#kalki fic

[rambheem-is-real]

Bujji's Analysis

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Bujji's thoughts on Karnafied Bhairava, postcanon

Can be read as ship or gen

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Hypothesis:

This Bhairava was not her Bhairava. Not since their trip into Shambala, not since they had gone through all the trouble of securing the bounty and the pregnant woman had somehow escaped, not since Bhairava had, for some reason, murdered Commander Manas. 

Of course, BU-JZ-1 was an AI. The smartest there was, she liked to assume. And she had been observing, analyzing, and learning about Bhairava for about two years now, ever since that fateful day he picked her out of Kasi’s scrapyard. Bujji knew Bhairava, had guessed exactly what would happen when he started talking to Commander Manas after the fight with the grumpy old man who had the nerve to pummel Bhairava into the dust, and step on her beautiful engine. But after Shambala’s destruction, it was almost as if there was another person inside him, with a completely different personality. 

Bujji was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. 

Observation 1:

This Bhairava was more quiet. When she was actively engaging him in a discussion or teasing him to elicit more of his funny human responses, Bhairava was as loud and annoying and brash as usual. But when there was no one around, save Bujji’s own artificial eyes plugged secretly into the security cameras, he was… quiet. Contemplating. Thinking. 

Scary traits for him to have. 

While her partner definitely had formidable physical strength and a stubborn streak that rivaled even hers, she wouldn’t trust him to find his way out of a paper bag. Between the two of them, Bujji was definitely the brains. Of course, Bhairava would probably disagree, but that would be the perfect evidence to prove her point. 

But this new Bhairava spent most of his time in Rajan’s house. He had gotten a separate cot, and slept on the floor. Sometimes, he even meditated. Cross-legged, eyes closed, quiet as a feather. Even Rajan was stunned the first time he saw it, before he walked away muttering something about him never being able to understand the kid. Bujji had never seen him act this way, never saw him missing an opportunity to annoy Rajan. 

Observation 2:

Bhairava didn’t remember basic information about his world. Oftentimes, Bujji would find him going through his drawers, taking out spare parts, souvenirs, things Bhairava always denied stealing, and just… observing them. Turning them this way and the other, testing their functionality. As if he’d never seen them before. 

Other times he’d take a bite of whatever lunch he brought home and grimace at the taste. This wasn’t new, Bhairava had always longed for luxury (and he had gotten much worse since that annoying situationship of his brought him to the Complex, as if he could even stay there for a day without getting himself kicked out). But what was new was the feeling of surprise. As if with every food he tried he expected it to taste good. Bujji might be an AI, but even she knew half of the stuff being sold on Kasi’s streets were inedible, not even factoring in the poisonous air. Bhairava had grown up outside the Complex his whole life, he shouldn’t have been surprised at anything, let alone the taste of the shrimp noodles he had almost every week. And speaking of the shrimp noodles, he had attempted to eat them with his bare hands before shaking himself out of it and picking up the chopsticks. 

Observation 3:

Bhairava and the old man were on friendly terms. 

He let the old man go. And he killed Commander Manas. The same old man he was hellbent on destroying just weeks ago, and the same Commander Manas he so desperately believed would let him back into the Complex.

Not that Bujji was complaining about Commander Manas’ death, but she had assumed Bhairava would at least be smart enough to leverage that to his advantage, to use his stone to infiltrate the Complex as Commander Manas. Surely the man did nothing important up in his office. 

Bhairava hadn’t done that. He had just gone and killed the man, riding the ships in a way that she had never seen him do before. And then came home like nothing happened. When she pressed him for why he did it, Bhairava just looked confused, and said he didn’t really know either. 

Later, when Bujji showed him a map of where there were leads for the old man and the lab woman, Bhairava stared wistfully at the blinking dot representing the old man’s location, before destroying the datapad containing the map. Then he had turned and started talking about his lollipop cravings as if nothing happened. Bujji had been too stunned to ask why he didn’t want to hunt the woman down and get his bounty, but later on she had replayed the footage of what happened in Shambala for herself. The old man seemed to recognize Bhairava, calling him his ‘friend’. While Bhairava never responded, his actions confirmed, to Bujji, that he felt the same for the old man. 

Analysis:

Why was he acting so weird? Why couldn’t he remember things? Why did he, somehow, feel affection for the scary old man?

If Bhairava had been synthetic, Bujji would have surged through his 0s and 1s, searching for whatever malware was stuck in his code. Alas, he was human, those masses of flesh that were somehow weak and strong at the same time. Nothing in the medical databases she queried had answers to what was wrong with Bhairava, especially since most of the time he spent with her he acted like his usual self. So she would have to get hands-on, metaphorically. 

She had a strong feeling the old man had everything to do with Bhairava’s problem. 

Conclusion:

The old man had bewitched her Bhairava. Being an AI, she wasn’t versed in weapons of magical natures, so it would make sense that she hadn’t recognized the man casting a spell on Bhairava. It would also explain why none of the scientific documents she had parsed through provided conditions that fit Bhairava’s symptoms. Yes, that was it. She would go to the old man herself, leaving Bhairava at home for safety. There was no way he could bewitch an AI, so she would be safe. Somehow, she’d force him to fix her Bhairava. 

Bujji hated the plan. It had too many loose ends, and she didn’t know or understand magic. It was a very Bhairava-style plan. But she had to save her partner. 

She rechecks the backup she had made of the map containing the old man’s possible whereabouts, and the name/alias he was using: Ashwatthama. Before Bhairava had destroyed it, the map was showing that he was somewhere in the mountains between Kasi and Shambala. Watch out, Asshole-tthama, she thinks to herself. BU-JZ-1 is coming for you, and it will get you to fix its partner any way it can. 

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tagging those i've seen post about kalki and some of the people liking the bhairava/bujji post: @mahi-wayy @chitrapatangh @vijayasena @maraudersbitchesassemble @khushireadsandrambles @idlebirdsparagon lmk if any of you don't want to be on here

[myvarya]

~The Unspoken Vow~

-Kalki x FemOc-

Introduction:

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It was a regular day, people doing their labour, bounty hunters running here and there to catch the victims. It was a usual sight for the people in Kashi. They say it was the first city in the world to appear, and was famous for its beautiful temples, now even if you try to even hear the name of god, you won't be able to.

The city was bustling with sellers shouting, some were selling things that were supplied from the complex, some were selling human slaves.

Between the crowd a girl was sneaking secretly, so nobody could detect her. She secretly went to one of the stalls and sneakily stole one banana, and a fresh bottle of water. When she tried to sneak away she heard “Hey the total is 5000 units, pay and then take it!” she immediately stopped and turned around to see a bulky man, with a long beard and a pot belly, he is scary. She gulped and started running for her life.

It was not her first time stealing, hell she even stole from the complex, but always had that nervous feeling while doing that, she didn't want to get caught, she knew what happened to those who were caught, she didn't want that fate.

While running she entered an alleyway, bumping into people didn't stop her, she still ran. What she didn't see was that a tall man, and bumped into his chest. She was waiting for fall but didn't feel the impact, but she felt an arm wrapping around her waist. She opened her eyes to see two beautiful brown orbs, the most beautiful browns to ever come in contact with.

Her trance broke when she heard a shout, that pot belly was still behind her. She was about to run, when that man stopped her still looking at her. “Leave me..!” she wishper shouted. That man put hand on his chest and said “Hayee..” and as if he was about to faint. She looked at him weirded out.

“HEY YOU THIEF!” she heard a loud shout only to see the man, he was looking dangerous, she again gulped, she hadn't even eaten the food she stole from the stall. She is not ready to die. She was trying to get the grip of the man she bumped into.

“you had the audacity to run away with things that are way more valuable than your life!" The stall owner shouted. “I...I..” she stuttered, “Cat got you tongue huh!” he started coming closer to her. But was stopped by the man she bumped into, “Leave her she is with me.,” “I don't care, she stole things that are valuable for me, if she doesn't have the money..” the man took a look at her. “She has a really pretty face, she can work as a slave to pay off to the debt.” he completed smirking disgustingly.

By the time he completed the sentence, he was punched in the face by the mysterious man, and was held by the collar, the man gulped and said “listen I will pay 5000 units for her, you take the units I take the girl?” he said nervously and smiled.

The man again looked at the girl, who..who enchanted his heart, Nope he is not letting her go. Without looking at the man he punched him in the head, only to make him unconscious.

The girl wide eyed was surprised, the mysterious man slowly walked towards her, smiling like an idiot. “I let go of 5000 units for you, remember you are going to pay me the double amount of that..” he said bending a little, because she was short according to him.

She was still weirded out by the stranger, leaned away, he put a strand of her hair behind her ear, that was disturbing him to take a look at her features, “I am Bhairava..” whispered his name,

“Priya... Supriya..” she answered back.

So umm this was the introduction, I really don't know if people are going to read it, if it doesn't reach the audience, it's ok, I will post it on Wattpad.

If anybody likes it let me know if they want another chapter. And also it my first time on Tumblr so I am new to these things.

Mastelist. Chapter 1.

(unedited)

[witheredoffherwitch]

I will probably talk about it again once my ban's lifted, but if someone is craving for a good old Lucemond (Aemond/fem!Lucerys) fic, please check this one out:

Three chapters long and utterly splendid, don't miss out on this gem even for a second! I'm shouting it from the rooftops: highly-recommended!

[witheredoffherwitch]

This has to be one of the most captivating SMUT I've ever read! This was so delectably hot, depraved and all the more delicious to read. Absolutely brilliant! 🤌😘

I was halfway crying, cringing, and downright amused at some of the characters' pathetic showing (Aegon?), yet wildly entertained by it all! This was a wild ride; HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! It goes straight to the top of my list. 🫶

SINFUL REVENGE.

Aemond Targaryen x little sister!Reader/ Aegon II Targaryen x little sister!Reader

After catching Aegon with a servant girl between his legs, you found a way to put him back in his place.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; dub/non-con, p in v, oral (fem receiving), voyeurism, canon typical incest/targcest, humiliating, degrading, cum eating, jealous Aemond Targaryen

WORDS: 1.9 K

It was one of the many evenings where your mother had caught Aegon sitting in your marital chambers with a servant girl between his legs, repeatedly choking her with his cock. And while there was not one fiber of your body that felt something like love for him, your husband, it annoyed you he chose to fuck everything with two legs, except for you - more because it bruised your ego, not because you truly desired him. 

You were the second choice, when it came to marrying Aegon, however, your older sister Helaena was snatched away as the Wolf of the North came to the capital, finding a certain liking in her and taking her to the North with him. 

All your life, you grew up with the knowledge of marrying your older twin brother Aemond, and you and him were not unwilling to play your part in your parents scheming and your House's customs. 

After your wedding to Aegon, however, Aemond and you had taken matters into your own hands. Where Aegon did not touch you after you consummated the marriage, Aemond did - at every chance he got. 

But you couldn't say that your current position was not… exciting you. 

Your head was lying in Aegon’s lap with him being completely naked, while Aemond was pounding into you, practically assaulting your womanhood. 

Once supper had ended, Aemond retrieved back to his chambers with you following shortly after using one of the secret pathways of Maegor’s Holdfast. Aegon, surprisingly, stormed into Aemond’s chambers not long after you two had started undressing each other, and stood in the door more amused than shocked. 

You always were hot-blooded and had quite the sharp tongue, so it was an easy game for you to crush every sense of superiority your husband had felt upon the intrusion - the built up anger and frustration about your failed marriage clearly playing its part in it, too. 

The rapid thrumming of your heart ringing in your ears and the adrenaline that filled your body played a huge role in you not knowing how you got into that position - and you definitely did not know what got into your twin brother to allow it in the first place. 

Aemond was possessive and far from enjoying sharing whatever he had claimed as his, but it probably had something to do with him getting his revenge on his older brother for stealing you from him. A bruised ego and a broken heart definitely did not go well together. 

If it wasn’t for Aegon’s hard cock pressing into the back of your neck, you would’ve thought he was not comfortable with watching Aemond taking you. A slight blush covered his otherwise pale skin, and he never kept his eyes on you both for a longer period - always drifting from where you were connected to other parts of your body, or even the floor. 

He did not know where to look because Aemond made it seem easy as anything as his curved member eased into you, Aegon’s wife, causing you to arch and moan on the settle and against the elder’s body. Wanton noises of pleasure left your lips as your twin brother filled you, all while Aegon had to process that his little brother was very well endowed . 

Much to your husband’s disliking, you had forbidden him to touch himself, because he had not earned that reward - not when he always chose to stick his cock into the cunt of the next best whore and not yours. 

Aemond’s pent up anger was only palpable in the way he forced his cock into your tight core, otherwise he held a surprisingly cute look of intense concentration on his face, obviously wanting to perform well enough to rub your pleasure into your brother’s face. 

As Aegon once again decided to turn his head away from you, you had enough and roughly grabbed his face with one hand, forcing it back into your direction. “Watch, Aegon,” you commanded, your voice tinted with a hint of sharpness that usually only belonged to the baritone voices of either your father or uncle; the tone that made clear it was not a request but a demand. “Watch how good Aemond is making me feel. Watch how he takes what rightfully belongs to you.” The older Targaryen only squirmed in his seat but proceeded to keep his lilac eyes glued to where his brother’s cock repeatedly disappeared into your tight heat. 

“Tis how a man is supposed to take care of his wife,“ Aemond all but spat the words, his jealousy perfectly audible, reaching to clasp his hand around your throat and inevitably pressed your head further into Aegon‘s lap. You moaned in return, and it was difficult not to notice Aegon‘s cock throbbing at the sound. 

Aegon must’ve tried to touch either you or himself, because the tsking of Aemond was loud enough to cause him to flinch. That movement had you chuckling, because you found humor in how different your brother was acting in contrast to his usual, cocky self. Right now, he was nothing more than a pathetic man that was forced to watch his wife being taken by another - and finding his own pleasure in it. 

���Do you see how wet she is for me, brother?” Aemond bragged, pride laced within his voice. “Pray tell, was she just as wet for you during your bedding?”

The moan you released at Aemond’s shameless teasing maybe was a tad exaggerated, however, it was impressing you how well he handled the situation, his current demeanor the complete opposite to how he usually behaved. 

Aemond’s member hit you deep enough to brush the spot inside of you that had your jaw slacken, the familiar knot tightening in your belly and snapping when his fingers began rubbing the sensitive bud at the apex between your legs. 

The way your walls convulsed all over Aemond’s cock, with you releasing the sweetest and most desperate sounds both your brother’s had ever heard, seemed to trigger his own peak, and shortly after, he was spending himself inside of your quivering walls.   

The pleasure was almost too much for you to handle, and you barely registered the quiet whines that left your eldest brother’s lips at the sight - and feeling - of your pleasure rippling through your body. 

You always relished in the feeling of Aemond’s seed filling you up, more so when he continued to fuck you through his peak, the majority of his spent slowly oozing out of your assaulted womanhood and down your arse as he eventually pulled out. 

But then an idea came to your mind. 

As you tipped your head back and batted your eyelashes at the man whose lap your head rested in, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling wickedly up at him. Aegon’s silver curls were disheveled despite not doing much, and the slight pink on his cheeks had deepened to crimson, covering his cheeks and even running down his neck. 

Yet his lilac eyes were dark blown at the same time, fixed with your matching pair. 

“Get over there and clean me up, husband ,“ you spoke the name in a condescending manner, commanding him. “Clean up Aemond‘s seed.“

When Aegon obeyed without objection, gently placing your head in the pillows on the settle and walking around to kneel between your parted legs, you met the wide eye of Aemond, his cocked eyebrow perfectly showing what he was thinking, ‘Are you serious? ‘ 

But instead of taking a cloth to clean himself up, Aemond stopped in his tracks and peaked over his older brother’s shoulders in curiosity as his tongue licked a flat stripe from your entrance to your sensitive bud, the motion causing you to shudder. 

A husky groan caught your attention, and if it wasn't for Aemond’s chest rising with each labored breath he took, you would’ve mistaken the sound to come from Aegon instead, only reassured by the realization that his mouth was occupied with lapping at your mound, and all sounds that threatened to escape his lips were muffled by your warm flesh. 

As your eyes flickered back to Aemond’s to search for his reassurance, you spotted his hand being clasped around his semi erect member, working himself to full hardness at the sight of Aegon’s mouth on your womanhood and how your body keened at the stimulation.

Despite the resentment you felt towards Aegon, you were making the sweetest sounds for both of them - after all your brother had certainly learned how to put his mouth to good use during all the hours he spent in the Street of Silk.

The lewd smacking noises of his tongue plunging in and out of your entrance soon filled the thick silence within your twin‘s chambers, and somehow were enough to spur you on - a sudden surge of boldness running through your veins. 

You buried your hands in the mop of silver-blonde curls, not-so-gently tugging on the soft strands and using them as reins to guide you where you wanted him most. Aegon groaned against your cunt in return, and proceeded to lick you clean with newfound vigor.

“Do you like that, Aegon?“ You moaned over the sound of wet squelching, rutting your hips against his face as his tongue flicked against your pearl. “Do you like lapping up another man‘s seed? To clean your wife’s cunt after another man has peaked inside of her?“

Aegon said nothing, but the desperate whine and growl that rumbled in his chest definitely were enough to confirm your questions. His tongue was dragging over your mound with such a ferocity, you were almost reaching your second peak. Almost . 

That was not the plan, and Aemond seemed to think the same way, because it was him interrupting Aegon, a firm hand placed on his older brother’s shoulder to pull him back. 

“Enough,“ his authoritative tone sent shivers up your spine, the urge to beg him to take you yet again becoming almost irresistible. 

A pout was draped across your features at the loss of contact, followed by a desperate whine. “Quit being a brat, Y/N,” Aemond scolded. “You have had your fair share. Tis enough for now.” Surprisingly, you weren’t the only one pouting, because Aegon seemed to find his pleasure in it all as well, even though he had not touched himself once. 

But you knew better than to protest, and allowed Aegon to get on his feet again. Aemond, on the other hand, had already put his breeches back on, standing in his chambers half-dressed. He handed a stack of clothes back to Aegon, silently dismissing him from his chambers, and when Aegon was dressed, he left as quick as he came. 

You were propped up on your elbows, looking at Aemond with the same expression he had flashed you earlier, ‘ Are you serious? ’ He raised his eyebrow at you, too, and threw your smallclothes and dress into your direction. 

It was safe to say that, once you were attired and back in your marital chambers, the hands of your husband were all over you even before the door shut behind you, claiming what rightfully was his and relieving the desire that threatened to cut the last threads of his restraint. 

The impropriety of your revenge gave you exactly what you had wanted all along. 

[rambheem-is-real]

Karna vs the (Modern) World

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prequel to Bujji's Analysis

Karna wakes up in Bhairava's body, and now has a disembodied female voice calling him partner. The holy mother is tied up in the backseat of the strangely autonomous vehicle they're riding in, and Karna has no idea what's going on.

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They were on a journey from Shambala. Karna lingered in Bhairava’s mind, watching the guy in charge of their body move a horse-less vehicle with his hands and feet, talking to a disembodied voice. He had no idea what was going on, but he recognized the woman tied up in the car, or rather, her offspring. There was no mistaking that illustrious aura, even if he was currently just a fetus in the woman’s stomach. 

For a second Karna was tempted to take over their body, release the woman, and just go with her. He had no idea when or where he was (he assumed it had been a few thousand years, give or take), so he would hope she at least knew how to survive here and follow the woman. Karna had no untoward intentions, he just wanted to be with the woman when the baby was born. Would a fully formed adult Krishna spring out, with golden black skin and that damned peacock feather in his hair? He hoped so, because if anyone would have answers it would be God himself. Why he was here now of all times, why he was in someone else’s body, what happened to the world, he wanted to know. 

Karna stopped himself, because what if it was just a baby? Lord Rama wasn’t born like that, right? Then Karna would just be left with a random woman and a random baby, albeit a very powerful baby. He tuned back into the conversation. Bhairava had been saying something to soothe the voice right before Karna got lost in thought. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Bhairava,” the voice said. “What do you mean you don’t remember why you killed Commander Manas? I thought you said we were partners. You can tell me anything.” 

Karna mentally shuddered when the voice said they were partners. He had a suspicion the voice was the vehicle itself, and that was terrifying. Unless the fetus had somehow become great friends with Bhairava in the last few days, and also learned to talk with a female voice, but that was unlikely. Karna could tell there was no magic involved here, which made the voice all the more scarier, as otherwise he would assume a god had bewitched the vehicle or something. This was just wrong.

“Sorry, Bujji,” the sound came out of his mouth. The dialect was wrong, and so was the timbre of his usually deep voice, but Karna pushed down the automatic nausea. Then felt sick for a different reason. Bujji? This Bhairava… was flirting with a vehicle?

"Partners", the vehicle’s, or Bujji’s voice, echoed in Karna’s mind. 

“Mpfffh!” Karna’s eyes glanced in the rearview mirror to see the woman had managed to get the thin substance off her mouth, some kind of gag, although the rest of her was still tied up. “Please, Bhairava. I haven’t done anything to you. Just please leave me and my child alone,” the woman begged. 

“Sorry, labs papa,” Bhairava said. “Would’ve reconsidered if it wasn’t a 5 star bounty. I’m finally gonna be able to pay off my debts with this.”

Money?? Bhairava had kidnapped the mother of the universe for money? 

Well, that settled it. Karna had no intention of giving baby Krishna over to whoever was willing to pay what seemed like a large sum of gold to get the woman. Sure, he had faced Keshava many times on the battlefield (technically he had faced Arjuna, but he had suspicions that the charming God had a few tricks up his sleeve), but it was nothing personal. He would be a great ally to have in this time period, and maybe he could finally have a friendly spar with the man. His troubles in his past life were because he had allied himself with the wrong people anyway. 

Not his beloved Suyodhana, though, never. Karna had been happy to bleed on the battlefield, and would have given his life ten times over just to see the loving smile on Duryodhana’s face once more. He had been good friends with Ashwa, his brother-in-arms as well. Karna pushed down a pang of loneliness as he thought of both of them. Ashwa was here, anyway. He vaguely remembered seeing him chained down, but it wasn’t like those chains could stop Karna's friend of all people. 

Just as the thought hit, so was the vehicle. The impact of something bouncing off of Bhairava’s side made the vehicle flip over several times. Karna gladly gave up full control for a few seconds, retreating deep into Bhairava’s mind until the experience was over. He peeked out when the vehicle stopped moving.

Oh. It was Ashwa.

Karna watched through eyes half-closed with Bhairava’s pain as Ashwa quickly made his way over to the woman (who unsurprisingly had come out unscathed), and made sure she wasn’t hurt. He knew what would happen, but it didn’t make it less disappointing to have Ashwa turn to give Bhairava’s body a glance, sigh, and carry the woman back into the woods where he came from. It was for the best. Ashwa probably assumed Karna was gone again. Besides, this would solve the problem of the woman being hunted down. 

With a rumbling noise, the weird white lamps in the vehicle came back on, along with the floating blue ones. Karna bit back a yelp as the voice came back, proving Bujji really was the vehicle. “Bhairava! Are you okay?” 

“Okay? I’m okay?” he heard Bhairava breathe, and realized it was coming from within. He quickly ceded control once again. If he had his way, Bhairava would never find out Karna was also there inside him. Bhairava continued talking, oblivious to the fact that Bujji hadn't heard what he said right before. “Just peachy, Bujji. I think our little lab-experiment-gone-wrong has disappeared.” 

“It was that angry old man, he’s the last thing my sensors registered before the impact! He must have taken her away.”

Karna didn’t recognize what Bhairava called the woman, the words Bujji used for Ashwa, or exactly what part of her registered the impact, either. He had also missed some of the earlier sentences. Fuck, he would have to learn a new language, because clearly everyone here was multilingual. Besides that, though, he’d have to make sure Ashwa and the woman weren’t followed. 

Slowly, making sure Bhairava wasn’t alarmed by his presence (until he was Karna again and clearly Bhairava wasn’t strong enough to stay aware when not in full control), Karna emerged. 

“We shall go home,” he told Bujji, which was nerve wracking in a way that felt embarrassing for a war veteran. What if this artificial being could somehow detect lies? What even was this thing capable of? Karna loved to fight, loved knowing he was a well seasoned machine when it came to beating people in battle, but of course that was only when he knew his opponents. Or at least knew they were somewhat human. He didn’t know what the hell this Bujji was. 

A pause. “I thought you just said you wanted the reward?”

Karna guessed she was talking about the money. “I will figure something out. Wealth can be obtained through other means. It will be dangerous to keep pursuing such a formidable foe as him.” He hoped it was at least somewhat believable as Bhairava’s voice, although he hadn’t quite figured out the modern speech patterns yet. 

Another pause. “Right… maybe we should head back.” She sounded more worried now. “And get you checked out. Plotting coordinates for Kasi, then. You sleep in the meantime, I’ll get you there.”

Karna was grateful he didn’t have to speak more with Bujji. Bhairava would be confused again when he woke up, but would probably write it off as a decision he made with a head injury. An embarrassing part of him wished he’d wake up and be back on the battlefield, holding up that chariot wheel. Maybe this was some hallucination he was having before death, and any second now he'd start smelling the smoke and feeling the old battle wounds again. At least he knew what he faced there.

Or maybe this was Yama’s abode, and this was his personal narakam [hell], designed to punish him for all of the atrocities he committed. Draupadi's beautiful, vengeful face came to mind. Maybe Bujji was a new modern version of Yama's attendants. He shuddered before falling asleep, hoping that the scary thing wouldn’t kill him (he trusted she wouldn't kill Bhairava, at least). 

-

tagging ppl who interacted with the last part

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @vijayasena @celestesinsight @n0tm3g @prettykittytanjiro @lakshana-ke-lakshan @sometimesbrave

[myvarya]

i wish.. Like I literally wish that somehow in parellal universe or something sum-80 baby is of bhairava.. I know I am crazy 😩but there chemistry is 'chesskiss' .... And i also remember that sum-80 was negative with yaskin seeding

Idk..I mean I don't think it's really possible... cause like ... they never met-YOU GAVE ME AN IDEA!!!!!

[witheredoffherwitch]

kalki!! do you have any alysmond fic recs? i've found myself being drawn to that ship more and more recently (i cant resist a big titty milf witch, im sorry), and i know you fw it 🩷

Hey Bel, sorry for the wait - I've been off the grid studying for my exams. But, I have some recommendations for you! 🥰 🤗

first up, @saintaemond's entire Hotd collection is top-tier material, but my personal fave is tenderly open, revealed, as if cut in two

and then there's @patrocles's amazing work here. My top pick is definitely we, half dust, half deity

then, I highly suggest checking out AliaTurin collection, and my personal favorite is The Witch and The Dragon Prince

I'm no good nor evil. Simply I am. by Daisy_Dawson

burning through the bloodline (born from dark water) by congratsyouvegrownasoul

At Dusk by Adadzio

Strong Dragons by Fever_Dream

Sapphires and Emeralds by theycalled

Now the final one isn’t an Alysmond story but by the author’s own admission, their OC is very Alys-coded - and I agree! Personally, I think it is one of the best Aemond/OC fics out there on ao3:

sins of the son by @winterstellars

That's all 🫶

[witheredoffherwitch]

Ooohh, this was GENIUS! 😍✨

I've had a revelation just now - I don't mind this combo of angst/slow-burn stories if they are done in smart, concise chapters rather than long, meandering ones that read like a 13 year old's diary entry. I LOVE THIS! Maybe my favorite Aemond story that tackles the underlying themes of religious guilt and female sexuality (and believe me, I've read plenty!) And you deserve a WHOPPING applause for crafting an OC who is independent and strong-willed, yet fits perfectly into this world you've created. 💖

I'm surely going to read this all over again and want to give you double kudos for delivering an arc not many predicted! I was expecting a slasher SMUT/ Gore combo from my own limited experience on Tumblr - but what I got was intense, meaningful, and something I'd want to re-read perpetually. ABSOLUTELY LOVED THIS! 🫶

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Five: Eat You Alive

Warnings: Mentions of death, male masturbation, canon typical violence, smut. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: Aemond runs away from his problems, only to find they're right where he left them when he returns.

Main series masterlist.

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond strides through the winding streets of King’s Landing, hood pulled firmly over his head, back towards the Red Keep. Despite the chill that lingers in the night air, his blood runs hotly through his veins, making his skin feel flushed.

He can still feel the press of her lips against his, his skin tingles with the memory of it. He is certain he can see the rumpling of the material of his cloak where she’d clutched desperately at the front of it, but it is likely no more than his imagination, clinging to the feeling in the same way he convinces himself the softness of her face is still beneath his fingers. He rubs his fingertips together, his pulse racing at the fact he’d caressed her jaw with those same digits just moments ago.

Shaking his head in an attempt to erase the thought, he shuts himself in his chambers. It is no use fantasising any more. She is no better than a common harlot, given over to the Faith because she is no longer worth anything to her family. Worse still, she wishes to use her vantage point as Septa of his sister’s children to torment him for his lustful indiscretions.

Silently, he curses his treacherous heart and mind. Despite all of this, he still yearns for her. He has been painfully hard from the moment he saw her undressing for bed. He hopes relieving the tension will bring him peace.

The maidservant he summons to his bedchamber is a slight, pretty little thing. He has made use of her before. She is always discrete, and diligent in ensuring she drinks moon tea afterwards. However, this time as he thrusts inside of her, her tight wetness provides little comfort. Where he seeks the novice’s scent of camphor and cloves, he is met with the faint scent of ash - likely from her having swept his fireplace earlier. Her breathy moans do not match the cadence of the way the novice had sighed softly into his mouth as her tongue had moved against his own.

It’s unsatisfying. Even when he reaches his peak, spilling himself across the maidservant’s thighs, the relief he feels is miniscule, as though he has half heartedly scratched an itch. Nothing will compare now.

He groans in frustration, climbing off of the bed and throwing her dress back towards her.

“Get out,” he hisses, not bothering to turn and look as she hurriedly dresses and rushes from the room.

He ought to have strangled that pretty little novice when he had the chance. Instead, she will reside beneath the same roof as him, making a mockery of him, forcing him to remember the humiliating swiftness with which he had allowed himself to be enamoured by her - to still be enamoured by her.

Aemond cannot bear it. He decides he won’t ask his grandfather for permission to go to Oldtown to be with his younger brother, he will simply tell him. If putting distance between himself and the object of his obsession is what he needs to do in order to snuff out the flames she ignites within him then nothing will stand in his way.

He sends a raven to Daeron, informing him of his imminent arrival, before turning in for the night.

His sleep is restless, plagued by dreams of his lips against hers, but when he pulls away he is greeted by a mirror and it is only himself he sees, the marred flesh of his scarred left eye socket reflected back at him, ruined and empty.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

Awakening early, Aemond dresses swiftly, instructing his chambermaids to pack his belongings and have them sent on to Oldtown. He packs lightly himself for what he will need in the meantime and what he can manage to carry on Vhagar’s back, before donning his riding coat. He has no intention of coming back once he has sought out his grandfather.

Also an early riser, he finds Otto already in his study, quill in hand as he scribbles across a length of parchment.

The older man looks up as Aemond enters, raising his eyebrows slightly in question at his grandson’s appearance.

Before he has a chance to query it, Aemond speaks. “I am going to Oldtown to be with Daeron. I do not know when I will return.”

Otto draws in a breath, placing his quill down upon the parchment before leaning back in his chair. “Do you think that is wise?”

“I am not needed here,” Aemond says cooly. “I wish to see my younger brother.”

“Your father’s health worsens by the day. Your mother needs you.”

Aemond quirks his lips, huffing through his nose. “I am well aware of who you and Mother intend to crown once Viserys is dead,” he snaps, “I do not need to be here for that.”

He notices his grandfather bristle. Without giving him time to say anything further, he walks quickly towards the door, but a sudden pang of guilt squeezes tightly at his heart, causing him to look back once more. “Look after them both, please,” he says softly, referring to Alicent and Helaena.

Otto simply nods, lifting his quill and dipping it into the ink pot, beginning to write again.

On dragonback is the only place where Aemond’s mind ever feels truly clear. It is a full day’s flight on Vhagar from King’s Landing to Oldtown, and the meditative peace is blissful for Aemond, focusing only on the whip of the wind around him, and directing his dragon’s movements with slight tugs of her reins.

It is nightfall by the time Aemond finds somewhere suitable to leave Vhagar and makes his way to where Daeron currently resides.

He receives a warm welcome, despite the short notice of his arrival and the brothers settle down to share roasted venison and fine red wine from Arbor.

The conversation is kept light, the two exchanging pleasantries, as Daeron enquires about the wellbeing of their mother and siblings, and Aemond tells him about how quickly Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are growing up, as well as the rapidity with which their father is deteriorating.

“So, how are your studies going?” Aemond asks, fingers plucking absentmindedly at the stem of his wine goblet.

“I think we have exhausted the farcical pleasantries, brother,” Daeron says with a wry smile, placing his fork upon his plate. “Tell me why you are really here.”

Aemond scoffs derisively. “To see you, of course. Why would I have an ulterior motive?”

“Because you are running away from something,” he replies with a raise of his eyebrow, “tell me I am wrong.”

“I do not run away from anything,” Aemond mutters darkly, his grip tightening around his goblet as he feels himself growing hot with anger. “I claimed the largest dragon in the world when I was a child. I am not a coward.”

“And yet here you are,” Daeron quips with a light shrug.

“You came here to study, did you not?” Aemond asks defensively. “Why can I not do the same? I have exhausted the Red Keep’s library.”

“I could send you books,” his younger brother muses, narrowing his eyes. “You are not here because you have run out of things to read. So tell me. Is it a woman?”

“Stop it,” Aemond glowers.

Daeron simply sits back, sipping his wine, lips turned upwards in a smug smile.

His brother is right and he hates him for it. He is running away from her, but he sees no other option.

They retire for the evening, and Aemond is grateful that Daeron does not pry further into the matter.

Life in Oldtown is peaceful. Daeron makes for a more interesting conversationalist than either Aegon or Helaena, and he feels spoiled for choice with the selection of reading material that the Citadel boasts.

The days he does not spend poring over books and scrolls, he flies on dragonback. The great, elderly bulk of Vhagar moves at a glacial pace through the skies, while Daeron speeds ahead, propelled by the sprightly wings of Tessarion.

It would be idyllic were it not for the fact that he cannot seem to stop thinking of his novice. A month slips by and he can still remember the slope of her delicate neck, the way the sunlight shone upon her hair, the curve of her hips and legs as she’d undressed, how warm her breath had been against his skin, the softness of her lips against his own.

He is frustrated that even hundreds of miles away he cannot seem to escape her. Hard as he resists it, he still finds himself fucking his fist to the thought of her each night, thinking about what could have happened if he had not have fled from her.

Would she moan wantonly as his flesh slaps hotly against hers, or whimper quietly into the crook of his as she tightens around him, his fingertips pressing bruises into the soft flesh of her thighs?

Repeatedly he has to remind himself that she is just toying with him, bored with her own forced servitude she is preying upon his lust for her, using it for her own advantage. To return home would be his ruin. He is certain she must reside within the Keep now, caring for Aegon and Helaena’s twins. If he goes back she will only seek to make his life miserable, and when he eventually crumbles and gives into her, she will humiliate him. He will not allow it.

Each week two ravens arrive, carrying letters for Daeron and Aemond from their mother, sending news of Helaena and the twins, and asking after their own wellbeing. Each week they diligently reply. As much as Aemond loathes to admit it, he misses King’s Landing, he misses his mother and sister. It is a sentiment that is apparently unshared by his younger brother. He is suited to life in Oldtown, he seems settled and happy here, far more relaxed than he ever was in the capital.

It is three days before they are due to receive their weekly letters when a singular raven arrives, carrying a small roll of parchment addressed to Aemond.

He sits at the dining hall table, breaking his fast with Daeron when the maester deposits the message on the table next to him, before bowing his head and taking his leave.

Aemond picks it up and unfurls it between his thumbs, his breath catching in his throat and his eye widening slightly as a cold wave of dread washes over him.

Where his mother’s handwriting is usually careful, neat, precise, it appears rushed, the two words scrawled in a state of anxiety.

Come home.

“What is it?” Daeron asks, pushing his plate away and eyeing Aemond with concern.

“Our father is dead,” Aemond says in a hushed tone, sliding the parchment across the table for his brother to look at it.

Daeron swallows thickly, nodding as he reads the message before hastily screwing it up and hiding it within his sleeve. “You need to leave today.”

“Will you come with me?” Aemond asks, anxiously rubbing his index fingers against his thumbs.

He shakes his head. “It would look too suspicious if I were to disappear suddenly. You know why mother wrote only to you. You know what she means to do.”

“Yes,” Aemond sighs, “and it is not me she means to crown.”

“I know, Aemond,” Daeron says sympathetically, leaning forward across the table. “Believe me, there is no one that understands your frustration better than I. But mother needs you. You know he will not make it easy for her.”

He has the right of it. He always has the right of it. It would anger Aemond if he did not admire Daeron’s wisdom so much.

“Then I suppose this is farewell.”

“Until we meet again, brother.”

It is nightfall when Aemond returns reluctantly to the Red Keep. The entirety of the castle has been locked down, with no one allowed in or out, and the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast are eerily quiet as he passes through them, his boots echoing loudly upon the flagstones with every step.

He can see light shining through the crack in the doors to Helaena’s apartments, and hushed voices inside. He pushes the doors open, met by the sight of Alicent and Helaena sat upon a settee, both of them turn to look at him with wide, grief stricken eyes.

Yet it is not them that hold his attention, it is her.

Every bit as beautiful as he’d remembered, only now she wears the seven colour corded belt around her waist, and a crystal pendant. She has become a septa, no longer his little novice, but still every bit the temptress he’d left behind months ago. Looking at her makes his pulse race. In the rush to get back in the wake of the news of Viserys’ passing, he had quite forgotten she would be here.

She kneels upon the floor, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera sit either side of her, babbling and playing with toys. They had gotten so big; they look like real, tiny, little people now.

His throat runs dry when he sees the familiar look in her eye as she gazes at him, it holds the same heat and intensity he recognises from the night they had kissed. He has to force himself to look away.

He is met by the soft, sad eyes of his mother, surging forward to tenderly cradle his forearms. “I am so glad to see you,” she says gently.

“And I you,” he responds tenderly, eye narrowing affectionately as his own fingers return the gesture, squeezing softly. “But I am tired from the journey, can plans wait until the morning?”

“Of course,” Alicent nods, stepping away. “Rest. We have locked Aegon in his chambers to prevent him from drowning any further in his cups, so there is nothing that can be done until tomorrow.”

Aemond bows his head solemnly in understanding, before backing away. “Goodnight, mother.”

He gives a nod towards Helaena, purposely avoiding looking in the direction of the twins, not wanting to see her, before walking back towards his own quarters.

From the moment he saw her he has been painfully hard, and he loathes himself for it. Tossing and turning in the sheets, he will not allow her the satisfaction of him pleasuring himself to the thought of her. Not that she would know, but he refuses to do it with her beneath the same roof as him.

He wishes he had ignored his mother’s letter and stayed in Oldtown with Daeron. Not only does he have to navigate the coronation of his wastrel of an older brother, he now has to cope with living alongside the septa he has spent the last half a year lusting after.

Realising sleep will not find him, he throws the covers back, getting out of bed and putting his eyepatch, undershirt and trousers back on before leaving his chambers, intending to go to the library. It has always been a source of comfort to him when his mind is troubled.

Immediately he spots her, padding barefoot along the corridor, dressed in only a cotton shift, her hair loose. Even in darkness she takes his breath away and he hesitates a moment, gathering himself, before allowing his anger to guide his actions.

He lurches after her, gripping her arm and pulling her to him. “What are you doing skulking about the Keep at this hour?” He whispers furiously.

She regards him impassively, surprising him when she does not try to wrench free of his grasp. “I was attending to my duties, checking on the children.”

Her voice causes his stones to tighten. It has been so long since he has heard her speak. Aemond releases her, as though her skin has scalded him and turns to walk away. He cannot be this close to her.

“Why do you shun me?” She asks, causing him to pause. “We both have had things taken from us.”

“We share nothing in common,” Aemond says irritably. “I lost my eye because I dared to claim the largest dragon in the world. You lost your freedom because of your own depravity.”

“I dared to pursue what made me happy, just as you did,” she replies defiantly.

“You are a whore,” he spits, rounding on her.

“And you are a craven,” she juts out her chin with a smirk. “Running away because you–”

She gasps, her words cut off, as Aemond lunges towards her, gripping her throat forcefully, using the leverage to back her into his chambers, before kicking the door closed. Fury guides his movements, he wants to hurt her, make her realise she must never disrespect a Targaryen Prince so brazenly.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent little bitch,” he snarls, shaking her slightly, “I have half a mind to strangle the life from you.”

Her gaze is unflinching as she stares up at him, there is no fear in her eyes. He sees desire dancing within their depths.

His eye softens, his grip on her throat loosening as he feels his resolve crumble, and then his mouth is upon hers, lips moving with greedy haste.

He groans appreciatively as he feels her hands tighten on the front of his shirt, much like they had on his cloak all those months ago. The hand not around her neck moves into her hair, gripping it tightly, directing her movements as their tongues writhe together.

Her hair is every bit as soft as he had imagined it would be, though she smells different. Long gone is the scent of the incense burned in the Sept. Now her aroma is laced faintly with lavender oil, though it clings to her flesh in a way that is unmistakably her. Aemond feels as though he is finally slaking his thirst after months without water.

Pushing her backwards, she falls softly onto the mattress, and he climbs over her, caging her in with his body. Her heavy breaths against his neck cause him to shudder, and he wastes no time in pushing her shift above her hips and freeing his cock.

This isn’t how he imagined their first time would be. He wanted to take his time with her, to drink in the sight of her naked flesh, savour each feeling. Yet when he imagined his first time with her, his father was not dead, it was not the eve of his brother’s coronation and he had not just throttled her.

In this moment he is driven purely by animalistic need, and to his delight she does not seem to mind.

Aemond spits into his palm, smearing the moisture through her folds, his cock aching as it twitches when he feels how wet with arousal she already is. He strokes the combined fluids over the length of himself, before driving forwards forcefully into her.

He is met with resistance, and the squeeze of her around him causes him to screw his eye shut, his jaw going slack at the feel of her tight, wet heat. She moans with unrestrained lewdness as he bottoms out inside of her, and he takes a moment to look at her, spread out beneath him, hair in disarray around her head, lips glossy and slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust.

Snarling, losing all semblance of control, he snaps his hips against hers, setting an unforgiving pace.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you fucking wanted?” He grits out, one hand grabbing her hip, the other gripping her chin to keep her focus on him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes!” She cries out, legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him in deeper, making him feel light headed.

In all of his wildest fantasies she has never felt this good. It is not possible to imagine a sensation that is such exquisite torture. He would have willingly crawled back from Oldtown if only to experience this.

His skin is damp with perspiration, his brow furrowed with exertion as the bed creaks with the intensity of his movements. A lick of white hot heat tickles at his lower spine as he feels her hips bucking in time with his, chasing her own pleasure.

“Whore,” he murmurs hatefully, his hand from her chin back to her throat, squeezing the sides.

Her inner walls flutter around him, her moans and whimpers increasing in both pitch and frequency until he feels her tense up suddenly before tightening around him with a cry, her back arching with the force of it.

His own thrusts become sloppy, the ache inside him intensifying until the world goes black and he pushes hard inside of her one final time, spilling himself with a strangled grunt.

Collapsing beside her, he lays there for a moment in silence, the only sounds in the room are their combined heavy breathing.

A heaviness settles in Aemond’s chest, sullen regret weighing upon him. “So, who will you tell about this?”

“What do you mean?” She asks, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

“You have had this planned all along, to settle yourself as my sister’s children’s septa and make a mockery of me for your own amusement, and I have given in to you,” he says quietly, fingers rubbing together anxiously.

“Aemond, I did not know I was to be placed here,” she tells him with sincerity.

His expression softens, eye widening slightly as he turns to look at her. “You did not?”

“No. Novices are not told of their placement until their training is finished. It is to prevent us from being distracted away from our studies by thoughts of where we will end up. By the time I found out you had already left King’s Landing.”

Aemond furrows his brow in confusion. “Then why? Why did you do this?”

She huffs a soft laugh. “Because I wanted to. Do you not think it is exciting? Perhaps one day I will be the septa for your own children when you are married for political gain, and you can seek me out away from prying eyes and continue to have your way with me.”

His heart begins to race again, despite the fact it had only just begun to slow from having rutted mercilessly into her. The thought does excite him, depraved as it is. He has spent months lusting after her, to finally be able to have her whenever he wants her is enormously gratifying.

“You will be my ruin,” he says, voice filled with a playful, affectionate warmth.

“And your salvation,” she purrs with a mischievous smile. “I mean it, Aemond, you and I are alike. The only difference is I do not have the opportunity for revenge, but you do.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, rolling to face her.

Her fingers trace lightly over the scar on his left cheek and the leather of his eyepatch. “You are a Targaryen Prince,” she tells him, “you have the means to seek atonement for what you have lost, and I shall ensure that you do.”

It is then that he sees her fully for the first time. A reflection of his own darkest thoughts and desires. It both excites and terrifies him. His salvation and his damnation.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

[marreddream]

Housamo Fic - Two Dog Warriors Walk Into A Cafe

Ding-a ling~

Shinya Tennoji is picking up empty cups and plates from the tables when he sees a small pink and a large brown Therian enter his cafe. Hazelnut strawberry and matcha dark chocolate. They make a rather charming pair, he thinks.

“Oh my, Tanetomo and Yasuyori! It’s so nice to see the two of you again!”

Yasuyori beams. Tanetomo scoffs. 

“We’re just here to use the coupons you gave us. We happened to be close by, so we figured we’d scope your place out.” 

Shinya’s glad to see them, and glad they hadn’t shown up until a good amount of time after the Valentine’s Snowball Fight Shinya had met the two at had passed. Days after an absence of his at the cafe were always busier than normal, to speak nothing of a missed Valentine’s Day shift. 

“Aw, I’m happy to hear that! Yes, see what on the menu you’d like, and order at the front when you’re ready.”

“Shinya Tennoji. I hope for your sake that what you just said was a simple case of you automatically rattling off whatever generic customer greeting phrases first popped into your brain when you saw us, and not you assuming me to be so moronic I never learned how to order from a cafe.”

“Ahaha, it was most definitely a case of the former, Tanetomo.”

“Well, perhaps Yasuyori might have needed the assistance, so good on you for being such a diligent and attentive employee.”

“Counselor! You have seen me function perfectly well at the plenty of other establishments we have been to together before!”

There are some minimally subdued rumblings from the regulars about the fresh faces who have entered the cafe. 

“At least...not fawning…Shinya, but…” “Treat… more respect…holes…” “...think they’re …type?” “… are pretty cute…”

Tanetomo’s ears twitch at the last comment. He does a hair flip and a whimsical 360 degree twirl for the crowd as naturally as he draws breath, which is to say: effortlessly yet with intention, before returning to scanning the menu. 

Taromaiti is at the cash register. She observes this action without judgment or reaction. Hermes isn’t here today, but it’s what you could call a slow day, so Shinya doesn’t particularly mind. Kalki is busy preparing food and cleaning dishes in the back, so he does not get to witness this 10s-across-the-board maneuver.

Cafe Asterism’s patrons tend to get upset when Shinya isn’t the server or cashier, but he wishes he could be on cooking duty during cafe hours more often sometimes. Oh well. He wishes for a lot of things that can’t come true. He returns to what he was doing before hand, and Tanetomo and Yasuyori make their order.

“Iced coffee. Grande. And a bread pudding.”

“Could I have… a venti sized matcha frappuccino? Five Monte Cristos, and two shortbreads, please.”

Yasuyori pays for them both, and they take a seat. 

“Oh, 1 hour seating?” “Well, we won’t be staying long. Anybody who could find something in here even remotely interesting enough to justify spending over an hour in this place (aside from the presence of yours truly, of course) would have to be quite the simple minded kook.”

It’s a subtle dig at Shinya, and the corners of his lips curl up a little. But, for somebody whose goal was to win over Shinya’s “adoring throng of fans to show them who was truly worthy of their love”, as Tanetomo had put it, Shinya wasn’t quite sure if…ah, what was it called? If, “negging”, was the right direction to take.

The people seated nearby Tanetomo and Yasuyori smile upside down. There are definitely some unsavory feelings to be felt in the air, but romantic rival nor direct threat to Shinya’s life/ego (it’s the same thing to them really) Tanetomo does not yet appear to be, so they keep to themselves.

Shinya drops off crockery in the sink, and Kalki has already completed the preceding order for Shinya to serve. Kalki’s insane multi-tasking skills are one thing, but that combined with his four, rugged, heat-resistant arms puts him on a whole nother level when it comes to cafe work. Shinya could sing his praises about Kalki all day long, but not out loud. Kalki would explode the world from embarrassment before any of Shinya’s fans could do it for him in a fit of an envious rage. So Shinya settles for a simple ‘thank you Kalki’ and serves Moe-chan her order, who smiles and says thanks.

When Tanetomo and Yasuyori’s orders are completed, Shinya brings their food over.

“Wow! It looks so good! Thank you, Tenn-”

“Taste test for poison.” Tanetomo spoons a scoop of pudding into Yasuyori’s mouth, and then a strawful of iced coffee. 

“Gulp. Delicious! No poisons identified, Counselor.” 

Shinya wonders if this is Tanetomo’s roundabout way of sharing his food with Yasuyori, some sort of twisted display of dominance, or if poisoning attempts really are frequent enough to be something they actually needed to watch out for. Regardless, it’s a somewhat endearing scene, in a darkly comedic sort of way. 

They are in dangerous territory too after all, Shinya acknowledges. He smiles at the two and leaves them to go attend to the other customers.

Yasuyori takes a small sip of his frappe before setting it down on a coaster. The drink is now already half empty. 

“Give me some of your drink.”

Tanetomo has already snatched it before his sentence is even finished and tries some. He drinks a quarter of it, and Yasuyori nibbles on one of his cookies before giving it to Tanetomo.

The two of them efficiently dine and chat. As Tanetomo consumes the bread pudding and his drink at a surprisingly fast yet visually refined pace, Yasuyori piles three Monte Cristos on top of one another to impressively bite down on all at once, and then hands the remaining two to Tanetomo who proceeds to do the same.  

Wow. Shinya can already feel his jaw locking from just looking at them, but it also kind of makes him want to try it out as well.

Yasuyori finishes his sandwiches and cookie first, and then stares at the one he had given to Tanetomo. Tanetomo purses his lips and tells him to go buy some more for the both of them to-go. Yasuyori complies.

To Shinya’s surprise, Tanetomo calls out to him.

“Don’t think I haven't been seeing you side-eye us the entire time, Shinya Tennoji.” 

Oopsies. Looks like Shinya Tennoji got caught. He wasn’t bombastically ‘side-eyeing’, as Tanetomo had verbally interpreted it as, but he really thought he was doing good about not being that obvious observing them. He hopes the other customers haven’t been as perceptive and paranoid today as Tanetomo is in general, but he’s been pretty good about personably interacting with everybody so he thinks it’ll be okay. 

“So was the entertainment of our dining in your establishment to your satisfaction?”

“Aha, sorry, sorry. It’s not like I wasn’t looking, but the two of you seemed like you were having a lot of fun. I always want to see my customers having a good time at Cafe Asterism.”

“Hmph. Is that so.”

Well, yes. That is so, Shinya thinks. He most certainly does not like to see people having a bad time at Cafe Asterism, when the reasoning for most everybody gathering here tending to be because of him.

“Ahhh… could it be that... that wasn’t the case for you two today?” 

His hands come up to his chin. It’s an endearing pose that he finds tends to quell agitated customers, but it only serves to scrunch up Tanetomo’s expression even more. Shinya holds back a smile.

“The atmosphere here is not to my standards. The interior design doesn’t help either.” 

Shinya’s proud of his quaint little cafe, but he knows it’s just that. A quaint little cafe. That also attracted a lot of… rather strong-willed habitué . So he can acquiesce to that opinion. And besides, Tanetomo was not saying Shinya’s decorating was making the atmosphere worse! He can take that part as a compliment.

Anyways, the only opinion on his cafe that truly mattered was Retail Food Health and Safety Code’s opinion, and Cafe Asterism was up to snuff.

“Aww…. Tanetomo, I’m so sorry to hear that. I’d love for you and Yasuyori to come again sometime… but if you’ve lost all interest in returning to Cafe Asterism, then I completely understand.”

He doesn’t want them to never return again. But it’s not a bad thing to let people run while they still can either.

“I’d be significantly more incentivized to return if I had some more coupons to use at a next visit. The food is up to par, I can at least say.”

“Hehee. At least that can be arranged.” He pulls some from out of his apron pocket. “Here you go, Tanetomo.” 

He smoothly plucks them from Shinya’s fingers and looks them over. 

“You just give these out to whoever asks?” “When I feel like…I have extra, I guess.”

Shinya feels a presence behind him and turns around. Oh, it’s Moko.

“Sh…Shinya… sorry, cuz’ I overheard…but could…. I have a coupon, too…?” 

Moko gets the words out just audibly enough for only Shinya to hear, but Shinya knows it’s only a matter of time before people will begin to gather round, and Tanetomo seems to sense this looming phenomenon as well.

“My, one’s heart can't help but be tugged at by such pitiful displays of desperation…”

Yasuyori returns with a paper bag of confections in hand, and Tanetomo gets up to leave.

“I’m off.” He spins, his hair elegantly following in a curve, and heads to the exit.

“Farewell Shinya!” Yasuyori gives a friendly wave goodbye, and Shinya turns around to reciprocate.  

When he turns back to respond to Moko, and Sumael, Amon, and Rue who have also begun to crowd around Shinya, he hears the bell of the exit door ring as it is opened and Tanetomo calls out from behind.

“Customer service wasn’t bad either. Give my regards to Miss Taromaiti and the chefs.”

The door closes shut. 

“I was still right here to give regards to, you know,” Taromaiti remarks amusedly from the front register. 

Shinya proceeds in the distribution of coupons to his patrons who have circled around him.

[childofthenight2035]

ah take as much as time as you want! and its completely valid (kalki threw me off a bit too but any which ways), I LOVE THE PRIDE PROJECT!, especially the por fic too! it was a very interesting light to see the film in! and oh my god badhaai do fic is just insanely good 40k of pure serotonin (even though there was angst), OH OH AND THE LEO REDDIT FICS AGHGHGGH I LOVE THOSE SO MUCH THE IDEA IS IMMACULATE

and as for salaar, please take your time! I just reach your rrr royalty fic and I couldn't stop thinking about how royalty suits varadeva and even more how your writing style would suit them because uh I think what I just wanted to see was them through your eyes

but anyways I hope you have a good day! and I am sorry if I sounded pressurizing!

thank you! i'm glad people like the pride project <3 and yeah, the badhaai do really took 3 months of undivided attention but i'm super happy with it too! and yeah, the reddit fics were mostly just to break writers block but they're so fun~

i think i don't have it in me for a royalty au anymore after the rrr one, but i think you'll like the au i have in mind for varadeva. and "what i just wanted to see was them through your eyes" please you're too sweet

nope, not pressured, don't worry! you never know, i might just be encouraged to pick that au up again now~

[houseofbreadpakoda]

I love the number polls I've made and not stuck to one bit, but here goes another

[witheredoffherwitch]

OMG I am like sooo hyped for what's coming next 😱😂. I seriously hope Viserys is alive for grant him permission 🙏 - or else screw that old geezer and whisk her away to Dragonstone and do it in a pagan style lmao. I am totally strapped in for this ride.. this is too good! Let the drama begin 🍿

Also, I lowkey want them to say 'fuck it' and elope 😂 It'd be hilarious to see these two goody-two-shoes escape and succeed where Daemon and Rhaenyra failed in episode 5! Quite the ironic twist, don't u think?

We gave our time to something undefined

Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Word Count: 2.7k+ Warnings: Kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, and Aemond is still the consent king 👑. Author's Note: This is part 2 of Quietly, it slips through your fingers though I may do a third, as they have me hostage Gif edit by the wonderful @myfandomprompts. A big thank you to my beloved @aemondsbabe for being my beta reader and helping me hone my craft. Also ñuhon is Valyrian for mine, and sȳz riña is good girl, but I trust you all already know that one. 😈

Aemond was poised in front of the fireplace, dressed in cotton sleeping trousers and a tunic that was unbuttoned to his navel; his silver hair was slung over his shoulder in a low braid. A golden hue spilled from the hearth and washed over his practiced stoicism, his one eye trained to the flames that were crackling and curling around the blackened logs.   

His arm was stretched on the rest, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm to battle how his heart was still rattling against his ribs; his other was bent, fingers pressed into his prominent chin. He swore he could still smell the remnants of the heaven he had touched earlier, something that was both sweet and intoxicating, something that now consumed him wholly. 

He thought back to earlier that night, to after he had torn away from the small hall, his heated steps leading him throughout the corridors in a desperate search for an exit that would bring him outside of King’s Landing. He knew that Vhagar would be awaiting him, the she-dragon keenly aware of her rider’s agitation. Aemond longed to climb aback of her, to tear over the night sky, as if his ire could only be sated by dragonback. 

Or so he initially thought. 

He could not say what had stopped him—perhaps the low rumble of his nuncle. It pulled him to watch from the shadows as Daemon and his daughter, Baela, took their turns to growl at one another about the night’s events.

Rhaena was also present, also watching. 

She was a woman now, with the same quiet confidence Aemond recalled as he watched her observe her father and her sister. He noted that she did not meet with their bravado on display, but instead remained watchful; her head tilted slightly with a flicker of amusement across her lovely features. 

It reminded Aemond of Driftmark, all those years ago when everyone gathered to grieve, to pay their respects for Lady Laena. He was only a boy but still aware of the  heavy sadness in her eyes that absorbed everything around her. He recalled when her gaze fell to him, how it rooted him to the stone. Rhaena watched at his failed attempt to try and speak from his heart; she did not scowl, but merely held a clear curiosity for whatever he had to say. 

Instead, his tongue thickened and he  walked away, the grief unsaid. 

How quickly her expression changed later that night, how her lovely eyes burned with betrayal when he sauntered back, covered in ash, dragonless no more—

“—I know Dark Sister sings for blood,” and the taunting words brought Aemond back to see Baela  squaring off towards Daemon. At that same moment, Rhaena noticed him, as if she was drawn to how his blood now burned in his veins. 

Aemond stalked away, quickly and quietly, his ire rekindled. He thought of the patronizing expression that had shown in the lines of Daemon’s face. Arrogance will weigh the dragon down, his sister often sang; Aemond only scoffed at the thought.  

You have lived too long, nuncle.

He heard the footfalls echoing behind, though he did not think they would follow him out to the terrace. Aemond planted his palms to the cool stone of the balustrade, greeted by the sea breeze and the distant rumble of Vhagar. He then felt her presence, that same curiosity from long ago. 

You are lost, princess.

Aemond wished to frighten her, but she did not balk, but remained stance, facing him just as Baela had Daemon. Her gaze was unwavering, analyzing, almost desperate to see what was underneath. His fingers itched to show her, removing the eyepatch but even then she responded in a way that he never thought possible. 

There was no pity to be found, just a genuine remorse that left him shattered—the softness and the warmth of her lips against his marred side, his skin prickling from her touch. 

Back in his room, Aemond could feel the warmth emitting from the embers in front of him, or perhaps it was from the memory of what had followed that kiss, of how she fit against his chest, of how she looked up at him unabashed, unafraid, unwilling to leave him. 

His fingers flexed, balling back into a fist, still feeling the ghost pulse of her erratic heartbeat from the pleasure he had pulled from her… 

His blood simmered, but a soft tap on his door brought his mind back into his room. Aemond moved, a flash of silver to welcome the distraction. When he opened the door, Rhaena slipped in; she was quick to pull it closed behind her, her back pressing against the oak, breathless. 

His every nerve was alight as he drank in the sight of her–her deep breaths, the rise and fall of her chest, her lithe curves pressing the pastel silk of her nightdress and her skin peering through the matching silk robe hastily pulled over. Her silver locs had been knotted back into a long braid, accompanied with a pleasant scent of rose water. 

Her eyes held the same look from earlier, wide and glassy, uncertain but also unwilling to leave. 

Aemond swallowed. 

You came, he wished to say, but his arrogance won his tongue. “So soon, princess?” 

I had to see you, she did not reply, but instead her face shifted into a coy facade. “You told me to come find you if I wished to find satisfaction…” 

Her words ignited something within him and Aemond closed the space between them. His one palm grabbed her hip and the other moved to touch her jaw, gently tilting her head to claim her lips just as he had out on the terrace. Her trepidation from before was gone, now replaced with a warm familiarity as her tongue curled in rhythm with his own. 

Aemond hummed his pleasure and Rhaena pulled him closer until he melded against her, the surge of fire meeting fire with a burning desperation. She gasped softly and he deepened the kiss, drawing the air from her aching lungs. His leg shifted between her thighs with a pressure that made her mewl, softly, sweetly. It trilled the length of his spine, his cock throbbing against the seams of his slacks. 

He pulled back and reached for her hand, her fingers lacing as though they belonged in his grasp. She followed quietly as he pulled her towards the bed, a giggle spilling, gleeful. Then Aemond paused and turned to face her again; his large hands moved to cradle her jaw, holding her gaze, and her skin rippled with gooseflesh from the contrast of his gentle touch and the roughness of his palms. 

“This will only go as far as you wish it too,” his voice was low, his words tinged with a fear that she would simply change her mind and leave. 

But instead hope bloomed with the flutter of her lashes, her lips curling into a smile as she stepped closer to capture his lips. Her hands knotted into the loose fabric of his tunic and she pulled him closer still, smiling. Aemond thrummed from the taste of passion, tilting her head to savor the kiss. 

The silk she had been wearing was now a puddle at her feet, and Aemond discarded his tunic, his hands pausing at the waistband of his pants. He looked at Rhaena, watching her carefully, the black now swallowing the blues and the purples of his one intensive eye, an amber gleam flickering in the sapphire of his other. 

Her smile remained as she took a step back, resting on the edge of the bed. She did not look away from him as his eye trailed over her soft curves, admiring the golden glow of the fire on her brown skin, how it rose with the night air, her nipples pebbling in response. 

Beautiful, he does not say but instead swallowed to wet his throat. “That bastard does not deserve you,” his rasped confession wrenched from his lungs. 

Only then did she look at her hands resting on her plush thighs, and offered a soft hum in return. The boldness that had brought her to his room continued her motion, her hands reaching to grab the waistband of his slacks, her fingers precariously placed above the heady bulge that pressed against the crotch. 

He felt his blood roaring to stain his cheeks as her eyes washed over his bare body, trailing the silver scars now displayed, the lines that cut into his trim waist before she met with his gaze again. Aemond allowed himself a step closer, a heavy sway, moving between her parted thighs until he was close enough for her to softly touch his unmarred side, until he could feel her breathless whisper hot against his skin– 

“Then claim me.”  

And he burned with how each syllable dripped with the honey that spilled from her kiss-swollen lips. “Aōhon ynot sahās,” she said, her eyes locking onto him. 

Make me yours.

His hand covered her own, turning his head until his lips feathered the pulse of her wrist. “Ñuhon,” he growled against her skin, mine, and then he pushed forward until she melted into the mattress, lifting her legs and welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. 

His mouth was hot, ravenous, only allowing her a moment to breathe when he moved his attention to the curve of her jaw and to her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin, leaving dark plumes of color in his wake. 

He could feel her trembling beneath him, her head falling back with a gasp. “Aemond!” 

It was his siren song, those sweet sounds from the terrace. They remained with his steps that brought him back to his room, echoing in his mind until it curdled the marrow of his bones, a dull ache that knotted his lower organs. He wished to draw those same sounds but with his tongue; his hands pressed to open her thighs further, and he sank between them to place an intimate kiss that made her shudder in response. 

She was slick, a taste divine, and his tongue trailed between her folds until he felt her hands knotting in his hair. He feasted between her thighs with a hold that dimpled the softness of her skin, anchoring himself to her core. Aemond pulled her towards a new plateau of pleasure with his mouth, his tongue laving until she tried to writhe away. 

Her back arched with the expanse of her chest begging for air, her hands moving for fistfuls of bed linen to ground herself. Her lips parted with a wordless cry as his dexterous fingers curled within her. “Aemond,” she panted, panicked, but he touched her with familiarity, feeling how her every fiber sang for him: heart thrumming, muscles tensing, desperate for more. 

Aemond hummed against her cunt and the low vibration caused a soft cry, a pulse of her velvet walls around his fingers. “Sȳz riña,” he murmured, adding another finger that met with the tandem of his first. His tongue returned to carve through her sweet lips with an unrelenting pace that pulled her towards her peak. 

It shuddered throughout her, a sob spilling that Aemond moved to muffle with a kiss, his praises soothing against her lips: “Sȳz riña, sȳz riña.” He melted into her warmth, her body pliant and molded against him. His arms caged her to the bed and his cock twitched, the heat from her bare cunt calling and pulling him closer.

Rhaena squirmed beneath him, and he tried to lift his weight but her nails bit into his waist, stopping him. “Aemond,” she was breathless, almost begging. “Please, I–” but she faltered to find her words. He could feel her pulse still fluttering against his chest, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Aōhon ynot sahās,” she repeated, a desperation now touching her tone.

Aemond felt his heart seize in his chest, and he tilted his head for a gentle kiss. “We will begin slowly,” his voice rasped with his reserve, “I promise.” 

She nodded and he was careful to slot his slender hips between her thighs, his swollen cock heavy and pressing against one side. She sighed, and he looked to see her drunken smile splayed on her lips as he nestled against her. His arm weaved between to guide himself, and she tensed from the unfamiliar pressure, his swollen head sliding through her folds and lining with her entrance. 

A muscle ticked in his jaw with his concentration, his slow thrusts sinking into her warmth with a shuddering halt when his hips met with hers. Aemond then stilled, watchful, worried, seeing how her face was clouded. He moved to kiss her, his body shifting against hers, and she let out a small noise that he swallowed. 

“Rhaena…”

Her eyes fixated on him, and he felt the fire in her veins pressing towards the surface. Her head nodded yes, a whispered, “Kostilus,” please, and only then did his hips begin to move. Her tension began to fall away with his slow rut, his rhythm continuing. She mewled softly, canting her hips to meet the snap of his own, sparking something different, something deeper, and he felt her tighten around him.

Aemond hummed, and his pace quickened with the lewd sound of skin-to-skin. The heat curling in his core began to spread under his skin, a bowstring taut to nearly snap at the sound of her breathless cries, the pulsing of her velvet walls that pulled him after. 

He groaned, his hip stuttering, and his brow pressed to her own. He felt her legs wrapping around his waist and  looked at her. Rhaena combed her fingers through the silver hair that spilled from his braid, pulling him close for a kiss. 

“Stay with me,” his voice was low, blooms of red staining his cheeks. “Kostilus,” he added.

Please.

Rhaena kissed him with the promise to stay and only then did he pull away. He pulled on his slacks again, unbuttoned, and moved towards the wash basin to grab a clean cloth. Aemond turned on his heel and saw her, bashfulness now replacing her boldness from before, wrapped in the sheets. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with something he now understood.

Desire, thrumming with the ichor of Old Valyria that ran rampant in their veins. 

He moved towards her and a smile curled on her lips, her eyes falling to the sway of his hips and the silver patch that peered lewdly above the waist of his trousers. His hand reached to pull the sheet away while his other began to carefully wipe away his pearly spend. 

She sighed, different than before, now with contentment and a consideration as her thighs fell open to welcome him again. He burned under her sense of awe as she watched his hands move over her skin; Aemond murmured his questions and she promised she felt fine, catching his wrist and bringing it to meet her lips for a kiss. 

He pulled away a second time–the last time he swore–discarding the soiled cloth and pulling through his drawers to retrieve a silk scarf that had been gifted from across the narrow sea. He watched her hands move to wrap her hair and he shyly offered to knot it at the nape of her neck, pressing a chaste kiss there when he finished. 

With their earlier tension spent and staining the sheets, their exchange was now natural, a tethered bond that seemed to be planted on that fateful night of Driftmark. Aemond climbed beneath the covers and his hands could not leave her, pulling her until her back was flushed to his chest, fitting like a missing piece. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close enough to feel the thrum of his heart. 

Her voice was soft, breaking the quiet that had settled over them. “What will happen now?” 

His hum reverberated through them and he pulled her closer until his lips could touch her shoulder once, twice, following the curve and pressing against the soft spot under her ear, pressing contemplative kisses before he said: “Tomorrow I will petition the king for your hand in marriage.” 

Rhaena shifted in his arms. “What if he says no?” 

He nuzzled into her neck, smiling against her skin. “Vhagar remembers you,” he began, his breath tickling; she bloomed with his words. “If they say no, I will take you to Driftmark and we will have a ceremony anyway, just as our ancestors did.”

“But what–”

“But nothing,” his tone cut through, a gentle resolve, and he pressed another kiss to the nape of her neck. Rhaena relaxed against him. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You are mine.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond @qyburnsghost @niocel

arcie's hotd masterlist

[demigod-of-the-agni]

WIP Tag Game

I have @friend-shaped-but to thank for this little thing huehue,, i'm assuming it's just listing out all the wips that you're currently working on!

in my case i'm in production hell

the pavitr & maya aunty fic (the one with trans!pavitr and hair days T-T)

a halloween/diwali special (ft. spider-gang; basically the spirits of halloween and diwali are up to no good)

original kalki stuff (i need therapy)

that mcu frankenstein fic (yk. the fic where tony stark brings peter back from the death post-infinity war a la frankenstein?)

cloud strife/aerith gainsborough stuff (local flower girl teaches local soldier how to make bouquets in post-advent children T-T)

DRK pavitr "needs therapy" prabhakar fic (i need therapy)

a t4t pavitr/gayatri fic (this was supposed to intertwine with the pavitr&maya fic but ough god i've planned everything but i can't write it)

that's all i've gotten. the people who are now going to get blasted by my laser beam of pointing are

@stellyoctangula @atlas-of-the-mind @ghost-in-a-cup

idk who else, it's nearly 9am and i'm still tired, but if you see this, you're tagged too !!!

[ambidextrousarcher]

“கோடிக்கரையிலிருந்து வந்தியத்தேவனுடைய உள்ளம் பழையாறைக்குத் தாவியது. சக்கரவர்த்தி திருக்குமாரிக்குத் தனக்கு நேர்ந்த கதி எப்படித் தெரியப்போகிறது? அவள் இட்ட பணியை நிறைவேற்றும் முயற்சியிலே தான் நடுக்கடலில் முழுகியதை யார் அவளுக்குத் தெரிவிக்கப் போகிறார்கள்? கடல் தெரிவிக்குமா? காற்று சென்று சொல்லுமா? - கடவுளே! அந்த மாதரசியைச் சந்திப்பதற்கு முன்னாலேயே நான் இறந்து போயிருக்கக்கூடாதா? போர்க்களத்தில் வீரமரணம் எய்தியிருக்கக் கூடாதா? சொர்க்க பூமியைக் கண்ணால் பார்க்கச் செய்துவிட்டு உடனே அதல பாதாளத்தில் தள்ளுவது போல் அல்லவா இருக்கிறது!”

Excerpt From

Ponniyin Selvan Anaithu Pagangal (Tamil Edition)

Kalki

This material may be protected by copyright.

Context: Some of Vandiyathevan’s thoughts while he is on the sinking ship.

From Kodikkarai, Vandiyathevan’s heart leaped to Pazhayarai. How will the Emperor’s auspicious young daughter know of what has befallen him? Who is going to let her know that he drowned in the middle of the sea attempting to fulfil the work she had handed him? Would the sea announce that? Would the wind travel (to her) and tell her? Oh , God! Why couldn’t I have died before I met her? Does it not feel like being pushed into the deepest of hells right after being granted a glimpse of heaven!”

Yesterday’s snippet! (I had a headache and slept off yesterday, there’s another snippet on the way for today)

Tagging @whippersnappersbookworm @celestesinsight @mizutaama @harinishivaa @willkatfanfromasia @deadloverscity @thereader-radhika @thelekhikawrites @themorguepoet @favcolourrvibgior (this is not a fic, it’s one of my daily series of snippet posts, let me know if you’d rather not be in this list) and @humapkehaikaun

[myvarya]

*points a knife* bhairava fic? 🥰

Delete ho gayi 🤭....(😭😭)

[witheredoffherwitch]

Had to highlight this line once again:

There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

LMAO 🤣

Darkly, delicately

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character

Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.

Link to read on ao3: here

She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.

Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.

“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.

“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.

She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.

“You are late”

“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.

“Did they hear you?”

“Not yet”

“Let us keep it that way then.”

She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.

“I know what I have to do”

“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”

“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.

“As if you were ever fond of him”

“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”

“Life and Death are right around your corner”

“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.

There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.

The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.

Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.

“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.

“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.

“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.

“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”

There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.

“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.

She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.

“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.

“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.

“I do not wish for pleasantries”

She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.

“I meant what I said”

“Are you a whore?”

“I am what you want me to be”

“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”

“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.

“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”

She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.

“I can entertain you to your heart's content”

“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”

“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.

She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.

“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.

“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.

“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”

“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”

“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.

“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.

“Norvos, across the narrow sea”

“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”

“So?”

“Quiet”

“I thought you found my chatter incessant”

“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”

“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”

He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”

“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.

“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.

“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.

“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.

It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.

“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.

“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.

Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.

“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”

“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”

“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.

“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.

“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”

“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.

She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.

“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.

“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”

“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.

“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.

She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.

“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.

“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.

“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”

“And yet we've faced far worse”

“Worse than treason?”

“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”

“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”

“And therein lies the problem”

“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.

“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.

“It has served us well”

“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”

“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”

“I would hardly call it that”

“A flaw?”

“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.

“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”

“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”

“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”

“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.

“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”

“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”

“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”

“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”

“And what exactly might they entail”

“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.

“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.

“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”

“You are to leave at dawn then?”

He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.

“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”

“That is a hefty promise”

“And one I intend to keep”

“You will tire of me soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”

She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.

“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.

“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.

“I'd offer him something far sweeter”

“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”

“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”

She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.

“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.

She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.

“You are a trained warrior”

“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”

“All art is said to be inspired”

“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.

“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”

“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”

“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”

“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.

“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”

“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”

She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”

“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”

She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.

“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.

“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”

“Wealth and power?”

“Purpose” he says with finality.

“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”

“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.

“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.

“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.

“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”

“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”

“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”

They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.

“I shall return soon”

“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”

“You wished to soar did you not.”

“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”

“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ”

“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”

“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”

“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”

It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.

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