#mirror axe knight

[veinsfullofstars]

“I. Am going. To kill that rat.” “What was that, Boss?” “I said, BACK TO YOUR POSTS NOW!” “Y-Y-Yes, sir, right away, sir!”

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic, four borderless panels featuring Dark Meta Knight, Mirror Axe Knight, and Mirror Mace Knight, in which the latter two comment on their leader’s interesting new battle scars, much to his restrained dismay. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

Good thing his minions aren’t the brightest bulbs in the bunch - otherwise they’d’ve found out about all the friendly hugs he’s been getting in his off-time.

(… this isn’t too much, is it? Stars, I hope not. I tried to keep it vague enough that it doesn’t have to mean anything spicy. Maybe it was just a very competitive game of tag. Or maybe DMK couldn’t quite reach an itch between his wings and Daroach got a bit overenthusiastic trying to help. Basically anything that could ruin his “big scary cool toughguy” reputation. As long as DMK is too embarrassed to admit to it in front of his crew, they’re all viable options, haha.)

Started 12/25/23, finished 12/28/23, updated 01/04/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/04/24. | Kintsugi AU Masterpost

—

Transcript:

Panel 1

*DMK walking forward towards our left, M!Axe and M!Mace passing by in the opposite direction, M!Axe waves cheerily to DMK, who glances at them over his shoulder*

M!Axe: Oh, Boss, there you are! Hey, how was the fight? Didja win?

DMK: Hm? What’re you talking about?

Panel 2

*reverse shot of DMK, still glancing over his shoulder, several pink scratch lines can be seen on his back and the base of his wings, each in sets of three*

M!Mace: Got some new scratches on your back, Boss. Nasty ones, too, by the look of it.

M!Axe: (laughing, impressed) Ha! Musta been one heck of a scrap to leave marks like that! I’d hate to see what happened to the other guy, haha!

Panel 3

*front shot of DMK, his eyes shrunk to dots in realization, as a thought bubble hovers over his head - a simple headshot of Daroach, grinning roguishly beneath the shadow of his hat, showing off his claws as they glint sharply*

Panel 4

*front shot of DMK, sweating and glaring fixedly off to the side, eyes still shrunk, a vivid blush inside his visor, while M!Axe and M!Mace stand where they were before behind him, heads tilted in innocent confusion*

DMK: (strained) … … … Yes. … … A fight. … That’s what happened.

[dawnslight-aegis]

and that's a wrap on my tarot series! the upright majors, at least. there may be others sometime in the future if I am seized by a combination of insanity and hyperfixation once again.

you might notice a few cards are a bit (or in the case of the fool and alternate chariot, a lot) different! I did a few retakes for consistency/style.

below the read more I've included a bunch of notes about symbolism and reasoning behind my choices if that interests you!

(tag for individual card posts)

0. The Fool: Ardbert was really the only choice for this one. He's our stand-in, our shard, our mirror. Feo Ul is included partially because of lore (they are my co-WoL's shard on the First) and also because they also fit the themes of adventure and new beginnings and exploration. Most of the cards I played pretty loose on the posing vs traditional depictions, but this one I wanted to hew a little closer, which is why he's on a cliff with a foot hanging over the edge a bit, with his axe standing in for the bindle. This is my second attempt at the card -- the first was in Il Mheg, but I moved it to Kholusia (Ardbert's home) and dawn to more closely symbolize that it's the beginning of something. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 8/10, posing Feo Ul was annoying.

1. The Magician: This card could have had several subjects, chief among them Alphinaud or a more modern G'raha, but I settled on Alisaie a) because the other two cards I had in mind for her (Chariot and Justice) were already taken, and b) the card's focus on physical magic and depicting the "tools of the trade" reminded me a lot of Angelo's creation! So that's why she's here, and why I set the card in Matoya's Relict, among the tools of magicians who came before (Matoya, Y'shtola). I retook the shot because I was unsatisfied with the blurriness/the way the light covered her face in the first one. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 5/10, simple pose but working with Impact's spell effect complicated things.

2. The High Priestess: Another that I never questioned who would appear on it. Y'shtola's arc is entirely about uncovering forbidden, secret knowledge and wisdom, so she fits beautifully. The blue-white orb and the purple staff depict duality between dark and light, and how Y'shtola walks in two worlds, seeing things that are beyond sight, standing before an altar/holy place to the Night's Blessed. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Premade pose, knew where I wanted to place her -- the only thing was finding a prop for her off hand.

3. The Empress: Hoo boy did Minfi give me some trouble. I knew that I wanted our Antecedent, who provides both authority and care for the Scions, to represent the Empress, but I struggled to find a depiction that wasn't, well, boring. Minfilia is deeply linked with the Solar, and I didn't want to lean too hard into Word of the Mother/Hydaelyn territory, so I settled on a triple goddess-like idea. Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 6/10. Not mechanically difficult, just conceptually.

4. The Emperor: Another one that I knew who I wanted but struggled with the concept. Haurchefant is very much emblematic of the stability, structure, and masculinity provided by the Emperor, but it wasn't until I decided to add his equally-Emperor-coded father that things settled into place. Together, Edmont and Haurchefant evoke the image of father and son as well as king and knight, filling both major male authority roles that the Emperor exemplifies. Attempts: 4. Difficulty: 6/10. Same as the Empress.

5. The Hierophant: this one was one of the hardest to choose a subject for -- the WoL's allies are largely a bunch of revolutionary firebrands, and I disagree HEAVILY with the popular choice of placing Aymeric here. So I landed on Alphinaud -- out of the Scions, he is the one most concerned with tradition and the "right" way to do things, with formal education and structure. He wants to bring Sharlayan into the modern day, not upend the institutions that raised him and that he very much still respects, much like how he still respects his very traditionally Hierophant-coded father. So I placed him in his family home with a sort of smug look since he can be a pretentious little shit sometimes (affectionate). The spell effect is from Kardia, and I paid special attention to having the shapes align perfectly with the lines in the background, to give a sense of stability and order to the shot, especially contrasted with Alisaie's more dynamic and chaotic depiction. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, entirely in alignment.

6. The Lovers: Hrasevelgr and Saint Shiva are a great choice for depicting the Lovers as two people, but no one does the Lovers in one subject better than Ysayle. Invoking the spirit of a woman who died for love in order to bring harmony to her people, but it truly being her own power and her own choice the whole time... it's great. Her pose is her transformation/summoning pose, turned into a gesture of affection, which I was particularly proud of. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10, posing monsters is always a little funky.

7. The Chariot: This one has two options -- my co-WoL, Marz, and Tataru/Cid/Nero for the NPC variant. All 4 characters share a singular drive and refusal to let anything stop them once they've set their mind to something, and the 3 NPCs have the added benefit of being associated with a literal "chariot" in the form of airship design. Marz's place on Shadowkeeper has some lore associations (Cylva is her shard on the 13th) as well as being a void mirror to Kaede's sin eater shot. For both I wanted to have dynamic poses to evoke the activity of the card. Attempts: 1 (Marz), 2 (NPCs). Difficulty: 3/10 for both, no major hurdles once the lovely @/karoiseka pointed me at an airship in NG+.

8. Justice: The heart of the Justice card is its emphasis on truth, and no character in FFXIV is more committed to truth even in the face of great suffering than Aymeric de Borel. Because of this, the shot is taken at the top of the Vault, where he confronted his father over his concealment of the truth of the Dragonsong War. The card is usually depicted with a woman holding a sword and balanced scales -- Aymeric is holding his sword in a pose used in statues in the Pillars, and the symmetry of the shot/light and shadow split down the middle is meant to give the feeling of balance. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. I knew my concept, location, and shader before I even went in, and it came out exactly like I wanted.

9. The Hermit: Originally I had Urianger for this card, who still fits well, but when I moved him to Wheel of Fortune, there was a clear second choice: The Exarch. He even resembles the Hermit, with his cloak and staff, holding himself in isolation and possessing secret knowledge with which he guides the party. G'raha has grown out of this role as of Endwalker, but the Exarch fits it to a tee. I wanted to show his longing to return through his body language and reaching out for the portal that shows him the world he is set apart from. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 4/10. Nothing major but did have to do two entirely separate cards lmao.

10. The Wheel of Fortune: The one I struggled with the most, conceptually. At first I had a more abstract choice, with the 3 starting city state leaders and Tataru, in a sort of "fate leads to the Scions" idea. But then I remembered that Urianger is a fortune teller who uses a wheel-like weapon with a literal wheel of cards, and, well. Yeah. The man is intimately associated with fate and choice, and the choice to place him on the moon is intentional, to separate him from his more secretive depictions in HW/ShB. He is the one who prepares our second option (flight) while giving us the choice to make our first (fight). Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 7/10. He's up on a high ledge that's not normally accessible and that's always a pain in the ass.

11. Strength: The one that started it all. The original shot of Kaede contained some layer elements I wasn't happy with so I ended up retaking it to better cohere with the others. Strength is about confidence and inner strength "leashing" power, symbolized by the woman and the tamed lion, and there's exactly one good lion model in XIV -- Forgiven Cruelty. It also has the fun side meaning of Kaede conquering and wielding the light that almost killed her. For Moenbryda's, I went with something simple -- her axe to symbolize her strength, but with her archon mark and the Sharlayan Thaliak statue prominently featured, emphasizing her intelligence. Attempts: 2 (Kaede), 1 (Moenbryda). Difficulty: 6/10. Kaede's was straightforward enough (though I had to wait an annoyingly long time for the sky to shift colors correctly), but Moenbryda's involved me floating her up on a building so i could get Thaliak in the shot correctly.

12. The Hanged Man: Holy moly this one was a PAIN IN THE ASS. I knew from the minute I started this what I wanted to do with it -- Lahabrea holding Thancred's ankle as he reaches for Minfilia. The Hanged Man is one that I felt it was especially important to mimic the iconic pose on the card, and this was how I decided to do it, but it took me over an hour and a half to accomplish. Anyway, the Zodiark idol stands in for the Tree of Life, which I really liked. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 10/10. Absolutely infuriating to have to pose 3 actors in three dimensional space like that.

13. Death: I only ever considered Estinien for this card. It stands for transformation and change, for shedding the old to make way for the new, and I chose to depict that by having his old corrupted drachen mail posed behind him like a shadow or an abandoned husk. He has left the hate and the rage behind, but the helmet is meant to symbolize that he always remembers it, and carries it with him so that he can do better. His lance is also vaguely reminiscent of the traditional Death scythe. That spot in Coerthas is where he challenges you in the early DRG quests while controlled by Nidhogg, as well as being just visually striking. Attempts: 1, but it took a while. Difficulty: 9/10. The ground is very much not flat, the helmet is on a minion, and I had to change angles and locations a few times.

14. Temperance: I briefly considered Hythlodaeus here, but Krile fits very well. Calm, competent, but unsure of her own worth. I chose Eureka Hydatos both for its importance to Krile as well as its easily accessible water -- instead of pouring from a cup, Krile is looking at her reflection. This one came together so quickly and easily. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. In and out of Eureka in less than 20 minutes.

15. The Tower: Originally, before I reshuffled, G'raha was going to be the Tower simply because I didn't know where to put him, and I couldn't think of an ally who is ultimately a destructive force, but it always bothered me because he truly didn't fit. Meteion, though -- despite her innocence and unwillingness, is THE destructive force within Endwalker's story. This card had the highest hurdles -- I had to get 7 friends to help me queue for Endsinger and then leave, and I almost couldn't get my tools to load Meteion in properly. After that it was smooth sailing, however. I used the whole lockout timer, but this was only the 4th shot I took, and it's one of my personal favorites. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, purely for queuing.

16. The Devil: Addiction, obsession, and control -- Zenos was the only answer for this card. I included Zero as well, despite intending this to be a primarily 6.0 and earlier set, to represent the humans bound in chains to the Devil, using the way she's pinned between Zenos and the scythe to symbolize that she's trapped. Afterward I realized this exact shot and character choice would have also worked quite well for the Tower, as well, but I ultimately prefer the Devil for him. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10. Came together surprisingly easily, despite the fact that I had to make Zero's hat touch pose myself.

17. The Star: Symbolizing hope and new life, I can think of no one better suited than Ryne and the Empty. Ryne herself was given her own new life when Minfilia passed on her power, and the ability to make her own destiny -- and she used that power to revitalize a barren wasteland. My first version of this shot had a photoshopped in central star, but I decided to revisit the concept with an in game effect for the star instead. Helios provided what I needed, with the fun extra benefit of some additional rainbows (happy pride!). Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 3/10. Nothing crazy beyond trying to find a good angle to get the star in the shot, as well as Eden and the rainbow crystal. Second attempt I messed up the framing and had to redo it again.

18. The Moon: The card of dreams, fear, anxiety, and secrets, Gaia is perfect here (and a lovely companion to Ryne as the Star), though I did briefly consider Urianger as well. I wanted to have Gaia on the sand, with the moon hanging between the crystal walls of the Empty above her, but the angles would NOT cooperate to allow me to get the moon in the shot. So, levitation was the only answer. Fortunately it suits Gaia well, especially the distance that it evokes. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 6/10. I hate midair posing.

19. The Sun: Another card that sprang fully formed into my mind. Joy and fulfillment is symbolized by Lyse enjoying the morning light in a free Ala Mhigo, thinking of Papalymo. It also allowed me to get both of these very different characters into a single card, as they are very much a package deal, though I did consider Papalymo for the Hierophant as well. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Came together very quickly.

20. Judgement: The last two cards of the Major Arcana are very high concept, with very lofty ideals, so they felt hard to pin down. I thought of doing both my WoLs here, or maybe Elidibus with his three forms for light, dark, and balance. But ultimately I ended up on Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, as the sort of "final judgement" before the battle with the endsinger, the last step before everything ends. Their literal rebirth, the resolution of Emet-Selch's conflict with the WoL, the not-redemption but understanding reached, our efforts judged worthy -- it all just seemed to fit. The card design is simple but I hope the colors and emotion of the scene carry the weight of the arcana. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. No major roadblocks.

21. The World: At last we arrive at the end, not only the last posted but the last taken as well. I always knew I wanted Venat/Hydaelyn for this card, as she is the literal heart of our world, as well as an Azem who has reached the end of her journey, as Ardbert was one who was at the beginning of his all the way back at the Fool. But when I didn't use Elidibus anywhere else, I decided to add him here as well, since he also served as the heart of the star for a time. Light and dark united together, watching over Etheirys. The one who destroyed our world in order to save it, and the one who saved our world only to try to destroy it. Perfect symmetry, a completion of the circle. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 9/10. I had to stitch together 3 separate screenshots in photoshop, with the fore and backgrounds cut apart so I could control the opacities separately. Probably the card that took me the longest, but it was worth it.

[celtigxr]

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 is with your 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 18+, MDNI PAIRING: Fem!Aegon x Aemond, established relationship, targcest

Story summary: In an alternative timeline, set during the events of 1.08 (Lord of the Tides). What would the story look like had Aegon been born a woman, and Aemond was Alicent's heir? Well, as it turns out, Aegon is very much the same lecherous fool, but the difference is that the consequences are far more devastating, and Aemond is determined to remind his sister of her place in his life. Word count: 13,963 (not sorry) Cross Posted on Ao3

Credits: Title inspired by: Cry Little Sister by Gerard McMann (Lost Boys Theme), cover art and fem!aegon edits made by me. Dividers not by me, I can't seem to find the original poster anymore. Story tags: Slow Burn (suffer for your smut), enemies to lovers, hate that I love you, established relationship, targcest (siblings, uncle/niece), angst, unrequited feelings, toxic relationships, yearning, jealousy, mxf, fxf, brother x sister, uncle x niece, master x servant.

Content warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, gender bent canon character, brief canon violence, angst, misogyny, slut shaming, targcest (brother/sister, uncle/niece), Aemond frequently calls her his sister, infidelity (everyone?), breastfeeding, creepy uncle behaviour, mention of underage 'fooling around', mentions of sex work and brothels, pregnancy mention, unwanted pregnancy, allusions to abortion (via moon tea!), post partum depression, withholding child from parent, labour pains and blood, abusive parent, verbal abuse, physical abuse (a slap), dubcon (power imbalance, and alcohol), toxic relationships, alcoholism, typical canon tw's. There are no good people here.

MOOD SPOILERS BELOW

P+V, sexual tension, breeding kink, cream pie, lactation kink, ass worship, breast worship, targcest, fingering, pussy grabbing, hickeys, degradation, allusions to anal, rough sex, hair grabbing/pulling, bending her around like a pretzel, oral (f receiving), over stimulation, orgasm repression, bit of spanking, edging, man handling, rimming with finger, clothes ripping, mirror sex, various positions.

“Get up,” Alicent’s sharp voice cut through her eldest child’s peaceful slumber like an executioner’s axe. Though her daughter did not move, did not show a moment of acknowledgement of her presence. “Aenys!”

Again, no response. This, of course, successfully pushed Alicent to the point of frustration. The Queen ripped off the sheets that covered her daughter, displaying her nude form to the room. That was when Aenys finally stirred, her eyes covered by a curtain of dishevelled white-gold hair. 

Aenys sighed, grabbing her sheets back to cover her body, then promptly rolled over, “Mother.... What is it?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep as she turned to snuggle back into her pillow.

“‘What is it? What is it, what is it?’ Is that all you can say for yourself?” Alicent leaned over the bed like a vulture ready to pick at a corpse. 

“Has something happened?” Aenys’ voice was muffled by her pillow, though her tone still successfully conveyed her disinterest. Her eyes were closed as she tried to chase back the dream she was having; she was naked on Sunfyre, flying while someone was pressed against her back, their hand cupping her mound and rubbing her pearl deliciously.

Alicent looked upon her incredulously and with barely contained fury. How could Alicent produce such a creature? Her own daughter, her first born, with beautiful violet eyes, bright white-blonde hair and the sweetest face. She was everything Alicent was not, and the Queen had absolutely no idea where she went wrong with her. 

“Ser Willis Fell,” The knight’s name was stressed through Alicent’s teeth. 

“Hm?”

“Ser Willis Fell, one of your father’s sworn guards,” Alicent stared at Aenys in disbelief. The Princess remained buried in her pillows. “Oh, for gods’ sake. Aenys, the Kingsguard that you coerced into breaking his vows.”

Aenys groaned in frustration, arching her back as she stretched out across her bed like a cat, “Oh, it was just harmless fun. He didn’t need much coercing either, he was very willing.” Aenys rubbed the butts of her palms into her eyes as she rolled onto her back, her shoulder length hair fanned around her in messy tendrils. 

Alicent gaped down at Aenys’ audacity, “Think of the shame you brought me. Think of the shame you bring to your husband, Aenys. Do you not realize how dangerous it is for you to fraternize with other men? You not only cuckold your husband, but you risk getting pregnant with a bastard!”

Aenys scoffed as she cracked open her eyes to blurrily glare up at her mother, her frustration growing with every passing second that she wasn’t allowed to sleep. “I am not some unseasoned mare, mother, I know how to prevent such accidents,” Aenys swung her legs over the side of the bed, the sheets bunching up around her waist while her breasts hung broadly displayed, littered with love marks from last night’s tryst. “Besides, what me and Ser Willis did, there was definitely no way we could have conceive—” 

Alicent slapped her hard across the face. The clap echoed in the bedchamber, shocking them both into a silence that deafened them. Aenys’ face was sharply turned away from her, her cheek stinging with her mother’s love, her eyes bleeding fresh salty tears. Alicent breathed heavily through her nose, staring daggers into her daughter’s profile. Only a flicker of regret passed by her brown doe eyes before it was quickly replaced with contempt. She bent down so she was at Aenys’ eye level. 

“You are no daughter of mine.”

“I’m sorry, my Princess, but he refused to latch. He’s been crying all morning,” Joy was bouncing the screaming baby up and down in her arms, trying to calm him down. Her large breast was exposed, showing that she had just recently tried another attempt at getting the babe to latch onto her. 

Aenys rubbed her furrowed brow as she approached the two of them, and then mutely picked up her son from the wetnurse’s arms. “That’s because he is the blood of the dragon,” she holds her son to her bosom as she walks over to an armchair and sits down, “And therefore has a refiner pallet. Isn’t that right, Aerys? My boy is an Arbor Red man.” 

Aenys cooed at her youngest son while she unlaced her bodice with her free hand and pulled her arm out of her dress so she could release her breast with ease. It did not take much for the babe to latch on, successfully silencing him. Aenys hummed contently at the sight, her hands moving along the crown of his silver-haired head, and then relaxed into her seat. 

Joy seemed utterly relieved as she tucked herself back into her dress. Her fingers went to massage her temples where her headache had taken root due to the hours of Aerys’ unrelenting screaming. “He misses you, my Princess,” the wetnurse said with a tender voice. “They both do.” 

Aenys swallowed thickly as she stared down at Aerys, her second child, the spare to her husband’s heir. He had only been born two months ago, yet it felt like years. Much like when she had given birth to her first, when the sex was identified as a boy, her son was swiftly taken away from her and into the breast of the wetnurse, Joy. When her first was born, Aenys had cried throughout the first night.On the second she marched through the corridors demanding to see her son; a trail of blood from her healing cervix following her angry strides. They only complied because she was making a scene, but she was never alone with him. Either her grandsire, mother, wetnurse or his father was present.

She wasn’t stupid. Nor was she deaf. Aenys could hear their whispers when they think she isn’t listening, or too drunk to pay attention. They do not see her as a fit mother, they think she’ll accidentally kill her children in some drunken escapade, or just from negligence or ignorance. When her eldest got older, when he started talking, she saw less and less of him. His father didn’t want Aenys to influence him. He needed his heir to be perfect; groomed to be the epitome of Targaryen excellence, something that Aenys was very much not.

As Joy went about the room to clean up, to change the sheets in Aerys’ crib, Aenys spent the entire time in silence. She just watched her son latching on her nipple, the sounds of his sighs and suckles sending a wave of calm throughout her body that felt inherently natural. His large purple eyes were starting to flutter close, exhausted after hours of being denied his right to his mother’s breast. Aenys’ finger grazed the apple of her son’s cheek, feeling the dampness of the tears he had shed. She couldn’t help but feel the sting of resentment towards her family; it was their fault that her babe was famished to the point of screaming. If they had simply let her be with him, to let him nurse off of her in the first place, it never would have happened.

The sound of the door handle turning snatched her attention. There was no knock, no announcement from a Kingsguard, it was just him walking in as if he were already king. 

Aemond’s eye landed on her instantly– Well, more specifically on her tit in their son’s mouth. Her milky white mound was decorated with fading bruises of love marks from her previous lover, evidence of her infidelity that he was well aware of anyway. The fact that she was having their son nurse from the same breast that another man was nursing from surely twenty-four hours ago made his gut churn with disgust. 

And yet… The sight of her nursing made his black heart thump uncomfortably. 

He sharply turned away from the sight, displaying the profile of his taut jaw where she could see the muscle of his cheek twitch from the strain.

“Where is Aegon?” He questioned sharply, his hand still on the door handle, conveying that he had no intention of lingering.

“I thought he was with you?” She raised an eyebrow at him, her hands holding onto Aerys a little more tightly as if he was going to snatch him away from her. 

“He is with Maester Orwyle, my Prince,” Joy is quick to answer before the two parents could fret over the whereabouts of their child. “He is learning his numbers today.”

 Aemond hums and is about to leave, but Aenys is quick to ask him what he needed him for. 

“It is time for him to learn how to use a sword,” Aemond’s answer doesn’t surprise Aenys in the least bit, but it does make her give him a look of incredulity. 

“Use a swor–? Aemond, he just turned six,” She shook her head at him.

“And? Six is a fine age to begin sparring,” he turned back to her, his eye trained to her face deliberately. “The earlier he begins, the more skilled of a warrior he will become when he is older.” 

Aenys rolled her eyes with a scoff, “Aemond, he is too small to lift up a training sword–.”

“How would you know what my son is capable of?” His words cut her deeply. It was a well placed shot straight to her chest that snapped her lips shut, but only for a moment. 

The creases between her brows deepened, “I am his mother.” 

Aemond nearly laughed at that, “You were his mother for nine months. A wetnurse for two weeks, and then a stranger for the rest. Do not presume to know what is best for my heir, Aenys. Not when you do not even know what is best for yourself.” 

Her husband and brother left absolutely no room for her to respond. Aemond dismissed himself with a flourish of his pin straight hair and a bang of the door. 

Aenys pulled Aerys tighter against her bosom, her head bowed over the crest of his warm scalp, and her eyes tightly shut. Fresh tears fall on the babe’s face, but they do not belong to him. 

The arrival of Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and their brood came with much noise. It was no friendly family reunion, but a necessary arrival to preserve their bastard sons’ inheritance. Vaemond Velaryon would be arriving soon to petition the line of succession to the Heir of Driftmark in the anticipation of Lord Corlys’ possible death. With King Viserys still abed, mind addled with milk of the poppy, and decomposing with every passing day, the petition would be presided by the Lord Hand and the Queen Regent. 

Aenys couldn’t care about anything less. She knew the weight of the petition; if Lucerys loses his inheritance, it would be due to his legitimacy, which would in turn put Jacaerys’ legitimacy into question. Which is ultimately what Alicent and Otto want, but that would not change Viserys’ line of succession. The crown will go to Rhaenyra upon the King’s death, and when Rhaenyra is Queen she could just simply legitimize her sons, or make her eldest son with Daemon her heir. It changed nothing, no matter how much Alicent, Otto, and Aemond delusion themselves into thinking that this petition would. 

She was three cups of wine in when her uncle found her laying on a lounger beneath the domed roof of a stone gazebo, nestled in the heart of the royal gardens. Aenys was watching in mild amusement as a plain pigeon attempted to do his courtship dance to a much fancier female. Her feathers were mostly white, not quite a dove, given the grey feathers around her neck and the beautiful iridescent sheen they held. She was not at all impressed by the male.

“Well, if it isn’t little Aenys,” Daemon’s monotonous drawl was enough to pull her attention away from her pigeons. Her uncle’s tall willowy figure blocked the sun that was peaking through the shrubs and trees, making him look like a shadow. She could still see him tilt his head at her, “Bit early to be that well into your cups, don’t you think? Particularly for a princess.” 

The smirk on his lip conveyed he cared less than what his statement implied. 

“Are you going to tattle on me, uncle?” She slurped her wine noisily, which made his smirk widen. 

He didn’t answer her, instead he descended into an armchair situated at the feet of her lounger. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, his large hands resting on the arms, and his plum purple eyes roamed the length of her legs like a predator sizing up its potential prey. 

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you.” 

“That’s because I was three the last time you saw me.”

His smirk transformed into a wolfish grin. Daemon paused to look around at their setting, to the empty parepets that loomed overhead, to the loggia on the second floor that faced the garden’s direction, to the pigeon who was still trying fruitlessly with his courting dance. When he was satisfied with what he saw, or rather what he didn’t see, he leaned on his knees towards her. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

Aenys raised her eyebrows for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. However, there was an expression of ease and intrigue upon her features, “Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking somewhere less polished. Less green.” 

A knowing and curly smirk dimpled her cheek, “Ah, the Lord of Flea Bottom wishes to return to his people. Fee ling sentimental for your own stomping grounds, uncle?”

That lecherous smirk barely wavered; if anything it amplified when his tongue flicked out to run along his bottom lip, “From what I’ve heard you have inherited and elevated the title in my absence. The Queen of Whores. Quite a step up from a lord.” 

At the mention of the title Aenys’ smirk flattened a bit and her eyes drifted away, “Hm, or a step down, some might say. Alas, I have not done my queenly duties these past few years.”

“Because you are married?” He asked this as if it isn’t a sufficient enough excuse. “From the rumours I hear, niece, that still does not deter you. I’ve noticed that my brother has one less White Cloak guarding him.”

“He broke his vows.”

“So did you.”

Aenys tapped her wine glass as she assessed Daemon, wondering what he was trying to achieve with this conversation. Taking a thoughtful sip, she tilted her head at him. 

“Are you suffering from bed death already, uncle?” Her question managed to enlist a bodily reaction from him. Daemon leaned back in his chair, his smirk flattening for a moment before returning the moment she continued. “Got bored with one niece and now trying to pursue the other?”

He chuckled at that, his hand running over his chin before resting it on his palm, his elbow placed on his knee. “Am I wrong to assume that you suffer the same affliction with your beloved husband?”

It was now his turn to pull a bodily reaction from Aenys. Her lips fell into a pout, and she shifted uncomfortably in her lounger; her left leg moved up as she shifted her bottom on the seat so she was sitting straighter, but in doing so her gown lifted just enough to expose her pale ankle. Daemon’s dark gaze found it in an instant. 

“I doubt my nephew meets your needs sufficiently, sweet niece,” his voice is a pur that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “I would have suspected a woman with your…appetites would have more children by now. But I’ve noticed the age gap between your sons. Is that by design, I wonder? A well placed lemon top, or a convenient cup of moon tea? I imagine you’ve learned all sorts of tricks from the brothels you frequented.”

Aenys had been pregnant in between her sons, yes, but the father was not Aemond, and was swiftly taken care of by moon tea and several excruciating hours of heavy bleeding and a pain that rivalled active labour. It took years after Aegon’s birth to even convince Aemond to try for a spare– and as soon as Aerys was conceived, her brother stopped acknowledging her.

When she didn’t answer, Daemon was undeterred as he continued, “Mayhaps we can help each other.” His hand reached out the short distance to her ankle, using one long finger to draw lines on her exposed joint before trailing up her calf, moving along the hem of her dress. “And…should there be any consequence from it… None would be the wiser.”

Aenys’ eyes observe his ministrations, not even denying to herself that it was causing her loins to stir with longing. Her sex hungered for attention, even if it was not that long ago that she had a courtier’s head nestled between her thighs. However, there was nothing like a good cock rutting in and out of her like she was a mare in heat. Even more so when it is so forbidden and taboo. Not that he being her uncle was– no, bizarrely in their world that was normal, if not expected. She was, afterall, married to her younger brother and sired two children with him. What made it taboo was that they were both married, and their spouses were silently competing for a seat on the throne.

But something whispered in the back of Aenys’ mind, which sounded a lot like a conscience. It was enough to make her feel a bit queasy at the prospect of stepping over the line between her and Daemon. Maybe it was because she was a mother now, maybe it was the berating she suffered from her mother last morning, maybe it was because she hadn’t enough wine to shut off that little voice in her head. Or maybe it was because she felt the looming presence of a foreboding character lurking in the shadows, his blazing eye burning a hole into the back of her head. 

Aenys was getting out of the bath when Aemond barged into her living quarters. The sound of the door shuddering at the force of his body caused her poor maidservant to startle, effectively dropping the towel she was trying to wrap around her mistress. 

“Seven Hells, Aemond,” Aenys quickly snatched up her towel and wrapped up her nudity before she could even clocked the look he was giving her. That one lingering look with his one haunted eye that drank up the sight of her rear like a famished beggar. But that look was quickly wiped away and replaced with his ever present facade of antipathy. “Knock, for Mother’s sake.”

“Why?” He bit the question as he strode further into the room. The maidservant immediately knew that she wasn’t wanted, and swiftly curtsied before sprinting out of the room and hastily closing the door behind her. “I am your lord and your husband, I am entitled to this room and everything in it, including you. Or have you forgotten that after all these years?”

The last time Aemond felt ‘entitled’ to her rooms was nearly a year ago when they conceived Aerys, and even then he approached her door like it was the gates to the hells. The hypocrisy of his statement made her blink rapidly around the room in disbelief.

Clutching the knot of the towel at her chest, she widened her stance in preparation for a verbal altercation. “No less than you have forgotten, husband. You haven’t darkened my doorstep for elven moons.”

He strode closer to her until all that remained between them was the cooling copper tub and the milky water that remained swirling around. It smelt like vanilla and lemon, with just a hint of mint leaves. An aroma that was very distinctively Aenys; one that he had come to loathe and crave like a bad habit that he was actively trying to detox from.

“And that gives you a right to do as you please? Your debauchery when we were younger was bad enough, Aenys, but now your lecherous behaviour has gotten out of hand.”

“Now? Now it’s gotten out of hand?” With one hand clutching the towel, the other waved around in exaggerated movements. “I was worse before we wed, Aemond. I have been trying to be good… But it’s never good enough, is it? Nothing I do is ever good enough.”

His hands braced the edge of the tub as he peered at her like she was speaking maddening nonsense, “This is you trying?”

“I have not set foot in Flea Bottom in years, have I not?”

“That changes absolutely nothing! You’ve just changed your hunting grounds, setting your sights on honourable guards, servants, and weak-willed courtiers like the succubus that you are.”

Aenys scoffed dismissively at this, “Oh, do not look down upon me as if you are any better, Aemond. At least I do not skulk in the dark when I commit my sins.”

“What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?”

“I am aware of your little visits to Madam Sylvi’s, Aemond,” Aenys crossed her arms over her chest, pressing the towel firmly against her aching breasts. “I would have found it sweet that you still lie with your first – might’ve even been flattered that it is the same whore that I bought for you as a name day present after all these years, but your shocking display of hypocrisy is offensive. I am not the only adulterer in this marriage, Aemond.”

Aemond stared at her with the full capacity of his fury. His shame for his indulgences in the arms of Madam Sylvi was enough of a burden for him to bear, but the fact that Aenys knew about it was something he could not accept. It would be one thing if it was his mother that had learned of it, but with Aenys, it was a different story. She led the entourage of his childhood tormentors, taking pleasure in emphasizing how little, dragonless and weak he was at the time. And now… Sylvi was his only weakness he allowed himself, and Aenys fucking knew about her. 

He rigidly straightened up and strode purposely around the tub, each step calculated and predatory. “I am your husband, Aenys, and therefore you are my property by law, not the other way around. What I do to seek out my pleasures is none of your fucking business.” He is towering over her now, crowding her space, making her step back until her thighs meet the edge of an accent table flushed against the wall. “But what you do, wife, is my business. You made vows to me, Aenys, in holy matrimony, to serve only me, your lord and husband!”

Having Aemond this close was making her knees weak, but Aenys wasn’t a simpering lap dog that rolled over in the presence of a larger one. 

“I did not ask for this, Aemond!” She shouted, her chin lifted in defiance. “I did not ask to be your wife! If there is anyone to blame for your predicament, it is mother, not me!”

“Believe me, sister,” He seethed through clenched teeth, his eye turned black by the vast void of his widened pupil. Aemond stretched his neck forward, leaning so was nose to nose with her. “I rue the day mother told me that you would be my wife. I would have never chosen such an unworthy woman for the title. It should have been Helaena. It should have always been Helaena.” 

Aenys’ nostrils flared at his words; each one was like a dagger sinking another inch deeper into her chest. The mention of Helaena sent a wave of insecurity through her gut, making her eyes sting and her nose to twitch. Helaena was the daughter that Alicent always wanted; delicate, kind, soft-hearted, beautiful in such an effortless way that she did not even need to wear extravagant gowns and bold jewelry for people to notice it. Alas the greatest sin Helaena had was being born second to Aenys. With her fragile mind, she was moved to Oldtown to live with Daeron, until a suitable betrothal is made for her. A decision that Alicent freely admits was a mistake, particularly to Aenys, when she reminds her eldest of how undeserving she was of the things freely given to her. Undeserving and unworthy. 

Unworthy. She was unworthy.

Unworthy of being a wife. 

Unworthy of being a mother. 

Unworthy of being a daughter. 

Unworthy of love. 

“If you hate me so much Aemond, then just leave me be,” Her lips twitched as she said this through clattering teeth and a taut jaw.

“I wish I could,” his voice came out a little softer than the tone he had used seconds before. But the softness quickly dissipated when he reached out and grabbed her face, his fingers sinking into her cheek possessively. “But your infidelity has shamed me enough, Aenys. The Realm already laughs in my fucking face over you cuckolding me at every turn. Thank the Seven that our sons look like me, because if there was even a whisper about their legitimacy, Aenys, my claim to the Throne would be just as weak as Rhaenyra’s. And it would be entirely your fault.”

Despite the grip he had on her face, she scoffed at him, a derisive little smirk split her cheek, “Do you still believe that you will be king, Aemond?” The question effectively made his eye flash fiercely. “Father had twenty-one years to name you heir, and he didn’t. He still steadfastly declares Rhaenyra his heir–” 

“Shut your whore mouth,” He pinched her face viciously, pulling it closer to him, making her body press against the lithe structure of his form. Aenys immediately reached up and clung to his elbows, but not entirely understanding if she did to push him off or pull him closer. 

“I am no whore, brother,” She twisted her face out of his grasp. “Whores get paid–”

Suddenly his other hand was on her again, but this time it was nestled between her thighs, cupping her mound harshly. Tendrils of electricity crawled along the surface of her skin, blooming from that centered point. The touch of his warm palm, pressing against her labia just above her pearl made her thighs quiver. The feel of the pad of his finger on her slit made her hips involuntarily buck into him. Her sex ached for his penetration, as evidenced by her slick essence dampening her curls. 

“No, you’re a curse. My curse,” his nostrils flared as his eye seared into her face, devouring every tremble of muscle he caused. He seeked to dig the knife deeper, to make her feel his hatred for her. To remind her of her place, to break her spirit. It was what she deserved for all that she did to him. He plunged and curled his fingers into her, causing her to gasp and arch her back into him. Aemond did not move his digit, just kept her there like a fish on a hook. 

“Aemond–” She put her hands on his shoulders, not pushing him away, but anchoring herself to him. In doing so, the towel around her body loosened, her breasts were painfully pressed against him, likely leaking with milk. She breathed hard, her heady desires rising rapidly at his rare touch. 

Even during the whopping two times they coupled, Aemond was not nearly this lascivious with her. At most, he had rubbed her clit and fingered her for a minute or two just so it made his descent inside her easier for both of them. He always took her from behind, always kept her face pressed against the mattress so he wouldn’t look at her. 

But he was looking at her now, with knuckles deep in her cunt, showing his claim to his property. The heat that bloomed in her chest and core blotted out her anger towards him, and Aenys eagerly showed him how much she wanted him by rolling her hips into his hand, encouraging him to pleasure her. “Aemond– please, I need–”

Aemond had nearly broken and bent like a weak-willed man. The crotch of his breeches were already tight, and now the laces strained against the thickening of his cock underneath. But something snapped awake in him, reminding him of who he was lusting for. Aenys, the bane of his existence, the great Whore of King’s Landing. He pulled away from her in an instant like she had just burned him with an iron poker. The hand that was buried inside stretched and curled at his side as if he had just touched something vile. 

The towel crumpled on the floor, her vanity exposed, making it look like the trembling body of a wounded doe, waiting to be killed. The hurt of rejection was clear upon her face, with wide eyes and quivering lips. 

He still had the knife, he still wanted to drive it home into her heart. Aemond wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt him over the span of their marriage, over the span of their childhood. 

“You are merely a duty, Aenys. One that was thrusted upon me against my will, and being the loyal son that I am, I accepted this fate without complaint,” He turned away from her, keeping her on his blind side as if the very image of her naked form repulsed him… Or weakened him. “That is all this marriage is. The gods were merciful enough to grant me two heirs from you, and I see that as a fulfillment of my duty. I need nothing more from you.” 

With that he strode around the tub, his steps quicker than his usual gait. His fingers still flexed at his side before he reached for the door to see himself out, but before he did, he paused. Aemond looked down, slowly reached for something in his pocket, then turned back to her. 

Aenys stood there, crestfallen, her head bowed, making her damp hair a curtain around her face like limp strands of white seaweed. She had her arms folded around her chest, her knees were slightly caved in the middle as she tried to hide her pelvic region. His jaw slacked at the sight of her, and a flicker of regret passed his features like dust in the wind. The hickies were still on her chest, splotches of yellowed skin with purple hues at the center, reminding him why she did not deserve his pity. 

“Here,” Aemond growled. With his thumb, he flicked something in her direction. It sang in the air before landing with a noisy clank, and then rolled on the hardwood floor before it clattered to a stop. When Aenys’ eyes flickered to it, her brow furrowed. It was a single copper star coin. 

“That’s all you’re worth.”

Then, he was gone with the slamming of the door. The singing of the coin still rang in her ears, along with the chanting of voices saying over, and over again: 

Unworthy. 

Unfit.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Whore. Whore. Whore. Whore.

It happened so incredibly fast that Aenys was tugged violently back into sobriety. 

Two days passed since the argument with Aemond, and she had not seen him at all since. It was not like she was seeking him out, but his avoidance felt more like a conscious effort rather than a coincidence. Even when Aenys visited Aegon in the library while he was learning the geography of Westeros, Aemond was vacant for the entire lesson. Which was strange, since Aemond liked to be a part of Aegon’s lessons, often shadowing the Maester or replacing him altogether to ensure that his son was getting a proper education.

When Aenys did see Aemond, it was during Vaemond’s petition.

The petition started off dull and boring, at least to Aenys, even when she was already four cups of Arbour Gold in. She stood there with her hands laced in front of her, rocking on the balls of her feet, wishing she was in the Dragon Pit with Sunflyre, the only living soul that seemed to care about her. She wasn’t paying a lick of attention to what Vaemond was saying – he gave a long speech about Velaryon blood and yada yada yada. At one point Rhaenyra cut him off to defend her son’s blood status, which was quickly shut down by the Queen. 

It didn’t really get that interesting until the doors opened and the broken and hollow footsteps of King Viserys forced everyone into a stunned silence. Aenys and Aemond watched with baited breath as the ailing King hobbled over to the dais of the Iron Throne unaided. His crown fell from his head, which was quickly scooped by his rogue brother. Daemon helped his brother into his throne and then gently placed the gold crown back upon his head with such tenderness, it was easy for Aenys to forget her uncle's reputation. Easy to forget the proposition he offered her days ago.

It was easy to believe that deep down, he might have actually been a good man. And Aenys’ heart ached in envy over her half-sister’s luck to have such a husband at her side. Infidelity aside, Daemon had not once displayed disinterest to his wife since they arrived. They reared their children together, they walked together, shoulder to shoulder, they conversed normally without argument. It begged the question as to why he propositioned Aenys in the first place…

But when he turned away from Viserys to join his family, Daemon caught her eye. Then Aenys fundamentally realized something: She reminded him of not only himself, but of the girl Rhaenyra used to be.

Then something utterly bizarre happened in that same exact moment when Daemon strode past her. She felt Aemond shift closer to her side; the heat of his body near unbearable, given the cold shoulder he had been giving her their entire marriage. Then she felt his arm slither around her waist, his fingers digging into the meat of her hip. Aenys’ brow furrowed, then she slowly turned to Aemond with a budding snarl on her lip. However, Aemond wasn’t looking at her; he was too busy glaring at their uncle’s retreating back. 

After that moment, all hell broke loose; Rhaenys spoke for her husband and Viserys declared the matter being settled. Lucerys would keep his inheritance, even though anyone with eyes knew it was unjustly deserved. However Vaemond was not fixed to roll over that easily. 

The words “Bastard” and “Whore” echoed in the Throne Room, and Aenys felt herself flinch as if they were directed at her. Though it wasn’t, they were directed at her half-sister, Rhaenyra. Who arguably out of the two sisters was the least whore-ish of all, and yet the consequences of her affair with a single man were regarded far more viciously than the lecherous reputation Aenys harboured. 

But would that be her fate if she gave birth to bastards? If her current sons weren’t Aemond’s, or even just failed to look like him at all? Would she be standing there in Rhaenyra’s place, pleading for everyone to believe that her sons were legitimate? 

Vaemond’s head was chopped in half. His body slumped, the top half of his skull slipped off with a squelch of blood and flesh as his tongue flopped out of his bottom half. 

“He can keep his tongue.” 

In the chorus of screams and gasps, Aenys’ reaction was no different to any other gently bred lady of the court. Her hands went flying to the sides of her face and she rushed to turn away. In her horror she didn’t even completely register Aemond’s arms wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest to shield her from the gruesome display. 

“Are you alright?” Aemond’s question was almost as queer as the tone he chose to speak it in. 

“I’m fine,” her eyes narrowed at him, her goblet of wine was cradled to her chest as if he was about to snatch it away from her. “Why?” Her voice was gritty and filled with suspicion and seven cups of wine. 

“I went to your quarters earlier; your guard told me you were adamant on not being disturbed,” he said it so cooly, Aenys was almost convinced that he actually cared. Even though she knew better to assume otherwise, the fact he had gone to her quarters at all (and to concede in her need to not be disturbed) felt incredibly out of character to him. 

“That’s because my maid was busy distracting me with her tongue in my cunt,” she sipped her wine casually, ignoring the flash of annoyance in Aemond’s eye. 

“Aenys–”

She scoffed at him before he continued. Their argument the other day was still fresh on her mind; his words echoed in her nightmares and branded itself to her insides. “Do not start, Aemond,” she rolled her eyes and waved her cup-bearing hand at him dismissively. “It is about time that you come to peace with my nature, just like I have come to peace with the fact that my name sounds a lot like ‘anus’. So in peace, in fact, that anal has become a speciality of mine–”

Aenys could sense his rise in outrage, but they weren’t alone in the small hall, so there was no room to react. Their entire family gathered around the table in anticipation of the King’s arrival so they could be seated for their family dinner. The first of its kind in many, many years. 

Before Aemond could grip her arm and pull her into some dark alcove to berate her, the doors opened and four guards came in carrying their ailing father on a litter. Slowly and one by one, people took their spots at the table, not sitting until the King was situated at the center.

The small hall was painfully quiet, even when King Viserys spoke, declaring that it brought him joy to see all of them at the table as one. Alicent led the dinner with a prayer, and everyone in the table complied by clasping their hands, some bowing their heads, some closing their eyes. Aemond had done both, making Aenys roll her eyes instead of closing them. She didn’t even bother clasping her hands; there was no point. The gods hated her, she was a sinner most foul. There was little dignity in pretending otherwise. 

After that, Viserys explained how the night was one of celebration, and went on to congratulate the betrothal of Jacaerys and Lucerys to their cousins and step siblings, Baela and Rheana. 

As everyone raised their goblets for a toast, Aenys couldn’t help herself but lean into Jacaerys’ side, her features mockingly soft and considerate. 

“Well done, Jace, you can finally put those skills I taught you to good use,” Aenys managed to keep her face straight when Baela sent her a sharp look. Jacaerys didn’t bother acknowledging her with a glance, instead he drank a generous helping of his wine, puckering his lips as he staved off the urge to make a sharp remark. 

As Viserys congratulated Lucerys for his preservation of his title, (The Lord of the Tides! Here, here!) Aenys caught Aemond’s eye. He was heatedly staring at her over the rim of his goblet, his jaw taut with agitation. The knowledge that Aenys and Jacaerys had done little experiments with each other in their mid teens was an open secret, at least between the four of them. It was a fact that Aemond was openly not fond of, though Aenys didn’t entirely understand why. She and him weren’t betrothed at the time, and as far as she was aware, her brother resented both her and Jacaerys equally during that era in their life. What with them and Luke being the primary villains in his childhood. 

Aenys turned back to Jacaerys, leaning against his chair by draping her arm on the back of it, crowding his space. 

“You do remember how the act is done, right? At least in principle, seeing as we never got around to sticking your cock in–”

“Enough, cousin,” Baela whispered harshly from the other side of Jacaerys, who was already losing his temper. 

“You can play the harlot if you wish, aunt, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace whispered, his words were more of a hiss as he braced himself on the edge of the table. 

Aenys blinked at him and nodded, “Mhm. Whatever you say, my dear nephew.”

As she settled back into her chair, she felt fingers snake onto her knee and grip tightly. This brought her attention back to her husband, whose lips were pursed and his eye blazed with warning. Aenys merely smiled at him as if they were in wedded bliss, her hand reaching down to her knee to grab his, then pulling it up on the table, where she laced her fingers with his. The action earned her a little rumble from deep in his chest, and she half expected him to tear his hand out of her grip, but he didn’t. 

He just looked away from her, eye trained on something (or someone) at the other end of the table. There was a twitch in the muscle under his injured eye, and in that moment she felt his fingers tighten around her own. 

The sound of Viserys’ cane hitting the floor silenced the whispers around the table and garnered the attention of everyone in the room. The frail King rose from his seat, and everyone watched with bated breath and concern, as if he would topple over at his attempt. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past,” Viserys paused as he slowly reached for the bronzed mask that hid half his face. Unbuckling the fastens, he let it fall onto the table. His right side exposed, the empty socket, the decayed flesh that lay underneath.

 He was already half a corpse, half dead. It made Aenys’ breath hitch and her mind sober at the sight. She had never seen her father like this before; frail, weak, dying, his wounds displayed to them and yet stood above them all. Aenys only ever saw Viserys as a crippled man with no backbone, and eyes full of hate and disappointment when he looked in her direction. His most distasteful daughter.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… If it indeed ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as the king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the house of the dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man... who loves you all... so dearly.”

There was a palpable taste of shame, guilt, remorse, and heartbreak in the room. One that Aenys had to chase down with a drink from her cup. Unbeknownst to her own mind, her fingers had curled slightly around Aemond’s hand, which still remained in hers. Her eyes were settled on the table, but Aemond’s focus was their intertwined fingers, a deep, pensive look in his eye.

Soon after the King was back in his seat did Rhaenyra stand up with her goblet, declaring she was raising it for the Queen. She spoke of her loyalty to her father, and her devotion and love. Sentiments that Aenys found illinformed, knowing what she knew about her mother, knowing that she was no different than her estranged eldest daughter. If only Rhaenyra knew about Ser Criston…

But then Alicent spoke in kind, looking directly at the Crown Princess with soft eyes; eyes that Aenys had never seen when her mother ever looked in her direction. 

“We are both mothers, and we love our children,” the statement stung like a band of hornets. Aenys pursed her lips and tore her attention off of the center of the table, feeling bile eat up her throat. She washed it down with more wine, making her cup empty. 

As everyone toasted and silently resumed to their plates and idle chatter, Aenys turned towards the pitcher that sat between Baela and Jacaerys. Her mouth was parched and that bile wouldn’t go away. She found herself standing and unlatching her hand from Aemond’s as she strode around Jacaerys’ chair, making her way towards the pitcher. She could feel Aemond’s eye on her every move. 

Clearing her throat, she gently squeezed between the two chairs so she could reach for the pitcher of wine. Once she got it in her grasp, she stood up and innocently began to pour it into her cup with her back facing the direction of their parents. 

“I, um,” she started, tongue moving along her teeth as she addressed Baela directly. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But, if you two ever need a couple extra helping hands, all you have to do is ask–”

Jace’s fists slammed against the table as he stood, eyes piercing Aenys as she walked casually around him, innocent as ever as she returned to her seat. The Strong Prince’s heated onyx gaze watched her with pure hatred, his body vibrating with the need to yell, or worse. When all eyes were on him, looks of surprise or mute apprehension, Aemond slowly stood up, towering over him at his end of the table. Aenys simply looked around the table innocently, only briefly catching the knowing look from her grandsire. 

Her husband’s eye was trained on Jacaerys, his stoic demeanor emanating an underlying threat; daring Jace to say something or do something. To give Aemond a reason.

Instead, Jace sucked in his lips and quickly swiped up his goblet. With a slight turn of his shoulders, he faced Aenys, a painfully forced smile on his plush lips as he gave her a little pat on her head. 

With a deep inhale, he raised his cup, “To Prince Aemond and Princess Aenys… We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mmmhm,” Aenys hummed in her seat, her smirk tugging at the end of her lip. Aemond remained standing, but he took a split second to send her a withering look. 

“And as men and women, I hope we may yet be friends and allies,” he raised his cup in their direction. “To the health of your young family, my dear uncle, and my sweet aunt.” 

Jace sat back down, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he did. Not long after, Aemond finally settled back in his seat, looking a tad disappointed that he wasn’t given a reason to throw hands. As everyone raised their goblets to Jace’s toast, Aenys sighed and rolled her eyes. Her tongue was moving around in her mouth, the desperate need to say something in turn. It really didn’t take much time before she let the pettiness win, and soon it was now her time to rise from the table, full goblet in hand. 

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” she began, a disingenuous smile stretched across her face that was instantly read by her family. Aside from her father, who looked like he was having trouble keeping his head up at that point. “You will be married soon, and I feel it is my duty as a member of the league of blissfully wedded women to impart some of my sage wisdom…” She trailed off, actively ignoring the glare from her mother, brother, and grandsire. “The key to a good marriage is communication and patience. And when you’re angry with each… lemons, loads of lemons,” Aenys ended her toast with a cheeky grin before she felt her sleeve get yanked by Aemond, forcing her to sit back down. 

Daemon was the only person who chuckled at the table, catching her jest immediately. Everyone else either looked confused or conflicted on what to make of Aenys’ little toast.

 With the tensions still thick, Viserys requested music to fill the void. Aenys felt Jacaerys shift in his seat, pushing back his chair to stand up. With a pompous air of superiority, he offered his hand to his soon-to-be bride, who looked up at him with equal levels of fondness and delight. Before Jace and Baela left the table, Aenys caught her nephew’s smugness as he shared a look with Aemond. When the couple walked around the table towards the open space to dance, Aemond’s eye found Aenys’ in turn, a silent dual recognition of Jace's intentions. 

Despite her little toast, it was common knowledge that her marriage with Aemond was not the blissful one she had claimed. It was not a secret either that he rarely touches her, nor was it unknown that Aenys had a long string of lovers to compensate for the lack of physical affection. Jace asking Baela for a dance seemed innocent, but it very much wasn’t. What it was, was a statement: “We are better than you in every way.” 

Aenys crossed her legs under the table as she nursed her wine. She was practically slumped against the chair as she watched the couple with poorly concealed contempt and jealousy. As time went on in a haze of music, soft laughter and chatter, the tension eased from all seated except for the young married couple at the far right end of the table. Neither of them touched their food the entire time. 

From the corner of Aenys’ eye, she could see Daemon shift in his seat, as if he was going to get up. However, the anguished sigh of the King stopped him, as well as everyone else in the room. The tired and ailing King was carried out of the small hall on his litter, everyone stood and paused as they gave him their regard and respect. Not long after his departure, however, did the atmosphere shift. 

Servants came through the doors a minute after, holding a large platter that was the bed of a roasted, sizzling pig. The large plate was carefully slid in front of both Aemond and Aenys. The former had been impassively staring at Jace and Baela still dancing, but the moment he heard giggling from the other end of the table, his head slowly turned towards the smirking boy, the one who made him half blind. 

Aenys’ cup was halfway towards her lips when she noticed her husband’s look, and she immediately clocked the twitch in his cheek and the tightness of his jaw. She slowly placed her cup down back on the table, now that a real show was about to begin. 

When Aemond’s fist landed in the wooden table, Aenys felt a spike of adrenaline shoot down her spine, straight down to her cunt. 

 “Final tribute.” 

“Aemond, are you listening to me?!” Alicent shouted, her chest heaving as she stared at her son with wide disapproving eyes, marbled by the glossiness of her embarrassment over her son’s uncharacteristic and unprovoked confrontation at supper.

Aemond wasn’t listening to her, of course. It went in one ear and out the other. After Daemon had wedged himself between him and his nephews, with that smug-ass look on his face, Aemond strode out of the room and went straight to his quarters. His mind was reeling and his muscles were tense with adrenalin at what transpired that evening. Of course, he felt an immense amount of satisfaction for putting his nephews in their place, of reminding them who their competition was. But that wasn’t what plagued his mind, oh no. 

It was Aenys.

She had been a pain in his ass the entire eve, from the moment she walked in, already well into her cups. Despite the tense argument they had the other day, Aenys still had no qualms flaunting her sexual deviances around like a badge of honour, in front of him no less. However, her taunting Jacaerys the way she did, making him and Baela squirm with just her words stirred something in him that evening. Of course, he abhorred the knowledge that Jace and his wife fooled around as young teens (back when Aenys was closer to him than she ever was with Aemond), it was simply the act of her using that as a weapon that Aemond couldn’t help but respect. Begrudgingly.

But it wasn’t just that. When Aemond’s final tribute took a violent turn, Aenys wasted no time in joining him. When Jace approached Aemond and raised his fist, Luke had approached to do the same thing.

 It was very reminiscent of the night that Aemond lost his eye; they all gained up on him, and at the time he was alone. Aenys was somewhere with that male servant she had been flirting with at the funeral, likely getting her holes fingered. At the time, Aemond resented her for not being there with him. She was his older sister after all, and the closest blood he had aside from Helaena and Daeron who were both in Oldtown. Though he knew logically that Aenys couldn’t have possibly known that Aemond was even outside in the first place, claiming Vhagar. But still, it was the budding reason as to why he had pointed his finger at her when their father asked where he had heard the ‘lie’ about Rhaenyra’s children being bastards.

However at supper, when Luke strode to join Jacaerys’ assault, much like he had done that fateful night, Aenys was on him in an instant. With a strength he had absolutely no idea she possessed, she had grabbed onto Luke’s arm and pinned him on the table, hovering over him with a self-satisfied expression on her face. She enjoyed putting the Strong boys in their place as much as Aemond did, reminding them that they were the true Targaryens, the rightful heirs. 

When Rhaena went to grab Aenys, she had no choice but to pull herself away from Luke in order to fend her cousin off. In doing so Luke twirled off the table, and raised his hand to grab Aenys by the back of her haid. Aemond’s heart spiked. Though, just as he was about to bound over there in quick strides, Aenys twirled around and landed a swift punch of her own to Luke’s left eye. 

“Be lucky I wasn’t holding a dagger, you bastard,” Aenys spat in her nephew’s face and stepped over him, leaving him sprawled on the floor, clutching his bruised eye. 

Aemond was staring at his wife with a wide eye and a hardening cock/ But before he could even grab her, Daemon had stepped between them all as guards scrambled to pull Rhaenyra’s brood away. The sight of his uncle immediately infuriated him, particularly the smug way he was looking back. 

“Aemond,” Alicent’s word sliced through his reverie, and brought him back to the present. He turned to look at her, his face completely impassive. She was berating him for the past ten minutes or so, and he sat there in quiet, not bothering to respond. 

He wasn’t listening, he didn’t care. He would have done it again and again and again, if it meant he could watch Aenys punch Luke over and over again.

“I cannot believe you, of all people, Aemond, would have said such things in front of everyone. After we had just established peace!” 

“Peace?” Aemond repeats the word like it is the most vile thing he’s ever tasted. He stood up from his arm chair and sauntered over to his mother. “You lost the right to peace long ago when you told me that I was Rhaenyra’s challenge. When you and grandsire groomed me to be the future king, despite father’s steadfast decision of keeping Rhaenyra as his heir. You lost the right to peace when you married him in the first place, effectively creating a war when you gave him more children. And Rhaenyra lost the right to it when she opened her legs and sired bastards.” 

“Aemond–” Alicent took a step forward, her face slowly cracking as she pleaded with him, but he put his hand up to stop her. His face was twisted in disgust. 

“You said to her… That she would make a fine Queen. You said that to her, in front of me, mother,” Aemond pursed his lips and gritted his jaw as he turned away from Alicent. “After all you’ve told me… After years of preparing me for the throne, telling me how I would make my ancestors proud. Did you believe any of it, or were you just stroking your own ambition?”

Alicent gaped at him, her brown eyes wide and glossy. The truth of his words bit her like the chill of a winter breeze, causing her to freeze over in the consequences of her sins.

When Aemond saw that she was not going to answer, his nostrils flared and he sharply turned away from her. His long, heavy steps ate up the floor within seconds until he’s reaching for the door.

“Wher-where are you going?” She questioned, turning to him with a flash of fear crossing her features, as if she suspects him of doing something heinous. 

Aemond hesitated, his fingers flexing around the handle of the door, his shoulders taut and the muscles in his cheek twitching under the strength of his gritted jaw. 

“To my wife.”

When Aemond barged into Aenys’ quarters for the second time that week, she was sitting on a settee with her maidservant straddling her lap. Aenys was sucking on the girl’s perky nipple while her hand was buried under her skirts, knuckles deep in the servant’s cunt. 

When the maid turned to see who had entered, her eyes widened to saucers and she immediately pulled herself off of the Princess’s lap (much to Aenys’ chagrin), releasing her nipple from her mouth with an obscene popping sound. 

“What the hells, Aemond,” the Princess growled. 

Aemond ignored her statement. As the maid scrambled to fix her bodice, he jutted his thumb towards the exit, “Out.” With barely a nod and a curtsy, the maid scrambled out, still lacing up her bodice.

Aenys glared up at him as she slumped in her seat, her face was flushed (from drink or from the activities that were interrupted), and the laces of her bodice were loosened, threatening to release her breasts.

“Way to be a cock block, husband,” Aenys huffed when the door slammed shut. She stood up then, her hands thrown in the air in exasperation. “What do you even– Aemond!” 

He had grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease as he tossed her over his shoulder. Aemond took wide strides towards her bedchamber and once there, he tossed Aenys onto the bed, kicking the door behind him closed. 

Aenys stared up at him, wide eyed, gobsmacked, and utterly confused. Her plush, swollen lips were parted, her hair was in a disarray around her face as she sat propped on her elbows. 

“Wh-what are you–” Her eyes traveled to his hands, where he was unbuckling his belt and scabbard, his one lilac eye trained on her like she was a rabbit and he the fox. 

“Reminding you that you’re my wife,” He said the last word with a growl as he jerked off his belt in one swing. Aenys’ eyes flashed with excitement and alarm at his words, his hands, and the hungry look upon him. 

“I-I thought… I was merely a duty,” she swallowed thickly as she moved further into the cushions, crawling backwards on her elbows as he slowly approached the edge of the bed. Aemond put his knee into the mattress, his large hands bracing themselves on either side of her knees as he crawled over her body. “A duty you already fulfilled.” 

Aemond hummed, his expression nearly unreadable. His eye was dark with the blackness of his wide pupil as he carefully examined her body and her face. 

“I was mistaken,” he finally said, his voice low but dangerous. “My duty won’t be fulfilled until this castle is teaming with our progeny.” 

A shock of arousal goes down her spine, punctuated by how he grabs the laces of her bodice at the front and yanks so violently that the seams rip off her dress. She gasped, looking down in both horror and fascination as Aemond proceeded to rip her dress in half from the neckline down, leaving her in nothing but the shift underneath. 

Aemond drank the image of her body, just visible underneath the thin muslin material of her shift. The image of her punching Luke replayed in his mind’s eye over and over again. The way she stood there with her chest heaving, the turn of her little waistline, the shape of her pear shaped hips and thighs. Her ass. Fuck, her ass. 

His hands gripped her hips and tossed her on her stomach, withdrawing a gasp and yelp at the rough and sudden movement. Aemond was quick to tear off the rest of the torn dress from her, snaking her arms out of it and tossing it aside. Then he pulled her hips up towards him, and Aenys was quick to assume the position. 

This was how they always coupled; with her face buried in the pillows, her ass up for him as he bred her like a bitch in heat. He told himself that the reason he chose that position was because he did not want to see her face when he released his spend in her. That their coupling was solely for the purposes of procreation, and seeing her face would simply soften his cock. But, no, that wasn’t it at all… The truth of it was that Aemond absolutely loved Aenys’ ass. And what’s more, it even seemed to get bigger when she became a mother.

Aenys’ eyes fluttered closed when she felt his fingers slowly run up her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her shift, exposing her rear to him. She was so fucking wet, so needy, she could feel her walls clenching around nothing in eager anticipation. It originated, of course, during her budding tryst with her maid, but it was amplified the moment Aemond grabbed her.

Gods, how she hungered for his touch. He cruelly deprived her of it for years and years, forcing her to seek it in others, only to find shallow fulfillment. Aenys had no idea what got into him that evening, but she wasn’t complaining. Mayhaps it was the supper, the adrenalin rush of what conspired. Even she would concede watching Aemond dominate a room with a simple toast had riled her up. Had she known her husband had similar sentiments, she would have fucked him right then and there, in front of their entire fucking family. 

Aenys let out a whimper of anticipation, waiting for the sounds of his laces to be undone so he could sink into her impatient core. It wasn’t coming. All she could feel was the heat of his body, the gentle brush of his breath on her exposed skin, and the searing brand of his stare. Aenys moved her hips closer to him, coaxing him to take her, to fuck another son into her.

“Aemond,” She sounded so pathetic, so needy.  

Aemond hummed, a little bit amused by her reaction to him. The end of his lip curled in a devious little smirk. “Tell me, wife, are you always this impatient with your lovers?” He punctuated his question as he leaned over her and grounded his clothed hips against her rear, his hardened length painfully evident. 

A small gasp escaped her parted lips, “N-no–”

“No?” His voice was a quiet rumble, one hand gripping her hip as he grinded against her ass, and the other was planted on the mattress to keep himself steady. “An wanton whore like you? I am surprised, Aenys.” 

“They’re… They’re not–” She softly moaned when his fingers slid down the slope of her spine. 

“They’re not what?” Aemond’s voice was low and rough and so close to her that it sent vibrations down her ear canal.

“Not you.” 

Aemond paused his grinding when she said that, his eye watching her closely as if he was processing this confession. Finally, he hummed, his smirk returning, “No, they are not.”

He pulled away from her, both hands finding the globes of her ass and pulling them apart so he could see her puckered hole and the sheen of her wet core. “How many men have been inside these, I wonder…” His thumb inches deftly close to her hole, recalling the comment she made earlier that evening about how anal had become her ‘speciality’. Aemond decided he would have her prove that statement, but not right now.

“Hells, Aemond, please, just fucking touch– Ah!” She yelped sharply and jerked forward when he slapped her ass. He was then quick to rub the area he had struck; she could have sworn she heard him chuckle softly as he did. 

“Whores do not make demands,” Aemond gripped her hips again and pulled her flush against his thighs, then he reached over and gripped the scruff of her hair at the back of her head. His fingers curled at the roots as he pulled her back, arching her painfully. “You want me to touch you, sweet sister? You want me inside of you again, hm?”

Aenys’ face was twisted in pain and pleasure. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were shut as she endured the uncomfortable position he was bending her in.

“Yes, yes, fuckin’ hells, Aemond,” her plea was laced with budding frustration. She could feel her thighs tremble from not only the position, but from the sheer eagerness for him. 

“Then you will renew your vows right here, right now,” his grip tightened on her hair, making her whimper again. “You belong to me, and only me. Say it, Aenys.” 

“I-I,” she struggled to speak as her neck craned back. “I belong t-to you, Aemond.”

“You will take no other lovers.”

“I will take no other lovers,” she echoed his words without hesitation.

“Your body will belong to me, and only me.”

“Only you, Aemond, my body belongs to you, please–please– Ee-ah!” Her mouth widened as she let out a loud whimper when he bucked his hips into her behind. 

“And why is that, sister? Why do you belong to me?” His nose hovered next to her ear, the waft of his hot breath making her eyes flutter. 

“Because—Because I’m–I’m your wife. ‘Nd- And I’m your-your property,” her tongue darted to wet her drying lips. 

Aemond’s eye shut, his head leaned back as a rumbly moan reverberated in his chest. Hearing Aenys say those words gave him the same feeling he had when he claimed Vhagar. A lightness bloomed in his belly, warm like the sun as it pooled into the veins of his cock, making him harder than he already was.

He claimed the unclaimable mount; Aenys, the wild dragon of King’s Landing. 

Incapable of waiting any longer, Aemond lets go of Aenys’ hair, making her collapse back on the bed with a strangled sigh. Soon after his hands were around her waist, sharply flipping her over again, and gripping the front of her shift and tearing the fabric open much like the dress before it. The shift was shredded in seconds, exposing her completely before him, looking like a gods damn feast, and it was all for him. 

Aemond’s eye settled on her core, the tufts of ivory curls glistening with her essence. He felt his mouth water at the sight. 

Aenys was breathing hard, her back aching from being bent in half a moment ago. But that didn’t matter, her mind was reeling with desire and her limbs felt like they were worming around slowly, involuntarily, like a coiling snake. Despite her needy state, she couldn’t help but comment about her shredded attire. 

“Are you going to make it a habit to rip up all my clothing, Aemond?”

Aemond’s heated gaze shifted from her core up to her face, ���If it keeps you like this for me, yes.” 

Before she could respond, his arms are wrapping around her thighs and he’s dropping on his stomach, pulling her sex towards his face. Aenys’ eyes bulge open as he buries his face into her nest of curls. Aemond did not gift her a second to compute what was happening, because he was immediately devouring her with relentless vigor. 

“OOooh, fucking hells, AEMOND!”

His tongue was lapping up her pearl like he was trying to slurp it up from an oyster. Then brought up his fingers to join, delving into her folds, curling into that spongy spot hidden within her. Aemond was relentless in his speed and force, putting his wife into a frenzy of torturous pleasure. Aenys’ thighs were jerking and trembling uncontrollably, forcing Aemond to hold them down so he could continue his assault on her cunt unimpeded. But the stimulation was virtually agonizing, making Aenys writhe and kick her legs, her pleas for him to slow down were almost incomprehensible. 

“A-a-a-aemon-mon– fuck-f-fufufuck, s-sto-p—” But his lips wrapped around her pearl and he started to suckle on it. Her hips sharply buckled into him, as a long guttural moan vibrated her lungs.

“F-f-f-f-fuck, ‘m gonna-’m gonna—”

And just when she was going to reach that blinding peak, the fucker pulls away. Aenys falls into a heap on the mattress, her muscles release its tension, but her loins are tightly wound up and flushed pink from Aemond’s last meal. 

When Aenys looks up with bleary eyes, a furrowed brow, and panting breaths, she sees Aemond put his fingers into his mouth, sucking off her juices from his digits. He’s still looking at her like he hasn’t eaten a damn thing all day. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She questioned through her rapid breathing, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest. 

“Do you really want me to stop just to answer that question?”

There was no deliberation, “No.” 

“Good.”

Aemond stands at the foot of the bed, starting to unbuckle his jerkin. Aenys is quick to scoot to the edge of the bed to help him unlace his breeches. Within several seconds, Aemond was just as bare as her, all except for his eyepatch. Though that wouldn’t last for long. 

Aenys got on her knees on top of the bed, making her almost eye level with him. Aemond watched her unblinkingly as she raised her fingers to touch the side of his face, following the scar until her nail hit the eyepatch. She took it off with a surprising amount of tenderness, being that it was the first time he had ever let her near his injured eye. 

Aenys' eyes started to gloss over as she really took in the sight. To finally see the carnage up close, the gnarled skin, the scar slicing down the middle, pink at the ridges. His damaged eyelids fluttered at the feeling of her fingers ghosting around it. Suddenly the weight of the past came flooding back to her; the guilt clawing up her throat. She should have been there for him when it happened, she should have been there to protect her little brother. Aenys opened her mouth to say something, but before she could let out a noise, Aemond took the hand that was on his cheek and placed a kiss on the palm, a gesture of forgiveness. 

“We will make them pay, Aemond,” her tone was soft, but the threat was laced in a venomous promise. 

Something flashed in Aemond’s eye. A spark of fire that reflected the one in Aenys’ violet orbs. With a low growl, Aemond grasped the front of her neck like she was a goblet of fine Arbor Red and pulled her into a devouring kiss, as possessive as it was searing. This was the first time the two of them kissed since their wedding. 

In a flurry of limbs and a ballad of moans and groans, Aenys and Aemond grasped, grabbed and fought each other as they both tried to fill the dominant role, all the while keeping their lips glued together. Aenys' legs wrapped around his middle, Aemond’s were holding her thighs from underneath as they rolled and bumped around the room, hitting every surface they could find, colliding into things and causing stuff to crash and break on the floor. 

Aemond’s cock was pressed against her cunt, twitching and leaking and eager to be inside of her. The blunt tip would brush against her pearl every once in a while in their clumsy wrestling, making her whine and then growl in frustration. Before too long, their bodies were entangled on the bed again, as Aenys tried to fight for her position to be on top. However, in the process of that, the two of them went tumbling onto the floor, with Aemond hovering over her body and Aenys laying flat on her belly. 

Groaning, Aenys pushed herself on her knees, giving Aemond ample opportunity to grab onto her hips and pull her against him. With his cock nestled between her thighs, he stood on his knees, gripping the hair at the back of her head and pulling her flush against his torso. In front of them stood her floor length mirror, the display presented to them was lewd, humiliating and insanely arousing. 

Aemond stared at her reflection, his eye blackened by his pupil. He peered over her shoulder as one arm wrapped around her waist and the other pulled her hair back, craning her neck. Aenys had no choice but to balance on the balls of her feet, her legs straddling his as he sat on his knees. Aemond’s curved cock pressing against the slit of her mound, brushing against her pearl when it twitched. 

The arm that was wrapped around her middle slowly moved down until his palm reached her mons. A long finger dipped through her curls until he found her abused nub, instantly sending her thighs into a tremble. Unlike earlier, his ministrations were slower, building her high back up at a steadfast pace. Aenys' hips rotated against his hand, her whines gentle, but the sweat on the back of her neck and brow showed her desperation for release. 

“Look at yourself, sweet sister,” Aemond purred into her ear, the vocal fry of his tone sending a shiver down her spine. “So desperate for me and only me. I always wondered, Aenys: is it my cock you imagine when you fuck your lovers? Do you close your eyes and imagine it is my body pressed against yours?”

Aenys was panting desperately, a soft mewl on her lips when she nodded. 

“Use your words, darling, or I’ll stop.”

She groaned in annoyance, knowing she had no choice but to comply. With his cock hot against her slit, she couldn’t take the waiting any longer. 

“Y-yes,” she finally admitted begrudgingly through her clenched teeth. Both of her hands were grasping his forearm, the one wrapped around her, the one whose hand was massaging her pearl. “Yes, Aemond, I– I crave you so fucking much, it drives me insane. Aemond, please–please–” 

Aemond chuckled into her ear, his grin of self-satisfaction looking like a wolf about to devour the doe he had been trying to chase down for days. 

“Oh, Aenys,” he nuzzles his nose into her hair, next to the shell of her ear, “I’m going to make sure the whole damn Kingdom knows who you belong to. There won’t be a year in your life where you won't be carrying my child.” 

Aenys' eyelids fluttered at his statement, the heat pooling down to her cunt like a rush of lava. Aemond uses both his hands to grip her thighs, forcing her to squat above him, letting the blunt tip of his cock align with her sex. With one of his hands, he moves it along the sopping wet folds, brushing against her sore pearl before finding the entrance below. His mouth pops open as he slowly pushes her hips down, spearing his cock into her until he reaches the hilt. 

Aenys threw her head back into his shoulder and Aemond buried his face into the crook of her neck, a guttural groan emitting from his throat. Her warmth enveloped him like nothing else he’s ever found before. Not Sylvi, not the random whores he endured when Sylvi was not available. Aenys' cunt fit him perfectly, like she was made for him, and yet still hugged around his girth in a velvety vice. And when her walls fluttered around him, Aemond nearly collapsed into her back, a grumbly sigh of satisfaction filtering through his lips. 

He feels his wife grinding her hips against his, her mewls of pleasure tickling the inside of his ears tantalizingly. Regaining his composure, Aemond straightened up and wrapped his arm around her, gripping her hip with one hand, and using the other to grasp onto her left breast. With his calloused fingers, he pinched and pulled at her over sensitive nipples while he made sharp and short thrusts into her, effectively having her bounce on his cock. 

Aenys softly mewled and squirmed in his grasp, trying to match his thrusts with the backing up of her hips. Her hair pooled over her left shoulder, while Aemond hovered over her right. They were watching each other through the mirror, mouths hanging open as they devoured each other with their gazes. Panting, gasps, and gentle moans filled the room, making the air sticky and hot. Aenys suddenly gave a loud whine when he tugged on her nipple, causing Aemond to nearly pause his thrusts when he felt a lukewarm liquid on his fingertips.

Aemond blinked in surprise when he looked down and saw the milk leaking from her nipple. He only had to process it for a few short seconds before he turned absolutely feral. In a flash of movements, Aenys was suddenly hoisted up and turned around, and Aemond was perched on the edge of the bed now. In a quick motion, he wasted no time in slotting back into her like a sword swiftly sheathing into a scabbard. Her head snapped backward as her mouth gaped widely open to let out a loud grunt of pain and pleasure, thanks to Aemond’s cock punching against her cervix.

Her husband gripped the curve of her rear in both hands, fingers digging into the meat as he spread open her cheeks, his middle finger rubbing against the puckered entrance there. His head dipped to her chest and quickly captured her nipple between his lips, and immediately Aenys could feel the sensation of milk leaving her. The tension of her sore breast was immediately relieved as Aemond nursed her; a feeling that was elevated as he pistoned into her still, his grip on her ass making her hips grind against his length, and the curve of his cock to rub against her the sensitive spot inside of her over and over again. 

“Oh, gods, Aemond–” Her head tilted back, her spine rigid with the steady stream of pleasurable sensations he was gifting her. 

He moaned in response against her tit, his fingers tightening into the flesh of her plush rear. The taste of her mother’s milk on his palette was absolutely heavenly; she tasted so sweet, so warm, and the texture felt like liquid silk. Coupled with the fluttering of her walls around his cock, Aemond could already feel his balls tighten and the base of his spine tingle. His release was near, and based on the increase of her whines as she bounced on him, so was she. 

Reluctantly, Aemond pulled away from her breast and looked up at her, his sister, his wife, his Aenys. She looked down at him with parted lips, swollen and flushed with desire, her pupils blown wide and tears forming at the corners. Her hands moved from his shoulders to cup the arch of his jawline, bringing him close to her until their noses bumped and they were breathing each other’s oxygen through their panting parted lips. “Aenys,” her name fell from his lips like a plea, a stark contrast to the dominant commands he had given her the past hour or so. 

“Aemond,” she replied, her voice light as she felt the rise of her impending orgasm, punctuated by the flutter of her cunt. Aemond’s curved cock was relentless in his thrusts, bullying the spongy part inside of her that sent electric thrills throughout her core. It wouldn’t be too long before she is sent hurtling through all seven heavens. 

His grip on her ass tightened, his thrusts became more erratic and the creases in his brow deepened. Aemond gritted his teeth and shut his eye as his growls and groans built up higher and higher. He was reaching such heights he had never experienced before. Though it was like his body knew to wait, until the precise perfect moment, because he didn’t reach his peak until his wife did. Aenys' walls clenched around his girth like a python’s grip, her hands curled into his hair as she sharply gasped and moaned, long and primal. Aemond watched with wide-eyed fascination as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. 

With a few more erratic thrusts up into her, Aemond’s hips stuttered and he gripped tightly onto her. His nose was buried into her neck as he pulled her flushed into him, stilling her movements so he would not get overstimulated. Her name was a gospel of sin and love and longing, sounding guttural and animalistic coming out through his teeth. Ropes of his seed filled her, painting her walls over and over again, filling her awaiting womb. 

Their combined orgasms sent spasms through their limbs, prolonging the pleasure for a few more moments before their muscles loosened and they were left panting on the edge of the bed. Aenys could already feel their combined releases trail down her canal, collecting around the base of his cock and dampening her thighs. 

Feeling utterly spent, Aemond collapsed backwards, bringing her down with him. His softening cock remained inside of her, not willing to release it from the hot velvety embrace. He instead kept his hand splayed on her back while she rested her ear on his heart, both of them panting and silent in the afterglow of their love making. 

Slowly their breathing eased. When they were able to breathe through their noses, Aemond broke the silence, his voice was rough and coarse, yet uncharacteristically tentative. 

“Aenys–” He cleared his throat, his large hand caressing her spine in small circles. “I-I–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him. Lifting her heavy head, she looked up at him with soft and sober eyes. “I know, brother. I know…”

The words known, but unspoken hung in the air between them. As she and Aemond stared at each other, Aenys couldn't help but feel whole for the first time in her life. 

She felt worthy. 

She felt loved.

Notes: Criticisms are always welcome, but if your only criticism is that dared to make a gender bent character, I'm going to respectfully delete/ignore it. This story came out more tragic than I intended, but eh. I realized while I was writing it that Fem!Aegon would have been in a worse position as a woman, and I decided to explore how she would've been treated had she retained the same personality as canon Aegon. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait, and the long read. The smut itself was over 4k words, lol. Go big or go home, ammirite?

Important: The characters in this one shot do not belong to me, but to GRRM and HBO. Everything written in this short story is written by me, with out the aid of an AI. This is a fanfiction, and therefore free content. Please do not re-post, re-distribute, or translate without my permission. Doing so will be an act of plagiarism, even if you credit me. The only other place this story is posted on, is on my Ao3, under the same username.

Tag List: @aramiv , @aegonisdrunk, @helaegonlover, @startledmonster

*if tumblr doesn't properly tag you, I'll try to send you a message

[imcringeonpurpose]

the idea that Martyn takes on Ren and Scott's dog and sea monster characteristics is really serotonin-giving to me because could you imagine Ren's absolute delight when he first finds out?

"You're a dog hybrid?" he would ask. Martyn would turn to him and get very confused.

"Of course not," he'd say. And Ren would gesture to his very obvious dog ears and tail. Martyn dashes to the mirror and gapes in astonishment. He shakes his head, puzzled, and turns to Ren. "I.. I don't know what's going on."

Ren finds it absolutely adorable, claiming that his Hand's devotion to him clearly inspired this physical show of alliance and outright loyalty. Martyn would deny each claim Ren makes, and the rest of the server just assumes he's a dog hybrid.

The assumption is further proven when Martyn and Cleo have their very souls tied together, and Martyn's physical appearance doesn't shift in the slightest. If anything, his dog attributes heighten, him developing sharp fangs, claws, and his dog ears slowly move down from his head and merge with his human ears.

Martyn's hybridity doesn't come up until another Series. Once again, they're pulled from their worlds, ripped from their realities, forced into one arena. This time, they're told to fight and kill and desperately grasp for each passing second of life and blood.

Martyn and Scott find a sliver of peace together, and for the first time since 3rd Life, Martyn's physical features change. It's very slow at first - a few yellow scales on his forearm and neck, his dog ears begin to grow serrated edges...

And then, like with Ren, one day they wake up to a full-blown pufferfish hybrid, and Scott cannot wrap his head around it.

"I thought you were a dog hybrid," he'll say. And Martyn will just shake his head, tired of the speculation and the questioning. Scott will persist, and he will ask, "Are you a changeling?"

"No," Martyn will say. He will take his axe from his inventory and heft it in his hands. Despite his dog claws, despite his new pufferfish spikes on his knuckles, he will continue to fight with the axe Ren had given him all those lives ago. "Just a knight."

[mega-pink-star]

You said that meta knight teaches the kids how to use their weapons. What are each students chosen weapon?

3 out of the 5 of them wield an actual weapon

-Singe uses a modified Dwarven Axe that’s lightweight, and able to imbue the Electric and Fire attribute to weapons.

-Chikami uses simple assortment of kunai and a basic Tanto blade

-Flick wields a whip that is made of mirror magic, allowing it to deflect attacks and change length

-Droplet has no Weapon, but possesses the full arsenal of the Water ability move set. He’s also able to give the water attribute to the other’s weapons.

-Fizz does not have a weapon either, mainly using her speed and teeth as her “weapons” instead.

[acre-of-wheat]

Everyone ready for an unhinged theory about The Gales from Willow 2022?

So obviously they’re a dark mirror for our protagonists, and they function like a lot of teams of baddies in media-- they tie up each character in combat scenes by either having skills that subvert what the heroes are good at, or are simply just better at the same skills the heroes have.

Have a fast and dexterous fighter like Kit? Throw the Scourge at her and it overpowers anything she throws at it. Have a knight commander in full armor? Toss the Lich at him and have it bamf out of existence every time he swings his sword at it.

But I think there’s more to them than being battle foils for the characters. When Elora and Kit are hemmed in by the Gales and Airk, he tells them that the Gales are, “not what you think they are.”

So much of Willow has to do with the past, and choices, visions and alternate futures, recursions and cursed blood. I think that the Gales actually are our heroes, from a time when they gave into the Crone’s temptations.

Spoilers under the cut.

The Lich / Graydon Hastur

There’s a lot going on with Graydon.

First, his scar. I think it’s pretty obvious that there’s something magic going on here, and my guess is that it is a seal meant to prevent whatever possessed Graydon in the first place from popping out again.

I’m going to hazard a guess that whatever is still inside him is where his magic comes from. Magic apparently comes in several colors, but it does seem to at least partially relate to who is casting it, and what the spell is.

Willow and Elora’s natural colors are green, which you can see in the training montages and in Elora’s battle with the crone. Red appears to be pretty obviously bad.

Something happens to Elora’s magic color when she casts a Nekotic spell the Crone taught her though. The color turns darker, and goes blue.

Graydon’s “natural” spell color seems to be purple, and it doesn’t change based on what he casts, even when he fights the Crone and uses a spell that sounds very Nekotic.

I think it’s only a matter of time before the influence of the Wyrm makes Graydon’s spell work go fully red.

I also think his scar/seal is spreading. During the trek across the shattered sea, Graydon begins to learn magic. We know from Willow that magic takes a toll on the body, and we see that a bit with Graydon during a conversation with Elora.

She tells him not to scratch at something, and Graydon pulls his shirt aside to look, very carefully not revealing what it is. It’s worth noting that this is not on the side that he was injured on, so it’s not that “acting up.” Instead, I think it’s the seal spreading as he uses more and more magic, thinning the line between him and whatever possessed him.

If the scar continues to spread, perhaps Graydon might come to look like the Lich that we know-- covered completely in scar tissue.

The Doom / Jade Claymore

This is the one that initially got the gears turning, and all because of the weapons involved.

Throwing stars are only used by two characters in the show, and it seems like such an odd choice. Not daggers, axes, or javelins, but throwing stars. The Bone Reavers and the Tir Asleen knights don’t seem to use them, so they’re not a cultural practice that Jade might be familiar with. They aren’t used in the original movie either. Jade uses them once in battle, and then once during a training scene which doesn’t seem to have any story significance other than to remind us that she has them.

The only other character to use such a distinctive weapon is the Doom, when attacking the silt sleigh.

Because we’re talking about weapons, it’s worth noting that the Doom dual wields metal whips. Until the last episode, the only one of our heroes to dual wield her weapons is Jade, when she uncouples her sword from its staff/sheath

Speaking of distinctive, the Doom’s dark metal face plate is pretty unique, but we do know another character who wears a face mask into battle-- a battle that took some of Jade’s innocence with it.

I also really like the symbolism of the Doom’s first fight being with Kit and Sorsha, the very people Jade is most adamant about protecting.

The Dag / Kit Tanthalos

This one feels like a fairy-tale curse. What does Kit’s dream mother offer her? Freedom, a chance to go wherever she wants. In the usual wicked twist of irony, why not make that freedom both symbolic and literal by transforming her into a bird creature? Rootless, homeless, chasing after who she used to be and the girl she used to love.

The Scourge / Thraxus Boorman

This one doesn’t have much to go on--  they’re both tall, beefy dudes? The only thing that might be symbolic is that we know Boorman would rather jump off the edge of the world than have an intimate conversation-- what better way to avoid intimacy than to have a spiked cage around your head?

[katyspersonal]

Today's SoTE adventures! Hoooo boy that was awesome!! Too bad I have to interrupt to cook food and stuff but

1) So, I continued going down the road through Mausoleum where I defeated Rakshasa yesterday! But first attempted to snipe the hyppo enemies with a greatbow.. Barely reduced their health because I had whole 8 arrows and 4 of them only served to attract them to snipeable distance 🤡 I'll get them later..... :/

2) I ended up going all the way down! And it was a combo string of me thinking one thing but it was another!! So my objective was to get to that mysterious missing spot on the map. I went all the way down on a small island and saw catacombs, assuming I went to the wrong place because it is caves or mines that can lead to another location entirely, not catacombs! Then I went there in that very dark catacomb and as soon as I saw Fulgurbloom and a big talisman I assumed it was yet another Death catacomb that'd be mirroring previous two but no! Light puzzles and no Death. THEN I assumed 'there is no way the boss is anything but Knight of Death' but NO!!!

IT WAS LIKE, A CLERIC OR SOMETHING (inquisitor actually) THAT WAS REALLY HARD TO BEAT AND KEPT SUMMONING MORE AND MORE OTHER CLERICS LIKE SLIM AND FAT AS GHOSTS AND THEY WERE LIKE HOLDING THAT ONE CANDLESTICK-LIKE SYMBOL AND PILING UP GFGFHGHGB I really wish I took screenshots during the fight but I was too busy getting my ass kicked IT WAS REALLY FUN THOUGH I WON LITERALLY THE LAST SECOND WHAT IN THE DEACONS OF THE DEEP WAS THAT SHIT LOOOOLLLLL

And as if that was all not enough, turned out that WAS an actual way to the new location!! I got that right 😎

3) I however apparently missed at least two secrets in that catacomb.. I saw the ladder that I didn't know how to access, and I didn't understand the deal with an item where that big shooting Imp was. All I got was this:

Guess I'll have to watch tutorial or ask my friends like the annoying completions jerk that I am x)

4) Soooo I ran into this message when I wanted to hop on the boulder:

I saw a screenshot of this before but didn't know the context!

Meanwhile, I was looking around and thinking that the fire cracks layout was looking a LOT like Frenzied Flame. Damn, I feel like that was what scared Torrent since he pretty much burns alive in FF ending and JUST SO I DON'T HAVE ANY DOUBTS LEFT GODDAMN RATS THAT DEAL FRENZY ATTACKED ME LET'S GOOOOOO (or not ffgghfgg)

5) So on my way further there, I defeated a pretty annoying invader, just barely, and.......

*SLAMS MY FISTS AGAINST THE TABLE* THIS

*BREAKS TABLE WITH AN AXE* THIS FUCKING SHIT IS

*THROWS THE TABLE IN THE WINDOW* SHIT LIKE THIS IS EXACTLY AND I MEAN EXACTLY

*THROWS A GRENADE TOWARDS WHERE THE TABLE WAS THROWN* SHIT LIKE THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I CAN NOT EVER LOSE RESPECT TO MIYAZAKI AS A WRITER HOLY SHIT *THROWS MYSELF OUT OF THE WINDOW TOO*

Gfhgyyggyuyb I already cried a bitter tear of being Seen @ Undestood when Miyazaki managed to squeeze his trademark loathing for those who commit atrocities under belief in their sainthood in a talisman Queelign dropped, but this too.. Like yeah, I can absolutely confirm that being hunted as "heretic" by your own is the most insanity-inducing thing. I have seen what it did with another person, I have experienced this too and honestly I can't be bitter about lolrandom ship choice with Radahn or whatever on Miyazaki's side as long as he sneaks addressing this kind of stuff in his works. He actually GETS it.. This very specific grievance with human species in general that I don't see acknowledged on this level anywhere else. I feel seen ;-;

6) Also the map too!

I am going to make a wild prediction that Midra and the boys were also unfairly slandered like heretics and so the despair festered to the point of him (?) being contacted by the Three Fingers the same way Marika was contacted by the Two Fingers after her own tragedy 🤔 Listen it is not like I've had everything spoiled, I am just trying to guess! Lol I bet that the Hornsent clerics/saints/inquisitors/whatever are now looking at this land being tormented by Frenzy and go like "well see how much Midra overreacted, it was a good call to bully him :т" like you know, in the classic fashion of witch hunters completely missing the fact that they've created their own enemy. Dipshits.

(Ok sorry for getting too emotional on this bit, those three of you who followed my blog for a long time probably know why I am so occupied with this topic -_- Granted, Miyazaki already did the topic with the Nomads so maybe now he will try an alternative route and have people in this place being actually guilty? I'll see!)

7) There were strangely places on the corner of the map where rain started and ended quick, without any reason xd

I wonder why it is like this? Probably a mapping bug but it feels for me as though something is protecting this land from completely burning this way! Based if intentional!

8) Not gonna lie, I've gotten a little nervous when I've picked this thing:

Winter Lantern? oMgggg LiKe iN bLooDbOrNe IS THIS A BB REFERENCE 👀 cfhkgjhuh

Okay, but so pattern looked familiar and I suddenly remembered a creature I've seen in a trailer o_o So yeah, I just knew it was not going to be a huge pain in the ass soon 🙄

9) And I fucking died lol gfbgg

Honestly I don't know if I am mistaken, but I don't recall seeing a healthbar of this thing! It seems like all hits had no effects so maybe I did something wrong, I don't know.. I'll figure out what to do later I guess

So yes, not too much progress but a lot of emotions! One of the biggest "holy shit I love this DLC" moments so far after that pretty hard battle!

[2baddiesfanfics]

The Best Medicine

Pairing: Jean x Lisa

Tags: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Self-Doubt

Summary:

When Jean comes back injured from a mission, Lisa, as always, is the one to patch her back up. After instructing the Acting Grand Master to take it easy…of course, she doesn’t. The mage comes back to check on her, and attempts to help ease Jean’s worries about her appearance. Reassuring her that scars are not something to be ashamed of, Lisa shows her beauty is so much more than how one looks.

Read on Ao3

“Damn it! I almost had-OW! Ow! SHIT! Lisa, give me a moment,” Jean shouted as the mage tried to clean her wound as carefully as she could.

“I’m doing my best here, darling, but you really got yourself in quite the jam this time,” Lisa replied with a reproachful click of her tongue.

Jean winced as she felt the disinfecting liquid Lisa had concocted seep into one of the many open cuts on her shoulder. The commission from the Adventurer’s Guild had seemed simple enough. All she had to do was escort a high-ranking diplomat visiting from Liyue to Mondstadt. No big deal - she could do quests like that in her sleep.

What she hadn’t foreseen was an impromptu encounter with a Blazing Axe Mitachurl. In a desperate attempt to slice off one of its arms, she’d miscalculated its reach and took a hit. It was deep, but thankfully hadn’t reached bone. Jean let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Sorry, Lisa. I appreciate your help. It’s just…so frustrating. If I had thought things through a little more, I wouldn’t have come back looking like this.” She closed her eyes, ashamed of how weak this must make her look in the eyes of one of her closest coworkers.

Lisa sensed Jean could probably use some time to herself. “Sweetie, it’s ok. We all have our moments. You can’t win them all…though I know you think you ought to,” she said as she lightly rubbed her back. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. Don’t you dare jump back into paperwork. You’re done for the day. I better not hear a single scribble of a quill. Do you hear me?”

The corner of Jean’s mouth twitched up in a knowing smirk. “I’ll try my best,” she murmured. Lisa rolled her eyes and smiled back as she took her leave.

Jean winced as she rose to her feet after hearing the door click shut. Walking over to the mirror on the opposite side of the room, she carefully examined the damage. She was no stranger to cuts, bangs, and bruises. This was all in a day’s work for a Knight of Favonius. It was inevitable - what she had signed up for.

Thankfully, Lisa was extremely skilled in creating various brews to help patch her up every time she came back with some new injury. The Acting Grand Master didn’t know what she’d do without her. While her potions always took away aches and pains, no amount of magic would be able to dissolve the scars left behind. Jean tenderly traced her newest badge of honor with the tips of her fingers.

What’s one more? Not like anyone but me will see it anyway.

She’d been hurt physically plenty of times. Emotionally…she’d rather not talk about it. Traces on her body she could deal with. The heart was another matter. She didn’t have the time or energy to maintain an intimate relationship, and, despite the pride she took in her job, there was a part of her that had always been self-conscious about the toll her role took on her body.

Shaking her head clear, she swiftly covered her bare shoulder and considered what she could do to distract herself from such thoughts. “Hmm…I’ve still got some time. What’s the harm in filling in a couple more signatures?” She took a seat at her desk and began sorting through the never-ending stack of papers that needed her attention.

A couple of hours had passed since Lisa last checked in on Jean. She didn’t want to seem like she was doting on her, but the mage was always worried she was constantly putting the well-being of the citizens of Mondstadt before her own.

It couldn’t hurt to just take a peek, right? Someone needs to make sure she’s not suffering because archons know she won’t stop once she starts.

She approached Jean’s office once more and pushed the door open just a crack. Sure enough, there she was elbows deep in a stack of requests that had come in that morning while she was out.

That woman! She never listens to me, I swear!

Her eyes drifted to the wounded shoulder she had helped treat earlier. A quiet gasp escaped her as she noticed the bleeding had started once more and was staining her undershirt. Jean was concentrating so hard she hadn’t even noticed.

Lisa slipped through, locking the door behind her. She knew she was the only person Jean didn’t mind sharing moments of vulnerability with, and didn’t want Kaeya or, even worse, Klee, to see her in such a state.

As silently as she could, she approached her from behind. Sliding her arms around her waist, she felt Jean jump in surprise.

“Lisa? What’s wrong? You scared me! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Lisa pulled her into her, resting her forehead delicately on her back. “Dear…I thought I told you no more work for the day. Look, you’ve aggravated your injury. Let me see…”

“Oh, I didn’t…” Jean’s voice drifted off and caught in her throat as she felt Lisa’s fingers move her undershirt off her shoulder and affectionately trace the skin there. Lisa had always been the one to treat her as more of an equal, but this time something felt…different. Her heart was thudding in her chest at the feeling of being treated so…gently. Like she wasn’t the invincible Acting Grand Master, but a normal woman who had been hurt.

“Lisa, this really isn’t necessary…I-I still have work to do.” She wanted to kick herself for how her voice faltered. There hadn’t been many times in her life that she’d cried in front of another person, but that total was about to rise. She could feel a burn in her throat as she tried to hold back tears.

“Shhhh. Jean…please. Let me take care of you,” she whispered as she muttered a healing incantation to clean the cut for good. Once it had stitched itself back up, Jean shivered as she felt Lisa’s soft lips on her shoulder.

“Lisa…” Jean couldn’t stop herself from moaning at the unfamiliar but welcome feeling.

Kissing around the bruised skin of her new injury, Lisa slowly guided Jean out of her top. “L-Lisa…wait…we…I haven’t,” Jean couldn’t find her words as she softened under the mage’s touch. This was something she’d wanted for ages but had locked away in the depths of her mind thinking it impossible. How could someone as stunning as Lisa ever find a woman as rough and marred as her desirable?

“Shh…I know, sweetie. You don’t need to explain yourself. I’ve got you,” Lisa whispered into her ear. With a snap of her fingers, the curtains on the windows in the office snapped shut. The blankets and pillows scattered on the couch flew over to where they stood and landed neatly on the rug next to them.

Slowly turning to face Lisa, Jean looked into the violet eyes shining back at her. “May I continue, or do you want to stop?” Lisa asked.

Unable to formulate into words how she never wanted her to stop, she settled for a nod of her head. Lisa cupped her face and calmly brought her lips to hers. Jean thought her heart was going to explode. She had pictured this same scenario many, many times in the privacy of her quarters, but hadn’t imagined how much better the real thing would actually feel.

When she pulled away, Jean licked her lips, savoring the taste. The flavor of black tea and Wolfhook lingered on her taste buds. With a giggle, Lisa leaned in and captured her tongue with hers as she unclasped Jean’s belt and started to unbutton her pants.

Pulling away slightly out of embarrassment, Jean stammered, “I-I can do it.”

Lisa placed a tender kiss on her cheek. “Very well, dear. I’ll make things comfortable down here.” With a wave of her hand, she rearranged the blankets and pillows to her liking as Jean stripped out of the rest of her clothes. Stealing a glimpse of herself in the mirror once more, Jean couldn’t help but wince.

Scars marred her body in an endless roadmap, and she was now acutely aware of how awful she must look to Lisa. Years of fighting battles had taken their toll, and she was sure this was just Lisa’s way of showing she felt sorry for her. Picking up one of the blankets, she draped it over herself to try and mitigate the amount of skin on display.

“Ok lovely, I think we’re just about ready. Go ahead and get comfortable. This way your back doesn’t rub itself raw on the carpet and we won’t have to stop to patch you back up again,” Lisa said as she placed her hat on the desk and removed her own clothes.

Jean propped herself up against the pillows and clutched the blanket to her chest. Slack-jawed, she stared in bewilderment at Lisa in all her unblemished glory. She bore no signs of severe struggle or miscalculated accidents. A deep red washed over Jean’s face as she gawked at the mage’s perfect form.

“Sweetie…can you remove the blanket? I want to see all of you,” Lisa requested as she lay down to join her.

Jean sheepishly did as she was told and glanced down at the floor. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes.

“Jean! Love, what’s the matter? We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable…” Lisa gently tilted Jean’s chin upwards and guided her to meet her gaze.

Tears streamed down Jean’s face. “You’re…so perfect. And I look like a disaster. Nobody wants to see these,” she sobbed as she held up her arm as an example.

Lisa wiped away her tears and leaned in for a kiss. Guiding her to lean back further, she kissed down her neck to her shoulder where she catered to her newest mark. As she traced each scar, memories of how Jean got them flooded both of their minds.

Ribs. Protecting Klee from one of her bombs gone awry. Hip. Shielding Lisa from a Fatui agent. Back. Not from running away, but from guarding the city both of them loved and called home.

Jean gasped at each touch. Lisa nuzzled her legs open and sat between them as she took in the sight below her. “Your scars tell the story of who you are, dear. They sing of your bravery and chivalrous deeds as a knight. There’s nothing wrong with them or you, love,” Lisa reassured her as she kissed her once again…only this time with more intensity.

Lisa’s hand wandered to Jean’s breast and kneaded it, eliciting a moan from her. She descended to her other breast, taking her nipple in her mouth. Jean brought her hand to her face so no sounds would escape and betray her vulnerability.

“Let go, Jean. I put a silencing spell on the room. No one can hear us, and we can’t hear them. Allow yourself to relax and enjoy this,” Lisa chastised. Jean could feel static emanating off Lisa’s tongue and pulses of electro from her fingertips as she teased her.

Letting her hand fall to her side, the Acting Grand Master moaned Lisa’s name and wrapped her legs around her waist. “My, my…for someone who has never done this, you sure know what you want,” Lisa said with a giggle as she ghosted her hand down Jean’s toned body. The static coming off her fingers caused goosebumps to rise across her skin.

Finally, she met with the slick bud between her thighs. Electro lightly pulsed against her clit adding pressure to the sensitive area.

“Oooh, Lisa!” Jean groaned in surprise.

“Just trust me, cutie,” Lisa seductively whispered as she peppered kisses up and down Jean’s neck.

She could feel Jean’s arousal building, her slick already coating her fingers and dripping down her palm. Lisa prodded one finger at her entrance. Jean’s breath hitched at the feeling of the unfamiliar intrusion. The mage gently thrust one digit in and out of her, and, hearing Jean’s unmistakable reaction, added another.

“That’s my good girl. You’re taking me so well,” Lisa encouraged as she curled her fingers and quickened her pace. After a few more thrusts, she found the spot she knew would make Jean teeter on the edge.

“L-Lisa…s-something feels different,” Jean panted as she clenched around Lisa’s fingers.

“Just go with it, sweetie. You’re almost there,” Lisa reassured her. With a few more pumps of her wrist, Jean’s body shook. Her back arched off the pillows as her orgasm coursed through her. Lisa whispered words of encouragement and reassurance to help guide her through the new sensations.

“That’s right, baby. I’m here,” she said as she held Jean close. She’d never seen the leader of the Knights of Favonius looking so…vulnerable. Although she knew Jean was inexperienced physically, it hadn’t escaped her notice that she consistently borrowed from the library’s collection of romance novels.

Lisa had always admired the Acting Grand Master, but admiration soon evolved into a longing for more than close friendship. If she could get her to experience how deeply she cared for her, perhaps Jean’s perspective of herself might also change. Was it so hard for her to believe she, too, was worthy of the love found in those tales she was so infatuated with?

Her focus snapped back to Jean when she heard her mutter something.

“Sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?”

Jean looked up at her, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. Lisa felt her pulse surge. Seeing her mussed up like this was extremely arousing - normally Jean took pride in always looking prim and proper, as befitted a knight of her standing.

She cleared her throat, clearly fighting through embarrassment. “…it’s your turn.” Lisa’s melodious laughter filled the room while Jean looked at her in confusion.

“Ha! I’m sorry, love! You’re just so…cute,” she explained as she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s ok, really. I just wanted to help you feel a bit better after such a rough mission. You don’t need to feel obligated to repay me.” Lisa placed a kiss on her forehead.

She was taken by surprise when she felt Jean shift beside her. “Wait, what are you doing? Jean, I just said it wasn’t necessary,” the mage chastised as Jean moved to straddle her hips.

“As a knight, it’s my duty to repay your kindness with my own,” Jean said with newfound confidence. “That being said…you’ll have to let me know if what I’m doing is not to your liking. I’m…I don’t…”

Lisa put a finger to her lips, interrupting her. “It’s ok. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jean. We’ll take it slow,” she reassured her. Jean nodded her head in understanding. She knew what she lacked in experience, she made up for in theory. Years of reading steamy scenes in books had taught her well…she just didn’t have anyone to put these techniques to the test with - until now.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered every ounce of courage she could. You’ve fought a variety of monsters all across Teyvat. You’ve got this, Jean. Her tongue slithered out from between her lips to take Lisa’s finger into her mouth. Lisa’s eyebrows shot up…this was certainly not what she expected. The warm wetness of her lips wrapping around the digit that had previously been soaked with Jean’s own arousal was too much even for her.

“Jean…” she moaned. Clearly, she knew more than she initially let on. Lisa’s response was better than she could have hoped for and continued to ease her apprehension. Grabbing her wrist, she pulled her forward and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. Lisa could swear she must be under some sort of spell. Her head swam as the fresh scent of dandelions and Whopperflower nectar permeated her senses.

See? This isn’t that hard! Just go with what you’ve read and surely you’ll satisfy her. Jean tried to shut off her inner monologue as she fought against her doubts. She hesitated shortly, drumming up anticipation for her next move. Lisa’s bottom lip slipped between Jean’s teeth as she stole panting breaths between kisses, and she took this as an invitation to give into her baser desires. Biting down slightly, Lisa let out a high-pitched whine of pleasure.

Jean put the one thing she was proud of, her strength, to good use. Pushing Lisa into the fluffy pillows behind her, she felt a need to convince the mage that - despite how inexperienced she may be - she wouldn’t break at the slightest touch. The two weren’t rough with each other by any means - but there was now an urgency behind Jean’s movements. A desperate need to prove herself worthy of someone like her.

Lisa looked up at her through lust-glazed eyes and Jean felt encouraged to take the next step. She took her time exploring the unknown territory beneath her, and Lisa urged her every step of the way.

“Ooooo, Jean, yesssss…just like that. That’s perfe-ahhhh,” she whispered as she spurred her on. The Acting Grand Master tested various movements, teasing, licking, and sucking every possible inch of her skin. She wanted to etch Lisa’s perfect breasts, slim waist, and sturdy hips into her memory in the event this would be her first and only experience in intimacy with someone she loved and trusted so deeply.

Soon, she found herself nestled between her legs. Her lips met the tender skin of her inner thigh and Lisa sighed deeply. Good…that must mean I’m doing something right, thank the archons…

She could feel Lisa squirming beneath her every touch, and she felt bad for keeping her waiting this long. Kissing up her thigh, her mouth descended to her warm, wet core. Tasting her arousal on her tongue, she couldn’t help but let out a moan herself. Unbeknownst to her, the vibration this sent up Lisa’s spine made her jolt upright, and Jean could feel her hand gripping the top of her head.

“Fuck! Jean!”

Her tongue worked furiously to lick up every bit of slick she could find. She could hardly believe she was the cause of this. Lisa’s legs held her in a vice grip, and she could tell she was about to reach the peak. Applying more pressure with her mouth, Lisa came shouting Jean’s name.

Jean couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, she wasn’t as bad at this as she thought she’d be.

“That was incredible, dear! But…oh my! I’ve made a mess of your face,” she teased. “Here, let me help you clean it up.” Jean turned a deep red as she realized what Lisa meant. Their lips met once more, Lisa slowly lapping up what remained of her juices.

The two lay down, hands laced together as they stared at the ceiling. “So…Lisa. Am I to assume I’ve repaid my debt to you?” Lisa let out a chuckle. Everything was always so transactional with the knight.

“Sweetie…you’re kidding, right? This has nothing to do with tit for tats. I’m hoping this won’t be the last time we use your office like this,” she said with a wink. Jean’s heart swelled. This wasn’t just a heated moment of passion, but perhaps the start of something more.

“You know you’re always welcome here,” she smiled back.

“Only now that I know you know what you’re doing, we’ll have to really put you to the test. I wonder what you’re capable of when you’re not injured,” Lisa murmured. “I’m definitely going to have to order more of those romance novels for the library.”

Jean looked at her and couldn’t help but laugh. Resting her head on her shoulder, she finally felt at ease.

Forget Mitachurls…this woman is going to be the death of me.

[agentrouka-blog]

"Last of all the dogs would come sniffing, lean and hungry, the feral pack that was never far behind the khalasar."- Dany(AGOT). The pair of dogs here has some similarities with Ramsey hounds. Thoughts?

It's probably part of a broader metaphor in which dogs almost always assume the role of knights (obedient servants of violence) or soldiers.

They are, interestingly, often placed in antagonistic roles toward wolves, for good or bad. Dogs are also generally placed in a negative light with Daenerys, used as an insult in various contexts, and she later eats "unborn puppy" as a delicacy. There's Ramsay, the Cleganes, the wildling dogs fighting Ghost... In fact, perhaps the only positively connotated dog we ever see in the series is the eponymous Dog (a play on the Hound) protecting septon Meribald travelling the war-ravaged Riverlands, gentle with children. This true knight of a nameless dog "belongs to himself and the Seven", and is - tellingly - described in Brienne's POV chapter.

In your quoted scene, it's the feral state of the dogs that sticks out especially. These are not well-kept and trained working dogs, like Ramsay's "girls". They more closely mirror the Hound, post-Blackwater, or the "broken men" left over from the war. Scavengers in the aftermath of violence.

When the battle was done, Dany rode her silver through the fields of the dead. Her handmaids and the men of her khas came after, smiling and jesting among themselves. Dothraki hooves had torn the earth and trampled the rye and lentils into the ground, while arakhs and arrows had sown a terrible new crop and watered it with blood. Dying horses lifted their heads and screamed at her as she rode past. Wounded men moaned and prayed. Jaqqa rhan moved among them, the mercy men with their heavy axes, taking a harvest of heads from the dead and dying alike. After them would scurry a flock of small girls, pulling arrows from the corpses to fill their baskets. Last of all the dogs would come sniffing, lean and hungry, the feral pack that was never far behind the khalasar. (AGOT, Daenerys VII)

These dogs, descendents of domesticated pets that used to serve a purpose mostly likely, no longer receive human care. They follow behind to devour what is left over after the khalasar has had its fill of food or violence. The khalasar moves on with its plunder and slaves, they don't care about what they leave behind, so the dogs eat the corpses.

There is a sense of abandonment and decay in that image that we see mirrored in Westeros in the aftermath of the recent wars, too. These feral dogs depend on violence or waste to eat, there is no other place for them. And where there used to be shepherds and sheep and a replenishing lifestyle, glorious battle leaves corpses, flies, scavengers.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa's story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I'm reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(2/?)

“Goblins love stories so much that they force everyone around them to playact with them,” Grandpa said. “Do you remember all the stories the villagers were living?”

“Sure!” Gwendolyn counted them out on her fingers. “Wente and Bramble, the bakers, were in the Gingerbread Man. Amaya was the Big Bad Wolf, ready to blow down her house of sticks. The Hobblepots…um.”

“I was never sure either, but I like to think they were Hansel and Gretel, with their witchcraftery and interest in food, but I suppose any sort of witch in any fairy tale would do.”

“Like the witch in Jorinda and Joringel?”

“Now, where did you hear about a rare story like that?” Graham was impressed.

“Mom knows like, every story ever written, I bet.”

“The libraries in the Green Isles are quite extensive. Cassima must have had a good selection of books growing up.” Graham nodded at the mirror. “The goblins knew lots of good stories, too—there was another one that we didn’t talk about last time. A fairly famous fairy tale. I bet you know that one about Jack and the Beanstalk, right?”

“Of course, Grandpa.”

“The version you know probably didn’t have a giant that looked like this, though.”

~*~*~

After being on a diet of vile squishy porridge for a couple days, getting some meat (of questionable origin, don’t think too hard about it) had given Graham a burst of energy that he desperately needed. He was prowling the upper levels of the spiraling stairs, trying to get past a grumbling goblin guard. 

There was a rusty lever that he could push to activate some sort of alarm, making the mushrooms pulse in a bizarre way that he would forget to ask Muriel about. He fumbled in his pocket for the cobwebby rag, carefully folded on itself so the abnormally sticky web wouldn’t ruin his pockets. The spiders down here had to be unique to make something so sticky. He’d have to be careful not to run into any of them; no telling what sort of prey such things would like to eat.

But it was perfectly fine to use a little inventively, he thought, eying the puzzle before him. It was easy enough to trick the goblin guard into touching the lever with cobweb draped over it, temporarily trapping him in place. Graham slipped past while the poor guard struggled to untangle himself.

The new room soared around him, huge and echoey. Cool air pushed his curly hair around. Huge chasms yawned around him, and he cautiously kicked a pebble into one, listening to it plink and bounce against the rock sides. He wasn’t sure if he heard it land, or if it was just more echoes. Something dark and deep down there. Probably best avoided.

Ahead of him, a series of goblins were clustered around the base of a column, all looking up and chittering. One was swinging an axe. A tall line of thick vines was already half on the ground, chopped edges raw in the dim light. It looked like he’d been chopping for a while, but the others were pushing him aside and yelling and pointing up, like he’d forgotten to do something first.

And, standing at the top of the column, high above the goblins…Acorn.

Okay, not standing. He was lying prone on some platform up there, gripping the edge of the rock ledge for dear life, and even though Graham couldn’t make out an expression through that helmet, he could imagine the terrified look the knight had to be wearing. 

“’Fee-fi-fo-fum.’ All right, I said it. Can I get down now?” He wailed, “I really, really don’t like heights!” The goblins ignored him. “All right, fine,” he said, shakily, and continued to recite, stiff as a child rehearsing a school play. “’Be he alive, or be he dead. I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.’ Ooh, yeah, that’s nasty. Wente would not like that.”

Graham could see a little sign next to the base of the column now, with a drawing of a beanstalk on it, and a little golden goose. Of course. Jack and the Beanstalk.

The goblin chosen to be Jack, wearing a tattered leather jerkin, had been chopping down the vines they must have used to haul Acorn up to the top of the platform. He twirled the rusty axe, and Graham’s fingers itched to get hold of it, to get it to Amaya, but he couldn’t risk such a move in front of the four or so goblins glaring at the axe-holder. They pointed aggressively again, and Graham could see a couple of golden painted things next to Acorn. A harp and…yes, a common duck, with what looked like glittery paint dumped on it. It squawked and landed on Acorn’s helmet. He hoped the duck would be okay with the paint on its wings, but it was already dripping off, so Graham suspected the paint was more water based than anything else.

Apparently, “Jack” was doing things out of order and had gotten too excited with the chopping down part. He’d forgotten to gather the giant’s treasures first. A scrambled fist fight was starting to break out between the players. Costume pieces were at risk, though they weren’t particularly quality pieces to begin with. 

“If you let me down, I’ll knit you all sweaters,” Acorn said, swatting a hand briefly in the duck’s direction before clamping back down on the ledge. The duck fluttered back into place on his helmet and pecked at one of the horns on it. “Come on, fun size, you know you want a sweater. Or, at the very least, your Jack costume could use some work. Do you have any fabric allergies? I know a guy…if you’d let me down.”

Since the beanstalk vine ladder was now cut in half, there wasn’t much they could do to continue the game. They turned and walked off in a huff, still pulling on each other’s tattered cow ear headbands and stained costume tunics and normal helmets and snarling at each other. They ignored Graham completely. He stared after them, noting with vague disappointment that they were taking the axe with them. So much for that idea.

“Wait til Princess Madeline hears about this,” Acorn sighed. “Too bad she’s at music night. At least this will make a few good pages for my scrapbooking project. Helloooo! Is anyone else down there?”

“Acorn!”

“Princess Madeline, is that you?”

Graham hesitated. “Does it sound like Princess Madeline?”

“…no, I suppose not.” Acorn leaned a little further over the ledge, knuckles turning white against his grip as he tried to look down into the shadows. “King Graham? Is that you, little buddy?”

“Yeah! What are you doing up there?”

“Learning how to yodel. What do you think? I got pounced by goblins and dragged down here and they put me up here and I’m afraid of heights and I want to get down now.”

“How can you be afraid of heights? Aren’t you the tallest person in Daventry?”

“Somehow, that feels insensitive.”

“Sorry,” Graham said, smiling sheepishly. “But I’m not sure how to get you down. The goblins cut off the ladder.”

“I wish I had my trapping ropes, or something,” Acorn said glumly. “I didn’t think I’d need ‘em on a walk with Whisper. We were looking for a specific flower, for my paint dyes. It’s hard to see on a clear day, but it’s got a glowy edge to it when it gets wet, so, the rain, y’know. He wanted to come, ‘cos I use the dye to print the labels for his hair treatment line. But we didn’t get far outta town before we got jumped.”

“Whisper too?” Something was happening here. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Why did it seem like all the friends he had in Daventry had been caught with him? It wasn’t like there weren’t other knights or villagers in Daventry. Cooper Smith, a man whose name and profession didn’t make much sense at all, hadn’t made an appearance down here, but Amaya and Acorn had. But. Why?

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen him for a while, we got split up in the dark and the tunnels and I dunno, maybe he got away. I sure didn’t, though. Would you hurry up and think of a way to get me down? I’m really just a sensitive artist, you know, I’m not built for whatever this thing is.”

“I’ll think of something,” Graham said.

“Hurry up!” Acorn glanced at the pile of treasures the goblins had left him. “I think I’d rather have a golden harp stolen from me more than my dignity,” he muttered.

Graham paced around the base of the split vines. The goblins had left behind a shovel, which he quickly claimed, though he wondered vaguely if a goblin might protest it as a potential weapon. The dirt was freshly disturbed. He curiously checked it, and he uncovered a handful of beans. “Oh, magic beans!”

(“Magic beans,” Gwendolyn repeated, emphasis on the beans.)

“You know those aren’t real, right?” Acorn said, looking on. “Real ones aren’t purple. Or glittery.”

“Never look a gift bean in the mouth,” Graham said, stuffing them in a pocket. “They could be really beanificial later.”

“I’d smack your feather hat right off your head for that if you were still wearing it. The crown looks nice, by the way. Bespoke craftsmanship. I wish I was into metalworking like that sometimes. But you know how it is. Gotta pick a craft and stick to it, else your closet’ll just fill up with unused tools.”

“It’s, uh. Well. Thanks.” Graham shifted it back on his head, feeling the weight of it again. Best to not get into it now, really. He ran a hand over the vines, but they seemed pretty mangled and destroyed. “I’m not sure I can fix this yet,” he said. “Acorn? Are you okay hanging around up there a little bit while I look for something to help?”

“No, I was thinking of going for a little stroll around the caves. Of course I’ll stay up here, Graham.”

“Uh. Right. Sorry. I’ll be back, I promise!”

“You’d better hurry up. Ya’ll are lucky the bull is retired, or else I might start throwin’ things.”

“Right, right. Sorry. I’ll find something, promise.” And he pushed deeper into the caves, Acorn muttering under his breath behind him.

~*~*~

Quite aside from Acorn’s tower, Graham found all kinds of fascinating things and places he would have loved to poke his nose into. But he couldn’t explore them all properly, distracted by the sound of a scuffle. He hurried past a room filled with strange hexagonal rocks, down a little dark side tunnel that he wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t been for the racket beyond.

He hadn’t gotten far before he realized he recognized at least one of the voices.

“Don’t fret, little rock goblins. Whisper will sign all the things!”

“Oh no.” Graham started to run. Mushrooms kicked up iridescent spores as he dashed forward. They floated down gently behind him. He skidded around a bend, arm flung out to catch a stalactite that dripped nearly to the ground, spinning around the corner, boots scraping, and he slid to a halt, staring.

Whisper stood in the center of a surging pack of goblins, at least a dozen, all pushing and pulling and trying to get him to move, while he stood perfectly steady, giant signing pen in hand, scribbling on helmets with elaborate flourishes.

“No need to push, you crazy little fans,” he chided. “Don’t crowd! Don’t crowd! …okay, crowd. Whisper loves a crowd.”

“Oh, no.” Graham repeated, stepping back. They hadn’t noticed him yet, but somehow he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his balance in that crowd quite as well as Whisper could. He was sick of being tackled.

“Who should I make this out to? Rocky Stoneman?” Whisper asked, jotting something down on a goblin arm. “Unique individual message for you. And unique individual message for you. And unique individual message—” he glanced up. “Graham! It’s been far too long! And I see you’ve earned your mane of excellence, just look at that shiny hat! It’s nearly as good as mine! Well! Whisper has, and will continue to be, a fan. And speaking of fans! Fans, my fans, right this way! Follow me!” He marched forward, pushing past spears and hands without a pause.

“It’s good to see you too, Whisper, but those aren’t—”

“Can we push this line against the wall?” Whisper yelled over the chittering mass. “Oh, yes, I totally remember you from Adventure Con,” he said, beaming at a fierce goblin with a spear trying to prod his arm but failing due to the armor, the sharp point plinking uselessly off reflective metal. “I would love to sign your baby!”

“Whisper!”

“My fan club rocks!”

Graham sighed. “Whisper, that’s not what they are.”

“Of course they are! Who else would they possibly be?”

“Really dangerous kidnappers?”

“Not with cute little faces like that!”

“They’re wearing masks!”

“They’re still adorable. Back up, people, Whisper needs to talk to King Graham!”

The goblins paused, all turning to glare at Graham. He shrank back, hand pressing against his crown to stop it slipping down over his eyes. “No, it’s okay, I’m supposed to be here. I’m, uh.” He searched his pockets frantically, and he came up with a little dustpan and broom a goblin had thrown at his head yesterday. “I’m just sweeping this tunnel!” He swirled dust this way and that, grinning tightly. Which was entirely pointless since the tunnel was nothing but dirt and dust, but no matter. “Just chores! It's fine! We’re all fine! This is fine!”

They seemed to reluctantly accept this, and they went back to trying to push Whisper forward. The knight was perfectly poised and perfectly planted though, and he was not going to be swept off his feet. Probably because he’d practiced sweeping too many other people off their feet.

“So, Graham! What brings you here?”

“Um. They did.”

“Mmmhmm, nice, nice,” Whisper said, definitely not listening at all. “Look, do you think you could help me form an orderly line here? Whisper’s pretty sure he’s signed the same helmet twice.”

“I don’t think they want your autograph, Whisper.”

“Of course they do! What else could they possibly want?”

“Probably to push you into a fairy tale reenactment. That’s what’s been happening to everyone else so far.”

“Everyone else?”

“All the villagers are here, too.”

“Oooh, even the enchanting Miss Amaya Blackstone?”

“Don’t sound so pleased.”

“Yes, well. Fairy tales, hmm? I wonder which one Whisper would get! Which one has the most handsome famous adventuring prince in it, Graham?”

“I could definitely hear you being in Beauty and the Beast for some reason.”

“So long as Whisper is Beauty!”

“Sure. Oh! Speaking of fairy tales!” Graham turned to face the goblins. “Hey! Guys! Um. I mean.” He cleared his throat and upped the dramatics, complete with elaborate hand gestures. “Attention, attention, hear ye, hear ye, and all that!”

They stopped chittering and poking Whisper with their spears and turned to face Graham, spears raised in his direction instead. Graham stepped back again, hands now frozen in a pleading defense. “No, no, no, hang on, I want to make a trade. For your knight. I have something much better!” He hoped none of these goblins were the ones that had been playing Jack and the Beanstalk back in the other room or had been part of the arts and crafts team that had painted these ordinary beans purple.

“Better than Whisper! No such thing!” Whisper said, affronted, hand to his chest. His signing pen splattered ink across a few goblins.

“Shut up, Whisper,” Graham hissed out of the corner of his mouth, keeping as wide and desperate a grin as he could in the face of prickling spears. “Now, who amongst you is the wisest goblin? I, as the very important King of Daventry, can only deal with the wisest goblin, to trade for that knight there for these incredible and very real magic beans!” He withdrew the little handful from his pocket.

“You know those aren’t real, right?” Whisper said, eyeing them. “Real ones aren’t—”

“Whisper.”

“All right, fine, it’s your fault for making bad trades.”

One of the goblins started to step forward, apparently deciding it was the wisest goblin best suited to this trading task, but another goblin took great offense at that and shoved him back. Meanwhile, a third had started forward, hands outstretched, and another swatted his arms with a spear shaft. The hit goblin hit back. Another goblin, totally unrelated to the budding argument, decided now was a good time to take revenge for some earlier offense and stepped in. A helmet got shoved off, an ear got yanked, the goblins started wailing and tackling and leaping at each other. Graham ducked to avoid a swinging spearpoint.

“Whisper, come on.” He shoved the purple beans back in his pocket. One or two bounced loose and pinged across the floor, which just added to the chaos as goblins lunged for them. “Let’s go!”

“But, my fans!”

“There’s plenty more around here, don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, all right,” Whisper said reluctantly. He turned and sketched a dramatic bow at the crowd of yelping scuffling goblins, saying, “The building has left Whisper! Adieu! Farewell! May we find each other again at another, more organized, venue!” As he bowed, a stack of signed portraits fell out of his armor, and Graham instinctively scooped a few up to return them later. 

Graham watched over his shoulder as they scrambled out of the tunnel, but no one followed them, at least not right away. He pushed Whisper into an alcove, out of sight in the shadows. A lizard chirped at them and flared bright blue, irritated at the intrusion, casting glittery reflections across Whisper’s armor.

“Whisper, I’m so glad to see you,” Graham said, and he grabbed the knight in a trembling hug, fierce and tight like Whisper would vanish into the shadows and leave him alone again. “I mean, I’m not, you shouldn’t be here, but—do you know what’s happening?”

“Not a clue! But Whisper thinks it looks like more adventure sought out you.” He pushed Graham back a pace and gently tilted his chin so they were looking eye to eye (helmet). “Ready for more adventures?”

Graham shakily smiled, adrenaline starting to fade after the goblin faceoff. “Always.” He straightened his crown, and tried to look regal and expectant and ready, but then his knees gave out and he sank against Whisper again. “Ha…with some help.”

“Whisper can do that!”

[lemon-whiskey]

‘The Tarnished Knight, Part Two.’ — Ironwood’s Redemption Concept (Vol 9 spoilers)

My theoretical of if James Ironwood was the extra person to fall with team RWBY, instead of Jaune, into the ever after and how I think that would work. Biggggg post beyond the cut. My posts tag for this idea: [ #The Tarnished Knight RWBY au ]

You can reblog if you want to!

We left off with The Blacksmith.

James accepts The Blacksmith’s offer to be given the start to be who he wanted to be. She re-carves him for his second chance.

He wakes up on the beach again, covered in multicolored maple leaves. James takes a deep breath as he slowly sits up, blinking widely. He felt as different as he felt the same, one notable change is that he didn’t feel the pain. He still had an ache but he felt,,, better. More alive. His pants- once dark blue- now a charcoal grey. A dark blue tunic almost like a gambeson replaced his greatcoat and uniform. Worn Silver Paldrons and rerbraces that stopped at his elbows, tassets at his hips and thighs, his arms now matching and in a gently used silver, no gloves in sight.

He’s ticking softly, only noticeable because he can feel it. He holds a hand up to his right breast and unbuttons his tunic to look down and see the face of a small clock flanked by filigree in the metal side of his chest, ticking along with the rhythm of his heart. Yes he still has that for human reasons because he is indeed still human.

His gun is no longer a gun, it’s an axe that matches the silver and black of his old gun(s) with the filigree along the handle as well. A small blue stone set in the bottom of the pommel. He’d see himself in the weapon’s reflection, years younger. A smooth face he didn’t remember he ever had, alone in what he believed to be purgatory. He gets a helmet too, dramatic reveals and all that.

From here, he would now take the place of the rusted knight in Lewis’s story. He would realize he’s not in purgatory, but a different universe entirely.

James would not have ended up with the paper people though, this I will stray further off the script for as I’m echoing the tin man from The Wizard of Oz a little more here. He’s a forest dweller who makes a home and protects the flora and fauna while frequenting markets. We’re keeping juniper here because I love her so much except in his case she is either Ace or something else. Maybe the rabbit in the beginning fell in with him instead of running off idk. She gets silver antlers as a treat if you wanna play on the lucky rabbit vibes add a horseshoe symbol to her chest.

We’ve now approached the point where he’d be back at his original vol 8 age, beard and maybe a pony tail for vibes. And now he’s gonna re-meet team RWBY and oh boy! It’ll be ugly but also hilarious. Get ready for ‘Just James.’

Yeah Weiss still gets her mature comment except it’s replaced with a shocked but appreciative, ‘Striking.’

James is trying to get RWBY to trust him, the cat plays on the fact that they don’t.

Things go a similar way as the original story but with a lootttt more tension and we get James backstory possibilities!

In the mirror domain we get him seeing some options: maybe himself but in his old atlas uniform, or possibly Qrow in the mirror, maybe Clover. Hell both maybe, I’m just a gremlin here.

I might draw this in the future, I’m pretty content with the idea!

Part One: [HERE]

[cherryredcarousel]

A New World

Village Invasion

Watching Momonga try to use the mirror of remote viewing was like trying to watch a grandpa text on a phone. Eventually he was able to zoom in to which Sebas clapped, "Congratulations my lord, I knew you could do it." "Thanks Sebas, I appreciate your support." Sebas bowed his head slightly, "of course, it is my duty as your personal butler. The soul reason I was created by Lord Touchme was to carry out your orders no matter what they are." Momonga hummed before looking back at the mirror, "Hm is this a festival?" Sebas leaned down to look himself, "no my lord, it appears to be an attack."

A village under attack? It's a group of knights from the looks of it.. "Wonder why their attacking that village?" I leaned forward in my chair as I got a closer look at the situation. "I'm not very sure, let's just leave them be for now." Momonga said as he went to swipe away from the mirror. <Message> Touchme would have done it, besides maybe we can use the village to kind of get information about this new world. <Message end> I looked at Momo. "You know what? How about you go take a look." He gestured toward me to which I stood. "Alright I will." I turned around and opened a portal for Aasim and I. "I'll be back."

On the other side of the portal I was met with two girls, one younger than the other. Two guards stood behind them, one already stricken a slash across the older girls back. "I don't think that was very nice." I said as I fling one of my small daggers into the guards heart. He fell dead as the other one fell back in shock, "what are you?!" He yelled as he picked up his blade, it shook as he stared at my form. "Nothing special, dragon lightning." He screamed with agony before dropping down. Such a weak spell, only fifth tier and yet he dropped like a fly. "Aasim go take care of the knights that wear that armor." He nodded before teleporting away. Now for these two, "are you okay dear," i kneeled down to their level. "Clearly not, as there is a slash on their back. Stupid question me." I reached into my inventory pulling out a healing potion. "Here, it'll heal you." She nervously took it, "is this poison?" They think I'm gonna kill them when I just saved their lives not even two minutes ago, and did they NOT HEAR ME SAY HEALING. "No it isn't, it's a healing potion." She nodded and quickly downed the whole bottle, her wound immediately sewed itself together. "Oh wow, the pains all gone. Thank you!" I nodded and stood back up. "Well then, have you heard of magic?" She nodded, "yes ma'am there's someone who comes to our village who is a magic caster." I hummed before raising my hand, I cast a few protection spells. "That should protect you as long as you stay right there, and here's this in case the spell doesn't work." I threw them two goblin horns, i quickly explained before walking toward the village where Aasim should be done with his task.

"W-what are you?!" A knight said as he groveled below Aasims boot. He did not answer as he lodged his axe into the knights left shoulder. A knight struck his back, his sword shattering. Aasim turned around "now what if you had scratched my armor? The armor gifted to me by my master. I think death wouldn't even suffice for the attempt." Aasim said as he grabbed the man picking him up. The man screamed, Aasim reached around his back ripping his armor plate off and digging his hand into his back, tearing his spinal cord out. "Lay in the ground and die." He said as he threw the knights spine at him. A fraction of the knights ran, Aasim teleported, cutting down the knights as he went. He muttered to himself, counting as he killed. "57....58...59..." he paused, "I have missed one." His blade dropped as he looked around for the 60th knight. "I have failed to eliminate them all." He stood in disbelief.

"Earth to Aasim?" This was the tenth time I've called his name.. He quickly snapped out of it, "my lady!" He threw himself at my feet, his armored faceplate kissing the ground. "I have failed, I failed to kill them all. One got away.." I kneeled down to him, "it's fine, maybe they'll tell their leader about us. Then we'll be famous." I mused as I pat the back of his head. "Now stand up let's talk to the village folk." "Actually I'll do the talking." Momo said as he appeared behind me. "Maybe that's best, after all your best when it comes to talking." I walked beside Albedo as Momo talked. From the looks of it the talking was going well.

I walked around the village as the village chief and Momo talked in a building, Aasim was walking beside me. "Excuse me?" I looked around seeing no one. Hm? I felt a tug on my pant leg, looking down I was met with the cutest kid. "Well hi there." I kneeled down. "Why do you have four arms?" "You dare question my ladies appearance?!" Aasim went to grab his weapon, i lift my hand. "It's fine, but back to your question. Let's just say that I'm very special, maybe one day you'll grow more arms too!" I chuckled. My ears perk as I hear talking of more men coming. I wave bye to the little girl and catch up to my brother who was standing, watching as an group of men on horses came up.

"My name is Gazef Stronoff the chief warrior. I have been ordered by the king to come take care of the invading knights. Your people are safe now, we will protect you." The village chief thanked him, Gazef spoke again after giving our little group a look over. "Who is the man and women with you?" "These two are the ones who have saved our village." I stepped toward, "we are some measly magic users who just so happened to be strolling by when we saw the knights attacking, so we being good people of course took them out." Gazef's stare lingered on me before speaking with Momonga. "General! There are an army of unknown surrounding the village as we speak."

"We can take care of it, no biggy." I smiled.

[ponyosmom35]

The Fall of King Steve

Bittersweet chapter eleven

Steve Harrington x fem oc

synopsis: After buying weapons to trap the demogorgan, Nancy, Johnathon, and Indie spot graffiti with Nancy's name.

warnings: cursing, fighting, blood, steve gets his shit rocked

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

The next morning dawned grey and heavy, mirroring the weight of their mission. Indie, Jonathan, and Nancy gathered in Jonathan’s room, their faces grim and determined as they planned their next move. They had realized that the monster in Hawkins had a peculiar weakness: it tracked blood. Their plan was simple but dangerous—lure the creature into a trap and destroy it.

After a brief stop at the local hardware store, they emerged with a cache of weaponry: crowbars, axes, and a variety of homemade weapons that would make a medieval knight proud. The sight of their arms and ammunition made Indie’s stomach churn with a mix of dread and resolve.

As they walked past the movie theater, a fresh wave of outrage hit them. The marquee, once the highlight of Hawkins’ downtown, was now defaced with the cruel spray-painted message: “Nancy the Slut Wheeler.” Indie’s grip tightened on Nancy’s hand, a silent show of solidarity.

They reached the alleyway behind the theater, where Nancy spotted Steve and his gang loitering. The confrontation was inevitable. Nancy, her face set with determination, strode up to Steve. Without a word, she slapped him across the face, a sharp crack that echoed in the alley.

Steve, taken aback, rubbed his cheek and glared at Nancy. His anger flared. 

“What is wrong with you?” Nancy asks 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Steve asks seemingly unaffected by her slap. “I was worried about you, can’t believe I was actually worried about you”

“What are you talking about” Nancy asks as Johnahton and Indie walk up behind her. Nancy’s eyes light up with realization and she looks up at Steve. 

“So you came by last night? Look I don’t know what you think you saw but it wasn’t like that” 

“So what you just let him in your room to.. Study?” Steve asks 

“Another pervy photo session” Tommy laughs

“Shut the fuck up asshole” Indie snaps at him stepping forward. 

“Go to hell” Steve snaps

Indie’s eyes, cold and hard, bore into Steve. The hurt she felt was raw and intense. She struggled to understand why she had ever admired him. Steve's arrogance and the recent events had shattered any idealized image she had held of him. Sure she regretted the horrid words she’d spewed at him a few days prior. He didn’t deserve to be the receiver of her pain and anger that day, but he’d been the one to make her snap. 

“You know what Byers I’m actually kind of impressed, I always took you for a queer but I guess you’re just a screw-up like your father” Steve snaps, pushing Johnthon as he tries to lead them away. 

“Get away from him asshole!” Indie snaps, pushing his chest. His nostrils flare as he stares down at her in anger. 

“Get your goddamn hands off me freak, I don’t wanna know where they’ve been” Steve snaps “Who knows maybe Byers has them both, imagine that” 

Her heart shatters at Steve’s cruel words and she looks up at him in betrayal and heartbreak. Before she could respond Steve keeps talking, clearly looking for a fight. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I mean a bunch of screw-ups in your family, your mom”

“Johnathon please keep walking” Indie begs as he holds his arm, knowing he was about to snap.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but I’m not supposed what happened to your brother-” Steve snaps as he pushes Johnathon again

“Steve shut up!” Nancy yells 

“Johnathon-” Indie tries 

“Their family is a disgrace to the entire -”

Before Steve could react, Jonathan’s fist connected with his jaw. The force of the punch sent Steve stumbling back. Steve recovered quickly, anger fueling him. He lunged at Jonathan, the two of them crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. 

Jonathan’s rage was unrelenting. He pounded on Steve, each blow a release of the frustration and fear that had been building inside him. Steve, though taken by surprise, fought back with equal fervor, their bodies rolling across the dirty asphalt. The alleyway was filled with the sounds of grunts, impacts, and harsh breathing.

“Johnathon stop it!” Indie yells 

In the chaos, Indie and Nancy stood aside, watching in horror as their friends fought. Nancy tried to interject. “Stop it! Both of you, stop!”

Jonathan didn’t hear her. He continued to beat Steve, his fists raining down until Steve’s attempts to defend himself grew weaker. The violence only ceased when the distant wail of sirens grew louder.

The police arrived, and Jonathan was pulled off Steve, his face smeared with dirt and blood. Indie’s heart sank as she watched Jonathan being handcuffed and led away. Nancy, in a daze, could only stand by as Steve, battered and bruised, smirked triumphantly.

They made their way to the police station, Indie’s thoughts a chaotic whirl of anger and regret. At the station, Indie gave her statement with a trembling voice, her mind racing with thoughts of what could have been. Nancy stood by Jonathan, offering what comfort she could.

-

Joyce Byers, seething with frustration and concern, picked them up. Her eyes were sharp with anger as she scolded Jonathan. “You should have talked to me before going after the monster. This is a mess!”

Hopper, stern and imposing, joined them. “You can’t go home right now. The government is after you. It’s not safe.”

The group returned to the Byers’ house considering it their home base. They gathered around the walkie-talkies, trying to establish contact with anyone who could help. After several tense moments, Nancy managed to reach Mike and the rest of the kids. They agreed to meet up at the Byers’ house.

When Eleven arrived, she looked pale and exhausted. The group explained the situation, and Eleven attempted to use the walkie-talkie to contact their missing friends. The effort seemed fruitless at first, and Eleven’s frustration was evident.

“I can try to find them through a bath,” Eleven said finally. “It’s a stronger connection.”

They raced to the school to fill a large bathtub with an immense amount of salt and cranked up the static on the radio. Eleven stepped into the bathtub, her eyes closed as she concentrated. The room was filled with a tense silence as they watched her, hoping for any sign of connection.

The static on the radio crackled ominously, filling the room with a low hum. Eleven’s voice cut through the noise, trembling but resolute. “Barb?” she called softly, her tone laced with hope.

“Barb?” she repeated, her voice breaking as she tried to stay focused. “Barb?”

The static seemed to swallow her words for a moment before the faintest whisper emerged from the radio. The sound was weak and distorted, but unmistakable. Eleven’s face twisted in distress as she listened intently, her breathing growing shallow and rapid.

The words that came through were barely audible, but they were enough. Eleven’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled to keep her composure. “gone,” she said, her voice cracking and breaking into sobs.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. The air seemed to thicken as the weight of Eleven’s words settled over them. Indie’s heart plummeted into her stomach, her mind reeling from the impact of the revelation. 

Indie’s vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She sat back on the gym floor, her body numb as her mind struggled to process the devastating news. The room seemed to spin around her, the walls closing in as she felt herself disconnect from the reality of the moment. The harsh reality of Barb’s death was too much to bear.

The sounds of the room became distant. Hopper’s voice, filled with concern and urgency, seemed to be coming from a far-off place. Indie could barely make out his words, the sound muffled and distorted as if underwater. She tried to focus, to grasp at the fragments of reality that were slipping through her fingers, but the effort was too much.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her chest felt tight with the weight of her grief. The room was filled with the heavy silence of their collective loss. Indie’s tears streamed down her face, unchecked and silent. Her body shook with the intensity of her emotions, but she remained eerily still, her mind desperately trying to reconcile the cruel truth with the memories of Barb.

Eleven’s hyperventilation grew more pronounced as she struggled to regain control, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her sobs were muffled by the static, and the room felt smaller, more oppressive, with each passing second. Eleven was losing control, she was feeding off of Indie’s emotions. 

In that unbearable silence, Indie sat alone with her grief, disconnected from the frantic energy of the room, unable to find solace or understanding in the midst of their shared pain. The weight of the loss hung heavily over her, an unbearable truth that seemed to swallow all hope.

Joyce is able to calm the young girl down after several minutes. 

She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus again. “Will... Will, are you there?”

A weak, distant voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “Will... Will?” Nancy’s face lit up with a mixture of hope and fear as she heard his voice.

Joyce, tears streaming down her face, held Eleven as she broke down. “We need to find him,” Joyce said, her voice resolute.

The group, now more determined than ever, prepared to face the creature that had taken Barb and Will. They would bring the boy home. 

[jessepinwheel]

🤯😅⛔ for the emoji questions!

sorry for the delay on this one I literally forgot it was in my inbox

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

at the risk of sounding like an arrogant prick I don't feel like I struggle that much with most writing. writing stories are all pretty similar from a methodological standpoint I think, whether it's romance or action or horror, it's just a question of what kind of messages/emotion you want to get across through what strategies.

but that's not a super helpful answer. I guess things I don't really write a lot are romance? (although I'm not sure I'd say that either because relationships are a huge part of my stories, just not ones that involve kissing) and I guess also smut because I mostly find it boring and have no desire to write it

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

well there's like 6k of a Supernatural casefic in one of my folders featuring one of my OCs does that count?

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

well probably the most prominent one is transistor, that one obi-wan time loop story that I wrote like 30k for and then decided to stop writing because making it the way I wanted it was either going to require deleting like 10k words or to go on for way too long

there's also an a companion piece to dielectric breakdown (called corona discharge) which was going to pretty much be a rex point of view story covering parts of the main story and how he dealt with cody leaving, but I decided that I was not adding anything useful enough to really follow through all the way

but besides that I have a lot of unfinished works in my writing folder that I'm not entirely sure I'll come back to but which I also haven't officially axed. to name a few:

jamais vu: the ace attorney fic where phoenix goes back in time and ends up pretending to be his own uncle

houndstooth: a blackwell series fic where after the events of the last game rosa has amnesia and now joey has to deal with both having a body and also that

entrainment: a bleach fic that's kind of a pokespe fusion where ichigo gets pokemon and also accidentally makes a contract with pokemon satan (giratina)

event horizon: the kirby fic in which meta knight deals with ptsd after being stuck in the mirror from amazing mirror

memento: a pokemon sun/moon fic in which nanu gets fucking owned and washes up on the shore amnesiac because unbeknownst to him he just got eaten by a dimensional wormhole and he appears to be in a world where he died or disappeared a long time ago

eutectic: a naruto fic where kakashi gets sent back in time to an alternate dimension where kannabi bridge went fine and alternate world kakashi grew up to be an asshole so our kakashi decides to solve the plot of naruto by causing problems on purpose (committing lots of murder) and making life really annoying for alternate world asshole kakashi and also becoming haku's murder dad

I have a lot of stories that will probably never see the light of day, y'all just don't see them since I don't post anything unless they're done or there's a really solid plan to finish them

send me fanfic writer emoji asks

[inventors-fair]

A Dark and Stormy Knight

The fair ran something nearly identical to this before, but that was nearly five years ago at this point, so I feel it's definitely fair game to run again. Besides, if there was ever a contest to do exactly twice, but somehow, inexplicably more sinister...

Design a mirrored pair.

If you are unfamiliar with the Magic parlance, a mirrored pair is a set of two cards which are, broadly speaking, incredibly similar, but mirror each other on some sort of axis. Think Black Knight and White Knight, Red Elemental Blast and Blue Elemental Blast, or Braids, Cabal Minion and Braids, Conjurer Adept. Frequently these mirrors are color-based, but feel free to invert things along other axes this week, as the Braids example hopefully demonstrates.

Also, please note that this week, unlike most other weeks, I am asking you to submit not one, not three, but Exactly Two (2) Cards, one which can be inverted in some way, and another which demonstrates this inversion. Kindly find some way to finagle both cards into one submission, either by using some sort of image editing software, linking to the cards externally (I believe mtg.design is good for this), making creative use of a DFC frame, or even just submitting one or both halves as text.

-Judge @shyflops​, the evil mirror universe version of @starch255

Submit your card(s!) >>HERE<< & >>EREH<< drocsiD eht nioJ Join the Discord >>HERE<< & >>EREH<< (!s)drac ruoy timbuS

[harveybwabbit92]

[After Ultraseven gives Taro an earful for taking his daughter’s axe and using it to play a prank on the Ultra-brothers, he asks Zero to safely return the axe to Akari. unfortunately for him; Zero is just as much a prankster as Taro is and left the axe on a table.]

Zero, to Mirror Knight: Oh shoot, can you grab my sister’s axe for me?

Mirror Knight: Why would miss Akari’s axe be here?

Zero: She asked me to keep an eye on it while she went to hang out with Taiga and the others.

[Mirror Knight shrugs and grabs the axe’s handle and goes to walk away but is yanked backwards by the unmoving axe, he stares at it in shock and tries to pull it but it won’t budge, Glenfire sees this and shakes his head.]

Glenfire: outta the way amateur! I’ll show ya it’s done! 

[Glenfire pulls the axe and it doesn’t budge.]

Mirror knight: Nice demonstration Glen! 

Glenfire: Shut-up...

[both he and Mirror knight are baffled and scratching their heads as Zero snickers from his hiding place, then the Jean brothers show up.]

Mirror Knight, To Jean-bot while pointing at the axe: Hey scan this for us!

Glenfire: Yeah, Zero must’ve welded it to the table or something.

Jean-Bot, after examining the Axe and table: No tampering was found, there is nothing holding the axe to the table.

Mirror Knight: Scan again.

Jean-nine, scans this time: No tampering was found...

[After two more scans confirming that there was no glue, magnets or other tricks involved, the four of them decide to work together, Zero is losing his crap watching them pull the axe with all their might before losing their grip on the handle and were sent flying back in random directions, Zero takes a sec to regain his composure walks into the room; pretending to be annoyed as he calmly picks the axe up.]

Zero, freely waving the axe around: Seriously guys? how hard is it for you to do a simple task?

Mirror Knight, dumbfounded: Wha-what, but how?

Z, just arriving: Hey, everyone...*sees what Zero is holding* Oh hey. You have Akari’s axe! Are you showing everyone that cool relative thing?

Glenfire: …What cool relative thing?

{Zero is frantically shaking his head at Z who is oblivious.]

Z: Oh, it’s this cool thing where only Akari’s distant or direct blood relatives can wield her axe! I’m ultra jealous!

{The Zero force all glare at Zero who chuckles nervously before flying off.]

Glenfire: That sonofa-

Jean-bot: Don’t let him get away!

 (The angry zero force flies after Zero, leaving Z standing there confused.)