#daring to court one who is already betrothed!

[sweet-rabbit]

perspective what's that yeah i started drawing just norway reading then once got past the head, uh, things happened

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : genshin boys and their red flags. pairing : childe, scaramouche, xiao, diluc x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationships, mention of controlling and manipulative behavior, each red flag is a warning by itself. author's note : “i don't have favorites” then there's scara part.

overwhelming affection and attachment issues – childe.

childe was not ready for love. maybe he was never meant to love. at least, not in the way that softens his edges and tugs at his heart. and yet, the moment he met you, his world shifted. you were his before you even knew it.

he courts you with unwavering determination. flowers, grand gestures, breathtaking views, mora—he gives and gives, always one step ahead, always ensuring you are left breathless. but then you falter. you worry. you question if a harbinger can truly love, if he can truly stay.

oh, my love, he laughs, voice honeyed with something far too sweet.

his arms are around you before you can pull away, his lips ghosting over your skin in soft, adoring presses. do not doubt, do not fear. if you need reassurance, he will give it. in gifts, in words, in the quiet promise that you are his and he is yours. he will take you to snezhnaya, introduce you as his betrothed, whisper vows of eternity until the words are carved into your very soul.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you.

and yet, as his devotion smothers, as the weight of his affection grows unbearable, you cannot help but wonder—when he swore to love you forever, did he mean it as a promise, or a threat?

anger issues/violence – scaramouche.

where were you even supposed to start with him? the balladeer, the sixth of the fatui harbingers, the puppet who had carved his own place into history with bloodied hands and a twisted grin. you sighed, arms folded as you leaned against the balcony of the grand estate he had forced into your possession. a mockery of a home, nestled in the land of inazuma—the place of his so-called birth. no, not birth. creation.

he had mansions scattered across teyvat, all under your name. because you were to be wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. a doll didn’t get to choose where it was placed.

you flinched when the cloth brushed against your shoulder, the sting of the lightning-shaped scar sending a nauseating wave of sensation through you. still healing. still burning. you didn’t have to look to know what it resembled—something eerily close to an electro vision, elegant in design, delicate even. the thought made your stomach churn. he had called it a claim, a permanent engraving on your body, mind, and soul. you belonged to him. he wanted the world to see it.

scaramouche was flawless, sickeningly so. apologies fell from his lips like honey, each word perfectly crafted, a voice dipped in false sweetness. he touched you like you were something precious, fragile, irreplaceable. and yet, it was his hands that had carved this mark into you. love. if he was even capable of such a thing.

you cursed the day you fell for him. but it didn’t matter anymore. not when he had already made you his. not when he had already decided you were never leaving. to him, this was love. a lover’s touch. a lover’s proof. a lover’s possession. what was a little pain, a little blood, compared to the unwavering devotion he had for you? he had never abandoned you. he had never let you go. and that—wasn’t that enough?

of course, he lashed out sometimes. hurt you, left bruises that bloomed like violets under his grip, spat words that cut deeper than any blade. but no one was perfect. he certainly wasn’t, but neither were you. and if you ever dared to point that out, dared to tell him he was flawed, he would laugh—sharp and condescending, gaze slicing through you like a weapon. you? telling him he was in the wrong? how amusing.

had you forgotten every little mistake you made? every time you disobeyed, every moment you disappointed him? he would remind you of them all, recounting each one with that knowing smirk, every slip-up, every failure. yet despite it all, he still kept you by his side. he still loved you, still held you close, even when you were ungrateful. he had never truly hurt you—not on purpose. he had only made sure everyone knew what was his.

you had given yourself to him first. whispered those sweet words before he ever did. you started this. and he was going to make sure you never forgot it. his lips brushed against your scar, his breath warm, reverent. a devotion so twisted it bordered on worship.

overprotectiveness – xiao.

xiao does not understand human fragility. he has spent centuries watching them crumble beneath the weight of time, has witnessed their fleeting existence burn away like paper in the wind. when you stepped into his world, he warned you to leave. you did not. when he told you it was dangerous, that he was dangerous, you only smiled. and so, against all reason, he let you stay. you are the first thing he has ever wished to keep.

he touches you as if you are made of glass, eyes scanning your skin for the smallest of wounds. he does not know how to soothe, only how to watch. and so he does—silently, relentlessly, unblinking in his observation. you tell him he worries too much, that you are fine, that you are not as fragile as he believes. but then you fall ill, and his voice sharpens into something cold. you should have worn warmer clothes. you should have listened to him.

and when harm comes from another, when someone dares to insult you, to lay a hand on you, his restraint shatters. the yaksha is feared for a reason. you whisper his name through clenched teeth, hands grasping at his own in desperate plea. he does not hear you. he cannot. and as the air grows thick with something suffocating, something violent, you wonder—how do you stop a storm that exists only to protect you?

possessiveness – diluc.

diluc has always been protective. of his home, of his people—of you. his love is fierce, a fire that burns not to destroy, but to shield. to him, you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be kept safe at any cost. and he tries, oh how he tries, to remain composed. but love and fear are two sides of the same coin, and as his devotion deepens, so too does his paranoia.

are you safe? are you warm? are you happy?

he is willing to break himself apart for you, to strip himself down to nothing if it means you will never know pain. and yet, the more he loves, the tighter he holds. he sees danger where there is none—a lingering gaze, a friendly gift, a name spoken too fondly. do not speak to them, he tells you, they do not have good intentions. do not take that, it could be poisoned. do not stray too far, let me watch over you.

you need not think, you need not worry. whatever it is you desire, whatever it is you require—let him provide, let him be your everything. he loves you, after all. and love, surely, is meant to protect.

[eraenaa]

Twin Flame

Aemond Targaryen x Twin Reader

Synopsis: Anywhere that you are, that I’d be. Following Aemond to the Riverlands against your better judgment and sensibilities because you knew all too well you could never be apart from your twin.

Warnings: ¿Angst?, Targcest, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 2,333

A/N: (1) Based on a request where they wanted "Aemond has a twin sister, they both love each other, more than sibilings should, but ofc they could never do something about it.When Aemond takes Harrenhall he sees the opportunity, and gets his sister to go with him. At the end making Harrenhall their piece of paradise, where they can love each other freely without the expectations of their family or the court." (2) Find the song references ;)

“Come with me, sister, come with me to Harrenhall.” You feel your stomach pit at the vulnerability in your twin’s voice. A vulnerability that you had not seen nor heard for so long— a vulnerability that he had hidden away, but it would always shine through for you. “Aemond,” You sighed, resisting the urge to turn to him. Your knees already felt weak, and to look upon your twin’s face would surely make you rethink everything that needs to be done. Just a look upon Aemond’s pleading face would make you forget about all the sensibilities that your brother seemed to ignore. “Please… I need you, ñuha perzys.” (My fire)

“And they need me, Aemond. You know this.” You choked. “With you gone and Aegon burnt and Ser Criston away… who will be with Helaena and Mother? Sister has already refused her dragon even for her own sake— someone must protect them, Aemond. If not you, then me.” You looked upon your twin’s eye and saw unshed tears. “But you are meant to be with me— to be by my side! From the womb to our tomb, we are meant to be with each other! Do you dare to separate us? You? My own twin would be the one to tear us apart?” You shook your head. “Aemond… the circumstances have changed! You know what we must do! I—I cannot leave our mother and sister defenseless! I must stay here, and you must go to Harrenhall… without me.” Aemond took hold of your arm, his grasp harsh. Unwilling to let you go. “I will die in Harrenhall without you,” 

“Oh, Aemond,” You sighed, stepping forward and cupping his cheek, feeling as a tear fell. “If you die, I will shortly follow after. You know I cannot live without my twin flame.” You whispered. “We must do our duties, brother… were you not the one who taught and had embedded that in my head? We must play our roles here and deny ourselves comfort and… and our desires.” Aemond scoffed. “Deny ourselves?” He spat. “We have been denying ourselves the moment we were born! You and I, and they know we belong together, but what have they done? They had plotted to separate us the moment we came to this world! Forcing us to betrothals that align with our duties and pay no mind to what we want!” You swallowed thickly, caressing his cheek to calm the fire in his veins. 

“Can you not see, sister? If we are in Harrenhall, we will be free. We shall command the Riverlands together— just you and I and our dragons. We will reign fire upon the usurpers and their bannermen; we shall take what is rightfully ours, and no one could hinder us anymore.” 

“Oh, my love… your mind is muddled— deluded.” You say softly, but Aemond furiously shakes his head. “Do you not want to be with me?” He asked, voice holding a magnitude of hurt that broke the heart that you shared with him. “I do. But you know I can’t. Not when Mother and Hela—“ 

“Enough with your excuses! They had made their decisions— they have no intentions of winning this war— let alone fighting it! Mother still holds love for our enemy, and our enemy still holds love for her. No one from their side would dare harm Helaena, and you know this!” You looked at him, appalled by his words. “You would leave them defenseless?” You say in disgust. “I would leave them to be with you! If you would make me choose between them and you— you already know the answer, so be merciful, sister, and not make me utter it.” You did not know whether to focus on the dread in your heart or the overflowing love for Aemond. “Gods, brother… this is no use. You know what we must do, and I beg you, my love, to accept our fates. We must go our separate ways. I’m sorry.” You almost sobbed, urging him to let go of his hold of you. You placed a tender kiss upon the side of his lips and felt another tear roll from his eye. “I love you, Aemond… but I’m sorry, I cannot come with you.”

Aemond left for the Riverlands before first light, and you felt his departure by the throbbing pit in your heart; half of you had left. “You must know that this is for the better, my sweet,” Your mother whispered, staring into your eyes, which resembled your twin’s. Though she bore the both of you on the same day, she often had difficulty accepting that the two of you were twins. Because where Aemond was brutal, you were gentle. Where Aemond was rash, you were rational. What the other lacked, the other had— never complete, but whole when together.

“I know. I—I think I know… but mother, I feel like I had betrayed him,” You said. You knew perfectly well both of your roles and what must be done to save your family and faction, but you could not help but feel the lack pitting in you within just a few hours of your beloved twin’s departure. Alicent sighed and cupped your cheek as she saw the tears welling in your eyes. “What you did is for the sake of me and your sister, and we are forever grateful for you, my love. You had made your choice, and Ameond his.” You nodded, unable to look your mother in the eye because as much as you tried to sell to Aemond that the reason for your reluctance to come with him was your mother and sister— you had used that as a ploy to hinder him from leaving and going to the Riverlands because you never thought your twin flame could leave you. 

You knew Harrenhall had to be felled in order to have an advantage in the war, but when the castle fell, you had been warned by Helaena that Aemond would soon follow. You could not let that be. And you foolishly thought that if you hindered him from going to Harrenhall by denying yourself to follow him, you could perhaps redo the prophecy. 

“She must go to him.” Helaena suddenly spoke, breaking the silence between you and your mother. Your gaze flew to your sister, who looked distantly out of the window. “No. Sister, I stayed here for you and Mother.” You say, feeling your mother hold onto your hands. Helaena turned to you with a knowing yet far-off look in her eyes. “You stayed here for him. But he needs you in Harrenhall.” Your mother shook her head, “Your sister will stay here with us. And in time, when need be… we shall leave this all behind— live… live a quiet life. Somewhere away from all this bloodshed.” 

“Leave?” You questioned, brows deeply furrowed. “Leave for where? This is our home, mother.” You added, Alicent licking her lips and gaze traveling the room. “I did not stay here with you and abandon my twin so that we could leave our home!” You practically yelled as you realized the plan that your mother had concocted. “Kingslanding is ours thanks to Aemond. Do you mean to abandon it? Leave it for what? The woods? Essos?” You asked incredulously. “We will leave kingslanding for somewhere safe! Away from fire and revolt! Away from dra—“ You abruptly stood and removed your mother’s hold. “But we are dragons!” You screamed. Alicent shook her head, the influence of Aemond shining through you during his absence. 

“There is nothing more to be said,” Helaena spoke again, sensing an argument was to break. “We will leave, and so shall you.” You licked your lips and shook your head as you walked towards your sister. “Helaena,” You sighed. “Go to Aemond, sister. He needs you more than we do. You are his twin… his opposing force— only you could calm his rage.” You turned to your mother, who looked upon you and your sister, defeated and picking at her fingertips. She gave a hesitant nod, her plan failing as she could never truly take you away from Aemond, no matter what plan she had concocted ever since both of your childhoods. You were wholly Aemond’s, and no one could deny you from him— not even yourself. 

You arrived in Harrenhall in the dead of night. No one questioned your arrival as they had let you and your dragon pass freely, making you question if your twin had warned them; Aemond was already sensing that you would come for him. 

You walked through the eerie halls of the ruined castle as you relied on your intuition as to where your beloved was. You reached a door with the faint light of the hearth shining through the cracks. You carefully pushed upon the warped wooden door and immediately saw your twin lying on the right side of the bed, a pillow placed on the left where he draped his arm upon— the same position he would have whenever you two would sneak upon each other’s chambers and sleep in each other’s comfort. 

You threaded lightly as you stood by Aemond’s side, gently running your hand through his silky hair. Immediately, he woke and turned to you, his lilac eye wide. You saw confusion, apprehension, and shock in his lilac eye. “It’s just me,” You say softly and soothingly, cupping his cheek and tracing his scar with your familiar touch. “You… you came,” He said in disbelief. “Of course. I came for you,” 

You held your breath as Aemond reached up and kissed your lips. You two had only done such acts a few times before, but you had both placed great restraints upon yourselves to never repeat actions again or let your desires stray further. “I knew you would come back to me.” He whispered against your lips, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. “I could never truly leave you alone, now can I? You are half of me, Aemond… I cannot live without the half of my soul.” As the words left your lips, Aemond moved to kiss you once more, moving you to straddle him on the bed. 

“I have only ever wanted you, my fire… only you.” He breathed heavily. Letting his lips stray to your neck, brushing away your hair that you had inherited from your mother. Hair that reminded him of the fire that burned brightly in your veins. “You are all that I need. With you here, I could die happily.” You abruptly parted. “Do not say such things, Aemond. If you die, I’ll shortly follow, and there will be fury that you must pay.” You say harshly, glaring at your twin, who only sadistically grinned at your words. You could not even think of such things, for it only left devastation— if your twin was taken from you, it would only leave you bereft and reeling as he would be the loss of your life. “And I shall do the same. I will follow you into the dark, my fire.” 

Your lips found home upon his again, your hips moving upon his, feeling his need greatly protruding upon your heat. “Aemond,” You mewled, feeling him leave marks upon your neck. “Do you need me as much as I need you?” He hummed. “Answer, sweet sis, will you finally relent and open your eyes to see that you are mine? Or will we still have to deny ourselves?” He questioned. “I’m yours, my love. You have known it ever since— no matter what I say— no matter what has been done, I was and will always be yours.” You breathed heavily. 

You gasped as you felt his hand slither in between the both of you to cup your cunt. Aemond groaned as he felt your wetness seeping through your small clothes. “Aemond, please, please, please— do not make me beg. I want you badly.” You pleaded, Aemond completely amused by your desperation but merciful enough not to let you plead for him further. Your eyes rolled back as you felt him slip a finger into your cunt as his thumb drew lazy circles upon your pulsating pearl. 

You found his lips again, your tongues battling for dominance as your cunt was completly in his control. “More, Aemond, I need more,” You cried, frustrated as you could not find the release you sought desperately for. “Of course you do,” Aemond taunted but still obliged. You lifted your hips as his cock was released from the confines of his night trousers. “Gods,” You cried as you sank upon his length, your nails digging onto his shoulders as his mouth was enclosed upon your tit that he pulled out from your clothing. “You kept yourself pure for me— you truly knew to whom you belong, do you not, sister?” Aemond gritted, already consumed by the pleasure that you and he had denied yourselves. When you sank completely onto his length and when the tip of his cock was perfectly hitting the spot in your cunt, you finally felt complete.

Aemond kissed the tears of pain and pleasure away as your hips moved slowly and cautiously, as each movement only provided pain due to his well-endowed length. “You were made for me,” Aemond groaned as your tight cunt clenched around him further. “Only you could make me feel as such, and only I can make you feel like this.” He growled against your skin. 

When you finally felt conviction, you moved your hips fervently against Aemond’s. The sound of your wet cunt, slapping skin, and your the pleasured moans filled the room. Words of love and desire that had not been uttered but were always known spewed from both of your lips and when you felt your release coming, you locked your lips with Aemond’s and let yourself come undone in the arms of the man that had been yours the moment you two were born. 

Tag List: peachysunrize gelacat0413 maidmerrymint aemondwhoresworld fireydragonblood anukulee spacexdrago amanda08319 seamaiden aylasrants blackswxnn dracaryxzs trashpackbitch tomie-it-girl mamawiggers1980 chaosluvr deine-schatz

[imaginesmai]

Feelings I cannot express - Eris Vanserra

Wow, look at that! Me, avoiding responsabilities and writing another Eris fic for which I have no time! What a surprise! Enjoy this LONG LONG PIECE that has consumed my time lately. Shout-out to @glitterypirateduck who is too in her Eris' era.

Plot: Five times Eris didn’t know how to express his feelings, and one time he did

Warnings: descriptions of violence and blood. Mean Eris when he doesn't know how to express his feelings. Troubled, traumatized boi.

1

His steps were wobbly, and he had already stopped three times to catch his breath. Each time, the ground seemed closer, more tempting. Eris always cared about the impression people had of him, and in his court, he polished it like nowhere.

The strong, cruel prince that matched his father’s temper. Someone who they wouldn’t mess with, someone who would reign one day when Beron was gone. Only the silent corridors were the witness of that other part of him, the real one, that was leaving bloodied prints on the walls.

Beron had raised his hand against his mother, like many other times. He had crossed her beautiful and soft face with a hard slap, just because she dared to share her opinion on a political matter. And Eris had unconsciously let his power flare. Just an ember, a spark in his middle finger.

His father had seen, and had deemed right to remind him where was his position in his court. Lashes had ripped his back into shreds, blood trailing down his arms and legs. He had finished two hours before dawn, but Eris hadn’t been able to move until the night was already started. That way, he made sure no one saw his vulnerable form.

Eris closed the doors of his room as soon as he was inside, and stumbled into his bed. Falling face first, he closed his eyes and willed his conscious to leave him. No one heard his prayers, and he was still wide awake when his door opened again.

He would have been startled, alert or even afraid, but your scent sneaked in before you entered. Eris groaned in acknowledgement, and he knew any warnings or threats were useless against you. You already knew the dangers of your actions, the consequences of being involved with him. And yet, you were always there.

“Can you take off your clothes?” you broke the sinister silence of the room with quiet steps. “I’ll run you a bath”

“Where’s my brother?”

“Asleep” you answered, brushing your soft knuckles against his locks. “Don’t worry about it”

Flynn, the younger Vanserra brother, had tight sleep schedules, so part of his worry faded away. It wouldn’t do him any good if someone found his younger brother’s betrothed in a light sleeping gown.

Eris heard you filling the bath with water, and tried not to let the guilt worry. The first time you had helped him, he had threatened to burn you alive, and gone as far as give you a nasty burn scar on your left forearm. You hadn’t left, and he hadn’t thanked you. While you two ignored each other in the court ministrations, it was your secret routine – you, a stranger promised to a monster, helping him among his dearest family and friends.

Not once in his life he had let someone so close to his torment, to his vulnerability – to his body. People assumed he had tons of lovers, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of someone touching him. With you, he had discovered in the last years, it was different.

Your hand on his shoulder startled him back to reality, and he finally looked at you. There were dark bags under your eyes, a determinated look fixed on him.

“It’s ready” you tilted your head slightly. “Can you get up on your own?”

“Of course. Get away” he scoffed, but didn’t argue when you stabilized him by his elbow when he rose. “I don’t need your help. You’re more a liability than a support”

“I know you can do it, Eris” you didn’t even blink at his mean words, nor reacted when he tried to push you away. “Maybe we should take your tunic off before – “

“Get off me!”

Eris didn’t measure his strength when he pushed you off, just desperate to shake the feeling of kind hands that he didn’t deserve. That would never be his.

You stumbled back and got your feet tangled between the carpet, which caused you to fall on your butt. He physically flinched when your hands broke your fall, when he saw you suck a breath in pain. But he wouldn’t apologize, he never did. If being the worst person alive meant you would live, if hurting you meant no one would do it, then he could carry the guilt and self-hate just fine.

From the ground, he felt your eyes on him as he striped his clothes. They fell to the ground, his tunic nothing but ripped shreds of cloth. His vest wasn’t much better, or his shirt. Only his pants had been saved from the bloodbath. Eris made a point by not looking at you while he undressed, leaving his briefs on.

He didn’t need to look into a mirror to know that the way your body tensed from the corner of his eye wasn’t an exaggeration. Every fiber of his body screamed at him when he walked towards the bathroom, when he heard you get up in a rush and follow him.

The fact that you didn’t demand an apology or got angry at him rubbed all the wrong spots.

“Let me warm the water”

“I can do it myself, little fox”

Still, your hand sneaked and you dipped it into the water, and within seconds steam started to fill the bathroom. Eris stared at that particular spot between your shoulder and neck, where he wished he could thank you with a soft kiss. Wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into the bath with him. Be the person you would lay with that night.

“Do you want me to help you in?”

“What I want you to do is to leave” he answered as the temperature of the room rose. “I want you to lay with your future husband and forget about me”

“I can’t do that, Eris” you casted him a glance. “I can help you in though”

His anger rose back up and he didn’t say anything when you straightened back up. Your fire magic was only a spark of his own, only useful for warming water or lighting a chimney. That you had to use yours because he was too spent was a disgrace upon himself.

Eris made a point to leave his back to you inside the tub, letting the warm water wash the blood away. He pushed his head between his arms and ignored your presence. Ignored your warm hands as they brushed the wounds so they wouldn’t get infected. Ignored your quiet movements as you left healing and numbing creams on the counter. Tried to ignore you when you massaged his shoulders and scalp, cleaning his hair like his mother used to do.

Eventually, you decided to leave him alone in his rooms. After helping him get up from the bathtub and into the bed. Tucking him in like a stubborn child, turning off the candles. Only when your hand brushed his hair one last time, he noticed the new addition to your beautiful wrist.

He gripped it before you could hide it, and for the first time in the whole night, you flinched. Not because his touch was rough, since he held it like expensive glass. Not because you were afraid, because with him, you never were.

“This is new” he whispered in the dark room, staring at the bruises along your delicate skin. “What happened?”

“He just got a little handsy. Flynn…” you doubted before you sighed, sitting on his bed. “Your father has been pushing him more and more about the weeding. He left this morning with him to hunt in the forest, so I can only guess they talked about it. So he got drunk. And I was late for dinner, because he hadn’t informed me it would be early tonight”

“Anywhere else?” he asked, and eyed you with enough intensity to warn you against lying.

“I’m fine”

You had been raised for that, Eris guessed, and that was normal for you. Being sold to the best buyer for your hand, endure a shitty betrothed until you were to marry and he could ignore you properly. Eris didn’t dare to think about how things would be if your position allowed him to marry you. If his father saw you worthy of his first-born.

But you were stuck with Flynn Vanserra, a man uncapable of love and caring. A man who did worse things than a bruised wrist.

“Be careful” he allowed himself to say, just because it was dark, and you couldn’t see the real concern and fear of someone finding out about your behavior in his room. “Don’t let anyone see you leave my rooms. And don’t come back. I don’t need you”

“Good night, Eris” you rose from bed, and Eris missed the warmth of your wrist against his fingers. “Don’t forget the creams”

With silent steps, you left his room, and Eris spent the night awake wondering of you could see right past his lies, past his fake cruelty and indifference towards you. If you could see how much he cared about his brother’s betrothed.

2

It wasn’t too often that the palace opened its door for lesser fae. On special occasions, his father allowed them to attend to the main hall and see what they were missing because of their condition. Beron took out the elegant clothes, the expensive wine and bright plates. And then, he didn’t let them use any of that and had them watch from the corner the superiority of his family.

Eris didn’t particularly care about those events, but he had been forced to attend to that one – since it was his own birthday. He didn’t celebrate his birthday, he didn’t get presents. Not when years of monotony rolled by and nothing changed. His mother had been the only one wishing him happy birthday that morning, kissing the side of his head quickly and reminding him to be nice.

To stand by and endure his father’s show of power at his expense. All his brothers were there too, and not too far from Flynn, you too.

You were wearing an orange dress that emulated autumns leaves. Each time you moved, lights reflected yellow and brown sparks that had the lesser fae turning their heads around. Eris too couldn’t keep his eyes away from your form for too long, with the risk of being caught.

Flynn seemed to be least affected by your looks, or your presence. While you were required to stay by his side and be faithful, he dragged you through countless humiliation. Talking and flirting with other women when you were standing a few feet away, ignoring your attempts to start conversations, leaving you while you greeted a friend.

Eri’s nails were imprinted on his palms from how hard he closed his fists each time it happened. He had almost set fire to a curtain when he had been close enough to watch your crestfallen expression.

To avoid anyone noticing him staring at you like a hawk or turning his brother into ashes, he busied himself with pointless talks and stupid politics. He endured it for three long hours, and then he granted himself a rest excusing himself for the bathroom.

He knew you had been following him since he left the ballroom, but didn’t acknowledge you until you were far from the crowd. Eris walked through the hallways and across the backyard, and stopped only when he reached the stables. Then, he turned around and his heart skipped a beat at your sight.

Your beautiful hair had been let down, and you were wearing a crown of golden leaves. Everything in your attire claimed you were their possession, but you weren’t his to look at, to enjoy. So he raised a brow and waited for you to talk.

“You’re hard to catch” you started. “Someone might think you’re running away from me”

“Maybe I’m running away from your annoying presence”

You scoffed and he hated and loved that you didn’t seem affected by his words. There was no truth behind it, just the urge of hearing your voice in your reply.

“I want to wish you happy birthday” you confessed, and even your voice was sweeter that night. “Haven’t seen you in all day”

“I’ve been busy” he lied.

Shamefully, he had waited for your visit for hours. Last year you had been the first one to wish him happy birthday, and he had remembered for the whole year the feeling of your lips against his cheek. It had been a friendly kiss, although it had been the only time he had seen you blush. And during the hard days, he held onto that memory like a lifesaver.

You hummed and tucked your hands in front of you. Eris tried not to notice the silver ring that claimed you as his brother’s possession, the distinction from other women. You never wore it, but you had to in events like that one.

In the silence that followed his lie, Eris’ whole body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, his fist untightened and his jaw unclenched. His nostrils flared slightly as he took in your scent, and finally, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Happy birthday, Eris” you finally said, and smiled brightly at him. “Do you want to open your present?”

“Present?” he blinked surprised, the question catching him off guard. “You got me a present?”

“Birthdays are supposed to be filled with presents. Extravagant parties are good too, but I think everyone should get a present” you explained. “I tried to keep yours in an envelope, but someone found it before you. And I couldn’t help it. Do you want to see it?”

Eris nodded dumbly. You could offer him a crumb of your lunch and he would gladly treasure it for the rest of his life. Just like he was doing with all your moments together, before you were cruelly snagged into his brother’s arms eventually.

He followed you through the stables, wondering what you could give him. He didn’t remember the last time someone got him a present, a pleasant one. Anything you could give him would be perfect, so he wasn’t worried about liking it or not. He was worried about cracking down and smudging that beautiful lipstick with his own lips.

Like second nature, you walked him towards the pit where he kept his hounds locked. They slept together and were Eris pride and joy, the first and only gift he got from his father. As you unlocked the door, Eris stuffed his hands in his pocket awkwardly. Then, he looked inside.

And broke into a loud, deep chuckle that rattled his bones.

Eris laughed and laughed until he took his hands out of his pockets and had to press them into his stomach, bending over. When he opened his eyes and tried to regain his posture, he lost it over and over again.

“I take it you like it” you chuckled with him.

He missed the way your eyes shone at his laugh, the way you bounced off your feet at his happiness. It had been the only real smile on your lips that night, and it rivaled any of the elegant lamps in the ballroom.

His hounds, the terrifying big dogs that haunted prisoners when they got out of his dungeons and tracked down traitors, had each one fox knitted hats. Who had ripped fae apart with their sharp teeth and devoured limbs like butter. They all stared at you with oblivious calm and a fox hat.

“They look – they look so ridiculous” Eris managed to say between laughs, and pointed at Maximus, who had its head titled and one of the ears had bent down. “And so happy! How did you put them on? This is the best present I could ask for”

“Oh, they didn’t put much of a fight when I sneaked some treats” you shrugged, and Eris broke into another laugh. “Besides, they like me too much not to let me do it”

“You’re a devious creature, little fox” he scoffed, and finally looked at you. “You are – “

Whatever he was about to say died when he caught the glimpse of the moon light hitting your ring. The ring that reminded him that you may have given him a birthday present, but everything else belonged to Flynn. He caught the words he was about to say and stuffed them down his chest. He forced himself to look away from your expectant expression, and swallow the guilt.

You would never be happy with him, but neither would you be with Flynn. Your fate in that court was sealed, yet you would keep your life with the youngest Vanserra.

“Thank you for the present, Y/N” he managed to say, not daring to look back at his hounds.

“You’re welcome, Eris” you copied his formal, clipped tone in a mocking way, noticing the change of the atmosphere but not caring about it. “Maybe next time I could knit you one for yourself”

“I’m afraid I look nothing like a fox. More like a snake perhaps”

“And I’m afraid you’re too hard on yourself, but we aren’t considering our deliriums”

Eris opened his mouth to argue, but he felt them coming before you did. A couple, probably drunk and lesser fae, had snuck into the gardens. And they probably wouldn’t recognize you, wouldn’t report to his father about your reunion. But Eris couldn’t risk your safety, not when you were the only thing that made him be glad of being alive for another year.

He caught your arm in a tight grip and your eyes widened before listening to their steps. You didn’t have to look to know the couple was staring. In your eyes, Eris could see his own fear of having those short and meaningless meetings cut short because of a snitch. He hated that you weren’t afraid of his tight grip or the fire in his eyes, but because of the retaliations if you were discovered.

One of his hounds poked a lazy head to see what the silence was about, but saw no threat and turned away. And to ensure it wouldn’t turn into a threat, Eris put on his heir-mask, the hatred and cruel prince everyone expected him to be, and snarled with fire under his tongue the venom he knew you didn’t believe.

“And if I ever see you snooping again, I’ll have your head on a pike in your weeding chambers. Tell my dear brother to shorten the leash of his belongings” he pressed on. He caught on the couple’s sniff of fear and respect, but also your own hurt. Hurt at the words he was blading for your protection, he told himself, that were necessary. “Leave before I change my mind”

With a final hard push, he threw you a few feet away from him. You looked down and scrambled away from him, and the couple left too. Eris was left alone with his foxed-hounds, and the horrid realization that hurting you was the only way of keeping you safe.

3

Eris paced the length of your room for what felt like forever. He had already noticed every detail you kept in your room that made it so you, had fought with the inadequate feeling of invading your personal space. He had had time enough to consider if he was going insane and paranoid, but it was late and you weren’t there.

You always retreated to your rooms early in the night. Sometimes, he knew because he accompanied you when his brother was too drunk to remember your presence. Other times, he knew because you sneaked into his dorms right before night set. You were supposed to be there with him, teasing him for not being able to look away from the lingerie that lay forgotten in your armchair.

But you weren’t, and Eris was pacing.

That morning, as you all had lunch as a family, his mother had asked an inadequate but innocent answer. It was only logical that after almost five years of courting you started talking about the actual weeding, but you weren’t. Because his brother was too much of a dick to entertain it until he had enjoyed his youth to the fullest, and because you sneaked glances at him when no one was looking.

You had given her a simple answer – love matters took time, and better be safe than sorry. While everyone agreed quietly, Eris had noticed the way Flynn’s face darkened. As if the idea of you answering a question directed to both of you was inadequate.

Eris had left the dining room with an uneasy feeling, and had kept it in his stomach all day. When you hadn’t appeared during dinner time nor had his brother, he had decided to search for you.

You weren’t in the stables, where you spent most of your time between horses and his hounds. You weren’t in the kitchen, where you snuck off when Flynn got too much to handle. And you weren’t anywhere he looked, so he had decided to let the worry get the best out of him and wait for you in your rooms.

As if the thought of you had summoned you, the doors opened and Eris turned around in a frenzy.

“Thank the cauldron” he scoffed, already replacing the worry with anger. “Where the fuck have you been all day? Do I really have to wait here if I want to…”

“I’m sorry” you apologized, your voice void of any fire or charm.

He tried to make himself argue with you further, to explain his presence in your room with a stupid excuse and not let you know he had been worried. There was no blood or visible wounds on you, not new bruises or burns he can explain his sudden lack of words with.

But he could see something there, that made his blood boil and his heart beat furiously against his chest. You walked past him in silence and removed your heels next to your wardrobe. Without saying anything or acknowledging his presence, you peeled the eiderdown off and climbed inside the bed.

Only then he watched your shoulders tight as you tried to keep the cries to yourself. Eris walked on autopilot to the edge of your bed, and watched in silent horror as tears fell down your face. You were squeezing your eyes shut, probably wanting to be left alone, but he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed. Just like you had done so many times.

It was so different from what he knew, what you did with him, that he didn’t know what to do. Hesitantly, he caressed your shoulder and you whined, your body turning around so you could face him.

“What happened?” he asked, his hand trembling with the effort of staying on your shoulder and not brushing the tears away.

“He locked me in a basement, because he said he was tired of seeing me everywhere and hearing me all the time” you admitted, curling your body around his. “There was no light. And I was fine, but he didn’t come back and I called. And no one answered and – “

Your explanation died with the first sob, and many followed. Eris knew what basement you were talking about. His father had locked him and his brothers many times in the past. Big enough to allow a standing person, but not to let them sit. Tight enough so a part of your body was always touching the wall, and dark enough to rob your breath.

Eris willed the words stuck on his throat to leave him. He wanted to lay down beside you and comfort you like he should. He wanted to break every last of his brother’s bones, and then some more.

“I was so scared” you admitted quietly, finally opening your eyes to look at him. “I thought – I thought I’d been forgotten”

“How did you get out?”

“Beron heard me”

He didn’t need to ask for further details, just tried to keep eye contact as your beautiful eyes were constantly drowning in tears and sorrow. His father was as cruel as Flynn, but until you were officially married, he still had to ensure your safety for your family’s sake.

You cried against his side and eventually your body gravitated to his lap. His free hand carefully brushed yours, and you held it so tight and hard that Eris choked his own cry. How many times he had felt alone in his own home? Forgotten in that same basement while Beron went hunting, or partying?

The thought of you locked in those four walls turned his stomach up. You, with your easy smile and your kind words. Full of kindness and love that no one in that court deserved, certainly not him.

Still, Eris held his ground sitting on your bed. He lighted some candles and sealed the room with a glamour against sound and strangers. The rational part of his brain told him to leave before someone came looking for him, the irrational part to do worse things. But he stayed on your bed, stroking his thumb across the back of your hand and brushing his fingers against the nape of your neck.

As you cried, Eris begged himself to do something with the words that resonated in his heart.

“You’re not forgotten, I could never forget you. I won’t”

“He could try and hide you in the last corner of the universe and I would still crawl my way to you, my little fox”

His mouth was kept shut and his fingers continued his ministration, until your breath slowed and your sobs disappeared. Then, when you were about to fall asleep with his hand in yours, you opened your eyes one last time and gave him a small smile. Maybe he hadn’t said anything, but he was starting to suspect you could read his mind and heart.

“I’m glad you came for me” you confessed quietly. “Thank you”

He should have said that he didn’t accept your gratefulness, that he wasn’t worthy of them. Instead, he smiled back and stared at you while you fell asleep. With his heart roaring just a big wilder.

4

His court was under attack.

Eris had come to that realization a month ago, when a missive from Hybern had reached their borders with a threat of dead and destruction. In that moment, he had thought it had been a minor attack. A political attack, a threat with little importance in a world where everybody hated his court.

But then, his father had dismissed the king demands and patrols started to go missing. Parts of those patrols came back, traumatized soldiers that died in a few days but that had enough time to scream horrors. More soldiers were sent into the forest, and more soldiers died.

For a month, Hybern had debilitated them in their own home until most of the army was unavailable. And now, his home was under attack.

The top part of the palace was on fire, people ran desperately through the corridors and soldiers from both sides fought in the backyard. Eris was sure Beron would be able to win that battle, maybe the war. Yet what worried him was that Beron didn’t particularly care about causalities, and there were many that had Eris’ heart in a knot.

He had managed to take his mother to safety, to a hidden room where women and children waited. He expected to see you there too, but instead, had found a hiding Flynn that didn’t answer his questions.

Eris had left his brother in the middle of a hallway with a shutten eye and two broken legs that wouldn’t let him get away from the soldiers. He hoped he would get killed so Eris wouldn’t be the one to carry the task.

As he ran through the castle against the waves of running people, the fire on his veins roared louder. What would he do, if he came upon the worst scenario? Would he crash his home down? It had been eight months since his birthday, and he had come to the realization he feared the most. That those times he seemed to spot you among a crowd, when his soul sang for you, where for a reason.

He hadn’t found the courage to tell you yet about the golden string he tugged at sometimes, hoping you would turn around and confirm his suspicions.

If he lost his mate today because of his brother’s cowardice, because of a war his father had started out of greed, Eris wasn’t sure the world would be a safe place for anyone anymore.

Asking the running members of his court would be useless, as it would be worrying about them seeing his panic-stricken expression. Eris focused on running and following his instinct, until it led him to the stables. The place where you had shared so many memories that was now a bloodbath.

Soldiers were lying on the ground, dead and unconscious, some of them begging for his help as he stepped over their bodies. The heart of the battle was close enough he could hear and smell death looming, but all of that died down when he finally saw you.

“Eris!” you cried out his name, and what was left of his heart clenched at the broken sound. “Eris I –“

Your cries were muffled by a rough hand over your mouth, of a soldier that hadn’t seen him yet. You were being dragged towards a carriage, your limbs flying around as you tried to get free from the enemies’ grip. Eris would have time to thank fate for allowing him to reach you on time, before you were taken away from him permanently.

Fire licked the carriage’s front, not letting their occupancies leave untouched. It consumed the vehicle in a matter of seconds, burning so powerful and tight that Eris felt light headed for a second. His power felt like a bottomless pit where he could dive without consequences, so he did just that.

Unleashing his short swords, he used both hands to clean his path towards you. The soldiers realized shortly after that their scape root was compromised, but too late that who had compromised it was the crown’s heir.

They didn’t stand a chance against his rage, his power. They fell to the ground like flies while all Eris saw was red. Red seeping through your wounds into the ground, staining your dress. Red pooling the earth beneath his feet as every last soldier fell to their death. Red of his power, that consumed every threat against his mate.

Once he was done, he crashed to his knees in front of you, and the fire died all together when your arms locked around his neck. He didn’t contemplate what it would look like when he pushed you farther into his embrace, listening to your heartbeat like a lullaby.

“You shouldn’t be outside” Eris whispered against your hair, the remains of his anger seeping through them. “If you were smart, you would have stayed inside. Dumb woman. What were you thinking?”

“I wanted to find you”

Your admission didn’t catch him off guard. You sounded so sincere, so relieved, that he only got angrier. Why was fate so cruel to bond him with such a kind soul? Of course, of every reason you could have gone outside, you would have chosen him.

“I didn’t know if you were okay” you continued, lifting your face from his chest to look at him. “What if you had been hurt?”

“And what would you do, hm?” Eris almost cut you off, suddenly repulsed by your touch.

That he had let you get so close to put yourself in danger was a mistake. It had been a mistake the first time he looked at you long enough to discover how bright your smile was. A mistake each time he had allowed you in his room to tend his wounds, every conversation you two had in secret.

There was no answer to his questions, and you knew it. Eris got up and didn’t offer you a hand, instead turning his face away from you. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to ignore the endless thoughts about what could have happen. The things he should have done better, because none of that mattered now.

Eris tried to ignore you when you finally got up and grabbed his hand. Your hand caressed his fingers, his hands, his arms. You caressed his skin as if he hadn’t just slaughtered ten strong, healthy soldiers with families.

“I somehow do irrational things when it comes to you” you spoke quietly, wrapping your hands around his elbow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get in trouble. But the thought of you being hurt… I’m sorry”

“Let’s get you to safety” he grumbled, not acknowledging your apology.

He imagined what it would feel like to have you hanging from his arm in different circumstances, maybe in another world. Briefly, he indulged himself and slowed his steps so he could soak into it. There were bodies and blood, sounds of battle and death cries, but none of them seemed to matter as you walked down the hallways to the hidden room.

The battle was already dying down, but it wouldn’t be safe until nighttime. Eris would make sure every last enemy was death before letting you set a foot outside the safe room. He vowed himself to distance himself enough to never repeat that moment, and to protect you with whatever it took him. Indifference, cruelty. Whatever put you to safety.

What he couldn’t control was a last moment of vulnerability. He stopped right before the discrete doors where his mother and the rest of women and children waited. Turning to face you, his heart got the best of him and raised his arm without his consent.

“Be safe” you begged him. “Please. I don’t want to lose you”

“I will, little fox”

Eris tucked a strand of your hair, sticky with blood behind your ear. He watched like a hawk the cherry blush that painted your cheeks, the contained smile that you hid horribly. Instead of retreating, he let curious fingers explore the curve of your cheekbone. Your jawline, your chin. The curve of your nose and your lips.

His traitor fingers stopped at your bottom lip, tugging it down. It should have bothered him that those lips were meant for his brother, that they had already tasted him when his brother had gotten too handsy. But it didn’t, because they looked so kissable that he thought he had imagined it when you leaned forward.

When your eyes fluttered closed and his body gravitated too, he thought he imagined. The distance became shorter and everything became white noise. Eris had dreamed so long about it that he thought he was dreaming.

But not even his dreams were so livid, so real. He blinked one last time before crashing into your lips with a straining force. You tasted like blood from your open lip, and like clouds and sky and perfection. There were teeth and tongue and he couldn’t control himself more than the kiss.

Shockingly, he was the one pushed against the opposite door, your much smaller body trapping him as you grabbed him by the shoulders. He stole every breath and whine that left your mouth with kissing. For those few seconds, he let himself explore each inch of your mouth like it was the last minute of his life.

It might had been, if someone saw you with him and told Beron. His father thought had him pushing you away, so hard you stumbled down.

“Get inside” Eris demanded you, gripping your elbow harshly. You blinked with those swollen lips and rosy cheeks, and he clenched his jaw.

“Eris…”

“Don’t come out, not until I come back. Be fucking smart for once in your life” he opened the door and dozens of women stared at you two.

Something in his chest stilled when your eyes widened and that bond became alive. When he was certain that you felt the same tug he had been feeling for a long time, that he had lost sleep over. It dawned to him that nothing would be the same after that day, whether the attack finished or not. Whether his father found out or those women kept silent.

So, for the first time in his life, Eris let himself accept those hidden feelings and kissed you one last time. Slow, deep, in front of his mother who covered her mouth with a surprised gasp. He dragged his lips between yours, only for a second.

When he tore away, Eris was sure he would die happy if that face was the last thing he saw.

“Don’t leave the room until I come back, my little fox. Only me”

Eris didn’t let you answer. He turned around and closed the doors behind him, running down the hallways. Looking for the enemy, for his brother whose betrothed had just kissed, for his father who could kill you both. And away from where his heart was safe with you.

5

Not even a week of mourning was stablished for the deaths at the Hybern attack. Not even a week for the thousands of soldiers who had died defending his home.

Eris had made sure that every family got their loved ones’ bodies back, and that there was enough wood to light up fires for them. He mourned more for them than for his own family, who had suffered an immense hit.

Flynn Vanserra had been found ravished in a forgotten hallway, his body mangled beyond recognition. People whispered that he had found an end according to his life – cruel, mean, without mercy. Eris stared at his brother’s corpse and curled his lip, because before his death, not a scar marked his body. While he had usen yours like a blank canvas.

Beron Vanserra had died too, and that had rattled Eris’ world.

His father had been the main objective, and after he had fallen from the upper tower, the enemy had retreated. Beron was dead before he hit the ground, courtesy of a dozen poisoned arrows on his chest. Eris had watched his body burn in silence contemplation, thinking about how many times his father had raised his fire against him.

Now, it was Eris who light up his father’s tomb fire.

Days brushed quickly but there was one thing that had him grounded – you. Eris Vanserra was officially a High Lord, so no one argued when you appeared by his arm on Beron’s funeral. When you moved your things to the room besides him.

His people whispered about the caring brother who had taken upon the charge of his betrothed so she wouldn’t be discarded. And about the cruel king who had killed his own brother to wed a nameless girl. Eris didn’t acknowledge any of those comments.

He just kept you close as loyalties were stablished, letting everyone know that you were off limits. For touching, for hurting, for insulting. One noble was brave enough to question your place in the palace with Flynn death, and one noble lost his tongue the next morning.

As everything settled down, Eris found himself taking walks with you through the forest, something his brother had never bothered to do. You hung from his arm gracefully, new and expensive dresses on your wardrobe, and a radiant smile on your face.

“Will you teach me how to ride?” you asked him one sunny afternoon. “So I can ride hunting with you”

“I will get you your own horse if that’s what my mate wants” he let the title sweeten his mouth, warm his heart. “I will get you whatever your heart desire, my little fox”

“Maybe I’ll turn into a spoiled princess then. And you will find your ruin at my expensive demands” you chuckled, shifting closer to him.

You could ask him for a court and he would fight to death with anyone to grant you your own court. You could ask him for his court and he would get on his knees and offer it to you without another word. Those words were meaningless, because you rarely asked him for anything. Even when you had changed rooms, you had been happy with just a bed and a blanket.

“I’m happy with being here, close to you. I don’t need anything else”

The more time he spent with you, the more he marveled at your selflessness. You had been helping those with injuries from the fight, talking with the families who were grieving. By nighttime, you returned to your chambers where Eris was waiting for you, having abandoned his own for yours. You two laid in bed looking at each other until you fell asleep.

Then, Eris spent hours staring at you, letting his heart soak into the comfort.

“You are quiet today” you commented, breaking him from his thoughts. “Court problems?”

Eris always had court problems. The change was coming slowly but surely, and his father’s loyal friends weren’t happy with that. But it wasn’t their enmity that had him deep in thought. The last rays of sun warmed your face as he looked at you with a small smile.

Talking about his feelings was his weakness. He had been mean, cruel and downright villainous to you for years because he couldn’t open his heart to you. He couldn’t endure the thought of you hurting because of his stupid feelings.

But he wanted things to change. He wanted you to be happy and safe, and if he had to share his thoughts and swallow his insecurities, he would.

“I was wondering” he admitted eventually, a little unsure. “We are mate. But… do you think, we would have found each other? If we weren’t?”

You looked surprised at his questions. You hadn’t talked about the bond, just accepted it. When Eris had found you after the battle, you had hugged him tight and kissed him once more. You hadn’t talked about it, and yet, you both were comfortable with it.

After the initial surprise, you gifted him a soft smile, and your eyes crinkled against the sun.

“I would have found you either way, Eris. You had me since I set a foot in this court” you answered him. “I used to worry that there was something wrong with me, because I couldn’t feel anything for Flynn. Not love, not hate. Nothing. Whatever he did was fine because it was the price I paid to stay close to you. And it was worthy”

“Don’t say that, Y/N”

“I can’t, that’s what I feel. And I’m not afraid to tell you that I’ve loved you for a long time, my darling. Long before I knew we were mates and through all we’ve been through. I’m sure I would have loved you even if we weren’t mates”

Eris wondered if he would ever be able to speak so freely about his thoughts. He couldn’t still voice out what he felt for you. How he would turn the world around if you asked him to, how your love was enough to keep him alive forever. For now, though, Eris smiled and leaned down to press a sweet kiss against your nose, earning a soft giggle.

He would tell you all of that someday, show you his feelings when his words were stuck. Eris Vanserra owned you that much.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[arcielee]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still. 

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand. 

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” 

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below. 

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface. 

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him. 

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep. 

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian. 

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you. 

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss. 

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both. 

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair. 

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door. 

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–” 

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock. 

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him. 

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth. 

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright. 

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead. 

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…” 

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss. 

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.” 

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment. 

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye. 

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him. 

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet. 

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again. 

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips. 

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core. 

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw. 

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied. 

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room. 

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips. 

My dragon. 

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside. 

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core. 

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him. 

You are breathless. “It tickles.” 

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,��� and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between. 

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress. 

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you. 

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it. 

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent. 

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned. 

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.  

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance. 

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds. 

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.” 

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin. 

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine. 

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still. 

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles. 

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins. 

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones. 

After a moment,  Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin. 

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.” 

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him. 

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @hb8301 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

[yandere4lyfe]

can I get a part two of the water god also do you watch or do the amazing digital circus or murder drones

((Here's part 2 of Yandere! Greek God x Mortal! Darking! And to answer your question, I have seen the amazing digital circus! I do not about murder drones, though. Is it interesting?))

The fates.

It was decided long ago that Ketos was to take a mortal woman as his wife. He was furious at first. 

He raged at sea for several days and nights, protesting the fates' decision. It was futile, though. Once something was decided, it was woven into the fabric of one's destiny, permanently bonded together. There was nothing one could do except to accept it.

Ketos couldn't do anything besides his fate. He did contemplate killing every mortal woman by flooding the lands, but it would have been foolish to do so. He didn't want to face the ire of Zeus, who would no doubt come down to smite him if any of his mortal or potential mortal lovers were harmed or killed.

It wasn't until the fates came down and told him the name of his future mortal wife. Things changed when out of his arrogant curiosity, he decided to leave his realm to seek her out. He wanted to see for himself if she was worthy enough to be his wife.

And once he saw her, he did not expect to fall as hard as he did.

She was beautiful, not as beautiful as Aphrodite, but beautiful enough to be his wife. Things he had not imagined before, back when he abhorred the thought of a mortal being his betrothed, hit him and carried him away like the waves crashing against the earth. 

He obsessed over her. Watching her from the sea everytime she took a walk along the sandy shore, taking on human forms to stalk her from afar, and even engaging in conversation with her in disguise just to hear what her voice sounds like among other things.

He had completely fallen for her. He decided the next time he saw her, he would come to her as himself and try to court her.

And well, their first meeting did not go as he had planned.

He had thought she would marvel at his magnificence. He was a God, for Zeus's sake! But she looked at him in fear. Distress plagued her beautiful features and he had no clue why. Surely, there was no reason why she would refuse a God like him, was there?

And so began an unique song and dance where he would try to court her, give her gifts, talk to her, all for it to be for naught! She refuses again and again.

And Ketos was starting to become angry...

How dare she refuse his love? She was his! The fates had already confirmed it! Her destiny lies and ends with him! 

He grew increasingly impatient until it came bubbling up one day and he snapped.

He was already in a terrible mood after facing so many of her rejections. He saw her dreadful look and grew tired of her pleas as she refused yet again. But this time, he was going to have her one way or another.

He lashed out, making the calm waves rage and the clouds above heavy and gray.

He threatened her with the lives of her family, along with all the other villagers she lived and grew up with. He didn't care about any of them! If it took killing everyone around her for her to be his, he would gladly do it. Even if she died in the process, all he would have to do is go to Hades and pluck her soul out of the Underworld so that she can finally be with him. And if he couldn't, he was a God. He had all the time in the world to wait for you to reincarnate and take you as his wife then.

Luckily, he didn't need to go that far. Though reluctant, she finally agreed to come to him! He was ecstatic. She took his hand and he praised her for choosing him. It didn't matter if she wasn't happy at first. He'll make her see the positive sides to being his betrothed. All his thoughts reverted back to all the things he wanted to do with her...

He would love and cherish her as they will soon be husband and wife. 

He was so happy to have her, his lovely wife.

((I think I may do a part 3 that's more of a look into their married life. Hope you enjoyed this one though!))

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers (a teaser) ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so, when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, emotional romantic and sexual tension all in one lmao, angst, smut (in the future scenes, this teaser is sfw!)

★ NOTES; so my blog won't die in my absence nd slight inactivity from writing, i decided to leave you guys a snippet of the third n last part of my royalty series <3 as always, content in my teasers are not final and can be subject to change so heads up on that!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

It’s several hours past midnight when you hear three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers. 

Annoyed, you stare at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies from the neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive collection of cosmetics in Ancarra, your guests certainly knew how to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents can dispel the pure vexation that’s been making your blood boil the entire evening. 

Not bothering to answer the door, you whisk yourself into the plush seat tucked underneath the dresser. There’s only one halfwit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how terribly tonight’s festivities went, you’re in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—much less Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You try to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangles half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he notices you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’re applying to your lips. 

But try as you may, you cannot ignore Jeonghan when he reaches a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color that you accidentally tinted just a few millimeters from your lip line. 

Not when his smoldering stare holds yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you can’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabs your chin and forces your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneers and you want to hate him for it, but you can’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snarl, putting as much venom into the words as you can. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t be sitting on top of the Rènxìng empire. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to show his face here for the sole purpose of courting me.”

He sighs as if meaning to be sympathetic, but you’ve long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“I am not spoken for,” you interject, trying not to crumble from how his thumb lightly dabs at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess who’s chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan coos, face inching ever-so close to yours.  

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.” 

Your lungs burn as if they’ve been set aflame and Jeonghan is merely adding more fuel to the blaze. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are much too gullible,” he chuckles, each breath fanning hotly against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting against me since we were children. Putting an end to our very interesting relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make good for the history books, no?”

All of a sudden, you remember something that Soonyoung told you in passing. How Jeonghan is someone who cherishes his loved ones deeper than one would otherwise expect. He loves his homeland. He loves his family. Above all, he loves his people.

With how he keeps reeling you back from all your attempts to escape your engagement, any other person would assume that he loves you just as much.

But how are you supposed to believe that someone like him is capable of love when all he does is thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing out,” he murmurs, as if it’s remotely acceptable to just shift the conversation after what he just told you. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, no?”

“In what way does it concern you?” you grit. 

The despicable prince simply hums. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’m quite curious about its actual longevity.” 

You can practically hear your heart stutter to a stop when he closes the distance even more—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You’re clueless as to how it happened, but you suddenly find your fingers coiled around the front of his shirt. Looking for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should know better than to anchor yourself to someone as unpredictable as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds, would you even be more furious than you are now?” he whispers and you can feel the ghost of a smirk against your lips. “Or would it garner the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse is roaring in your ears and all of a sudden, you can’t remember how to breathe. His intense stare is pinning you in place no matter how badly you want to escape. The scent of expensive champagne lingers on his lips and you find yourself craving for a taste. 

But you can’t. You can’t want that. You can’t want him. 

This is the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember. The man you’ll be cursed to sit beside in a throne room forever if you don’t do anything about it fast. 

You know these facts perfectly well, and yet…

Your eyes flutter closed as you hook your wrists across the back of his neck, letting your arch-nemesis fall deep into you.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

want to be added to the taglist? leave a reply <3

[thelov3lybookworm]

We'll Heal

Summary: They have healed a lot in the past few years, and they will heal a lot in the ones coming.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2681

Warnings: angst, beron, eris being the tiniest bit mean but overall hes just a sweetheart, eris's brother, allusions to SA and domestic abuse, trauma. i think thats it, but if theres more i need to add, let me know!!

A/n: based on this request. i feel like i like this fic a lot cus my writing in this is so good, in my opinion 🥹 THANK YOU TO THE ANON WHO SENT ME THAT ASK ❣️❣️❣️

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

The Vanserra brother’s scents were quite similar to each other. Y/n had learned that very quickly.

Having to hide and cower the moment her fiance arrived, she’d gotten better at scenting people.

All of them had distinct scents to the point if someone paid attention, they could figure out which one it was. But initially, it would be hard to differentiate between all the seven woody fragrances with hints of ash and sweet maple.

For example, Eris’s scent was woody, smoky, with a very light sweetness to it. Autumnus, Y/n’s fiance and the second born, his scent was very similar, but it was the slightest bit sugary. More so than all his brothers.

If there was one brother who actually had a different scent, it was Lucien. And Y/n thought she knew why.

Six of the brothers had almost the same scent, but the youngest didn’t? Y/n was not dumb. She was pretty sure Lucien was not Beron’s child, and even if Y/n was not so well versed in recognizing a person’s unique fragrance, his warm demeanour would have made it hard to believe he was.

He was by far the nicest and kindest being Y/n had ever met, but she did not know whether that was a compliment for she had not met many. Other than her father, father in law, fiance and his brothers, Y/n had no experience mingling with other fae. Being the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, she was always sheltered since the day she had been born, her purity and piousness valued above all else.

She had never even interacted with the lower fae that worked as servants for her father before he had basically sold her off to the high lord to further his position in court. Being the father of one of the brides of the high lord’s seven sons certainly came with perks he was unwilling to let go of.

He had hoped for Y/n’s betrothal to the eldest, but Beron had outright refused, so her father had had to settle for the second best.

Which was probably one of his worst decisions ever, considering Autumnus had made her life miserable and refused to let her step foot out of their private east wing.

Y/n supposed she should be glad he let her leave her room at least.

He had taken one look at her and agreed to marriage, and Y/n was aware that had Beron not forced him to court her for six months before the wedding, he would have snatched her right back to his room.

But of course, being ordered to not touch her intimately before their marriage did not deter him from seeking her out at night, when no soul would be awake to report such uncourtly behaviour or spread rumours. And as long as no one threw mud on their family name, Beron Vanserra didn’t really care what happened to the women in the palace.

Despite his… daring endeavours, Autumnus was adamant on keeping Y/n sheltered, and she had overheard a conversation between one of the other brothers and her fiance one evening where he claimed that he only wanted her to stay in the wing so no one would get any untoward ideas about harming Y/n.

How Ironic.

For all he claimed he only wished for her wellbeing and did not want to see her hurt, he sure had no qualms about putting his hands on her himself. Be it for his own sexual pleasure or sadistic desires. Y/n would never be able to understand why seeing the tears and bruises on her skin as the outcome of his actions brought him such satisfaction, nor would she ever wish to.

The sun was setting in the distance when a door close by slammed with a bang and Y/n’s shoulders tensed, already dreading the moment her bedroom door would also burst open. And then her fiance would stumble upon her. It was time for him to come anyway.

But the scent that reached her when the bedroom door creaked open was not that of her fiance’s. Surprised, she turned to greet the guest, her wide eyes meeting that of frenzied amber.

"Good evening, my lord." Despite wondering what was going on, Y/n began to drop into a curtsy.

"We do not have time for pleasantries. Hurry up."

Y/n blinked, the harshness of the oldest vanserra brother catching her off guard. "What-"

"Hurry up." Eris growled, striding towards her and grabbing her wrist.

Her blood ran cold at the force in his grasp, sweat forming on her back.

No.

Please.

Autumnus has assaulted me enough. Why is his brother doing this to me too?

Another thought crossed Y/n’s mind.

If Autumnus smells his brother on me, it’s over for me.

"What- what are you doing?! Autumnus would be furious if he catches me with you-"

"Autumnus is dead." Eris snapped, glaring at her when she refused to budge despite his insistent tugging on her hand to drag her out. It took Y/n a moment to fully understand what he was saying.

Her skin went numb. The surroundings turned mute. Her eyes lost focus, and as if her skin had lost all ability to hold her, her jaw dropped, lips parting.

"Wh- what?"

He released a frustrated exhale, his eyes falling shut. "Are you broken? Can you not say anything other than what?" When Y/n just stared at him, he growled. "No wonder you never stopped Autumnus from being his bastard self."

He dropped her hand, instead grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Listen to me carefully girl. Lucien’s lover was killed and now every other brother is out hunting him. Your betrothed is dead. The place is in chaos. There are no guards out there. I am trying to get you out of here. Okay? I am not trying to take advantage of you."

Y/n blinked, forcing herself to actually see the male in front of her. That was when her eyes snagged on the dark stains on his expensive jacket. The jacket itself was the darkest shade of maroon, yet the spots coloured by what looked like blood were discernible.

Blood.

She met his eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

His jaw clenched. "Not all of us are assholes, you know. I have sent Lucien to the spring court, and before anyone else returns to check up on you, you need to be gone."

She nodded, numb to his vice-like grip. "Can I ask you one more question?"

Eris’s lips tilted up cynically. "Of course. Would you like me to order some tea too? We can sit by the fire and chit chat? We could also bring the rest of the bothers even-"

She swallowed. "Point taken."

"Good." He snapped, eyes hard as he grabbed her hand again. "I’ll have to winnow you now." He mumbled, more to himself than to her.

And he did just that, depositing her on what seemed like the border to spring court. The thick foliage cascading down to the ground in trickling rivulets of red, orange and gold faded into the warm embrace of summoning of summer, green leaves and pink petals that looked like they’d burst with the slightest touch beckoning Y/n to come closer, to breathe in the sweetness.

Uncertain, Y/n turned to look at him.

"What now?" He questioned impatiently, gaze flitting from tree to tree, shadow to shadow.

"I-"

"Lucien or one of the high lord’s sentries will find you, if that’s what you’re concerned about."

Y/n was going to say that she had never stepped foot out of her father’s estate and then Beron’s estate, but that was a more valid concern than what she had in mind. So she dipped her head and turned away from Eris, taking steps towards the border as her stomach flipped in her tummy.

Before she took the last step and finally got rid of all ties to Autumn, she turned to look at him.

He raised a brow.

"I… I hope you get the best in life, my lord. I truly do."

His eyes softened, and he nodded at her in acknowledgement.

The moment she set foot in spring, he was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"Y/n?"

She groaned and turned away, tucking her head between her pillow and the bed.

"Go away."

She heard a chuckle, causing her to tense. The sound itself was nothing bad, but the underlying love for chaos in it had her ready to fight.

Autumnus?

Clenching her fists in the bedsheets, she peeked her eye open, and sure enough, a flash of red hair caught her eye.

He stepped closer and yanked the covers off of her, his sinister smile still on his face as he took in her cowering form, his deep chuckle causing a shiver to run up her spine.

“Time to play, bitch.”

No. Please no.

He had not listened. He’d dragged her out of her bed in the middle of the night.

The first night of many to come.

Pine and maple mixed with honey filled her lungs, and she jerked up and back, heart thumping in her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed herself against the headboard, feeling her tears tickle her skin as they rolled down her cheeks.

She heard nothing, no movement or breaths or menacing footsteps approaching her for long moments, and she blinked her eyes open, looking around the room over her heaving chest.

The eyes staring back at her with tears in them were not amber. They were russet.

Lucien.

Lucien, not Autumnus.

She exhaled, lips parting as she took in the sadness on her husband’s face. "Lucien, I-"

He shook his head, walking closer to her and settling down next to her. "It’s okay my love. I know how hard it is." He gently grasped her fingers in his hand and pried them from the blanket, and she reluctantly released her death grip on it.

She sniffled. "I’m trying."

He smiled at her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I know you are, and I’m proud of you for it."

She watched him as he placed a kiss on each of her finger tips, then her knuckles, then finally her palm before meeting her eyes. And once again, she was reminded of the fact that this was Lucien. He was not his brother.

It had been over half a century since that day Eris had dropped Y/n on the spring border, and still, everytime she had to remind herself that she was now with Lucien, not his devil of a brother.

Lucien was a devil too, just not in the sense his brother was.

When Y/n had found Lucien after entering Spring Court, bleeding and bruised, his eyes hollow but pain still oozing from every pore of his body, she had managed to pull him- even as unwilling and ready to die as he was- towards where she thought she saw some tall spires rising into the sky through the proud trees boasting the prettiest of leaves she had never seen before, sure that it would be were the high lord resided.

She could only hope that Eris had informed him beforehand and that she was not dragging herself and Lucien from one hell to another.

The high lord had accepted them with open arms though, and Y/n had not expected the lengths he went to to make them comfortable. And despite the paranoia Y/n had after her experience with one HIgh Lord, despite her scepticism and reluctance to trust Tamlin, she developed what many would call a sibling bond with him. So did Lucien.

In the aftermath of all the tragedies, Lucien had isolated himself and only Tamlin could pull him out. But one day, Y/n had had enough of waiting. She had been waiting to talk to Lucien for over a month by that point, and when he had refused to talk to her or anyone at all, she’d barged into his room.

He had finally spoken to her and revealed that it was Autumnus who had told Beron about Jesminda’s existence, hence leading to her death. And despite Y/n believing in the saying, ‘Respect the dead and remember their good’, she cursed her dead fiance all over again.

From that day onward, Lucien and Y/n had connected, becoming closer as time went, comforting each other over shared loss of loved ones, life and home.

It was only a matter of time before they decided they liked each other more than friends did.

But Y/n had never been able to forget the things Autumnus did to her. It had taken her over a decade to even let Lucien kiss her. She had thought she was getting better in recent years though.

Apparently not.

Y/n leaned close to Lucien, resting her head on his shoulder. She tried so hard to move on from her experiences with Autumn court in general,but every time something happened that reminded her even slightly of the place she had been born, all her progress seemed to wash down the drain. Each time, she would be upset, but Lucien would tell her it was fine.

It was not.

Because if it were fine, why was she not stronger? Why, when anytime Lucien grabbed her a little too hard when play fighting, when the head maid got frustrated and yelled at others who were not doing their job well, when Tamlin used his high lord voice while commanding his sentries, why did Y/n stiffen? Why did sweat trickle down her back like the cold fingers of her fiance? Why did her blood seem to stop moving in her veins?

Y/n was disappointed quite often.

"Y/n, love, you know it’s alright. I can feel your thoughts without being a daemati. You need to give yourself more credit for how far you’ve come."

Just like that, tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes again, and she snuggled closer to him, hoping he would not be able to look at her filled eyes if she made it impossible for him to look at her.

He pulled away from her grip, knowing what she was trying to do and not falling for it. "Look at me sweetheart. It’ll get better with time."

Y/n just nodded, focusing on the golden skin of his throat rather than those eyes that made her spit out anything on her mind without compulsion.

He sighed, and Y/n wished she could erase the sound from existence because it made her feel worse than she already did, knowing she hurt Lucien too when she refused to get better.

"Fifty years ao, Y/n, you could not stand to be within arm’s length of me without having shivers. Without having nightmares, you could not close your eyes. You could not talk to anyone because everyone reminded you of him.

"And now you can do so much. You organise and host events for Tamlin, you are training to be an emissary, you can hold your own against those pompous lords whose jacket buttons hold on for dear life. Tell me, what can you not do?"

That made an unexpected giggle burst from Y/n’s lips, and she looked up to find Lucien’s lips quirked to the side, his eyes glittering.

"And no, Y/n, you do not disappoint me when it all comes back to you. I am so very proud of you for even beginning to get better in the first place. Mother knows I would have been a ghost wandering the halls had I been the one who endured Autumnus and his bullshit."

Y/n pressed her forehead to Lucien’s, whimpering softly. "I love you."

She felt the air in front of her shift and settle as Lucien shuffled closer, placing his lips against her.

"And I love you. And I promise you, my love, we’ll get better."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Blood on my Blade

Hi, I'm back with another one. Once again, I don't own the pictures. I just used them for a vibe 😌

Word count:2.5k

Warnings: she cuts herself intentionally in this chapter but not because she wants to. Also, my future chapters will have adult content, so be aware that this is for 18+

Chapter 1

10195 AG

It was an unusually sunny day on Caladan and I wasted no time escaping from my mother. She’s planning the arrival of my betrothed who is due to arrive within a week from today. She’s coordinating flowers to match my dress and wine to compliment the chosen meat that will be served at the feast following the nuptials. Meanwhile I couldn’t care less about any of it. I didn’t have a choice in the matter so why should I be bothered in planning for it. He will arrive in Caladan an entire month before the wedding so that he can court me properly according to my fathers wishes. I was not opposed to the idea of courting, but it all seemed useless now. The Emperor ordered this arrangement; neither Feyd Rautha or myself would have chosen each other if that weren’t the case. Our houses were rivals, I dare not say enemies for fear of upsetting my father. He would no longer accept that term when referring to the family I would be marrying into. 

My dark hair blew in a strong gust of wind as I looked out at the vast body of water ahead of me. I would be leaving my home in just over a month and I had come to terms with it. I’ve been saying goodbye for now in my own way. It was not a final farewell for I knew in my soul I would die on Caladan, because I am an Atreides. I lay flat on my back in the damp green grass soaking in the beautiful sunlight, knowing I’ll soon be an inhabitant of Giedi Prime with its black sun. While deep in thought I notice Gurney running towards me looking upset. I sit up so he can find me easier in the tall grass.

“Gurney, what's the matter?”

“Little Duchess, your parents sent me to find you. They are here.”

“They?”

“The Harkonnens, my lady.They’ve come a week early, no doubt to catch us by surprise.”

“Feyd Rautha is here, on Caladan right now?”

The very idea struck me and I felt myself break out into a nervous sweat. I wasn’t prepared. I had more time to- to wrap my mind around his arrival. He wasn’t supposed to be here today. 

“Lady Jessica is in your chambers, you must hurry Little Duchess. She wants you to change and prepare yourself for a formal introduction.”

With that I’m off, sprinting across the tall grass in order to prepare quickly for the unexpected guest. Gurney's laugh in my wake is confirmation that my back is covered in wet grass stains. My mother will have to work magic to get me ready quickly. 

“Where have you been?” exclaimed Lady Jessica.

“You’re covered in grass Calista!”

“I’m sorry. They weren’t supposed to be here so soon.”

We remain silent while stripping the stained gown and damp underclothes. A maid pulled out an elaborate emerald green gown with matching jewelry and hair pieces. 

“Your father has already received our guest in the great hall. He is entertaining him there while they wait for us. The kitchen has already begun preparing a feast. Be calm, all is well.”

Jessica could sense the nervous energy from her daughter and it made her feel all the more high strung given the circumstance. 

“Do not show fear to him, Cali. For if you do he will crave more of it.”

“I know, mother. I’m just surprised, is all. I thought I had more time.”

Castle Caladan was warm and cozy even though it was large and spread out. There was a warmth deep within the stone of those walls that can not be manufactured. It was the warmth of home, of love and familial bonds, a feeling that came after the birth of Calista and had lingered for some twenty years now.

When my mother and I stepped into the great hall silence fell upon the Duke and Na Baron who sat across from each other at the great table. There was a tension in the air no doubt from the early intrusion made by the Harkonnen. It seemed the Na Baron traveled with nothing less than a small armada. A show of force perhaps from Baron Vladimir himself. One wall had Atreides soldiers lined up and the opposite was the same for the Harkonnnen. This felt less like an introduction between a couple whose pending nuptials were mere days away and more like a meeting before a battle. A last ditch effort to broker peace before the inevitable war followed.

My father and our early guest rise to their feet as I make my way into the room. My emerald dress swishes with each step I take, I ensure my shoulders are back and my head is held high. I would not be shaken by him. The great room is bathed in sunlight as the sun still shines brightly outside and for a moment I wish I was still just a girl laying in damp grass.

“Na Baron Feyd Rauth, may I present to you my daughter and Heir Calista Atreides.” my father places his hand on the small of my back as I stand beside him.

I reach my hand out to the Na Baron and feel his warm lips graze my knuckles as he bows briefly before me.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you my lady.” 

Once he speaks I realize his teeth are painted obsidian black and I almost cringe.

His predatory eyes watched every twitch of my face muscles, every slight movement of my lips as I welcomed him to Caladan. His eyes remind me of the birds of prey. He watches calmly and intently taking in the lilt of my voice. More than this his own voice was so wholly unique it caused a slight shiver to travel up my spine. He was so pale white the sun shining into this very room could damage his skin. He wore black armor similar to the Harkonnen armada standing around the room. I take him in from head to toe and have to crane my neck to look up at him. I had always been small and now as a grown woman of nearly twenty I stood an entire head shorter than him at least.

He seems pleased by the fact I have to look up at him to see his eyes and he offers me a wolfish grin.

My mother interjects with “We have prepared a feast for this evening once you have rested from your travels Na Baron. Calista will show you to your chambers now.”

My mother gives me a pointed look that only mothers have mastered.

“Of course follow me.”

With that I'm off leading him down winding corridors a few short paces ahead of him as he shortens his steps to stay just behind me and out of sight. For the sake of being polite I decided to try and make conversation with him.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon Na Baron, is there a reason you moved up our scheduled timeline?”

 I attempt to turn my head slightly just to catch him in my line of sight, but he intentionally evades my attempt.

“I didn’t want to wait any longer.” His gravelly voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Quick and to the point. I halt my steps and face him head on as he smirks down at me. My reaction amuses him it seems.

“Are you saying you arrived here early because you couldn’t wait one more week to see me?”

He takes a large step towards me, making my breath catch in my chest.

“You’ve been mine for the last six years. I’ve waited long enough to see you with my own eyes, those pretty little portraits didn’t do you justice.”

He reaches his large powder white hand up and catches a strand of my long ebony hair. He rubs my silken hair between his fingers as he stares into my eyes without blinking. 

“You even smell pretty, Lady Atreides.”

He wantonly sniffs the strand of hair in his grasp. Making me shudder in disgust, and some other ambiguous feeling. I attempt to separate myself from him but he won’t budge, he continues to stare me down with his near dead eyes.

“Let me show you to your chambers Na Baron, you must be exhausted.”

I refuse to show him an ounce of fear remembering my mothers words. Besides he was on my home planet, I need not fear anything on Caladan. 

He smiles at me showing his black teeth much to my unease but he releases my hair and we continue our trek in silence.

As we reach his chambers I bid him farewell until the feast that is and take my leave quickly. The hairs on the back of my neck tell me he watches from the doorway as I make my departure. He watches me until I am completely out of his sight as I turn out of the guest wing entirely. Only then does the gooseflesh on my skin settle down.

Back in my own chambers my mother meets me in the corridor.

“Did you show fear?” She asks seriously. She was gripping her own navy gown tightly between her fingers.

“No.”

I grasp her worrying hand on her gown.

“B-but I think I amused him somehow. He said-”

Using the Atreides battle language she motions they will continue this conversation in her chamber with the door closed.

Once inside my chamber we secure the door and settle onto my chaise lounge chair together. 

“He told me he showed up here early simply because he was tired of waiting to see me.”

Lady Jessica tensed up slightly, alarming Cali.

“What? What is it?”

“He is eager to wed you it seems. I was hoping he would be indifferent, for your sake my Cali.”

Realization dawned on me the moment my mother voiced her concern. He was eager, he was looking forward to- to having me as his wife.

The evening came quickly and after changing into a fresh gown per my mothers request I was heading into the great hall for the welcome feast. My new gown was light blue and white lace with matching jewels of course. I wore my hair entirely up to avoid another incident with the Na Baron touching my hair without permission. I hoped to convey a message to him. A message that said, I don't belong to you. Not yet at least.

 Once I entered the great hall I noticed my father was seated at the head of the table this time with Feyd Rautha at his left hand side with an empty seat beside him closest to her father. My mother sat regally on his right hand side taking stock of our Harkonnen guests around the table.

When the men noticed me they both stood and went to pull out my chair in unison. Feyd Rautha insisted as I was his betrothed and my father sat awkwardly, not used to his daughter being the center of another man's attention.

“Thank you Na Baron.”

I say politely as I take my seat. He then moves his chair a couple inches closer to my own than it was before. Not very subtle at all I think. He retakes his seat and quickly calls for my goblet to be filled with wine. Well isn't he attentive? I wonder if I can expect the same level of care once we are on Giedi Prime. Is he just luring me into a false sense of safety before revealing his true self? Try as I might I can’t seem to get a good read on him and it bothers me and puts me on edge.

He didn't speak much at dinner until it was time for speeches and thanks to be granted to the hosting house.

He stood from his seat beside me and raised his goblet of fine Caladan wine.

“I would like to take a moment to thank Duke Leto Atreides for being so hospitable to me although I arrived before our agreed timeline. However, having seen my bride in all her glory I should have come sooner.”

Many Harkonnen men bellow out joyous laughter at that and agree with whoops and cheers.

I look between them uneasily feeling like a prized trophy already.

“I would like to present my lady with a gift.”

A meek Harkonnen servant appeared with a finely decorated box that could only hold valuable jewels. He took the box from the servant and faced me. I took a short sip of wine to cover my nerves and received the box with a smile.

I opened the box and barely contained my shocked gasp. It was indeed not fine jewels, but a bloodied dagger. Not a clean dagger but a bloody one, even the handle was covered in blood.

“I- it’s lovely. Thank you.” I give him the best smile I can muster.

“It’s a Harkonnen tradition as I’m sure you know.”

His dead eyes seemed to come alive with some unknown emotion.

“Of course. I just didn’t realize the blade was meant to be...used.” 

I gesture for my gift to be brought forward so that I can offer it to him.

He opens the box and inspects the blade thoroughly. 

“A fine piece of art.”

“I do apologize since it’s missing blood.”

He looked at me and tilted his head as he looked me up and over taking note of the neckline of my gown.

“Certainly you can remedy that, My lady.”

He hands me the blade with an expectant look.

“I don’t understand, Na Baron-”

“-Your blood would do most nicely.”

There is a chill that freezes my blood to the bone. He sits once again in his chair that is still too close to mine. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

I look at him as if he’s grown a second head. While my father watches the interaction closely, waiting for the slightest misstep on Feyd's part so he can call in our soldiers to defend the future Dutchess. My mothers warning plays in my head and I know what I have to do.

I take the pristine blade and grab the hilt, slowly and precisely I drag the blade against my palm covering it in my very own blood.

Once again his eyes are lit with some unknown emotion. All I know is they don't seem so dead when he looks at me that way, and I feel myself blush. He takes my offer staring at it in what I can only describe as reverence as he places it carefully in its rightful place. The same meek servant steps forward and removes the gift from the hall.

[simpingland]

Never Pretending// Jace Velaryon x Fem!oc. Part 1.

Anon request:Major fluff and angst and jealousy- I’m thinking childhood best friends into enemies after the driftmark fight and through episode 8 when they meet again.

Summary: Gaella Targaryen (Alicent's kid) and Jace Velaryon were friends long before they understood what green and black meant. When they meet again six years later, they realise that there was always something more to both the court and their own friendship. Part 2 , part 3, part 4.

A/N: This will continue. This request was beautiful but had spoilers, so I won't post it completely. Stay tuned for part 2!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a time when Gaella had dreamed of being betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon, and though she had never told her mother, her childhood was a happy one because of him. Born in the same year, the servants could always see the little blonde and brown heads wandering around the castle. Jace likes to wake her up early to explore corners that they were already starting to see too much, but Gaella's imagination helped her to see everything in a new way. And so the years passed, walking side by side, while the girl told him the legends of the kings and princes before them. He was the one who dared to cross the areas forbidden to them by the adults, and she was the one who knew the stories forbidden to them by the adults. Everyone knew of this friendship, but few approved of it. Gaella was aware at an early age of the rumours about Jace and Luke, her brother Aegon told her plainly one day when no one was around.

She never had the courage to tell Jace the truth. His love for Harwin was tender, but he also admired Leanor, and he loved to show off Vermax. The last thing Gaella wanted to do was to dispel that happiness, to pull him abruptly out of the limbo his mother had put them in to protect them. What Gaella did dislike was that the Prince was never confused by his appearance, never asked questions, and participated so actively in Aegon's jokes, unaware that Aegon was one of the greatest spokesmen for his illegitimacy. A rift started when Jace began to feel confident enough to make fun of Aemond. Prince Aemond wasn't particularly nice to Gaella, but they shared a taste for studies and could hold entertaining conversations. So when they laughed at his desperation to get a dragon, only Gaella understood how cruel the joke had been.

"There was no need to make fun of something that is not his fault," Gaella said to Jace as they walked back to the castle.

"It was Aegon's idea," he tried to justify himself.

"You're not much better if you follow him after..."

That night, Jace didn't want to apologise to Aemond. But the next morning, knowing that he had irritated his dearest friend, he woke her up with a piece of cake hidden in a napkin. He gave it to her as an apology, and the girl couldn't stay angry much longer. Such was Jace, as sweet as he was unruly, much quieter than his brother Luke, but both had inherited the mischievous side their mother had been known for.

King Viserys might be the only one who smiled at the thought of seeing Gaella and Jace together. He loved to hear their daily scurrying on the other side of his door, reminding him that life was beautiful and innocent for some still, and that the enmity between his wife and daughter was being offset by the friendship between their children. But her mother, Alicent, despite trying to connect with her, always ended up scolding her. She scolded her when she found her disobeying her orders, yelled at her when she stained her clothes, and of course, always pulled her away from Jace every chance she got. At first, Alicent let her be. She was so small, and she could control her. But as she grew older, the arguments were no longer about rules or dresses. Some day, which would come sooner rather than later, Gaella would be a woman, a woman who must marry, and whose company must be kept from men. Whatever Gaella's feelings for Jace, what mattered was that no one should suspect anything more than friendship. The night Jace and Gaella made peace, the two of them left the castle, escaping to an abandoned tower where they spent the entire day playing and talking. She kissed him goodbye with a kiss on the cheek that left his face flushed, and Gaella went into her room thinking that this would be the end of the best day of her life. But when she saw her mother waiting for her, she knew it wasn't true.

"How is it that you are so smart, Gaella, and at the same time, be so dumb?" she asked. The girl made herself small before Alicent.

"I'm sorry, mother. It's just that we didn't have lessons today and we got distracted..."

"I don't care where you went, what I care about is who you went with," she interrupted her, raising her voice.

"It's Jace, mother. Nothing bad can happen to me being with Jace."

"Oh, how innocent you are, my love." She walked over and knelt down to be at her level, holding her hands lovingly. "I was close friends with your mother a long time ago, too... but they don't love us. Not really."

"Jace does love me, mother," tears began to well up in the girl's eyes, confused and hurt.

"You know well that Jace is not a Targaryen like you. That he who claims to be their father is not telling the truth. It is not right in the eyes of the Seven, and it is not right for the throne. And Rhaenyra knows it too, and soon Jace will. And all of this, Gaella, do you know what this means?"

The girl shook her head.

"It means we are in danger. Your brothers, me...you. Those with sense will refuse to bow the knee to Rhaenyra and her bastards and she will seek to annihilate any other option the people may have. And that other option is us."

"But Rhaenyra is my sister...and Jace is my friend and would never hurt me."

"That's what they think now. But when your father leaves us, Rhaenyra will want to keep you trapped, and she'll end up with us. Everything Jace does now is to try to use you in the future. He'll make you live a life in captivity, while he kills Aegon and Aemond, and any children they may have. And then you will see that this is all a big lie. They want us to cover for them while they lie to others. The only scenario in which you come out alive is the one where they use you to have platinum-haired heirs. Is that the future you want?"

Gaella didn't know what future she wished for yet, she just wanted to worry about her dinner and her soft pyjamas. But she also knew she didn't want to see her family die, no matter how long she might still be alive.

"No, mother," she whispered.

"Then you must resist, stay away from Jace."

The next dress she wore the next day was still blue, like the previous ones, but the headband that held her hair back was green. And that day she told Jace that she would rather go with Helaena to sew. It was a lie, and during the long hours of sewing, Gaella thought constantly of how much she missed Jace. Then she heard her mother's voice, and it all made sense again. Days passed, and Jace kept calling her, but she gave him little more than a smile. The prince made the most of the little time he allowed her, accompanying her wherever she went before he strayed, telling her a summary of the things that had happened in her absence. Lessons with him were still fun, but Jace became aware of Gaella's newfound ignorance of him. He said a secret farewell to the Prince as they left for Dragonstone. She wore no green anywhere and gave him a big hug in secret. She wept silently for days, only Helaena could see her.

By the time they were reunited at Driftmark, Jace's absence had become routine, and she bonded with Aemond. Still, he never wanted to go out beyond the library and would get angry when Gaella insisted on mischief. When she saw him at Laena's funeral, she was immediately happy. He looked sad, and the news of Ser Harwin's death had reached all the lords. And she went to comfort him when she found him holding hands with Baela Targaryen.It was silly, but the pain in her chest was so great that Gaella turned away, trying not to cry. Remembering the one time they had hold hands like that, she recognized the affection and curiosity in the grip between Baela and Jace.

Aemond was eyeing Vhagar, not paying attention to anything else, so when he told his sister he was going to claim her, she couldn't stop him, he was determined. Then the worst happened. Holding Aemond's hand as his eyelid was sewn shut, Rhaenyra deflected attention to the fact that someone had told the truth, that Jace and Luke were bastards. That night, she could see everything her mother explained to her and how lonely they could be. The next day, Jace tried to win a hug from Gaella, but Gaella, dressed head to toe in green, turned her back on him, without a word.

Six years passed, and Jace had sent a few messages that Gaella refused to answer. Every day, more and more locked up in her castle, more and more still, for the walks took her back to those precious evenings with her friend Jace. The only words she began to hear were those of Alicent and Aemond, Helaena's sadness when they sewed, Otto's speeches, and the unpleasantness of Aegon's presence, made an impression on Gaella. Rightly so, she was deeply saddened, but she was at ease with the routine and felt tremendously annoyed when they arrived back at court. Of course, it was Rhaenyra's first accusation of her children's origins, and it would not be a pleasant visit.

She could see him when she looked out the window. How much he had changed...Gaella never imagined that Jace could have been so handsome and that indeed, with his Strong features, his mother's genes made him look like a true prince. He could see her then, and Jace didn't know what to do, for he had long since given up on their friendship, yet there she was, peering out, dressed in green and not daring to approach. He could see her slip back inside within seconds of connecting glances.

Over the years, Jace could get a sense of what had happened, and his mother had never told him otherwise. And he would not be ashamed to be the son of a man as brave as Harwin, but he had a right to his throne because he was ready for it. Still, it couldn't stop him from dreaming at night of winning back Gaella's smile. And he could not help but feel anger when he thought that she had already chosen sides in such a cowardly way. Now he saw her and did not know if he really recognised her in all that harshness. He searched the castle slyly for her, with Lucerys at his side. It was in the night time, prowling the gardens, that he could see her enjoying the cool wind.

"The castle has changed so much since I was here," Jace told her. The girl only gave him a sidelong glance.

"You've changed a lot too," she replied dryly.

"No, not really." He looked down at her green dress and the lack of smile on her face. "You have changed, even if you still have the same face as when you were little."

"You can not talk about what I am like when we haven't spoken for six years."

"It's not because I haven't tried to avoid it." Jace bristled, but she only stood up straighter in her place. "I've written to you and you never answered."

"I didn't say I disliked the lack of contact. I know very well what I have and haven't done over the years. And I'd like to keep things the same."

As Gaella turned to leave, Jace stepped in front of her, blocking her path and forcing her to look him in the eye.

"Do you really think I don't have a say about you? We were friends, thick as thieves." Jace was trying to recognize something in her face to keep faith.

"We were children together, but we've grown apart."

"We haven't grown that far apart, Gaella. Tell me, do you still enjoy stories about Nymeria? Do you still drink orange juice with honey biscuits in the evenings?" Jace watched as his friend's sparkle returned to her eyes for a moment. "You're certainly still sitting on the yellow rose bench in the garden. That hasn't changed."

Gaella did not know what to say. She shook her head and looked at the Prince before her. His broad shoulders and brown eyes looked at her with an affection she needed, genuine affection, not the familiar kind.

"You don't understand, Jacaerys. You cling too tightly to something that existed for too short a time. We can no longer be children, and we can no longer pretend that all will be well. Tomorrow you will be robbed of an inheritance you clearly do not deserve. So I'm not going to lie to you. I don't want to... I don't want to lie to you."

And with that, Gaella tried to walk away, leaving Jace behind, whose last words she heard echoing in the garden, leaving her heartbroken for the entire night.

"I've never pretended, Gaella. I've never had to do it with you."

~

The next day, Gaella's gaze didn't travel far from Jace. She couldn't help it, though he was good at it, only glancing back at her from time to time, not getting flustered, knowing that Gaella was caught between her brothers. But he would not let her have the satisfaction of knowing how much he cared for her. He'd already tried, and he'd already wasted his time. Besides, now he had to worry about Luke and about honouring his future wife, Baela. When the call ended bloodily, the night came slowly and stormily. A forced dinner, to please the old king.

Jace was talking to Baela, of whom he was somewhat fond, when Gaella came through the door. In a green dress, of course, but so beautiful that Jace lost the thread of his conversation. Her curves stood out, reminding him that indeed, much time had passed and she had begun to become a woman. A woman who gave Jace a rather dirty look, not really understanding why. Gaella almost left when she walked in and saw them together again. A beauty like Baela who made Jace smile and who would spend the dinner by his side. She instead sat next to her brother Aemond, who was silent and disgusted by the happy ending of the boy who snatched his eye. When their mothers apologised to each other, Jace pointed his glass discreetly at Gaella and immediately wanted to cry. He still didn't understand. Life was never that fair. And every time he and Baela smiled at each other, Gaella felt like throwing herself between them. As her mother had told her, Jace had only wanted to use her, and now that she would not be his wife, his attention was elsewhere. And when he asked Helaena to dance, she could see him glancing sideways at her, as if he felt the same pity for her as he did for Helaena. And as it now costum with the family, the scene ended violently.

Gaella walked to her sister's room to help her put her children to sleep, as always. She had put on her blue sleep dress with woven clouds. When Jace couldn't sleep, his shoulder sore from the fall he walked across the hall, where he recognized her voice. Gaella was telling stories with the passion that had entranced him as a child. And he waited for her to finish, enjoying the scent of his old friend. Little did she know that he was there, listening and smiling.

"You should go to bed. They'll put you on the ship early tomorrow," Gaella told him when she found him half asleep outside the room.

"Your voice has put me to sleep. As I suppose it has put the children to sleep."

Gaella tried to suppress a smile. She blushed as Jace ran his eyes down her dress.

"And now it's my bedtime," she informed him, still in her seat. Jace just smiled.

"Goodnight then."

She didn't move, she couldn't because he wasn't moving. She watched as he clutched his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?"

"Quite a lot. But I just need to move it a bit...forget that the bump is there." He moved his shoulder slowly, and his face couldn't hide the pain.

"That's not how you fix things. I think you learned that lesson today."

Jace just sighed, watching her face, the one he had missed so much.

"I should have asked you to dance too. You're a better dancer than Helaena."

"That's a lie... I was always stepping on your feet."

Jace laughed.

"True, true... but I liked you better. I liked dancing with you because I had an excuse to touch your hands." He could see Gaella remember and smiled slightly. He didn't know that Gaella felt electricity when they had danced as children." I see you, Gaella. And I'm more than willing to help you get out of here, where they have you trapped in green and sat with a man who barely speaks a word to you. Sometimes I see you so clearly... I know you are in there, beneath all that."

She stared at him, her eyes glowing with unwanted tears about to fall. And then Gaella shook her head, returning to his dark gaze.

"You should have asked your future wife to dance."

Jace watched again as her curly white hair moved as she turned her back on him once more, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. The pain in his shoulder returned to Jace immediately.

[lyon-77]

Hiii, first of all I love all your posts about Erlang, since the game came out I've taken a huge interest in him and I love to read your posts, they are extremely interesting and helpful as someone who loves to learn new things! So thanks a lot for that <3

Anyway I wanted to ask, is there any record of Erlang having a wife or something like that? I've read somewhere before that he was supposedly betrothed to a dragon princess?? (Something like that I don't really remember when or where I read it) And also, in the movie "New Gods: Yang Jian" when Yang Jian is at the casino ambushed by the three monkeys, the little monkey mentioned something like he had abandoned his wife or something similar to that? (I might be wrong here since the site where I watched the movie didn't have the best subtitles available, only good enough to understand the plot).

So I was wondering if you know something about that perhaps? (Btw I'm sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language <3)

Thank you! I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my ramblings 😊

To answer your question, no, Erlang Shen does not have a wife or a partner in Chinese mythology. The only source linking him with a dragon princess is The Lotus Lantern TV series, which is more or less a fantasy romcom. Personally, I always feel that assigning every deity a love story is unnecessary and out of character. In New Gods: Yang Jian, the monkeys were referencing the rumor that Erlang Shen abandoned his sister beneath Mount Hua 12 years ago. Erlang didn’t bother explaining himself to them, perhaps because he didn't care about being misunderstood by those who didn’t matter to him. It might also reflect Erlang's self-imposed exile, driven by the guilt over his inability to save his sister when she chose to sacrifice herself for the mortal world.

If we were to make up a partner for Erlang, the dragon princess would still be a poor choice. Erlang Shen’s lore is closely associated with the flood myth, water taming, and, by extension, dragon slaying or subduing. On that note, there’s actually a tale in which Erlang Shen disguises himself as a beautiful woman betrothed to an evil dragon prince. He kills the dragon prince at their wedding banquet, saving the nearby villages from recurring floods.

One unexpected yet fitting adaptation appears in The Legend of Nezha, where a romantic subplot is added between Yang Jian and the mountain spirit (山鬼), a mythological figure tied to a legendary mountain near Sichuan. Following the plot of The Investiture of the Gods, the series concludes with Yang Jian declining the offer to serve in the new court and returning to the mountains, where he and the mountain spirit transform into birds and disappear into the woods. From a characterization standpoint, it is in character for Erlang Shen to step away from power hierarchies and be drawn instead to the untamed world.

Ultimately, Erlang Shen is never depicted with a partner in canonical lore. This might be because he is already a powerful figure with extensive stories of his own, making the addition of a complementary character unnecessary for enriching his narrative. He’s also canonically a young adult, with an apparent age ranging from 16 to 26. This places him forever at the cusp of adulthood—old enough to possess strength and independence, yet unbound by familial or societal responsibilities. It’s a phase of life defined by exploration and self-discovery, free from the constraints of a prescribed role in the worldly system.

I think there's a collective desire among humans to envision certain deities, like Erlang Shen, as unbound young adults, for they embody the idealized traits we often associate with youth—carefree, open-minded, daring, idealistic, hopeful, and full of aspiration. Please indulge me as I end with excerpts from The Song for the Divine Lord (《神君歌》) by Lu You (陆游，1174 C.E.), a tribute poem for Erlang Shen that captures this sentiment:

Great Mount Tai could serve as a whetstone, The Eastern Sea could turn to dust over time. Only the brave one's unyielding will Strives forth through life and death. 泰山可为砺 东海可扬尘 惟有壮士志 死生要一伸 I dream of the Divine Lord descending from the celestial realm, So majestic, too sublime to fully capture. Flying loongs pull his chariot, with no steeds needed. Ghosts and spirits attend him, before and behind his stride. 我梦神君自天下 威仪奕奕难具陈 飞龙驾车不用马 诃前殿后皆鬼神 ... The mortal world is constrained, steeped in sorrow and pain, Yet the Divine Lord rejoices across endless springs. O to live uncrowned and die unhonored—what of it? True ones must not bear their aspirations in silence! 世间局促常悲辛 神君欢乐千万春 呜呼生不封侯死庙食 丈夫岂得抱志长默默

Of note, this poem was written at a temple honoring men who died defending against the Jin invasion. The sorrow and pain in Lu You’s verse reflect the turmoil of his era, marked by war and loss. His resilience and lifelong aspiration to reclaim lost lands draw from the idealism embodied by Erlang Shen.

[velidewrites]

Feysand drabble prompt: Rhys gets hurt, Feyre gets a "Who did this to you?" moment

I Belong To No One But You

When the High Lady of the Night Court finds her guest — a stolen groom from Spring — badly injured, she does not hesitate to exact her revenge.

Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Somewhat graphic depictions of injury

When she returned to the Moonstone Palace, the entire structure reeked of blood.

His blood, she quickly realised, her nostrils flaring—half in alarm, half in anger, already building up in the pit of her stomach. Her long, arched ears perked up, listening out for any signs of struggle. What had he gotten himself into this time? An accident, no doubt, since no one would dare to climb all the way up to the property—her property—especially with the impenetrable wards she’d put up.

Right?

Just to be sure, she would check. He didn’t like her—of that, she was more than certain. She had scented it Under the Mountain, and she’d scented it when she’d ripped him free from Spring. An intense hatred, mixed with terror that made her gut twist back then—until she’d realised it was not her that he feared, but another. Someone she would deal with later.

Unless, of course, it was Tamlin who’d decided to break into her lands, wrapped up in his beast-like fury after she’d taken the human from him. No longer human, she mentally corrected herself. Made.

But Tamlin wouldn’t dare. He was livid, yes, but not stupid. He would sit out the rest of the week in his manor like a patient little pet until she returned his betrothed to him. The fact that she had to return him at all made her stomach clench.

But such was their bargain—one week in the Night Court, one week with her, forever. Truthfully, forever was not enough—would never be enough, not when it meant most of it would belong to another.

That her mate belonged to another.

Rhysand didn’t know. Being Made Under the Mountain had not immediately sharpened his Fae instincts, it seemed. She could tell it that day, the day they’d separated on the balcony under the stars, that he had not felt what she had—a snap of the universe, or perhaps just the two of their souls, as they stood opposite each other with nothing but a golden, gleaming bridge between them.

She’d almost crossed it that day, consequences be damned. The need for him, the need to claim him, had overridden her senses entirely—as though nothing else had existed in that moment but them, but that bridge, tempting her with its eternal light. 

That was the truth, painful but unchanging—Rhysand was her mate. And he did not belong to her—he probably never would—but that didn’t mean Feyre could not belong to him.

It was why she couldn’t simply ignore the tangy scent of his blood, weighing on her tongue. It would have been so easy to just stride past his chambers and move towards her own, wishing their rooms stood closer to each other so that she could at least feel his beating heart and know he was okay. It would have been easy, and at the same time, it would have been the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

But mate was hurt, his blood the very evidence of his pain, and so she had to see for herself.

The sound of her heart thundering in her chest accompanied her right to the large, ornate doors of polished wood, carved into the moonstone walls. She made herself count to three, then to ten, then finally to fifteen after deciding none of it helped ease her nerves one bit. Why was she nervous? He didn’t know what he was to her, what she was to him. Even if he did, she doubted it would mean anything to him. The thought made her heart pick up its pace even more viciously, as if the very idea thrust it into panic.

Was she supposed to knock, or simply barge in as if she owned the place? Well, she supposed she did—but she liked to think of his quarters here as his own, indulging in the—perhaps delusional—thought that he shared this home with her. Maybe she could call out his name and wait for him to invite her in—but it was too dangerous a tactic, for it would involve having to taste his name as it fell from her lips again. The first time she’d said it—quietly, the sound barely above a breath in the depths of the corridors Under the Mountain—she’d nearly sank to her knees. Rhysand. He tasted like the warmth of a midnight breeze, of the ocean ruffled by its gentle touch. He would fit right in here, Feyre realised, then quickly shut off her imagination before it ran wild with the idea. He would never stay here with her—would never choose such a fate after everything she’d done.

“I can hear you standing outside,” came his voice, still rich and silky even muffled through the walls.

Feyre stopped breathing entirely.

“Are you ever going to come in?” he asked.

No, she wanted to tell him. I can’t be sure of myself when I’m with you. She would do something stupid—like tell him what he was to her. What they were to each other. And then, she would get her heart shattered, irreparably broken so that she wouldn’t even be able to pick up the pieces in her solitude.

Instead, she placed a shaky hand on the handle and opened the door.

The scent of it hit her first—harder now that she was inside. Rhysand was injured, and badly, the crimson liquid sapping through his dark jacket and dripping onto the stone floor in a slow, nearly silent pace. A cut slashed down from his rib—as though whoever had cut him had been aiming to slice his navel, but he’d turned just in time to avoid the impact.

It wasn’t an accident.

Feyre’s tattooed fists tightened at her sides, nails digging into her skin as if to keep her limbs from shaking. It worked, her body freezing into place instead—a lethal kind of stillness she’d only launched into when even in the darkest of nights, her vision was flashing white.

Someone attacked him.

Someone had attacked her mate.

“Who,” she managed to say, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth buried into the inside of her cheek. “Who dared?”

Rhysand’s eyes widened. “How…”

“Who,” she repeated, the words no more now than a snarl. Her magic whirled around her, dark and all-consuming, readying to take her wherever she commanded, to help her exact her vengeance. She only needed the name.

“Feyre,” Rhysand breathed, and Cauldron damn her, hearing her own name on his lips only spurred that primal part inside her that wanted to right all the wrongs they’d done to him.

Her left fist eased, letting her raging blood flow through her once again, and she stepped closed toward him, raising a hand.

Rhysand started, “What are you…”

The question died on his tongue as a shadow curled around her open palm and reached out to him, brushing against his open wound. Violet eyes watched in amazement as the flesh contracted, binding itself back together painlessly with her magic, not a gleam of fear in them—not even for a second. Something deep in her chest purred at that, a sense of self-satisfaction and pride that was so entirely Fae she wanted to let go of her simmering rage only to reach out and touch him again.

But then his eyes flickered back to hers, and she knew he saw it—saw that she would not rest until he gave her what she wanted. Until he let her belong to him, even if he couldn’t belong to her.

“Keir,” he whispered, his palm covering the wound and meeting only smooth, golden-brown skin.

Feyre let her gaze trace the movement for only a moment before she winnowed away.

[black-queen-rising]

I love my sister more than anything in this life, I would choose her happiness over mine every time

14 Years Ago...

There was a fine line between anger and rage for Rhaenyra Targaryen, she was infamous in her ability to slip from one into the other in the span of a single heartbeat, but that day she had already crossed it halfway through the flight over the Blackwater Bay that separated Dragonstone from King’s Landing. The Crown Princess had been invited to a betrothal ball, a formality laced with the sentiment that she need not come, and was now returning to her childhood home for the first time in several moons—forced to leave all three of her young sons and her husband of only half a year, Prince Daemon, behind on their home—with the singular purpose of ensuring the union this ball was being held to celebrate did not occur for another three years at minimum.

Rhaenyra entered the castle in a whirlwind of jewels and finery, as her every attendance of court during her family’s remandment to Dragonstone was to be nothing less than unforgettable in those years; lest anyone try to fool themselves as to who steadfastly remained the King’s heir. Her presence greeted with the half adoration and half ire it always elicited from her father’s court for as long as she could recall. The weight of the matter even tied Rhaenyra through biding both her tongue and time during court proceedings, a small council meeting, and a performatively polite family dinner. Once it was late, however, when night had fully come, and her father finally summoned her to discuss her arrival privately, she wasted no time in initiating her plan of attack while his guard was low. After their expected pleasantries and updates were exchanged, the twenty-three-year old, newly widowed, even more newly wed, Crown Princess decided bluntly.

"You know, I cannot decide if I am more disappointed in you for such an insult to my mother's memory or ashamed of myself for believing in the fantasy you still considered it at all." "You dare to accuse me of such--" "Five dead babes. Wedded and bedded at three and ten, to give you five dead babes, and me, that is Queen Aemma's memory; made to produce your heirs so young, and for so long, that it killed her. I truly believed you mourned that, regretted it, even, only to come to learn by raven that you wish the same fate on my sweet sister, on your own daughter."

Viserys was quiet for so long that Rhaenyra began to fear this time she had finally, truly overstepped. She knew, however, that if this was the line, Helaena was entirely worth it, her youth, her fertility, her life was worth even more. "I have found...few reasons to deny the Queen anything as of late," Her father sighed, it was equal parts a confession and an accusation; this is my position, this is the position you have put me in.

She scoffed, why am I not surprised? and nearly responded with the thought on instinct, but instead rebuked, "You may punish me, reduce my position in your court, jeopardize my sons' futures, all to appease your wife, to provide recompense for a four year old's accident. Perhaps I even deserve it, and even if not, a quieter kind of peace within your court is worth whatever damage it does to the future you still claim to wish will come where I am Queen. But you will not punish your daughter, my sister, a maid, a child, by acquiescing to such an inane request as to wed a Princess of the Realm, while our family is far from wanting in spares, at the age of three and ten."

The King put his head in his hands for another long moment before looking back at Rhaenyra in genuine surprise, "You fear for her life?"

All she could do was sneer at him, "You look at me as if I ordered your son's eye cut out myself."

"Your concern is admirable, and understandable, especially after all that has happened over the last year," His tone has all at once turned gentle, but with a condescending edge better suited to calm a wailing toddler, "But all the same, the idea that what happened to your mother was anything more than a tragedy of circumstance, that her age had the least bit to do with it...you're allowing your fears to be dictated by nothing more than pure speculation by those whose very job it is to speculate on what we do not, and cannot, know."

Her father's attempts at comfort had only angered her further, however, causing her to spit back, "So you wish to bet Helaena's life against my mother's mother, and your mother, and my mother, and all of them succumbing to the birthing bed before they even had a chance to watch their babes grow up?"

"But look at yourself, Rhaenyra, and your boys, you have--"

"I have been lucky!" She finally shouts, her rage pushing her back to her feet to glower over Viserys, "I have nothing to thank except luck and time! And you cannot give Helaena my luck anymore than myself or your Queen, but you can give her time. Allow her to wait until she comes of age, as you did me, as is the least any girl whose family is secure deserves. Allow Aegon the same, allow him at minimum what our "Good Queen" allowed your brother before selling him off out of spite. And perhaps luck will hold, and my sister will find a better fate than my mother, and your son won't be put through all the same pain as your brother."

"Your husband," The King shot back.

Rhaenyra simply smiled, "Yes."

The silence that followed was the longest yet, but this time she did not allow herself to indulge in fear nor anxiety, standing with her hands leaned on her father's desk, daring him to provide a reason why her sister's life was not worth three short years. "I ought to make you my Hand for this."

"Is that so?" She laughed wryly, "I heard you've still refused to name one, tell me, does your indecision extend to everyone except your children, or only to matters that you anticipate will anger others when you finally have to make a choice."

Viserys laughed too then, though his seemed genuinely amused, "And that, my dear, is precisely why. Few else in The Realm could criticize me as you have since you could speak, and unlike the rest, you come to me with solutions. The Lords would never accept you in the role so young, with this marriage so fresh in everyone's minds, so," His voice turned to the business-like formality it always had when he was finally forced to make a decision, "In three years Aegon and Helaena will wed, and once they have, you may become my Hand, Grandmaester Munkun can shoulder the role until then. A deal to benefit our whole family, a remedy to the sacrifices you and Queen Alicent have had to bear."

The King left the room only a few minutes later, satisfied, and set in his decision after Rhaenyra's gracious conclusion and masterful ego stroking. As she stood to leave as well, she knelt sharply by a grate in the wall, behind which was a secret passage the Crown Princess and her Consort both knew of, but the King did not. A pair of large, purple eyes framed by messy silver hair blinked back at her in astonishment, and she simply smiled once more, "Never let there be any doubt that even when it seems I do not like you all, I will always love you, we're blood, remember that this is what that means. Now get back to bed, protecting you from our father is work enough, I don't need you setting off your mother's temper anymore than I already have."

There was a sound that could easily be mistaken for rats scurrying in the walls as the passage behind the grate was vacated. Then Rhaenyra walked off to bed herself, pleased with her accomplishments and ecstatic in her power.

[siderealxmelody]

Rhaegar & Dragon-Fae History (Aka Erinyes)

The Archfae hailed from a archipelago shrouded in mist. Their three islands called the Isle of Jewels.

Court of Sapphire - the scholar/library section, it held all the knowledge of their kind.

Court of Emerald - was the religious island, it was manned by their priestesses. They manned the defenses, kept the mist and the Everflame burning.

Court of Ruby - this was the general area their court held. Many Eyrines were nomadic, only the imperial family and nurseries lived full time on the island.

2,000 years ago as the Asteri/Daglan expanded from their realm they found the Erinyes. The High Priestess of the time Achlys was swayed from her mission with promises of power by the commander of the Asteri. He taught her the magic of the gods and with her conquered the lands.

The imperial family fled, taking the children they could. Others fled on hearing the news, those who didn't were trapped, unable to leave as Achlys and her now mate Korok (the Asteri General) bound their magic and bloodlines to her cause.

The imperial family went to the other fae courts, bending the knee to Moon Court in exchange for protection and power.

Rhaegar was 8 when they'd fled, his little sister Alina was 4. But it was her's right that had been denied - The Isle of Jewels always passed to the eldest female of blood.

But here, among these Valg who had mated into Night it was males that were viewed as rightful. So Rhaegar's father made what alliances he could. He taught the females selected to protect his daughter the way their females fought.

This honor guard was called Valkyries for bringing vengeance and retribution for anyone who dared to touch Alina. Calaena, Enva, Penelope and Sotoria - daughters of Spring, Summer, Winter and Autumn.

It was understood when Alina took the court back she'd share the wealth.

But then Sotoria was forcibly married to another. Her brothers were locked away from trying to save her. Rhaegar watched for years as she languished in the Valg Court of Stars. As she refused again and again for his armies, her sister's rescue.

Why was she denying the truth? Would she become a shell of herself like Calaena had been when her Sam had died in her arms? Would he watch as the world took Sotoria from him just as he was beginning to understand his feelings for her?

The answer was yes.

The death shattered what little restraint the fae had. But it wasn't an effort coordinated against the Asteri in the Isle of Jewels. Rhaegar could only fight, watch as the Asteri tore at each other down. Korok taking this weakness to try to take the Asteri High Throne.

But he was more focused on the fact that Calaena's Sam was alive - that he had never died. That he had seemingly taken whatever he wanted and left back to his Asteri palace.

This would not stand.

Winning a war wasn't enough, not when he already knew this hollowness would stop. He couldn't rule like this, he couldn't be an effective beacon for his people.

But Alina could.

She'd been groomed for a kingdom, why not this one? Why not bend the knee to her? Their allies were strong - the warlords would bend to her or he'd cut their heads.

She had a mate now, she had the potential to have a family now - why keep her in the background when she could light their way?

So Rhaegar stepped back, becoming her Lord Protector. Korok was dead, but Achlys hold on their old home was resolute. It would be a death sentence to go there - to push for a war they'd loose.

Their people were here, their people needed them here.

Sotoria would want him to do good - so he would. It was perhaps the only way he knew how to atone for things he'd done in that war.

And soon their home was filled with the laughter of children again. Their mother had given them little sisters, little Freah and Larrah. It focused him, they grounded him.

But tragedy seemed to follow them. Larrah had left to meet her betrothed, a up and coming warrior called Devlon. Rhaegar had liked him, disciplined, unflinchingly brave - still able to feel judging how tongue tied he'd get whenever Larrah was around. It had been sweet to watch, and he'd made sure his sisters were allowed to choose their partners. He would not let them be forced into any unions they deemed unworthy of them.

But all his work, all his precautions didn't stop Larrah's death. Another war, this time smelled of Achlys involvement.

They'd taken what magic they could and with the help of Moon and Autumn built their Wyrdstone high on the mountain peak. The monolith would need a sacrifice of blood annually (of course it did - did Valg make anything without the need for blood?).

Rhaegar organized the Blood Rite, a way to show a warrior's prowess - of course Devlon volunteered. He half wondered if the boy had a death wish. If he'd take the opportunity to impale himself on a tree root. But he survived - becoming a Warlord.

Rhaegar kept an eye on him, not wanting the boy to up and die now. The last tether he had to Larrah now that Freah had left for the Sun Court.

This was how things stood, he tried to keep his relevance as the years past. As the names and faces began to blur. And Freah had more and more children to try to chase away the hollow ache where her twin's life should have been.

Till the letter arrived from the Isle of Jewels. Achlys was dead. But the letter made little mention of her. Only of the growing revolt against the half-breed rebel leader who had killed her.

Rhaegar didn't much care why or how. But the signer of the letter caught his eye. Creon, Achlys nephew. The heir most would have assumed to her throne.

He requested aid, requested to right the wrongs of his blood. To give the throne to Rhaegar's sister or whoever the magic would choose. For now it hadn't chosen anyone - he urged them to hurry. That this rebel leader was unstable, volatile and poised to become another Achlys.

Rhaegar:

Court of Sapphire also called - Sophos, Cobalt Court

Court of Emerald - Ceruile, Golden Court

Court of Ruby - Lumnos, Crimson Court

Inspo from: ACOTAR, FW, Everflame series, Court of Blood and Bindings Series

I hope this makes sense!! The stuff cAn always change I just wanted to give everyone a rough idea of timeline and what I had in mind!!

@sankta-alina-s - BELLA LOOK!!

@luxmaeastra

@starlsssankt

[howyouloveyourdragon]

tldr; EXCUSE ME MISS MA'AM. WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO WRITE THIS WELL.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

i--

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her.

PFFFFFFFFF babe sweetheart schnookums fr? cause me personally? i would not let that slide

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

reader's life is always threatened and i fucking love that personally

give me the tea

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

YOU C U N T

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

actual arsehole

MINA ISTFG I WILL GUT HIM RN

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead.

okay i mean...at least there's that ig

Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

i will gut you right here and now

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out. ‘You will do exactly as demanded.’ ‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

THAT'S RIGHT BABE

TELL 'EM

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

okay but jace :(

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

mina this is mean :( i want to hug her

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months.

slay

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

i can already feel how heartwrenching this is gonna be when she has to sleep next to aemond

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in. ‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

oh wait

but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn.

what an arsehole let me hit him

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

MINIKA. MINEAPOLLIS. MINA. WHAT THE HECK. HOW DARE YOU GET ME IN A STATE LIKE THIS RN

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

stfu

whilst grabbing a deep green garment

that is so unbelievably fucked up

“The red one with black lacings.”

HAH YES BITCH YES

A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

it's funny, aemond. laugh.

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

why am i into this?

“Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.”

and im back to hating him again 👍

With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

YES

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

and jace had ten times the size of your di--

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

...okay now im scared for her

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

the thing that i love most about her is that she's so smart in the ways she goes about it

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

what makes me feel ill is that he isn't doing this for her, he's doing it because he's a jealous possessive cunt

MISS MA'AM. MISS MA'AM. THIS ISN'T FAIR YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME.

Hi, love your works so much! Can't wait for more updates 🥰🥰 I was wondering maybe you'd like the idea where book!Aemond and Velarion!(Strong?)Reader are in an arranged marriage. But Reader just knows what to say and how to act so that Aemond is wrapped around her finger (kinda thought of Margaery and Joffrey situation, she was such a talented schemer, worthy of winning the Throne 😭). I don't really know about the setting, like if it's before, during or after the Dance... just thought it'd be interesting to see this kind of plot with our beloved Prince 🤴🏼🐉

If you don't like it, just ignore me 🙈

Dragon Sickness (18+)

Pairing: bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader

Warnings: No usage of (Y/N), Greens win AU, bookcanon Greens, the obvious Targaryen incest, mentions of major character deaths (we're entering spoiler grounds, but not really), blood, gore etc.

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: I fell in love with this idea the moment I saw it! I ended up altering the plot line for this one-shot a little bit - the reader will definitely grow into the Margaery architype, but today you shall see her as she was when she just learned how to make ends meet with her newfound life at Court.

I don't know if I should turn this into yet another series, but if you guys enjoyed this, let me know

Also, thank you so, so much for your kind words ♡ i'm hugging you to the moon and back!

Who could ever blame you for your indiscreet acts? Alliances change when the world you know suddenly turns upside down.

She remembered how weak she was. How scared she had been.

How her eyes widened into two brown specs of uncertainty, how her mouth fell agape, as she mulled over Alicent’s words.

‘You shall marry Aemond within the next moon turns. For the good of the Realm.’

The Dowager Queen had openly admitted to being against the match – of course, the prospect of her perfect son, married off to a lowly bastard of Rhaenyra's (otherwise said, her last surviving child), didn’t specifically thrill her. Much less her demanding and scornful father.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. And if the Velaryon wanted to keep her head away from a spike, she had no other choice but to comply.

Although… she wasn’t a Velaryon now, was she? Aegon the Usurper made sure of that.

His final gift to her was to strip her of all her titles. She had been openly declared a bastard – before the masses, before the Court.

With a wide smile upon his burnt lips, the “King” had told her she’d be a Targaryen instead. Driftmark wouldn’t matter, her legacy wouldn’t matter. Aemond would inherit the seat with the Usurper’s blessing, as a homage brought to his able fighting and his shown bravery on the bloody battlefield.

Never mind that he’d never partaken in a fight; save for the one that killed her stepfather, Daemon, and sent her poor mother in a downward spiral. Aemond had chosen his adversaries wisely, and managed to go through the whole war without as much of a scratch upon his silver armour.

‘I shan’t marry your son. Not now, not ever.’ Her own voice rang out.

‘You will do exactly as demanded.’

‘I would rather die than bear the treacherous children of that monstrous beast.’

A monstrous beast. That is what Aemond was.

And that is what he shall remain. No matter how many gifts he brought to her. No matter how many hours of their days and days in their weeks and weeks in their months they spent promenading those ghastly gardens.

‘You will if you know your best interests. Your own head may hold no value to you, but a single swing of my son’s sword would be enough to bring forth the ruin of House Blackwood.’

At first, she’d been restless in her attempts to escape the Keep. Her every waking hour was spent shamelessly inside the Sept, where she prayed not for the safety of her brothers’ souls, but for revenge against the mutted Greens.

The slight breeze of the cathedral mended her flesh from the heat of summer. And no one dared to approach or talk to her. The quietness was a welcomed deed.

During the first night of their betrothal, her glossy eyes scanned Aemond’s face. His hands wantonly gripped at his thighs and a slight twitch of his mouth, accompanied by an elongated hum escaped his lips.

There was no other discernable expression. And when he led her to the chambers of her early girlhood, he merely bowed and kissed her hand.

She spent the first night of their betrothal scraping her knuckles so harshly, that they broke and cracked under the stimulation of the cold water.

Her thirst for vengeance ceased after the first two months. Her wedding date was approaching swiftly, and she found herself faced with the abhorrent truth. She had no allies. No more friends at Court. The girl had shut herself in her tiny room, losing her mind with the pain and grief that flooded her at night: the faces of her mother, her brothers, her father. The sound of their screams and their endless pleas for help.

Every night, without a fail, she woke up tormented by nightmares – her throat burning with absolving shrieks of fear, exacerbated breaths of air and flimsy nightdresses, damp throughout by breaks of sweat.

The first night she lashed out onto her bedding was the night she found out Aemond had moved his Quarters next to hers. He yanked the door open and stepped into the light of her candle – looking ravished, completely out of breath and startled. Started not for his own accord and safety, but for the state that his future wife had been in.

‘Shit, it’s alright, I’m here–’

The echo of his mellow voice deterred her to let out a blood-curdling scream, that would have rivalled even the one of the late Queen Rhaenyra, after Aegon the Usurper ceased her at Dragonstone, and reeled his dragon to eat her whole.

‘Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck out of my room!’

Her sobs pierced into the man’s heart, but his hurt expression was masked quickly with one most bitter and taciturn. He clenched his fists ruefully by his side, and spat out an apology in a low and dangerous tone.

‘As you wish.’

And how dearly he loved those words:

‘As you wish.’

'As you desire.’

Even though nothing had been, or ever will be, as she achingly wished them to.

“You could at least attempt to look happy.” His chastising tone rained upon her, as his Lady remained hammered in her seat. Maids flocked to her like lost chickens to their cock, arranging her hair and picking out dresses fit for their engagement parade.

Her face contorted into the mirror, and a faint sigh beleft her lips. Carefully she turned around, reflecting his stance with a subtle arch to her shapely brow.

“It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding ceremony.”

“An old wives' tale. And one that applies only on the day itself.”

“Perhaps we should encourage tradition more. Make it so we don’t cross paths at all til then.”

Just as fast as it came, the feral look dissolved over his tired face. Aemond heaved out a heavy exhale and merely settled to growl at her maids.

“Leave us. Now.”

A discontented look painted over her fair features. His niece opened her mouth in protest, to try and stop the fleeing girls from truly making their escape.

“I must remind my Prince that the engagement assembly will be held in less than an hour. I believe I should like them to stay.”

The gathered women exchanged lost and protruding glances, until the former King Regent spoke again.

“They will leave us at once.”

“They’ll do no such a thing. They must make haste to get me ready. We wouldn’t want to upset your mother.”

“I’m more than capable of lacing up a loose bodice.”

The tight expression on her face deserted her features with the leave of his smug retort. She swallowed thickly in enraged abandon, and silently beseeched her ladies not to leave her all alone.

Still ravishing her with his bold stare, Aemond stepped another foot into the cosy confinements of her tidy prison. “If I’m to turn around now and find any of you standing before me, I’ll arrange that you’re all flogged and defiled beyond the utter of salvation.”

Brisk footsteps swallowed the room, echoing wildly through the narrow dark hallways. The former Velaryon shook her head in disarray, and graced her soon-to-be-husband with a tight smile and a nod.

“Congratulations.” She uttered humorously, “I should enjoy looking like a fool tonight much more than being proper by your side.”

As if drowned below a trace, Aemond took another step in the direction of the frowning Princess. His face remained impenetrable, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice ran meek, unsure and hoarse.

“Turn around.” He commanded her gently, whilst grabbing a deep green garment from the cluttery made on her bed. Despite her lack of desire to abide by his request, the woman turned her back to him and muttered slowly, though much softer than intended.

“I don’t like that one. It’ll make the skirts look out of place.”

“Which one do you want, then?” His whisper had made her draw in a sharp gasp; the warmth of his breath fell soothingly over the nape of her neck, caressing her delicate skin in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

“The red one with black lacings.”

His hand came to spin her back around, and their noses nearly touched together. A smile tugged at the ends of his upturned lips, but the look inside his eye remained frigid and unforgiving.

“Your petticoat won’t be those colours.”

A conceited scowl graced her face. She reached her hand behind him and skillfully snatched one of a different design. “Fine. I want to wear this one, then.”

The obnoxious blue and silver danced across her paling skin. And if Aemond weren’t so dazed by their proximity and lack of air, he might have laughed at her feeble attempts of vexing him.

“Those are Velaryon hues.”

“Perfect. I shall honour my house well.”

“You are not a Velaryon to grace them with such a feat.”

“No, you are absolutely right. Your brother did name me a Targaryen.”

Their faces were so close to each other, that their moving lips were almost touching.

“Yet I can’t wear black and red either.” A prompted look disarmed the Prince, “It is all very confusing.”

His lone orb descended to her puffing bosom, but Aemond soon directed himself upon a more elusive image. His fingers twitched with the need to grab a hold of her – to pull away those last pieces of cloth that shielded her away from view.

“You know full well why I can’t allow that.” He hummed in unmoving disapproval, “As much as I enjoy your voice and the raptures of your closeness, I must say this conversation bores me.”

“I should be able to wear what I want.” Came her prompt and swift reply, “But of course, Your Grace, forgive me. ‘Tis not for men to pounder on laces and brims.” Her palms took to rest upon his bulging chest, and the girl nearly removed them at once, as the thrumming of his heart enterlaced with her slim fingers. Still, she furrowed her brows in a most perplexed of mockeries, and insatiably drove on, “Indeed resilient men such as yourself occupy their time much better.”

The callouses of his hands fell heavily upon her cheeks.

“Fucking their ways through brothels, getting their pricks wet, and fantasising about wars.”

The harshness of his next tug nearly broke her brave facade – her eyes widened in mistrust, and a slight recoil braced over her straightened back. Her small fingers clasped over his shaking wrist, which held onto her face with a gentleness untoward; one completely mismatching with the predatory glimmer in his eye.

The man he was, and the man he was trying to be would surely never mend to one.

A Kinslayer. A monster. A divergent freak.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

His thumb played absent-mindedly at her lower lip, and the young Princess tried her damnest not to bite him. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?”

“You are as imprudent as you are beautiful. A family trait, I assume.”

“You have my gratitude for the flattering commentary. I’m very proud of my heritage.”

His lilac orb bore into her, and the man let out a reserved laugh, “Your bastard brothers were ample proud. Look where that brought them.” The rough end of his hand gripped her own painfully, before she could make for a swing at his handsome face. “Lost in the seas, rotting at the bottom of an ocean, nestling inside Sunfyre’s belly.”

While her hands were clasped together, her mouth wasn’t sown shut. With a single and effective move, she spat harshly in his face, eliciting a groan from her broader perpetrator.

Though his nostrils flared up in disdain, the man graced her with a calculated smirk. “Did I strike a nerve with that one?” He mocked her with feigned interest.

“Fuck you,” She hissed out slowly, “Don’t you dare talk of my family – my brothers were ten times the man you are.”

“Oh, but I have every right to talk about your family. Given that I will be all yours shortly.” Once more he forced her to turn around, and kneeled over to her spasming form, to begin dressing her up; in nought else, of course, but the mundane silks of his choosing.

"Doesn't the prospect thrill you? To become my lady-wife, to finally bear a true Targaryen inside your royal womb?"

So hopeless and defeated she felt, that the youth jerked herself relentlessly, while repeating him the same plethora of words. “You cannot force me to be your whore. You cannot force me to wear this. I will not bear your Hightower green.”

Aemond could feel his patience running thin – and when her foot came into contact with his setting knee, the man let out a ferocious growl, and promptly trapped the girl in his arms, with the aid of a nearby wall.

“So you want to be difficult? You don’t want to wear this? Hmm? Well, who am I not to abide my Lady’s burning wishes?”

The sharpness of his dagger came into quick contact with the milky skin of her thighs. And she might have almost screamed, if Aemond didn’t immediately pull himself away. His hard chest grazed hers for but a moment, as the Prince cast his attention to her moving shadow.

“If you wish not to attend our engagement parade wearing the clothes I’ve chosen for you,” He muttered against her face, a scorned look adorning his own, “Then you won’t be wearing anything at all.”

She huffed out a dispensing pant and pursed her lips into a tight line.

She remained rigid and poised, until a spark of amusement swirled into her eyes.

The first crack was that of a lax smile. The next, a tremor to her lips. The calm before the storm approached, until all rattled down with a mirthed laugh cascading from her reddened lips.

“Do you mean to frighten me with this promise?” She asked through the arch of an uncertain brow, “As if every man in this cursed Keep won’t get to watch me whore myself out to you anyway, when our wedding night will come?”

His face suddenly hardened at the notion of their reality – as if he didn’t give much thought to the bedding ceremony. To his Lady being watched by a thousand other eyes but his.

Aemond suddenly darkened, and his fist came into contact with a near spot on the wall, so awfully close to her frightened, paling face.

She watched with wide eyes how his stare contorted from one of realisation to one of fury. He stiffly peeled his body away from hers, and strained himself to leave her be. The jealous and possessive knots that churned painfully inside his stomach burned his skin upon the surface, and constricted the air he brashly took in.

He nodded to her in a spry and calloused manner, and brought his hand out to touch her cheek. His knuckles had begun to bleed, busted by the force of impact that his fist had faced for him. Behind his eye danced a look of seldom shame – he gnawed harshly at his bottom lip, and pondered, for a while, on apologising to his niece; for his lack of princely conduct, for his show of impropriety – for his inability to keep himself at bay.

Still his thoughts failed to merge to words, and so the man ran his eye one final time over her defensive pose, and merely left her standing there.

As if turned into a statue, the girl barely registered the lethargic closing of the door, the hurried and heavy footsteps that travelled further and further away from her quaint and cluttered space, and the animated curse that slipped past her uncle's throat.

Did he just dare to leave her there, with her petticoat half up her legs, in nought else but a flimsy nightdress?

At first she thought that his avoidance was a blessing in disguise.

For after clashing wits with Aemond, and after his swift hurried departure, the man had barely graced her with another word.

His hand held onto hers for the whole duration of the procession. He wordlessly forced her to dance two dances, and led her to her Quarters as soon as she mentioned that she was tired.

But his palms didn’t linger on the shape of her narrow waist – his lips barely grazed her knuckles, and Aemond turned with lest a word to add after their fake sympathies were exchanged.

Had he gotten bored of her? Realised what a terrible match they made, and begged his mother on his hands and knees to break off their ill engagement?

For the first time in a while, a new notion of fear engulfed her.

The Greens couldn’t kill her. Of that, she was almost certain. It wouldn't be a wise move, and it would anger the North beyond the power of salvation. The war had had its say on every army that fought into it, yet the Crownlands were especially weak.

But if Aemond were to sever their solidary alliance, then her future would be most uncertain.

Otto Hightower would make her join with an old and withered Lord, no doubt – one with more than enough sons to further on his pesky line. One who couldn’t even get it up to her, who’d never procreate and mend their blood, who’d make sure Rhaenyra’s line would end with her.

Or perhaps she’d be sent to join the Faith – become a Septa or a Silent Sister, among the infamous Maris Baratheons of the Realm. Yet another girl who wouldn’t keep her tongue when asked.

And history might remember them as ‘the women who couldn’t be tamed’, but their lives would be thrown to ruin. Their existence would remain a sham.

No, she had whispered to herself, as she writhed into the soft bedding. If she still thirsted for revenge, she would have to marry Aemond. Keep him interested and relaxed – yearning for her voice and company.

… And if she had to whore herself to him to do it, she would obediently assume her role.

“I beg your pardon?” Aegon asked through another gulp of bitter wine, “Gods be good – I believe that now I’ve heard it all.”

Aemond paced about his brother’s room, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his face set into a deep grimace. He hummed in admission to his brother’s words, and glanced his way with the instance of a hooded eye.

“There is to be no bedding ceremony.” He repeated himself with ease, “I frightened her enough already. The girl will be plenty uncomfortable without the aid of chafing eyes.”

His brother smiled and raised his brows in nothing else but blinding wonder. A small shake of his head indicated his perplexion, and a sharp inhale his drawn decision.

“Mother insisted upon it. You know that well.” The man steadied himself in his chair as he spoke, whilst letting out a small grunt at the contact that the wood made upon his burnt remnants of skin. “I don’t see any reason to annul it. Especially now, an eve before.”

Another sip of the stinging liquor interrupted his smooth and ready trail of thought. The Targaryen brushed off Aemond’s concerns, and gleefully bided his teasing.

“It’ll do the two of you good – you’ll get to see she’s as pure as a bastard girl can be; and she’ll have no deniability that any of her future heirs are yours.” He pointed his weary digit in the direction of his stiffened form and swallowed down a hefty laugh. “Not to mention that Lord Redwyne and Tarly already placed bets on the state of her maidenhead. Would be a shame to disappoint them both, don't you think?"

“What mother thinks is of no consequence. And the amusement of the Realm matters not to me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

“Nonsense, Aemond. It is our duty to upkeep the Realm – and to entertain its inhabitants if need be.”

When his reckless teasing was met with glacial silence, Aegon sighed as he briskly leaned forward. He watched his sibling with an indiscernible expression across his scorched veneer, and yawned greatly at his indisposed behaviour.

“Of course, we’re here to talk it out. But after so much time spent in your company, I fail to see the necessity for such a thing.” A sly smirk danced across his puffy lips, “Are you concerned that she won’t bleed? Or that you’ll be too cunt-struck by her to last enough to make a statement?”

Aemond’s fists descended upon the polished wood of Aegon’d desk. He thrashed his brother with a defiant glare, and hissed through his gritted teeth, and tight-set jaw.

“There will be no bedding ceremony for my niece and I. Tell that to every Lord that wishes to glance upon my wife – if they do so much as to cast their hands on her, they’ll be fucking their own wives with a wooden cock.”

Amusement laced with grave concern – the finality of Aemond's words ought to have vexed him, irk the King in his sibling's weighty insolence. Instead Aegon nodded, pushing back the feeling of dread that settled deep within his bones. His head jerked towards his closed oak door, signalling to his brother that his visit had been overstated. “What sort of brother would I be, to not grant you with this simple whim?”

The younger Targaryen mirrored his stance, and turned abruptly on his heel after a low grunt of gratitude.

His hand reached for the golden handle, but Aegon's words deterred him to a halt.

“But be careful with that one, Aemond. She’s brash and wholly unpredictable. Make sure the blood that stains your sheets come morning isn’t somehow your very own.”

Perma Tag List: @welcometothelioncage @kravitzwhore ♡

[sl-ut]

a princess's order

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra tries to come to terms with the fact that y/n is betrothed and will soon be leaving king’s landing, but it is much more difficult than she had anticipated.

warnings: descriptions of sex, slight hints homophobia, arranged marriage

words: 4.4K

date posted: 20/12/2022

next part

“Have you ever kissed a man?” 

The question was a bold one to be asked by one young princess to her lady as they took a stroll through the gardens, and a few older ladies seemed to perk up as she asked it while they passed by. Gossip was a very expensive luxury in King’s Landing, and so late in the afternoon on the evening of a royal feast, very few were eager to pass up points of conversation to bring up with those who they are seated with. However, anyone who genuinely knew the princess and her lady would know that this was not entirely out of context. The two young girls liked to spy on others at court, spinning their own tales about which lady was after which lord, and what aspects of their personal life would jeopardise such a match, making sly comments about the men who served the princess’s father so dutifully (and the queen, on several occasions), but never had they truly ventured into their own sexual appetites, for they were both young and unmarried, so they were expected to have not taken part in anything below their station.

Y/n’s face beamed with heat, embarrassment creeping up her spine at the princess’s question. She lowered her gaze to the fabrics of her skirts, picking at them anxiously with her free hand before she shook her head.

“Of course not,” She glanced over her shoulder to spy the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Criston acting as if he was not at all listening in on their conversation from several paces back, “It would be unbefitting of me.”

“Hm,” Rhaenyra hummed, “Interesting.”

"Rhaenyra," The lady hissed, "Please tell me you haven't-"

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

Y/n scoffed, bumping the silver haired princess with her shoulder as they continued to walk. Rhaenyra chuckled at her, pursing her lips as she thought up her next inquiry.

“Have you ever been with a man?”

“Rhaenyra!” Y/n sneered under her breath, “I’ve already told you that I haven’t so much as kissed a man, and now you ask if I’ve-” She glanced back at Ser Criston once more before lowering her voice even more, “-lost my maidenhead?”

“Oh please, it does not require kissing.”

Y/n furrowed her brows. She did her best not to imagine how her parents had been while performing their marital duties, but she did know that they were very in love and did not hold back on their affection when in the company of their own families. As the lord of a powerful house from the Riverlands, Y/n’s father was betrothed to the most suitable bride, and it was considerable luck that they grew fond of each other. Y/n dreamed of a marriage of her own that resembled that of her parents, and she certainly could not imagine allowing someone to be inside of her without even so much as a kiss.

“Would you wish it without?” Y/n asked.

Rhaenyra debated her answer, “Depends. If he is old and ugly, I think I could do without, but I think I would quite prefer it if he were to be quite handsome.”

Y/n remained quiet at this. The days were growing sparse in the time that they had left together like this; Soon enough they would be married off and unable to spend so much time together in favour of caring for their husbands and children. Rhaenyra at least had the luxury of having a choice in the matter, and the fact that she would remain in King’s Landing regardless of who she married, while Y/n was under the complete control of her father and could be shipped off to the other end of Westeros to marry any old lord at a moment’s notice. In fact, she knew for a fact that her father had already been corresponding with several lords around the nation for a match for her, whether it be for himself or for his son, and from her father’s perspective, many seem eager to take such a fine young lady to wife. 

“I think we should return, Princess,” Y/n murmured, “The sun is setting, and you still need to be bathed and dressed before the feast.”

If Rhaenyra took note of her friend’s change in attitude, she did not make it clear to her as she quietly agreed, holding her arm tighter within her own as they began the trek back into the Red Keep and up to the tower where her chambers were. 

The hours of the evening passed quickly with so much to do. Rhaenyra took her time in the bath, preferring to make life more difficult for her ladies and handmaidens than it truly needed to be, while Y/n carefully laid out her gown for the evening before taking care of her own appearance. The young lady donned a gown of scarlet silk, a colour that Rhaenyra insisted that she wears more often–not only did it compliment her features tremendously, but it also meant that she wore the colours of the royal house. The dress had short, capped sleeves, and an intricately embroidered bodice of gold, white, and amethyst, allowing her space to breathe and giving her a more womanly figure, which her father insisted that she must begin to present. 

Rhaenyra smiled at her when she took in her appearance, kissing her cheek and telling her that she was lovely. The young lady blushed at her words, surely Rhaenyra must be blind to compliment her when she always appeared so radiant herself. Rhaenyra’s gown was extravagant for such a common event, though she seemed to prefer more mature designs as of late. It was grey in colour, but took on multiple shades of thread that decorated the entire length of the gown; It was a beauty that Y/n imagined that her father would need to sell all of his titles and lands to even hope to afford, though it was likely gifted to the princess, as many of her finer articles were. The princess struggled to disguise her sneer when her handmaidens suggested that tonight she would attract many suitors in such a dress, and even joked that she would change if they thought such a thing.

“You look beautiful, princess,” Y/n wrapped her arms around her shoulders from behind as they stared into the mirror at one another, “Like a queen in her own right.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her, the apples of her cheeks growing red at her praise, grasping her hands within her own to thank her. 

The princess did not expect to find someone so dear to her after Alicent became queen, and she hadn’t expected to feel so close to someone else in such a way that made her heart soar upon her kind words and her stomach clenched at the mere sight of her. Rhaenyra admired her friend’s beauty, sometimes finding herself unable to look away even when she was caught. She, too, understood that their friendship would never stay the same after they were both married, only she was under the impression that she would be able to call upon her dearest friend whenever she needed her, and that Y/n would never agree to a match that required her to pick up and leave her behind. 

The feast was grand, a celebration of the young princess Helaena’s second name day. It was not an occasion in comparison to the ones held in honour for Rhaenyra’s own name days, nor was it as grand as those held for the prince Aegon, but it was still a large scale event that befits a member of the royal family. Rhaenyra, of course, is seated at the right hand of her father, glowing in the candle light as she overlooks the masses that have gathered, eyes constantly falling over to where her beloved friend was sitting with her own father, who scarcely took a break from socialising with the other nobles around him to notice that Jason Lannister had taken up the seat next to his daughter and was speaking very closely to her ear. 

Rhaenyra sneered at this. Jason Lannister had once made an attempt to seduce her, and once she had made it clear to him that she would fly to Casterly Rock and burn it to the ground before she became its Lady, he made haste to turn his attentions elsewhere, and unfortunately for her, he had seemed to set his gaze upon Lady Y/n. She appeared to be equally as unimpressed with his honey-coated words as she did thankful for some sort of entertainment, but Rhaenyra was sure that Y/n wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for whatever he was telling her, especially since she had been the one to tell her many things about Jason Lannister several years before when he had tried to seduce the princess at Aegon’s name day hunt. 

Still, the princess found herself downing the remainder of her honey wine–funnily enough having been provided for the feast by Jason Lannister’s brother, Tyland–before she descended the small staircase and slowly made her way through the crowd in the direction of her lady.

“Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra interrupted whatever he was saying, “If you wouldn’t mind, I am in need of Lady Y/n’s assistance.”

“Princess,” The lord appeared peeved at her for stealing the young lady away, but offered no interference, “Why of course.” He paused to kiss Y/n’s knuckles, “I hope you might save me a dance, Lady Y/n.”

Rhaenyra snickered as she led her friend away from the lords, “I’ll accept your thanks later. You truly mustn’t keep such dull company, dear friend.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That is why I accompany myself with you, Princess. Never a dull moment. Though, I’m afraid my father won’t be happy with you dragging me away from yet another potential betrothal.”

Rhaenyra glared, “You and Jason Lannister? He is hardly worthy.”

Y/n sighed, “I’m starting to think that you believe that no one is worthy.”

“Because no one is worthy of you,” Rhaenyra grasped her hand within her own. “Nor will they ever be, and I promise I will feed any man who claims otherwise to Syrax.”

Rhaenyra was serious with her threat, and though she knew better than to think that she could just feed anyone to her dragon for simply glancing in her lady’s direction, it did not stop her from releasing the wrath of her own inner dragon on them.

Over the next four weeks, Rhaenyra made sure to have lords embarrassed or sent away from court as they began to interrupt her time with Y/n, few of them brave enough to make propositions to both of them. Rhaenyra was growing suspicious of Y/n’s father, who never seemed to be too far from his daughter these days and always seemed to be peeved with the amount of time that the two young girls often spent together. 

During the fifth week, Rhaenyra set her sights on Lord Robert Crane, the heir to a northern house. It had happened during one of their many strolls through the gardens, Rhaenyra had stepped away from the beaten path for a moment as she spied a small red flower with dark black blooming around the edge of each petal, plucking it for her dearest lady only to find that the young lord had taken her place, offering her an even larger flower of gold and amethyst–the colours of his own house. 

“Lord Robin, how lovely to see you,” She greeted him with a sickly smile.

“Princess,” He bowed his head to her, then shrugged as he corrected her, “Apologies, but it’s Robert.”

“Oh, how foolish of me,” Rhaenyra smirked, “I have a hard time remembering names of those who are scarcely mentioned at court.”

Y/n widened her eyes at her as a silent sign to stop speaking, though the young lord did not seem to even understand the insult, or if he had, he did not allow her to see the fact that he had been so affected by her words. 

“No offence taken, Princess,” He shrugged once more, “My family does not come to court often, as we are so far away.” Robert glanced over to hold Y/n’s uncertain gaze, “My father and I have come to find me a suitable match, I’m to inherit the seat of Denmerhell someday. My home is the source of more than half of the realm’s rubies, and I would hope to someday shower my bride in jewels just as precious as she.”

Rhaenyra sneered at him, then at her lady who seemed to be soaking up every ounce of attention that he was offering her. 

“Yes, well we usually prefer even more precious materials here in the capitol, isn’t that right, Lady Y/n?” She turned to her friend, reaching to lift her hand to show him the dainty ring that sat on her finger, “Valyrian steel. I had a second made so that my lady and I could match.”

“Valyrian steel?” He puckered his lips in thought, “Now that is hard to come by, though I suppose it is quite a waste to melt it into jewellery rather than weapons. Beautiful as it may be, this ring could be a dagger–I could make you one, my lady, and encrust the hilt with as many rubies as you please.”

Rhaenyra could not help the slight drop of her jaw. He could not have just offered to take the ring that she had made for Y/n to make it into a dagger–How bold could he be? She was the princess, for gods’ sake, and someday would be queen. Though, at least she now knew who her first war would be waged against.

“Thank you, my lord, that is a very kind offer.” Y/n smiled politely.

“We must go, I’m afraid,” Rhaenyra took Y/n’s arm, “Womanly duties, I’m sure Lord Reginald understands.” 

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s knuckles, “My lady.”

He sauntered off without even acknowledging the princess once more, leaving both of the young ladies to watch his back as he disappeared around one of the many long walls of hedges. Rhaenyra was baffled to find somewhat of a dreamy glaze coating her friend’s eyes as she stared after the young lord, and grasped her arm tighter within her own in order to return her attention to her. As the sole child of the king, Rhaenyra was more than accustomed to being spoiled with goods and attention, and while many suitors have cut in on their time together in search of her own hand in marriage, she did not appreciate having Y/n’s attention stolen away–sharing was not something she was ever required to do. 

The weeks that followed had plagued Rhaenyra. Y/n’s father had been hard at work to find his daughter a match, and as hard as she tried, Lord Robert Crane did not scare as easily as the others. To be quite plain, the man was boring, sure he had titles and wealth, and perhaps he may be an accomplished knight, but he was selfish and spoke solely of his own accomplishments rather than inquiring about Y/n. It was clear that he was quite taken with her, and he would be incredibly glad to take her as his wife, and for some unknown reason, Y/n was just as taken with him. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, Y/n was the only confidant that she had remaining, and Robert Crane was a clear threat.

The princess began taking extreme measures, requiring her lady’s attention to be entirely on her for most hours of the day, while also requesting that she break her fast and eat her dinner with her each day, and some nights she even asked her to lie next to her, claiming that she was having trouble sleeping. These nights would be spent in quiet whispers, gentle touches of fingers beneath the sheets, and soft giggles as they struggled to remain quiet enough to avoid being heard by Ser Criston from his post outside the door, though nothing could prevent the gleeful snickers from escaping the room. It was a way of keeping her close, keeping her loyal to her and only her.

The silver-haired princess was less than pleased one evening, upon crawling beneath the sheets of her goosefeather bed only for her lady to turn over and curl into herself. Curious, Rhaenyra took in the sight of her figure beneath the covers, and scooched closer so that she may reach around her and grasp her cool fingers within her own. Curling into her, Rhaenyra rested her chin on Y/n’s shoulder to be able to see her face.

“Are you angry with me?”

A small sniffle left Y/n before she spoke, voice wavering, “Angry? I could never be, princess.”

“What is the matter?” She asked, “Are you harmed?”

“No, princess,” Y/n turned to lay facing the princess, allowing her to peer at her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, “My father has betrothed me.”

Rhaenyra gulped, her gaze hardening as she spit out, “To whom?”

The young lady paused before she whispered her answer, “Lord Robert Crane.”

The princess laughed humourlessly, “Your father is a fool to believe that he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy? Rhaenyra, House Crane is much wealthier than my own, and they are a powerful force in the north, second only to House Stark. I am marrying well above my station.”

“And yet, here you are. As my lady, you are in the highest position any lady could dream of, save for queen. You are among the most precious beings in this realm, much too precious to be wearing his rubies.”

Y/n giggled sadly, shaking her head, “I wish we could stay like this; Neither of us would need to marry or have children. We could simply be together.”

Rhaenyra flushed at her words, “I would like that, too. I long to keep you at my side, and I can imagine you at the side of no one except myself. I would take you as my own wife to keep you near.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“I am serious,” Rhaenyra sat up, “I do not understand why I must marry a man. If it is for the sake of children, I would take a husband simply to provide heirs, but you would be my consort. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, so why can I not?”

“You are not meant to take any wives, Rhaenyra,” Y/n noted, “In truth, I understand it as little as you, and I cannot say why it is wrong, only that the world would not allow it.”

“The world is mine to claim,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “When I am queen, I can change the law and do as I please.”

“Careful, Nyra,” The young lady told her, “You begin to sound like a tyrant.”

“I would be,” The princess moved to straddle the girl, “for you.”

“Rhaenyra–”

“Do not speak,” The princess crouched to hover over her, nudging her playfully with her nose.

Carefully, Rhaenyra lowered her face and gently laid a quick kiss to her friend’s own li[ps. She pulled back enough for the young lady to make any sort of refusal to the union, though after receiving none, she pressed even closer.

She moved to press her kisses along the expanse of Y/n’s collar bones, fingers carefully tugging the neckline of her nightgown so that she could access even more of her supple flesh. Y/n whimpered under her touch, one hand reaching to tangle her fingers in the long silver locks of the princess, while her other palm pressed into her waist. 

Pulling away, Rhaenyra sat up once more and quickly tugged her own silk nightdress over her head, leaving her bare to the world and to her young lady, who had seen her in such a state many a time before, though it was always during her bathing or when Y/n was helping her dress, and never in the sense that she was exposing herself to her lady in the sexual manner that she had been now. Y/n’s eyes widened, taking her time in actually admiring the princess’s form as she hovered over her. She whimpered her name as Rhaenyra began to trace her breasts through the sheer gown, pinching her nipple gently until it hardened into an erect peak.

“Shh…” the princess whispered, “Allow me to perform my wifely duties, my sweet.”

The nights over the next few weeks followed suit. Some nights they simply lay side by side and talked until exhaustion would take over, sharing sweet kisses and gentle touches. Other nights, Rhaenyra would waste little time ridding herself of her nightgown and they would bring each other to the edge as many times as it took for each of them to be satisfied. Y/n understood this to be lust, something that her mother had always warned her against, though she had strictly mentioned that she needed to be careful of the lust brought on by the influence of men–that falling pregnant prior to marriage would ruin her reputation, and by association, her life. This, however, was not a threat with Rhaenyra, it was harmless fun that may or may not have provided her with some comfort in the feelings that were beginning to flourish in her chest each time that she crawled into bed next to her. For Rhaenyra, it was different. She hadn’t been joking as much as her friend had believed her to be, and fully intended on keeping her at her side for the rest of her life. She understood that most wouldn’t accept Y/n as her consort, but she would certainly be the love of her life while whatever man would be held responsible for helping her bear heirs would be just that and free to do as he pleased as well. 

And then she heard the news. It was announced at a small feast one evening–scarcely thirty people in attendance–that Y/n and her betrothed would be leaving the capitol in a fortnight and were to be wedded once they arrived in Denmerhell, which was thousands of miles from King’s Landing. 

Y/n knew from the glare that she received from the silver-haired princess that she would not soon hear the end of her anger. The atmosphere in the princess’s chambers was not as calming as usual when she arrived that night. She called her name twice before she found her curled into herself beneath her silk sheets. 

“Rhaenyra,” she sighed, rounding the bed to sit on her knees behind her, “Please speak to me.”

The princess rolled onto her back, icily staring up at her friend, “What do I have to speak about? I could tell you that he is not worthy of you, that I would take you as my consort, that I would let them all burn for you. I’ve told you all of this before and yet your father hopes to send you away. Tell me, what did his face look like when you refused?”

Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, “I would not know.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“Rhaenyra, you know that I cannot–”

“You can. You can refuse him, stay with me until I take the throne and become a queen. You can, and you will, just as I have said no to countless men so that I can have you.”

“You know it isn’t the same, Rhaenyra.”

“Do I?”

“You are the heir to the Iron Throne, men are throwing themselves at your feet in hopes of being chosen.  I am the youngest child of a lord who just so happens to be in favour with the king, I have three older sisters who have already wed powerful lords, and I am simply lucky enough that my father cares for the station of the man I marry. In the last year, I have had three potential suitors, all of which you have chased away, and one man who managed to propose before you could. I do not have the same luxuries as you, Rhaenyra, and this is one of them.”

“Do not speak to me of responsibility, remember which of us is in line to inherit the Iron Throne.”

“Don’t think I have ever forgotten. You have been praised for the mundane and promised things I could never even dream of, you wear the finest of clothing and are gifted the most beautiful of jewellery in the realm, you get to do things that would ruin anyone else without consequences, and you don’t even take into consideration of what others give for you.”

Rhaenyra sneered, fingers grasping at Y/n’s wrist before she could clamber away from her, “So it is jealousy, then? You cannot spare to see me with fine things or hold my birthright?”

Y/n wiped her cheek, pulling away from her iron grasp as she began to pull her robe over her shoulders, “You have been granted great things, Rhaenyra, but you cannot begin to know what it means to not be the royal heir. The lords scarcely accept you as heir, do you truly think they would accept me as your wife?”

“Where are you going?” 

“My own chambers.”

Rhaenyra stood from the bed, “No. You will sleep at my side as you always have. You will tend to me, as you always have, and if you still wish to be a northerner’s whore, then I am powerless to stop you.”

Y/n’s spine visibly stiffened, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra sniffled, “Yes.”

Rhaenyra did not find sleep that night, nor many of those to come. A fortnight passed seamlessly, leaving her to watch from afar as a wheelhouse was prepared for the long trek north. She had yet to speak to her friend about that night, scarcely speaking to her at all beyond orders. 

“Princess,” One of her handmaidens appeared behind her, “Do you wish to bid farewell to Lady Y/n?”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back down to the sight below her, catching the gaze of her friend from hundreds of feet below. Tears welled at her waterline, begging to be freed as the young lady raised a hand to her. 

Wiping at her cheeks, the princess turned to march back into her chambers, “I would not.”

She disappeared within the palace walls in a flash of silver, leaving Y/n’s final glimpse of her to be one of utter betrayal.