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alavestineneas · 5 months ago

Text

Heaven

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader summary: Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing. warning: canon-typical violence, blood&cheese, hurt little comfort, loss of limbs, implied/referenced cheating, drinking, court, RELIGIOUS GUILT, sex lol word count: 8.2k

author's notes: hi lovely people! today, i present you my new creation - an Aegon fic! yay! PLEASE note that: a)YN has children in this imagine and they are important to the story. If you don't feel comfortable reading all that - do not engage with this fic. b) The Blood&Cheese does happen in this univese, so be mindful!

If all is good, am I so excited to have you here - please don't shy away from sharing your opinion, either good or bad, in the comments. Love you!

He was not used to hearing no.

It is a simple truth: of all of the words in the world, one of the most common ones escaped his mind completely, going over his head and never leaving an impact strong enough to attach meaning to it. Since he was a babe in the golden cradle, lavishing in the rich purples of the crown, the Realm opened in front of him, smiling and cooing in his regal plump face. The best teachers, toys, and golden coins were thrown his way—the firstborn son, the long-awaited boy of House Targaryen. Soon, the endless teachers changed into endless rivers of the best wines, and wooden horses grew pairs of tits big enough to bury the temper he had grown to hold. Only gold in his pockets as he turned to yet another brothel door never changed its shape—money travelled from his hands into cups, dresses, and undergarments silently, the countless replicas of his father’s profile sparkling with the judgement of yet another of his poor choices.

Sometimes Aegon wondered what would be the breaking point for his righteous Lady Mother—when would her head finally turn to look him in the eye and mutter a swift ‘’no’’ instead of lowering her gaze and pursing her lips together at his new whim? He foolishly thought it would be the wine. Nevertheless, each time Alicent found him covered in his own dinner, dragged to the castle by some unfortunate knight, she raged and cried, but never forbade him from drinking again. Yet, the more he ate, the more he wanted.

He thought his heart a hole—the darkest, most blackest place of his soul, rotten from the day his violet eyes opened and took in the world around them. Like a tooth, white as snow upon its birth, growing spoiled from the sweet nectars the Realm had to offer. The small spot, not bigger than a needle's ear, appears first, going unnoticed. Then, it fattens and spreads its disease through the mouth until there are no teeth to chew with, leaving only a gaping void where once there was a smile. Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing.

In the name of traditions he had no reason to engage in, the only place where he had hoped to be something or become something—his chambers—were occupied by the stark reminder of his worthlessness. Heleana, his sister, his wife—the almost always silent figure, a shadow of their childhood. It pained him to watch her close her eyes every time he entered the chambers to install the needed heir into his sister's womb. Aegon remembers her as a girl, often strange but never unkind—the image he forced himself to forget every time she undressed in front of him . The violet eyes they both shared, the silver braids covering her girlish figure—everything about House Targaryen made him ache with guilt and shame. He could not stand to look at the similar braids on his own shoulders, so he cut them off in a drunken rage, burning them in the flames of the fire. Oh, how he wished he could burn himself there instead.

None of his whores had any trace of Old Valyria. None of his whores had a trace of her, either. The one his famished, bloodied heart set the pinnacle of his desire. He could have any woman in the world, from the slaves to the highborn maidens, begging for him to spare one glance, one night, one favour from the night-made king. But it was her, the secret so shameful that even his spoiled mind could not admit it. Aegon studies the patterns in the ceiling, his body almost in pain from the aching feeling in his abdomen. The water around him moves, caressing his skin like a lover's touch. It's burning, he notes, despite being nearly wintry.

''Does your brother know you are here?''

He almost does not recognise his voice as he speaks, the words barely a whisper in the echoing chamber. It's low and darkened, leaving his mouth with a tingle of bitterness. The question comes out twisted, ridicule thrown into another naked body in his bath—it earns only a low chuckle from the woman in front of him.

''Yes, my king, I believe he does.'' Lady YN looked more entertained than embarrassed; all of the pleasantries the etiquette demanded they follow were out of the question anyway. The water hid most of her body, leaving only the head and neck for display. She was bare, the ends of her hair steaming down the ends of a bath as she lounged comfortably, completely at ease. ''The twins often share a piece of soul, my king. You must have known from your own children."

Aegon hms, his eyes leaving their place and setting on the woman instead. Coloured with wetness, her hair stuck to her forehead in the heat of the bath , starting small streams of water down her face. Striking, almost glistening eyes stared back at him. Something unreadable lay there, something not meant for him to see. Her body is one of the woman, not a girl; the marks of not one but two babes nurtured by her womb and breasts are simple in their beauty; this, Aegon thinks, ought to be the image of Mother on the walls of Sept. Lady YN, a widow to some highborn Lord he wished not to know the name of, and mother to his two children. Lady YN, a twin sister to Ser Leon Estermont. Lady YN, the mistress of the king.

''Are you just going to stare?'' The woman chuckled softly, bringing Aegon out of his reverie. "Or are you going to fuck me?''

Aegon barked a short laugh, adjusting himself to hold the weight of the woman climbing on top of him, his arms catching her hips with ease. ''Holy Seven! Where have you learned such profanities, woman? Not fuck,'' he playfully scolded, trapping her lips in a teasing kiss. ''making love, that is,'' he mumbled against her jaw.

Aegon moved slower than usual, taking his time to savour each moment. Something was enchanting in the way droplets of sparkling water clung to her skin, glistening like diamonds in the sunlight—it was as if the water itself had moulded her, leaving an indelible mark on her very being. Even now, with his headlight from wine and limbs burning for a rest, the hunger pools in his stomach, demanding more of her. YN's voice is sickening; it wraps around Aegon's dried throat and lands on his chest like a weighty stone. The hushed moans, mixed with whispers, send shivers down his spine as he rocks into her body, caught in the intoxicating web she weaves with her words. It almost pained him to pull away from her, knowing that he would never be able to resist her siren call for long.

''What are you doing?'' YN asks, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, as she places her hands on his chest, the pace of her hips never faltering.

Aegon struggles to find the words to respond, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of sensations she evokes within him. He can only manage a breathless, ''There is something I want to give you,'' before succumbing once again to her spellbinding presence. It's not an inquiry; the words leave Aegon's mouth without much thought behind them . His hand blindly travels to the small table somewhere behind his back, knocking down two goblets and a burned candle in his haste. ''Here,'' he says, pushing the cascade of hair aside to place a small golden pendant on her neck. "Oh, Gods,'' he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the pendant as it rests against her skin. "Had it made for you.''

He tried to focus on the pendant, but the sight of breasts moving before him was too much to bear. The pace she set, undeniably to torment him further, was excruciating. A few more moments, and he might finish right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to stop her or put an end to this torturous game. Aegon closed his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations that consumed him.

''Please, don't stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heartbeat. Aegon wanted to cease existing, to turn around, and to never be seen here again. Instead, he just sat in the small bath, a little too small for two people, feeling redness creep up his neck onto his cheeks. To his surprise, the heat pooling inside of him only grew as his courage slipped away with each moment. A completely pleasurable sensation took over him, spreading heat between his legs and causing his breath to quicken. Aegon's hips instinctively arched forward, craving more of her touch. The waves around him mixed with the ones of pleasure as he came, the hands roaming his body, leaving him feeling more alive than ever before.

Numb, he watched the water swirl around the YN's breasts and knees as she reached her high a few moments later, a smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him. She rinsed her body, washing away the sweat and salt, before stepping out of the water with a satisfied sigh. Aegon followed her body with hungry eyes as she stepped out of the bath and reached out for the cloth to dry herself. First, her hair, then her neck and arms; she meticulously dried every inch of her body before slipping into a blue gown, one of her hands catching and bringing to light his gift. A sun-shaped gold pendant dangled from her fingers, glinting in the fire. She traced the intricate design with her thumb, a fond smile on her face as she remembered the moment he had given it to her.

Aegon's eyes softened as he watched her. ''I intend to have you join me for the early meal on the morrow. ''

''I would be pleased to, my king.'' She pauses, a sly smile playing on her lips. ''May the night be kind to you.''

He chuckled, his own smile mirroring hers. ''And may your dreams be filled with nothing but joy.''

With a gentle nod, she excused herself from his presence, the gold pendant still clasped in her hand. Aegon sighed, not bothering to sit straight, leaning on the bath walls instead. He prayed to Seven for even a chance to close his lids this sombre night; his usual sleep was turned into a nightmare and a fever dream at once—the one that left him covered in sweat and desperate for sweet oblivion. No matter how much he pleaded, the laughing eyes of Lady YN wouldn't leave her alone. He would lay in bed until sunrise, staring into the faintly pink sky, until dawn came and the cycle of never-ending torment began again.

There were a lot of sinners in all the corners of the world; they kept on with their small affairs, akin to flies, wasting each of their numbered days on the things that carried no meaning in the great map of history. Slaves of foreign lands, smallfolk of fields and seas, servants scurrying in the shadows of their masters or draped with precious cloth figures of noblemen—life and later death—showed no interest in their whereabouts. Their existence was fleeting; their legacy was forgotten with the passing of the seasons.

YN grew tired of never-changing identities quickly; the same faces of mediocrity surrounded her, stealing the much-needed fresh air with the talk of trivial matters. Noon and night mixed in one globe in her throat, tasting of nothing but bitterness—the same flute, feast, and court affairs sun after sun. The small girl near her screeches and laughs, her little hands occupied with the dolls, as she attempts to flee from the grasp of her older brother. They seemed to be in their own world, running down one of the stone halls of the Red Keep with a speed the best stallions of the kingdoms could only dream of.

''You are cheating! I saw it; you did!''

Peter was her firstborn, a boy who is now nearing the age of a man—two and ten summers have passed since she first heard his cry echo in the cold halls of the family castle. Slender, even sickly skinny—as her late lord husband declared upon his birth, he fell sick often—she has spent countless nights near his cradle, wishing to see the day he becomes a healthy, strong young lad. To the delight of everybody, and YN as well , her prayers did not go unanswered. Peter was now skilled with a blade, his fragile figure resulting in swifter, much softer moves that left his teacher's prowess a remarkable honour of knighthood.

''I am not! I'm just faster than you!''

A smile spreads across YN's face as she looks at the little girl in her yellow dress, who now hides behind a collum. Meg was a keen, healthy babe of four summers, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored YN's own. Other than that, she looked nothing like her—all her father, the Lord husband, lost to illness. What a blessing it was to look at her daughter's face and see him. What a curse.

''Please, be civil. Remember, no hitting, no biting, and absolutely no spitting are worthy of a knight or a lady."

No talking, either, if she could convince them to listen for longer than two minutes. Having her children play with the royal heirs was Aegon’s idea; like that, she had more time on her hands, and twins could enjoy the company of someone closer to ''normal'' folk, as he had worded it. It was not something she could refuse, although she wished nothing more than to do so. The royals were a serious matter; one wrong word and your head ornates the castle walls instead of the golden banners. She did not doubt her children; they were kind-hearted, lovely people, but the notable ‘incidents’ of house Targaryen kept her awake at night, wishing her children would be brought to her with all their eyes and limbs. Leon, her brother, assured her nothing would happen— it was he who took her children to and from the Queen's chambers. He told her of great opportunities for his niece and nephew that came with being closer to the court, but it did not ease YN’s mind fully. All of her family, in one way or another, entertained the royal and noble house of the dragons—the fate most minor houses considered a blessing. Most, but not all.

Before the death of her husband and long before either of her children came into this globe, it was just two of them in their small little world—the twins of House Estermont, the heirs to the misfortunes of the Greenstone's lush greenery and endless tides of sea. She would've stayed there, on a small island enveloped by mountains and castle walls. It was Leon who wanted to make something of himself, with dreams as high as the seagulls up in the sapphire sky above their childhood bedchambers. There was not thought more ridiculous than her dear brother in the walls of the capital , and yet he left the Estermont as soon as the banners were called for young swords in the court of then-prince Aegon. Then she married, and the rest was drowned in the endless nights of tears. Sometimes, only when no one was around, YN wondered if she could've stayed forever there, in her home, without having to see the world that was often so cruel—had her brother not left her so early; had he been the lord instead of their father when she came of age?

''Mother, are you going?''

The loud voice has startled YN out of her thoughts. She smiled at her son, adjusting the skirts of her gown before nodding. ''Yes, my sweet. Let us come in; we do not want to keep the Queen waiting, do we now?''

The Queen. YN has heard many rumours in court concerning the sanity of young Queen Helaena, her preference for silence, and modest foods, but she has never seen her closer than a few yards. Standing before the large wooden door to her chambers seemed foolish—had she been any other woman, perhaps she had nothing to fear—to present her children to the royal maids and escape to the comfort of the halls once more. But she was no ordinary woman—she was a mistress to the King the Queen called brother, the one whose bed he warmed instead of hers. YN cursed her brother in her head for having ''a business'' to attend to today, of all days; even though he assured her of Queen's kind heart, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she pushed the door.

The chambers were quiet, with only the slow crackling of wood in the chimney disturbing the peace. ''My Queen, I have brought the children as you requested,'' YN announced, her voice echoing in the vast rooms. She waited for a response, but none came—only the flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

On the small cushion before the fireplace, a figure dressed in regal robes sat with her eyes on the embroidery hoop in her hands. YN takes her time studying the woman as her own children join the pair of royal heirs on the woven carpet. She sits straight, her face somewhere else. The queen has beautiful hair, YN notes to herself ; her silver locks escaped the carefully laid braids, landing right onto her cool, fair face. The woman is younger than her, perhaps by a few summers. The maids around her worked almost in silence—only sometimes it dared to be broken with a small polite exchange concerning the seams or the ornaments on their wooden hoops. There was a distance between her and them—a distance that YN could sense even from where she stood. Despite the quiet camaraderie of the ladies, the queen remained in her own world, a world that YN couldn't quite grasp.

''Lady YN,'' the Queen finally said, never moving her eyes from the dark fabric. ''Would you like to see what I have done so far?''

Something familiar sparkled inside YN's mind like an old tune long forgotten. There was a certain childish quality to her words, reminding her of the way her daughter spoke—something about the innocence and vulnerability that still lingered beneath the regal facade. The Queen spoke to her like they had been great friends like she had seen her before—perhaps in a dream or in another lifetime.

''Of course, Your Majesty.''

She moved closer, careful not to step on the countless toys and pillows scattered around on the floor. Someone, Jaehaerys or Jaehaera, whom she could not tell, squeaked and ran past her, chased by her own daughter, almost knocking YN over in their game. The Queen smiled warmly at the chaos, her eyes sparkling with amusement at them as YN sat before her on the padded chair, intended for legs. She turned the hoop of her embroidery , her delicate fingers working quickly and skillfully.

''I did it for him. A golden dragon, you see? I do not like green; it does not suit him,'' she half-whispered, her almost translucent violet eyes studying each expression on YN's face but never lingering too long.

Him. YN nods, her heart aching with understanding. She knows. Suddenly, the world feels like it is burning—or, perhaps, it is just the growing fire—and an acquainted feeling of guilt and shame travels to her throat. She swallows hard, trying to drown the discomfort in her saliva—a whore, a liar, a thief. Here, in the presence of something so fleeting, so beautiful, and so delicate, she feels the weight of her sins pressing down on her chest, threatening to consume her whole.

The colourful eyes of the Queen seemed to understand her thoughts; she smiled. ''You have a beautiful necklace.''

YN's involuntary hand reaches for the necklace hanging around her neck, feeling the weight of it in her palm. The gold sun sits there proudly, having escaped the comfort of her dress in a moment she has missed. It feels like a cruel joke and, if she will, a reminder of the audacity she possessed to steal from a queen. She felt bare for the first time in years, like a child caught by his mother in some small affair. ''Thank you, your Grace," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames.

''He likes you, my brother. He has a very strange way of showing it; you are the first person he's allowed to get this close to. The first to keep for so long, too.'' Queen Helaena pauses, her eyes softening slightly as she looks at the children before her. "They love having someone to play, you know? Always waiting for a new friend to join them in their games.'' As the firelight dances across her face, Queen Helaena's smile is bittersweet. "I am afraid I do not know what to do with them. ''

YN nods in understanding, her head turning to watch the flock of laughing children too. ''I was thirteen when I had my first. From the moment he left my womb, he screamed and cried, never finding solace in my arms. I was his mother, the person who was supposed to provide comfort, yet I could just cry with him. I did not feel the mystical tenderness the ladies told me about—I felt lost. Hollow. I thought I was missing some piece of myself that would make me love him the way I was supposed to. But he grew, and I did with him—then I realised that I had a lot of people to care for me, but he only had me. There is no ''right'' love—only the love we are capable of giving , and that was enough for him.''

The woman kept quiet, her eyes moving on the stone floor. YN wondered if her silence was a hint of disapproval or if she was simply lost in her thoughts once again. After a moment, Queen Heleana finally spoke, her voice lingering through the chambers. "Would you like to join us in the garden on the morrow? It would be a great change of scenery."

YN smiled. The relief washed over her—it didn't feel real. The same eyes, hair, and face she saw hundreds of times are once again in front of her, only changing slightly to more feminine features. The Queen does look like her brother-husband, and now YN can't help but feel a sense of comfort in her appearance. ''I would be honoured to, Your Majesty."

The days changed each other quickly; her children grew, and the court lived, growing and changing before her eyes. There was something in the air; she could feel it—an alter after Prince Aemond brought news of the passing of a Valaryon bastard. YN remembers the night—the king has drunk himself half-dead, pacing and muttering about war—the weight of the crown seemed heavier on his head that night. She knows he wishes she did not hear it, laughing at all of her worried questions on the next eve. Still, the war worried her; it brought the worst upon its coming—famine, illness, and terror. She did not fear death—the Stranger was a familiar presence in her life—but the thought of her children suffering haunted her dreams.

YN looks at the girl in her wooden bed, sleeping as peacefully as a child should. Peter sits near, on the stool beside her, his eyes shining with excitement more than fear as he listens to the reading—no matter how smart her son is, he is still too young to fully grasp the doom that warfare will bring to their doorstep; for him, the tales of glorious battles are still alive and true. As YN finishes yet another story about the conquest of three dragon warriors, the comforting silence settles in their bedchamber. Soon, the sun will fully hide behind the darkened clouds of the horizon, and the night will cast its shadows over the land.

''Are you the king's mistress?'' Peter asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The words that leave his lips are not his own. YN's heart shrinks at the sound of them—the whispering faces of the court's gossip swirling in her mind.

There it was—the question she hoped would resolve itself on its own but knew would come anyhow. It's hard, YN realises, to admit such a simple truth to the pair of wide-open eyes looking up at her as she closes the book. Did she not tell it herself after each time she spent the night in the king's chambers? '' I and King Aegon are,'' she takes a breath in. What were they? Lovers? Such a foolish, shameful thought. ''dear friends. We converse and dine together, and he takes great pleasure in hearing me play.''

She does not want to lie to her sweet boy; she knows he is perceptive and will see through any falsehood. But the weight is heavy; she will not let it crush his still boyish shoulders. Deep down, YN fears the day her son will realise the truth. Will he still wish to know her name then? He looks like a small sparrow bird, YN thinks to herself, in his brown vest and ruffled collar of the shirt —so small yet so curious. He tilts his head just like the finch would as if trying to grasp her words and find something between them. ''Do you love him?''

A sigh escapes her lips before she can think of a better answer. ''Well, let's see,'' she pauses. ''I love you, and I love little Meg, and I love your uncle Leon. I also love our beautiful rooms, my dresses, and the nice pies we get to have for supper. And all of that we have because King Aegon is good and just and values our house as one of his loyal subjects. So, in a way, yes, I do love him for that.''

Lies. Disgraceful, unworthy of a lady, a mother she is. Does she truly feel nothing when his lips caress every inch of her very being, his hands touching her soul akin to a ghost? Does she not wish the warmth of his body never had to part from her heart, staying on her neck instead, trapped in the warm, gold sun on her skin? Did she not offer him what was left of her time and time again ? Did she not think of him all the time? Was she not terrified of loving him, and did she not love him?

''I do not want you to marry him.'' Peter is determined. His hands grow fists, the slight childish jealousy painting his face. He could not know, and yet he felt it; he was her son, her blood, after all.

''Then I shall not. I will be here, helping you as you grow into a strong, handsome Lord, and then I will eat only cake and wear pretty dresses for the rest of my days. You will protect me and your sister, just like your father did before he passed, and I will be your scorny lady-mother for the time being . ''

She would. YN wished he would see it, but he was still too young, too naive, to understand the sacrifices she dedicates for him and his sister only, the chains she traps in her heart every day just for them to have a happier life. The sacrifices he did not ask for, YN reminds herself . Sacrifices she chose willingly.

Peter nods, his eyes changing back into childish, sparkling innocence, leaving the stone-cold stare and anger hanging only in his mother's memory. "That sounds perfect, my lady-mother," he says with a grin. "I will protect you and my sister with all my might, just like my father did."

''Good,'' YN smiles, planting a kiss on her son's forehead. "Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming.''

He would not, but Peter does not need to know it. Maybe he will grow up to be nothing like him, and maybe the gods will be kind enough to let her see it.

The Queen's chambers are loud as the night approaches; children, royal or not, never seemed to tyre and instead wished to play all into the night. Even the tireless maid, exhausted of their incessant energy, now quietly sat in the corner, undoubtedly anxious not to be discovered for at least a handful of moments. Tragically for her, YN did not possess this kind of power; her head seemed to soon crack into a few pieces from the noise and shuffles, her limbs burning for rest and quiet. She was tired of reading; the book, long forgotten, was shyly lying at the edge of the wooden table, covered in rich gold ornaments.

''Do you feel unwell?'' The soft voice of Queen Helaena is heard nearby. The fair face turns into a concerned expression—the Targaryen queen had always been perceptive .

YN shakes her head in a weak attempt to wave any worries away. ''Just a little tired from the long day,'' she murmurs, forcing a small smile.

''Perhaps you should rest. I will send a maid to draw you a bath and prepare your chambers for the night.'' The woman's graceful hand reaches out to gently touch YN's shoulder. ''The children can stay; they will be in good hands with the nursemaid, and then they shall return to your chambers in the morning.''

YN feels something creep in her stomach but shakes it off. Perhaps she should not have eaten that pie after all. ''Thank you, your grace,'' she says, mustering a grateful smile. She stands up to leave, feeling the weight of the day's events finally catch up to her before the Queen's voice is heard again.

''The cooter, a mother to three kings,'' she mumbles, her words causing YN to pause and turn back.

''Your grace?" It was not the first time The Queen lost herself in her thoughts; sometimes, she would whisper nonsense as they conversed—it was worrying, sure, but YN had learned to ignore it. Queen Helaena was a sweet, kind woman, but her mind was often clouded by the burdens of her crown. YN wished that one day the Queen would find peace and clarity in her own thoughts; she prayed for it, too.

''The cooter,'' the Queen gazed in her direction, directing attention to the embroidery on YN's dress.

''Yes, it is a cooter; it is a sigil of my house, your Grace, house Estermont.'' YN smiled gently, hoping to distract the Queen from her confusion. The woman's eyes lit up with recognition as she nodded in understanding, and YN breathed a sigh of relief. She can now rest.

It was not long before the screams in her dreams startled her awake—the dark, obsidian night in the window chilling her feet as she quickly sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. Although the screams never seethed; they became louder, more concerned voices of people in the halls outside her room, calling out curses and cries. YN quickly climbed out of the warm bed and rushed to the door, the cobble floors cooling beneath her bare feet as she opened it to see what was happening.

People running in and out of the long halls—maids and knights, even some noblemen in their sleepwear—seemed not to notice the strange figure of a woman in her nightgown standing in the doorway. ''What has happened?'' she asked the maid nearby before recoiling - the dirty sheets in her hands were coloured crimson.

The boy is dead, a voice told her . The boy in the royal chambers.

''Let me through,'' she demanded, pushing past the maid and rushing towards the rooms of Queen Helaena. The rooms she left her children in. She did not care; if the murderer was still in those walls, she would strangle him herself; her children, young, innocent children she left in the care of their nurse, were still there. Were still alive in her head.

The walk from her chambers to the royal ones wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The door to the chambers is wide open; splashes of blood lead inside, pooling before the opening, resembling a twisted, sick lake of horror. ''Meg? Peter?'' No response came, only eerie silence. Panic began to rise in her chest as she stepped over the threshold, her heart pounding in her ears. The screaming rings in her ears suddenly; she does not recognise her own voice as it echoes off the stone walls.

Small, lifeless limbs stare at her almost in accusation, the redness of his open neck wound stark against the pale skin —the body of young Prince Jaehaerys lays in his cradle like it often would, lacking only the silver crown of his head. The room was a scene of unfathomable horror, with blood splattered across the walls and the once innocent nursery now a monstrous sight. The scent of death surrounded her like a bloodied blanket, choking the breath in her throat and sending her head spinning.

She did not feel the male hands clutching her shoulders, pulling her away. The blue and green cloth under her feet quickly moved, the voice of her brother whispering something in her deaf shocked ears.

''Leon, children, my children,'' she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as tears streamed down her face. The realisation of what had happened in that room hit her right in the stomach, leaving a wretched kno of guts and despair. She tries to fight back, to shout over the chaos, or to push him away; she always does. It makes him just angrier, and harsher, and he tightens the grip, pushing her right into the open door of what appears to be his chambers.

''Everyone stays in their rooms until stated otherwise by the king's orders,'' he hisses, finally letting go of her.

The action is so sudden that she falls forward, hitting her nose as she slides down the stone wall. There's blood everywhere; it's mixed with tears, soaking into her hair and dripping down from her dress. Her brothers's plan worked; YN had no energy to shout anymore. Her anger is now swallowing down her dried throat. She opens and closes it like a fish out of the sea, trying to get air into her lungs—all that is left for her to watch as the wooden door snaps against its frame and the lock clicks, chaining her to the cold, dark room.

YN does not know how much time has passed or if it has passed at all ; the dark, obsidian night sky is now coloured in pinks, oranges, and purples, resembling her usual gowns more than the bright blue of the day. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze; she does not care for it. The only sound in her mind is a constant prayer, although, in her previous life, not many could accuse her of being devout. Now, YN finds herself clinging to any semblance of hope, no matter how faint, no matter where it comes from.

It's all her fault, she thinks. It is as clear as a day—the sins on her shoulders were so heavy that even Gods could not bear them anymore. She should've stayed there, in the northern castle of her lord husband, weeping over his grave like any proper widow would. Instead, she has indulged in a life of sin with violet eyes and silver locks, finding solace in the arms of another man. She let her body decide, choosing a life of bodily pleasure over honour and duty. The husband, no matter how hard it was for her to love him, was the only man who had a right to touch her soul. Touch her at all.

The door opened with a loud bang, revealing her lord husband in all his might. He was wearing those weird clothes again—something torn and dirty. It looked like he robbed some beggars near the castle before coming in, and he smelled the same.

''Come on!'' he exclaims, opening his arms as if for a hug. ''Don't be shy; we are married, remember?''

There is not much she can say; the easiest way out is to let him do what he wants. So, YN bites her cheek when his sloppy kisses travel down her neck and keeps her mouth shut when he takes off her nightgown. It's awful, almost humiliating, to hear his breath quicken. To feel him inside. She smiles when it's finally over, and he plants the last, tired kiss on her head before getting under the covers. She knows better than to disturb her husband's sleep; instead, she cries silently, mindful of staining his pillow with tears.

YN's knees are aching even through the fabric of her gown, but it does not matter. Through pain, she could feel her remorse. Feel like she was being punished for her own desires. Feel like she was clean again.

A soft knocking is heard, and YN has to snap out of her trance, gathering the tears building in her eyes with a cloth. It's a servant, one of the many she sees running down the halls this morning. ''You are awaited before the Council, milady.''

''Thank you,'' YN replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She will see to the punishment the gods have chosen for her, no matter how harsh it is. Her only wish is for her children, who are innocent in all of this, to be spared from any consequences of her actions. She straightens her posture and nods. ''Let us go then.''

The loud arguing in the rooms of Small Council seemed to fade as she appeared in the doorway, all eyes turning to her as she entered. The sun was already up, she noticed, as the soft streaks of warmth hit the room through the open windows, casting a golden hue over the polished table where the council members sat. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. YN looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, rushing around a castle that seemed to freeze at the news of a child's passing.

''Mother,'' the loud cry of her son's voice echoed, snapping YN back to reality. He came running to her, his face streaked with tears and his eyes red from crying, his hands clutching her waist as he buried his face in her stomach. YN stood there, wrapping her arms around him tightly, feeling the empty space where his right hand should have been. ''I am so sorry; I tried to save him, but the knife, they did; they cut it off, Mother, '' he sobbed.

YN's heart shattered into a million pieces as she held her son close. Her darling, brave boy lost a part of himself, but he was alive. Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all. Here, in her arms. ''It is okay; all is well; you did so well. Where is your sister?''

''She is safe; I hid her in the closet. She was so scared,'' he whispered, his voice trembling.

''Your daughter is with maids now, Lady YN.'' The voice of Sir Criston Cole echoed through the room.

YN's eyes quickly found the green dress she put on her daughter herself; she sat on the hip of some scared maid, silent. She thanked the gods; she thanked anyone and everyone, in the sky or beneath the ground, who had decided to let her children live. Occupied with her thoughts, YN does not hear the questions flying at her right away; yet, the male voice of the swordsman still cuts through the cloudiness of her mind, reaching her ears.

''We would like to ask you a few questions about what happened that night. Can you tell us why you were not in the Queen's chambers with your children?''

There is something seething inside her as her son wails and clutches her waist with his now one hand and her daughter's frozen eyes as she stares through her mother. YN stood there, before the able knights of the castle, in nothing but her nightgown, covered in her son's blood and her own tears, feeling the weight of their accusatory gazes upon her. The gods forgave her and proved her innocent, but the whispers of suspicion still lingered in the air, staining her with their accusations. Anger—that was what boiled inside her—a fiery rage that threatened to consume her from within. ''What are you implying?''

''It is suspicious, don't you think, Lady YN, for you to be the only one absent when the tragedy occurred?''

YN laughed. It did not sound like a laugh of joy but rather a bitter, cynical sound that echoed through the great hall. Perhaps that was the mark of nerves she has wasted today, perhaps the showing of her despair—the maddening, heavy feeling of despair clawing at her insides. The child was dead; others were harmed—the cold, the almost translucent figure of the young prince covered in unfathomable amounts of his own blood lingered in her mind. "How dare you, the Head of the King's Guard, be the one telling me of doubts when it was my son, my blood, that protected Prince Jaehaerys? Tell me, Ser Criston, where were you when my boy lost his hand defending the royal family?''

Ser Criston's expression darkened at the accusation; his jaw clenched tightly. "I was carrying out my duty elsewhere, as I always have," he replied evenly, his gaze wavering in the face of her anger. ''And for those who question my loyalty, there is a place in the dungeons reserved for traitors and cowards. Guards, seize Lady YN and bring her to the cells for questioning immediately."

As his words echoed through the hall, the even louder cries of her son were drowned out by the commotion as the guards moved to apprehend her. Although she feels nothing now, the contrast of cold poisoning her body where the boiling anger was just a moment before terrifying and overwhelming. YN felt numb and drained of any emotion as her son hugged her closer, despite the best efforts of the man around them. There will be bruises, she thought in a haze. When did he get so strong?

''Leave her be.'' A voice boomed from the back of the room.

King Aegon sat there on the designated stool, adorned with heads of dragons. Now, he did not look regal; he seemed sick, his violet eyes bloodshot and silver locks hanging limply around his face. The sea-sick green coloured his face as he struggled to maintain his composure. Just for a second, their eyes met, a silent understanding slipping between them. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him that was also wrong with her.

''Thank you, my king,'' she whispered, her voice barely audible. The man's expression softened slightly, with a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before he turned away, dismissing the guards. They were free to go; she was free to go, with her alive and well children, who still could scream and cry. He will stay; he had to stay with his now-forever boy.

The water hit the pier with gentle splashes, and the droplets of salt jumped on the stone legs of the dock before rejoining the vast sea. The warm shadows of the setting sun coloured the liquids in pricey gemstones: sapphire and rubies, quarts, and turquoise glistened before her eyes. There was something magical in the way the light danced, ethereal and airy, as it circled the pier—no one disturbed the peace of the tranquil sea; nobody knew the secrets it had stored since its birth.

The water was warm enough—just a little more, and the beach would embrace many swimmers in its warm hug. But, for now, she only watched as the waves gently lapped against her feet, the soothing rhythm of the sea reminding her she was still here, in her body. YN closes her eyes. It would be an easy fix— to just jump , to let the water envelop her completely, to become one with the sea. No one would know how she went, not until the same waves returned her body to the shore somewhere far from this castle. Or would the water leave her for itself, storing the secrets of her death deep beneath the sand as her soul left this world behind? YN had no chance of knowing, but the thought of disappearing into the ocean's embrace was strangely comforting. Just her and the place she called home.

The sound of crashing waves enveloped her head; the wind was getting stronger, ruffling the hem of her ivory gown as she sat at the edge of the cliff, the last rays of sun hitting her face like a gentle caress. The salty air inside her lungs reminded her of Estermont . The small island, isolated and insignificant on the grand map. Perhaps, if she were lucky, her remains would be buried there, under some nameless mountain range, with only a small stone marker to indicate her existence.

There are slow, almost silent steps approaching her from behind; she does not turn around. If it was death, whoever the Stranger took the form of, it was welcome here. With her children asleep in her brother's chambers, a dozen guards watching over them, she was at peace. The gush of wind through her hair felt like a final embrace, reeking of salt and blood. What an unusual scent—almost like the sea at low tide mixed with the metallic tang of iron. Almost too real to be just in her head.

''I killed him,'' the hoarse voice announced behind her, the black cloak brushing against her arm. The cloak she knew belonged elsewhere. She turned slowly, her hand plating itself on the warm deck, feeling the small stones beneath her fingers.

The light illuminated his face; the usually calm violet eyes now clouded with a darkness she had never seen before. The golden dragon head sitting at his chest glinted beneath the rays just as the waves did a moment before, the still-hot blood dripping from his hands onto the wooden planks. Strangely, the black fabric now was almost green from the crimson stains—Helaena was right. It did not suit him.

''I smashed his skull open with a single blow,'' he said, his voice chillingly calm. ''I felt nothing as he lay there, dying at my feet. I thought it would feel good to finally have revenge . It didn't.''

The sunset painted over the walls of Red Keep, the oranges and reds of dying stars reflecting in the short hair of the man in front of her. He looked like he was burning, set on fire right where the crown should have been, burning down his neck and slumping shoulders. His castle, his kingdom, was all slowly on fire, despite the cool evening breeze that swept from the sea behind her. She can't get him to leave, she realises. The flames fluttered around him, everywhere except his eyes—it was his home, and it combusted. YN still had time to jump into the safety of the water, drown her sorrows, and escape the unavoidable ruin that awaited them both. The saltiness from the waves travelled onto her cheeks, the shallow streams hitting her lips. She can't leave without him.

''Sit with me,'' she muttered, reaching out her hand towards him. It was empty of any rings or jewellery; it was bare, like a virgin sheet on a freshly made bed. She was free—free from the weight of ties and obligations that had bound her for so long. Just her, without anything that would remind her of the past.

''I will stain your hand with blood,'' Aegon mused, his eyes dark with the weight of his own burdens. I will stain you with my sins, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat.

''Stain them. I do not care.''

So the veined hand reached out, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine. She did not realise how cold she was until he enveloped her in his embrace, his warmth seeping into her bones. She felt clean for the first time in years, despite the stains on her dress, as the man collapsed in her embrace, his tears mixing with her own. ''Do you think we can ever truly be free from our sins?'' she whispered, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

The man's embrace tightened, his voice steady despite the tremble in his breath as he replied. ''This love was never a sin; it could not be. Not when I love you with all that I am."

Aegon looks back at her, and it is not a tragedy.

This is the closest to heaven they will ever be.

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reallyromealone · 10 months ago

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Ganon omegaverse 3

Fandom: the legend of zelda

Warnings: omegaverse, male reader, Zelda isn't good in this

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(name) wasn't sure what to do, with these new freedoms he previously lacked back at Hyrule Castle, Ganon letting him wander around the palace AND THE CITY! With guards of course but still! He wasn't allowed to leave the grounds back home... Well he supposed this would be his home now.

That was something to get used to, things he was noticing back with his sister that left a sour taste in his mouth...

Why did she do what she did?

Why did she lock him away the way she did?

(Name) didn't know if he would get the answers he wanted to know or at least honest ones...

"Over the years we have expanded the town, it's not as big as Hyrule Castle town but it is impressive on its own" a guard explained as she showed him around the merchants row, before the palace entrance that surprised (name) at how accessible it was "unlike Hyrule Castle, we firmly believe the people should not be barred from visiting the palace-- of course there's times where it's not possible such at night but closing the palace from its people seems unreasonable to us"

"We believe in transparency to the people, of course they can't go anywhere they want in the palace but they are welcome to visit the throne room or see the public areas with the understanding of respect"

(Name) was fascinated by this information, the palace he knew was very closed off and from what he knew, very different from the rest of the kingdom in terms of wealth, the valley was much more forgiving and attentive to their people.

Zelda was a good queen, he knew this but he also knew she often focused on her own adventures and left the responsibilities to her second in command.

"There's so much I must learn..."

"And you will in time, you will have the rest of your life to learn" (name) nodded as he was slowly brought to the private dining area, unlike back home it wasn't stiff and cold, regal still but it felt....warm.

There was a low table with many bowls and plates with delicious looking foods as Ganon waited for his fiance to join him "how was your day, my star?" Ganon had grown to call (name) pet names, my beloved, my star... Many sweet words that made (name) flustered, his body warm with each sweet word.

"We went throughout the city today, one of the vendor ladies gave me this! I tried to pay her but she refused, she said "a gift to our future queen" the piece in question was one the made Ganon nearly blush, it was a fertility amulet.

"It looks very lovely on you" Ganon said as he led the Omega to sit in his lap, the Hylian dwarfing in comparison as they began eating, (name) finding he quite enjoyed spicy foods that the desert offered "try this!" Ganon already knew what all the foods presented tasted like but gave into his mates whims, eating the food presenting "very good, my love" his words rumbled through (name)s body, Ganon liked having his omega perched in his lap, so small and cute...

Ganon liked having (name) accompanying him during his royal business, include him on things and let him know how things worked And have an intimate knowledge in Ganons life.

"Our trade routes should alternate to this come winter months" Uberosa pointed to the map, an alternative map to get to the Bazaar "the merchants coming from the east have been notified through notices at inns and ranches" she explained as (name) looked curiously at the large map "This will also be the route we take for the wedding, I assume?" The concept of the wedding was both nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time, to think they should have been married for much longe...

Ganon gently pumped out pharamones as to calm the Omega, knowing he was nervous about his sister but Ganon knew she wouldn't try anything as to not disrupt the peace.

Going to war with the Guredo was a death wish after all.

"The wedding will be held at the temple of time now that it's been restored" Uberosa pointed to the map and (name) seemed excited, having never gotten to see it repaired.

Ganon worried (name) would grow bored when Ganon had to leave him, but the Alpha was pleasantly surprised to see (name) helping the teachers with the pups, the little girls wanting (name) to play with them the second they saw him as he was the only Voe outside of Ganon himself who they were allowed to look at, omegas were always deemed safe to the Guredo people.

"He will make a fine dam, brother" Uberosa said as Ganon gazed from a window, a soft look on his face "he will raise wonderful children if they get his attitude... God help if they turn out like you" the elder teased as Ganon huffed with false annoyance "he will be wonderful"

"Any word from the princess?"

"She's been quiet, she made many people upset with her actions and is most definitely doing damage control" he said methodically and Uberosa laughed slightly "she could have started a war, thankfully her brother is less selfish"

"His priority is always those around him, like a true Omega"

"You better spoil him to make sure he cares for himself"

"I already have things on the way"

Ganons clothes were going missing, mainly his shirts, thankfully he had an abundance due to needing to change from the heat.

Something Ganon took notice of was that (name) hadn't started nesting while here, weeks passing and the Omega seemed nervous when offered nesting materials "I-im allowed...?"

"Why wouldn't you be allowed, little one?" Uberosa asked the other who bit his lip, Ganon having a bad taste in his mouth as (name)s words confirmed his suspicions "w-wouldnt it be an inconvenience? I'm a royal Omega, it's unsightly for us to nest, no?"

"(Name), nesting is a basic instinct for all omegas, it doesn't matter what status you are, not nesting can affect your physical and mental wellness" Uberosa knelt down to the sitting Omega who seemed uncomfortable "I... I just don't want to inconvenience you all with my Omegan problems..."

"You have never and will never be a problem to us" Ganon was serious as he was half ready to start war over this but knew better, soon (name) will never have to deal with that again, he would be free to do as he pleased.

It took another week for (name) to try and make a nest, shy and nervous about it though happy Ganon gave him a spare room connecting to the bedroom "such a beautiful nest my Star" Ganon comforted (name) who looked at him for approval, his mood something new to Ganon compared to the others he was used to "we will get you even more nesting materials if you desire" he would have the finest materials sourced for his mate, anything for him.

#legend of zelda x male reader #legend of zelda x reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #ganondorf x male reader #ganon x male reader #ganondorf x reader #ganon x reader

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baelarys · 5 months ago

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𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐧 Pt.2

Aemond targaryen x Reader velaryon(Rhaenyra Daughter)

Warning: Insest, bad language, death

Word count : 5038

A medida que pasaban las horas, la emoción de la noticia se instalaba en mi mente. El sol comenzaba a ocultarse tras unas densas nubes grises, presagiando una tormenta. El castillo de Desembarco del Rey estaba bañado por una luz tenue y melancólica, creando una atmósfera de expectación.

I stepped out into the entrance courtyard, accompanied by Lord Caswell and my guard, Ser Cedric Blackwood. His presence was comforting, his imposing figure and unquestionable loyalty reassuring. The wind lightly stirred his black cloak as we both waited patiently.

Finally, a caravan of riders and a carriage appeared in the distance. Without banners or fanfare, their arrival was discreet, fitting for the uncertain times we faced. My heart pounded, and I felt a mixture of nerves and joy as I prepared to receive my mother.

The caravan stopped, and the knights dismounted silently. Rhaenyra descended from the carriage, followed by Daemon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaena, Baela, Aegon III, and Viserys II. Rhaenyra, with her regal bearing and silver hair, shone despite the waning light of the evening, her pregnancy evident but not diminishing her imposing presence in the slightest. When our eyes met, a warm smile lit up her face.

Lord Caswell descended the steps and approached my mother, taking her hands.

—Welcome, princess —said Lord Caswell.

—My sweet child —Rhaenyra responded, coming forward to embrace me. The hug was strong and comforting, full of the familiarity that only a mother can offer. We separated just enough to see each other’s eyes, and she took my hands in hers.

—It is good to see you, my daughter. The journey has been long, but knowing you would be here made every mile worthwhile —she said, her voice laden with emotion.

—We were eagerly awaiting your arrival. Helaena told me about the rumors in Driftmark and about Ser Vaemond Velaryon —I asked, wanting to understand more about the events that had brought her here. Rhaenyra nodded, her expression turning serious.

—Yes, there are disputes about the succession in Driftmark. Vaemond has raised concerns that cannot be ignored. It is crucial that we remain united in these times —she explained, glancing around before focusing back on me. —But there will be time to talk about politics. Right now, I want to enjoy this moment with you.

—Of course, mother. It is an honor to have you with us again —I replied, smiling.

Daemon approached, greeting me with a smile and a nod.

—Y/N, it’s always a pleasure to see you —he said, his tone soft but firm.

—Daemon —I replied, returning his smile. Then I looked at my brothers and stepsiblings, feeling a mix of love and responsibility towards them.

—Brothers, sisters —I greeted them, hugging each one.

Lucerys, always affectionate, enveloped me in a strong hug.

—Y/N, I’ve missed you so much —he said with a warm smile, his affection evident.

—And I’ve missed you too, Lucerys. It’s good to have you close again —I replied, gently stroking his hair.

—And you, come here! —I exclaimed, pulling Jacaerys by the arm to hug him and plant a warm kiss on his cheek.

—I’ve missed you too —Jace said sweetly.

—Hello to you too —I said, leaving a kiss on Joffrey’s head and wrapping my arms around him.

I approached the nurses carrying the little Aegon and Viserys, who looked at me with curiosity. It was the first time I saw them in person, and their little faces filled me with tenderness.

—Hello, little ones! —I said, extending my hands toward them. Aegon, with his big curious eyes, came closer first, followed by his brother.

—They’ve grown so much since the last time you saw them —commented Rhaenyra with a smile.

Ser Cedric stepped forward, bowing his head in respect.

—Princess, it is an honor to welcome you to King’s Landing —said Ser Cedric formally.

—Thank you, Ser Cedric. I appreciate your loyalty and protection of my daughter —Rhaenyra responded with a nod.

With a gesture, I guided my family inside the castle.

—I’d like to say I’m happy to be back, but I hardly recognize it —my mother commented with a bitter tone, watching Daemon walk away with a small laugh.

—Many things have changed since you were last here, mother —I replied, watching Jace and Luke head towards the training yard. —You must be tired, mother. Let me take you to your quarters.

—And how is he? —my mother asked as we walked down the hallway with Ser Cedric and Daemon a few steps behind us.

—He’s fine, I think he’s training now —I replied sweetly.

—Do they treat you well here? —my mother added, sounding a bit worried.

—They have to, or I’ll take his other eye —Daemon quipped mischievously.

—They treat me well here —I said, taking my mother’s hand and caressing it to calm her. —I’m excited for you to meet Maegor —I added cheerfully.

---

I arrived at the training yard in search of my brothers and managed to see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston. He was truly a skilled swordsman, handling his sword with such ease. After finishing his duel with Ser Criston, I saw him approaching my brothers.

—Nephews, have you come to train? —Aemond asked, his tone mixing challenge and mockery.

I descended to approach and position myself next to Jace. I felt Lucerys move to hide behind me while Jacaerys took a step back.

Aemond’s gaze finally landed on me.

—Wife —Aemond spoke with a mischievous tone as he approached a bit closer.

The sudden march down the hallway startled me a bit. I rolled my eyes as Vaemond stared at me, his gaze filled with hatred and contempt towards me and my brothers. I turned to resume my conversation with Aemond. I smiled at him before turning to look at my brothers.

—You should go to mother and get ready —I said, looking at Jacaerys, who returned my gaze with concern. Aemond came even closer, his imposing presence increasing the tension in the air.

—Are you afraid, Lucerys? —Aemond asked with a twisted smile, his gaze fixed on the little boy trying to hide behind me.

—Leave him alone, Aemond —I intervened firmly, looking him in the eyes. Aemond raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction he had provoked.

—I don’t intend to hurt him… yet —he said, his tone becoming more intimidating as he directed his gaze at Lucerys. —I was only offering a training opportunity. After all, we all need to improve our skills, don’t we?

I felt Lucerys cling a little tighter to my back.

—Luke, Jace, why don’t you go visit the gardens? I’ll stay here. I have some matters to discuss with my dear husband —I said, giving them an exit. Jace nodded, understanding my intention, and took Lucerys back to the castle. Aemond looked at me with interest, clearly amused by the situation.

—You’re very protective of them —Aemond commented, stepping even closer. —But that won’t always be enough.

—I know —I replied calmly, looking him directly in the eye. —But I’ll do what I can to keep them safe.

Aemond came even closer, his gaze intensely fixed on mine.

—That determination is one of the things that attracts me most to you —he said, his tone full of sarcasm.

I returned a smile.

—Only my determination? —I asked playfully, taking a step towards him. Aemond let out a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving mine.

—Also your stubbornness. And your ability to get into trouble —he said, raising a hand to gently caress my cheek.

I felt the warmth of his touch but maintained my composure.

—You have a way of saying things that always manages to disarm me, Aemond.

—That’s my intention, wife —he responded, leaning in a bit more. —To disarm you and keep you on your toes.

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart beat faster.

—You do it very well —I murmured, keeping my gaze fixed on his.

Aemond wrapped his arms around me, the tension between us palpable. When we finally separated, his eyes shone with a mix of desire and challenge.

—See you later —I said, heading back into the castle.

---

I walked as quickly as my feet allowed, trying not to trip over the cumbersome dress I had decided to wear that morning. Upon reaching the doors of the throne room, I took a long breath, trying to catch my breath, and gave a look to the guards, indicating they should open the doors.

—Princess Y/N of House Velaryon! —announced one of the guards as I walked through the doors. Everyone was already there: my mother with my brothers, my grandmother Rhaenys and my cousins alongside Vaemond Velaryon, and Queen Alicent with her children and the Hand of the King. I gave Luke a quick smile and took my place between Aemond and Aegon.

—You’re late —murmured Aegon with a mocking smile. —Was your dress teaching you a lesson in humility?

—I’d say it was more of a challenge to my patience —I replied, giving an ironic smile. —But don’t worry, Aegon, I still have enough to endure you.

Aemond, who was on my other side, watched the scene with a raised eyebrow.

Otto Hightower cleared his throat, walking towards the Iron Throne and positioning himself in front of it. There couldn't be a more disrespectful scene than that. I turned to look at my mother, who apparently shared the same feeling of rejection towards the Hand of the King.

—Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon —Otto Hightower announced. Vaemond stepped to the middle of the room, right between the two families, and looked at the Hand of the King.

Vaemond began to babble about how pure his house had been since the days of old Valyria, giving a boring account of his ancestors, as if talking about the dead gave him some kind of advantage and helped defend his position. I shared a look with Luke, who was holding tightly to my mother's arm. Luke looked nervous; his eyes darted in every direction until they met mine.

—You're going to be fine— I whispered through clenched teeth. Luke nodded and turned his attention back to whatever Vaemond was saying.

—I am their closest kin. Blood of their blood, the true and unblemished Velaryon blood runs through my veins— boasted Ser Vaemond. His words had a double meaning, said with only one intention.

Rhaenyra raised her voice to make a comment before her turn came:

—And through my children, descendants of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about Velaryon blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not dare to usurp the heir, but it seems your ambition is greater— my mother expressed in a firm and serene tone.

—You will have your chance to defend your case, Princess Rhaenyra— interrupted Alicent, which made me roll my eyes and let out a bored sigh. —Have the decency to let Ser Vaemond explain.

There was nothing more to explain. It was obvious that there was something wrong with this claim. Ser Vaemond, no matter how much he wanted Driftmark, would never have it. If Lucerys did not take the place of Lord of Driftmark, Rhys Velaryon, Ser Vaemond’s eldest son, would. Surely Otto Hightower had promised to give him full support and advocate for him just to ensure that Lucerys did not obtain Driftmark. It was a conspiracy.

—Thank you, Ser Vaemond— I raised my gaze when the man's account finally ended. —Princess Rhaenyra, speak on behalf of your son, Lucerys Velaryon.

My mother took a step forward, clasping her hands with weariness and boredom, not looking at Otto.

—If I must legitimize this farce with a response, I must remind the court that nearly twenty years ago...

The sound of the doors opening caught everyone's attention. Seconds later, King Viserys appeared, escorted by his Kingsguard. Everyone watched the scene with attention. I couldn't feel anything but admiration for my grandfather, who had gathered all his strength to be here and defend his daughter and grandchildren from such vile accusations.

—King Viserys of House Targaryen! The first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!

My heart tightened as I watched my grandfather advance through the room. Where there was once a man, now there was a skeletal body that held only the old glory of what he once was. That old man would do anything for his most beloved daughter. He would be remembered—at least by the blacks—as an exceptional father and grandfather, even though the others were also in shock when they saw him enter.

Viserys advanced with difficulty, slowing his pace when his gaze fell on Rhaenyra. In his eyes, she was alone, with no one to defend her. The man's eyes wandered, fixing on the mysterious brown-haired woman next to one of her children. Y/N watched her grandfather observe her with attention, with curiosity even, as if he couldn't recognize her until the man advanced. For a few moments, Viserys confused her with his late wife Aemma until memories of his granddaughter filled him, recognizing her after a few seconds.

After that, the man advanced until he reached the stairs. Viserys stood still, catching his breath and being attended to by one of his guards, but he waved him away, climbing the stairs almost entirely until the crown on his head fell to the ground. I felt sorry for my grandfather; my feet were about to move toward him, but Daemon was quicker, going to assist his older brother. Viserys murmured something only Daemon heard, and when their eyes finally met, the man felt relief at seeing his brother. Daemon picked up the crown, helping Viserys up the remaining stairs.

I felt a swarm of emotions in my chest, watching Daemon crown Viserys in an emotional scene that only brotherhood could provide. I had never seen so much sadness and respect in the eyes of his former master. After that, the rogue prince returned to his place, sharing a look with the brown-haired woman. Princess Rhaenys shared her opinion with the king and announced the engagement of her granddaughter to Princess Rhaenyra's sons.

—Well, the matter is resolved, again. Therefore, I reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as the heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and future Lord of the Tides,— Viserys spoke wearily. Ser Vaemond cast a confused look at his sister-in-law and addressed the king.

—You have violated the law and a centuries-old tradition to name your daughter as heir,— accused the white-haired, dark-skinned man. —And you dare to tell me who deserves to bear the Velaryon name? No, I will not allow it.

—"Allow it"? You have forgotten your place,— Viserys said, disdain dripping from his voice at the way Ser Vaemond addressed him.

—That!— Vaemond shouted, pointing a finger contemptuously at Lucerys. — is not a true Velaryon, and even less so my nephew,— the hatred and rejection spilling from Ser Vaemond's mouth like venom.

—Watch what you say, Ser Vaemond, if you don't want to lose your tongue!— I spat at Vaemond. I would not allow anyone to speak to my brother that way, especially in my presence.

—Leave. I have spoken enough. Lucerys is my legitimate grandson, and you are simply the second son of Driftmark.—

—You do as you please with your house, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand more tribulations, and damn me, but I will not let it extinguish because of this...

Daemon smiled slightly, the moment he longed for since Vaemond began to open his mouth to disrespect his family had arrived.

—Say it,— Daemon murmured at his side with a hunger for bloodshed. I could see how Daemon's hand gripped the hilt of Dark Sister.

—Her sons are bastards!— Vaemond shouted, more exasperated than necessary. I shared a knowing look with Daemon, seeing the hilt of Dark Sister in his hands. —And she is a whore.

The entire Hall was left in shared shock and it was Daemon's moment to act. That was the last toll on the man-eater's patience. Daemon slipped like a shadow, living up to his title, passing behind his family to reach the other end, no one had noticed his intentions and that was good.

—I will cut out your tongue for that— Viserys threatened from the top of the throne, pulling out a knife from his clothing.

Daemon before anyone else could stop him raised Dark Sister with incredible ease cutting Vaemond Velaryon's head in half, the Valyrian steel making a clean cut. Everyone remained silent, some screams of terror in the court were what made Daemon smile but more the reaction of the green Targaryens. Aemond watched the scene with pleasure.

—Let him keep his tongue— Daemon said when he saw the body of Ser Vaemond at his feet.

—Disarm him!— Otto Hightower shouted, making a dozen men surround the prince.

—no need— the platinum ruled, leaning his weight on Dark Sister, looking at the blood dripping on the floor and walking back to his old place as if nothing had happened

Viserys began to get upset with shock, interrupting the moment. I watched my grandfather collapse on the throne.

—Call the maesters!—Alicent helped by climbing up the stairs to the throne.

—Father...— Rhaenyra murmured, staying under the throne watching the maesters urgently take Viserys away.

–––––––

—What a scene— Aemond spoke when we got to our rooms, resting in one of the armchairs near the now unlit fireplace while I adjusted some threads of the leather suit I used to ride the cannibal.

I approached the dead fire, removing a couple of remaining ashes with my fingertips. Aemond leaned forward, his eyes shining with a mixture of satisfaction and mockery.

—It's not every day that you witness a beheading at court— Aemond murmured, raising a glass of wine to me. —Daemon certainly knows how to liven up a boring meeting.—

—Cheer up is one way to put it— I said, finishing adjusting the strings of my suit. Although I must admit that it was a little satisfying to see Dark Sister go through his head so easily.

Aemond gave a soft laugh, his eye twinkling with amusement.

—I'm glad to know that you appreciate the art of the sword, my dear.— Although I'm not sure if what happened today will be remembered as art or as atrocity.

I sat next to him, crossing my legs and taking the drink he offered me.

—With our family, those two words are usually interchangeable.—I answered with a smile on my lips, getting up and walking towards the door—see you at dinner.—

–––––––––

The Dragonpit, an imposing and significant structure designed to house dragons that have been companions in our family for generations.

—Ābra (princess)— greets one of the dragonkeepers with a bow, while the smell of smoke wafts from the caverns where some dragons rest. I return the greeting with a slight nod.

—Gaomagon naejot vāedis Cannibal syt ao, mazverdagon māzigon dārys ēza pryjatan jevi ēdruta. (we are preparing cannibal for you, he has been quite restless and aggressive these last few days your grace)—he informs me as he approaches.

Cannibal had never had a rider before nor had he been to King's Landing. It was an honor to have become your rider. Cannibal was a towering dragon, almost the same size as Vaghar, with a coat of coal-black scales and green eyes that glowed like emeralds. He was somewhat aggressive and refused any contact with humans, except me.

"—essa iderēbagon ūndegon īlva mēre (Maybe we should let him marry his own food)—I respond, approaching Cannibal as he shifts restlessly, trying to remove his saddle.

—Bantis zōbrie (good boy)—I murmur to Cannibal, trying to reassure him.

––––––––––––

After the events in the throne room, it was decided to celebrate with a small banquet to have the entire family together at the king's request.

The banquet hall is illuminated by hundreds of candles, reflecting their flickering flames on the stone walls. We met in the Great Hall, at a long dark oak table, adorned with gold festoons and glasses overflowing with wine. The conversations are a constant murmur, mixing with the clinking of dishes and forced laughter.

I take a seat next to Aemond, feeling the tension in the air. He appears rigid, with an expression that denotes his discontent. Seeking to comfort him, I take his hand in mine, leaving soft caresses on the back of his hand. —Are you okay?— I ask him affectionately, hoping to calm his spirits.

—It fills me with joy to see you together tonight.—Viserys smiled softly, taking soft breaths trying to catch his breath.

—A prayer?— Queen Alicent offers next to her husband, Viserys responded with a nod.

—May the mother bless this meeting with her love, may the blacksmith reforge the ties that were broken and may Vaemond Velaryon rest in peace—the latter making me raise the corner of my lips in a small smile that quickly disappeared.

King Viserys rises, his imposing figure towering over us as he taps his cup, drawing everyone's attention. The room falls into an expectant silence.

—It seems that on this day there are many things to celebrate, my grandchildren Jace and Luke will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, strengthening the bond between our houses—Viserys spoke with a voice full of emotion, he talks about unity and family love. —a toast to the princes and their fiancées

Everyone raised their glasses, took a light sip enjoying the taste of the sweet wine brought from Dorn, I see Aegon talking to Jace who seemed fed up with his uncle's words.

—Let's also toast to Prince Lucerys, future lord of the tides,— I said, raising my glass and looking at Luke, smiling lovingly at my sweet little brother.

—It makes me happy, and at the same time it fills me with sadness to see your faces at this table, the faces most dear to me and that have become so distant over the years,— Viserys stood up, the king expressed with sadness and regret, my grandfather brought his weak fingers to the gold mask that covered what was once the face of a completely healthy man, my eyes went to my lap my chest being eaten by the feeling of sadness and somehow of pity, aemond He squeezed my hand trying to express some kind of Consolation.—My face is not that pleasant either if anyone ever was but tonight I want everyone to see me as I am, not as a king but as a father, as a brother, as a grandfather and like a husband.—

—Because I know I won't be among you much longer. I beg you not to harbor any more resentment in your hearts. The crown will weaken if the house of the dragon remains divided,— Viserys continues, looking away at everyone else. —Forget your differences if you don't, They do it for the crown, at least do it for this old man who loves them all deeply.—his words echoing in every corner of the room.

—I want to raise my glass to her highness the queen—my mother rises from her place with her glass raised.—I love my father but I recognize that no one has accompanied him as faithfully as his wife, she has remained by his side with unwavering devotion love and honor. And for that I offer my gratitude and my apologies.

After a few words from Queen Alicent to my mother, the atmosphere seemed calmer and less uncomfortable. Aemond, still with my hand in his, relaxes slightly, although his gaze remains severe.

—I want to toast Jace and Baela, they're getting married soon and it's not that bad, most of the time he almost always ignores you. Except when he's drunk—Helaena was heard speaking as she gets up from her place. The brunette shared glances with the platinum girl, smiling at her and raising her glass when she saw that no one else was doing so.

—Excuse me,— said Jace, passing by Baela until he reached Helaena, offering her his hand to dance to which Helaena responded very happily. Aegon looked at the scene with confusion, sharing a look with Aemond, who immediately fixed his gaze on his nephew and his sister.

Some servants entered the room bringing a large smoked Pig, leaving it in the center of the table, without paying much attention to it since I had hardly touched my food until they heard Luke giggle and divert his gaze to Rhaena to hide until he felt the aemond's attention on him. The brown prince also brought his to Aemond, laughing in his face without any impudence.

—Just ignore him, don't make him...— I spoke but before I could finish, Aemond hit the table with his fist, drawing everyone's attention, raising his glass in the air to speak.

—One last tribute and we leave,— Aemond spoke, making Aegon raise his glass as well. —To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke and Joferry, all handsome, wise and strong like a strong .—

I felt a twist in my stomach before he mentioned Sir Harwin Strong, our real father, he could never see it in such a way. Luke and Jace shared glances across the room, taking them with concern to their older sister.

—Aemond,— Queen Alicent warned, still sitting in her place.

—let's raise our glasses to these four strong ones...

—Repeat it if you dare,— Jace threatened, walking towards him.

—It's just a compliment, aren't they strong?— says Aemond, placing his hand on my shoulder, leaving a strong squeeze.

The tension in the room feels like a rope about to snap. I can see the redness on Jacaerys and Lucerys's faces, and I feel the anger in the air. Suddenly, words turn into action. Jacaerys launches himself at Aemond, punching him in the face, causing the guards to fall on him, Rhaena and Luke get up from their places, running towards where the fight was, the twin trying to stop her sister and Luke to defend Jace, the table is turns into a battlefield. Screams echo, glasses are overturned, and wine spills like blood on the tablecloth. I try to get away from the chaos, but I'm trapped in the middle of the fight, I watch as Aegon takes Luke's head in his hand and smashes his face on the table.

—Stop it, you bastard— Aegon murmurs, pressing Luke's head down on the table.

I get up from my place when I see Aegon putting more pressure on Luke's head on the table, I push Aegon in an attempt to get him away from Luke, giving him a hard slap on the cheek—whom you call a bastard—I spit angrily seeing him. As Aegon steps back with a hand on his cheek. —You bastard,— Aegon repeated again, this time reaching the voice and approaching angrily towards us.

I take one of the knives that were on the table when I see the blonde approaching with a determined step—disarm her!—Alicent shouted at the guards when she saw how I approached with Aegon with the knife in my hands.

The guards took the brunette in their arms while they forced them to where they were holding their brothers—say it again if you dare!—she screamed again.

When the guards released us, my brothers and I advanced in a threatening manner until Daemon stood up from his place, walking in front of us, making a sound with his mouth to stop us, the blonde looking at the brunette behind them, boiling with fury, Daemon turns his attention to the one-eyed prince. .

—How can you say something like that in public!?— Alicent asked, annoyed, she kept her gaze on Aemond in front of her.

—I'm just expressing how proud I am of my family, mother,— Aemond responded, smiling falsely, turning his attention to his wife and nephews. —Even though my nephews aren't as close to yours.—

Again Luke and Jace advanced furiously but Daemon raised one of his hands, managing to calm them down. The rogue prince's gaze fell on that of the one-eyed prince who only looked at him carefully.

Aemond left the room but not before fixing his gaze on me, letting out a chuckle that only irritated me, before disappearing through the corridors.

I could see my mother scolding my brothers while they kept their heads down. I approached them.

—And you? Try to attack your uncle with a weapon? —my mother exclaimed, annoyed—How can you think?

—But he called Luke a bastard— I said, indignant.

—It does not matter! “What you did is not worthy of a lady,— my mother responded before I could finish what she was going to say. —We will return to Dragonstone Tonight . Say goodbye to your brothers and everyone return to their rooms before they cause more trouble— my mother proclaimed in a stern tone, walking away to approach Queen Alicent.

My brothers and I looked at each other in silence, knowing that any protests would be futile. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration and shame. It pained me that our actions had shamed our mother, but I couldn't stop thinking about the injustice of my Aemond's words.

—I'm very sorry about what happened— I said quietly. —Aemond had no right to say those things about us.—

My brothers nodded, accepting my words with sad faces before heading to their rooms.

With a sigh, I headed to my room. Unlike my brothers, I would not return to Dragonstone. My place was here in kingslanding away from my family.

#aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon season 2 #aemond fanfiction #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd season 2 #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #angst #house of the dragon #fanfic #game of thrones

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Oooo darling!! Your latest TASM fic sparked and idea!

(Before that, hello lovely 🩷 i hope you're having the best spooky season!)

Big brother!Sirius coming to save some poor sod that upset his slytherin!sister (Regulus' twin). So you have the charming & fun Sirius; quiet & regal Regulus; loyal & volatile reader. And i imagine Sirius calls them his twin stars (because hes deffinately a huge sap).

Where wolfstar is in 7th year and has a great relationship with the twins (maybe theyre trying to become their legal guardians behind the scenes). He and Remus are in their dorm before Peter bursts in, breathless, only saying "y/n" before Sirius is off. He has no doubt to why you were put in 🐍, and god forbid someone actually hurt his baby sister.

On reader's side, someone made a snide comment about Remmy being a halfblood or ruining the Black legacy or something and reader gets pissed because shes actually quite fond of him.

Then whatever you decide love; maybe reader gets hurt; maybe she does the hurting; maybe Remus saves the day with his long legs; or Sirius might show people what growing up in the 'Noble house of Black' does to someone. And idk what Reggie is doing, i imagine he was making out with James and they come in at the last minute ("😱 james!! What have you done!? Youve DEFILED one of my precious stars!!! Let go of him!!!! NO, dont touch him, get away.")

Anyway bub, as always; dont feel pressured and take all the creative liberties youd like!! Love you lots darling x

Hi my lovely, thanks for requesting! I really need to get more creative than bloody noses but ugh they're just so classic

cw: blood

big brother!sirius + (as opposed to x, I guess?) little sister!reader ♡ 861 words

“You weren’t there!” you insist as Sirius stalks back and forth across the room, tapping his wand against his leg in a quick, restless beat. “He said—he—” You look at Remus, the boy’s eyebrows drawn together in concentration and concern as he presses a cloth under your nose, trying to stop the blood that’s already crusted down your chin. You decide to keep your mouth shut.

Remus smiles wryly, and you know he suspects why you’ve chosen to go quiet. “It doesn’t matter what they said, love. I don’t need you getting in fights for me.”

“Who was it?” Sirius demands, for probably the fourth or fifth time. You’re losing count.

“It’s already been hand—ah!” Remus murmurs an episky while you’re distracted, and you flinch, hands flying to your face as your septum snaps back into its proper place. “Fuck, could’a given me some warning.”

“Sorry,” Remus says, and he looks like he means it, tilting your chin up to continue cleaning your face as you look at him with teary eyes. “Thought it might hurt less if you weren’t expecting it.”

“How do you figure?” you ask him, somewhat miffed.

“Back. On. Task.” Sirius claps his hands with each word, coming to a stop in front of you. “Who did this? Remus is my boyfriend, I have twice as much a right to defend his honor as you do, you—you fucking—squirt.”

You sneer at the childish name, but you know your brother means to rile you. “I told you, I handled it. He won’t do it again.”

“And he’s never going to touch you again either,” Sirius promises menacingly, squatting in front of you to look you in the eyes, “if you just tell me the fucker’s name.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Remus says, taking his boyfriend’s shoulder in a spindly hand, the touch both soothing and controlling as he pushes Sirius back from you. “Let’s just let her rest for a minute, yeah?” Sirius sputters in protest, but Remus moves in front of him, pressing his face into his boyfriends’ dark locks. You roll your eyes at the display, though a tiny part of you loves that your brother has someone who loves him this well. Once he quiets, Remus speaks in a low, soothing voice. “I know, I know, you won’t be deterred from your vengeance, but there’s time for that later. Let’s just calm down for now.”

It’s a lovely prospect, but at that moment, the door opens to reveal Regulus and James, both looking somewhat ruffled. James stops short at seeing you all gathered in his dorm (Remus and Sirius, of course, have every right to be here, but you’d bet he and Reg were hoping for some privacy) and stands there blinking for a moment. Your twin’s blasé facade slips the moment he sees you with blood still crusted to your nostrils and tear tracks down your face.

“What happened?” he asks, pushing past James and into the dorm.

“She got into a fight,” Sirius says, outrage instantly rekindled, and Remus sighs in exasperated resignation, his work undone. “Someone said something about Moony, but she won’t tell who.”

Now James looks upset too, eyes darting to Remus concernedly. “About Moony? When?”

“Just now!” Sirius throws up his hands. “Ten minutes ago! Did either of you see anything?”

James shakes his head, and despite Regulus’ blank expression, you catch the embarrassed shifting of his stance. “No,” James says, “we were, uh…we didn’t see anything.”

“I bet I know who it was though,” Regulus offers, that traitorous scum. He’s just throwing you under the bus to take the heat off himself.

It works; Sirius perks up. “Yeah? Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” you say, but Sirius cuts you off, facing your twin.

“Who?” he asks.

“It was the guy you were arguing with yesterday too, right?” Reg glances at you for confirmation, and you glare at him. Don’t you dare, your look says, but he nods and turns back to Sirius. “He’s your year, the one you guys call Sni—”

“Reg and James were coming in here to have sex!” you blurt.

It’s a wonder Sirius doesn’t get whiplash from how fast he turns around. “What?”

You nod, unable to feel guilty as Regulus gives you an appalled look from behind your older brother. “Mhm,” you say. “Their hair is all messed up, and look—their lips are swollen. Plus, they were surprised we were in here.”

You do feel a tiny bit bad for James, whose dark skin blanches when Sirius turns on him. “James Potter, did you come in here to defile my brother?”

James looks to Remus for help, but his friend only turns his palms up like Sorry, what can you do?. After a second, Regulus steps closer to him.

“Sirius, we—”

“Don’t touch him,” Sirius practically retches. He shakes his head, grabbing Regulus by the arm and all but dragging him from the room. “Alright, listen. You are going to tell me who was talking shit about Remus, and then we’re going to have an entirely separate conversation about boundaries.” He casts a noxious look back at James. “And I’ll deal with you later!”

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witchthewriter · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬

a/n: crossover that I really wanted to do. I've used dragons from every timeline.

gif cred: @gameofthronesdaily.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

I wanted to make this as simple as possible, so I'm not going into backgrounds or Houses or the wheres, whos and whys. But if you'd like me to make backstories for them, let me know in my inbox!

(but p.s. I can already see Kyle being a Velaryon Prince and Simon a Targaryen because of their natural features.)

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 | 𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒔

There's something very regal about John - he holds himself with dignity and grace. He walks with pride and knows his rank/his place. Because he's earnt it.

Meleys, who was once known as the quickest dragon in Westeros, also holds herself the exact same way John does.

She is the Red Queen, vicious, fierce and unyielding. She is royalty - looks it too.

I'm not quite sure she'd like a male rider - there would have to be a lot of winning her over. All her other riders have been female, and very bold. Yet, when Meleys saw the bravery of John, she allowed him to mount her.

But the two of them together would be an absolute force to be reckoned with. Intelligence mixed with tactics, and planning - they would soon become one of the most feared rider and mount in history.

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 | 𝑺𝒊𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈

Known by a lot of positive traits, the first one being: understanding her responsibilities. Silverwing is the perfect dragon.

Great with people, friendly, and elegant. She knows when eyes are on her.

In the same way that Kyle can make a friend wherever he is. People find him very charming.

Both are great at socialising. This reflects how a dragonrider usually has similar traits to their mount.

Know their duties, but also know when enough is enough. They don't let others walk all over them.

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 | 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓

Ooh boy, okay so these two bonded over being grumpy and moody.

While Vermithor used to be the mount of one of Westerosi's greatest Kings, I think he would like Simon a whole lot more.

Simon, who would never make him do anything Simon wouldn't do himself.

Both of them hate too much company.

And the only way to truly get away from people is in the air.

Vermithor might be considered an old man, but he's still got that passion within him, and damn anyone who says what he can and cannot do

The pair could be gone for weeks. Only relying on one another for company, aiding each other in getting food and Vermithor being wonderful at finding bodies of water.

Although they do usually go to the same places now.

Sometimes Simon forgets how formidable Vermithor is - and that in the past anyone who approached him would burn to death by his flame.

But really Simon only sees a big lizard with wings who snores when he sleeps and grunts when he's angry. Oh, and watch out for his tail because he will try to knock you over when he's irritated.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 | 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒙𝒆𝒔

Let's gather what we know about Soap: intelligent (obviously, no one in the army reaches that level by being a complete tosser), he's active and ready to be in the field i.e, now the air.

Meraxes is known for being an avid flyer. Her first and only rider, Rhaenys the First, flew her mount so much - some say it was the collective amount of both her brother and sister riding their own beasts.

Johnny is the dragonrider who is constantly scowering for dragon eggs. If he finds them, he cares for them like they're his own children.

Johnny would literally be the Father of Dragons. Would 100% do a Dany and walk into fire to see if the eggs will hatch (don't worry the other boys look out for him and Meraxes would never let him be so stupid as to willingly hurt himself.)

If you have a different opinion I'm more than happy to hear it!

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merakiui · 1 year ago

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intermission yandere!azul thought: azul thought he lost you when his parents divorced, but a chance reunion during breeding season convinces him of fate. a long-buried love resurfaces and with it the mounting greed and desire.

(cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stepcest, nsfw, female reader, breeding/oviposition, gentle dub-con/coercion, obsession, one-sided attraction in which azul loves you, but you only see him as family, characters written as 18+)

When his birth parents first married, Azul's father had been caring for you, a daughter who had come from another set of parents, found drifting on a lone current. Aged two, you were the sweetest fry his mother had ever seen and she gladly welcomed you into her family. A year later, Azul had been born and you were introduced to him, the both of you coddled and adored by his grandmother and other relatives alike. Your eyes glittered with awe when you peered down at baby Azul, so fragile and small in his mother's arms. A tentacle gently curled around your finger, and he stared up at you, equally amazed, his blue eyes wide with wonder.

Technically, you were his step-sister and he was your step-brother. But at such a young age, you could only comprehend simple family dynamics—the ones in which siblings came from the same mother and were thus related by blood. So, even though you weren't truly related in that way, that's what you were to Azul. He was your little brother and you were his big sister. The distinction in what you were never mattered to Azul. You were his family, and that was more than enough.

Growing up, he clung to you like a barnacle, never wanting to leave your side for more than a minute, a tentacle forever wrapped around your wrist or tail fin. You were inseparable, choosing to rest in the same sleeping nook, bathe together, eat meals together, explore shipwrecks and collect treasure together, and play together. He adored you, looked up to you like you were a miracle incarnate. And in that same loving manner you looked out for Azul, protected him from mean mers, assured him that you'd never leave him when he got sad, and patched him up when his clumsiness earned him all sorts of boo-boos.

Azul thought you were an angel—or something constructed from perfection, anyway. You were brilliant and wonderful, the best big sister he could have ever wished for. Every day felt like the best day of his life when he was with you. Waking up beside you and challenging each other to a race to the kitchen (even though he knew fully well that he'd lose every time). Offering you the spoils from your shipwreck adventures, where he'd drape strands of pearls around your neck and you'd do the same, always one to share. Lounging sleepily at his grandmother's tentacles and listening to her regale the both of you with stories from when she was young. She told tales of her first love, and Azul had boldly pointed at you and declared he'd marry his first love. You. His sister. It was passable then because he was little and couldn't fully understand the meaning of marriage and what it meant to settle down with someone you loved.

Love comes in many forms, and Azul couldn't grasp the differences between platonic and romantic. But back then it didn't matter because to him love was love, and you promised you'd stay with him forever. That was good enough.

But then, years later, his parents got divorced. His father took you with him, and during the process his mother fell in love with her divorce attorney. Azul never saw you again. You moved away, or so he assumed when he'd search the neighborhood for you, deceiving himself that you were still here. You wouldn't leave him. You promised.

He searched all of the places the two of you used to frequent, gradually losing hope with each day. Eventually, when the acceptance letter had come and it became apparent that he had more pressing matters to focus on, he stopped searching altogether.

Azul's older now, freshly graduated and ready to take on the world, but before that he returns to the sea. There are celebrations he must attend; he's expressed his thanks to countless congratulations already, but he doesn't mind the excess. It feeds his ego. His family is so proud, but none can be prouder than his mother, who shackles him in a loving embrace, cooing about how she remembers when he was just a little fry. Though you haven't occupied his mind in years, at the mention of childhood, he instinctively looks for you amidst the many people crowding the restaurant. You're not there. He wishes you were.

There's a lot he has to do as he works to expand the Mostro Lounge. He's purchased a property on the surface. The building is old and dilapidated, but he has a promising vision and lots of time on his hands. He'll make it work. Summer break be damned; Azul's too busy for that. But he can't leave the ocean just yet. He'd put it off with potions for as long as he could, but nature prevails in the end.

Mating season, in Azul's hateful opinion, is a scam. Merfolk exhaust all of their efforts carrying clutches, nursing them for months, before relinquishing them to fate, where it's not guaranteed that any of their fry will survive the harshness of the sea. All of that hard work and for what? The slim chance that one or two will return. Azul knows there are ways to avoid tragedy. Like laying the eggs amidst sea anemones to ward off predators who may not be immune to the sting. Even so, he doesn't understand the appeal of this gamble. Most of all, he despises it because this very gamble is the reason why, without fail, he's forced to suffer through this miserable period of biological imperative.

He gets moody, viciously so, cherishing the shadowed, tranquil loneliness inside an octopus pot. Azul greatly dislikes mating seasons because it's uncomfortable to hold in a clutch for too long, and when he's cursed with one he has no other option but to spend hours curled in solitude, hot and flushed all over, while he squirms through the all-encompassing heat. It passes after he's released every egg, and he tries not to think of what could be if he had someone to take his clutch and care for them. Sometimes he destroys the eggs, crushes them so that, at the very least, they won't become a predator's dinner. It's mostly anger and selfishness that fuel the destruction. He'd never hurt his young, but they won't survive much longer, fated to die within the next few hours. There needs to be someone else. Pairs and whatnot. Mating and bonding and all of that nonsense he scowls at. He doesn't have anyone to complete his pair.

He surmises it will be the same next season. It always is.

Azul is always so sad in the aftermath, coming down from the high to meet encroaching depression. He's a businessman; he won't have time for a family. It's impossible to settle down at this stage in his life. It's too early. Things are just getting off the ground. He tells himself these things so he can focus, but it's so difficult. He wants a family of his own. He wants to know what it's like to be loved and mated. It's not fair that others around him, mers he went to middle school with, are starting families and finding their special someone. He deserves that happiness more than anyone.

Azul is selfish and greedy to a fault, but he's romantic at heart.

Like clockwork, he slinks off to rid himself of this annual burden. On the way to his usual spot, a scent hits him. It's faint at first, but the further he swims the thicker it gets, until it nearly leaves him disoriented with dizziness. He's too dazed with instinct to think about turning the other way, pulled towards the enticing pheromones like it's flashy bait on a fishing hook. It leads him to a deep crack set into the sea floor, too slim for a human to squeeze into. But he's an octopus and it's easy to contort his limbs to fit through. It opens up to a wider space, enclosed and dark, but he can sense another mer in here.

How can he not when your smell is so strong it practically sticks to the walls?

He lights the space with magic, a soft, yellowed glow that kisses your skin like a sweet sunrise. You're curled in on yourself, gripping your abdomen and whining in discomfort. He understands the cue immediately. Your body's ready to receive a clutch, and the emptiness pains you.

Azul has tact, or so he likes to think, and he keeps himself plastered to the far end of the little cave. You sense him then, smelling his own arousal and readiness. Weakly, you lift your head, peering at him through foggy, teary eyes. It's quiet; both of you stare at one another. Azul wonders if you'll reject him, fight him, bite a chunk out of him.

Instead, you force yourself up onto your arms and mutter, "'m sorry... I'll go somewhere else..."

"Ah, w-wait!" Clumsily, his tentacle flashes out, wraps around your tail fin, and holds tight.

You look at him, the haze in your eyes clearing, and you sniff the scent on the water, your brows furrowing. Your eyes slide to the tentacle, and suddenly recognition sparks in your gaze.

"Azul?"

He blinks, his own haze clearing. "Do I know..." He gasps, flinches away from you as if slapped. "(Name)? Is... Is it really you?" His mouth is agape, eyes blown wide. Before you can answer, he hastily adds, "W-Where have you been?! I thought you'd left! Is everything okay? What have you been doing all these years?"

You nod, but he's not sure which question that nod is meant to answer. "I..." You brace yourself against the wall and shudder. "We can catch up later. Right now really isn't..." His eyes trace down your body, stopping right at your slit, which is puffy and slick and not yet claimed. You also don't have a mate. Sensing his intentions, you turn away, shielding yourself. "Now's not a good time...for either of us."

Azul reclaims your tail fin, his grip gentle, coaxing. "It's fine. Please don't leave again... You're in no condition to swim elsewhere. Some brute might take advantage of you."

"But you...have to get rid of your clutch, don't you?"

Quiet descends upon the space. Azul doesn't speak; his scent says enough.

Your eyes widen with horror. "We can't, Azul."

"(Name)—"

"We're family," you whisper, shaking your head at him. "There's no way we can do something like that!"

"But we're not! Not anymore. Mom and Dad aren't together and we've never had a blood relation, so we can—"

You push his reaching tentacle away and grit your teeth. His scent is cloying, muddling the thoughts in your brain. "Still... We grew up together. You've always been my brother, so I can't go home with your clutch." You gasp when another appendage twines around your waist, drawing you closer to the floor. You glare weakly at him. "You're doing that on purpose, dummy..."

Azul flashes his teeth at you, smug. "I don't know what you're talking about, sister dearest."

"Stop. S'not funny..." He squeezes your hips, annoyingly playful, and your body arches itself into his touch. "Azul, please."

Azul creeps closer, his voice a tantalizing murmur. "I missed you so much. Do you know how lonely it was without you? You never visited or wrote. I sat alone at the head of the table every birthday and wished you were there by my side. You promised you'd never leave me and yet... And yet you broke it! You left and I never saw you again! I thought I'd lost you forever."

"You know that's not what happened. I couldn't stay because Dad wanted me to come with him."

"But I needed you more than Dad did!" he exclaims, features twisted with grief. Azul notices your subtle flinch and he swallows thickly, softens his intonation. "I... I needed you the most."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Your hands tremble against your nose, but it's futile. His scent surrounds you.

"Sorry isn't enough. You have to make it up to me. For every missed birthday. For every missed holiday. For every second I spent mourning you." Azul pins his body to yours, his tentacles wrapping around your arms to pull them down. He smiles lopsidedly, breathing you in like you're his lifeline. He reaches between you to press his fingers against your slit, and you mewl, squirming beneath him. He marvels at your mouth as it opens and closes, stuffed full with contradiction. "I know it's unbearable. It's unbearable for me, too, but I can help make it feel better for both of us."

"But—haa—your clutch... If you do it inside, I'll..."

His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips, right at the borderline between scales and flesh. "You'll do fine," he promises. "Remember when you'd reassure me whenever I was scared? Now it's my turn to do that for you. So let me help you. You'll feel good soon."

"We shouldn't. What will..." You gasp and reach for his shoulders by pure impulse, overcome with a searing want now that he's so close. "What will Mom say? Won't she be upset?"

Azul hums his contemplation. Three fingers curl inside your slit, spreading it with ease. You cry out and sink your teeth into his shoulder, restlessly, painfully horny. He suspects you'd have more fight if you weren't already so deep into your heat. Maybe then your bite would have been far more agonizing.

"Then she'd better not find out." One tentacle pats your head. It's meant to be consoling. "For the record, I never saw you as my sister. I meant it when I said I'd marry you. You know that, right?"

You pull away, maw speckled with blue blood and eyes twinkling. He smiles again; you're cute when stained with his color. "Please, Zul..." You hold his face between your hands, yanking him down to your lips. His gills flutter with excitement. "Fingers aren't enough..."

"I know, love. I know."

So he kisses you.

It's heady and sloppy, more dizzying than a tempting bout of pheromones and the slick squelch of his fingers fucking you open. Azul loses himself in the sensations, massaging every inch of you with his tentacles while you throw your arms around him in return. You're coerced into acceptance in a way that's spellbinding, unable to slake the desire that burns within you. He's filled to the brim with euphoria. It's been so many years apart and now you're here with him, stuck in this cramped cave, the both of you ignorant to the hours passing above.

Azul pulls away first. Not for oxygen because neither of you need that, but rather so he can speak instead.

"Promise you won't leave me."

"I won't. I'm here to stay, so please, Azul. Please..." You dig your nails into his back, impatient. "I need you."

He flushes blue up to his ears. "A-And say you love me. More than a brother, okay?"

The tapered tip of a thicker, much larger tentacle presses shallowly into your slit. You moan your relief, rocking your hips in hopes of taking him deeper. Tears line your lashes.

"I love—mmh—love you more than—oh, please—than a brother! Zul, please, I can't take it anymore. Put it in. Please give it to me!"

Azul presses kisses all over your face, unable to stop his growing smile. "I will, angelfish. I won't keep you waiting any longer."

He pushes inside and your tight warmth swallows every inch. He drags you down onto the floor, endeavoring to fit himself to you in the closest way. You fuck like animals, noisy and wet and filthy, curled around one another like a perfect tangle of erotica. In the dimming glow of a fading spell, you capture one other's mouths at every interval, determined to savor every salacious sound. The knots in your stomach tighten and unfurl each time orgasm washes over you, and it's so blissfully mind-numbing that you forget why you were ever opposed to it in the first place.

When the first egg breaches your womb, you thrash and bite, tetchy and unsatisfied. He shushes you, cooing affectionately, petting your tummy and promising to fill it in due time. You try to snarl around another moan, but it comes out choked. He laughs, but it isn't meant to ridicule. And as promised, more eggs follow. Small, round, gelatinous things that they are, Azul knows they'll grow larger and you'll be a full house for the next few months until it comes time to lay.

He can't wait.

You ride out the rest of the eggs in pure ecstasy, so much so that it's a blur, harboring each in the crammed confines of your womb. By the time the final one has found its home inside, you and Azul are thoroughly exhausted and starved. He slips out slowly, draping a tentacle over your extended middle. They're glowing faintly, not nearly as bright to draw predators in, but once you're further into gestation you'll resemble the prettiest star.

"I'll get you something to eat," he says after a minute of untangling himself from you.

Your hand shoots out to seize the tentacle retreating from your rounded belly. "No, stay here."

"You should eat. It's been a while."

"'m not hungry..." As if to mock you, your stomach growls. You plead with your eyes, desperate. "I'll eat later. Please stay here with me. Please?"

Azul considers it, and ultimately he opts to stay. It's safer this way. He'll keep watch, and eventually the two of you will depart for home. Satisfied, you pull him back into the recesses of the little cave to cuddle up to him, your eyelids fluttering.

"Do you think any of them will survive?"

Azul turns to look at you. He remembers the way you used to snuggle with him when you were but little mers, giggling and gossiping over the silliest of things. He smiles fondly at the memory and the sight of you now, soft and gravid and glowing. And all his. Forever his.

"Of course they will."

It's an uncertainty, but he lives to beat the odds. It's in his nature to chase after and achieve the things he covets most. A family is no exception.

"Mm, I hope so," you mutter, trailing off into slumber.

"I'll make sure of it, my love."

In this dimly lit haven, it's just you and him, together as nature intended. He couldn't be more elated.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #tw: dubcon #tw: oviposition #tw: stepcest #n/sfw #me: how dare azul ruin my chances at getting basketball floyd!! >:(#also me: *writes smut for him*#i can't stay mad at azuzu <3

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beefrobeefcal · 8 months ago

Text

Beefro proudly presents:

a Joel Miller & his Darlin' drabble: Just Wanted To Hear Your Voice Summary: You go for a night out and your minds wanders back to the man you share a home with. (Post Outbreak)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 1,245

Content Warning: allusions to smut, swearing, Joel & Darlin' being cuddle bugs

Author's Notes: this whole thing is courtesy of @iamasaddie & their prompt challenge. Thank you to @noxturnalpascal for being so sensible in their support and betaing this for me.

The need to socialize was something you’d not anticipated to ever feel again. After everything ended, normalcy became fight or flight and socializing for fun was a thing of the past. That is, until you and Joel had settled in Jackson. Being that you now no longer had to wonder where your next meal was coming from or had to keep looking over your shoulder for another threat, things that hadn’t held weight in years were starting to make their way back into your life.

“I’m goin’ out tonight.”, you said nonchalantly as you buttoned up your flannel shirt.

Looking up at your reflection, you caught Joel giving you a small smirk as he hoisted himself up from the bed.

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush with his big middle.

“Goin’ out? With who?”, he said in a hushed tone, pressing kisses to your neck.

“Maria, Dajana, Lisbeth… the usual suspects.”

“Ah, ‘s a girls night out.”

“Yeah. ‘S why you’re not invited.”

Joel chuckled and playfully gave your ass a spank.

*****

When you’d gotten home from working in the kitchen, you’d quickly cleaned up and changed, nervously anticipating something that you’d long since given up on ever doing again. You ran down the stairs just as Joel walked in the door and saw you in a dress.

He let out a long, low whistle. “You sure you’re goin’ out, Darlin’?”

You smiled at him, did a spin to show off your outfit, and Joel licked his lips. He nodded his head at you, and crooned, “Get over here. Need a closer look.”

The clock on the wall read that you were already in danger of being late, so you shook your finger at him with a smile as you tried to pass him to get to the door. Despite his added weight, he was still quick enough to catch you.

“You behave tonight. And have fun.”, he said against your mouth between kisses.

“Can’t do both at the same time, Joel.”, you teased. Giving him one last kiss, you squirmed out of his grip and scampered out the door.

*****

You’d lost count of how many rounds your table had ordered at the Tipsy Bison, and you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Feeling the alcohol dampen your senses in a euphoric way, you found yourself lost in thought over how the luxury of letting loose was now something you had.

The conversation at the table moved easily through different topics, starting tame with things like the weather and town events and then slipped into gossip, giggled between sips of beer and bouts of laughter. The subject of sex came up and you sat back with a wide grin as the women went back and forth over just about anything and everything that could potentially fall under the umbrella of sex. One had a complaint about their partner that they expressed in a hilarious anecdote, another regaled the table with a story about almost getting caught by her in-laws giving a blow job. Tears were in your eyes from laugher, and when it was your turn to speak, you paused, keenly aware that Joel’s sister-in-law was sitting at the table. Instead of sharing how Joel pulled you apart with almost surgical precision before he fucked you into oblivion, you settled for one of your favourite things about him.

“I love his voice. The way he talks.”, you smile, looking at your half full glass of beer with a small smile.

“Joel is not what I would a talkative man. You sure we’re talking about the same guy?”, Lisbeth teased.

“The man knows exactly what to say.”, you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Realizing that everyone at the table assumed you were referring exclusively to Joel’s dirty talk, you saved yourself the embarrassment of getting sentimental and stated, “He saves his daily word count for nocturnal activities.”

The knowing looks and nods around the table followed by agreement and similar sentiments allowed your mind to wander to Joel. Sure, his bedroom talk was just something else, but his voice - now that was what you loved. The non-verbal sounds he made: the grunts, the huffs, the chuckles, the sighs, the moans, the breaths, the whines, the whimpers, the growls, the hums…

You’d learned that Joel was more than the words he said long before you realized you loved him. Just the slight pitch change in a groan was enough to tell you it was safe to push or to retreat. Being allowed to get close enough to learn this about him was not just a point of pride, it was something you cherished. In turn, Joel could read you well enough to know if he could move forward or let you take the lead.

You were shaken from your thoughts by Dajana nudging you with a laugh.

“Daydreaming about that dick, huh?”

You laughed and agreed, not yet ready to delve into the depths of how bad you had it for Joel. “Speakin’ of – I’m gonna head out.”

The women all half-heartedly tried to get you to stay as they one by one all decided to head home. You bid them good night and paid your tab on the way out the door.

*****

“You’re home early, baby. Everything okay?”, Joel asked softly with brows furrowed as you walked in. He was sitting in the armchair in front of fire with a small knife and a little wooden giraffe he was carving in his hands.

You said nothing, keeping eye contact as you took off your jacket and walked towards him. He watched you, seeing the telltale haze of beer in your eyes and held his hand out for you. You took it and crawled onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his head against your chest. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held you close, letting out a content hum and your heart swelled. The rhythm of his breaths was even and soothing.

You held each other for an indeterminate period of time, each relishing in the other’s comfort and yet existing as one. The pleasant cocoon was paused as Joel moved his head and nudged his nose against your chin, silently asking for you to look at him.

When you did, he gave a soft smile that traveled to his eyes and his brought his hand to your cheek. “You okay?”

“Keep talking…”, you hummed in response.

Joel huffed a laugh and eyed you, “Darlin’… you’re home early an’awfully cuddly.”

You smiled and a soft giggle hovered in your throat as you closed your eyes.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me. Somethin’ happen or one of th – “

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Joel pulled back and looked up at you, confusion written on his face. His brows raised and the confusion melted into amusement.

“Darlin’, you’re drunk.”

You let a laugh out, echoing through the house like chimes. “Maybe, but I know I love you.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you froze. You and Joel had never said it to one another. You felt Joel pull you into him again, coaxing your tense body to relax. The small sound he made in response, the pitch and tone and the timber, the way you felt the sound vibrate from him through to you more than you heard it… it was all you needed to know he loved you, too.

#writing challenge 2.0 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #chubby!joel miller #chubby!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #chubby joe #chubby pedro rights !!!#chubby pedro pascal #fat belly #pedro pascal tummy nation #beefro's bistro #beefro is sweating #you asked beefro answered #🥩

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gabessquishytum · 9 months ago

Note

Death adopts cat Dream (actual cat Dream) who is very snippy at everyone (she bribed him with cat milk and Death was declared his sister). Then Destruction comes home with an injured cat (Cat Hob) and takes him in.

Snippy cat Dream!!! He's a very regal and majestic skinny boy who likes to sit in his cat tree and judge everyone. And when Destruction comes home with a cat carrier containing another cat, Dream is NOT thrilled. To say the least.

But the big tabby who slinks shyly out of the carrier doesn't look or smell much like a threat. He's clearly been in one too many fights already (torn ear, scratched face, limping). But he's so friendly! He's immediately snuggling up to Destruction and purring, or climbing up into Death's lap for cuddles. Dream only sits on her lap when he is feeling extremely generous.

Hob also tries (again, and again, and again) to befriend Dream. Only to be smacked with a firm black paw. Or hissed at. But Hob just doesn't get the message. When Dream naps in the sunlight, Hob shuffles as close as he can get without making Dream run off. And he tries to get into Dream’s bed with him, even though Hob has his own!

But then Hob gets taken to the vet (just to check his progress) and Dream... misses him. A lot. He sits by the front door and waits for Hob to come back, occasionally meowing sorrowfully. When Hob is brought home, Dream immediately rubs up against him and gives his torn ear an affectionate lick.

That evening they fall asleep in Dream’s bed together, curled up like puzzle pieces. It's the cutest thing, and they're clearly going to be besties forever, from now on <3

#the sandman #dreamling #meowpheus

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celtigxr · 3 months ago

Text

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. iv: unforgiven

Chapter Summary: The dinner with the reunited families goes about as well as everyone thought it would.

Word Count: 3703

Sneak Peak: “Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face. Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back. Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands. “Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears.

Warnings: None, i think. Language, I suppose, lol.

T H E R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana never hated her step sister more than that very moment when they gathered around the table. Floris bumped into her shoulder to take her place at Clement’s right before Val could get there. By all rights, as Bartimos’ second child, she should have sat next to her brother, but Floris was always adamant that the order of things go by age, and that she was Bartimos’s eldest daughter, not Valeana.

Floris has always been a shrew, but her attitude had soured with age. She had become more entitled and frequently bullied her sisters to do what she wanted them to do. Shyla was far too fragile to disobey, and Val picked her battles. Sometimes the headache wasn’t worth the effort.

Valeana bit her tongue as she descended into her chair, forcing herself to keep her head down, gaze away from the man across from her. Which was difficult. All her effort was put into the muscles of her neck and face, willing herself to be as close to a statue as humanly possible. Her cheek faced Aemond while she pretended to listen to the King’s toasts. From the corner of her eye, she could see him openly staring, only breaking when his father stood up to toast to forgiveness.

That was when Valeana looked at Aemond without fear of eye contact. How could he, when she now faced the side of his face that was marred and sightless. A pity, a small voice said in the back of her mind. He had such pretty lilac eyes. He still had that regal profile, though, with that strong jawline and aquiline nose. He still had those sharp bow-shaped lips. The softness of his boyishness long gone, replaced by chiseled cheekbones and sharp edges. He reminded Valeana of the tip of a sword. Proud, regal, dangerous, lethal. Unlike a sword, Val had the intrusive desire to run her tongue down the slope of his jawline.

Cursing herself, she tore her eyes away.

As more food was placed upon the table, conversations took place. The adults conversed in pleasantries filled with nostalgia, and the youth exchanged awkward glances, pretending to pay attention to what they were talking about.

Until the silence was finally broken.

“Sunfyre must be very big now, Prince Aegon,” Shyla craned her neck to find the prince in question. “I remember when he was the size of a horse.”

Aegon’s ears perked up at the mention of his dragon; it was clear that the beast was his greatest pride.

Still chewing on a roll, Aegon replied, “Oh yeth,” he took a cup of wine and drank down his morsel. “He’s gotten quite large. Big enough to fly two in his saddle.”

Shyla’s face lit up like the Grand Sept on Maiden’s Day, though Valeana was the only one who really caught it. She knew exactly how her sister perceived his words: she believed that Aegon was offering her a ride on Sunfyre.

Valeana remembers Aegon threatening to set her on fire once, because she wouldn’t stop asking to come to the Dragon Pit. They were never allowed, not even with Helaena, who’s dragon, Dreamfyre, was already domesticated and well trained. The Dragonkeepers wouldn’t allow it, and neither did their father.

“If that were true, then I’d imagine Vhagar could seat double,” Surprisingly, it was Arthor who spoke. Val wasn’t used to her youngest sibling speaking when the crowd was more than three. However, he had always been fascinated by dragons, ever since he saw the Cannibal flying around Crackclaw point.

The black wild dragon was an island regular, being so close to Dragonstone where his cave was located. When Valeana sequestered herself in her room, she would spend hours on her balcony, watching him, imagining herself being the only person alive that could claim him. The Cannibal, the wildest, largest, and dangerous of dragons alive. No one even knew how old he was, or where he came from, or how he ended up feasting on his own kind, and that made the creature all the more interesting to her.

Though she did not have the blood of the dragon, and so she kept her fascinations to herself.

Aemond turned to the young Celtigar, his smirk like coiling ribbon, “Vhagar is as mighty as her size, but I would not say she could seat four and still fly unimpeded. Three at most, I would say.”

For the first time since they arrived, Arthor smiled, “That is still impressive. I should like to see her, if it is not too much trouble.”

“I would not get your hopes up, brother,” Valeana found herself talking despite her unofficial vow of silence. Her eyes never left her plate as she cut her venison in bite size pieces, “The Dragonpit is reserved for dragonriders and their keepers.”

There was a moment of surprised silence before Aemond spoke, “Vhagar is far too big for the Dragonpit. So, to answer your question, Arthor, it would not be too much trouble, if we find the time.”

Valeana still hadn’t looked up from her food.

“Would you care to join us, Valeana?”

She froze, fork hovering over her plate, halfway to her lips. This was the first time he had said her name in ten years, at least in her presence. The first time he directly acknowledged her. There was a strained aura at their end of the table, one that the adults weren’t paying attention to.

“It can be quite daunting to be in the shadow of a beast of Conquest, but Vhagar is quite loyal to me. You will be safe under my supervision,” He continued when his question went unanswered.

Val hummed, and her body unfroze like a ship at full canvas when the rush of wind from an upcoming storm pushed it into life. No, she couldn’t help herself… Her mouth was already open, tongue sharp like an arrowhead.

“Am I? Forgive me my skepticism, Prince Aemond, but the last time I stood near you, I nearly lost my life. I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon,” this time she looked directly at him, her sentence punctuated by how she put the food in her mouth. Her teeth sliding against the metal utensil as she pulled the morsel free.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon spoke into the rim of his cup, a wide grin upon his face.

Floris choked, forcing Clement to pat her on the back.

Shyla gasped, then promptly hid her mouth with her hands.

“Valeana,” Arthor hissed at her, though it fell on deaf ears.

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he tried to hold her venomous gaze, but ultimately failed. He turned his cheek to her, directing his attention to his cup instead.

“You do not need to make this more difficult than it needs to be,” His voice seemed softer, as if defeated or tired. “This is the season of peacemaking, is it not?”

Valeana couldn’t stop her eye roll, and when she did, she spotted the heated glare Floris was giving her.

Be. Nice. She mouthed.

No. Val mouthed back.

Floris cleared her throat, “Right you are, Prince Aemond. I have many fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mhm,” Valeana nodded sarcastically as she viciously cut a carrot in half, “Like that one day when Aegon told you he had a present waiting for you in a room, and you foolishly opened a water closet while Septa Jeyne was–”

“-- I remember no such thing,” Floris was quick to shake her head, her hands making quick work of the meat on her plate.

"I do!" Aegon giggled into his cup. "I'll never forget Septa Jeyne's face," Aegon mimicked the old woman's look of shock, a silent scream on his tongue.

Floris' face was as red as the wine in her goblet that she tried to hide in.

Aegon continued, pointing at Valeana, "Do you remember when I stole one of Helaena's bugs and put it down the back of your gown?"

"Vividly," Val's tone dripped with cynicism as she side-eyed her sister, "Such fond, fond memories."

Helaena had a pained expression on her face as she turned to her brother, "The one with the many legs? I was looking for that bug for days. I cried, Aegon, remember?"

Her brother's face dropped, and something akin to shame replaced the mischievous expression, "I-- Helaena... You had so many-- It was only a bug--"

"Do you still collect insects, Princess?" Valeana decided to alter the direction of the conversation, saving Aegon from an awkward non-apology, and from Helaena having to endure it.

The Princess turned away from her brother, her features changing to something less pained, and more content. Val had clear memories of the princess being so far removed from her brothers, it was difficult to see how they were related if she did not consider her features. Though their shared memories together were limited to embroidery, since Helaena seldom left her areas of comfort, and the Celtigar girls had no taste for remaining in the same rooms from dusk to dawn. Shyla and Floris in particular couldn't stand being around the many-legged creatures that Helaena loved so dearly. Valeana had no opinion of it; she knew she didn't care for insects enough to handle them with her own hands, but she had always watched the princess from a careful distance with Queen Alicent.

She nodded, a smile showing her pride on it, "I do. One of my spiders had recently mated and made an egg sack."

Shyla made a horrified face.

"Y'know, Clement sails quite frequently to Pentos. He has seen quite exotic ones you may be interested in."

That got Helaena's attention, based on how her spine straightened and her knife and fork were forgotten, "Oh?"

Clement looked up at her, and offered her the small smile, "Uh, yes, Princess. Though, I did not know you were fond of such creatures, otherwise I would have brought one with me."

Helaena asked what was the most interesting ones he had found, and the conversation went on like that between the two. With the attention moved off of her, Valeana turned back to her food and ate silently. The minutes went by with nothing of interest being said; Aemond talked more than Valeana, though only to answer questions by the others (sans Clement) and Val was resolute in not looking at him when he talked. It wasn't until the King's voice reached their end of the table that she looked up from her emptying plate.

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls."

Bartimos chuckled into the handkerchief as he wiped his mouth, "Oh yes, there is nothing like the song of the Sirens of Claw Isle. Girls, why don't you give us one or two?"

"Of course, papa!" Shyla stood up immediately, grin broad and eager.

“It would be an honour to perform for His Grace, and his family,” Floris replied demurely.

Valeana straightened in her seat, and her mouth went dry when she turned to her father, a slight panic in her words as she spoke.

“My lute is still packed with my belongings.”

Bartimos opened his mouth, but Viserys spoke before he could, “That’s quite alright, my dear. Your voice is instrument enough.”

Sensing his daughter’s unease, Barty adjusted himself in the chair to look at the king, “Apologies, your Grace. Valeana— She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

“No?” It was the Queen who spoke, delicate brow furrowing as she looked over at the girl in question, “Why is that, my dear? I remember you had quite a strong voice for a girl so small.”

Valeana caught the smirk twitching at the end of Aegon’s lip from the word ‘small’, and the two caught each other’s eye. He was lucky he was so far away from her, because she had no qualms making sure he would not be able to sire heirs with a swift kick with the point of her shoe.

“Womanhood had robbed me of the skill, your Grace,” Valeana replied, then cleared her throat, still feeling it dry. Her voice failed her in talking as well, it seemed. “My voice lowered, and I could no longer hold the same notes as my sisters.”

It was a partial lie; the truth of the matter was that she lost her confidence. After the years she spent isolated, she seldom talked, and singing felt like a language she no longer understood. She only ever hummed and sang lowly and idly by herself in the privacy of her bedchambers, and even then she would cringe at the way her voice would crack when she attempted high notes that she once was able to do.

“My sisters are still lovely as always, your Grace.”

“Well, I shall like to hear you play the lute on another date then, my dear,” The King smiled kindly.

“She’s quite good!” Ursula boasted, “I personally love when she plays the lyre – puts me right to sleep!”

“Ahem,” Floris cleared her throat. She's on her feet, Shyla already on her heels, “May we begin?”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Ursula turned around in her seat to watch her daughters. “Please.”

T H E G R E E N S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The dinner with the Celtigars was as painful as Aemond suspected. For once, he allowed his pride to step aside and try to make amends with Valeana, as a favour for his father. He had expected more indifference, or meek politeness. He did not, however, expect confrontation coming from little Valeana. That was a new development. The Valeana he remembered was polite, kind, and while she had a quick tongue to retort, it was usually to be playful or humourous. Before the incident, she often forgave Aemond for his tardiness, or when he ignored her while he was around his brother and nephews. She didn’t even put up a fight when she was the butt-end of Aegon’s jests and pranks.

“I do not trust you near a flight of stairs, let alone a dragon.”

Aemond wasn’t sure why, but that sentence felt like a gauntlet punch to his gut. Had anyone else said it, he would silently agree to it, because he wanted people to fear him. One could never trust Aemond next to Vhagar – one could not fully trust Vhagar, truly. His promise to Arthor was empty; he had no intention of letting the boy within a tourney’s field distance to the near two century old she-dragon. However, had Valeana agreed, he might have made an exception, because what greater way for him to make amends than to allow her to touch the largest dragon in the world? His dragon.

He remembered how much she longed to touch one, almost as much as he did, but was denied even to be an audience member to dragon training in the pit.

The rejection was one thing, but if Aemond was honest with himself, it was the realization of the consequences of his crime that bothered him so. As a child, he selfishly justified his actions, in all things, not just with Valeana. He justified him claiming Vhagar, he justified him calling his nephews bastards, and he justified pushing Val away from him that day. It was all self-preservation, and at the time it benefited him. He got Vhagar, he got respect, he got fear, and he got away from the overbearing friendship of Valeana Celtigar. It burdened him, and held him back. When Bartimos left King’s Landing, Aemond’s life had changed for the better. He might’ve lost an eye, and he might’ve lost a friendship, but he gained so much more.

Except… he lost a friendship. It did not occur to him how important that was until he realized it was truly gone for good.

Because she could no longer trust him. And the confirmation from her own mouth felt like he was finally facing the corpse of someone he didn’t realize was dead.

The rest of dinner went on in monotonous torture. Floris, Shyla, and Arthor respectfully tried to carry small talk with him, Helaena and Aegon as if nothing happened. Valeana remained quiet through it all, her eyes moving around him as if he was simply not there. It infuriated him. Aemond found himself staring at the crest of her head or her turned cheek, mentally chanting: look at me, look at me, look at me.

He was dead to her. A ghost she could no longer feel or see. It was a worse feeling than being disemboweled by her resentful sharp tongue and teeth. And Aemond absolutely hated her for it.

"Tell me, ladies, do you still sing? This old Keep was desperately missing the beautiful voices of the Celtigar girls,” His father asked, and Aemond and Aegon shared a look that communicated the same thing.

Seven Hells, no this shit again.

The Sirens of Claw Isle as they were known to be called, became somewhat of an annoyance for the boys growing up. There wasn’t a feast where they weren’t encouraged to sing bard songs until all departed for the night. They had lovely voices, but to Aegon, Aemond, and even Jace and Luke, it was like listening to the excessive chirping of birds at the crack of dawn. Granted, at the time, Aemond only ever soldiered through it just to hear Valeana sing. Her voice had a way of echoing through the tall ceilings and down corridors, holding onto notes longer than her sisters. It was almost haunting.

“...She no longer performs with her voice, you see. She has turned to the strings for her music.”

At this, Aemond tilted his head and examined Valeana as she explained herself. Her neck, cheeks, and tip of her ears got a tinge of pink. She was embarrassed…or ashamed?

Curious…

Perhaps there was a gap in her armour after all.

A part of him was slightly disappointed.

After a rather ear-bleeding rendition of “The Maids that Bloom in Spring”, supper finally ended. When his father stood, so did everyone else. The King bid a good night, not without giving Bartimos a hug, a handshake to the Celtigar sons, and kisses on the cheeks of the girls. His mother did the same, leaving when the King made his exit. Soon Otto, Bartimos, and Ursula followed suit.

As the group filtered out of the Small Hall, making their way back to the Holdfast, Aemond lingered at the tail. Clement was still conversing with Helaena about Pentos, which reminded him of how his grandsire suggested that the King may match the two. Seeing how the two easily conversed, the possibility seemed far more plausible than her thought.

Valeana was a step behind them, walking alongside Arthor who examined the statues and tapestries they passed by. Floris had Shyla’s arm clutched in hers, and it was painfully evident that the younger girl was trying to free herself so she may crowd around Aegon.

Aegon, who was also trying to put distance between him and the eager girl, fell into step next to his brother.

“Well, that went splendidly,” Aegon said once there is enough distance between them and the others ahead. “I half expected her to take out your other eye.”

Aemond sighed heavily through his nose, attention set straight ahead of him, “I am sure she thought of it. She loathes me.”

“Can you blame her,” Aegon’s attention was on Shyla, who was craning her neck over her shoulder to catch a glimpse at him. Aegon wiggled his fingers at her, granting him a large, gummy grin.

“Father wishes me to reconcile,” Aemond ignores Shyla and instead watches the back of Val’s head. “But he asks for the impossible. She barely looks at me, and when she does…”

“Oh, I am aware, dear brother, it has become the source of my entertainment this evening.”

“I am glad my misery has been that for you, brother.”

Aegon turned to him, his eyebrow raised curiously, the corner of his lips upturned, “Does it cause you misery, Aemond? That she despises you?”

Aemond stopped walking to glare at him, his hands like stiff tree trunks at his sides. Aegon slowed to a stop in front of him, tilting his head, waiting for an answer.

“That farce of a supper was miserable. Why would she cause me any other emotion other than apathy? She is a stranger to me.”

“She was your friend once, if I recall,” Aegon folded his arms over his chest, and relaxed his leg to stand casually. “And your betrothed.”

“It was not a friendship,” Aemond lied through his teeth, “None of us were friends with the sisters. We hated them, do you recall?”

“Oh, I recall Luke, Jace, and I hating them quite a bit. But I also remember you and Val exchanging love notes.”

“They were not–” Aemond stopped himself, moving a hand over his face and sighing through his nose again. “She clung to me like pollen to a bee. It was annoying, it was overbearing, it was too much.”

Aegon narrowed his eyes at his brother skeptically, but he then quickly shrugged, accepting his words. “Fine, she fancied you a bit too much. Does it bother you that she doesn’t anymore? I bet it bruises your ego… Maybe it’s,” he waved a hand around his eyepatch, “Maybe it’s the eye. You’re half as handsome now–Ouf.”

With a rough slam with his shoulder, Aemond pushed through Aegon with the force of his step. As his back faced his brother, Aegon started to giggle madly behind him.

Echoes of oinks and kissy noises reverberated in Aemond’s memory.

“Well, if you feel nothing but apathy towards her, then mayhaps I should try courting her?” Aegon started to stride towards him, keeping up with his pace. “It would make father happy, uniting the Valyrian houses and all that noise.”

“You’re free to try, brother,” Aemond replied, voice clipped and dismissive. Valeana would never consider Aegon. She would never entertain the idea. It was absolutely ludicrous.

Wasn’t it?

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos

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