#forge-sister and a silver heart

[novaursa]

The Queen Who Was Not

- Summary: After Aegon broke his promise to you, he leaves you broken. You decided to take your fate into your own hands. But fate is a fickle beast.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This is an alternative version of The Broken Crown, with another set of events. This story was another suggestion made by @renasd , with slight changes in the plot.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

You had loved Aegon since you were a child, when the world seemed small and the stars could be plucked from the sky with a word from your brother. He was the sun around which you orbited, his every word, every glance, every promise etched into your heart. When he promised you marriage, a union of love unlike any the realm had seen, you believed him with the fervor of a child who thinks dragons will live forever.

The bond between you and Aegon was forged in those early years, as strong as dragonsteel. You would watch him with wide, admiring eyes as he trained with Blackfyre in hand, his strength and determination unmatched. In turn, he would watch you with a quiet, almost protective affection, promising that one day you would stand beside him not just as a sister, but as a queen.

You thought that day would come when you turned sixteen. It was the age when a Targaryen girl came into her own, her blood singing with fire, ready to join with another to strengthen the family line. Your heart was aflame with anticipation, the promise of his words fueling the fire of your hope. Aegon was the Conqueror now, a king with two queens, but in your mind, you were always meant to be his third, his heart.

But then came the wedding of Visenya, the elder sister whose stern beauty and fierce loyalty had always been a shadow over you. You understood his duty to her, the need to cement the ancient bloodline with a union of strength. It was a bond of necessity, you told yourself, a marriage of fire and steel. And then, before you could even catch your breath, he took Rhaenys as well.

Rhaenys, the sister of the dawn, laughter always on her lips, her beauty a shining beacon that drew the eyes of the realm. She was the beloved, the one whom Aegon desired with a passion that left you cold. You saw it in the way he looked at her, the way his hand lingered on hers, the softening of his gaze that you had once thought was reserved for you alone.

The realization was a blade between your ribs, twisting deeper with each smile they shared, each touch that should have been yours. Aegon had taken Visenya out of duty, but Rhaenys he had chosen for desire. And what were you, then? A childhood promise, a girl left behind in the shadow of queens more radiant than the sun.

On the eve of your sixteenth name day, when the moon hung heavy and the sea whispered of forgotten hopes, you found yourself standing before Aegon. Your voice trembled as you spoke, asking him when it would be your turn, when he would fulfill the vow made beneath the stars of your childhood.

His answer shattered the last remnants of your hope. He wanted to marry you out of love, he said, and not out of duty or desire. He wanted to make you his queen, not because it was expected, but because he cherished you beyond all others. But not yet. Not now, when the realm was still fragile, when his conquests were still incomplete.

Your heart, already broken, turned to ash. Love. He spoke of love while he stood between his two queens, the weight of their presence suffocating you. He wanted you to wait, to be patient, to be his beloved someday, when the world was ready. But you had waited long enough. You could not be a shadow, a mere promise in the distance while he shared his bed, his throne, his life with others.

That night, you made your choice. Dressed in the colors of your house, your silver hair braided with blood-red ribbons, you climbed upon Tesaerix’s back. Your dragon felt your turmoil, your pain. She roared into the night sky, the sound echoing across Dragonstone, a cry of fury and sorrow that would not be contained.

You flew to Driftmark, the sea wind biting at your skin, tears freezing upon your cheeks. There, in the hall of High Tide, you found Aethan Velaryon, his eyes widening in surprise at your arrival. You barely knew him, this sea lord with salt in his veins and ambition in his heart, but that did not matter.

“I would marry you,” you said, your voice strong, unwavering. “I would marry you and be free of this cage.”

He looked at you, seeing the dragon fire in your eyes, the determination that could not be quenched. And he agreed. You were wed under the stars, the salt waves lapping at your feet, the cries of seagulls mingling with the distant roar of your dragon.

You were no longer the little sister left behind. You were a Velaryon now, a bride of the sea and sky, and Aegon’s hold on your heart was no more. As you stood there, your hand clasped in Aethan’s, you felt the first stirrings of something new—freedom, independence, the taste of a life that was your own.

And when Tesaerix took to the skies once more, her wings cutting through the night air, you knew there was no going back. You would never be his third queen, the last to be chosen. You were a dragon, and you would forge your own path in a world that had tried to bind you in chains.

The news reached Aegon like a dagger to the heart. You, his cherished sister, his beloved, had wed Aethan Velaryon. The words were barely whispered before he was in the air, his dragon’s wings beating furiously against the sky. He had never known fear like this, not when facing the flames of battle or the uncertainty of conquest. But now, it gripped him like an iron fist.

As he descended upon Driftmark, the sun barely cresting the horizon, he saw Tesaerix circling above the Velaryon castle, her gold-cream scales gleaming in the early light. Her roar was a warning, a challenge that cut through the air like a blade. He knew she sensed his turmoil, but he had to see you, had to make you understand.

You were in the courtyard when he landed, your stance regal, your eyes cold. Aethan stood beside you, a protective hand on your arm, his presence a barrier between you and the king. Aegon dismounted swiftly, his eyes locked on yours, desperation etched across his face.

“Y/N, what have you done?” His voice was strained, the words tearing from his lips. “Why would you do this?”

You lifted your chin, the hurt buried deep beneath a mask of resolve. “I did what you would not allow me to do, Aegon. I took my fate into my own hands.”

His hands clenched at his sides, his frustration barely contained. “I wanted to marry you, Y/N. I wanted to wait until the realm was secure, until I could give you everything you deserved, without the shadow of duty or desire hanging over us.”

“You speak of love,” you said, your voice icy, “but you made me wait while you took Visenya and Rhaenys. You left me to watch, to wonder when my turn would come. I am not some prize to be claimed at your convenience, Aegon.”

He stepped forward, his eyes pleading. “You are not a prize, Y/N. You are my heart. I thought you would understand. I needed to take Rhaenys—”

“Needed?” You laughed, the sound bitter. “You needed her because you wanted her. And Visenya, because it was your duty. What am I, then? A symbol of your love? A trinket you can set aside until you are ready?”

Aethan’s grip on your arm tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched Aegon. “She is my wife now, Aegon. You cannot undo what has been done.”

Aegon’s gaze flickered to Aethan, anger flaring in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve done, Velaryon. You have stolen something precious from me.”

“I have taken nothing that was not freely given,” Aethan replied, his voice steady, though his hand shook ever so slightly.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between the two men, your expression resolute. “I made this choice, Aegon. I am no longer yours to command.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, his composure shattered. “Please, Y/N, come back with me. We can make this right.”

“No,” you said, the finality in your tone cutting through him like a sword. “You had your chance, Aegon. I will not be your afterthought.”

He stood there, the wind whipping around him, his fists trembling with suppressed rage and grief. He looked at you, his eyes searching, pleading, but you did not waver. Finally, with a choked growl, he turned away, climbing back onto his dragon.

As he flew back to Dragonstone, his heart was a storm of emotions—rage, despair, regret. He had lost you, the one he had always thought would be by his side. The bitter taste of his failure burned in his throat, and he knew that this wound would not heal easily.

Days passed, the silence between you and Aethan slowly thawing as you adjusted to your new life. He was kind, considerate, his presence a balm to the scars Aegon had left behind. Though your marriage had not yet been consummated, there was a growing warmth between you, a tentative affection that could have blossomed into something more given time.

But time was not on your side.

It happened one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sea in shades of crimson and gold. Aethan was found in his chambers, lifeless, his face twisted in pain. There were no marks, no wounds, nothing to suggest foul play, but you knew. In your heart, you knew.

Aegon.

The realization hit you like a blow, your knees buckling as you stumbled away from Aethan’s still form. The air seemed to close in around you, thick and suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing down. You fled to the sea cliffs, the roar of the waves below a distant echo to the storm raging within you.

Tesaerix found you there, her massive form looming behind you, a soft rumble in her throat. She could sense your anguish, your fury. You pressed your forehead against her warm scales, your tears mingling with the salt spray of the sea.

“He did this,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He took him from me.”

Your dragon growled low, her eyes flashing crimson in the fading light. You knew she would burn the world at your command, that her wrath would mirror your own. But what good would that do now? Aethan was gone, his life snuffed out before it had truly begun, and you were left adrift, your heart shattered anew.

The days that followed were a blur of mourning, the Velaryons gathering to pay their respects, their faces shadowed with suspicion. They whispered of poison, of dark magic, of the king’s wrath descending upon them in secret. But there was no proof, nothing but the aching certainty in your heart.

And Aegon... Aegon was silent. No message, no word from Dragonstone. But you knew he was watching, waiting, his presence a looming shadow you could not shake.

As you stood before Aethan’s sarcophagus which his family lowered into the sea, you made a vow. You would not be broken, not by Aegon or anyone else. He had taken too much from you already, but he would not take your spirit. You were a Targaryen, a rider of dragons, a daughter of fire and blood.

And if Aegon thought he could bind you to his will, he would soon learn just how fierce a dragon’s wrath could be.

The months of mourning were a blur of quiet pain, the weight of grief settling like a mantle across your shoulders. Driftmark’s salt-soaked shores had been both refuge and prison, the sea wind a constant reminder of the life that had been stolen from you. But as time passed, sorrow hardened into resolve, and your thoughts turned to vengeance. Aethan’s death would not go unavenged, and the one who had wronged you would pay dearly.

You returned to Dragonstone in the dead of night, Tesaerix’s wings cutting through the dark sky like a blade. The castle loomed before you, a silhouette of ancient stone and flickering torches. It had been your home once, a place of childhood dreams and broken promises. Now, it would be the stage for your retribution.

Your father, Aerion Targaryen, the stern and unyielding Lord of Dragonstone, greeted you with a wary gaze. His hair, a crown of silver, seemed to catch the light as he watched you approach, your steps echoing in the great hall. There was no warmth in his eyes, only the cold calculation of a man who had seen too many battles, too much bloodshed.

“Why have you come, daughter?” His voice was gruff, suspicion lacing his words.

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your chin held high. “To make amends for my folly and to serve our house.”

His brows knitted together, curiosity mingling with doubt. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“By wedding Rhaegel,” you said, each word measured, deliberate. “It is time I returned to my family, to my duty. A union with my brother will strengthen the bloodline, bind our house tighter.”

Your father’s silence was heavy, the air between you charged with tension. You knew he would see the logic in your words. The union would solidify the family, secure the power of House Targaryen, and—most importantly—draw a line that Aegon would not be able to cross without dire consequences.

“Rhaegel is a gentle soul,” he finally said, his tone thoughtful. “He would not refuse you, and such a match would indeed serve our house well.”

The words were a victory, though they tasted bitter on your tongue. Rhaegel was a quiet, kind brother, one who had never sought power or conflict. But he would be your husband, and through him, you would strike back at the man who had shattered your world.

The wedding was held in the shadow of Dragonstone’s volcanic peak, the sky above churning with clouds that threatened rain. The hall was filled with the banners of your house, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and dragonsteel. Rhaegel stood beside you, his eyes soft, his hand trembling slightly as he took yours. He had not questioned your intentions, had not hesitated to join his fate with yours. He was a lamb led to slaughter, and you were the wolf at his side.

When you spoke your vows, your voice was steady, unyielding. Each word was a vow not only to Rhaegel, but to yourself, a promise that Aegon would never hold you again, never bend you to his will. The ceremony passed in a blur, the faces around you fading into insignificance as you sealed your fate.

And then, the news reached King’s Landing.

The ravens carried the message to Aegonfort, their wings a dark omen against the pale sky. Aegon’s rage, when he learned of your marriage, was a storm that shook the very foundations of the newly built keep. He was a dragon unleashed, his fury visible even from afar. The courtiers whispered of his madness, of the destruction that followed in his wake as he stormed through the halls, his voice a roar that sent servants scurrying for cover.

He tore through the council chamber, Blackfyre drawn, the gleaming blade slashing through the air. His advisors cowered, their faces ashen with fear as he raged, his words incoherent, his eyes blazing with a fire that seemed to burn from within. He cursed your name, cursed your defiance, the betrayal he felt like poison in his veins.

“How dare she!” His voice echoed through the stone halls, a thunderous bellow that seemed to shake the very walls. “She belongs to me, and she weds again another under my very nose!”

The destruction was swift, catastrophic. He smashed the great table that had been carved in the shape of Westeros, his wrath reducing it to splinters. Tapestries burned, the flames licking hungrily at the stone, and the Aegonfort quaked beneath the weight of his fury. The court trembled, for never before had they seen their king so unhinged, so consumed by rage.

From Dragonstone, you heard of the chaos, the whispers carried on the wind. Each word was a balm to the wounds he had inflicted, each report of his anger a testament to your victory. He would not have you, not now, not ever. Your marriage to Rhaegel was a shield, an unbreakable barrier between you and the man who had tried to claim you.

Rhaegel, sweet and oblivious, took no notice of the storm he had unwittingly become part of. He treated you with gentle kindness, his shy smiles and soft words a stark contrast to the tempest you had unleashed. He did not ask why you had chosen him, did not pry into the reasons behind your sudden return. Perhaps he was content to simply have you by his side, a sister and now a wife, his world made brighter by your presence.

But beneath the calm exterior, your heart was a roiling sea. You had won a victory, yes, but the cost was high. You had bound yourself to Rhaegel, a man who could never be more than a shield against Aegon’s wrath. The knowledge was a cold, sharp blade, but you wielded it with purpose, with a determination that burned hotter than dragonfire.

You would not be owned, not by Aegon or any man. Your life was yours to command, your choices your own to make. And if Aegon thought he could bend you, could break you with his fury, he would soon learn that a dragon does not bow to anyone.

In the halls of Dragonstone, you walked with your head held high, the whispers of the courtiers following in your wake. They spoke of your defiance, your strength, your unyielding will. You were a force to be reckoned with, a storm in human form, and you would not be swayed.

Aegon could rage and destroy, could tear down kingdoms and burn cities to ash. But he could not touch you, not now. You were beyond his reach, a dragon in flight, your wings spread wide against the sky. And you would soar, higher and farther than he could ever imagine, leaving him behind in the ruin of his own making.

The birth was a struggle from the very beginning. As the night waned and the dawn crept over the horizon, the air in Dragonstone was thick with tension. The cries from your chambers echoed through the stone halls, a haunting symphony of pain and desperation. The maesters and midwives worked frantically, their faces drawn and pale, their hands slick with blood and sweat.

When the infant’s wail finally pierced the silence, it was not the sound of triumph. The child, small and frail, struggled to draw breath, its cries weak and fluttering like the wings of a dying bird. And you, spent and broken, lay still upon the birthing bed, your skin ashen, your breath shallow. The life that had burned so brightly in your eyes was now a dim flicker, barely holding on.

Rhaegel sat at your bedside, his hands clutching yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. He called your name, his voice breaking, but you were already slipping away, your spirit drifting like smoke on the wind. As the sun rose, you drew your last breath, the light fading from your eyes as the shadows claimed you.

Grief settled over Dragonstone like a dark cloud. Rhaegel, the gentle brother who had loved you with a quiet devotion, was inconsolable. He held the child—a daughter, her silver hair fine as silk, her tiny chest struggling with each shallow breath—and he wept for the life that was already slipping away. She survived only a day, a brief flicker of existence that faded into darkness before she could even know the world.

The news reached Aegon in King’s Landing, carried by a raven whose dark wings seemed an ill omen. He read the message once, twice, his mind struggling to grasp the words. You were gone. His fierce, defiant sister, the one he had always thought would stand beside him, had been taken by death’s cruel hand. And the child—his niece, his blood—was gone as well.

The rage that gripped him was like nothing he had ever known, a tempest that tore through his heart and mind. He mounted Balerion without a word, the Black Dread’s wings spreading wide as they soared into the sky. The flight to Dragonstone was swift and furious, the great dragon’s roar echoing across the Narrow Sea as if the heavens themselves were protesting Aegon’s wrath.

He arrived on the day of your pyre, the castle’s courtyards filled with the somber faces of those gathered to pay their respects. As he dismounted, his eyes blazed with fury, his expression dark and terrifying. He stormed through the crowd, his presence a force of nature that parted those before him like a wave crashing against the shore.

Rhaegel stood beside the pyre, his face hollow, his eyes red from weeping. He looked up as Aegon approached, his grief turning to fear at the sight of his brother’s wrath. Aegon’s hand shot out, gripping Rhaegel by the front of his robes, dragging him close until their faces were inches apart.

“What did you do to her?” Aegon’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, each word trembling with barely restrained violence. “She was never yours to take.”

Rhaegel’s hands clutched at Aegon’s wrists, his voice shaking as he tried to answer. “I—she was my wife, Aegon. I loved her, I would never—”

“Your wife?” Aegon spat, his grip tightening, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to burn hotter than the flames that would soon consume your body. “She was mine! She was always mine, and you took her, you stole her from me! You killed her!”

The accusation hung in the air, raw and brutal, and those gathered around the pyre fell silent, their eyes wide with shock and fear. Rhaegel’s breath came in ragged gasps, his face paling as Aegon’s words struck like blows.

“Aegon, please,” he choked out, his voice desperate. “I did nothing to harm her. I tried to love her, to make her happy—”

“You are a fool,” Aegon snarled, shoving Rhaegel away so violently that he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. “A weak, pathetic fool who let her die, who couldn’t protect her! She was too strong for you, too fierce, and you crushed her spirit with your weakness!”

Rhaegel fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he wept, his cries soft and broken. “I tried, Aegon. I tried to save her.”

Aegon’s laughter was a bitter, hollow sound. “Save her? You were never strong enough to save her. You should have let her be, let her come back to me. I would have protected her, would have given her everything. But now—” His voice broke, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes was eclipsed by a grief so deep it seemed to tear him apart from within. “Now she’s gone, and it’s your fault.”

Their father, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his face lined with sorrow and weariness. “Aegon, enough. This is not the time—”

“Not the time?” Aegon rounded on him, his rage flaring anew. “You let this happen! You let her marry him, let her throw herself away on someone too weak to protect her. You were supposed to be our father, supposed to keep us safe, and you failed.”

The old man’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Aegon’s words bearing down on him like a crushing tide. “I did what I thought was best. She made her choice, Aegon. She chose her path.”

Aegon’s face twisted with pain and anger, his voice a roar that echoed off the castle walls. “Her path should have been beside me! You should have made her mine, should have stopped her!”

The silence that followed was deafening, the air thick with the tension of words that could not be unsaid. Aegon’s chest heaved with the force of his emotions, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes, wild and haunted, turned back to the pyre where your body lay, wrapped in the white shroud of death.

He took a step forward, his gaze fixed on your still form, and the rage seemed to drain from him, leaving only a hollow emptiness. “You were mine,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You were always supposed to be mine.”

And then, with a choked sound that was part sob, part growl, he turned and stormed away, the crowd parting before him in silence. He climbed back onto Balerion, the great dragon’s wings unfurling as they took to the sky. The wind whipped around him as they flew, the cold air biting at his skin, but he felt nothing but the gaping void where you had once been.

In the days that followed, the fire of Aegon’s wrath spread across the realm, his fury a wildfire that consumed everything in its path. He was a king unchained, his grief and anger a deadly combination that none dared challenge. The Aegonfort, now a place of ashes and ruin, stood as a testament to his pain, the once-proud symbol of his reign now crumbling beneath the weight of his loss.

And through it all, the memory of you lingered, a ghost that haunted his every step, a reminder of what he had lost, of what he had destroyed with his own hands. The realm would remember this day, the day a dragon’s heart broke, and the world trembled beneath the shadow of its rage.

[stuck-in-jelly]

Maybe I’m late to the party but the way The Art Of The Dragon Prince book describes the Sun and Moon as sisters is really cool especially when coupled with this art from Tales of Xadia book

But looking at them I’m surprised I hadn’t seen the similarities sooner.

Sunfire Elves are proud bold warriors, a lot of their culture revolves around hero’s and leaders. Not only that but they known are artisans and metalworkers who craft in gold. The heart of their city was literally known as The Sun Forge and their cities were intricate focusing on architecture.

Moonshadow Elves are discreet noble fighters/assassins, a lot of their culture revolves around honor in sacrifice and protection. They are also metalworkers who craft in silver, known for their weapon craft and beautiful jewelry. But their homes are equally discreet, being hidden from outsiders entirely.

They both value integrity and pride above all else and view themselves as guardians of some kind. Fighters in spirit, and ready to answer the call to protect Xadia.

Thinking about this also reminded me of two pairs of sisters accompanied with this quote.

“Unlike her sister, the shifting, unknowable Moon, the Sun is forthright, radiant, and immutable.

Edit:

I also wonder how close the Moonshadow and Sunfire elves used to be before the rule of Queen Aditi. We see that the Moonshadow elves helped directly with the banishment of humanity but then immediately afterwards were ordered and forced by Queen Aditi to destroy their most sacred place.

[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

[sachaa-ff]

Aemond x twin sister

Aemond is very possessive of his twin sister Visenya and doesn’t want her to marry a Lannister

My request are opened

Whispers of Valyria

In the shadowy halls of Dragonstone, a storm raged outside, mirroring the tumult within Aemond Targaryen. He paced the stone floor of his chamber, every step a reflection of his growing frustration. His twin sister, Vysenia, was set to marry Tyland Lannister—a union that made Aemond’s blood boil.

He could still hear the echoes of their father’s proclamation, the nobles’ cheers ringing hollow in his ears. “You’re to marry a Lannister,” he muttered bitterly to himself. The thought of her bound to another man, especially one from a family notorious for their cunning and treachery, gnawed at him like a dragon’s tooth.

Vysenia, with her long silver hair cascading down her shoulders, entered the chamber quietly. She could sense the tension in the air, and when their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passed between them. “You’re troubled,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond crossed his arms, frustration boiling over. “How can you accept this?” he snapped, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re a Targaryen. You deserve more than a Lannister’s gold. You deserve to choose your own fate!”

Vysenia’s expression hardened, a flicker of anger igniting in her eyes. “And what fate do you propose, Aemond? One dictated by your whims? You think I want this? But our family needs this alliance. The realm needs it.”

“Need?” Aemond scoffed, taking a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “What about what we need? What about us? You are my sister, my other half. I can’t just stand by while you’re handed off like a pawn!”

The air between them crackled with tension, a mixture of anger and an undercurrent of something deeper. Vysenia took a breath, her voice steadier now. “You’re being selfish. You think your feelings matter more than the future of our house?”

Aemond clenched his fists, his heart racing. “Selfish? I’m trying to protect you!” He took a step back, his tone shifting from fury to desperation. “You don’t see the danger in marrying him. The Lannisters play their games, and you’ll be just another piece on their board.”

For a moment, silence filled the room, each sibling grappling with their emotions. Then Vysenia’s resolve softened, and she stepped closer, her voice low and pleading. “What would you have me do? Run away? Abandon my duty?”

Aemond’s gaze hardened, and a new idea flickered in his mind. “No, but we can create our own fate.” He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as he led her to the moonlit cliffs, where the sound of crashing waves echoed their tumultuous hearts.

“Do you remember the old Valyrian tradition?” he asked, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “The bond that can be forged in secrecy, where we declare our love beyond the reach of our family’s machinations?”

Her breath caught, surprise mingling with apprehension. “Aemond, it’s dangerous. If anyone were to find out—”

“Let them find out,” he interrupted, his voice fierce. “We are Targaryens. We defy the odds. This is about us, about our choices, not about what’s expected of us. Please, Vysenia.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and Vysenia’s heart raced. Part of her longed for the freedom he offered, the chance to escape the chains of duty. Yet another part feared the consequences. “What if this makes things worse? What if it starts a war?”

Aemond stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Then let it be a war fought for something real. For us. I can’t lose you to someone like him.”

As they stood on the precipice of choice, the moon illuminated their faces, casting a silvery glow around them. Vysenia’s heart wavered. “And if we fail?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Then at least we will have tried,” Aemond replied, his gaze unwavering. “We’ll do this together. No more secrets, no more chains.”

With a deep breath, Vysenia nodded, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her. In that moment, they recited the ancient words of the Valyrian rite, binding their fates in the stillness of the night.

The world outside faded into darkness, leaving only the fierce light of their connection. Aemond drew her close, sealing their promise with a kiss—a defiance against their destinies and a pledge to each other that would echo through the ages.

[mtchee]

"Mm! A little taste of heaven!" "Do you have any preferences for the ice? We've got..."

"...Awakening Apple!" - Izuku Midoriya

menu coming soon~

"...Invigorating Orange & Peach!" - Katsuki Bakugo

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold [SOULMATE SERIES] - GN Deemed as an 'extra' in his straight laced life, you've resigned yourself to covering your soul words and sealing your lips, becoming U.A's first year general course prodigy, the silent designer. It's unfortunate that despite your title, the angry pompom won't take a goddamn hint from your silence. When you even go out of your way to avoid him, you start to think that he knows you a little too well despite never having uttered a word.

"...Mesmerising Lychee & Mint!" - Shouto Todoroki

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold [SOULMATE SERIES] - GN The piercing first words spoken by your soulmate leave you shattered, and your passion driven brother, Inasa, doesn't take kindly to it either. You thought you could get over your soulmate's rejection, accepting it wholeheartedly. So, why is he being so nice all of a sudden?

"...Motivating Plum & Sugarcane!" - Tenya Iida

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold [SOULMATE SERIES] - GN Your spitfire attitude is a stark contrast to your sister Ochaco, but that doesn't stop you two from having each other's backs. That's why it baffles her when you become dead silent after you're scolded by class 1A's class president, Iida, for an outburst in class. When usually you'd scoff at him, you'd reeled back and sat in your seat. But now... you won't talk at all.

"...Balancing Blackberry & Lime!" - Hitoshi Shinou

menu coming soon~

"...Strengthening Strawberry!" - Eijirou Kirishima

menu coming soon~

"...Persistent Peach!" - Mirio Togata

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold [SOULMATE SERIES] - GN As a late transfer, you feel uninclined to intrude on the connections your classmates have already forged, and feel even more so guilty to tie Mirio to you. Who are you to come in and claim one of U.A's best as yours? Though despite it all--through your silence, and avoidance--he seems to have had his eyes on you all along.

"...Buzzing Lychee & Butterfly Pea!" - Tamaki Amajiki

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold [SOULMATE SERIES] - GN LOUD AND PROUD! That's who you are! So when you're paired with none other than one of U.A's Big Three, Tamaki Amajiki, your heart shatters when he flinches away from you before you can even utter a word. Your own soulmate is terrified of you without even knowing you. So perhaps, it's for the best that you pipe down and let him find someone else to better suit his needs.

"...Burnt Caramel & Plum!" - Dabi/Touya Todoroki

FALLEN GEMINI - GN You'd been tasked to infiltrate and investigate the League of Villains long before the group was even officially formed--namely your assigned target, their rogue, Dabi. Through your hard work, you've become closely aquainted Dabi, to a point where your true loyalties start to waver...

"Snow Tea Specials!" - Several OneShot/Drabble/Story Series

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold | SOULMATE AU Mirio Togata | Shouto Todoroki | Tenya Iida | Katsuki Bakugo | Tamaki Amajiki | more coming soon~ After hearing the voice of your soulmate for the first time--knowing they were out of your league and deserved (and probably would want) better, you keep silent. However, fate determines you to be together nonetheless, where despite your silence, they either grow fond of you or curious, wherein eventually, you can be silent no more.

[talesofadragon]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

Summary: Like the ebb and flow of the tides, matters of the heart prove to be fickle. When love finds itself at a crossroads, each step forward holds the potential to either mend the fractured pieces or shatter the fragile bonds. As the path ahead becomes a dwindling maze of secrets and emotional infidelity, Y/N realizes that some promises need to be shattered for others to be forged anew.

Warnings: bring tissues

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, Theodore Nott x Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 1.2K

ACT ONE Why am I afraid to lose you when you're not even mine?

Silver Promises Masterlist | All Masterlists 

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝, I stood frozen as my boyfriend knelt before me, holding my possible fate in his hands—a velvet box cradling a bright emerald set in a silver band.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Tears hovered on the brink of my lashes as thoughts whirled tumultuously in my mind.

Draco's smile remained unwavering, the hope in his intense gaze growing with each passing moment, oblivious to the inner turmoil consuming me.

"Will you marry me?" he had asked a minute ago, or perhaps it was five—I couldn't tell. Time seemed to elude me, slipping away faster than I could grasp.

I struggled to form a coherent response, my mind overwhelmed by the weight of his words.

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?"

The question echoed relentlessly, each repetition more piercing than the last.

As if his piercing gaze wasn’t enough, I suddenly felt thrust onto a stage, a spotlight illuminating me, exposing me to the scrutiny of countless eyes.

Hesitation flooded through me, my veins pulsating with uncertainty. I was trembling uncontrollably. There was no other way to explain how everyone around me could sway so violently.

My eyes darted between the shocked yet hopeful faces surrounding me—each look weighing heavily on me. Draco's parents stood together, his mother's shining eyes and exuberant smile challenging me, while my parents' expressions told a tale of contrasting emotions—a mother's joy and a father's reticence.

Pansy, my closest friend, who felt more like a sister, regarded me with an inscrutable look in her eyes. Was it empathy? Anticipation? Perhaps even fear?

She quickly averted her gaze, prompting me to follow her line of sight until I found him.

An involuntary whimper escaped my lips as the enormity of the decision I was about to make settled over me like a heavy blanket.

Theodore, my best friend of thirteen years, my first kiss, my first love, stood before me with a forced smile plastered on his face, and I cursed our ability to read each other like open books.

His tight-lipped smile clashed with the iron grip he had on his goblet of fae wine. If I didn’t know any better, I'd say the chalice was ready to explode from the pressure of his fingers. Despite the curt nod he gave me, the crease between his eyebrows betrayed his inner turmoil. His clenched fists were hidden in his pockets, and the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. 

The fear lurking in his dark hazel eyes was unmistakable even in the dead of the night.

A gentle yet suffocating grip on my hand pulled my attention away from him and back to the question I dreaded answering.

“Darling, what do you say?” Draco's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts.

How could I say no? 

How could I refuse my boyfriend, who had put so much thought and love into this moment, who had gathered our families and friends to surprise me? How could I break his heart?

A salty taste on my lips signaled that tears had escaped. 

‘But how do you say yes?’ a voice inside me whispered. ‘You're accustomed to kissing his warm lips, but have you grown accustomed to the emptiness that follows, the absence of fireworks that should ignite your heart?’

Am I ready to say yes? Am I ready to feel his lips roaming outside the boundaries of my own, exploring my face and tracing the outline of my body? 

Theodore. The thought of him swept into my mind, bringing memories of that foolish kiss we shared when we were fifteen during that ridiculous game we coerced ourselves into at Hogwarts.

My gaze shifted from Draco to my best friend, and suddenly, it all came rushing back to me like a violent wind. The warmth of his lips, the tenderness of his touch, the magic in his eyes, and the fluttering in my heart.

I remembered growing up with Theodore—our jokes, our pillow fights, our Quidditch matches, and our midnight broom rides beneath the stars. It felt like every moment we shared was etched into my memory.

"Y/N, you are the definition of crazy. Bloody hell, how do you always manage to get me into these messed-up situations?" Theodore had tried to sound stern, but his escaping smile gave him away.

"Yeah, maybe I am," I had replied, propping myself up on my elbows after collapsing onto the ground. "But it's not my fault you blindly follow me."

He chuckled and plopped down beside me on the grass. "Yeah." Pausing, he lay back, gazing up at the stars. "That's what happens when you love your best friend too much."

I knew he didn't mean the "I love you"s the way I wanted him to, but deep down, I wished he did.

As I glanced at him once more, I couldn't shake the feeling that he, too, was realizing something—that I might be slipping away and that he never tried to hold me back. Perhaps, he regretted not holding me back.

Memories crashed over me, accompanied by an onslaught of voices in my head, each one clamoring for attention.

My mother's voice echoed, praising Draco and insisting he'd bring me happiness. His parents' joyous declarations welcoming me into their family mingled with my father's urging to give Draco a chance, citing Theodore's apparent lack of admission to feelings towards me. According to him, it was time to "live up to the expectations of our family's last name and preserve our lineage."

Then came Blaise's solemn confession, "They’re my best friends, and I never want to choose between them. So, I can imagine how it is for you. But Draco doesn’t love you like Theo does. Not in the way you or he thinks."

Amidst the senseless chatter of my friends extolling Draco's virtues, Pansy swore that Theodore and I had harbored love for each other all along, too afraid to admit it aloud. And Theodore. His absence in the conversation was deafening, yet his presence weighed heavily on my mind.

I wanted to flee, but I was trapped within the confines of my own body.

I longed to scream, but the cacophony of voices drowned out my own.

I yearned for Theodore's touch, but Draco's grip felt like it was tearing me away from my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

"I—" The word hung in the air, barely escaping my lips. I could have sworn Theodore's grip on his goblet tightened for a moment, but the tears welling in my eyes made it difficult to see clearly.

My knees gave out beneath me, and my heart followed suit, the world fading into piercing screams as my eyes rolled backward and my body braced for an impact that never came.

Instead, I found myself enveloped in someone's arms, their scent of musk and berries flooding my senses, a stark contrast to Draco's familiar fragrance. Instinctively, I nestled closer, tightening my grip around my savior's neck as they whisked me away, their whispered words a soothing melody I couldn't quite decipher.

His embrace tightened as I caught fragments of his reassurance, "You're safe, little sprite. I've got you."

At that moment, there was no one else I wanted beside me, holding me, touching me. As he gently laid me down on the silky sheets of what I presumed to be my bed, his warm breath carried the lingering scent of fae wine, further intoxicating my senses.

And it was then that my heart knew the answer long before my mind could comprehend it.

No, Draco. I can't marry you.

Hi witchlings!! This baby has been sitting in my drafts for two years! I toyed with the idea, with no set protagonists in mind, but I find that this fits our favorite Slytherin boys perfectly. This fic is going to be a two-shot, with possible outtakes/extras if anyone is interested in diving more into this love triangle's story.

Hope you liked it!

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Draco Taglist: @imabee-oralizard @ameliaphoenix @arcana-greenleaf @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @ye0nvibezzn

[lateatnewyork]

Moonflower

(Flowers part II)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Azriel x ex!reader, Rhysand x sister!reader, future Helion x reader

Warnings: angst, brotherly fluff (love u rhysie poo), swearing, elain and azriel slander (minor)

warnings & summary will be updated at every part.

Prompts: N/A

Summary: Nesta and Feyre had taken your wedding dress from Elain and handed it back to you. With the help of Rhysand, you burn it. Rhys suggests for you to go to Day Court and take some time, while he sorts things out with Azriel. What happens when a certain High Lord catches your eye?

a/n there’s going to be so much angst in this series😭 if you ever feel like killing me just know i love you guys, the names of this series are gonna be based off flowers this one is called moonflower as a homage to the night court

I had gone upto my room, not wanting to see the pitying looks of my friends.

Growing up as a High Lord’s daughter made me detached from the world, forced me to hide my emotions. Which is why, I didn’t shed a single tear until I was in the safety of my bedroom.

Shrinking down against my door, I finally allowed the thoughts to catch up.

Every single time he told me he made love to me, he really meant “I’m fucking your brother’s sister in law right under your nose,”.

I don’t even think I can call it making love anymore.

When he told me he loved me, he really meant “I love Elain, not you”.

All of a sudden all his words had double meanings.

“I’m going out,” meant “I’m going to Elain’s”.

“I already ate,” equaled “I ate at Elain’s”.

And at the very end of it all, “I have a mission” was actually “I’m going to get married to Elain,”.

Elain, Elain, Elain. What did she have that I didn’t? I had known him for centuries, been there for him through nightmares, defended him from others, hell I had given my everything to him.

And instead of returning them properly, he had broken them, trampled on my poor heart, fed my mind lies and broken my every being.

Sobs wracked my body as I hunched over myself. My hair was sticking to my face by the tears. Crying quietly, I twisted the ring off my finger, chucking it somewhere in the dark.

Hearing the soft clang of the metal landing made me sob even more. It was a beautiful ring, truly. A silver ring with diamonds encrusted on the top, 3 beautiful gems the colour of Azriel’s siphons. A blue so dark it could pass as black.

My ears were ringing, I could hear a knock on the door, but it was just some background noise compared to the noise of rushing water in my ears.

A talon of power scraped against my walls gently. Getting up, I open the door.

Rhysand stands there with my dress in his hands.

“I said I didn’t want it,” I state, stubborn as ever.

“I know that’s why I came to ask if you wanted to burn it with me,” he says hesitantly.

My eyes flick between Rhysand and the dress, a silent war forging in my violet eyes.

“Fuck it, let’s go”

My meltdown dazed mind didn’t seem to realise that Rhysand hadn’t taken me out through the main hall, but through the back entrances. Too tired to comprehend anything, I didn’t ask even when I realised it.

As if waiting for me a bonfire pit had formed.

Before we had left the room, I had grabbed a box filled with Azriel’s things that I wanted to burn.

With a flick of Rhys’ wrist the dress was positioned on the stand. A stick with fire was commissioned and he handed it to me.

“Would you like to do the honours, little star?” He says waving the stick towards me. I smile slightly at the use of the old nickname.

I grab the stick and throw it at the dress, revelling in the way it burnt.

One by one I added the items from the box.

A human polaroid of the two of us. His comfy grey shirt. All his letters. Flowers he had given me 2 days ago. A glass rose, funny really because my favourite flower isn’t a rose, it’s a moonflower. A promise ring he had got me. The prototype wedding invitation.

Rhysand watched me as I threw object after object into the endless pit of fire. Once the box was empty, I lunged the box into the fire as well.

That’s when he finally spoke up, “Little star, do you want to go visit Day Court for a while, Helion said any one from our court could visit his,”.

I nodded, the anger I had grown from the objects fading into sadness. Rhys held me close wiping my wet, tear stained cheeks. “It’ll be alright” he soothingly whispers.

I had packed my bags the night of the burning and had prepare for going to Day Court the next day.

“Rhys I can winnow myself,” I huffed as he dragged me along.

“I know, I know I just wanted to make sure you got there safe,” he sighs. Understanding, I let him take me there.

If Day Court was beautiful then they’re High Lord was gorgeous.

a/n i need sleep

taglist: @esposadomd @impossibelle @acotarfics-mharmie009 @stqrgirlies-blog @balam-sen @cumuluscranium @witchymomfrien (striked out means i couldn’t tag you)

[freesia-writes]

Ch 5: A Heart to Heart

GUEST WRITER!! This chapter comes to us courtesy of @letsquestjess!! 🥹💕

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 1.8k

“Hey, look, the lunar blossom has started falling,” Wrecker said, motioning to the path ahead where the overhanging hedges had shed their sleek silver petals over the low wall and onto the cobblestone. Some had been torn by birds in search of nesting material and others were slimed over in a glistening gunk by soft, slow-moving insects. “It’ll be festival time soon.”

Omega remained quiet, gaze downcast and fixated on the few scuff marks that marred her school shoes.

“Kid?” He intentionally slowed down, hoping she would speak to him, but she kept her silence, avoiding both him and the muted foliage. “We’ll come this way later in the week and collect some blossoms for your festival crown, if you want. Last year’s looked great, but I reckon we can make an even better one this year.”

Gripping her backpack straps until her knuckles paled, she muttered an inaudible reply and shook her head. For a stomach-sinking moment, Wrecker swore he glimpsed tears, her lashes preventing the dam from breaking and the determined set of her jaw holding them at bay.

“Omega, are you all right? Is something wrong?”

He caught the meager “I’m fine” before she turned away, hunching her shoulders to conceal her face. He knew she was far from fine, but her shrinking demeanor begged him not to push the subject. Despite his concern, he refrained from asking further. Whatever was bothering her, she would approach her brothers in her own time, as she usually did.

Raising a little sister and shielding her from harm had presented its own challenges, but a sense of accomplishment swelled within him, knowing they had provided her with unwavering care and encouragement during difficult times. Watching the downtrodden expression fill her eyes, however, he began to wonder if any of that was true. Had the support not been enough? Should they do more? Were they failing her?

It was unusual for her to withdraw like this; she always faced any hardship undaunted and defiant. Now, she looked as though the burden had grown too much. If it were possible, he would have lightened the load as she confronted the adversity blocking her path. He’d toil night and day to forge her a happy future, even travel the galaxy to bring her a handful of pure starlight if she needed it, all while bearing her troubles on his back.

After settling on the picturesque world, his brothers had convened to discuss how they would raise her, intending to present a united, stable front considering the tumultuous life she’d had. They had agreed that they would give her independence to handle her problems as she saw best, only stepping in if she was in immediate danger or if she directly asked them to. But it was proving difficult for the towering clone who just wanted to smack every obstacle out of her way and see that sunshine smile of hers again.

“How about we take the trail up to school today?” he suggested.

At the idea, Omega’s pinched expression relaxed and her distant gaze drifted to her brother. “We wouldn’t be late?”

“Course not. We left earlier than usual, so we have plenty of time.”

Omega ruminated on the plan, the birdsong-tickled calm and the mint-scented wildflowers calling to her, promising a refuge, a pocket of solace to soothe her apprehension and dispel her unease. “You’re sure we won’t be late?”

“Totally sure.” Wrecker gave her his signature hopeful smile and pointed her towards the signposted turn that ascended into the forest. “After you.”

Lulling birdsong welcomed them beneath the leafy canopy. Tiny, bushy-tailed creatures scurried down the tree trunks on delicate paws to steal quick glances at the passers-by and dash to their cozy dens. A spirited one scampered across their path and slid to a halt in the dry dirt in front of them, gazing up with curious, unblinking eyes. Ears twitching back and forth and sensing for danger, it wriggled its nose, let out a chirp, and hurried on its way again.

“I bet Tech could tell us all the scientific names for those little critters,” Wrecker commented. “He’s probably mapped out this entire forest.”

“Not all of it,” Omega replied. “I think he said he has the eastern reaches and some parts of the river to check.”

He glanced at his sister and noticed the blot of dirt on her coat. While no longer as dejected, there was still a persisting hopelessness in her slouched walk and occasional watery eyelashes that troubled him. “You know, if there’s something on your mind, you can share it,” he said. “A problem shared is a problem halved.” He felt impressed with his recall of such a profound (and somewhat ridiculous) phrase.

“Tech would disagree with the calculations on that.”

In a throaty chortle, Wrecker was forced to concede. Their brother had undoubtedly analyzed every outcome associated with the proverb to verify its validity. “Okay, I’ll admit that it probably isn’t totally accurate, but the point still stands.”

Omega went to speak, but the words hung heavy and tangled in the back of her throat. How could she explain what had been going on? Would Wrecker be disappointed in her? Would he be mortified?

“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” he assured her as she nervously wrung her hands and scratched at her palms.

“It’s just some trouble I’ve been having at school,” she explained with an apathetic shrug, seeking to downplay the situation. She dithered for a moment, not wanting to add to his worries, but she needed to share the ongoing problems with someone, if only for a new perspective and guidance, since her own attempts had proven futile. “My friends have started getting into things that I don’t think are good. No matter how many times I try discussing it with them, they laugh and throw insults at me.”

All humor evaporated from the former soldier quicker than steam off a fresh cup of caf. His expression darkened and a sickening roil nestled in his gut. “I can talk to your teachers about it. They have a duty of care.”

“No, no, that would only make things worse.” Omega’s shoulders sagged, burdened by the weight of struggling to support the people she cared about. “I’m not sure what I did wrong. I was trying to look out for them.” Like you and the others always do for me, she left unsaid.

“You have done nothing wrong,” Wrecker promised. “Some choose not to listen because they are convinced their actions are correct or because they want to look a certain way. They don’t think about consequences like you do.” He wished he had a solution for her problem, but he could never truly understand what she was going through, never having had the chance to navigate the difficulties of adolescence. He was denied the opportunity to make those messy errors and grow from them.

“If you wanted,” he whispered in a low tone so that the scampering wildlife wouldn’t overhear, “I can beat them up.”

Omega’s focus locked onto him like a laser from a sniper rifle, noting the firm tilt of his chin and the tightness in his jaw. Despite the half-smile pressing into his facial scar, she recognised the sincerity in his eyes. His offer would not resolve her problems. If anything, it would only present her with new ones, and she didn’t want her friends to be harmed. That was the exact thing she was striving to avoid. But they persisted in testing the boundaries, daring each other to take things a step further, and she couldn’t shake the gnawing intuition that a terrible repercussion awaited them.

“I’ve not been doing anything stupid, I promise,” she rushed to get out, her heart pounding and the parched mud crunching beneath her shoes as she abruptly halted. “I wouldn’t… I haven’t…”

“Omega,” Wrecker hushed. He crouched down to her, a sickly discomfort sticking in his chest at the thought that she’d believe he held such a poor opinion of her.

“I have no idea what to do,” the girl admitted through a trickle of tears. “I’m scared I’ll end up alone.”

Wrecker’s hands settled on her arms, applying a gentle yet firm pressure to assure her of his presence. “Kid, you are not on your own. You’ve got your family who would do anything to make you happy. If your friends are doing things you aren’t sure about and are making you feel bad, they’re not good friends.”

Although the truth stung, she understood, but this was an issue that tactics and strategic planning wouldn’t fix. It wasn't a battle with a clear enemy; it was a tangled web of trouble and conflicting interests. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to mention it to the others?”

“Course.”

“Some of them have been talking about boys… and other things. And the ones who have boyfriends have told me that if I want to fit in, I have to find someone or I’ll wind up on my own forever. But I…I don’t even know how I feel about that stuff yet.”

Wrecker didn’t need to ask for specifics; he could assume all too well what they would have been discussing. “Listen to me, Omega, you do things at your own pace. Okay? Doesn’t matter how old you get, if you are ever in a situation you are uncomfortable with, you can count on us. It’s what family does.” He couldn’t have been more proud of her if he’d tried. She had faced terrifying monsters, and an Empire that ceaselessly sought to deprive her of everything, yet she never wavered. The mere thought of those pushy kids getting to her like this after all her brave battles ignited an irate frustration within him, and he grappled to bury it for her sake.

When his sister gave him a sliver of a smile, Wrecker returned it and lightly nudged her nose with his fingertip. “That’s what I like to see,” he said, pushing on his thighs to hoist himself up again. “You ready to carry on?”

Omega nodded and wiped the lingering tears, lifting her chin a little higher. “I’ll race you,” she challenged.

Wrecker let free a boisterous laugh that rose from his toes and vibrated in his ribs. “Oh, I’m game!” he whooped. “Go on, I’ll give you a head start!”

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

Join the tag list via the discord server link or filling out my form.

@lightwise @have-a-hiddles @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

@solstraalaa @skellymom @photogirl894 @youreababboon @anything-forourmoony

@reader6898 @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo

@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78 @hunter-lvr

@baddest-batchers @yunggoblin @sweeticedtea @imperfectxprincess @ivyyyyy

@callsign-denmark @leotawrites

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she made Azriel dance

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst/fluff? some suggestive content but nothing beyond a heated kiss

summary: The Court of Nightmares is celebrating Rhysand's accomplishment of enduring the blood rite. Valeria pulls Azriel for a dance and their unspoken feelings for each other begin to catch the attention of others.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here. You might be able to read it as a stand alone imagine.

**

Silver sconces flickered with small flames, casting long shadows across the grand ballroom of the Court of Nightmares. At the heart of the grand chamber, a colossal crystal chandelier bathed the dance floor in a cascade of soft, enchanting light. The crystals sparkled like stars, reflecting in the eyes of those gathered beneath. The tapestries, hung with pride and history, depicted battles, bloodshed, and triumphs of the fierce Illyrian warriors.

Tonight, the Court of Nightmares celebrated not only a warrior's coming of age, but the bonds forged through battles and hardships. The High Lord of the Night Court stood at the center of it all. Rhysand, his son and heir, stood to his right. He was dressed in obsidian finery lovingly crafted by his mother.

Valeria stood alongside her mother at the bottom of the stairs that led to their throne, her gaze avoiding her father at all costs…even as Rhysand kneeled before their father in acceptance of the new crown the High Lord held in his hands. She waited until the crowd that had gathered erupted into cheers, joining the High Lord in celebrating Rhysand, to leave her mother’s side.

She needed a drink.

As the musicians began to play a haunting melody, she made her way to the wine table. She wasn’t surprised to find Mor already there and under the influence. She wore an elegant black ball gown instead of her usual shades of red. Her brown eyes that were once full of life were dull and distant. She was still in mourning, joining Valeria in her lament for Mallory.

 Valeria had given her the jewelry box as soon as she had read Mallory’s letter. Upon her arrival to the Court of Nightmares, she had even stopped by Mor’s residence a couple of times to check up on her. She was turned down every time. She had even shut Rhysand completely out, not allowing either of the siblings in. She had chosen to mourn alone.

With a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she poured a glass for Valeria.

**

Azriel and Cassian stepped into the grand ballroom, their large mesmerizing wings unfurled behind them. The two Illyrians, known for their rugged warrior appearance, had traded their customary leathers for a sleek ensemble befitting the grand occasion. They were both clad in tailored black suits that emphasized the lithe strength of their bodies.

Despite their fitting attire, they felt strangely out of place.

Azriel, partly concealed in his shadows, had an aura of quiet intensity. His eyes searched the room for a certain winged female. His shadows mirrored his request, sharing his determination. He was met with the same inexplicable magnetic pull that had seized him upon his return from the blood rite. 

Following that thread, his gaze swiftly alighted upon the raven-haired woman, who unknowingly, held the other end of the golden thread that beckoned Azriel closer. 

He gulped as his eyes raked over her frame, the first thing striking him of her appearance being the absence of her wings.

She was a vision of timeless beauty in a simple yet enchanting long ivory silk gown–a creation no doubt crafted by her mother’s loving and talented hands. Her long, raven hair tumbled down her back in loose curls that framed her face in a cascade of dark silk.

At her throat, she still wore the moonstone necklace gifted to her by Azriel, the delicate gemstone shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

Her violet eyes held a depth and intensity that continued to draw Azriel in as they met his hazel ones. Her brows rose slightly and he swore he saw the light return to her eyes.

In a blink of an eye, she was rushing toward him.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice laced with relief as she threw her arms around his taller, broader frame. She nestled her head against his chest as his shadows also joined him in in their embrace.

“Valeria.” He replied, matching her tone of relief as he held her tightly, the tension of their separation melting away in that single moment.

“Cassian!”

Valeria pulled away from Azriel sheepishly, still flushed with the emotions of their reunion. She turned to the Illyrian male beside him, who had called out his own name and waited for her with expectant open arms. She didn’t hesitate to move into Cassian’s brotherly embrace and he chuckled with delight.

"How have you been, my little warrior?"

She pulled away from Cassian. It was almost instinctive the way her steps drew her closer to Azriel, her body unconsciously seeking to be close to him. Azriel’s body did the same, their fingers brushing against each other lightly.

Cassian couldn’t help but notice the subtle, unspoken connection between them. He wondered if he should say something.

“Bored. No one to annoy, unfortunately.” Valeria finally answered his question, pulling Cassian from his thoughts. She then looked at Azriel, her eyes looking toward his shoulders.

“Where is–”

“Noctis is resting in your room.” Azriel answered before Valeria could finish. “We thought it would be too chaotic here for him.”--He saw the concern in her eyes at the thought of her bird being left alone.--”I left some of my shadows to keep him company.”

“Thank you.” Valeria breathed a sigh of relief. She made sure to look at both Azriel and Cassian, knowing that they along with her brother–who she already thanked earlier–carefully nursed her beloved bird back to health.

“The house is awfully quiet without you there.” Cassian commented with a small frown.

Rhysand’s voice suddenly emerged from behind. “I never thought I’d be the one to say this but I miss you and that damn bird keeping me up at night with your piano...and those awful chirps of his.” 

Valeria rolled her eyes, turning around to face her brother to make sure he caught the gesture. “His chirps aren’t awful. They’re lovely.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Rhysand chuckled, his eyes looking amongst their group. “Where’s Mor?”

Valeria’s eyes widened as she realized that her cousin had not followed her and chose to remain at the wine table instead. Her heart ached for her. 

Cassian sighed. “I’ll go get her.”

Azriel seated himself at the empty table nearby. Rhysand and Valeria followed after him with the latter taking the empty chair beside him. A wave of magic filled the air, and suddenly, a sumptuous array of food materialized at the center of the table. Empty plates appeared before them, ready to be filled. Azriel was the first to fill his plate with a tempting assortment of delicious food but instead of indulging in it himself, he extended the plate to Valeria. 

“Here,” He urged her, his voice gentle, as he offered her the plate. “You need to eat.”

“It’s been hard to find an appetite these days.” Valeria admitted quietly, accepting the plate from him with a small thanks.

She found an immense guilt to do anything as she mourned the loss of her friend. She didn’t think anyone had noticed but Azriel had. It was subtle but he noticed her thinner frame and the slightly sunken appearance of her cheeks.

Rhysand’s gaze remained fixed on the two, his violet eyes narrowing as he watched their interactions. Gratitude welled within him for Azriel’s vigilant care for his sister yet a flicker of suspicion ignited in his mind. He wondered if Azriel’s watchful care held a depth of meaning beyond mere brotherly intention…

Rhysand’s gaze abruptly tore from the two upon the arrival of Cassian and Mor at their table. Mor stumbled into her seat, across from him, with Cassian’s careful support. 

“Oh, this food looks ravishing,” she slurred as she stole a piece of bread from Azriel’s plate.

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. However, when Cassian reached over to steal the potatoes from his plate, Azriel promptly moved his plate out of Cassian’s reach, fixing him with a glare. There was humor dancing in his eyes. 

“Congrats, bat boys.” Mor grinned, referring to their accomplishment in the blood rite. She hadn’t seen them since Valeria’s birthday.  

“Bat boys?” Azriel questioned, his brows furrowing in slight confusion while Valeria’s amused reaction almost led her to choking on her food. Her laughter bubbled forth, finding their surprised and bewildered expressions highly entertaining.

Mor looked at Valeria and joined in.

“Bat boys,” Rhysand echoed, a smile playing on his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass. “I can’t say I hate it.”

The three men shared a knowing look, finding relief and joy in the sound of Valeria’s and Mor’s laughter. A sound they had feared they wouldn't hear again. The five of them continued to enjoy their dinner, engrossed in light conversation.

When the music began to pick up and people took to the dance floor of the grand ballroom, Rhysand noticed Valeria’s eyes light up. He knew how much she enjoyed dancing as he was often forced to be her dancing partner when they were children. Determined to keep the his sister in bright spirits, he extended his free hand to her.

Valeria hesitated for a moment and a frown fell over her face as a wave of guilt hit her then. Guilt for daring to feel joy when Mallory was robbed of any more experiences.

Warmth and reassurance suddenly filled her in that moment, the same strange way it did after her nightmares would wake her, washing away her guilt. It’s okay, it seemed to say.

She accepted her brother’s offer and with a smile from Rhysand, they made their way to the dance floor. The people dancing seemed to part for them, allowing them to reach the center. Their presence was compelling and piercing and a cool mask was on both of their faces. Some stopped and stared, admiring the beauty of the son and daughter of the Night Court. 

Rhysand and Valeria began to move together, their steps fluid and graceful. He led with care, guiding Valeria through the steps. His own violet eyes held a promise of better days to come, and in that moment, Valeria felt a sense of hope return to her heart.

The music swelled and Rhysand twirled Valeria with a flourish. She couldn’t help but smile again as the weight of her worries began to lift.

“There she is,” Rhysand smiled back at her.

As the song came to an end, she curtsied at her brother and when the orchestra began another song, her gaze landed on Azriel. He remained at the table, nursing a wine glass of his own. His shadows had been watching her every move with a curious intensity as he pretended to be engaged in whatever Cassian was saying as the latter animatedly waved his hands.

Rhysand followed her gaze with an amused smile and then chuckled. “Az doesn’t dance. You’d have better luck with Cassian. Although, he might step on your toes.”

A mischievous glint danced in Valeria’s eyes as Azriel’s gaze lifted to meet hers across the room. It was as if he heard his name being called.

“He will for me."

With a playful spin, Rhysand sent her Azriel's way, and she glided toward him. Azriel recognized the look in her eye immediately, already having an excuse ready for her. A lame one at that.

“I can’t dance.”

Valeria's eyes sparkled with an impish charm. "Your shadows tell me that's a lie."

"You can hear them?" Azriel raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

His shadows, usually silent and obedient, seemed to have a mind of their own tonight. They coiled back, looking almost sheepish. Only when we want her to, they responded with unexpected sass.

“Sometimes.” Valeria shrugged nonchalantly, as if hearing his shadows was entirely ordinary. "Doesn't everyone?"

Azriel shook his head slowly. "No, not everyone."

"Oh."

His shadows brushed through her hair, their cool tendrils ghosting past her ear. "Well, right now they're telling me your mother actually taught you how to dance."

"Traitors," Azriel muttered grumpily at his defiant shadows, who dared to laugh in his ears, swirling playfully between Valeria and him.

Valeria, however, wasn't about to take no for an answer. With a touch of determination and playfulness, she intertwined her fingers with Azriel's, catching him off guard. His heart quickened, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he couldn't resist her any longer.

Complying with her invitation, Azriel rose from his seat, his eyes locked with Valeria's. Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, swaying to the gentle melody of the music.

In the midst of the crowd, they danced. It was a dance of shadows and moonlight, and in each other's arms, they found a rare and beautiful harmony.

Rhysand once again found his gaze fixed on the two as his sister and one of his closest friends--someone he considered his brother-- danced as if they were the only two in the room. Beside him, Cassian and Mor also watched the pair.

Cassian noticed the thoughtful furrow in Rhysand’s brow. “Something on your mind, Rhys?”

Rhysand hesitated before replying. “It’s Valeria. She and Azriel…”

“Oh, Rhys, you’re just being an overbearing and overprotective brother.” Mor couldn’t help but chuckle. She looked at Cassian, inclining her head at him to agree.

“Yeah,” Cassian said with a nod of his head. “We all care for Val deeply. She’s like a little sister to me and I’m sure Azriel feels the same.”

But even Cassian began to doubt his words as he remembered their earlier reunion and it did nothing to dwell the concern in Rhysand. He continued to watch his sister and Azriel before Mor pulled his attention away from the dance floor.

**

Valeria swayed gracefully on the dance floor, her white dress catching the light as Azriel spun her around. Her violet eyes sparkled with a mixture of joy and something deeper, something unspoken.

As the dance continued, Azriel couldn't help but glance down at Valeria's lips for a fleeting moment. The magnetic pull between them was undeniable, and the world around them seemed to blur as they swayed to the music. It was as if the air was charged with a palpable tension, their hearts beating in unison.

But just as the moment became achingly sweet and full of promise, a striking, dark-haired woman appeared before Azriel. "Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Shadowsinger?" she purred, her voice as seductive and charismatic as her gaze.

Azriel reluctantly pulled his gaze from Valeria to meet the woman’s. He looked back at Valeria. There was hesitation in his eyes, almost begging for Valeria to shake her head at him, to tell him no. Much to his disappointment, Valeria nodded at him and he reluctantly accepted the dark-haired woman's invitation.

As Valeria left Azriel's side, a sense of longing hung in the air–a dance interrupted and a moment deferred. She made her way back to the table with her brother and friends. She watched as Azriel and the woman began to dance with a mixture of curiosity and something she couldn’t quite name. 

Rhysand couldn't resist a teasing chuckle. "Look what you started.”

Valeria tried to hide her jealousy, but the sight of Azriel with another woman had her wrestling with her feelings. A small sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't blame him for being polite. She knew she had no reason to be jealous, but as a third female approached him for a dance, she couldn't help it. 

The Court of Nightmares' ball raged on. Valeria, still nursing her feelings of jealousy and insecurity, decided it was time to slip away from the festivities, using Mor’s drunken state as an excuse. Rhysand, her older brother, seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil, chatting with a beautiful stranger. Cassian had left earlier, sneaking away to visit his girlfriend.

“I think it’s time for bed.” Valeria said, looking at Mor’s slumping form at the table.

Rhysand chuckled and nodded. He began to excuse himself from the female, who had sat herself next to him, but Valeria stopped him with a wave of her hand. “I can handle it. I’ll take Mor to my room,” Valeria assured him as she placed the blonde’s arm over her shoulders and carefully lifted her from her seat.

Rhysand nodded, engaging himself in conversation with the pretty stranger once more, and Valeria slipped out into the cool night with Mor in tow. As Valeria discreetly made her way to the exit, her heart heavy with unresolved emotions, Azriel’s shadows noticed her departure and informed him.

As soon as the song came to a stop, a couple of minutes later, he was quick to pull away from the dance, bowing slightly at the female before making his way to where he had seen Valeria disappear into. On his way, he passed by the table that now consisted of Rhysand and a beautiful female, who sat on his lap. 

“Az,” Rhysand called out to him, forcing him to come to a stop. There was a glint in his violet eyes while the female on top of him raked Azriel’s body over with hungry eyes. “Care to join us?”

Their scent of arousal hit Azriel. If things were different, he would’ve gladly accepted Rhysand’s offer. It wouldn’t be the first time they shared a woman. But despite the female’s beauty and Rhysand’s promise of an entertaining night, he couldn’t bring himself to say yes.

Instead, he shook his head. “I think I should also call it a night.”

“Suit yourself,” Rhysand replied with a shrug. He feigned nonchalance on the outside but on the inside, his suspicions from earlier resurfaced...

Azriel excused himself and left the ballroom, his true intention to find where Valeria had slipped away to. In the darkness of the night, Azriel's shadows flitted through the corridors of the grand estate, searching for her. It didn't take them long to find Valeria at the opposite end of the palace. 

She was in the moon gardens, amongst the terrace of blooming flowers. A handful of night-blooming jasmines and gardenias lay beside her. She held a gardenia in her hand, plucking the petals one-by-one deep in thought, as she nestled on the soft grass.

Valeria didn’t seem to notice his arrival.

Plucking a purple peony that matched her eyes from a flourishing bush, he silently settled beside her. “A flower for your thoughts?” 

The gardenia Valeria had been holding slipped from her fingers, landing atop its own ivory petals. She started, caught off guard by the sudden presence of the Shadowsinger.

He reached out, brushing a loose curl of her hair away from her face and secured the purple peony behind one of her ears. His shadows swirled around him, enraptured by her beauty, each tendril whispering in hushed admiration.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

"I just need some fresh air.” Valeria brushed off his concern and without considering the meaning of her words, she added: “I didn’t think you’d notice. You seemed to be having an awfully good time with all those beautiful females.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes glinted with amusement. “Is this jealousy I sense?”

Valeria scoffed, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Me? Jealous?”

“You’re right, you have no reason to be jealous.” Azriel acknowledged, his voice a soothing murmur of understanding. His lips curled into a smirk as his fingers gently lifted Valeria’s chin, coaxing her to meet his gaze.

Reluctantly, her eyes locked with his, and in that moment, a daring boldness took over him.

“I only have eyes for you.”

As Azriel's words hung in the air, the tension between them thickened.

Valeria's heart raced as his thumb brushed softly against her lower lip, his eyes following his movement in a tantalizing tease that sent shivers down her spine. Valeria found herself inching closer and Azriel did the same, his breath mingling with hers.

The world around them faded into insignificance as their faces drew nearer. 

His lips barely brushed hers, almost in a teasing manner, and he rejoiced in the way her eyelids fluttered close and lips parted in anticipation. She wanted this as much as he did. 

“I only want you,” he murmured against her lips before he claimed them in a tender kiss full of longing.

Her lips were just as soft as he had imagined. Just as sweet as he imagined and he savored her taste, yearning for more.

Their lips separated for a brief moment as she adjusted herself and before she knew it, their lips were crashing against each other once again in a heated kiss.

With the guidance of his hand at her waist, she found herself straddling his hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the slit in her dress ripped further up, exposing her thigh but she did not care. All she cared about was the sweet taste of his lips and intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

Azriel’s hand that had lingered on her chin found itself intertwining into the base of her hair. He pulled on it, angling her closer to him. The hand at her waist traveled down to her thigh before his fingers began to lightly trace their way up the newly exposed skin. His tongue traced against her bottom lip and she allowed him in, a soft moan escaping from her as he explored her mouth with his tongue.

He almost moaned at the sound. It sent a shiver throughout his body, fueling his insatiable urge to find out what other pretty sounds he can elicit from her pretty lips.

When they reluctantly pulled away to catch their breaths, their foreheads rested against each other. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself recognized the significance of this moment and the stars above twinkled.

Azriel’s pupils were dilated as he intently gazed down at her, admiration and a hint of lust in his hazel eyes. 

“Only you.” Valeria breathlessly echoed, the look in her eyes mirroring his. 

Azriel smiled, feeling his heart fill with such warmth that he thought he was about to explode. His shadows danced around them as he peppered her face with tender kisses.

His nose brushed against hers and as the moonlight casted a soft glow on their faces, their lips met again.

**

A/N: after all the sadness and angst, I wanted to write something more romantic. Rhys and Cass are finally catching onto Az and Val and it seems like Rhys might not be too happy about that...

I hope the kissing scene was okay. I've never written anything beyond a simple kiss or suggestive content but I am willing to try for future imagines. It's just hard and kinda ironic for me to write romantic scenes since I fall under the aroace spectrum. yet I love reading all kinds of romance lol

tag list: @justrepostandlove , @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

[hunters-vigil]

The Archon's Baby - Chapter 9 - Rising Tensions - Enter Capitano

Previous Chapter

request from ao3: Make one where they have a child but the female character doesn't tell Mavuika that she is expecting a child and distances herself from Mavuika please 🙏🙏

warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, traveller uses they/them pronouns, arguing, mentions of death, poor descriptions of fighting.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

Eventually, the team who were sent out to fight in the Night Warden Wars returned. All but one. Kachina, who had fallen in battle, would need to revived by the Rite of Ressurection. Everyone else seemed calm, but you couldn't help but frown. Kachina was a child, who had gone to war and died. She would be resurrected and celebrated, which you were glad for, but still, you worried about how traumatic the situation may have been for her.

"Oh hey, it's been a while! How are you doing?" Paimon's voice caught Mualani's attention, along with the Traveller's and Kinich's, as the floating silver creature spotted you already seated waiting for the Rite of Ressurection, and celebration of the Night Warden Wars victory to begin.

"Trying my best. Heard you guys were at the People of the Springs when the attack happened, I'm glad everyone made it out okay, including Atea. I heard she was injured." You smiled softly, cradling the waterskin that Chuychu was insisting you keep drinking water from throughout the ceremony.

"Speaking of Atea, I have something I need to give you from her when everything is over." Mualani interjected, looking over you carefully for any clues, but she couldn't figure out what Atea knew. She also didn't spot how Mavuika was watching you all from her throne. A part of the pyro archon wishing you could be sat with her... but it would be safer for you down there, with Chuychu nearby, and the toilets too...

"Warriors of Natlan - heed the call of life. We are the inheritors of memory and legend. Those who grew alongside sun and wind. Those who forged our own destiny and future. That is Natlan's fire, the lifeblood of our nation." Ntotila declared, as Mavuika headed towards the sacred flame to retrieve Kachina. Her hair setting alight as she disappeared into the flames, making your stomach churn.

Closing your eyes, you held your hand over your heart as everyone began to sing the Ode of Ressurection.

The song eventually ended, but Mavuika returned alone?

"I could not find Kachina within the Night Kingdom, or locate her Ancient Name." Mavuika announced, much to everyone's confusion, including her own. People began to shout, accusations were made, while you rubbed at your temples, a headache brewing.

"I can't listen to these jealous idiots. And they're supposed to be adults." You grumbled, standing up to walk away.

"Are you okay?" The Traveller looked worried, spotting how Mavuika's eyes lingered on the group as Mualani argued with the two idiots trying to suggest Kachina was not a hero.

"Think about it everyone. Who do you think is really at fault here? A girl who never should've even gone to war... Or the great pyro archon? Why would the rules of our nation suddenly stop working?" Tepexpan's accusation had you freezing in place, anger washing over you. Blasphemy...

"Maybe you should all shut up and realise it's probably the abyss interfering? Accusing Kachina and Mavuika will get you nowhere. Jumping to those blasphemous conclusions will get no nowhere. Get your heads of of your asses and use your brains for once." Your voice was louder than you expected, storming away before anyone could retort to your sharp words. Or you calling Mavuika anything but 'archon'.

Mavuika watched you storm away, her eyes flickering to behind her as the Sacred Flame seemed to react to your anger, growing a little bit bigger and a little brighter until you were out of sight.

Luckily, Mualani continued to stand up for Kachina, your words to fall into the background, brushed over.

"That's enough. There is no doubt about today's victory, or Kachina's part in it. She is a hero worthy of our admiration and celebration. However, the failure of today's ceremony is undeniable. Kachina has not been rekindled, and I offer you all my deepest apologies as I continue to investigate this matter..."

Mavuika's voice tapered off as you returned to her chambers, curling up with the blankets over your head. Your head hurt, and now you had probably just embarrased your girlfriend and your sisters with your outburst.

You missed Mavuika putting Tepexpan and Tamuin in their place, but the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps entering the Speaker's Chambers caught your attention, causing you to hide further under the blankets.

You recognised all of the voices. Mavuika. Paimon. The Traveller. Mualani. Kinich. Iansan. Chasca...

Luckily, you couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Meaning you couldn't hear Chasca agree to go in person to the Night Kingdom with the others to retrieve Kachina.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Atea was wounded in the fight against the abyss. She wanted us to give this to you... it 'embodies fond memories and my strength of will' that's what she asked us to tell you, she said you'd understand what that means," Mualani held out Atea's talisman, "and she has something for your sister, Chasca, but I don' t know where she went-"

Chasca huffed at that, looking directly at Mavuika, who was luckily distracted by the talisman.

"I didn't think this day would come so soon. The flames of her life force, I can feel them flowing through the talisman. If things were different, the two of us could have enjoyed the hot springs together while she gave this to me in person. We're supposed to be 'hot spring buddies' after all..." Mavuika held back her emotion, especially with the warning glare on Chasca's face, "but don't worry. This talisman means a great deal to me. I'll take good care of it, and once this is all over, I'll pay Atea a visit. I can also sort out Atea's other wish..." Mavuika's eyes briefly glanced over at the door that led to her personal chambers, knowing that was where you were.

"Of course. Because the only person who knows her better than her sisters is her archon." Chasca folded her arms, pretending to be happy about what had just been said. Luckily the conversation ended after that, with only Iansan and Kinich remaining by the archon's side.

///

Mavuika ushered Iansan and Kinich out, asking them to wait for her near the Sacred Flame, while she headed into her chambers, with Atea's gift for you in her hands.

"My love?" her hand gently rested on your shoulder, your entire body hidden under the blanket, but she knew you were awake.

"I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to apologise for. The general public cannot know the truth, but them questioning the integrity of our heroes... I understand your outburst. I wish I could remain here instead of my duty, but unfortunately I cannot. Mualani brought something for you, from Atea... her request was that you should open it in private." Mavuika explained, watching as you removed the blanket from your face to look at her.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Mavuika headed to leave, watching as you took the package into your lap with a confused look on your face.

"I love you." Mavuika called out as her hand lingered on the doorknob, observing how your eyes were glassy but the smile on your face reached them.

"I love you too."

///

You were reading the letter Atea addressed to you when you heard a large explosion coming from the stadium. Leaving the package on the bed, you forwent shoes, hurrying out and past civillians who looked at you in confusion in your beeline towards the arena.

Mavuika was fighting the First Fatui Harbinger. The Captain.

"You shouldn't be here." Kinich immediately kept you behind him and Iansan, the backlashing winds from the pyro and cryo attacks whipping around the stadium.

"What does he want? Besides the gnosis? Wait, is she using your claymore?" You looked at Kinich, grimacing as said claymore was destroyed in the battle. Yeah Mavuika was getting an earful from Xilonen for that...

"Watch out!" Kinich grumbled as the three of you were pushed backwards by the wind of another explosion. Luckily, before the three of you could get blown about any further, a fog suddenly appearing to steal the injured harbinger away. Mavuika stood alone in the areantil Kinich and Iansan arrived by her side, the two keeping you behind them.

"Send word. The Captain and his followers must be apprehended." Mavuika ordered to the Flower-Feather Clan member, Yagbeu. He looked from his archon, to you, then ran to fulfill his task. The patrols of your tribe may be a line of defense for the abyss, but now it would be patrolling against the Fatui too.

"Are you alright, archon?" Iansan asked hurriedly, as Mavuika chuckled.

"He was a formidable opponent - exactly what I would expect of the First of the Fatui Harbingers." Her face soon shifted to worry as she spotted the dust in your hair, "are you unharmed? Let me get you a medic-"

"I've got her." Chuychu interjected, stealing you away before Kinich and Iansan could ask questions about Mavuika fawning over you.

"What are you doing-"

"I should be asking you that! I need to go chase after our older sister, so I'm leaving you with Mayahuel. You're still in the danger zone of the first trimester!"

"Pregnancy itself is a danger zone." You hissed back at your elder sister, who left you in the hands of Mayahuel. The doctor from the Mastesr of the Night-Wind took you away with a comforting smile, and a nod to Chuychu.

"My dear... where are your shoes?" Mayahuel raised a nonjudgemental eyebrow as you flustered, realising they were under the archon's bed. You couldn't exactly tell the doctor that.

/// Meanwhile...

"Oh, you have a younger sister?" Paimon turned to Chasca with intrigue, "wait, Mualani, you said something about a sister-"

"I have two younger sisters. I'll introduce you to them sometime." Chasca thought back to you at the stadium, and Chuychu, who she had a sneaking suspicion was also at the Scions of the Canopy, "let's get back to business. Wayna, how do we use the stone?"

///

You were fine, but the declaration to rest made you want to scream internally. You'd spent so much time hiding (living) in Mavuika's chambers, and now you needed to do it even more. Chuychu could only keep your parents at bay for so long, and with how often Chasca avoided going home... you had definitely broken a record. How had they not come to the stadium and dragged you back by now? They didn't even know about your pregnancy... oh you felt like a horrible daughter...

Walking into the Speaker's Chambers, you froze as you realised Mavuika was there, with Iansan.

"Um... hello." Your voice waivered, looking between the two Ancient Name bearers nervously.

[skyminsworld]

We are of Fire

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Oc Aelyx Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen and her sister-wife Aelyx Targaryen stood on the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, where the great Valyrian lords had first settled after the Doom. The sky above was a tapestry of swirling gray clouds, reflecting the ancient magic that still lingered in the air, and the sea below roared its approval as waves crashed against the black stone of the island.

The ceremony was steeped in the traditions of Old Valyria, a tribute to their heritage and a reminder of the dragons’ might. Rhaenyra, with her silver-gold hair cascading down her back and her violet eyes shimmering with resolve, stood proud in a gown of red and white. Beside her, Aelyx, her sister-wife, matched her in a similar gown, their hands entwined in a bond stronger than the most unyielding Valyrian steel.

The ritual began at dusk, under the auspices of the Blood Moon, a celestial event said to bless the union of two souls destined for greatness. The High Valyrian words of the priestess echoed through the stillness, invoking the favor of the gods. "Jal Wun Azantys," she chanted, "by blood and fire."

Their dragons, Syrax and Vermithor, stood sentinel nearby, their eyes glowing like molten gold in the dim light. The presence of the dragons was vital, for they were not only mounts but symbols of the Targaryens' dominion and their unbreakable bond. As the ceremony progressed, the dragons roared in unison, sending chills down the spines of all present, a clear sign that the old gods were watching.

A sacred blade, forged in the fires of Dragonstone itself, was brought forth. Rhaenyra and Aelyx each pricked a finger, letting their blood mingle on the blade. "A binding of blood," the priestess intoned, "as it was in Valyria, so it shall be now." The blood was then mixed with fire, a small pyre lit by the dragonflame, representing the unity of their house and their shared destiny.

The final vows were taken in High Valyrian, their voices strong and unwavering despite the howling winds. "Nyke ēdrutas ao," Rhaenyra pledged, "I am yours." Aelyx responded, "Nyke ēdrutas ao," echoing the eternal promise. As the flames flared brighter, they clasped hands, their fingers stained with each other’s blood, and kissed, sealing their vows not only to each other but to the legacy they would forge together.

The feast that followed was a lavish affair, with roasted meats, exotic fruits, and the finest Dornish wines, a celebration worthy of their union. Songs of Old Valyria were sung, and the air was filled with laughter and the roar of dragons. In the great hall of Dragonstone, banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen fluttered, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

As the night drew on, Rhaenyra and Aelyx slipped away to the heights of Dragonstone, where they could be alone under the stars and moon up the sky. The future was uncertain, filled with both promise and peril, but in that moment, they were together, bound by ancient tradition and their indomitable will.

Thus, under the watchful eyes of their dragons and the ancient gods, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Aelyx Targaryen began their journey as sister-wives, their fates intertwined, their hearts aflame with the promise of the legacy they would create together.They knew what will come ,lots of hardship but they had each other

A promise of life ,once a dragon has it's treasure it will keep it to itself burning anyone who tries to steal what is rightfully theirs.

[novaursa]

hi ! can you do a writing for sister reader and rhaenyra and daemon. viserys like names them both heir (which otto is tryna like stop him or change his mind) but viserys is hell bent on having his two daughters on the iron throne , with them getting married and like adding daemon to the equation because while both reader and rhaenyra loves each other they also love daemon. and like during the dinner at the red keep alicent voices her opinion which has viserys FINALLY realizing what the hightowers are trying to do and he stands behind his daughters ten toes down and he makes sure they are on the throne before he dies. happy ending for everyone please (even the little hightower children aka aegon and aemond and helaena especially helaena that’s my baby) 😚

Three Heads

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Your father names you and Rhaenyra his heirs, and you both take Daemon as your husband.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: The ending is left unsaid for narration purposes. You can assume how the Dance never happened.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: nights

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air was filled with anticipation as the three of you stood at the precipice of something ancient, something forbidden to those bound by the narrow constraints of Westerosi law. But you were not only Westerosi. You were Targaryens. Blood of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon. The moon cast a silvery light over Dragonstone, reflecting off the stone-carved faces of the ancestral dragonlords, their eyes seeming to watch as if blessing the union about to take place.

"The dragon has three heads," your father, King Viserys, had declared before the lords of his court, his voice unwavering against the protests of Otto Hightower and the murmurs of the others. He had been insistent, unyielding in his decision to name not only Rhaenyra but you, his beloved twin daughters, as heirs to the Iron Throne. And if you wished to marry Daemon, then so be it. Otto’s warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his opposition met with your father’s conviction.

You glance at Rhaenyra, standing to your right, her silver-gold hair catching the wind like a banner of fire. Her violet eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s only the two of you—the twin flames that have burned side by side your entire lives. There is something unspoken in her gaze, a shared understanding, a bond far deeper than blood. Tonight, that bond will be sealed in ways that no lord of Westeros could comprehend.

Daemon stands between you both, his presence commanding as ever. He is your uncle, yes, but he is also your lover, your equal in the dance of dragons. His eyes, sharp and bright, shift between you and Rhaenyra, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thrives in defiance, in the breaking of traditions. But tonight is not about breaking. Tonight is about honoring something older, something lost.

The ritual begins as the dragonfire is lit around you, the flames crackling with the same intensity that fills the air. The old tongues of Valyria, forgotten by most, are spoken by the priests who have come to witness this union. Their words echo through the chamber like the roar of dragons. Your heart pounds in your chest, the ancient magic of your ancestors awakening in your blood.

Daemon steps forward first, his hand outstretched toward you, and then toward Rhaenyra. His touch is warm, familiar, as he brings both of you closer to him. “You are mine,” he says softly, his voice filled with a possessive reverence that sends a shiver down your spine. “Both of you.”

“And you are ours,” Rhaenyra responds, her voice strong and clear, echoing your own thoughts.

The Valyrian steel rings, forged specially for this moment, are brought forth. Daemon takes one in his hand, sliding it onto Rhaenyra’s finger first, then yours. As the cool metal touches your skin, you feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight but the weight of history, of legacy. The three of you are bound now—not only by blood, not only by love, but by destiny.

You take the second ring, your fingers trembling slightly as you slide it onto Daemon’s hand, followed by Rhaenyra’s. She smiles at you, a smile full of mischief and affection. She has always been the fiery one, the rebellious princess who defies convention, but so have you. You are her mirror in many ways, the reflection of her ambition, her desire, her strength.

The final words of the ritual are spoken in the language of dragons, the ancient Valyrian wrapping around the three of you like a cloak. Fire, blood, and power. The three pillars of your house, and now the pillars of this union. You are no longer two sisters and their uncle. You are one. One flame, one force, one future.

The kiss that follows is not timid. Daemon pulls you both close, his lips claiming yours first, then Rhaenyra’s. It is not the kiss of a husband and wife under the eyes of the Seven, but the kiss of dragons. Fierce, passionate, untamed. Rhaenyra leans into you, her fingers brushing your cheek before she too claims your lips. The world around you fades, leaving only the three of you, bound in fire and blood.

As the flames around you burn higher, you can feel the weight of what this means. You are no longer just heirs to the Iron Throne. You are the future of House Targaryen, the embodiment of its ancient power. The dragon has three heads, and now, you will soar together, unbreakable.

Otto’s warnings echo in your mind, but they are drowned out by the roar of dragons in your heart. Let the realm whisper. Let them plot and scheme. You are Targaryens, bound by the old ways. And together, you will reshape the world as you see fit.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep’s great hall was stifling, despite the lavish feast laid out before you. The long table gleamed under the glow of countless candles, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Yet, there was no warmth in the room. Not tonight. The gathering was small but potent—Viserys, seated at the head of the table, you and Rhaenyra on either side of Daemon, with Alicent and her children opposite you. Otto Hightower sat quietly near the Queen, his calculating gaze shifting between you and your twin.

You could feel the weight of the words unsaid, the barely concealed discomfort radiating from Alicent, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. It was only a matter of time before something was spoken aloud, and you sensed the moment approaching.

Aegon lounged lazily beside his mother, a smirk playing on his lips, while Aemond's single eye, as sharp as a blade, flickered between Daemon and Rhaenyra with barely veiled contempt. Helaena, ever quiet and strange, sat silently, fiddling with a small trinket in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

The tension finally snapped when Alicent placed her cup down with a little more force than necessary, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Your Grace," she began, her voice honeyed but brittle. "I wonder… have you truly considered the implications of such a union? Between Daemon and your daughters?"

You stiffen beside Daemon, feeling Rhaenyra tense on his other side. Alicent's words hang in the air, dripping with disapproval, though she masks it with concern. She turns her gaze to Viserys, her eyes wide, playing the role of the dutiful wife. "Surely, there are other considerations that must be taken into account. For the sake of the realm, and for the future stability of the crown."

Viserys’s eyes narrow, his fork pausing mid-air as he studies her. “What are you trying to say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s gaze flickers briefly toward Otto before she continues, emboldened. “There are traditions, Your Grace. Laws that must be upheld. Marrying Daemon to both of your daughters… it is… unorthodox.” She hesitates, her words cautious. “It could create discord within the realm. People might question the legitimacy of such a union, especially with the potential claims from…” Her voice lowers, though not enough to be polite, “…Daemon’s past.”

At that, Daemon leans back in his chair, a lazy, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He says nothing, simply watching as Alicent's discomfort grows under his scrutiny.

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, and she meets your eyes with a flash of defiance. You knew this moment would come. The Hightowers have been quiet for too long, waiting for a chance to undermine your father’s wishes, to place their own blood closer to the Iron Throne. And here it was, unfolding before you like a play.

Viserys’s face darkens, his eyes shifting from Alicent to Otto. “Is that what you’re concerned about, Alicent? Tradition? Or are you worried about what this union means for your children?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alicent, but it is Otto who speaks next, his voice measured and calm. “Your Grace, no one questions your love for your daughters, nor the bond they share with Prince Daemon. But the realm is fragile. Marriages such as these, unconventional as they may be, can sow uncertainty. It may lead to factions… rebellion.”

Viserys sets his goblet down with a resounding thud, his eyes flashing with something you haven't seen in years—a simmering anger, a reawakening of the dragon within him.

“Rebellion? Uncertainty?” he repeats, his voice low but dangerous. “My daughters are Targaryens. They carry the blood of Old Valyria. The laws of Westeros are not the only ones that govern our family. I named both of them my heirs because I have faith in their ability to rule, just as I have faith in Daemon, my brother. This union strengthens our house, not weakens it.”

Alicent pales, her grip tightening on her goblet. “Your Grace, I only meant to say—”

“Enough!” Viserys cuts her off, rising from his seat with surprising vigor. “I have been patient, too patient, with the whispers and scheming around me. You question this marriage because it does not suit the plans of your house. But I will not allow the Hightowers to dictate the future of my daughters, or the future of this realm.”

There’s a stunned silence as his words settle over the room, the full weight of his wrath directed at Alicent and Otto. Aegon’s smirk fades, and Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. Helaena remains quiet, her focus still on her trinket, as if the conflict around her is distant, unimportant.

You glance at Daemon, who watches with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the moment when Viserys finally sees the Hightowers for what they are—a threat to his daughters’ legacy.

“I will make myself clear,” Viserys continues, his voice steady and unwavering. “Rhaenyra and Y/N are my chosen heirs. They will rule when I am gone, and Daemon will stand beside them as their husband, as their equal. This is my will, and it will be law. There will be no more discussion, no more questioning their claim.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face impassive but his eyes sharp, calculating. Alicent looks stricken, her gaze dropping to her lap, no longer able to meet Viserys’s eyes.

The tension breaks when Viserys sits back down, his breath labored but his resolve unshaken. “I expect you all to remember that.”

The rest of the dinner passes in a tense silence, but the message is clear. The Hightowers’ influence is waning, and Viserys will ensure that the Targaryen line remains strong and unchallenged. You share a quiet look with Rhaenyra, feeling the weight of your father’s words settle in your chest. You are no longer simply his daughters. You are his heirs, and the Iron Throne will be yours.

Daemon raises his goblet, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he leans in, his voice low but filled with triumph. “The dragon has three heads, indeed.”

[katy-l1988]

Chapter 1: The Holly Trinity

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic

In the dawn of the cosmos, the firmament shimmered with the light of divine beings who dwelled in the heavens, their boredom with the monotony of their existence triggering the creation and expansion of the universe as we now know it. Among the heights stood three angels, Sera, Carmilla, and Lucifer, christened by their father as the "Holy Trinity." The three played vital roles, ensuring the proper functioning of both heaven and the universe they were forging.

Sera, with her celestial majesty, was God's first attempt at creating woman. Tall, slender, with eyes capable of reflecting the vastness of the universe, she was a work of art in herself. However, despite her impeccable appearance, she wasn't quite what God was looking for. Sera lacked the capacity to understand and share joys and sorrows, empathy, to be a companion in all aspects of existence. Sera was too distant, too perfect, to fulfill God's purpose. With great sadness, but also with much love, the Father of All decided to appoint her as his delegate, giving her a different purpose than she was originally intended for. She would make his wishes come true, also reducing the workload on her shoulders.

On the fifth day of creation, after bringing life to the creatures of the animal kingdom in the morning, God retired to his workshop with a handful of swan feathers, the eyes of a lynx, and the heart of a lioness. With infinite patience and meticulous dedication, he began assembling these elements one by one, shaping them with his divine power to form a new creation: Carmilla. This angel emerged as a unique and exceptional creation in her own essence. Although she shared certain traits with Sera, she possessed a great capacity to love, and to hate at the same time. That's why he bestowed upon her the gift of creating life.

"Where art I?" she asked fearfully.

"This is my workshop, and thou art my creation," God replied, helping her to her delicate feet. "Thou canst call me Father."

"Father?" The angel observed her wings flutter, analyzed her silver hair, and saw her fingers move in front of her eyes. "What am I exactly?"

"Thou art an angel, my dear. Thou art my vineyard, my garden, my Carmilla." He then helped her walk, fascinated by her elegance. "Come, I want to introduce thee to someone."

God, captivated by what he had created and not wanting to part from her, placed Carmilla alongside Sera to be her support. However, mere hours later, the difference between Sera's serenity and Carmilla's burning passion triggered a latent conflict between them. One, believing herself superior just for being older, wanted to impose her will, while the second was unwilling to obey without a true reason. God chose not to punish them and took another route, deciding to give birth to a new angel, one whose beauty and power would rival even the heavens themselves: Lucifer. He was a free-spirited and dreamy spirit, destined to maintain peace among his sisters, though not among the other angels. While there were those who admired him fervently, like Araziel, there were others who despised him, such as Michael.

God, calm to see that the most important work was done, delegated to Sera and the elders of heaven the task of finishing his great project. With the very dust of the earth, the Elders of Heaven created Adam and Lilith, based on the sketches provided by the King. These new beings, meticulously crafted with love, were presented as the supreme culmination of creation. Adam, molded in the image and likeness of the gods, was imbued with wisdom and strength, while Lilith, equally magnificent, possessed beauty and unparalleled skill. All felt they had fulfilled the expectations of their Lord, but it wasn't long before Lilith decided not to submit to Adam and escaped from Eden. With indomitable determination, she defied the expectations imposed upon her and sought the freedom she fervently desired. Her act of rebellion shook the foundations of paradise and unleashed a conflict that would resonate throughout heaven and earth.

"Dad's design failed," Sera said as the three siblings gathered in the great hall weeks after the event. "She was supposed to stay with Adam. I don't understand."

"Adam is an idiot, who would want to be with him?" Carmilla opined honestly. "He hath no right to rule over her, no one should."

"I agree, Sera," Lucifer intervened with a understanding smile. "After all, love and free will are the foundations of our existence here in heaven."

"But not on earth, brother. Humans are too simple to know what to do with it, and that's why we've set rules," Sera said, looking at herself in the mirror, determined to do what she considered to be God's word. "Lucifer, go for Lilith and bring her back to Eden. She must fulfill her role as the mother of humanity."

"Sera, art thou sure that's the right thing to do?" Lucifer questioned with a doubtful expression on his face as he received the order from his older sister.

"'Tis necessary, or else Dad's dream will be shattered," Sera replied firmly, her voice resonating in the celestial hall.

It was at that precise moment when Lucifer descended into the underworld, finding in Lilith an echo of the passion and rebellion that he so admired in Carmilla. Fascinated by Lilith's freedom and determination, Lucifer was carried away by his feelings, becoming irretrievably attached to that woman of indomitable spirit. Sera, perceiving this as an act of impersonal irreverence, decided to take drastic measures. She took the sketch discarded by her father and created Eve, a figure that reflected her own serenity and obedience. Eve was the embodiment of everything Sera considered right and virtuous, destined to be the perfect counterpart to Lilith. She never imagined it would backfire.

United in their desire to share this emotion, Lucifer and Lilith sought to offer the fruit of knowledge to Adam's new wife, Eve, without understanding the consequences of their actions. In their attempt to open her eyes to the world beyond blind submission, they allowed evil to spread its roots on earth. Sera watched with consternation as events unfolded, as did the other celestial beings, and sent a group of angels to assess the damage. However, the rift proved to be too extensive, and there was no way to close it.

Faced with such a threat, Sera held a trial, which reached the consensus to eradicate those who caused so much chaos. Carmilla, overcome with anguish and desperation, stood in Miguel's way, seeking to stop the bloodshed among their own.

"Move, Carmilla," ordered Miguel.

"I won't. My father wouldn't want this."

"He doesn't deserve his mercy. He destroyed your father's work, our work!"

"Miguel, please. There must be another way to solve this, he's my brother." She thought for a moment, seeing the pain in Carmilla's eyes.

"Just because thou ask, I'll propose changing the punishment to something less severe." Carmilla sighed with relief. "But I warn thee, whatever the new order is, thou'll be responsible for carrying it out."

Miguel stepped back, leaving Carmilla with a lump in her throat. Lucifer, unaware of the crime he was accused of, continued with his life as if nothing had happened, but he felt the gaze of reproach from the other angels. He knew he had made a mistake, but he didn't know how to fix it.

Lucifer walked through the bustling streets of the celestial city, ignoring the murmurs and accusing glances that surrounded him. He knew everyone was aware of what he had done, and the weight of guilt and remorse accompanied him with every step. Finally, he arrived at the home he shared with his sisters, a refuge amidst the turmoil of heaven. Without a word, he made his way to his chamber and lay down on his bed, letting the silence envelop his troubled soul. Tears threatened to surface, but Lucifer forced himself to hold them back. He knew he had made irreparable mistakes, and now he had to face the consequences of his actions. In the stillness of his chamber, he was alone with his thoughts, grappling with his internal conflicts as he plunged into a sea of regret and anguish.

"Wait, Lilith," he thought then, a spark of concern crossing his tormented mind. He knew that whatever punishment he received, she would suffer it too. He couldn't allow his beloved to be harmed, no matter the cost. Quickly, Lucifer stood up, unwilling to waste another second, and sought out his closest friends, Araziel and Zestial, knowing he needed their support. Together, they gathered in the privacy of their home, ready to assess their options and chart a course of action.

Araziel, known for his rebellious spirit and his love for chaos, proposed the idea of recruiting disgruntled angels dissatisfied with the rigid celestial order, those who yearned for change and were willing to follow Lucifer in his quest for justice and freedom. Zestial, with his unwavering loyalty and serene wisdom, vehemently nodded in agreement, backing Araziel's proposal. Together, the three began to devise a plan to recruit followers, preparing to face whatever would come their way.

Several days of hard work and dedication passed, during which they managed to gain the support of a third of heaven, angels who shared their discontent with the established order and longed for radical change. However, someone crucial was still missing, someone whose endorsement was vital for the success of their cause. Lucifer fervently desired to have Carmilla by his side in this struggle, for despite everything, she had always been there for him. He knew the power of his sister and her influence over other angels; she was a commander, second only to Michael.

One afternoon, he approached Carmilla, hoping to convince her to join them in their crusade. However, upon presenting his proposal, he realized that things wouldn't be as easy as he had hoped. Carmilla, far from showing enthusiasm or support, looked at him with a mixture of sadness and determination in her eyes.

"Lucifer, I cannot do it," Carmilla whispered, her voice trembling, feeling the overwhelming weight of responsibility upon her. "If thou risest against heaven, I shall be obliged to face thee. I do not want that, brother, please, do not force me down that path."

"I thought no one gives thee orders. Why dost thou obey now?" Lucifer inquired.

"Because thou art not giving me choices," she replied, tears welling up, on the verge of collapse. "They shall send thee to hell, Lucifer. Thee, and Lilith, and if thou startest this senseless war, also thy friends."

"Then so be it, but I shall not be subdued without a fight."

The battle erupted in heaven once the rebellion began, with the sound of wings unfurling and the clash of swords resonating in the air. Lucifer led, alongside hundreds of angels who had joined his cause, defying the tyranny of Sera and the elders of heaven. On the other hand, Michael, the mightiest of the archangels, rose as the principal defender of the celestial order, supported by legions of faithful angels who fought ferociously, including Carmilla.

The confrontation between Lucifer and Michael was epic, a clash of titans that shook the universe. Both warriors faced each other with fierce determination, each blow and parry resonating with the intensity of a thousand thunders. Despite Lucifer's courage and skill, he was finally overcome by Michael's imposing strength and ability. In the midst of the chaos, Michael lunged at the dreamer with the intention of ending him once and for all, ignoring direct orders. Carmilla, witnessing this, stepped between the two with speed, and the clash of her lance against Michael's body was terrifying. The weapon pierced Michael's chest, and a gut-wrenching scream echoed in the heavens as he fell to the ground, fatally wounded. Quickly, Lucifer seized the lance, feeling the weight of responsibility and anger burning within him.

With a quick and decisive movement, Lucifer turned to Carmilla and said:

"Now 'tis my turn to protect thee." All witnesses blamed Lucifer for that crime.

"Forgive me for not being able to do more."

With Michael's death, Carmilla assumed the role of Commander-in-Chief of the army, and as her first task, she had to finish what Michael started. Out of pity, she sent all the rebels to hell, bidding farewell to her brother with a cold look, unable to show any other emotion. She knew that this was the only way to keep him safe; as long as she was in command of the army, no one would harm him.

[itskenickie]

Gendrya Masterlist

The list is from newest to oldest.

When I'm With You

“Got room for one more?” The sudden and unexpected voice made Arya to sharply turn around. Her eyes widened at the figure standing before her with a cocky smirk, “Gendry? What are you doing here?”

can you feel the things I feel right now with you

“You’ll be sorry!” Gendry wasn’t afraid of Daenerys and her empty threat. She is powerless without her dragons and he doubts that Jon and his sisters would allow for his execution solely for rejecting the title of a lord.

The Bull and The Wolf

It was Tryion, who was hidden behind a large chair in front of the fire, still drunk out of his mind from the feast earlier, who spoke up, “I do believe the hound meant that mating season had come early for the wolf and the bull.”

I Think Your Love Would Be Too Much

It had been too long. Too long from being away from Arya. He missed her so much.

M'lady

When Arya Stark walked out of the forge after showing Gendry her wish, she felt like she could breathe again. Like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She was expecting many things once she returned to Winterfell; reuniting with her siblings, avenging her deceased family and protecting her land. But she never thought that she would reunite with Gendry.

Pen Pal

Arya signs up for a pen pal because Mademoiselle Margaery says so.

Pink

The love of his life is his best friend’s sister. She was the tiny girl with a lot of spunk who played football and the guitar. She also loved getting down and dirty while fixing up cars. And, Gendry is going to be cringy for a bit, she was the emo princess of his dreams.

Him

The sound of Valyrian steel swords crunching through the bones of White Walkers was all that Gendry could hear for they were louder than the cries of the dying men.

Scar Tissue

His hold around her tighten and right when he noticed she was about to doze off, he kissed her head gently and closed his own eyes. Thoughts of Winterfell and Arya on his mind.

3 times arya stark wasn't scared and the one time she was

Lommy, Hot-Pie and Podrick try to scare Arya.

Clueless

Arya met the strangest men while visiting her brother Jon up North.

A-Z

A list from A to Z on why Arya Stark loved Gendry Waters and vice versa.

Instagram Thirst

Just then, Arya’s phone beeped. Indicating that she had a new notification on her phone. She fished out the silver device from her phone and swiped on the notification which took her to Instagram and showed her a post from one of the accounts she followed who posted a new work out video. She smiled to herself, or she thought, while double tapping the screen and a big red heart appeared before her.

A Lady and A Smith

“You know, you’re just like your mother.” Gendry chuckled while twirling Lyanna. “How? I thought Ned looked like mommy and I looked like you?” Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

Prince Gendry

Gendry Baratheon. A man who is dubbed as the handsomest in all of the seven kingdoms. Rumor has it that when he was born, the first children had gifted him with eyes that were forged from a gemstone that was known as Blue Apatite.

Shy Encounters

The sunlight shining through the train's window illuminated her skin, making her glow, as if her skin were made of tiny diamonds.

The Titanic

The ship stood tall and grand at the harbor unlike anything Gendry has ever seen. The orange and black funnel of the ship almost covering the bright sun. A rare sunny day that bestows Winterfell. Basically, the Titanic AU that no body asked for in which Arya is Jack and Gendry is Rose.

Heaven

Sometime around the afternoon, Gendry was sitting on the white love couch with Arya’s head on his lap, his tanned fingers were running through her brown locks. Lips turning upwards at whatever it was on T.V that was making Arya laugh loudly. Those same tanned fingers then began tracing the thin arms when Arya quieted down from laughing. This is Gendry’s favorite way to spend his free time, watching his lover being happy. Laughing and smiling without worrying about the smallest of things. It made Gendry feel lightheaded from the amount of adoration he felt when watching his lover. Gendry heaved a pleased sigh as Arya laughed again.

[pristmaticrosevein]

Prismatic Rose AU (RWBY)

The poll chain is getting a little long and convoluted, so I created a new blog to hold everything.

The polls won't be a single answer. Instead I'll try to work all of the answers together, based off the number of votes each answer gets. If I can, of course.

Aura is present, but is more like DBZ power levels than how it functions in RWBY. A shot to the heart will be as fatal to a Human Huntsman as it would be to anyone else.

Firearms are regular firearms. Dust is instead used to craft weapons, like is alluded to by Ironwood, but never actually seen in the story.

Conclusions:

Jaune Arc

Humble Everydude

Jaune picks up a Broken Sword, his power repairs his sword, can generate a shield, and armour.

When depressed or in a deep fury his sword stays broken, and his armour is rusted. He is nearly invincible, but lacks any real control.

When happy, he literally glows from the light he emits.

Later learns to use and even combine both.

Attacked by Grimm, saved by Ruby. The Grimm was a Gryphon and a number of Beowulves.

Genre: Dark Souls

Ruby Rose

Werewolf: She learns to control her Human / Wolf forms.

Eventually unlocks a middle Wolfen form.

Silver Eyes: Her silver eyes are part of her Werewolf curse, from her connection to the moon. Eventually allows her to dispel darkness and inflict Lunacy.

Strongly dislikes bright sunlight, finding it oppressive. Will hide under her red hood in bright daylight.

Dislikes sitting around and doing nothing. As she learns to open up to her friends, hanging with them counts as doing something.

Dame Sister of the Order of the Sanguine Rose. Still a Novice, (no oath), but she was a Squire, and got her Accolade because of being a natural when fighting the forces of darkness.

Werewolves are normally turned over to the Church. Faith in God is the best way to gain control of their powers. Others can do so by living with wolf packs in the wilds, though they are rarely trusted.

Regeneration: Turned off with Silver, Fire, and direct sunlight. Indirect sunlight dims it. She's mostly fine in her cloak and hood, but better a night.

Extremely high metabolism. She can get blood thirsty if she doesn't eat, but sugar works extremely well. I.e. cookies are MANDATORY.

Pain causes her rage to ignite.

Shield of Faith and Miracle Die: 40K SoB reference. I'll explain if anyone asks.

Powered armour powered by prismatic energies. Summoned with transformation sequence. The catalyst for the transformation is a crescent moon broach with a deep red ruby.

Any equipment she holds while transforming gets turned into a magical girl version of it, like Ghost Rider.

Her scythe, Lunamaria, is made with a steel edge, and an iron blade inlaid with mythril and quicksilver. This allows her to defeat most dark foes without calling upon her moonfallen abilities.

Her Bolt Pistol, Lunalapina, uses custom made rounds, (made a lot easier with Dust forging equipment). She owns rounds customized to fight most dark things. Once converted, her mag changes use her prismatic energy to refill them. Think similar to Dante, but she still has to reload.

She can do something similar to Petal Burst while transformed, except more prismatic.

She can do a less conspicuous long-range teleportation that is guided by her faith, i.e. it cannot be used arbitrarily.

Pyrrha Nikos

A literal angel.

Angels are forbidden from most direct interventions. The exception is for the Creatures of Grimm, or other nefarious beings.

Angels can only whisper into your ear. Devils have the same restriction, but are not known for being good at following rules.

Often the intervention of angels will be perceived, (by the imperceptive), as luck. Others might see them in dreams.

Angels can only directly interact with people who have enough spiritual strength to fully perceive them.

She brought Ruby to save Jaune.

Weiss Schnee

Boreal Elf

Went to Thule University.

Major in Spellcrafting, the most difficult discipline that actually crafts new spells.

Magic affinities are Water, Wind, and Light.

Equipped with the mystical rapier Myrtenaster.

Can summon a Auroran Horse or a Kelpie. Auroran Horses work like Ruin from Darksiders, but made from light that blends into the darkness. Kelpies are water fey horses that are known for their... ill temperament. Will often act out against those that Weiss is irate with. Thoroughly enjoys chewing on Jaune's hair.

Minors in Fey summoning and economics.

Her main Fey summons are a Pixie, Will'o'Wisp, Banshee, and female Dullahan.

Her pixie is mischievous, much to Weiss' vexation. But, she'll only have fun with those Weiss holds dear. Otherwise, they might simply get lost in the woods.

Will'o'Wisps are incorporeal, and bear the water, wind, and light elements that Weiss is so wonderful with.

For those that don't know their Fey, Banshees are actually extremely loyal to their households. They are washer maids, and the wail is because their beloved family member is going to die. Her powers are water-based, along with a wail that can be modified to work in a wide variety of ways. He touch can chill, and her voice carries the wind.

Her Dullahan carries a great sword with a fluted tip in one hand, and can summon an Auroran horse to ride.

Her Dullahan is Nora, whom largely represents Weiss' desire to not have impulse control and selfishness. Naturally, they clash quite a big.

Her Pixie is Leanan Ren, a Leanan Sidhe. She largely represents Weiss's exceptionalism and selflessness. Her mistress, and her mistress' friends call her "Leeann."

When Leeann and Nora agree, and can convince Weiss, typically leads to epic bouts of violence.

Blake Belladonna

Nekomata (cat Youkai that can take Human form; known for being especially amorous).

Has Changeling blood, but must soon return to her original form.

The only form she is truly comfortable in is that of a black cat, or a black catgirl.

Can become amorphous, and crawl through the shadows, or strike out from them as tendrils. Learns to master greater abilities, think Shadow from DMC.

Class is Ninja, which is basically a Rogue with low-level magic.

Her Youkai blood provides basic shapeshifting. Her distant Changeling blood provides more advanced, though less stable shape shifting. Her Ninja abilities allow her to blend into shadow, briefly become intangible, or leave behind figments of her presence.

Yang Xiao Long

Dragon-blooded, from a Storm Dragon. Got it from Tai's side.

Appears Human.

Can learn to summon dragon features, such as claws, wings, scales, or a tail.

Can eventually learn to transform into a Storm Dragon, though she normally needs a LOT of rage to do so.

Her rage allows her to basically turn Super Saiyan. Which is basically just Yang's regular Semblance, but attached to someone as powerful as Vegeta.

Class is Stormclash Monk. Combines Monk with Bloodrager, with Storm-based spellcaster.

Weapons: Gauntlets, a stone sling, and an Iron Club. She can use all three as a catalyst for her lightning powers, and all count as monk weapons.

Ilia Amitola

Rainbow slime.

Before anyone, including her, knew that she was a sentient lifeform, Jaune finds her on the street and takes care of her.

After watching Jaune fail to flirt with Weiss, she realized she could adopt a Human-like form.

Despite attempts by Blake to convince her otherwise, she sees nothing wrong with being Jaune's pet. He has always taken such good care of her.

She is vexed that she is no longer allowed to sleep with her master. However, he hasn't shown any problem about napping with him if she does so in blob form.

Once Jaune unlocks his grandfather's broken sword, she quite insistently goes with him. He will comply if she does so in blob form, sitting on his shoulder, (and refusing to leave).

Ilia's main abilities are physical transformations, (think Kirby). This means she tends to transform into Jaune's weapons, particularily a rainbow wrecking ball.

She can also extend spikes are enemies trying to strike Jaune from outside his field of vision. He gets used to it to the point if she barely does something similar, he knows he needs to look in that direction.

A third main form is turning into a boulder that Jaune throws (rolls) at enemies.

She has low-level elemental abilities. Not as suitable for combat, but allows her to turn into a bbq.

Transforms into Jaune's left pauldron during combat.

Penny Polendina

Golem with the soul of Pietro's daughter attached. He was legitimately trying to save his daughter, though the means are not exactly generally accepted. Only Dwarves know how to do this, and most of them would completely refuse to do so.

All mana channels and ley chambres are internal.

Penny is an Artificer with a minor in Battle Augur. She can create animated combatants. She has a small host of magic abilities, but only learns attack spells through observation. Other than Magic Missile, but since Battle Augurs are basically Megaman, it's through an arm cannon.

Creates an army of myrmidons, (magic robots), along with tiny, fairy versions of them.

General James Ironwood

Known as the "King of Mantle" by Humans in almost seriousness, and affectionately by Dwarves as the "Mantle Piece".

As a General, he was given leave to seek out the Dwarves of Mountain Mantle. He succeeded, and this close relationship is what created modernity. Along with the Schnee Dust Company, (managed by Elves, with the mining done by Dwarves).

The bulk of his forces are Atlasian Dampjager, steam Dwarves. They are smaller and lighter, but fantastically stronger and more robust than adult Humans.

These are augmented by Atlasian Dampdragens, carbinemen riding Steam Destriers, Damp'hest Also known as D-tross. They are as strong as as a truck, and can cover terrain like a horse.

Avoided Soul-Bound Golems because of the inherent ethics, until the creation of Penny Polendina. Now, it is offered to soldiers who are dying or otherwise crippled. Kind of like Dreadnoughts from 40k.

Army uses D-tross-towed artillery.

Has two primary chicken walkers, the Cockatrix and Basilix. The Basilix isn't larger, but is more robust and heavily armoured. The Cockatrix is lighter, more mobile, and has limited hover capabilities.

Dwarves

Because you voted for my Dwarves from Ingir, so, how they work with the Prismatic Rose AU, and the technological development of the world. Need to do a poll on tech first.

Dwarves worked through the early steam era and went onto nuclear, which is still technically steam power. It was Humans, specifically Ironwood that developed the steam generator technology that made it actually useful.

They largely live underground now, not because they especially like it underground, but because their holds were always dug into cliff faces, and like everyone else, they spend most of their time in \doors, nowadays.

Dwarves don't view necromancy as inherently evil, but instead view it through the voluntary/involuntary lens.

This means that they have no problem with soul-bound golems, as long as the volunteer is willing.

Necromancy is also used to bring an ancestor's ghost for ongoing legal disputes. Ironwood earned the respect of all of the Dwarven tribes of Mountain Mantle because he manages to stay impartial for these disputes. He simply had to put aside his squeamishness about necromancy.

Moonfallen

Creatures that have fallen to darkness in the shadow of the moon. The moon reflects light from the sun, and as such is both the basis of the power of the dark creatures, and their bane. The shattered moon remnant of the disaster that created them.

Angel, Fallen

Fey, Unseelie (also Fallen)

Liches

Necromancers

Skeletons

Succubus/Incubus

Vampire

Werewolf

Witch, Black

Creatures of Grimm

Creatures of shadow and enmity.

As enmity builds in an area, a Grimm Fragment is created. This is not visible to those without Shadowsight.

If enough enmity is unleashed at the same time, a Grimm Fragment can be boosted into a full-fledged Grimm.

More commonly, nefarious beings use the Fragments to create Creatures of Grimm to do their bidding, (hopefully).

Some less than ethnical magic users can try to use this as a power source. It can work, or it can create a Creature of Grimm.

When a Creature of Grimm is spotted, it triggers an investigation.

Huntsmen and Huntresses

Those licensed to hunt Creatures of Grimm and/or Moonfallen.

Some are lone vagabonds, others join fraternities or orders-militant.

While fraternities and orders normally have their own rules of conduct, without them Huntsmen are defacto, and often dejure, immune to all by the most heinous of laws.

This is both out of privilege, and out of practicality. On one hand, you want the Huntsman hunting. On the other, trying to bring a Huntsman to trial, unwillingly, is a harrowing ordeal for everyone involved. The Church's Inquisition typically handles rogue Huntsmen.

Because of this, disreputable Huntsmen will often be shunned by most of society.

(CLOSED)

[richincolor]

We've found quite a variety of books being released today. There is romance, fantasy, music, murder, and more in the pages of these books. What will you add to your TBR pile?

Wild Dreamers by Margarita Engle Atheneum Books for Young Readers

In this stirring young adult romance from award-winning author Margarita Engle, love and conservation intertwine as two teens fight to protect wildlife and heal from their troubled pasts.

Ana and her mother have been living out of their car ever since her militant father became one of the FBI’s most wanted. Leandro has struggled with debilitating anxiety since his family fled Cuba on a perilous raft.

One moonlit night, in a wilderness park in California, Ana and Leandro meet. Their connection is instant—a shared radiance that feels both scientific and magical. Then they discover they are not a huge mountain lion stalks through the trees, one of many wild animals whose habitat has been threatened by humans.

Determined to make a difference, Ana and Leandro start a rewilding club at their school, working with scientists to build wildlife crossings that can help mountain lions find one another. If pumas can find their way to a better tomorrow, surely Ana and Leandro can too.

Saint-Seducing Gold (Forge & Fracture Saga #2) by Brittany N. Williams Amulet Books

The second book in the stunning YA historical fantasy trilogy that New York Times bestselling author Ayana Gray called “nothing short of spectacular”

There’s danger in the court of James I. Magical metal-worker Joan Sands must reforge the Pact between humanity and the Fae to stop the looming war. As violence erupts across London and the murderous spymaster Robert Cecil closes in, the Fae queen Titanea coerces Joan into joining the royal court while holding her godfather prisoner in the infamous Tower of London. Now Joan will have to survive deadly machinations both magical and mortal all while balancing the magnetic pull of her two loves—Rose and Nick—before the world as she knows it is destroyed forever.

Off With Their Heads by Zoe Hana Mikuta Disney Hyperion

Fans of Chloe Gong and Judy I. Lin will devour this Korean-inspired Alice in Wonderland retelling about two very wicked girls, forever bonded by blood and betrayal . . .

In a world where Saints are monsters and Wonderland is the dark forest where they lurk, it’s been five years since young witches and lovers Caro Rabbit and Iccadora Alice Sickle were both sentenced to that forest for a crime they didn’t commit—and four years since they shattered one another’s hearts, each willing to sacrifice the other for a chance at freedom.

Now, Caro is a successful royal Saint-harvester, living the high life in the glittering capital and pretending not to know of the twisted monster experiments that her beloved Red Queen hides deep in the bowels of the palace. But for Icca, the memory of Caro’s betrayal has hardened her from timid girl to ruthless hunter. A hunter who will stop at nothing to exact her On Caro. On the queen. On the throne itself.

But there’s a secret about the Saints the Queen’s been guarding, and a volatile magic at play even more dangerous to Icca and Caro than they are to each other…

Lush, terrifying, and uncanny, Zoe Hana Mikuta—author of Gearbreakers and Godslayers —takes a delicate knife straight through the heart of this beloved surrealist fairytale.

Kill Her Twice by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers

Los Angeles, 1932: Lulu Wong, star of the silver screen and the pride of Chinatown, has a face known to practically anyone, especially to the Chow sisters—May, Gemma, and Peony—Lulu’s former classmates and neighbors. So the girls instantly know it’s Lulu whose body they discover one morning in an out-of-the-way stable, far from the Beverly Hills mansion where she moved once her fame skyrocketed.

The sisters suspect Lulu’s death is the result of foul play, but the LAPD—known for being corrupt to the core—doesn’t seem motivated to investigate. Even worse, there are signs that point to the possibility of a police cover-up, and powerful forces in the city want to frame the killing as evidence that Chinatown is a den of iniquity and crime, even more reason it should be demolished to make room for the construction of a new railway depot, Union Station.

Worried that neither the police nor the papers will treat a Chinese girl fairly—no matter how famous and wealthy—the sisters set out to solve their friend’s murder themselves, and maybe save their neighborhood in the bargain. But with Lulu’s killer still on the loose, the girls’ investigation just might put them square in the crosshairs of a coldblooded murderer.

Punk Rock Karaoke by Bianca Xunise Viking Books for Young Readers

When life gives you guitars, smash them!

School is out for summer and Ariel Grace Jones is determined to make it one for the books! Together with their bestie bandmates, Michele and Gael, Ariel believes they’re destined to break into the music industry and out of Chicago’s Southside by singing lead in their garage punk band, Baby Hares.

But before Baby Hares can officially get into the groove, the realities of post grad life start to weigh on this crew of misfits. Ari begins to worry that it’s time to pull the plug on their dreams of making it big.

Just when all hope feels lost, a fellow punk and local icon takes an interest in their talent. It seems like he might be the only one Ariel can rely on as frustrations between bandmates reach at an all-time high.

Punk Rock Karaoke is a coming-of-age tale that draws upon the explosive joy of the underground scene, while raising questions about authenticity, the importance of community and what it means to succeed on your own terms.

Song of the Six Realms by Judy I. Lin Feiwel & Friends

Xue, a talented young musician, has no past and probably no future. Orphaned at a young age, her kindly poet uncle took her in and arranged for an apprenticeship at one of the most esteemed entertainment houses in the kingdom. She doesn’t remember much from before entering the House of Flowing Water, and when her uncle is suddenly killed in a bandit attack, she is devastated to lose her last connection to a life outside of her indenture contract.

With no family and no patron, Xue is facing the possibility of a lifetime of servitude playing the qin for nobles that praise her talent with one breath and sneer at her lowly social status with the next. Then one night she is unexpectedly called to the garden to put on a private performance for the enigmatic Duke Meng. The young man is strangely kind and awkward for nobility, and surprises Xue further with an irresistible offer: serve as a musician in residence at his manor for one year, and he’ll set her free of her indenture.

But the Duke’s motives become increasingly more suspect when he and Xue barely survive an attack by a nightmarish monster, and when he whisks her away to his estate, she discovers he’s not just some country noble: He’s the Duke of Dreams, one of the divine rulers of the Celestial Realm. There she learns the Six Realms are on the brink of disaster, and incursions by demonic beasts are growing more frequent.

The Duke needs Xue’s help to unlock memories from her past that could hold the answers to how to stop the impending war… but first Xue will need to survive being the target of every monster and deity in the Six Realms.

Blood Justice (Blood Debts #2) by Terry J. Benton-Walker Tor Teen

Cristina and Clement Trudeau have conjured the impossible: justice.

They took back their family’s stolen throne to lead New Orleans’ magical community into the brighter future they all deserve.

But when Cris and Clem restored their family power, Valentina Savant lost everything. Her beloved grandparents are gone and her sovereignty has been revoked—she will never be Queen. Unless, of course, someone dethrones the Trudeaus again. And lucky for her, she’s not the only one trying to take them down.

Cris and Clem have enemies coming at them from all directions: Hateful anti-magic protesters sabotage their reign at every turn. A ruthless detective with a personal vendetta against magical crime is hot on their tail just as Cris has discovered her thirst for revenge. And a brutal god, hunting from the shadows, is summoned by the very power Clem needs to protect the boy he loves.

Cris’s hunger for vengeance and Clem’s desire for love could prove to be their family’s downfall, all while new murders, shocking disappearances, and impossible alliances are changing the game forever.

Welcome back to New Orleans, where gods walk among us and justice isn’t served, it’s taken.