#did voice acting for all the dark riders

[centeris2]

eh this is what I get for taking so long to finish a project

(rip that Dark Core Day video project from like two years ago now that has Chiyo's art and voice, which is now outdated, I guess. But that's just how sso is)

[yandere-romanticaa]

Marriage was often used as a tool of convenience - be it to upgrade one's own social status, get some much needed silver and gold, or to just get one leg up over your enemies, it really did not matter in the end.

Like it or not, you were tied to that person till death did you part.

That was a chant that has been sung to you ever since you came out of your weeping mother's womb. As the daughter of the household, it was natural for you to wed one day. However, the family was one of average standing, it had no special titles tacked onto it nor did it have any grotesque reputation which could sully it to the darkness and back. In its own way, it was oddly blissful, being invisible like that. No one expected you to act like a stuck up lady who would be locked away deep in a tower and you were also safe from becoming a measley wench who would be forced to spend the rest of her miserable days stuck rolling around in the mud, selling her body to all sorts of horrific strangers just in order to eat for a day.

You had the privilege of being born into a happy life. Perhaps a slightly dull one sometimes but regardless, a good one at that. You were content with everything which was given to you, perhaps even happy.

However, all things come to an end, and your end came in the form of a man riding on horseback.

He was strong, capable, handsome... But you kept that thought to yourself as you helped the wounded stranger get back on his feet, his midnight black steed happily trotting away somewhere as it accidentally shook the rider off its back once it locked eyes on you, a stranger in the woods.

"And who might you be?" asked the dark haired man, his curly hair framing his pale face so wonderfully that it took the breath from your lungs away.

You held onto him tightly and pressed him close to your body, the odor of blood and sweat covering him from top to bottom but you couldn't be bothered to care. He wore simple clothing which made you think that he was in a similar position like yourself in terms of finance, which gave you a slight glimmer of hope.

It was embarrassing how much you were swooning over the stranger.

Taking him back to your hut took longer than expected but all was well in the end. The handsome stranger had a name, Robb he said it was, and you couldn't hide the adoration in your voice whenever he would speak to you. The night flew by like a summer breeze - too fast and too sweet. Come first daylight he had to leave, which you understood.

That didn't stop you from feeling a little blue.

He mounted his horse like a knight in shining armor, its mane tussling proudly in the bitter north wind as Robb looked down at you, his warm blue eyes desperate to tell you many stories and secrets, but time was cruel and scarce.

He would come back to you, he promised.

And you gave him a smile sweeter than any juicy fruit, telling him that you would gladly wait for him.

He rode away all the while looking back at you, sending you a heart stopping smile which could make anyone weak in the knees. The horse left large hoofprints in the snow and you focused your attention on that, rather than the bitter stabs of pain in your heart.

There would never be a day when you'd see Robb ever again.

You were due to leave for the South in a few weeks time, in order to finally be wed off. The fantasy of Robb was saccharine and enchanting, many hours of sleep were lost due to him. Even if you barely knew him, the matters of the heart were reckless and stupid.

The heart wants what it wants and your heart ached for Robb.

All the while, you hadn't a clue of him and his plans. The men in Winterfell grew tired of his constant ramblings of this lovely woman he met, this sweet little thing which made his heart sing like no one else. He would walk in the corridors with a pep in his step as he thought of all the ways he could take you back to his home and give you the life you deserved.

His candied tirade quickly came to an abrupt halt once his mother had informed him of the grave news, that you had been promised to another man.

Robb was furious.

Who was this man?! Who did he think he is?! Ever the meticulous man, he got to work immediately. In less than a few days he had managed to gather all the information he could on this mystery fiance of yours, all the papers sprawled across his massive table. The candles in his chambers glimmered gently, the shimmering light a stark contrast to the raging flames in his heart.

If he could have his way, he'd be out for blood. Robb was too much of a jealous man for his own good but he needed to think, he needed to prepare if he wanted to do this right.

In less than a day, he had everything set up. If the man wasn't willing to take the gold he was offering him, he was not above using any scare tactics. His anger ended up getting the better of him though, so a bizarre combination of both was used.

The way in which your fiance left you made your heart sink. How were you going to break the news to your parents? Whatever could you have done so wrong to earn the ire of this lord whom you haven't even met yet...

You weep in your room, staining the mattress with your salty tears, completely oblivious to the small cavalry with House Stark banners raging on your front door.

Robb Stark had come for his bride. And she had no idea what sort of future awaited her...

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

CHAPTER 1

Runestone the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings; the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Runestone is the seat of ancient House Royce and the Bronze Kings. Ysilla descended from two lines of kings: the Royces and the greatest of them all, the dragon lords, the Targaryens.

Ysilla’s mother was the Lady of Runestone, and her father was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the brother of Viserys Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father was never in Runestone; Ysilla knew that he had matters to attend to in King's Landing.

"Mother," she said, running to her mother, who had just come back from her hunt.

"My sweet," her lady mother greeted her, getting down from her horse.

"My egg hatched, Mother!" Ysilla said happily, unable to stay still. A strand of her streaked black and white hair fell against her face.

Her mother seemed not to like those words as she moved so that her back was facing her daughter, tending to her horse. Ysilla was only five, but she could understand that her mother had no love for dragons. Or Targaryens.

"I have to write to Father," she insisted, hoping that her mother would turn to her. He'd want to know that my egg hatched."

"Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla." The girl lowered her eyes, fixing her gaze on her feet. "He adores King's Landing more than both of us." Ysilla felt her eyes stung with tears, and to keep herself from crying, she bit her lips hard.

"I thought that he was not coming back because of the war," Ysilla said with pain in her voice. It was because she remembered that her father was fighting on the Stepstones.

"Yes," her mother answered, "It's been three years now. But there was no war before."

That was true. Ysilla had seen her father very few times, and when her uncle, the King, invited her to King's Landing, she had little memory of him.

"It is because of my hair," Ysilla muttered. He does not love me because of my hair." She knew that she was different from other Targaryens, with their long silver hair. Ysilla did not have it. She was different, and she knew it was the reason why her father never went to Runestone for a visit. But she thought that her dragon could have changed it, that maybe her father would have loved her for that.

"Look at me," her mother said sternly, but Ysilla did not move, "Look at me, Ysilla." When her mother insisted, the girl did as she was told, hoping not to cry. "You are more than him. In your veins flows the blood of the First Men. Be proud of that as you are of your dragon."

"I am proud, Mother," Ysilla complained.

"Then stop seeking your father's approval," her mother said, standing strong. You don't need him; remember this."

Ysilla lowered her eyes again, "I will."

We remember those were House Royce's words. They were strong and full of will, as her mother was.

Ysilla didn't feel strong. She felt lonely and forgotten. Her name was Targaryen, and the blood of old Valyria flowed in her veins as much as the First Men's did. But nobody cared about her, not even her own Father.

The little lady went back to her chamber, holding her tears because she knew that she was not supposed to cry. Her mother didn't want her to shed tears for her Father. Ysilla closed the wooden door with carved runes in it, sliding down until she found herself sitting on the ground.

She wanted to be strong like her lady Mother. She wanted for her to be proud of her daughter, but she missed her Father. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to hold him. And she knew that he wanted the same thing. He was only busy with the matters of King's Landing.

Suddenly, she heard a low noise and a little growl. Drying her tears, Ysilla walked towards the little cradle next to the fire. Her dragon was there. She thought the Maester was tending it.

"I don't think it is going to make it, my lady," Ysilla frowned when she heard the voice of the old man from behind the door. He was talking with her mother.

"And why's that?" Ysilla's mother said while the girl kept looking at the cradle. From where she was, she could only see the little black wings moving.

"The beast is deformed, my lady," Ysilla frowned, standing up from her position. What was the meaning of that? That was her dragon. After so long her dragon egg had finally hatched, it could not die.

She got closer, and there it was. He was as big as a cat, with dark scales and purple reflections, as purple as its eyes. It looked at her, his eyes fixed on her as if he was looking inside her soul. It was beautiful.

The little hatchling made a sound before trying to get closer. At that point, she noticed. It was struggling to do so because it was born without legs.

"We have to find a way to tell her it won't survive."

Ysilla's eyes remained fixed on the little dragon. No one believed he could survive because he was different, only because he was like her.

After a moment, the hatchlings found a way to get closer, moving more like a snake than a dragon, but he was fighting.

"You will survive," she promised, reaching out so that her fingers could brush his scales. "I'll make sure of that."

___________________________________________________________

Next 》

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[thelov3lybookworm]

You Think I Wanted This?

Summary: The king does not care for anyone's opinion but his own, and he is being entirely serious.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: first fic for fourth wing 🥳 as y'all know, all that goes through my mind is forced marriage trope, so...😏

Enjoy my babies! ❣️

（づ￣3￣）づ╭❤️～

•○🌑○•

The day was gloomy, and thunder had been cracking until an hour ago.

Y/n was grateful it had stopped, as she could continue studying without flinching every few moments. She had an important test coming up, and being King Tauri's only daughter, she had the pressure of getting good grades on her shoulders.

If only to show the people not everyone a failure in the royal family.

Y/n sighed, setting her pen down and rubbing her eyes with cramping fingers.

It was getting dark, and soon she would leave for having dinner with her family.

A knock drew Y/n from screwing her eyes out, and she called out to let them in.

Her older brother, Halden, stepped in, smiling. "How are you today sister?"

"Tired. You?"

"I'm good. You have been summoned. Father wants to meet you in his private office."

Y/n's brows furrowed. What could he want from me?

It was almost never that her father summoned his kids, and when he did, it was rarely in his private office. Those were for important matters, and he deemed his children... not important.

Y/n stood, closing her book and turning to her brother, stretching slightly. "Do you know why he has summoned me?"

He shook his head. "No idea."

"It can't be good." She mumbled, glancing into the full length mirror that took up half of the wall opposite her bed to make sure she was in an attire considered appropriate for court meetings or formal business, then followed her brother out of her room.

He was the second oldest of all the kids the king had, with Y/n being the third and Cam being the fourth, who was away in the rider's quadrant.

Y/n envied him.

"If it helps, I saw a few authorities and riders entering the office when he told me to retrieve you."

Y/n frowned, falling in step next to Halden. "That did not help."

He gave her a helpless smile. "My apologies then, princess."

She rolled her eyes, though a smile made its way onto her face. She wrapped a hand around his arm, hoping whatever the matter was, it was nothing grave.

•○🌑○•

Y/n paused outside her father's office, tugging her brother to a stop, who turned to her with furrowed brows.

"What is it?"

She placed a finger against her lips, nodding towards the two people standing nearby, whispering to each other furiously, obviously locked in a heated discussion.

Halden's eyes narrowed. He nodded to the empty spaces next to the door, which was suspicious too, considering there should have been two guards on duty manning the door.

Y/n turned away, staring at the ornately carved door to her father's office. She decided it was worth the risk, and slowly pressed her ear to the wood.

The voices were faint, but she could make out the words.

"So you want to... what? Separate Riorson and your daughter?" That was definitely her father.

"Yes, your majesty."

"And why is that?"

"Because bonded to two of the most powerful dragons, they have the power to overthrow you. And I still don't trust the Riorson boy." It was the voice of a female, and Y/n felt like she knew who it was, but she couldn't place the voice.

"But wouldn't acting on your plan put him closer to me, and indirectly give him access to more resources to take over?" His voice was sceptical, and Y/n wondered who this woman was.

"No, your majesty. Away from my daughter, he would be weaker than if with her, and you yourself know how dangerous they can be together."

Y/n heard her father sigh, but before she could hear his response, someone touched her back, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She whipped around, holding back a yelp, and glared at a grinning Halden.

"What?" She snapped.

"Did I scare you, Y/n?"

She slapped his arm, huffing, annoyed that he found her amusing.

His smile faded, though, as he glanced towards the two people nearby.

That was when Y/n noticed that they were staring at her and Halden, having walked closer while Y/n had been eavesdropping.

Y/n's eyes snagged on the man, his muscular arms wrapped across his chest. He was gorgeous, and Y/n wondered if he was even real. Because, surely, someone could not be this handsome, right?

Or maybe the gods simply deemed him their favourite.

Y/n blinked when someone moved in her periphery, realising she was staring, and swiftly looked away, heat rising to her cheeks.

A moment later, Y/n decided to glance at the two people again, noting that the other one was a female.

Her brows furrowed as she eyed the braid hanging over the girl's shoulder, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Y/n knew that she had met this girl.

Y/n cocked her head at the possessiveness in her eyes.

"I feel like we've met before. Have we?" Y/n questioned.

"On a couple of occasions, yes, we've met. I'm Violet."

It took Y/n a moment to place the name.

"Violet... Violet Sorrengail?"

Violet nodded, her hand coming to rest on the man's bicep. "And this is Xaden Riorson."

"Fen Riorson's son." Halden murmured.

A weird feeling spread through Y/n. "You are the Riorson boy they are talking about?"

His eyebrows- one scarred- rose, and Y/n realised she was the only one who heard the conversation going on on the other side of the door.

She swallowed, glancing at her brother before addressing Violet. "Is your mother in there?"

"Yes." Violet's eyes were filled with confusion.

"And are you and Riorson involved... in any way?"

"I- Yes?" Violet whispered, her eyes wide. "How did you know?"

Y/n sighed, horrified. "Did you tell your mother about it?"

"No. But what are you getting at?"

"Obviously, you saw me trying to listen in. Your mother was talking about separating you two."

Everyone's jaw dropped open, and this time Riorson spoke up. "They- no one knows though, and those who do would never betray us."

His voice did something to Y/n, but she reminded herself that he was unavailable. And he was also not the type of man she would go for anyways.

"Well, they know. Surely something might have happened, and she made that connection. Whatever it is, they are planning to-"

Halden's fingers wrapped around Y/n's arm suddenly, and he pulled her closer and turned her to face the door a moment before the door actually opened.

There, stood General Sorrengail, Violet's mother, and she simply ignored her daughter and Riorson, meeting the eyes of Y/n and Halden, bowing her head in deference, as was necessary.

"Prince, princess. Your father awaits your presence."

She held open the door as Halden and Y/n shuffled in, then beckoned the other two inside.

The office was massive, though sparsely furnished.

"Father." Halden bowed at the waist, and Y/n curtsied.

"I am assuming you have met Riorson here. I have summoned you here today because I have news for you."

Everyone stayed silent, anticipation building in the air.

"As we all know Riorson has dedicated his life to our kingdom and has promised he has only our best interests at heart, has proved time and time that he is willing to do anything for our kingdom."

Y/n held her breath, her gut telling her this was not going to be good.

"So in reward, I will marry my daughter to you, Xaden Riorson."

Y/n's heart stopped beating for a moment, before starting up again at a speed she failed to count, and Y/n wondered if it would gallop out of her chest entirely.

"You can't be fucking serious." Violet blurt out, then her wide eyes stare swung to her mother, who smiled sligtly.

"We are entirely serious, rider." The king said, his expression saying all about how displeased he was about her outburst.

He then turned to Y/n and Halden, his brows rising.

"You better start preparing. The wedding will be in two days' time."

And they were dismissed.

Y/n didn't miss the disbelieving look thrown her way by both Violet and Xaden, but she was not going to argue with her father.

They didn't know what would happen if she did, and she was in no mood to speak out when she could not form a single coherent thought that was not I hate him.

•○🌑○•

@bubybubsters @artists-ally here it is, the fic i was telling you about 😏

(Not tagging others in case they havent read fourth wing and dont wanna be tagged 😉)

[thewriters-world]

Omg yes!! I saw a poll on what would be a better Hollywood movie rosquez or brocedes

And I was like hands down brocedes, because that's Monaco & Ibiza, a neat little story of growing up, growing apart, giving up on shared dreams. All the glitz and glamour. The way Nico keeps saying nice things and Lewis keeping his silence. A bit of modicum.

Rosquez however could never be Hollywood, they are unhinged, they are gritty, down & dirty, blunt fingernails scrambling to hold on in dark alleyways, it's being on top of the world and seeing your end approaching you wrapped up in smooth golden muscle and a mouth that never ends, it's touching legends, getting on that pedestal and then being isolated on there by the very hands that welcomed you in, it's European art film that is full of shadows and long silences, things never said and hands reaching out too late, it's his voice whispering everytime you fall, it's seeing him in every rider, knowing he would be crazier, faster, fiercer.

Brocedes could have survived if they were less ambitious/less greedy/less driven than they were, Rosquez never had an option because the things that drew them together are the things that they despise about each other.

OP YOUR VISION!

You've described rosquez so perfectly. They're like ruined somehow. Like Marc has his claws in Valentino and Valentino has his claws in Marc and yh they've let go but their bodies, brains HEARTS are still bloody and bruised. Lewis and Nico are healing but will Marc and Valentino ever heal? Idk Valentino says it'll take him 30 years to get over this and Marc says reconciliation is not upto him. So will they be tainted with marks of each other for 30 years? Does everything become more sullied when you remember that Marc had hung posters of Valentino on his bedroom wall and was buying replica bikes until 2015? Is it more cruel that Valentino knew all of this and not only did he do what he did to Marc when he was 22, he denied Marc a concrete part of his personality by saying he doesn't belive Marc had those posters (it's been documented you senile old man!). He basically said I don't know you, I never knew you. Is this all way more horrid when you consider that Marc thought getting into motogp with his idol would mean that Valentino actually KNEW him and they could be friends and then Valentino throws it right back into his face 'I want to see those posters' (I've never known you, I've never looked at those pictures of young you with my motorbikes, I've never paid attention, whilst you devoted your whole life to my life, your life was simply a speck in the grand scheme of events that is my life). Obviously its not true, it's a way to hurt Marc (we all know Valentino actually LIKED marc). But doesn't that make it all the more cruel, you treated someone you actually had affection for like this. Also is it more hurtful when you remember that Valentino told Marc ill protect you from these people if they're mean to you just let me know (not verbatim) but you're the meanie Valentino so now who does Marc go to. The people you turned against him?

Brocedes is way more tame bcs there was no idolisation, sure there was friendship, affection and childlike hope, but never once did Nico and Lewis decide that they didn't have what they had. Nico doesn't denounce the time they sat in hotel rooms and ate frosties, Lewis doesn't hide the fact that karting with Nico provided him joy as a child. Lewis can say Nico isn't his friend, but he hasn't ever said 'I've never known Nico' even when Nico acts a fool whilst commentating on races just to get his attention Lewis wouldn't be so cruel to deny ever having a relationship with Nico. Nico and Lewis are connected in a more concrete and wholesome way (Lewis gives Nico's daughters gifts). Marc and Valentino are connected in a more brutal way (they still have the bruises, the bleeding wounds of whatever they had with one another, friendship, affection companionship idk). That's the only similarity, they are still connected, their legacies are interspersed with one another. Something about how Lewis was there for nicos first and last podium. Something about how everywhere Marc goes, he is haunted by how Valentino has painted him to other people. Even in the one similarity between brocedes and rosquez you can see the abject dirtiness of rosqiez and the wholesomeness of brocedes.

[velvet4510]

I cry when I think about Sam’s promise to never leave Frodo.

I cry when I think about how, in the book, the Elves say “don’t you leave him” as a concerned encouragement only because they know Frodo is being followed by Black Riders; they have no idea of the true gravity of the situation, or that these two hobbits will be going anywhere near the fortress of the Dark Lord himself.

I cry when I think about how Sam has already made up his mind completely when the Elves give him that advice, that he has already made the choice to go with Frodo anywhere, even the Moon, and to fight Black Riders for him. “Leave him????” the very idea is absurd to him already. He’s got it all figured out.

I cry when I think about how Sam doesn’t technically make his promise to the Elves; he makes it to Frodo, and more importantly, to himself. He just loves Frodo so much that he makes the promise to himself. “Never leave your master, that’s what you said, never, never!” Not what the Elves or Gandalf or anyone else said. What he himself said. What he vowed to himself for the sake of his greatest love.

I cry when I think about how, in the movie, Sam’s spoken excuse for his care for Frodo in the scene by the river is “I promised Gandalf,” but Sean Astin’s soulful performance reveals the aforementioned truth…in the boat scene all he says is “I made a promise,” he doesn’t say it was made to Gandalf….it’s the same as the book, he made the promise to himself…the emotion and love in his voice when he says “don’t you lose him and I don’t mean to”…a shy humble gardener’s way of saying “don’t you see? it’s not just about what a wizard told me to do, it’s about how I love you and I can’t lose you.” And Frodo’s reaction shows he registers this.

I cry when I think about how Sam keeps on choosing that promise over everything else, even his own safety, to the point where he directly goes against Frodo’s wishes for his safety and follows him to Mordor, not because anyone twisted his arm and forced him to do it, not because Frodo asked anything of him, but because he loves Frodo so much that he commits to his promise.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is like a marriage vow, “in sickness and in health,” “for richer for poorer.” Even as Frodo grows sicker and sicker, even as Sam almost dies dozens of times, he honors this vow and proves what love really means.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is the opposite of the forced obligation that many ignorant readers/viewers have claimed it to be (yes, i’ve read that claim, that he never wanted to go, that the whole time he secretly resented Frodo for taking him away from Rosie, what book did those numbskulls read???)…how Sam, in every version of the story, takes a mere encouragement made in total ignorance of what they will really be up against, and develops it into a personal vow based on pure love which ultimately gives him the strength to defeat Shelob one-on-one, storm an Orc-infested tower all by himself, and climb a giant mountain with an adult hobbit on his shoulders.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise is so much like a marriage vow that he cannot leave Frodo when Rosie reveals she wants to marry him, that he doesn’t marry Rosie until she agrees that they can still live with Frodo.

I cry when I think about how Sam’s promise lasts all his life into feeble old age, across decades of time and millions of miles, even when he knows Frodo is in good healing hands and his emotional support is no longer reliant on him alone … he still ultimately forsakes all that he has ever known to find Frodo in the West, because his promise, his love, is everlasting.

I cry when I think about how Sam proves that love is a choice, that the vows you make for a person are vows for yourself as much as that person. Why would you make such a vow? All that anyone else can do is encourage you to act on what you already feel. The choice is only yours. And you choose to make that vow when you truly love someone, as Sam does.

I cry when I think about how Sam proves that love is a promise.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (46)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, anxiety, angst, war victims, trauma ]

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

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

When she woke up in the morning she felt that she was alone. She looked around, completely naked and covered herself with the furs lying next to her, sighing heavily. She rose to sit up and pressed her lips together, feeling her moisture and her husband's spend slowly flowing out of her onto the bedding. She blushed at the memory of what he had whispered in her ear moments before she fell asleep.

I love you.

He said it.

He said it even though he didn't have to.

Even though she hadn't asked him to.

She felt happy and hopeful. Daeron's arrival with his reinforcements gave her the feeling that perhaps they were not in such a hopeless situation, that perhaps with her father's help this war could be won. With this thought, she stood up, calling her servant to help her take a bath and get dressed.

As the girl finished tying her buff, open sleeves to her gown her father walked into the tent, startling her completely. She pressed her lips together at the memory of what she had learned the day before from her brother and swallowed loudly, asking the servant to leave them alone. The girl bowed and left, an awkward silence ensued between her and her father.

Should she tell him that she knew?

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that his illegitimate child was in Harrenhal.

She couldn't look him in the eye.

Her father grunted, clearly as stressed and concerned as she was.

"Did he tell you?" He asked lowly, uncertainly, his tubular voice trembling slightly. She looked at him in pain, tightening her lips.

"Not him, but Royce. I know my husband threatened you, Father. However, I already know, and you, if you wish, do what you want with your army." She said in a shaking voice, trying to remain calm, looking down at her trembling fingers, which she involuntarily played with.

She wanted to cry.

She felt hurt at the thought that her father was not as perfect as she had thought. She believed that other lords had mistresses, but not him.

That other lords had bastards, but not him.

She was naïve.

"Your husband has decided that we will move on the Eyrie." He said calmly, and she threw him a quick, shocked, horrified look, her heart beating harder in her chest. "And I supported that decision. We are leaving tonight."

She looked at him feeling her lower lip tremble, her eyes filled with tears, her whole body quivering.

Her husband, her father and her brother were going off to war, perhaps never to return from it.

"Why the rush…after all…." She mumbled, but her father interrupted her.

"Daemon is trying to find individuals born of dragon seed who have the potential to tame the dragons. They want to make them dragon riders. To have an advantage in the sky. If we let that happen, their fire will wipe us out. We need to surprise them. I agree with his decision." He said firmly, like a commander rather than a father, and she sobbed loudly, catching her stomach, his words cutting through her like sharp daggers.

She heard him draw in a loud breath, her reaction making him unsure how to act. He approached her, and after a moment she felt his large, familiar, rough hands on her head and then the cold steel of his armour against her cheek, his bearded face placed a kiss on her hair.

"– my sweet child –" He said in a breaking voice, and she wept in his arms, embracing him, feeling that what he had done, what he had hurt her with, no longer mattered.

"– Father –" She mumbled out loud as if crying out to him for help, as if begging him for something, though she didn't know what for herself.

Her father, who had always supported her, who had always been proud of her, who she could always count on, was now standing in front of her and offering her his comfort, his safe arms in which she sheltered herself when, on cold nights, she could not sleep, terrified by the darkness of her great chamber and the ghosts that might lurk beneath her bed.

"– forgive me, Father –" She whispered and heard him draw in a breath, swallowing loudly – she had the feeling that his voice had trapped in his throat as if he was about to cry himself.

His hand tightened on her head as if he wanted to give her reassurance that he would always be there for her, that she would never lose his support.

"It is I who should ask your forgiveness −" He said in a trembling voice she had rarely heard from him, the kind she had heard when he had sat beside her mother's bed and watched her life slowly leave her. "− I sold you − I −"

"– I love him, Father –" She said in a breaking voice, trying to calm her breathing, her heart pounding hard in terror. "– I'm happy to be his wife –"

Her father swallowed loudly and let out a quiet sigh, trying to calm down and pull himself together. He patted her on the back as if he wanted to pour a little reassurance into her so they would both stop crying.

"Good. Very good. I'm happy. You'll see, in just a few months I'll be holding my grandson in my arms and then…" He paused hearing someone walk into the tent.

She saw her husband's surprised face, pale and shaken, his pupil dilated wide, looking at her with fear.

Her father kissed her hair once more and let her go, heading for the entrance, and she looked at him with a misty gaze, as if she didn't quite believe herself what was happening. She looked at her husband's face, tears involuntarily running down her cheeks, her breathing uneven and accelerated.

She swallowed quietly as she saw him approach her slowly, his figure rigid and upright. He looked down at her, his lips tightened as if he was thinking intensely about what he wanted to say to her.

"If I don't come back, you will do whatever Rheanyra wants. You will bend the knee. Do you understand?" He asked coldly and she looked at him with dull eyes and shook her head.

If I don't come back.

Why did he say that?

"Daemon has a weakness for you, moreover you are with child. You will say that I forced you to do this and according to his will you tried to convince me to change my mind. If your father and brother survive, also let them submit to the will of him and my sister. I will not consider this a betrayal against me." He whispered, cupping her face in his hands, and she sobbed quietly at his words, terrified and distraught, unable to calm her breathing.

"− don't leave me −" She whispered, feeling as if he was saying goodbye to her, as if he felt that this time the will of heaven would not protect him. "− you promised me that after Harrenhal you would never leave me again − take me with you − I want to be by your side − I −"

She didn't finish as his lips pressed aggressively and violently to hers, his tongue invading her throat letting out a stifled, desperate moan. She clenched her hands in his hair pressing into his lips, seeking rescue in his closeness. He pulled away from her and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, his gaze dark and troubled.

"I want to spend the next few hours with you and our child."

And so they did. At first they wanted to just make love to each other, but they stopped, too distraught at the prospect of sudden separation, and just snuggled into each other, his swollen manhood pulsing deep inside her.

She tried to remember the feeling, the feel of his arms around her, his scent, his face, his gaze.

She was terrified of losing him, and her body was trembling at that thought.

"Promise me you'll come back to me." She whispered and heard him swallow loudly and twist, all tense, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"I promise."

She watched helplessly as the servant put on his armour thinking that this wasn't really happening – she felt as if her heart was about to burst out of her chest, a cold sweat on her back. When he was in full equipage again he walked over to her and knelt down grasping her face in his hands, his soft lips placed a warm kiss on her forehead.

"Remember what I told you."

He stood up and disappeared a moment later and she was left alone, with a pounding heart and tears running down her cheeks.

Never before had she felt so scared, so alone, so abandoned.

She curled up, surrounding herself with furs, and just lay on the bedding. After a while, the noises around her quieted and there was an ominous silence, broken only by the footsteps of the guards passing by her tent and the wounded who had not gone off to battle.

Night fell, and she squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray.

Warrior, give them strength.

Father, guide them, do not let them harm your sons.

Mother, have mercy on them.

Stranger, do not take them away.

She repeated these four sentences over and over again, crying, rising quickly every time she heard any louder sound. She dressed in her nightgown and put a robe over it, poking her head out of the tent, but saw nothing.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

The hours seemed to lengthen like days to her. She lit a candle and tried to read, however she felt her body trembling all the time, glanced nervously at the entrance and wondered what was just happening.

She had never been so scared before in her life.

She felt helpless.

The first loud sounds and screams reached her ears in the morning. She roused herself from her restless half-sleep and ran out of the tent on her bare feet, looking ahead.

Their army was returning.

She covered her mouth and cried out loudly when she saw the silhouette of Vhagar and the other dragon in the distance, feeling relief flow through her body.

He had made it.

He had returned.

She saw the dragons land in the distance, and she ran between the cheering men towards the flying deer banners, searching her eyes for Royce and her father. Her heart beat harder when she spotted him, his face pale and smeared with blood, he looked as if he could barely see out of sight.

He only woke up when he saw her running up to his horse. She put her hand on his knee breathing unevenly, feeling uneasy.

"Where is our father?" She panted, smiling, thinking that perhaps their father was injured and being carried somewhere behind.

Royce stared down at her and answered nothing. She stroked his knee as if to comfort and reassure him, seeing how tense he was.

"Brother?" She asked quietly, her voice trembling slightly, but a hopeful smile was still painted on her face.

Only after a moment did she glance sideways and see a horse pulling a cart, with a body on top of it covered in the cloth of the Baratheon banner.

She felt her heart stop and ran over there on shaking legs despite Royce's shouts for her to stop. Her brother jumped off his horse and ran after her, grabbing her around the waist and preventing her from pulling off the material she wanted to grab.

"Who's there? I want to see him." She mumbled, breathing heavily, feeling like the world around her was spinning.

"Don't look, please. His body burned." Her brother mumbled weakly, and she drew in air with a quiet, mournful whine, clenching her fingers painfully tightly on his hands, trying to pull away from him.

"− let me go, Royce −" She said menacingly, struggling against him, the soldiers around them looking at the scene with sympathy and embarrassment.

"− stop −" He said helplessly, his grip strong as steel, both of them panting heavily. "− please, stop −"

"− LET ME GO TO HIM −" She cried out loudly, reaching out towards the cloth, slipping to her knees. Royce leaned over her, kissing her hair, his cold armour almost scorching her heated flesh.

"− he doesn't look like you remember him anymore − please −" He said pleadingly, and she fell down on the grass.

She clamped her fingers over her mouth, a loud, high-pitched, squeaky, almost inhuman scream came from her lungs, so terrifyingly pathetic that the men around her averted their gazes.

Scream after scream ripped from her throat as if someone were skinning her, as if someone were ripping her heart out alive, with sobs in between taking her breath away.

It felt like she knelt like that for hours, unable to calm down, Royce knelt next to her, his shaky voice not reaching her mind, not understanding what he was saying to her.

Her father was dead.

Her beloved father, her support, her companion.

He was dead.

He would never see her child.

She cried out louder at that thought and tucked her head between her knees wanting to disappear, to melt into the ground, to die.

"Prince Daeron is dead." Royce said indifferently, and she felt her heart stop. She swallowed loudly, wiping her nose and face.

So who was the other dragon rider she had seen?

"King Aegon joined the battle at the last moment." He said, and she froze, staring blankly ahead.

Aemond.

She looked around as if for a moment she didn't know where she was, the men watching her outburst of despair averted their eyes and dispersed. She rose on shaky legs.

"Where are you going? Wait! I…" Royce called out, grabbing her arm, but she pulled away from him.

She moved back through the camp hearing everything as if underwater, the joy of the men around her and their shouts seemed to her unnatural, strange, out of this world.

What was making them so happy?

What were they rejoicing about?

With difficulty she reached their shared tent, and as she walked inside she froze, seeing him before her.

His eye pierced her deeply. He was sitting in a chair facing her, his hands spread out on the armrests, his chin lifted slightly, his gaze cold and blank.

Like when he had arrived in Storm's End.

She wanted to shout that it was his fault, that she hated him, that it was all because of him and his brother.

She wanted to shout out how much she was suffering now.

But she couldn't.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. After a while, as if some impulse flowed through her she twitched, and her body moved forward.

One step, a second, a third.

As if she were a small child learning to walk.

She looked down at him, his healthy eye didn't even blink, watching her intensely.

She heard him swallow loudly, surprised, as she climbed onto his lap and snuggled into him, hugging her face to his chest, tucking her legs under her chin, trying to press her body into his. She felt him tremble, felt his heart beating hard against her face.

He had come back to her.

He had promised her and he had returned.

After a moment, she felt his trembling arms rise and embrace her tightly, his familiar, warm hands on her womb and in her hair. She burst out into a silent sob feeling it.

"Your father killed Daemon." He said and she felt her heart stop.

"He hit him with a crossbow when he tried to jump off Caraxes and pierce me with his Dark Sister. That's why Baela…" He said, and his voice stuck in his throat. She felt her heart beat harder, her lips parted in accelerated breath.

Your father killed Daemon.

He hit him with a crossbow when he tried to jump off Caraxes and pierce me with his Dark Sister.

Nothing mattered, nothing her father had done in the past could change the pride and love she felt for him.

Her father saved her husband.

"And Daeron…" It came out of his throat like a painful cry.

She stroked his shoulder feeling the pain in her heart, suddenly remembering cruelly clearly that he too had lost someone that night.

"– I tried to help him –"

"– shhh –" She whispered, lifting herself up. She embraced his terrified, pale face and cuddled his head into her breasts, offering him the shelter of her body, even though she was going through grief herself.

She could have crushed him, destroyed him, told him it was his fault, that he deserved this suffering.

But then he would sink back into his darkness.

She could see that he stood at the edge of the precipice over which he stood when she met him.

She could have pulled him back or pushed him forward to fall.

"− it's my fault − he was only a child − he was afraid, and I −" He mumbled out, her heart pounding like mad.

"− help me −" He muttered helplessly, and she felt her breath caught in her lungs. "− help me −"

She saw him with the eyes of her imagination, saw him in the void, in the blackness, in the emptiness, her husband, her god, her Stranger.

Help me.

She grasped his face in her hands, his healthy eye red, wide open, terrified.

He looked at her as he had never looked at her before.

He was utterly vulnerable, open to any hurt from her, ready to finally fall, to hear who he was.

She kissed him greedily, clasping her hands around his neck and hair, putting all the rage and love she felt for him into his lips. He moaned loudly into her mouth reciprocating her caress, his fingers on her cheeks and in her hair drawing her close.

She shuddered and pulled away from him with a quiet click when she heard a servant stepped into their tent to announce that the King was expecting him.

Her husband refused to go without her. He waited patiently for her servant to help her comb her hair and dress her in her gown.

Brown and gold.

The colours of the Baratheons.

As she walkend into the tent with her husband, Aegon's eyes widened as if he had seen a ghost.

He didn't know where to look, so he looked away.

She stood next to Royce, trying to hide the trembling of her hands. Her husband did not stand beside his brother-king, but beside her. Aegon held out his hand towards him.

"Lords, behold my brother, destroyer of Caraxes, slayer of our…"

Aemond did not let him finish, his voice expressing fatigue and impatience.

"Lord Borros Baratheon fired a crossbow towards my uncle as he leapt from Caraxes and sought to stab me with his Dark Sister. The arrow pierced his neck. He died in the fire of Moondancer." He explained coolly and she swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze.

She tried not to think about it, she couldn't get over it, her mind repressed it.

Her father's burnt body lay somewhere on some cart covered with cloth, surely already rotting in the sun.

A spasm went through her body at the thought, but she only swallowed loudly and clenched her eyes shut, trying to calm herself down.

Aegon grunted at his brother's words and nodded, his gaze shifting to Royce.

"Lord Baratheon. In accordance with your family's tradition, you will now become the ruler of Storm's End. As I understand it, I can count on your devotion and loyalty, just as I could count on the same from your heroic father?" He asked feigning lightheartedness, as if Royce's answer was obvious, but she knew it wasn't and looked at her brother horrified.

Royce pressed his lips together and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, shifting from foot to foot. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at him pleadingly.

Don't do this to me Royce, she thought.

He'll kill you if you don't bend the knee.

Her brother swallowed loudly, the words leaving his throat with difficulty.

"I am faithful to you, my King." He choked out and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "I wish to take my father's body to Storm's End and bury him in our home fortress. Then I will return with my army, and…"

"My Lord, you and your army will go where I command." He was interrupted by Aegon, and she looked at him wrinkling her brows, furious at his tone of voice, at the fact that he had flown in when everything was a foregone conclusion, that he had lost nothing.

The King, however, caught her gaze and swallowed quietly, embarrassed, his voice softening a tad.

"However, I understand the need for a quick burial, and I offer him the royal burial by fire that awaits my brother as well." He said, as if he was doing them a favour, but Royce laughed at his words in disbelief.

A royal burial by fire might have seemed like an act of grace to him, but not to them.

"You want to burn my father?" Her brother hissed, and she tightened her hand on his arm, feeling the fury rising within him. Aegon shrugged his shoulders at his words.

"Lord Lannister and my uncle will remain in the Eyrie together with the rest of the army. Lord Stark has retreated to Winterfell and is trapped, surrounded on all sides. Without Daemon they will be in disarray. The usurper may, in a fit of madness, try to attack King's Landing and that is where our main forces must now be. Inform your sisters to come to the Red Keep and take your father's body or ashes to Storm's End." He said lightly. Ser Criston grunted loudly, a long scar on his face from someone's cut.

"Shouldn't at least one dragon stay here?" He asked uncertainly, and Aegon sighed heavily.

"And guard what? The ruins? Our armies will create a wall that will cut off the North from supplies from the South. If they wish to starve to death for the Usurper, so be it." He snorted impatiently. After a moment, another commander, a vassal of House Hightower spoke up.

"What shall we do with Lord Greyjoy? He does not yet know that Prince Daeron is dead. What about the agreement? Without his fleet, we have no chance at sea." He said uncertainly, and silence sounded around them. Aegon swallowed loudly, looking at him terrified and grunted.

"Well… the Lord of Storm's End cannot be left without an heir." He said lightly, and she felt a cold sweat on her back – she cast a quick glance at her brother. Royce was red with rage, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He had lost his father to this fool, and now he wanted to put his conditions on him.

"No." He hissed, looking at him with hatred. "You will not force me to marry."

She was frightened by his directness and what Aegon might do with his words, so she decided to quickly interject and defuse the situation.

"Lord Greyjoy wanted a Prince as a husband for his granddaughter, not a Lord, my King." She said quickly, but felt discomfort when Aegon laughed at her words.

"Then perhaps I should command my brother, and your husband, to take a second wife like Aegon the Conqueror and close the whole discussion. What do you think, my Lords?" He asked loudly, and she felt a sting of humiliation ripple through her body at his words.

Perhaps I should command your husband to take a second wife.

She felt like crying at the very thought, her brother standing beside her was on the verge of bursting with anger.

"Careful, brother." Her husband hissed suddenly in such a tone that she looked at him shocked, his eye wide open.

For a moment they measured glances.

"− King." His brother corrected him, and she saw his husband's face stretch in a dangerous, dark grin not reaching his eye that she knew so intimately, that she had seen when he looked at Luke.

When he wanted to kill someone.

Aegon grunted, pretending not to see it, and turned to the Lords again.

"So it is settled. Send a letter to Lord Greyjoy informing him of my brother's death, the changes in the agreement recognising that the new Lord Baratheon will marry his granddaughter. Inform him also of the death of Daemon Targaryen and the heir to the throne of that usurping whore."

_____

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey! Love your blog and all your theories and analyses! I wanted to pick your brain about what you think of the relationship between magic and sentience? It seems that any object that is enchanted gains some kind of sentience. The most prominent exemple being the Ford Anglia enchanted by Mr. Weasley. I don't think he intended for the car to become sentient, he only enchanted it to be able to fly, yet the car became sentient nonetheless. It's the same with magical chess pieces that are enchanted to be able to follow the player's command and play chess, yet also develop a personality of their own. It is a property of magic to make things sentient? But then... is that not Dark Magic? Mr Weasley, ironically enough, once tells Ginny "never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain" because these objects are "clearly full of Dark Magic". I don't think the Ford Anglia or wizards chess is full of Dark Magic but then I'm confused about what differentiates these objects from the Dark Magic ones. Curious to hear your thoughts about this if you have any!

Thank you so much!

I think there are different levels of sentience. like, magic, at its core, I think is very much based on intent, and intent requires some level of sentience. I mean, wands are sentient, the Whomping Willow is sentient, and even brooms have a certain sentience as they don't operate well when they sense fear from the rider:

Harry’s broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville’s voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

(PS)

A lot of magical items have this base intent, but it's not self-aware sentience for the most part. Portraits, and perhaps the Mauraders Map are sentient and self-aware, a wand or the Ford Angelica have certain intent, a certain sentience but they are not capable of self-awareness or problem-solving, even if they could learn. The same goes for most wands. The wizard chess pieces have some sentience, but they can't actually play on their own:

involving a couple of recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop.

(GoF)

They don't really strategize, just act out.

So, I think it's about the different levels of sentience. Becouse the Ford Angelica doesn't really "think for itself" it's closer to an animal (not a corvid, a stupider animal), it runs on sort of base instinct/intent, but it isn't going to be able to solve puzzles now, would it? Diary Tom, on the other hand, is fully sentient, capable of self-awareness, advanced communication, and problem-solving because he's essentially human. Most magical artifacts don't have this level of sentience.

So, it doesn't really do active thinking, I think that's the difference. It's also the sentience difference between most wands and the Elder Wand which I believe has the sentience of Antioch Peverell imbued in it.

Magical owls or other animals (such as Kneazlers) are also more intelligent and sentient than their muggle counterparts, but in their case, they do have a brain that does the thinking.

[humanpurposes]

life is awesome, i confess, what i do, i do best

Visenyra is betrothed to an uncle she despises, but she has other desires she wishes to fulfill. Perhaps Aemond is the key to her calling after all? // Main Masterlist

Warnings: smut, murder, enemies to lovers

Word count: 1500

A/n: crack fic, just for shits n giggles

Visenyra stomped into the small council chamber. She shoved the doors open, marching her feet loudly on the floor and flicked her silver Valryian hair over her shoulder in an angry puff.

“I don’t want to marry Aemond!” She shouted angrily. She was furious.

She and Aemond had been betrothed the previous evening, when her grandfather, Viserys, announced to the whole family that they were to be married.

She didn’t want to marry Aemond. He was weird and a loner, and her brother Luke had cut out his eye when they were children, leaving their uncle with a stupid grudge. What was so deep about the eye anyway? It was just an eye and anyway he looked kinda hot with an eyepatch.

“Visenyra!” her mother shouted. Rhaenyra was sitting next to Daemon, her husband. Visenyra had been born after her brother Jace and before her brother Luke, and even though her brothers were Velaryons and had the dark haired features of Harwin Strong, she knew with her beautiful silvery locks, bright purple eyes and pale, pale, like translucent pale, like veins visible pale, like milk, like straight up freshly fallen snow, like that’s how white she was, skin. 

“I’m not happy about this either,” snarled Alicent Hightower, the bitter old hag, Aemond’s mother and Viserys’ second wife. She didn’t want her son to marry Visenyra because she was mean and all she cared about was power. It didn’t matter that Visenyra was the most beautiful girl in the whole of the known world, she was even more attractive than her mother, “the realm’s delight.” People loved Visenyra so much they called her “the realm’s sweet angel baby bomb pussy.”

“Shut it, Alicunt,” grinned Daemon. Rhaenyra cackled and gave her uncle-husband a high five.

“My decision is final!” bellowed Viserys. He was here too, his bestie Otto Hightower sitting sneakily by his chair. Otto had a gloved hand on Viserys’ shoulder and was whispering to him. Visenyra often wondered if they were fuck buddies because they kinda acted like it.

“Ugh I hate this!” screeched Visenyra, tossing her hair over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips.

“Hate what?” came a slimy sick voice. God she hated him so much.

She turned around with her hands on her hips and Aemond was standing in the doorway.

“So… we’re getting married?” she said annoyedly.

“Hmm.” said Aemond.

“Don’t ‘hmm’ all the time,” she snapped, “you sound stupid. Go train with the sword or something.”

“The wedding is in three days!” Viserys called and she shoved past Aemond’s shoulder and exited the room. There was only one place she wanted to be right now. 

She sprinted all the way to the dragonpit and plopped herself into the saddle of her dragon, Dorgonelkoryos, the biggest, oldest, most fearsome, most powerful dragon. Viserys said he was double the size of Balerion and she had claimed the dragon when she was six months old, making her the youngest dragon rider ever, younger than her mum and no one else even had a chance of beating her record ever. 

She flew the dragon over King’s Landing, screaming into the air because she was so angry. “Dracarys!” she screamed and blew up the Sept because Alicent liked the Sept and she hated Alicent. 

The poor people scum didn’t hate her though because then she went to an orphanage and read them some books. They all told her how much they hate Alicent and how they wanted Visenyra to be Queen. She smiled because she knew she’d be a great queen, way better than Aegon would be because all Aegon did was get drunk and go to brothels and watch children in fighting pits. Freak. She kinda thought she’d be better than Jace too because she was smart and level headed. And also super hot. And she had a big dragon, bigger even than Vhagar. That always made her laugh because she knew Aemond wanted the biggest dragon. 

When she got home she went to her bedroom and masterbated to the thought of Cregan Stark. She hadn’t met him yet but she knew he was honourable and that was the kind of man she wanted to marry. Not Aemond, ew.

“What are you doing, niece?” came his creepy voice.

Visenyra screamed, her hands under her skirt and covered in her pussy juice. The thought of Cregan Stark turned her on so much, but as Aemond appeared from the shadow in the corner of the room she was kinda aroused?

“None of your business, cyclops,” she said.

“What the fuck is a cyclops?” Aemond asked because Greek mythology wasn’t a thing in Westeros.

Visenyra giggled because he was so stupid. “I can’t believe I have to marry you,” she huffed angrily, crossing her arms and pouting like a child.

“Really? Because I’m really happy about the whole thing to be honest,” Aemond said, walking towards the bed.

“Ugh, you’re a freak, why would I want to marry you?”

“Because I love you,” Aemond said.

Visenyra’s chest felt like it was going to explode. She launched herself off the bed and collapsed onto her knees and started crying into her hands.

“This is all too much!” She screamed. “I just want to ride my dragon, Dorgonelkoryos, burn my enemies into ash and eat cake!”

“Don’t you see?” Aemond said, sandwiching her face between his hands and kneeling. He licked her tears off her face. “We’re basically the same person. I want to do war crimes too–”

“NO!” She roared like an angry dragon, shoving him away until he fell on his back. She took out the knife she always had strapped to her leg and put it at his neck. “We’re not the same! You want to usurp my mum because you hate women! You do war crimes for unethical reasons, I do war crimes because I’m a girl boss!”

“The most beautiful girlboss in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond breathed like he couldn’t breathe. He put his hands on her thighs and she shuddered because she was so turned on. “You’re literally Visenya born again.”

Visenyra gasped. That was all she ever wanted to hear. 

She kissed him harshly, the knife still digging into his neck until he started to bleed from the cut. He didn’t even care because he thought it was sexy. They fought a war with their tongues, battling for dominance, two dragons locked in a dance of hate and desire.

“Fuck,” she moaned, “maybe I do want to marry you after all.”

“I want to marry you right now,” Aemond wailed. He flipped her onto her back and ripped off her dress. Then he took the knife and made a cut on his lip and did the same. Like the Valyrain wedding ceremony.

Vinseyra shrieked, not because she was in pain, she didn’t feel pain, but because she was so overwhelmed. “Oh my god, Aemond, I think I might love you?”

“I always loved you,” Aemond said as he took his cock out of his trousers. “Even when your bastard brother took my eye I couldn’t stop loving you.”

“But… we’ve been enemies all this time,”

“Yeah,” Aemond said with a smirk, “funny how that works out innit.”

Then he shoved his dick into her wet cunt and fucked her brutally. She started bleeding and he moaned at the sight of her blood and her pussy juice on his cock as he fucked in and out of her.

“Holy shit!” she squealed, “that feels really great! Fuck me like that daddy!”

At being called “daddy” Aemond snapped, and fucked her even more wildly, like a wild beast, like some kind of one-eyed sex monster.

“Fuck I’m coming!” he bellowed into her ear, and then he came and squirted all his jizz into her. She came too, wailing and howling with pleasure. Then he put his hand on her stomach. “You’re gonna be so hot when you’re pregnant. I’m gonna fuck you every day, fill you up with my cum, my little bitch to breed, yeah?”

“Yes daddy,” Visenyra said. “Then can I go girl boss on my enemies?”

“I guess,” Aemond said, and kissed her.

After the wedding ceremony three days later, Visenyra took Dark Sister from her dad-uncle, Daemon and cut off the heads of all the Greens and had their heads served on silver platters to Aemond at the feast. He was sad for a bit but he agreed that she did the right thing, and he loved her now so he didn’t even care that his family died. In fact if anything he was disappointed because he wanted to be the one to do it in the first place.

When Viserys died, Rhaenyra THE TRUE QUEEN OF WESTEROS succeeded without a challenge because all the people who didn’t like her were dead. Then Visenyra and Aemond rode off on their dragons into the sunset to obliterate Oldtown for good measure. 

She hopped off Dorgonelkoryos mid-air and jumped onto Vhagar. Aemond bent her over the saddle in front of him and slid his cock into her cunt. They fucked for hours, him filling her over and over again. He groped her breasts, saying he was really looking forward to sucking her titty milk, and then they both came.

He was still inside her when they flew over Oldtown. 

They gave each other a loving look before they said together, “Dracarys.”

Fin.

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 2 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3 Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Warnings: Smut, mentions of mutilation, non canonical dragons, canonical character death

Chapter 2 - Illegitimacy

“I do not understand why you spend so much time with that boy! Don’t you care that he questions your own brother’s claim to the throne? The legitimacy of your birth!” Rhaenyra yelled.

“He’s kind to me! The others bully him, mother. Jace and Luke, Baela and Rhaena, even Aegon always bullies him! I’m his only friend and I love him!” Maelessa screamed back.

“He will betray you the first chance he gets, Maelessa. If Alicent plots against us, do you truly think he will take your side? And he stole the dragon that was Rhaena’s to claim.”

“Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor!” she insisted, and Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, taken aback by her daughter’s words. 

“Who told you that?” she asked.

“Aemond did. You can’t steal dragons, mother, you know that as well as I do. If you could, Daemon would be riding Meleys and I would be riding Vermithor. Instead he has Caraxes and I have Catlys, the smallest little beast of them all. And I have this,” she continued, holding up her hand, showing the missing little finger on her right hand, the one Vermithor had bitten off. “If Vhagar didn’t want Aemond as a rider, he would have lost his head, not his eye.” 

Rhaenyra couldn’t argue with her logic, so she sighed.

“I still do not trust him, Lessa. You’re not allowed into his chamber anymore. You may still spend time with him, but enough of this incessant sneaking around, hiding from the guards and climbing into his chamber at night. No more, do you understand? Soon you will be old enough for people to get the wrong idea,” she urged, holding her daughter firmly by her shoulders.

“Yes, mother,” she agreed, but as soon as the ship took her back to King’s Landing with Aemond and the king’s family, she had no plans on obeying.

The years passed and Maelessa and Aemond’s escapades only grew in number. Almost every night she would climb out her window, walk the narrow path past all the windows and climb towards Aemond’s chamber. When his voice deepened with age, Maelessa grew even more obsessed with his stories, and she found herself no longer falling asleep to his tales, rather she laid by his feet and listened with great pleasure as he scratched her back. When she was twelve and Aemond fourteen, they shared their first kiss, after he took her for a ride on Vhagar’s back for the first time. 

When she was fourteen and he was sixteen, he deflowered her. It happened one night when she snuck into his chamber after a particularly gruesome fight with her brothers. She had been in need of comfort, and they both found themselves craving each other in a way deeper and more primal than before. The act had been awkward and uncomfortable, but they had both yearned for it. She knew as the daughter of the princess she should remain a maid, but she didn’t want to give the gift of her virtue to anyone but to him. He had been gentle and patient with her, being that he was the only one of them with any experience, even if it was scarce.

At ages fifteen and seventeen, Aemond and Maelessa were inseparable. The king’s health worsened with each passing year, and by now he looked twice his age. Aemond was Maelessa’s only comfort amongst all the worry. Her supposed father Laenor had now died, and Daemon and Rhaenyra were married, on Dragonstone making new siblings for Maelessa and the boys, feeding the suspicions about the now four of them being bastards. The younger children came out with silver hair just like their parents, a luxury that was never afforded to herself and her brothers. 

Aegon and Helaena were already betrothed, with twins on the way, and there were rumours within her family of Jace and Baela as well as Luke and Rhaena about to become betrothed as well. Maelessa was going to suggest to her mother that she could be betrothed to Aemond, the next time she came to visit. 

Vhagar landed on a secluded little island, and Aemond helped Maelessa climb down off of the giant dragon. Her own tiny beast named Catlys still too small to ride, but she was quick and agile, flying after Vhagar happily. She was black as coal and flew through the air like a bat. The little dragon continued roaming the skies, while Vhagar slumped down, her head resting in the sand with a great sigh.

“Old and tired, she is. Surprisingly stealthy for her size though.” Aemond gave Vhagar a pat on her great big nose before he and Maelessa began to walk, exploring the small island.

“I love when you take me places on her back. I never want to stop exploring the world with you. When we’re older, can we go further? There’s so much of Westeros I want to see,” she asked, tangling her fingers in his as they held hands. He pushed her up against a tree trunk.

“We can go anywhere you want,” he said, closing the distance between them and leaning in to kiss her neck. She leaned her head to the side, granting him access to whatever part of her he desired. “You’ll never leave me, will you, Maelītsos?” he asked, his hand snaking down her body and in between her legs. She helped him hike her gown up to her thighs and he slipped his hand underneath.

“Never, my prince. You’re all I want, all I care about,” she assured him, and in turn was rewarded with his fingers inside her smallclothes, teasing her quickly dampening pussy. She spread her legs and welcomed him in, leaning forward to kiss his lips. His talents had grown, the intimacy between them no longer awkward, but blissful.

“More than your own brothers?”

“Yes.” His fingers curled upwards, turning her statement into a pleasured whimper.

“More than your own mother?”

“More than anything, Aemond,” she swore. He added another finger and fucked her with them until she clung to his shoulders, a whimpering mess in his arms. “Please, Aemond, claim me again,” she begged, bucking her hips up against him. “Hard, like last time…”

“As my princess wishes.” He picked her up and walked them away from the sand and over to the grass, where he dropped her down so she landed on her bum. He flipped her over onto her stomach and pushed her dress up onto her back. She heard the sound of his belts and breeches being removed, then felt his weight as he mounted her from behind. When he entered her she cried out. He was big and hard, stretching her inner walls out painfully, yet she revelled in the sensation. 

When it came to Aemond, she could take as much pain as he wanted to give. Sometimes he was gentle with her, taking his time and littering her entire body with kisses, cherishing her and pleasuring her carefully. Other times he was rough and unforgiving, claiming her with force and leaving purple marks in his wake, everywhere that clothes could cover. Truthfully she preferred the second way.

“Ñuha syz riña,” he praised when he slammed into her, forcing her body down into the ground. Her pussy quivered around him at the praise. He fisted his hand in her hair and yanked at it, kissing and biting at her neck and jaw. His panting and groans of pleasure turned her on, and she was grinding her hips back up against him as he thrust into her. 

“My prince… Aemond… I’m about to…” she moaned, writing in pleasure under the man who had laid claim to her soul.

“Let go for me, kēlītsos, I want to hear you scream for me,” he urged, pounding her into the ground until she was sure her hips were scraped up. The waves of pleasure ripped through her and she gave him what he wanted, screaming his name over and over as she came undone, her hands ripping out grass as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her. Seconds later, Aemond pulled out of her and she hurried up onto her knees, letting him paint her face with his seed as he took his pleasure, winding a hand into her hair and groaning loudly. She loved when he marked her like this, and she stuck her tongue out to taste the drops that ran down to her mouth. She cleaned him up with her tongue and moaned as he twitched in pleasure inside her mouth.

“Ñuha syz riña,” he repeated, releasing his grip of her hair to pet her gently instead. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, basking in his affection. They cuddled up together and sat like that for hours, talking until they almost fell asleep. In the evening, Aemond struck down a rabbit and skinned it for supper. Maelessa made the fire and they ate together. They both knew they would be yelled at for staying out so late together, but neither of them cared. Alicent was losing power over Aemond more and more with each passing year. After eating, Maelessa braided his silky soft hair into an elaborate warrior braid, and then they climbed back onto Vhagar and flew back to King’s Landing, Catlys following gladly.

Catlys’ scales shone with a beautiful black glisten, she had gleaming blue eyes, two curled horns on her head, and she was the size of a large dog. Her tail was short and stumpy with rough spikes growing out of it. It was fate, they reminisced, that the eyes of her dragon were the same colour as Aemond’s sapphire eye. He never felt compelled to wear his eyepatch around Maelessa, he knew in her eyes he was the most beautiful thing to ever exist, regardless of the state of him.

Just as they suspected, Alicent and Otto were both angry with them upon their return.

“What would your mother say about the way you’re traipsing around with a man you’re not betrothed to?” Alicent asked.

“Let us be betrothed, then,” Aemond suggested calmly. Otto wasn’t opposed to the idea, but Alicent refused.

“Out of the question. Rhaenyra and I have already discussed it.”

“It is a possibility, daughter,” Otto interjected.

“It is not, this discussion is not to be opened again. Both of you are grown now, it’s time to act like it.”

***

Maelessa’s family was coming back to King’s Landing to visit. Despite having refused to follow them home to Dragonstone last time, she did miss them. She fought a lot with her mother, but they loved each other nonetheless. She didn’t feel much for Daemon, but she liked his spirit. He and Aemond were two sides of the same coin. Mostly she missed her brothers, and she was excited to meet the new little siblings.

“There, now you look like a queen,” Aemond said, finishing the elaborate crown braid in her hair.

“Then it’s only fair you should look like a king,” she answered and they switched seats. She began making a fierce looking warrior braid in Aemond’s hair.

“You’re excited to see them again, aren’t you?” he asked, his long fingers stroking her thighs leisurely as she sat on her knees behind him on the bed, braiding.

“Very. Despite our squabbles, I find my brothers quite entertaining to spend time with.”

“Hmm,” Aemond mused, pulling at her legs so she stretched them out in front of him. He hiked her dress up to her knees and traced patterns on her calves with his fingers. “I want to mark you,” he said calmly. Maelessa frowned.

“What do you mean, mark?” She tied off the last braid and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

“Since they won’t let us wed, there’s a chance they’ll want to wed you to some other lickspittle lord with a castle or a bridge somewhere. I want whatever cunt touches you to know that I’ve laid claim to you, mind, body and soul. I want to carve my name into your flesh and watch it scar,” he said, digging his nails into her skin until she winced in pain. “Would you let me if I asked, Maelītsos?” he wondered, turning around to face her. 

Her breath felt heavy while she pondered his question. It was an absolutely insane thing to ask, she knew it. Any lord who saw Aemond’s markings on her body would break off the marriage and renounce her as ruined. Her future would be in shambles and she would disgrace her entire family. But still she had no doubt of her answer. Her voice was a whisper when she answered.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t let you do to me, Aemond. If you wish to chain me to you and parade me naked through the streets of King’s Landing, I’ll go willingly. If you want to beat me black and blue every time we lay together, I’ll take the pain.” She ran her fingers down his missing eye, over the patch he wore. “If you want to cut out my eye, I’ll sharpen the knife for you. I am yours wholeheartedly, Aemond, as long as you are mine.”

Aemond took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. His eye was wide with lust at her confession of all the horrible things she would gladly let him do to her.

“I am yours until the day I die, and even in death I’ll haunt you, my love. I will never let them tear us apart,” he said. Then he kissed her again and laid claim to her body once more, marking her with bruises and welts as he took her. This was the first time he used his belt to strike her, but it would not be the last.

It seemed that whenever Maelessa’s family was back in King’s Landing, drama ensued. On this day, it wasn’t the heir to the throne that was challenged, it was the heir to Driftmark. Since Jace was the eldest son, he was Rhaenyra’s heir. That made Maelessa next in line to be heir to Driftmark. But because she had refused to go home to Dragonstone with her family and stayed here with “the greens”, Lord Corlys and princess Rhaenys had sought it more fit to name Lucerys heir. She didn’t care much, Driftmark was a world away in her eyes and nothing that interested her. Her home was here in King’s Landing, that’s where she felt at peace. 

Maelessa welcomed her mother with a large smile, running down the stairs in the courtyard to greet her. She was pregnant again, with what would be her and Daemon’s third child. 

“You’re glowing, mother, you look so beautiful,” Maelessa said, putting her hands on her mother’s growing belly.

“Thank you. Can you feel her move?” 

“I’m getting a sister?” she asked eagerly. She has always wanted a sister, having five brother’s was enough.

“We believe so, but we can’t be sure. I’ve missed you, Lessa. I do hope you’ll come home with us this time,” Rhaenyra said, and Maelessa didn’t answer. She smiled and continued feeling as her possible baby sister moved in her mothers womb. She longed for the day where she would carry children for Aemond, when her belly would grow big with his babes, and he would be the one to lay his hands on her and feel their children kick. They would have the most beautiful little silver haired babies, she was convinced. Her body yearned for it, but they both knew it wasn’t a good idea as of right now. First they needed to convince their parents to wed them.

The king was in such bad shape these days that he wore a golden mask over half his face. Aemond was no longer the only one eyed man in the Red Keep. King Viserys didn’t understand why petitions were being heard over a settled succession. It was Vaemond, the younger brother or Lord Corlys, who was unhappy. Maelessa wasn’t sure where she should stand, with Aemond and his siblings or with her own family. But Daemon had all but grabbed her by the collar and decided for her that she needed to stand with her brothers, so she did. But her eyes continued drifting all the time, to her silver haired lover.

“You know we can always tell when you’ve been together, right? You never wear braids in your hair except when you’ve been with her,” Aegon teased, pulling at his younger brother’s braid.

“Shut up,” Aemond snapped back, and Aegon quieted. Rhaenys took to the centre of the floor to speak. She reaffirmed that Driftmark should pass to Luke, and informed the king and everyone else that the plans were indeed to marry Jace to Baela and Luke to Rhaena. Maelessa was as of yet left out of any marriage plans, but she couldn’t be sure how long.

Vaemond was utterly dissatisfied. He went on a long rant about who deserved to bear the name Velaryon. He accused them all of being bastards, no relatives of his. 

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine! My house survived the doom, and a thousand tribulations besides,” he insisted. “Gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this…” he trailed off, unsure of how wise it would be to continue. 

“Say it…” Daemond challenged, and Maelessa knew that things were about to take a turn for the worse now. King Viserys breathed heavily, exhausted by his task, and Vaemond smiled. A malicious smile of a man that knew his next words were about to end his life.

“Her children are BASTARDS!” He pointed his finger at Rhaenyra. “And she… is… a whore.” 

Gasps and chatter broke out in the crowd, Jace balled up his fists, Maelessa felt fury course through her veins at the insult of her mother, Aegon grinned, Alicent’s eyes were wide in shock, and Aemond kept his eye on Maelessa. The king was angered, rising slowly.

“I will have your tongue for that,” he said tearing his knife from its sheath. In one swift motion, Daemon sliced the head off Vaemond, only the tongue remained attached to his body.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon said. Helaena and Aegon looked the most shocked, and Aemond looked in awe. Maelessa stared in disbelief at the scene in front of her.

“Disarm him!” Otto shouted, but the king motioned for the kingsguard to stop. Then he fell back onto his throne, moaning in pain. It was all too much for him and Maelessa felt bad.

“Call the Masters!” Alicent yelled and ran to her husband.

“Father!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, moving forwards the stairs. When she was no longer being forced to stand behind her mother, Maelessa seized the opportunity to run to Aemond whose arms wrapped around her the second she reached him. While chaos ensued, the pair slipped away without anyone but Aegon noticing.

Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor - a dragon is not a slave Kēlītsos - Kitten Ñuha syz riña - My good girl

[scaracake]

synopsis: it's valentines at chaldea! as a master with many servants, you've prepared lots of chocolate to gift them as a token of your appreciation (and love) for them! in particular, you seek out taigong wang, the genius tactician grand rider. how will he react to your gift?

some servants were, notably, easier to locate than others (considering the many male servants you noticed filing into the dining hall as you passed by, no doubt eager to receive their treats on this love-filled occasion).

despite this, your guess at checking the library first and foremost in search of the scheming tactician Taigong Wang proved to be fruitful, locating him seated by his lonesome at one of the shiny, dark wood tables, several books scattered around him acting as company, his nose deep into a particularly thick book in his hands, face morphing into differing expressions ever so slightly with each notable line read or page turned.

you couldn't help but admire him before approaching him (after all, the way he was sitting facing away from you, and how lost he was in his book, he'd never notice, right?)

his shiny black hair framing his face perfectly, looking as elegant as ever in just his usual garments, and his cute multitude of expressions whilst lost in the pages (that you weren't sure if he was aware of or not, but regardless, couldn't look away from).

unbeknownst to you, Taigong Wang was aware of your presence, but simply made no move to make it known, not right away at least. he took note of his sweet master just a few steps away, feeling your gaze as he read, and he couldn't lie, he quite liked the attention. in any case, he was quite curious about your reasoning for coming to the library, so after relishing in your attention just a little longer, he looks up from his book with a question on his lips.

"..oh, hello master. what a coincidence. did you come to do some reading, too?"

you didn't realize how long you were admiring the rider for until you hear his voice ringing through the air, shaking you out of your thoughts to meet his expectant face as he smiled at you.

embarrassed at being caught staring, you shuffle a few steps closer to his table, chocolate securely hidden behind your back.

before you can provide him an answer to his question however, he goes on to praise the library, expressing his admiration and comfort in sticking around it so often. you nod along to his excitement for something so simple, yet seemingly so intriguing to him.

"i'm glad you like the underground library so much," you answer his praises earnestly.

"oh yes, absolutely!"

he doesn't allow a moment of silence to pass before speaking up again.

"by the way, you still haven't answered my question. did you come here to do some reading, too?"

you open your mouth to answer, but he beats you to it again.

"you didn't, did you?" he raises an eyebrow with the question.

"actually, isn't today some sort of special occasion? i noticed quite a few lady servants and staff were running about up until yesterday," he questions, head tilting slightly as he brings a hand to his chin, eyes shut in thought.

"for that matter... this is probably a major event for you too, no?" his eyes look back up at you, checking your reaction.

he's speaking matter-of-factly, and has a certain glint in his eye.

crap, he's onto you!

"i guess i have been pretty busy getting ready for it myself.." your words trail off as you tear your gaze away, face going hot thinking to the past few days of busying yourself with ideas of different chocolate recipes for their respective recipients.

he nods, grinning.

'what a cute expression~' he thinks to himself.

"hmm hmm, i suspected as much. at any rate, i'm sure you don't have time to waste on me."

'huh?'

"hehehe. this is just a guess, since i didn't do any research ahead of time... but i'd bet what you're holding behind your back is a present. and that would mean you came all this way underground to give it to someone. am i wrong?"

'man, he's sharp,' you think to yourself, shifting your feet beneath you.

at this, his grin stretches wide.

"i take it i'm correct."

he looks all too satisfied that you have half a mind to take off right this instant to save your dignity (or what's left), but you were determined to carry through with what you came here to do. even so...

"master, i may not look it, but i'm still a legendary tactician who was famous for their wisdom. not many secrets can escape my notice."

how could you be so careless!

"i saw right through your act in an instant!" he laughs to himself.

"now, as for what the present might be... since the kitchen is where all the action was up until yesterday, it's almost certainly a luxury consumable good. is it a spirit of some sort? or maybe something sweet? hmmm.."

he already looks like he's set on an answer, but you decide to give him one anyway, despite furthering your embarrassment.

"what if i told you it was chocolate?" you speak up.

"chocolate," he echoes. "then... i was right on the mark yet again, heh! a luxury consumable good!"

he looks all too triumphant, a hand under his chin with a victorious smile across his face, and you almost want the ground to swallow you whole.

how was he making this so embarrassing?!? wasn't this supposed to be a simple in-and-out mission???

he begins thinking back on the history for the day as you nod along waiting for a chance to slip in and finally hand him the sweets. when he begins wracking his brain for the name of the occasion, you decide that is your chance.

"...people give chocolate as gifts to signify their feelings for the giftee. i think it was called valen... valen... valenti..."

"so... here!" you reveal the wrapped sweets from behind your back, shoving them into his hands before he can finish and bury you into further embarrassment.

"..huh?"

"for you, happy valentine's day!" you smile, bowing slightly, keeping eye contact with anywhere but directly at him even after rising back up again, still hoping to catch his reaction.

"...huh?" comes his response once more, expression dumbly morphing into blank confusion.

"this is... for me?"

the legendary rider looks down at you, noting your bashful expression before his eyes flit back to the sweets you've just handed him (they smell delectable, and handmade, no doubt, he can tell in an instant) as the gears in his head begin to turn.

he chuckles to himself, unbelieving of what's just taken place as you tilt your head at him in confusion.

"...huh? this is for me? really?" he asks a little too loudly, finally processing the situation, standing up from his seat and pointing at the chocolates as he turns to you, eyes wide in question.

"that's right..." you nod, voice trailing off.

did he not drag this out just to tease you??!?!?

he lets out another chuckle before he straightens his stance, grip on the wrapped treats tightening securely.

"...i totally knew," he mutters.

he totally didn't.

"you came down to the library to look for me. isn't that right? i totally knew all along!"

his voice has taken on a different tone, one of false pride, as he tries to shield his shyness.

you look up at him suspiciously without answering, prompting Taigong Wang to gasp.

"you don't believe me... it's clear from that look on your face that you don't. this is bad. i have to restore my reputation before it's too late," he mutters to himself, turning away for a moment as he brings his free hand up to his face to hide his expression.

"all right," he starts, turning to you once more, hand moving from his face to right out in front of him, facing down. "to show you that i definitely, absolutely knew all along, i'm going to do... this!"

suddenly, something akin to a red sigil appears on the ground in a ring beneath the two of you, and before you can register what he's doing, the blue sky crosses your vision.

"i'm using an earth evasion technique in combination with the simulator! all to thank you for your gift."

"i give you... an invitation to the perfect spot!" he exclaims, arms outstretching to gesture to the new scenery that now surrounds you both: a beautiful view of a waterfall pouring into a riverbank, lined with shiny rocks, the area surrounded by nothing but greenery, and much larger mountains in the distance.

"whoa..." your words fail you at the sight, eyes wide and captivated by the serene nature before you.

Taigong Wang admires your speechlessness, watching the shimmering waterfall reflect in your eyes.

"like i said, it's the perfect spot. my very own-- or should i say, our very own special place," he says, hands moving to his sides as he steps closer to you.

"so, what do you think this spot is perfect for?" he's decided to test your own intuition, pride filling his being at your bewildered expression, and looking at you expectantly for your answer.

you think about what you would do in the midst of such beauty.

"maybe... resting?"

he reels his right arm in, hand curling in as he holds his pointer finger just under his lips.

"slacking off? close, but not quite." he sets the chocolate down (he knows this place best, and landed you both in the perfect resting spot, where he knows its safe), before standing back up straight to face you once more.

"let me give you a hint," he starts, stepping closer to you.

"it's for something you and i can do all by ourselves," his voice grows quieter, stepping behind you and gripping your shoulders softly.

slowly being released from your trance that the scenery seemed to put you in, you jump when you feel a weight on your shoulders and properly begin to register the tactician's words.

"huh??!"

he laughs softly, leaning down to your right ear.

"you know where i'm going with this, right, master? indeed..." he's almost whispering, tone of his voice making your face explode into red.

"this place where you and i can be alone, without anyone interrupting us, is perfect for..." his voice is purring into your ear, you almost feel like you've been caught by some sort of hunter as it prepares to eat up its prey.

was this really the embarrassed Taigong Wang you handed chocolates to just a few minutes ago?!?!?

suddenly, his head whips up as he stands to his full height, his grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly.

"...fishing!" he beams, voice no longer holding a sultry tone, but rather an excited one.

you jump slightly once again at his excitement, too shocked at his quick change in tone to speak again.

"i never expected you were going to give me a gift! so i felt like i needed to give you something really special in return," his tone is earnest as he wraps his arms around you in a hug, taking a peek at your expression from above before shifting his gaze back to the view in front of you both.

as surprised as you are to be receiving a hug from Taigong Wang, you don't want to pull away, feeling comfortable in his arms in the midst of the beautiful nature surrounding you both.

"here, you won't have to worry about anyone bothering you. you can make yourself at home and relax as much as you like! here, you can forget all about your daily troubles and enjoy uninterrupted peace and tranquilitude!" he exclaims, giving you a little squeeze before slipping his arms away.

you're touched he'd share such a spot with you, taking refuge in his arms, a little disappointed when he pulls away.

"come now, may we fish to our heart's delight!"

he takes a stride to be in line with you once more, smiling at you. you turn to him, small smile stretching across your face.

"tell me, master, would you call yourself experienced, or are you more of a beginner?" he tilts his head, expectant.

the blush returns at his words. he clearly doesn't mean it that way, but would it kill him to word what he means differently?!??!

"either way is fine with me. i have lots to teach you from my own fishing style!" he states proudly, pointing to himself towards the end of his sentence.

"now, let's get to casting!"

he's smiling at you, but you don't think it looks all that innocent.

"don't... don't say things that could mean something else!!!" you exclaim, burying your face into your hands as his teasing fully sets in.

he only chuckles heartily at you, pleased at himself for making you so flustered, and wondering how someone who commands their servants so seriously on the battlefield can have such an adorable side to them.

he closes the distance, arms behind his back and looking down at you sweetly.

"hmmm~? were you thinking this place was best utilized for something else, master?"

he leans in close, his voice taking on that velvet whisper once again.

"because that may be possible..."

your hands reach up to clasp over his mouth, unwilling to let him finish his sentence.

"stop! l-let's just fish, okay??!"

having enough of teasing you for the moment, he relents, gently removing your hands from his mouth, grasping one in his own as he turns and leads you towards the water.

"yay~! let's fish to our heart's content!!!"

~

later, Taigong Wang makes it a point to taste one of the chocolates you worked so hard to make, admiring the intricate fishing-rod-shaped sweets before taking a bite, praising your culinary skills, and going on about how fortunate he was to have been able to taste his master's cooking. even feeling embarrassed from having him eat them in front of you, you're grateful that he enjoyed them so much.

note: wow how embarrassing... i literally started writing this last wk and couldn't bring myself to finish it, and instead worked on some pieces for a whole other fandom LOL. this was originally a multi-part series featuring several servants (my favorite valentine interactions to be exact) but this one got so long that i just went with this. valentine's is long over but maybe i can work with the others somehow lol.... white day is coming up though so thats opportunity for more content n writing! yay~ anyway this is quite literally taken from the interaction where you gift this rider chocolate, but just with a more 'immersive' take ig???? also based on the answers i chose (though i doubt it differs greatly) and my personality lol. noticed there's not a lot of fgo fics here so may work to change that... anyway hope whoever reads this enjoys lol~!

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 6

Three years had passed from Rhaenyra's wedding, but she remembered well all the rage that she had felt. As she remembered the way her father had danced with the future Queen. And they had acted way more than friendly. They had danced close to each other, their mouths almost touching.

Ysilla stormed out of the hall. What she had seen and heard had been truly too much for her to handle. But it was the morning after the wedding that her life took an unexpected turn.

"Jaelan naejot ȳdragon naejot ao." She had said that morning when she saw her father before the Heart Tree, in the Godswood of the Red Keep. (I want to speak to you)

"Konīr iksis daor drīve naejot." Her father answered dismissively. (There is no reason to)

"You do, don't you?" she asked, stepping closer to her father.

"Do I what?" his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

His eyes were frightening, cold, and cruel. But she didn't want to show it to him. She wanted to know so many things. She wanted to understand. Why did he never love her mother? Why hadn't he ever tried to know Ysilla? Why had he killed the lady Rhea?

But the only thing she found herself saying was, "You do hate me." It was not a question. She knew that it was the truth. But even if she knew, his mocking laughter hurt her anyway. Then he came closer, and she flinched, lowering her eyes when his hand touched her hair—a stand streaked of dark and silver.

"I feel nothing." He simply answered.

She felt cold, and tears ran down her face. He kept looking at her, but there was no sympathy in his eyes, no remorse. He made her cry, and he didn't care, and that made her sob.

Ysilla could not forgive herself even after three years. She could not accept that she had cried in front of her father.

Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla. Her mother had told her so.

Ysilla would have liked to have been stronger like her mother had wanted. But her father's words and eyes had hurt her deeply, and she felt ashamed.

She had been crying when Queen Alicent had found her sitting under the Heart Tree.

"Ysilla?" Her voice forced Ysilla to turn her back so that Alicent could not see her red eyes, and she quickly dried her tears.

"Good morrow, your Grace," Ysilla said, feeling her lips quiver.

Soft steps made their way towards the little girl. "What had happened?" At the question, Ysilla had started to cry. After three years, she could still remember the way Alicent had embraced her. Assuring her that everything would have fallen into place. It was not long after that the Queen had asked the King to let Ysilla become a ward of the King's Landing court. Viserys had agreed without protests. It was most fit for a lady to grow up in a different court, to learn and form alliances. Viserys said that it would have been a good thing for Ysilla to live with the family she had left.

"You are a Targaryen, a part of the family," he had said, "And I'll be happy to have you closer."

The King had asked, and he could not be refused. Ysilla's father had shown little interest in this because when Viserys was asking for his brother's opinion, Daemon didn't even mention the matter. Instead, he asked his brother for permission to wed the lady Laena Velaryon.

Alicent's hands rested on Ysilla's shoulders as her eyes glared at the man. The little girl just lowered her eyes, feeling anger again. He was to be wed to another woman. He had no interest in Ysilla and looked at her with the usual cold stare.

That had been the last time she had seen her father. He had wed Laena Velaryon when Ysilla had gone back to Runestone to gather her things to bring to King's Landing, and then they left. Ysilla had been glad to miss it. She didn't want to see such act. It was insulting to her mother's memory.

At the time, that was what bothered her the most. But after three years, she felt like her father had insulted Ysilla herself as well.

"Rȳbagon, Aegon," She said to the five-year-old boy, who boringly looked at the parchment in front of him. (Listen, Aegon)

"I think it is time to rest, too," the prince said, jumping down from his chair, but Ysilla had to be quick to stop him by the arm.

"Rȳbagon means listen, and you know that," she said, "Don't try to fool me."

Aegon scoffed, "You've promised we would have played!" He complained, "I want to play!"

"And I want to study," Ysilla stubbornly answered. Her cousin didn't seem to like her answer. "I've promised I would have played with you, but we have to study.""

"I know, I know," he rolled his eyes, "Targaryen must speak High Valyrian."

"Precisely," she said with a hint of happiness, "I'm glad you've remembered."

"How can I forget?" He answered, "You talk like my mother."

Aegon was restless and easy to bore. He didn't have the patience to learn; he just wanted to do whatever he pleased. But he seemed to appreciate Ysilla's company, and it was easier to make him respect his duties of the day when Ysilla was around. The Queen had noticed, so Ysilla and Aegon usually studied together.

"I'll gladly take the compliment," Ysilla said, feeling pride in being compared to Alicent. She reminded her of her mother. She could be strict, with a high regard for honor and duty. Ysilla had found that side of the Queen very welcoming, something that she knew in a court so different from Runestone.

King's Landing was overwhelming. Full of people, nobles, and servants. It was busy and noisy. Everyone wore rich fabrics and jewelry. The men were chivalrous, and the women were so graceful. Ysilla had felt like she would have made a fool of herself.

"What's with the face?" The Queen had answered on the fifth day she had arrived in King's Landing.

"Don't you like the dress?"Her uncle, the King, had gifted Ysilla a purple silk gown with silver embroidery as a welcome. Ysilla had seen such a fabric, but she had never worn it. In Runestone, they preferred more comfortable clothes for daily life. Less decorated. And when she had put it on, she felt as if she was not pretty enough for that gown. Her body was too skinny, and her hair too messy and streaked.

"No, your grace, it is beautiful," she was quick to say. But then she lowered her head, "I just feel..."

"Like what, child?" The King had asked with a gentle tone.

"I... feel out of place." She had answered.

At that point, Alicent stepped forward, "It is difficult to move your entire life to another place. I know. I did it, too." Ysilla looked up at the Queen, "But you'll find at home in a short time."

"We are family, Ysilla," added the King, "That's the most important thing."

After three years, Ysilla could say that she felt at home. She lived with her relatives. Her uncle and aunt, her cousins Rhaenyra and Aegon. In Runestone, she had always been alone but not there. And they were her family, too. Ysilla had always thought that to truly feel like she belonged, she had to be with her father. But she had realized that her place was with her family.

Another thing she loved about living in the Red Keep was that the castle was huge, with many hidden passages for her and her younger cousins to explore. There was not a moment of boredom. And they had many books in the library—books that belonged to the Targaryens, and Ysilla loved to get lost in those pages, talking about tradition, history, and House Targaryen.

But the thing she loved the most was the Dragonpit. Ysilla loved to go there and spend time with Dārysyr.

"Alright, how do you say brother and sister?" Ysilla asked, managing to make Aegon sit next to her.

"Annoying," he answered with a laugh. But Ysilla nudged him with a glare.

"Helaena and Aemond are not annoying," she said.

When Ysilla arrived in the capital, Heleana was just one year old. The next year, Aemond was born. They were now four and three.

"So, how do you say brother and sister?" She asked again.

He looked at her, "Lēkia se mandia."

"Syr," she said happily. Then, when she turned, she saw Aegon's eyes observing her hair, like he always did. (Good)

When they had finished studying High Valyrian, it was time for the little princes and princesses to go to the Dragonpit. They did this once a week. They had to get used to dragons so that one day, they could claim one of their own.

"Helena, do you want to sit with me?" Ysilla had asked, walking closer to her cousin. Helaena had a peculiar character. She was sweet and gentle, but she often whispered to herself and seemed to speak in riddles.

"The snake flies on a field of blue," the little girl said, her purple eyes always wide. Ysilla observed her for a moment before she turned to Aegon, who shrugged his shoulders before entering the carriage.

Ysilla shook her head, then turned to smile at Heleana. "It will be fun, come on." Something pulled softly at the fabric of her gown. When she turned, she saw Aemond looking at her quietly.

"Yes, yes," she answered gently, "You're coming as well." The boy's lips turned up in a little smile before he ran inside of the carriage.

Ysilla had learned how to deal with her younger cousins. It was one of her duties to keep an eye on them since she was the oldest. Rhaenyra was a married woman; he could not waste her time running around with children.

After what she had seen at Rhaenyra's wedding, Ysilla had decided to put some distance between her cousin and herself. She did not hate Rhaenyra; she had no part in the death of Ysilla's mother. But she knew she was the reason why her mother had been killed.

It had been difficult to accept that it was impossible to prove that Daemon Targaryen had killed Rhea Royce. And him being the brother of the King, protected him. It was a gruesome accusation to even suggest that a prince would kill his own wife. But Ysilla knew it was true. She understood that her uncle, the King, had decided not to take a deeper look into the situation.

But Ysilla remembered. For now, that was all that mattered.

"How many dragons don't have a dragonrider?" Aemond asked curiously. Ysilla stopped to think for a moment.

"There's Dreamfyre," she said.

"And Sunfyre," Aegon added, smiling proudly when she turned to him.

"Exactly," she answered, returning the smile. Then her eyes moved back to Aemond. "Syrax belongs to Rhaenyra-"

"And Vhagar?" Aemond asked eagerly. But the name of that dragon made Ysilla lower her gaze. Helaena's hand immediately went on hers, squeezing her fingers gently. Ysilla was grateful to her.

"I heard Father say that Lady Laena reclaimed her," Aegon spoke. Ysilla felt rage building inside of her. Her father's new wife had reclaimed the biggest dragon alive. And then they had happily moved to Essos.

After his attempt to take Runestone, which was now held by Ysilla's aunt, Lady Jeyne Royce, he had decided to take his wife across the Narrow See.

And he left me behind.

Ysilla knew she shouldn't have been surprised or hurt by that decision. But she did. And she hates herself for feeling like this.

"But he does whatever you say," Aemond said, his eyes never leaving Ysilla.

"Darysyr is yours, though," Aemond said, getting Ysilla's attention back, "You've reclaimed him."

"An egg had been chosen for me," she answered, "He just hatched."

"That is true," Aegon said from the seats in front of her, "You even make him breathe fire."

"You just have to ride him," Aemond said. He loved talking about dragons and could barely wait to have one of his own.

They were correct, though. She knew that she and Darysyr shared a connection, which had been like that since he was born.

My first friend. She thought fondly.

Thanks to her cousins, she decided to try to ride Darysyr that day if the Maesters agreed. Her dragon was big now—as big as Sunfyre. His dark scales with purple shades shone even in the dark. His wings were large, and after three years, he had learned how to gracefully slide on the ground.

"His body moves like a snake," Aemond said, fascinated. He looked at Darysyr, who was moving closer as he saw Ysilla.

"But are the claws on his wings that help him move." Aegon was right. Darysyr used his front legs to crawl on the ground. He was fascinating and elegant even doing that queer movement which allowed him to move on the ground.

"Ñuha raqiros, iksā sīr gevie," she always said that when she saw her dragon. Her hand would touch the warm scales of his neck, "Jaelan naejot sōvegon tubī." (My friend, you are so beautiful) (I want to fly today)

"Do you?" Aegon asked with wide eyes as his brother's lips turned into a smile.

The old Maester looked at her with a stern face, like he did every time. But she saw something else this time, a different kind of glim in her eyes, that only pushed her to think that she was ready to try and reclaim her Darysyr even in the sky.

"Luck," Helaena whispered quietly behind her as they all moved outside. The Maesters were all around Draysyr, ready to intervene if something unexpected happened.

"Emā naejot udrāzma zirȳla naejot umbagon gīda. Ēza naejot rȳbagon se dohaeragon." The man said as she walked over to Darysyr. He did not like to be controlled by those men. In the years, his gentle nature had become more restless. He glared at them and roared, but he was different from Ysilla. He liked to have her with him. She knew. They were similar. They could feel the same things. (Calm, my friend. You are not only going to serve. We are going to fly together. If you will let me. (You have to command him to remain calm. He has to hear and obey)

I know what I have to do.

Ysilla reached out a hand as she moved to Darysyr. He let her touch him like he had done so many times before, focusing his attention and his purple eyes on her.

"Gīda, ñuha raqiros." She spoke gently, and she immediately heard the Maester telling her to be more firm. But she ignored him. Aemond was right; Darysyr was hers from long before she came to King's Landing. "Iksā daor mērī jāre naejot dohaeragon. Iksi jāre naejot sōvegon hēnkirī. Lo kesā ivestragī nyke." (Calm, my friend. You are not only going to serve. We are going to fly together. If you will let me)

Darysyr's eyes looked deep into hers like he had never done before, and she felt a warm sensation in her chest—the same warmth that she felt every time she touched his scales. And she knew he was letting her in.

Ysilla felt her lips turn up into a smile as she moved to touch the leather belt that had been tied around Darysyr's body. She held on with all her strength as she started to climb up.

"She is doing it," she heard Aegon say.

"Of course she is." Aemond answered.

When Ysilla arrived on the saddle, swinging her leg to each side of her dragon's body, she felt like a Queen. She was so high up compared to the people on the ground. Darysyr moved from under her; she could feel him breathing before he roared and started to move. The claws on his wings gripped the earth of the ground hard, sliding forward powerfully as he made his way towards the cliff.

"Ysilla!" she heard Aegon shout, but she touched Darysyr's scales.

"Soves, Darysyr!" she said to her dragon, who roared one more time before letting himself fall off the cliff. (Fly, Darysyr)

Ysilla's stomach jumped towards her throat as they fell. And she felt the wind hitting her face. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, flew back as the ocean beneath them moved closer and closer. She had no breath in her lungs, not to talk, not to scream. But it was when Darysyr finally opened his black wings that the fall became a flight.

Ysilla's excited cheers echoed in King's Landing as she shouted her dragon's name.

Flying was the most amazing feeling she had ever experienced. It was much better than riding. The ocean beneath her passed quickly as they flew. They were so close to the water that she could see her reflection in it. Then Darysyr flew higher and higher, passing over the streets of King's Landing. The people looked so small from there. Even adults.

On dragonback, she could see everything. The busy streets of the city started from the poorest part and moved to the castle. Huge and red, it towered over everything. But Ysilla was higher than the highest tower. And that feeling was of pure blessing, of completion. She had finally flown on her dragon. She had finally reclaimed Darysyr, and the gift he was giving her was far more precious than anything she could ever have.

She was Ysilla Targaryen, a true member of the House of the Dragon.

_____________________________________________________________

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[dreamfyre03]

A Dragon's Love

Warnings: Threats of violence, death, kidnapping, kinslaying Chapter 13: The Skies of Storm's End

After days of negotiation with Lord Borros, and promising his brother Daeron in marriage to one of his many daughters, Aemond had secured to Lord of Storm’s End’s support for his brother. He itched to get back to Daenys, already planning to fly them to a Septon he had located far from King’s Landing as soon had he returned. He missed her voice, and her presence that calmed him. She was his guiding light, and every moment he spent away from her was like falling further into darkness. 

All seemed to be going well, until a certain brown haired Strong boy made an appearance. Lucerys Velaryon, the bastard who never paid his debt.

“Wait, my lord Strong.” Aemond said. He felt nothing but anger and a lust for vengeance boiling in his blood from the moment his nephew walked in.  

“Did you really think, you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” He asked him, unwilling to let the opportunity before him go. No mother or stepfather to shield him from Aemond’s cruelty.

“I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.” He responded timidly.

Aemond smirked. 

“A fight would be little challenge. No, I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.” He demanded, ripping off his eyepatch, revealing the glittering sapphire he put in his lost eye’s place.  

“One will serve, I’ll not blind you” he said in a terrifyingly calm manner, unsheathing his dagger and tossing in on the ground towards him. 

“I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.” He told him, menacingly.

“No.” His nephew responded firmly. 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” He shot back. 

“Not in my hall!” He heard Lord Borros shout. 

“Give me you eye, or I will take it bastard!” He shouted, his voice laced with pure hatred. In that moment, Aemond was blind to everything else except the need to watch this boy suffer. He knew he wasn’t a good man, and he didn’t care. He relished in it.  

Lucerys quickly drew his sword, and the guards did as well, as Lord Borros got up and yelled, “Not in my hall! The boy came as an envoy, I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof.” 

 Aemond heard the crash of thunder outside and smiled cruelly, letting the guards take Luke to his dragon. If little Luke thought he had escaped Aemond’s wrath, he was very sorely mistaken.

 .

.

.

Aemond sat atop Vhagar, watching the pieces of Arrax fall into the ocean. He could smell the flesh on Vhagar’s jaw, he could see the blood dripping down below them. His heart hammered in his chest, as the rain beat down on him. Luke was dead. 

Aemond killed him. He only meant to scare him, but he lost control, and Vhagar sense the hatred in her rider’s heart, and devoured the boy. 

He spent his life yearning, training, waiting for the perfect moment to exact revenge for the loss of his eye, to make his nephew pay the debt he spent his life feeling owed. He felt the rush power as he taunted him, as Vhagar soared overhead tiny Arrax, and let his menacing taunts echo the skies that were dark and stormy, as though it was an ominous foreshadowing of the months to come. 

Luke was dead. 

Aemond was a Kinslayer.

War was coming. 

Daenys woke the next morning with dark circles under her eyes. She woke before sunrise, and dressed with the help of her maid. The Hand and Queen Mother asked her to travel by carriage, fearing that flying on Meraxa would alert Rhaenyra and Daemon as to their doings. Reluctantly, she agreed. She knew Meraxa would come North to her when it was time. 

Her last act before leaving was summoning Helaena’s maid, Diana, to her chambers, with an important message. The young woman stood before her nervously. “You haven’t any reason to fear, Diana. I would like to ask a favour of you.” Daenys said. She looked surprised. “Of me? What can I do for you, Princess.” “I am leaving for Winterfell. I ask that when my brother Prince Aemond returns from Storm’s End, you give him this letter, along with this one addressed to the King and Queen, and Prince Daeron. I ask that you do not let anyone know of my whereabouts, not even Queen Helaena.” Diana looked hesitant, and Daenys knew it would hurt her to keep such things from Helaena. 

“You have brought my sister much happiness, Diana. I know I ask a lot of you to withhold information from her, but it is for the good of the realm.” “Very well, Princess.” She replied, taking the letters and putting them in her dress pockets. 

Daenys dismissed her, then walked to the courtyard, where she was set to leave. On the way, she stopped in the nursery, needing to bid her niece and nephews farewell.

Tears brimmed her eyes as she watched them sleeping peacefully. She was the first to find out Helaena was with child, she was in the room when they were born. She spent almost every day of their lives playing with them, or singing to them. She loved them as if they were her own, she always saw her brother and sister in their faces. Whenever she felt sadness, or loneliness, she went to the children and allowed their childish innocence and love to uplift her spirits. 

“My sweetest darlings,” she whispered, careful not to wake them. “I shall miss you terribly. I pray that I will see you again very soon. Remember how much I love you.” She quickly dried her tears and gently kissed each of them, before walking out to the courtyard, and giving the Red Keep one last look, not knowing when she would see it again. 

Two days into her journey, and Daenys felt like a shell of herself. She barely slept when they stopped, and when she did, all she dreamt of was Aemond. His smell, how it felt when he held her, his voice whispering reassurances to her. She knew he probably found out she was gone, and no doubt hated her for leaving him. But she promised she would do whatever she could to help her family, and keep them safe. 

She tossed her book aside in the carriage, unable to focus on the words. The carriage came to sudden halt, and she gripped the seats to ensure she didn’t fall. “Ser Arryk? Is something the matter?” She called out. “All is well Princess, just-“ Her Kingsguard was cut off with a groan, and thudding sound of his body hitting the ground. She felt herself become paralysed with fear, and cursed herself for not being able to even wield a blade. The door to the carriage swung open, and she was greeted by three men whose faces were covered. “Come on now, Princess. Time to go.” One said cruelly, as he grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her forward. She screamed and kicked in resistance, sickened by the feeling of their hands on her body as they struggled to bind her,  until she felt something hard hit her head, and her vision went black. 

[shallahi-and-snowflake]

The Station Attendant:

So, looks like I’m going to do this myself…

Has anyone here heard of a certain white-haired Station Attendant? Goes by Hibiki, forgets things, lives on a train with a Hisuian Zorua named Insight?

Hosts an internet show from the Kisaragi ghost station? A station, we must point out, does not exist on the current Nimbasa Subway map…

…Or any other map after the post-planning phase of the Nimbasa City Subterranean Rail Company/Nimbasa City Transportation Authority-led Subway Project.

You’ve heard me correctly. Kisaragi Station doesn’t exist. The digging crews didn’t so much as break ground on the Kisaragi site before work on it was abandoned due to unknown reasons.

And yet, even after its stillbirth, it lives on.

It lives on as an urban myth.

Per the testimony of one teenager I had battled with:

“Ya ever heard of Kisaragi Station?”

[“No?”]

“Well, if ya go down the Pink Line, and get to the fourth stop down from here [(Gear Station)] at midnight, you’ll end up in there. So they say.” [“Really?”]

“Yeah. They say it’s dark, empty, and your train’ll leave as soon as you get off.”

[“Hmh.”]

“It’s true, it’s true! There’s no way out of there… at least, that you or me could ever get through. The doors are locked, the turnstiles are shuttered off… and yet people leave. A train comes. It’s empty. ‘Cept for two people, o’ course. The rider from who-knows-where, and the Conductor.”

[“The Conductor?”]

“Yeah. One eye, blood-red. Wrapped in bandages. Voice like the whispers in Celestial Tower. White as a shroud. A lost kid’s ghost. Or sometimes, the ghost of a conductor who died beneath his own train. So they say.”

[“So they say. Hmmmh. This feels… familiar?”]

Transcription ends.

…

The reason midnight is so important in the urban legend is likely due to the Dark Hour-like phenomenon affecting Hibiki; A 13th hour in a 12-hour clock. Time acts strangely in Kisaragi Station, likely due to its nature. A stillborn possibility, living on by some arcane means. And a train, because every station has a train waiting, doesn’t it?

…

Who are its passengers, you ask?

The train made a stop at Kalos… roughly half-a-day ago of this writing, when Brightness Maya of @/suddenlyauntiemaya Fell onto a Pokecenter couch in Ella’s Lumioise City.

The train had made a stop before then… which coincided with Bee’s arrival to a Hisui at the behest of Millie. @/ghostlycombee and @/new-judgement, respectively.

From these datapoints, I believe I have an answer.

Us. Us Fallers. Many, if not all, of us Fallers.

We who have Fallen into a world not our own.

Those who were brought by Divine Intent, and we who did not.

We Fallers who did not come here by the will of a Divinity, and by chance.

We who had no visions of grasping hands and rainbows, or golden light beseeching us to seek out every Pokemon, but came by other means from our own worlds.

Many of us have to have held onto the bar on Hibiki’s train as we were carried to our stop.

I might have held onto the bar, Snowflake riding on my back, as I found myself here. There’s a familiarity…

I must explain that I do not ascribe absolute intent over every Fall. That is entirely against my Veristitalian methodology, and in more succinct terms could be called ascientific. While many Falls happen due to Divine Intent and action, not every Fall does.

I do not even ascribe intent to Hibiki’s own Conductorship of the Faller’s Car. The Conductor drives the train, yes, but they have to go by the Stationmaster’s timetable. We here do not know if the Stationmaster even exists.

So: There’s a ghost of a stillborn station, a train because it’s expected to have one, and a Conductor.

An eerily ghostly Conductor, I must add.

Ultimately, all we know for certain is there’s a train we forget about and a mysterious Conductor who brings us to our stop at Kisaragi Station where time runs strangely, and wherever and whenever our destination may ultimately be.

[shamrockqueen]

Thigh Rider

Pairing : Yuri Boyka X Reader

Warnings : PWP, Thigh riding, Thigh humping, dirty talk in a Russian accent.

Word count : 1239

AO3 Link

He traced his thumb over the quote as he read it over a second time.

У человека все в руках, и все ускользает сквозь пальцы от чистой трусости (Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his fingers from sheer cowardice.)

He would remember to hold onto all of the gifts he has been given thus far from now until the very end of his days. A warm bed, a loving home, and a beautiful woman that holds tightly in her hand the key to his once cold and icy heart.

She stood not far from where he sat, peering past the kitchen doorway and into the living room towards him, reading his book as he rested in an armchair.

He was strong, thick of frame, with short dark hair still shaved at the sides with a thick strip down the center as he always had it. A thachy goatee circles his pink lips as he runs his tongue between them in thought as his dark brown eyes search over each page.

You only stood by your hiding spot near the doorway as you watched him, envious of the simple hardback as it stole his attention from you. You craved what you greedily took every day to always have his eyes and hands on you. So much so that you wished he’d look up from his book and back at you.

As if he heard your thoughts, he did just as they asked, pulling his gaze from the pages and directing it towards you. You nearly tried to head under his now-heavy watch, ducking sheepishly towards the edge of the doorway.

He knew what you wanted; it was always too easy to tell. Whoever you hid from like this, it meant you wanted something naughty but couldn’t work up the courage to ask.

"Speak," he called out, his accent minimal with just the one-word phrase. His deep voice booming throughout the adjoining rooms. He didn’t like playing silly games with you. If you want something from him, you’ll have to ask; otherwise, you’ll go without.

"I-I just wanted to…to see you." You answered back, as meek as ever. He hated it when you acted fearful, like a shivering lamb standing before a snarling wolf. He was your cuddly bear, and you were his wily fox.

He set his book on the table beside him and gestured for you to approach. He needn’t ask twice, but at first you only hesitantly leave your perch by the doorway to approach him.

"Quit playing mouse. You make a far better pussycat." His voice came out as a low growl, a thick Russian purr erupting from his tightly gritted teeth.

You weren’t fooling anybody.

You trot over and nearly throw yourself onto his lap to cry like the spoiled brat you were. You only wanted his attention. You never felt more special than when you had all of him to yourself, so now that he was yours again, you buried yourself in the white cotton fabric of the chest of his thin tank top. It was coupled with the compressive gym shorts he’d worn when he worked out in the garage.

You were clad in one of your little white dresses and a pair of frilly white socks, but nothing else. It left your breasts to press freely against the soft fabric and your core to be grazed by the cool air of the room.

One of your legs is wedged between his so that your knee nudged his covered cock, but the other nearly dangled over his leg and off the chair, letting your bare pussy press to his equally unencumbered thigh.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, whimpering into his shoulder, "I just wanted some attention."

It wasn’t untrue, but he could tell you had wanted far more than a little of his focus, mainly by the way he could feel your slick little cunny pressing against his skin.

He bumps you with his leg like he’s bouncing you in his lap, making you little pussy rub against him faster than you had done yourself.

You whine just the way he likes. That shrill squeak let him know he could twitch at you however he wanted. But, what he wanted to see was you getting off all by yourself on his thick thigh.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted to press your pretty pussy against me, right Kukla?" He spoke with a deep laugh as he looked over the beautiful display before him.

You nod vigorously with a "yes, yes please," all desperate as you palm his cock, only to have your fingers swatted away.

"You want to cum, do it yourself!" He huffed like an angry bull before bouncing his leg from under you, dragging it along your exposed flower, and ruffling your folds.

Your face turns a hot red as you do as you’re told, spreading your cunt slowly along his thigh before pressing hard and pushing your hips back up towards his pelvis.

"Good girl, Kukla" His chest rumbled as he spoke.

You give a whimper before dragging and pushing your hips again, making your little flower drool all over him. He’s goading you on as your pussy sucks at his bare thigh.

Your body shuttered with each drag of your hips and bump of his thigh. All while he looked down at you and chuckled to himself. This little game was fun, but the sight of you riding just his leg was driving him almost equally as crazy, making his cock stiffen from where it was tightly confined in his shorts. It was time to end this quickly so he could bury himself inside your sweet cunt.

"Cum, baby, I know you can." His words drip right off his tongue with a thick Russian drawl. It spurs you on to quicken your pace, chasing that sweet, fluttery release.

He bounces you on his knee as you try to shuck your cunt along his leg. As he’s grinning wolfishly down at you, his precious little doll is fucking herself against his leg like a horny brat.

You’re crying into the air as your nails dig into his skin, making him hiss. You shake your hips as his leg still shakes below you to tease you to your finish.

His little doll sings for him so shrill, loud, and beautiful that he could just wrap his thick, hard arms around you and grind you down on his leg until you’re creaming all over his skin.

Your movements are furious, but your mind is blinded by a burst of white lights, turning your little brain all hazy. You can’t think, and you only whine and cry as you spill slick all over his skin.

Your body feels too heavy to continue, but your hips propel you slowly as you ride each wave until it pulls you under and you're collapsing against his shoulder as he chuckles nice and low and hungry.

"Is my Kukla tired already?" He says as he pushes your hips off of his leg until you're further into his lap and your sensitive core is pressed against the hard bulge in his shorts, "You have no more energy for me?"

Like a dimming flame doused with kerosene, the drag of your cunt over the outline of his cock has you burning up for him all over again.

@annwoods91

[siennablaze219]

((Content warning, graphic violence))

@daily-writing-challenge

(Events from the beginning of Battle For Azeroth, trying to take this week to flesh out pieces about Mirri’s family history)

Lyanna and Rastien were lounging by the pond near their home in Ashenvale, the stars in the sky were bright as they laid upon a blanket and shared a bottle of Dalaran Red that Mirri had brought home to them on her last visit home. They had little to do in the moment, Sentinel Tyl’inithia had come by earlier in the day to pick up all the sabers of rideable age and size, fully trained or not, to take with them down into Feralas. She had made the request for mounts in person a few days prior to give them time to prepare, “I know that you are attached to all your furred children, but skirmishes are being waged and we need replacement mounts for when the Horde cut them out from under our Sentinels. You both served on the battlefields long ago and know this to be true.” She was right, neither of them wished to see the sabers they raised go into battle, but that was what the beasts were bred for.

Had Mirri been home every one of the big cats would have been fully trained and off to the riding instructors already, but her decision to stay among the humans had left them without a trainer so they had taken longer this season than in others past. “We will care for them you know that.” The sentinel had assured them. She had even taken all but one of their sires, it was the same as when the sundering came and the Horde began to work more into Ashenvale, they had a couple promising young males in the yearling cubs that were too small to carry a rider yet and those remained to replace the big males Tyl’inithia had led away earlier.

With heavy hearts they wished their young sabers safe steps and long life in a blessing, then made their way to the pond to relax and not think about their children moving into battle. Blessed as they were to know that Mirri would not be one of their riders, nor Tysha as since Mirri had found her, the ex-Sentinel spy was staying far from any chance at fighting, so at least their blood was safe even if the beasts they gave their hearts to, were not.

The wine looked blood red in the darkened night while the moon rested and the darkness of her new face held its place in the sky without even a hint of its light. Lyanna shuddered softly as her glass held just a finger’s width of the liquid, looking to the cut crystal that remained that showed deep red in every facet as true as if the glass was still filled. Peering into the carnelian liquid, she swirled it around, about to say something to her mate but her head turned, distracted as her ears shifted back towards their home slightly, a sound having caught her attention.

Rastien had always been quicker to action than Lyanna and she spoke as she rose, “The sabers.” Sprinting out across the grasses with Lyanna left to follow in her wake, the scent that came after would be one she had never forgotten though she had wished to. Fire, and fur… “The stables.”

Catching up with Rastien would be impossible, her mate’s stride had always been longer than her own, so she called to the Light of Elune and asked for a blessing that would hasten her steps, if only for a moment or three. Rastien, ever the one to react to threat with action rather than thought, had already called the power of Elune’s darkest embrace wrapping it around her making her barely able to be tracked through the long shadows of the trees from what little light the sky offered. Her right hand dropped and she called to the darkness, ready to act the instant she could find the source of the danger. Her voice rang hollow in this form, “They are burning the stables.”

Lyanna did not need to ask who ‘they’ were, the Horde had been running sorties further and further north through the lands for a few weeks now. They had hoped that they would be sidetracked, or the foolishness of more bloodshed would be ceased, but they had been arrogant in those thoughts it seemed. Each had each lived over ten thousand years and never had a foe just decided to go around a home, or give up just because two ancient elves raised nightsabers in the woods.

As they broke into the clearing, shadow and light once again joining together in the team they had become long ago, standing an arms distance apart so each could act independently they surveyed the scene. From inside the stables the sabers were screaming, one mother darted into the forest with a cub, she must have been able to break free from her pen, but the other four and the other six cubs were nowhere to be seen. The cries raised into the night sky, sound dancing with the smoke of the orange of the flames, both equally calling forth tears from Lyanna’s eyes.

A scream of outrage sounded from Rastien’s throat and her head swiveled to an orc with a torch that was behind the barn, reaching out a shadow cloaked arm she clenched her fist and the mohawked woman fell to her knees dropping the offending flame into the black of the night’s grass. Even that flame did not add color back into the scene, everything around them was a mix of the intensity of the bright fire, the black of the shadows of Elune’s darkest face and the ashen grey of them when they chanced to meet together in a bloodless dance of chaos amongst the tides of the shrieks from within the death of the ancient building.

Knowing they must clear the threat before they could even try and asses the damage, Lyanna called to Elune seeking the blessing of the Goddess that they, and their children, had worshipped for their entire lives. Light came to her call and she stepped forward seeking battle, on one side an orc closed, on the other a troll, wary of the living shadow that was Lyanna’s mate, they moved in. The orc held an axe, and the troll a halberd, trying to trap her between them as she was unarmed. With an exhale Lyanna released the power she held and light exploded forward as a star from her lithe form, the divinity of her gift rocketing outwards, maring the depth of the night around her. First to react were the eyes of her foes, having to close in reaction to the explosion of the power she had unleashed, and then their bodies began to burn much as the barn they had torched before they both toppled to the ground.

Rastien knew the gift of her mate, and how she could be blinded by it, so she sprinted to the side, letting the shadows cover her movement through the knee high grasses that surrounded where they lived. Once she was in the embrace of the forest to the side of the barns, and the flash of Lyanna’s star bright spell had faded, her lip curled back in a snarl and with a small flick of her fingers she began to strike the other ten horde members in the party that had come to their home, each one becoming wracked with pain as her anger was released within their bodies. Shadows held her dear and even as they looked about, they did not target her, instead focusing upon her mate who had left the duo she faced lying in the dirt as she stepped back, creating more space between her and the horde.

The fighters recovered quickly, speaking in Orcish, which both of the women had learned from a troll they had saved once, “I thought the buildings were empty except the beasts, you said you searched the house.” A tauren woman yelled, “I will have your head for this Mugla!” Her hand gestured forward and a fire elemental burst into existence much like a phoenix, its heat and glow making the rest of the raiding party step clear to give it room as it broke towards Lyanna, scorching the ground and drawing its hand along the side of the burning stables in a lover’s caress.

“Fel take you,” was all Lyanna had time to get out before the elemental closed. She cursed softly and began to use her anger to first pull from the sky a burst of holy fire, once that had taken hold of the elemental she drew bolts of light from the air which slammed into the chest of the being but it did not stop, it raced forward boosted by the energy of the flames the buildings had become. Screams of the sabers continued to fill the air, but there was no time to act to save them, they had engaged their enemy and would need to see them all handled before caring for their family.

Seeing the danger her mate was in, yet too far to help her Rastien called out with the hoot of an owl, an old trick they had used when scouting before they had retired. Lyanna’s head swung towards her for just a moment, then she began to move in Rastien’s direction. As did the horde members that had followed distance behind the elemental. *”Perfect.”* Rastien thought, a sneer drawing her top lip up as she looked to the shaman that had called the elemental, words pulled to Mirri’s birth mother’s tongue, ancient words, dark words and the mind of the tauren was twisted and became trapped within itself as Rastien took control of the woman’s body. Using the form she claimed, the shadow priestess called lightning to the orc’s hands then loosed it.

A laugh from a troll rang out between the buildings as the magic lit the air next to him. “Now you are in for it bitch.” He called as he continued to run towards Lyanna, but the bolt struck the elemental first, which faded beneath the ferocity of it, and Lyanna’s magics, then doubled back to hit him square in the chest, enough to kill him the instant it blackened his breastplate. The light continued to streak on, hitting an orc and a tauren woman before it faded into the night.

Focused as she was, Rastien did not notice as a rogue appeared from behind her and struck the back of her shadow wrapped head. Lyanna noticed, pain shooting through her skull from the bond they had made long ago when the battlefields were their home. Stumbling as she saw Rastien sway forward, her hand shot out towards her partner and she called the shadow user’s body to her own and laid her healing touch upon the bleeding that had begun there.

These moments were just enough for the last five horde that had been advancing to close on the two women, twelve against two had never been odds the priestesses, even in their fighting prime, should have attempted to handle, but anger had taken them down this path and nothing was going to stop them now but the raiders that had come to the land seeking to destroy what they loved most next to their children and each other, their sabers.

The healing had Rastien renewed enough that she straightened, her eyes in the shadows she wore glowed with a depth of fury and hatred that none of her kin except Lyanna had ever seen in her expression before. Her hands moved lightning fast and pain showed on the face of attacker after attacker, then with a scream into the night she summoned a beast of pure void that skittered across the ground and began to feast on the life essence of a troll that was closest to the two women.

Lyanna took a deep breath and called to Elune softly, a prayer first and then she stepped back to back with her mate. Her hands moved in a calmer, gentle pattern, weaving the light again and again, calling forth holy fire, upon the foes she could see, then drawing light within before expanding outwards within, felling another orc.

There were too many and as they fought the shaman walked forth, she growled out a word between flat teeth and the very earth beneath the Kaldorei womens’ feet trembled, pitching Rastien forward upon the spear of a troll. The serrated edges lodged in between Rastien’s ribs and stuck true as they were meant to, holding the shadow user impaled as blood as black as night bubbled up from between her lips. The tip had pierced a lung and breathing now was more like drowning in her own life’s essence.

Feeling the pain within herself as well as seeing her mate lurch forward, Lyanna unleashed a blood curdling cry. For over three thousand years they had been as one, mating, fighting, loving and raising their children together, never apart until his moment when it felt like the entire sea could fill the space between them as Rastien’s body lost contact with her own. Throwing her hands out to the sides, she screamed Elune’s name and Light began to fill the circle of horde fighters in the shape of Lyanna, the very ground that had trembled under them a moment before shifted from the dark of night to the light of day as she called forth in her faith. Gold eyes shone with the intensity of the sun itself and she loosed a word of power, pouring all that light from her into an attack that felled four of the fighters that had closed on them and burned the troll whose spear was still impaled within Rastien, Lyanna’s own lover shielding the troll from the agonizing power of the light the woman called.

The tauren shaman held back, she did not need to close to use her power, turning from the glory and destruction Lyanna brought upon her raiding party. It was not until the glow faded that she turned to see what had remained. The elf had managed to wrap her arms around Rastien’s middle then shove them both forward on the troll’s spear so they died as they had lived, in the embrace of their Elune blessed love. Of the twelve of the shaman’s party she had left with, only three remained, herself, the troll, and the rogue that had ambushed Rastien in the forest who had been holding himself back, waiting for an exposed back to strike. Ten good fighters dead, and for what? She shook her head, this conflict was pointless, she did not understand this call to war, but her warchief called and Baine had answered. Lowering to the ground, laying a hand on the tauren woman that she had struck down with her own lightning when under the shadow priest’s control. “Be at peace daughter, your father and I loved you well, may we meet again in battle soon.” Tears picked up the dance of the flames that rose in the sky from the barns as they rolled down her face.