#brother bear *and* Last Kingdom??

[suzieloveships]

Don't get me wrong, grumpy old man with a sad backstory being force to take care of a child which leads to him opening out and healing from his past trauma and the two of them developing a parent-child relationship is the best trope, but you what is also amazing and needs more love?

An irresponsible and/or immature teen boy/very young adult man being force to take care of a kid(s) which leads to him having a character development and redemption and the two, or more, of them developing a siblings relationship.

I need more stories like this

Edit HOW COULD I FORGOT!!!

Feel free to add more if you know any

[wishing-well-art]

Someone's having a lot of fun with this series

[lizzyiii]

Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins ​​and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please

“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”

A Beauty Too Tempting

pairing | aemond x cousin!reader word count | 5.4k summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself. tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond. a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond had finally ascended.

His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.

He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.

Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.

But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.

And that was when Aemond first heard of you.

Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.

There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.

Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.

The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.

After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.

Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.

Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.

As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.

A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.

You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.

The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.

Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.

A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”

At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.

Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”

Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.

“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.

Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.

“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”

He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.

Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”

Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.

“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”

Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.

The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.

He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”

A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.

“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”

Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.

“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”

The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.

“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”

Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.

“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”

You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.

His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.

“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”

Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.

“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.

Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.

“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”

A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.

“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.

“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”

With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively

Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.

"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."

Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.

“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”

His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.

“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.

Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.

“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”

Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.

“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.

Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.

“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”

He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.

“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”

Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”

Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”

He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.

“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.

"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.

“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”

Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.

"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."

With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”

“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.

“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.

“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”

He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”

Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.

“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.

As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.

“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.

“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.

Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”

A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.

“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.

Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.

“Please...I need more,” you whined.

Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.

“More, hmm?”

He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”

With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.

Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."

With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.

“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.

"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”

Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.

“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.

Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.

“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”

His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.

"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”

The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.

“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”

As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.

When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”

As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”

Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.

His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.

A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.

“Tomorrow, I take you to your new home.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[adispit]

The Crown (100 followers special!)

Alpha! Rival king x alpha king m! reader

content warnings: bitching, reader gets turned into an omega against his will, noncon turned heavy dubcon, reader isn’t in the right of mind, breeding, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, knotting, overstimulation, pwp, belly bulge

note: kinda went ham writing this wtf lmfao, anyways enjoy!

The tension in the room was palpable. As the one who wore the crown, your duty was just as heavy as the ornate gems that emboldened it. You were a young and green alpha, barely an adult at the ripe age of 18. Hastily made king, as your many brothers in line and father fell in the decades long battle against the opposing kingdom, your choice didn’t matter. The country needed someone to govern as soon as possible and you as the sole remaining heir was responsible. The whispers and scrutiny of the court didn’t help much either, the weight of responsibility of your decisions over the people and the waging war kept you awake at night, cold sweat dripping from your temples as you could almost hear the cries of your fellow soldiers perishing in battle.

Which took you into the present moment, where a heated debate was taking place of the next action that should be taken for the strife between your country and the rival nation. You sat in the heavy, intricately carved throne that seemed to press down on you, both a symbol of your power and a reminder of the immense responsibility you bore. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, uneasy shadows on the stone walls. Around you, the advisors were gathered, their voices a murmur of concern and debate. “Thousand of soldiers have fallen in battle, we can’t take any more losses!” One of the advisors, his name you couldn’t really remember, argued fiercely with a hint of urgency. “The enemy is approaching closer day by day and the people are starving, we must surrender now to avoid total destruction!”

“Surrender?! That would cut off all means of escape! And you can’t possibly guarantee under the rule of the enemy’s rule, our people will be able to live peacefully!” Another advisor shot back, her voice sharp with defiance. Shifting uneasily on the throne, you felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. The advisors’ voices clashed, each presenting their case with unwavering conviction. Maps and documents spread out on the table before you seemed to blur as you struggled to focus on the conflicting arguments. Finally, you spoke, fingers drumming nervously on the table as you tried keep a steady tone amid the clamour. “How are you sure that surrender is the only viable option we have to take?” Your voice strained as you fidgeted restlessly.

The first advisor spoke, his gaze was intense, filled with concern. “The enemy’s forces are overwhelming. Continuing to resist will only lead to greater devastation. Surrender is the most rational choice to save lives.”The other advisor leaned closer, her eyes filled with determination. “We have not explored every diplomatic avenue. Surrender might be seen as defeat, but if we negotiate from a position of strength, we could secure better terms.” The room fell into a tense silence as every gaze fell upon you, the choice to surrender or negotiate hung heavily in the air.

However, you chose neither. “I have heard your concerns and arguments,” you began, your voice filled with unusual resolve. “We will not surrender.” Gasps echoed throughout the room as the disapproving gazes began pouring in but you pushed on. “As your king, no matter the outcome in this long war, we will push to the end. If we must fall, let it be with the knowledge that we fought to the last breath for our sovereignty and our principles. We will defend our country with all that we have, even if it means facing doom.” You were exhausted, the war taken its toll on you and you just wanted it to end. “Your majesty! You don’t understand, we-“ “Silence! This is an order from your king. I will now retire to my chambers.” Leaving no room for argument, you slipped away to the privacy and peace of your quarters, away from the shouts and protests of your counsel.

Chucking the heavy crown aside, you sank in your chair with a deep sigh. The flickering candlelight illuminating your weary face, an expression now often seen ever since you took on the role of king a few months ago. Absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the chair, the advisors arguments burst through your mind, doubt and despair both trapping you. God, not even having a moment to yourself was possible in the castle. You seriously needed a break from all the chaos, so you decided to slip out under the cover of night from the castle to the nearby forest, at the very edge of the country’s borders to seek some time to yourself.

As leaves crunched under your every step, the moon cast a gentle silvery glow over your cloaked form. The leaves in the tree branches rustled softly from the occasional breeze, the peace and quiet bringing about a pleasant atmosphere as you trekked through the woods. Arriving at a small clearing where a babbling creek lay, you finally let out an exhale you had been holding. Under the canopy of the stars, and no one around to constantly screech the phrase “Your Majesty!”, the sense of freedom you felt was truly unmatched. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to at least let out your worries, there wasn’t anyone around anyways… “Damn those old farts, it’s not like I even wanted to be king! I can literally see the court eyeing me like a piece of meat every time they argue about the war like I’m some kind of idiot! God, sometimes I wish I was just some simple commoner!” Fueled by your sudden rage, words rushed out your mouth, the confusion and rage you had held in for so long finally let out.

Oh. That actually felt…good. Unfortunately before you could continue, a voice interrupted you, “Your Majesty, are you okay…?” Whipping your head around, you were greeted at a sight of a golden-haired man donned in a commoner’s garb, standing there awkwardly at the entrance of the clearing. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Well, I …uh…! Sorry, you had to see that… that was pretty embarrassing of me haha…” You rubbed your neck sheepishly, mortified that one of your subjects had seen you so vulnerable. There was a heavy pause as your words hung in the air. The man’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, his tone empathetic. "Your Majesty, we all have our burdens. There’s nothing wrong with sharing your troubles. If you don’t mind sharing some of your problems with this humble subject, I would be happy to listen.”

The man’s unexpected understanding and calm demeanor helped ground you. Word after word, you shared about how you feel, the weight of the crown and its decisions, and the man patiently listened. Hours passed and you learnt the man’s name was Leo and he was an alpha. “Leo, thanks so much for listening to me.” You smiled shyly at him. “Not to mention, you’re really handsome too, I bet a girl or two would be interested in a guy who is as caring and good looking as you. Well too bad, I’m a male, an alpha and the king at that. Alphas can’t really be together.” You joked, failing to catch a brief piercing look that flashed in his eyes before he reverted back to his gentle expression at what you said. “No problem, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed. “I am glad you were able to feel better, but I must go. See you around.” Waving at him, you watched as he left the clearing. Weird, you never saw his face before in the servants of the castle…why did he say see you around? Oh well, you brushed it off as you headed back to the castle, it didn’t really matter.

As you approached the castle, you were greeted by the sight of the once-grand fortress, now a dark silhouette against the burning sky, that was surrounded by enemy forces. Smoke billowed from the battlements, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle. Panic and despair filled you, as their king where had you been? Shirking your responsibilities and leaving your own subjects vulnerable! Your heart sank as you rushed into the fray of battle where the throne room lay, as multiple corpses of your former subjects lay there, a stifling numbness filled you. Gritting your teeth, you decided to fight to the end and honour your words as their king. Brandishing your sword, you swung at the enemy soldiers, desperately seeking revenge for your fallen subjects. Unfortunately, resistance was futile at this point, most of your soldiers were dead. The enemy soldiers recognised you as the king and immediately incapacitated you. Just before you passed out, you swore you could see a familiar smile on someone approaching you.

“—— needs to be done.” “That’s not——!” You jolt awake to the sharp, discordant murmur of voices. Groggy and disoriented, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings around you. The invasion! Wide awake, you opened your eyes to see the familiar throne room and your wrists bound together as you sat on the throne. Enemy soldiers surrounded the hall as a golden-haired man in regal attire seemed to be having a conversation with someone. Wait. No way. Was it- “Leo!” You blurted out involuntarily. Noticing that you were awake, the man gestured for the other person and the soldiers to leave as he walked in your direction. As he came closer, his cerulean eyes met your shocked gaze, there was no mistaking it. He was Leo, the man you had confided in hours ago.

The kind expression on his face you had seen was now replaced with a taunting smirk, a sharp contrast to his former soothing demeanour. A wave of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily paralysed. Tilting your chin up with his hand, he smiled evilly. “Oh, you naive thing. (Name), you were just pouring your heart out to me as your subjects were ruthlessly slaughtered…you truly are a great king…” An almost psychotic giggle left him as he sneered at you. “I was honestly surprised. I thought you were be more well, less stupid. It’s almost adorable really! To not even do your research about the very king that you were at war with, your innocence was so cute.” Disdain was evident in his tone as he made cruel jab after cruel jab at you.

“Just kill me.” You snarled at him, a fierce defiance radiating as you bared your fangs at him. However, your words seemed to take on the opposite effect of what you wanted as he only cooed at you mockingly. “Now, now, I can’t possibly do that. You were so cute in trusting me, I can’t possibly let you go now!” He grinned with malicious intent, his thoughts unpredictable as you glared at him. “The elders at home have been bothering me about getting a wife lately, and you seem to like me after our first meeting so why not make you my bitch.” He beamed malevolently, making sure to enunciate every word clearly.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bitch? Well, you certainly didn’t like that as you let out a guttural growl at that suggestion, your pride as an alpha rising up. “Quiet.” Leo shushed you almost as you were a disobedient child. Grabbing you with almost inhuman strength, you flailed as he hoisted you on his lap with your back facing him. Terror quickly set in as he began sniffing your nape where your scent gland was, his canines lightly grazing it. One bite and it was over. You wouldn’t be an alpha anymore and instead be bound to the very man that slaughtered your people. In a fit of fear, you began frantically struggling as you pleaded with him. “Leo! Please don’t-!” However, it was to no avail as he snorted back with a snarky “No.” He sunk his teeth into your gland, biting down with as much force he could humanly muster. The harsh pain ripping a pained whine from your throat as you scrambled at the air to grip onto anything to ground you. An intense heat began to envelop you, further intensifying your discomfort.

The bite took immediate effect, heat rushing through your veins as you felt your body beginning to change. Agony shot through you as the forced change to your secondary gender was initiated, a relentless wave of pain that refused to ebb. Your once sharp canines that served to give a mating bite shrunk along with your cock, turning into an omega’s tiny cock. Your unused hole began to leak runny slick through your pants, a sign that the bitching had been successful and your first heat as an omega was about to begin. Weakly twitching against Leo, your muscles felt like stone as all your strength was sapped from you. Satisfied with his work, Leo hummed as he licked the bite in satisfaction.

As the pain shifted to an insatiable need to be filled, you unconsciously grinded against the huge tent forming in his pants, seeking reprise from the unfamiliar heat you felt, your slick wetting his crotch. You whimpered, your newly turned body eager to be filled and fucked. Turning you around to face him, Leo tore off your pants impatiently, eager to see the results of his bitching. “Fuck, your dick has really turned into an omega’s useless cock!” He jeered as he thumbed at the slit at the head of your dick, pearly pre-cum forming at the tip. “F-fuck you…” You spat back, struggling to regain your senses in your lust hazed state. He smirked back, his fingers dextrously rubbing your cock in response. “S-stop!” You cried out, the rim of your eyes red. The humiliation of being bitched and getting jerked off was too much. Coupled with the fact you were a virgin, the pleasure immediately began to fill your frayed nerves. With your senses heightened by your heat, you came almost seconds after, the knot in your stomach tightening and breaking as you dirtied your shirt with a loud moan.

Hands moving away from your weeping cock, he spread your rim dripping with slick open. “It’s like a waterfall…” Muttering, he wet his fingers with your slick before slipping in a finger. The calluses on his finger served as delicious stimulation as they rubbed against your sensitive walls, trying to find your prostrate. Biting your lips, you tried to hold your moans in, not letting him have any satisfaction. Your attempts at resistance were once again futile as he quickly found your prostrate and began to abuse it relentlessly, slipping in another finger. Once again, you felt the familiar singsong of ecstasy rush through you as the pressure in your stomach tightened. “Gh! Ngh—no! D-don’t wanna cum again!” You sobbed as he mercilessly grinded away at your prostrate, crying out as cum shot out from your dick for the second time.

His fingers pulled out as he shared a kiss with you, hot tongue twisting and dominating your mouth. Caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice him freeing his cock which was now circling your hole. The sudden intrusion had you gasping and pulling away as the blunt head of his cock slipped out from your movements. He grunted at you, annoyed as his cock throbbed impatiently. You shook your head at him desperately as your throat was too dry to form words. A sudden gentle expression formed on his face, “Okay, then if you don’t want it, I won’t force it.” He smiled, almost saint-like. You should have felt joy at what he said but only disappointment filled you. Why did you feel disappointed?! The growing emptiness in you made you restless as your instincts cried at you to make your mated alpha put his dick in you deep and knot you.

Conflicted, you stared at him blankly. “Tell me, do you want it or not?” He chuckled carefree, almost as if his cock wasn’t rock hard in front of you. The intense need to be filled overwhelmed your senses, you needed to be bred. Desperation and horniness got the better of you as you as you nodded your head, hole clenching in response. “Use your words.” He scowled in displeasure. Eager to please your alpha, you tossed aside your pride and shame as you uttered a low yes. In a split second, you felt his monstrous cock stretch you open and then white. You had squirted all over him just from penetration. Your mouth gaped as your eyes glazed over, the repeated orgasms leaving you twitching around the fat dick driving into you. “Shit.” He huffed, smug, and gripped your waist as he bounced you up and down his fat dick. “Ah! Ah- ugh!” Whimpers bubbled from your throat as you swore you saw stars from how hard he was thrusting into you, your prostrate kissed again and again. Watching your flesh ripple as his hips snapped against yours, Leo spurred on, your cries exciting him further.

Indescribable satisfaction filled you as he grinded his hips into you, making sure to go deep and bully your sensitive innards, making you pulse around his cock uncontrollably. “You like that, huh.” He growled, voice dropping an octave as he began relentlessly pounding, determined to sate his desire. It didn’t help that he had an incredibly strong stamina, making you orgasm multiple times, your voice too hoarse to even cry out. “Gonna wife you up, put my kids in you.” He groaned, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the brutal pace of his cock began to stutter and slow down as the base of his dick began to swell. He was going to knot you. Roughly shoving his swelling knot in your hole, the burn and friction against your insides made you mewl in pleasure.

You attempted to move Leo’s hands away, but when that didn’t work, you tried to crawl off the dick destroying your insides. Tears fell from your eyes, your little cock not being able to keep up with the pleasure continuing to wrack his body. He felt you trying to pull away and grabbed you by the base of your throat, pulling his ass flush against his thighs. Leo continued to obliterate your hole, his other hand reaching down to wrap around the tiny dick. He jerked you in time with his thrusts, licking around the scent gland. 

“Don’t run from it. Take it like a good little wife.”

Finally, the moment came. The mast of his swollen knot locked you both together as he sheathed himself in to the hilt. You slurred incoherently as he began stuffing you full of his cum, a small bulge forming on your stomach. In a rare moment of reprieve, he gently placed his hands against your distending stomach as waves of cum were pumped into you. Trapped in a tight bear hug, your yowls of ecstasy drowned out his moans as you both came together. Barely conscious from the rough fucking you just had, your head lolled to the side on his shoulder.

Breathing in his scent as your hole hugged his cock, you swore you were going to kill him. A small hoarse “fuck you” left your lips before you drifted off to sleep, eliciting an amused laugh from him.

note: well that was it haha, Leo’s a bitch lol 💀. Tried a more descriptive writing style this time, hope u enjoyed the fic :)

Reblogs are appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

check out part 2 !

see some headcanons about him!

[grimdarling69]

Ghosting Gone Backwards

"No. No, i can not go back." Damian spoke her voice echoey and distant, but her body was etched in drooping vines. She would not stand for this. She did not sacrifice years of a life she could have been living with her family, to be the Ghost Queen, wife to the High King of the Infinate Realms, Phantom Dark (her Danny) and mother of their children, Dante and Ellie just to run back to them with her tail between her legs. Because what? The Observants don't believe they are doing a good enough job? That they are to focused on their children and friends to run a kingdom? The Realms were doing fine before them and can wait just a little for them to raise their young children. But of course not, and now Clockwork wanted to send her and their children away.

She glanced at Danny. She couldn't bear it any longer, and her glowing purple eyes started to water. Her husband, since he had asked her to join him in the Infinte Realms in a borrowed dream. He needed her to save their children since he had fully died and was no longer the halfa he once was, but she was well on her way to becoming one. A starving and raging one at that. She would have died, or worse had he not taken her to Frostbite. She did not regret rushing her healing and straining herself to have the children at different times and being forced to marry Danny because those stupid eyeballs couldn't fathom losing their last bit of control.

She loved Danny if course, had since she was still Sam Manson, but she would have preferred not to marry at thirteen years old and the ghost equivalent to pregnancey with Dante, after a incident, both then and three years later she needed to have Ellie because of Vlads incompetence and stupidity.

And now here she is on the eve of her eighteenth birthday being told that she was being forced to go home to a family that she left behind for another.

To her Father. To Richard, her older brother, but always acted more like a father than a brother. To Alfred and his endless food. To Jason and his cruel jokes but soft voice that read stories to him from a very young age. To Cassandra, whom she respected heavily and found commederie with. To Timothy, a boy she once tried to murder many times but somewhere along the way they found family. To Stephanie and her laughter, her easy disposition that could lower his guard. To Duke and his bright way of always lighting up their darkness, litterly.

How could she return to them? Even if she did go back... what would they say? Would they believe her? Vansished mysteriously a boy and just as sudden reappeared a young woman with a barely five and almost two year old. The scandal!...she can hear her siblings laughing voices, exclaiming the word. Her baby girl, her sleepy little flower, with her little fingers intertwined with the vines that seemed to sprout from all over. They usually have flowers freshly and beautifully bloomed.

" Dame... I do not wish for you three to leave me either, but it is dangerous here for you. You three are the most vulnerable out of everyone here." Danny spoke, his worry and concern displayed in the swarming colors in his eyes. Yes, she knew how much they meant to him but she still hated it when he acted like she was all that much weaker than him just because she was only a halfa and an ancient still in the making. She never looked down upon him when he was in her spot, but she supposed she wasn't that powerful in either of her lives compared to her husband. She was once a Robin, weilding a katana and bringing justice to her father's streets, but she left that life behind.

He swiped a tear off her cheek and leaned his head in, resting on her forehead. She closed her eyes and she knew he was dog the same.

" I love you more than anything, Dami. You always supported me before, and I need to know you three are safe... even if it's away from me." He spoke without moving. He didn't breathe, but she did.

For her children... she would do anything even return to her old life.

She didn't need to speak for him to know her decision and simply kissed her and removed his sons laced fingers to place them in hers. She smiled softly at her sleepy little boy. He would have started kindergarten with Frostbite and the other neverborns this year. He smiled at her, but his eyes were clouded with fuzz.

"Your family can't see you like this." She hadn't detransformed in close to two years now. She had never felt the need to, being surrounded by things she needed to be a ghost for. Her children were still in their human forms, too young to have the ectoplasm to support their forms. She herself at one point was too deprived of ectoplasm as well. It was simply better for them both to be human before, and it was good they were still human if she were to go home with them like... she didn't know what would happen.

She breathed a deep breath that seemed to shake her lungs. Light emerged from her middle, and it stalled for a few seconds before spreading across her body. The vines disappeared, and her dress shifted into the clothes she recalled wearing at some point when pregnant with Ellie. They were comfortable so she wouldn't complain. For a second, everything seemed fine, then she tilted forward black toeing her vision.

"Danny..."

"I've got you."

She gained her balance after a while, and Danny, with eyes that watched like a hawk to make sure she's recovered. At some point, Wulf came and opened a portal to the place she described on the outskirts of Bristol. It would be in the woods, but close enough, she would have to walk for than a mile or so to the Wayne Manor front gate.

"Goodbye, Dante, Ellie, my lovely Dame." He spoke in a singsong voice, but she could tell it was a last resort to stop himself from breaking down into tears and begging her to stay. He couldn't do that because they both knew would stay.

"Goodbye, beloved."She spoke, backing slowly into the portal, still carrying hope he'd change his mind and tell her to stay. He didn't.

Before long, they arrived in Bristol with heavy rain battering the trees. She clutched Ellie closer with one hand and, with practiced motions, picked up Dante in a piggy back ride and slipped into the night.

She walked a long time but finally reached the leering gate. It looked just the same as when he left all those years ago. Ellie was wet and grumblely but refused to wake. Dante was fast asleep, his hair sticking up every way, his drool and rain indiscernable stains on the light sweater. They would certainly be getting colds, Alfred would never not treat them even if he was mad at her.

She buzzed the doorbell barely seeing it between her long cascading dark and curly hair from the rain drenching it. She needed a hot shower as soon as possible.

"Wayne Residence speaking. We are quite busy. I'm afraid for guests at this moment." Alfred spoke, his voice was heavy and disinterested? Her almost grandfather would absolutely call that beyond rude.

" Not very polite of you, Pennyworth. You always tell me to be kind and here you are trying to turn us away in the rain. How the mighty have fallen." He playfully chastised the butler hoping he'd recognize him.

" Master Damian...? No it can't be but that voice... have you really returned to us?"

"Yes I have....and I was hoping we could save some tears for when I'm not on the verge of being swept away?"

"Oh! Yes..yes I will be there with the car right away. Just... just don't go anywhere. Please."

She didn't realize just how much she missed her psuedograndfather until he heard voice. Maybe this won't be as bad as she thought.

A/n this came to me in a very strange dream and I just need everyone to know this probably won't make sense but just so you know I was sick when I dreamed this up so blame my fever dreams if yall follow me for my Crack au it should be posted by tonight sorry for the delay I got really bad writers block and so o took a break to do some other things to get rid of it

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 1: Chimera

I had a daydream similar to this for a while and since I recently watched "Damsel" I thought human sacrifice was the way to go for day one of my challenge (Words you can only say on the internet, not in real life--) ♥ Enjoy!

Prompt: Chimera | Mixed // Misunderstood // Insanity Warnings: (Monster!)Yandere, Fem!Reader, Stabbing, Blood Mention, Dying Mention (no character death), Human sacrifice, Mention and Description of Monster (obviously), Long Post

"No... no, no, please no!"

"It is necessary for our future. For the kingdom."

There was reluctance in his voice; his eyes that he kept forward were fogged with inexplicable horror, his hand trembling around your wrist. But his grip didn't loosen, no matter how much you shook, tore, pulled—he didn't give you a chance to escape the fate he had sealed for you.

"Father..." you sobbed, stumbling over your own feet, your heels dragging the carpet with them as you planted them firmly into the fabric ground. You wanted to believe in the pain you had seen in his eyes when the clerics told your father what to do. Tried to believe he didn't mean to do this cruel thing to his one and only daughter, the last family he had. But you also remembered how his face hardened after the initial shock, how he made peace with this decision that he claimed was unavoidable, no matter how much it pained him.

"There will be no one left! If you continue like this, you'll be all alone!" you cried, the guards lowering their heads shamefully as you two passed them in the hallway in an unfit manner for royals. They wouldn't even lift a finger to save you or stand in the king's way to do their duty towards the princess they had protected all their life. You knew each of their names, the helms they were ordered to wear to hide their shame, not sparing them from being recognized.

"Brother is gone, Mother is gone! You'll have no one! There must be another way! There must be something we can do against this monster!"

No one would meet your gaze as you pleaded for your life.

Your fate was sealed.

Crying even harder, you collapsed to the ground, being pulled forward only by your father, whose eyes drooped heavy with tears. The years had worn him down, and the rising of an ancient creature had been the last thing his poor heart could take. Before you wasn't the king you once knew, the father you adored. It was but a poor, old man who had lost everything to one misery after the other.

And yet, he didn't waver, didn't stop. He turned around only to pick you up from the ground, setting you back on your feet, giving your pain no ounce of attention before continuing to drag you to the monster's cave. Down, down below the castle, until you were both drowning in the darkness and your sorrow. It was hard to hate your father, hard to hate the people that once loved you, when all they knew now was fear of a force no one had ever witnessed but the clerics had deemed to be the wrath of the gods.

"It's your duty," your father choked forth, a third down the endless staircase where it was as dark and suffocating as you imagined death would be.

"And who will you sacrifice next? Another noble? Another child? When will it end, Father?"

Coming to a standstill on the stairs, you heard your father gulp. It was the only moment of respite he granted you, and you should have used it to break free and run away. He was old, and you were not; he might have let you go, seeing as you were the last of his family left. But you didn't. Both of you were duty-bound, even if that meant killing you. You knew the answer to your own question, unable to bear the truth and the misery your escape would cause upon the kingdom you loved almost as much as your father did.

"When the monster is satisfied," he replied sorrowfully, unable to give you the exact amount of sacrifices it would need. No more words needed to be spoken, and as you two descended the staircase, his hand slipped from your wrist, but your legs didn't stop.

Truthfully, your knees were nearly collapsing from fear, and your instincts screamed at you to flee. But when you embraced the country as the future ruler after the disappearance of your brother and your mother, you swore to protect it. You swore to be who they needed, and what they needed was this. A sacrifice.

You had to catch yourself a few times on the stone walls that encased you on your descent. A few times you considered abandoning everything. But what would happen to your people? What would happen to everyone you held dear, who believed in you all your life and supported you unconditionally?

The betrayal of your own father, willing to sacrifice you, was worse than any assassination attempt and hurt more than the wounds of loss inflicted on you by the very same man who promised you to do everything to unite your family again. But you weren't that stupid, never believed a word when he told you they ran away, abandoned you two. As you walked down these stairs, it became abundantly clear that he had lied. That everyone had lied. The more you thought about it, the more it was obvious what happened.

You were not the first in this long line of sacrifices.

But when the soldiers announced the beast was ravaging the villages again, the people demanded a solution, and the clerics swore that only a noble sacrifice could satisfy the beast's hunger. Another one. And now, another one. What was your father supposed to do? How could he refuse? How could you?

Two lamps welcomed you in front of the sturdy doors, the only way to keep the monster out. The stale air choked you as you stood before them. They showcased an impressive number of ancient runes carved into them for protection. The handles were clean, and the runes seemed to have been re-carved recently. You began to shake uncontrollably at its sight, your mind unable to comprehend it was going to die but knowing that these stone doors were all that separated you from your fate.

Only now did you hear your father's sobs and watched him come undone as you two stood in front of the entrance to the cave that housed this terrible creature for centuries. Without thinking, you reached out your hand, wanting to rub his back, perhaps find comfort for yourself in the touch. But at the last second, you withdrew, the betrayal too tremendous, and this gesture not changing anything besides making it harder to let go.

He pushed onwards as if driven by an invisible force. Your heart couldn't understand the dissonance between his actions, the crying yet complying. But your head did. And as much as fear was gripping you, as much as you wanted to flee, you followed him warily, driven by the same force whilst harboring the same tears in your eyes. You were both mourning the now, past, and future. The pain was almost too much to bear.

With all his strength—which seemed like none in this haggard, old body of his—your father grabbed the handle of one of the stone doors, the grating sound of it shaking you to the core as he pushed it open just a gap. He couldn't and wouldn't open it further, not risking more than he already did by offering your life in exchange for peace.

"Go," he ordered, sounding tired of life, as if it was his turn to go. "Go, I'll bear witness."

You noticed the chair by the lamp, the wood new and the cushions still whole. How many hours, how many days, had your father sat here, listening to the monster? Making sure the door was locked after sacrificing his family one by one? Witnessed the horror, the screams?

Something inside of you told you he sat there for many days and would sit for many more, as was his duty as the king who sacrificed his people. You couldn't place his pain above yours but knew you couldn't run either. Was this how your brother and mother felt as well? Did they want to leave but couldn't, despite feeling so, so hurt and betrayed? Your father did it for the greater good, but did he have to be so heartless about it?

You stood before the gap, only darkness awaiting you, suddenly frozen when you felt his hand at the small of your back, still warm, still caring. For a moment, he was your father. For a moment, you wanted to believe he acted in your best interest, not the kingdom's. For a moment, you still loved him more than anyone else.

"Forgive me," your father whispered, and you dared to look back over your shoulder when you felt the sudden pang of pain in your side, the betrayal so loud it overtook all your senses with the sound of your body being sliced open.

With a knife in your side, you were pushed forward, gasping and sputtering as the pain zapped through your veins. More tears welled up in your eyes as you collapsed to the ground, feeling the rumble of the door being shut behind you. This time, you did look back, but all you could see was the red light of the torches through your tears before you were plunged into darkness, the grating of the stone doors echoing from all around you.

So much anger, so much frustration welled up in these last moments of your life. The betrayal made you scream, but as the sound left your throat, you realized the strength you had gained from the pain. Although unsteady and frantic, you got to your feet, your hand catching onto the wall to your right, guiding you through the entrance. You were driven by nothing but betrayal and anger, even as the pain weaved its way through your body, making every step harder to endure.

Logically, you knew it was mercy. That the intention had been for you to die before the monster could get to you. A monster no one had ever seen, ever survived to tell the tale of. And although it was the only explanation for all the misery your country had to endure, if you ever wanted to forgive your father and die honorably, you had to see it for yourself, witness its existence before your death. You grabbed the knife, but you realized it hurt too much at the first miserable tug. That you couldn't possibly get it out. Even though you had nudged it a little, you decided to leave it there, allow it to give you some time.

Finding light at the end of the tunnel was a surprise you didn't expect. Stepping out into a cave without a roof, showcasing the gray sky, and bathing you in a light drizzle was not the scenery you expected to die in. There was no way out but through the hole in the ceiling, yet you didn't remember where this place could possibly be in the kingdom, just that it was impossible to escape. How could anything survive here, with walls too smooth to climb out and just a carved-out pit to hide from the weather?

You noticed there was hay in the pit, still dry, but not much else except for dirt and stone all around you. You expected bones and clumps of flesh, gore, and vile. The hallway you had come from was shrouded in darkness, but there was no going back, that much you knew. You took another step forward, into the light, and immediately, you were hit with dizziness, your body falling forward, but you caught your balance just in time. Seeing your own blood dripping onto the wet floor, robbed you of the last bits of strength you had gathered, and ultimately, you sunk to the dirty floor, hitting it on your side.

So this is it, you thought as you lay there, realizing there never had been a monster. No monster could have escaped from this inescapable place and caused havoc. It was simply a place to get rid of people in the name of sacrifice. All this time, part of you had defended your father in your mind, but you had been wrong in the end. And it had led to your doom, your death so unfitting of you. Had you not been a good princess? Had you not offered help and support wherever you could, gotten your hands dirty for those in need, and lived humbly while being kind? Was that the reason they had to get rid of you? Because you just had not been the kind of person they wanted to give the throne to, not as ruthless and stern as your father?

The ground shook around you, but you were too tired to flinch, to even react. It was strange; the continuous pattern of rain had been interrupted as the day seemed to darken above you. You tried to twist your head, focus your gaze, and make out what happened, but it was hard to understand what you were seeing.

"So what would you do if you could do it all over again?" a voice asked. It made you wary, even if you barely had the strength left to care. Deep and gravely, you felt the ground shake under your barely conscious mind. Was it a man? A woman? Were they talking to you? Where did they come from?

"Wouldn't you hunt them down, kill them for what they did to you, destroy every bit of the land they cherished over you?"

Someone—something—completely blocked out the light shining down from above. A shadow so dark it turned day into night. The rain stopped completely just as your breathing began to be labored, shallow. You tried to focus, tried to make it out. The shapes of the body made no sense. Round, triangle, rectangles. A face, wings, paws. It smelled wet and rotten next to the stinging metallic of your own blood. Foul, yet sweet. The body reminded you of a beast, but when its face drew closer, it was that of an angel whose expression was not right yet so familiar in its pain.

Oh, god, you thought. It's real. The monster is real.

"Wouldn't you return their gestures? Take the same things away from them that they have from you? Their food, their freedom, their family? Tell me, little princess, would you not destroy the very things they worked so hard for, build on top of the corpses of those you love?"

It leaned down a little more, and you couldn't help but hitch a breath. Razor-sharp teeth and slitted eyes, their glow so harsh with all the darkness around you. You felt the breath of the creature wave over your throat—it was this close. Close enough to bite, crunch, and break through your pitiful bones. And yet, despite the venom it spewed, you heard only the miserable truth of those who were wronged. This thing, whatever it was, in all its gruesome, beautiful features, was the same as you were. Mourning the same things, raging for the same reasons.

But as you used the last bits of your strength to think about it, you realized you couldn't agree. You were angry and betrayed, but whatever this creature was, so strange, so different, it was real. You had not been lied to. And it must be deadly, just by the looks of its teeth and claws, so naturally, people would fear it. Naturally, they'd do what they could to get rid of it. How could you blame them for being afraid when you, most of all, knew how terrifying it was?

"Maybe..." you croaked, forcing the word from your throat. "Maybe I'd try to change things next time. No more betrayal. No more sacrifice. Peace. Understanding."

Your father would have called you his sweet, gentle daughter had he heard you. But you were dying, so why should you care if your answer was a bit naive? You didn't want anyone to go through what you had to go through; feel what you felt. Not even the monster. And who knew? Maybe it was no monster at all, just because it looked different.

"Hmm?" the voice coaxed, withdrawing in movements that were too sharp for its human parts, its manners so bird-like and not just because of the wings that fluttered and puffed expectantly. You realized it wasn't just one thing as you heard claws scraping impatiently over the ground. Huge paws settled on either side of your body as the creature hovered above you. It could crush you with the immense size of its body, but you couldn't help but reach out, feeling the soft fur of its leg against your fingertips.

"Because next time, I'd not be helpless. I'd not fear you more than I fear my father. Next time, surely... I'd try to do better..."

"Hmm? Hmmm?" The creature kept coaxing more from you, not realizing that you lost conscience by the fading of your voice.

"Interesting," it chittered after a moment of silence. Ears perked to hear your heart slowing while your hand fell off its paw. Its own hand reached out, the round of its claws brushing up your palm until it could intertwine your fingers, your hand barely big enough to meet the requirements to be held by theirs.

It sniffed the air, the smell of blood pungent.

"Interesting," it repeated, chuckling as it grabbed you by the arm, its free hand dedicating two oversized fingers to grab the knife. It wasted no time lifting you high into the air at its eye level before pulling the knife out of you and discarding it over its human shoulder.

"I'll hear what you have to say, little princess. Wish to learn if you could be different from all of us. But first, you must heal. Must stop the bleeding. Humans are so fragile."

It tutted as it carried you over to its resting space, and your body jerked as the blood gushed from the stab wound. It truly seemed to be the end for your bloodline as you were laid safely between the monster's paws, settled to be either tended to or eaten. But at least you wouldn't have to witness it.

You'd not die a monster like everyone else.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

"Is it done?"

Despite your senses only partially having returned, you recognized the voice that woke you from slumber. It was the same exhausted, whiney voice that had fooled you into obeying. Your father. The king.

You felt like you were still dying, wetness spreading over your back as pressure rubbed it all over your skin. It almost felt like a massage, but it was nowhere as relaxing, not with your body still in a state of deadly distress. Even if you weren't dying, it sure felt like it all over again.

"It sure is, my king. You finally managed to satisfy me with your puny sacrifices. This one is much better than the last."

This time, the voice was much closer, so cut-throat close, in fact, it raised goosebumps on your skin. The "massage" stopped, and you heaved a breath, but your body barely moved. The sarcasm in the voice, however, didn't go unnoticed. You were witnessing a conversation, much more than participating, but undoubtedly, the topic was you.

"By the gods... don't tell me you plan to--"

"Eat her?"

You remembered now. It was the voice of the monster. Memories flooded back to the forefront of your thoughts, memories of the questions it asked, memories of what it looked like. It hurt to think about it. The fear that returned made it all the more painful.

"No, I will not eat her," it laughed gently as if it was careful not to wake you. "I only eat the corrupted. Minds like yours that would sacrifice his whole family. Minds like mine that want only what is equal to me. You wouldn't understand. You are just human."

"I don't understand, you made me do this! I only did what you forced me to! You wouldn't stop killing even when I begged you to! It was you who forced me to sacrifice my family!"

A shiver went through the creature. You felt it all around you, making you realize it was all around you. Slowly, you managed to open your eyes. The thought of why am I not dead crossed you as you laid still, barely able to see through the gaps between your lids. All you witnessed was the soft light barely grazing you, the shadow of the king interrupting it even though you could barely see over the massive paw that secured you in place.

"Do not blame me for your doings, human. Have you forgotten what those gods of yours did to me? What your ancestors begged them to do to me? I am only giving back to those who wronged me, and you are to appease me if you wish to live. I made you this; a man, a king. I can take it from you as I please."

Arms snaked around you, human in shape but too long, wrapping around your body in ways you had never been hugged before. Lifting you, cradling you, a fully-grown adult, like a child. Your eyes fell close again as you were nestled against soft fur, with a sturdy body beneath, but the hold on you was so gentle that it made you want to fall asleep again.

"But you are lucky, for I am finally appeased by this little one," the creature purred, and you breathed a barely noticeable sigh of relief. You did it. Your sacrifice had not been in vain.

"It will satisfy me for a while, as did you when you were but a wee little farmer's boy. Still innocent, still hopeful, and wishing for change. She will have to claw her way out of here, and I will feed on her despair, her corruption. And once she is ready, I will send her to you so she may end your pitiful existence. Only then will you be ripe for eating, and she will continue humoring me as is the destiny of the strong-willed. I am eager to see how she will struggle after your passing, how she will break. I hope she will fare better than you, who became but a boring toy the moment I gave him the freedom to act in my name. You were not nearly the tyrant I made you to be."

"Please," you heard your father whimper, and it wasn't long before sobs echoed through the cave. "She's my daughter. She doesn't deserve this. All this pain and suffering to amuse you..."

"Neither did I."

You felt the brush of a hand against your cheek as if to wipe away tears that you hadn't cried. Even when you remembered the claws, the touch was careful, adding no more hurt.

"Now leave," the creature ordered, and the hand fell from you as you were laid down again. "She is no longer yours. And she might just have become my favorite toy ever since this existence came to be. But she needs to heal, and she is so close to waking up from your nagging. If you wish to settle your affairs, now is the time. Before I have broken my toy enough to send her after you, King."

The sobs grew louder for a few moments before they turned into sniffling. Steps crunched over the ground, but they suddenly halted. "I hope this time, your sacrifice kills you, you vile thing. You are no human anymore, but you are too clever for a beast. Like a corpse, refusing to die."

"Oh," the monster chuckled, but the laughter grew louder, and it seemed the creature was unable to hold it back. "Look at you, almost like you once were! It's a pity you are so old and worn. But contrary to you, my game won't die, and more will suffer before your wish will come true!"

You barely heard the steps disappearing back into the castle over the creature's laughter, but it soon stilled as the heavy stone doors closed shut, leaving you behind once more. Your heart ached. It was too much to bear, but you grew uncomfortably rigid in the creature's hold, its breath grazing your skin.

"You're awake, you should have told him what you feel. Are you mad now, little girl? Scared? Angry? Don't worry, you'll get to tell him all that is bothering you soon. We'll have so much fun devising your downfall. You'll be the most corrupt ruler of them all. I know it."

"W-" your voice failed as you tried to speak, and the creature chittered at your weakness.

"Why? It's lonely. So lonely to be cursed. But not when more people are suffering. You think you can make a change, but you are wrong. It's my destiny to be cursed, and now it is yours, too. As was it the curse of the king before you, the queen before him. I break them, reshape them, and when their time comes that they forget about me, I curse them with the same loneliness. The circle will be endless, but it will be fulfilled nonetheless."

Skin smushed against yours, a cheek pressed against your cheek, forehead, and face. Like a parent to a child, affectionate, sweet. Different from the truths the monster was revealing. Finally, you managed to open your eyes and stared into the strange face as an unsettling grin split its features.

It was even less human than you thought it to be, its face like what a human bird would look like—sharp eyes, aquiline nose. Feathers are sprouting instead of hair, framing its face and all over its arms. The sharp horns of a goat broke through its feathery fur on top of its head, and its torso changed into that of a lion, four more paws added to its limbs, with its scaled tail snaked around one of the hindlegs. Wings rested leisurely over its animal body, flinching occasionally as it watched you with more interest than anyone had ever before. It was beyond comparison; there was nothing you could describe without sounding like you had gone absolutely insane. So many things mixed into one body, it was a wonder it could even live. A mad experiment.

Death incarnated.

"So, fight me, little princess. Make me forget this loneliness for as long as possible, so I may not resort to what I do when I get lonely—ravage, take, eat. Challenge me, escape me, try to kill me, so I can do what I do best to you, corrupt and fill you with the despair of realizing you are nothing compared to me. That you will always have to live in fear. That you are always mine."

You gulped, your throat slowly coating with saliva again, smoothing your poor vocal cords, returning the ability to speak again.

"I refuse," you croaked. "I'll never be the monster you want me to be."

"Mhm," it hummed, but it was a sound of pleasure. "Just like that, little princess.

"I knew you'd not disappoint me."

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the dateables slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

diavolo (you are here) // barbatos // simeon // solomon -- gn!mc, NSFW under the cut -- warning for mentions of intimacy without reciprocated feelings & the angst associated w it + minor s2 spoilers

diavolo, who is fascinated by humans. when he proposes the exchange program, he's being honest when he claims its to strengthen the bonds between all three realms. but he also has the selfish urge to have humans up close-- he just finds them so interesting. virtually powerless next to angels and demons, yet strong-willed and stubborn despite it all. solomon had been an object of his fascination for awhile, but that was a powerful sorcerer who was practically immortal. but you... like a child with a new puppy, diavolo had to resist the urge not to follow you everywhere you went, burning the observations into his brain for the future. barbatos was his saving grace, redirecting him when his question became too enthusiastic or overbearing, keeping him on task with the grace he'd been known for over the last few centuries. oops. well, at least he would have a whole year to get to know you better.

diavolo, who has high hopes for you. he sees the way you've intertwined yourself so thoroughly into the hearts of the demon brothers, how you've repaired their broken dynamic and made friends of all of them-- even lucifer! as the exchange program drew to a close, he was admittedly quite sad to see you go. he hadn't spent as much time with you as he wanted. he watches your goodbyes with the brothers with a somewhat envious eye. how unfair of his duties to keep him so occupied that he doesn't know you until you're leaving! how wicked, how cruel. he's throwing a pity party for himself behind a stoic expression. but regardless of his reservations, he sends you back to the human world with a smile and a promise that they'll all be waiting for you. and when you finally return to the devildom with solomon, popping in on a random student council meeting with an aloof grin, he can't help but thank fate for the gust of wind that dropped your information at lucifer's feet while they were searching for exchange students.

diavolo, who is royalty-- and looks the part. muscular frame, large stature, gorgeous face and body sculpted to perfection, with the wingspan and horns adorned with gold... it was clear he was a step above the rest. but being royalty had its drawbacks. the expectations that sat on his shoulders were heavy, but they were a burden he had to bear. a suitor of his was watching him from across the party with a knowing smile, eyes sharp, before finally summoning him with a single "come here" motion of their finger. and that was it. the death of his fun evening with friends for the sake of the kingdom. he spared you, the demon brothers, the angels, and the sorcerer one final look before joining the demon's side with a fake smile. he felt horrible. the demon did truly desire him, but diavolo couldn't muster up the same passion for them. not while they stowed away to his bedchambers. not while they were on their knees between his legs, lips and tongue kissing across his hardened length, deep groans rumbling in his chest. not while he returned the favor, enthusiastically lapping at their juices as he prepped them for his cock. and not while fucking them, either, their keens muffled into silk sheets as they clenched around his cock with another orgasm, his murmured praises almost lost in the heat of it all. as his arms wrap around the slumbering demon, tuckered out from a night of intimacy, he wonders if this is the life he's been resigned to. were demon politics so fickle that he'd truly have to marry not for love, but for the good of the devildom? he longed for the freedom of someone he knew... of you. his heart ached as his thoughts wandered to you. at every turn, you'd chosen the decision you wanted, even as the world closed in around you. you followed your heart through every crossroads and ended up on top at every turn. diavolo longed for the freedom you enjoyed-- and maybe that's why he was so fond of you.

diavolo, who eagerly awaits your next visit to the castle. lately he's found himself growing impatient for your visits, easily distracted by the knowledge that you'll soon be at the castle with him. it annoys barbatos to no end. this, he feels bad for... but really, can you blame him? he's giddy with excitement by the time you finally arrive, and it causes him to act familiar with you in a way he maybe shouldn't. he sits not opposite of you but next to you for tea, offering to pour your tea and add sugar cubes to your liking as he listens to you talk about the shenanigans that happened this week at the house of lamentation. your smile is contagious-- he finds himself mirroring it with warm cheeks. he doesn't know who starts it, whether it be his hand brushing against yours or your pinkie reaching for his, but soon your fingers were intertwined as colorful stories fell from your lips. you exchange words like that for awhile, neither one of you daring to ruin the moment by mentioning your hands. and your reward is even better-- eventually his large hand finds your cheek, stroking it with kind eyes for a moment before pressing a kiss to your lips. it's soft and hesitant, an unspoken desire, and he starts to pull away. but you don't let him. you lean in, lips moving against his, gripping his hand a little tighter to let him know you're on the same page. when the kiss is over and you two part, his head is surprisingly blank. all that pining really must have turned his brain to mush after all...

diavolo, who is so proud to call himself your partner. who would follow you to the end of time if you'd keep looking at him like that. greed and lust swirl in your gaze as you pant desperately, tugging a little on his hair when his movements still to watch you. his tongue laps desperately at your hole, chuckling to himself as you clench around nothing. his hands toy with the most sensitive part of yours sex, movements purposeful yet almost lazy in their pace. he's teasing you. his wings flutter a little when you tug at his hair again, and he pulls back enough to let you watch him stick two of his fingers into his mouth. from the movement of his cheeks, he's sure you notice the way his tongue swirls around them, drenching them in saliva before pulling the slick digits out. he eases one into your hole with a little bit of coaxing, the other running carefully along your sex in anticipation. they scissor in sync when they're both in you, purposefully stretching you open, lovingly prepping you for his cock. but it's never enough, is it? the same familiar stretch, that slight burn, makes your clench the sheets in your fists. his words are quiet and calm, sweet nothings against your shoulder and neck as he leaves a few kisses in his wake. he feels guilty each time you're intimate together for the pain he causes you-- he knows demons are bigger than humans, and that you're with him willingly, but the guilt lingers regardless. that is, until you give him permission to move. the first thrust makes you gasp, but after a few shallow movements your pretty eyes roll back into your head. this, he reminds himself, is why he loves fucking you. he hasn't moved beyond a shallow, careful pace, but you're already pulling at his shoulders and writhing underneath him. his golden eyes sparkle with fondness as he begins to move a little faster, hit a little deeper, watching you quickly become cockdrunk and forget the pain of the first few thrusts. he loves you so dearly that it makes his fingers tremble as he intertwines them with yours, pinning you down to his bed as he grinds into you. he is hopeless. a lost cause. walking around blindly, lovedrunk, powerful yet helpless to your whims-- lord diavolo would stop at nothing to bring the three realms to harmon, if only to justify keeping you by his side.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable // @deepseafragments // @niinian

[thelien-art]

Fëanáro, Nerdanel & Telperinquar

Latest portraits

Sons of Fëanáro - Children of Ñolofinwë - Ñolofinwë, Anairë & Grandchildren

HC:

Feanor: Feanor dresses in pale colors like Miriel. I like to think Miriel dresses in light colors, not necessarily white. I don´t think he adorns himself with a lot of jewelry, just enough for him to be stylish, but not more, as he cares more about making things for those he cares for than himself, and if it is for himself, he would rather focus on something more practical, like lamps and machines.

Nerdanel: I have a surprising lot of thoughts about Nerdanel, one of them being that she´s a very loud Feanorian stan, although there´s a lot she thinks is plainly stupid she still supports her husband(ex??) and most of his ideals fierily. I think she dresses much more plainly than other Noldor, but will not necessarily turn down the option to adorn herself in jewelry. While I think she eagerly awaited her crowning, I don´t think it ever came, and she therefore never really had the possibility to wear a crown (not circlet she could still wear circles) as Finarfin was crowned when his brothers left. I don´t think that married in, in the Noldor royal house, could wear crowns before they themself was crowned kings/queen, even if it was just over a smaller piece of land. This left her to never wear a circlet as she was waiting to be crowned queen which never happened, meaning she never wore something on her head. She still wore royal braids and such, as that was accepted. All this leads her to be called Ríantaú by those who are against Feanor**. * She ends up going to Formenos and taking in all the Feanorian loyalties over the ages, becoming a queen at the end although never crowned, and known as a bitter woman because of her sons' departure.

Celebrimbor: I don´t read Celebrimbor as a naive person, rather I read him as someone who bears a lot of guilt, and in some cases let it control him, even if he was not the one at fault, this makes it easier for him to welcome everyone when the second age begins, after all evil was destroyed right? That was what the Valar said, and it does harm to everyone to throw someone out in the wilderness. I do believe he was aware that Annatar was a Maia of Morgoth, I also believe that while he didn´t think Annatar was all good, he believed in himself that he could make Annatar a better person. When Celebrimbor is reborn he ends up seeking out Nerdnal, who welcomes him in her city with open arms where he stays most of his time. On jewelry, I was helped by a lot of people (@lulukeskywalker pointed out that Eregion was named after the hollie trees it´s said to have) with the holly HC some might have heard about him, and it comes from that Eregion had a lot of hollie trees, which is a very sweet note professor, thank you for that, so I, of course, had to give him some holly themed jewelry. On a last note of jewelry, I tried to give him something between art nouveau and brutalism, to give him his own style. - note Celebrimbor follows second age fashion, therefor having his braids at the back instead of both at the front and back. - note Celebrimbor´s circlet is very intentionally inspired by Maglor´s.

Other HC:

I like to think that both Thingol and Finwe ruled their land as Empires, meaning that there were smaller kings and queens under their rule, while the rest, like Owlë and Ingwë ruled as only kings. I think it makes most sense with Thingol but I also like it with Finwe as his family was so big so it would make sense. - examples would be the roman empire and Scandinavia around year 0 to year 500 where the really where no kingdoms as we see them today but many small kings and later one king over the small kings. *

**Ríanta = To crown/Coronate: Quenya - Ú = Without/Destitute of: Quenya - Ríantaú = Without crown/Crownless: Quenya

Grey, mostly a pale grey close to white, is the mourning color for the Eldar´s as it´s associated with Nienna.

[forevergoldgame]

Forever Gold's demo will release on June 26th, 2024 on itch. It's been quite the development road to reach this point. We're excited to show you the first look of Vestur!

Forever Gold is a dark fantasy, text-heavy roleplaying game being developed in the Twine engine by Broncoburro and LSDolphin.

Take a looksie below. : ) (The game is free and playable in browser, on both desktop and mobile.)

(A disclaimer: Forever Gold is a game for mature audiences. It does not feature adult content, but the subject matter can get serious in a way not appropriate for all ages.)

“Even among the finest breeding, aberrations of nature can occur. A prized goat births a kid with two heads. A pedigreed cat bears a one-eyed kitten. An archduke begets a son with the haretouch."

You are Duke Quintrell Barghur: a cursed black meur wielder, misanthrope, and an all-around painfully awkward man. When a mysterious affiliation called the "Brothers of the Barehand" starts stirring up political unrest, you are summoned from your lowly job of mine inspector to join the Prince Convoy. With the rest of your companions, you must travel the Tri-Kingdom of Vestur, quelling unrest and managing the complexities of public and court life... all while navigating the pitfalls of being, well, you.

Halfway between visual novel and interactive fiction, Forever Gold is incorporates artwork and writing with role-playing game mechanics such as skill systems, dice rolls, and lasting narrative decisions.

In the demo, you've been summoned to Diadem Castle by Prince Oscar Andimeur for unknown reasons. The demo spans one major quest from the first chapter of the game.

Play in either human or wolven mode - a visual reskin depending on your personal preferences.

You've a variety of companions on the Convoy who can accompany you. They may aid in quests, help surpass skill checks, or...

...drive each other crazy and be of no help at all.

A lot of artwork is sprinkled throughout the game - every character has several portraits, and in addition, illustrations are sprinkled throughout.

There are several systems to help you navigate the world of Vestur - from a map system, to the party camp, to the inventory and the codex... we can't name them all as this post is long enough, but here's some screenshots!

...And I think that's a good enough introduction! Thank you for reading. This game is a labor of love by two hobby devs - we've spent many a weekend coding, writing, and drawing for Chapter 1. We hope you'll give the demo a play on the 26th!

You can follow the game's progress and see all our extracurricular artwork by following this blog or checking out the website. : ) Additionally, we welcome questions (and sometimes draw answers for them, too).

[dancing-with-draegons]

A Gilded Cage

pt. 1

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aegon's wife!reader (she/her pronouns, Lannister colouring)

summary: One night, alone in his chambers, Aegon's wife can no longer bear her husband's indiscretions. Aemond witnesses her outburst and is intrigued.

warnings: Aegon bashing (he's in a loveless marriage with reader), suggestive themes, dark themes, systemic sexism, reader has been raised to be a pretty doll and nothing else

word count: 2.9k

Aegon's wife has often seen him go into the city and return the next morning, still in his cups, with his doublet lost, his breeches unlaced and the rank smell of brothel all over him. It was always humiliating to find your husband unfaithful, but worse than the sting of infidelity was the public shame that came with it. She could see it in her ladies’ eyes: a mixture of glee and pity, to see one who had risen so high reduced to a spurned wife.

It had not always been so. When her father had given her to the prince in marriage, he had been proud. She had been the prettiest maid in all seven kingdoms with her golden curls and deep green eyes. A true Lannister. And Aegon had been charming. She had rescued him from a marriage to his own sister, all because her father had insisted that she be wed to the prince to forge the alliance Princess Rhaenyra had once turned up her nose at. And Otto Hightower had agreed, knowing full well they would need the westerlands in the war to come.

She had been so proud to wear the red and black and green of her new house, always chased with gold. And how she had loved Aegon at first sight! Her handsome prince. Her love. Her knight and champion. She had known before their wedding that he would be a wonderful husband, a doting father, and a great king, like his namesake.

The only fly in the ointment had been the prince's younger brother. Aemond had called her father greedy, and her a prize calf. Perhaps he had been annoyed that he would now have to wed Helaena, who was only half as beautiful as she herself. Or so her father had told her when she had come to him crying. Aemond was always kind to Helaena. She remembered how surprised she had been when she had first seen him with her, how quiet, how gentle he had been with her. She had doubted her father's words then, and anyway, no marriage between them had happened, so it had all been wrong.

 Now, it was not Aemond who made her cry, though he still looked at her with derision. It was her husband, who'd sooner bed every unsavoury whore in the city than his charming and beautiful wife.

A few times he had lain with her, and it had been sweet enough. She had been well prepared not to expect the same sort of pleasure her husband felt, so it had all been well. To hear him moan and shudder had been enough for her. But now, he would moan for another woman, and find his release with her. And she would be blamed for the lack of an heir.

Had she known back then, when she had been a little girl despite her looks, how this marriage would turn out, she would have begged her father to wed her to one of his bannermen. But no such luck. 

She was the prince's wife, and would be his queen should he ever ascend the throne, and would one day have to bear him his son. That was her duty.

Half a dozen times had she resolved to go to his chambers and seduce him, only to do her duty. She had had a nightgown made for that especially, daring and well-cut, so that everyone in the room from the seamstress to the guard had ogled her. It lay, folded carefully, in the chest at the foot of her bed, and a few times she had donned it only to lose her courage at the last moment.

She had envisioned it all: how she would enter Aegon's chambers, where he would be drinking with his knights and followers. How she would let the cloak fall to her feet and stand in all her beautiful glory before them. Aegon would rise from his chair then, not at all drunk yet, and, with his eyes on her, would send away his friends, who would leave reluctantly, eyes only on her. Perhaps one or two of them would stumble over their feet, too distracted by her beauty and she would help them up and chuckle good-naturedly. And once they were gone, Aegon would make love to her the way he had once, before they had even been wed, and fill her with his seed. A few moons later, she would give birth to his heir, and they would call the silver-haired, green-eyed boy Jaeson to honour their alliance, or perhaps Aegon, she had not quite made up her mind.

But for her dreams to come true, she would have to act.

That night, when her maid had combed her hair until it looked like molten gold and left, she put on the nightgown, fastened the hooks and laced it up tightly to cinch her waist and lift her bosom. It was more uncomfortable than a court gown, but it was a good pain, as she knew it made her beautiful.

She donned her green velvet cape to hide the revealing gown and set out to visit her husband.

Aegon had decreed that her chambers should be far from his, so as not to wake her at night, and the halls of the holdfast were draughty and cold this late in the summer.

At last, she reached his door. None of his usual guards stood vigilantly at the door but that meant little. Often her husband asked them inside to drink and gamble with him and his friends.

But as soon as she had entered, and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb the queen – and, in truth, not draw attention to herself in this state – she saw that she had come in vain.

The table was littered with cups and flagons of wine, playing cards lay in puddles of wine and ale, bowls of bread, oil and cold meat were becoming a feast for flies and other vermin. 

She was too late. They had already moved on into the city, where now some whore earned her pay under him or on top of him, if he was already deep in his cups.

And it was all too much. The disgrace, the indecency of it all, and Aegon's sheer ignorance, worse, his open and downright disregard for her after all she had done for him. 

She seized one of the flagons – no doubt fine Myrish glasswork with a brass handle shaped like a proud dragon – and threw it against the wall with all her might. It shattered not, as she had hoped, into a thousand pieces. The glass was thick and well made, and the flagon had only broken in two, the curved front with its spout now in the fireplace, the other half with the dragon handle on the soft rug in front of the fire.

This failure to truly wreak havoc only enraged her more, and a glass chalice and a finely carved clay bowl followed. Soon enough, the floor was littered with shards of glass and pieces of broken stoneware.

She was out of breath now from the effort, and her cape had long slid off her shoulders to pool at her feet like a forest pond.

Her heartbeat quietened as she took in the sight of destruction around her. There was no need to panic, no one would suspect her. It was like Aegon and his cronies to leave the chamber in disarray for the servants to clean up.

Not even Aegon would know. He would have forgotten the events of the night before sunrise.

At first, it had felt good, to see it all go to ruin, to see it broken beyond repair, just as she herself felt at times, when she saw them all laughing, when she was once again alone in her chambers, with no one to call friend, when Aegon had once again made her the butt of his joke, or flung some insult at her in his cups.

But now that the rage had abated, it left her cold and empty as a grave.

She turned towards the door to leave and froze.

Her good brother stood there, the door closed behind him, his one eye trained on her with an unfathomable expression.

She had never heard him enter. Had she just thrown something against the wall when he had come in?

It was just like him to stay and watch while she was at her lowest.

She loathed the way he looked, his moon pale hair smooth and silky, and bound back with a simple ribbon, his long, harsh, scarred face, his sensitive lips, and his one eye, periwinkle blue and staring at her.

How could a man so cruel be so handsome?

Now that she was facing him, he surveyed her attire dispassionately and she knew he had deduced why she had come here as swiftly as only Aemond could. 

She would have felt better with her cape on but could not bend down in the tightly laced nightgown, and even if she could, her bosom would tip out of the low neckline and it would all look very grotesque and inelegant, so she stood still as a statue.

“He has long left for the city,” her good brother informed her tonelessly.

“Thank you,” she replied, though her tone made a barb of her gratitude. “My husband has left his quarters in quite a state.”

Aemond's lips pulled into a smile like a longbow. So he had been here for some of her performance. Good to know.

Would he tell on her? He loved her little, yes, but he hated his brother.

“Mh.”

“I meant to pay my dear husband a visit,” she said, because she loathed the way he shut her down with his cursed little hum.

“What is your excuse to be here?”

His gaze travelled over the broken cups in reply.

Of course, she must have made a racket.

“I was awoken by the noise, too,” she lied, daring him to object. “So I went to see if my beloved husband was hurt.”

His smile intensified. Naturally, he enjoyed himself most when he was playing cat and mouse with a mouse that gave him a chase. 

“You should not have left the safety of your chambers,” he said, and that was the longest sentence he'd ever directed at her. “You might have got hurt.”

What a tragedy that would have been, his mocking smirk seemed to say, my brother's upstart wife struck down at his side.

“I'm now a princess,” she said, although they all still called her lady, but her father had said so, “I'm free to go wherever I please.”

“Free?”, his voice was delicately inflected and she thought he was being derisive, but there was something else there too that she could not place, “you are bound up like a fish in a net.”

“Well, if you are lucky, your own wife will one day make an effort with her appearance as well.” She put her hands on her hips and the fabric of her tight sleeves dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

Again, Aemond made no reply, though his smile had lost its amused edge.

For a long moment, he stared at her and fear rose inside her like a morning sun. He was known to be fierce and terrible when roused, and he could not bear being taunted. Aegon had done it once too often in the yard  and Aemond had been pulled off of him, fists bloodied and mad rage in his eye.

She only noticed that she had edged away from him when her hip made sharp contact with her husband's dinner table.

Aemond turned around without warning, and it seemed he meant to leave –

“Why?” she asked, and Aemond halted with his hand on the door handle his back still to her.

“What have I done wrong? I have done my duty, I have smiled for him, dressed for him, I have done everything he wanted and yet –”

Aemond did not turn around. 

“I shouldn't be asking you of all people, I know you think I deserve this for reaching so high. I'd wager you're pleased that he's humiliating me.”

“No,” he said at last, and turned around. “You should not.”

That was the straw that broke the mule’s back.

“Fine. You've always looked down at me and my family, but let me tell you that Lann the Clever has settled here many thousand years before the Targaryens. Let me tell you that my ancestors needed no dragons to conquer a kingdom, their wits sufficed. Go on, talk about how I am an upstart, greedy, ambitious. But remember that you were a boy when you set out to claim the largest dragon in the world, the dragon who lost his rider less than a week before. Look me in the eye and tell me I am overly ambitious, I am greedy, but know that you are the same. Do you think I do not see the way you look at Aegon, at the throne, the crown? Do you think I do not understand why you study the histories, philosophy, geography, like a young king should? Because you lust for a crown, just like I did. And let me impart this wisdom upon you: it is not worth it.”

She meant to storm past him but his hand shot out and suddenly, she was with her back against the wall, the door handle just out of reach, and a very angry Aemond Targaryen was towering over her with a thunderous look on his face.

A part of her, the one that logic and thinking did not reach, was cold with fear.

He would not harm her, she thought, not here, not her, his good sister. He knew she was the key to the west. He was no fool. 

But he made no move to let go of her neck, her waist, and his body did not allow her so much as a twitch.

Gingerly, she tried to wrench free her left arm, caught between their bodies, but only succeeded in pressing it firmly against Aemond's hard stomach.

“Let me go,” she said and tried to push him away. Aemond was slim as a lance, though tall and strong, and he wouldn't move.

“You hate him,” Aemond said, giving no indication that he had heard her.

He seemed surprised by this revelation, as if it was somehow strange and unheard of that a spurned wife might loathe her husband with all her being.

The rage that was so close to the surface these days erupted once again: “Of course I do. Did you think you were the only one he humiliated? The only one he likes to make fun of, taunt, play fool's games with? Ever since one night, he was too soft to do his duty, he's taken it out on me, he's shamed me with his whores, taken them to bed, paraded them around the keep for all to see. He has a dozen bastards by now, but no trueborn son, and that is seen as my failure, not his.”

She had never told anyone about that night. How he had laboured on top of her, reeking of old wine and other things, how he had tried and tried to get it in with fumbling fingers, scratching her skin down there, bruising her thighs. And she had asked him to stop, to try again some other time, but he refused, told her to shut up and bear it silently.

“A son,” Aemond repeated softly, and there was something sinister in his tone. He was taller than her, though not by much, and she could not escape his gaze. Intense. Questioning.

And she understood.

A way to pay back years and decades of humiliation.

At the cost of righteousness, of morality, and, if it all came to light, at the cost of their lives.

She threw all common sense to the wind and kissed him.

~Aemond~

Her vehemence took him by surprise. He had never thought she would agree, let alone agree so readily.

For years had he loathed her, her and her greedy father whose bidding she did at all times. How she had revered Aegon, with large, bidding eyes, grateful for whatever shred of courtesy he bestowed upon her in his grace.

And Aegon had been pleased enough with his bride at first. That had angered him, too.

How perfect they had been, the golden prince and the golden princess.

But then Aegon had shown his true colours, as Aemond had long known he would, and his wife had not faltered. She had continued to admire him, be soft and gentle with him when she should have raged.

Raged as she had today.

Aemond was glad now that he had come. She was pretty but he had never had a taste for beauty. Had never had the opportunity to acquire it.

What he had seen…the heat of her anger, her destructiveness.

All her treacherous softness was gone, her simpering smiles, her honeyed voice.

He, and he alone, saw her how she really was. Raw. Angry. Wanting.

The ease with which she betrayed Aegon, the swiftness with which she had kissed him. Aemond could taste desperation and fury on her lips. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, he knew best.

He held her tightly as he walked towards his brother's bed.

[promptthebear]

Could you do a 🐰 Drabble with Peter for 27?? Or anyone really, I just think that it needs to get out in something thank youu

Below the Belt

Tormund Giantsbane x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Tormund is in love with you. It isn’t reciprocated, and a little wager goes horribly wrong.

CW: Swearing. Tormund behaving like a little boy with a crush, think pulling pigtails for attention. Kind of enemies to lovers dynamics but not quite. Mild implications that the reader has been abused. 2nd person, reader is referred to as "you"

A/N: I’m baaaaaaaccckk! This is my first time writing for Tormund so pls be nice.

Tormund was bored, which meant he had gone from being a tolerable pest to the biggest, loudest nuisance in all the Seven Kingdoms. Even worse, he had somehow used the ale soaked lump he called a brain to convince himself that he was besotted with you. And so, since Brienne had found you wandering through the ass end of the North and started bringing you back to your half brother on the Wall you hadn’t known a moment’s peace.

“Can’t you make him shut up?” you begged the lady knight one evening, not even bothering to hide your desperation. You’d been through a lot these last few months, far too much to have stupid stories about she-bears and giant’s tits be the thing that finally broke you.

“Trust me, my Lady,” Brienne replied, not even glancing up from where her whetstone slid across the edge of her blade “If I knew how, I would’ve done so the moment I met him.”

You glanced over your shoulder to shoot Tormund a withering look. As though he knew he was being discussed, the giant Wildling met your glare with a broad smile and a wink. You scoffed, tugged your cloak tighter around your shoulders and stared into the meagre flames of your small campfire. Perhaps if you looked at it long enough and wished hard enough, it would suddenly blossom into a full hearth complete with a pot of mulled wine and aurocs on a spit. And perhaps, dragons would live again and every last one of the Lannisters would drop dead by morning.

“Y’cold, beauty?”

The first time you’d heard Tormund address someone as such, it had been Brienne. However, when she’d shoved the tip of her sword against the hollow of his throat and told him she’d forsake her honor without hesitation should he even think about calling her that again, he’d awarded the title to you. You’d also threatened his life in increasingly creative ways whenever he did so, but unfortunately your words didn’t have the same impact as Brienne’s. Instead, they only seemed to spur the stupid man on and multiply his interest in you tenfold.

“No,” you shot back, your tone just as icy as your frozen toes. “Not in the least.”

“Then why are you shivering?” Tormund asked, eyes gleaming “A delicate little southron blossom like you isn’t meant to sit in the snow.”

“I’m from the bloody North, Tormund. How many times need I tell you?!”

The giant made a rude noise in response, blowing air between his lips and shaking his head.

“No, girl. I’m from the North. The Real North. You Winterfell lot and your ilk are nothing more than a lot of Southern twats who wandered too far up the coast and were too busy freezing your arses off to bother going back.”

“Lady-” this came from Podrick, who usually was too shy to say much to you but even he could recognize that Tormund had taken things a step too far. You were on your feet and bearing down on the Wilding before you even really understood what was happening.

“How dare you?! How dare YOU?! I am a Stark. My ancestors were the Kings of Winter. My father, his grandfather and his great grandfather were all Wardens of the North. We are descended from the First of Men, we drove the Andals out of Westeros and brought Kings to their knees. We have endured for hundreds of years, and thrived where lesser men have withered. Our crypts go as far back as-”

As quickly as your tirade began, it stopped with the faint sound of your teeth clicking as your jaw snapped shut. Echoes of your enraged speech bounced around the clearing, your righteous anger drifting up into the bare branches of the skeleton trees and into the black night sky beyond. Your cheeks still burned hot with ire and your chest heaved, your breaths coming in shaky huffs while your hands fisted and tangled around handfuls of your skirts. Were it not for the love you bore your late mother, you would have reached out and shook Tormund’s neck until it snapped. Because even after the earful he’d just gotten, the fucking fool was laughing at you.

Not just a little chuckle, either. Tormund’s head was tossed back against his shoulders, his mouth open wide while tears streamed from his eyes, laughing as though he would never stop. The flush on your cheeks quickly turned from one of anger to one of embarrassment. Of course. You had fallen right in to his trap. Tormund had wanted you to become angry with him, he had poked and prodded at you the same way a bear might be baited at a feast. The intent was the same too. He was looking for amusement. Gods, how you wanted to kill him.

Eventually, the Widling man managed to quiet himself down to the point where he could speak in between a few sparse chortles though it took several deep breaths and even then, his shoulders still shook with lingering mirth.

“Well,” he said, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his cloak “You certainly sound like a Northerner, and you’ve shown me that pretty hair of yours is for more than just good looks. But, I’m afraid you’ll always be a little Southern princess to me. Unless…”

While you sported your father’s grey eyes and your mother’s red curls, you hadn’t inherited their stoicism or their tact. You were far too often entirely bound to the whims of your temper, especially when someone waved a challenge so obviously right beneath your nose. The clever thing would have been to walk away and leave Tormund stewing for the night, but the temptation to put him in his place was far too strong.

“Unless what, you blithering idiot?”

Tormund grinned, his blue eyes turning soft as though you were cooing sweet nothings rather than barking insults. He then rose to his feet and strode over to you, his long legs closing the distance in a matter of seconds. You’d expected him to at least have enough sense to stand at arm’s length from you, but that was far too much to demand of his simple intellect. No, Tormund didn’t stop until he was practically standing on top of you, so close you could feel his breath ghosting across the crown of your head and smell the dampness on his cloak.

The sound of a sword unsheathing made you glance quickly over your shoulder, where you saw Brienne now standing with her weapon drawn. You gave a subtle shake of your head, to which she responded with an equally short nod though you noticed she didn’t remove her hand from her hilt either. You stole a brief look at Podrick as well, though the young squire had little more to offer you than a half hearted shrug.

Grumbling under your breath, you turned back to face Tormund. The sudden closeness now meant that you could no longer look the man in the eye without craning your neck upwards or taking a few steps back. Not wanting to seem intimidated by his nonsense, you chose the former and fixed the Wildling with a searing gaze. Tormund chuckled in response, the sound as rich and dark as Dornish wine. A unwanted, tingling warmth began to grow in your belly but you quickly squashed it with a hard bite to the inside of your cheek.

“Alright little one,” the giant said so softly he was nearly whispering “You want to be a real Northerner? Then show me. Show me you’re more than just talk, and I’ll believe you.”

You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t break from his stare. It felt as though his deep, ocean blue eyes were boring right in to the depths of your soul.

“How?”

Movement at Tormund’s hip made you flinch involuntarily, which caused his brow to crease in concern. However, when you didn’t react further he pushed aside his cloak and pulled out a stone knife with a bone handle. You stared at the flint blade, watching the way glinted in the faint firelight.

“If you can take this from me in the next minute or so, then I’ll believe you’re truly a Northerner…” he paused and drew in a sharp breath “And, I’ll be yours. Mind, body and soul, from now until my dying breath.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Is that it? Truly? You’re betting your freedom on whether or not I can take your poxy knife? Tell me Tormund, are all Wildlings this stupid or are you the exception?”

You couldn’t help but relish the way the ever present grin fell from the giant man’s face. Clearly, his little proposition hadn’t garnered the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“I’m exceptional in more ways then you know, beauty.” He replied, quickly regaining his composure and leering openly at you “Though perhaps it isn’t quite fair to pit such a sweet little thing against a mighty warrior such as-”

Whatever Tormund was going to say next would forever remain a mystery. Instead, all that could be heard was a faint, guttural sort of choking sound. Tormund quite looked like he was choking too. His pale skin had turned almost as red as his hair, while his mouth hung open in a silent gasp and his wide eyes stared blindly down at the snowy ground.

“How?” he sputtered, bent double with his hands clutched over his loins.

“Easy,” you replied, tossing his knife from your right hand to your left “I have two older brothers. Three, if you count that traitorous Greyjoy fucker. When needs must, I know where to hit.”

Tormund drew in another deep breath, which was followed by a series of coughs and a few strangled laughs. For some reason, this made you grin all the wider. Even after taking a full on strike to the bollocks, Tormund could still find a reason to laugh.

“Clearly, I underestimated you girl.”

“Clearly.”

You gently placed the tip of the knife beneath Tormund’s chin, slowly tilting his face upwards so he was looking you in the eye. He looked at you as though he had just discovered his own personal goddess, and he was about to become your most devoted worshiper. The tingling warmth erupted in your gut again, though this time you didn’t try to stop it.

“Do you yield?” you asked, keeping your voice low so only Tormund could hear you. He nodded as much as the knife would allow, and swallowed hard before answering.

“Yes.” came the reply.

“And do you promise not to call me a southerner anymore?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” you said, giving Tormund’s cheek a rough pat before straightening and turning round to face Podrick and Brienne. The young squire was gawping at you with renewed fear in his eyes, while Brienne was grinning at you from ear to ear. It was the happiest you’d seen her in months.

“Will one of you please see to him?” you asked, your voice practically dripping honey “It would be a shame if our journey was delayed because Tormund was too sore to sit a saddle.”

As you began to walk away, snow faintly crunching under your boots, you saw Podrick dart past from the corner of your eye. He immediately went to Tormund, bending at the waist so he could better assess the Wilding for damage.

“Are you alright…Sir?” you heard him say hesitantly

“Oh look,” came Tormund’s reply, sounding far too pleased for someone in his condition “My will to live. It’s gone.”

[daeneryseastar]

i think the biggest problem i have with the whole team discourse in f&b + hotd is that it isn’t just about which characters you like more/who you want to sit on the throne at that end; it’s that each side is fighting for completely different ideologies, regardless of one members personal beliefs. grrm could not have made it anymore clear.

team black isn’t just fighting for rhaenyra to be queen, they’re fighting for the monarch’s right to choose an heir, for the oaths they swore years before, for the complete opposite of precedent/tradition: the king’s word is law. team green isn’t just fighting for aegon to be king, they’re fighting for tradition, that no matter the words of a king being law sons will always come before daughters, that oaths are fickle and don’t matter. each side is in some way fighting back against what’s already been established for the kingdom, but the end goal is completely different.

we’re not given as much insight into why most of the houses initially sided with rhaenyra, but we do have an inkling into how the green council felt and acted, however. jaehaerys choosing baelon over rhaenys (against andal tradition, the king can choose his heir) is one point. the great council of 101 is another. alicent, despite being the leader of the council, is removed from the equation and shoved off to the side when it comes to swearing oaths of loyalty between the members on account of her womanhood. daemon being a second coming of ‘maegor’ (despite what we know would be a better suited title for aemond, but i digress) is also used. when discussing who would side with them the vale is automatically disqualified from the list, due to them presently being ruled by a woman, jeyne arryn. she doesn’t choose to fight for rhaenyra for the sole reason of them being kin, but because her own right to rule can and will be put into question if aegon steps over rhaenyra. because she is a woman. she does so in spite of her dislike for daemon (and his supposed maegor-ness) too.

even if one were to look at each characters personal feelings about the succession the fact of the matter is that rhaenyra is usurped because she is a woman. it’s stated almost blatantly multiple times before and during the war. the greens use scapegoats and smokescreens in attempts justify it (her ‘bastards’ chief among them, but legally her sons live and die as the trueborn children between her and laenor, with the reminder that septon eustace refutes this claim to begin with). even when she is killed grrm has her breast pricked to arouse a dragon that doesn’t want to kill her (and why is that?). aegon ‘wins’ against her and is king, but then why is jaehaera, as his last living remaining child not named his heir? why is aegon iii put ahead of her, despite being the enemies son? these are rhetorical questions. aegon had no plans to ever consider her his heir, he made it clear with how excited he was to marry cassandra baratheon and produce more ‘strong’ sons. his dragon (who had fought and bled for him the entire war) wasn’t mourned properly, he couldn’t wait to hatch a ‘new dragon, prouder and fiercer than the last.’ yet he wasn’t even capable of doing that in the six months before he too was killed.

it’s also safe to mention that grrm created an entire separate lore story, one that would seem to have no bearing on the original story unless you’re capable of understanding symbolism. the amethyst empress is usurped by her younger brother the bloodstone emperor, and the first long night ensues from this decision. rhaenyra (amethyst = arryn blue + targaryen red) is usurped by her younger brother aegon ii (bloodstone = hightower green + targaryen red) and the dying of the dragons, the very creatures needed to stop the next long night, are eradicated, along with the magic needed to hatch them and keep them alive (until). the war is the blacks (power, death, grief, rebellion, restraint) versus the greens (ambition, greed, jealousy, anger, wealth). the amethyst empress is important to the main story in the same way that rhaenyra is important, that snubbing the women (an integral aspect to the power the targaryens held) of house targaryen can lead only to disaster. daenerys is the key, the one to break the cycle and fix the wrongdoings caused by her ancestors obsession with power. mother of dragons, mhysa, breaker of chains, slayer of lies, daughter of death, the dragon queen, azor ahai come again, the prince that was promised will bring the dawn.

you can argue for technicalities sake all day, but there is a meaning to this story beyond the scope of rightful heirs. and it shouldn’t be shoved off to the side just so you can praise your favorites and hate those who go against them. it makes for a poor consuming of the actual story. fire and blood was created as a history book to expand on daenerys as a character. her family, what and where she’s come from, and how she relates to them. she’s the antithesis to every targaryen that’s come before her, a hero in her own right. the only targaryen’s we can say are radically important to dany’s story are the conquerors (aegon the conqueror with teats) and rhaenyra (the amethyst empress). i don’t know, just some food for thought.

edit: i have revised some of my opinions on this through a further reread but the gist of it is still the same.

[grapegalaxy]

To Love, To Die, To Be One in Eternity

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x MALE! Targaryen reader

summary: In the midst of war and shifting alliances, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Prince M/N Targaryen share a bond stronger than blood, a love strengthened by promises of a shared future. But when duty calls them to separate missions to secure their mother's claim to the throne, tragedy looms. A deadly encounter leaves one prince lost to the skies, and the other shattered beyond repair. As a grieving mother vows vengeance and a kingdom inches closer to civil war, the two princes find each other again in the afterlife, beyond the reach of bloodshed, their souls finally at peace among the stars.

FEMALE READERS AND UNTITLED BLOGS WITH NO NAMES AND 'HE/HIM/HIS' WILL BE BLOCKED!

It is dusk on Dragonstone and the air hums with tension. The sky tinged a deep red, seems to reflect the foreboding emotions of those who walk its weathered paths. Clouds swirl like a storm above the island, the whispers of the sea murmuring against the rocks as waves break against the shore. Shadows stretch long over the castle walls as if trying to capture the fleeting peace. In the coming days, these shores and halls may know only war, but for now, the sons of Rhaenyra prepare for their missions in silence and anticipation.

Jacaerys Velaryon stands on the bridge, his dark hair whipping about in the evening breeze, his expression one of determined resolve. At seventeen, he carries himself with the confidence of a leader, the heir to the Iron Throne, though the path to that throne now appears littered with blood and betrayal. His eyes reflect the depth of responsibility too weighty for one so young, but he bears it willingly. Beside him stands his half-brother, M/N, a young man of equal age, with sharp features softened only by the affection he holds for Jace. M/N is the firstborn son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, a proud scion of both Targaryen blood. Though they share different fathers, the two brothers share a bond forged in the fires of youth and tempered by shared secrets, lingering glances, and unspoken promises.

Rhaenyra, queen of the Blacks, waits near the edge of the bridge Luke at her side, her face shadowed with worry. Her sons are her life, her blood, and the key to her strength in the coming war. But to send them off into the unknown, to trust them with missions that may steal them away from her forever… it feels as if her heart is being wrenched from her chest. And yet, a queen must remain strong. M/N steps away from Jace’s side to walk over to his father.

“Father,” M/N greets him.

Daemon’s face softens as he takes in his son’s form. In M/N, he sees his own reflection, the same fierce Targaryen spirit, the same unyielding will. Daemon’s hand rises to clasp his son’s shoulder. “Remember, my boy,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with unspoken emotion. “Baratheons are stubborn as stone. Meet Borros with strength. Show him no fear. You’re a dragon, after all.”

M/N smirks, the hint of a rebellious smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make him see, Father. I’ll make him understand what it means to cross us.” But there is a flicker of vulnerability in M/N’s eyes, as if he senses the weight of Daemon’s concern, though he would never voice it aloud.

Daemon’s grip tightens slightly as he studies his son, his voice growing softer. “Be careful, M/N,” he says, almost a whisper. The sea is wild, and dragons may fly, but even dragons can fall.”

M/N wraps his arms around his father, the rare embrace surprising both of them. For a heartbeat, Daemon’s mask slips, and he holds his son tightly, unaware that this will be their last touch, their last shared heartbeat. M/N releases his father, feeling the warmth of that bond lingering long after. He doesn’t realize this simple moment will soon be all that he has left of his father.

Meanwhile, on another stretch of the bridge, Rhaenyra stands in front of Jace and Luke, her long hair flowing in the wind, fierce and proud. She looks at her sons, her face a mixture of sorrow and pride. She had dreamed of a different path for them, one free from the shackles of duty and the threat of bloodshed, but fate has pulled them here, and she will not allow weakness or fear to taint their legacy.

“Winterfell,” she murmurs to Jace, her voice a soft command and blessing. “The Starks will respect loyalty. Show them our strength, Jace, but remember that they value truth and honor above all. Speak to Lord Cregan as an ally, as an equal.” She reaches out, touching his cheek with a rare tenderness that pierces Jace’s heart.

He has seen her fierce, and resolute as a queen, but in this moment, she is simply his mother, and the weight of her love is as heavy as the crown.

She looks at Luke, her secondborn son, her gaze softening as if she sees the boy he once was, the boy she desperately wants to protect. “The Eyrie has long been our ally. Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. Show her the honor of our house, and she will not forsake us in this time of need.”

Luke nods, trying to hide the fear that flickers in his eyes. He has heard tales of the Eyrie’s daunting heights, of its dangerous mountain passes but he steels himself for his duty.

After Rhaenyra speaks to them, Jace walks over to M/N, who’s standing nearby. Jace moves closer, his expression softening as he searches M/N’s face.

“M/N,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something raw, a need that only the two of them understand. He reaches for M/N’s hand, gripping it tightly as the bridge falls silent around them. For a moment, they are alone in this vast world, two young men holding onto each other as if by this touch alone, they can defy the fate that looms.

“Wait for me,” Jace whispers, his lips so close to M/N’s that they can feel each other’s breath. “When I return from Winterfell… wait for me.”

M/N’s eyes glisten with something unsaid, something that binds him to Jace in a way that no one else could ever understand. He nods, his voice trembling as he breathes out his promise. “I’ll wait, Jace. I swear it.”

Their lips meet in a kiss, slow and deep, the world falling away as they pour all their unspoken fears and hopes into the touch. They hold each other, a heartbeat of eternity stretching between them, before they part, their foreheads resting against each other, unwilling to break the connection. But duty calls, and they know that they must answer.

With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra watches them prepare for flight, her sons mounted on their dragons—Vermax, Xerxes, and Arrax, with Rhaenys upon Meleys. The dragons roar, their voices filling the sunset, wings spreading wide as they prepare to take flight. Daemon stands by Rhaenyra’s side as they watch their sons lift into the sky, their silhouettes framed by the last light of the setting sun.

~ ~ ~ ~

Late into the evening, a messenger arrives with the news that turns blood cold. Prince M/N has been killed. His dragon, Xerxes, has been bitten into pieces and M/N was devoured by Vhagar. The news spreads through Dragonstone like wildfire, tearing through every heart that hears it, each soul breaking under the weight of the message. M/N, the beloved firstborn son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, eldest brother of Aegon III and Viserys II, the fierce prince who held loyalty and love in equal measure, is gone. The whispers grow louder as the truth settles into aching bones: Aemond Targaryen chased him, relentless and unyielding, and Xerxes, M/N’s noble dragon, was no match for the monstrous Vhagar. What remained was nothing but smoke and silence.

Daemon, who has faced countless battles, and has known loss and grief, feels the ground fall away beneath him as he hears of his son’s death. He stands motionless, his hand gripping the hilt of Dark Sister with a strength that could break the stone. His heart pounds with an agonizing mix of sorrow and fury, his mind racing back to that last embrace, the warmth of M/N’s arms around him, the quiet strength in his son’s gaze. The ache in his chest grows, spreading like poison, until he forces himself to move, to find Rhaenyra and deliver this wound that neither of them will ever truly heal from.

Rhaenyra is standing in front of the fireplace where he finds her, her face bathed in the flickering orange light. She is lost in thought, the shadows playing across her features, painting her in the likeness of a queen carved from grief and fury. Daemon hesitates, his heart breaking anew as he watches her, knowing that what he brings will destroy her.

“Rhaenyra,” he says softly, his voice breaking as he stands before her.

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting his, and he sees the question there, the hope that will soon shatter.

“Our son,” Daemon whispers, his voice hollow, his gaze darkening with a fury that rivals the flames in the hearth. “Our beautiful boy is… gone.”

They stand together, frozen in their grief, a grief that will fuel the fires of vengeance and drive them to the edge of reason. Rhaenyra’s face hardens, her gaze fixing on the flames, and Daemon stands beside her, his hand clenched into a fist, his mind already spinning with thoughts of revenge.

For the first time, they both understand the true cost of this war, and it is a cost they will bear together, bound by the shared agony of losing their son. The fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound in the heavy silence, but it pales in comparison to the flames igniting in their hearts. Rhaenyra’s face is a mask of grief, fury, and sorrow all twisted into one. Her lips press into a thin line as she swallows down the scream building within her chest, a scream for the child she will never see again.

Daemon moves closer to her, his hand trembling as it finds her shoulder. They do not need words to convey the devastation shared between them; the depth of their loss hangs heavy in the room. Slowly, Rhaenyra’s gaze lifts to meet Daemon’s, her expression both hollow and fierce, as if she stands poised on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to succumb to her despair or let it drive her forward.

“That bastard Aemond will pay for this,” Daemon growls, his voice low and menacing. His face is cast in shadows, his gaze unyielding as he stares into the fire as if he can see his revenge reflected in the flickering flames. “For what he’s done… he will pay dearly.”

Rhaenyra’s lips part, and her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks, each word laced with an intensity that could rival dragonfire. “They have taken my son,” she breathes, her hand tightening into a fist as her nails bite into her palm. “They will know what it means to lose everything.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a vow sworn in blood and loss. For a brief moment, they stand together, two grieving parents united in their shared pain, their sorrow forging an iron bond that no enemy can shatter.

But as the embers of their anger continue to burn, they know that this grief will not be still. It will demand action, demand retribution. And as Rhaenyra stares into the fire, she knows that this is not the end of her family’s suffering, but only the beginning of a dark, twisted path that will demand sacrifices they are only beginning to comprehend.

~ ~ ~ ~

A cold mist hangs over Dragonstone as Jacaerys returns from his journey to Winterfell. The familiar cliffs loom ahead, shrouded in dark clouds, and the sea churns below as Vermax soars through the gray dawn, his powerful wings slicing through the air. Jace feels the thrill of victory and purpose in his chest. He has done what was asked of him, securing House Stark as a steadfast ally in the fight for his mother’s throne. Cregan Stark, with his unyielding loyalty and fierce sense of honor, has promised his support, and Jace finds hope for what lies ahead.

Yet a strange, chilling apprehension lingers in his heart. Winterfell was colder than he’d expected, not just in climate but in spirit. The Starks had looked at him with quiet solemnity, as though sensing the shadows that clung to him. Jace brushed off the feeling, chalking it up to the North’s grim atmosphere, yet he can’t shake it now, not as Dragonstone looms closer. He tells himself it’s nothing, just the weight of the task, but his heartbeat quickens with an urgency he can’t name.

As Vermax lands, his powerful claws scraping against the stone, Jace dismounts and strides toward the keep, the rush of battle plans and future strategies still alive in his mind. He has news for his mother, news that will strengthen their cause. But when he enters the great hall, he pauses. Something feels wrong. Servants look away as he passes, their eyes downcast, their faces drawn, casting him glances that make his skin crawl.

The doors to the living room stand ajar, and he catches sight of his mother waiting inside. Rhaenyra sits, her figure slouched, wrapped in a dark cloak that seems to swallow her whole. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, her eyes rimmed red and shadowed as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks up when he enters, her gaze sharp yet vulnerable, a broken queen trying to hold herself together.

“Mother,” he greets her, keeping his voice strong. “Winterfell stands with us. Lord Cregan Stark has pledged his banners. House Stark is ours.”

Rhaenyra nods, managing a faint smile. “Well done, Jace,” she says, her voice trembling. “You have done our House proud.”

“Luke succeeded too, didn’t he?” Jace asks, a little hope creeping into his tone as he searches her face. “He secured the support of House Arryn?”

“Yes,” she replies, nodding again, her gaze drifting away as if her mind is miles from this room. “The Arryns stand with us, thanks to Luke.”

A silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Jace frowns, noticing her hesitation. He’d expected his mother to be overjoyed, to feel victorious, but she seems to sink deeper into sorrow with every word. Her gaze is distant, her face etches with anguish, and the emptiness in her eyes unsettles him.

“And M/N?” he asks, his heart hammering. “Has he returned?”

Rhaenyra flinches, her gaze dropping to the floor. The quiet that follows is deafening, each second a knife twisting in his chest. She doesn’t answer, and a creeping dread coils around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. He takes a step closer, his voice pleading now, his mind refusing to accept the terrible silence.

“Mother…” he whispers, his tone desperate. “What about M/N?”

She presses a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering as if under a great weight. For a moment, she looks like she might crumble completely, her face twisting in pain. She takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she wipes away a tear. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks, each word drenched in sorrow.

“Jace… M/N will not come home,” she says, her voice breaking. “He… he’s gone.”

Jace blinks, the words not registering, their meaning foreign and unfathomable. His mind rebels against them, refusing to process the implications. “What…?” he chokes on the word, the disbelief clawing at his throat. “No. No, he’s not. He promised… he promised he’d be here. He’s waiting for me now.”

She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Aemond chased him down. M/N tried to escape, but Vhagar… Vhagar devoured him whole while Xerxes had been bitten into pieces. There was nothing left. Nothing.”

Her words shatter the fragile hope that clings to his heart. His chest tightens, his breath coming in short gasps as the truth crashes over him, unrelenting and brutal. He stumbles back, shaking his head, denial tearing through him like a storm. “No,” he mutters, his voice rising with each word. “No, he’s not dead. He can’t be dead! He promised he’d be here!”

Rhaenyra reaches for him, but he flinches away, his whole body trembling as anger and despair twist inside him, tearing him apart.

“He promised,” he cries, his voice cracking. “He said he’d wait for me! He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t break that promise. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her arms wrapping around him as he thrashes against her hold. “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she holds him tightly. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy.”

Jace’s anger breaks, giving away raw, wrenching grief. He sags against her, his fist pounding against her shoulders as sobs wrack his body. His voice is hoarse, torn from the depths of his soul, as he weeps in his mother’s arms. All his dreams, all his hopes, crumble to dust in that instant, the weight of loss crushing him as he clings to her, his tears soaking into her long dress.

That night, after his tears have dried and his mother has left him alone to grieve, Jace wanders the cold, empty halls of Dragonstone. The silence presses down on him, suffocating, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of what he has lost. He finds himself at the door to M/N’s bedchamber, his heart heavy, his mind numb.

He pushes the door open, the familiar scent of his beloved lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace. The room is dim, with only a candle on the desk of M/N and shadows pooling in every corner. He crosses to the bed, the covers still rumpled from the last time M/N had lain there. Jace sinks onto the mattress, his fingers trembling as he brushes over the empty sheets, feeling the cold that has settled in M/N’s absence.

A shuddering sob escapes him, and he presses his face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of M/N’s hair, his skin, and his warmth. The weight of his grief is a physical ache, a hollow void that devours him from the inside. He lies there, clutching the sheets as his body shakes with silent tears, his heart breaking all over again with each breath.

Time loses meaning as he lies there, drowning in memories of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises under starlit skies. He remembers the warmth of M/N’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes softened whenever they looked at Jace. All of it feels like a cruel dream, slipping further and further away with each heartbeat.

After what feels like an eternity, he forces himself to sit up, his gaze drifting to the window. The world outside is dark, the stars hidden behind clouds as if even the heavens mourn his loss. He rises, crossing the room on unsteady feet, drawn to the window’s edge. He stares out into the void below, the cliffs sharp and jagged against the faint glimmer of the sea. A strange calm settles over him as he contemplates the drop, the final release it promises.

But he has something he needs to do first.

He moves M/N’s table, where papers and quills lie scattered across the surface. He sits, his fingers shaking as he dips the quill into the ink, each stroke heavy with purpose. He writes slowly, carefully, each word an offering, a farewell.

To My Dearest Family,

It is with a heart so heavy that words scarcely serve me now, for I know what sorrow and anger my choice will bring upon you. Yet as the dark night calls me to follow my beloved Prince M/N into eternal slumber, I must heard it, for what use is a life if it must walk alone, a hollow echo of what was once a symphony. To my dearest mother, Rhaenyra, I am grieved beyond measure for the agony my actions will inflict upon your heart; you, who fought so fiercely to secure my path to the throne, I now abandon it. Know, though, that no ambition could ever soothe the wound left by M/N’s death. Without him, the throne is but a lifeless relic, a kingdom barren of meaning. Daemon forgive me, too, for not possessing your strength to press on, for it was M/N who tethered my soul to this world, and with his passing, my own spirit has fled like ashes scattered to the winds. To my brothers, Luke and Joffrey, and my half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys—may you remember me as I was, not as I have become, one bound by love so deep that even death’s dark chasm could not keep us apart. You will lead where I cannot; you must carry forward the blood of the dragon, for I go now to M/N’s side, where perhaps even the bitterness of death may feel as sweet as the touch of his hand once was to me. To my grandmother Princess Rhaenys, a Queen Who Never Was, and my grandfather Lord Corlys, whose wisdom and courage I have always aspired to mirror, I ask forgiveness if my actions seem a disgrace to the name of Velaryon, yet I am only a boy who found in love something so profound that it cannot endure separation. And to dear Baela and Rhaena, who shared the shadows and sorrows of my heart—thank you, my cousins, of the soul; remember me with the gentlest of thoughts, for I leave you not out of malice, but out of love that transcends mortal binds. Pray, do not weep for me but hold fast to one another, for it is you, my family, who must rise like dragons anew. Though I depart from this world, know that I love you all still, more than words could ever tell, and that my spirit shall be forever intertwined with yours, as close as breath, as close as blood.

Forever with love and sorrow,

Jacaerys Velaryon

When he finishes, he places the letter on the bed, laying his sword beside it as a final tribute. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the strange peace that comes with the decision. He walks back to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his heart silent, ready.

With a last, lingering breath, he closes his eyes, and he… falls.

The night is still as Jace plummets through the cold air, his descent silent, and peaceful, an end he has chosen willingly to be reunited with the one he loved more than life itself. His body strikes the ground with a sickening thud, and a crimson pool begins to form beneath him, the blood seeping into the Earth, bearing witness to his final act of devotion.

The guards stationed nearby are the first to find him, their faces paling as they approach. They stare in disbelief, horror flooding in their expressions as they realize who it is lying broken on the ground before them.

“Prince Jacaerys…” one of them whispers, his voice quivering with shock.

They exchange stricken looks, understanding the weight of what they have just witnessed. One of the guards stumbles back, calling for help, his shout piercing the quiet night and echoing through the stone halls of the Dragonstone.

The news of Jace’s death spreads quickly, rippling through the keep like a wave of sorrow and disbelief. Servants whisper in hushed tones, their faces pale and their hearts heavy. The death of two beloved princes within days is too much for the realm to bear, it feels like the very heart of Dragonstone has been ripped out.

Two days later, Dragonstone is shrouded in a heavy silence, the grief so palbable that it feels as though the castle itself mourns. The skies are gray, the air thick with the weight of unspoken sorrow. Outside the castle, a small gathering stands somberly around a large pyre where Jace and M/N’s clothes lie folded neatly, ready to be set alight in a final tribute to their lives.

Rhaenyra, who’s holding the clothes of M/N, stands at the head of the pyre, her face a mask of unyielding grief, her eyes hollow, distant. Beside her, Luke, who’s holding the clothes of Jace, and Joffrey, the boy’s small fingers clutching his older brother’s clothes as though he understands the magnitude of this loss. Lord Corlys stands nearby, his face etched with sorrow, his shoulders weighed down by the grief of losing yet another grandson. Beside him is Rhaenys, her face set in a grim line, her eyes fierce with the anger and pain of a grandmother who has lost far too much.

Baela and Rhaena stand together, their faces pale, eyes red from weeping. They hold each other tightly, sisters united in sorrow, mourning the cousins they loved as brothers. The fire crackles and snaps as Rhaenyra steps forward, M/N’s clothes in her hands, her gaze fixed on the fire. She gently throws the clothes of M/N, her expression a mask of resolve even as her heart shatters anew. Luke follows, throwing gently Jace’s clothes before he takes Joffrey’s hand.

As the flames begin to consume the clothes, Rhaenyra stares into the fire, her face illuminated by the flickering light. She remembers the letter Jace left behind after receiving the news of Jace’s death, the words that cut through her like a blade. He had loved her, she knows, but his heart had belonged to M/N, and in his death, he had found a way to be with him. The thought brings her no comfort, only a bitter, seething rage that coils within her feet.

She clenches her fists, her gaze hardening as she watches the flames rise higher, consuming the last remnants of her beloved sons. At that moment, she makes a silent vow—a promise to bring her pain upon the Greens, to ensure that Aemond and all who supported him would know the depths of her loss. Her heart is forged, burning with a wrath that only blood can quench.

The ceremony is brief, marked only by the sound of crackling flames and the soft murmurs of grief. When it is done, the gathering disperses slowly, each person lost in their own sorrow. Rhaenyra remains by the pyre long after everyone else has gone, her gaze fixed on the dying embers, her heart a wasteland.

In another world, far removed from the realm of the living, Jace finds himself at peace. He stands on the tranquil beach, the sky a gentle shade of twilight, the waves lapping softly at the shore. He feels a presence beside him, warm and familiar, and he turns to see M/N standing there, watching him with a quiet smile.

M/N steps closer, reaching out to take Jace’s hand, his touch grounding and real in a way Jace hadn’t dared to hope for. They stand in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their reunion settle between them. Finally, M/N speaks, his voice soft and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze earnest. “I promised I’d wait for you, and I broke that promise.”

Jace shakes his head, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, his voice steady, his heart finally at peace. “When you died, half of my soul died with you. I couldn’t stay without you.”

M/N’s eyes shine with a mixture of love and sadness as he pulls Jace close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying all the weight of his devotion, all the moments they had lost, and all the eternity they now had to spend together.

They share a deep, lingering kiss, one filled with the promises they can finally fulfill. When they part, Jace feels the warmth of M/N’s hand in his, steady and unyielding, a bond that death could not sever.

Above them, a familiar roar echoes, and they look up to see Xerxes, M/N’s loyal dragon, circling above. His scales glisten in the light, and his eyes shine with recognition as he watches his rider reunited with his love.

M/N smiles, tugging Jace with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Come,” he says, gesturing to Xerxes. “Let us fly together, as we were always meant to.”

Without hesitation, Jace nods, following M/N to the great beast waiting patiently for them. They climb onto Xerxes’ back, Jace settling in behind M/N, his arms wrapped securely around his beloved’s waist. The dragon roars again, a sound of joy and freedom, as he takes to the sky, his powerful wings lifting them above the endless horizon.

Together, they soar through the afterlife, free from the pain and sorrow that had once bound them. They are whole, and at peace, their souls forever entwined as they ride through the eternal skies.

[daenerysaizie]

𐔌 . ⋮ REALM’S DELIGHT .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Mk1 x Targ!reader

A/N:

Dear gentle readers,

I pray thee forgive my long silence, for a month hath passed since I last shared my humble words. Life’s cares did hinder my pen, though my thoughts oft turned to thee. Now, by God’s grace, I return with renewed spirit and fresh ink. I humbly ask thy pardon and hope the stories to come shall be worthy of thy patience.

Thine in earnest,

Author

@kchavez666 💋

Chapter 3 — a typical day?

Time had passed so quickly; a month had already gone by. While others showed significant improvement, you progressed at your own pace, which you didn’t mind as long as you kept improving. You demonstrated great potential in archery.

Apart from the intensive training and the constant challenges you endured, the Wu Shi Academy brought a certain tranquility to your mind. The recurring dream that had haunted you throughout your life was replaced with a forgotten memory. While the memory brought a sense of nostalgia and sadness, it was much preferable to the nightmarish dream of your mad father's death.

Viserys called out to you, “Sister,” capturing your attention. You were no more than five at the time, while he was already a young man, around the age of fifteen years old and strong in both mind and body. You recalled him as being built and skilled in swordsmanship, with a fondness for storytelling. He was particularly captivated by the tales of the conquerors and their dragons, he also shared with you bitterly that these creatures had vanished more than a century ago. The dream depicted your room in Dragonstone, wooden toys that mimicked horses and dragons scattered across the floor. "Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros," Viserys began, gesturing towards the brown leather-bound book adorned with the three-headed dragon sigil. "but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. It was not Aegon alone who united the Seven Kingdoms. He had the support of his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys." He continued turning the pages of the book as he spoke of the conquerors and their conquests. Then, Viserys turned to you “Sister, in hard times like these, you and I bear the hope for the future.”

The dream ended there.

It was the dead of the night when you woke up. You wiped away the tears on your damp cheeks with the sleeves of your nightgown, thinking about your brother. Time had erased his face and voice from your memory, but somehow, seeing his face and hearing his voice again made you miss him terribly, and you couldn’t help but wonder – Was he alive? Where was he? You were also taken aback to realize that you remembered this distant memory so vividly.

“Viserys…” you murmured, as if testing his name on your lips. When was the last time you called out to him? You recalled his promise to bring you home once the nightmare has ended. But when was that?

And for the first time in forever, you wanted to call out to your brother, embrace him, and feel the safety of his arms again. You couldn’t help but to shed more tears.

Knowing that sleep was far from you for the time being, you decided that a cup of tea might help soothe your nerves and mind. Quietly, you made your way through the temple house to the shared kitchen, hoping to find some solace in the warm, comforting brew of fresh tea.

The kitchen was softly illuminated by a single candle, and in the quiet space, Kenshi Takahashi sat alone at the table, lost in his thoughts. His face was etched with a deep frown. You couldn't help but tease him gently to not startle him, "If you continue frowning like that, you'll end up with permanent wrinkles." Kenshi looked up at you, surprised, and raised an eyebrow. "Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, his usual patience and temper uncharacteristically strained.

"I couldn't sleep," you explained, "and I thought a cup of tea might help calm my mind. Would you like to join me?" Kenshi's frown softened, and he nodded, his initial crankiness fading. "Sure, I guess I could," he responded with less irritation than before. You smiled as you walked over to the stove, preparing the tea.

The process of making tea was quiet. Surprisingly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was slightly awkward. Kenshi discreetly watched you from behind as you swiftly prepared fresh tea for both yourself and him. He pondered silently to himself, wondering when was the last time he had experienced such kind companionship and comfort from another person.

You carefully placed the porcelain cups and teapot on a tray and carried it to the table, gracefully serving tea to Kenshi before taking your seat across from him. He mumbled a soft "thank you" as you sat down.

"How is it?" you asked curiously, watching for his reaction as he took a sip. Kenshi raised both eyebrows briefly before looking up at you. "It's good," he replied, his gaze returning on the cup. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph, mentally giving yourself a pat on the back for making a good cup of tea.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you as you sipped your tea together. Wanting to break the quiet and ensure you weren't overstepping any boundaries, you asked gently, "Is it alright if I ask why you aren't asleep?" Kenshi looked at you for a brief moment before replying, "I had a dream that I was still in the yakuza." The grimace on his face betrayed the pain that the dream had caused him.

You send him an apologetic look, “Don’t worry, I know that too well.” You pause, “Not being in the yakuza! I meant the dream part,” You fumbled, fixing your wording quickly and think your words carefully to not put the man before you in further bad mood. “Dreams can be cruel.” you acknowledged, your own experience with nightmares reflected in your understanding expression.

A hint of amusement flickered across Kenshi's face at your slip-up before it was replaced with neutral look. "I'm guessing you had a bad dream too?" he inquired. You nodded in affirmation, responding, "It wasn't bad, just... sad. It was better than the usual dream I have, I guess." He simply hummed in acknowledgment, not prodding further on the matter.

The silence settled between the two of you once more. You observed his reaction, noticing how he idly swirled the tea in his cup with a distant look in his eyes. Out of the blue, he confessed dryly, "I hate the gods for making me as they did."

You paused, surprised by his unexpected words, and replied sincerely, "I do not. You are an honorable man with a good heart." A soft smile graced your lips as you added, "And that's a rare thing." Kenshi looked up at you and offered a small smile. It was not noticeable but you could tell it was there.

And what you said was true. Kenshi Takahashi was an honorable man. He was poised, sharp tongued yet respectful. You hoped he had taken your words sincerely.

That night, you both found solace in each other’s presence, even though no more words were exchanged.

—

You didn’t regret staying up so late with Kenshi; it had brought the two of you closer than you expected. However, you dreaded the consequences of getting so little sleep. You looked like you’d fought a raccoon in your sleep, with your hair slightly disheveled from not having the energy to properly braid it. Kenshi, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as fatigued. He still looked composed and proper. When he saw you, he chuckled at your appearance and offered to make you an omelette for breakfast. You gratefully accepted, though both of you received raised eyebrows from the other three.

The day progressed like any other at the Wu Shi Academy—rigorous training and your archery lessons. But today was ‘sparring day’, and your opponent was none other than the so-called “best” Hollywood star, Johnny Cage. To your frustration, his flashy, unorthodox fighting style was new to you. He even utilized his sunglasses into the fight—impressive, considering they didn’t break.

To your further dismay, you ended up pinned beneath him. Johnny smirked, enjoying the moment. “Giving up already?” he teased. You huffed in response, an idea sparking in your mind. A playful smile touched your lips as you looked up at him. “Not yet,” you said in a teasing tone.

“Are you sure about that?” Johnny taunted, clearly relishing your determination. He noticed your subtle attempt to distract him, his smirk widening. He was enjoying the way you tried to match his confidence, but unfortunately for him, it worked. He was too focused on how matched his ‘freak’, and his grip loosened just enough. Seeing your chance, you swiftly flipped him over, reversing the position.

“Yield?” you asked with a grin, pulling a hairpin from your bun and letting your silver hair cascade down as you pointed the pin at his neck.

To his surprise, you had him pinned. He chuckled, a mixture of defeat and admiration on his face. “You sneaky little… I yield,” he said, meeting your gaze from beneath you. You helped him to his feet, and the two of you bowed to each other in mutual respect.

Johnny could have won if he hadn’t fallen for your trick, and though he felt a little embarrassed, he accepted his defeat.

“Marvelous victory!” Raiden exclaimed your name, clapping his hands along with Kung Lao and Kenshi. Kung Lao gave you a thumbs up, and Kenshi smirked at Johnny’s defeat, clearly enjoying it more than you enjoyed your victory. You smiled and gave them a playful curtsy.

“Kenshi, how about you and me?” Kung Lao gestured toward the training ground. Kenshi nodded, and the two headed off to spar where you and Johnny had just been.

“You vixen,” Johnny muttered beside you, folding his arms. Raiden, standing on your other side, smiled and suppressed a laugh. “I’d say she won fair and square, Johnny. You let your guard down,” Raiden said, placing a supportive hand on your shoulder.

You turned to Johnny, mimicking his pose. “How am I a vixen?” you teased, barely managing to keep a straight face.

Johnny laughed sarcastically. “You know exactly what you did.” His focus shifted to the next sparring match, while Raiden looked confused at Johnny’s remark. Clearly, no one else had noticed your little tactic.

—

You didn’t mind the peaceful domesticity of the moment, standing next to Kung Lao and Raiden in the kitchen. Kung Lao kneaded dough for baozi while Raiden prepared the fillings, and you focused on making side dishes using Madam Bo’s recipes. The three of you chatted and laughed together, enjoying the simple routine. Living together meant sharing responsibilities, taking turns cooking and doing chores. Tonight, you three were on kitchen duty, while Johnny and Kenshi handled the laundry. Johnny had been complaining about how tight his hands felt from using so much soap.

“Hey,” Kung Lao called your name, grabbing your attention. “You never told us your little secret. Maybe now’s the right time?” He dusted off the excess flour from his hands.

“Yeah, but it’s fine if you’re not ready yet,” Raiden added, pausing in his work to give you a reassuring look. Kung Lao rested his arm on Raiden’s shoulder, and the two of them watched you expectantly.

You had been putting off this conversation for a month now with, “I’ll explain when the time is right.” By now, they knew about realms, magic, and creatures, so your story wouldn’t sound too far-fetched. Maybe it *was* the right time. After all, you trusted them with your whole heart.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come at first. Sensing your hesitation, the two men continued their work, giving you time to gather your thoughts.

“I’m… Stormborn of House Targaryen,” you finally said, revealing your full name to them for the first time.

Kung Lao set the dough aside to let it rest and sat down across from you. “Stormborn? House Targaryen?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. You smiled and nodded.

“I’m from a continent called Westeros, a place here on Earth,” you explained. Raiden, looking puzzled, asked, “I’ve never heard of a continent called Westeros.”

“It’s hidden, barricaded by some kind of magic,” you said. “I’m not sure what exactly, but it separates Westeros from the rest of the world.”

“Why?” Kung Lao asked, resting his head on his arms.

“I don’t know… I was very young when I left Westeros, so my knowledge is limited.” You shrugged.

“Why did you leave?” Raiden asked, his voice soft but curious.

“Because it was dangerous.” A hint of sadness crept into your voice as you looked down at the side dish you were preparing. A small silence followed before you continued. “My father… he wasn’t a good man. He was paranoid and erratic, and because of his behavior, many turned against him.” This was assumption based on your dream now. Was it right for you to speak of your father like this? You did not want to believe your dreams but something told you that it was real.

You remembered how guarded Dragonstone had been, how there were always guards, servants, and food testers watching over you and your brother, Viserys. Once, on your birthday, your father had ordered all your gifts burned, convinced they were cursed or poisoned. Gosh, how much had you forgotten?

“Was he an influential man?” Kung Lao asked bluntly.

“He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” you replied, looking up at him. “So, yes, he was influential.”

Both men froze. “You’re a princess?” they exclaimed in unison.

You cleared your throat and nodded. Kung Lao gaped at you, while Raiden bowed with a respectful, “Your Grace.”

You panicked at his formality. “Wait, no! Don’t! I’m no longer a princess. I’m just an ordinary woman now. Please, you’re my closest friends—keep treating me the same as before,” you pleaded, gently pushing Raiden back up.

Kung Lao still looked stunned. “Wait, wait, wait! So we’ve been friends with royalty from a secret land, and you never thought to tell us?”

“I didn’t want to keep secrets from you,” you explained, “but I was strongly advised not to share my background. It could have put me—and all of you—in danger. I didn’t want that.”

Raiden nodded, understanding your reasoning, though both he and Kung Lao still had questions. They shared a glance, silently agreeing to take turns asking what they could.

“Did people there have the same hair and eye color as you?” Kung Lao jumped in, still processing.

You chuckled. “No, only my family and those with Valyrian blood had these traits.”

“Do you have siblings?” Raiden asked next.

A small smile crossed your face as you nodded. “Two brothers—Rhaegar and Viserys. Though, I don’t know what became of them…” A pang of sadness tugged at your heart.

In truth, you barely knew Rhaegar compared to Viserys. You had only met him twice, as his duties as heir to the Iron Throne kept him in King’s Landing. Viserys often boasted about him, and you remembered one thing clearly now—Rhaegar had a beautiful singing voice. Nonetheless, you still loved him.

Sensing your sadness, Kung Lao and Raiden decided to steer the conversation away from your family. The questions turned into silent awe as you continued explaining your background. As you recounted what you could, you began to recall forgotten memories, fragments of your past that time had nearly erased. Though it did make sense for you to forget. After all, you were no more than five. Of course, you didn’t tell everything as it would be too much at the moment.

Maybe, you did remember and knew more than you thought.

By the time dinner was served, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders, as though finally sharing your story had brought you some peace.

[raayllum]

Ezran in Season 6

Because Ezran was basically sad and/or worried about something every time he was on screen in s6 and I wanna talk about it, among other Ezran S6 related things

Episode by episode let's go

6x01 — Framing, Kingship, and Caretaking

This is in some ways I think one of Ezran's most important episodes in arc 2, if only from a framing standpoint. By that I mean, as one of Ezran's last occasions to be in the same physical places as Harrow, they use every ounce of parallel framing and lines they can to show how much Ezran is evoking his father beat by beat throughout the episode.

We also get more literal parallels to Harrow as well, with the king by the window thinking it's better to not go destroying the thing his high mage brother is very much in favour of destroying, with both eventually agreeing (albeit for different reasons for said destruction each time).

Beyond parallels to his father, we also see how Ezran conducts himself within the council meetings, with Zym, and with his brother (+ Rayla) and Soren by proxy. For example, in just about every scene he has this episode, Ezran is focused on either 1) taking care of others or 2) directing others / making decisions. He has the final say with the pearl, he's the one comforting Zym, he's the one deciding Soren and Zym will look for Zubeia and signing off on Callum and Rayla leaving.

This on the one hand makes sense, as Ezran uses similar language when discussing his bond with his friends / Zym and his kingdom ("everyone is counting on me") but more on that later. 6x01, therefore, builds on the patterns established in early s4 of Ezran stepping up to carry everyone else's emotional weight, to be a steady presence of reassurance and peace, and of taking care of his kingdom / making decisions as a king and as a diplomat (going on the mission with Zubeia, onto Rex Igneous and Domina Profundis, etc).

She's alive. And wherever she is, she loves you too. (4x01)

I know you're worried about [Zubeia]. But wherever she is, I'm sure she's okay. (6x01)

It's not just Ezran emulating Harrow in telling Callum and Rayla to "take care of each other," or entrusting Soren with Zym ("keep each other safe"), and knowing that they will. Ezran watching everyone else leave without him harkens back, I think, to Soren's assertion in 5x02 that "It's not fair you have to struggle through this alone," but that is by and large what continues to happen for Ezran.

If you're trying to be a pillar of strength and one that others can lean on, it is very hard to lean on others (as we see perhaps most predominantly with Rayla, who also has many parallels to Ezran). All you can do is grin, bear it, and keep your head on straight. Therefore, that begets the question of who Ezran looks most directly to for guidance, which takes us to our next and only non-episode direct segment:

Ezran and Fathers: An Interlude

I'll expand on this a bit more in the next section, but I think it's worth noting up front in many ways that Zym is to Ezran what Ezran is to Callum, re: the older brother being both a brother and semi-taking on a parental role by default because it otherwise won't be filled. For Callum, this meant stepping in for both Sarai and Harrow at different points, and for Ezran, it means stepping in for both Avizandum and Zubeia. Ezran himself identifies this specific struggle in 2x03:

Someone's going to have to teach him all the things he's supposed to do, everything he's supposed to be. And he's meant to learn it all from a big strong king of the dragons. But he doesn't have that. All he's got is me.

Zym lacking his father and Ezran feeling like those shoes are difficult to fill leads him to missing his own dad. While Callum assures that "Me, Rayla, probably Bait, we're all here for you," Ezran still longs for his father and Harrow's specific guidance in his dynamic with Zym.

But I really wish Dad was here. I keep thinking about what he would do, what he would say to Zym. When I was little and I wasn't listening to him, Dad would say "Ezran, you're handful." So I tried that with Zym. "Azymondias, you're handful." But he doesn't understand. He doesn't even have hands. I guess I just miss Dad. He'd know what to do, you know?

Ezran reaffirms this desire to keep Harrow close in more ways than one, as he reveals in 4x08 where the silver of his crown came from (and why) as well as in 5x06, citing, "It's not worthless, it's really important to me," and quoting Harrow directly in 6x07 (though more on that later). We also see Ezran be willing to defend even Avizandum, who killed his mother, solely because he is Zym's dad: "Everything Avizandum did was to protect Xadia!" (4x08). This doesn't mean Ezran thinks either are perfect (his speech in 3x02 in which he reaffirms Harrow was a good father but a deeply flawed king indicates otherwise) but that both, as kings and as fathers, are people he has tried to emulate with varying degrees of success and aspiration.

AVIZANDUM: This is a special day, a day of life. Do not force me to make it a day of death. (3x06)

And this bond with Harrow is, of course, exactly what Claudia preys upon in 5x09 and what is going to be brought to the forefront in S7 with Runaan, but again: more on those things later. For now, the most important things are Ezran's continual push for himself with king and diplomat as the bases of his identity, and how S6 increases the strain on both of those aspects one by one.

6x02 — Knowledge and Need

One of Ezran's many assessments of what made him a different king from his father, besides not fighting in battles, was Ezran's recognition that he "hadn't read many books of wisdom". I found it a cute fun character detail then that both times we see him in his apparent down time in 6x02 and 6x03, and really the first down time we've seen him be in since early S4, he's reading ("He's right, books are great"—so true 4x02 Ezran, so true).

The more interesting aspect I think this episode raises is along the continuing lines of Ezran and Zym's bond, which is sweetly highlighted here (and then accordingly gets pay off with Zubeia and Zym by episode's close). Specifically, the idea of need:

CLAUDIA: She said I had to stay with Soren, that this was my home, and that my brother and I needed each other. (2x09)

This idea of needing one another, and being together, is very human centric in TDP, Callum and Ezran each being strong and routine proponents of it, but eventually the mindset extends to more Xadian characters (such as Rayla's statement that she and Ethari need Runaan, too, by season's end). This sentiment of "we need each other" is important of course, as well, because it operates in direct opposition to the concept of doing things alone or in isolation, which is how Ezran has been left behind as king and has operated somewhat as king in general.

Zubeia's demonstration that Ezran is a true part of their family is also important, as while Ez isn't there directly to hear it, it narratively rewards his love of Zym and Zubeia by having it be equally reciprocal, and Zym accordingly returns to him. While Ezran is king, and a good king, he cannot and should not be walking his path alone, and that means relying on the people around him to help him.

Or not, if that person is Viren.

6x03 / 6x04 — Viren

Viren's arrival back in Katolis weighs on Ezran before it weighs on Soren, and we see Ezran carry this weight in addition to every other concern already on his mind (but more on that when we talk about 6x05). For now, I want to talk about some contrasts with prior seasons for 6x03.

First, I want to talk about Ezran's storm motif. While the weather is normally pretty stormy, with just about if not every initial shot of the castle each season embedded in a storm, Ezran is the character who surprisingly has the most interplay with it. While Rayla is introduced in a storm and illuminated by lightning (S1 and her tears as the rain in S5), and Callum is a sky-storm mage (prominently in S2 and a bit in S5), Ezran is probably the character who experiences the storm the most and the most consistently.

1x01: Ezran is startled awake by thunder, fearful of the storm

2x07: Ezran runs after Zym and faces Claudia

3x01: Ezran arrives back in Katolis on the back of Banthers

4x01: Ezran hosts his council meeting of the season while it's raining/storming

5x01: Ezran goes out into the storm directly to engage with Domina Profundis

Therefore, the storm has been adjacent to most of Ezran's important turning points as a character, moving from something he's afraid of, to a signal of his tumultuous homecoming, to something he faces head on without fear, and finally where we see Ezran in a lot of ways finally be recognized as King by the person who tried to steal his throne and remove him from the position than one, with Viren's body language directly heralding his last confrontations (1x03, 5x02) with Harrow.

Furthermore, we have the interplay of what both Viren and Ezran believe will happen in Katolis ("They'll throw you in a dungeon, if you're lucky") versus what Viren actually receives from Ezran's verdict(s). Ezran is the only other character we see Viren seek direct penance and apology to, fully recognizing him as king: "I need to see the king" much the way he needed to go to Katolis to face his primary truth with Soren ("I must face my truth... I see you, Soren").

Then we have the way S6 takes more background themes of truth and mercy and amps them up throughout the season, re-contextualizing Ezran's exchange with Viren in a few ways. The most straightforward example of what I mean is by looking at what Aaravos says in his conversation with Sol Regem.

AARAVOS: Would you like a reward? A small mercy before perhaps, before your death? The mercy of truth. (6x08)

So while Ezran doesn't provide Viren with mercy in a traditional sense, as he says, "Good, you don't deserve any" and therefore will not give any, he does provide mercy. He provides Viren a truth they can both agree on, he allows Viren to see him as was requested, and he spares the man's life, locking him away rather than executing him. Ezran's truth is harsh, maybe (deservedly) but it is merciful by its own measure.

On the other end of mercy with Aaravos and the Cosmic Council, we see concepts of mercy and cruelty be called into question.

Sometimes the line between mercy and cruelty can be thin.

Now, Ezran lived because of Rayla's compassion and mercy, and Ezran is someone who ordinarily shows mercy to others as well (i.e. Rayla, Soren, Claudia on more than one occasion, N'than). He's also not usually cruel. But "cruel" is one of Viren's many motif words (I do not mean to be cruel / I owe you an apology Viren, I was cruel to you even though I care for you so much / He's cruel, but you don't have to be / I have been cruel to you + I punished you with a life of cold cruelty), so I think it's worth taking into account. As the wonderful and talented @its-leethee once pointed out, Ezran denying Viren his own definition of mercy also means denying him cruelty by proxy.

I also think Ezran is aware he walks this line as king, however, given how we see things go when Soren returns in 6x04. Not only is the scene with the council while Viren is in the dungeon tonally completely different than it was in season 3 (nobody with the authority to do anything about it, not even Opeli outside of 3x01, really treats Viren being down there as a concern or something on Ezran's plate when he gets back), but also because it presents Ezran with a hard choice to make.

Barius is distanced enough that he can almost smile about the mushrooms, so I knew either Opeli or Ezran were going to be the ones to tell Soren what had happened. Ezran in 3x02 states, "I didn't see everything [Harrow] had to do as king, but I do know that my dad had to make many hard decisions." Not only does this form the backbone of Ezran's entire philosophy as king (going back home in the first place, refusing to have a regent, sacrificing himself, taking the throne up again, etc etc) but it informs him here. Someone has to do the hard thing of telling Soren the truth, and Ezran decides it'll be him, so he does.

Because he's not just Soren's friend, he's his king. And that's Ezran's responsibility.

6x05 — Ezran and Responsibility

Ezran has a very interesting mindset when it comes to what people are responsible for. He holds Claudia accountable in 2x09, but still chases after her and believes in her in 3x09; while he presumably doesn't like dark magic for obvious Ezran-y reasons of seeing all creatures as friends, he's not judgmental about its usage for either Claudia or Callum, even when Rayla holds his brother's usage against him in S2. And when Rayla returns in season 4, he's also not visibly upset with her, either. So I think we can say, if you express regret, had good intentions, and prove you can change, there's a lot that Ezran can forgive, even if it's not everything (re: Viren).

I think we see some of his struggle with it, though, when it comes to the weight he feels for his own actions and choices. Despite Kasef bringing war to his doorstep, Ezran laments, "How can I let this happen?" When he creates a plan where Katolis could escape the war wholly if enough people laid down their hands, giving them agency at the expense of his own, and it doesn't work perfectly, Ezran says, "I let [Corvus] down as king," and feared doing the same earlier: "I feel like I'm letting everyone down." This idea of immense collective responsibility, and the persistent fear of letting people (specifically and in general) down, is one of the many reasons him and Rayla are, often times, so very similar.

Ezran has a tendency to take on an internalized feeling of responsiblity to begin with, and that simply gets amplified with the external circumstances of him being king:

I know everyone is counting on me to teach Zym how to fly. But that's just the start. (2x03)

I don't have time to do kid things. I must gain the trust and cooperation of the dragons, and I shall not be deterred. So many people are counting on me to do my duty. [...] Every time I sit on my throne, I'm reminded of the immense pressure of my kingly duty. (5x02)

But when I struggle, I think of the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. (6x07)

So Ezran holds himself to a high standard, and that trickles down into how he interacts with others typically in a more compassionate rather than judgemental way—letting things go, holding the group together, being a routinely validating presence—and how he operates as king (4x04):

EZRAN: Wait, please don't go yet. If the Fallen Star is a danger the whole world will face, this is a chance to solve our problems together. [...] I wish there was a way we could combine our strength and purpose and face this together. OPELI: Maybe there is a way. Go with her. EZRAN: But Katolis needs me. OPELI: The world needs you right now. The High Council can take care the people, I promise. EZRAN: You're right. The kingdom will be in good hands.

As king, his kingdom and people come first ("As princes of Katolis, it's our duty to put you all first"—Dreamer's Nightmare) and we see this continue in 6x05 with his conversation with Soren.

LUJANNE: Consider the half moon. Light only falls on half its face right now, but that doesn't mean the other half isn't there. The same is true with you. There are parts of yourself that you keep hidden. (2x02)

Him and Soren are both worried and both fronting with each other, Ezran smiling when Soren enters and giving him a reassuring hug, and Soren's smile dropping the second he leaves.

EZRAN: I'm really excited for Aunt Amaya's wedding, but it also feels like a bad time to leave Katolis. There's so much happening. Callum and Rayla aren't back yet. I'm still worried for Zubeia. And there's that other thing. The prisoner. SOREN: Oh, don't worry about—Viren. Everything will be fine.

Even after receiving news from Soren and Zym that Zubeia is alright, and reaffirming he knows that Zym is worried, Ezran doesn't open up to Zym about it or let the worry go. He feels responsible for his kingdom but also in handling things with Viren.

Speaking of Viren from last episode: while Ezran is typically non-judgmental and forgiving of choices/mistakes, we also get an important piece for how Ezran views responsiblity from 3x02:

My father made choices to keep fighting battles that started hundreds of years before he was born. To punish enemies for crimes their parents committed.

The same way Rayla turns because "how can we take vengeance for something that never happened," Ezran didn't punish Soren and Claudia for crimes their father made ("They thought I ran away, just like my parents" / "But if I die, I'll just be paying the price they should've paid a long time ago") but he does punish Viren for crimes Viren has committed. His emphasis on agency extends to 3x04, in which he gives up his agency in order to give his army some: they can choose to walk away with no technical consequences, even though the deserters are jeered at and forced to wear identification badges / are publicly shamed for their choice to not go to war against Xadia. Rayla was also ordered by Zubeia to kill him and his father, but went against orders upon seeing the egg; Zubeia's heart likewise changed upon seeing her child had been returned to her. (Runaan, comparatively, refused to disobey orders even once seeing the egg, and then attacked and tried to kill his daughter over it by his own admission—but more on him and Ezran later).

The point I'm trying to make is that Ezran feels responsible for his own and other people's decisions when it comes to the good of his kingdom; that he fronts just as much as Soren does about feeling okay; and that he highlights people's agency / right to choose as something that can help them break the cycle, as indicated in his infamous 4x03 speech:

But violence tests us. In a twisted way, it converts us to its cause. Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else. So what do we do? How can we stop this cycle? [...] We have to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again. We have to give today’s children a chance to inherit a future filled with peace. To give them that, we have to hold pain and love in our hearts at the same time.

As king, he has the ability—the responsibility—to make better choices in leading his kingdom, leading his friends.

With that in mind, time to finally talk about the biggest Ezran episode this season:

6x07 — Choices and Sisters

In 6x07, we see Ezran away from Katolis, which he was worried to be, but bonding with Queen Aanya, which is rather sweet. When war is brought to his aunts' doorstep, though, Ezran accordingly steps up, and that is where the real meat of the episode begins for him. Not only is he much calmer and more direct when bargaining with Janai than either his brother or Rayla were (5x03), he's also directly successful, with a little help from Aunt Amaya.

While Ezran to this point has had a bit of interplay with the Mercy motif running throughout the season, and a bit of Truth by proximity, here we see him step more fully into the Path motif that's interwoven with both of these concepts ("Only you can find your one deep truth. Only you can choose the path you're going to walk" —6x04):

EZRAN: What? No. This is supposed to be a day of love, not a day of bloodshed. Maybe we can talk him down. [...] Queen Janai, please. Go on with the wedding. Send me as your emissary to Karim.

There's a few reasons Ezran steps in, I think. He wants to help his aunts and allow them to have their wedding day (again, taking something onto his shoulders to avoid it being on someone else's). He wants to save lives. But perhaps most personally is that this is his path and therefore his truth. He believes in peace and more than that, he believes in choices, offering one both to Janai (and Amaya) of whether to send him or not, and then to Karim of whether to listen.

So he goes, planning for contingencies in bringing Corvus and leaving Aanya by the rocks to watch their backs with her bow and arrow.

A few notes on his discussion with Karim in quick succession otherwise we'll be here all day:

The return of the child-king dichotomy ("a child is freer than a king" / "but I can't run away from growing up, now that I'm king" / "the whining child king" / "this is a child!" "he is a king!") makes a return

As does Karim's typical brand of condescension

Ezran offers Karim the same thing he offered his armies, as well as Ezran's emphasis on the future > Karim's emphasis on the past and power: "Take your army, the people who follow you, and build your own future somewhere away from here."

Reaffirmation of Ezran believing humans and Xadia are stronger together and that people should be reintegrated with each other (bringing Zym home, working with various elves and dragons, his offers of togetherness to Zubeia and Rayla, his love for his aunt, etc etc)

Ezran quoting Harrow's letter directly: "No, history doesn't have to be a narrative of strength. Not if we don't want it to be. It can be a narrative of love."

Initial break down of key points:

Once again, Ezran highlights people's wants. Queen Janai wants peace. It doesn't have to be a narrative of strength if we don't want it to be. "We all want peace and we all want love." Karim is about to deliver a very harsh lesson about what can happen when that isn't what people want, as he's more motivated by ego and pride than any measure of love. Ezran's emphasis also ties into opposition with how when people / characters in the show don't listen to their wants, they're more likely to engage in the Cycle because they think they have no choice: "I don't want to," Rayla says, threatening his brother, "but I have to" (1x02) + arc 1 Viren's entire character arc.

Secondly, while Ezran begins by stating that "Human, child, king" (or his three identity monikers) "none of this matters," that's not where he ends his statement. Instead, he builds his identity directly upon his kingship (which Karim notably does not have):

K: Those are childish dreams. E: Not dreams. Choices. I am a king. And as a king, I choose love over strength.

This is an interesting reconciliation, as we see Harrow forced to choose in dreams precisely because he's king (2x05) and we see dreams interplay with choices for both Viren ("Every step forward is a choice") and Callum's dark magic dreams ("No, I get to choose who I want to be"). It also sets up inevitably that Karim won't choose love over strength almost precisely because he's not king and that's what he wants to be, perhaps in a symbolic sense.

Then we get to the meatiest part of S6 Ezran in a lot of ways, in terms of set up for next season:

Sometimes it’s hard, but when I struggle, I think about the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. Not the harsh thing, not the strong thing. The right thing. Do you love your sister, Prince Karim?

Again, a few quick notes:

Verbal acknowledgement from Ezran himself that choosing love over strength is hard and is a struggle, harkening back to 4x03

"Counting on me" pattern

Ezran specifically references to the people he loves as balances, which most clearly points to Zym and Zubeia, I think

Ezran will be challenged in that exact way next season with Runaan, precisely with "Do you love your sister?" (and brother) being what can bring him back from the brink

But more on this when I get to my Ezran-Karim meta, which all of this meta was originally supposed to be in, and then it got way too long and got split in two.

KARIM: What? Of course I do. I... She has led our people down the wrong path, but she will always be my sister. EZRAN: Then you can still choose love. It’s not too late.

However, all of Ezran's best efforts — his emphasis on choices — doesn't matter when Karim actively "wants Janai to attack"; that history wrote that fire must be chosen, so he'll choose it again now. What follows is Ezran desperately running to save lives and go against the perceived destiny Miyana sees ("Open your eyes, little king. You cannot be blind to destiny") as both Zym, Aanya, and Corvus help Ezran escape. We see Aanya continue to be a great support, extending a hand to him rather than being someone he extends aid to, and although Ezran is unable to stop the Sunfire armies from colliding with Sol Regem, they are spared anyway.

And while he's undeniably grateful and happy it didn't happen to the Sunfire elves nor his aunts, it's for a fate that's far personally worse for our young boy king.

6x09 — Castles Crumbling

Remember how I've emphasized throughout about Ezran treating kingdom — particularly in S6 — as an underpinning for his entire identity, both in professional and interpersonal relationships? Well... what's a king his castle? What is a king without a kingdom?

Furthermore, Katolis and the crown, the kingship, is also key to how Ezran conceptualizes and remembers Harrow. The emphasis on his throne, the emphasis on his crown, the way Ezran speaks and forges ahead as a leader... these are all ways to keep his parents'—his father's—memory alive. Now there's not even that.

Ezran has always had semblances of phoenix symbolism, surviving death, riding dragons rather than being burned by them, waking up with the rising sun in 3x02 and claiming his crown at sunset by the end, being taken to the dungeons at nightfall, etc. Now he's been pushed into it full throttle, dealing with many types of grief at once.

A loss of his people and the responsiblity he felt towards them, grieving innocent lives lost; the destruction of his childhood home and safe stronghold; in many ways, the loss of his father and family all over again; and lastly, a loss of sense of self, symbolized by the literally fallen towers of Katolis.

This raises an especially interesting arc for Ezran going forward. On the one hand, being king is a deeply positive experience for him: it's hard but it's liberating, he deeply loves his people, and it's a role as mediator he's always naturally stepped into (1x03, 1x06, Dreamer's Nightmare, 4x06, etc). It's something he actively chooses and uses to choose the Narrative of Love.

At the same time, it's also been deeply isolating, and something he's prone to utilizing in anger: "If I am the king, you have to let me go" (2x08) when it comes to pulling rank. The fact it's so bound up with his bond with Harrow (and Callum having distance from Harrow partially specifically informed by Harrow being king) is also likely to hurt as much as it helps.

In the same way that other characters are being pushed to their dual identity breaking point in S7 — Rayla as a protector or an assassin, Callum as someone who can break away from Aaravos' corrupted control or will play right into his hands — Ezran will likewise be similarly tested, being a King of Strength and a King of Love, potentially falling prey to the same pitfalls that doomed his father but also coming back from them as well. In a lot of ways, therefore, each of his scenes / episodes in S6 take the former dominos from S4 and S5 and line them up all for 6x09—7x02 to likely knock them down in brutal succession, and then see how he — like his brother and friend; like a phoenix; like his kingdom — rises from the ashes.

And I can't wait to see it.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed this very long Ezran meta! There was a lot to dig in from S6 itself as well as from prior seasons, and is — I think — probably tied for the 2nd best Ezran season with season 3 (the best season for him being S4, tbh). Contextualizing things further both in regards to the past and the future for his character arc is also very exciting, and I hope this meta helped create hype — for the boy, for the king, and for the way Ezran has continued to grow and be tested.

The next meta will either be Terry (S4—S6) or Claudia&Rayla (S6) centric, and I will see you then!

In the meantime, Dragons out!

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Prolouge/?)

22 ac Kingslanding

Maegors pov

I could hear my good-sister's screams well into the night. I finally gave up trying to fid sleep once the hour of the owl came, I climbed out of my bed and went to where I knew my brother would be waiting until his wife had given birth to their child. She’s been in labor since yesterday at the hour of the wolf, surely she should have had the babe by now.

When I walked in I saw mother and father standing next to each other whispering as my brother sat in a chair sobbing.

“What’s wrong, she’s been in labor since yesterday, shouldn’t the babe be here?” I ask as I rub the drowsiness from my eyes. 

I watch mother and father look at each other silently having a conversation with only their eyes. Probably deciding if I should know or not. But it is not them who answers but my sniffling brother.

“The babe won’t come, the Maesters think Alyssa’s contractions are too weak.” Aenys sobs out.

“These are just guesses my son, they are giving her a concoction now to strengthen them.” Father says rubbing Aenys back as he sobs into his hands. 

I look at Mother and see a scowl on her face, she never liked how Father treats Aenys compared to me says he “treats him like some infant looking for their Mother’s teat.” and in this moment of watching his brother sob so openly, he wonders if his mother is right.

“What would happen if the concoction doesn’t work?” I ask looking from my brother to my Mother.

“Then we will have to choose who lives, the babe or the Mother.” Mother responds in a cold calculating tone. This only makes Aenys sob more.

“But it will not come to that, we have the greatest Maesters in all of the seven Kingdoms we have nothing to fear.” Father says trying to reassure Aenys again as he glares at Mother.

Mother scoffs and takes a sip of her amber gold wine, she doesn’t like it as much as Dornish red but ever since Rhaenys death she won’t touch anything to do with the Dornish. She often says. “They took my sister with that scorpion arrow, I suppose I am glad they had horrible aim and Meraxes did not perish either. If this, me not drinking their wine is the only way I can show how I hate them, then I will.” 

Mother and Father say Meraxes had seen the arrow coming, she had tried to dive so it wouldn’t his either her or Aunt Rhaenys, but she hadn’t noticed quick enough, and the arrow had split her in two. Meraxes has been inconsolable since her rider’s death, but Father has said he swears he sees her flying above Kingslanding over the last moon, as if looking, searching for something. This is odd as she much prefers the sulfur rocks and salty air of Dragonstone compared to Kingslandings stench and filth. 

I can not blame the dragon though, I do as well, I’d much rather be on our ancestral home instead of this filth-ridden city.

We all flinched, well besides Mother, when we hear a bone-chilling scream from Alyssa, and then it all went quiet. I hear Aenys sob more thinking his wife as perished until we hear the cries that only a healthy babe could make. 

Aenys bolts out of his chair and rushes to his wife, Mother, and Father not far behind them. I sigh in relief knowing I can finally get some much-needed sleep. 

The next morning I go to visit my new niece, when I enter I see my good-sister asleep on the birthing bed with new sheets dorning it so the stench of blood isn’t as pungent in the air. I turn and look at my brother who is smiling down at a bundle in his arms.

Are babes truly that small, Alyssa was huge and the bundle doesn’t even reach the length of my brother's forearm.

I’m cut out of my musing when Aenys looks at me smiling waving me over trying to keep quiet as to not wake his wife or the babe.

“Come meet your niece, Rhaella.” He says as he rests the babe into my arms making sure I hold her right.

When I look down I see her looking up at me with the most gorgeous lavender eyes I’ve ever seen, they take my take my breath away. I shake my head trying to gain my bearings again. 

“She’s so small, is she supposed to be this small?” I ask as I move some of the blanket to see a swarm of silver-white curls atop her little head.

“I had asked the Maesters the same thing, they said it’s normal for the first to be small.” He responds touching the tufts of hair upon her head. 

I nod not taking my eyes off hers, I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I sit on a plush armchair staring at her, staring at the very being who seems to keep my heart pumping now, the very thing I will always adore and cherish, the one thing, one person I could never hurt. I knew in this moment she would be the very focal point of my heart, but she would also be my very ruin.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the Header for this fic!!! I swear I'd be lost without you Girly!

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @baybaybear1 @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner