “A husband must first be present to be considered company,” you replied softly, your words carrying more weight than volume.

Aegon’s laughter broke the silence like shattering glass. He leaned forward, his eyes alight with mischief, his gaze flickering between you and Aemond. “Oh, she’s sharp tonight,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Careful, brother. You’ll cut yourself on her wit.”

Aemond’s gaze remained locked on you, cold fire burning beneath the surface. His fingers twitched at his side, his body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. But he said nothing. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken.

Your mother cleared her throat, finally breaking the tension. “Enough,” Alicent said firmly, her voice cutting through the room like a queen’s command. Her eyes darted between you, Aegon, and Aemond. “This is a family meal, not a spectacle.”

Aegon only chuckled, sipping his wine with a lazy grin. You glanced at Aemond one last time, meeting his eye with the same unflinching defiance you’d shown your mother.

He would not win tonight.

Throughout the dinner, your attention remained firmly on Aegon. The two of you spoke softly, exchanging words only the two of you could hear. He had abandoned his wine tonight, a rare occurrence, and instead, his full attention was on you. His gaze lingered, sharp and knowing, a look that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

His fingers brushed over your arm every so often as he spoke, light but deliberate, and when you laughed at one of his quips, he reached up to tuck a loose strand of silver hair behind your ear. The touch lingered just a moment too long. Warm. Familiar. Intentional.

Your heart fluttered, though you did not show it. It wasn’t love. No, it was something simpler but just as powerful — being wanted. Being noticed.

Across the table, you felt his eyes on you. Aemond. He was quiet as ever, his knife slicing through his food with sharp precision. But he wasn’t eating. No, he was watching. His gaze was unwavering, fixed on the space where Aegon’s hand had rested on your arm. His fingers curled around the handle of his knife, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

He hated it. You knew he did.

The weight of his jealousy filled the room like smoke, thick and choking, but you didn’t flinch. Not this time. You straightened your back and leaned just a little closer to Aegon, letting out a soft laugh that carried just enough sweetness to turn bitter in Aemond’s ears. You didn’t even have to look at him to know. You could feel his fury like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Alicent noticed it too. Her eyes darted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her lips pressed into a thin line. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she say? What could anyone say?

Aegon leaned in toward you again, his voice low but loud enough for others to hear if they truly paid attention. “Careful, little sister,” he murmured, his grin sharp as ever. “He looks ready to start a war.”

You tilted your head just slightly, glancing at Aemond from the corner of your eye. His face was stone, hard and cold, but his eye told a different story. It burned with something wild, something raw.

You turned your gaze back to Aegon and smiled, soft and sweet. “Let him,” you whispered, just loud enough for Aemond to hear. “I’ve had enough of his silence.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with surprise before he threw his head back in laughter. He laughed so loud and so carelessly that even Helaena glanced up from her plate, blinking in confusion. Alicent frowned deeply, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

But you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control.

Aemond’s knife clattered against his plate, the sudden sound drawing everyone’s attention. His jaw was clenched tight, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice deadly calm, his eye never leaving you. His gaze lingered on you for a breath longer than necessary before he turned and strode out of the room, his steps sharp and echoing.

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. Alicent glanced at you, her eyes full of questions she wouldn’t dare ask in front of everyone. Helaena blinked, her gaze following Aemond’s retreating figure. Aegon raised his cup, tilting it toward you as if to say well done.

You only smiled, eyes fixed on the door Aemond had just walked through.

He had always been so composed, so controlled. But not tonight.

Tonight, you had won.

The warmth of satisfaction still lingered in your chest as you made your way to your chambers. The image of Aemond’s face at dinner replayed in your mind — the tightness of his jaw, the sharp flare of anger in his eye, and the way he stormed out, unable to contain himself. It had been so long since you’d seen him break like that. He finally felt it, you thought to yourself. He finally knows what it feels like to be ignored.

Your steps echoed softly against the cold stone floors as you approached your door. You pushed it open, expecting the quiet stillness of your chambers. But the moment you stepped inside, the air shifted.

He was there.

Aemond stood in front of the fire, the golden flames casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. His back was to you, his hands clasped behind him. His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was something different tonight. Something simmering beneath the surface.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you froze. Your heart gave a sharp, sudden thud in your chest.

“Aemond,” you said, keeping your voice steady. You raised your chin, unwilling to show even a flicker of hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence was thick and stifling. Slowly, he turned his head, his eye catching the glow of the fire. He glanced at you from over his shoulder, his face half in shadow, half in light. His gaze dragged over you slowly — from your disheveled hair to the slight crease in your gown. His gaze lingered on your neck. On the mark that you hadn’t bothered to cover.

His lips curled into a sneer.

“Enjoying yourself, sister?” His voice was quiet but razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. He turned fully now, his gaze locking onto yours with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.

You felt the heat of it, but you refused to look away. “I don’t know what you mean,” you replied calmly, stepping further into the room. You untied the clasp of your cloak and let it slide from your shoulders, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. “I spent the evening with our family, just as you did.”

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his jaw ticking with tension. He took a slow step forward, his eye never leaving you.

“Do not play games with me,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, dangerous. “You know exactly what I mean.” Another step forward. “Do you think I didn’t see it? The way you clung to him — the way he touched you.” His eye darted to your neck again, and you swore you saw his teeth clench. “Do you think i'm blind, sister?”

You tilted your head, your fingers toying with the loose braid in your hair. “You never seemed to care before,” you said, letting the words drip with venom. “Why care now, husband?”

That struck him. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened, in the way his breath grew heavier. He strode toward you, closing the distance between you in only a few strides. He stopped inches from you, his height looming over you like a storm cloud.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice low, quiet, but full of danger. “Do not mistake indifference for mercy.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you did not back away. Not tonight. Not after everything. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyes as sharp as his. “And do not mistake neglect for loyalty,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. “You gave me nothing, Aemond. No love. No warmth. You treated me like a shadow while you poured your affection into her.” Your lips curled into a bitter smile. “So forgive me if I sought comfort elsewhere.”

For a moment, silence reigned. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you like he didn’t know whether to destroy you or claim you. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to move, to act, to do something.

“You think you’ve won,” he muttered, his voice laced with something dangerous, something raw. “You think you’ve made me jealous.” He leaned down, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “But jealousy is for fools. I do not envy Aegon.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I pity him.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground. You turned your face toward him, so close that your noses almost touched. “Pity him all you want,” you whispered, your voice a deadly softness. “But at least he knows how to cherish what’s his.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the sharp rhythm of your breathing. His gaze darted to your lips for the briefest second before he pulled back, his face twisted with something like fury — or maybe something more dangerous than that.

Without another word, Aemond turned on his heel and strode toward the door. But before he opened it, he stopped, his fingers gripping the handle so tightly you thought it might break. He glanced at you one last time, his eye burning with cold fire.

“Be careful, wife,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “When you play with fire, it does not just burn — it consumes.”

Then he was gone, the heavy thud of the door echoing through the room like thunder.

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath shallow and sharp. Slowly, you pressed your fingers against the mark on your neck, feeling the heat of it beneath your skin.

Let it burn, you thought. Let it burn us both.

You sit on your bed, your thoughts tangled and chaotic after Aemond’s words. The weight of everything pressing on your chest feels unbearable. You slip on your robe to cover the nightgown you’ve been wearing, your movements mechanical as you try to regain some composure. You need to talk to Helaena, to try and make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

You walk towards her chamber, the steady rhythm of your footsteps the only sound in the hall. But as you approach her door, something stops you.

A muffled gasp.

Your heart lurches in your chest, an icy chill running down your spine. You stop in your tracks, frozen, as you listen. Another sound follows — a soft, breathy moan. His voice.

Aemond.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. Your body tenses as you try to steady your breath. You want to move away, to leave this moment behind, but something keeps you rooted to the spot.

You recognize the sound all too well — it belongs to him. You’ve heard it before, in different contexts, but never like this. Not with Helaena.

Your head spun, and it felt as if thousands of daggers were piercing your heart. Your hands shook at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Part of you wanted to run, to escape the reality standing so plainly before you. But another part of you needed to know. You had to know.

You stepped back, breath shallow, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your gaze was locked on the door, and though you told yourself to leave, your feet wouldn’t move. You stood there, caught between heartbreak and rage, unable to tear yourself away from the sounds beyond that door.

A soft laugh echoed from inside. It was Helaena’s. You recognized it instantly. Then came his voice — low, rough, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. His voice, the one that should have been meant for you alone.

“Aemond…” Helaena’s voice was like a whisper in the storm, soft but sharp enough to slice through you. Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your skin as your lips trembled. You knew you should leave. You knew it was pointless to stay, letting yourself be shattered like this.

But still, you stood there. Letting it destroy you.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood, trying to stifle the sob rising in your throat. Your chest tightened with every breath, a wild mix of pain, fury, and disbelief. For so long, you had tried to convince yourself that maybe — just maybe — Aemond would see you. That one day, he would love you the way a husband should love his wife.

But he never did. He never chose you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unrelenting. You touched your chest as if you could somehow reach into it and pull the ache out with your bare hands. But it stayed, heavy and unyielding.

It was always Helaena. Always her.

You wiped the tears from your face, trying to steady yourself. Desperate gasps and quiet groans grew louder from beyond the door. You couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. Your legs, frozen moments ago, now felt as light as air. You turned on your heel, gown swishing around you, your footsteps quick and determined as you fled down the corridor.

The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard you bit your lip to silence your sobs. Each step echoed with the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to deny. He will never love you. Not as he loves her. Not as he loves Helaena.

But as you moved further away, a single name came to mind.

Aegon.

You remembered the way Aegon had watched you earlier. His gaze wasn’t distant or dismissive. It was focused. He saw you. His lingering touch on your arm, the way he ran his fingers through your hair, and the way he smiled at you at the dinner table. He sees you. He sees everything that Aemond refuses to see.

You wiped your tears with a rough, angry swipe, your breathing still uneven. No more tears. Not for Aemond. Not for a man who never saw you as enough.

That night, you would not sleep alone.

With that resolve, you left your chambers, letting your gown trail behind you like the shadow of a queen who had been wronged. You knew where you were going. You knew exactly who would be waiting for you with open arms.

Aegon.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel guilty. Not anymore.

You rush toward Aegon’s chamber, your steps frantic and your heart racing, the tears flowing freely. When you reach the door, you throw it open without thinking, startling Aegon, who had been sipping his wine. His eyes widen as he takes in your tear-streaked face, and before he can speak, you rush into his arms.

Aegon hesitates for just a moment, then pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in his chest. His grip is firm and comforting, but he senses the desperation in your touch.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through your hair. But you shake your head, your words muffled against him.

“I… I can’t anymore. I need you to make me forget,” you whisper, your voice fragile. “I can’t bear this pain anymore.”

Aegon stiffens for a moment, his breath hitching, before he gently pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression is soft, his own emotions carefully hidden beneath the surface, but the intensity of his gaze never wavers.

“Forget?” His voice is low, a mixture of concern and something else, something deeper.

You nod, your hands trembling as you reach up to touch his face. “Please… make me forget him. Just for tonight.”

Aegon stares at you, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He breathes in deeply, as if debating something internally, before he leans forward and presses his lips gently against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but as you respond to him, it deepens, his hands pulling you closer. For a brief moment, the world around you fades away, and you forget the pain, the heartache, and the betrayal. It’s just him, and it’s just you, lost in the moment, as though you’re both trying to escape the heavy burdens of your lives.

When the kiss breaks, Aegon doesn’t pull away completely. He holds you close, his forehead resting against yours, and whispers, “For tonight… I’ll make you forget, if that’s what you need.”

He lifted you up and laid you on his bed, he didn't say anything else. He wiped your tears and started kissing you, his kiss was soft, softer than yesterday. Without breaking the kiss he slowly stroked your breasts which were still covered by your nightgown, squeezing them gently which made you moan in your kiss.

he slowly untied your nightgown and revealed your breasts, his kisses started to trail down to your neck, kissing the marks he left last night. then his hands played with your nipples making you moan his name.

"Aegon" He went back down your body with his kisses, moving from your stomach, then his lips arrived in front of your cunt. He started kissing it and licking it making you arch your body and moan softly, your hands went to his hair and squeezed it gently. Your legs were on his shoulders as he began to eat you out, his tongue skillfully licking and sucking your wet folds.

"you taste so sweet, love"

He inserted a finger into you and pumped it slowly, his mouth still sucking on your swollen clit you spread your legs even wider to make it easier for him. When he added another finger you squirmed beneath him and he held your hips to keep you still, your body arched from the pleasure he gave you, a pleasure that Aemond never gave you.

"Fuck me aegon, make me round of your child. Fill me up with your seed, breed me until i can't take your seed anymore"

Aegon growled, the thought of you being heavy with his seed made his cock even harder. Without thinking, Aegon crawled over you and kissed you roughly, you could taste yourself in his mouth. Without warning, he thrust his cock into you, both of you moaning together. He stretched you out deliciously.

Aegon didn't hold back, he slammed his hips into you roughly and fast. Seeing you moan helplessly beneath him made him even hotter, your breasts shaking in time with his thrusts, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your body arching as he finds that spot. You drive him crazy, crazy because of your body, crazy because he knows you are his now.

"tell me sister, did aemond fuck you like i did hm?" Your mind is too hazy, clouded by lust. your mouth was open but you didn't answer, you could only sigh continuously and it made him smile. "that's what i thought"

Your back arches up when the head of his member prods against your sensitive spot. “You take me so well, sister.” He groaned again as he felt your walls squeeze him, as if wanting to milk all the seed that was there.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “With my cum until you’re leaking and breed you until I’m satisfied.”

You tries to formulate a coherent response, but your hazy mind betrays you and whines come out in response. Sweat dripping down your back as your hips rock back and forth, frantically seeking your own pleasure.

Laughter stumbles past Aegon’ lips as he delivers a sharp slap on your supple flesh, stroking it afterwards. “That’s it sister, let go.”

Your body shook as you felt your peak approaching, you screamed his name as you reached your peak. Aegon slammed his cock and spurted his seed inside you, he felt your walls squeeze him tightly and milking him until the last drop of his seed. He didn't let go of his cock, he hugged you and lay down with you. He kissed your back and let sleep consume the both of you.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the weight of your world is lifted.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @yazzzmints @hangmanscoming @giirlinblack

[togenabi]

the promised knight

knight!roronoa zoro x princess!reader

♡— after a lifetime apart, zoro finds his way back to you

word count♡— 8.7k (screams into the void)

genre♡— royalty au, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, slow burn bc a lot of things happen, but there's fluff bc I need there to be

content notes♡— fem!reader wears dresses, mentions of death and grief, very plot heavy, kuina and mihawk are here, canon-typical violence, original side characters, no use of y/n, proofread(ish), inaccurate royalty things, inaccurate chemistry/poisons/acids, yes I got the name florentia from ill be the matriarch

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— quick explanation!: a regent has no right to the throne, they're just someone stepping in temporarily while the next monarch is absent or unable to execute their powers. happy reading!!

Your happiest years were when everyone was together.

Those were the days you’d sneak out of your lessons to go play in the training grounds. You’d find your best friends arguing about something or other, fighting with wooden swords and chasing each other around.

Kuina and Zoro did their best to include you in whatever game they were playing. You found it all good fun, even if you were mostly being rescued or hidden away somewhere. The proud smiles on their faces when they saved you always made the wait for them worth it.

“Why do I have to play the bad guy?” A young Zoro whines, frowning deeply with shoulders slumped. His wooden sword hangs lazily in his hand, pointed to the ground. 

Opposite him, Kuina’s blade was up, stable and correct with proper posture. “Because we agreed I would save the princess today!”

You remember sending Zoro a small smile, trying to reassure him, “You can save me next time, Zoro. I promise.”

Zoro complained, but gave his all acting as a bandit out to rob you. You and Kuina would run into the meadow—hands held in each other’s—squealing and laughing. You’d always end up collapsed together; among the grass and the flowers. They would cheer and scream into the sky, happy that the great knights protected their princess once again.

But that same meadow is now covered with a blanket of melancholy. The colors aren’t as vibrant as they were back then. Flowers no longer bloom like they did. The children’s laughter has been replaced by a deafening silence.

Everything changed when Kuina died.

She was hit by a stray arrow, they said. They called it a tragic accident. 

More sadness only seemed to follow after she was gone. Zoro left without a word, abandoning his training, and you along with it. Your mother, Queen Florentia, passed due to an illness a few months after that. In a blink of an eye, you lost everything back then.

The large doors to your chambers slam shut, breaking you from your train of thought. The thud echoes into every corner before fading into noiselessness once more. 

A maid rushes in, completely out of breath and practically stumbling towards you. “Your Highness!” She gasps. Waving a hand, you gesture for her to calm down.

“Selma,” You pour her some water in a glass. It’s strange to see your personal maid so distressed. “What did you find?”

Practically inhaling the water, she places a hand over her heart before explaining, “You were right, Your Ladyship. The commander informed me that several knights had poison hidden in their quarters.”

Her eyes trail to the glass she’s holding, then to the pitcher. Selma’s face becomes appalled as it sinks in that you had poured her a drink. You cut her off before she can make a fuss about it.

“Never mind all that.” There are more pressing matters than decorum right now. “What else did Mihawk say? Have the knights been apprehended?”

“No, my Lady.” Selma retrieves a transparent vial from her pocket. “The commander said there's a chance the poisons were planted. Trustworthy men could have been framed… He discourages you from trusting any of them at all.”

The vial is small, barely larger than your thumb. To an untrained eye, it looks like nothing is there. You hold it up to the window, letting the sun’s setting rays shine through the glass.

There it is. A near-invisible, lavender sheen in liquid. The queen regent’s signature poison.

“Damn it all.” You sigh, falling into an armchair. 

It’s common knowledge that most of the people are loyal to Queen Regent Cassiopeia. Not to you, the rightful heir to the throne.

Ever since she took the position after your mother’s death, she’s been doing everything in her power to discredit you. Though she's not in the official line of succession, her goal is to become queen by any means necessary.

You’ve only been able to hold on for so long because there are still people loyal to your mother, like Commander Mihawk. However, it will take only one slip up for your standing to collapse. Cassiopeia knows this, and you suspect that she plans to completely ruin you at the upcoming knighting ceremony.

On a paneled wall in your room, encased in an ornate golden frame, hangs a portrait of Queen Florentia. The gold reminds you of the gilded dagger she gave you as a child. 

Subconsciously, your hand moves to rest over your pocket; where the dagger is hidden under your skirt. What would your mother have done in this situation?

You scan the painting as if the image would respond. It doesn’t, but your eyes settle on the necklace she’s wearing. It was her most prized possession, and she had promised to give it to you when you were older, but it’s sadly lost to time.

The vial grows heavy in your fist. Your mother would stop at nothing until Cassiopeia is defeated, so that’s what you’ll set out to do.

“Selma, get me some ink and parchment.” You order, feeling more determined. “I have a plan.”

Dracule Mihawk burned the note as soon as he finished reading it. Your idea was brilliant, if only a little complicated to execute. 

Cassiopeia will demand you choose a personal knight during the ceremony. Assuming all the knights are loyal to the queen regent, none of them would be a safe choice.

So, you asked Mihawk to hire a skilled fighter to pose as a knight. Someone whose loyalty cannot be bought. Immediately, he knew who to recruit. Though he warned you that you might not find the man… agreeable.

“I don’t care.” You replied stubbornly. “I can’t afford to be picky. Just make sure that he won’t kill me in my sleep.”

Mihawk muses that he might be killed by you in his sleep. Because in a shady, run-down tavern, he sits beside a familiar green-haired swordsman nursing a drink at the bar.

“Fancy seeing you here, commander.” Zoro spits out the title in disgust.

“It seems that some things never change.” Mihawk hums. “You’re still in the same place as you were when we last fought.”

“And your legend ends with you kissing up to that false queen.” Disappointment practically drips from his tone.

“And here you are,” There’s an amused glint in the knight commander’s eye. “...still not able to beat me, Roronoa Zoro.”

Zoro’s jaw clenches in frustration. He breathes out deeply, “What do you want, old man?”

“Join my knights.”

Scoffing, Zoro can’t believe his ears. Is this guy serious? “I’m no knight. Not anymore.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mihawk tests. “The princess needs someone not easily dissuaded.”

At the mention of you, Zoro freezes. He squints at the commander as it dawns on him, “You don’t serve that Cassiopeia bitch.”

“Obviously.”

“But why did you become commander only after Queen Florentia died?” Zoro asks. “Everyone thought you were bought off.”

“That’s besides the point.” Mihawk hisses. “I know you’ve been wanting to make it up to the princess. I’m giving you a chance to do that on a silver platter.”

Zoro stays quiet, eyes watching the alcohol ripple in his glass. He’s not drunk enough for this discussion. And he meant what he said, that he’s not a knight. That dream died with Kuina, and he chose to pursue less honorable ways to become stronger.

It’s funny how Mihawk, who was an outlaw, traded his jacket for a suit of armor. And now, he's trying to act righteous. But some things are just—

“It’s not too late to change things.” Mihawk attempts to persuade him, calmer this time. “Something tells me you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Shaking his head, Zoro can’t believe this man is talking like he knows him. “What do you know about regret?”

When the commander doesn’t respond, Zoro turns to see Mihawk’s face, a grave expression marks his features.

“I know far too much, I’m afraid.”

Zoro studies him for a moment longer, curious as to what he meant—but he doesn’t dare ask. Only an idiot would test Dracule Mihawk. 

This master swordsman, whom he’s looked up to for so many years, has changed drastically. Perhaps everyone has. It makes Zoro wonder how much you might’ve changed in the years he’s been gone.

You. He’s—there’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to ask… but does he have the right to? 

Who is he kidding? He doesn’t. 

And yet, Zoro can’t help but wonder if he passes on this opportunity and regrets it, would he spend the rest of his life wishing he could make up for it?

After downing his drink, Zoro slams the glass on the bar counter.

“What do I need to do?”

Selma assists you with your hair and makeup on the day of the ceremony. She’s practically buzzing as she flutters around you. It’s nice that she’s still enthusiastic about things like these, even when dangers lurk in the shadows.

“You look stunning, Your Ladyship!” She gushes, adjusting the different layers of your dress so that it falls on you perfectly. “A vision, you are. Just like Queen Florentia.”

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, despite not feeling as sure and confident as your mother was. Would that change, if you were to become queen?

A knock sounds on your door. Selma rushes to answer it, and lets Mihawk into your chambers. He steps in, but remains by the entryway.

“You look lovely, princess.” The commander bows to you in greeting. “I was instructed to escort you once you’re ready.”

Nodding, you approach him and hold onto his arm. “Let us be on our way.”

Keeping your face carefully neutral, you whisper to Mihawk under your breath, “Will you really not let me know the knight’s name? How am I supposed to know who to appoint?”

“You’ll know.” Mihawk pats your hand reassuringly. “Without a doubt, you’ll know. I just hope you’re not too hard on him.”

You side-eye him. “He’s not a convict or something, is he?”

Mihawk presses his mouth shut. This bastard, is he trying not to laugh? “You might actually prefer a convict over him.” 

That pulls a frown out of you that you cannot contain. What on earth is that supposed to mean? Is the man that bad? How are you supposed to mentally prepare with such vague warnings?

All thoughts of the mystery knight fade into the back of your mind, however, when you and Mihawk make your entrance at the throne room. 

The extravagant hall is decorated to the nines. Flags of different family crests hang from the ceiling. Flowers bloom at every window sill. You smile at it all, at your people—but it fails to reach your eyes. It’s difficult to truly smile when Cassiopeia stands dangerously close to your mother’s throne.

You curtsy when you reach the steps, one hand still on Mihawk’s arm as the fabric of your skirt dips onto the floor. You hear murmurs of approval from the ministers in the front row, pleased to see the good relationship between the princess and queen regent.

But they don’t see through your gloves, how your grip on your skirt is tense and far too tight. They don’t see how Cassiopeia’s smile is truly a smirk when you lower your head to her.

“Lovely to have you here, darling.” She says, and you fight the urge to laugh. ‘Lovely’ would be if she accepted her place and let go of her greed. 

Mihawk guides you to the smaller throne on the left. This has been your seat since you were born. If Cassiopeia had her way, it would be your seat until the end of your days.

She glides to the center of the dais, the train of her excessive dress flows like a river after her. She stands; graceful, powerful and smiling—but she will never be happy until she can sit on the throne and wear your mother’s crown.

Whatever it takes, you will find a way to stop her.

“Welcome to the long-awaited knighting ceremony.” Cassiopeia addresses the audience. “It is an honor to have the kingdom’s finest pledge to serve and protect us.”

The ceremony proceeds to speeches from several dignitaries. Mihawk delivers a short yet intense declamation about the knightage being the greatest honor; and hands the queen regent an elaborate, bejeweled sword.

“These warriors before us today are hereby called forward to receive Knighthood. The kingdom will forever be grateful for your service.” Cassiopeia proclaims.

Attentively observing the knights lined up, you keep an eye out for the one Mihawk recruited for you. One at a time, Cassiopeia announces their name before tapping their shoulders with the ornamental blade.

You grow restless as the line dwindles. Frustrated, you throw questioning looks at the commander’s direction. He skillfully avoids your gaze. The nerve.

When only about five men are left, you begin to study them all and weigh your options. Perhaps you should pick someone with a smaller build, so that you can have a better chance of escaping? You also spotted someone who appeared clumsy. If you were to outsmart him, your odds of surviving weren’t so bleak.

But then—dramatically, as if in slow motion—the great doors to the throne room opened with a loud, booming sound. Everyone turned as light poured into the hall.

A swordsman makes his entrance. His armor is unassuming, but the three blades at his side demand attention. He wears a helmet over his head, but even after so much time, you’d know those eyes anywhere.

Mihawk was right. You would have preferred a convict—or maybe some rogue, or a thief who would rob you blind. You would have preferred anyone over Roronoa Zoro.

You thought you’d never see him again, but he’s here, marching towards the end of the line. You gape at him, feeling too many emotions all at once. Why is he here? Why now?

Mihawk intercepts Cassiopeia before she can question Zoro’s identity. “Forgive me, queen regent. This young man ran late due to an errand I sent him out on.” 

How brilliant of him. Cassiopeia hates unexpected interruptions, but would never express her frustrations openly with so many people watching.

It’s amusing to see her grin and bear it. “That’s… quite alright, commander. I’m glad he made it before the end of the ceremony.”

When only Zoro remains to be appointed, you stand and call for the queen regent’s attention.

“Should he accept, this man shall be my personal knight.” You declare as Zoro’s gaze meets yours.

“What of your decision, knight?” Cassiopeia asks. Zoro nods, and the queen regent’s gaze sharpens. She understands that something is amiss, but passes the decorated blade to you without a word.

Back when you were children, you used to dream of this moment together. Kuina and Zoro would kneel before you on the grass beneath a shining sun, pledging their unwavering loyalty as you tap their shoulders with a stick.

You’re no longer children, but as Zoro kneels before you now, you still feel like a child all the same. Your clothes feel too big. The throne room is too vast; the ceiling too high. The sword is too heavy in your hands as you raise it.

“Roronoa Zoro. I hereby dub thee into the honorable order of knights as my chosen protector.” The blade lands on his shoulder—his right first, then the other. You pray to the stars that no one notices your hold quivering.

“Arise, Sir Zoro, and be recognized.”

You’re no longer children, but you’re still here. Playing a different sort of game.

Mihawk, the wise man that he is, makes himself scarce after the ceremony. You’re left to awkwardly journey back to your chambers with Zoro in tow. He doesn’t speak a word the entire time, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of your head. 

Selma is there when you get back, your usual afternoon refreshments prepared. She approaches you, but stops short when she sees Zoro.

“Leave us.” You tell her. She obeys, albeit reluctantly—looking back over her shoulder more than once as she exits.

After the door closes shut, the outside world feels a million miles away; making the air feel tense. You hastily take off your gloves, the fabric suddenly feels constricting against your skin. Every fiber of your being wants to scream at him.

Roronoa Zoro. Your best friend who had left all those years ago. You don’t even know where to start. 

Maybe throwing something at him will make you feel better. 

You throw one of your gloves. The fabric hits his chest before falling pathetically. 

“Seriously?” Zoro frowns at you, unimpressed. You throw the other one. It meets the same fate.

Grumbling under his breath, Zoro takes off his helmet. It vexes you how you subconsciously hold your breath until you see his face.

You huff skeptically, “Why are you here?”

“Mihawk said you needed help.” He answers with a shrug, causing his armor clink. 

After a breath, he speaks cautiously, “I didn’t know things had gotten this bad.”

“How could you have known?” You bite back, “You left, Zoro.”

In a sense, you understand why Mihawk chose him. You asked for someone who wouldn’t kill you in your sleep, and Zoro—at least, the one you knew—definitely wouldn’t.

Some (rational) part of your brain is telling you to keep quiet and accept his help. With Cassiopeia planning a mutiny, time is something you don’t have a lot of. 

But your heart still feels angry and hurt when you see his—stupidly handsome—face. The years just had to treat him well, didn’t they?

“I’m thankful for your help,” You admit disgruntledly. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Zoro calls your name. It makes your heart ache a bit, but you hold a hand up to silence him. 

“Please, just—I need time to process this, Zoro.” Turning away from the knight, your eyes find the window. The sunset paints the meadow in deep oranges and blues. It doesn’t make you feel any better.

“...We’ll talk tomorrow.” You promise, your tiredness evident from your tone.

Zoro lingers, hesitating. But he doesn’t push you. You hear his armor shift as he bows before he leaves.

That night, Zoro stands guard outside your door. It’s good that no one else is around, it allows him to think in peace. About you.

The last time Zoro saw you, you were a small thing, getting dirt on the edge of your skirt. When he saw you today, sullying even the path you walked on felt like a crime. 

He knew you would be mad. He had prepared himself to be yelled at. Maybe he thought you would cry. How much you went through didn’t really sink in until he saw how exhausted you were. 

All the things he wanted to say, every apology and excuse, fade into nothing. The first thing he wants to tell you is how thankful he is that you’re still alive. It doesn’t matter that you stay mad at him forever, he’ll protect you for just as long.

Footsteps sound through the dim hallway. Zoro rests a hand on his blades, ready to fight back anyone who poses a threat. A knight he’s not acquainted with approaches, his steps staggering just a bit. The man carries a bottle of alcohol.

“Hey! New guy!” The stranger bellows. “This ’ere is a little something we prepared for ya, since yous didn’t eat dinner with us.” Zoro makes a mental note that they’ve been watching him.

“Take it, take it.” The knight tries to shove the bottle into Zoro’s hands. At the last second, Zoro spots a knife the man hides behind his back.

Quick on his feet, Zoro jabs the man’s neck, causing him to stumble. The knight charges at him, but Zoro effortlessly dodges. Grabbing the knight’s shoulder, Zoro slams his head onto the stone wall.

The bottle clatters to the floor as his opponent collapses, looking up at him in fear. Picking up the glass, Zoro sniffs at its contents. It’s laced with some sort of sedative. 

Zoro pries the knight’s jaw open before pouring the drugged beverage into his mouth. The amber liquid spills. The man coughs, gurgling and struggling in vain until he slumps onto the ground.

Observing the bottle inquisitively, Zoro shakes his head before dropping it again. What kind of amateurish attempt was this? Is the queen regent testing his skills? 

If anything, all this managed to do was—Zoro starts, turning to your door in alarm—…divert his attention.

Not a second later, he kicks down your door. The elaborately carved wood falls from its hinges, dust clouds billow once it crashes on the previously spotless tiles of your room.

You’re fighting off three large strangers clad in black, a dagger in your hand. Zoro tries not to think about how your eyes softened in relief when they landed on him as he cuts down one of the intruders. Maybe you still care for him a little.

“Took you long enough!” Or not.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He grunts back, slashing his sword at someone charging towards you. Zoro only realizes the deeper meaning to his words when you make a face. 

“Don’t make being late a habit, Zoro!” Stabbing an intruder’s side, you quip at him, “You and your dramatic entrances, I swear.”

Zoro bites back a grin. He missed you more than you’ll ever know. 

After taking down one of the intruders, you hide in your wardrobe as Zoro deals with the rest.

It would be smart to lock the door. Barricade it, so that no one can get to you on the off chance Zoro is defeated. But you don’t. You keep the door ajar to watch everything unfold. The way he fights is a captivating sight.

Look at him. Your knight in lackluster armor. Protecting you like how you always talked about as kids. He’s wielding two blades, one for each perpetrator still standing. You blink in surprise when you make out the third, sheathed blade. Kuina’s.

The more you examine him, the more you see how different he seems. He carries himself more confidently, unlike that boy who whined about roles, responsibilities and challenges. 

You also see how gruff he’s become. He’s grown stronger, for sure, but you get the sense that he’s closed himself off from the world. Perhaps the years weren’t as kind to him as you'd thought.

The last intruder lets out a pitiful cry as Zoro knocks him unconscious.

“I’ll tie them up and let Mihawk deal with them in the morning.” Zoro says, pausing to breathe for a moment before dragging the men out by their feet.

Emerging from your wardrobe, you become dismayed at the sight of your room in such a state. “Did you really have to kick down the door?” You groan.

Surprisingly, Zoro blanks, appearing sheepish. “...I didn’t know it would break like that. I just—you should get a damn better door.” He mumbles, heaving the doors up and resting them against the wall outside.

When he comes back from restraining the intruders, he stands before you awkwardly—like he doesn’t know what to do when he’s not fighting or cleaning up bodies.

No one says anything. You both just take each other in, not completely recognizing the person that looks back.

You don’t feel so angry at him anymore. When all’s said and done, everyone has different ways of dealing with grief. Your heart only grows conflicted, wishing you had been there for each other instead of being apart. Goodness knows you could have used someone by your side. You’re sure he did as well.

“I—” Zoro falters. “...I’m glad you’re okay.”

‘Okay’ isn’t how you would describe your current state, but you nod anyway. 

“You too, Zoro.”

In a secluded alcove in the royal gardens the following afternoon, you invite Mihawk for tea on the pretense of thanking him for your newly sworn knight. The story that spread was that you would have been done for were it not for Zoro. You don’t want to think about how true that might be.

“The queen regent is furious you were able to secure a knight loyal to you.” Mihawk informs you as he helps himself to some pastries. “We should avoid meeting for a while, lest she suspect anything of me.”

“Alright.” You agree. “Selma also informed me that we can gather statements from mistreated staff.” You show Mihawk a list of names. “If enough of them support us, and if we can prove Cassiopeia orchestrated what happened last night… We can take her down.”

“She will be busy attending a gala this evening. I’ll make sure no one is near her office while she’s gone.” Mihawk turns to Zoro, who is standing guard behind you, sending him a fearsome look. “Those men got a tad too close last night—”

“Mihawk.” You warn him to drop it. He doesn’t.

“Ensure that it doesn’t happen again, young man.” 

“It won’t.” Zoro replies icily. The commander only huffs in response. 

‘It won't happen.’, he said. But trouble finds you when Zoro steps on a tripwire in Cassiopeia's office. Arrows soar, launching from scattered, hidden contraptions. Zoro shoves you into a bookshelf, covering your frame with his.

“So much for her not finding out we were here.” You remark sarcastically, waiting for him to step back.

But then, as they cage your head, Zoro’s arms tense up. His expression contorts in discomfort.

“...Zoro?” Raising your hands, you cradle the sides of his face.

“Damn arrows,” He growls. “I think they’re poisoned.”

“What?!” You gasp, ducking under his arm to check his back. You find a wound where an arrow grazed his skin. “Of course you get injured when you don’t wear your armor.”

“Why don’t you try sneaking around in that thing, then?” Zoro argues, but you’re startled when the wound begins to bleed.

“We need to get you treated.” Panicking, you grab his arm and pull him along. He doesn’t budge. “Zoro, we should go.”

“No.” He refuses, hissing in pain all the while. “That bitch won’t let us find a way in here again. Let’s just be quick.”

“...Fine.” You cave, still worried, hating that he’s right. “At least stay still, search the desk. I’ll handle everything else.”

Zoro relents, opening every drawer and scanning every document in them. You turn your attention to the shelves, trying to find hidden compartments or anything that looks remotely suspicious.

It's not long before a loud crash makes you wince. Zoro found something.

A panel beneath the desk detaches, revealing an ornate box. Studying it, you hum, “It looks like we’ll need a key.” Zoro unsheathes one of his blades, cutting through the lock until it cracks open. 

You shake your head. “Or we could do that, sure.”

However, instead of the nefarious plans or blueprints you were hoping for, you find old papers. All of them yellowing with age. 

“It’s your handwriting.” Zoro points out, picking up the first document.

“What?” You lean in, reading the file over his shoulder. It’s a letter written to acknowledge a transfer of money. But the amount is astronomical, and you don’t remember signing anything of the sort.

“Look at the date.” Pointing to the corner, it reads more than ten years ago. And then it clicks, “My mother wrote this.”

“There’s more than one.” Zoro sifts through the papers, counting over ten.

“All of them are addressed to… Shimotsuki Koushirou?” He reads the name slowly. You look at each other, confused. Why would Queen Florentia be sending payments to Kuina’s father?

A tall longcase clock chimes to signal the hour. If you clean up now and review the evidence later, you can make it look like you were never here. You instruct Zoro to pack up the box.

“We should head out soon.” You say, moving to pick up the arrows scattered on the floor. 

“Be careful.” Zoro reminds you.

“I am.” You show him that you’re holding the arrows by their tail ends. “You can go ahead, if you want. Get that wound treated.”

“Do you really think I would leave you?” You can’t help the incredulous look you send his way. 

“...Forget I said anything.”

Back in your chambers, you twirl an arrow you decided to keep as evidence while examining the documents sprawled out on your carpet. 

Zoro grabs it from your hand. “I thought I told you to be careful with that.”

You think aloud as he sets the arrow to the side, “I just can’t figure out why my mother gave Koushirou so much money.”

“Maybe she felt bad about the accident.” Your swordsman suggests. “We all did.”

“But why did she have to keep it quiet…” Mumbling in thought, you read the last receipt Queen Florentia signed. It had been penned the week of her death.

The sky grows darker, and it becomes more difficult to see. Zoro strikes a match to light a few candles, bathing the room in a subtle, warm light.

Beneath the dim, flickering flames, the sharp arrow on your tea table glints ominously. 

It took you a long while to get over spacing out whenever you saw an arrow. It was one of the things that affected you after Kuina’s passing.

Sometimes, you think of how much better everything would be if she was still here. If it weren’t for that—

…accident?

“Zoro?” Your voice is unsteady, “...What do you remember about Kuina’s death?”

“It was some new guy at the training grounds.” He answers, frowning as he recalls what happened. “He misfired, and his knighthood got revoked after that.”

“But,” Memories come flooding back as you try to piece things together. “If the archers were practicing that day, what was Kuina doing in the grounds?”

“Kuina wasn’t in the grounds.” Zoro corrects you. “She was in that meadow we always went to.” 

He points to the view outside, raising a finger to trace the horizon. “The arrow flew through the fence, but it was really dangerous, even—” 

Zoro turns back to you with wide eyes. “Even the queen was almost hit! Holy shit, she was there to observe that day.” 

You blink at him in disbelief, “My mother was the real target.”

“And she didn’t want the culprit to know she realized, which is why she kept quiet about the money.” 

You collapse into a chair as you run your hands over your head. “Did anyone ever check the arrow for poison?”

“No.” Zoro’s face crumples. “She was hit straight in the heart... She wouldn’t have made it even if it wasn’t poisoned.”

“Oh, Kuina…” You choke back a sob, covering your face with both hands. “I’m so sorry it took us this long.”

“Wait.” Zoro calls out your name, taking your hand and kneeling in front of you. The strength of his grip hurts, but you don’t mind it. You need to feel that he’s with you right now; especially when his next question makes your heart fall through the floor.

“How did your mother die?” 

“She—she got sick. A lot of our people got sick that year.” You answer shakily, not liking where this is going. “Do you think…”

“Queen Florentia could have been poisoned.” Zoro whispers. “And I bet that fake bitch was responsible for it. For Kuina’s death too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” You counter, “Cassiopeia deals with poisons, sure, but she wasn’t even in the kingdom yet then.” 

“...Someone must have betrayed your mother so Cassiopeia could be queen regent.” He suggests, rubbing circles into your palm. “Because isn’t it convenient, how she was there to bring the people together after Her Majesty died?”

It’s confusing how the world seems to have slowed down, and yet your mind is spinning so quickly, you can’t process anything. You squeeze Zoro’s hand to anchor you, but you shatter all the same. 

“I hate everything.” You cry, tears streaming down your face. “I hate how I didn’t know—but we were kids! How were we supposed to know? And, I hate feeling so powerless. What—how, are we going to fix this?”

“We’ll find a way, I promise.” Zoro moves to embrace your form, but you glare at him.

“You. I hate you too.” You push him away weakly, but he doesn’t let you go. “I—I hate that you left, Zoro… You have no idea how lost I was.”

His eyes glisten with tears. “I was lost without you too.”

Zoro feels you melt into his arms. Your strength just vanishes, and you slump forward until your forehead touches his.

“...Don’t leave me then.” You whisper. You beg.

He holds your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb. “Never.”

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Zoro pressing the softest kiss to your temple as he tucks you in bed.

Selma barges in the next morning, slamming the (newly repaired) doors open. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you’re starting to feel sad for the abuse your doors have been going through lately.

“Princess! Your Ladyship! Your Highness—” She stops abruptly, covering her mouth, looking scandalized. What is she so flabbergasted by—

Only then do you see Zoro sleeping on the floor beside you. He’s leaning on the bed, using his forearms as a pillow. One of his hands is intertwined tightly with yours.

“Your Highness!” Selma gasps playfully, gesturing to your mother’s portrait. “Right in front of Her Majesty!”

“Selma,” You sit up, letting go of Zoro’s hand. “Did you have anything important to report?”

“Ah!” She exclaims, face becoming worried once more, “The commander has been imprisoned!”

You curse, shaking Zoro’s shoulder to wake him. “Couldn’t you have told me that first?”

“Forgive me, princess. It’s not everyday I see you holding hands with a man. May I ask who confessed first, Your Highness?”

“Oh my god, Selma.” You groan. “Just go prepare my clothes.”

“Shall I dress you, or will Sir Zoro—”

“Selma!”

If Zoro heard any of Selma’s ramblings, he’s excellent at hiding it. You both get ready in record time. After which, he leads the way to the dungeons; careful to make sure you don’t run into anyone. 

“We can sneak him out through that secret passage we used to play in.” You whisper, your knight nods. 

“When we get to him, break the lock with your dagger. I’ll stand guard in case someone comes over.”

But someone already beat you to Mihawk’s cell. Zoro pulls you into a shadowed corner to hide.

The queen regent paces in front of the bars, her extravagant dress and cape out of place in this gloomy dungeon. 

Mihawk is on the ground, his wrists chained with heavy shackles. Yoru is noticeably missing from his back. Seeing him like this is heartbreaking.

“I should have known you’d help that wench.” Cassiopeia sneers. “You’ll regret not siding with me soon enough, Dracule.”

“Now that you’ve found me out, I can finally ask you to stop calling me that.” Mihawk yawns. “My name always sounded revolting in your voice.” Crazy bastard, will it kill him to try to stay alive?

“But Florentia called you that, didn’t she?” 

Zoro squints at how something about Mihawk changes at the mention of your mother. It’s almost imperceptible, but the air shifts dangerously. The queen regent should watch her mouth.

“Her name sounds revolting in your voice too.”

Cassiopeia scoffs. “You’re just like her. Thinking you’re better than everyone else.”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” Mihawk leans back, crossing his legs. “That’s not a good habit, Cassie.”

The queen regent kicks the cell. Mihawk doesn't flinch as she snarls, “I’ll deal with the princess and that knight... I’ll make you watch as the light fades from their eyes.” Gathering her skirt, her heels clack loudly as she stomps away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you and Zoro run to the commander.

“Mihawk!” You call out as you stab the lock with your dagger. It crumbles to the ground after a few strikes. “What happened? What did she charge you with?”

“Treason, apparently.” He shrugs, the chains holding him rattling together.

Mihawk goes on as you break his shackles, “This kingdom should be grateful we’re trying at all. We could easily leave them to their own devices—” You frown at him. 

“...But of course, we won’t do that.”

Sneaking into the library, you regroup with Selma; who passes on vital information.

“The queen regent has the palace on lockdown. Everyone has orders to take you in.” She tells you. “But I’ve rallied the staff. We're going to plead your case to the ministers, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. Do you have my mother's letters?” She nods. “Good. Use them well. I'll make sure your efforts will not go to waste.” You say, giving her hands a firm squeeze. 

“Where’s that fake queen now?” Zoro looks eager for a fight.

“One of the butlers said that the queen regent disappears sometimes, and no one knows where she goes.” Selma explains, passing you a note from her source. “There are rumors that she smells like grass when she returns.”

Mihawk lets out a disbelieving laugh, “She must be at the secret garden.”

“The what?” You ask. That sounds exactly like something you would have loved as a child, but why haven’t you heard of it before?

“It’s a place reserved for queens. Only crowned monarchs should be allowed in there, or even know where it is.” He says. “That woman truly doesn’t know her place.”

“Why do you know about it?” Zoro asks.

After a pause, the older swordsman deflects, “I’ve been called a queen once.”

“Mihawk,” You urge him to be serious. “Can you take us there?”

Before he responds, Mihawk looks at you with something you can’t fully discern, as if he’s recalling an old memory.

“Of course. It’s your birthright, after all.”

The entrance to the secret garden is hidden in a passageway beneath the greenhouse. You imagine your mother walking along this path, to a sanctuary she could truly call her own.

But the vision darkens when you think of how Cassiopeia has been using the space all this time. You hope you're still able to recognize traces of your mother when you get there.

An iron gate stands at the end of the path. Vines tangle through the metal spirals and flowers. Mihawk holds a finger to his lips, carefully opening the gates without a sound except for the rustling of leaves. You all crouch behind a large plant that fans out, over your heads.

And then, you see it. You see what your mother left for you.

The centerpiece of the garden is an intricate pedestal, Yoru is propped up against it. On top of it, however, is a glass case displaying your mother’s most treasured golden necklace.

You almost want to run to it, but Zoro grabs your arm, warning you not to take another step. He nods towards where Cassiopeia stands in front of oddly shaped vials and strange devices containing diff chemicals. She douses a sword with an eerie purple liquid as she speaks.

“Three against one... That hardly seems fair.” She kisses her teeth. Looking over her shoulder, she glares. “Why don’t we fight on even ground?”

Out of nowhere, a large cage falls towards the three of you. Mihawk pushes you and Zoro out of the way, but isn’t able to avoid the cage himself.

“And I just escaped. What a shame.” Mihawk fusses, but you can see that he’s relieved you’re alright.

“Maybe you’re meant to be in a cell, Dracule.” Cassiopeia remarks. “I’ll have your kids join you shortly.”

There’s only one of her, this should be easy, right?

She throws a bottle at you. Luckily, you’re able to dodge it. The bottle shatters, its contents spilling over the bystanding greenery. The liquid turns out to be acid, burning through the foliage and leaving a smoky trail. 

Well, fuck.

Zoro also seems to realize how serious this fight is. For the first time since you’ve reunited, he unsheathes Kuina’s sword, placing the hilt in his mouth.

You brandish your dagger as you yell, “Really? You bite it? What would Kuina say?” He sends you a look. You try not to laugh.

And in the next second, you charge at Cassiopeia together.

It’s difficult to get close enough to land a hit. The queen regent leads you in a dance of acids and poisons. You dodge one bottle only to be met with the toxic end of her blade. It seems that your mother’s dagger won’t be enough in this fight.

“I didn't get this far to be stopped by the likes of you!” Shrieking, she lunges at you.

“You will never be queen!” You roar back.

Behind her, your eyes spot Yoru leaning on the pedestal. The blade is large and intimidating, and you’re not entirely sure if you can wield it correctly… But you might not have a choice right now.

As you were distracted, Cassiopeia’s sword almost cuts through your side. Panicking, you stumble backwards. Zoro slashes at your enemy’s wrist. Her hold on the poisoned weapon falters. It plummets with a clang.

While she’s occupied with Zoro, you rush towards Yoru. From behind the bars, Mihawk watches, holding his breath as you wrap both hands around Yoru’s hilt—but the damn thing is too heavy. 

“Dear princess, you should have learned from your mother!” Cassiopeia smashes a bottle on Zoro’s head. “Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!”

The glass explodes into countless glittering shards. A red gas escapes into the air, and your knight inhales far too much of it.

He falls, and for that moment, the entire rest of the world vanishes until all you see is him. Your ears start to ring. His grip loosens on his swords. 

No. Please. Not him. Not anyone else. No more.

Mihawk calls your name. You turn to him, on the verge of breaking down. But then, he nods once, slowly. The action reminds you to breathe—filling you with an overwhelming sense of strength. You can do this.

Screaming, you attempt to brandish Yoru again. 

You swing the legendary greatsword in a perfect arc. Once it collides with the ground, the air ripples. Power surges through an invisible force headed straight for the queen regent. She tries to run, but the hit lands.

Her eyes don’t stray from yours as she collapses. In her final moments, she falls from grace, howling in agony and rage. 

As a last ditch attempt, she throws one last vial of acid at Zoro. You’re about to curse the world all over again as you run to stop it.

Mihawk throws a tiny sword like a dart, miraculously breaking the container before it lands on your knight. Your knees give out, and you pull Zoro into your arms as you gasp for air.

It’s done.

Zoro wakes up to the feeling of you checking his temperature. Your hand is warm against his forehead, making him want to reach up and hold it. He should probably wake up and check on you now.

“Oh.” He hears Mihawk speak, “I didn’t realize your relationship took a certain… turn.”

On second thought, another minute of sleep won’t hurt.

“Not you too, Mihawk.” You groan. “I get enough of that from Selma.”

“Ah, yes. I heard.” The swordsman deadpans, “Hand holding. How scandalous.”

“Alright, if you’re not going to be of any help whatsoever, please just go.”

“If you wanted time alone with him, you could have just said so.”

“Goodbye, Mihawk.”

Zoro hears you escort Mihawk out, and he takes the moment alone to open his eyes. He’s in his quarters, which is a few doors down from yours so that he can easily get to you. 

Not that he stays here often, Zoro prefers standing guard outside your chambers. It’s strange how he lasted years without seeing you, because now that you’re back in each other’s lives, he becomes restless whenever you’re not around. 

Like right now. What’s taking you so long?

The door opens. Zoro perks up, but deflates when he sees that it’s Selma bringing in a pitcher of water. 

“You could’ve at least hidden your disappointment better, Sir Zoro.” She huffs at him, taking full offense. “I’ll go get your princess.”

“Oh!” She yelps excitedly, “My bad, it’s queen anointed now, isn’t it?”

Zoro smiles, his voice raspy with sleep, “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Indeed, it does.” Selma nods, bidding him farewell. 

He doesn’t have to wait long to hear your rushing footsteps. The door opens again to reveal you, this time. Your eyes shine in that really pretty way they do when you’re happy. He’s glad that’s among the things that didn’t change.

Zoro opens his arms, inviting you, “Come here.”

Not needing to be told twice, you fall into his arms, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re okay.” You murmur.

“I wasn’t about to miss your coronation, Your Majesty.” Zoro pokes your nose. He did that a lot when you were kids, you forgot how much you liked it.

“Thank you for being okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his cheek softly.

Zoro brushes his fingers through your hair. He holds your face in his hands, tracing your features as if that will help him memorize the happiness he feels in his heart. The sort of happiness he thought was lost to him forever.

“Hey,” Zoro speaks your name with care. “I love you a lot, you know.”

He always envisioned confessing to you in some dramatic, elaborate way that you’d deserve. There could have been a beautiful sunset. He would’ve brought flowers.

But he was wrong. All he needs are the words themselves, and you—smiling the way you’re smiling at him now. 

You laugh, “I might love you more, I think.”

Zoro shakes his head, sitting up so that he can bring his face to yours properly. “Doubt it.”

The kiss tastes like magic, like you were always meant to find each other's lips. His heart starts doing something funny, and he has to pull you closer—hold you tighter. You respond eagerly, kissing him back so intoxicatingly that he’ll remember the softness of your lips for as long as he lives.

Later that week, your coronation is a grand and extravagant affair.

When Cassiopeia's misdeeds came to light, the people banded together to celebrate her downfall. Those loyal to her either surrendered or tried to escape. Although none of them were able to get away, since Zoro and Mihawk were ruthless towards those involved in the attempted mutiny.

The crown on your head will take some to get used to. It still feels like you're borrowing something of your mother's; but instead of shying away from it like you had before, you step into it openly. You're ready to become a successor worthy to carry on her legacy of kindness and strength.

Uncharted these waters may be, at least you have Zoro now, who would dive into any perilous sea right after you.

Escaping the celebratory banquet and the revelries, you visit Queen Florentia and Kuina's graves with Zoro. It's only right that you pay respects together.

You leave flowers on your mother's headstone, thanking her for everything she did. You're startled when Zoro takes one of his swords, holding it in front of him as he kneels in front of the previous queen.

“Your Majesty, Queen Florentia,” He speaks, his tone steady and sure. “I, Roronoa Zoro, vow to never leave your daughter’s side. I will protect her until I draw my last breath. I swear to cherish her, and to love her even in my next life.”

What is he doing, making you cry like this? It turns out that emotional boy you knew is still somewhere in there. Your heart feels full, knowing your mother would have appreciated the gesture.

As you're about to move on to Kuina's grave, Zoro motions for you to go ahead without him. You look at him strangely, but do as he says to give him some space. 

Mihawk emerges from the treeline when you've gone far enough.

“You look like you’re about to leave without saying goodbye.” Zoro remarks.

“Of course you’d know how that works, hm?” Mihawk challenges, raising a sharp brow. “Try even thinking about leaving and I’ll return to make sure it’s your last thought."

“Didn't you just hear the oath I made to the love of your life?” Zoro turns to Florentia's tombstone again. “Your Majesty, back me up here.”

“She would have approved of you.” Mihawk’s frown is unimpressed, but his gaze is unmistakably caring. 

“...Take care of her, Zoro.”

“Of course. I promise.”

As Mihawk walks away, Zoro asks him one last question, “How are your regrets now, old man?”

The former commander’s shoulders shake in a mixture of amusement and relief. “I suspect they'll heal, with time.”

When Zoro catches up to you at Kuina's grave, you're grinning at him. He can picture that same grin on Kuina's face if she were here. 

“We were just talking about you.” You jest, “All bad things, too.”

“You had nothing to talk about, then.” Zoro sits on the grass beside you. “I’m perfect for you.”

Appalled, you scoff and turn to Kuina's headstone. “Can you believe this guy?”

That day, you talked for hours, even after the sun had set. And on the trek back to the palace, a soft breeze caressed your skin. It felt like Kuina encouraging you, sending you off onto the next chapter of your lives.

Zoro becomes Captain of the Royal Guard once Mihawk leaves. He's teaching you about weapons and self defense when he picks up your dagger to inspect it, turning it this way and that curiously.

“Is there something wrong with it?” You ask, observing it too.

“This pattern and material.” Zoro says, tracing a certain swirl on the weapon. “I feel like I've seen it before.”

“Ah,” He says in realization, tracing a finger down your neck and making you shiver. “It’s the pattern on your necklace.”

“My mother must have had them made together.” You say, unclasping the chain before handing it to him.

There's a gap in the center of the pendant. Thin and barely noticeable, but it looks like it can be opened by something sharp.

“Do you mind if I,” Zoro gestures at the dagger.

“Just don't break it.” You say. “Treat it like my heart.”

Zoro makes a face that pulls a laugh out of you. “I would never do this to your heart.” Aw. You might have melted a little.

The tip of the blade slots perfectly into the pendant. After twisting it slowly like a key, the metal clicks to reveal: a locket.

Handing it over to you carefully, Zoro lets you open it the rest of the way. Inside, there are images drawn on two panels. You, as a child on one side… and Mihawk on the other. Now you understand why your mother treasured this so much. Tearing up, you sigh.

“You’re not surprised.” Zoro notes.

“...I think a part of me always knew.” You respond. “And, I definitely felt something when I held Yoru. No wonder why.”

Treading carefully, Zoro wraps his arms around your waist as he asks, “You’re not upset that he left?”

“But he didn’t. He’ll always be there for me, and so will you.” You smile up at him. “I’m happy I found my family again.”

Many years ago…

The grass on the meadow bristles gently in the wind. Dusk bathes the land in a dreamy, gold and purple hue. 

After a day filled with imaginary adventures, two children wave their dearest friend goodbye. The princess smiles at them fondly before returning to the castle.

Kuina grins, face eager as she points her training sword to the sky. “I’ll be her knight someday. I’ll be commander and everything.”

Zoro jolts, immediately expressing in protest, “No, I’ll be the one to protect her! I’ll be commander!”

“Oh yeah?” The girl’s smile turns knowing. She pokes Zoro’s waist with her sword. “How will you do that? Aren’t you going to marry her?”

Stunned, Zoro can only stare at her in response. A blush creeps up his neck, reddening the tips of his ears. Kuina seizes the opportunity to make a run for it.

“Princess, wait up! Zoro wants to tell you something!”

“Kuina! Get back here!”

read the companion piece / my notes / the timeline of this story (in mihawk's perspective) here : "the taste of ale"

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @ay0nha @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @murnsondock @starszns @msmisasoup @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @appalost @commanderfreethatdust @onebatch--twobatch @rebeccawinters @gunslxtz @akakaze @lownna

[vagabond-umlaut]

what is the point of lukewarm love?

If I am not drowning in it, I have no desire for it.

Ⅰ. my beloved ghost and me

pairing: knight geto suguru x disgraced noble fem!reader tags: historical au; arranged marriage; slow burn; misunderstanding; arguments; kinda enemies to lovers; angst; drama; fluff; smut; hurt/comfort; eventual happy ending; MDNI; warning: ANGST, implied attempted sa (not to the mc), homicide, corruption; physical assault; abandonment issues; 1.7k wc notes: when i say this fic is the bane of my existence, i mean it in every sense of the term :) the chapter title is from here. the fic title and summary are from this post. the header is from pinterest. jjk isn't mine! please comment on the fic masterpost, or send me an ask, to be added to the taglist!! :))

Your husband is a callous man.

Disgustingly so.

But, of course, if you ever say the same to anyone else, they'll be certain to return you a scowl—not that they don't give you one now, but they'll make it much worse then—for how can you speak such ill of your husband: the oh-so-gallant, oh-so-chivalrous knight Sir Geto Suguru!?

Well, the thing is... first off, none of those outraged voices know the man as well as you do.

Secondly, and more importantly, none of them are you.

Born as the eldest daughter of one of the most prominent nobles in the Empire, you had always been told there was a golden future lying in wait for you. Elegant, graceful, refined—you grew up to be the epitome of each of these adjectives and so many more meaning the same. Something your parents and teachers adored you for, your peers resented you for, the general populace looked up to you for.

Long story short, your life was nothing less than wonderful.

But, as is the way with this world, good things seldom last long—yours too didn't.

The wandering hand of a noble.

The terrified screams of your maid.

The said noble's head rolling on the floor.

The pristine white of your gloves drenched in bright red, the same shade dripping from the sharp blade of a sword; that too, one which had always been an idle wall decoration...

Were the noble any lesser person, you know nothing would have happened. You did a right thing, after all, saving a poor helpless girl from the maws of a vile beast.

But no, he wasn't a lesser person.

He was the Emperor's little brother. Lecherous, yes, of course, no one could negate this; but he was His Majesty's youngest brother, eighth in line to the throne, which is why you weren't even taken to trial. The blood on your hands hadn't even dried before every title you owned were snatched away from you, and you were reduced from being one of the most highly regarded young ladies amongst the nobles to being a convicted criminal—

'Attempted theft of a royal jewel.'

'Harrassment of a member of the royal staff when they attempted to stop her.'

'Murder of a member of the Royal Family when they attempted to detain her.'

The story was changed, and with it thus twisted and distorted until not one letter of it was true, you were indeed nothing more than a convicted criminal—

A burden your parents waited not even a day before they decided to get rid of, before they decided to bedeck it in finery of the highest kind and send it to the slaughterhouse under the pretence of your hand being promised to Zenin Naoya.

You ran away.

Of course, you ran away.

Only to be spotted by one of your family's old servants, not even ten miles away...

What happened next is preserved very poorly in your memory—you remember reading in a book once, how one's mind tries to erase things too traumatic for them—but you do recollect the sheer panic and the utter desperation you felt as you were all but dragged back to the manor, you would swallow your tongue before calling it your home again. Oh, and, of course, the clinking of the thousand gold coins as your father awarded them to the man for his loyalty whilst your cheeks stung from the force of your mother's fury.

The Zenin heir cancelled the engagement within the next hour, claiming he had no desire to marry a disobedient wretch like you. When you scoffed and told your mother that neither did you have a wish to wed a cur like him, she slapped you again, drawing blood this time.

Your parents were prepared to disown you.

And you knew. And no matter how much it hurt, you were prepared to be disowned by them, prepared to leave and set out on a new path on your own—which is when your dearest husband entered the stage of your life, and without further ado, set it on fire—

Sir Geto Suguru, the paragon of virtue, so very darling to the Empire.

The envoy of death, so very terrifying to the enemies of the Empire.

The catalyst of your doom, so very dashing as he stood before your parents, the coal black of his hair and his eyes scintillant in the sun as he greeted them with a bow and a courteous smile—its keen shape perhaps not too unbecoming the sharpness of his mien, you thought absently, still blissfully ignorant to what lay in your future, as you stood behind your mother—  

It took Geto all but a moment to stand upright and ask your father for your hand in marriage.

It took your blood less than a moment to freeze in your arteries.

Were it before, you know your parents would've rejected such a proposal in a heartbeat; your world and the knight's were far too different, too far apart. But that day, utterly devastated, utterly helpless, you watched them both nearly sob in relief as your mother nodded and your father brought your intended into a hearty embrace.

The wedding took place a day later in an extremely private function.

Not even a month after which, Geto received his transfer orders to some remote town by the sea.

And giving you a set of barely-intelligible, insultingly-perfunctory reasons, more like 'excuses', as to why you couldn't accompany him; you're his wife, for goodness' sake; he dropped you off at your in-laws' in the countryside—people who hadn't even deigned to attend their only son's wedding—

You don't dislike them, though.

You dislike your husband.

The man who, by marrying you, has made himself an angel donning a mortal skin, a person too good for the likes of anyone and everyone; most certainly, much too good for you.

The man who, by leaving you barely thirty days into your conjugal life, has made you even viler in the eyes of others than you can ever imagine it to be possible, believe it should be possible.

The man who has visited his home, his wife, only a handful of times in the last one year, that too only for a handful of hours each time, never staying for more than one day and the next morning.

The man who doesn't care enough to reply to your letters, let alone send you any, only sending his father enough money to feed a village and a curt letter saying he's well on the third day of every month, the words devoid of even the smallest mention of the person he married and brought to his home—

If one says you hate Geto, you will simply nod in response and not breathe one word in disagreement, you think as you wrap the blanket tighter round your shivering form and stare at the waning crescent in the pitch-black sky.

It's lonely.

The moon is rather lonely, you reckon, a faint frown creeping onto your lips...

But definitely not as acutely, as painfully as you are—

After all, the moon hasn't been forsaken by its friends, parents and husband, has it?

The moon isn't forced to endure pitiful glances and scathing glares throughout the day, is it?

The moon need not spend night after night, either sleepless or seeing nightmares where it is abandoned in an entirely new way, tossed aside in an incomparably worse way by others—does it?

No.

You suppose not.

A pathetic little sigh escapes you as you force yourself to relax beneath the warm weight of the blanket, gaze soon drifting from the sky outside the window to your hands, to the pretty little diamond sitting on your left hand—only to stiffen when you hear a pair of feet pad into the kitchen—

"Do you have a fever?" A familiar voice rings out, so sleepy yet so worried, so kind—that too for you out of all the people the concern could be for—you can't help but become a touch misty-eyed.

It's your mother-in-law.

Sometimes, you think she's the only person you won't mind calling family.

The only person who, you don't think you're wrong when thinking, won't mind you calling them family.

Trying to hide a sniffle, you shake your head, lips shifting into a small smile on their own when you can finally discern her in the almost darkness, "Um, no. I'm totally fine, thank you."

"Alright," she doesn't press you any more, choosing to pour herself a glass of water instead. You look away from her, focus shuffling away to rest on the orange lights of the distant houses and huts against the blue backdrop of the night, when a quiet call of your name reaches you.

You turn back, only to find your mother-in-law wearing a knowing smile. She suddenly looks a lot older than you know she actually is—you wonder how your mother is faring—

Is she happy now that her shame of a daughter is away and no longer besmirching the spotless reputation of the family? Or, does she miss her first child, her 'sunshine', living so many miles away from her?

You know better than to ponder over such questions; yeah, you know you do.

"Yes, Mother?" you ask; the aftertaste of the last word not as sour as it used to be in the early days of your marriage, you register absently all the while wondering why her smile appears to grow when you call her thus, "Is—"

"I've raised Suguru to be brave and true-hearted," she says, and you cannot help the way your form grows rigid at the mere mention of his name—nor the burn settling behind your eyes nor how your throat clogs up, words dying far before they're fully formed when the remainder of the sentence clicks into place in your brain—"He will return to you, darling. I'm sure of it."

Hours from now, you will wonder why your mother-in-law is telling you all this.

You will wonder why she thinks your sleepless nights are because of her son, especially when you haven't breathed even a syllable of your distress to anyone; least of all, to her.

You will wonder why she sounds so sure while she's reassuring you of your husband's return.

Hours from now, you will tear your brain apart and put the pieces back together, in search for answers to these and so many more questions.

But now, in this moment, you don't think.

You screw your eyes shut and bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying your damnedest not to cry—until you decide you're much too wounded, too too weary to put up a good front—

And you cry, and you cry, and you cry.

general masterlist

[natalievoncatte]

CW: Violence and such

A wave of air rolled over Lena and she heard the telltale crackle of one of Lex’s portals. Waiting in the shadows, she watched him stumble into the room, bruised and panting.

She wasted no time, stepping forward and shoving the device into the crook of his neck like a stun gun. His body went rigid as she relieved of him of his stolen powers, negating the effects of the Harun-El serum he’d manipulating her into creating. Something else he stole from her.

He stumbled back and turned. She already had the gun out in her hand, aimed at his chest. He backed away, moving to the far end of the room, in front of banks of computers and monitors.

“Hello, sis. I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Save it,” said Lena, raising the gun in front of her to aim at his head.

A heartbeat passed. Lex grinned.

“If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it by now.”

“I can’t let you live,” Lena said, feeling the weight of each word as it escaped her, weighing her down. “The world will never be safe as long as you live.”

“Oh, dear sister,” said Lex. “Take it from someone with experience. If you’re going to murder someone in cold blood, work yourself up before you get to the scene. It prevents awkward situations like this.”

“Shut up.”

“You might want to make sure you have the right target, while you’re at it.”

Lena let out a long, slow sigh.

“Put your hands on the table and don’t move a muscle.”

Lex laughed. “What, are you arresting me now?”

There was another soft puff of air, and then a shriek of rending metal as the doors buckled in. Supergirl stormed into the room, parting the steel the way a normal woman might part curtains. She stomped into the room, even more bruised and bloody than Lex, hair matted with mud and blood, eyes blazing with righteous fury.

“You,” she snarled. “Murderer!”

“We’ve established that”, Lex said, almost casually.

Lena still held the gun ready, aimed at his chest.

“You can put that down, Miss Luthor. He’s not getting away this time. We can track his portals now.”

“Oh, can you?” Said Lex. “That’ll certainly be a wrinkle in my plans.”

“You’re not making any more plans,” Lena spat, fighting back tears as she thumbed back the hammer on her revolver.

That’s it, Lex’s voice murmured in her mind. Ease the hammer back and you just have to touch the trigger and it’ll go off. I had it tuned special for you. Remember, aim small, miss small.

“Miss Luthor,” Supergirl said, turning to her. “Don’t do that.”

“If you take him to jail, he’ll just get out again,” said Lena. “He’ll just escape and kill more people.” She choked out a sob. “He’ll kill you eventually. We have to win every time. He just has to win once.”

“Sounds like a good reason for you to join the winning team, Lena.”

Lena put her finger on the trigger, and Supergirl stepped between them.

“Don’t,” she said, very softly. “He wants you to be like him. We’re the good guys, Lena. We don’t kill. You’re one of the good guys.”

“No I’m not,” Lena said, her voice hitching.

“Yes you are. I believe you, Lena.”

Lena met her eyes, their gazes linking with that same pull she felt whenever she made eye contact with the Maid of Might, and she faltered. Lex was right. She didn’t have it in her. Not now. Not in front of her. Lena lowered the gun and Supergirl gave her a soft, ethereal, profoundly familiar smile.

Lex shoved a Kryptonite dagger into her back, and Supergirl cried out in agony, green poison ripping through her flesh. With a savage grin, he twisted the knife, breaking off the fragile blade with a hideous snap.

Lena forgot everything but Supergirl as she collapsed to the floor, rushing to kneel beside her. Supergirl convulsed, her back arching brutally as she stared into the void, blood gurgling in her throat.

“Cooked that one up special,” said Lex, panting. “She has minutes at most.”

Lena did not speak. She raised her gun and shot him twice in the chest, two rapid thunderclaps that left her ears ringing, and he toppled back into the wall.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “Guess you do… have it…”

“Shut up!” Lena screamed, “you fucking bastard! Shut up!”

“But that’s not all, Lex choked out. “I’ve got one…” he coughed, “one more… for you…”

Feebly, he reached into his jacket and drew out a remote control, hand shaking as he strained to activate it.

The monitors lit up, assaulting her with a savage truth. She saw Kara Danvers breathe grown men off their feet, blasting the searing heat of a dead star from her eyes, snatch bullets from the air.

“Kara Danvers… is Supergirl.” Lex grinned out, with a rattling laugh. “She’s been lying to you… manipulating…”

Something glinted on his wrist. The watch. The portal watch.

Lena lunged, throwing herself at him. Lex pulled his hand away and shoved. He pushed her back and threw himself on top of her, sending the gun sliding away. Pinning her wrist to the cold floor, he knees into her stomach, crushing the breath out of her in an explosion of pain.

With his other hand, he rapped his chest. “Bulletproof vest. Couple broken ribs. Should have brought a bigger gun, Lena.”

Lex knotted his fingers in her hair, pulling savagely to turn her head, forcing her to look.

Kara lay on the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. A low moan escaped her throat and she rolled on her side, looking at Lena with eyes streaked with putrid green.

“I’m sorry,” Kara rasped out. “I’m sorry, Lena.”

Lena stared, a hopeless, helpless feeling spreading through her as though she sank into freezing water.

“I for-“ she began, only for Lex to close his hands around her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you having a moment?”

Lena flailed as he tightened his grip on her, her head pounding and her lungs burning as he crushed down her airway. Lena thrashed, desperate to fight him off.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die and I never told her.

With a scream of animal fury, somehow, Kara threw herself at him, bodily knocking him away from Lena, freeing her.

It must have been the last of Kara’s strength, because she collapsed in a boneless heap, moaning. Lex snarled, jamming his thumb into Kara’s wound.

“Oh my, I hope you weren’t using that kidney.”

Lena rolled. She grabbed the gun, rolled again.

Aim small, miss small.

Bang.

Lex snapped back, away from Kara, his genius fanned out from his skull to paint the wall. Lena ignored the sight, forced herself not to think about what she just did, forced herself to feel no pain as she scrambled to his body and peeled the watch off his wrist, locking it around her own. She had to hope.

The interface was simple enough.

“Almost there,” she told Kara. “Almost.”

The portal swirled to life and Lena began screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! It’s Kryptonite, help her!”

Alex stormed through, eyes going wide at the scene before her. She immediately began shouting orders. Someone pulled Lena away from Kara, forcing their laced fingers apart. Lena told herself that Kara was going to be okay, that her hand hadn’t been cold and limp and lifeless, she pleaded for it to be true.

The only thing she said was “let me see Kara.” As they bandaged and examined her, it became a refrain. A chant. Alex finally came in to the medical bay and looked at her, a little piteously.

“Kara’s fine, Lena. She’s at her apartment. We just need…”

“She’s Supergirl,” Lena rasped through her bruises throat, “please let me see her.”

Alex swallowed hard. “I can’t. She’s in surgery to get the Kryptonite out of her abdomen. We can’t go in. It’s very delicate and the procedure has to be done under red sunlamps.”

“Please just let me see she’s alive.”

Alex nodded gently, and helped Lena to her feet. Her head was pounding, her knees pained her, and she ached where Lex had knees and choked her. She had to lean on Alex’s shoulder to walk to the operating room.

They watched through a window and Lena couldn’t help but stare. Kara lay on the table on her side, and oxygen mask over her face. There was blood in her hair and she was covered in bruises -even around her own throat- and she looked so small, so delicate and fragile. Lena pressed against the glass and strained with her entire being not to cry.

Alex placed a soft hand on her back. “Let it out.”

Lena did just that, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder.

“You saved my sister, Lena.”

Lena wept harder. Alex waited for it to stop, for Lena to pull back and swipe at her eyes like a child and step back.

There was a bench outside the operating ward. Lena sat down and refused to move. Eventually, Alex brought her food, but she didn’t eat. Nia tried to cheer her, and Brainy came to give her more details about Kara’s condition, probably trying to soothe her.

Lena waited in silence, needing to know of her sun would ever rise again. She waited and waited until, finally, beautifully, they rolled Kara out. She leapt from her seat and stormed after the medics, Alex joining her moments later.

They put Kara in a bed and connected more equipment to her, and hooked up another IV. The red light coming from the ceiling gave the room an eerie, sanguine glow.

“Why the red lamps?” said Lena.

“She has too much Kryptonite in her system,” said Alex. “We need to flush it out before we can turn on the sunlight and let her heal up fully.”

Lena swallowed, hard.

“Is my lab equipment still here?”

“Yes, why?”

Lena turned without a word. “Brainy,” she called, without looking for him, “get down here and help me.”

In the lab, Lena began to work, drawing on everything she knew, while Brainy structured and prepared the nanites for her.

Seven hours later, she returned to the recovery ward and found Alex quietly bent over her sister’s wounded body. She might have been praying. Eliza Danvers had joined her, and Lena momentarily paused, a little scared of the older woman, for reasons she couldn’t say.

Alex looked up, spotting the syringe of dark fluid in Lena’s hands.

“What’s that?”

“A cure for Kryptonite.”

Alex blinked. “You cured Kryptonite poisoning?”

“No. I cured Kryptonite. She’ll never have to fear it again.”

Alex blinked, and looked at her mother. They both looked at Lena, who nodded and injected the fluid into Kara’s IV.

It only took a few minutes. The green bruises all over her body began to fade and her breathing steadied. She moved slighty, groaned, and reached out.

“Lena,” she whispered.

“She’s okay,” said Alex. “She’s here. Everybody is here for you, sis. Lex got you pretty good but the surgeons and Lena patched you up again.”

“Hurts.”

“I know.”

“Lena.”

Alex swallowed. “I’m going to go get the yellow sunlamps set up.”

“I’ll help,” said Eliza.

As the both left, Lena waited an awkward beat and then rushed to Kara’s beside, lacing her fingers with those of Kara’s reaching hand.

“Kara, it’s me. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lena sat down in the chair Alex had been using and smoothed back some of Kara’s hair, to better look into those beautiful blue eyes. Kara smiled softly.

“I lied to you,” Kara whispered.

“I know. I… I can’t say I don’t care but… it doesn’t seem to matter that much.”

Kara sighed. “I want to make it better.”

“I know,” said Lena, her voice cracking. “Kara, don’t worry about it now. Listen to me, okay?”

She gave a slight nod.

Lena sucked in a breath, feeling the ache in her belly and the burn in her throat. The desire to release these words warred with the fear and the anguish and the dread. She was about to reveal a truth of her own, one that she’d held so deep that she barely knew it was there until she saw the light dying behind Kara’s eyes.

The release of them was relief, like unyoking a great weight from her shoulders.

“I love you.”

“Lena…”

“No, please listen. I don’t mean as a friend, Kara. I mean I have feelings for you. Intense feelings. I… I don’t know if that’s something you’d ever want, but if it is, is there. If it’s not, you don’t how me anything. I’m still your friend. It’s just…”

Kara squeezed her hand ever so gently. Lena had forgotten that she even held it. She went quiet, waiting, feeling dread and hope swelling in her chest.

“Would it be forward of me to ask for a kiss?” Kara whispered.”

“No,” said Lena.

Kara’s lips were soft and warm, and though it was awkward to bend and place a soft peck on Kara’s lips, she did. She remained bent over the side of the bed, her forehead resting against Kara’s, sharing something quiet and fragile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” said Kara. “I will, I promise.”

“You already have,” said Lena. “I just hope I don’t screw this up.”

“You wont. I believe in Lena Luthor.”

Lena cracked a smiled, sighing, and ran a hand down Kara’s arm, reveling in her new freedom of touch, now matter how limited.

Alex cleared her throat.

“She needs a full day under the sun lamps,” said Alex, without elaborating.

Lena drew back but did not loose he grip on Kara’s hand.

“She’s going to get every minute of it.”

“Good,” said Alex. “Kara, are you hungry?”

Kara nodded.

“I’ll scrounge up something for you to eat. I have to find Nia first.”

“Why?” said Lena.

Alex offered a smile.

“She owes me fifty bucks.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

In the Shadows of Power Part 2

Pairing: Emperor Geta x reader

Warnings : Fluff, Angst, some fighting

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! Goes hand in hand with the 1st part linked in the previous

Masterlist | Previous

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The air was heavy with tension, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls of the villa. Valerius stood unmoving, his calculating eyes narrowing as he assessed both you and Geta.

“You have fire,” Valerius said, his voice dripping with condescension. “But fire alone won’t save you.”

“Neither will arrogance,” Geta snapped, stepping forward to shield you. “You’ve made a grave mistake by coming here.”

Valerius chuckled, raising a hand to halt his soldiers as they moved closer. “Mistake? No, my prince. I call it an opportunity.”

“And what opportunity is that?” Geta demanded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

“To prove your recklessness to the emperor. To show him that his favored son is driven by passion, not logic.” Valerius’s gaze slid to you, a sly smirk curling his lips. “And by a mere maid, no less. What will the empire think of that?”

---

The weight of his words pressed down on you, but before Geta could respond, you stepped forward, your chin held high.

“The empire won’t think anything if they know the truth,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear gripping your heart.

Valerius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what truth is that?”

“That you’ve fabricated this entire situation to discredit Geta,” you said sharply. “You have no proof of anything improper, and you’re using the mere presence of a servant as leverage for your schemes.”

The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances, their confidence wavering.

“You speak boldly for someone so insignificant,” Valerius hissed, his composure slipping.

“And yet here you are,” you shot back, meeting his gaze with unflinching determination. “Afraid enough of my supposed ‘insignificance’ to risk everything by coming here.”

Geta’s eyes gleamed with pride, his free hand brushing against yours in silent support.

---

Valerius’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of anger. “You’ll regret that,” he growled, signaling to his men.

But Geta was faster.

In a blur of motion, he drew his sword, positioning himself between you and the advancing soldiers. “If you think I’ll let you leave here alive, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

The room erupted into chaos.

---

Geta fought with a ferocity you hadn’t seen before, his blade flashing as he defended you from the soldiers’ advances. Despite being outnumbered, his skill and determination were unmatched, and soon the floor was littered with fallen men.

You stood frozen, your back pressed against the wall as the scene unfolded. But as another soldier lunged for Geta, your instincts kicked in. Without thinking, you grabbed a heavy vase from a nearby table and smashed it against the soldier’s head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Geta glanced back at you, a mixture of surprise and admiration in his expression. “Stay close!” he shouted, parrying another attack.

Valerius, seeing his forces dwindling, began to retreat toward the door. “This isn’t over, Geta!” he snarled, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek.

Geta advanced on him, his sword leveled. “You’ll answer for this, Valerius. Not to me, but to the emperor.”

Valerius hesitated, then turned and fled into the night, his remaining soldiers scrambling after him.

---

The villa was eerily silent after the battle, the only sounds the crackle of torches and your ragged breaths.

“Are you hurt?” Geta asked, his voice soft as he approached you.

You shook your head, though your hands trembled. “I’m fine. Are you?”

He nodded, wiping the blood from his sword before sheathing it. “Thanks to you.”

You blinked in surprise. “I didn’t do much.”

“You stood your ground,” he said, taking your hands in his. “You faced him without fear. That’s more than most would do.”

You looked away, heat rising to your cheeks. “I was terrified.”

“But you didn’t let it stop you,” he said firmly, lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “That courage… it’s one of the many reasons I—” He hesitated, his words trailing off.

“You what?” you prompted, your heart pounding.

He sighed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I love you, (Y/N). I’ve tried to deny it, to keep my distance, but I can’t anymore.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his confession sank in. “Geta…”

“I know it won’t be easy,” he continued, his voice raw. “But I’ll fight for you. For us. No matter the cost.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

It was a kiss filled with all the fear, passion, and hope that had been building between you. When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ll face whatever comes next,” you said softly. “Together.”

---

The villa became a fleeting sanctuary, a brief reprieve before the weight of reality descended once more. Geta lingered only a day longer, ensuring you were safe and planning the next steps. Though he insisted on leaving you behind for your safety, you refused.

“If you’re facing this, I’m facing it with you,” you declared, your voice steady despite the apprehension coursing through you.

He knew better than to argue. And so, you rode together back to Rome, the tension between you palpable. The city loomed before you, its towering structures and sprawling streets a stark reminder of the danger that awaited.

---

The return was quiet, almost too quiet. Whispers trailed behind you as Geta strode confidently through the palace, you at his side. Though you had avoided the public eye for years, it was clear that your presence now did not go unnoticed.

In the throne room, the emperor sat waiting, flanked by advisors and courtiers. Valerius was nowhere to be seen, though the atmosphere was thick with his influence.

“Father,” Geta greeted, bowing respectfully. “I must speak with you.”

The emperor’s sharp gaze shifted from his son to you, lingering for a moment before he nodded. “Speak.”

Geta recounted the events at the villa with precision, sparing no detail. He spoke of Valerius’s ambush, his attempts to discredit him, and the lengths he went to in his obsession with seizing power.

“And the girl?” the emperor asked, his voice measured. “What is her role in this?”

You stepped forward, your pulse quickening. “I am nothing but a servant, my lord,” you said humbly, “but I have witnessed Valerius’s treachery firsthand. He sought to use me as a weapon against your son, twisting the truth to suit his schemes.”

The emperor studied you for a long moment before turning back to Geta. “You bring accusations without proof, my son. If what you say is true, then Valerius must be dealt with—but I need evidence.”

“I’ll get it,” Geta promised, his voice firm. “But I ask for your trust in the meantime.”

The emperor nodded slowly. “Very well. But tread carefully. Valerius is cunning, and he won’t be taken down easily.”

---

The next days were a whirlwind of political maneuvering. Geta worked tirelessly, gathering allies and searching for the proof he needed to expose Valerius. You stayed by his side, offering support where you could, though the palace’s walls felt suffocating after the peace of the villa.

Valerius, meanwhile, remained out of sight, though his presence lingered like a shadow. Rumors swirled of his movements—secret meetings, whispered plots—but nothing concrete emerged.

One evening, as you and Geta sat in his chambers, pouring over documents, a knock at the door interrupted your work.

“Enter,” Geta called.

A trusted guard stepped in, his expression grim. “My lord, we’ve found something.”

He held out a scroll, sealed with Valerius’s emblem. Geta took it, his brow furrowing as he read.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning closer.

“Correspondence between Valerius and several senators,” Geta said, his voice tight. “He’s been plotting to overthrow my father, using fabricated evidence against me as leverage.”

The guard hesitated. “There’s more, my lord. We captured one of his men trying to flee the city. He’s willing to testify.”

---

The trial was swift and brutal. Valerius was brought before the emperor, his usual confidence replaced by desperation. The evidence against him was damning, and the testimony of his captured ally sealed his fate.

“You have betrayed the empire,” the emperor declared, his voice cold and unyielding. “And for that, you will pay the ultimate price.”

Valerius’s execution was set for the following day, a public display meant to send a clear message: betrayal would not be tolerated.

As you and Geta watched the proceedings from the shadows, a sense of relief washed over you. The threat that had loomed over your lives was finally gone.

But as Geta’s hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring, you knew that your battles were far from over.

---

With Valerius gone, life in the palace shifted. Though whispers of your relationship persisted, Geta stood firm in his resolve to keep you by his side.

“I won’t hide what you mean to me,” he said one evening, his arms wrapped around you as you sat together in the gardens. “They’ll talk, but let them. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

His declaration sparked controversy, but over time, the court grew used to your presence. You remained by his side, navigating the treacherous waters of Roman politics together.

And though the road ahead was uncertain, one thing was clear: you and Geta were stronger together than apart.

Previous

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[e-nonsense]

─── 𝘴𝘰 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺

pairing. littleprince!jason todd x witch!reader

summary. royal au. insane, you were crazy and jason loved you for it. so if you were willing to wage war on gotham he was more than ready to stand by you. (previous part)

warnings. pet names: little pet, darling. depictions of witchcraft, war/violence (medieval), death, declaration of war

a/n. picture above is what i imagine the described ‘castle’ to be. lmao the lore has expanded

wc. 1.4k not proofread.

The doors to the castle slammed open, creating a loud echoing noise that startled everyone in the vicinity. Knights were on guard, stepping in front of the royal family as maids scrambled away.

At the door stood a group of strangely dressed people, with pointy ears and purple eyes shining dangerously, and in the centre stood you. Fingers clenched around your blade, as you stepped forwards.

“How dare you,” your voice echoed dauntingly , cold and icy, eyes filled with venom as you stared straight at Bruce. “You killed a child, Wayne.”

Bruce merely scoffed, “that was no child. The one with scales and a tail? A monster.” Eyes flickering to the limp body carried in the arms of the tall beast behind you.

“I warned you, one foot out of line and that is it.” You reply, John’s eyes snap to you, a sense of dread settling in his stomach.

“Kid—” the older man whispered, cutting himself off at the sight of your eyes.

“Then mark today the end of peace,” you speak, hood falling off, your hair streaked with gold. “I’ve tried to keep peace, but ever since your father’s reign my people have not known peace.”

Jason stood to his father’s left, looking between you and Bruce.

“From this day forth, neither will yours.” Just as those words are spoken screams and the smell of smoke come from afar.

“No,” Bruce mutter, eyes widening as he rushes past people and you to look outside at the village of innocent people and a large blue dragon spitting black fire onto the village.

“Stop— stop this madness.” Bruce hisses, grabbing you by the collar, hissing as he feels his hand burn at the touch. “Impure, stop it.”

You only laugh at him, eyes filled with madness as your people stand behind you protecting you from the knights, “my madness has only just begun.”

—

“You’re sure about this?” Nicola, a young siren asked, her head peeping out of the water. “If you’re sure we’ll help,” she adds.

“I’m tired of standing by and letting our people die,” you murmur, eyes downcast, staring at the young mer-children swimming around the large lake that leads out to the ocean.

“Then we’re with you, I’ll tell my father of your decision. We’ll keep them off the water.” She reassures, placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Thank you for fighting for us.” She whispers before ducking under the water and swimming off, the younger merpeople swimming after her.

You stood up, boots making a satisfying click against the wooden pier as you walked towards the forest to warn the creatures that lived there of the oncoming war.

“You declared war?” The old centaur asked, he knew you weren’t one to resort to violence.

“I was fueled by my rage, Chiron.” You mutter, “you didn’t see it. They killed him because he looked different. His mother, you didn’t see it, the cries and screams. But i understand if you want to leave.”

Chiron nods in understanding, placing a hand on your shoulder, “its okay.”

“If any of the others want to leave be by the statue at sunrise tomorrow. We’ll be sending those who don’t want to fight away, but if you decide to stay go to the mountain tops, the council is being reforged.”

He nodded, looking past the trees to the beautiful large abandoned castle sitting atop the mountain, a bridge built around it that allowed the water to fall freely off the mountain.

“I’ll tell them, save me a seat at your council.” He smiles before heading back, deeper into the forest.

—

Your fingers quivered with unease, stepping onto the abandoned land, the castle preserved with your ancestors magic, the magical pushed back against your touch, the magic only sensed as if it were a sixth sense for you.

You placed your hands firmly against the invisible wall, fingers glowing gold as your magic illuminated the barrier in gold before the gold shattered against your palms, sparks of ashy magic, over a thousand years old falling to pieces. The preservation spell destroyed.

Other mythical creatures watched in awe as the stone dragon in the courtyard cracked, revealing the golden scales beneath it and a pair of beady gold eyes as its wing shot out and everyone stumbled back as the dragon growled. It’s eyes locking on you and it steps forward, leaning its head down to look at you curiously before nudging your body with its enormous head and growling again.

Chiron chuckled, recognising the dragon from a thousand years ago. “You waited for her,” he muttered curiously, watching as the dragon nudged you again.

Her. By her, the old centaur didn’t mean you. No he meant the warrior from a thousand lives ago. Reborn time and time again. Even death wouldn’t be able to seperate friends like them.

The dragon grumbled, acting more like a puppy than a beast as it pushed you forward to the castles grand gold doors.

“This way?” You raise a brow as the dragon leads you past the courtyard to the large doors, the dragon huffs , nudging the doors to open them for you.

The interior of the palace is dark, not a spec of dust fallen anywhere, floors marble floors cracked and filled in with gold. And the walls painted grey. The people gathered behind you, gaping at the infrastructure with wonder.

“Let’s get started.”

—

War plans. Planning for war. Murder. Bloodshed. Jason. Sleep escaped you, your friends all tucked away around the castle. Snoozing away as you continued to stare at the papers in front of you.

So far your search for a plan was coming back with nothing. Dragons, sure. What would the humans do? Shoot them down with their monstrous contraptions.

The sirens? Pirates have been hunting them for years, nets and fire would do to easily kill them. Fairies and pixies, squashed like bugs. Witches, hunted like animals.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now, but I should’ve known better than to assume you’d actually sleep.” A voice cuts out, causing you to snap your head up, the air leaving your lungs as you feel yourself fall apart finally.

“Jason,” I whisper softly. Standing up and barrelling into his arms, the bigger man barely moving as you do so.

“Hey sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing the top of your head. His arms wind around your hips, holding you against him, “my pretty, crazy sweetheart.” He teases.

“You came, I thought—” he cuts you off almost immediately.

“That I’d stay with Bruce and let him try and kill you?” Jason finishes, “hell no, baby. I’m on your side.. no matter how psycho your side might get.”

You chuckle at that, still not moving an inch out of his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers gently, a stark contrast to his usual brazen self. “What the hell is that?”

You hum, tilting your head to look at the dragon. “Ignore her, she’s possessive.” You mutter and Jason raises a brow sceptically, “uh huh..”

“Let’s go inside.. away from the creepy dragon.” Jason suggests, holding you tighter and pulling you inside, away from the balcony.

—

The morning started with an argument. Your friends and allies voicing their distrust in your human companion, irritating you further. “I trust him, and you trust me, no?” You question those around you, Jason stood protectively at your side. Murmurs of agreement followed your question, a few of them nodding. “Then believe me when i tell you he won’t betray us.” More grumbled responses followed.

“Lovely, now. We have a war to prepare for, and if we’re not ready lord knows what’ll happen.”

And so the war plan began, arguments ensued about the strategy.

You started with the plans for training the people for war, who would train each segment of creatures and what they’d teach. Then it was decided, that training would be spilt into groups of each magical being and each of them would learn how to work with each other. Because one mistake could cost the war.

The people here looked to you, for safety, hope, they looked at you like they were ready to put their lives in your hands and it scared you. Having so many people believe in you when you can’t believe in yourself.

“Breathe,” Jason whispers in your ear, his hand finding its way to your thigh. “Breathe with me, you’re not alone. Look around, we all stand with you.”

Jason presses a kiss against your jaw, “I’ll never leave your side again.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 1k. series' masterlist.

                 BLOOD AND CHEESE. 

The news of Lucerys Velaryon's demise spread like wildfire over the realm, igniting the fury of Rhaenyra Targaryen and her supporters. Yet, somehow, within the Red Keep, they basked in their perceived victory, blissfully unaware of the plans made against them brewing on the horizon. The Green Council believed that they had secured their claim to the Iron Throne as more houses pledged their support for their side, growing in power. Little did they know that the ancient walls of the Keep held secrets far more dangerous than they could ever imagine.

Helaena Targaryen, as the newly-crowned queen, had long since established a nightly ritual where she would lead her young children to the chambers of the former queen to be greeted with warm milk and storytelling. This routine was well-known throughout the Keep, with even the low ratcatchers making way for the royals as they walked through the halls towards their destination. On this one fateful night, however, there was a change in the formation. The usual maids that accompanied the queen on her routine had asked to be dismissed, and instead she was followed by her younger sister, Haera. The usual guards that kept watch at the front of the room had been changed as well, replaced by newly-appointed young men. As they settled into the warm embrace of the Dowager Queen's chambers, the tranquillity of the moment was soon to be shattered by a darkness that would forever change the course of their lives.

A secret passage in Princess Haera's chambers creaked open, revealing the entrance to tunnels that had once served as a safe escape for the royal family. Two figures emerged from the shadows, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Unnoticed by the guards or ignored by them, they slipped through walls towards their goal. Princess Haera had been teaching the kids a lullaby, an ancient melody from the citadel, when she was silenced by a cold blade pressed against her delicate neck. A rough hand forced her back, grabbing a handful of her head to keep her in place. Blood and Cheese made their appearance, introducing themselves as justiciars, agents of vengeance for the death of Lucerys Velaryon. They demanded a life for a life, a son for a son.

Blood and Cheese allowed the Queen to choose between her sons—to give one of them up and save the other. In tears, she named her youngest, believing him to be too young to understand the situation. Helpless, the younger princess cradled her nephew, Maelor, while the eldest boy stood nearby, fear etched on his innocent face. Helaena, in desperation, offered her own life as a sacrifice instead of the life of her children, but the men's hearts were hardened by a thirst for blood, and so they turned their attention to the children. They taunted the young child before the true horror unfolded. With a swift, brutal strike of a sword, Jaehaerys' head was separated from his body, his blood splattering over the women in the room. The room was filled with the sickening sound of steel against flesh, the muffled cries of the child, and the piercing shriek that followed.

As the assassins vanished into the darkness, carrying the severed head of the young prince as a grim trophy, Queen Helaena wept over her fallen son, her heart shattered. Dowager Queen Alicent, overcome with grief and rage, rushed to summon the guards, but it was too late. The Keep drowned in chaos, with guards swarming the halls with faces taken by fear and confusion as they accused each other of negligence. Swords were drawn, and tempers flared as they searched for answers to the impossible question: How had the assassins managed to infiltrate the heart of the Red Keep, undetected?

Alicent clung to her broken daughters, heavy with grief as she shielded them from the sight of the child's body. Helaena's cries pierced the air, a shattering song that would haunt them for years to come. The younger sister, traumatised by the event, fell to the floor, foam spilling out of the corners of her mouth, yet no one could calm her. King Aegon turned into a shell of his former self, having to be contained in the throne room, where he had been spending the night with his companions while his family witnessed the murder of his heir. He threatened violence over anyone who dared to touch him.

A sole figure emerged from the chaos, strangely peaceful. Prince Aemond Targaryen's presence commanded silence. Was it for the intimidation of his temper or because of the reason why such a crime had been committed against an innocent child? With a single glance, he cut through the throng of guards and made his way to his sister, Haera. Gently, he took her into his arms, only offering her comfort in the face of the tragedy. As he carried her away, his one eye fell upon the lifeless body of Prince Jaehaerys, covered by a white sheet. Some say that a cruel smirk played upon his lips, a silent acknowledgement of his role in the boy's demise, while others claim he offered a sombre apology, taking responsibility for the horrific event. Regardless of the truth, Aemond's presence was a stark reminder of the dark forces at play.

Grief and despair marked the days that followed, with the Red Keep shrouded in sorrow. The city echoed with mourners; people who had never met the prince shed tears for the tragedy of his demise. In an attempt at showing some sort of reaction to the crime, the city's ratcatchers were rounded up and executed, their bodies hung from the walls as a grim warning. Otto Hightower replaced the human ratcatchers with an army of felines, whom he believed to be more honourable than men in the end.

Queen Helaena sank deeper and deeper into madness while the king raged, drank, and raged.

[heartysworld]

Thy blood shall flow through mine || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

What's up my loves, it's been a while! After I watched the new trailer and everything I couldn't contain my excitement and I just HAD to write something to cope with the 1 month we have left until season 2! I got the inspo for this from my Old English classes and as much as I was disgusted during class my mind had to turn this into an Aemond fic bc let's be honest, that man could be nastyyyy...

I'm not gonna lie this one is a bit rusty but it's been a while since I've written about Aemond and I was in my 3rd coffee omfor the day as I wrote it so yeah...enjoy

Masterlist

W.C: 1k

Mark but this knife, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is;

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in it our two bloods mingled be;

Thou know’st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do.

The letter was ripped apart in your hands moments after you read it out loud. Your uncle stood in front of you, his face covered with an unreadable expression as he watched you read his letter, the one of many you had found in your rooms.

The beautiful letter A sat neatly written in the bottom right corner of the parchment.

The first time you received one of these you were scandalized. Who could be so shameless to address such shameful writings to a princess? The first person who came to mind was your uncle Aegon, after all this was something that he would do with no doubt.

But then, as the letters kept coming you realized that the fool who dared call himself the future heir to the Iron Throne lacked the mental capacity to come up with such carefully crafted words, arranged in such way that send chills down your spine every time you read them. Aemond. It had to be him.

"Have you lost your mind, Aemond?" You asked, voice raising slightly as you looked at him, a desperate expression plastered on your face. "What if one of my maids found it? What if it got to my mother? Or the Queen? Not even Balerion himself could save me from their wrath. How could you be so senseless? And they call you the brightest one of the King's children!"

Everything that had been piling inside of you for the past few weeks finally came out as you voiced all of your frustrations.

The ripped pieces of paper gracefully fell from your fingers as they made their way towards the burning fire that lit up your chambers.

Your hand slowly made its way towards your face, touching the now wrinkled skin of your forehead as you felt the slowly forming headache that was going to torment you until dawn.

Seconds later, a larger, colder hand wrapped itself around yours, pulling you closer to a firm chest. The much familiar aroma of leather from riding gear, and hints of smoke and ash filled your nostrils.

"Hush, little hatchling. Do not fill yourself with excess frustrations. The Red Keep does not need another burnt scrub of the gardens." Aemond hushed against your ear. You could feel the corners of his mouth curl upwards as they hovered over the shell of your ear.

The contact with his body alongside his raspy voice stirred something deep inside you that made you shiver.

"We both know the way you've been looking at me for the past few moons. After that day in the courtyard, when my blade cut across your arm. It is soaked with your blood as much as it is with mine. Tell me, hatchling, does this not count as the consumation of a marriage? Is our blood not mingled together as it would be inside our own child? You are mine, hatchling, you've always been and will always be."

Aemond's words caused your breath to get caught inside your lungs, hot waves pulsating through your body.

His arms slowly encircled your waist, like a snake wrapping around their pray. He was the beast, you were his pray, and you've been willingly letting him sink his teeth in your neck for weeks now, taming you as his pet, his little hatchling that was about to become him forever.

" We can't, Aemond. Not when a war is about to rage above King's Landing and we're about to be on the opposing sides. I cannot let you take my hart in your possession only for you to shatter it to pieces the moment your grandfather blows his whistle at you like a dog and makes you drive a sword in between my mothers eyes!" You voice came out broken, eyes misty and reddish.

" I would rather drive that same sword through my grandfather's skull than let him take you away from me, Y/N!" Aemond snapped, his anger finally surfacing despite the facade he attempted to put up for you.

It never worked with you, him trying to hide what he truly felt. It's always been like this, to you, he was like an open book. No secrets, no nothing.

Masterlist

[ladystarksneedle]

The eye of awe

Aemond x maid reader

Summary: A maid at the Keep relishes in the sweetness of gratitude.

Word count: 1.2k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She hears the familiar clang of steel as she passes through the courtyard, wicker basket in hand daring to glance at the flash of silver dancing in the sun. He moves with the fluidity of men from myth, of childhood tales told by mothers of the Realm willing their meddlesome children to bed. Stories of agile and fearsome warriors fighting to save kingdoms of might and maidens of beauty, slender and graceful with their arms and legs, dancing to tunes of mystery. She finds him to have both, equal parts grace and ferocity as he dodges another blow before his blade lands against his opponent's throat. As the crowd erupts in applause she ducks under the archway leading indoors. Just like her childhood, her escape for the day is at its end and her eyes wide open to the life ahead.

Work at the Red Keep is equal parts arduous as it is rewarding. Despite her young age, she's been promoted from a scullery maid to working in service to the one eyed prince himself. She assists him daily, organizing his clothes, tidying his chambers, ordering his baths, serving his meals and above all making sure the order he has in place is never disrupted.

“Chaos is only tackled well on the battlefield” he'd said to her when she was brought to him “I do not expect an ounce near me. Should I find you lacking, you'll be sent away before you can make your apologies.”

His return to his chambers is angrier than usual. His bath lies ready at his disposal, his clothes laid out meticulously on the bed. A linen tunic, leather surcoat and coat, linen breeches, trousers of wool and two leather belts lined with gold are arranged in that order, all in shades of ivory, black and brown, adorned with the familiar three headed dragon glinting in gold ready to greet him once he finishes. The only piece of cloth that remains askew is his eyepatch discarded on the dresser in haste, as she stands waiting outside, unwilling to initiate change.

It is the only one he wears rather religiously despite its condition. It is whispered by the maids in passing, that it was Princess Helaena who made it for him, ever since he lost his eye at ten, the dreaded incident never spoken of lest one incur his wrath. It is said that the wound itself was inflicted by a lad of eight, his own nephew, for a purpose widely disputed by all she's heard from. She finds the whole thing rather nasty, a cruel punishment or perhaps an unfair trial from the Gods. The others think it rather fitting for a man so cruel to be felled in such a way, yet she finds it akin to being cursed, for him to be so beautiful yet troubled. Despite his harshness and cold gaze, he's been nothing but courteous to her which is the most she can expect from any master she serves and is far better than one with grabby hands and wayward eyes. He's expectant and demanding, yet acknowledges a task well done. Perhaps it is his look of quiet praise on a hard day that carries her to the markets at noon, skipping her meal with ease. The leather she requires has been borrowed from scraps cleaned at the dressmaker’s, earning her a bewildered gaze and an equally prompt dismissal. The clasp she looks for however, costs a silver dragon. It is a lot, nearly half of her earnings yet she parts with them willingly. The gold ornament burns her palms as she heads back in time to resume her duties, a thrilled smile on her face.

She's been taught how to sew since she was a child, enough to be able to fix a hole, a gape or tear in both tunic and chemise alike.

She has fixed her father's breeches after a hard day's work and her brothers’ after they'd torn theirs running through the crowded streets of King's landing. Even stitching a wound comes easy to her now, having learned how to do so, after a shoddy job a few moons back, when coin had run dry to turn to the local healer. She smiles to herself as she pulls the threads through the leather at hand. It is brown enough to hide the gaps in her work and though it isn't as fine as the embroidery of a lady she's satisfied with it nonetheless. She stares at her little contraption in awe as she finishes in time. It has a single strap running across its breath held together by a gold button she'd found lying on the floor. On its side she's opted for a sturdier one with the golden clasp holding it all together behind, a single flame for the prince she serves, the closest she'll ever come to the might of the dragon.

There's a feast to be held tonight, in honor of his nameday. Guests from all over the Realm have arrived and as the Keep buzzes with excitement of the festivities at dusk and she finds it hard to contain her own delight. There is much work to be done before she can part with her surprise. She tends to him soon, dressing him for dinner in leathers of green and black, clasping the familiar worn out strap as he leaves grumbling. It is hours later when she sees him again as she's summoned by the familiar ring of the bell in her quarters. She creeps to his room in trepidation, hands clasped behind her back as she greets and readies him for bed, her gift heavy in her pocket. As he turns to dismiss her she looks at him shyly

“If you don't mind me saying, I'd like to wish you a happy nameday my prince”

He nods in response, humming as he makes his way to the fireplace, seating himself as he stares ahead.

“I have something for you” she continues moving towards him as he looks up “It isn't much but a mere token of my gratitude” she says extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything” she continues, stopping as she looks at him. He takes the leather in his hand, turning it over in silence.

When she was a child her mother had taken her to see her aunt. It was the first trip she'd taken outside the capital to visit a dying woman and provide her comfort. As they'd returned she'd shown her the sky, full of stars at night, bright and beautiful away from the haze of the city.

“Your aunt's up there now girl, watching over you just as I'll be someday” she'd said pointing to the drops of light adorning the skies.

His eye runs over the gold in hand, flame fitting into his palm like it belongs, shining like the stars of a forgotten past.

“Come, help me wear it” he remarks as he leans back.

As she clasps it in place and curtsies, she’s lost to dreams of silver chased with a flame of gold.

Clashes of steel greet her the next morn, a flame of gold glinting in the sun. Her dreams don't end with the battle at hand anymore, for the mighty warrior now carries a part of the maiden with him and she's content to hold his gaze just a little longer.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

[emilykaldwen]

Title: Moonshadow Ship: Jacaerys x Helaena WC: 859 Rating: Gen Summary: Jace and Helaena tell stories beneath the light of the moon. Written for the @hotd-bigbang prompt: Moon Notes: Many many thanks to @acrossthesestars for her beta powers and helping me find the jace and helaena pictures and to @selfproclaimedunicorn reassuring me it wasn't terrible to begin with. this story isn't specifically related to any of my other projects, but you are welcome to consider it part of Maiden canon, or for last year's entry, The Lighting of the Blaze

The pair of them sat atop Visenya’s tower - the tallest in the Holdfast. Jace’s heart jumped into his throat when Helaena had clambered upon the red ledge, the wind catching at her silver hair, her laughter dancing on the breeze.

“You’ll fall,” he told her, but followed, as he always did, to perch beside her. The height was dizzying in a way that flying did not quite catch. He thought it was, perhaps, because there was no safety of his dragon beneath him. Just stone, warm from the day’s sun and his own practiced balance to be safe.

He tangled his fingers through Helaena’s, not for a moment thinking that he’d be able to pull her back should she fall. No, instead he would fall with her. She had woken up, frantic and tearful, and found her way to his rooms a night not so long ago, gasping as she crawled into bed with him. 

“I fell I fell I lost my wings I lost them they were taken I fell I fell.” 

Helaena had babbled those words over and over until his neck and nightshirt were soaked with her tears and he had to keep her sobs muffled lest one of the guards hear and discover them.

Her fingers were delicate, deceptively fragile when he knew how strong her grip was; how those very fingers could turn to claws just as they could stroke gently down the line of his spine.

“The Red Priest in the market told a story,” she whispered now, months later, far less frightened than before. The night was bright; the moon hung heavy and round in the sky, the blanket of twinkling stars so beautiful and wondrous, streaked with distant clouds that caught the light.He felt so small beneath the expanse. “He said that Azor Ahai thrust his sword into the breast of his wife, Nissa Nissa, and her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the moon.”

“I don’t see a crack,” Jace mused, his gaze searching across the bright shine of it. Dark blotches, certainly, but no tell-tale crack of an egg. “That’s a cruel way to treat the woman he loved the most in the world.”

“Are you saying you would not use my soul and blood to forge a great blade that would save the world?” Helaena laughed, her breath warm against his ear as the stone was warm beneath him. Jace squeezed her hand and her fingers tightened around his, reassuring. “There’s another story. There were two moons, my maid told me. One wandered too close to the sun and cracked open, birthing the dragons.”

“One of my grandfather’s crewmen told me a tale from Volantis.” It was Jace’s turn now. “That a shepherd approached the only dragon, to tame it by feeding him sheep. They would meet beneath the light of the moon.”

“In the night?” Helaena asked, a curious furrow to her brow that he brushed a kiss against to smooth. “But why is the shepherd visiting a dragon at night?”

“Because she was watching the flock to protect them from wolves,” he told her, tracking along the pictures in the sky, seeking out the fish, the lion, the hunter. “A dragon, she thought, would surely be the finest protector of her flock, for what wolf or thief would dare rouse the anger of the dragon.” She hummed softly but did not interrupt, her fingers playing with his. “Each night she came, feeding him one of the sheep to sate his hunger, so he might trust her, and eventually the shepherd lay with the dragon. The moons turned and the shepherd gave birth to more dragons.”

Helaena’s teeth scraped against her lower lip. “So the shepherd lay with the dragon and the dragon… fit?”

He snorted. “She was a very special woman.”

She shivered, giggling. “So the shepherd lay with the dragon. There were no other dragons?”

“I guess not. That’s what the story says: it was the only dragon. And that’s how the other dragons came to be, I suppose.”

“They do say that Old Valyria was founded by sheep herders,” Helaena mused. He felt her carefully shift to rest her chin upon his shoulder, and Jace turned his head slightly to brush his nose against hers. She smelled of citrus, of lemon balm and mint. “Kivio biantys,” she murmured. 

His cheeks turned red, his heart stuttering at the whisper. Promised shepherd, caretaker of the soul. Soulmates, as the Westerosi called it. His mouth went dry, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Did you dream this?” he asked, the Valyrian he’d learned from the cradle rolling off his tongue, the accent of his mother, of Laenor, of his grandmother coating the words. It was warm, different from the elegant polish of Helaena’s maester taught tongue. Sometimes he felt they should exchange how they sounded, to match their insides.

“Daor.” She blinked, soft and slow, matching lavender gaze reflecting the shine of stars, the pierce of moonglow that caught on her hair and Jace thought she was otherworldly with it - the woman of the tale he’d spun for her. “I just know it.”

[arataka-reigen]

Winter Anime Review by Yours Truly 🍄🌻

This season I said I would not watch anything besides dunmeshi. As we can all see... that was a fucking lie.

In total I've started 10 anime (can everyone praise me and be proud of me for being a bit more tame than I was in the fall season? At least it wasn't 20 anime this time).

My reviews are something I make just for fun, and they 100% reflect my own personal tastes. I might give a highscore to shows other people would call absolute trash, and that's okay! To each their own~~ That being said, I do try to make it very informative to aid you in choosing what you might want to check out by adding a summary and a few content warnings along with the actual review.

A little preview: this season has some great romance anime with couples that actually do make progress in their relationship, which is kind of rare for anime couples, always on their "will they wont they" thing, so if anything, i would recommend picking up one of the romances this time around. (And dunmeshi. Watch dunmeshi.)

***This review will include exclusively animes that debuted this winter, so no 2nd seasons or continuing shows from the fall season.

So, without further ado, let's get into it under the read more.

Dungeon Meshi

Summary: Seinen, Fantasy, Gourmet, Comedy

A party of adventurers gets stuck fighting a Dragon even though they are starving and in no shape to survive. In a last ditch effort to make it out alive, mage Falin sacrifices herself to save her brother Laios and their party. She sends them back to the surface but gets eaten by the Dragon. Now Laios and co are in a race against time to save Falin before she gets digested. The problem? They don't have any money for food. The solution? DUNGEON MESHI!!! AH, DUNGEON MESHI!! DUNGEON FOOD!! JUST EAT THE GODDAMN MONSTERS 😋

Rating: 10/10

Review: if you've been following me for 2 seconds or less you already know dunmeshi is one of my all time favorite mangas. And the anime absolutely delivers. The animation is great, the voice acting is great both subbed or dubbed (the english dub AND the portuguese dub are worth it). The comedic bits hit so hard, and we're just at the start but you can already see bits and pieces of a larger and more dramatic story unfolding.

World building is insane. Character design is insane (everyone say thank you Ryoko Kui our goddess).

Not only is the story incredibly well written with no plot holes, the characters are also well fleshed out and three dimensional.

I could sing praises for it for hours, but then it would leave no space for the other shows on this list so I'll stop now.

But if you only have time to watch one anime this season, this one is it.

Content Warning: blood, death, necromancy crimes 🧟‍♀️

7th Timeloop: the Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Life Married to Her Worst Enemy

Summary: Reincarnation, Fantasy, Romance

Rishe is not new to the reincarnation business. This is her 7th time around. After being accused of crimes she didn't commit and having her engagement to the crown prince broken off in her 1st life she went on to discover that life is full of possibilities and adventures. But, after 5 years, she died. Only to find herself back at the moment the crown prince broke off their engagement. With each life she explores new countries and new possibilities, but in every life, after 5 years, she is caught up in the war waged by emperor Arnold Hein, and is killed. In her 6th life she dies directly by Arnold's blade and in a turn of fate she runs into him in her 7th life, catching his attention, and maybe his heart? Can she prevent her death this time around and finally live a peaceful life?

Rating: 10/10

Review: ah, we all knew the otome reincarnation was coming. This shit is my life source. That being said, even if it wasn't, I would still probably really love 7th Time Loop. It's just that good.

Rishe is a great main character, in all her past lives she was on The Grind. From being a merchant, to a doctor, to a maid, to a royal guard. And now she tells herself she just wants to chill, but this girl simply cannot chill. She is playing mind games with Arnold, trying to figure out what he is planning and how to stop the war from breaking out.

Meanwhile, Arnold is head over heels in love and probably so so full of trauma we still don't know yet. We must protect this dude. I'm very excited to find out more and more about him and what exactly led him to start a war against the world.

The animation is gorgeous, I love the way the eyes are drawn like constellations.

The romance is great and developing at a very nice pace, Arnold is very respectful of Rishe's boundaries for their marriage and overall just a really great guy.

CW: blood, death, kidnapping.

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!

Summary: Boys Love, Adult Cast, Workplace, Supernatural, Comedy

Office worker Kiyoshi Adachi has gone 30 years of life without ever having his cherry popped. Due to this profound accomplishment, he gains the ability to read minds through physical contact. However, this new skill has only made his life harder and he now hates crowded spaces.

On the way to work, Adachi runs into his colleague Kurosawa, curious about what an outgoing guy like him thinks about, Adachi touches him and finds out that Kurosawa has a crush on someone from their office, looking further he realizes Kurosawa is actually crushing on him.

Rating: 10/10

Review: first of all, if you say "romance + adult cast" you already have my full attention. Add mind reading to the mix to make sure that the main character doesn't have miscommunication problems and i'm at the fucking table eating it up.

This show is incredibly funny, Kurosawa's thoughts about Adachi are always so sweet and/or horny and obsessed, but he is still just a super great guy with great morals and he would never do anything Adachi doesn't want (much to Adachi's surprise because he thought the dude was going to jump him anytime with how badly in love his thoughts are).

Adachi is straight until proven otherwise, and Kurosawa proves otherwise really fast. The pace of their romance is really great, we dont get ten thousand episodes of "will they wont they" and I really appreciate that.

CW: none that i can think of atm. Let me know if you have anything i could add here.

Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss but I'm Not the Demon Lord

Summary: Otome Isekai, Fantasy, School

Yumiella Dolkness is a girl with dark hair and dark magic (characteristics associated with the Demon Lord) and for that she is feared.

When Yumiella was 5 years old she regained memories of her past life in modern Japan, and the game she used to play: Light Magic and the Hero. In it, Yumiella was the secret boss you had to defeat after the Demon Lord. Determined to avoid this fate she applies gamer logic to her life and begins adventuring in dungeons to max her power levels.

Now, 15 year old Yumiella is going to school, where she will meet the true hero of the game. She wants to avoid calling attention and just go through her school years without trouble. But when their power levels are measured in the first day of school, she is measured as a level 99 dark magic user and now even the king and queen have their eyes on her.

Rating: 10/10

Review: you gotta trust me on this one and get through the first ten minutes, I promise it gets so much better after Yumiella is really introduced. They just had to spend a few minutes doing a gag introduction, where you follow the game's hero before you find our beloved villainess. And it was very cool how the opening resemble a dating sim game opening.

Yumiella is great, one of my favorite female leads this season, and that is including frieren and maomao from the fall season animes that are still airing. She is not very aware of all the social cues and has trouble communicating and making friends, but we get to see her inner thoughts and they're always hilarious.

My favorite gag is that dark magic can be used for healing, but the healing process looks fucking grotesque so people would rather not be healed by Yumiella. For some reason that always gets me.

I really fucking hate the 4 hero characters, they're super annoying, but in a "i love to hate them" way, and I love seeing yumiella wipe the floor with their asses without even trying because she is just that overpowered. Most of the anime is just her trying to use just a tiny bit of her power because if she uses her full power people would just straight up die with a simple punch.

CW: blood

Yubisaki to Renren

Summary: ✨️Shoujo✨️, Adult Cast, Romance

(Summary stolen from myanimelist, sorry) Yuki Itose is a hearing-impaired university student whose world has been shrouded with silence since birth. She has lived in the same place her whole life, and rarely interacts with others save for her best friend, Rin Fujishiro. During her commute one day, she meets the silver-haired and multilingual Itsuomi Nagi, a mutual friend of Rin. Unlike most, Itsuomi is unwavering when he learns of Yuki's impairment; this, along with his experiences abroad, fascinates and touches her. After they part, her fondness of him starts to grow. A new world begins to open for both Yuki and Itsuomi as they learn about each other's different lives.

Rating: 10/10

Review: and here we have The Shoujo Of The Season. And it occupies that spot marvelously.

Yuki and Itsuomi are another one of the incredible couples of the winter season. Relationship developing at a very nice pace that isn't too fast and not too slow (like shoujo can be sometimes). Yuki is very inspired by Itsuomi, she wants to see the world and experience new things now that she got a glimpse into his life and realized how big the world is.

I specially love how cool, calm and collected Itsuomi always acts, but how his cousin, Kyouya, lets us know that Itsuomi is really interested in Yuki and just shows it in different ways, like the way his voice gets very affectionate towards her.

The animation!!!!! Wow!!!! So soft!!! So warm!!!! I love it!!!! I'm sure you'll love it too!!!

Sound design is also very good, it's specially interesting during scenes where we cant hear anything because we are on Yuki's point of view. I wish it happened even more often.

I've seen people compare this show with Koe no Katachi but they're very different shows, specially since we get to see most of this one through Yuki's point of view, while Koe no Katachi was not from the POV of the hearing-impaired character and dealt a lot more with issues like bullying and suicide. Yubisaki to Renren is a lot more light-hearted, soft, sweet and overall just a feel good anime.

I am always going to recommend shoujo. Specially when they're as good as this one is. So definitely check this one out.

CW: none that I can think of. Let me know if there is anything I should put here.

The Foolish Angel Dances with the Devil

Summary: Seinen, Romance, Comedy, Supernatural

The angels and the devils are waging a war. Things are not looking so good on the devils' side, so they send Akutsu Masatora on a journey to the human world, to find someone that can aid the demons on their fight.

Akutsu is assigned a seat next to Lily Amane, the cutest girl in class. But when he tries to recruit her to the devil's side he realizes she is not a normal human. Now he must deal with the fact that he is tied to his mortal enemy, an angel, and with the fact that he might be falling in love.

Rating: 10/10

Review: More like,, the foolish devil gets played by the angel.

Akutsu and Lily get into stupid mind games trying to make the other fall in love, all while realizing that "hey, angels/devils arent so bad after all" as they spend more and more time together.

It reminds me just a bit of Kaguya-sama how the main couple wants the other to cave first.

This show is simply hilarious, I was laughing out loud at so many stupid scenes. Some gags do get old a bit fast, but overall it's still going strong and makes up for where it falls short with how badly in love these two already are just a few episodes in.

I'm not sure we'll get a proper confession this season, but it doesnt look like these two will be stuck forever in the "will they wont they" stage like the couple from kaguya-sama.

CW: there is a scene by the end of episode one that is completely played as a joke that has one of the lead characters putting a collar on the other lead and the imagery was a bit disturbing, definitely leaning on non con bdsm themes, it isnt terrible, just felt a bit distasteful to me, but nothing big, i dont think it should deter you from watching this, but watch out for that.

Solo Leveling

Summary: Action, Fantasy

(Synopsis stolen from myanimelist again) Ten years ago, "the Gate" appeared and connected the real world with the realm of magic and monsters. To combat these vile beasts, ordinary people received superhuman powers and became known as "Hunters." Twenty-year-old Sung Jin-Woo is one such Hunter, but he is known as the "World's Weakest," owing to his pathetic power compared to even a measly E-Rank. Still, he hunts monsters tirelessly in low-rank Gates to pay for his mother's medical bills.

However, this miserable lifestyle changes when Jin-Woo—believing himself to be the only one left to die in a mission gone terribly wrong—awakens in a hospital three days later to find a mysterious screen floating in front of him. This "Quest Log" demands that Jin-Woo completes an unrealistic and intense training program, or face an appropriate penalty. Initially reluctant to comply because of the quest's rigor, Jin-Woo soon finds that it may just transform him into one of the world's most fearsome Hunters.

Rating: 8/10

Review: everyday that passes I find myself liking battle shounen less and less. This one is not bad, it is actually quite interesting, it's just not the type of stuff i'm into anymore, I guess.

That being said, if you're in the mood for it, this one if very interesting. Jin woo's life is now completely ruled by this game that allows him to level up, and he is getting a bit fucked in the head by it.

Animation is great, I love when his eyes get all shiny because you know he's gone Beast Mode.

Not a lot of characters introduced so far, but it's still cool to see Jin Woo leveling up on his own. I mean... a show named solo leveling has got to make sure that the solo aspect isnt boring lol.

For some reason tho I still gave it an 8, which is high, so... it's pretty good.

Jin woo is just a bit... generic i guess. Nothing you havent seen before from an isekai male lead.

Also... i miss his haircut from the earlier episodes, his current haircut makes him look even more generic.

CW: blood and gore, body horror, torture, death games. Big and scary god statue that smiles in a fucked up way and kills kills kills.

Drop Box

Animes I either already dropped for a specific reason or will probably drop in the future simply because I wont have time to watch everything I started this season, so among the 10 I started, these are the ones i'm least likely to finish:

Majo do Yajuu

Summary: Seinen, Action, Fantasy

Guideau and Ashaf are an ominous pair, working for a mysterious organization that deals with magic crimes. Guideau is a feral and unhinged girl/genderless beast with a curse she wants to break and Ashaf is her soft spoken and calm companion. They go from town to town looking for witches to defeat and trying to find the witch who cursed Guideau and get their revenge.

Rating: 7/10

Review: I do like this one, I just think that if it comes to it and I dont have time, I wont miss it too much if I never finish it.

The blood and gore are heavy, and that might be the reason why i'm fine dropping it, i'm not that big of a fan of gore.

Other than that tho, I find the two main characters extremely interesting and i want to learn more about them, specially Guideau and her curse and that crazy beast mode she goes on when she manages to put a pause on her curse sometimes.

CW: blood and gore, body horror

Gekai Elise

Summary: Reincarnation/Otome Isekai, Fantasy, Medical, Romance

(Again, stolen from myanimelist) In her first life, the renowned and genius surgeon Dr. Aoi Takamoto was Elise de Clorance, a villainess of noble descent. Elise's selfishness, insolence, and obsessive love for her fiancé—Prince Linden de Romanoff—led to the deaths of her family members and, eventually, herself. Only after being reborn did Elise realize the error of her ways and decide that, instead of ruining lives, she would devote herself to saving them. But a tragic airplane crash robs her of her dreams too soon.

By a miracle, Elise wakes up in her original body before her official engagement to Linden. Recognizing the chance to cherish her loving family and free Linden from an unwanted marriage, Elise wishes to use her advanced medical knowledge to continue down the path of saving lives. In a deal with the emperor, Elise is given only six months to prove that her true place is not on the throne, but rather with the wounded and ailing who desperately need her help.

Rating: 6/10

Review: I'd like to say I dropped this show for personal reasons, not because it is a bad show.

It is definitely not the best otome isekai of the season (7th time loop and Villainess 99 win by a mile), but it is quite good and has an interesting premise. The main couple didn't seem too promising or interesting to me tbh.

The thing that interested me the most was the fact that Elise's original life was as a noblewoman, her second life was as a doctor and then he got a chance to relive her first life and change the mistakes she made.

Unfortunately, I am a med student, and I simply can't watch medical related stuff without nitpicking it to hell and back. Mostly, I try to distance myself from medicine related shows because my life already revolves around it too much, u know. I just need a break from All That when I'm watching my silly little shows, so... i had to drop this one.

Also, the main character was kind of annoying, but that might just be me.

Anyway, check this out if you think it sounds interesting. I might not be the best judge of this one.

CW: plane crash, death, medical procedures, surgery

Gushing Over Magical Girls

Oh boy...

I'm putting the CW before anything else because this one is problematic and I don't want anyone acting like I didn't warn them beforehand.

CW: this is straight up softcore porn and the characters are all middle/highschool aged. The anime revolves around BDSM themes (so many and increasingly worse themes, from simple bondage to pain play, to age play and other stuff), and there is nothing more than that to it, all the character growth is about the characters becoming more and more uninhibited with their sexual preferences. Also extremely dubious consent for all of it.

This is just a hentai disguising as an ecchi. It's fully yuri tho. Small blessings lol.

Summary: Mahou Shoujo, Girls Love, Ecchi, Comedy

I'm tired already so this will be short. Utena is a girl obsessed with magical girls. One day she gets the chance to become a magical girl herself, however, she is fooled and actually becomes a villain. She is made to fight Tres Magia (magical girl group) and ends up realizing she quite enjoys inflicting pain against them.

Review: the animation is good, very clean, the boob physics is not all that bad (what. this is an honest review and the anime is an ecchi. i gotta talk abt the boob physics.)

It is indeed super funny and definitely unhinged.

Plot wise, it is pretty straightforward, girl likes magical girls -> girl finds out she likes to watch magical girls suffering and in pain and moaning (well, not only watch, she does a lot of touching too)

Do I recommend it? No. Am I having fun watching it? Yes, it is pretty funny if you're the type of person who can ignore A Lot of things.

I'll probably favor the other animes tho so this one is very likely to get dropped before the season is through.

Thank you for reading (if you managed to make it this far lol, although this list is definitely smaller than my fall anime list)

If there is any other anime you think I should check out this season leave it in the replies and I might take a look at it and update this review with it!

[porcelana-r0ta]

Almost Saved You With Prayer

Fandom: Trash of the Count's Family

Relationships: Jour Thames/Deruth Henituse, Jour Thames & Original Cale Henituse

Word Count: 1745

Summary: When her son is born, his Rings are strange, and Jour is heartbroken.

Ao3 Link: [Here]

Her son’s birth is a long and painful one, but it is worth it when a bundle of soft fabric is placed gently in her arms, her little baby still crying angry tears. She’s so in love with her child and exhausted from delivering him that she doesn’t immediately notice the Rings of Life that circle around him in concentric, overlapping bands. 

“Cale,” she says, her voice hoarse from her own screams. “Cale. His name is Cale.” 

“A perfect name for the heir of the Henituse County,” the midwife says kindly. “Shall I send for the Count?” 

“Yes.” She’s breathless. Starstruck by the soft red baby hairs on her newborn’s head. He’s still crying, but she doesn’t care. She just loves. 

“As you wish, Countess.” With a bow, the midwife leaves, and not even a minute later, her husband comes running in. 

“Jour,” he says, panting, his eyes wide and full of wonder. He is quickly at her bedside, his gaze darting from his son to his wife. “The baby?”

“His name is Cale,” she says. “He wants to meet his father.” 

Deruth’s hands tremble as he takes Cale from her. One hand under the baby’s body and the other under his head, supporting the weight that Cale can’t hold up yet. 

“Hold him closer to your face,” she instructs, “so he can see you.” 

Deruth follows her instruction, and something in Cale stalls. His sobbing devolves into sniffles, and then ceases altogether, hazy little eyes blinking imploringly up at his father. 

Her husband is suddenly in tears himself. 

“Cale,” he says, and his tears fall. “Our son, Cale.” 

“Our son.” Jour smiles the words, safe and happy in her mouth. “We’re parents now.” 

“We are.” Deruth lifts the baby just a little higher and lowers his forehead to Cale’s. “Gods, Cale. Mommy and Daddy will always be there for you.” 

Her smile goes a little smaller at that. 

“Yes, we will.”

xxXxx

The next day, when Jour’s brain is no longer flooded with endorphins and exhaustion, her closest maid, Amelia, hands her Cale, and Jour finally notices the Rings around her baby boy. 

They start from the chest, as everyone’s Rings do, and then expand outwards, one for every year of life the person will experience. Cale’s Rings are healthy and bright silver, normally reassuring, if not for the fact that there are three sets of Rings. One is the healthy and bright set, another is a dim set of flickering gold, and the last is a rusting brown, sick in its life. 

Her breath catches in her throat, and if she were not in bed, she would have surely collapsed. 

“My Lady?” inquires Amelia, her tone cautious. “Is everything alright?” 

“Oh, yes,” she says. “I was… I was just struck by the wonder that is my baby.”

“He is lovely,” Amelia says happily. “The County is surely blessed to have him.” 

“Yes,” Jour agrees. “Amelia, please give me a few moments alone with my son.”

“Yes, my Lady.” And Amelia bows out, leaving Jour to stare at the two sets of Rings, and how the first set cuts off so abruptly and violently in slivers of silver. 

“Oh, my baby boy,” she whispers in the loneliness of her bedroom. “What happens to you?”

She reaches out, her hand shaking, and she latches onto that broken Ring, the fortieth band. Her fingernails dig into the noncorporeal form.

Show me, she commands her Ancient Power. Show me everything.

She sees blood and fire and agony and regret. The tear of flesh and bone. A figure kneeling in blood. And she hears weeping and screams and the clash of blades against blades and armor alike. 

And then she hears it: 

“Do we have a deal?” 

“...We do.”

She comes out of the vision crying for her son. She can’t see through her tears. 

“Cale, my baby.” She places her hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs. With her other hand, she pulls Cale to her chest, as if to bury him there forever and protect him from that wretched future. “No! No, please, no, not my baby....”

xxXxx

When Jour was a child, she had a brother fourteen years her senior. His name was Ashur, and by the time she was capable of storing memories, he was married with a son of his own, 

“Jour,” he said once when she was sighing over a boy at age fifteen. “Don’t be too excited. We are Thames.” 

“I know,” she replied, annoyed. Little sisters were always annoyed at older brothers, no matter the age difference. “I can still like them.” 

He gave a sad little smile, “Yes, you can. Perhaps I was too harsh. You won’t always be able to enjoy this time, after all.” 

She wrinkled her nose, “You sound all old, Orabeoni.” 

“I’m decently old, for a Thames.” 

“Our parents are older.” 

“You and I both know that Mother and Father are the exception, not the rule.” 

Her chest became heavy, and Ashur continued, “Time gives the Thames enough mercy to live on.”

“I know,” she whispered, and she pretends not to see the way Ashur’s thirtieth Ring breaks into red sparks of nothingness. 

xxXxx

The maids think she has postpartum depression, and she doesn’t know how to explain herself, so she doesn’t correct them. She just continues to pour herself over her old Thames texts, searching for any way possible to spare her son from his pain. 

By the time he’s a year old and Deruth tearfully begs her to take care of herself, she has to start looking for a different path. 

She pulls aside Head Butler Ron Molan, who’d been hired a year and a half ago. 

“Ron,” she says. She bounces her son on her hip to keep him from being fussy. “I’m sure you’re aware that Henituses don’t hire just anyone.”

“Of course, my Lady. This Ron is pleased to have a job here so that his son might be raised well.” 

“That’s good.” Jour plays with her son’s red hair that matches her own. “Ron. I know what the Molans used to do on the Eastern Continent.” 

“Ho?” His voice is suddenly dangerous and quiet, but Jour knows him, knows his Rings and his son’s Rings, and she thus knows she will be fine. 

“I want you to protect Cale,” she says. She looks up from her son’s hair to meet Ron’s eyes. “Protect my son, Ron, and you and your son will never have to run again.” 

He relaxes just a bit, but it’s enough. 

“This Ron would never do otherwise, my Lady.” 

“Good.” She sighs, presses a kiss into Cale’s hair, and says, “Thank you. Thank you, Ron.”

xxXxx

There’s not much else to do after ensuring her boy will live as long as possible, somehow until age forty and eighteen and seventy-three all in one. The Thames studied time, not space, but there are still enough cross-referenced texts in her library that she knows it’s not regression but transmigration. 

Her baby will be leaving his family, not just like her, but it will be enough. 

When he’s four years old, she runs her index finger around his fifteenth silver ring, the future flashing across her mind’s eye, and thinks, Well, not much of a family. Not much of a father.  

She asks Deruth to always be there for her child, to say no when he needs it, and Deruth just laughs. 

“Well, he’ll have everything he’ll ever need!” he says. “He’s a Henituse, and your son, at that. How can I say no to your visage?”

She gives a wan, watery smile. That might have been nice to hear before Cale was born, before she saw his future. 

“We can’t let him be too spoiled, dear.”

Deruth embraces her from behind, wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her into his chest. He buries his face in her red hair, “Well, no.  But he deserves it.”

“It would be a disservice to our son.” 

He sighs out a laugh, “You’re right. You always are. No, we won’t spoil him.”

“You’ll say no when he needs it? When it’s best for him?” 

“Yes, of course. Especially if it’s best for him.”

“Good,” she smiles brighter. 

Later that night, she creeps into her son’s room. At four, he sleeps soundly, no longer a colicky newborn or a toddler in pain of teething. She rests her finger on his fifteenth silver ring, and weeps. 

Nothing has changed. Her husband is a liar. 

Jour doesn’t know what to fucking do. 

xxXxx

Jour runs her fingers around Cale’s fifteenth and eighteenth silver rings and tries not to feel betrayed whenever she looks at her husband or the Molans. 

It’s not their fault her son is so purely Thames that they believe his act without any training.

xxXxx

Jour’s son is eight and she is on her last Ring. She’s done everything she can for him and still she’s done nothing. There’s only one thing left to do.

One night, while Deruth is out on business in the city nearby, she cries herself to sleep. 

When she awakes, she writes a letter. 

“To the person who will be living in my son’s body…” She accepts what must be done. The man—White Star—in her son’s future cannot be allowed to acquire her full Ancient Power.

xxXxx

Next week, when Jour leaves for her trip to Harris Village, she kisses her husband. Then, she hugs her son, tiny and small and so full of love that he would destroy himself for children sprung on him with no notice, and she only barely holds back her tears. 

“Goodbye, Mama. I love you!”

“And I love you, Cale.” She holds his face, rubbing her thumbs under his brown eyes, and he smiles trustingly up at her, believing that she’s coming home healthy. 

Her heart breaks. She hugs him again. 

Deruth reaches out to hold her hand while she hugs Cale, and she takes it, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting it drop. 

She loves him, too, and she would choose him in every lifetime. But she doesn’t want to touch him when she knows what he will do to her son.

Long after the carriage has left Rain City’s limits, she weeps. 

She is leaving her son with people who will let Cale rot alone in alcoholism and self-hatred, the joke and scorn of noble and common society alike.

Maybe that makes her worse than all of them.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

dark schenider with shinobu!reader headcanons

Warnings: ooc, violence, KNY manga spoilers, Bastard!! anime season two spoilers, mentions of night-terrors and PTSD.

If you are not comfortable reading this type of story, please push the back button and read something more pleasant.

Hey guys, welcome to the fluffier version of the yandere headcanons, featuring the handsome, arrogant wizard Dark Schneider of the Netflix's anime series Bastard!! Heavy Metal, Dark Fantasy and the character!reader who is Shinobi Kocho from the beloved world of Demon Slayer aka Kimetsu no Yaiba! The link to them will be here.

Special thanks to @anniespostssworld for helping me bounce back ideas and scenarios that would work best for these headcanons, so this dedicated to them and to all of the other fellow Bastard!! fans.

If you haven't seen either of these shows, I highly recommend them as to me, they are well worth watching and give me a good laugh after a particularly long day at work. Please bear in mind that Bastard!! might not be suited for everyone and does have some moments that may not be ideal for photosensitive viewers.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy this ride of heavy metal, magic, and blossoming romance :)

PART TWO

Yoko was starting to worry about you. These last two years hiding in A-Ian-Maide haven’t been easy. Between training and helping the samurai fight back against the Dark Rebel Army, the high priestess barely had time to herself but she did care about you. You and Lucien, that is. If she was lucky, she would see you in the compound’s dining hall or holed up in the medical wing treating patients with that small, patient smile of yours. 

Still….she couldn’t help thinking you were actively avoiding her too. 

Could it be…that you still carried the guilt of what happened in Meta-llicana in your heart? Is that also why you have been training too? Trying to hone your swordsmanship and expand medical knowledge to the point where Joshua has carried you in his arms, collapsed from utter exhaustion? 

How could you even think like that when the downfall of the kingdom wasn’t even your fault? Is that why you looked like you haven’t been sleeping well? 

You were being suffocated again. The flowery cologne was the only thing you could smell, tinged with the coppery undertone of your own blood as strong, cold arms held you close to a man whom you despised with your entire being. Douma. Douma, the cult leader who had devoured his followers as a way of showing them true enlightenment even when he didn’t believe in the gods or the afterlife. Douma, the monster who murdered Kanae and drove you to the point of twisting your body’s organs with high concentrations of wisteria poison for an entire year. Douma…the person who had embraced you in your final moments, your ninichrin blade sticking through his chest as he absorbed you, declaring that you were his strongest opponent and his love for you under the same disgusting breath. 

Go to hell! 

That was the last thing you said to that rotten bastard before you lost consciousness. You would soon be found by the High Priest Geo Noto Soto in a sea of blood and blade fragments….and the rest, as they say, is history. And then the fall of Meta-llicana. Your current, precarious situation.

But why are you here again, trapped in Douma’s arms and listening to the same words, feeling the pain from your battle with him as if the gods took delight in seeing this macabre play rehearsed over and over? Is this truly someone’s idea of a joke? Or….is it a reminder that no matter how hard you tried….you cannot save everyone? That the hours you had dedicated to nurse warriors back to health, to reading medical texts until late hours of the night and getting stronger….it will never be enough?

You wiggled in the demon’s arms, snarling and writhing as you felt yourself being sucked into his body. No. Your mind was racing, heart pounding against your ribcage No, you are still alive. You’re alive, and so was Yoko, and Lucien! You tried to help them! You tried to help the knights evaluate the citizens of Meta-llicana before rushing to help the others fight against Abigail! 

“Who said you could be forgiven?” An icy hiss ticked your ear. “Who said you could live when others had died that day? If anything, you deserved to die, not them. You have and always will be the weakest Hashira of them all.”

Frustrated tears began to swell in the back of your eyes as a sob lodged in your throat but damn it all you refused to let it crawl up and be released into the air for this bastard to see your moment of weakness, even if this is all an illusion. 

You are the Insect Hashira, and you will always be ready to lay your life on the line for the people you cherished, past and present. Just as these words echoed in your mind, you felt someone else’s arms coil around your hips. With a hard yank, you were pulled away from Douma’s body and then…you were free. Weightless, boundless, floating in a bright white space that you no longer recognize as part of the Infinity Castle’s lotus pier. 

That was when you felt warm fingers lightly caress the top of your head, calloused pads brushing against your clammy skin. The hand did not belong to someone you knew; it was gentle, cautious, and  even a little scared. It’s as if the person was trying to comfort you, but was afraid of your reaction. 

You immediately thought of Kanae, and that was when the dam in your mind broke. The tears easily spill out of your closed eyes, followed by an anguished wail that causes more tears to slide down your face. Finally….finally you can let everything out, to be weak for just a moment. In this moment of vulnerability, the hand became two, then stretched to muscular arms that enclosed your body in a warm embrace. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now, nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around.” 

Dark Schneider is the greatest wizard in the entire universe with a limitless arsenal of magic at his command. He hadn’t expected, however, that he had nearly depleted his magical reserves in the fight against Abigail. What little remained after the Helloween spell was used to perform two spells at the same time: resurrection of the fallen ones, and teleportation. In his case, he had made sure Yoko and [First Name] had gotten as far away from the kingdom as possible before it was destroyed, and he regressed back into the recesses of Lucien’s mind. 

Two years. It took him this long to restore the magic he had lost into his body as he had no other choice but to let his weaker half take control. Last year, about six months after Meta-llicana’s destruction, he finally woke up…and saw the world through Lucien’s eyes. Sleeping for that long left him drowsy, so hearing Yoko’s voice after being surrounded by silence for so long should have been a blessing. And it was, though the dark wizard wasn’t exactly glad to be on the receiving end of her abrasive attitude, again. Granted she did take care of him as Lucien for as long as he could remember; fed him, made sure he ate and did his fair share of the chores, and so on. 

Is it really necessary to always hit him as soon as she thought he was being a disgusting pervert as the handsome, bad-ass Dark Schneider or sighed in exasperation, wishing that he would grow more of a backbone as Lucien? 

Quite frankly, he’s surprised himself for being so patient with her, and this is only the second season of the anime. He really thought she was his woman, the one who was worthy of bearing his children in the far, distant future once he had conquered the world. But now that he’s had all the time in the world to think…he doesn’t feel that way anymore. If anything, his feelings for Yoko had simmered to the affection towards an annoying older sibling who thinks they know you better than everyone or can boss you around just because they ‘raised you’.

And he never went past first base with Sean Ari or Kai Harn, so far as he’s concerned, he’s been a saintly hero in this show. 

Even thinking about the women at this base, all who were actually quite attractive in their own way, felt wrong when the image of [First Name]’s pinched smile flashed across his vision. And it’s been like that for a while now. 

[First Name] may not possess the powers of a cleric, a highborn status or trained rigorously under Kai in the art of the Hariken Slashing Implosion swordsmanship, she did treat others with respect and kindness as Yoko did, and a bit more. She even provided medical aid to people who had once been an enemy. 

But above being a good-hearted apothecary and an exceptional swordswoman, the Insect Hashira adored Lucien. She loved his weaker self, and respected Dark Schneider. She never tried to control either of them, instead giving them attention and praising them for doing a good job. She never raised her voice at him, and occasionally snuck some candy to him behind Yoko’s back. 

[First Name] Kocho loved Yoko Tia Noto too, in her own way…though she had almost attacked the high priestess in the middle of a night-terror just a few nights ago. Yoko naively went to check on the apothecary when she heard screams coming from [First Name]’s room and instead got pinned to the bed with a knife to her throat. 

Yoko forgave [First Name], but [First Name] could not forgive herself. She threw herself more into her work; spending hours in the medical wing’s laboratories to create a poison strong enough to destroy three different types of demi-humans, including a paralyzing agent that would require just a small dose to knock down an ogre, or sparring with the samurai until late at night. Skipping meals periodically became a habit, and now rumor has it that she hasn’t slept in her own room since the supply runners had come back grievously injured after an encounter with one of the Shogun Sorcerers. 

Scowling in Lucien’s form, Dark Schneider snuck out of his room and headed towards the medical ward. He had a silent agreement with his weaker self: under the condition that his intentions are only to ensure [First Name] did not keel over from overexhaustion when Yoko was too busy with being on the frontlines with the samurai, the wizard would take control but he still needed to use Lucien’s quirks so the cleric didn’t get suspicious of them. 

It did not take him that long to arrive there, stealthy evading the samurai stationed for night-time patrol in the hideout. Dark Schenider quickly found his woman thrashing on one of the empty beds, eyes closed and hands clawing at the sheets, tears running down her face. 

He gritted his teeth. Damn it. He cautiously approached the side of the bed just as [First Name] suddenly curled into a small ball, clutching the sides of her head. He might’ve raised Arshes and Kall-Su, but they never came to him when they had nightmares, nor did he ever really care unless Arshes wouldn’t leave his room until he allowed her to sleep in his bed for the night. That was then, this is now. 

Would just holding her even make a difference, when he had no idea why she was having night-terrors and she never breathed a word about it? How’s she supposed to take care of anyone when she can’t even take care of herself? Idiot. He thought. Still, he had to try something. He brought a pillow and blanket with him, so Yoko wouldn’t think twice if she sees him, Lucien, curled up with [First Name] because it’s happened before in the past. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Dark Schneider removed his shoes and climbed fully into the mattress, laying the pillow down first before covering himself and [First Name] with the blanket. 

The reincarnated wizard then began to stroke the top of her head with his hand, softly whispering words into her ear before a choked sob left her mouth, followed by more tears that he wiped away with his thumb. When he saw her breath begin to slow and deepen, he daringly lowered his down to her side, alternately between patting and rubbing the Hashira’s trembling frame until she relaxed under his touch. 

Her frown soon morphed into a tiny, content smile as she sighed softly. Dark Schneider was about to leave and let his woman get the sleep she needed until she leaned forward, placing her head on his small chest, an arm loosely wrapped around his waist. 

No, his face was not burning and no, his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs. The great Dark Schneider isn’t some innocent maiden in love! He’s just here for [First Name] because it’s been decided that she will become his future queen in a world he’ll one day conquer…and the only woman who is worthy enough to bear his children. 

Against his better judgment Dark Schneider leaned forward, pressing his lips against the crown of [First Name]’s head before hugging her close to his smaller body. That was the last thing he remembered when sleep claimed his drowsy mind. 

[Part Two, anyone? 😉]

Taglist:

@sleep-all-day-everyday

@theanimekid

@ccruzmoon

@cassanderasblog

@technikerin23

@justamegafan

@myrisan-melodies

@harame

@saltyfruitbat

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@platonicyanderewrighter

@xoxo-shy

@currentlyinhell

[lynnarang]

Bathtime

"My lady, is that not enough for today?"

The young noblewoman's focus was pulled from her swordsmanship training by a polite, feminine voice. Sunlight glistened off individual beads of sweat as the muscular woman caught her maid staring at her. Although her maid's expression was neutral as always, the intensity of her stare and the slight blush on her cheeks gave away her true thoughts. When she caught her lady's eyes, the maid quickly broke eye contact and stared downwards, although whether this was out of subservience or embarrassment was unclear... The noble liked to think it was both.

"Very well, I can stop here for today. Am I to assume you have already drawn a bath?"

"Yes, my lady."

Putting away her practice blade, the noble wiped the sweat from her brow and grinned.

"Lead the way then."

A few minutes (and some very helpful hands stripping her bare) later, the noble breathed out a sigh of relief as the warm water washed away the hard-earned sweat of her training. Behind her, the maid was hard at work, washing out her lady's long locks. The noble couldn't help but admire her whenever a sidelong glance would allow it. Even with her head bowed downward, the maid's chestnut bob cut framed the soft features of her face beautifully. Desire welled within the noblewoman, desire that was unbefitting of either of their stations, but desire she was keen to indulge all the same.

"Would you not join me?"

The single questioned roused an instant response from her maid, first in the form of a wide-eyed blush and then in the form of a stammered denial.

"M-My lady that would be inappropriate--"

"And why is that? I hardly think it suits a lady of my status to have an unbathed servant."

The noble smirked, watching her maid flounder for an excuse that would save her. Too adorable...

"W-Wait... Could you be perhaps... Teasing me right now?"

Okay, that was too much. The noble burst out in laughter while her maid's mouth warped into a heavy pout.

"My lady! You shouldn't tease me so brazenly. What if I... What if I were to get the wrong idea?"

This prompted the noble to quit laughing, instead leveling her servant with a serious eye. Even naked she cut an imposing figure, one that demanded attention and authority.

"And what idea would that be?"

"That my lady desires more than a mere servant could provide..."

The maid met her mistresses gaze, nerves still apparent but eyes full of something more than her words could convey.

"Well then... Perhaps one day, you'll be more than a 'mere servant', and once that day comes..."

The two women's fingers interlaced with one another, their faces now only inches apart.

"When that day comes, I would be honored to share a bath with you."

------------------------------------------

"My lady, it really isn't necessary. This one can take care of itself--"

"No. You need to conserve your energy, you took a pretty big hit back there."

The vampire cut her doll off mid-sentence, hands currently hard at work scrubbing out the grime that had caked into its limbs. For as much as her doll fussed, it had barely been put back together after its last fight. It shouldn't be moving more than was absolutely necessary. And yet, the doll remained willful.

"At the very least, my lady should be taking a bath as well. She smells filthy, it ill suits her."

"Guess I need to wash your mouth out too while I'm at it."

Something about the conversation made the vampire's thoughts flashback to centuries prior, to a time when their lives where much simpler than they were today. She smiled at the bittersweet memories of times lost, tenderly working her way down her doll's body.

"Have I earned that honor yet, I wonder..."

The doll perked its head, bewildered.

"Honor? It was unaware its lady still had any of that."

Despite its neutral expression and cruel words, the vampire could still sense the same feeling in its gaze from all those years ago. She knew it didn't remember everything from back then even half as well as she did, but being with it like this, it was hard to feel lonely in her memories. Muscular arms now bearing the weight of hundreds of battles embraced the doll from behind, prompting a response that was both familiar to the vampire and unusual to the doll.

"M-My lady?"

Despite everything, the doll's blush was just as intoxicating now as it had been hundreds of years ago. Scratch that, it had aged like fine wine, and only now could the vampire appreciate its true worth.

"I've changed my mind. May I join you in there, my dear servant?"

There was a brief flicker of confusion on the doll's face, until it was washed away with a subtle nod and a warm smile.

"This one would be honored."

[korizzybee]

Puppet

Info: reader is black and fem, she’s also taller than Ciel by 2 inches making her 5’2, reader is a maid, reader is 13-14

————————————————————

Day in and day, you trained and trained. You trained until you could no longer all so you could protect your master. Why wouldn’t you? He had practically saved your life. Your name is [Name] [Surname], you come from a family that lives in the west coast of the Caribbeans. At least, that’s what you were told.

You actually don’t know where you come from, all you remember is one day waking up on a ship with a katana by your side and knowing that you were born with a gift that allowed you to create weapons from your body by transforming the lipids and fat cells into your creations. You were trained, since you were 10 years old, as a human weapon.

No one treated you like a human being, had no feelings, no soul of your own. Your previous master made you go on dangerous missions, not giving a damn wether you had sustained serious injuries or not. Of course he wasn’t too evil, you thought, he would give you short resting periods in between if an injury was very serious. He can’t have his weapon dying on him, now can he?

You had grown used to his cruel actions towards you, and had become numb. No light shining in your eyes, not a single wince shown on your face when you were punished by your master for doing something that was ‘not to his standards’. Your current mission, ‘Eliminate Ciel Phantomhive and Return With His Head on A Platter’ was how you ended up in the situation you’re in now.

————————————————————

Of course you would screw up this mission. Your master knew you would screw up this mission, you could bet he was sitting in his office chair right about now, laughing and imagining the surprised look on your face when you found out Ciel Phantomhive was a child. A kid only a year younger than you. You could cut down a man in an instant using your sharpest blade, splatter a woman’s brains across a wall using your finest gun…

But a child? You had never been fond of killing children, especially ones younger than you no matter the age gap. The moment you saw his face you hesitated, your blade shaking in your grasp. And that’s what led to your downfall, here you were pinned to the ground by the kid’s butler. “My, what do we have here Sebastian?” Phantomhive asked his butler, he had your hands tied behind your back.

“This seems to be the rumored, man slaying assassin, Puppet.” Sebastian informed his master, “but…she is just a child.” He finished in a voice that almost sounded like disappointment. Puppet. How you hated that name. You were not a puppet to anyone, at least, not in your eyes. “If you wish to kill me I suggest you do it now, or else I cut your butler down where he stands.” You threatened with a monotone voice.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure if wether or not you could slice this man down. There was something…off..about him, you couldn’t put your finger on it but it was almost like he wasn’t even human. Like he was something else entirely…

“You can try if you’d like, puppet, but I assure you my butler isn’t one to go down so easily.” Phantomhive said with a slight, cocky smirk displayed on his lips. “You’re quite cocky for a small, frail child such as yourself.” You reply to him in slight irritated tone. You hated that word, puppet. It made you feel as though you weren’t your own person.

He walked towards you and Sebastian, looking down at you as if you were inferior to him in a way. It made your stomach boil, you’d never felt this type of distaste for anyone before. Not even your abusive master. “You’re a child too.” He said with a scoff, “Just a slightly older and taller one. You may be good with weapons, but your skills with them aren’t useful if you end up losing a match against someone.”

He then smirked and raised an amused eyebrow, “From what I hear at least, you can conjure up the weapons from your body using your body fat. Is that true?” He asked, bending down to get a better look at you. Sebastian looked down at you. “And if it were?” You responded, that gave them everything they needed to know. “She would be a good addition to our staff, don’t you think so, My Lord?” Sebastian asked Phantomhive with an almost cat-like smile.

“She would indeed. So what do you say, Puppet? Will you join the Phantomhive Manor as a maid?” That choice…is up to you…

————————————————————

AN: hey everyone!!! I just wanted to post a lil sum sum to let y’all know I’m still alive. As you all know school, at least in south of North America, is starting back in August so I’ve been busy making my schedule and getting my supplies. I also want to let everyone know that yes I am still a minor and I am just now going to in to high school.

When August 14 hits I will be offline for at least until December because I want to focus on my grades especially because I’m taking some AP classes. The reason I haven’t been posting much during the summer is because I do both summer basketball and volleyball for my school, and I’ll be doing track nearing the end of the school year so don’t expect a lot of posts then either.

I’ve also been burnt out from sports and had writers block as well, but since I heard Black Butler was getting a third season (where it follows the manga canon) I wanted to write something for Ciel in celebration of that. I will post more chapters to my ATSV OC fanfic but idk when that will be. I will try to post more before August 14, but if I don’t then, oh well.

I’ve been feeling a little more motivated to write, especially since Summer is coming to an end so fast. I have 5 WIPs in my drafts that idk when I will be releasing. My request box is also looking a little dry so don’t be afraid to request anything, just take a look at the rules above. If my works come out slow please remember that I am someone who puts her grades and mental health first before touching social media.

Anyways I love you all, have a good day/night wherever you are. ❤️