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flowerandblood · 4 months ago

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The Lost Haven (11/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, the angst, semi-public intimacy, cockwarming, description of someone being shot, violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He got his girlfriend back.

Not quite in the way he had imagined, but the thought of him being her boyfriend and her taking it seriously made him feel a wave of confidence after years of doubt.

It had to do not so much with the fact that he had gained what he wanted, but rather with the idea that although his grandfather had accustomed him to the thought that there was a path for him only by his side, he now knew otherwise.

Criston Cole had been the first person to reveal to him how tense the situation was among their men, how furious they were that Otto had decided out of sheer spite to bet on Aegon, his pawn, putting too much power in his hands.

Aegon's orders and the fact that some of their bodyguards now had to listen to him made them turn to him, looking for another alternative.

He was their alternative and presented them with his plan.

Having known them for so many years, aware of what their strengths and weaknesses were, he assigned them tasks, spreading his net over the city, slowly tightening the noose around all the places that had ever belonged to Larys Strong.

He had promised his Rhaenys that he would never kill or harm anyone again, at least not in the way he had done so far, so he decided to rely on his wits and logic. He offered the old owners to help pay their debts and cooperate with them in exchange for them giving up the clubs without a fight.

Those who did not agree experienced a loud gunfight and a bit of fear: he paid the police in advance to stay out of it, so no police car came to the addresses indicated even when someone called the police station.

His grandfather was furious and that pleased him most of all.

By focusing on the fight with Daemon he had completely let go of the subject of Larys' legacy and had paid the price. He also felt pride, because in a way he had regained what belonged to the father of the woman he loved, so it was also a tribute to her.

She only allowed him to see her once a week, but they wrote to each other constantly: he out of sheer longing, she to make sure he was still alive.

Sitting on the couch in Heavenly Beach, despite his employees sitting around him, partying with the girls who were apparently most attracted to gangsters, he sat with his head in his phone, writing a message to her, feeling like a teenager in high school.

He grinned involuntarily as he read her reply, feeling the thrill as he did every time she teased him.

She was trying to keep him at a distance and push him away, he knew that.

He swallowed hard when, a moment later, his phone vibrated and his eyes were presented with a photograph of her lying on her stomach, on her body only her panties and top, from under which a little fragment of her breast was peeking out, pressed against the sheet, her loose hair spread in disarray, her lips parted in a sweet, dreamy, warm expression.

He stared at the picture for a moment, feeling involuntarily that he grew hot, his manhood swollen in his trousers. He ran his hand over his chin, sinking into the world of his fantasies, having not been able to experience fulfilment with her for weeks despite her allowing him to touch her.

Partly.

"What are you doing, boss? Have some fun with us. Alice is lovely and lonely." Said Allan, embracing one of the girls, pretty and slim, who giggled quietly, looking him boldly straight in the face.

He got up without a word and went out the back exit to smoke a cigarette, dialing her phone number on the way. She didn't answer for a long time, as was her usual habit, but after a while he heard her sigh on the other end, indicating her impatience.

"– I asked you so many times – why are you doing this? –"

"– I wanted to hear your voice –" He hummed, taking a drag, tilting his head back, enjoying this moment.

Silence answered him on the other side.

"– my grandfather is trying to contact me – to make a deal – to make me his successor again – but I don't know if I want it – what do you think? –" He asked, taking a drag again, the tip of his cigarette turning red with a quiet hiss.

He heard her swallow hard, horrified by his words.

"– don't do it – don't go back there –" She whispered.

They were both silent for a long moment.

"– I'm worried about my mother – she's torn between Criston and her father, she's begging me to come back – she and Cole had an affair for many years, even before my father died –" He said indifferently, looking up at the sky, spotting the outline of a crescent moon among the darkness.

"– did you know about this? –" She asked shocked, and he sighed heavily.

"– yes –"

His girlfriend grunted, trying to speak quietly.

"– she's not part of all this – let her stay out of it – your grandfather's reign won't last forever – Otto wants you to worry about such things – he knows you love and care for her – he'll treat her and Helaena as bargaining chips –"

He nodded, letting out a loud puff of smoke through his nose, having exactly the same opinion as her, surprised at how much peace he felt.

She was the only one who could understand him.

She was the only one he could get advice from.

She was the only one he could trust.

"Thank you. Sleep well."

"I'm here for you." She muttered quickly, as if she feared he was about to hang up.

He hummed under his breath, extinguishing the remnants of his cigarette on the metal basket, feeling the warmth in his heart at her words.

"I know."

The next day, the sight of her in the library filled him with both euphoria and frustration – he knew she wasn't wearing a bra to annoy him, at the same time tempting him when he knew he couldn't take her, and wanting him to know that any other men could look shamelessly at her nipples.

All his anger at her and what she was doing to him vanished when she pulled her shirt off, her half-naked body covered from the others only by a few rows of bookcases.

Thank goodness it was summer and no one went there.

Her nipples were swollen and hard under his tongue, her breast plump and soft between his fingers. The smell of her naked skin, the heat that emanated from her, her hands clenched in his hair, holding him close drove him mad. His groan vibrated through her soft skin as he felt her hips begin to roll deliberately back and forth, rubbing against his throbbing, swollen manhood.

"– fuck, let me – please – just this once –" He mumbled, switching from one of her breasts to the other, slightly larger, which could not be seen at first glance.

The thought of being so close to her and yet not being able to have all of her, like he had then, that night, was driving him crazy.

This was her punishment for what he had done to her.

He sighed as she rose suddenly from her knees, putting her T-shirt over her head, his hand involuntarily going to her calf, wanting to hold her, his body hot with desire, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

Not yet.

Just a moment longer.

"– baby –"

"– next week Professor Addams is organising a private excavations two hours away from our town – it's a site in one of the medieval fortresses of our region, very important and he needs volunteers – I've offered to let you come and to count it as your student practices, so that you would have to make up less of them during the academic year – professor will rent rooms for all of us in a hotel nearby – if you come and do your best, I'll let you sleep with me –" She said lightly, throwing him a calm, expectant look, like a teacher looking at her student.

He swallowed hard and stood up with her, shocked, his length pulsed hard at her words.

I'll let you sleep with me.

"– do you mean it? –" He asked with difficulty, unsure if he could stand it any longer, if he knew whether he could pass the next test she wanted to put before him.

"– yes, but it's two weeks – you'd then either have to give up your job, or drive to do your errands at night and come back in the morning –" She explained as if nothing had ever happened, grabbing her backpack.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her aggressively to himself, making her body slam into his, his heart in his throat.

"– promise me –"

Instead of words, she did what she'd forbidden him to do since they'd started dating: her wonderfully moist, swollen lips pressed against his, and he groaned loudly, shocked. He sighed, pressing her body closer to his as her slick tongue slid between his teeth, licking him invitingly, making his cock swell painfully hard in his trousers.

I'm not going to make it, he thought, I'm just going to rip her panties off and fuck her on the floor.

She, however, pushed him away, looking at him with her mouth wide open, in her eyes pleading, warmth, affection.

Everything he wanted so badly.

"– I'll write you all the details later – take it seriously –" She mumbled out with a pain from which he felt his heart squeeze, not knowing how to act, feeling with desperation that he was unable to wait any longer.

"– I love you –" He muttered, something in her gaze from which he grew hot.

"– I love you too –"

He stared at her like an idiot, feeling like he was running out of breath, because here she was, for the first time responding to his confession, for the first time saying those words.

I love you too.

He felt something inside him break, that if he didn't feel her right away he would just start crying.

"– I need you – please –"

"– be there –" She mumbled and walked out, leaving him alone.

He thought it was pathetic that he was so desperate that he hid his face in his hands and burst out crying.

He longed for her closeness, for her tenderness, and she only gave him moments when he craved hours, days, months.

He thought heaven and earth might collapse, but he had to go to these goddamn excavations, if only to spend two weeks fucking her all night.

"Two weeks? You shouldn't disappear for that long. The situation is precarious." Said Cole, shaking his head, sitting with him over a drink that same evening.

"I'll be available at night, I'll come by a few times to keep an eye on things. It's only a two-hour drive from here. This case is really important to me." He said, and Criston hummed with understanding.

"I'll do my best, but let's keep in touch."

He nodded at his words.

"Call if something happens."

Even the news that perhaps her ex would be part of their escapade couldn't spoil his mood: he wasn't sure he'd been this excited and terrified at the same time since he was a small child.

On the one hand, it was a dream come true for him, on top of it being in her company; on the other, it was a leap into the deep end of the unknown in a group of people who were strangers and who he didn't know if they would accept him.

He couldn't help the fact that he didn't like to talk much, that others' questions made him uncomfortable, that he felt cornered when too many people looked at him at once.

Nevertheless, as soon as he got the message from her that Daemon had been gone for a few hours, waiting a few streets behind the hotel so as not to arouse suspicion, he pulled up in the car park and got out of the car, looking around.

He thought she would be waiting for him, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

This made him do what he hated to do, which was to ask a stranger something.

A couple of students, looking at him with surprise in their eyes, showed him the way, telling him that his girlfriend was in the area where the research was to take place.

Walking there from a distance, he thought with awe that it was a huge project: there was a gigantic stone fortress towering over them, around which he understood there had been many wooden houses in medieval times, of which there was now no trace.

He swallowed hard when he heard her voice from afar and stepped uncertainly into one of the tents, all eyes on him.

He felt warmth in his heart seeing that she smiled at the sight of him, her eyes shining with pure happiness.

She loved him.

Not even the rage at the sight of Robb could take away the satisfaction he felt at what he had done to her, at the ease with which her body had taken him in as soon as the door from their hotel room had closed behind them.

He wasn't sure if his brain was functioning at all during this act, because he was too stunned by pleasure and desire, the simple, primitive thrusting into her again and again with low, pathetic groans of delight.

She was so wonderfully warm, moist and soft, squeezing and enveloping his cock so perfectly, that he felt like crying.

His niece.

That night they made love twice more, completely bare, with no shame or regret, no thoughts of morality or propriety. What he focused on were her moans, her cunt squeezing him in convulsions of pleasure, dripping with her desire, his lips melting with hers in sticky, loud, deep kisses full of their tongues and saliva, their fingers entwined together in a tender embrace over her head.

They fell asleep cuddled into each other like little children, stirring with difficulty on the single, cramped bed exactly as they had then, eight years ago.

He felt, looking at her peaceful face immersed in sleep every time he awoke in the night, that he had regained something.

He had regained her.

In the morning, to their frustration, their alarm clock woke them up. They were both sleepy and half-unconscious when they showered together, soaping each other's bodies and hair, brushing their lips lazily against each other's, running their hands over each other's naked, wet bodies.

There was something wonderfully natural about the way her figure clung to his, seeking refuge in his embrace, his arms pressing her against his body, his hand stroking her hair, her eyes closed in complete peace.

They both felt it.

His niece froze and blinked when she saw him start to dress, putting on exactly the same clothes as usual.

"No. After all, we will be working in sand and dirt. I told you to take something to change into." She said, and he scratched his chin, recognising that perhaps, indeed, his black trousers and Tshirt were not a good idea for such heat.

"I took my tracksuit bottoms and some other old clothes, but I won't look very neat in that." He confessed with embarrassment, rummaging through his bag.

She knelt down beside him, looking through his things together, apparently trying to find something that would be suitable.

"You have to be comfortable first and foremost. And you have to have a baseball cap."

"What?"

"I took one for you. Otherwise you'll get sunstroke."

It occurred to him, when he'd put on everything she'd told him to, that he looked like a drunk from under the shop. He was relieved when it turned out that she herself had dressed in a similar way, a white Tshirt and tracksuit shorts on her body, a baseball cap on her head, her hair tied up in a braid.

If they were going to look like drunks from under the shop, then at least together.

As soon as they reached the tent where they were all supposed to gather it became apparent that if he had come dressed the way he wanted to, he would have made an idiot of himself.

They all looked alike, dressed in bright, light clothes that might as well have been pyjamas. He pressed his lips together, spotting Robb among the other students.

He hoped he had heard her moans as he walked past their room.

How good she felt with him as he took her for himself again and again.

The professor greeted them and assigned them their tasks. To his surprise and relief at the same time, the man divided them into three groups. One was to be led by himself, another by Robb and the third by his girlfriend.

Her words that she was his assistant and how much the professor trusted her were not mere boasts, he thought with admiration.

He had, of course, been assigned to her group and was relieved at the thought that for the rest of his stay he wouldn't have to look at her ex any more than necessary.

His Rhaenys knew most of the people she worked with, who were simply her colleagues from the lower years of their studies. They had specific spaces designated for research and their task for the day was simple: digging.

Of course, the upper layers of the earth were removed by special excavators, but at some point they had to work by hand so as not to destroy any artifacts hidden beneath the surface.

There was something liberating and relaxing about the fact that this activity of driving a shovel deep into the ground and digging a big hole in it didn't require him to think too much.

After a few hours, he already understood why his niece had made him put a baseball cap on his head and why they had each brought a couple of big bottles of water for themselves: sweat was running down his back from the heat and from time to time he had to take a break to drink.

To his relief, even though the people in the group were talking to each other, fooling around and laughing, they didn't drag him into any discussions or distract him from his work. Rhaenys was digging too, approaching each person when they expressed the opinion that they might have come across some historical relic.

After only half an hour, one of the girls stumbled upon a coin from the 19th century.

The real excitement he felt was when his shovel hit something that clanked as if it were made of metal.

"Rhaenys?" He called, and though the people around him didn't know who he meant, his niece walked up to him, cocking her head in curiosity, her face all pink with exertion.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, and he hit the spot he had just dug with his shovel again, intending to make the same sound.

His discovery piqued interest.

He crouched down, letting his girlfriend, more experienced and confident in what she was doing, take the smaller shovel, digging around the object, one of her colleagues took the brush, shaking the dust off its surface.

"It's a German pistol. Second World War. Very good condition." He stated, and his girlfriend nodded.

"Yes, the Germans were in this fortress in the 1940s. Good job, Aemond, secure it and sign it. Give this object a number as I explained to you this morning." She said, patting him on the back, and he nodded.

"Your first find. Feels cool, doesn't it?" Said the boy, whose name he understood was Cregan, but he didn't know what he was supposed to answer him, feeling uncomfortable at the thought that everyone was looking at him.

"Yeah." He muttered, looking down at his knuckles, for some reason losing the confidence he gained at night in clubs when he was about to put a gun to someone's head.

When he wasn't about to hurt or scare someone he was helpless and didn't know how to act.

They had spent the whole day doing manual labour and although his erection had swollen all over feeling her naked body pressed against his under the refreshing shower, he didn't even have the strength to move, let alone fuck her hard.

So he ended up making soft, tender love to her, his hips rocking lazily inside her, sinking again and again into the tightness of her sticky, throbbing cunt.

Her naked back was nestled against his sweaty chest, his face snuggled against the hollow of her neck as his fingers dug deeper into her fleshy folds with her quiver of pleasure, his free hand holding her thigh spread wide, allowing him to reach as deep as possible with the tip of his erection.

"– no – it hurts –" She muttered, and he froze and stopped moving, rising up on his elbow, his breath deep and heavy, his heart pounding fast in his chest.

"– what, baby? –" He whispered, placing a soft, gentle kiss on her cheek, wanting to make amends to her for whatever he had done to her. She turned her face towards him, stroking his bare arm.

"– when you're too deep – it hurts –" She confessed.

"– 'm sorry –" He hummed, their lips joined in a sticky, wet, tender kiss. He ran the tip of his nose over her face, his cock twitching deep inside her while his thumb teased her swollen clit with lazy, circular motions, her body twitching again and again in pleasure.

He swallowed hard as she rose up and slid his erection out of her, thinking with horror that she had had enough of him and intended to sleep separately, she, however, turned to face him. He sighed, surprised, as her fingers gently grasped the base of his manhood, all soaked from her wetness, directing the swollen, pink head of it against her slit.

With a tentative, slow thrust of his hips he opened her on his fat length, sliding into her slick walls with ease, sinking anew into her wonderful warmth that soothed him.

He moaned softly as she threw her arms around his neck, as her bare breasts pressed against his chest, as her puffy, sweet lips joined his in a greedy, deep kiss full of affection and tenderness. He sank his fingers into the soft skin of her back and buttocks, beginning to pound into her anew, feeling her completely differently in this angle.

They began to pant into each other's throats, licking and teasing each other, a wonderful shudder shook his body as her lips traveled lower, to his jaw, to his neck, to his shoulders, kissing and sucking on him, leaving wet, warm marks behind.

"– fuck – ah –" He exhaled, feeling his cock throbbing hard inside her fleshy walls, the wonderful tingling in his lower abdomen and testicles filling his head with utter emptiness, pure desire to fill her with his seed.

Their foreheads pressed against each other and their bodies intertwined in a loving, close embrace as they began to chase their fulfilment, loud, sticky splats building their way to release.

"– u-uncle – 'm close –" She mewled like a child, her sweet, leaking cunt beginning to clench on his cock, sucking it inside her. He kissed her temple, snuggling her into his body, slamming into her with loud grunts of pleasure.

"– me too, baby – my sweet little girl –" He exhaled and threw his head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his erection beginning to pulsate deep inside her, filling her with his semen.

She moaned, rising and falling on his quivering erection, reaching her own peak with a innocent, girlish moan of delight, sending him into a state of complete ecstasy. They hugged each other, saying nothing more, not separating their bodies, wanting to remain as they were now, as close as possible.

The presence of her body right beside him, the fact that her sticky pussy was warming his soft manhood, his arms and hands entwined in a tender embrace made him sleep a stony, peaceful sleep, tired and satisfied.

To his relief, Criston had kept him informed of the state of affairs and it appeared that relative calm prevailed apart from a few minor incidents, so his presence on the scene was not necessary for the time being.

He took malicious satisfaction in the moments when his niece would be called by Daemon, wanting to make sure she was okay. She would talk to him on the phone while his hands traveled over her naked body, stroking her thighs, belly and breasts, his lips brushing gently against the skin of her neck, merely teasing her.

She usually tried to pull away from him when his thumb, seemingly by accident, ran over her nipple, when his fingers sank tentatively into her womanhood, leaking all over from her moisture and his spend with which he had filled her moments before.

Although he was a grown man, he felt like he was a child again.

In the days that followed, he felt that he loosened up a bit with the group of people he had to work with – he didn't talk to them and concentrated on his tasks, but it seemed to him that they simply stopped paying attention to him, which suited him. They were not spiteful or unpleasant about it: they apparently recognised that this was his nature and left him alone.

His Rhaenys was a different person at work: she smiled and joked a lot, easily having dozens of conversations with all sorts of people, even those she didn't know, winning their sympathy. He somehow admired how unforced her talkativeness, assertiveness and empathy were, how easily she made difficult decisions when others were panicking.

"– fuck – I think I broke it –" Cregan said, leaning over something that looked from a distance like a vase still half-buried in the ground.

"– call the restorers – get them to secure the cavities so nothing else breaks and they're able to put it back together later –" She said without a trace of annoyance or aggression. The boy nodded in agreement and stepped out of the big, wide hole they were sitting in, doing exactly what she'd told her.

"You're good at this." He stated as they sat alone at breakfast break under one of the trees, looking at the large stone fortress stretching out before their eyes.

Although their group sat elsewhere, she chose to stay with him, as she always did.

He felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his heart at the thought that, as much as he wanted to, he didn't fit in with neither her friends nor the world.

He was a perpetual obstacle to her, a wall between what she deserved and the miserable scraps she suffered in his presence through his vanity.

She looked at him and cocked her head, a wide smile on her face.

She was happy.

"What do you mean?" She asked, in some natural reflex cuddling her face into his, her hand on his shoulder. He kissed the tip of her nose, stroking her skin with his palm, feeling a subconscious surge of desire, as he always did when she showed him tenderness and interest.

"You're made for this job. For being with these people. But you need to sit with me instead." He muttered wearily, looking down at his fingers in shame.

"I don't have to. No one is forcing me to."

"You're afraid that if you leave me, I'll become the way I was. You're paying the price for my satisfaction."

She leaned in, wanting to look at his face, but he closed his eyes, feeling shame and regret, for some reason unable to enjoy it all, to relax, to let go.

"You would want this, wouldn't you? For me to disappoint you. To pack up and go home, to escape what is uncomfortable for you. Loneliness is safe, I know that better than anyone. But if you want to be alone, what are you doing here?" She asked.

He looked at her and shook his head, feeling tears burning under his eyelids.

"I don't know. I feel good and bad at the same time. I'm fulfilling my dream, I have you, but I can't enjoy it all because in the back of my mind I'm wondering if Cole is going to call me at night to tell me all hell has broken loose. It's like what's going on right now is a dream, and I'm aware that I'm going to wake up. As if I have to watch something I know I'll lose one day." He mouthed, bursting out crying, choking on his own tears. He covered his ears with his hands and leaned his head between his knees, panting loudly, feeling like he was just experiencing a panic attack.

"– God, Aemond – calm down – calm down, I'm here – this isn't a dream – my feelings for you – the fact that you're here – it's all real – don't you feel it? –" She asked in a whisper, enclosing him in the warm, safe embrace of her arms, pressing his face between her breasts where he took refuge.

He closed his eyes, concentrating only on her fingers combing through his hair, on her warmth, on her scent, on the softness of her body.

She didn't let go of him for a moment, stroking his head, neck and back, placing a tender kiss on his temple once in a while. Slowly his breathing calmed, the pounding of his heart slowed, and his body relaxed in her soft, caring, loving arms.

She let him settle on her thighs, let him snuggle into her lap: she stroked him like a small child, saying nothing, letting him just be, drawing on her closeness, her understanding, her wisdom and kindness.

He thought that if he could die now, in her embrace, he would be happy.

Her words and closeness gave him comfort and for that afternoon, looking at her from afar, sitting on the sand, he thought he was truly happy.

Truly at peace.

And then he saw five missed calls from Cole and one message from him.

"I'll go with you." She said, watching as he changed into his normal clothes.

"No fucking way." He growled, looking at her with impatience, wanting her to get the idea out of her head.

"I'll be waiting for you in the car. Don't leave me alone." She begged.

"No. I'll be back before dawn. I promise." He said, kissing her forehead quickly and left, feeling that if he looked at her again, he wouldn't be able to drive there.

Some part of him dreaded going back there, as if being in the light for so long would blind him to the point where he wouldn't be able to see anything in the dark.

Late in the evening, he arrived at Heavenly Beach and went inside, asking one of the bodyguards what had happened. The man nodded towards one of the lodges – his brother was spread out in the company of three girls enjoying himself at his best, buying everyone a round of shots.

"He didn't pay for anything, boss. He says you're the one paying for the booze and the whores tonight."

He moved towards him feeling his jaw clench in rage, the loud music around him ringing in his ears, the twinkling lights around him making him feel like he was about to vomit.

Aegon spotted him and stood up from the couch, pointing at him with his hand.

"Here is my brother. To him you owe such a great party tonight, applause for him!" He called out, the drunken part of the club guests echoed him in euphoria, but the rest were silent, looking at them with concern.

"I think my brother drank too much." He said coldly, towering over him after a moment, looking at him with a dispassionate gaze. "And he doesn't know that he's going to pay for what he ordered and the women he brought with him himself."

"And where's your woman? Hm? Our pretty niece. Did you know, guys, that he kissed her when they were kids? He was already fucked up then." Aegon sneered, taking a loud sip of whisky from his glass, embracing one of his women, a pretty, blue-eyed blonde with his arm.

His men looked at each other in dismay, apart from the background music all around them complete silence.

"Get up, take your whores and get out of my club. Now." He said in a voice that didn't bear objecting, but Aegon only laughed and sighed.

"You know what the worst part is? He's still fucking her. My father was lying dead and he was in the next room banging that poor girl. Tell us, did you rape her? You surely did, she would never want you of her own free will. But in what position? Missionary? No, no, I know! In doggy-style, like a hound. You have always been faithful like a dog. Woof, woof!" He scoffed, and something snapped inside him.

His brother froze, looking at him with big eyes as he pointed his gun straight at his forehead, the girls around him squealed in terror and broke out of his embrace, moving as far away from them as they could.

"– wow, wow, wow – calm down, have you completely lost your fucking mind? –" Aegon asked in a trembling voice, raising his hands in a gesture of submission, and for some reason he grinned broadly.

"– I didn't rape her – she wanted it – we did it a few more times after that – she was always good to me, unlike you – we're together now, you know? –" He hummed, cocking his head with an expression of satisfaction on his face, thinking in the back of his mind that this was who he just was, who he wanted to become.

He felt powerful, strong, invincible.

"– what the fuck are you talking about? –" Aegon muttered, shaking his head as if he thought his younger brother had simply gone mad.

He, however, had never felt his mind so sharp and focused before.

"– our grandfather made you his successor to reason with me – before our father died he said he would pass everything on to me and that was his original plan – but after Larys put the rape pill in her drink, I couldn't let him live – I don't expect you to understand that though – loyalty, devotion, affection – look at you – you must have pissed your pants with fear, am I wrong? – stand up, show yourself to everyone –" He sneered, raising his voice defiantly so that everyone could hear him.

There was complete silence all around them.

"– I said stand up –" He growled seeing that his brother was looking at him with big eyes red from tears, his mouth quivering in horror and humiliation.

Yes, he thought.

Feel what I felt.

He, completely naked then, standing up to his waist in water, his face all swollen from tears.

"– it's an unpleasant feeling, hm? – humiliation –" He said, watching as Aegon stood up slowly, the large, dark stain on his light-coloured trousers suggesting he was right.

He grinned at him and thought that such a lesson would be enough for him, lowering his gun, but his brother threw himself at him, climbing onto the table, wanting to get him with his own hands, and in a subconscious, involuntary reflex he fired.

His brother gasped heavily, as if surprised, and grabbed himself by the stomach, falling backwards onto the couch, another dark spot forming where he pressed his hand.

"– you fucking shot me –" He mumbled out, and he shook his head, feeling his whole body freeze, people around him screaming and running away, his and Aegon's bodyguards starting to shoot at each other, causing a general panic.

Cole grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him towards the side exit, saying loudly that they should call an ambulance.

He saw her sweet face, felt the embrace of her warm arms, her moist lips placing tender kisses on his face.

He thought that if Aegon died, she would never forgive him.

He promised her that whatever happened, he wouldn't be a murderer.

"– this son of a bitch has to survive – do you understand? –" He said and turned, running up the stairs, several of his bodyguards moving towards his brother, trying to stop the bleeding.

Criston nodded and pulled out his phone to make a call to the hospital.

By the time he walked him to his car the ambulance was on its way.

"– get out of here – hide somewhere – you shot him low in the stomach – I think he'll make it – I'll let you know when I find out something –"

He nodded and sit inside the car, hearing the gunshots again – Criston fell to the ground and hid under one of the trucks while he started to back up and with a squeal of tyres drove ahead.

Only now, heading ahead through streets full of lamplight did he wonder what he had actually done.

He had shot his brother.

He told him their secret.

Everyone heard it, Daemon would find out, and she would be in danger.

He swallowed hard, running his hand over his face, thinking that he just wanted Aegon to feel what he had felt for so many years, that he wanted to teach him a lesson, show him who was in charge, who was better, smarter, cleverer.

Who was the better son, the better brother, the better lover, the better man.

But for the first time he asked himself, was he really better than him?

He was just as scared, just as helpless, just as small.

He had nearly killed his older brother.

That thought, and the realisation that Aegon really might not have made it, caused him to burst into a loud, hysterical sob, and cover his mouth with his hand, trying to silence the sound that was coming from it.

As he drove ahead all he could feel was fear, fear of her gaze, her disgust, her rejection.

Why would she want to be at the side of someone like him?

When he arrived it was almost morning, dozens of missed calls from her and messages asking if and when he would be back were evidence that she had been up all night.

Before he walked into their room, he stood outside the door for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to explain this to her, what to say so she wouldn't tell him to pack up and get out of her life.

He had ruined everything.

When he opened the door he had the feeling that his whole body was quivering, stiff and tense: her gaze, her eyes and cheeks were red from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain told him that she was convinced that he had left her, that he had deceived her, that he had used her again.

She rose and wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he spoke up faster, not wanting to deceive her.

"I shot Aegon."

She stopped in her half-step, looking at him in disbelief, her expression seeming as if she hadn't understood what he'd said.

"What?"

He drew in a loud breath, feeling that he was a little boy again, a terrified child who had broken a very expensive, valuable vase and had to explain why it had happened.

"He was fucking mocking me. He implied that I raped you. In my own club. In front of my men." He muttered as if it changed anything, realising how pathetic he sounded.

The thought that he had lost everything again, that there was no way she could forgive him made him hide his face in his hands and just weep.

All he wanted was for her to hug him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright, that she knew he had hurt and abused him all his life, that she had witnessed it herself.

That she understood that something had simply snapped inside him.

"Is he...is he dead?"

He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself, his breath heavy and hitched in panic, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"I don't know. I shot him in the stomach and he's in hospital. He threw himself at me and scared me and I just fired. He saw I had a fucking gun in my hand!" He exclaimed as if he was ten years old and had just told his mum why his brother was lying unconscious on the floor after their fight.

"So you didn't kill him, did you? You didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. He scared you and you fired, but if he hadn't, you wouldn't have shot him." She said slowly in a trembling, terrified voice, and he lowered his hands, looking at her with big eyes, thinking that some part of him wanted to kill him then.

And then he remembered that after he felt that justice had been done, his hand with the gun lowered.

"– I – I just wanted him to stop laughing – he asked if I acted like a dog when I raped you – and I – God, baby, I told him about us in front of everyone – that we are together –" He mouthed, shaking his head, feeling completely naked, her expression of sadness and disappointment made him just sit on the bed, hide his face in his hands and cry, cry, cry.

"– I didn't mean it – I didn't know what to do – he wanted to humiliate me – me and you by spreading such rumours – I decided it was better to tell the truth than – I don't know – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled, himself not knowing where he was going with this thought, feeling a huge, cold emptiness.

He tensed all over hearing her footsteps, lifting his gaze to her, thinking for some reason that she was going to slap him.

She, however, knelt between his thighs, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

"– it would have come out eventually anyway – Aemond, I need to know what is going on inside your mind – if you –"

She asked, but was interrupted by the sound of his phone. He took it quickly out of his pocket seeing that his mother was calling him and swallowed hard feeling that he couldn't do it.

"– pick up – you have to do it, maybe she knows if Aegon is alive –"

But what if his brother was dead?

If he killed him with his own hands?

"– I can't – I don't want to –"

"– Aemond – prove to me who you are – take responsibility –"

He covered his face with his hand as he answered and put his phone to his ear.

"– is he alive? –" He muttered.

"– thank God yes – Aemond –" Alicent said, but he didn't let her finish, afraid of what she wanted to tell him.

That he had already been disgusting as a child and was a disgusting man now too.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, Mum, it was an accident, I swear – he was drunk and he threw himself at me seeing that I had a gun in my hand and I just –"

"– I know – Aegon told me everything – he admitted he provoked you – but I don't understand how you could have let this happen – you are brothers – you almost killed each other for what? – for a few bags of drugs, thick files of money? –" She asked, and he closed his eyes, warm tears one after another flowing down his cheeks.

"– he said I raped her –"

Alicent was silent for a moment.

"– where are you now? – come to the hospital – apologise to each other, explain everything, start all over again –" His mother pleaded, but he wasn't sure if there was anything left that they could fix.

"– I don't know if I want to see him ever again, Mum – I want to rest – let him know I hope he recovers quickly and that I'm sorry –" He muttered and hung up, feeling he had nothing more to say to her.

His niece looked at him in pain, her hands on his thighs as she knelt between his legs.

If Alys had been sitting in her place, all he would have thought about was putting his cock down her throat, but in her case, there was something in her expression that made him crave something completely different, but equally intense.

"– please, embrace me –" He mumbled out, before hot tears again ran down his face one by one, his sobs so pitiful that she stood up quickly, frightened, and let their silhouettes fall together on the bed.

It wasn't until her arms hugged him into her chest, when his hands closed on her back, that he felt his whole body trembling.

"– close your eyes – breathe –" She whispered, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, her fingers combing lazily through his short hair.

He did as she said and tried to focus only on the air he was letting in and out of his mouth, all around them the quiet singing of birds amid the rising sun.

"– don't leave me –" He muttered, snuggling tighter into her warm, familiar body, her wonderful scent filling his entire lungs.

He heard her sigh softly, her hand stroked his back reassuringly.

"– I know how much you are suffering – I am here – you are safe now –" She said, and he felt his heart stop for a moment.

I know how much you are suffering.

I am here.

You are safe now.

He had longed to hear this from his mother, his father, his brother, from her for so many years that when it finally happened his body just froze.

"– I love you –" He whispered, however differently than usual, feeling like he was suffocating. "– God, I love you so much –"

His niece texted her friend that she and him had poisoned themselves with something and that they would come to work later, wanting him to take at least a little nap, knowing that he would fall into despair if she left him alone even for a moment.

He fell asleep only when he unbuttoned her shirt and cuddled his face between her bare, plump breasts, the warmth and softness of her naked body, her long fingers running over his head soothed him.

Despite what he feared, she understood him.

It's always been this way.

When she woke him, telling him she had to go, he begged her to just let him stay as he was, her skin warm and drenched with her scent, his body pressed against hers in a natural, vulnerable embrace.

"– I have to – I should have been there hours ago – but you stay, get some sleep –" She whispered, stroking his head. His eyebrows arched in pain as he shook his head at her words, roaming his hands over her body in a gesture of desperation, trying to stop her.

"– no – no –"

"– Aemond – please –" She said in pain, pressing him against her again hearing his heavy, loud breath, tears squeezing into his eyes.

She sighed.

"– come with me then –"

And he did, because he didn't want to be alone.

When they went outside for the first time she took his hand in hers, exactly like when they were little children playing on the beach. He tried to control himself, but the squeeze in his throat was proof that he wanted to cry again.

He was so exhausted.

"– don't work today – sit under the tree – I'll be next to you –" She said when they got there, but he shook his head and squeezed her fingers tighter between his own.

She looked at him with a gaze in which he saw everything – worry, affection, concern, sadness, understanding, desire. He felt his heart grow hot as his free hand rose to her face, running gently over her jawline, and she nuzzled her cheek into it, closing her eyes.

He leaned in and kissed her as if it was the most natural thing he'd ever done – her lips welcomed him with gentleness and tenderness, parting before his tongue, letting him slide it lazily inside. Her fingers stroked his neck as they clung to each other, sunk only in that sweet, sticky pleasure, humming contentedly, not caring if anyone saw it.

And then he heard it.

The screech of tyres.

By the time he heard her squeal and turned to see what was happening Daemon was already standing in front of him, his fist hit him in the face so hard that he fell to the ground, losing his hearing for a moment.

"– STOP IT –" He heard her scream as her step-father turned him onto his back, punching him with his fist again, again and again, warm liquid trickled from his nose, but he did not resist.

"– I promised you this –" He hissed with rage. "– I promised you that if you didn't leave her alone, I would kill you with my own hands –"

"– DAD, STOP – STOP, STOP, STOP –" She whimpered, trying to pull him away, several people interrupted their work, wanting to see what was happening, looking at this scene in disbelief.

Finally, professor Addams and Robb came out of the tent, hearing loud screams outside.

"– what is the meaning of this? – stop immediately, that's my student! –" The professor shouted. Daemon laughed and stood up from his knees, pointing his finger at her.

"– and that's my daughter and I'm taking her home –"

"– no –"

Daemon looked at her in a way that made her tremble with fear, his jaw clenched as tightly as if it was about to burst.

"– with you I will speak later –" He growled.

"– I won't go with you –"

Daemon wanted to grab her arm, and in a natural reaction he wanted to get up and protect her, however he was preceded by Robb, standing between her and her father.

"– she said no – she's an adult – should I call the police? – he can sue you for assault, you know that? –" He asked, a long, heavy silence fell around them.

He stood up, looking at him, then at her, Daemon's gaze fixed on her face.

"– if you don't come back with me, I can no longer protect you – you will break your mother's heart –" He said coldly, his words intended only for her.

He looked at her in horror, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

Her gaze when her eyes finally turned towards him was full of fear that because of him she would lose her future, her family, her peace of mind and everything she had before he stormed into her life again.

"– you promised me –" He muttered in a trembling voice, looking only at her, the only person who could give him what he desired.

She had promised him that if he tried, if he came here, if he changed, they would spend two weeks together.

"– I did –" She whispered and he felt his heart stop, convinced that this was it.

Their end.

"– let's get back to work –" She said and turned as if nothing had happened, heading towards one of the tents, startling him and everyone around him.

"– come here, I said! –" Growled Daemon, wanting to lunge at her and take her home by force, but Robb blocked his way again.

"– enough – one more step and I'll really call the police –" He threatened, her step-father's gaze shifting to his face after a moment.

He turned away, angry and pale, his hands clenched into fists as he got into his car and drove off with a loud screech.

Feeling his heart pounding like mad and not wanting to be left alone with Robb, he moved after her, adrenaline pulsing hard through his veins.

She had sacrificed herself for him.

Her family, her home.

Just for him.

When he stepped inside he wanted to embrace her, but she shook her head.

"Sit down. I'll get you some ice. Your cheek is all swollen." She said calmly, taking a few cubes out of the fridge and it was only then that he saw how much her hands were trembling.

"– baby – come here –" He whispered, gently placing his hand on the back of her head, and although she resisted for a moment, she finally allowed him to put his arms around her and cuddle her into him.

Her body was shaking.

"– I know, baby – it was very scary – I'm here –" He hummed tenderly, stroking her hair and back, his face pressed against the hollow of her neck.

"– I don't think I have anywhere to go back to –" She mumbled out with difficulty, heartbroken, and burst out into a quiet, exasperated cry.

He swallowed hard, hugging her tighter to him, coming up with an idea he knew their family would definitely not like.

"– you will live with me –"

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loeh · 3 days ago

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BooHoo

Milf!reader continuation

Marrying Lant Agriche, the ruthless head of the notorious Agriche family, was never a life you envisioned for yourself. But fate had other plans, and now, here you were, trapped in a world you never chose. You had two children: Irvyn and Ilysia, twins. Despite your hopes that they would inherit only your traits, they both carried their father's dark hair and the haunting, ruby-red eyes that marked them as his children—a constant reminder of the bloodline you had been forced to join.

Growing up, painting had always been your sanctuary. It was your escape from a world that could never truly understand you. From a young age, you dedicated yourself to your craft, perfecting it until you knew you could paint even if you lost your sight—an ability you alone truly grasped.

But your family, the (L/n) lineage, was known for far more than just artistic talent. They were descendants of demons—beings capable of unimaginable destruction. For forty generations, your family had carried the legacy of these dark forces, but it was only you who had inherited the full brunt of the demon’s abilities. You could commune with the dead, summon creatures from other realms, and manipulate forces no mortal should control. The world soon took notice of your powers, and suitors came—hungry to claim the strength they believed would make them invincible.

But none of them stirred your heart. Your heart had already been taken by someone who did not belong to your world—someone outside the reach of bloodshed and darkness. And so, you vowed never to marry, to end the (L/n) bloodline with yourself. Your parents, understanding the dangers of your gifts, supported this decision, knowing all too well the havoc your power could bring. They feared for you, and for anyone who would come too close to your world.

Then came Lant Agriche. A vile man, the head of a family built on cruelty and manipulation. He had over four wives and countless children—each one a pawn in his ruthless quest for power. Lant made it clear that he intended to make you his wife, and no refusal was accepted. His power and arrogance were suffocating. But Lant did not understand rejection. When you refused him, he threatened violence, promising to destroy your parents, and the man who had captured your heart. In the end, you had no choice but to surrender. Your life as you knew it shattered, and with it, the nightmare of your bloodline’s legacy became a brutal reality.

You were forced into a marriage with a man whose cruelty knew no bounds, and soon, you were pregnant with his children.

Irvyn and Ilysia came into the world—your children, born from the very man you despised. For a long time, you wanted to hate them. They were the living proof of the bond you were forced into—a bond forged through deceit and violence. Yet, you couldn’t. You could never hate them, no matter the circumstances of their birth. They were your flesh and blood, and they were all you had left.

Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—your children did not inherit the full extent of your demonic powers. They did not possess the terrifying abilities you had, nor the dark legacy of your bloodline. In many ways, this was a blessing. But you knew the world would never see them as ordinary. They would always carry the weight of their father's name, and that was a burden you would have to protect them from at all costs.

So you made a vow. You would protect them. You would train them, make them stronger, teach them how to survive in a world that was not kind to those like them. They would grow up not as pawns in a dangerous game, but as individuals capable of taking control of their own fate. You would help them escape this hellhole. You would give them a chance to live their lives to the fullest, free from the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Now, at just seven years old, Irvyn and Ilysia were already deadly in their own ways. They were perceptive, clever, and more than capable of navigating the treacherous world you had been forced to endure. They were still children, but you saw the fire in their eyes—the same defiance you once held within yourself. You would protect that spark, no matter what it took, and one day, they would rise above the curse of the Agriche name. They would be stronger than you ever were. They would be free.

#manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa x reader #dion agriche x reader #manhwa fanfiction #roxana x reader #roxana agriche x reader #manhwa #yandere manhwa #Lant agriche x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother

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king-wilhelm · 11 months ago

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Percy sending Medusa’s head to Olympus is such an important introduction to his character arc because even though we’ve seen him be angry with the gods, this is different, this is an action, not just a feeling. This is him initiating a very specific relationship between him and the gods, a very open antagonism. I’m sure plenty of demigods seethe in silence, frustrated with how their lives turned out but not Percy, no.

This is a forbidden kid, on a dangerous quest, in mortal peril at all times, targeted by monsters and gods alike yes, but at the end of the day, he’s a kid. That’s what makes it even more impressive. He’s just a 12 y/o who’s been a part of this world for not very long, feels lost and frustrated half the time, and is being shoved around by camp mates and counsellors to be a pawn, just a hero who’s legacy is to, ultimately, be the gods’ chess piece.

And the first big decision he makes? Sending a big fuck you to the gods. A decision that makes his quest mates think he’s insane. Perhaps he is, but I’d prefer the word bold. Because do you know how bold, how audacious you need to be to be a barely trained kid targeted by millennia old, all powerful gods, and have your first direct contact with them be a giant fuck you?

It’s the start of his legacy, the story of the boy who brought the gods to their knees, all because he refused to kiss their ass. And if he was going to forced to be a pawn, well then, he’d antagonize them every step of the way.

With best wishes, Percy Jackson, indeed.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #walker scobell #pjo tv show #pjo disney+#pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: This is the final chapter for this story. I had to cut a lot from the original one, since it's a very, very long story. And Tumblr is not built well for that. If you have a feeling something is missing, this is why. I may in the future expand the story with additional short chapters to fill the gaps. But I'll leave it as it is for now.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 18

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The chamber in Sunspear was filled with the low, hushed voices of healers and the flickering light of candles as you lay exhausted on the birthing bed, your body still trembling from the effort of bringing new life into the world. The air was heavy with the scents of sweat and herbs, but all of that faded away as you looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms.

Your son, with his shock of pale blonde hair and eyes of vivid violet, looked up at you with a serene, almost knowing expression. Tears welled in your eyes as you gently traced his delicate features, your heart swelling with an overwhelming, indescribable love.

Arthur knelt beside you, his gaze locked on the infant with a look of wonder and pride. His hand, strong and warm, rested on your shoulder as he leaned closer, his eyes never leaving the face of his newborn son. “He’s perfect,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed a soft kiss against your temple, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You did so well, Y/N.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile as you looked at Arthur. “We did,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. The exhaustion and pain faded into the background, eclipsed by the small, precious life cradled against your chest.

Arthur’s hand moved to gently stroke the baby’s fine hair. “Aegon,” he said softly, almost reverently, as if testing the name on his tongue. “We will call him Aegon, after your ancestors. A name for a king.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of apprehension in your eyes. Aegon—a name that carried with it a weight of history and expectation, a name that would forever tie your son to the legacy of House Targaryen. But as you looked down at your child, your heart steadied. He would be more than just a name. He would be your son, the embodiment of everything you had fought for, everything you had risked.

“Aegon,” you repeated, the name rolling softly off your lips. It felt right, like a promise for the future. “Yes. Aegon.”

The door to the chamber opened quietly, and Rhaegar stepped in, his face etched with a mixture of relief and joy as he looked at you and the tiny bundle in your arms. He moved to your side, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his nephew. “He’s beautiful,” Rhaegar murmured, his voice filled with pride. “You have given our family hope, Y/N.”

You reached out, taking Rhaegar’s hand in yours. “He is our future, brother,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, he is our hope.”

Rhaegar nodded, his expression turning solemn as he glanced at Arthur. “We’ll protect him. We’ll protect all of you,” he promised quietly, though there was a shadow in his eyes, the weight of what he knew was coming.

Oberyn entered the room a short while later, his presence a stark contrast to the tender moment that had just passed. He glanced at the infant in your arms with a faint smile, though his eyes soon shifted to Rhaegar, the look in them calculating.

“Congratulations are in order, I see,” Oberyn said lightly, though there was an edge to his tone. “A healthy boy, and a name that will certainly stir the winds of fate.”

Rhaegar’s gaze met Oberyn’s, a flicker of unease passing over his face. “What do you want, Oberyn?”

Oberyn shrugged, his smile widening. “Only to discuss what comes next, Prince Rhaegar. Your sister has just brought a new Targaryen into the world, and yet we still have much to settle, do we not?”

Rhaegar’s expression tightened, his shoulders stiffening. “This isn’t the time, Oberyn.”

But Oberyn was undeterred. “There’s no better time. You’re leaving soon, aren’t you? Varys has prepared everything for your departure to Essos. But there’s still the matter of our agreement.”

Rhaegar frowned, his jaw clenching as he looked back at you, then at the baby in your arms. “You mean the marriage alliance,” he said, his voice hard.

Oberyn nodded. “Yes, you were to marry Elia in exchange for Dorne’s support. But now you’re leaving. So, what of our arrangement?”

Rhaegar’s gaze hardened. “I won’t be able to honor that promise. You know that. Our only concern now is getting Y/N and our mother to safety.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “If you won’t marry Elia, then perhaps there is another way to secure our alliance. The child,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “Young Aegon could be raised here, as a ward of Dorne. He would be safe, far from Robert’s grasp, and when he comes of age, he could marry into House Martell. It would solidify our bond.”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “You know Y/N will never agree to that.”

Oberyn shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “She may not have a choice. If you want Dorne’s continued support, the boy must stay. Otherwise, what reason do we have to aid you when you’re gone? Aegon would be the perfect link between our houses.”

Rhaegar’s expression darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ll find another way. But I won’t take my sister’s child from her. I won’t do that to her.”

Oberyn tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “Do you think I want to separate a mother from her child, Rhaegar? I understand the pain of loss, more than you know. But we are talking about survival. We are talking about securing the future of your family—and mine. Y/N may not like it, but she will have to accept it. She will have to trust that this is the only way to keep him safe.”

Rhaegar glanced back at you, his heart aching as he watched you cradle your newborn son, your eyes filled with love and hope. He knew what Oberyn was saying made sense, but the thought of taking Aegon away from you was unbearable.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that the time for choices was quickly running out. Robert’s rebellion was growing stronger by the day, and the safety of his family was hanging by a thread. He had to do what was necessary, no matter how much it hurt.

“You underestimate my sister’s resolve,” Rhaegar said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll speak to her.”

Oberyn nodded, his expression turning serious. “Do that. The boy’s life may depend on it.”

And as Rhaegar turned back to you, watching you hold your newborn son, he knew that the days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions—choices that would shape the future of their family, and perhaps, the very fate of Westeros itself.

You sat beside Arthur, your son Aegon cradled in your arms, his tiny breaths steady and peaceful as he slept. The past day had been a whirlwind of emotions—joy at your son’s birth, anxiety over what lay ahead, and now, uncertainty hanging like a storm cloud over your family.

Rhaegar stood before you, his expression troubled, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and determination. He had been pacing the room, his frustration palpable, but now he stopped, facing you and Arthur with a heavy sigh.

“Oberyn has made his position clear,” Rhaegar began, his voice steady but lined with tension. “He wants Aegon to stay in Dorne as a ward, to secure our alliance. He believes it’s the only way to ensure Dorne’s support, especially after we leave for Essos.”

Your heart clenched, the thought of being separated from your newborn son filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You held Aegon a little closer, his soft weight a comforting presence against your chest. “No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking with both fear and resolve. “I won’t leave him. He’s just a baby, Rhaegar. I can’t—I won’t—be separated from him.”

Rhaegar’s gaze softened, but his expression remained resolute. “Y/N, I understand how you feel, truly, but Oberyn’s right. Aegon will be safer here than anywhere else. Robert’s forces are closing in, and once we’re gone, the Dornish won’t have any reason to stand against him unless there’s something—someone—binding them to our cause.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes as you looked down at your son, so small and vulnerable. “Then I’m staying too. If he’s going to be here, so am I.”

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “You can’t, Y/N. You’re not safe here. None of us are, not truly. But with Varys’s help, we can get you and Mother to Essos. Once we’re there, we can find a way to bring Aegon to us later. But right now, we have to think about what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him is being with his mother,” you replied fiercely, your voice trembling with the force of your conviction. “I won’t abandon my child. I can’t.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of your words hanging between the three of you. Rhaegar’s gaze flickered to Arthur, who had remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, Arthur stepped forward, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain beneath it.

“If Y/N can’t stay, then I will,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto Rhaegar’s. “Aegon needs one of us with him. If I stay, I can protect him, ensure he’s safe until we can all be together again.”

You turned to Arthur, your eyes wide with shock. “Arthur, no. You can’t. You’re the only reason we’ve been safe this long. If you stay—”

Arthur’s hand covered yours, his touch gentle but firm. “I will not let our son grow up without one of us, Y/N,” he said softly. “This is the only way. I’ll stay with him, keep him safe. You need to go, get to safety. For both of you.”

Rhaegar nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked at Arthur with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted. “But it’s the best option we have. With Arthur here, Oberyn will have no reason to doubt our commitment, and you, Y/N, will be out of reach.”

You shook your head again, struggling to find words. The thought of leaving Aegon—and Arthur—behind filled you with a deep, aching despair. “I can’t... I can’t just leave you both.”

Arthur squeezed your hand, his voice gentle but insistent. “You have to. You have to trust me, trust Rhaegar. This is the only way to ensure Aegon’s safety. We’ll reunite, I promise. But right now, we need to think of the future.”

Rhaegar glanced between the two of you, then stepped back, his expression pained. “I’ll leave you to discuss it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But know that whatever you decide, it’s for the good of our family. We’re doing this to survive.”

He turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, the reality of what you were facing settling in like a lead weight in your chest. You looked at Arthur, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him, leaving Aegon.

Arthur reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I know it’s hard,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re doing this for Aegon, for his future. I’ll be here with him, and you’ll be safe. We’ll find a way back to each other. I promise.”

You nodded, your tears falling freely now as you looked down at your sleeping son, your heart aching with a fierce, protective love. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Arthur Dayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I wouldn’t dream of breaking it,” he replied softly, his hand resting gently over yours, his gaze steady and filled with unwavering love. “We’ll be together again. No matter what.”

You held his gaze, the depth of your feelings for him, for your son, nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was right. You had to be strong—for Aegon, for the family you hoped to have, one day, when this nightmare was over.

The air in King’s Landing was filled with the stench of fear and smoke as the city braced itself for the final siege. Outside the walls, the banners of Robert Baratheon’s army flew high, his men battering at the gates with a relentless determination. The sounds of war echoed across the streets—clashing steel, the shouts of soldiers, the desperate cries of the people trapped within.

In the Great Hall of the Red Keep, Aerys Targaryen sat hunched on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming erratically against the cold steel of the swords that forged his seat of power. His once-bright eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his face twisted into a mask of brooding anger. The rejection he had faced from his daughter still gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal. She had chosen his son over him, defied him in front of his own armies. Even now, the thought of it sent waves of rage coursing through his veins.

The doors to the hall swung open, and Varys, his silken robes whispering against the stone floor, approached with a careful, measured step. His face was inscrutable, his gaze watchful as he took in the sight of the king slouched on his throne, brooding like a caged beast.

“Your Grace,” Varys began, his voice soft but urgent. “Lord Tywin’s army has arrived outside the city walls.”

Aerys’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And why should that concern me, Spider?” he hissed, his voice cracking with the strain of sleepless nights. “Tywin is the Warden of the West. He’s come to defend the city.”

Varys hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to the empty space around them, as if he feared invisible ears might be listening. “There are… troubling reports, Your Grace. It appears that Lord Tywin has betrayed you. He is not here to aid you, but to join forces with Robert Baratheon.”

The words hung in the air, a cold, brutal truth that seemed to freeze the very breath in the room. Aerys’s face contorted with disbelief, and then with fury. He surged to his feet, his robes billowing around him like the wings of a maddened bird. “Lies!” he screamed, his voice echoing through the hall. “Tywin would not dare! My servant! He would not betray his king!”

But even as he raged, the doors to the hall opened again, and Grand Maester Pycelle hurried in, his face pale and drawn with fear. “Your Grace, the reports are true,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Lord Tywin’s forces have joined with the rebels. The city gates are under attack. They are trying to force their way in.”

Aerys’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the reality of the betrayal crashed over him. The walls of his world were crumbling, and there was no escape. But then, slowly, a manic grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light.

“Burn them,” he whispered, the words barely audible. He turned, his gaze fixed on the shadows lurking near the hall’s edge, where Wisdom Rossart, his chief pyromancer, hovered like a dark specter. “Burn them all!”

Rossart stepped forward, his expression grim but obedient. “Your Grace?”

Aerys’s voice rose, his madness filling every corner of the hall. “Burn them! Set the wildfire ablaze! Let the flames consume them all! Every man, woman, and child in this city—let them burn!”

Varys’s eyes widened, his calm facade slipping for the first time as he realized the full extent of the king’s madness. “Your Grace, please,” he urged, stepping forward. “There are still loyal subjects in the city. Innocent lives—”

“Silence!” Aerys shrieked, his face twisting in rage. “They are all traitors! Traitors and thieves, every one of them! Set the wildfire! Burn them!”

Rossart bowed, his face a mask of resigned obedience. “It will be done, Your Grace.” He turned, making his way toward the door, but before he could leave the hall, a deafening roar shook the very walls of the Keep.

Terrax.

The sound of the dragon’s bellow echoed through the castle, rattling the windows and sending shivers through every soul within. Aerys froze, his eyes wide with shock and something like twisted delight. “Terrax,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He’s come back to me. My dragon—he knows!”

The great doors of the hall shuddered as the roars continued, closer now, the sound a terrible, piercing wail that seemed to carry with it the fury of the gods themselves. The courtiers and guards scattered in fear, their eyes wide with terror as they looked to the sky, to the terrible shape of the dragon circling above the Red Keep.

“Burn them!” Aerys screamed again, his voice raw and desperate. “Burn them all! Set the fires now!”

But before Rossart could obey, before the orders could be carried out, there was a flash of steel—a quick, terrible blur of motion—and the blade of Jaime Lannister’s sword drove deep into Aerys’s back.

The king’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He stumbled forward, his fingers clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something unseen, his gaze fixed on Jaime, who stood behind him, his face grim and resolute.

“You—” Aerys choked, blood bubbling on his lips. “You can’t… I am… I am the king…”

The words died on his lips as Jaime twisted the blade, the king’s body convulsing before he collapsed to the floor, his blood pooling around him, dark and spreading across the cold stone.

The hall fell silent, the echoes of the king’s final screams lingering in the air like the dying notes of a dirge. Jaime stood over the body, his sword still dripping with the blood of the man he had sworn to protect.

And then, another roar, a mournful, soul-wrenching cry that shook the very foundations of the Red Keep. Terrax, high above, screamed a sound that seemed to tear the sky apart, his anguish and fury echoing through the city below. The dragon’s cries reverberated across King’s Landing, and then, as if heeding some unspoken command, Terrax turned, his massive wings beating against the air as he flew away from the Keep, away from the madness and death below.

The last anyone saw of the dragon, he was a dark silhouette against the sky, flying east, toward the distant lands of Essos, his roars fading into the distance, leaving behind only silence and the smoldering remnants of a shattered city.

The waves rocked the ship gently as it sailed through the dark waters of the Narrow Sea, the distant coastline of Westeros fading into the horizon. The vessel bore no sigils, no banners to mark its allegiance—only a silent promise of escape, of safety beyond the chaos and bloodshed. But even as the ship cut through the waves, an unseen storm raged within you.

You stood at the bow, staring out at the endless expanse of water, your hand resting on the wooden rail. The breeze, cool and salty, brushed against your face, but it did little to soothe the ache that gnawed at your heart. You had left so much behind—your child, your love, and now, it seemed, something else had been ripped from you.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through your chest, so intense it took your breath away. You doubled over, clutching at your side as the agony radiated through you, each pulse a reminder of something irrevocably lost. Images flashed behind your eyes—fragments of flame and shadow, glimpses of your father’s twisted smile, and then darkness, swallowing everything whole.

You knew, in that awful, gut-wrenching moment, that Aerys was gone. Your father, the man who had once been your protector before madness took hold, was dead. His life snuffed out like a candle in the wind, leaving behind only the bitter ashes of memory.

Despite all the horror he had wrought, the cruelty, and the madness, he was still the man who had held you as a child, who had once whispered stories of dragons and glory in your ear. And now, he was gone—forever. A sob tore from your throat, raw and painful, as you sank to your knees, the weight of loss crushing down on you.

Rhaegar and Rhaella rushed to your side, their faces etched with worry. Rhaegar knelt beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, his voice urgent but gentle. “Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to express the hollow, aching void that had opened up inside you. Tears blurred your vision as you looked up at him, the pain in your eyes telling him everything you couldn’t say.

Rhaella knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your cheek, her own eyes filled with anguish. “What is it, my sweet girl?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What’s happened?”

“Father…” you managed to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s gone. I felt it—something broke inside me.” Another sob escaped you, your body trembling with the force of your grief.

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his jaw clenching as he exchanged a troubled glance with Rhaella. He knew, even before you had spoken, what had happened. The bond between you and your father, twisted and painful as it was, had been severed in the most brutal of ways.

“He’s dead,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips like stones into a deep, dark well. “My father is dead.”

Rhaella’s hands covered her mouth, her eyes widening with shock and sorrow. Despite everything Aerys had done, despite the terror and madness, he had still been her husband, the father of her children. Now he was gone, and even the deepest wounds couldn’t erase the grief of losing him.

Rhaegar’s grip on you tightened, his voice low and filled with regret. “I’m here, Y/N.” He held you as you wept, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Above, the sound of wings cut through the air, the familiar rush of wind as Terrax’s shadow swept over the ship. The dragon circled overhead, his great wings beating steadily as he hovered, his golden eyes watching you from above. You looked up, your breath catching as you felt the familiar, disjointed thoughts of the dragon brush against your mind.

"Father is silent like the Stranger."

The words echoed in your thoughts, strange and fragmented, but the meaning was clear. Terrax, too, sensed the loss, the absence of the man who had once bound you both through dark, unnatural magic. Aerys’s death had sent a ripple through the connection, a final severing of the twisted bond that had tied you all together.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you clung to Rhaegar, your body trembling with the force of your grief. It wasn’t just your father you mourned—though that pain was sharp and unyielding. You wept for the family you had left behind in Westeros, for the child you had been forced to leave in Dorne, for Arthur, who had stayed behind to protect him. The ache of their absence was a constant, throbbing wound, and you didn’t know if it would ever truly heal.

“I left them,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “I left Arthur and Aegon. How can I live with that?”

Rhaegar pulled you closer, his own grief mingling with yours. “You did what you had to do, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “To protect Aegon, to protect yourself. You did what was right.”

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you cried, burying your face against his shoulder. “It feels like my heart is breaking.”

Rhaella stroked your hair, her touch gentle, soothing, though her own voice trembled as she spoke. “We’ll get them back, my sweet. We’ll be together again. I promise.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they felt hollow in the face of your grief. The distance between you and your family, the uncertain future that stretched out before you, seemed insurmountable. All you could do was hold on to the hope that, somehow, you would find your way back to them.

Terrax let out a low, mournful cry, the sound carrying over the sea, a haunting echo of your own sorrow. You looked up, watching as the dragon wheeled through the sky, his massive form silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. He, too, had lost something, and in his cries, you heard the echo of your own loss, the shattering of everything you had once known.

As the ship sailed onward, bound for the distant shores of Essos, you held onto Rhaegar and Rhaella, clinging to the fragile, flickering hope that one day, the shattered pieces of your life might be mended. But for now, all you could do was mourn—for your father, for your family, and for the life you had left behind.

From the History of the Targaryen Exile and the Return of Dragons

Written by Archmaester Aenys, Conclave of Maesters, Oldtown, in the Year 305 AC

In the years following the fall of King’s Landing and the tragic death of King Aerys II, the remnants of House Targaryen were scattered to the winds, hunted relentlessly by the Usurper King, Robert Baratheon. His hatred for the Targaryen name was unquenchable, fueled by the bloodshed and betrayal that had marked his ascension to the Iron Throne. Yet, even as Robert Baratheon sat in his stolen seat, his nightmares were haunted by the specter of Targaryen vengeance.

Unknown to the new King, one crucial secret had eluded him—a child of royal blood, a dragon who yet remained hidden in the shadow of the world. Aegon, the son of Ser Arthur Dayne and the exiled Targaryen princess, Y/N, had been spirited away to safety even as the fires of King’s Landing consumed the last vestiges of his family's power. Born in Sunspear under the watchful eye of Prince Doran Martell, Aegon was raised in secrecy, his true parentage known only to a trusted few. Under the guise of Young Griff, he would later emerge, seeking to reclaim the throne stolen from his ancestors.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Targaryen line struggled to survive in the uncertain lands of Essos. Rhaegar Targaryen, his sister Y/N, and their mother, Queen Rhaella, lived in a state of perpetual vigilance. Ever wary of assassins sent by Robert’s hand, they found temporary refuge in the Free Cities, moving constantly to avoid the reach of the Usurper. Despite their best efforts, they could never truly escape the shadow of the Iron Throne. Robert Baratheon’s spies were ever-watchful, and the gold of Westeros was sufficient to turn even the most loyal against them.

In these years of hardship and flight, the bond between Rhaegar and his sister grew ever stronger, forged in the fires of shared loss and unending danger. Both were plagued by the haunting visions known as dragondreams, prophetic in nature and disturbing in their vivid clarity. These dreams spoke of a darkness gathering in the far North—a night that would never end, a Long Night that threatened to consume all life. It was this shared dread, this knowledge of an imminent doom, that drove them to a fateful decision.

For the sake of the prophecy and the survival of their bloodline, Rhaegar and Y/N chose to have children together, ensuring that the Targaryen line would endure. From this union were born two children, Viserys and Daenerys, both blessed—and cursed—with the burden of prophecy and the legacy of their house. Rhaegar, ever the scholar of ancient lore, believed that in them lay the key to fulfilling the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised, a savior who would stand against the coming darkness.

Their exile was not without its defenders. Terrax, the great black dragon with eyes like molten gold, remained a fearsome presence in Essos. Bound to Y/N through the dark ritual that had marked his birth, Terrax was more than just a beast of war. His mind, fragmented and strange, was linked to Y/N’s in a way that no other dragon had ever been to its rider. Through him, Y/N could see glimpses of distant places, feel the stirrings of the world beyond her reach. He was her guardian, her shadow, and in many ways, a part of her very soul.

When assassins came—and they came often, in the dead of night, in the open streets of Braavos and Pentos and Lys—Terrax’s wrath was swift and terrible. Fire would rain down from the skies, and those who sought the blood of Targaryens would find only death. The presence of the dragon became both a warning and a promise: the blood of the dragon was not so easily extinguished.

The years passed, and in the Free Cities, whispers began to spread of the exiled dragonlords. The sight of Terrax circling over distant Valyria sent ripples of fear through the hearts of even the most hardened sellswords. Rhaegar and Y/N moved carefully, gathering allies where they could, seeking those who still believed in the Targaryen cause. Yet, the dreams never ceased—the vision of the Long Night loomed ever closer, and Y/N, haunted by the knowledge that her son Aegon was far across the Narrow Sea, struggled with the weight of her destiny.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen, the last true queen of Westeros, endured much in her final years. Driven into exile alongside her children, the specter of madness and sorrow ever lingered over her. Haunted by the memories of a husband turned monster and a kingdom lost, she spent her days in Essos with the hope that her family would one day be restored to the Iron Throne.

But her strength, worn thin by years of suffering and grief, could not last forever. In the year 284 AC, mere months after the birth of her granddaughter Daenerys, Rhaella passed away in the city of Lys. It is said that she died quietly in her sleep, her last breath a soft whisper of relief, finally free from the torment of her memories.

Her death was a devastating blow to her children, Rhaegar and Y/N, who buried her in a modest grave overlooking the narrow, restless sea. Though her body rests in foreign soil, far from the land she once ruled, her spirit remains tied to the fate of her house. For even in death, she was a Targaryen—bound by fire and blood.

In the courts of Westeros, Robert Baratheon grew more paranoid with each passing year. Despite his victory, his rule was not as secure as he would have liked. The North remained distant and cold under Eddard Stark’s rule, and the Reach, ever ambitious, whispered of rebellions to come. When Robert finally learned of Rhaegar’s survival in Essos, and of his sister’s continued presence, the fury of the Usurper was rekindled. Assassins were dispatched with greater frequency, golden promises of wealth sent to any willing to bring back the heads of the dragonspawn.

Yet, for all his efforts, Robert remained ignorant of the most dangerous threat to his reign—the hidden prince, Aegon, growing strong and wise under the guidance of the careful tutors chosen by his father, Arthur Dayne, and the Martells. As Young Griff, he was trained not only in the arts of war but in the delicate balance of diplomacy, learning the ways of the courts and the intricacies of ruling. His identity, once revealed, would send shockwaves through the Seven Kingdoms.

It was in the year 298 AC, with the winds of winter blowing from the North, that Aegon Targaryen, under the guise of Young Griff, made his first move toward reclaiming his birthright. Landing in the Stormlands, he began to gather support from those disillusioned with Robert’s rule, those who remembered the true king. The storm of his coming was swift, his campaign precise. With the backing of Dorne and the secret alliance of the Golden Company, he captured key fortresses, proclaiming himself the rightful king, Aegon VI.

Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, the children of Rhaegar grew under the shadow of prophecy. Viserys, ever bitter and ambitious, struggled with the burden of being a prince with no kingdom. Daenerys, however, found strength in the stories of her forebears and the teachings of her mother. Terrax remained their constant guardian, his presence a reminder of the power that had once been and could be again.

As the drums of war beat once more in Westeros, Rhaegar and Y/N knew that their time in exile was drawing to a close. The Long Night was approaching, and with it, the need for the return of dragons. The Three Heads of the Dragon—the true Targaryen legacy—would be needed to face the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

And so, with Terrax at their side, they prepared to return to the land of their birth, not as exiles but as conquerors, to take back what was theirs and to stand against the night. The story of House Targaryen was far from over, for fire and blood could not be so easily extinguished. The dragon’s roar would be heard again, its flame lighting the way through the coming darkness.

#asoiaf x reader #asoif/got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x you #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne

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watersofmars · 4 months ago

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ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ…

(Aegon Targaryen x OC!Reader x Aemond Targaryen). Torn between love and duty, Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, has a choice to make. Bound by the loyalty to her mother, her love for her husband Aegon, or the desire she feels for her uncle Aemond...

(A/N): This is my first Hotd fic so please bare with me lol... I also changed some of the canon story slightly, but its mostly in timeline.

WC: 2.9k

In the heart of Dragonstone, beneath the shadow of the ancient castle, the air was thick with whispered secrets and unspoken desires. The ocean bristled like a dragon's breath against the cliffs, roaring its eternal song, while inside the castle's stone walls, tensions of love and duty collided like fierce combatants upon a battlefield.

Born of two fiery souls—Rhaenyra and Daemon—Visenya was a product of ambition and dark passion. Her mother had once grasped for the Iron Throne while her father fought like a dragon to claim his birthright. Now married to Aegon, the younger half-brother of Rhaenyra, Visenya was both a queen consort and a pawn in the ancient game of thrones that twisted all destinies in Westeros.

Visenya sat in the sunlit chamber where she had spent countless hours nurturing the seeds of her family. Her marriage to Aegon had sparked hope for peace. The union represented a fragile balance between factions, a flowering of loyalty amidst the ashes of war—the Dance of the Dragons, as history would one day name it. In the months following their union, Visenya had found solace in Aegon’s gentle affection. Her husband, Aegon Targaryen, was handsome as he was gentle, and their three children; Aerion, Daenys, and Rhaegar, were a living testament to their union.

The corners of her lips would turn upward when they called out for her, a joy that sparked within her from their mere presence. Still, there lay something untamed and restless within her, a longing that cast a shadow upon her heart like the wings of a dragon. Yet, as much as her heart had sought refuge in Aegon’s steadfast presence, it remained restless. For in the shadows of their shared chambers roamed Aemond Targaryen, the younger brother of Aegon and a tempest of unbridled passion. Aemond, with his sapphire eye that glimmered like a dragon’s flame, drew Visenya to him with an intensity that overshadowed her more subdued affection for Aegon. There was something primal about their connection, an undeniable pull that threatened to shatter the fragile peace she had constructed around her heart

Aegon had won her heart first, as young hearts often do, swept away in the fervor of courtship and familial duty. They had shared a betrothal grounded in tradition, as their family’s legacy demanded, by order of the late King Viserys in hopes of mending this broken family. Loyal and kind, he had been a constant source of warmth, a beacon of security amidst the chaos that lingered at the edges of their world, on the edge of a bloody war. Together, they forged a love that should have been flawless, yet beneath the surface, tides churned dangerously.

It was Aemond, Aegon's younger brother, who filled Visenya's dreams with passion and despair. His dark, brooding presence was intoxicating, a force of nature that unnerved and exhilarated her all at once. Their bond was close since childhood, where Visenya was often Aemond’s only source of comfort. But he was a dragon in his own right, wild and untamed, unburdened by the weight of responsibility that Aegon often bore. When their eyes met across a crowded hall or during the muted hours of the night, an unbidden fire ignited within her, and she felt the pull of a forbidden fruit she could never quite resist.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, laying hues of crimson and gold across the sky, Visenya found herself wandering into the garden—a refuge where the laughter of her children mingled with the scent of blooming roses. It was there that Aemond often sought solitude, brooding beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree in the Godswood. The air was thick with anticipation, the moment charged with unvoiced words.

“Aemond,” she whispered, approaching the shadowy figure cloaked in darkness. “You should not be here. It isn’t fitting for us.”

His gaze, fierce and steady, locked onto her. “Fitting or not, sister, it does not change how I feel,” he replied, drawing closer, his words a tantalizing promise.

“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Aemond softly spoke in the shadows, his voice low and conspiratorial. “If the blood of our house did not bind us, what would we be to each other?”

Visenya’s heart raced at the question. She had long grappled with this truth: was it Aegon’s love she cherished, or was it Aemond’s wild spirit that called to her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her whole? When she looked into Aemond’s depths, she saw a future of unfettered desire, while Aegon’s steady presence offered comfort and stability.

“But to carry the sins of desire is to bear a heavy burden,” she murmured, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “If the truth of our hearts were ever revealed, what then?”

Aemond stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Do not fear the chaos of love, Visenya. We are Targaryens; chaos is our birthright.”

In that moment, their lips met—a union forged of hidden desires and dangerous secrets. In that sacred space, amidst the hidden life of the garden, time weaved itself into a tapestry of stolen moments. Visenya’s heart raced as Aemond took her hands in his, the warmth of his touch igniting embers hidden deep within her soul. They spoke of their dreams, their fears, the weight of their lineage, and the bittersweet bonds of family ties that pulled them in opposite directions.

Visenya was aflame with passion, yet guilt gnawed at her, whispering memories of her children, the purity of their innocence. She recalled Aerion's laughter and Daenys's dreams, and Rhaegar's fierce loyalty. Visenya's thoughts turned to her children, to the simple joy they brought her, and the duty she held to Aegon, who remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within his wife’s heart. The gnarled roots of her love for Aegon intertwined with the fervour she felt for Aemond, a duality both beautiful and torturous. Each time she laughed with her children, each time she looked into Aegon’s earnest eyes, the weight of her choices bore down.

When her children had been born, rumours had already sparked in the desperate halls of the Red Keep and at court. As autumn leaves began to fall, rumours swirled within the court, each speculation carrying the weight of uncertainty. Whispers drifted like smoke between courtiers: were Aegon’s children truly his, or was there more to Visenya’s love than met the eye? The truth remained hidden, an enigma cloaked in Targaryen secrecy.

As seasons waned into years, the children grew, each embodying different facets of their lineage. Aerion, with the spirited bravery of a dragon, beloved by all; Daenys, who carried an ethereal grace that warmed hearts, often resembling her namesake, Daenys the dreamer; and Rhaegar, whose brooding intensity mirrored that of his Uncle Aemond. The question of paternity began to murmur through the corridors of Dragonstone, insidious as wind-wrought flames, though none could be sure. At least Visenya’s children bore the silver Targaryen hair that seemed to fail in her brothers. Whispers tainted her children’s innocence, and every shared glance between Visenya and Aemond seemed to ignite suspicion in the minds of their kin.

As the truth hovered like a specter, looming over the Targaryen family, Visenya stood at a precipice. Would she give in to her longing, embracing a passion that pulsed as fiercely as dragonfire? Or would she bind herself tightly to duty, choosing the path carved out by blood and obligation?

Visenya stood before a new dawn, knowing she must confront the echoes of her choices. Whether she chose to remain tied to Aegon for the sake of their family or succumb to the intoxicating pull of Aemond’s allure remained unanswered. She sought her mother’s endurance and her father’s unbridled will, but it was her own heart—a heart torn between love and loyalty—that would ultimately shape her fate.

In a moment of desperate clarity, Visenya understood that love was never meant to be simple. Each heart she held belonged to the tapestry of her life, entwined in ways that were as complex as the spirals of dragonfire. And as her children grew, so too did the weight of her choices, an unbreakable knot she must learn to navigate, balancing love and treachery, loyalty and longing.

—-------------------------------------------------

In the growing darkness of the evening, Visenya stood by the window, her long, silver-gold hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She gazed out over Blackwater Bay, the waves crashing like the thoughts inside her mind. Her husband, Aegon, approached with a gentle smile, though the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

“Visenya,” Aegon said, his voice soft, “what troubles you this evening?”

She turned to him, her heart swelling with love for the man who was both her husband and a symbol of duty. “Naught but the uncertainty of the morrow, my dear Aegon. The realm feels restless. I fear storms are brewing, but not of the kind we prepare for,” she replied, feigning a smile.

Unbeknownst to Aegon, Visenya felt her heart pulse hotly for his younger brother, Aemond. Aemond, with his fiery spirit and sharp wit, ignited a flame in her that she could not extinguish. Though she loved Aegon fiercely, it was Aemond who stirred her soul in ways she was hesitant to admit.

Just as she suffocated under the weight of her thoughts, the door swung open, and Aemond strode in, his sapphire eye glinting with mischief. “Our dear brother broods while the world turns, as always,” he remarked, casting a quick glance at Aegon before fixing his gaze on Visenya. “Shall we not partake in the joy of life while we can, my sweet sister-in-law?”

“Always the jester,” Aegon replied, though his smile was strained. “What joy can be found in revelry when the realm readies itself for war?”

“War, duty, duty, war,” Aemond mocked lightly. “You sound like our mother, brother.” There was a lingering tension in the air that Visenya felt too keenly.

“Stop this, Aemond,” Visenya interjected, speaking in High Valyrian, which Aegon didn’t entirely understand, looking to temper the air between the two brothers. “We should not jest of such things. We have each other; we have our children.”

Aegon nodded, the weight of concern still visible on his brow, while Aemond’s expression shifted to one that danced on the edge of something more dangerous. “And what will become of them?” Aemond’s voice dropped, a hint of something darker lurking beneath. “Are we to allow a sea of disputes to wash away their future?”

Visenya bristled at the thought. Her children needed a world of promise, not shackled by the chains of the past. Yet the more Aemond spoke, the more her heart wavered between affection for her husband and the forbidden pull towards the younger brother, whose ambitions were vast and whose eyes shone with desire.

Weeks passed where words remained unspoken, but a certain tension was brewing in the Red Keep, there would be fire and blood, but the war within Visenya Targaryen still raged on.

—----------------------------------------

In the candlelit chambers of Aegon and Visenya, the air was thick with both warmth and tension. Visenya Targaryen sat at her vanity, the reflection of her silver hair bouncing off the polished surface. A soft knock interrupted her contemplation.

“Aegon,” she called, turning to fully face her husband, Aegon II, who stepped into the room. His presence filled the space with an uneasy mix of familiarity and distance.

“My love,” Aegon began, his voice a gentle rumble. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Thinking?” Visenya echoed, arching a brow. “You have a talent for that.” She offered a teasing smile, though her heart was heavy.

“Visenya, I wish to discuss… us.” He paused, searching her gaze for something he couldn’t quite define. “You hold the realms in your heart, but I…”

“Is it my love for our children that frightens you?” she interjected, the warmth in her voice slowly fading.

“No, no. It’s Aemond.”

Visenya’s breath caught. Aemond—his younger brother—was both a flame that flickered dangerously close and a comfort that beckoned like an undertow. “What of Aemond?” she asked, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

“He has grown reckless.” Aegon’s irritation surfaced. “He challenges authority as easily as he commands Vhagar. I fear—”

“Fear what? That he will dethrone you?” Visenya leaned forward, her emerald eyes piercing through the dim light. “You rule as king of Westeros, and he bears no crown.”

Aegon stepped closer, his brow knitting in concern. “Yet, in his heart lies the blood of the dragon—a flame that may consume what we hold dear. Our family is at stake, Visenya; our children… they deserve stability.”

“They deserve love,” she replied, her expression hardening. “Not just the kind you give, but the kind that includes passion.” The confession hung in the air like an unspoken vow, opening a chasm between them.

Aegon stiffened. “You love him, then?”

Visenya’s gaze fell to the floor. “Love is a flame, Aegon. It can warm the spirit or burn down all that you hold dear.”

Time passed slowly within Dragonstone as familial ties began to unravel. Aegon’s jealousy morphed into a simmering resentment, while intrigue danced around Visenya’s heart like a delicate waltz.

Meanwhile, Aemond Targaryen, an embodiment of youthful ambition, found solace in the open skies, where his dragon, Vhagar, soared. He had always admired Visenya’s caring nature and what she brought to the family. Their secret meetings kindled something deep and forbidden, and as days turned into weeks, their connection intertwined with destiny.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months, shadows gathering around the Targaryens as they prepared for the inevitable clash between Rhaenyra's supporters and the impending forces that rose against her claim. Then came a day that would change…

—----------------------------------------------------------

The sun crested the horizon, shrouded in a soft blushing hue, contrasting the stormy clouds that loomed ominously nearby. Aemond rode Vhagar, chasing shadows and draconic dreams, unaware of the imminent collision path with tragedy.

“Lucerys!” Visenya’s brother, Lucerys Velaryon, tore through the skies riding his dragon, Arrax, defiance resonating through every flap of his wings. He was young, fierce, and willing to protect his mother’s legacy.

They met mid-air, the whispers of the firmament charged with the feud brewing below.

“What brings a Velaryon to confront a Targaryen?” Aemond bellowed, a fierce grin etched across his face. The thrill of battle had summoned him; perhaps Fate would grant him the victory he craved.

“I will not yield to you or your brother, I stand here in honour of the Queen, Rhaenyra!” Lucerys shouted back. Behind him, the storm swelled, becoming a tempest to mirror their raging emotions.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time, my dear strong nephew.” Aemond spoke with his teasing nature, his eyepatch now removed with his sapphire eye shining in the moonlight of Storms End.

The two young dragons immediately headed for their fierce beasts, Vhagar and Arrax. With a fierce roar, Vhagar took flight, challenging Arrax with a display of power. Fire spewed forth as the dragons collided, the sky igniting around them.

“Enough Nephew!” Aemond cried out in their mother tongue, but exhilaration coursed through him and the storm clouds raged amongst him, losing sight of Luke for that moment. Cloud and fire danced in chaotic beauty as dragons unleashed their fury upon one another.

Lucerys, desperate, urged Arrax higher, staying vigilantly aware of his surroundings. “This is between us, Aemond! Fight like a man, not a beast!”

“A man?” Aemond mocked, fire swirling beneath him. “I choose the beast. Will you embrace your fate?”

The moment hung in the air, heavy with unfulfilled promises, desires unvoiced, and a storm of blood in the making. Suddenly, Aemond lunged forward, Vhagar's jaws seeking victory. Arrax couldn't evade; flames engulfed the sky, and with a chilling cry, Lucerys plummeted, joining the chaos below.

—------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing the news of her sweet, young brother’s death, Visenya’s world shattered. She could not escape the curtain call of sorrow nor the memories shared—the teasing laughter around a hearth now replaced with the chilling howl of anguish.

“Aemond, how could you?” she cried, her heart torn between love and despair as she confronted him.

He stood before her, fury and regret clashing within his gaze. “I did not seek this! The bloodlust of dragons consumed all”—his hands balled into fists—“he attacked me. You must understand.”

“I don’t wish to understand!” she shot back, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You have taken my brother. Do you know what you’ve ignited?”

“I have ignited nothing but truth, Visenya!” Aemond retorted, the air crackling between them. “We are Targaryens; we are destined for fire and blood!”

“Fire and blood,” she repeated, a bitter taste rising to her tongue. “You didn’t even see the flames consume his soul. Will it be my children next? I cannot let this continue.”

“Inaction will be their doom, just as Lucerys’s defiance led to his downfall.” Aemond stepped closer, anguish straining against the mask of confidence he wore.

Visenya turned away, lost within the storm surging in her heart. Death birthed a cycle; she would either embrace it or be consumed by it.

As she stood at the precipice of war, Visenya felt the first stirrings of the Dance of Dragons begin, a catastrophe whose burning embers loomed ominously above, threatening to set her world ablaze.

What was once filled with love now echoed with battle cries, and the dance had begun, fueled by loyalty, passion, and heartache—a cycle that would devour them all.

(A/N) Let me know if I should do a part 2.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond Targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #visenya targaryen #aegon Targaryen x reader x aemond Targaryen

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leletha-jann · 22 days ago

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This might not be an original observation, but I'm looking at Agatha's inner circle - her immediate family - and you know what all of them have in common?

Every single one of them has been so, so lonely.

Agatha, who grew up knowing she was broken, that she was fundamentally wrong in the very core of herself. And everyone else knew it too, and she was a pariah and an object of pity because of it. That she had been left behind like a burden, something useless, and been forgotten.

Krosp, who was a fugitive under a death sentence for being a "failed experiment". The King of All Cats - and the cats didn't care. Who had no one he could talk to or ask to care about him, no one he could trust without risking execution just for existing, and nowhere to go.

Gil, who thought he was no one, that no one wanted him - and who traded the first person who chose him for a name and a Spark that he then wasn't even allowed to have. That he had to keep lying to everyone about. Who wasn't allowed to be fully himself with anyone, ever. (And look at Agatha as she slides in and out of fugue state font, a difference people can hear, and think about how much control Gil had to exert, every single moment.)

Zeetha, who was a castaway in a place that didn't even believe her home existed, who couldn't prove anything except that she existed, and who was coming to believe that maybe she had made it all up. That she wasn't a warrior princess and a beloved daughter, and never had been. Just a stray with a story she'd made up, and all her legacy and skill good for little more than stage clowning.

Tarvek, who had no one he could trust, ever; who was trapped with a serial killer and a monster, lying for his life with every breath, with no way to escape a conspiracy that would spend him as a pawn or a corpse or breeding stock without a second thought, and call that family.

Violetta, who no one believed in, who was overlooked and dismissed and sent away; Tarvek counts her as the one person he did manage to protect, but Violetta knew that she'd been set aside and abandoned. Violetta doesn't even want Violetta, because what good has she ever been to anyone? Who's ever wanted her?

So goddamned lonely, every one of them.

...so yeah, I really enjoy watching Gil and Tarvek being referred to as Agatha's, as belonging to her, and watching them be content and confident in that.

But also seeing Zeetha find her joy and home and family in her exile, and Violetta flourish and be valued and happy (and tell the so-called family she's left behind to go to hell), and Krosp become a respected power in the world in his own right.

And Agatha, the last of the Heterodynes, surrounded by the family she's brought together.

#girl genius #character dynamics #i have feelings about everyone #loneliness #agatha heterodyne #tarvek sturmvoraus #gilgamesh wulfenbach #violetta mondarev #krosp i king of cats #zeetha #look at this common thread they all share

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mariacallous · 4 months ago

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Lame-duck periods are meant to be inconsequential, but on Thursday afternoon at the White House, U.S. President Joe Biden got a chance to present one of the most important breakthroughs of his time in office. In what was the largest U.S.-Russia prisoner swap since the Cold War, involving at least seven countries over a period of months, a total of 24 people moved across borders as pawns in a game of global 3D chess.

Eight Russians are returning home in exchange for a combination of 16 Americans, Germans, and Russians. Within an hour of confirmation that U.S. prisoners were safely out of Russia, Biden assembled family members of the freed Americans at the White House and addressed a gathering of journalists. As he looked into the cameras, he no doubt knew that he was being closely watched by his counterparts in Beijing and Moscow, by millions of people around the world, and by history.

Even in his moment of triumph, Biden found a way to focus on the human reality of the moment. He singled out Miriam, the daughter of the released Russian American journalist Alsu Kurmasheva. It was one day until her 13th birthday, and Biden put an arm around Miriam, leading a chorus of the world’s most popular song. The joy was obviously precipitated by a major international development, but it was also the day a teenage girl would see her mother again after more than nine months in prison, convicted for the crime of writing about Russia’s army.

There’s a long list of prominent names involved in Thursday’s prisoner swap, including Evan Gershkovich, the Wall Street Journal reporter sentenced to 16 years in prison under false claims of conducting espionage, and Paul Whelan, a former U.S. Marine who was in Russia for a friend’s wedding and accused, again, of espionage. There were German citizens and even Russians, including Oleg Orlov, a human rights defender and co-chair of the Nobel Peace Prize-winning group Memorial, in prison for speaking his mind about his country’s war in Ukraine.

Journalists, tourists, and activists went one way in the prisoner exchange; on the other side was Vadim Krasikov, a former colonel in Russia’s Federal Security Service serving a life sentence in a German prison for a hit on a former Chechen fighter, conducted in broad daylight in Berlin. Others included a Russian citizen involved in international money laundering, a hacker, a credit card fraudster, and an actual spy.

The historic exchange instantly evokes imagery from the Cold War, when such transfers of prisoners were more common. But rather than the historical parallels, it is the contrasts drawn by Thursday’s events that will be remembered. There was Washington, fighting for the freedom of not only its own citizens but also Russians who dared to criticize their own government, and in stark relief there was Moscow, openly trading journalists for criminals and Nobel winners for fraudsters. The Kremlin has gleefully applauded knocks to U.S. soft power, from the misadventure of the Iraq War to the botched U.S. departure from Afghanistan in 2021, but the symbolism of the moment will have not been lost on Russian President Vladimir Putin: This exchange isn’t a great look for him. And even though Biden’s claims of a grand battle between democracies and autocracies are often criticized for being too black and white for the modern multipolar world, the lame-duck president now has a moment to mark his favorite reference in the history books.

It’s an election year in the United States, so contrasts will also be drawn around the alternate visions of Washington’s role in the world—currently being debated by surrogates for the Democratic and Republican campaigns. Former U.S. President Donald Trump has long argued for a more transactional approach to geopolitics. In such a world, there are two players—one is a winner, the other a loser. The Trump worldview prioritizes singular might over alliances; values don’t matter as much as the value of the hand of cards a player is clutching to their chest. Biden, while careful to focus on the humanity and history of the moment, couldn’t resist pointing out the difference: “For anyone who questions whether allies matter, they do.” He was referring in particular to the role of Germany, which had reportedly been reluctant to give up Krasikov. Biden personally spoke with German Chancellor Olaf Scholz in January and February, arguing the importance of the prisoner exchange.

Speaking a short while later to reporters, U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan built on his boss’s message as he detailed the roles played by Germany, Turkey, and others in the prisoner swap. “There is no more powerful example of the importance and power of allies,” he said. “This was vintage Joe Biden.”

Supporters of presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris are also pointing out her role, visiting the Munich Security Conference a few times as vice president and building relations with German and European leaders.

Sen. J.D. Vance, the Republican vice presidential nominee, was quick to offer an alternative view: “We have to ask ourselves, why are they coming home? And I think it’s because bad guys all over the world recognize Donald Trump’s about to be back in office, so they’re cleaning house. That’s a good thing.”

And so the race for the White House rolls on, with both sides seeking to score points and spin their version of events. Thursday will be a historic study in contrasts—between Washington and Moscow and between rules and impunity. It will also be a moment that could play a part in an American referendum on Washington’s role in the world and whether the electorate favors the slow, painstaking diplomacy of Biden or the instant gratification and drama of Trump’s dealmaking.

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mmavverickk · 1 year ago

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does anyone else think that Percy and Annabeth really wouldn't want to have kids?

Percy is already starting to fear himself and what he's capable of. in the battle of Manhattan, in Tartarus, he learned so much about his power. he can make storms, small and powerful and strong enough to hurt a titan. he can control poison, something not remotely related to his father's domain. he tortured a goddess, wanted so badly to kill her, just so she'd know how miserable he felt, and only stopped because Annabeth begged. he didn't want to stop when she asked; no, she had to beg him to let her go, and even then he was reluctant.

pair that—all of his internal conflict and his fear and power and potential for both good and evil, his desire to throw morals out the window and just let go for once—pair all of that with his experience with Gabe? he's probably already terrified of hurting little campers, and to bring even more of that stress into his home? i don't think he'd do it.

Annabeth always felt second best. first, her father preferred his research to her, then his new wife and step-sons. her whole mortal family was neglectful and hurtful. and when she finally got what she felt was a real family? Thalia died, and Luke withdrew, then betrayed her. she's convinced she wouldn't be a neglectful mother, she's convinced she'd be more like Sally than Athena or her step-mother, but prideful, perfectionist Annabeth Chase has no way of knowing. that uncertainty would eat at her.

and the both of them are powerful demigods. Percy, the son of Poseidon, powerful enough that Olympus fears him and his abilities. Annabeth, Athena's favored daughter, best strategist at Camp. they will be hunted for their whole lives. gods and monsters and the fates will never leave them alone. the world is a dangerous, cruel place, and if they did have children? non-mortal, legacy children? those kids would be involved. they would be hunted, too. they could be sent on deadly quests, and used as pawns, or killed in terrible, bloody ways.

why would they subject a child to that?

#mav.txt #pessimistic view on kid fic tropes #i just can't see it fam #percy jackson #percy jackson headcanon #pjo #heroes of olympus #annabeth chase #powerful percy jackson

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book--brackets · 4 months ago

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Simon Snow by Rainbow Rowell (2015-2021)

Simon Snow is the worst chosen one who’s ever been chosen.

That’s what his roommate, Baz, says. And Baz might be evil and a vampire and a complete git, but he’s probably right.

Half the time, Simon can’t even make his wand work, and the other half, he sets something on fire. His mentor’s avoiding him, his girlfriend broke up with him, and there’s a magic-eating monster running around wearing Simon’s face. Baz would be having a field day with all this, if he were here—it’s their last year at the Watford School of Magicks, and Simon’s infuriating nemesis didn’t even bother to show up.

Carry On is a ghost story, a love story, a mystery and a melodrama. It has just as much kissing and talking as you’d expect from a Rainbow Rowell story—but far, far more monsters.

Gentleman Bastard by Scott Lynch (2006-present)

An orphan's life is harsh — and often short — in the island city of Camorr, built on the ruins of a mysterious alien race. But born with a quick wit and a gift for thieving, Locke Lamora has dodged both death and slavery, only to fall into the hands of an eyeless priest known as Chains — a man who is neither blind nor a priest.

A con artist of extraordinary talent, Chains passes his skills on to his carefully selected "family" of orphans — a group known as the Gentlemen Bastards. Under his tutelage, Locke grows to lead the Bastards, delightedly pulling off one outrageous confidence game after another. Soon he is infamous as the Thorn of Camorr, and no wealthy noble is safe from his sting.

Passing themselves off as petty thieves, the brilliant Locke and his tightly knit band of light-fingered brothers have fooled even the criminal underworld's most feared ruler, Capa Barsavi. But there is someone in the shadows more powerful — and more ambitious — than Locke has yet imagined.

Known as the Gray King, he is slowly killing Capa Barsavi's most trusted men — and using Locke as a pawn in his plot to take control of Camorr's underworld. With a bloody coup under way threatening to destroy everyone and everything that holds meaning in his mercenary life, Locke vows to beat the Gray King at his own brutal game — or die trying...

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke (2020)

Piranesi's house is no ordinary building: its rooms are infinite, its corridors endless, its walls are lined with thousands upon thousands of statues, each one different from all the others. Within the labyrinth of halls an ocean is imprisoned; waves thunder up staircases, rooms are flooded in an instant. But Piranesi is not afraid; he understands the tides as he understands the pattern of the labyrinth itself. He lives to explore the house.

There is one other person in the house--a man called The Other, who visits Piranesi twice a week and asks for help with research into A Great and Secret Knowledge. But as Piranesi explores, evidence emerges of another person, and a terrible truth begins to unravel, revealing a world beyond the one Piranesi has always known.

The Broken Earth Trilogy by N. K. Jemisin (2015-2017)

This is the way the world ends. . .for the last time.

It starts with the great red rift across the heart of the world's sole continent, spewing ash that blots out the sun. It starts with death, with a murdered son and a missing daughter. It starts with betrayal, and long dormant wounds rising up to fester.

This is the Stillness, a land long familiar with catastrophe, where the power of the earth is wielded as a weapon. And where there is no mercy.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (2011)

Conor has the same dream every night, ever since his mother first fell ill, ever since she started the treatments that don't quite seem to be working. But tonight is different. Tonight, when he wakes, there's a visitor at his window. It's ancient, elemental, a force of nature. And it wants the most dangerous thing of all from Conor. It wants the truth.

Patrick Ness takes the final idea of the late, award-winning writer Siobhan Dowd and weaves an extraordinary and heartbreaking tale of mischief, healing and above all, the courage it takes to survive.

The Sandman by Neil Gaiman (1990-2003)

In PRELUDES & NOCTURNES, an occultist attempting to capture Death to bargain for eternal life traps her younger brother Dream instead. After his 70 year imprisonment and eventual escape, Dream, also known as Morpheus, goes on a quest for his lost objects of power. On his arduous journey Morpheus encounters Lucifer, John Constantine, and an all-powerful madman.

The Poppy War by R. F. Kuang (2018-2020)

When Rin aced the Keju—the Empire-wide test to find the most talented youth to learn at the Academies—it was a shock to everyone: to the test officials, who couldn’t believe a war orphan from Rooster Province could pass without cheating; to Rin’s guardians, who believed they’d finally be able to marry her off and further their criminal enterprise; and to Rin herself, who realized she was finally free of the servitude and despair that had made up her daily existence. That she got into Sinegard—the most elite military school in Nikan—was even more surprising.

But surprises aren’t always good.

Because being a dark-skinned peasant girl from the south is not an easy thing at Sinegard. Targeted from the outset by rival classmates for her color, poverty, and gender, Rin discovers she possesses a lethal, unearthly power—an aptitude for the nearly-mythical art of shamanism. Exploring the depths of her gift with the help of a seemingly insane teacher and psychoactive substances, Rin learns that gods long thought dead are very much alive—and that mastering control over those powers could mean more than just surviving school.

For while the Nikara Empire is at peace, the Federation of Mugen still lurks across a narrow sea. The militarily advanced Federation occupied Nikan for decades after the First Poppy War, and only barely lost the continent in the Second. And while most of the people are complacent to go about their lives, a few are aware that a Third Poppy War is just a spark away . . .

Rin’s shamanic powers may be the only way to save her people. But as she finds out more about the god that has chosen her, the vengeful Phoenix, she fears that winning the war may cost her humanity . . . and that it may already be too late.

Villains by V. E. Schwab (2013-present)

Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same sharpness and ambition in each other. In their senior year, a shared research interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong.

Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl whose reserved nature obscures a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the archnemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end?

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (2015)

Agnieszka loves her valley home, her quiet village, the forests and the bright shining river. But the corrupted Wood stands on the border, full of malevolent power, and its shadow lies over her life.

Her people rely on the cold, driven wizard known only as the Dragon to keep its powers at bay. But he demands a terrible price for his help: one young woman handed over to serve him for ten years, a fate almost as terrible as falling to the Wood.

The next choosing is fast approaching, and Agnieszka is afraid. She knows—everyone knows—that the Dragon will take Kasia: beautiful, graceful, brave Kasia, all the things Agnieszka isn’t, and her dearest friend in the world. And there is no way to save her.

But Agnieszka fears the wrong things. For when the Dragon comes, it is not Kasia he will choose.

Legacy of Orisha by Tomi Adeyemi (2018-2024)

They killed my mother. They took our magic. They tried to bury us. Now we rise. Zélie Adebola remembers when the soil of Orïsha hummed with magic. Burners ignited flames, Tiders beckoned waves, and Zélie's Reaper mother summoned forth souls. But everything changed the night magic disappeared. Under the orders of a ruthless king, maji were killed, leaving Zélie without a mother and her people without hope. Now Zélie has one chance to bring back magic and strike against the monarchy. With the help of a rogue princess, Zélie must outwit and outrun the crown prince, who is hell-bent on eradicating magic for good. Danger lurks in Orïsha, where snow leoponaires prowl and vengeful spirits wait in the waters. Yet the greatest danger may be Zélie herself as she struggles to control her powers -and her growing feelings for an enemy.

#best fantasy book #poll #simon snow #gentleman bastards #piranesi #the broken earth #a monster calls #the sandman #the poppy war #villains #uprooted #legacy of orisha

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orion-nottson · 1 year ago

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tfa megatron: he will return glory to the decepticons. for too long his people have been oppressed and silenced by the autobot authority. the great war was a travesty against him, his ancestors, and decepticons far and wide. he will command a great and powerful army, will carry on his legacy for generations to follow. things were better in the old days, when those autobots were kept tempered and contained. their beliefs were a threat to the sanctity of cybertron and look what's followed in their wake: strife, turbulence, unrest, war. this would not have happened when absolute power and control reigned supreme. not under the decepticon lords of old. he will graciously be that authority. he will command with divine humility and righteous fortitude. it is his bloodright. his destiny. he is legion. this is his sword. bow.

tfp megatron: he was a gladiator THIS IS YOUR MAKING PRIME some pawn trapped in violent entertainment by those who mocked and paid for him to fight more LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME no agency, no autonomy, no self-determination LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE not anymore. not ever again LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE he rose up and took his power back from them LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE he took more too, took what he deserved, carved out from the downtrodden an army I WAS NOT NOT MADE TO BE THIS WAY he is a leader YOU DID THIS TO ME he is a lord ALL THIS RAGE IS MINE ALL THIS HATE IS MINE his downfall began without his knowledge, snuck up on him before he was created I AM ALL ENDINGS ALL BEGINNINGS ETERNAL FIRE CONSUME DESTROY CONQUER the dark energon was a mistake.

bayverse megatron: he's already reconciled with the idea of destroying yet another world, so he knows he's cruel. he is unapologetic. he isn't bothered by playing the role of monster anymore. knows he's a tyrant. knows he's a warlord. will play those roles too. earth is the unmaker's form incarnate, and all the pitiful organic life upon it is the spawn of the dark god, manifestations of unicron's infection and evil. he is doing the universe a favor. why should he feel remorse? it isn't true life he's taking, only eliminating a cancer. prime won't see this. prime is blinded by weakness and naïveté. his brother has always been this way. he isn't. he's seen the truth. he'll do it gladly. no one will stand in his way. not the humans, not the autobots, not even optimus... oh. seems prime is finally opening his optics.

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp megatron #transformers animated #tfa megatron #transformers bayverse #bayverse megatron #megatron #bayverse

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empress-simps · 6 months ago

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Self-Destruct [One]

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Reader, Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Y/n Holstein tends to self-sabotage when something good happens, such as James Potter who came into her dark and dreary world like a ray of sunshine that she never knew she needed.

CW: Family pressure and hints of abuse by Walburga (3.1k words)

Note: The ending is cute guys don't worry! Welcome to the first chapter, enjoy!🫶🏻

The Burden of a Legacy

It was always like this.

You felt like your feet were planted to the ground; hearing your mother’s thundering voice inside your father’s study was the glue that kept you in your place as you stood outside the seemingly enormous dark oak door that separates you from them.

“Must I tell you again and again to be careful with your words, Ludwig?”

Callista thundered, her dark green dress swaying as she marched up in front of him.

Ludwig looked up from the documents he’s currently reading, his cold and emotionless gaze is a stark contrast to his wife’s fiery glare.

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he replied, “You spoil her— coddling her too much. You give in to her every whim, which made her soft.”

You bit your lip, your stare almost burning a hole in the door. Feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in your eyes, you tried to hold it in. After all you’ve done to prove yourself— to please him, it still wasn’t enough?

“She is just a child!” Callista scoffed, “Are you hearing yourself? That is your child-“she was interrupted by Ludwig.

“That is precisely why I do this for her, my love. It’s for her own good.” his eyes turned steely, “I am simply preparing her.”

“For what?! What is it that you must prepare her for just to excuse your behavior towards your own child?!” she yelled exasperatedly.

Ludwig paid no mind to his wife’s antics; he calmly sets his cigarette down the ash tray; the billowing smoke fills the air with a faint hint of tobacco.

“It may seem simple in your eyes, my love.” He starts, clearing his desk before clasping his hands together, “It is much more than her attending Hogwarts to have fun, make friends, or study— She’s already far off compared to her peers; Our child is gifted, destined for greatness.”

He nods to himself, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “She is there to make connections— form new alliances.”

"She is just a child, yet you burden her with expectations that would weigh heavily on the shoulders of even the most seasoned wizard!" Callista cried out, her voice a mixture of despair and fury.

"You see her as an extension of us, an extension of the family legacy! Like she is a mere pawn in the chessboard of wizarding politics, but she is more than that, Ludwig. Y/n is more than just the heir of our house."

Ludwig stood, his height towering over Callista. “Yes, she is more, and that is why she must be strong. Our world is not kind to the weak, nor does it spare the naive. She must be ready to stand against the tides that would seek to sweep her away.”

Callista's eyes softened, "At what cost? Must our daughter grow up before her time, robbed of the joys that she should experience?" She saw how Ludwig falter, a rare glimpse of conflict was plastered on his face for a split second before turning impassive, yet again.

“The cost is high, indeed. But the cost of failure, of weakness, is far greater. She must not only survive; she must thrive. She must lead.”

The room fell silent, the tension hanging thick as the smoke from Ludwig’s cigarette. Callista knew her husband’s resolve was unyielding, but she also knew the love he has for their daughter. It was a love entangled in fear and hope, he wants their daughter to surpass him, to surpass everyone else.

In that silence, they both understood the burden that was placed upon their child, the only heir of their house. A burden of greatness, of expectations, and of a legacy that must be upheld. The path would be difficult, but it was the path they had chosen for her, and one day, she would have to walk it alone.

Dearest Sirius,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have already received my Hogwarts acceptance letter, I am assuming you also did, so congratulations. However, I still need to purchase a wand and other necessities, would you like to accompany me? Mother is also coming with us if you do wish to join.

I will be waiting for your reply.

Your friend,

Y/n Holstein

You set the parchment down and let it dry for a minute before folding it and have your family owl send it to 12 Grimmauld Place. Not long after, the owl came and was perched in your window, tapping the glass with its beak as a letter was tied to his foot.

“Oh, that’s quick…” You quickly untied the letter and gave the owl a treat and some pets before it flew away. Sitting at the foot of your bed, you ripped the wax seal open and read Sirius’ elegant handwriting— not that you would admit it, of course. His ego is higher than the Eiffel tower, it’s immeasurable.

My beautiful bride,

You are already aware how it is for me here, so why bother asking? Of course I would love to go with you! I have already informed mother and she surprisingly agreed, we will be there in the morning. Mother will accompany me through the Floo network to your manor. I cannot wait!

Your oh-so-loving future husband,

Sirius Orion Black

Your face scrunches in annoyance at the nickname; Sirius isn’t wrong though; you actually are betrothed to the Heir of the house of Black. Once both of you reach the mature age of seventeen, you are to be married to each other.

Carefully setting the letter down, you exited your room and searched for your mother in the vast gardens of your estate.

After a couple minutes of searching, you sighed. “Cinder?” Calling out, you heard a pop in front of you almost immediately.

“Young mistress?”

“Where is my mother, Cinder? I have to speak to her.”

“Mistress Holstein is in the gazebo.” Cinder replied, you hummed, “Alright. Thank you, Cinder.”

Just like that, the house elf nodded and disappeared with a pop.

You started to walk towards the gazebo, reaching it in under five minutes. As you neared, you noticed she wasn’t alone, she was conversing with Druella Black, Sirius’ aunt.

“My darling girl, care to join us for tea?” Your mother asks, greeting you with a smile. Smiling back, you replied, “It’s alright, mother. Good day, Mrs. Black.” Druella offered you a polite smile.

“Good day to you too, miss Holstein.”

Callista sets down her teacup down the table, placing her elegant perfectly in her lap as she raised an eyebrow at you, “Now now, it’s unlike you to join your poor mother for teatime. What seems to be the problem, my dear?”

You try to hide the blush on your face as you heard Druella chuckle quietly, “I just wanted to let you know that Sirius will come with us tomorrow.” Callista smiled, clapping her hands together. “That’s wonderful!”

“Going on a little date, perhaps?” Druella grinned, looking at you as she sipped her tea. Your cheeks turned a shade brighter, “We will shop for school requirements tomorrow, I don’t think dates will happen anytime soon.” Callista chuckled.

“You never know, they will be attending Hogwarts soon.”

“I’m sure that young Sirius is a refined gentleman, Walburga teaches her sons well.”

The air became heavy as Druella tried to hide her pursed lips, “Yes, she does.” she uttered before taking a long sip, which went unnoticed by your mother.

"Sirius." Walburga's voice thundered, going down the staircase with Regulus behind her.

Sirius' smile was wiped from his face as he stood up from the couch to greet his mother, his hair combed neatly to the side, and not a single speck of dust in his clothes.

"Mother." Sirius greeted, Walburga walked towards him with an unreadable expression before kneeling down his height and digging her fingers into his shoulders.

"You listen to me well, Sirius." She warned Sirius. He tried his absolute best not to whimper since he knows that the punishment will be worse. "If I ever heard you misbehave or do something that can tarnish the family name— you know what entails."

Regulus looked at his brother worriedly, twiddling his thumbs. He truly wanted to protect his brother, to stand between him and their mother but Sirius told him to not get in the way under any circumstances. Sirius cannot risk his brother being hurt by anyone— they need to get through him first.

Walburga didn’t wait for her son’s reply before practically pulling him beside her and flooing to the Holstein manor. Regulus looked, a small twinge of jealousy as they disappeared, wishing he could also escape this suffocating household for just a short while.

Callista chuckles, shaking her head lovingly as you practically looked at the fireplace of your manor every ten seconds.

“My my, is someone impatient?” She nears, making you widen your eyes and stiffen your body. Ah, caught red handed, weren’t you?

“I am simply just waiting for Lady Black and Sirius to arrive, mother.”

She gave you a knowing smile, “Hm is that so?”

“Yes, mother.” The blush on your face says otherwise, but your mother decided not to tease you any longer as the fireplace roared to reveal Walburga Black holding Sirius who looked excited.

You nearly jumped out of your seat, rushing over as Callista follows you behind, hiding a smile directed at you and Sirius as she greets Walburga.

“Lady Black, it is such a pleasure for you to allow Sirius to come with us.” You saw your mother offer a polite smile to the pale and beautiful woman in front of her.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Holstein. After all, our children will wed when they come of age, so it is ideal for him to spend time with his future wife.” Walburga hummed, turning to look at her child. “Isn’t that right, my darling?”

Sirius could only nod as his blush overtook his features, it took him a few seconds to actually utter out a response. “Yes, mother. Good morning, Lady Holstein.” He bowed in greeting, his stance is perfect, and his movements were fluid. He is one of the picture-perfect pureblood heirs in the wizarding world after all.

Callista smiles and greets him back, you took it as a sign to greet his mother too. “Good morning, Lady Black. Thank you for letting Sirius accompany me.” You curtsied.

Walburga hummed approvingly, observing you. “Good morning to you too, miss Holstein. Very well, I’m afraid I must go, Lady Holstein. My younger son, Regulus, might be looking for me.”

You didn’t miss the grimace Sirius did, Callista chuckled, oblivious to his reaction. “Ah, of course! I wouldn’t want to keep your child waiting.” Walburga smiles politely, shooting a discreet look in Sirius’ direction before walking towards the fireplace, the roaring flames engulfed her form and transport her back to their home.

“Look! Aren’t those the Holstein’s and Black’s heirs?” Someone gasped.

“Merlin, so it’s true then? They’ve arranged a marriage between those kids…”

“They’re powerful enough, why do they even need to marry each other?”

“You know how the Blacks are… and the Holsteins always wants the best.”

“Look how they’re holding hands! Quite rare to find young love in those pure bloods, eh?”

Whispers surrounded you as soon as you stepped foot into the streets of Diagon Alley. You can feel their eyes follow the three of you while walking beside your mother and Sirius. “Do not mind them, children.” Callista took yours and Sirius’ hands as you entered the first shop that marks the start of your shopping trip; Ollivanders.

The bell above the door of Ollivanders tinkles as you step inside. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood and magic. Your mother, sensing your nervousness, squeezed your hands in assurance.

The sound makes Mr. Ollivander stop and peer to the entrance of the shop as he was currently arranging boxes of wands. He widened his eyes in recognition and abandons his task at hand as he greets you and Sirius. “Ah, Ms. Holstein and Mr. Black! I must say, I’ve been waiting for you both.” He says, with a noticeable twinkle in his eyes.

You weren’t quite sure what to say, luckily, Callista conversed with the man. “Mr. Ollivander, lovely to see you.” She nods politely.

Ollivander quickly goes to his shelves full of wands and takes out two boxes, placing it on his desk and revealing two beautiful wands. He then gave a wand each for you and Sirius.

You gently held it in your hands, staring in wonder. The wand felt warm in your hand, seemingly tingling with magic that is waiting to be released by the right wizard. You bet Sirius’ expression’s the same as you heard him suck in a breath and admire the sleek fancy wand in his hand.

Ollivander grinned, “Well? Go on, give it a flick! You may go first, miss Holstein!” You bit your lip and flicked the wand pointing at the direction of a bookshelf. You watched it quiver, books falling down and opening, the books spewed out papers all over the place at a fast rate. It made you quickly place the wand at the table, and took a step back, near your mother and Sirius, cringing as you felt eyes on you.

Another mistake. Stupid girl, stupid Holstein.

“Oh my! Not the one apparently…” Ollivander murmured, flicking his wand to restore the bookshelf's original state. Sirius noticed your reaction and reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.

“No need to worry Miss Holstein! Happens all the time.” Ollivander shot you a kind smile before motioning Sirius to do the same. If you weren't so embarrassed, you would've let out a chuckle as Sirius sets the same bookshelf on fire. Merlin, the damn shelf must've been so traumatized already.

Ollivander hummed, flicking his wand as he willed the fire to disappear. "Hm, definitely not." He grabbed both wands and went to the back of his shop, mumbling to himself and picking out a few boxes for you and Sirius to try out.

After a few unsuccessful attempts from you and Sirius, (nearly blasted the windows of the shop and made one shelf collapse) you were finally presented with your wands— at least, what you'd like to think, you can't handle another embarrassing accident happening inside the shop. Just what will your father think?

"This might just be the one," Ollivander took out a wand from its box and placed it to your unsure and hesitant palms.

"Eleven inches, holly with a phoenix feather core. Quite a powerful one, if you ask me. Picky too, been sitting in my shop for a long time." He nods thoughtfully, mumbling as he studied you and the wand.

You gulped inaudibly, great— another chance for embarrassment.

Although, it wasn't like the previous wands you've tried. This feels... light? It also molds into your hand, as if it was exclusively made for you, strange.

You gave it a flick, expecting something to get destroyed, but you were pleasantly shocked as it illuminated a glow. Ollivander smiled in approval and Callista lets out a soft gasp.

"It seems that you were the witch the wand was waiting for all along." You felt immense pride as you admired the wand in all its beauty.

Sirius then tried his next, a sleek ebony wand. instead of it glowing, a sudden gust of wind out of nowhere suddenly danced around him, messing up some lf his wavy locks in the process.

"A match as well." Ollivander hums approvingly. Grinning, he takes the wands and proceeds to pack it.

"Fourteen galleons for the two wands." Ollivander smiled, Callista then proceeded to give the money before getting the wands and leaving the shop with you and Sirius in tow.

"Where to next, mother?" You asked, walking alongside her and trying to match her pace as you three navigated the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.

"Flourish and Blotts, my dears. You both have your lists, correct?" Callista asked as they neared the famous bookshop. Sirius replied, "I have them memorized, Lady Holstein."

Callista grins at him, patting his head. "Even better." You huffed, looking at Sirius who grinned at you teasingly. "Show off."

Upon entering, you were greeted with shelves upon shelves of parchment, quills, and spell books one might need in their education at Hogwarts. Sirius picked up a book titled “The Standard Book of Spells” while you grabbed “A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.”

“Excited?” Sirius asks, his gray eyes locking onto yours. His cheeks flush, and you wonder if he’s thinking about more than just textbooks. "You can say that."

After successfully shopping for books, you all agreed to have lunch as it was already afternoon. Callista turned towards both of you, "Where would you like to eat, my dearests?"

You hummed, deep in thought as Sirius shuffled around a bit awkwardly. "Erm, mother don't usually let us eat outside our home, Lady Holstein." Callista raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Is that so?" She turned to look at you, it seems like you can't pick. "Well, how about I choose for today? Will that be alright?"

You both agreed, as you both followed Callista, you felt a random kid almost knock you over, luckily, Sirius was there to prevent you from an embarrassing fall. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you!" The boy apologized, picking up his fallen glasses beside your feet as you stared him down. It seemed like he's around your age and most probably shopping for school supplies as well. His face isn't that familiar to you, is he perhaps a half-blood or a muggleborn? "I suggest you get your glasses checked, it's quite alarming as you already have one on and is still having difficulties figuring out if you are walking towards a person or not." You replied, quite annoyed as you dusted off your clothes.

The boy frowned as he adjusted his glasses on his face and stood on his full height. It seems like he's almost the same height as Sirius, just a bit taller. "That's not nice." The urge to sneer was becoming more impossible to control. "Your body slamming into me isn't all that pleasant too."

Sirius frowned, looking at the two of you. "Come on, Y/n." He pulled you away, not wanting to get into any fights. "Your mother is waiting." You finally relented, looking at the corner of your eyes as you slowly walk away to see his gaze fixed on you before his mother calls out to him, effectively breaking the eye contact shared between both of you. What a weird and quite annoying encounter, like a jinx out of nowhere.

#james potter #james potter x y/n #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #james potter x reader #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #remus lupin

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