#NO WONDER IT WAS A WAR OF FIVE FUCKING KINGS

[mossytrashcan]

the way in which everything would’ve been fine if everyone stopped playing in theon’s face unprompted is driving me insane. bro will express loyalty to the starks and everyone will be like “erm actually you’re a greyjoy and you should die” MF DO YOU WANT HIM TO BETRAY YOU????? WHY?!! STOP!!!!

[separatist-apologist]

Burning Red

Summary: When Arina is brought with her father to Velaris, she sees an opportunity to escape the marriage she's desperate to avoid. She wants a smaller life- a simpler life.

One that doesn't involve a dragon.

For @erisweekofficial

Part Five of the Dragons Series | Read on AO3 | Wonderland | A Mythical Thing | A Fragile Little Flame | Amber Skies

-

Arina always did what was expected of her. In that way, she was a dutiful daughter to a king who had rather little interest in her. She dressed in whatever dresses were brought to her, smiled when she was supposed to and moved when she was told. And when her father said she’d be married to one of his most trusted advisors, Arina hadn’t complained.

Out loud.

But in her head, things were different. She said the word no and people listened. She screamed when she was overtaken with fury and cried when she was sad. She talked about more than the weather—and people cared about her opinions. 

Those were merely daydreams. The reality was far grimmer than even Arina was willing to admit. She was in a strange land, engaged to a man she hated and paraded about by both her father and Jack before the human delegations. 

Isn’t she beautiful? Jack must have said it a million times. Arina wanted to strangle him with her bare hands and then hang herself with her own hair. She was a decoration and nothing more, forced to play along with easy smiles and dead eyes. His words were the epitome of chivalry, the highest compliment. Everyone knew women didn’t have thoughts, after all.

Only beautiful faces—if they were lucky.

Arina didn’t like Prythian. It was teetering on the edge of war with a newly minted King that didn’t seem terribly concerned about his predicament. In fact, when she met Rhysand—who’d immediately told her to call him Rhys—she thought he found the entire thing amusing. Her own father hadn’t stopped ranting about the looming threat of the dragons, a threat that had once been eradicated.

Only to learn there were hidden kingdoms of them everywhere. Rather than dying out, they’d gone into hiding, rebuilt, and had returned. Arina hadn’t met one yet, and wasn’t allowed to—her father was terrified one would see her and steal her away in the night like they’d been doing to other women.

Jack, though, had told her once the dragons finished fucking, they began feasting. That wasn’t enough to keep her in her room when the night they were set to come. She merely wanted to see them. Her father and Jack had locked the door to her room, an adjoining chamber to the rooms they’d been given, too. Of course they had the keys—they could come and go as they liked, a thought that scared her far more than any dragon.

At least she knew death would come quickly with the monsters. With her betrothed, however…

As the sun set, Arina used a pin from her thick, blonde hair to open the balcony doors before tossing it to the neatly made bed in the corner. All the pearl pins in her hair made her scalp ache, though fashion always came before comfort. 

She wanted to run wild.

She envied the creatures in the distance, great wings beating along the wind. What did it feel like, she wondered? If she could have, Arina would have leapt from that ledge and taken off and no one could stop her. She’d fly to the very ends of the earth, build a little cottage, and live her days in total seclusion.

They’d call her a witch.

So long as they didn’t call her pretty.

None of the incoming dragons paid her any mind save for one. He wasn’t dark scaled like the others, with ribbons of color that wound around their necks. This one was pure orange, glittering in the sunlight like pure flame. Amber eyes found her as heavy wings beat closer and closer and—

She panicked, scrambling back in before he could perch those massive talons on the marble edge, open his gaping maw to swallow her whole. Standing behind the glass, she watched the creature peer in, wings still flapping. She pressed her palm to the glass as the creature huffed out a breath, fogging her view.

And when it cleared, the monster was gone. 

Arina woke to the sound of the door unlocking. It was morning if the golden light filtering in had anything to say about it. Jack appeared moments later, fully dressed in stark contrast to her with her unbound hair and her thin shift. Arina yanked the blanket up to her neck but he’d seen too much.

“You’re lazy,” he complained, gaze hungry as she pressed herself against the headboard behind her. “Why aren’t you up?

For another day trapped in this room?

“My apologies,” she murmured, praying he wouldn’t make her stand. Please, please, please—

“Get up,” he ordered, a cruel smile spreading across his aged face. He was a few years younger than her father but aging far worse. Heart pounding, Arina meekly slid from beneath the blanket so he could really look at her. In the patch of light, the thin material might as well have been nothing at all—it was see through and they both knew it. “Get dressed.”

Their eyes met again. “You can’t be in here.”

“You’re nearly my wife,” he bit out, clearly displeased she hadn’t just stripped naked. “I can be anywhere I want where it concerns you.”

Arina was going to be sick. “I—”

A loud knock on her bedroom door interrupted them both. Arina scrambled back, snatching the first gown she saw before vanishing into the bathing chamber. She’d narrowly escaped this time, interrupted by good fortune or fate, but Arina knew she wouldn’t get so lucky again.

She needed to leave.

Arina had spent years coming up with plans, mapping out escape routes and deciding how best to get as far as she could as fast as she could. She’d never mustered up the guts to do so, though, afraid of what would happen if she got caught.

Would Rhys look for her? And how hard? The real danger seemed to be the dragons and they were all currently occupied at the summit, arguing for peace and perhaps one human woman a month to eat or fuck or both. She was merely some minor Kings daughter. Sure, they’d look, but for how long and how hard? If she could just vanish into the woods, Arina thought she’d be fine. She could figure it out from there.

Make her way to a river or the sea, get on a ship and completely disappear. She’d change her name. Cut her hair, if she had to. Dirty her face, put on pants—whatever it took to never be recognized again. The trick was getting out, and Arina suspected she knew how. 

She came out of the bathing chamber dressed in a burnt umber dress made of crushed velvet. She’d pinned half her hair off her face and wore the same satin slippers she always did—she wasn’t permitted anything sturdier. That didn’t matter—she’d go barefoot if she had to.

Arina was only allowed one place in the palace without supervision, and that was the library. Everywhere else was off limits to her without a male escort, and if she asked Jack or her father, they’d tell her no. The library, however, was seen as acceptable.

And Arina loved to read.

Jack had mentioned it would be useful to have a well-read wife to teach his children, the thought alone enough to make her wish she was illiterate. The library was on the ground level of the palace, with doors everywhere. She’d spent the day reading, return after dinner, and then slip out. By the time Jack realized she was missing, Arina ought to have a full night on him. 

No one was at the door, so Arina left a little note just inside the room that anyone with eyes would see.

Went to the library.

She should have gone to breakfast. She couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting beside her betrothed, legs clenched tight to keep his hand from sliding too far up her thighs. Every meal was like that, making it impossible to truly eat. If she let her guard down for even a second he was trying to pull up her dress or touch her over the fabric. Every moment was a nightmare.

You can do this.

The only person ever in Rhysand’s library was a lonely scholar who merely nodded at Arina from his desk, spine permanently hunched. She offered him a smile she hoped seemed genuine, if only because it was. She picked a little chair half hidden in the stacks, close enough that she could slip between two and make her way out onto the veranda without anyone noticing.

And then she sat down, book in hand, and began her daydream. She couldn’t focus on the pages, anxious and desperate for time to move faster. 

Time seemed to slow down, and the library was more popular than it had ever been. An auburn haired man stepped in a little before eleven. He had a pair of familiar amber eyes and the kind of aristocratic features that marked him as royalty. She knew a prince when she saw one. He found her, though he didn’t come any closer. He didn’t speak at all. He simply turned from the room and left her to stare at the clock and imagine what she’d do when she no longer had to look over her shoulder. 

He returned later in the afternoon, and this time when the man’s gaze found her, he came to her, too.

“Your father is looking for you,” he said by way of greeting.

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” she replied.

“You left a note,” the man replied with the faintest hint of amusement. “The whole palace knows you’re here.”

“So you’re, what? An errand boy?” she replied, certain that would wound his fragile ego. 

The man smiled, and Arina wished he hadn’t. He was beautiful, radiating cool warmth she wanted to get closer to. That kind of impulse would only lead to ruin, so Arina remained in her chair, trying her best to stare him down even though he towered over her. He was build like a warrior, muscular and broad beneath a cream colored coat and wine red pants. His black boots cut just below his knee and were so polished she could see the lights gleaming off the leather. 

Even his hair was perfect, pushed off his face in a faux casual sort of way—she knew he’d spent time agonizing over each strand. Something about him seemed a little fussy. Still, his strong jaw, high cheekbones, and full mouth were reassuring, in a way. 

She wasn’t sure which way, only that the sight of him settled that restless impulse racing through her. 

“Have you eaten?” he questioned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Maybe he was restless, too.

“I’m not going into that dining hall.”

His expression darkened. “Why not?”

Arina couldn’t tell him the truth—he wouldn’t care, besides. “I don’t know you.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Not intentionally,” she said without thinking, half drunk on the power she felt just saying whatever she wanted. His eyes blazoned with heat that wasn’t for her.

“Did someone hurt you here?”

“What do you want?” she demanded. Arina wasn’t telling this man anything. He’d betray her inevitably, even if he thought he was some sort of chivalrous hero. 

“Come with me.”

“No.”

He sighed, and if he’d been less principled, she imagined he would have stamped his foot, too. “Please?”

“”Oh, well since you asked so nicely,” she replied, tapping her chin as she pretended to think about it, “no.”

The man let out a frustrated growl. “I’m not going to deliver you to your father or the dining hall.”

“I’m not allowed to leave without a male chaperone,” Arina informed him primly.

The man ran a hand down his toned chest. “Am I not a man?”

He had her there. “I don’t think you count.”

“Then your father should have been more specific,” he replied smugly, offering her a hand. Arina didn’t take it, though she did stand. What did it matter if she went with him? She was leaving that night regardless, and if she was caught, being alone with him was hardly the end of the world.

“What’s your name?”

“Eris Vanserra,” he said promptly, looking as though he were omitting a lot of facts.

“Should I call you Lord? Or Prince?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Neither. Just Eris.”

Liar, liar. Still, she followed after him, annoyed by his longer legs and quick gait. He was definitely some spoiled nobleman at best. He walked like it—like women had been throwing themselves at his feet since he’d grown into his masculine features. Or, at least, he walked like he knew he was handsome and that annoyed her, too.

“That makes you sound a bit like a prick, you know,” she informed him, coming out of the library half in his shadow. He’d paused in the wide hall, looking in every direction and Arina, uninterested in getting caught, stood behind him as though no one could see her.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been called worse. Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not…” But it was no use. They both knew she was lying. Eris sighed.

“This way, princess.”

“How do you know I’m a princess?” she demanded, back at his side once they turned the opposite direction, heading toward a part of the vibrant, moonstone palace she’d never seen. It was so airy and open here, with windows that towered toward the skies and swirling marble floors she could have eaten off of. The palace was far emptier than the one she lived in, and she wondered why. Didn’t Rhysand have a court? Friends? Enemies who liked to live luxuriously? Even the servants were sparse, slipping past before seemingly evaporating to mist.

“Everyone knows. It’s all your fathers advisor speaks about—the beautiful princess we’re all forbidden from speaking to.”

“Betrothed, you mean,” she said. Arina didn’t know why she told Eris that. Maybe she wanted at least one person to understand why she left. And something about him made her think he might impede the search for her. Misdirect, cause a little mayhem, slow them all down so she could slip away. 

He ground to a halt and Arina, who was still picturing how he might mess everything up for her father, slammed into his shoulder. 

“Betrothed?” Eris asked, his voice lethally soft.

“Sorry if you were angling for an arranged marriage,” she replied blithely, trying to keep the fear from her voice, “but I’m already promised.”

Arina held up her hand and the little gold band that sat on her third finger to wiggle them in front of him. “This trip is just a last stop before the—- hey what are you doing?”

Eris grabbed her wrist in one hand, fingers a vice to keep her from pulling free. With the other, he wrenched that ring off her finger and flung it out a nearby window. 

Arina shoved at his chest for all the good it did. “What was that for?”

Eris looked wild, more animal than man with his heaving chest and flared nostrils. Staring down at her, Arina waited for his explanation. Eris took a breath through parted lips and then said,

“Come on.”

“That’s it?” she demanded, trailing after as he walked forward as if nothing had happened. “What is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t realize you were so in love,” Eris sneered as a muscle began jumping furiously in his jaw. 

She grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him. “It’s not—I’m not in love— but you won’t be punished—”

Eris spun around again, that wildness magnified. “Punished? Punished how?”

“I…just…can you go find it, please?” she whispered, hating herself for how pathetic she was. Eris looked at her for another long moment.

“Later.”

Arina didn’t argue, though she also didn’t believe he was going to try very hard to track it down, either. She’d need to stay out of sight for the remainder of the day, or keep her hand hidden if she didn’t want to be found out. The last thing she needed was to be locked up and so badly bruised there was no point in sneaking away. She’d be too noticeable with a black eye. 

Eris took her to a private patio, laid out with enough food to feed five people rather than just two. The little table was the only thing sitting against the marble, with an unmatched view of the rising mountains in the distance. 

“Eat,” Eris said, pulling out a chair so the legs scraped the ground. “I’ll….I’ll find your ring.”

“Thank you,” she said, heart racing. He’d brought her here to eat with her? “You don’t want to stay?”

He did. Hesitating, fingers holding the golden knob of the glass door, she watched as the man warred with his thoughts before shaking his head. “You eat. I’ll be back.”

He vanished back indoors, leaving Arina alone again, though without half as much misery as she usually felt. There was an inherent trust to his absence—he’d return and she didn’t need to worry. Arina didn’t know how to explain that typically she was the one no one trusted. 

Sitting in the chair, she let herself eat more than she would normally to compensate for the journey she knew was coming.

Eris returned not long after, eyes sweeping the table. “You barely ate anything.”

“I’m one woman,” she replied. Eris leaned his body against the doorframe, ankles crossed like the arms over his chest. “Did you find the ring?”

“No.”

Arina sighed. “Great.”

There was a pause in which she thought he might apologize for what he’d done, or at least explain why he’d done it. He didn’t. “You can stay, if you like. I’ll cover for you.”

“Why would you do that?”

Eris stared at her for a moment. “I like the sound of your voice,” he said, his own strained as though he’d had to push them out against his will. No one had ever said that to her before. 

“You want to listen to me talk?” she questioned.

Eris crept an inch closer. “Yes.”

Arina looked down at her empty plate. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

He shrugged. “You don’t have to speak unless you want to.”

“I should…I should go back, actually. Before someone realizes…” Arina stood abruptly, annoyed when Eris shifted so his body was blocking her only exit. 

“What would they realize?” Eris asked in that lethal, soft way of his. “Why are you being held prisoner?”

Arina shoved past him. “They’re your laws,” she snapped, angry he wanted to both uphold the rules that allowed men to treat her like property while also being indignant when they were enforced. “Take it up with yourself.”

“Not my laws,” Eris replied softly. Arina turned, heart racing in her chest. He hadn’t moved other than to face her, still leaned against the door in that casual way of his. Eris reached for his collar, slipping one of the buttons out so she could see the glimmer of orange against his fair skin.

Scales.

“We don’t treat our females so cruelly,” he told her. 

“Because you killed them all,” she whispered, suddenly afraid. He was a dragon? No one had told her that their human forms looked like that. She’d expected a man who was more monster than anything, but Eris seemed painfully human. With deft fingers, he rebuttoned his jacket, hiding the proof he was more than just a man. 

Eris didn’t smile. “Is that what they tell you?”

“It’s the truth,” she replied, taking another step backward. “You killed your women and now you’re stealing humans—”

Eris barked out a laugh so loud it drowned out the rest of her accusation. There was no mirth on his expression, no amusement etched over his features. Only blazing hatred staring right back. Arina turned, too afraid to listen to whatever lie he’d offer up. She didn’t want to hear his justification, why he thought his people were owed more women to destroy as well.

And she didn’t want to be part of it. If he’d taken an interest in her, that was a bad sign. Arina made her way back to the library, heart racing painfully. He knew she was here—he could simply follow after her should he choose to. 

Curled up in a chair, Arina thought the day had gone from bad to worse. She expected, though, to be left alone for the remainder of it. That was naive. The whole thing had been naivety because Jack, too, tracked her down with relative ease. 

“Up,” he said, startling Arina who’d been engrossed in a book. “Is this how you waste your time?”

She was on her feet in an instant, wincing when he grabbed her upper arm with unnecessary force to jerk her closer.

“You’re hiding,” he accused, brown eyes searching her face for proof he was right. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“Here,” she said, though she knew that wasn’t true. It must have shown on her face because Jack shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle in her skull. 

“I was here,” he said, breath sickly sweet against her face. Arina wanted to turn her head and knew better. Instead she cast her eyes downward, wondering if this hadn’t been Eris’s little plan all along. “You were nowhere to be found.”

“Then I was in my room,” Arina said, hiding her hand in the folds of her skirts so he wouldn’t see the missing engagement ring, too. “I had to use the restroom—I’m allowed to move freely—”

He hit her. Arina couldn’t even stumble backward to escape it, held in place by his punishing grip. Tears smarted in the corner of her eyes, swallowed before she could burst out sobbing. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, wasn’t going to let him see how thorough of a job he was doing at breaking her down. 

“You’re not allowed to breathe unless I will it,” Jack hissed, face inches from her own. “You will go nowhere, do nothing unless I say you can. If I tell you to stand in a corner for the rest of the day, you’ll smile and thank me for it. Do you understand?”

Arina didn’t dare look at him. “Yes.”

“I told your father bringing you here was a mistake,” Jack said, still in her personal space. “You’re not smart enough to understand your place in all this. You are simply a woman.”

Arina wanted to go to her room and see what her face looked like. Jack, however, dragged her to the dining hall where Rhysand himself was already seated, a goblet of wine in one hand. Beside him was a man clearly marked by red dragon scales, sprawled in a chair as he spoke with an easy familiarity. Jack paused when he saw him, clear frustrated, before shoving Arina into a chair.

Across the long table sat Eris—not the nobleman's son, or the prince, but the dragon. He, too, had wine in his hand though it was all but forgotten as he stared her down.

She didn’t want to look at him, either. Arina was tired of being humiliated by men. She was back to being decorative, though how true that was wasn’t made clear until she was sent back to her bedchamber midway through the meal as a little show of power. Just as dinner was set before her, Jack instructed her to leave with a servant, plate untouched. 

No one stopped him. 

In truth, Arina was grateful for it. Anxious and miserable, she’d nearly tripped to escape both men and dragon, all of whom ignored her in favor of a strained conversation she hadn’t been paying attention to. There was no point in locking the door—and Arina knew she wouldn’t be left alone that night. 

Jack would stake his claim the only way men knew how. He’d marked her face and then he’d mark her body, rendering her worthless to every other man and completing what her father had begun. Arina went to the mirror, relieved to find there was no bruise on her face—only a fading red handprint that would be gone by morning.

She could be gone before he ever arrived, too. Pulling the pins from her hair, Arina went to the locked door, slid one of the pins into the lock, and opened the door. Everyone was at dinner drinking and talking and engaging in what she could only assume was a dick measuring contest. Maybe the dragons would eat the men and forget all about her. 

No one tried to stop her. Not when she ran through the halls or burst outdoors. None of the guards said a word when she crossed the expansive lawn for the little city below—and not one person cared when she pushed open a gate and made a break for the forest.

Arina hadn’t brought anything else with her.

But she was free. 

ERIS:

Eris stood atop a parapet, watching his little mate walk into the city.

Good. 

Beside him, Cassian sighed. “If you kill them, it’ll start a war.”

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?” Eris questioned, ignoring the urge to chase after her. He had her scent lodged in his nose—he’d find her easily enough once the sun set. His business was here for at least another hour. “My armies?”

“That’s what I want,” Cassian agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not what my king wants.”

“Is he hoping for more slaughter, first? Proof that humans are barbaric? I think we all remember what they’re capable of—and what kind of diplomacy they offer.”

“It’s…complex…” Cassian said. Eris bet it was. There were no females left with which to mate with, and the dragons were coming to realize their mates were humans, now. They were curious and desperate—they wanted to start lives, have families. The war had come to his own shores, and though they’d managed not to be totally decimated, Eris didn’t have half as many people as his father had once commanded before he’d vanished, taking his mother and a brand new child born in the middle of war.

Eris never had found them. He assumed they were buried in some unmarked grave, unmourned and lost to even time itself. Eris was bitter about all of it. Humans didn’t live as long as his kind and reproduced far faster. They had an abundance of women they treated poorly, children they neglected and abused, and wars they started simply because they were bored.

Why should he be the bigger man? His mate had come to dinner reeking of fear, her face swollen with a handprint while the offending male had sat like a king, unbothered by the other humans who ignored her entirely.

And Rhysand had floated into Eris’s head, warning him against the violence he was contemplating. He could have incinerated them all with only half a thought.

You’ll frighten her.

She would forgive him—Eris was certain of it. She was already scared, but maybe she’d feel less scared knowing she didn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. He could make her queen of whatever land she called home, could unite their territories—

“A month,” Eris said, looking at the warrior beside him. “Tell your king he has a month to decide before we withdraw. This time, if he chooses cowardice, I will lock our borders and you will fight the humans alone.”

“And if he decides on war.”

Eris grinned, “You can count on my support. We could attack them now, take their territories and decimate their armies before they had a chance to respond.”

“If I had my way,” Cassian mumbled. “Diplomacy is wasted on them—they make promises they intend to break while taking as much from us as they possibly can.”

“They only understand violence.”

“Rhys thinks we’re not better if we destroy them like they destroyed us.”

“The world would be better without them,” Eris said, wishing he could still see Arina. She was merely a dot on the horizon, long vanished into the woods. “Will Rhys be angry if I kill a human King.”

“Undoubtedly,” Cassian said glumly. 

“If it were his mate—”

“But it wasn’t,” Cassian said with a touch of finality. And it never would be, was the unspoken rest of that sentence. Rhys would never have sat across a table, forced to endure what Eris had while another male forced him to pretend none of it mattered. 

With the conversation done, Cassian turned to leave before hesitating. “If you wait, you could misdirect her family. Buy her time.” It was tempting— “She’s alone.”

If Cassian agreed with him or not, Eris couldn’t say. He didn’t turn to look, unconcerned with the other males' approval. Cracking his neck, Eris inhaled slowly before shifting into his dragon form. This was how he preferred to be—how all his kind preferred to live. Wings outstretched, scales warmed by the sun. 

He could see better in this form, could move faster, was a true predator. Besides, Eris didn’t like all the pretending he had to do around the humans, who hadn’t realized he was a dragon. Not one human ruler knew the Western Isles were controlled by dragons on purpose. Eris let them believe they’d been killed and he was what remained, hiding all traces that marked him in an effort to keep his people safe.

Some might call it cowardly, but Eris called it survival. 

Taking off, Eris inhaled the crisp, early evening air. There, beneath the stench of humans and the familiar smells of nature, lay vanilla and lime mixed together. 

Arina. 

She didn’t like him—he’d seen the fear and disgust on her face when he’d shown her his scales. Maybe it would have been better to pretend to be a human to gain her trust, but Eris wanted her to know from the outset who he was—so that when she finally claimed him, it was him, and not some pretend version of himself. 

She was going to be angry with him. If she knew he was flying over the treetops looking for her, she’d be angry before he ever touched the ground. That was a risk he was willing to take in the name of keeping her safe. He knew there were predators prowling, who would see an unarmed, defenseless female and decide to make an easy meal of her.

They’d think twice if he was there. 

Eris found her walking through the bramble, dress held in one hand to keep from dragging across the ground. He dipped, catching how her neck craned to look. He was big, wings knocking against branches before he took on his two legged form to hop beside her.

“I was looking for you,” he said, hoping his smile was charming. 

“Go away.” She tried to sound authoritative, but there was a streak of mud on her cheek and she was breathless from running.

“Where would I go?”

“Anywhere else?” she said, stalking off. Eris caught her easily thanks to his longer legs and how often he trekked through the wilderness on his own. She’d never survive without him.

“And leave you to die? Or worse?”

“What’s worse than death?” she demanded, turning that beautiful face toward him. The hand print was still faded, though the insult remained, branded against his very soul. It was the gravest of insults. She didn’t understand and Eris didn’t know how to make her.

“Your impending marriage,” he said, forcing out the words through his teeth. Her head whipped around, slapping golden curls against her cheek. Eris wanted to touch her so badly it made his bones ache. His entire life, Eris had believed like many other males of his kind, that he simply did not have a mate. Mates were said to be equals—gifts from their Mother goddess. And Eris didn’t believe he’d been granted one. Why would he, of everyone? 

He’d recognized her the moment he flew in, had felt an almost painful tugging in his chest that directed him toward her. She’d been watching on the balcony with the pair of greenest eyes he’d ever seen in his life. She’d retreated indoors and Eris knew better than to go barging in, though it hadn’t stopped him from scouring the palace looking for her the next morning. He just needed to know for sure.

He’d taken one breath in that library and had known the truth of things. After that, everything felt like a dream. He’d gone to Rhys and asked what the rules were—could he simply take her? That's how things had been when he was a child and Eris thought he was fine with the repercussions of such an act if it got her far, far away from the impending war. It had been Rhys who informed him that Arina was engaged and that he was expressly forbidden from kidnapping her.

Bullshit.

There was no rule saying he couldn’t guide her back to his home, however, which was why Eris was trailing after her like a lovesick puppy. Which, he supposed he was, even if it annoyed him. 

“You think death is better?” she asked, some of her dislike melting into a different emotion.

“He hit you,” Eris replied, curling his fingers into fists. Talons burst from his fingers, slicing open his palm before he could get himself better under control. “I think I’d rather be dead than endure a lifetime of that.”

His father had died before Eris could kill him, but he knew from first hand experience he didn’t want to waste his life trapped with his abuser. 

Arina sighed, picking up the pace again. “What do you know about it?”

Too much. Eris nearly told her, desperate for connection—to show that their experiences were mirrored, their suffering shared. A rustling in the trees caught his attention, stopping him as he inhaled. 

Wolves.

She was walking straight to them if the scent on the wind was any indication. Jogging after her, Eris attempted to reach for her but Arina was too prepared.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, jerking away. Her recoil made his whole body ache with hurt, causing him to forget, for just a moment, why he’d gone to her in the first place. Was he truly that offensive to her? Would she rather go it alone when he was right there?  

“I…”

They both halted at the sound of a braying wolf far, far in the distance.

“We need to go,” Eris said, voice icy. “I’ll take you back to the palace.”

“No!” she gasped, turning wholly toward him. “Please—anywhere else.”

“I’ll take you to my home,” he replied cautiously, expecting her to also reject it.

Arina’s green eyes narrowed. She’d fight him even as her throat was being torn out. “And where is your home, exactly?”

He could just scoop her up and take her. He didn’t need to ask—it was merely a formality. “The Western Isles.”

“All the way out there?”

“Look, I would love to discuss this with you but we are moments from a bloody death. Agree to come with me or I will simply—”

It was too late. Eris shifted with enough time to wrap Arina within the spiked plating of his tail, but not fast enough to avoid razor sharp teeth sinking into his throat. The wolf simply came with him as he rose higher in the air, shaking viciously in an attempt to bring him down. Emboldened, more of the wolves came running from the thick trees for both him and Arina. 

Eris panicked. He was used to fighting only to save himself, or as part of his military—not to keep his newly acquired mate alive. She was defenseless, without a weapon and in satin shoes. If they caught her, she’d be dead before Eris ever learned another thing about her.

Before he ever saw her smile.

With a taloned claw, Eris ripped the wolf from his throat and flung it against a tree, ignoring the pained scream it barked out. With his tail, Eris swept a wide arc around the pair of them as Arina came closer, saying words he couldn’t make out in the chaos.

He was in trouble. Blood poured from his wound and breathing was physically painful. Reaching for Arina, Eris held her in that same claw as he tried to take flight. More wolves latched onto his legs, ripping and tearing through his plating for the flesh below. Eris bellowed, fire erupting from his ruined throat in an inferno that only served to ruin him further.

Instinct had taken over his good sense. He needed to protect his mate or die trying. And the way things were going, Eris wasn’t convinced he’d survive. 

She might, though. Eris managed to get the starving animals off him and take flight, veering wildly to the left, and then the right, as he tried to settle himself. He could hear Arina distantly, her screams enough to set him on edge. She was afraid.

Well, he was, too. 

Managing to right himself, Eris soared as high as he dared. His vision was blurry, his breathing labored and each beat of his wings felt like a monumental task. He wasn’t certain he was up for it. Still, he flew with no real destination in mind. He wanted to get her away from the humans that, even traveling on horseback it would take them days to reach her. Eris needed to lay down. 

Darkness seeped into his vision just as he saw a clearing. A large lake lay in a valley, hidden by high, snow capped mountain peaks. The Illyrian Mountains, he realized. Cassian might find them—might find Arina, should Eris die. 

“Not the lake!” Arina cried as Eris began to descend. In truth, he hadn’t realized he was so low to the ground. Cradling her against his chest, he crash landed in the grass, likely breaking a few bones on his way down. Arina seemed unharmed, pulling from his grasp to stand on her feet. Her hair was windblown, eyes wide with fear and there was speckled of blood against the brown of her cheek. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered, reaching for him before pulling her hand back against her chest. Eris supposed it was too much to hope that she’d touch him before he died. He tried to assure he was, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He was still a dragon.

Trapped in his form, all he could do was huff out a breath and hope she was safe. His eyes closed.

And Eris was gone.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Nikolai Lantsov x gn! Reader - Kings and fools

A/n: whoops, cannon? she died yesterday. also translations at the end

Summary: Being trapped in a Fjerdan lab isn't much fun, but things do start to get interesting when someone you recognize shows up.

Warnings: Swearing, implied death, implied torture, beating people up, prolly ptsd, just all around fun times.

[Pronouns used: You/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) nikolai x reader]

You were going to laugh because of the sheer hilariousness of this situation. Never-mind, you were currently laughing your head off.

One of the guard's turned around to look at you with fierce eyes and smacked your face thrice just for little a giggle slipping past your lips.

"Tig!" He shouts at you in Fjerdan after hitting your face repeatedly. "Tig!"

But you could care less, because they obviously didn't realize who they had just captured, because if they had, they would be carrying a body bag instead. War would start between Ravka and Fjerda, or perhaps they would keep it a secret and invade Ravka knowing they had a dead king.

The King of fucking Ravka was shoved into your cell.

The Fjerdan guard scampered off probably because he had spent too much time on such a lowly prisoner not knowing if he used his fucking eyes he would see that he would be getting a raise within the hour.

Alas, he didn't and now you were stuck with an unwanted roommate.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to you, and your breath stopped.

You had not expected that, you had expected some arrogant fool, as kings usually were. Kings and fools were one in the same after all.

"What?"

"He hit you."

Blinking a couple of times, you just shook your head. "He was being kind."

The King narrowed his eyes. "Unless I'm mistaken, kind people do not hurt someone."

You wanted to say that it didn't hurt, but you were weak. The bruises forming would say otherwise, and lying wouldn't get you anywhere. Even so, the only way to survive this place was to be strong, someone slapping you three times because you laughed wasn't the worst you've experienced or seen. A slap was child's play.

"You'll soon find out kindness comes in more forms then one."

___________

It was Nikolai Lantsov's first true day in this hellish Fjerdan laboratory.

Now he would find out what you were used for.

"Get up." You kick his side as he groans on the dirt floor. "Get up, you babink!"

He throws his head up to look at you with curled lips.

"I certainly won't if you don't ask me nicely."

You have heard of his ability to charm, and you've heard of his large ego, you've found the only thing that's true is the latter. Nikolai has an incredible ego whether it be a facade or not it didn't matter. It was going to cost him his first real beating, and make all the other ones look like mercy.

"Unless you want one of the guards to kick the shit out of you, get up!"

He sighed, but quickly followed your orders and you vaguely wondered if he was used to giving orders rather then receiving them, or if he let all his generals do it for him.

You shouldn't be helping this poor fool, but some part of you still burned with the need to protect your country, and by extension of that the king. It was a part of you that dared to hope, it was weak, and the reason you were in this situation. You thought that hopeful part of you had died the first week you were here, and you knew they weren't coming for you. Despite being their best.

You should have known better then, just like you should know better know.

But you're a fool.

Somehow, for the next five months you manage to shield Nikolai away from the brunt of the nasty atrocities in this lab-rat prison. Both of you do your labor with no foul-language, or whimpers escaping. You manage to stay quiet and to get the guards off his, and your backs. It's a miracle considering he talks so much.

You just hope you can keep him out of the lab.

"So, you know how to speak Ravkan?"

Your back stiffens, and the cuts there sting a little as you do but you manage to ignore it in favor of glaring at the man who's sitting in your cell beside you. How he managed to remember you cursing at him in Ravkan that first morning is beyond you. Usually time will seep deep into bones until there's nothing but the memory of pain, and the moments of suffering. Having someone else there is dangerous, because it lessens the load and makes you a fool, for it gives you hope.

"You should stop asking questions you know the answer to." You muttered while rolling your eyes at him.

"That wasn't my question." He shoved your shoulder, if you weren't here he would have had more strength to not shove it so weakly. If you weren't here, you wouldn't wince slightly anyways, if he hadn't shown up this would have never happened.

His bright piercing gaze meet yours and you wanted to curse for your heart stuttering in your chest. At least you knew there weren't any grisha around to hear it.

Now, that very thought made you sick.

"What do you want to ask me then?" You ask him, as his eyes glint dangerously and you wonder whether kings are the fools, or if it's just the people who get caught in their snare that are.

"Three questions," He bargains. "Then I'll let you sleep."

Pursing your lips, you think about what could go wrong, but you find you don't care. You've been fearing for your life, and pain for over three years, if your name was still uttered around Ravka then Alina Starkov was going to come running for your rescue. It didn't matter if he found out who you were through some silly questions, it was just leveling the playing field. It wasn't fair, you mused, that you knew his identity, but he didn't know yours.

"Fine." You snap.

Plus, you were feeling slightly more sappy tonight, if he wanted to hear your sob story that he's already been told but has forgotten then he could be your guest.

"Where did you live?"

"Fjerda, then Ravka."

"What did you used to, do before all of this." He gestured towards the cell.

"I hunted down the people I used to work for." You speak rather curtly before facing away from him, unwanted memories flickering behind your irises. "I think that's enough questions for tonight."

But he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him as he shifts his body closer to yours so you were only a breath apart.

"I have one more question left."

"I hate you."

He smiled, "No you don't, drüskelle maleni."

You slapped his hand away from your face, and moved away from him with a furious expression written with the frown on your lips.

You thought if anything, he would know you as the spy, not as the drüskelle maleni - the drüskelle ghost.

That's what you were before, someone who had been raised to kill without thought, to someone who found humanity again. Then lost it as they had to repent for their sins.

"I'm sorry lapushka, I shouldn't have-" Nikolai tries to reach out for you, but even in your tiny cell do you manage to move away from him.

"Don't Moi Tsar." You hissed, quickly silencing the King. You didn't hear from him again that night

_____________

Of course the next day was shit.

Nikolai refused to follow any orders and you knew the guards were getting fed up with his behavior. Currently, so were you, did he just forget every lesson you taught him to stay quiet? Was he such a fool as to not realize that if he didn't stay hidden enough they would figure out who he was and he would be dead by morning?

Yet it was not in Nikolai Lantsov's nature to stay quiet, saints, you doubted he even knew the word.

If he was going to be this reckless than you couldn't help him, you wouldn't help him. What's the point if he was bargaining with his own life?

That's what you repeated to yourself anyways, as he was slowly getting dragged off.

"We're taking this demjin to the lab." One grumbled as they pulled Nikolai with a group of soldiers.

Your blood went cold, and your eyes started to fill with dread.

You had been in the lab, once, but they decided they didn't actually need you. Still, you got to see the people being put under terrible things, testing them to see how much the body could handle. There were crimes not even imaginable, so bad that when someone opened their mouth to speak about them, a scream got let out instead.

The unlucky ones would disappear once they crossed the border into the lab. The lucky ones would come back alive, maybe even a little maimed, but alive.

Maybe they weren't so lucky than, maybe the real curse is going through it than surviving it.

Djel, You prayed. Please let this work, for once let me save something instead of kill. Don't use me as your blade but as your shield. Just this once.

You ran up to the guards and tore them off of Nikolai, breaking their grip on him.

"Me jer jonink." You whispered to the King in your mother tongue, not quite knowing what you were asking forgiveness for. Perhaps it was for the way you snapped, or for the lives you've stolen, you don't quite know. Maybe it was for the way he laid his eyes on you, and you on him. The way you've protected him, and the way he's given you hope.

Kings and fools are one in the same.

"What do you think you're doing!" One growled, while the other two held down your arms against your thrashing.

Saving him. "Helping my country, Fjerda." You lifted your chin staring defiantly into their faces. Knowing that you were like them once, killing grisha, only to be shown mercy, and turned into a weapon against the Drüskelle. You could be that one last time, you could serve Ravka, even if it meant death.

You could serve your love.

"You should know that grisha anything but vile, they are good, they are-"

The guard not holding you down, knees you in the gut, causing your knees to tremble and your strength to waiver. Yet the men gripping your arms forced your legs to work, lest you break them.

"Grisha will run this country to the ground!" He yells at you, spit hitting your face.

You knew you had to go further if you wanted them to forget about Nikolai and his stunt of, existing.

Taking a breath you opened your eyes and hoped.

"Fel holm ve koop djet."

Immediately they start to drag you away from Nikolai who tries to shout, to get them to stop, but they ignore the King. Instead they seem to find enjoyment with bruising you up on your way to the lab.

Now you truly understood why you asked for forgiveness, because the look in his eyes as they pulled you away could only scream love.

Words 1843

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Translations:

Fjerdan:

Tig - Shut up

Drüskelle - Witchhunter

Demjin - Demon

Me jer jonink. - Forgive me

Fel holm ve koop djet. - Our home is better for it

Ravkan:

Babink - Barbarian

Maleni - ghost

Lapushka - Darling

Moi Tsar - My King

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (28)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: violence, wounds descriptions, war victims ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He felt that if he did not pour his rage onto parchment, he would simply fly to King's Landing and burn Aegon along with the entire Red Keep. He sat at a table filled with maps and plans, a quill in his hand that his wife had prepared for him.

He stared blankly at the piece of paper in front of him and wondered what to write, how to put it into words, lest he be beheaded as soon as he returned to King's Landing. He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.

Brother, my wife, in accordance with my request, joined me in Harrenhal. She has told me of the affection you appear to have for her. I look forward to your explanation upon my return. Send no one for her. Her place is with me. Aemond -

He rolled the letter and called out to the servant who stepped into his chamber a moment later. He handed him the tied message and told him that it was to be given to the King himself.

The boy bowed to him and left quickly. They were left alone again.

He glanced at his wife − he saw that she was looking at him, but as soon as she met his gaze she turned her eyes away.

He knew that his brother's words had made her feel insecure.

That she had said that she wanted to join Alys in treating the wounded because she didn't believe him.

He felt a squeeze at the thought that she didn't trust him, but on the other hand if he had been in her place, various thoughts would have come to him as well − only now, having her by his side, having finally experienced fulfilment with her, he felt at peace.

He sighed quietly as he stood up and walked towards her with a slow, unhurried step, the wooden floor creaking under his feet. He took her soft, plump cheeks in his hands, her face expressing surprise and gentleness, her gaze warm, her lips slightly parted. He ran his thumb over her skin and saw her close her eyelids. He pressed his lips together, looking down at her.

"I have not betrayed you." He said quietly, as if he were telling her some important secret or mystery.

He wanted her to hear it from him.

He was faithful to her.

He was faithful to her, because he wanted to be.

No one forced him.

He could have been a cruel killer and a ruthless prince, but he was a faithful, devoted husband, giving affection to his faithful, devoted wife, and he found some kind of comfort in that thought.

In the thought that they cared about this marriage.

Their relationship was not only political.

He stroked her cheek thoughtfully, consumed by the affection he felt towards her and the delightful knowledge that no one would take her away from him.

"�� my sweet wife −" He whispered and she sighed softly, cuddling her face into his hand, making the warmth spread through his body.

He froze when he heard her next words.

"− my beloved husband −"

He felt his heart begin to pound fast, his lips parted in shock − he couldn't believe it, it seemed impossible to him that she had said this.

He swallowed silently as he looked at her − he could see that she herself was surprised by her own words and lowered her gaze, ashamed. He ran his thumb over her soft skin that he had been caressing all night, and felt arousal again.

My beloved.

If he could, if he had more time, he would have pulled her breeches off her and fuck her again, drawing those wonderful words out of her again and again, thrusting deep between her thighs, but he was already late, and he was furious that he had to leave, just now when she said it.

"− say it again −" He whispered, and she looked up at him, startled, her cheeks flushed, a heat in her eyes − he barely stopped himself from throwing himself at her.

"− I would never betray my beloved husband −" She said in a quiet, soft, trembling voice, and he let out a quiet breath, feeling everything inside him clench.

May the gods curse his brother and his war because of which he could not now take his own wife.

He bent over her and greedily pressed his lips against hers, relishing the warmth and moisture of her skin. He sighed heavily, kissed her forehead and moved away from her with the rest of his willpower, heading for the door.

As he walked down the corridor he felt frustrated and thirsty − he stepped into the council room where everyone was already waiting for him. As the commanders and Ser Criston bowed to him, he saw that something had happened.

"Our guards noticed an army coming at us from the South. Colrys Velaryon's ships have flipped some of Prince Daemon's warriors to the coast. They are going to support the rebels." He said, putting some new figures on the map. Aemond looked at it, pressing his lips together.

They were outnumbered, and even if he asked his brother for support, he still would be surrounded.

"Send a message to my brother. We must hold Harrenhal if he does not want to lose this war." He said, leaning over the table, feeling his heart pounding hard. "When will they arrive here?"

"In the evening, Your Grace." Said one of the commanders. He walked over to the map and pointed a finger at one of the spots. "We can't let them merge. It would be best, Your Grace, if you flew on your dragon to the coast and burned them with fire when our army attacks the rebels in the forest again. They do not know that Prince Daemon is coming, we cannot give them hope."

"Your wife has come to Harrenhal, has she not, Your Grace?" Asked another man, one of Strong's vassals who had allied himself with them. Aemond was not fond of him for he was spiteful and arrogant, but he could not help it. "So let Borros Baratheon protect his daughter and son-in-law. Send a message to Storm's End."

Aemond turned his head away at his words − he did not want Lord Baratheon to think that he had summoned his wife to Harrnehal only to put her in danger and call on him. He thought, however, that they had no choice.

With his army they could win.

He nodded at last.

"So be it. Send messengers and prepare for battle."

He spent long hours with his commanders over the map, planning carefully the defences, their strengths and weaknesses. He decided that he would fly on Vhagar to look around, to see the approaching army from above, to discern the situation − he ordered his armour to be brought.

The young boys helped him put on his chainmail − over it was put a several-piece armour that looked like dragon scales, with his family emblem beautifully carved in the steel on the front, a green cloak on his back, hanging on his shoulder.

His armour was as heavy as his heart, filled with the thought that the battle that lay ahead could be one of his toughest to date.

He walked outside the fortress with Ser Criston, speaking loudly about their arrangements, absorbed in his own thoughts when he saw his wife sitting with Alys Rivers from afar − the woman was touching her cheek, stroking it with her fingers as if she were her companion.

He felt a wave of rage at this sight and called out to his wife as if he were a father who just wanted to reprimand his child.

She and Alys Rivers looked at him, surprised; Alys stood up and bowed, and his wife ran to him, frightened.

He saw up close that she was filthy from dried blood, her cheeks and forehead dirty from earth and ash.

Despite his anger, something captivated him about the sight.

"What is the meaning of this? Shall I order her hand cut off for this boldness and lock you in my chamber?" He asked coldly. She only pressed her lips together, ashamed, looking at him pleadingly.

"− no, my husband −" She mumbled meekly. He felt his heart squeeze.

He wondered if this was the last time he would see her.

Her warm eyes and soft face, the face of his wife, who gave him affection so deep and pure that he felt only desire.

My beloved.

He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, pulling her close, not caring that his soliders and commanders saw him.

Nothing mattered but her bright, worried gaze, her warm breath on his face.

He pressed his nose to her cheek and she put her hands on his cold armour, closing her eyes, both of them breathing unevenly. He shuddered when he felt her fingers run over his face.

"Did something happen? When are you coming back?" She asked, her voice trembling; she knew perfectly well that something was wrong.

He swallowed loudly at her question, sinking his face into her soft, warm cheek, wanting to disappear at least for a moment, taking comfort from her closeness and her scent.

"There is an army coming towards us from the South, moved by the ships of Colrys Velaryon. We must face it. I have sent messengers to my brother and your father. Until then, I will protect us from the sky." He whispered and felt her tremble all over, her hand tightening on his wrist which held her in a firm grip.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes − he knew that she wanted to tell him not to go, just as she probably wanted to many times in the case of her father and brother, but she said nothing.

She just stroked his cheek as if she wanted to reassure him, to comfort him.

"− take me with you −" She whispered in a trembling voice, and he squeezed his eye shut, feeling a tightness in his throat. He pressed his lips to her cheek, thought he wanted to bite into her, to devour her, to have her with him.

"I can't." He said, pulling away from her, moving further towards Vhagar, no longer looking at her.

Vhagar raised her large head towards him, concerned − he knew that the dragoness could feel his emotions, his anxiety and fear. He climbed up the ropes onto her back − in full armour it was even more difficult − and panted loudly as he finally sat down in the great saddle.

"Soves, Vhagar!" He shouted low.

He felt the ground tremble beneath him, the dragoness struggling to rise under the weight of her body, her paws one by one moving ahead, crushing the trees along the way as if they were toothpicks.

She spread her great wings, catching the wind, and with powerful, violent flaps that created a gale all around, she took to the skies.

He directed her over the bay and began to circle − he pressed his lips together seeing clearly from above that his guards were not wrong. Immediately he saw a multitude of ships, however, he looked around the sky fearing something else − dragons.

Would they risk losing any of them in a confrontation with Vhagar?

At the sight of him, the great army began to flee into the forest. He decided that he could not wait for them to disperse, that he must attack at once, burn them as many as possible, until they came close to Harrenhal itself.

"Dracarys, Vhagar!" He shouted with a pounding heart, saw the dragoness spread her maw, and a mighty wave of fire poured from her throat. He could hear the loud screams of panic and people burning alive from such a height.

He was burning their supplies, their ships, their horses.

He was burning everything he saw in his path.

He was a great, destructive force, hell on earth, a punishment from the gods themselves.

He felt at once all-powerful and crushed by this feeling.

He felt a squeeze in his throat and looked to the side, shocked to hear a loud roar. He saw her from a distance − she could not be mistaken for any other dragon.

Caraxes.

Daemon.

Of them all, he was the one.

The greatest of the dragon riders.

He thought he would push against him and Vhagar, force them to focus on him, beginning the battle of dragons in the skies. He did something else, however − he felt his heart freeze in his chest when he saw which way his dragon was flying.

Harrenhal.

He headed straight for the fortress.

He turned Vhagar back with his command, shouting helplessly, trying to rush her, but she was too big and too slow, her big body could not withstand such a strain − Caraxes, light and slim, was impossible for her to catch up with. He felt his heart pounding hard, tears in his eye at the realisation of what he wanted to do.

This was a trap.

They were fooled like little children.

Daemon wanted to take him out of the stronghold.

He had planned it.

He wanted to burn Harrenhal.

He didn't know that his wife was there.

Because of him.

Because of his family.

Because of their greed.

His wife would die in the fire.

And then he saw it − fire bursting from Caraxes' throat again and again illuminating the night sky, the fortress in the flames, the screams and cries of his people.

Once he reached his uncle, he ordered with rage and frenzy to gush Vhagar fire in his direction, but his uncle's dragoness was too agile, folding and spreading out as she wished.

His uncle mocked him.

He laughed madly, loudly, sweat and tears running down his cheeks.

His wife was dead.

Her wonderful, soft body was now on fire.

If Lord Baratheon came, he would kill him.

Good.

He wanted to die.

He began to pray to gods old and new, gods of his ancestors, gods of the sea, gods of the mountains and forests.

He prayed that if his wife survived.

That he would give up his greed, his dreams of a throne and a crown, his insatiable hunger for power.

He would change, be a better brother, a better son.

A better husband.

He burned everything in his path.

He burned his uncle's army, he burned the forests and settlements around him, paying no attention to the fact that innocent people lived there too.

In his mind, he burned his brother and the Red Keep, he burned the throne and the crown.

He burned everything, burning himself at the same time, until there was nothing left.

His uncle knew that if Caraxes got within range of Vhagar's maw it would be the end − when his dragoness grew tired, he turned back, ordering the retreat of the troops.

He did what he wanted and what he had planned.

Nothing was left of their army and the stronghold.

He landed on Vhagar near the burning Harrenhal, looking like a great torch against the sky; walking towards it, all he could hear was screaming and crying − he had the impression that someone was tearing his head to pieces. He was all sticky from sweat, smoke and ash, walking ahead as if in a trance.

Was she inside or outside?

Was she in a lot of pain?

Was it a quick death or was she still writhing long afterwards, feeling her body burn?

He sobbed at this thought like a little boy, walking forward, feeling like he was about to fall over.

Fire and Blood.

How could he be such a fool.

Criston ran towards him, shouting something in his direction, but he felt that he was deaf − he only looked at him when he heard her name.

"− your wife, my Prince − she is in a bad condition − Alys Rivers has helped her her, but she has serious injuries −" He said, panting heavily, himself burned in several places. "Prince Daemon has made fools of us. He will wait out our conflagration in the Eyrie and return again when he gains the strength to finish us off."

He thought nothing of it, however, and grabbed Cole's arm as if he were mad, his eye wide open.

"Where is she?"

Criston took him to a place far away from the fortress, where the wounded who had managed to survive lay − most of them had such extensive burns that their muscles were falling off their bones. He could smell the sickening odour of burnt human flesh and looked around, searching for her − Criston pointed his finger at a girl lying nearby and then he recognised her.

Her gentle, sweet face looked as if she was simply sleeping, her entire left arm, a chunk of her chest, abdomen and leg were wrapped in bandages − Alys Rivers was applying some sort of ointment to a small burn that was also on her other arm.

"− is she alive? −" He exhaled, falling to his knees beside his wife's body, only now feeling how tired he was, how terrified he was, his whole body trembling.

He couldn't get anything else out of himself.

She was breathing.

The gods had heard his prayers.

She had survived.

"− yes −" She said calmly and took her wrist in her hand, wanting to check her pulse. He pushed her away so that she fell onto the grass.

"− don't fucking touch her −" He hissed, leaning over his wife's face, taking her cheeks in his hands. "− why is she asleep? −"

"− her attire melted to her skin − I had to clean the tissue, so I gave her poppy milk −" Alys said, lifting herself slowly back into a sitting position, massaging her shoulder. "− I applied the ointment, but she'll still have extensive scars − the gods are watching over her − the flame flashed across the ground right next to her −"

He pressed his face against his wife's neck, taking in her scent, panting heavily, sobbing with despair and joy at the same time.

For the first time in his life, the gods had heard his prayers.

She had survived.

_____

I leave you with my illustration and hope that you don't kill me - next chapter will be updated 10 August because of my absence and it will be Aegon POV! In meanwhile I will add Harrenhal Moodboard with next Lady Baratheon POV preview.

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Five

Word Count: 6.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, DD:DNE, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, kinslayer aemond, graphic depictions of medieval abortions, choking (and not in a kinky way), p in v, facefuckin (oral, m receiving), choking (in a kinky way), fingering

Series Masterlist  

A/N: okaaaay let’s go, please for the love of god, read the warnings. Apologies in advance to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for this one ily 😚

Everything had changed.

 King Viserys was dead. Aegon thrust on his throne in place of Princess Rhaenyra as his heir. And the maidservants and staff had been locked up for the entirety of it, to quell the spread of rumours. Only when the staff pledged their allegiance to Aegon II as their rightful King before the now Dowager Queen Alicent, were they allowed back to their duties, threatened with death on the basis of treason if they were found to be doing anything they shouldn’t.

 It was the most surreal, frightening experience of her young life. To be clutched at Hedi’s side, shaking and trembling, wondering if she’d ever see her siblings again.

 She wondered if her brother had succumbed to his illness and if her sister was winding herself to the ground with grief, as she had when their parents had died.

 She prayed to the Gods, namely the Mother and the Crone. For equally important things. To keep her loved ones safe, even if it meant that she was put into danger. To the Crone, for guidance. Although she did not know yet what exactly for.

 Everything had changed.

 Aemond pulled her body up from the bed to rest on her knees, to support her weight on her shaking arms and the motion had his cock brushing rather uncomfortably against her cervix. Her entire body felt hot, a stagnant, heavy feeling filled his chambers, as if it were humid inside. His thrusts were harder than they’d ever been before, making her skin ripple with movement of his rhythm.

 A series of hurried and half-pained breaths are all that left her, her cheeks stinging with heat as her tears ran over them.

 “What are you crying for, sweet girl” he grunts, delivering a particularly hard thrust, his large hand slapping her buttock and gripping tightly, “I know you like your Prince’s cock, don’t you, you little slut”

 Slut.

 Whore.

 She whimpered, his fingers digging into the meat of her skin roughly, hoping it would be enough of a response for him.

 Since his father had died, plunged into a civil war between his family. He’d been unpredictable. He would start the day calm enough, sometimes frighteningly so. But now that the days were becoming shorter with the weather, a looming dark cloud forever over King’s Landing, as if the Gods knew the trouble that was afoot, Aemond temper came with the storms and the rains.

 Destructive. Washing away everything living thing in his path.

 He reached down and wrapped his hand around her neck, roughly pulled her back up to meet his bare chest. Aemond’s fingers curled so tight around her neck, that for a split second, she thought that he might actually lose control and snap. But he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingertips harshly tearing at her thin and delicate skin, “Fucking answer me”

 He adjusts the endless thrust of his cock up into her, now they are controlled, deeper, as if trying to hide further and further inside.

 She could feel her air stuck beneath his hand, desperately trying to break free. Felt her head begin to get hot and foggy, vision blurred and her lips move but a barely audible sound is all that came out.

 “Yes…” she whispered. Just saying whatever she could to appease him.

 She had been afraid of him before. Many times. But now, the way he was now, she feared that he might actually harm her and that the damage might be irreparable.

 Aemond laughs against her back, the vibration of it humming uncomfortably in her body.

 Still with one hand around her neck but loosening his grip so that she can breathe once again, she almost weeps at the relief. Aemond chuckles darkly and pushes her back against the bed, grinning when he sees the familiar sheen of tears on her cheeks, watching her breasts rise and fall with the intensity of her breathing. He eases his other hand down her body, over her feminine hips, taking the meat of her thigh in his grasp to spread them apart once again, sighing contently at her glistening cunt, ready to take him again.

 “You are a terrible liar, sweet girl” he coos down at her, lowering his face so that his hair brushes against her nipples. A flash of fear passes her face, but Aemond seems to revel in it.

 He did say once, he would have her fear if nothing else.

 He pulls her by her hair to the edge of the bed, where her head briefly hangs over the edge. She whimpers at the tug on her follicles and it sends a prickling pain down her spine. He no longer holds back his grip like he used to. He swats her cheek, again not in the usual soft manner, but as a means to punish her for the outburst.

 “Shut up” he commands, standing in front of her.

 She looks up at him from where she’s laid as Aemond stands before her, holding his cock proudly by the base, shining with her slick. He prodded his tip against her lips, looking at her wide eyes beneath him. He smelled of sex, of her and his arousal mixed with one another. His hand comes down to her jaw, thumb pressing on her chin to open her mouth and Aemond sighs when he feels her hot, shuddered breath against his cock, twitching with excitement.

 He does it slowly, and plunges into her mouth, watching how his cock disappears down her throat, where the skin around her neck bulges where it's nestled. He feels her breathe through her nose and smirks, knowing that she’s doing as he had instructed her the first time, grinning at her endless obedience.

 “Good, sweet girl…” he growls, burying himself to the hilt within her warm and wet mouth, the head of his cock rammed down the smoothness of her throat.

 Hand still at her jaw for leverage, he cants his hips slowly, grunting heavily at the friction he gets from this angle and the sound it makes. But she herself makes no sound. Not even when his heavy stones sit warm against her face, briefly blocking off her air. Aemond watches as she takes it, her saliva coating his cock just as her slick had.

 Continuing to use her mouth for pleasure he runs his hand down her body, cupping his hand at her sex and running his fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness on them.

 “Perfect fucking cunt”

 He sinks two digits inside of her, his palm delivering friction to her clit at the same time, and he both fucks her mouth and her sex with the same rhythm, taking immense pleasure in the way her body responds.

 It’s out of her control. He plucks the pleasure from her without her even thinking about it. She whimpers around his cock, deeper than she ever thought he could be in her mouth. Her neck bobs with his shallow thrusts and his other hand rests against it, pleasuring himself through it.

 “Fuck-take it” he moans loudly, nearing his climax with accelerating and shocking speed. He fucks his fingers into her faster, intent on making her shake and writhe beneath him. Aemond increases the intensity of his thrusts with it, outright moaning as her mouth trembles around him.

 She whimpers, her insides clenching uncontrollably, painful pleasure taken forcibly from her core, but any sounds she makes are stuck in her chest with the slow, methodical drag of Aemond in her mouth.

 Aemond smirks when her body shudders with overstimulation, more sounds muffled in her chest, giving her some reprieve when he pulls his fingers free and her body sags once again against the bed. Not a moment later, Aemond pushes his hips flush against her face, his seed painting the walls of her throat with a shuddered moan. He feels her gag a bit, still with his cock in her mouth, but he enjoys the slight friction it gives him.

 He stays seated in her mouth for a moment, his hand running through her hair.

“You are so good to me” he breathes as he comes down from the high.

 She felt the warmth slide down her throat, the proof of his twisted, sick attraction to her.

 And when Aemond pulled her up, to kiss her on her lips, she wanted to weep. It was too sacred. A kiss. Something that should be done before all the things he had done to her. Something to bind a love, a marriage. A respect for one another.

But he had kissed her so fiercely, to taste himself on her mouth, and she had known then there was no love. No care. No respect.

 “You won’t leave me now, will you? Sweet girl…”

There were few things in her life that were consistent up to now.

 But her moon's blood had always, always arrived on time.

 No matter how many times she willed it to come, stepping into the privy multiple times a day to find her hand completely dry, void of the usual slick of red, it would not come.

 Just the other night, Alanna had furrowed her brows and mentioned that she had not borrowed her red petticoat for a while and asked if she was feeling okay.

 That was when that hurtling drop of panic erupted in her gut.

 She didn’t understand at the time, what Princess Helaena had said. And she thought of how foolish and stupid she’d felt.

 Cold Tansy.

 The womb quickens.

 Tansy tea. In other words.

 Moon Tea.

 The liquid that so many women used and still used…had to be prepared with a flame before consumption. Had to be brewed fresh.

 She felt dizzy.

 She hid in the privy, so unbearably torn apart by the revelation that she almost made herself sick. Bile rose in her throat but it never came free, and she wretched, her body tearing her apart from the inside. She felt the pain in her womb, the little dragon inside aching to grow, she had felt their flames lick at her spine.

 She tried to muffle her cries with a hand over her mouth, but the hurried sobs inevitably broke free.

 Alanna flung the privy door open and upon seeing the crumpled mess of her bedfellow on the floor, promptly shut it again with both of them inside.

 "Gods…" Alanna whispered, bringing her into a hug, a friendly hand stroking her back.

 If the maidservant hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed. Alanna didn't like to be hugged, or any physical contact at all, even going so far as to lay on the far side of the bed to avoid touching. She found it uncomfortable.

 But right now, it was needed. And the maidservant flung her arms around Alanna, tightening her grip on her as if she was the last person in this realm to be on her side and help. Her hands had clamoured at her back, needing this closeness so badly it hurt. Alanna only shushed her and allowed her to sob.

 "Please…do not tell Hedi…" she begged, with tears still streaming down her face, voice thick with despair. Alanna pulled her face back and sighed, using her thumbs to wipe her cheeks.

 "We have to tell the Quee-"

 "No, I-I need…I need this job. I have to-" she stammers through her weeping, struggling to catch her breath, emotions running higher than they would normally, "-my siblings, th-they need me. They will send me away without my wages and no reference, I-”

 "Shh, shh, alright I will not tell Hedi or the Queen" Alanna cooed, rocking her shoulders softly.

 "Do not tell anyone, please…I-I could not bear it…" she cracks her bleary eyes open, her heart beginning to beat in its normal rhythm again. Her lashes are all stuck together from her tears, cheeks red raw.

 "Who is it, the man? You could not marry?..." Alanna asks carefully.

 It was a nice thought. But one that would never happen.

 She shakes her head, "I cannot say…"

 Alanna sighs, obviously quickly running out of ideas.

 "I can deliver it. I helped my mother when she had my brothers-"

 Everyone would see. Everyone would see you are the Prince’s whore. A child with silver hair.

 "My condition will soon start to show…" she says, resigned. Her hands shake against one another, held as if in prayer to the Gods, "Hedi has such sharp eyes…what am I to do…"

 Alanna was quiet for a long time, trying to wrack her brain for what to do. She knew she could not have the baby, nor could she tell another living soul in the Keep as it would mean she would no longer have a job, no more funds to send to her family and an even smaller chance of a future.

 “Have you any money?” Alanna asks, “there is a woman in Flea Bottom who helps whores when they need it…but…” she says carefully, watching her fellow maidservant’s reaction.

“What are you suggesting?...” she responds with a weak and shaky voice, her grasp on Alanna resting at her arms. Alanna looks visibly pained by the suggestion. Every one of them were devout, pious, to even suggest such a thing as…

 “How much is the procedure…” she asked, making Alanna widen her eyes, surprised that she was considering it.

 “One gold dragon, but it is dangerous-”

 “I cannot afford one gold dragon, ‘tis more than I earn in a year!”

 Alanna sighed, “Whoever the man is, go to him. Appeal to his better nature…he cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all”

 She really appreciated Alanna’s advice, but there was a twisting pain in her gut at what had been suggested. It was something she had heard of women doing before, in desperate times. It could be dangerous. But this woman had done this procedure plenty of times, on women who survived and lived to keep on working.

 There was a chance.

 There was a chance she could keep the job. In servitude still of Aemond, but with the knowledge that she could just drink Moon Tea, prepared correctly, and never have to do this again.

 A future.

 One gold dragon was an incredible amount of money for a common maidservant, well over a year’s wages. It was entirely intentional, gold dragons as a currency was something specifically reserved for the upper classes, and if she was to be found with it…it would arouse suspicion.

 She had to be careful.

 Should she approach Aemond…?

 …How would he react to it?

 Would he dismiss her? Send her to the streets, her and her bastard? Left on the cobblestones to die.

 He cannot turn you away if he has any decency at all.

 Appeal to his better nature.

 It cannot be.

 The words of Princess Helaena were like an incessant bell, echoing around her mind. It was all-encompassing and it took every little bit of strength she had left to not crumble under its weight.

 There was only one problem.

 Aemond was nowhere to be found.

 The Dowager Queen looked out at the skies, darkened and stormy. The rain was loud and oppressive. Thunder and lightning clapping across the sky, sending an intolerable humidity and uncomfortable atmosphere that seemed to sweep about the Keep like a disease. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves, opting to fiddle with them instead of destroying herself.

 Her heart was filled with worry.

 Aemond had not returned.

 She waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, not knowing if a day had passed or not. The sun had yet to make its appearance, stuck beneath layers and layers of clouds, towering high above King’s Landing. It was impossible to see a thing. Despair hung so low to the ground that it obscured everything.

 Alicent’s nervous face met the gaze of Ser Criston, who had knocked and walked past the threshold of her chambers.

 “What is it?” she asked nervously, unsure if she wanted the reply.

 Ser Criston stood straight, hands at his side, one perpetually on the handle of his sword at his side, “Prince Aemond has returned”

 She moved swiftly through the Keep, the skirts of her deep green dress in her fists and rushing to find her second son.

 Something was wrong.

 Down the long corridor, Alicent came to a halt halfway, her chocolate brown eyes wide at what she saw. Aemond had rounded the corner, absolutely sodden through his clothes, hair wet and tangled, trying with an annoyed air about him to tear his leather overcoat off his person. A maid followed closely behind, picking them up from where he’d thrown them.

 His eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face, which was still covered in drops of rain. His jaw was forever clenched, his lone eye ablaze with fury but also something deep and worrying inside. Shoulders hung on him, as if he had the weight of the world on them.

 “Aemond…” Alicent’s soft voice called to him, hoping to break him from his darkened trance. But he continued on, long legs striding to his one comfortable place. His one haven in the hellhole he had made.

 Her son towered over her as he strode by and she knew something horrible had happened. A mother’s gut feeling never wavers, not once. She knew her boys, in her bones. And she knew Aemond had a temper, but rationales that there was always a reason for it.

 She held his forearm to attempt to calm him. To bring him back.

 Aemond didn’t say a word, huffed and tore his arm away. Not even the soft embrace of his mother could help in what he had done. The sin he had committed. His failure.

 He refused to stop, to explain what he’d done. Everyone would know by the morrow and he need not be there for it, he reasoned.

 Right now, he wanted the safety of his chambers and the warmth and security of being buried inside her. She offered an indifference, a closeness he could not get anywhere else.

 His mother attempted once more to reach out, and without looking at her he roared, as if cornered, “Leave me!”

 He dared not to see the broken and disappointed look on her face, as he knew she would have by the morning. He felt like a child all over again. Weak and feeble. He remembered the way he had crawled to his mother’s arms and found solace.

 But he was not a boy anymore.

 Instead he would find solace the way a man would.

 The way a man should.

 At least as far as Aemond was concerned.

 The little maidservant had jolted noticeably when the chamber doors slammed shut with a force that shook the very stone walls. She held a jug of warm water in her hands, instructed to draw a bath upon Aemond’s arrival, and with the sheer shock of him storming past the threshold had some of it fall onto the stone floor below.

 With parted lips in surprise, her eyes met his form, standing before the now locked and closed doors. He was tall and foreboding, like looking at a wild animal, especially with how uncharacteristically unkempt he looked, with that fierce look in his one eye. His body vibrated with an unseen rage, his chest rising and falling quickly like he had been running. He smelled what she thought was dragon, a musky animal-like smell that clung to his riding leathers.

 He said nothing.

 “Your grace…” she greeted with a quiver to her voice.

 She would never see the internal battle in his mind. The pendulum swinging between kinslayer and dutiful Prince.

 Kinslayer

 Kinslayer.

 She saw him clench his fists until his knuckles were white.

 “Undress me” he commanded, with a low growl.

 She swallowed hard and set the jug aside, brushing her hair that she had unbraided over her shoulder. Daring not to meet his eye, she stepped forward, shaky hands reaching out for his leather doublet, the silver clinking quietly in the chambers. Aemond closed his eye, inhaling deeply when her scent flooded his very being.

 So feminine.

 Weak.

 He was about to drift into the calming waves that her presence offered, floating idly in the depths of her touch when-

 “May I speak plainly, your grace…” she asked meekly once she dropped the leather from his shoulders.

 She had never asked to speak out of turn. Not once. And Aemond opened his eye again, half lidded and looked down at her, his gaze remaining in its stoic manner. But she didn’t meet it, too afraid to, as she folded his doublet over the armchair.

 “Speak then”

 Her hands found one another, fiddling nervously with the skin at her palm, her head lowered.

 “I…wondered if I might request some-”

 “Look at me when you are speaking to me” he interrupted.

 His voice drove fear, deep into her core and she felt the dragon in her womb begin to wake from its slumber. He took her chin in his fingers once more and forced her to look up at him. Her wide, glassy eyes finally met his and she could feel her entire form tremble, and thought, he must be able to feel it too.

 “I wondered if I might request some funds from you” she finally said, in a quiet, mousy manner.

 She had known then. That now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject. But by then it had been too late. His fingers tightened on her chin, to keep her there, to watch him as his brows furrowed in frustration.

 “You said you had sufficient funds”

 He said in an accusatory way. As if her chance before had vanished.

 She inhaled, filling her lungs with the last bit of courage she had.

 Her lips quivered, and the words left her mouth too quickly.

 “I am with child”

 His entire form seemed to go cold, as well as his expression, hooded even further in what she could only assume was anger.

 “You are lying” he dared to accuse, with a firm and ever-tightening grip.

 You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you sweet girl.

 She felt the tears hot in her eyes, entire body shaking. The babe within was hot in her belly at the proximity with their father.

 “I am not” she responded with a quiver to her voice, “I…do not have the funds to…have the procedure…to…”

It was difficult for Aemond at this moment to pin down a specific emotion. So much had happened in the course of a mere few days. For him, for the realm. For the lives of every soul in Westeros it felt like.

 In the morning, everyone would know what he was. A disappointment. Weak. A failure to his family. He would see the sullen look on his mother’s face, when she found out that her entire bloodline was now thrust into danger, on account of what Aemond had done.

 He would lose his place in his mother’s good graces.

 Fathering a bastard. A blatant disregard to his duties as a Prince.

 Just like Aegon had been.

 He could not bear it. To be a kinslayer as well as that.

 He wanted control, something that had been slipping ever so carelessly from his grip since Lucerys was crushed by Vhagar’s jaws. He wanted control of his life.

 Of her.

 And her admission didn’t give him the safety he so craved.

 To think of a bastard in her belly. His bastard. The storms returned to Aemond’s one eye at the thought of even seeing her swell with it. It could not happen. It could never happen. To be reminded of his failures.

 She gasped loud, breath caught in her lungs, as his hand gripped her throat and squeezed. Previously, in the throes of passion, he had squeezed the sides of her neck, so as not to cut off her air entirely. But this time, his grip around her was so tight that his thumb pressed against her pulse point. Her eyes widened, one hand coming to his to pry his hand off her. But he never relented. Not once.

 Ordinarily, a primal part of his brain would adore to see her swell with his child. To see her breasts grow heavy with milk and her stomach taut with his little dragon inside. If she were his wife. If she were highborn, a real lady.

 But she had dared to exist in a moment of Aemond’s most tumultuous times.

 The realm had played a game. Aemond was a loaded cannon and the game was to see which gunner could fire his rage in the right direction.

 And it had been her. Her mere existence as a woman.

 She could feel her head become heavy with the lack of air, her hands clamouring desperately at his to let her free, fear climbing its way up her spine, both at the situation and the look in Aemond’s eye. Calm but with a white hot rage inside.

 He shook her by her neck, “You are mine” he growled at her face, his grip tightening.

 “Until the day you die, you are mine”

 She wished she could die.

 He would never let her go. He would never let her truly live. She would never have a husband. Have children to raise. No ordinary life.

 Gods, take me away, she prayed silently, closing her eyes, as if she felt Aemond might kill her right here and now.

 He pushed her away forcefully, wanting to be rid of her presence as if he could by the click of a finger. Could not bear to see her and her supposed betrayal of his servitude to his family.

 She crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand around her neck from where he had grabbed her tightly. The stone floor hit hard on her body, air flooding her head. Aemond, frustrated and wronged, scrambled for the purse on his side table, unknowing and uncaring of the contents. All he knew was there were sufficient funds there.

 He threw it to her crumbled body and watched as she wept on the floor, thinking her pathetic, naive. Weak.

 He huffed and began to unlace his breeches, the only thing now on his mind was a bath, to wash away his sins of the days past.

 “I expect you to return to your duties tomorrow” he said flatly.

 She gasped, choking on her breath as she cried, staring ahead at the purse full of coins.

 “Now leave”

 Not wanting to look at him any longer, she shakily took the purse and held it to her chest. Somehow regaining the use of her weakened legs as she stood to lunge herself towards the doors. Away from him.

 Only when she had regained her breath and strength from the force of her crying, did she look into the bag Aemond had given her.

 Four gold dragons and several silver coins.

 It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. And would likely ever see all at once. She lost her breath at the sight of it, something foreign curling in her gut.

 What she could do with this much money.

 She could leave. Leave this job and go somewhere far. Perhaps even across the Narrow Sea. Away from him, from this life of being his whore. Something for him to release his violent temper upon in the hour of the wolf.

 She held the purse tight to her chest and decided. Made a decision, for the first time in her young life.

 Promised herself that she would have the procedure and flee, far away.

 No more of this, she thought to herself, stroking her sore neck and walking with purpose back to her quarters. For the first time, she’d felt anger at herself, for putting up with the torture for so long. Felt overwhelmed by what the past few days had given her as her fate.

 It cannot be.

Sleep didn’t find her that night.

 A red painted house with the curtains drawn, ask for a woman named ‘Sarria’, is what Alanna had instructed.

 She had kept her hair down and wore a dress she would normally wear to prayer, not her maidservant uniform, not wanting to be recognised as staff for the Red Keep.

 She clutched the purse close to her chest, the coins jingling softly inside with every step she took. It was like he had given her life. A chance. How unfortunate that it had to come from him.

 The air was crisp and it was an overcast day, still so early in the morning that the sun was barely peeking through the narrow alleyways. She had decided to come early, before the market stalls had gone up in Flea Bottom, before the rush of customers would flood the streets. Less chance of being seen entering the home. Perhaps less chance of the Gods knowing what sin she was about to commit.

 But the Gods were everywhere. Could not be caged in as men could.

 After a moment of deliberation, she knocked on the narrow door, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. The red painted house had their curtains drawn even though it was morning, as Alanna had said, perhaps to hide the sins inside. Like a brothel.

 A woman with greying hair had answered, standing in the doorway but not quite showing her entire body, possibly in a manner of guarding. She had bright blue eyes, framed by wrinkles of her years, and she looked impossibly tired from what she had seen over the course of her life. The older woman had looked upon her with curiosity, seeing such a small delicate thing at her doorstep.

 “What can I do for you, child?” the woman asks in a soft, gravelly voice.

 “I wish to see Sarria” she answered quietly.

 The woman’s face fell into a soft frown, a sad one. And her eyes looked her from head to toe, swallowing thickly.

 “Come in, child, quickly”

 Wracked with anxiety, she stepped across the threshold, greeted by a familiar earthy and minty smell that emanated through the home. It was dark and dank, from years of not seeing the sun. The woman shut the door quickly behind her, placing a bolt across it to lock.

 Rather surprisingly, she took her cloak and folded it over an armchair in a friendly gesture, now finally being able to see her young face.

 She guided her to the opposite side of the house, where the smell of mint was stronger. The kitchen was somewhat dusty, but well used. She saw two stoves, lit, with a pot of something brewing hot on top, with the stench of something akin to mud.

 Moon Tea.

 “You have coin, I assume” the woman says, capturing the maidservant's gaze from the pots. The maidservant inhaled sharply, clutching the purse still, fingers gripping it tightly as if it were the last thing in his world. Reluctantly, she nodded and handed the purse to her with shaky hands.

 The woman eyed the contents, perturbed.

 “Are you a whore?” she asked.

 “Excuse me?...” she asked, not quite sure what she meant. The words of the other maidservants clear as water in her mind.

 “At the brothels” the woman said, to which the maidservant shook her head quickly.

 “No…”

 The woman furrowed her brows, “Only whores receive gold dragons, child. Where did you steal this from?”

 She swallowed thickly at the accusation, “It was gifted to me, I swear…” she answered meekly.

 The woman seemed to consider her answer for a moment, holding the purse in her hand as if weighing it. Humming, she took one gold dragon from it and put it in a pocket inside her apron, reluctantly giving the purse back to the maidservant.

“Tell nobody of this, and if you do, I shall deny ever having seen you. Understood?”

 She nodded in return, too scared stiff at the moment to speak.

 The older woman led her to a back room, separate from the rest of the home. A room with no windows and a wooden dining table in the middle. She watched as the older woman spoke to another, much younger woman, one who had long dark hair, also wearing an apron.

 The younger woman approached her with a solemn look, but a reassuring smile, and took her hand to lead her to sit on the dining table. The table was clearly cut from one large piece of wood and weathered over the years, with a big burn mark in the middle of it.

 “This is my daughter, Cassia” the older woman says, “she will assist you, make sure you are comfortable”

 Both of them were soft spoken, careful. It was like being inside a Sept, it was so quiet. They tiptoed around her, like she was a terrified animal, fleeing at the littlest sound.

 They covered the table lengthways with a blanket and propped some hefty cushions at the top and middle.

 “Lay down” they instructed.

 She felt the first signs of fluttering fear in her gut when she laid her head against the pillow, her hands fisting her dress in nervousness as she laid flat against the table. The older woman adjusted the other pillow beneath her bottom, raising her hips. The maidservant swallowed and flinched when the woman named Cassia began to stroke her hair, whispering ‘relax’.

 But it did nothing to quell the nerves.

 “Bend your knees” the older woman said in a soft tone.

 Reluctantly, she raised her knees, but unconsciously clenched them together in sheer terror.

 “Will there be pain?” the maidservant asked through hurried breaths.

 “There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again”

 Cassia held one of her hands and she squeezed back tightly, grounding herself to where she lay, memorising the pattern of the beamed roof. Counting from one to ten over and over in her head as a means to calm herself.

 This was freedom. After this, she would never go back.

 She would leave.

 Cassia and her intertwined hands, her pupils shaking as they stared up at the ceiling.

 “Will…you tell me what you’re doing?” she asks, without moving her eyes as the woman gently parts her legs and carefully lifts her skirts.

 The woman was quiet for a moment, “It is best not to know” is all she answered.

 Cassia held a cup of a warm, milky looking liquid to her lips, gesturing for her to finish the cup before the procedure, her other hand stroking her hair.

 “What is it…?”

 “It will dull some of the pain” Cassia’s kind eyes looked down at her. There was that reassuring smile again.

 As she drank the musty liquid, feeling her muscles eventually relax, Cassia gave her a wooden pestle, covered with a rag.

 “In case you need to scream”

 She took it graciously, holding it near her chest tightly.

 The patterned ceiling began to blur, and all she felt was the cold touch of the tool against her insides, travelling impossibly further up inside her. Eyelids heavy and breathing hurried but calm, there was only the uncomfortable feelings of a stranger on her most intimate and forbidden of areas. The milky substance left a film on her tongue, seemingly numb now, as were her limbs from the effect of it.

 All the while, she felt the soft caress of Cassia’s hand in her hair, soothing her.

 Cassia guided the wooden pestle to her mouth.

 Her body tensed when the sharp object was cutting, tearing, something inside her. And she’d bit down harshly, her screaming and crying muffled somewhat by the rags that were tied around it. She could feel the little dragon within her fight back, their flames licking at her insides in desperation. A deep desire to exist.

 It is here she realised what Cassia was actually here for. She was not here for comfort, or to make her feel reassured.

 She was here to hold her down.

 And she did, a solemn look on her face as she refused to look down at the little maidservant in pain.

 She nearly made herself sick with the screaming and crying, praying for the pain to stop. And it didn’t stop, not even when the old woman visibly placed the small, slender knife into a steaming bowl of water, the thick waves of steam lingering to the floor and blood slipping off the blade in ribbons. It was a dull, deep ache, in a new place, somewhere chasmic within. It felt like a hole had been torn open, blood pouring from within.

 It was all she thought about as she felt a familiar sticky red liquid begin to coat her inner thighs.

 A knife, the weapon.

 Cassia took the pestle from her mouth and began to prepare the bandages. The little maidservant stared up at the ceiling, praying in a quiet whisper. For forgiveness. From the Mother, for not allowing her babe to be born. To her own mother, for she’d be disappointed in her eldest daughter, for what she’d done to protect herself and allowing herself into this situation. To her sister, for not being there to protect her, knowing all she does now.

 Knowing truly what men want.

 Carefully, and with a deep, warm thrumming pain in her core, both women sat her up. The maidservant shook excessively, deeply troubled by the experience, and her glassy eyes went everywhere else but their eyes, not wishing to see the judgement in them.

 They pressed a red rag against her, as women do with their moon blood, and kept it there while more bandages were wrapped around her legs and hips to keep it there, to stem the ever heavy bleeding.

 There will be some pain and blood. But after that, all will be right again.

 All will be right again.

 She didn’t forewarn her about the pain in her heart though.

 The two women pulled her skirts down, pressed her cloak to her back and gave her the purse again, and she clutched it tightly. Now that it was done, she would go back, sleep, pack her things and be gone by the next morning.

 “Rest now, child. Heat a brick for the pain” the older woman said.

 And without looking into her eyes, the maidservant nodded, and pulled the hood over her head, “thank you…”

 Should she thank them for such a sin?

 Her vision never quite returned to normal the entire journey back to the Keep, and several times she had caught herself from tripping over herself. It felt as if every single pair of eyes that walked through Flea Bottom were trained on her, as if knowing all the dark, sinful things she had done, walking around her in silent judgement that was reserved for women only.

 The pain in her core seemed to dull as she walked through the Keep, quickly making for her quarters. Alanna was at the front door before she could open it, having just finished her night shift, with wide eyes, looking about her form, but settling on her pale expression.

 “Prince Aemond has requested y-” she starts.

 No more.

 “Tell him I am not well” she replied flatly, softly pushing past Alanna into her quarters and shedding the layers of her clothes, the call of her bed and the sheets too great to refuse, “I have been ordered to rest”

 Alanna swallowed, “I shall take your shift, for today only”. It was clear Alanna has no desire to do it, for he frightened the other maidservants significantly.

 If only she knew.

 They lock eyes for a moment and Alanna can see the utter exhaustion behind her eyes. She squeezes both her hands, giving her some semblance of comfort and the little maidservant wonders at all if she should tell Alanna about her plans.

To leave this wretched place once and for all.

 “Thank you, you are a good and kind friend…” she replied with a shaky voice, giving a sad, reassuring smile to her fellow maidservant. Alanna gave one back and immediately put her apron back on, leaving the little maidservant to herself in the quarters to recuperate.

 She placed the heated brick beneath her mattress and shed her clothes down to her chemise, the front slightly tainted with a patch of blood where she had begun to leak through. So she placed some dark blankets against the sheets and placed herself finally in her bed, pulling the linen up to her chest and allowing herself to sink into it.

 Hot tears began to pool in her eyes at the thought of what she had done, feeling the evidence of it sliding in warm blood out of her. She thought of her family and how she longed to see them again, hoped that her little brother was alright and recovering.

 This was freedom, this choice she had made.

 And she thought of where she might go. Somewhere where the sun shines all the time, where the clouds are light and fluffy, where she can feel the sea breeze against her skin.

 Somewhere away from him. Where he could not find her. Torture her.

 Sighing happily at the thought, she sank further into the mattress, closing her eyes to rest off the uncomfortable ache and drained emotions of the day she had so far.

 Sleep, the calling.

 She felt her heartbeat softly in her chest, calmed. And her breath, slow and relaxed. Felt the warmth of the brick beneath the mattress soothe her and the soft hand of sleep curling around her body to take her. It felt like floating into nothingness, airy and free.

 Her name.

 Someone was calling her name, somewhere.

 Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound.

 “Mother…”

 Grief breeds grief.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles  @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr   @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx  @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost​ @heavenly1927​ @madislayyy​ 

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[tototalks]

Two thirds into Prince’s Gambit and it is NON- STOP 🤩

I am having an excellent time and brain is firing on all cylinders!! 🚀

- “No one expects me not to be a snake, so in a dramatic turn of events, I’m not gonna be a snake.” Gotta respect Laurent’s self-awareness and reputation lol.

- ORLANT??!! Damn bitch, you didn’t last five minutes. No way he’s the real snitch surely?!

- “Bro, you may be a slave but you saved the wine. YOU’RE ONE OF US.” - Honestly, I remember a similar conversation happening back in uni with bottles of vodka lol.

- Laurant first initiating contact with Damen and ordering him to sleep 🥺

- Ooooh you know that blue dress is coming out on EVERY anniversary at some point in the far future. What a gift. Respect sex workers folks.🩵

- If Jord is the traitor I’m gonna actually cry and y’all will NEVER hear the end of it.

- I keep hearing about Nikandros!! VERY intrigued about Nikandros!! Already sensing I will be a big fan of Nikandros from the way Damen speaks about him. Plz tell me we meet him!??

- Damen somehow manages to always end up in Jord and Aimeric’s business. They could literally decide to screw on the moon and Damen would be there accidentally poking his head around the corner.

- I’d work for Halvik. She’d give me health insurance. What a girlboss. - I appreciate that she looked at Damen, then looked at Laurent and went “oh yeah, he needs to fuck” - later solves their heir problem I suppose! 😂

- My only gripe is that you’d think she’d provide a bath after, because sex without washing is NASTY. Damen is gonna regret it when that UTI hits.

- I also like how even though Damen just had sex with however many women, it still manages to be a bonding moment for him and Laurent afterwards. In many ways, I think the coupling fire was a way for Laurent to ‘test the waters’ and learn about Damen in a way he’s comfortable and safe.

- Guion, Ambassador to Akielos, turning up and going “ew what’s an Akielon doing here?” ✨Diplomacy✨ no wonder there’s a fuckin war.

- Aimeric sees ONE SUGGESTIVE THING and is immediately like Dearest ✍️ Gentle ✍️ Readers ✍️ and the whole camp is up in their business. Payback I guess 😂

- Damn. That dying Akielon managed to rip the heart out of Damen’s chest before accidentally putting it back in calling him the true heir. And he was so right. My king 👑

- AYO DAMEN WITH THE SWORD THROW!!!🗡️ But wait! There’s more! The symbolism of him taking a Veretian sword against his own countrymen for Laurent! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I’M CRYING NOW THANKS C.S. PACAT!

- And okay we’re getting kidnapped now??!! What an evening.

[magalidragon]

🏒 the deal 🎶 | “Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don't know how you ever lived without them.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @youwerenevermine! 🥳🥰😘🤗🎂🎈🎊🎁 Okay fine whatever so I am a few hours your time early, but I was so excited to share and honestly, the world is going to end soon and I wanted to get ahead of the game. I went back and forth over what to do for you and couldn’t decide so went with this. The original hockey boyfriend Mr. Garrett Graham and sassy Hannah Wells! It is Jonerys meets THE DEAL! I hope you like it! So grateful to this fandom for introducing me to you! Love you bby! 😘

There was a very strong possibility Jon Snow had made a terrible mistake making this deal with Daenerys Targaryen. He figured it was easy enough; she was a smarty pants and could help him get his grade up in what was supposed to be an "easy A" philosophy class and keep him from getting benched. In doing so, he'd pretend to date her and the guy she had a crush on-- fucking Robb, his own damn cousin-- would see her as a bit more than weird silver-haired purple-eyed Dany and want to ask her out. Since Robb wanted anything he couldn't have-- particularly if Jon had it first.

Now he was watching Robb openly flirt with her and was squeezing his beer bottle so hard he figured he'd be benched not for his shitty philosophy grade but for having to get stitches in his stick hand. It was supposed to be an easy quid-pro-quo. A deal. Started off more annoying than anything else-- Dany could not have cared one single snowflake that he was Queen Alysanne University's star left winger and frequently let him know it. He honestly appreciated it, even if he had to really wear her down, chasing her all over Winterfell to get her to concede.

That had honestly been fun. Then there were their random long conversations after studying. Topics ranged from the best pizza toppings-- pepperoni and more pepperoni for him, while she saw nothing wrong with pineapple on her pizza-- to the best Marvel movie-- he didn't mind that movie about 'The Eternals' while she thought it sucked and liked 'Ant Man' more, all the way over to which House of Commons member should win the two highly competitive ridings near Winterfell or who really won the War of Five Kings?

He also had admitted to her some things he'd never shared with anyone. That he might be the aloof "Ice Man" of QAU hockey who could get any girl he wanted, he actually played that image outside of his truly private life. In reality he just couldn't think of girls, he was too busy trying to do his best to keep his grades up to get a very difficult degree in metallurgy and cultural anthropology while also making sure he didn't lose his rookie contract with the Winterfell Wolves professional hockey team.

Just like he knew all she wanted was to get the bonus money from the School of Drama and Music's winter showcase to help with her mother's medical bills, back in Pentos. That her dream was to sing on stage at the King's Landing Opera House.

All of that swam in his head, those conversations and late nights, sitting out in the quad on a blanket while she quizzed him on long dead Maesters, or that time she'd come to one of his games and he'd scored a hat trick, so she ahd to come to every singel one afterward.

He had done his job; he talked her up to Robb. He lingered in the living room of his and Robb's shared house when they would talk, just in case there needed to be extra prodding. Now they were on a bloody, fucking date.

"Jon, buddy, let go of the beer. The beer didn't do anything to you. Come on man, there you go." His friend and other roommate, Satin, carefully pried his fingers off the glass neck, moving the bottle to the oak bartop. "Alright, so when are you going to tell her?"

"Huh?" He was now glaring at the back of Robb's stupid auburn head, wondering if he could cut off those fucking curls while he was sleeping and blame their fourth roommate Theon. "Tell her what?"

"That you're in love with her, you dipshit."

Thank the gods he wasn't holding the beer bottle because he'd have definitely dropped it. He also was glad he didn't have any beer in his mouth, because that would have been sputtered everywhere as he gaped at Satin, who was now studying his fingernails nonchalantly. "Wha...what...I'm not....she's a friend! She wasn't just a friend, she was...Dany.

Dany, whose first words to him were: "I'm sorry do I know you?"

Dany, who always tied her long silver braids up on her head in a knot using pencils. Who hummed random song llyrics and chords and scribbled them on ltitle pieces of paper. Who had a voice that sounded like fucking angels from teh rafters. Who snorted and cackled when she laughed. Who called him "Wolf Man" instead of "Ice Man" because he had a wolf back home and one tattooed on his arm.

Dany....Dany who always smelled like lemons and lavender and who...

He blinked. It was like seeing everything under a different filter. Brighter. Across the bar, he watched Dany laugh at something Robb said, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She was playing with the silver guitar pick she used, something he had learned was a nervous habit. Her eyes— vibrant, happy lavender— did not fully meet his, but he knew she had glanced his way.

Gods. Was he in love with her? Was that what this feeling was? He couldn’t love her. He had to focus on hockey and studying and…it was just easier to keep that other side of him out there. If Jon Snow actually found a girl…a music major who didn’t know a deke from a slapshot and thought there were quarters not periods…he’d never hear the end of it.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want her with Robb. “And why is that?” Satin asked.

Fuck he said that out loud? “Because she’s mine,” he snapped. He paused. “No she is her own person of course I don’t own her obviously but…” He drained the beer bottle. This was one thing Robb was not going to steal from him. He stomped over to their table and didn’t even wait for his cousin to say anything before he glanced at Dany. “Get your coat, we still have to finish that Agatha show.”

She cocked her head up, confused. “Jon what…”

“Come on.”

“Jon,” Robb began, but he didn’t even have time to finish. Jon grabbed Dany’s hand, tugging her away and towards the back corridor. “What the seven hells Jon!”

If she wanted to fight him, she could. He’d let her anyway. Dany did not pull very hard and protested over Robb’s loud complaining. “Jon seriously what the fuck are you doing?!” She pushed at his chest when he tugged them into the stairwell that led up to the bar manager office, the dim lighting throwing her face in relief. She was fuming. She was a dragon, he expected it. “What was that!?”

“I want to see something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He had to do this. So he crashed his mouth down over hers.

The shock had her gasping, lips parting under his. Soft, plump, perfect lips, and he pressed gently, his hands dropping to her small waist to hold her upright against the wall. She had her hand on his shoulder and for a second he didn’t think she was going to kiss back and made to pull away, apology at the ready, knowing he had fucked this up completely.

Until her hands dove into his hair and she opened her mouth wider, moaning and pulling him to her. He groaned, desperate now, a man who had his first taste of water after wandering a desert, and cupped her jaw, angling her head so he could rise over her, sliding his tongue along hers. Gods. She tasted like strawberries. How!? One of life’s mysteries, he supposed.

The need for air separated them, their breathing ragged and foreheads touching, noses brushing. Her gaze lifted, meeting his. “I take it you don’t think I should see Robb?”

He shook his head, whispering, “Come home with me. I’ll make you a deal.”

“And what’s that?”

He kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip. Her breasts were pressed to his chest and his knee had wedged itself between hers. They were about ten seconds away from a public indecency charge. His voice dropped, gravelly. “You come home with me and I’ll make you come within ten minutes. Five, even.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “And what do you get out of this deal?” she asked.

He pretended to think, before flashing a grin. “The knowledge I made you come. Oh and, our next movie night you don’t wear underwear.”

She smirked now. “I am not one of your puck bunnies.”

“And you know I don’t do puck bunnies.”

After a second, she barely nodded. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got Wolf Man.”

“So it’s a deal then Targy?” She hated that nickname. The glare she shot him had him grinning.

She pulled at his hand, towards the back exit. “It’s a deal.”

[ed-recoverry]

List of free audiobooks on YouTube for anyone interested

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Alice in Wonderland

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H P Lovecraft

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

Twelve Years a Slave by Solomon Northup

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

The Village by Caroline Mitchell

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (fuck JKR)

Sense & Sensibility by Jane Austen

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer

Upside Down by Danielle Steel

The Fiancée by Kate White

The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris

Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Theif

Accidentally Married by Victoria E. Lieske

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

The Collector (book one) by Nora Roberts

The Lies I Told by Mary Burton

Dead Man’s Mirror by Agatha Christie

The Hobbit

The Taken Ones by Jess Lourey

The Good Neighbour by R J Parker

The Island House by Elana Johnson

Desperation by Stephan King

The Healing Summer by Heather B. Moore

The Last Affair by Margot Hunt

To Be Claimed by Willow Winter

Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

The Inn by James Patterson

Wonder by R J Palacio

Faking It With The Billionaire by Willow Fox

The Lost Years by Mary Higgins Clark

Forrest Gump by Winston Groom

The Janson Directive by Robert Ludlum

The Catcher in the Rye

The Lottery Winner by Mary Higgins Clark

Where Eagles Dare by Alistair MacLean

Death of a Nurse by M C Beaton

Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Sonnets by William Shakespeare

Frozen Betrayal by Clive Cussler

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Line of Fire by R J Patterson

Don’t Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen

The Remnant by Tim LaHaye

The Magic of Reality by Richard Dawkins

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie

Payment in Kind by J A Jance

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Way of the Superior Man by David Deida

The Game of Life and How to Play It by Florence Scovel Shinn

The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

A Marriage of Anything but Convenience by Victorine E. Lieske

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

The Inheritance Game by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life

Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

The Kama Sutra by Mallanaga Vatsyayana

The Wisdom of Father Brown by G K Chesterton

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

Robin Hood by J Walker McSpadden

The Poor Traveller by Charles Dickens

Days on the Road: Crossing the Plains in 1865 by Sarah Raymond Herndon

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

Atomic Habits by James Clear

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

Trading in the Zone by Mark Douglas

The Art of War by Sun Tzu

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson

The Return of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Lord of the Flies by William Golding

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Man After Man

Five on a Treasure Island by Enid Blyton

The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

Charlotte’s Web

Midsummer Mysteries by Agatha Christie

Out of Silent Planet by C S Lewis

The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle

Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crichton

The Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harai

Hamlet by Shakespeare

[numinous-scribe]

I’m seeing a lovely trend of recommending DPxDC fics going around so here I am throwing my hat into the ring lol

+++

Beauty lays behind the hills by Library_of_Chronos

Danny loses everything. He runs fast and he runs far, somehow ending up in a back alley known as Park Row, where a strange man with flowers in his hands changes his life.

While Danny does end up staying with Bruce and a much younger Dick, the story focuses more on giving Danny a good support system both within Wayne Manor and with the Justice League, as they all come together to help Danny fight against Vlad. Status: Incomplete

Law of Retribution by Michaelisunderatted

“The ghosts like you.”

Danny watched as Red Hood reeled. Now that he thought about it, that was probably a creepy thing to say. Danny hadn’t talked to living people in years though, so Jason really should cut him some slack. He was trying his best. It wasn’t his fault living people had such weird hang ups about things.

“Okay,” Jason said, taking a deep breath. “Okay kid, what the fuck.” ...

Jason starts seeing ghosts. Danny comes back to the Living Realm for the first time since the Incident.  He has a job offer for Red Hood

I have not caught up with this one myself, but so far I’m really enjoying the darker/more serious tone of the story. Jason sees ghosts, Danny fumbles the “how to human” ball, and Duke takes no shit. It’s great! Status: Incomplete

Sundials by AkelaNakamura

Damian Wayne is nearing sixteen and it's finally feeling like a future is something he might get to choose. He has a Soulmate, somewhere, who is no longer subject to Grandfather's judgement. He wonders though, how he's going to find him when he's unmarked. There's a thousand ways to find a Soulmate, he knows, but Damian has nothing physical to guide him.

Tucker Foley has always worried that Amity Park will be too much for his Soulmate, whoever they are. Soulmates are supposed to match each other, to walk with each other, but there's not many places that are as wild as Amity Park. The only mark he carries though, is the one that links him to Sam and Danny, so he's left to wonder how they might meet.

Damian turns sixteen and everything changes.

A really sweet Tucker/Damian soulmate au with wonderful lore and mechanics and just overall oozing with tender softness. 100% adore this one. Status: Complete

Bruised by DizzlyPuzzled

The Guys in White are preparing for war. The Justice League doesn't believe in Ghosts and wrote Amity Park off. And Danny just wants things to chill for a moment so he can enjoy his life. But now he is the only thing standing between complete reality collapse and peace.

Ghost King au + political drama + taking down the GIW and Vlad? Amazing, stunning, I’ve re-read this at least five times now. Status: Complete 

Ouroboros by Rhapsody_in_Pink

In the end, it was Jack and Maddie that caused Phantom. It was Phantom that caused the downfall of Jack and Maddie. It was Jack and Maddie that destroyed Danny Fenton. It was Danny Fenton who accepted Phantom. And so Ouroboros swallowed himself.

An alternate take on how Danny acquired his powers and interacts with the ghosts around him as well as well as dimensional travel. I genuinely don’t have the words to describe how much I love this one, it’s just so good! Status: Incomplete

Your City Loves You (And Your Home Was Always Here) by bongo_balderdash

After a meeting between the Reigning Monarch of the Infinite Realms and the Justice League, King Phantom asks Superman to stay behind for a moment. Superman is a little hesitant, but they’ve just agreed to a peace treaty between the lands of the living and the dead, and apparently someone on the king’s council has something they’ve been waiting to say.

Not just a message for Superman. A message for Clark Kent.

This one was so sweet and it made me cry. Status: Complete

A Vigilante A Day Keeps the Government Away by DeathlySilent13

Lucius Fox gets a phone call he'd never expected from a source even more unexpected. Now, he's got to figure out what to do with a betrayed child, a traumatized nephew, a protective son, and an adoption-prone Bat.

Very interesting choice in using Lucius as the main POV, and it provides a fresh look at the beginnings of coordinating a take down of the GIW. This is only the first part of the series, and while it is Complete, there is still more to come!

What’s a Spleen Between Friends? by Cielle_Noire

Tim gets Isekai'd a few times, which is really inconvenient. The guy (meta? ghost? half-ghost?) who keeps helping him is cute though, so it's okay. Well, it's not okay, but it could be worse. Probably.

OR

Five Times Tim Fell Through a Portal and One Time He Didn't

A very witty 5+1 Tim/Danny fic. Great lore, great plot, great jokes. 10/10. Status: Incomplete

[lokisgoodgirl]

Bow to Me [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (15) Reveals and eroticism are rife at Stark's Renaissance Faire. (w/c 4.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language.

The veil fastened to your forehead by a simple gold band billowed around your shoulders. Heavy skirts fluttered around your ankles, an approaching banner of war. Thor’s eyes grew wide with alarm, seeing your determined stride through a maze of colourful bunting. There would be no escape this time. He threw a fresh candy apple to the side mid-bite, taking off with a comical run to the nearest high topped tent. It was thirty minutes into Stark’s annual family fun-day. The theme this year? Renaissance Faire. And you were already prepared to go medieval on pretty much everybody in attendance.

Several wide-eyed children looked up at you in awe as you strode between them, the heavy folds of your skirts swishing purposefully on your way to confront the cowardly god. “Fhor is afwaid of her.” one of the children lisped, to a chorus of hushed woww’s that followed you like a breeze. You smirked, lifting the luxurious panel of the costume tent to reveal a cowering Thor trying frantically to conceal himself with ye olde dust sheet. “Desist, woman!” he whined dramatically, stretching out a hand with the sheet hanging limply, the other shielding his eyes. “Do not tempt me with your corseted bosom and coquettish wiles, I beg of you. You know not what you do!" You folded your arms, trying not to laugh. “I’m not trying to make you break the Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense, idiot - your dick is safe as far as I’m concerned.” you said, watching Thor’s eye squint between parted fingers. “You know of this?” he mumbled warily. “Oh, I know of this.” you smirked. His arms fell to his sides, a look of bamboozled relief on his face. “Thank the gods.” he murmured. “I thought for sure when I saw your fiery demeanour out yonder that you had finally come to your senses and decided you must have me.” he looked at you with sudden panic. “Not that I would-I wouldn’t...oh, do not tell my broth-” You raised a hand, his words fumbling to a merciful stop. “I need to ask you something.” you said slowly, hoping he could sense the need for some semblance of sincerity. Thor's brow furrowed. “Loki said I needed to speak to you, it’s weird – so, well he can see...he says- um, flashes of things in my head and I wondered…” you trailed off, feeling suddenly foolish under Thor’s blank stare. “Go on.” he gestured expectantly, arms folded. His brows were raised, as if you had said nothing of any note at all. It was your turn to frown. “Well, what the fuck is up with that? It’s rude.” you snapped. Thor chuckled. “You are in love with him. Obviously.” he scoffed, turning over his shoulder to glance at himself in the mirror. He smoothed a rogue blonde strand, pouting. “Why do people keep saying that?” you huffed, brushing the front of your dress as heat rose in your cheeks. “Everyone knows I can’t stand him so I don’t know why you’re both obsessed with-”

“Mother used to do it to me all the time…” he continued, ignoring you as he re-adjusted the short velvet cape clasped to his shoulders. He had dressed as a king for today’s festivities. Because of course he had.

“I understand your misgivings. It is rather inconvenient. For instance, if you wish to conceal that it was you who mistakenly defecated in the pantry and your mother asks you who defecated in the pantry and you are trying to think of anything but defac-” “-OK, Thor.” you cut him off with a snap, heart thundering. “...But in my defence” he continued unwaveringly, straightening his garish plastic crown. “I was a mere five hundred at the time. Just discovered ale, you see.” he said, turning with an innocent grin which faltered when he saw your steely stare. You frowned as Thor cleared his throat. “Even you mortals have an innate barrier to the invasive sight of others, something you enact as easily as breathing.” he said, traces of mirth ebbing. “When a person feels love, that barrier falters – and recipients of that love who are gifted with magic can, you know...” “See into their thoughts?” you finished. Thor shook his head. “Read their emotions, things that make them feel. Like empathy, as overrated as is it. Or guilt – such as the guilt one may feel over allegedly defecating in a pantry.” You rolled your eyes. “Well it’s bullshit. I can’t love him – he’s awful.” Thor nodded sagely, straightening his velvet tunic. “My brother likely shares your disquiet, in all honesty.” he muttered, adjusting his crown. “In truth, I thought he would be more unbearable when this eventually happened, but he has maintained a surprising amount of decorum. You should thank him.” “Thank him?!" you snorted incredulously. "I don’t think so.” Thor preened, as moments passed in silence. “Wait…” you said slowly. “He’s never been able to do this before?” Thor shrugged, swishing his cape theatrically across his chest. He looked at you blankly as your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean...no one’s ever loved him? How is that possible?” you whispered, hearing Thor chuckle. “You speak of love often for someone who is not, in fact, in love.” he said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “In answer to your question...those who may have developed those feelings for him became...distracted.” Thor shuffled on his feet, gaze drawn back to himself in the mirror. “Distracted?” you murmured curiously. “Yes.” he replied. “By me. An unfortunate consequence of being the unquestionable biological jewel of the family, one cannot blame them really.” You suddenly remembered the conversation which sparked their sword-fight in the training hall last month. ‘Since when did you respect the Covenant of the First Seed, brother?’ Loki had spat with fire. You remembered the casual indifference painted on Thor’s brow, radiating a confidence that was severely lacking in his present state. ‘I see not how it is my fault that you could not satisfy your lovers, Loki.�� the blonde in front of you had said. “You fucked his girlfriends? Thor, that’s sick.” you hissed, shaking your head. Thor chuckled again. “They came to me, my Lady. In their glances across the dining hall with red jewels in their hair. Flashing garters a deep shade of maroon that would make Borr himself weak. The Ordinance of the Colours is no trifle. You know yourself the power of my seductive prowess. How could they resist?”

You grimaced. “Well, I did.” you sniped, folding your arms. “Yes…” Thor conceded thoughtfully, before flicking his hair back. “But you are also in love with my brother so your unnatural tastes cannot be accounted for.”

Your mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the rage in Loki’s hands and teeth as he tore the red dress from your body the night of the shareholders party. The venom in his eyes as he watched it explode in the air in a burst of green light. The way his stare hardened at the sight of your cleavage cupped in crimson lingerie, the ancient sword conjured as deathly sharp as his cheekbones to set his brother away from you. It wasn’t Asgardian bullshit. It was more than that. And for the first time, you felt something stronger than anger. Guilt. You swallowed, chin raised defiantly as Thor’s smug gaze trawled your features. It wasn’t often he found himself on the stronger side of a debate. You ran a finger nonchalantly along a rail of cloaks hanging to your side, before inspecting the tip for non-existent dust. “Not that he does but I mean theoretically if he loved me, just you know...out of interest...I should be able to hear his thoughts, right?” “No.” Thor scoffed disbelievingly. “That is a ridiculous notion. You are not gifted.” “Right.” you said, lips hardening in a tight line. Thor sighed theatrically. “If it alleviates your malaise, I have never seen him show so much hostility towards someone he has not slaughtered moments later.” “Why would that alleviate my malaise?” you sneered, feeling your stomach flutter. “And I don’t have ‘malaise’ for god’s sake” you spat, unconvincingly, fidgeting with the loose belt at your waist. “Its not like I want him to love me I was just you know, checking.” Thor looked up coyly beneath pale lashes, a smug glint in his eye that he had doubtless learned from his infuriating brother. “My lady, if my observation does not betray his heart, then truly I do not know what does.” You stared at him mutely. He sighed again. “It is nuanced, I grant you. My brother is a frustrating creature. Believe me, I empathise.” He turned back to the mirror, admiring himself. “Rogers gave me a book this yuletide, regarding your 'Love Languages' by some alleged scholar or other. Well, my brother’s love language is... hostility.” he announced, pleased with his assessment. You rolled your eyes, fully aware the butterflies in your stomach had become a flock of sparrows. “Did you read the book?” you said flatly, hoping Thor didn’t catch the twitch of your jaw as you tried to contain the twist of nerves in your chest. “Well, no.” he said incredulously, face softening before he gave a knowing wink. “But that does not mean I am wrong.” You heard the quick succession of approaching footsteps outside the tent. “Thor! Come!” a familiar voice roared, thick and rich. “Preparations for the joust are a disaster. They intend to use horses, of all things – allegedly there are no flighting moose...on Midga-” Loki bristled, one arm frozen in drawing back the tent’s curtain.

Thor straightened the lapel of his obscenely luxurious padded tunic, tilting his toy crown askew. “What think you of my regalia, brother?” he drawled regally, spreading his hands wide to the sides. “I think there cannot be two kings.” Loki snarled bitterly, resting a hand on the hilt of a sword slung by his hip. A dull one, you hoped.

He too was dressed in costumed finery; a lapel of ermine cupping his chin above a perfectly fitted tunic of such rich green it was almost black. An ornate golden chain hung in a semi-circle around his shoulders, making a crescent on his broad chest. You ran your eyes down his long body, a pair of pale hose snug to his endlessly muscled legs. He was positively poured into them, the opaque fabric smoothing the raw animalistic power hidden beneath their cover. They ran down to a ridiculous pair of heeled, buckled shoes. Green, naturally. Loki shifted his stance, feet pointed to the exit. You watched the bulge of his thighs ripple, femurs outlined exquisite against the sinful tights which clung to carved limbs like a second skin. Your eyes lingered on his bulge, the lower curve just visible beneath the hem of the tunic. Saliva evaporated on your tongue. You tried to swallow - begging yourself to forget every historical sex scene you had ever rewound as your fingers pulsed on your clit. The god’s hair fell in luscious waves, set against the white fur tucked beneath his jaw like black paint on snow. He was beautiful. And he too, was wearing a crown. Because of course he was. “You are correct brother, there cannot be two kings at this revelry – but by a happy accident I only see one present.” Thor winked at you again. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a flirtation I observe, brother?” Thor paled. “No, he’s fine.” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat beneath Loki’s glare. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since your last tense encounter in the Snack Shack six days ago, every raise of your hand during meetings causing a mighty roll of his eyes akin to the old days. The weight of your interrupted conversation hung heavily in the air. Wafting like cigar smoke. Stifling.

Suddenly Thor barged towards his brother and turned sideways to exit the tent, the width of his ridiculous puffed sleeves causing him to shuffle awkwardly past his stoic sibling. Loki shot you a cold glare, nodding expectantly towards the exit for you to follow him. You sauntered casually towards the gap, taking no mind of the smouldering gaze rolling appraisingly over your medieval dress like treacle. Loki held the curtain of the tent high, his arm stoically positioned above your head as you finally felt the waft of a fresh breeze on your heated cheeks. “Agent.” he murmured in unnecessary greeting as you passed, making you pause. The scent of him invaded alongside the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Wood smoked leather and dusky sandalwood. Pine. It clung to his onyx curls; hanging like a un-repentant traitor on every stitch of gold thread wound into the tight tunic snug against his torso. You could feel his eyeline trail down the valley of your cleavage as easily as if it was his tongue. “You’ve been ignoring me.” you said quietly, eyes fixed on Thor standing ahead; hoisting up his hoes with an exaggerated squat. People were staring. “Have I, Agent?” Loki purred, craning down from his position. His lips grazed the tip of your cheekbone as he spoke. Was he smelling your hair? “I didn’t think you would notice. Considering how little you think of our interactions.” he murmured. You could hear a snarl behind his teeth, barely masked venom blossoming on the cusp of each word like brewing tea.

You tilted your chin, the space between two pairs of parted lips excruciatingly small. Raising your eyes to meet his, you found no warmth there. No playfulness. Not today. And to be honest, after what Thor had told you, you didn’t blame him. Loki’s eyes narrowed, readjusting his grip on the fabric panel held aside above your head. “If you have nothing further to say, Agent…” he sneered sarcastically against your ear. His body curved away from you, ensuring that not a single part of his achingly erotic form touched yours. Loki’s haughty condescension sliced through the melting desire in your core, a weirdly comforting irritation usurping it. The thick golden chain hanging against his collarbone glinted in the afternoon sun, vying for your attention. Self-centred, presumptive arsehole, you flamed, feeling renewed warmth seep across your skin. Does he expect me to tell him I fucking ‘love’ him while his brother is rummaging around his crotch twenty feet away? Your gaze locked onto the sight of Thor’s face twisted in confusion as he tried to arrange himself covertly beneath the hose. Loki’s conceited confidence made you boil, a confusion of emotions competing in your addled brain making you feel nauseous. “You’re wrong.” you managed to say, voice strained. Loki chuckled mirthlessly beside you. “We’ll see.” he replied ominously, as you began to walk forward. You didn’t know why you had stopped in the first place. The chiffon headdress fluttered around your chin. Now that the adrenaline of searching for Thor had dissipated, you could finally take in the surroundings of Stark’s much anticipated event. A calculated distraction, you would admit. Swathes of bygone-era dressed guests moved in groups from stall to stall. The faint pluck of a lute troupe audible over the buzz of the crowd, humming like birds in the rustling waves of trees surrounding the clearing. Stationary wagons holding every manner of historical food and beverage you could think of were dotted about. Tony had really spunked the budget this year. Silently, you walked sandwiched between two simmering gods towards the only group of familiar faces; hovering by the food carts.

“What were the three of you doing in the costume tent?” Wanda said coyly, wriggling her eyebrows. You shook your head subtly. Loki frowned. “I think the better query is why Lang is sporting that counterfeit phallus.” he drawled, drawing his eyes judgementally over the protrusion from Scott’s hose-clad hips. The subject of his jibe’s eyes widened, a gargantuan roasted turkey leg covering the lower half of his face. “Wha-?” he mouthed, meat flicking into the air and hitting Nat on the forehead. Scott swallowed with difficulty, gesturing at his crotch with a free hand. “Hello?! It’s a Ren faire! Cod-pieces galore am I right? Everyone’s got em. You’ve got one for god’s sa-” He stopped mid-sentence, gaze lingering once more on the draw of Loki’s hypnotic groin outlined perfectly beneath the tights. You traced the curves of your sometime-lover’s bulge covetously, remembering the smack of the shutters against your lower back as he railed into you like a furious, feral animal; fucking for survival. God, had it only been a week? It felt like years. Loki shifted his stance, folding his arms as he widened his hips. “We both know that I do not require such auspicious modifications, Lang.” he said slowly, a smile tugging his lips as Scott’s cheeks flushed.

“Please tell me we’re not talking about Laufeyson’s ding-dong again…” Steve whined over your shoulder, making you jump. He sashed into the centre of the circle, hands folded together beneath the long brown draping of his sleeves. A wooden cross hung around his neck, a thick rope of cream tied to his waist. Gone was the shock of radiant blonde hair, and in its place a questionable skullcap complete with dark bowel-cut. Friar Rogers. You lowered your eyes to the ground, feeling your chest begin to contract with laughter. For a moment, you saw Loki’s feet shuffle closer; just a little. Steve’s blue eyes widened pleadingly, every inch a man of the cloth. “Can we please try to keep lewdness to a minim-” “-I think what Tuck Shop is trying to say is that there are children, children.” Tony chided with amusement, as he sauntered out of nowhere to take his place beside the good Friar. Deep lines on his forehead danced with barely contained mirth. Or maybe he’d just been at the mead. A resplendent crown sat jauntily on his head, a tunic of red tinselled satin and silver thread replacing his trademark t-shirt and jeans. In one hand, he held a ridiculously large steak on a stick. In the other, a tankard. He took a sip, as Steve glanced around, flinching as a juggler appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the crowd. Tony burped, before posturing thoughtfully. “Although, I think collectively we can agree we’re all obsessed with Laufeyson’s ‘ding-dong’.” he quipped, raising an eyebrow around the circle. “I mean...it’s worth its not un-sizeable weight in free PR, for one thing.” Steve flushed an alarming shade of crimson, cut off comically at the base of his skullcap. Loki sighed with theatrical exasperation. “Stark, you declared that I was to be the King in today’s farcical proceedings.” he said petulantly, with no attempt to hide his irritation. “Did I?” Tony gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. Thor snorted. “I think not, brother.” he scoffed. “The crown should fall in direct lineage to those who are worthy. I would be willing to concede my post as King of this fete if you would but grant me your renewed Oath of Most Assured Recompense in return?” he goaded, making Loki’s jaw clench. You heard him inhale sharply- “-No more Oaths!” you snapped, making both brothers jump. “This is ridiculous. You can both be kings, no one cares.” There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group. Tony raised his hand incredulously while Loki and Thor let out a simultaneous derisive snort. “Both?!” the blonde boomed, shaking his head. “My, my it truly would never have worked between us.” he said wistfully. Loki rolled his eyes as Rogers backed slowly out the circle, seeming to glide glacially with tiny steps beneath the sway of his shit-coloured robes. “Well then one of you change.” Nat growled, as you started to feel the antsy crawl of awkward tension tingle up your arms again. Thor laughed. “There is not one garment in the tent from whence we came that would fit over one of my mighty calves, Romanoff. Tis’ my brother who shall have to concede.” “Did they really think I’d give anyone else the King job at my own damn party?” you heard Tony scoff loudly to no-one. “Asgardians, I’m tellin ya…” You saw the muscle in Loki’s cheek bob as he ground his teeth. Tony bit into the speared steak in his hand, enjoying it all immensely. The dark god’s eyes flashed, a glimmer of something sparking heat between your legs.

“Fine.” Loki snapped, “As it happens I came prepared for such traitorous shenanigans. A lifetime of dealing with you, brother, has taught me to always save my best for when you show your hand.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and a sceptical Thor. “Besides…” he purred slowly, stalking his gaze in your direction. “I have found that people are quite willing to bow to me... even without a crown.”

He grasped one of the golden tips with his thumb and forefinger, thrusting the ornament to the ground at Thor’s feet with a flick of his wrist. You saw a green glow lap at Loki’s feet, moving slowly upwards. He could do this in a millisecond if he wanted, but he was putting on a show. His twee buckled shoes melted to thick black leather, rolling up his calves like armour. Edges appeared below the knees, shifting inward to coat his carved thighs in matching trousers which, somehow, gave the illusion of being even snugger than the cream tights. You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away as a wave of wild fur blossomed around his torso; bear or fox or- “-Wolf.” Loki purred rakishly in your direction, his tongue taking its time over the syllable like a seductive bark. “Urgh, I love it when he does that.” Wanda cooed huskily, giving her face a dramatic fan. You rolled your eyes, shuffling with your arms folded. Suddenly your corset felt tight. Very tight. In the seconds your gaze had been averted, a thick leather belt had appeared around Loki’s midriff, cinching the fur. Heavy pendants hung from his neck, glinting in the afternoon sun against bare skin. The wolf fur ran in a deep V to his naval, every inch a slutty medieval bandit. Christ, you thought. I’m fucked.

“This will suit my new posting for the festivities all the better, anyway.” Loki sneered towards his brother as Tony took another gulp of mead. He flicked his hair over his shoulders, the haughty slice of his jaw making you flinch as it pointed to you. “I find that women prefer characters’ with a little more...depth. Isn’t that right, Agent?” Wanda elbowed you in the ribs playfully as Thor squinted; bamboozled. “What does that mean?” he scoffed. “I thought you on greeting duty, of all things…over yonder.” He tilted his head towards the line of families queued at the entrance, excited children jumping up and down. You saw a young girl burst into tears as a manically grinning Friar Steve loomed over her, draped sleeves hanging from arms stretched in greeting before her mother snatched her away. Loki smirked. “I have been re-assigned.” he said, glinting eyes making a flutter shuffle in your belly. His thumbs hooked into the thick leather belt, tugging downward. What you wouldn’t give to feel the smart of that leather whip across your ass as he took you against a tree in the wilderness beyond the faire’s boundary. Maybe he will, you thought as a thrill flooded soared beneath the anachronistic lace panties you were wearing. Loki’s lashes fluttered upwards, his lip curling before those ethereal features hardened again. He had been colder than usual this past week, and you had a feeling that today would be no different, given the circumstances.

“Yah – he’s on the archery range now.” Tony interjected casually, breaking the stare you didn’t know you were burning into the profile of Loki’s jawline.

Nat shook her head. “What the fuck? Where’s Clint?” she said, glancing around the bustling thoroughfare. Tony shrugged, talking through a mouthful of ye olde steak. “Said he didn’t feel like it today, his voice sounded a little hoarse on the phone.” Nat’s brow arched, swinging her eyes suspiciously towards Loki. The god rocked on his heels, a tiny shrug making his shoulders bounce as he tried to contain the smile pressing at his dimples. “I didn’t know you could shoot.” you scoffed, fidgeting with the veil hanging by your collarbone. “You never asked, Agent.” he drawled innocently, running a hand through his perfectly waved hair. “But truly...are you surprised?” Nat suddenly yanked you to the side of the group. She cast a quick glance back to the circle closing in on Loki, admiring his new outfit. Scott was rubbing a palm repeatedly down his pelted chest while the god smirked, pleased with himself. “He’s done something with Clint.” she hissed over your shoulder. You frowned, leaning back incredulously to see the concern etched plainly on her face. “He wouldn’t…” you whispered, glancing at a resplendent, wolf fur clad Loki stretching his ridiculously long arms to Scott's unbridled awe. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you guys, I don’t give a shit.” Nat said quietly. “Go with Laufeyson, find out where he’s put him. Barton could be passed out enchanted off his nuts in a port-a-potty and we’d never find him.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read her face. “Nat I…” you started, fully intending to stand your ground. Suddenly there was a low whistle. Both of you twisted around, seeing Loki drawn to his full height; hair flowing over the puffed collar of his furs with his thumb and forefinger slotted in his mouth. The curve of his ass in the aged leather trousers was obscene, thick thighs creasing the material as it fought against its master. Christ, how you wanted to sink your teeth into them as you buried yourself between his achingly long legs. There were screams from the crowd before it parted, a panicked flurry of feathered hats and veils and skirts flying in all directions as citizens fell over themselves. A beautiful black steed cantered through the fray, completely un-phased. It was absolutely huge, the massive muscles of it's broad chest flexing with each long step. It’s smooth coat gleamed, rich tones of deepest blue flashing amongst the inky hairs as it trotted over and stopped with its nose pressed against Loki’s palm. “Shall we, Agent?” Loki purred knowingly snapping his fingers and making a vibrant caparison unfurl on the waiting stallion. The luxurious material fell in folds, dark emerald and vibrant gold with Loki's insignia woven through the fabric. A saddle and reins manifested snug to the huge horse, who whinnied in approval. Words failed you, seeing an ornate curved bow appear in Loki's grip through a wash of flickering magic. He slung it casually over his shoulder, palm stretched toward you expectantly. You vaguely heard Scott’s murmurs of besotted admiration as a sharp nudge from Natasha in the kidneys made you stumble forwards, automatically grasping towards his hand. Before you could protest, the air was knocked out of you as Loki’s fingers gripped around your waist, throwing you up. Your ass landed sideways on the saddle with a soft thump. You scrambled to grip the reigns, steadying yourself. With a graceful bound, Loki swung himself up behind, winding arms encasing you before his nimble fingers caressed the leather reigns from your grasp.

The disbelieving stares of the gathered Avengers crawled in your periphery as his forearms tightened around your ribs. Loki's elaborately constructed garment did nothing to disguise the hardness of the muscle beneath, thick ropes of pure power shifting as he settled. You could feel the slide of traitorous arousal leaking between your thighs, desperately wet and needy for the infuriatingly smug god steadying you against his spread leathered femurs. “You can be my first student, won’t that be fun?” he smouldered darkly, the whisper of his sweet breath skating over the delicate skin beneath your ear. He chuckled softly against your cheek. "Someone has to break me in before I am unleashed on the unsuspecting public, surely." You sighed, a quiver of anticipation betraying the roar of desire between your legs as you pressed them together, hanging off the side of his steed. The horse stamped once. Impatient, like his master. “And Agent…?” Loki murmured through a smirk, the deep baritones making you squeeze your shoulder-blades together against the expanse of rippling masculinity beneath the wolf-pelt. “I have quite the lesson in mind.”

Continued in Bow to Me: Quivering Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @mischief2sarawr @loopsisloops @michelleleewise @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @fictional-hooman @filthyhiddles @maple-seed @pineappleandro @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @wolfmoonmusic @justjoanne242 @peachyjinx @praq123 @trickster-maiden @astridstark13 @lokisgoodboy @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lady-rose-moon @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @littlespaceyelf @ladyofthestayingpower @soldeloki @liminalpebble @psychospore

[greenerteacups]

Hi, hi! I never shut up in my fic comments, so I’m going to practice restraint here and quietly scream that I find everything about Lionheart delightful. It’s such a smart, witty, honest, beautiful, and deeply romantic story that honors a character arc for Draco that scratches so many itches in my brain. Every time I read it, I feel spoiled. 

I have SO MANY questions and general exclamations, but I’ll stick to one. I always love reading your thoughts, but there is zero, null, zip pressure to respond in any way. Just think of this ask as an energetic virtual wave. 

So, if your Narcissa and Molly were forced to name each other’s biggest flaw, what would they say? (I ask this knowing that what whatever they said wouldn’t necessarily be true, of course.) I’m endlessly fascinated by their parenting, but also the lives they lead beyond it. Molly and the Order. Narcissa and the pureblood circles she’s navigated her whole life. They both so obviously love their children, but I can’t ever decide if Molly’s dislike for Narcissa (I mean, I’m assuming she dislikes her) would include a stiffly admitted “you’ve raised a good son,” or if she’d say “Draco became good in spite of you.” 

<3 Tig

TIG!! Hello! I read your comments religiously, and by that I mean with the totemic reverence properly afforded to King St. Stephen of Hungary's right forearm. I hoard them in my inbox like Smaug's jewels and kick my feet like a schoolgirl over them. Or like a very schoolgirlish mixed metaphor of a dragon, that is. The longer, the more dragonly schoolgirling. To wit, I have been grinning at this stupidly for like, five whole minutes.

What would Narcissa and Molly say about each other? I wonder, I wonder. They're quite alike in being protective and (in their way) nurturing mothers. They both take pains to keep their children out of the war effort, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully. They're also very prideful, domineering, and intent on getting their own way. I think Draco acclimates to Molly's parenting style when he's around the Weasleys in part because it's so similar to his own home: you have a present and visibly dominant mother figure, who gives most of the orders, and then an auxiliary (or, in Lucius's case, absent) father figure whose name is usually invoked only to give force to the mother's commands. They also had children around the same time, though Molly was a mother years before Narcissa was, and so probably thinks of Narcissa as quite young. I expect there would be an element of mutual condescension, if not outright scorn. Both of them believe very strongly that their ideas are The Right Things, and if you disagree with them, it doesn't matter what your reasons are, you are simply Wrong. They have equally inflexible moral compasses that happen to be oriented around radically different poles.

They are also both — and I don't think it's a spoiler to say this, because everything I'm about to say is stated in the text — extremely competent fighters. Narcissa never fought in the first Wizarding War, but she's still an accomplished duelist, and formidable enough to have the respect of both Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. She's an expert Occlumens, practiced Legilimens, and her husband was the Dark Lord's right hand. Molly Weasley, on the other hand, is one of the only people alive to have beaten Alastor Moody in a duel, and one of the few people in the Order who seems to feel comfortable giving shit back to him at Grimmauld Place. It's worth noting, too, that Molly is fairly bellicose as a person — she has a snap-your-fingers temper — and among her seven children, you have (canonically speaking):

a curse-breaker (one of the hardest/most demanding intellectual jobs in the wizarding world),

a dragon-tamer (holy fuck),

a Head Boy with more N.E.W.T.s than Hermione canonically has, who got a high-ranking aide position in Wizard Parliament straight out of high school,

two crackpot inventors who start a business selling bioweapons at age 17,

a chess prodigy who beats a 50-something master at age 11; hijacks a flying manual car, teaches himself to drive it, flies the fucking thing from Devon to Surrey, and kidnaps his best friend; subsequently flies it again from LONDON to HIGHLAND SCOTLAND; uses said car to bulldoze a horde of giant spiders; threatens a serial killer to his face, while nursing a broken leg; breaks into the wizarding version of MI6; blows it up; ensuingly helps prosecute a war effort to prevent a fascist takeover of Britain; and:

Ginny Weasley.

And on the other hand, you have Narcissa (in Lionheart), whose children, though few in number, consist of:

Draco Malfoy (prodigious, annoying, thus far remarkably hard to kill).

So regardless of your stance on the nature/nurture debate, you have to believe there's some fairly intense parenting happening on either side of the equation.

In my fic, they also both hold similar roles in the present: involved in the war effort, but not in the same way some of their colleagues are, either by choice (Molly being the de facto quartermaster for the Order safehouse, and hence the Order) or by necessity (Narcissa being unable to come out publicly on either side of the conflict without putting herself, and Draco, in danger). Those positions of "neutrality," which for both of them is really just a cover for their work as covert operatives, is made possible by the fact that they are mothers. No one would suspect the impoverished housewife Molly Weasley of running a guerrilla military out of her kitchen; likewise, few would suspect reclusive, tragic pureblood widow Narcissa Malfoy of being the pet huntress of Albus Dumbledore. Which is part of what makes them so effective. There's also something in the fact that they're both very feminine, both in their position and how they hold themselves, but they embody different aspects of femininity — specifically, the elements of femininity that are useful to their cover. Molly leans heavily into her role as the blustering, bossy, overworked mother, to the point that most of her children don't see her as anything else. Narcissa, on the other hand, leans into the "Mater dolorosa" angle, presenting herself as this demure, ladylike mistress-of-the-house, which is helped by the fact that her husband's death gives her an excuse not to go out often. The perception that she's a frail widow crippled by grief — which is anything but the truth, as becomes clear pretty much by her first appearances of Lionheart — means that people in her pureblood circles don't make the same demands of her that they would of Lucius, and she absolutely exploits that to her advantage. They're both Gen X women who grew up during (if not slightly before) the second-wave feminist movement; their relationships with sex and social position flow from that. They don't break molds; they flip them to their advantage.

Anyway, I've totally neglected your question. To wit: Narcissa would say that Molly's greatest flaw is her inability to conceive of an ideal more important than happiness. Molly would say that Narcissa's is cowardice.

[rei-ismyname]

Ororo, how did you get here?

I wonder if we'll get a solid, in character explanation for why Storm would become a cop (Avenger) again. I'm writing an analysis on From The Ashes (so far) and while I'm clear-eyed about where most characters and books are at, I really need to know if they're even going to bother explaining why Storm would leave Arakko (oh yeah, there's still a million mutants on the red planet) and if they do to what degree. Sure she can just bail off screen but it'd be deeply out of character. She's a member of the Great Ring (or at least she was, occupying Magneto's empty Seat of Loss after she yielded the Regency to Lodus Logos.) She's the most impactful political and cultural figure in a generation. She was the leader of the winning faction in the Genesis War. She had a lover, who was caring for two orphans. I think they were living together. She was happy. I can't recall any ties to Atlanta, but it doesn't really matter. Without serious explanation she's going to look fickle, like she's shirking her duty. A duty she chose, too. Fought multiple wars over. She's getting a solo book, there's totally room to do it properly.

The other big ting for me is Magneto. The First Krakoan age put him through the ringer - his character arc was objectively given the most attention and subjectively the most satisfying. Even without Uncanny X-Men #700 he was poised to shake up the status quo but when you include his chat with Charles that's a promise. A promise that needs to be paid off. Not just any old promise either - it's an ideological breakthrough five decades in the making! He's been kept in the background so far and I haven't really been able to judge whether that promise is being kept or not. I hope so but my expectations are low. It would be such tonal whiplash I can't even think of an analogy.

Interestingly both Max and Ororo were Of Arakko last time we got a close look. Magneto died defending Arakko, he has friends there. He is literally one of the society's heroes for slaying Tarn the Uncaring and The Hour Of Magneto/Judgement Day.

Yeah, that's right. *AIR HORN* *PUMPS FIST* He cares about the Arakki and they care about him. He'd want to pay his respects to the Fisher King and generally see how it's going. He lost his place on the Great Ring when he died and Vulcan blew up his house, but neither are especially important. Both planet and culture are dear to him. After X of Swords, in that brief period when the Arakki were on Earth, it was Magneto meeting with Isca about teething problems. 'Twas Magneto who spearheaded the Terraforming Operation, handling the communication/logistics and harvesting enough iron to bring the planet to life from the Khyber Belt. While he was doing that, Ororo was fighting Nameless to the death for the Noontide Seat.

I could honestly go on, but my point is these two especially are invested. (Roberto Da Costa too, but it seems the New Mutants are represented by Magik alone and Cypher looking like an idiot.) If that continuity is disregarded I'm going to have a problem with it. Honestly, if Arakko is there and not being used in any stories I'll be scratching my head. How do you go from terraforming planets to hated and feared on Earth as anything other than a regression? The geopolitical implications of it being there pretty much break the world they're selling us. They're telling us it's so dangerous for mutants that they're developing secret hand signals and Underground Railroad'ing. At least some mutants would move to fucking Mars. All countries would be at Defcon 1. Did the entire galactic council just forget Sol exists?

I'll stop there, save some for the actual essay instead of the rant lol. If you're enjoying it I couldn't be happier for you. I am struggling to, though, and I'm very wary of heartbreak. Maybe that's on me for how I manage my expectations. We shall see.

[icekingofhope]

If there is one thing about Peng that makes me sad is how people just treat him like a asshole I mean yeah in the clips in the show he does seem like a asshole but well…lemme explain.

I believe he is more then what people see him as especially considering the myths about him and some stuff in the clips if you don’t know Peng was also known as king Garuda the king of birds in Indian mythology (both Hindu and Buddhism)

his mother and father were Kashyapa and Vinata he is the half brother of the Devas, Gandharvas, Daityas, Danavas, Nāgas, Vanara and Yakshas and younger brother of Aruna he is also known as the sworn uncle of the Buddha himself and now you may say to me “well no wonder he is selfish or whatever”

well I didn’t get into his life yet and note I shall copy and paste this

here is one about hindu mythos

“Kashyapa's two wives, Vinata and Kadru, wanted to have children, so he granted each of them a boon. Kadru asked for one thousand Naga sons, but Vinata only asked for two, yet each an equal to all of Kadru's thousand sons. Kashyapa blessed them, and then retreated to a forest to meditate. Later, Kadru gave birth to one thousand eggs while Vinata gave birth to two. After incubating them for five hundred years, Kadru's eggs hatched and out came all of her sons. Vinata, eager for her own sons, impatiently broke one of her eggs. From this egg emerged the partially formed Aruna, although he looked like the morning sun, he was not as bright as the midday sun as promised. Aruna chided his mother, Vinata for her impatience, and warned her to not break open the second egg, cursing her to be a slave until his brother rescued her. Aruna then left to become the charioteer of Surya, the sun god. Vinata waited, and after many years the second egg hatched, and Garuda was born

After losing a bet to Kadru through trickery, Vinata was forced to become her slave. Garuda later asked his brothers to free his mother from her slavery, to which they demanded amrita from heaven. Garuda waged a war against gods with his extraordinary might and abilities beyond thinking, and defeated all of them, including King Indra. He then took Indra's nectar vessel and flew back to earth. Vishnu then came to Garuda, and asked him to be his ride, to which he agreed. Indra requested that Garuda not give the amrita to the Nagas though, as it would bring great trouble later, so they forged a plan. Upon reaching his brothers Garuda placed the vessel before them, and asked them to first purify themselves before drinking. Meanwhile, Jayanta, the son of Indra, stole the vessel back. Upon returning, the Nagas were all devoured by Garuda”

so practically Peng was the son of a Slave and had to kill his own brothers (and practically cousins) to free his own mother

Now in Buddhism it’s abit different

“Legend holds that in primordial times, the original Phoenix (Fenghuang), the leader of flying beings, gave birth to the peacock Mahamayuri and to the eagle named the Golden-Winged Great Peng. The peacock once consumed the Buddha, who managed to escape by cutting through her stomach. At that time, the peacock preyed on humans, and the Buddha intended to kill it. However, the deities intervened and urged him to stop. In exchange for a promise to renounce its habit of preying on humans, the Buddha elevated the peacock to the status of his godmother, while the eagle became his uncle and was granted a high position in heaven.Peng sits at the head of the Buddha's throne in the Western Paradise

In this his slibing tried to kill the Buddha they almost died the celestials stop him but either way you look both is pretty dark I mean imagine you’re slibing tried to eat the fucking Buddha and almost died

now into lmk

from what we seen he just has a ego and asshole well I believe he is more then that (cause well…azure doesn’t seem to be the type to like be friends with a asshole) and from what we seen Peng seems rude but not as rude to his friends sure he gives some insults to macaque but he also kinda insulted wukong but other then that he doesn’t really treat them all horribly

To me he just has hard time being friendly to others but he genuinely does seem to care for his friends hell he showed a lot of worried for azure when he was in pain Peng shows he cares in his own way he maybe abit egotistical admittedly but like he does care for his brothers

and what’s worse what happens in the season 4 special now I may hate that special a lot but like doesn’t change the fact Peng is practically the only one who managed to ran away

imagine how he must feel his best friend his brother is DEAD his other brother is now in prisoned and everyone is celebrating in the beach I mean I be pretty pissed off and hurt and it sucks cause it seems we are never gonna see Peng again or tusk or azure

they deserved more then how the fans or the show treats them especially Peng and azure I just wish we could have seen more of Peng softer side though

anyways thank you for reading have a good day or night lads and lasses

[sunnysideaeggs]

hi friends, welcome back to another episode of me complaining about the dragon show. this is a long post for a long episode, spoilers for s2e6 of hotd, and spoilers for fire and blood, since i will be discussing a bit of my theories about the ending. enjoy!

the lannisters as always serving. i love the armor, the red, the details, targaryens wish they had that drip.

lions? fighting? yes lord jason show us the budget

also i think it’s cute that lord lefford and his men have a little golden dandelion pin. i think the different ways westerosi people embrace their sigils is cute

why is the golden tooth’s lord so surprised to see lord jason being a show off? sir that’s your liege lord you must know how he is 😵‍💫

‘he dares summon me 🤬🤬🤬’ bitch you’re regent because you have fightfing ability. use it. i hate aemond ugh

‘i’m prince regent not a dog’ ✨ stop acting like a bitch then ✨

everyone in the council wishing aegon comes back home lol

larys’ hair looks unmatched today

alicent and dalton? 💀 this would be a great moment to remind the audience of how dalton is a rapist, a tyrant, a heathen and a criminal, and anyone that allies themselves with him is icky. but oh wait isn’t he a black ally?

i will not tolerate any more tyland slander. he’s my little finance bro and he must be respected

now this is a question. what position does alicent fill exactly? she’s not queen anymore and being queen mother of an adult king doesn’t grant her any more saying than anybody else

i would be more inclined to empathize with alicent’s loss of power if she had spent any morsel of her power actually saying or doing something. i don’t care about the loss of a ‘leveling voice’ in the council when she didn’t have any thoughts this season but ‘war bad, aegon bad, viserys good, peace good’

she’s in her FOMO era though. she wishes this was aegon instead. she should’ve employed this maternal energy in him. it would’ve served her better.

now this is another consequence of alicent’s character being so butchered it became a 50’s caricature of what a woman is. book alicent was such a powerhouse that no one would dare question her presence in the council. and she was evil af. that’s the alicent we deserved

i can’t stop thinking that the hand pin rhaenyra gave corlys is the same pin she stole from otto lmao

i fail to see how rhaenyra admitting she’s being held back by her council gives her power. they’re admitting she’s a puppet ruler. ew

rhae mentioning that the knight has noble blood first of all 😭 smallfolk don’t count. it’s unthinkable they would have the ability. she said no real person involved fr

‘the dragons are gods’ i thought we were well past that

if anything i watch every episode to see daemon being haunted for all his sins. truly what he deserves

(throwback to s1) also i find it interesting how in the show viserys cut himself with the throne when he sent away daemon, when the moment he cuts himself in the book is when he condemns vaemond and the silent five unfairly. the show trying to make his mistake be standing up to his entitled family instead of enabling his entitled family 💀

simon must be so done with daemon 😭

i wonder if caraxes has been having weird dreams too

daemon packing his shit and sleeping outside harrenhal in a tent jsjjsjsjs

alys like: ‘where my goodbye hug at? 🧐’

‘perhaps those who strive for (the crown) are the least suited to wear it’ preach.

but rhaenyra does strive for it, she can’t be five minutes reminding people of her crown duh. the only one who recognized the duty of the crown and the burden and duty it takes is egg and that is why i love him

i can’t with the fucking viserys glazing smh

alys my love why would you say ‘centuries’ when it comes to the tullys? they’ve been around for a century and a third, not more. i love the tullys but they haven’t been liege lords for centuries

once again condal proving he didn’t read the books

now if ser whatshisname dies trying to claim a dragon i will say he died a dragonrider’s death, therefore he was successful or whatever

poor steffon :( it’s cruel to give a knight a ceremony for his death and seasmoke was cruel to lure him just to burn him

why did they leave him there instead of idk throwing water? try to save him? smh

he died a dragonrider’s death tho

actually the dragonkeeper choosing to slice his throat instead of succumbing to his burns tells us throusands about what an actual honorable valyrian death is like. and it doesn’t have anything to do with burning

now i would like some more insight on the resentment it causes to know you have a noble father and he leaves you to your devices. imagine your dad being your boss but you can’t say anything :(

i still think it was so stupid of dyana to not run away from the city when she had the chance and the money. i know they kept it for slander purposes but still

since when do the peasants are choosers? they’re eating rats and bowls of brown, why are you complaining about fish?

aemond’s lover is a traaaaaiittoor lol

tell but not show. we haven’t seen any food or feast since the dinner back in s1. got did way better with the food

also giving the blacks’ storyline of feasting while the people starve to the greens has not gone unnoticed.

bitch what? rhaenyra is slapping lords? she’s fucking joffrey. this is beyond disgusting and disrespectful. fuck her i hate her so much and every episode gives me more reason to hate her even more

‘fear me 👹👹👹’ i will cheer when she dies chained

also she just hits her allies and speaks some bs, doesn’t explain herself, doesn’t create more plans, just fucks around and fucks off. ew

i know mysaria is a lickspittle because no one else would say rhaenyra ‘raised in feasts and lazyness’ targaryen becomes being with a sword lol

aemond speaks the truth but fails to endorse it. it is in the crown’s best interest to make sure the smallfolk curse the blacks all the more, instead of leaving them to think whatever. when there’s a siege you hate the one keeping the siege not the ones suffering with you

aemond is so easily blindsided (pun intended). he is so quick to shut down the flatterers in the council but doesn’t realize he’s fucking the worse traitor of them all lol

yay egg is awake! (of course orwyle will prioritize 👑 the king 👑 instead of dealing with a simple prince duh)

my baby is in pain :(

aemond targaryen i will see you in the seven hells if i don’t sent you there myself. keep your hands away from him you leech. i’m on daemon’s side for this one

why would the maesters leave him alone? he’s the king king, he can command them to not leave the room and aemond can’t overrule him

rhaena being sidelined and forced into a storyline that isn’t hers (diminishing her importance and the last dragonrider until daenerys) will not be forgotten.

we get to see daemnyra’s kids’ dragons but not helaegon’s kids’ dragons? a crime.

i would like to remind everybody that grrm himself said dragons are not nomads and they don’t go flying around just because. condal once again

rhae rhae showing she’s vizzy’s daughter because she threatens to cut tongues when she gets mad at the truth and can’t even give a reasonable explanation for why. at least joffrey cut tongues when people were singing slander and not just trying to be useful

fucking tyrant.

while rhaenyra cries about not being respected as a ruler jace actually makes plans to win the war. she’s not respected because she’s fucking useless not because she’s a woman.

ah yes, apples grown in the gardens of dragonstone. as if the reach isn’t team green. lmao

also it’s so funny that no one ever through about buying more food exported from the reach (coast clear and no need for sea routes). the writing is so stupid bruh

all he ever wanted was to hear someone was sorry about what happened to him :(i’m sorry egg, your mom is sorry)

now some sunnydumping: back in 2021 i got covid, i probably catched it from my mom. i was bedridden and with awful fever and pain, my mom did stay by my side and constantly apologized for me being sick. of course it wasn’t her fault but she still felt bad. alicent apologizing to her burned son speaks to me so much

alicent was around 14 when her mom died, gwayne is older than that and was in tourneys during the first ep. did the writers forgot? why would they say ‘oh you were 8 when mom died’ this man fought daemon 💀

THEY’RE AGING DAERON? i expected it but i’m still disappointed

the horses are so cute with their armor aw

rhaenyra didn’t fucking knew about mysaria’s plan 💀 the smallfolk are right to thank her though. she might be the cause there’s a blockade but it’s not logical the crown hasn’t done anything about it

‘we must leave now’ no tf they don’t. helaena and alicent should stay right there instead of going to the streets. most of the smallfolk is deeply religious and wouldn’t dare to desecrate a sept. what are they, blackwoods?

and the narrative backs me up. the people were outside the sept, but didn’t actually enter and instead just conveniently went after the queens when they exited the sept. they should’ve stayed.

the smallfolk throwing food at them 💀 well damn that’s why you’re starving if you’re throwing good food away

i’ll miss leon stermont ngl. he was funny.

eeeegggg :((( his little tear while reaching for the milk? i’m crying. also give tom his emmy rn

aegon wanted his medicine and sleep but larys instead gave him his lore. poor baby :(

matthew needham the actor you are

i love love love larys and aegon together. the two best actors of the show on scene, their microexpressions, their shared disability and the ruthlessness it brews. this is the most vulnerable larys we’ve ever had and i am so mesmerized by them

new theory: i am a ‘aegon poisoned himself’ truther, and now i am of the mind that larys may help him, and poison his king following his orders (jesus and judas who). after that, he chooses death because what else can he do. he fulfilled his purpose and he served his king.

btw larys’ purpose to me is the old gods grand conspiracy. he’s advancing stuff so that the events of asoiaf can happen. he’s but a piece in a board.

he also may poison aegon without aegon knowing but thinking he’s doing it out of kindness. he doesn’t want the boy he grew to be fond of to be stripped of his power, life and dignity. better to die a king.

i hope we can get past all that dan schneider shit from s1e9 and we get to the real deal of larys’ motivations now. power and chaos, chaos and power. chaos is a ladder after all :)✨

daemon seeing viserys mourning 😭 he’s just in a really bad mushroom trip

where is elmo tully? this is muppet erasure

seasmoooookke i’m mad at you

still go get your rider boy

???? no claiming scene ???? 🤨

also we probably could’ve a) seasmoke claiming scene and b) sunfyre recovering scene instead of steffon dying trying to claim seasmoke and caraxes screaming in the background with alys and daemon, better use of cgi

rhaenyra’s problem is that she can’t fathom that not kissing the floor she walks on and still being loyal to her can coexist. no girl jace is your biggest ally he doesn’t doubt you he just sees you need help. smh

another thing i dislike is how they paint rhaenyra to be this universally beloved queen and the poor underdog fighting against the world at the same time. pick a side hbo

here we have grrm’s bad maths: 2/3 of the houses sided with the blacks, the blacks have thrice the dragons the greens have. but still the greens won (by virtue of aegon outliving and killing rhaenyra). how was that? the greens are the underdogs and the blacks have the numbers advantage

jace literally wakes up and starts thinking about ways to help his mother. but he says ‘ayo maybe you should check on your husband and ask him for help’ and then his mother cries and makes a fit because apparently he’s doubting her. narcissistic mom where

because apparently women need to be raped to be sympathetic? can’t mysaria be a sex worker who just so happened to want power and catch daemon’s attention? why does she need to be abused by her father? and tell her backstory to a targaryen of all things. she won’t ever understand how horrible that is.

mysaria being a ripoff of varys’ backstory 🧐

bruuuh i actually don’t think rhaenyra and mysaria are a good thing. power dynamics, especially with mysaria being a former sex worker and a sa victim, a daemon victim and at some point rhaenyra’s prisoner. can’t mysaria be a good employee without having to please her boss sexually? can rhaenyra respect one of her employees without fucking them? it seems not.

this episode was long aaaaaaffff and i think the scene with rhaenyra and mysaria could’ve been cut completely. mysaria giving her lore just doesn’t hit as hard when larys gave his piece, the make out scene is just fanservice and the ‘oh no’ ending could’ve been just alyn claiming seasmoke and pulling a dany

7/10 solely because of my greenies and alys.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (43)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, violence ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

She felt her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning because of his confession. She couldn't believe what she had just heard.

I became fucking obsessed with you.

"I wondered if you were thinking of me or crying yourself to sleep at the realisation that you would become my wife. I fucked my hand for months thinking of you, of how you looked when I saw you for the first time. Wet, scared, pale, innocent. Mine." He whispered the last, and she drew in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his chest.

He thought of her.

He thought of her even before he knew her.

She felt her moist insides clench around nothing.

She trembled when she felt his nose run over the top of her head, his hand gently taking strands of hair from her face.

"You were pulsing with life, and I was completely dead, full of nothing. My heart was like a cold, damp cellar with no windows or doors." He said thoughtfully. She felt a squeeze in her heart, her breath caught in her throat.

She hadn't expected him to ever open up to her so much, to ever let her look so deeply into his dark heart.

"− Aemond −" She whispered in a trembling voice, but he continued.

"I took you because I knew you were afraid of me. I took you because you couldn’t and had to love me at the same time. I took you because I wanted to fucking devour you." He hissed, and she squealed loudly when she felt his teeth gripping tightly on the soft skin of her shoulder, his bite brutal and sure.

He let go of her and she grabbed the sore spot looking at him with shock and resentment, surprised at how wet she was, how involuntarily her hot walls throbbed around nothing. She saw a grin on his face, full of amusement and satisfaction.

He knew what she was thinking about.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, and he slipped his hand into her hair. He pulled her suddenly, pressing his lips to hers in an intense, greedy kiss, causing pain to her and to himself, violating their barely healed lips. He pulled away from her and looked at her for a moment with misty eye, stroking her chin with his thumb.

"− so perfect for me −" He hummed low and she flushed, lowering her gaze, swallowing quietly.

She felt his warm breath on her face again, his forehead pressed against hers, and after a moment their lips found each other again in a soft, sticky kiss.

Afterwards, her husband had to send some letters to King's Landing, so she sat down in one of the chairs and pretended to read a book, actually escaping with her thoughts to somewhere else entirely.

Our father has illegitimate children.

Many.

She felt tears under her eyelids at that thought, the sting of disappointment and embarrassment in her guts. She knew that various lords prided themselves on having a bunch of their bastard children to which they did not publicly admit, but she silently hoped that her father was different.

Meanwhile, her half-brother or sister was in Harrenhal.

She felt like throwing up at the thought.

She wondered if she should speak with her father about it, confront him with her pain, but she thought that they were in the middle of a war and she couldn't distract him, make him focus more on what his daughter thought of him than what was happening on the battlefield.

The truth was that she herself did not have the strength for this confrontation.

She went to bed earlier than usual, turning her back on her husband, who was still working, once in a while one of the guards or commanders would come in to give him new informations.

She did not listen to these conversations, immersed in her own thoughts.

She finally heard her husband rise from his chair with a loud creak of wood, followed by his quiet footsteps and the sound of fabric being untied. A moment later, his warm, bare body was right beside hers, his wide hand on her womb exactly as it had been every night since he found out she was expecting his child.

The gesture filled her with tenderness and love for him.

She involuntarily placed her hand on his, running her fingers over his skin, feeling the lines of his veins under her fingertips. She heard him murmur with satisfaction at the gesture, his lips placing a soft, wet kiss on her neck.

She felt him lift himself slightly on his elbow, his free hand turning her so that she was lying next to him on her back. She pressed her lips together seeing his dark gaze, seeing what he wanted.

"I'm so tired… please." She whispered and he brushed her hair away from her cheek, looking at her with a calm look on his face.

"Will you let your husband kiss you between your thighs, sweet wife?" He asked quietly and she felt his question between her thighs, her insides, wet and swollen by his earlier words needed relieving. She pressed her lips together and nodded after a moment.

She heard him hum contentedly positioning himself between her legs, his hands lifting the material of her nightgown upwards in a light, slow motion, exposing her hips to him. She felt her heart begin to pound like mad in anticipation as his warm breath enveloped her puffy womanhood, his lips tentatively running over her sensitive skin.

She moaned softly, involuntarily spreading her legs wider in front of him, feeling the tip of his tongue tease her little pearl with each kiss, running over it willfully, making her whole body quiver with desire. She pressed her lips together, swallowing quietly, knowing he would torment her, knowing he would not give her quick fulfillment.

"− your husband will take care of you, my sweetest −" He whispered and she mewled, feeling his words deep inside her, her insides clenched around nothing demanding his further attention.

She slid her hand into his hair, stroking his head tenderly, her hips involuntarily pressed against his face looking for any source of friction.

Her breathing sped up and became more ragged as she felt his tongue begin to lazily circle around her bud, making her shudder with each of his strokes, a quiet, helpless moan escaping her lips.

She felt his face pressed against her womanhood, his hands clenched tightly on her thighs as his tongue tentatively slid inside her hot, thirsty core, the tip of his nose teasing her folds.

"− my sweet girl − so good to me −" He hummed, sliding his tongue into her again, even deeper, rubbing it against her wall with a sticky clicks.

She tilted her head back, panting all over in front of him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes clenched in pleasure, her insides pulsing greedily around nothing. Her hips began to push against his face impatiently, wanting to feel him deeper.

"− please −" She mumbled helplessly, knowing what he wanted.

He loved it when she begged, loved it when he drove her to the brink of insanity, only to take pity on her at the end and watch with satisfaction as she fell apart in front of him.

She felt him smirk at her words, but his hands only clenched tighter on her hips blocking any of her movements, the tip of his tongue sliding into her and licking her painfully slowly.

"− not yet − a good husband knows what’s best for his wife, doesn’t he? − if he says not yet, then not yet −" He murmured calmly ceasing his caresses for a moment only to lick her back with a protracted, intense flick of his tongue, from which a quiet, helpless sob erupted from her lips, her whole womanhood pulsing, begging him for fulfilment.

Already both her hands, not one, were in his hair, pulling him close, her thighs trembling in his embrace from an arousal that was reaching its zenith. She felt her head humming, heat spilling over her lower abdomen.

A helpless moan ripped from the depths of her throat, her body arched back like a string when her husband finally took pity on her, his tongue inside her began to accelerate, rubbing and licking her walls with an intensity and precision that took her breath away.

He knew her every sensitive spot intimately, and he knew what movement of his would make her experience wonderful pleasure.

"− just like that − look at you − just a little more and your husband will let you come, hm? − can you do that for me? −" He gasped between his caresses and she swallowed with difficulty, hearing his soft, approving tone of voice from which her walls pulsed greedily around his tongue. With the rest of her strong will, she tried from between her moans to extract any response.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled out with difficulty, and he purred low with satisfaction, his tongue forcing his way into her, with a loud, lewd clicks of her moisture.

She felt that she was close, that a few more of his licks and she would experience fulfilment.

She moaned in surprise, clenching her eyes and tilting her head back as she felt his flicks become faster and more intense, he was eating her as if he had been starving himself for the past weeks.

"− my good wife is about to come for me, isn’t she? − go on, come on my face, give your husband what he needs −" He exhaled, his finger began to intensely rub and tease the swollen area around her bud. She parted her lips feeling she couldn't take any more.

"− o-oh gods − Aemond − Aemond − Aemond −" She cried out wearily, panting heavily, her thighs quivering in his hands while a powerful orgasm swept through her body like a storm, waves of heat and tickling surging through her again and again.

She heard him sigh in contentment at her obedience and the sight before him, licking everything that flowed out of her while purring, teasing her throbbing, swollen womanhood with the tip of his nose. She wanted to push him away, moaning quietly, all sore sensitive, but his hands only clamped tighter on her hips.

"− sleep − your husband is going to spend all night between his wife’s thighs −" He murmured and she swallowed loudly, knowing he meant it.

She pressed her lips together as she felt his tongue and lips again returned to the soft, subtle caresses from the beginning.

"− tomorrow morning you will have a council meeting with the commanders, husband −" She mumbled, stroking his head, her thighs trembling before him still through what the previous fulfillment had done to her. "− you should rest −"

She heard him murmur lowly, not caring too much about her words, continuing his treatments between her thighs. She just sighed, knowing there was no point in objecting and decided to let him do what he wanted with her, to his immense satisfaction.

After her third fulfilment, she felt his caresses become gentler, as if he was falling asleep himself. He awoke her from her restless slumber when his tongue again forced his way between her folds, drawing a quiet, sleepy moan from her throat.

But then she felt him rise, his hand turning her so that she was lying on her stomach. She opened her eyes and rubbed them, unsure if she was dreaming or not, and drew in a quiet breath as she felt him push her hips against him.

Only a helpless, shocked moan escaped her throat when she felt his length suddenly fill her to the brim, hard and throbbing, demanding fulfilment.

"− sleep −" She heard only his throaty, sleepy voice, his hands on either side of her head, his hips moving back and forth inside her in smooth, sure thrusts with the loud slaps of his thighs against her buttocks.

Both of them involuntarily began to pant and moan, her insides oversensitive from his treatments clenching against his fat cock in panic, increasing his sensations.

"− fuck −" He hissed softly, speeding up his pace. She lifted and spread her knees higher allowing him to root into her deeper with her sweet moan of effort − she heard him groan low feeling it. She placed her hands on his palms that held her hips and he intertwined their fingers.

"− you'll never escape from me − you know that, don't you? −" He exhaled in a way that sent shivers down her spine, her lips parted involuntarily in a loud, surprised moan, his manhood pushing apart her fleshy, juice-sticky walls again and again, rubbing the spongy spot inside her.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled with difficulty, and he chuckled lowly, amused by her state, sighing with pleasure, his pushes slow, deep and precise, as if he was exploring how deep he could penetrate her body so as not to tear her apart at the same time.

"− good − now I'm going to tell you what's going to happen next −" He gasped, panting with her in turn, she felt their shared moisture running down her thighs, the sounds of two wet and sticky bodies slapping against each other made her nipples harden, her walls clenching against steadily again his erection.

"− I'm going to fill you to the brim with my seed, and then I'm going to do it again, and again −" He hissed out, his thrusts getting faster and more brutal, making her breathless. She pressed her lips together, swallowing loudly, feeling her swollen, fleshy insides pulsate greedily at his words. "− because I can − because I'm your husband − I'll have you as many times as I fucking want − am I wrong? −"

He asked, his hands tightened warningly on her hips.

"− n-no −" She mewled, moaning loudly, giving herself over completely to the sheer animal pleasure of two bodies combined in a total mess of moisture, grips and thrusts. She heard him sigh at her words, one of his hands clamped down on her hair, pressing her cheek against the bed sheets.

"− say it − say it, say it, say it −" He growled helplessly, his fat cock pulsing hard inside her, opening wide her slick folds again and again.

She knew he was on the verge of fulfilment and she knew what he needed to hear.

Ever since she'd confessed it to him, he'd only wanted to hear the same three words over and over again.

"− I love you −" She cried out, parting her lips wide, aroused by her own words, by the feelings she felt for this dark and disturbing man. "− g-gods, I love you so much −"

She heard his low, helpless groan and then felt his warmth spill deep inside her, his hand slipped between her thighs teasing her puffy bud, bringing her to fulfilment a moment later.

He finally laid on top of her, crushing her with the weight of his body, placing his hand over hers and intertwining their fingers, panting heavily with her. She felt his nose against her ear, his hot breath enveloping her face.

"I…fuck." He whispered, swallowing loudly, and she felt her heart squeeze.

She knew what he was trying to say.

She stroked her hand over his arm that was embracing her and kissed his sweaty skin, which was answered by his quiet sigh.

"Don't force yourself to say it. I didn't confess it to you to make you say the same words. You are showing me the enormity of your feelings in a way that any other woman in my position would dream of." She whispered tenderly and felt him freeze all over, his heart pounding hard in his chest pressed against her back.

"… did your father and brother… tell you this?" He asked uncertainly, and she felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he was asking her this not just because he was her husband and he was ashamed that she hadn't heard it from him.

That perhaps he had never heard it from his own parents and siblings.

Admittedly, Alicent seemed to be an affectionate mother sparing no warm gestures, however, she rarely said everything she thought and lavished words. She swallowed quietly at the thought.

"… yes. Royce less often, rather when I was crying to comfort me. However, our father often told us that he loved us. He called us his beloved bunch. He always said: two hawks and four doves." She said, smiling under her breath at this memory.

She felt her husband shift slightly, not wanting to burden her with his weight for too long, and lay down behind her, drawing her close, hugging her back to his chest. He grunted quietly, running his hand over her shoulder.

"What did he mean?" He asked finally, and she swallowed quietly.

This was the first time her husband had asked her with any depth of interest about her family and their relationship, and for some reason she felt joy at the thought.

"The four doves are my sisters. My mother used to call them that. Gentle and well-mannered, leading by example. She used to call me and Royce hawks because we kept disappearing from her sight and she couldn't keep up with us. She was furious with my brother for agreeing to take me into the forest with him on his expeditions. We pretended we were warriors fighting our father's battles." She said with a giggle, and her husband hummed under his breath.

She had the impression that he smiled too.

"What happened to your mother?" He asked uncertainly, squeezing her tighter as if he wanted to make sure he protected her from the pain the question might have caused her. She swallowed quietly and sighed at the memories that filled her head.

"Come here, both of you! Royce, how many times can I ask you?" Their mother shouted, her long, light hair tied back in a perfect, beautiful bun woven into braids, her gown with its buff sleeves rustling in the wind.

She was pale because it was chilly − it had been raining since morning, and the hunt would continue for a few more hours, so she additionally wore a sleeveless fur coat.

Both she and her brother ran up to her, a little sweaty from running, and she sighed at the sight of them. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw her sisters sitting at the wooden table, discussing about something with each other.

They rarely told her about girly things, recognising that she was too young and would not yet understand them. Their words made her uncomfortable, so she would always run to Royce, because he wanted to play with her.

"We were just looking for rabbits, Mother." Said Royce, as if that was the perfect explanation of why they looked the way they did. Their mother sighed heavily, clenching her eyes.

"I don't have the strength for you anymore. Come, at least eat something, you're soaked." She said, embrancing them with her arm, and they obediently followed her into their tent.

Their mother ordered the servants to bring platters of hot soup for her two children, and she herself sat down opposite them, cupping her forehead.

"Are you feeling unwell, mummy?" She asked quietly, wiggling her legs under the table, which did not reach the ground.

"I'm just tired. Your father promised me we'd return to Storm's End today." She said with a little resentment, clearly already knowing that the hunt had been extended and her husband would not keep his promised word.

She and Royce ate and watched as their mother slowly grew weaker and fainter.

Only when she collapsed to the ground and they ran to her they felt how hot she was.

Royce ran out into the rain and called the guards.

When Borros walked into the tent their mother was already being attended to by a maester. Before the children were ordered to leave she saw over her shoulder her father kneeling beside her mother, saying something to her in a trembling, low voice, his hand on her forehead. She saw his lips form the words.

"What happened?"

The next day they were allowed to visit their mother in the morning, but she was no longer conscious. She had never seen such a pale and grey person before, her skin showing droplets of sweat.

Their father sat beside her in his shirt and breeches stroking his jaw, his hands trembling as he looked at her, his red eyes puffy and swollen.

"I did this to her." He said to his younger brother, who stood over him and put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him. "I promised her we'd be back sooner."

Cassandra sobbed loudly over her mother's bed. She was the only one who had inherited her beautiful fair hair, her talent for playing the harp and gentle tongue. What her father did not understand her mother admired and appreciated, making her daughter feel beautiful and valuable.

Despite her despair, everyone believed that she would still wake up, at least for a while.

However, this did not happen.

"During one of the hunts she fell ill. Everything was prolonged while we waited in the camp, it was cold and raining all around. She got a fever, fell asleep and didn't wake up again. My father blames himself for this because he promised her we would return to Storm's End sooner." She whispered, feeling a tightness in her throat at the memory.

Her husband swallowed quietly, stroking her arm up and down, thoughtful, and for a moment they lay in silence.

"Were you close with each other?" He asked at last, and she pressed her lips together. She sighed quietly.

"She couldn't understand me like my father did. I think now that I'm older, I understand her better and maybe now we would…" She said, but was unable to finish, her voice trapped in her throat. She pressed her lips together, a single, warm tear of regret ran down her cheek onto the bedding under her head.

When she was a child, her mother had seemed to her a dull, everything-forbidding woman who was incapable of enjoying life.

Now that she was married herself she understood that, with her father's impulsive nature, she had to be considerate and responsible, ensuring the safety of the whole family.

She had not known as a child how complicated the role of wife and mother was, how much one had to manoeuvre in the world of men to avoid being crushed.

Now she would have been able to appreciate her, would have loved to speak with her about her youth and her thoughts, asked her for advice.

But her mother was not there.

Her husband embraced her more tightly, pulling her out of her reverie, his lips placing gentle kisses on her neck, her jaw, her cheek.

"Where is she buried?" He asked, and she swallowed loudly, looking ahead.

"In the crypts in Storm's End." She whispered, seeing before her eyes a large stone tomb with a beautiful statue of a woman, but which did not even partially convey the uniqueness of her beauty when she was alive. Her husband hummed at her words.

"When the war is over, I would like to pay tribute to her in the crypts of your ancestors. To the woman who brought my beloved wife into this world."

_____

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[meraki-yao]

This is random as fuck but I'm thinking about Henry's royal surname

So I happen to be a bit of nerd when it comes to British royalty, I literally don't have a reason for that except it's interesting to me

I actually really appreciated changing movie Henry's surname, until I found out they're real royal houses and started wondering about RWRB's history

In the book it was Mountchristen-Windsor, obviously modelled after irl royal family Mountbatten-Windsor, although Mountbatten was derived from the German Battenberg family from the Queen's husband, Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark, which is also an actual place in Germany. As far as I can tell Mountchristen is entirely fictional?

Book Henry mentioned having a Great Uncle who abdicated because he was a Nazi, which is irl Duke of Winsdor, Queen Elizabeth's uncle (although the reason he stated was for love), so I think? That the lineage was the same until at least that generation. But Queen Mary, Henry's grandmother said she's been serving the country for 47 years, and Princess Catherine, Henry's mother is 60 years old in 2020, born in 1960, approximately the same age as Prince Andrew, Queen E's third child. Henry was born in 1997, and Prince William was born in 1982. So the generational year gap changes there: for RWRB there's four generations, while irl there are five generations in 2020.

So a bit of math here, assuming that the Duke of Windsor's abdication is the same as the real world, which is 1936, so the lineage is the same up to 1936. The book takes place in 2020, so Queen Mary ascended to the throne in 1973, 37 years after the Duke of Windsor's abdication, a reasonable amount of years for one monarch's reign. So that monarch is where things went differently. As for how it went differently...yeah I don't fucking know my brain cells ran out.

But Movie Henry's royal family name is Hanover-Stuart, two actual houses of royalty: King James IV&I of M&G belongs to the House of Stuart (so what the fuck Nick another coincidental connection between your characters) with Anne, Queen of Britain being the last reigning monarch of the House of Stuart (after her death her cousin George of Hanover inherited the British Throne); Queen Victoria was the last reigning monarch of the House of Hanover (her children belonged to the house of her husband: the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, which was later renamed Windsor during WWI). In our world, the House of Stuart went extinct in 1807, while the House of Hanover still has living members in Europe, granted no longer in direct relations to the British monarchy

So what I'm wondering if for movie verse, where the history of the British royal family changes for Henry to have this different surname:

For Hanover, it's possible that for the universe, Queen Victoria's children still bore her name of Hanover and didn't change it during the war, so the rest of the lineup to Henry kept Hanover. But I cannot for the life of me imagine where would Stuart come from given that the line broke off there

... yeah I don't know what point I'm trying to make or what conclusion I drew, but I used up an hour going down this rabbit hole. If my dad knew I was doing math for this instead of doing my calculus homework he'd kill me but whatever

Also I bet neither Casey nor Matthew actually thought this deep about such a minor thing this is how bad my rwrb brainrot is if we don't get something soon I'm gonna go stir crazy