#fic: the floral stench of death

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part eleven)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.4k chapter warning: some discussion of sexual acts, a lowkey innocence kink notes: this fic also moonlights as a love letter to helaena

Viserys Targaryen is dying.

As you stand behind Helaena, watching as she kneels at her father’s bedside to speak to him, the Queen standing next to her, wringing her hands, you realize it’s nothing short of a miracle that the man is still alive. He looks skinny, far skinnier than you ever remember him looking like back when you were a child, and his skin has taken on a gray and pallid hue, more corpse than a living man. He’s rotting as he lays here, decaying before he even passes, and you note with a grim sense of satisfaction that it’s the bare minimum he deserves for what he’s done to his children.

You hope he’s in there still, behind the haze of milk of the poppy dulling his pain and senses. You hope he’s trapped within his own body with nothing but his regrets to keep him company.

The King is dying and you wish he were dying sooner.

The smell of the medicines that the maesters must be pouring into him to keep him alive is strong, unbearably so, and you can feel your nose twitch as you fight to keep your face neutral against the sting. Whenever you finally get to leave, you know that the scent will follow you, will linger on your clothes like a stain that’s too stubborn to be scrubbed off. At your side, Ser Harrold Westerling faces away from the King and his family, the ever-watchful sentinel, and you wonder how he does this day after day. Only a few moments have passed since you entered the royal bedchambers and already, you’re desperate to get out. Perhaps he’s grown used to the awful smell. Perhaps he’s as familiar with the stench of death as you are with the old dusty smell of the library or the sweet floral aroma of the gardens.

“My love,” Alicent murmurs, reaching out to brush a thin piece of hair away from the King’s face. He doesn’t react, doesn’t shift to seek out her touch, or flinch away. He’s a statue, perfectly still, and only the labored movement of his chest tells you that he’s alive. “Helaena is here. It’s her last day as a maiden and she wants your blessing for the wedding tomorrow.”

Helaena looks at her mother nervously before her gaze shifts to look at you. You smile the best that you can, nodding your head to encourage her, and, after a deep breath, she focuses her attention back on her father. Even from your spot, you can see how her hands tremble slightly as she rests them on the bed, her fingers curling into the thick covers to give herself something to cling to. “I… I wanted to thank you, Father, for allowing me this opportunity to bring our House honor through continuing Valyrian traditions. Aegon and I… Aegon and I will bring you pride, Father. We will. I promise.”

He doesn’t deserve it, you want to assure her. You’ve given him enough. You have nothing more to give to him. Not when he doesn’t deserve even your kind words.

After she finishes speaking, Helaena looks like she has more she wants to say but, after a long drawn-out moment where the only sounds are the rattling breath of a dying king, she shakes her head and rises to her feet. She stands, her silver hair a pale flame in the darkened chambers next to her mother’s blazing red hair, and looks over to the Queen, plainly waiting for instruction on what to do next.

Alicent sighs, her hand gently smoothing over the little hair that Viserys has left, and her eyes flicker down to her husband. From here, you can see the way her mouth turns downward, how her eyes stare down at the King with open pain and distress.

You curl your fists at your side, digging your nails deep into your palm, just so you can anchor yourself to something.

“Husband,” Alicent tries again, valiantly trying to steady her voice but, in the silence of the room, you can plainly hear the slightly higher pitch, the more pleading tone. She’s begging Viserys to care, to acknowledge Helaena, and you wonder if you’ve ever hated anyone more. Erren and Victor Florent had made the valiant attempt to supplant the king from that dubious honor but you know that, if the Stranger asked you if you would trade Victor’s death for that of Viserys Targaryen, you would take that deal in an instant. For Helaena, for Aemond, and for Daeron and Aegon too. “Your daughter is here. She’s here for her final maiden day, my love. Don’t you have anything you wish to say to her?”

There’s silence, dead awful silence, but then the king shifts in his bed, a low groan leaving his body, as he feebly pushes himself up slightly, craning his head to stare out at his wife and daughter at his side. You watch as Helaena’s face hesitantly brightens with something resembling hope, how Alicent twists her frown into a cautious and encouraging smile, and fear suddenly grips your heart as you realize all at once why the old king had moved.

No, you think wildly, wishing you could reach out to shield them and silence the King in one quick motion. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.

But Viserys didn’t do what you had wanted him to do in Driftmark and he certainly wouldn’t do it here.

“Rhaenyra?” Viserys asks, his voice weak and shaky as if each word is fighting and clawing its way out of his chest. “Rhaenyra is here?”

The king could only have done more damage if he had struck his wife and daughter across the face as he uttered that name. As it were, the Queen flinches back as she has been slapped, her brown eyes wide in distress and betrayal as she stares down at her husband, as she looks at the man she had vowed to love and protect and cherish ignore the daughter she had given him.

But Helaena… Helaena only closes her eyes, tilting her head down for a moment as if she’s trying to find balance again, squeezing her hands so tightly together that her already pale knuckles grow even whiter. When she looks up again, there is no heartache or disappointment written on her face. No pain. No anger.

There is only resignation.

You don’t even think - you step forward, suddenly desperate to reach out to Helaena, to brush your hand against her sleeve to assure her that you’re here and that you’re here for her, not for some rotting old king that would get what was coming for him in this life or the next. The moment your heel touches the ground, however, Viserys lets out another rattling breath and his pale eyes, dull and lifeless and so far removed from the bright eyes of all his children, swing to look at you.

He’s hopeful, that much is plain. He’s looking at you but he doesn’t see you and you can recognize the exact moment he realizes that you’re not Rhaenyra or anyone resembling anything close to Rhaenyra. Viserys looks at you for a moment longer, so plainly baffled by your presence, and indignation rises up in you.

You’ve been at Helaena’s side for nearly the majority of your life. You’ve been her loyal companion. You’ve been Aemond’s. For years, you’ve stood at their sides, as determined and loyal as any kingsguard.

And there’s no flicker of recognition in his eyes. Not when he looks at you. Not when he looks at Helaena.

For a moment, you let your mask slip. For half a second, you let all the rage and frustration and hatred slip onto your face as you glower at Viserys Targaryen, feeling as if you could reach out and choke him as easily as you could draw your next breath. For half a second, you imagine how lovely it would be to become a kingslayer, how easy. For half a second, you imagine how beautiful it would be for Viserys Targaryen to die knowing it’s because of his own actions, his own inactions.

It’s only for a moment but it’s a glorious moment.

Your mask comes back easily and you continue forward, moving to Helaena’s side, your face as pleasant as usual. The Queen is too busy staring down at the king, too busy facing yet another failure of her husband, but the princess is watching you. She had seen your control slip and, when you move to stand next to her, you look up to meet her eyes.

And she smiles.

Beautiful, sweet, and kind Helaena smiles and you know without a doubt, if she were to ask you to become a kingslayer for her, you would do it with nary a complaint. Quietly, you reach out to gently graze her sleeve, and, quick as can be, Helaena snatches your hand, squeezing it tight.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys calls, feebly, and, reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from Helaena to stare down at him. He’s staring at Helaena, pale purple eyes pleading up at his daughter. “Rhaenyra, my girl, have you come to read to me? Have you and Alicent come to read?”

You glance over at Helaena but she’s already looking down at her father. Her face is clear, a perfectly blank expression, and your heart aches at the sight of it. “I’m not sure if I’ll have time to. We have to go to the royal sept, Father,” she says after a moment, clearly forcing the words out as calmly as she can.

“Can wait,” Viserys manages to croak out, his voice growing weaker and weaker as whatever little strength had possessed him to speak leaves his body. “Please. Alicent. Wait.” You look back at the King, expecting to see him gazing at his wife, but instead, his eyes are trained on you and you startle at the unexpected eye contact.

“Me?” You manage out after a moment, completely caught off guard. You’ve lived in the Red Keep since you were ten and not once has anyone ever compared you to the Queen. You were the walking copy of Lady Johanna Lannister and Johanna was as far from Alicent Hightower as was possible. Baffled, you snap your gaze towards the Queen, as if she could explain her husband’s delusion, only she’s already looking at you.

Her eyes aren’t anywhere near your face, however. She’s not looking over your dress in case you’ve accidentally worn something that resembled something she wore once in her childhood. No, she’s staring at your hand, wrapped around Helaena’s, and for a moment, you can’t imagine how that would cause more pain to spring up on her face than her husband’s mistake had.

It hits you all at once.

She used to be Princess Rhaenyra’s childhood companion, you realize, watching the Queen with pity blooming in your chest. His mistake has nothing to do with any resemblances he’s deluded himself into seeing. It’s about who I am to his daughter. Who she was to Rhaenyra.

You’ve never seen the Queen quite so off-kilter like this. Even on Driftmark, her heartbreak and anger had blazed more brightly than… this. That had been righteous fury, tempered by the shock and agony of failure. This was defeat and regret. She was deflated and lost, a little girl in all but appearance, so far removed from the Queen you’ve grown accustomed to after years and years spent in her company.

Even Helaena has noticed her mother’s distress, looking away from her father to stare at her mother. Nervous and hesitant, she reaches out with her free hand, gripping one of Alicent’s sleeves gently and tugging.

“Mother,” she whispers, sounding just like she had when you were both little girls, and just like that, the trance Alicent had entered is broken. The Queen reels back, brown eyes wide as she stares at you and Helaena, looking at your faces now. She’s breathing quickly as if she’s just risen up from the depths and is finally catching her first breath of fresh air after eons of holding her breath. “Mother, are you…”

Alicent shakes her head immediately, visibly rattled. “We should head to the sept, my sweet,” she quickly says, plastering a plainly fake smile on her face. “There are quite a few ceremonies you girls will need to perform today and I’m sure the septas would appreciate all the extra time you can afford to give them.”

The pair of you stare back at her, stunned by her fast turnaround before you find your voice. “Of course, Your Grace,” you say, bowing your head slightly.

After a moment, Helaena echoes your words and, hurriedly, Alicent rushes the pair of you out, the three of you quietly whispering your thanks to Ser Harrold as you pass.

None of you bow to Viserys when you leave.

——————————–

You’ve never been too fond of the royal sept. There’s nothing wrong with it in particular - it is a beautiful sept, one fit for the seat of the royal family, but whenever you were in it, you only ever felt longing for Casterly Rock. At your ancestral home, your mother, while not pious by any stretch of the imagination, would always make sure that you and your sisters would keep up appearances by performing the appropriate amount of prayers and songs in front of the statues of the Seven. It didn’t happen too often - usually only two or three times in a sennight - but it was a frequent enough occasion that the incense the septas burned immediately launch you back to Casterly Rock’s sept.

To be sure, the royal sept was larger and grander with beautiful stained windows filling the main statuary room with copious amounts of light. The sept at Casterly Rock was practically claustrophobic by comparison. Set deep within the Rock itself, it was windowless with only candles providing light but it had never seemed dark, not even when the candles were dwindling to nubs. In true Lannister fashion, nearly everything in the sept was golden - from the floors you and your sisters kneeled on to pray to the statues of the Seven you had prayed to. With no windows and only small vents carved into the walls for air circulation, the smell of incense was near unbearable. As a little girl, it had been the least favorite of your chores by far and you had often complained to Cerelle and Tyshara under your breath about how badly your eyes and nose ached after even a few seconds inside the sept, giggling whenever your mother or your septa had scolded the three of you for not focusing on prayer.

The air in the royal sept, in comparison, was fresh - as fresh as King’s Landing air could get - and the incense smell was low, far more manageable than it was at Casterly Rock. When the septa leads you and Helaena to stand before the statue of the Maiden, you find you almost miss the ache. The ache meant you were at Casterly Rock. It meant you had your sisters and your mother near.

One has left and another will leave the Rock soon enough you think to yourself, moving through the mechanics of kneeling before the statue on instinct. Soon, all of us will leave the Rock and only little Loren will remain.

It’s a discomforting thought to have to picture the Rock without Cerelle managing the household, without Tyshara entertaining Jeyne and Joy with you, and you quickly banish it from your mind, forcing yourself to refocus on what the septa was explaining to you.

Almost predictably, however, the septa leaves as soon as you decide to actually listen to her and, as you watch her leave with a twinge of regret, Helaena leans in close to your ear, ignoring the way you jump slightly when you notice how close she is. “Did you catch anything she said?”

You cough to cover up your laugh and someone in the spacious chamber shushes you. Helaena almost immediately bursts into giggles, throwing her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle it, and you grin, biting your cheek so you don’t start laughing again.

“Missed every single thing,” you promptly confess when she finally slows her giggles, gently knocking her with your shoulder to tease her when that statement makes her dissolve into another laughing fit.

Eventually, she calms, shaking her head while she looks around the sept curiously. There are only a few other septas, most of them tending to the Father and Mother statues as they gently clean them with rags. A lone septon stands in front of the Crone, head bowed as he swings a thurible gently in front of him, the smoke lazily making its way up to the statue of the wizened old lady.

“Did she say when she was supposed to return for us?” You ask, watching the septon finish his prayer and slowly move around the circle of the Seven to the statue of the Smith, swinging the thurible as he goes.

Helaena shakes her head. “I think soon. We still have to bathe, don’t we?”

You tilt your head in thought, trying to recall everything your childhood septas had explained to you about your future wedding days. A bride’s last day as a maiden was spent in prayer and recitation, usually with her chosen maiden companion at her side, and, if your vague recollections of your lessons were to be trusted, at some point, the two of you would be sent to a large bathing room where septas would wash the pair of you while reciting prayers for fertility and health. From there, it would be more prayer until you finally got to leave the sept to attend a dinner with Helaena’s family.

Attend a dinner. Not eat a dinner. Like for Maiden’s Day, the pair of you would have to fast until the next morning, and sit a dinner, surrounded by everyone eating around you, to symbolize the strength and willpower the maidens must have in order to remain pure until their wedding days.

Typically, the dinner that you wouldn’t eat was held with the bride’s family with the groom eating someplace else with his own family except you weren’t entirely sure what the protocol would be seeing as the groom was the bride’s family here. Would Aegon eat with you two? Would the family be split down the middle with some dining with him and the rest with Helaena?

You sigh, deciding that it didn’t matter now. “Yes. Your mother should be joining us after the bath, I believe, but you know… It doesn’t seem very fair that we have to spend all day in the sept while the princes get to watch the archery event. They still have roles to play tomorrow.”

Helaena shrugs helplessly, reaching towards the basket of flowers placed at the Maiden’s feet and running her fingers absentmindedly through the loose petals. “Aemond is the Warrior. It makes sense for him to be there at the tourney, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to snort. “And Daeron is meant to be the Smith, isn’t he? I don’t suppose he’ll be spending the day in the forge or will he?”

“Being the Maiden isn’t all bad,” Helaena replies, giving you a small smile. “No one can bother us right now, at least.”

Something in you softens at her expression and you smile back easily, nodding. “Of course, Helaena. I’m not complaining about serving as your Maiden. I’m more questioning what the men will be doing in preparation.”

It had never occurred to you that there was a disparity between the work that the different wedding attendants would need to do in order to properly fulfill their duties. Typically, weddings done in the light of the seven always had six attendants to serve them: the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Warrior, the Smith, and the Crone. The Stranger was never physically represented - not when having their presence would only invite death onto the newlyweds. The six attendants were typically divided neatly in the middle with the bride’s and groom’s party each providing three of them but, when the party was essentially one, there was no such division aside from preference. Otto Hightower was serving as the Father seeing as Viserys Targaryen could not be bothered. Alicent was the Mother, you were the Maiden, Aemond was the Warrior, Daeron the Smith, and the Crone was…

“Who’s the Crone?” You ask without thinking, your voice accidentally an octave too loud, and, immediately, you are shushed by several people.

Helaena grins at your affronted look. “Princess Rhaenys.”

You choke, earning yourself another reprimand that you promptly ignore, before you lean in, desperate for more information. “Princess Rhaenys? How? Why?”

She shrugs in response. “Grandfather has been talking with her recently. She’s the oldest, highest-ranking woman in our House, after all.”

“He’s actually speaking to her?” You ask. “Or she’s actually speaking to him?”

“Aemond told him to, apparently. He said Grandfather should speak to Princess Rhaenys about tax reforms, I think, and apparently, when he did, he ended up asking her to serve as the Crone and she agreed.”

You lean back, flatly stunned, and you rest your hands on your knees as you think. It had only been a few days since you had told Aemond he should tell the Lord Hand to consult with Rhaenys. While the days since had felt impossibly long, you knew that wasn’t the truth. In all honesty, you had expected Aemond to act on your advice once the wedding had passed, during those few days when noblemen slowly prepared to return to their holdfasts and castles. You had never expected him to enact your suggestions so fast and you fight back a smile.

Aemond’s speed aside, this was massive. Rhaenys serving as an attendant at Aegon and Helaena’s wedding was by no means a sign that she was fostering an alliance with that branch of the Targaryen family but it was an opening.

An opening you intend to use.

“Will she be at the dinner tonight? Or will she be preparing with us later?” You ask, fighting to suppress the eagerness in your voice.

You fail if Helaena’s bemused smile is anything to go off of. “I think she will be.”

You grin, laughing out loud in glee, and not even caring when a chorus of shushes responds.

——————————–

You wish the septas had bothered to heat up the water. The bath hadn’t been bad - at least, not at first. It had been odd, to say the least, to have five septas circling the communal bath while singing hymns you only vaguely recognize while two washed you and Helaena. No one has bathed you since you were a little girl and to suddenly have an audience was disconcerting, to say the least. You had quickly gotten over their presence, however, instead focusing on holding yourself back from shivering relentlessly. It was cold and, as the prayers had dragged on, it had only grown colder. The little warmth the bath had had in the beginning had died quickly and you were left fighting the urge to curse and dive for a towel to try to use to warm you up.

Helaena, thankfully, had handled it much better than you had. She had only flinched at the beginning when the septa had reached for her but eventually, she had grown accustomed to the woman’s touch and had relaxed, looking as if she was handling the cold of the water a great deal better than you.

The blood of the dragon runs hot indeed.

Mercifully, the bath ends and, after dressing the pair of you in simple gowns and drying your hair, the septas guide you to a new statuary area, away from the large room you had been in earlier. It’s spacious enough if only because it’s nearly empty and, when you spot the women waiting for you, you fight down a smile.

Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenys could not look more uncomfortable with one another if they tried. It’s clear that they’ve just arrived for surely they would be more at ease with one another if they had had more time to try and start a conversation. As it were, when the septas lead you and Helaena in, both women show flickers of relief on their faces, one more muted than the other.

When the septas instruct the four of you, you actually listen, unwilling to be caught off guard in front of people who wouldn’t take as kindly to it as Helaena had. Thankfully, the ceremony they leave you all to do is a relatively simple one although a rather tedious one. It’s an affirmation of the seven blessings - the four of you will walk around the sept seven times, stopping at each statue as you go to ask for their blessing for the wedding tomorrow.

Simple. Yet so unbearably tedious.

Thankfully, Alicent, by far the most pious of the four of you, leads the way, Helaena right by her side. This leaves you in the back, walking by Princess Rhaenys. For the first two laps, you’re all relatively quiet, only speaking when you recite the prayers for each of the Seven, but Helaena breaks the silence first, asking her mother how the preparations are going for tomorrow.

When Alicent launches into a long-winded complaint that she’s clearly been holding back all day, you glance over at the Lady of Driftmark, smiling hesitantly when her eyes, the typical dark blue of House Baratheon rather than the usual violet of House Targaryen, meet yours.

“Princess Rhaenys,” you say after a moment, bowing your head slightly in lieu of a curtsey. Rhaenys reciprocates in kind, eyes sharp as she watches you. “Do you have much experience as an attendant?”

Rhaenys smiles, clearly on guard but plainly judging you to be relatively harmless. “A few times here and there. I’ve played the Maiden as a young girl but I’ve been the Crone a few times now in my age.”

You tactfully ignore the fact she’s never gotten the chance to be the Mother. Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding was notoriously rushed and some of the smallfolk whispered that it had been such a cursed union because they had not been given the time to properly ask for the seven blessings. Daemon and Laena’s wedding was similarly speedy if the gossip was to be believed. Daemon had killed Laena’s betrothed and taken her to wife, stealing her away to Essos before anyone could intervene. No seven blessings there either.

“This is my first time as an attendant,” you reply, laughing slightly at yourself. “I’ve attended a few weddings here and there but this is the first time anyone’s ever asked me to participate.”

Conversation pauses as the four of you stop in front of the Maiden, speaking the prayers together, only to resume as you continue on your walk.

Rhaenys raises an eyebrow while looking at you. “You have two older sisters, do you not? I imagine you’ll be able to serve as the Maiden for at least one of them.”

You laugh. “I hope to get such a blessing soon enough. I’m happy enough to serve Helaena, though. She’s a sister to me in all but name at this point.”

“From what I hear, she might be a sister by name soon as well,” she says, smiling slightly when you visibly grow flustered. “The Targaryens may welcome a new daughter sooner rather than later.”

“I could only be so lucky, my princess. To be able to join the house of the dragon would be a blessing beyond words,” you respond after a moment, making sure to soften your tone to sound more shy and unsure of yourself. In front of the two of you, Helaena slightly falters in her footsteps and you feel a flash of nerves, suddenly fearful of her sprouting her prophecies in front of Rhaenys. Instead of that, however, she shoots you an amused look over her shoulder, seemingly having heard the shy maiden you’re presenting yourself as.

Rhaenys, however, doesn’t notice, simply eying you with quiet amusement. Better she think I’m a harmless lovestruck maid than anything else.

After the next statue, the Crone ironically enough, you clear your throat and look back over at the Princess. “I’ve been blessed with being able to speak to Lady Baela. She’s a very clever lady - a testament, I’m sure, to your care.”

Her smile comes even easier now and, in her dark eyes, you can see undisguised pride for her granddaughter. “Baela is a smart girl. Headstrong. She’s like her mother in that regard.”

“Lady Baela has told me of her lady mother - of her kindness and care for her daughters.” You say, softly, and Rhaenys tenses, looking you over with doubt rising in her eyes. You’ve entered dangerous territory with her. “The Stranger is cruel, to take someone so notable so young. I’m glad you’ve stepped in with Lady Baela’s care to honor your daughter. She, and Lady Rhaena, are Lady Laena’s legacy and they are safest in your hands.”

Rhaenys watches you for a beat longer, searching and searching in your face for a sign that you’re being duplicitous. She won’t find it since you’re not - you’re honest. Baela is better off with Princess Rhaenys than with a father who disrespects her mother. “Your words are kind, my lady,” she finally says, tearing her eyes away from yours to stare up at the statue of the Stranger. From here on the ground, the sunlight casts shadows on the stone, concealing completely the Stranger’s face hidden under their cloak. “I live to honor my children. That is my only purpose.”

You don’t reply. You don’t need to. You’ve already planted the seeds.

——————————–

After the week of feasts you’ve been attending night after night, the dining room in Maegor’s Holdfast seems almost positively quaint in comparison. It’d be refreshing and relaxing.

If you could eat.

You and Helaena are the first ones in the dining room and you pointedly keep your eyes off the spread of food, wishing you could plug your nose. You’ve fasted before for different religious holidays but the cooks are seemingly determined to make this exercise in restraint that much harder on you by making your favorites. From freshly baked lemon cakes to decadent venison pies, it all smells absolutely divine and you wish, not for the first time since you’ve sat down, that you could sneak a bite.

Unfortunately, the Queen and Lord Otto are already here, the two of them speaking to Rhaenys about the ceremony tomorrow, and you know with your miserable luck that the moment you reach out to steal even just a candied lemon slice, they’ll look your way and see you breaking your fast. You fear losing their respect more than satisfying your hunger and so you keep your hands firmly in your lap, swearing to yourself that tomorrow you’ll find a way to convince someone to fetch lemon cakes if the bakers don’t make them for tomorrow’s even more lavish feast.

You open your mouth to say something to Helaena when the doors open and Aegon all but trips in. Close behind him, Daeron is grabbing him by the back of the tunic to haul him up while Aemond watches them with such disdain that you know, without a doubt, if his younger brother hadn’t been there, he would have left Aegon to fall on the ground.

“Are we late?” Aegon asks when he rights himself, grinning broadly, and you freely roll your eyes, knowing that none of the princes would care about your act of plain disrespect. Aemond notices and he smirks at you, shaking his head slightly in mirth.

“Of course not,” Alicent says, her tone clearly saying the opposite, and Aegon laughs in lieu of responding. You wince. He’s drunk - which is normal for him - but you haven’t seen him this drunk in years, not since he was a boy and testing his limits. He’s learned to at least play the part of sober but he must have drunk Sunfyre’s weight in alcohol for him to be this drunk. He’s stumbling and only Daeron at his side is keeping him standing. Carefully, the youngest prince guides his brother to a seat at the right end of the table, all but dumping him into it, before he slides into the seat next to him, smiling brightly at the rest of the table as if he hadn’t physically dragged Aegon here. Aemond sits next to you, sandwiching you between him and Helaena, sitting across from his older brother so he can suitably glare at him.

Otto clears his throat once the men settle. “Nevertheless, the princes are here now. We should begin.”

For a moment, you fear he’s going to give a speech and you don’t know if you can stand to sit here amongst your favorite foods for longer than absolutely necessary. When he doesn’t, you almost sigh in relief except the Queen announces that they should all pray together before the meal in order to ask the gods one final time to lend their blessings for tomorrow.

Of course, you think to yourself even as you bow your head and close your eyes, clasping your hands in front of you. This marriage will need all the blessings the gods see fit to give it to be successful.

Thankfully, the prayer goes fast and, almost on instinct, you reach for food only to have to bring yourself to an abrupt stop. You stare pitifully at the tray stacked high with lemon cakes, wishing desperately that you could eat one.

“You’ve fasted before, my lady. I’m surprised you’re taking it so hard this time.” Aemond says after a moment and you pitifully drag your stare away from the lemon cakes to frown at him. He hasn’t reached for any food for his place, preferring to watch you with amusement at your disgruntled expression, and that only makes you frown even more. Around the pair of you, the conversation has started with Lord Otto speaking with Helaena and Rhaenys as Alicent and Daeron make a valiant attempt at disguising their panic at Aegon’s quickly deteriorating state.

“I have,” you reply in a prim voice, tapping your fingers against the empty table setting in front of you. “But this time it’s different. For Maiden’s Day, I’m free to lock myself up in my quarters and distract myself. Here, the temptation is the point. I need to be tempted to prove that I’m able to abstain.”

Aemond’s eyes flash with something that leaves too fast for you to identify. He looks at you for a moment, scanning and analyzing, before he looks over his shoulder to check on his mother sitting by his side. The Queen is leaning towards Aegon, whispering fiercely in low tones, and, judging from the mulish look on the prince’s face, she will be distracted the entire dinner by his shenanigans. He turns back to you and moves closer.

Without thinking, you also move closer, slowly and imperceptibly so as to not call attention, and your sleeve brushes his. Your heart begins to pound loud in your chest.

“Are you tempted often, my lady?” He asks, voice low and steady, and you blink owlishly up at him.

“I don’t eat lemon cakes every day if that’s what you’re asking,” you respond after a moment, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. You know what he’s asking - you know you’re playing the fool for him right now - but you don’t know how to articulate the answer that he’s seeking.

I’m tempted every day but I don’t know what to do.

He smiles but there’s something mean about it. His arm presses into yours. “But you do indulge.”

Vaguely, you’re aware of Helaena laughing at something Rhaenys says but you can’t register any of it, not with the blood rushing in your ears. You lick your lips anxiously and Aemond’s eyes seize on the motion, watching your mouth hungrily. Your heart stutters. “I… I don’t know how.” You confess, feeling yourself burn with shame and something else. “I’ve never… Never.”

I’m playing the Maiden you think to yourself as you watch Aemond’s smirk slowly grow on his face, when that hunger from after the melee grows in his eyes. Surely, this is breaking some rule, going against the blessings we’ve spent all day asking for.

But to be fair to yourself… You don’t think this union could be any more cursed, wayward Maidens and tempting Warriors aside. Perhaps the gods would take pity on you. Maybe the Maiden had never been tempted by a man like Aemond Targaryen.

“But I want to,” you say, the words rushing themselves out of his mouth before you can reconsider them. “Gods, I want to.”

Temptation is the point, you reason with yourself, ignoring how the heat from your and his body makes your head go hazy. There is nothing to abstain from if there is nothing to tempt.

Aemond tilts his head, looking like a cat that’s cornered the mouse, playing with it, knowing he’s won. Part of you rebels against it, wants to remind him that you’re no meek maiden, but a larger part of you delights in letting go of your own restraint and control, if only for a few stolen moments at dinner. “Would you like some advice?”

Something in you thrums at his voice. Mouth dry, you nod.

His eye looks around him for a moment and, judging it to be safe, he leans in, his lips touching your ear as he does. Your hands fist up your dress in your lap, pulling it tight. “I would, my love, but I’m afraid we’re unbound as of right now. My mother might be remarkably uninterested in keeping my head on my shoulders now that the tourney is done.”

He pulls away but you reach out, capturing him by the arm to hold him still. You look at him, mindful to keep your careful distance but still close enough that you feel that rush of excitement when he looks at you. “You said that there’s always been an understanding,” you remind him, squeezing him slightly. “Ever since I came.”

Only peripheral awareness of your surroundings keeps you from telling him that your father wouldn’t mind, not really, if he took his liberties. He would only mind if the perception of you from the court was that he had not, that you were the perfect Maiden that you were meant to be.

From the look in Aemond’s eye, you wonder if he already knows.

He smiles, gentler than he has during this entire dinner, and, for half a second, you feel robbed - of what you’re not sure and that’s the worst part that makes you want to scream. As quickly as the disappointment arises, however, he dashes it when, under his breath, low enough so no one else can hear, he says, “There’s a bud, my lady, in the apex of your thighs. When you’re alone, touch it. Or perhaps, you’ll be strong enough to abstain.”

Your legs snap together, rubbing, and you heave a sigh, nodding shakily, as he pulls away completely. His smile grows even softer as he takes in your state of disorientation.

“Are you tempted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the lemon cakes, as if he’s asking you a perfectly innocent question about your fast. Next to him, finally noticing something aside from Aegon fighting to not vomit, Alicent frowns at him.

“Aemond,” she scolds, looking as if all her patience has left her. “Don’t tease her - she’s performing a great duty for Aegon and Helaena.”

Aemond nods solemnly. “Of course, Mother,” he replies, as innocent as a Targaryen prince could ever be. “I was simply admiring her strength and asking if she was alright.”

You briefly entertain exposing his misbehavior to the Queen, if only to watch him squirm as he had you, but instead, you sigh. “I am fine. Thank you for asking, my prince.”

Aemond bows his head towards you, as if acknowledging your sacrifice for his family, and Alicent turns back to her oldest son, her attention plainly leaving the two of you. He looks at you for a moment longer.

Before he reaches out to steal a candied lemon slice off a lemon cake, popping it in his mouth, and licking the sugar off his fingers.

You wonder if you’re strong enough to flip the table.

[honestgrins]

The Floral Stench of Death || Klaroline

Klaroline AU Week Day Five: Mythology and Creatures

The old gods had fallen into mere myth, relegated to a muted life among the mortals. Sometimes, one needs a reminder of what it means to rule the Underworld. (Hades and Persephone AU, with an American Gods bent)

Klaus was busy with the books when a ringing bell broke the austere silence of his funeral home. His eyebrow raised at the interruption; few bothered to cross his threshold anymore, not without a corpse to visit. Only his closest family made the effort, which was why he was surprised to find a great nephew loitering in the foyer.

“Anteros,” he greeted with suspicion. “I’d thought you long forgotten, unlike your arse of a brother.”

The gods of old were a scattered bunch, but a few of the Greeks had managed to remain a part of human knowledge. Eros made an annoying resurgence every February, his name invoked too often for Klaus’s liking; the popularity made him cocky. But sexual attraction was an easy thing to celebrate, and Anteros encouraged a deeper love meant to be requited in full. Klaus always found that to be more interesting.

Shuffling uncomfortably, the younger brother even seemed to hold a proper respect for the power Klaus still held in the world. “I go by Stefan,” he explained carefully, knowing the importance of names among their kind.

His real name had been rendered unusable by unfriendly myths and ridiculous cartoons, an unfortunate problem that irked Klaus to no end. Persephone chose well for its replacement, but he missed the reverence of those terrified of Hades himself. This Stefan was a delightful memory of eons past. “Why are you here, Stefan? Not many would dare to ask favors of the Underworld.”

“Eros- Damon,” Stefan cleared his throat, concern furrowing his brow. “My brother has gone missing.”

Lips pulling into a smirk, Klaus’s head canted to the side as the boy squirmed. “I fail to see why that is my problem,” he responded cheerfully. “These days, I’m a simple estate lawyer who happens to run a successful business providing mortuary services.”

Stefan bristled. “You’re the god of death,” he accused, though his voice was strained with the effort to sound polite. “I would hardly belittle your influence in this world, and I think you know what happened to him.”

“He hasn’t fallen under my purview, if that’s what you’re asking.” Klaus shrugged, taking great pleasure in the obvious irritation Stefan poorly hid. “Perhaps it is for the best. Your brother’s not a favorite among the old guard, I doubt many would miss him.”

“My wife is worried, as am I,” he countered, ignoring the gleefully curious look on the god before him. “Certain friends directed me here, loathe as I am to discover why. Have you seen him?”

Klaus dragged his tongue across his lips, hands folded behind his back as he stepped into Stefan’s space. “It was my duty to take stock of a man’s life,” he all but purred, a thrill of power firing through his veins. “To lay judgment for his actions and to decide the course of his eternity in the Underworld.”

Hazel eyes wide with a lack of guile, Stefan fought not to lean back from Klaus’s intrusion. “So?”

“So,” Klaus mocked, “there are no secrets that can be kept from me. I see it all. Your wife, Stefan, does she love your brother?”

Fists curling in his Henley, Klaus smiled, a ferocious thing as Stefan shoved him against a wall. “Where is he?”

Chuckling, Klaus easily broke the finger that held a shiny silver ring, forcing Stefan to release him. “A human, too.” He clucked his tongue in faux remorse. “Imagine Aphrodite’s sons, torn between the same woman. She loves you, but she lusts for him. Think of the stories that would be told.” But his smile turned wicked, a hand reaching up to grip the boy’s throat. “If we weren’t dying out, that is.”

Stefan squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a silent goodbye to Elena, only for them to fly open as the god of death released him from his fate.

“Try next door,” Klaus dismissed with a wave. “You can buy your wife some pretty flowers, so she can properly mourn your brother.” Without bothering to watch Stefan leave, he went back to his work. Some luck, and he might not be late for his evening plans.

“And you’re going to grow deep,” Caroline whispered to the rose cactus, “just be sure to remain moist.” She ran a finger along one of the plant’s spines, coating it with the viscous blood that ran from the man’s thigh it pierced. “I want the pain to last.”

There were days that Caroline missed the simple life of tending her mother’s garden, but Persephone’s botanical prowess still thrived as a florist in the modern world. What lacked were the opportunities to punish those who wronged her, with their behavior, their attitude, their disregard for her position.

As Eros - or Damon, as he preferred to be called, the douche - had committed all three wrongs, she delighted in the angry hiss that came from her favorite plant box.

“I already apologized,” Damon spat, though breathless with contained agony as a stinging nettle wound around his neck. “You were just a cute blonde at the bar, how was I supposed to know who you were?”

Smiling, she urged the hemlock away from his lips. “You were just to keep him still,” she scolded the poisonous plant. “Any more, and it will be too quick.” Her fingers ran lovingly through the soil half covering his naked, prostrate form.

The chime hanging over her door sang out, jauntily clashing with the pop music playing in her shop. “Just a minute,” she called, clearing her hands of dirt. Standing, she rolled her eyes as Damon greedily tracked her sundress up the line of her leg.

This was just one reason why he was going to rot for as long as it took him to die.

Leaving the refrigerated storage room, Caroline found a pretty young man among her more exotic lilies. “You have good taste,” she greeted approvingly. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.”

She frowned at the hesitant, almost fearful tone of his voice. Hardly anyone would fear Persephone at first sight, let alone her persona of Caroline Forbes. While she enjoyed the reminiscence of her old reputation, the suddenness of it all put her on edge. Her head canted to the side as recognition hit. “I know you.”

Stefan nodded, not bothering to deny the Olympic blood that tied them together. “I suspect you know my brother as well,” he answered instead. “Klaus sent me here. Do you have Damon?”

“He’s asked for you.” Determination in every step, Caroline walked through the aisles of her shop, plucking cut flowers and greenery to some unknown rhythm. “Well, he asked for Elena, but your name was sprinkled in there, too,” she explained, nonchalant.

Sighing, Stefan ran a hand across his face. “Dare I ask what he did to offend you, your grace?”

She positively preened at the use of her former title. To reward his manners, Caroline decided to grant him peace of mind. “I happened to run into your brother last night while having drinks with a friend,” she explained. “He seemed to think a pleasant conversation was an invitation to drug my margarita.”

Like a light had been extinguished, his shoulders sagged in resignation. “Please, I know he doesn’t deserve mercy,” Stefan begged, “but-”

Caroline held up a quelling hand, her glare deceptively friendly. “And when informed of his mistake in attempting to take advantage of the queen of the underworld, he laughed.” Her expression hardened, making Stefan wince. “In my face.” But as quickly as it came, the stern frown left and a bright smile was in its place. “You seem nice,” she told the young god, bouncing on her toes as she went about wrapping the bouquet she had gathered. “I’ll let you say goodbye.”

Before Stefan could follow her nod to the back room, though, her eyebrows raised in warning. “If you try to free him, you’ll pray my plants kill you before I do.”

With an audible swallow, he left her alone. She set the bouquet in a lovely crystal vase, and she was busy arranging it for perfect balance when her door chimed again. Glancing up to the clock on her wall, she shook her head. Even with a cheerful smile on her face, Caroline’s voice fell flat with disappointment. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, love,” Klaus answered lightly, careful not to brush the vines slithered up the doorway on his way in. Leaning on the countertop, he watched her murmur encouragement to a too small flower until it grew to her satisfaction. “I’m afraid I suffered the same distraction of Stefan’s brotherly woes.”

Caroline shrugged, fondly patting the display before setting it aside, just outside his reach. Reaching across the counter, she welcomed her husband with a kiss. “Unfortunately, it takes more than a few growing buds to sap a god of his energy,” she sighed, brushing through Klaus’s brassy curls. “But I hope a few months in my planters will teach young Damon a lesson he won’t soon forget.”

Turning into her touch, Klaus pressed a kiss to her wrist. “I wish you would let me take care of him.”

“And I wish you would let me enjoy hunting him down over the centuries when he surely does this again,” she sighed, adopting what she called his patronizing tone.

Klaus knew better than to keep up the fight, so he held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Happily, she let him lead her toward the door. “Oh, Stefan,” she called. The god returned obediently, looking worse for the wear. “Mythic Florist is closed for a standing dinner date, but that arrangement is yours, on the house.” Caroline winked at his utter bemusement. “It should go where Elena sleeps. Hyacinth to promote her grieving process for your brother, hyssop for the sacrifice you both make for his foolishness, and forget-me-nots to remind her of the true love she still has in you.” She leaned into Klaus, her own love that had sustained her through the ages. “Rot and ruin like Damon is only as good as the healing it can provoke.”

Tense with anger, Stefan moved to throw the vase. Klaus, however, laughed. “My wife is a generous soul,” he said, kissing her temple. But turning back to Stefan, his smirk turned dangerous. “Don’t test it.”

As Stefan stalked out of the shop, still clutching the vase and powerless to challenge them, Caroline laced her fingers with Klaus’s. “He’ll be back.”

Klaus smiled, squeezing her hand. It had been so long since their status had been recognized, even mere acknowledgement a powerful taste of addictive belief. “We can only hope.”

Links: FFnet and AO3

[surelynotshirley]

Kaeluc + Chongyun, Venti

This was something I worked on for the play diary fic I have on AO3 during the Geovishap event but I didn’t finish it, and I don’t really think I will. It seems to be heading down the path of an action fic and action scenes are already not my forté so I’m not sure if I want to expend the time and energy on something that’s supposed to be a low effort kind of deal. I still did work on it for quite some time so here is what I have:

When Lumine asked Chongyun if he would be willing to go investigate certain areas of Liyue for traces of Geovishaps, he said yes in a heartbeat. Even if he hadn't been requested by Lumine, he probably would have taken it upon himself to seek out and exterminate the monsters. Or been dragged by Xingqiu on Xingqiu's own self-imposed quest of chivalry.

The Geovishaps are a dangerous menace to the populace and already, Bubu Pharmacy's swamped with people who have been injured by them. According to Xiangling, anyway, who heard secondhand from Hu Tao.

"I'll ask some of my friends from Mondstadt to go with you," Lumine had said.

"Mondstadt?" Chongyun had echoed. "Wouldn't it be better to ask people from Liyue, since we know the geography more?"

"Well, yeah, but a lot of the people who are suited to explore the area are busy with their own investigations," Paimon had explained. "So we had to ask people from Mondstadt to fill in."

"I see," Chongyun had said, nodding to himself.

The Geovishaps' territory seems to encompass Liyue's entirety, which is already a large country for a small handful of elites to cover. It makes sense to ask for aid from foreigners, and it's even better if they're acting out of a sense of friendship, rather than trying to force Liyue into any kind of political debt.

"I'll be sure to buy them some food from Wanmin Restaurant after everything is done," Chongyun had promised, raising his heavy Mora bag and jangling it about.

Paimon and Lumine had given him a thumbs-up before Chongyun headed out to the outskirts of Liyue Harbour. It would be a simple mission, he had thought at the time.

It doesn't take him long to find the helpers from Mondstadt. They stand out like sore thumbs.

A red-haired man in dark clothing is standing on the bridge, leaning against the wooden railing. His gaze is focused on the dog circling around his feet, its tail wagging so hard Chongyun can practically hear it whirling from the other end of the bridge. Next to the red-haired man is a short boy — probably around Xingqiu's height? — wearing green and white. He is drinking out of a white gourd in his hand and Chongyun races forward when he realizes what it was.

"Wait, wait!"

The red-haired man looks up and pushes himself away from the railing. "Chongyun?" he asks. He pronounces Chongyun's name a little strange — he places too much emphasis on the 'yun' — but Chongyun nods quickly. "My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. I was asked by Lumine to help you in —"

"Ah, wait, hold on," Chongyun says nervously, raising up a hand in apology. "I'm really sorry for interrupting, Mister Diluc. It's just that your friend is drinking cooking wine."

"Oh," Diluc says.

The boy in green pulls the gourd away with a loud exhale. Chongyun winces at the alcoholic stench that assaults his nose and he covers his face with his sleeve. The boy's face is red and his eyes are unfocused, swaying unsteadily on the spot.

"That's the stuff!" the boy says, sounding remarkably articulate. "Oh, hello! I'm Venti! This is Diluc! We're here to help!"

"Please, you don't have to yell. I'm standing right here," Chongyun says.

"I already told him why we're here," Diluc says.

Venti's only answer is a loud laugh and Chongyun is struck with a sense of déjà vu. He is pretty sure he had to go through the exact same song and dance from Diluc's position just the other day.

It seems that Venti and Xingqiu have more in common than just their height. At the very least, Xingqiu has no interest in alcohol.

"We're just waiting for the last person in our expedition to arrive," Diluc explains. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an expensive-looking pocketwatch. Venti tries to reach out for it and Diluc simply raises it out of his reach. It's like watching someone deal with a particularly mischievous cat. "She's not someone who's normally late."

"Maybe she got distracted by some sticky honey roast on the way."

Diluc pulls a face but he doesn't deny the possibility.

Chongyun stretches to try and peer into the pocketwatch and Diluc lowers it down so that Chongyun can easily see the time. The two of them ignore Venti's loud pout at the blatant favouritism. It's just a little past noon, when more people would be out and about on their way to and from lunch. It would be disastrous if a Geovishap is to show up at this hour.

"Should we maybe just go ahead and leave a note?" Chongyun asks.

"Maybe," Diluc says. He clicks the pocketwatch shut and places it back into his pocket, staring up at the sky. "We can wait another fifteen minutes and then we'll leave."

"Sounds good to me!" Venti says, raising his hand up in the air.

Chongyun imitates him but Diluc doesn't even look at them. He lowers his hand shyly.

"There's no need for that," an unfamiliar voice drawls out and the three of them turn as one to see a dark-skinned man dressed in furs and leather stroll up to them.

He stands out in the most ridiculous fashion, not only with his natural looks but also with the way his clothes practically cling to the lines of his lithe body. Chongyun instinctively takes a small step back, and yet another one when he feels hot anger rise off of Diluc. If he hadn't noticed the Vision hanging off of his waist earlier, he would know for sure now that he's dealing with a Pyro user.

"Kaeya," Diluc growls. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh boy," Venti says. He reaches into his cape and pulls out from out of nowhere yet another gourd. How he managed to keep such a large bottle hidden away, Chongyun has no idea. Venti notices Chongyun's stare and tips the cooking wine at him. "You want a sip?"

"Ah, no..."

"Your loss."

"Amber was called away on an Outrider mission," Kaeya says. He spreads his arms out theatrically and shakes his head. "And so kind old me decided to lend her a hand. As her superior, of course. "

For a while, Diluc doesn't say anything, giving Kaeya such a murderous look that it's surprising he hasn't been incinerated to a crisp yet. When Diluc finally speaks, his voice is measured and low. He's obviously putting in a great effort to sound as cordial as he can.

"If it's just a Geovishap or two, the three of us are more than enough to defeat them. You could expend your energy on patrolling the site the monster was last spotted, in case civilians accidentally wander into the area."

Kaeya nods. "That's wise. There certainly is a lot of people milling about."

He does not openly agree or disagree with Diluc's suggestion and Diluc shifts his weight.

"So can we trust you to handle securing the area."

It's worded like a question but Diluc's flat tone implies that he meant it as a command.

"Oh. Don't worry about that," Kaeya says, waving his hand in a clear sign of dismissal. He ignores Diluc's irritated tsk. "There's nothing I can do about accidentally getting people involved if you're there with that Vision of yours. So I might as well focus on backing you up on the field."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that you —"

"Okay, wow!" Venti interrupts and both Diluc and Chongyun startle.

Kaeya was so distracting that Chongyun didn't even remember there was a third party with them. Or, he supposes, he technically is a part of said third party. But if Venti is willing to be the peacemaker then Chongyun has his back. He has no idea what's going on between Kaeya and Diluc but if Venti has no qualms about sacrificing himself for the sake of the greater good, the least Chongyun can do is make sure his death isn't in vain.

"Isn't there anything a little sweeter to drink? This wine is getting a bit too spicy for me."

Chongyun's newfound respect for Venti crumbles.

Kaeya laughs and he gives Venti an overly friendly pat on the shoulder. "Well, that's cooking wine so you're not really supposed to be drinking that. There's a lovely restaurant that offers violetgrass liqeur, and it's considered a bit of a local delicacy around these parts."

"Go on, go on!" Venti exclaims, his eyes shimmering like stars as he stares up at Kaeya like a lovestruck maiden. "What does it taste like?"

"Hm, I've never had it myself, but I hear that it's sweet and floral, like you're sucking honey directly out from a flower. If you hold it up to the light, the colours swirl in the most beautiful patterns, like you've trapped the night sky in your glass."

"It sounds amazing," Venti says dreamily. "I would very much like to try it before I go back to Mondstadt. Let's hurry and get rid of the Geovishap so we can go to the restaurant."

"Oh, I can't really drink," Chongyun says, raising his hand. "I'll still go though."

"More for me!" Venti says.

"They offer a virgin violetgrass cocktail that's sweetened with mist flower nectar and mint for anyone who can't handle their drink," Kaeya says, giving Diluc a bright smile.

Diluc crosses his arms and taps his fingers against his elbow like an annoyed cat flicking its tail. He doesn't reply but Chongyun nods to himself. So Diluc also can't drink alcohol. A small sense of kinship wells up in him at the thought. Finally, some common ground with at least one member of this enigmatic band.

"We're wasting time," Diluc sighs. He seems to have given up on trying to chase Kaeya away for now. "Let's go."

[artificialqueens]

Rupaul's Retirement Home ~ Hobnob

AN: I took some time off to defeat my inner saboteur, and visit my great Aunty Dorris. She just turned 100 so she’s basically crumbling away like an oaty biscuit. Her 100th bday bash was mental she was off her tits on meds. Before that she was in a temporary nursing home, and to be frank it was proper dodgy. This fic is a homage to my experience around old people, and how I don’t really like them too much because they remind me of death.

Beauty can come from unexpected places, but more often than not you’ll just see a pile of dog shit. ~Hobnob

The first thing you’ll notice about Rupaul’s retirement home is the smell. There’s no avoiding it. The second you walk in the stench of old moth balls and re-heated cottage pie makes your nose crinkle and your eyes water. It’s nothing if nostalgic of visiting your Nan’s house, but 100 times worse. As if a physical force were to greet you at the door.

The second thing you’ll notice is the horribly outdated decor. Floral wallpaper peeled by time, beige settees with ominous stains, and varnished tabletops plastered with finished Sudoku’s and the TV times. The room was neither here nor there. Too clean to host rats, too dirty to pass basic safety inspection.

Finally, you’ll notice the residents. Wrinkled, aching, and old. They litter the room. Some hunched over an outdated telly set, some sunk in armchairs with their eyes closed, possibly deep in thought, Possibly sleeping. Most likely the latter.

Overall most would find Rupaul’s retirement home to be a grim reminder of mortality. Of how our skin will wrinkle and crease as if to give up on itself. Of how our eyes will turn a milky white and sink into our skull. Of how our fingers will struggle to clasp at pens and keep still to endless frustration.

Raja exhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth dropping into a frown. For five years she’d been cooped up, destined to repeat the same routine over and over to the tick of an old grandfather clock gathering dust in the corner.

As far as retirement homes go, Rupaul’s was tolerable. The staff weren’t overly incompetent and the food was just about edible. But Raja was restless, and there wasn’t enough room in some stuffy little lounge on the coast of Yorkshire to stretch her legs.

She used to travel overseas, gliding across salt water with a smell in the air no Yankee candle could recreate. She used to go to places she couldn’t even pronounce, and eat foods that weren’t served in a tinfoil dish. She used to make friends, enemies and acquaintances on a daily basis.

But now, Raja was 80. Deemed too old by society to sail a boat, or bathe herself for that matter. All thanks to one silly fall she took 5 years ago. Maybe if her knee hadn’t popped, she’d be in Scotland sampling haggis, or Norway looking over a grassy creek between snowy mountains.

“Raja.”

Or maybe even grabbing a bite to eat in Liverpool, then catching the annual lights show.

“Raja…”

She was too old for abseiling but who knows, she could give hiking a go…

“RAJA!”

She snapped out of her daydreaming and rubbed her temple, turning her head to the source of the noise, slightly dazed.

“You just going to stand there with your eyes facing different directions?”

Sat beside her with a grin comprised of dentures was Charlie Hides, brandishing her familiar mess of grey hair in contrast to a red painted lip.

Raja promptly took a seat, sticking up her middle finger at Charlie mockingly.

“At least I don’t have Athletes foot. I could smell you from a mile away.”

Charlie chuckled, though it developed into a violent cough and she was forced to have a sip of water. The two had met after Charlie was thrown in by her family. They shared similar complaints with the home and bonded over their general hatred of coronation street that always seemed to permanently remain on the telly set.

“They have cream for athletes foot but you can’t cure delusion Raja Gemini.” She tutted, reaching over to grab a crossword off the table. Her hands were unsteady and held the paper a little too tight, causing it to crumple slightly. Raja decided to look away.

“Delusion? I was daydreaming bitch I’m too young to go crazy.” Raja said sinking her back into the settee, her bones creaking along with the worn springs.

Charlie smiled to herself, keeping her eyes on her crossword as she produced a black biro from behind her ear. “The fact you just called yourself young proves my poi-”

“Pill time ladies.”

Their banter was interrupted. Raja grimaced.

“Come on up up.” The carer repeated, patting them both on the backs as if they were some variation of untrained pet.

Raja hated the pills they shoved into her body. They tasted like rust and made her loose any appetite she may of had. Sometimes if she was lucky she could stuff them in her pockets and flush them down the toilet, like she used to do with broccoli as a child.

She exhaled slowly, gripping her yellowed nails into the edge of the settee, ready to hoist her weight up and shuffle up to the poor intern passing out small paper cups of drugs. Before she could go any further Raja felt Charlie grab her wrist.

“Do you know where Tempest is? She’s late for her pills today.”

Raja looked stunned for a moment. She was about to respond but her words were abruptly interrupted by an impatient voice.

“Ladies. Pills. Now.”

The pair rolled their eyes collectively and got up as fast as they could, which was fairly slow. Making their way over to the counter Raja thought over Charlie’s question repeatedly.

The line shuffled gradually with the sound of slippers chafing against the carpet until it was Raja’s turn to drug herself up. Accepting the pills graciously she decided it really wasn’t worth kicking up a fuss about taking them.

Before she could neck down the paper cups contents one of the newer workers, Serena, approached Raja with a quizzical look. She was petite, with a head of blonde hair and an expression of confusion constantly plastered on her round face.

“Wait-wait Raja, you are friends with Miss Hides aren’t you?”

Raja rolled her eyes slightly and nodded, tempted to respond with a sarcastic ’unfortunately’ but deciding it wasn’t worth her voice.

“Yes, well, we’ve been noticing some traits of early stage dementia and i was wondering whether you could shed some light on how her memory is doing.”

Raja froze, pursing her lips. She looked over to Charlie who was absent mindedly chatting to Mrs Kasha Davis. Probably about the state of the economy and how Teresa May was drunk on power.

Dementia?

A second wave of realisation washed over Raja as she recalled when Charlie asked where a former resident, Tempest Dujour was. To put it frankly, Tempest had been dead for a week after passing from heart failure, yet Charlie seemed to have no recollection of this.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Care to elaborate?” Serena Cha Cha said impatiently, quirking a brow.

Raja didn’t want to elaborate. She didn’t want to put any more energy into thinking about it. She didn’t want to think about how the mind just does that sometimes. It forgets.

Suddenly Raja was in the mood for her pills. “Can i get back to you on that later? We’re holding up the line here.” Raja said stoically, turning on her heel to avoid futher confrontation.

“Actually now would be a good time to-”

Her back was turned to Serena dismissively. This could all wait. She necked back her pills and cast another sideways glance at Charlie. She was sat down now with a new crossword, her feet on the table facing towards a small radiator, warming up her toes through the nippy winter evening.

Despite Serena beckoning Raja back, she made her way over to Charlie and took a seat. She was attempting to grab the pen she’d dropped on the floor as she cursed under her breath. It was almost painful to watch.

“This bloody place the seats are too high up. I can barely bend over as it is.”

Normally Raja would agree and go off on one about how shitty the furniture is, but instead she offered a sympathetic smile.

“Could be worse.” Raja sniffed, leaning over to pick up the pen for Charlie. “Appreciate that we weren’t put in a place with no central heating.”

Charlie took the pen from her hands gratefully, looking down to her unfinished crossword. “Part of appreciating something is not acknowledging you have it. Think about having it and you aren’t enjoying it.”

Raja didn’t exactly know how to respond to that. She looked over to the TV set. Red Dwarf is on much to the joy of the residents. The theme tune gets turned up to allow the more hard of hearing residents to listen in.

Think about having it and you aren’t enjoying it.

“Oh, Raja?”

Her train of thought is broken as she looks to Charlie.

“When’s it time for our pills?”

Raja placed a hand on Charlie’s hand and squeezed tight. She hadn’t the heart to answer that. She simply shrugged.

“Defiance…”

“What?” Charlie said confused, biting the end of her chewed pen. She made a mental reminder to never borrow a pen off her.

“open resistance; bold disobedience.” Raja repeated, poking a bony finger at the crossword proudly. “Defiance.”

The other woman let out a noise of joy before scrawling down words illegible to anyone else. Raja took the time to peer out the window. It was pitch black outside with frost creeping around the corners of the window. In summer the view would be that of a lovely garden, brimming with tulips and hanging plant baskets.

Raja had a feeling it was to keep the residents happier. Having such a wonderful view was a reminder that there was a world outside the home, and it was still growing and moving.

But she couldn’t see the garden. She could see the stained wall around it, and the flower patterned curtains that hadn’t been drawn in a long time, but no garden.

Raja wondered how many of her friends would stick around during the winter. Some would go back to see family, some would even give into age and pass on.

She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. Maybe she would think more, maybe she would go to sleep. It was yet to be decided.

Prehaps sleep.

[everythingisklaroline-blog]

Day Five - Wrap Up!

On Day Five the theme was AU: Mythology and Creatures! Here’s a round up on all the fic and art that was posted. Corrections, as always, are appreciated!

FIC:

Fire and Ice by @0oharleyquinno0

Lightning Never Strikes Twice (Except When It Does) (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) by @supremeuppityone​

Hybrid and The Raven by @ashleigh-jewitt-xx​

Fill Me With Your Kissing Death by @austennerdita2533​

I Can See Dead People by @kickassfu​

Blood On Our Lips by @cupcakemolotov (NSFW)

Under Night Sky (Part Two) by @lalainajanes

Lies To Buy Myself Some Time by @lalainajanes

Bless This Kingdom by @childoftimeandmagic

The Floral Stench of Death by @honestgrins

Wings and Wrath by @nanaswhispers

ART:

klarolineauweek: mythology and creatures by @purestheartslove​

↳ Selene and Endymion by @joey-prue​

Greek Gods & Goddesses by @planetpierce​

➵ Prince Klaus & Caroline of Troy by @eriberry89​

Day 5:  Mythology and creatures by @sofibridgerton​

kc au week | day 5 · Mythology and Creatures by @howeverlongs​ ( I am made of darkness, but with you - I see stars) 

kc au week | day 5 · Mythology and Creatures by @howeverlongs​ (Sometime Around Midnight)

The Treasure of the Sea by @cinplyme​

kc au week | day 5 · Mythology and Creatures by @howeverlongs ( You are really angry at me or this is only for show?)

 ↳ elven royalty au by @beautyqueenforbes

↳ Klaus and Caroline as Ares and Aphrodite by @jackharleen