#my doomed sisters and my queen who never was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ai-manre · 4 months ago

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Hang on king, a true warrior queen is coming

The strength he admires:

Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones. - Jon III ADWD

Drogon roared. The sound filled the pit. A furnace wind engulfed her. The dragon's long scaled neck stretched toward her. When his mouth opened, she could see bits of broken bone and charred flesh between his black teeth. His eyes were molten. I am looking into hell, but I dare not look away. She had never been so certain of anything. - Dany IX ADWD

The shared loneliness:

Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. - Jon V ASOS

She sat up with her hair disheveled and the bedclothes atangle. Her captain slept beside her, yet she was alone. - Dany VII ADWD

Lonely lovely lethal:

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died. Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. - Jon III ADWD

Xaro took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Daenerys, sweet queen, I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to bask once more in your presence. A child departed Qarth, as lost as she was lovely. I feared she was sailing to her doom, yet now I find her here enthroned, mistress of an ancient city, surrounded by a mighty host that she raised up out of dreams." - Dany III ADWD

Silver hair:

Beyond, the haunted forest waited, dark and silent. The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet." - Jon VIII ADWD

Dany's skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Jhiqui laid her down to oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward Irri sprinkled her with spiceflower and cinnamon. While Doreah brushed her hair until it shone like spun��silver, she thought about the moon, and eggs, and dragons. - Dany III AGOT

Wish for a dragon/wish for a rider:

We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three. - Jon VIII ASOS

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters. - Dany VI ASOS

Wishing for a dragon/wishing for someone to love a dragon:

"The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne's war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well. On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons."

Jon: "Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit." - Jon IX ADWD

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman's pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon? - Dany II ADWD

Shared prayers

Gods of the wood, grant me the strength to do the same, Jon Snow prayed silently. Give me the wisdom to know what must be done and the courage to do it. - Jon VII ADWD

Gods, she prayed, you took Khal Drogo, who was my sun-and-stars. You took our valiant son before he drew a breath. You have had your blood of me. Help me now, I pray you. Give me the wisdom to see the path ahead and the strength to do what I must to keep my children safe. - Dany V ADWD

Winter rose/flowers instead of violence:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens [...]

Ygritte: "Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

Jon: "What's wrong with flowers?" - Jon V ASOS

A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . - Dany IV ADWD

"No heads," Dany insisted. "Once you brought me flowers." - Dany VII ADWD

Ruler of ruins:

He stalked across the yard, into the teeth of that wind. His cloak flapped loudly from his shoulders. Ghost came after. Where am I going? What am I doing? Castle Black was still and silent, its halls and towers dark. My seat, Jon Snow reflected. My hall, my home, my command. A ruin. - Jon VI ADWD

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. - Dany I ADWD

Turned off by their crushes due to violence against innocent:

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago." This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen's only child." - Jon XI ADWD

Daario: "Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?"

Dany: "This queen is." - Dany IV ADWD

Compassion and desire to save an entire people:

"Thousands of enemies. Thousands of wildlings."

Thousands of people, Jon thought. Men, women, children. Anger rose inside him, but when he spoke his voice was quiet and cold. - Jon VIII ADWD

"When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done."

Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. "The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs." - Dany II ASOS

Warrior princess:

Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. - Jon XI ADWD

Dany mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done? She wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been this anxious when he saw the Usurper's host formed up across the Trident with all their banners floating on the wind. She stood in her stirrups and raised the harpy's fingers above her head for all the Unsullied to see. "IT IS DONE!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "YOU ARE MINE!" She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers high. "YOU ARE THE DRAGON'S NOW! YOU'RE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!" - Dany III ASOS

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. - Dany VI ADWD

A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that. - Dany I ADWD

Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. - The Queensguard ADWD

Wildling/no southron lady:

"And yes, I will take your women too. I have no need of blushing maidens looking to be protected, but I will take as many spearwives as will come." - Jon V ADWD

The carcass was too heavy for him to bear back to his lair, so Drogon consumed his kill there, tearing at the charred flesh as the grasses burned around them, the air thick with drifting smoke and the smell of burnt horsehair. Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario … Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her. - Dany XI ADWD

Shared pet plays!

Jon squatted to let the direwolf close his jaws around his wrist, tugging his hand back and forth. It was a game they played. But when he glanced up, he saw Ygritte watching with eyes as wide and white as hen's eggs. - Jon VI ACOK

Drogon looped his neck around to nip at her hand. His teeth were very sharp, but he never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled him back and forth until he roared, his tail lashing like a whip. It is longer than it was, she saw, and tomorrow it will be longer still. - Dany IV ASOS

Add more please!

#jon snow #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #hang on jon!#a true daeron the conqueror is coming for you #snowstorm #jonerys #jon dany #daenerys x jon #jon x dany

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humanpurposes · 2 years ago

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Sour Switchblade

No sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, Targcest (uncle and neice), threats of violence, bit of blood, dub-con, breeding kink

Words: 4100

A/n: Also available on AO3. Inspired by my current obsession with this song.

She knows where she is the moment she reaches the skies above the Stormlands; this part of the world was not named in irony.

She clutches tightly to Silverwing’s reigns, dragon and rider fighting through the fierce winds and heavy rain that stings the skin of her cheeks.

Lucerys and Arrax would have never made the journey. They are both too small, too young to take on such a burden as messengers on the eve of war. Jacaerys should have the more arduous task ahead of him, to fly to the Eyrie and then to Winterfell, to earn the support of the Arryns and the Starks to their mother’s cause.

She has one destination, one objective, one Lord to win over. But no sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed.

She hears Vhagar’s call, or rather feels it reverberate in her chest, before she sees her. She is a monstrously large dragon, the oldest of her kind. Only her head and neck loom over the battlements, but it is enough to terrify the Princess.

Because with Vhagar comes Aemond.

He had hardly spoken so much as a word to her during the petitions for Driftmark, but his eye never left her.

She pushes aside any childish ideas of hope for a civil encounter with her uncle. Any love between them was severed the night he claimed his dragon and Lucerys claimed his eye in the tunnels below Hightide.

Her name is announced to the Round Hall as she trails in behind an escort of guards. Rain drips from her soaked leathers and hair, the braid she wore long blown apart by the wind. She clenches her jaw, determined not to shiver in the presence of the Lord of Storm’s End, or the one eyed Prince who lurks at the edge of the room.

Aemond stands with his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment she sees surprise in his gaze, but it soon settles into a smug smile, his single eye positively gleaming through the miserable light of the hall.

Beside him is a young woman, dressed in all the finery of a Baratheon Lady. Her suspicions are confirmed when Lord Borros mentions a marriage pact.

She can’t stop herself. She looks to Aemond, knowing full well she is doing nothing to hide the fury in her face. And he stares back, like a hunter stalking prey.

She has nothing to offer Lord Borros, nothing that could compete with such a match. Her brothers are either betrothed or too young.

But she cannot fail, not when Rhaenyra has lost so much already these past few days.

Aemond’s eye remains fixed on her, vaguely amused, but still alert and intent. Perhaps he believes he has found a weakness, perhaps the shark smells blood.

If memory serves correctly, Lord Borros’ wife passed some years ago.

“I offer my hand to you, my Lord,” she says. “Pledge your banners to the true Queen, and your sons will be Princes.”

Lord Borros brings his fingers to his beard, muttering into the ear of his Maester and nervously glancing towards his other royal guest.

The amusement has faded from Aemond’s face, his moment of triumph snatched from him. Even the mere consideration of her proposal undermines him.

His chin is tilted down now, his eye dark and lips pressing together to withhold a sneer. She revels in it, taking a breath to stop herself from smiling.

“I will need time to consider,” Lord Borros says. “I will make my decision known on the morrow.”

Aemond takes one step towards her before she is whisked away by the eldest of the Baratheon sisters, Cassandra, and no less than four guards. Cassandra takes her arm in hers and leads her through the castle to a guest chamber, in a tower that overlooks the courtyard and Shipbreaker Bay beyond that.

A bath is drawn for her and a gown of black with gold embroidery laid out of her to change into. It seems unusual to see herself in these colours, but then again, her grandmother, Rhaenys, is half Baratheon.

Dressed in her gown and with her hair newly done, she watches Silverwing seek shelter from the Storm under the battlements. Vhagar is apparently sleeping, with her wings cradled over her body to keep out the rain.

Silverwing would be miserable here, she thinks. A dragon needs clear skies, they cannot always fight against the wind and rain.

It’s hard to tell exactly when the sun sets. There are no warm colours in the sky, no streaks of orange or gold. The sky beyond the storm clouds fades from grey, to indigo, and then to black.

Lady Cassandra escorts her to the Round Hall for supper. It is a modest affair. Lord Borros’ advisors and bannermen sit at tables in the heart of the hall, while a high table is set before the Stone Throne. Lord Borros sits at the centre, with two empty spaces either side of him. She might guess who they are for.

She sits between Lord Borros and Cassandra, and finds just enough time to steady her nerves with a sip of wine when Lady Floris enters with Aemond on her arm.

She swallows her mouthful wine thickly, meeting her uncle’s gaze for only a moment out of courtesy.

He takes his place beside Lord Borros and the meal commences. Servants bring out whole roasted boars, and given Aemond’s reaction to the suckling pig at dinner in the Red Keep, she refrains from moving her mouth or looking in his direction. In fact she hardly has an appetite at all. She sits with a stiff spine, glancing down at the plate of potatoes and greens placed in front of her.

Lord Borros asks her a question which immediately slips her mind. It occurs to her she’s supposed to be winning him over, to prove to him that she will be a good and dutiful wife. A better wife than Aemond will be a husband for Floris anyhow.

The thought churns her stomach and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She allows herself another glance to Lord Borros’ other side. Aemond’s head is close to Floris’. The light from a candle on the table flickers over his chin, his jaw, the top of his neck underneath his collar. He leans in closer to mutter something in her ear.

He was always so softly spoken as a boy, subdued, even in moments of frustration. He still seems subtle, but in a different way now, a quiet kind of arrogance, a silent threat with the smallest of gestures. The few words he had spoken at that dinner, though aimed as insults towards her brothers, had ignited a thrilling sort of intrigue within her.

And now Floris gets to sit beside him, gets to feel his breath on her ear as he whispers in that low, chilling voice–

“Princess?”

“Y-yes?” she stutters, turning her eyes back to Lord Borros.

Only she seems to have caught the attention of Aemond and the other Baratheon girls now.

“I said our union should be a plentiful one, if your mother’s talent for producing sons is anything to go by.”

The only thing that stops her from reaching for her knife and jamming it into Lord Borros’ neck is the quiet huff of a laugh coming from Aemond.

She shoots him a deadly glare but his cruel smile does not waver.

“The man who eventually claims my niece’s hand will have Strong sons, there’s no doubt about that,” he says, reaching for his cup.

She watches him drink, the way he pouts his lips, how his throat bobs as he swallows.

“What a kind compliment, uncle,” she says, “though not one I could extend to you.”

Aemond sets his cup down gently. “Meaning?” he asks, not looking at her.

“It took you a decade to claim a dragon, did it not?”

His head snaps towards her. “Yes, and I claimed the largest dragon in the world.”

“An impressive feat,” she says, “one your father was proud of, I’m sure.”

He wants to lash out, she can see it, his fist clenching on top of the table, his lips pursing together, his eye going wide, his nostrils flaring as he takes a few breaths to compose himself.

The rest of the table has fallen to an uneasy quiet. She simply reaches for her wine and takes a generous sip that slips over her tongue with a delightful burn.

Lord Borros calls for music, and his daughters, Cassandra and Ellyn find partners to dance with. Maris remains seated, with her arms folded over her chest and a sour look on her face.

Floris seems hopeful, sitting up and trying to catch Aemond’s eye from his blind side. It is a hope he will not entertain. He keeps one hand on the table, tapping a long, slender finger against the wood.

“You will forgive me,” Lord Borros says to her, “I am too old to dance now.”

She tries to smile to hide her repulsion. What an endearing match she’s managed to find for herself. But this is for her mother– her Queen, so that the throne might pass to the rightful heir and not a usurper.

In the corner of her eye she sees Aemond is watching her, and she does not shy away from his gaze. His lips curl into a smirk but she can see the calculations and strategising behind that piercing, violet eye.

What lurks on the other side, she wonders, underneath the leather eyepatch and the scar slicing down his face?

A bloody mess of flesh flashes before her eyes. She remembers how he cried out in pain, how he clutched his hand to his face, how the thick, dark blood seeped from between his fingers and spilled onto the floor as he fell. She had only watched dumbfounded, as Lucerys dropped the blade, as she and the other children were ushered into the Hall of Nine, as the gash in Aemond’s socket was sewn and their mothers both called for justice.

Could she have stopped her cousins from confronting him? Could she have defended him from her brothers? Would he have at least felt some of her sorrow if she had gone to him that night or wrote to him in the years that separated them?

Those possibilities mean nothing now. Aemond looks at her with no warmth, no fond memories of their shared youth.

He’d be handsome without the scar– he still is, but it is a severe kind of beauty.

The moment she manages to finish the food on her plate, she excuses herself, declaring that she is tired from her journey and will need to recover before Lord Borros makes his decision in the morning.

Lord Borros presses a kiss to her hand, and she winces at the way his beard feels against her skin. When she looks to Aemond, he is suppressing a smile by bringing a cup of wine to his lips.

She walks quickly through the halls, towards the guest chamber, already taking off the heavy gold earrings and necklace she had been adorned with, and sighs at the relief of their weight. The sooner she can get to sleep, the sooner the morning will come, then the sooner she can finally leave, either a success or a failure, but she will be free of him. Free of the tight, restless feeling in her chest.

The enduring storm does not help her nerves, the rain beating down and the wind howling against the castle walls. Her heart leaps at every irregular noise, anything that might be mistaken for a voice, a breath, a footstep. She glances over her shoulder repeatedly, but all she sees are the empty hallways she leaves behind.

Two guards wait outside her chambers. They do not move to open the door for her, as they would on Dragonstone. She huffs and pushes it open herself, falling against the door once it is closed.

Borros Baratheon is hardly a man of principle. He has no love for Rhaenyra, and is only considering offering his support out if pride. She has no friends here.

She quietly turns the lock on the door.

She heads to the vanity to set down the jewellery and release the pins from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders.

Outside the window, she hears Silverwing’s lamenting coos through the clashes of thunder. She reaches behind her back to undo the laces of her gown as she goes to the window, but she cannot spot her dragon through the dark and the heavy rain.

“We’ll be home soon,” she whispers into the night.

She nearly screams when she hears the door rattle.

The wood clashes against its frame, but the handle does not budge, for now.

She barely has a few moments to run to the vanity, hand outstretched and eyes fixed on a long, sharp hair pin when she hears the door burst open. It slams and heavy footsteps thud against the floor, towards her.

A hand clasps over her mouth before she can make a sound. An arm wraps tightly around her waist, keeping her arms by her sides, before she can reach the closest thing she has to a weapon.

She thrashes, squirms, tries to call for help or graze her teeth against the intruder’s flesh but nothing deters him.

She looks down at the arm around her waist. She recognises the black leather sleeve of his jerkin, the wide palm pressing down on her stomach, veins and tendons running underneath pale skin.

He rests his chin on her shoulder, so his long, silver hair falls around her face. He smells of smoke and lavender.

He lets out a frustrated huff as she unsuccessfully tries to jerk her elbow into his side. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he hisses against her ear.

She squeals in fury against his palm, trying to twist her way out of his grip. She manages to drag him with her until their sides collide with the vanity. Pieces of priceless jewellery and bottles of perfume fall to the floor, and shatter.

She has a mere second to wrench herself from his grip, only for him to grab her again, turning her to face him as he pulls her into his chest.

Aemond’s expression is deadly, his eye wide, lips pressed together in a scarcely contained rage.

“The throne belongs to my mother,” she says through the drumming in her chest, with all the defiance she can muster. “She is the one true heir. King Viserys–”

“Viserys is dead!” Aemond bellows, pushing her back against the vanity. “His word means nothing now that he can no longer enforce it.”

With her hands suddenly free she attempts to strike him, but he sees her intention before she even moves, pinning her wrists to the wood, keeping her body in place with his own.

She clenches her fists, only able to dig her nails into her palms. “What is it that you want from me?”

Lightning ignites the sky behind her. The white light dances over his scar and the shape of his mouth. His expression is softer now, lips slightly parted.

“I will have what I am owed,” he says.

Her eyes flicker to the eyepatch and the edges of the scar it cannot conceal.

Aemond hums a small laugh at her presumption. “Fear not, dear niece, that is not your debt to pay.”

His gaze trails over her face, then lower, to her lips, along her neck, to the gown slipping from her shoulders and the bare skin at the top of her chest.

“Do you remember what you said to me, the day you left?” he says softly.

The children they were are almost half a lifetime away.

She remembers standing under the weirwood tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, a warm breeze rustling the red leaves above their heads, the sun shining through the branches.

She remembers holding Aemond’s face in her hands, wiping away the bitter tears as they fell from his eyes.

He had begged her not to leave, but they were powerless then.

He is the one to bring his hand to her face now, running his thumb over the lone tear that spills from her eye.

“I said I loved you,” she utters. “I said my heart was yours, and it always would be.”

Aemond hums softly. “You made a promise to me,” he says. “Do you intend to keep that promise?”

How can she? She would have to forsake her mother, her Queen, her brothers, the realm, her own dignity.

“It was a childish infatuation,” she says.

“Not to me,” he says, fury creeping into his voice once more, his grip on her hand tightening.

She pushes her one free hand against his chest but he does not budge. “Aemond, please, you’re hurting me…”

He presses his body into her, forcing her further against the vanity– a warning, a command for obedience. He trails his thumb over her cheek, to her lower lip, taking her chin in his fingers. When she tries to look away he brings her eyes back to him.

He leans in gradually, pressing his forehead and his nose against hers, before he takes a steady breath and captures her lips in his. His kiss is starved but slow, bruising, deep and desperate. The hand that was on her chin comes to her neck, angling her head precisely where he wants her.

His hands trace down the back of her neck, between her shoulders, to pull at the laces of her gown. They fall apart between his fingers and, barely breaking away from her, he tugs it down until the black and gold fabric falls to her ankles. He lifts her out of it, seating her on the vanity, raking the hem of her shift up to her thighs so he can place himself between them as he continues to kiss her.

A dazed sort of warmth pools within her. She can feel her senses and her sanity slipping.

But he cannot best her, not after everything that has happened in the days since the King’s death.

She grazes his lip with her teeth, and when he seems to welcome it, she clenches her jaw as hard as she can.

He tears himself away from her and staggers back, bright blood dripping from his mouth. She can taste it on her tongue.

“Little cunt,” he hisses.

She slips the hairpin into her hand and runs for the door. Aemond catches her in a few strides but she’s ready for that, turning to drive it into his blindside.

Even then he misses nothing, holding her wrists behind her back with one hand and snatching the pin from her grasp. She hears it clatter to the ground as Aemond drives her forwards, towards the bed.

She lands face down and tries to lift herself up, only to feel his forearm pressing into her neck to keep her down.

“You were always stubborn,” he says, planting a delicate kiss to her shoulder, “and as exciting as that is, I want you to be good for me, dōna riña.”

The iciness in his voice sends a shudder down her spine.

“Say it, say you’ll be good.”

Hit tears prickle in her eyes. She shifts underneath his hold, but her urge to fight is already fading. “I’ll be good, qȳbos,” she whispers.

Aemond’s chest hums with a groan. At last he relents, releasing her neck and her hands. But no sooner is she free, he turns her onto her back and slides his hands up her thighs, hooking his fingers over her smallclothes and bringing them down her legs.

“Up,” he says, dragging her by her hands to sit, so that he can pull her shift over her head.

She cannot be sure why she’s shivering, the cold air, the noise of the storm, or the hungry look in Aemond’s eye at the sight of her bare body.

She keeps her hands on his shoulders as he lays her down and trails his fingertips down her stomach, to the obvious arousal at her core.

With a lingering kiss to her cheek he presses a single finger inside her. She gasps at the sudden sting of it, digging her nails into his skin.

But he reaches deeper than she’s ever been able to, stroking against the flesh within her, until she starts to melt. He edges her closer and closer to bliss until she comes undone around him with a whimper.

“Sȳz riña,” he coos against her cheek. “That’s it…”

She tries to cling onto him as he moves away, but he is not gone for long. He swiftly undoes the buckles of his jerkin, followed by his shirt, boots and breeches. His body is lithe and lean, harsh angles and soft skin.

She glances at his eyepatch again.

Aemond lets out a low, irritable “hmm,” as he looms over her. His hair falls around his face, tickling the skin of her collar. He leans on one palm placed by her head, as he drags the tip of his cock through her folds, teasing between her bundle of nerves and her entrance. The sensation burns brightly and has her hips bucking, but it’s not enough.

“Beg me for it,” he utters.

“Please,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hands, feeling her thumbs along the sharp edges of his cheeks. “Please…”

He pushes into her with a single stroke, filling her to the hilt with a soft sound of skin against skin.

She winces at the stretch, throwing her head back against the bed and trying to steady her breath as he rocks into her.

He’s gentle at first, but before long he is restless.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he pants, gripping at her waist to pull her in with every snap of his hips. “You little whore, I can feel you getting wetter.”

She should hate him for it. There is so much she should hate him for, but she cannot think past the pleasure tightening and rising within her, the sound of Aemond’s laboured breaths or the lewd, wet sounds of their coupling.

His hands grab at her legs, positioning them against her chest so he can fuck her harder and deeper.

“Oh gods,” she whines as he pushes against a spot that makes her feel weightless.

“Take it bastard,” he hisses, pressing his forehead against hers and wrapping a hand around her neck. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to know it could. “Fucking take it.”

She is sure it’s too much, his hold on her neck, his breath over her lips, his body pressing against hers as he pounds into her without mercy.

“I’m going to fill you up,” Aemond rasps, “return you to King’s Landing with a Prince in your belly.”

His promise sparks a new feeling entirely, her cunt clenching around him as her voice becomes a slur of desperate, wanton moans.

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, ilībõños? Want your uncle to give you a silver-haired babe?”

“Please,” she mewls, placing her hand over his, “please, qȳbos,”

With a few sharp, brutal thrusts, her body erupts with her climax, until she is a moaning, quivering mess.

Aemond’s jaw hangs open as he fucks into her through his own release, until every last drop of his seed is buried within her.

He keeps himself nestled within her, positioning them properly on the bed, hooking her leg around his hips, keeping her body and her head close to his chest.

Her eyes flutter closed, lulled by the soft sound of his breath and the gentle thud of his heartbeat.

But the pleasant glow of her peak cannot last forever.

“I can’t go back to King’s Landing,” she whispers against his skin. Not now that Aegon has claimed the throne, not now that her mother is amassing her banners and the Greens are doing the same.

Aemond takes her chin his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Did you think I’d ever let you go? You’re mine now, dōna riña. That is what you've always wanted, is it not?”

She helplessly traces her fingers along the muscles of his arm, held tightly around her.

Perhaps she did want that, once.

“What of the Stormlands? What of our duties to our families? What of the war?”

Aemond silences her with a delicate kiss to her lips. She lets it soothe her, for the sake of a love once lost, for a moment of bliss in a world unfurling into chaos and bloodshed.

“Lord Borros will pledge his banners to Aegon or I will burn Storm’s End to the ground,” Aemond mutters between their kisses. She can already feel his cock beginning to harden once more inside her. “And no one will keep you from me, my sweet, strong girl.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #Spotify

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stxrvel · 6 months ago

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the king (2)

series summary. y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when the Crown Prince had been chasing her for as long as she could remember. doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. who would've thought that loving would come at such a high price…

pairing. prince!jungkook x f!reader

content. english is not my first lenguage! violence. royal themes. be-heading is still spoken of in this kingdom, nothing that will materialize. yelling. a flashback.

a/n. hey guys! i forgot about this one hehe. i have some chapters already done, i'll try to post them soon. love yall <3

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Jeon Jungkook had never thrown a tantrum since he was eight years old. His teaching was so strict being the heir to the throne that he had had to learn to tolerate many things and put up with others from an early age. Understanding the weight of what it entailed to be born with the title of “Crown Prince” had been one of the things that had taken him the least amount of time to grasp, but which he always questioned in the solitude of his room.

Jungkook had surprised his parents, understanding from a very young age the implications of his position and the responsibilities he was to assume in the future. That knowledge made him grow up lacking in many things, but with advantages in many others. By owning that awareness, Jungkook understood the weight on his parents' shoulders and knew that they must've had a difficult enough life for him to bother them with his childish mundanities. So that's how he grew up, for many years, trying to make life easy for his parents.

Usually, his mother used to use him as an example to his younger sisters on how to behave according to the title they held. His sisters never envied him, they really loved him, but Jungkook knew how much they hated not being able to live their childhood like all the other kids in town. And he hated that too, that they couldn't experience it, but he was relieved just to know that the big burden was on him and not on them. Expectations were always placed on him, the Crown Prince, the next King, and not on the princesses who only wanted to enjoy their life and childhood in the big castle. Still, Jungkook sometimes didn't understand why his mother demanded so much from his sisters when they hadn't grown up with the knowledge he was given. He hated the nights when Suni, the youngest of them all, would sneak into his room at night or search for him in the great Palace garden because eomma had forbidden her to keep stuffed animals in her room or because she got mad at her when she asked for more food at dinner.

Jungkook, for a long time, tried to make his parents' life a little easier.

But it infuriated him to think that they made his sisters' lives difficult in return.

So, for a change, Jungkook started throwing tantrums.

The first time he remembered it as lucidly as if it had been yesterday.

It was a sunny day in the square when he had gone out with his parents and two of his sisters. Their parents had dawned in a strangely good mood, so much so that they had decided to have a little family walk in the central point of town. Jungkook went with one of his sisters, Hari, making funny faces at his younger sister, Suni, behind his parents' backs, causing the little girl to laugh loudly. They were having such a peaceful and happy time that Jungkook couldn't believe it.

That is, until Suni saw one of the wooden toys they were selling in the square and began to pull her mother's hand. Hari and Jungkook stood silently, frozen, walking quietly behind their parents as they watched their little sister stir and pull harder and harder on the Queen's hand. They could barely go unnoticed… when Suni began to cry.

Jungkook bit his tongue, and had the urge to move forward to grab his sister and take her back to the Palace, but Hari's hand wrapped around his arm kept him sane. Jungkook hadn't been through a situation like that, precisely why his parents didn't often go out with their children, so he had no idea how his parents would react.

The Queen continued walking, almost dragging her little daughter who wouldn't let go of her hand. People passing by her were barely able to give them a glance, hurrying their pace when the Queen's eyes fell on them. The square had fallen into a dull silence that was perturbed only by Suni's sobs.

Hari squeezed Jungkook's arm tighter as the Queen turned her face away to look at Suni, and they both watched their mother's tense face, no longer welcoming and peaceful as they had seen her in the morning. She was now only the Queen and Suni, her own daughter, was trying her patience.

The King walked silently by her side, not even bothering to try to calm his daughter or show his wife patience. He lived in his own world.

Jungkook felt a hand clutch around his throat as the Queen began to tug on her little sister's arm, to get her to walk back to her side without crawling.

He didn't think twice as he began to speak, and Hari's hand tightened around his arm.

“Eommoni,” Jungkook elongated his voice, a hint of weariness and exhaustion ringing in the Queen's ears. The woman barely glanced over her shoulder at him, and Jungkook took it upon himself to keep his face irritated like his sister Hari did when she had to eat paprika. “Suni is making too much noise and my head hurts.”

His little sister turned to look at him, her eyes red and cheeks drenched in tears. Her little eyes rolled down his face and she had one of her hands almost inside her mouth, as many babies did when crying. Jungkook could never shake that habit that his mother hated, no matter how much he told her it was normal.

“Can't we go home already?” Jungkook continued, shuffling his feet. Hari was as want as a stone beside him.

“Jungkook,” the King's voice was heard, a silent warning.

A shiver ran through the two brothers walking arm in arm, but Jungkook didn't budge.

“It's getting too sunny, besides, and I'm dying of thirst. Let's go now.”

The King stopped and the whole family along with him. Suni was now sobbing quietly, she seemed to be calming down at the sound of her brother's voice, but tears still streamed down her face.

“Enough,” the King bellowed, turning around to stare at Jungkook. “You are demonstrating unacceptable behavior for the Crown Prince,” he spat, then turned his face to look at the Queen and Suni, “Let's go now.”

Suni let go of her mother's hand and stood in front of her father raising her arms towards him with a grimace that made one think she was nothing short of destroying the mountains with a scream. The King sighed, but took her in his arms. Snuggling into her father's neck, Suni finally closed her eyes.

“I hope you are satisfied, Jungkook,” his father spoke again. “You'll see what awaits you at home.”

The King's punishment had been harsh, as usual, but Jungkook was glad he had used his influence over his parents because, the next day, Suni was in the family dining room with the wooden toy in her hands.

Thus, Jungkook began a streak of manipulation against his parents to ease his sisters' lives. Since they were always more concerned about the Crown Prince's behavior, it was easier to divert his sisters' attention to him.

And to this day, Jungkook hadn't stopped doing so. Every day with more reasons, with different arguments, even if it cost him his life. He wouldn't stop. For them… and for him.

He raised his head as the doors to the great hall opened and a familiar face peered between them. The King's Counselor was striding toward him, hands loosely at his sides, dark blue uniform neatly arranged and a calm expression on his face. Jungkook knew him better than he let on, though, and knew those eyes incited nothing but reproach.

“You're in deep trouble,” was what Kim Seokjin said as soon as he reached his side, his gaze hard but his eyes soft, concerned.

“I know.”

“The way you confronted the Queen…”

“I know.”

“She's never going to let you leave this palace.”

Jungkook twisted his lips and focused his gaze on anything else within the room. Since he had arrived at the Palace, walking shoulder to shoulder with his mother, with the Queen, the two of them split their path and Jungkook had wandered off to a quiet place in the Palace thinking that the argument would end there; that his mother would ignore him for days and make his life miserable while his father watched. But the King arrived within minutes and sent for them both to the meeting room.

Jungkook had been waiting there for about ten minutes, thinking about what they could talk about, what kind of punishment the King wanted to give him, what kinds of poisonous words his mother was going to spit out, when the counselor arrived.

“If I hadn't gone, she would've- she would've given the order and…”

He pressed his lips together in a line. The paltry thought that hovered in his head at the possibility chilled the blood throughout his body. The shiver that ran through him made him grateful he'd had the chance, but reminded him that from now on he had to tiptoe around his mother.

“Your mother wanted a show. She didn't want to kill her, she wanted to humiliate her. Destroy her honor, like she thought she had done to her, to the Jeon family name.”

“That's stupid,” Jungkook spat, anger rebirthing like flames inside his chest. “No one would've ever found out if it weren't for what she did. Now everyone will be talking about it. For weeks.”

“That's true. It was not a calculated move, the Queen acted through her anger. And the consequences will be severe.”

“And you'll hear her already, blaming me for everything. As always.”

Seokjin gave him a sympathetic look, his body leaning against the table in the center of the room. He had known Jungkook since the Prince had turned 15 and since then it had been very hard for him to keep his distance when Jungkook started seeing him and coming to him like a brother. Seokjin knew how hard life had been for the Prince, even if he didn't notice it, even if he had normalized living that way, even if he had become accustomed to the mistreatment. Seokjin saw through those eyes the longing of his inner child, the desire to be free to do whatever he wanted, whatever he couldn't do before.

The counselor had been a pimp, if he had to admit it. He couldn't give him or let him do many things without his parents, the King and Queen, finding out, and both of them being punished for it. Still, he tried to support him in every way he could, like excusing him when he wanted to leave the palace alone for a walk, or accompanying him to have his first beer at Fresh Air; it was almost a tradition in town for older brothers to take their younger siblings to try their first alcoholic drink at that bar, to share those moments together.

Just as he had been in so many stages of his life, he knew Jungkook had been taking too many chances the past few months. Years, even. Seokjin would allow himself to cut him a little slack whenever he could, help him with excuses to breathe easy, but he constantly wondered how long he could be walking quietly on a tightrope. How long it would be before the Queen's sharp actions would cut off that tiny thread of hope that Jungkook had been moving on for some time.

“Have you heard about Hari and Suni?” the voice of Jungkook boomed in the silence, a few seconds after he had uttered the last words. Seokjin raised his head to look at him.

“They were on their way, very close. They should arrive today in the afternoon or during the night.”

The Prince nodded, faint lines crossing his forehead.

“Good thing they weren't around to witness all this.”

“I don't think they can escape the days ahead,” Seokjin mused and Jungkook bowed his head in a nod, a grimace akin to helplessness crossing his expression. “And more so when the King sent for you two. He must be furious.”

“The calm he showed in the square was only the sheet of ice containing his anger. I doubt we'll make it out of this room alive,” Jungkook felt a shudder run through his body as he remembered the look his father gave the Queen when he ordered him back to the Palace with her. His mother was scary, yes, people were right to fear her, the anger was always evident and furrowed her expression without self-consciousness to the world. But his father was not, the King was better known for having an icy rage, for having a frightening calmness when anger coursed through his veins. His mother might be dangerous, but the King was lethal.

“Jimin and Yoongi tried to come as soon as they heard, but the royal guard barred their way. They were practically locked in the guest room,” Seokjin remarked as he remembered the looks of both men on the other side of the room. The door was open when Seokjin was crossing the hall and two royal guards were guarding it, as if they were some mercenaries who did not deserve any good treatment. He knew it had been the Queen's order.

Jungkook's beady eyes fell into disbelief when he heard the counselor's words. It must have been his mother's command, he thought rightly as he held back the urge to smash his palm against the walnut wood table.

Away from the fog of anger that had consumed his mind the past few hours, Jungkook took a moment to breathe. He hated what his mother had done, but he knew his friends were fine. But she…

“Did you hear anything on the way here?” Jungkook inquired, and Seokjin promptly knew what he meant.

“Nothing, everything was scattered when I arrived.”

A whiplash of fear and panic surged through Jungkook's chest. Not many times had he felt that kind of terror, the kind he thought he could only feel in his nightmares. And Seokjin knew the Prince must be dying of uncertainty inside, because he didn't bother in the least to disguise the emotions that traveled across his face.

“She should be fine,” the counselor assured him, though his words were an empty promise. “The King may turn out to be more merciful than you think.”

Seokjin didn't know if the King's mercy went that far, but he wanted to convince himself with his own words, for he wouldn't know how broken the already fractured family bond in that Palace would be if the opposite were true.

He didn't have much time to continue rambling when the sound of quickened footsteps began to echo from the hallway. Seokjin broke away from the table and approached the white wall, carved with lines on its columns, arches over the smooth walls, and undulating figures at the births of them.

The large oval doors of dark wood opened wide and the King entered without hesitation, the Queen walking behind him. At that moment, Jungkook didn't want to see them as father and mother. From the looks they were both giving him, the Prince almost felt that he would be the next to have a trial.

When the Queen was standing right in front of Jungkook across the table, the doors closed with a barely audible sound, and the room was taken over by thunderous silence.

“May I ask, what was on your mind?”

Jungkook didn't turn his gaze to the King. It was disrespectful not to look at him when he spoke, he knew it, every villager knew it, more so him being his son. But maybe he wasn't as prepared for that meeting as he thought he was. He didn't want to take the blame for something that wasn't a crime. Because he hadn't hurt anyone. Because…

“Are you talking to me?” the Queen's voice interrupted his train of thought, and he allowed himself at that moment to raise his head.

The King was watching his wife, who had a surprised grimace on her face in contrast to her father's impassive and cold look, the typical and familiar one.

“What were you thinking going out to do all this, Hyori?”

Seokjin didn't hide the astonishment that took over his face when he heard the King call the Queen by her proper name. It shouldn't be something to be missed, but he and Jungkook were used to formalities between the two supreme figures in front of them. That his father decided to set aside his formality to speak to the Queen in such a manner spoke too much of the anger he held in his heart.

“Why are you directing your anger against me? I wasn't the one who caused all this.”

Jungkook watched the Queen's frown, her face contracted in skepticism. She had adopted a defensive posture, truly offended at being the target of the King's anger.

“You were the one who caused all this,” the King nodded with anger rising in the glint in his eyes. “If you hadn't gone out and made all that fuss, we wouldn't be going through all this right now.”

“But what are you talking about?” the Queen exclaimed, and when she raised her voice Jungkook shrank back in his seat. He shot a glance at Seokjin, but it seemed that the counselor was just as confused as he was. “What don't you see that the reason for the fuss is sitting on the other side of the table?”

Jungkook didn't have to turn his head to know that his mother was pointing at him with a furious glare. But the King didn't even spare the Prince a glance when he responded:

“Stop pointing at your son like that,” he mumbled through his teeth, venom surrounding every word.

A sound of disbelief left the Queen, with a stupefied chuckle following her as she approached the King at a slow pace.

“Do you have any idea what your son did? What that woman wanted to do to our family?”

Jungkook gritted his teeth, his hands gathering on the wood of the table.

“And do you have any idea what that theatrics just cost our reputation? I had to meet with the high consorts immediately. They're not very happy with what you did.”

The Queen snorted not believing for a second that she was the one getting all the scolding and yelling and not Jungkook. Seokjin, secretly, wasn't too upset about it.

“Are you defending him?”

It was the King's turn to break through the icy mask, irritability seeping through his gut.

“What Jungkook did was minimal compared to what your show cost us. The high consorts are reconsidering their offers. They don't think it's very good for their public image to do business with a Queen who still does public executions.”

“They are not forbidden in our nation.”

“No,” the King nodded, “but they will be.”

Jungkook didn't disguise the gasp of surprise that left his mouth. Was he really hearing those words from his father…? The Queen spluttered, and the Prince turned to see her face contracted in astonishment… in betrayal.

“What your son and that woman did is unacceptable.”

“What Jungkook did or didn't do is what matters least,” the King mumbled, his glacial eyes roaming over his wife's face that would not leave her stupefaction.

“What are you saying? He was courting-!”

“I don't care,” the King repeated, his words stronger, more concise. “As long as it doesn't affect the Crown, what Jungkook does outside this Palace doesn't matter to me.”

Thunderous silence followed his words. Seokjin watched everyone present with utmost caution from his position. He might be a simple counselor, but he knew some self-defense tactics. Meanwhile, Jungkook was totally speechless. His gaze wandered over his father and then shifted to his mother's stunned look, an expression that hadn't left her since the King began speaking.

“You can't do that. You can't just not care…” the Queen was shaking her head in refusal, refusing to accept the words she heard from her husband's mouth. “You can't turn a blind eye to-”

“I already did,” the King spoke again and Jungkook did not miss the way his eyes averted for less than a second. The way he looked at him, the sad gleam in his eyes. Or well, sad was what he seemed to have seen, because the King's expression changed so quickly that Jungkook might have thought he had imagined it, if not for what he said next, “I already had.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Prince felt a hand squeeze his heart, trying to stifle it, to keep him conscious long enough to survive, but using just enough strength to feel death close. His lips parted as he watched the father who wouldn't look back at him, who was staring harshly at his mother as the only true culprit in this whole mess. No, the problem wasn't that Jungkook was trusting, not that he stopped paying attention, not that he had let his guard down…

“You knew,” Jungkook spoke for the first time. His voice came out slightly hoarse, his beady, disbelieving eyes glinting in the natural sunlight as his father gave him a neutral, dry, emotionless look.

“What?” the Queen's head turned sharply toward her husband, her eyes exaggeratedly wide.

Without looking away from his son, the King spoke, “Did you really think there was anything you could do in the Palace that I wouldn't know about?”

Almost out of sad inertia, with a whiplash of pain in his chest, Jungkook shook his head at the counselor. Seokjin half-opened his lips in surprise, but shook his head in a negative as he felt the deer eyes on him.

“Counselor Kim has nothing to do here,” the King spoke, his gaze still on the Prince.

“Your Majesty-” Seokjin tried to speak, but the King raised a hand in his direction.

“Not now,” his stern gaze was still on Jungkook, but he promptly turned back to stare at the Queen who seemed not to credit what she saw.

“You knew and… you allowed it?” the Queen's voice was barely a whisper, surprise taking all her breath away.

“I told you, she was never a threat to the Crown.”

“She wasn't a threat, she was a gold digger! She wanted all the riches Jungkook could give her!”

The Prince gnashed his teeth. His bite was so hard that it strained his jaw and a slight pain ran through his gums. He wanted his mother to stop talking that way, expressing herself that way, he wanted to say something to her, anything…

“That's what you made it sound like, making all this fuss. Now there's really no way of knowing,” the King replied impassively, though several muscles in his face were already beginning to retract.

“She was going to steal from us,” the Queen exclaimed in utter conviction.

“She was going to do no such thing,” Jungkook blurted out, his hand clenched on the table and the Queen's eyes exorbitant as she turned to see him as he answered her thus. It was an impulse, but he had done it, and though his instinct was to shrink from her gaze, he faced her and continued speaking. “She never tried to take advantage of me. She is a kind, loving, honest and a humble soul. All she wanted for me was happiness.”

The Queen snorted, interrupting him, and his assurance flanked. Jungkook didn't feel he was over, but the King took the floor again:

“You're going to have to apologize to his mother.”

“What?”

“I'm not going to bear such an embarrassment to someone who has provided us with her services.”

“I'm not going to do-”

“You will. And the next time you intend to bring a trial against someone, Counselor Kim will be only too pleased to give you a few lessons in law.”

And with that, the King left the room.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts x fem!reader

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seventeenlovesthree · 2 months ago

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Digimon and Fairy Tales - an ongoing thought experiment

This will just be a draft, because @jamesthedigidestined and I have been discussing the idea that... Digimon's creators may or may not have been inspired by Fairy Tales a LOT while writing their plot and characters.

(As mentioned, this will be an ongoing analysis, because I am pretty sure I haven't even grasped all of it yet.)

Let's begin with the most obvious ones:

Kizuna / Peter Pan

This one is pretty on the nose, because the term "Neverland" is quite literally used within the movie - and the analogy makes perfect sense. Peter Pan is described as a "free-spirited and mischievous young boy who can fly and never grows up, Peter Pan spends his never-ending childhood having adventures on the mythical island of Neverland as the leader of the Lost Boys, interacting with fairies, pirates, mermaids, and occasionally ordinary children from the world outside Neverland".

Menoa's plan is to lure all Chosen Children to Neverland, righteously convinced to fulfill their dream of never wanting to become adults and spend the rest of eternity with their Digimon partners... To her, this is an ideal world, an island of bliss and without pain - when in reality, it's nothing but escapism, unable to face reality and pain, forgetting about everything else and thus dooming them all to be lost in a world without change forever... Which is a fate almost as cruel as "death" itself.

On a different note, the Digital World itself - or at least File Island - may be compared to Neverland as well, as it allows the Chosen Children (= Lost Boys) to interact with all sorts of outlandish creatures as well.

Also, it may not be a coincidence that Menoa and Disney's depiction of Peter Pan share red hair...

Ken Ichijouji / The Snow Queen

Unfortunately, I couldn't find the screenshot of Ken getting "hit" by the Dark Spore, but... For the purpose of this comparison, this shall still do. In the fairytale "The Snow Queen" it is said that "the devil, in the form of a troll, has made a magic mirror that distorts the appearance of everything that it reflects. The mirror does not reflect the good and beautiful aspects of people and things but magnifies their bad and ugly aspects. The troll's minions take the mirror all over the world to distort everything, then carry it up to heaven to mock God and the angels. As they approach heaven, the mirror trembles and falls, shattering into billions of pieces. Some become windowpanes, some spectacles, and some get stuck in people's hearts and eyes, giving them a cold and bitter disposition."

A boy named Kai gets one of these shards stuck in his eye and turns, as mentioned, cold and bitter - and only his childhood friend, Gerda, after going out on a journey to find and bring him back from The Snow Queen, is capable of thawing the cold that has engulfed him.

"Ken" is already pretty close to "Kai" - and while he is somewhat becoming the Snow Queen himself by turning into the Digimon Kaiser, there are higher forces that influence him into taking on a completely different personality; namely, the Dark Spore (= the mirror shards) in his body that turns him vile and cruel in opposition to his naturally kind attitude. (One might also call Daisuke his personal Gerda in this context.)

Koushirou Izumi / The Little Mermaid

If you know my blog, you know I've been having fun with this comparison before, but let's start with the story. I'll try to summarize just the most important points:

"The Little Mermaid lives in a Utopian underwater kingdom with her widowed father, the Sea King, her paternal grandmother, and her five older sisters (...). The Little Mermaid is fascinated by the world above the sea, and human beings (...). Lonely and feeling isolated from her family, she yearns to explore the world above, and constantly asks her grandmother to tell her stories of humans. (...) The Little Mermaid, longing for the prince and an eternal soul, visits the Sea Witch who lives in a dangerous part of the ocean, surrounded by a forest of polyps, mud, and whirlpools. Although the witch warns the Little Mermaid that her attempts to win the love of the prince are doomed, she willingly helps her by selling her a potion that gives her legs in exchange for her voice (her tongue)."

Thus, we have a young, curious soul that not only feels isolated from their family, but also longs to learn more about another world... This already does sound familiar, doesn't it? In episode 24 of Adventure, Koushirou is caught by Vademon and told that his "desire" will lead him straight to hell - similarly to how the Sea With tells The Little Mermaid that her own desire is doomed. Granted, Koushirou's desire mainly refers to his endless curiosity, his "inquisite heart"... However, he IS also searching for a person (and depending on your interpretation of his urgency, him looking for Gennai indirectly also means that he's looking for Taichi, who had gone lost). In the Digimon Adventure novels, Koushirou isn't just throwing away his inquisite heart for the sake of achieving blissful ignorance and not getting drawn into hell - he loses the alphabet and thus, the ability to talk. The similarities are pretty striking there...

Additionally (similarly to Menoa), most people might be familiar with Disney's redheaded version of The Little Mermaid anyway, so I feel like the comparison fits even better.

The Seven Chosen Children (Plus One) / The Seven Ravens

While trying to research whether or not "Jack and the Beanstalk" has comparable elements to The Beginning, I stumbled over this one by chance - and was absolutely flabbergasted at the fact that it actually kinda works:

"A peasant has seven sons and no daughter. Finally a daughter is born, but is sickly. The father sends his sons to fetch water for her to be baptized. In their haste, they drop the jug in the well. When they do not return, their father thinks that they have gone off to play and curses them and so they turn into ravens.

When the sister is grown, she sets out in search of her brothers. She attempts to get help first from the sun, which is too hot, then the moon, which craves human flesh, and then the morning star. The star helps her by giving her a chicken bone and tells her she will need it to save her brothers. She finds them on the Glass Mountain but has lost the bone, and chops off a finger to use as a key. She goes into the mountain, where a dwarf tells her that her brothers will return. She takes some of their food and drink and leaves, in the last cup, a ring from home.

When her brothers return, she hides. They turn back into human form and ask who has been at their food. The youngest brother finds the ring, and hopes it is their sister, in which case they are saved. She emerges, and they return home."

Granted, we are talking about Seven Sons and not Seven Children in general - but the fact that the eighth sibling is a daughter and sickly already stuck out to me. Then of course there is the fact that the seven brothers disappear - and get turned into ravens, the equivalent of getting sent into another world, a MOUNTAIN (Infinity Mountain? Spiral Mountain???) of all places... And instead of them looking for the eighth child, the sister - our resident Hikari - is the one looking for them, with a ring being a key to finding them. (Also, the youngest brother HOPING to be found by the sister? Takeru? Is that you???)

The Beginning / Jack and the Beanstalk

I initally came up with this idea even before the movie came out - simply by looking at the poster and the giant golden tentacles that kinda reminded me of a beanstalk... Especially because eggs seemed to play a role again. The story itself doesn't share that many similarities, however, one could loosely relate them to one another:

Both Jack and Rui come from a - assumably - poor family and gain the chagrin of their respective mothers. Some magic beans that Jack received turned into a giant beanstalk - similar to how Rui's wish towards Ukkomon caused it to turn into a giant version of itself, containing thousands if not millions of digieggs.

Jack climbing up the beanstalk and turning towards an unfriendly giant's wife to wish for food is also reminiscent of the wish fulfillment aspect - his continuous wishing does get him in trouble with the unfriendly giant though, ending in a fight... But eventually, he gets a golden egg (!!!), gets out of trouble thanks to his wits, defeats the giant and will live happily ever after.

... Like I said, it's very loose, but I couldn't help but think about this.

Mimi Tachikawa / The Princess and the Pea

This one is also very loose in comparison to the previous ones - but the theme still fits: "The story tells of a prince who wants to marry a princess but is having difficulty finding a suitable wife. He meets many princesses, but is never sure that they are real princesses—until one stormy night, when a mysterious young woman drenched with rain seeks shelter in the prince's castle. She claims to be a princess, but the prince's mother, the queen, has doubts. She decides to test their unexpected guest by placing a hard uncooked pea in the bed she is offered for the night, covered by twenty mattresses and twenty featherbeds. In the morning, the mysterious woman tells her hosts that she endured a rather restless night, kept awake by something in the bed that made her feel uncomfortable. The prince's family realizes that she is a princess after all, since only a true princess could be so delicate."

Episode 25 of Adventure tells the story of Mimi getting welcomed into ShogunGekomon's castle, getting treated "like a princess" by the Gekomon and Otamamon, as they hope that her singing will wake their lord from his slumber. However, all the luxury is getting to Mimi's head, so she actually acts like a spoilt princess to the point of even throwing her friends into jail - until Sora reminds her of what's right and that she's actually a good, pure and delicate girl. Realizing her wrongdoings, Mimi's Crest of Sincerity (!) finally starts to glow. However, instead of marrying a prince, Mimi has to fight against ShogunGekkomon alongside Taichi and Jyou in the end...

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naazaif327 · 6 months ago

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Questions I’d have for the Gods if I was Dorian Storm and I had Commune

DAWNFATHER

1. During the Calamity, were you physically capable of killing the Betrayer Gods?

Pelor: ###.

Yes, that’s what I thought.

2. If Ludinus was my beloved brother, whom I loved more than anyone else in the world, would you still ask me to strike him down in order to save all of you?

Pelor: ###.

of course you would. You couldn’t do the same to your family, but of course you’d ask us to do it all the same. You’re never beholden to your own rules, are you? That’s not my last question, actually.

3. If all of us mortals banded together and promised to only stop Predathos if in return you finally killed the Betrayer Gods, especially the Spider Queen, would you take the deal?

Pelor: ### ##### ## #######-

actually I’ll just take a yes or no.

Pelor: ### ######## #####-

if you cannot stay your pride even in the end times, I will leave you to your thoughts.

EVERLIGHT

1. My brother lies dead at the hands of the Queen of Spiders. One of my closest friends has been enslaved and corrupted by her. In the last thousand years since you spared the Betrayer Gods, countless mortals have been enslaved, tortured, and killed by the Betrayers. Many suffer eternally in the afterlives of the monsters you call family. Tell me, do you think your life and the lives of your “family” are worth more than the lives and souls of every mortal harmed by your siblings?

Sarenrae: ##, ## ###### ###

but you doomed them anyways to save your family and yourselves. You didn’t kill Aeor for us.

2. “THOSE WHO ARE BEYOND REDEMPTION, WHO REVEL IN SLAUGHTER AND REMORSELESS EVIL, MUST BE DISPATCHED WITH SWIFT JUSTICE.” You did not follow this tenet of yours during the Calamity for your own brothers and sisters, but perhaps Gods do not need to follow their own commands. I ask you now, should we stop Predathos because it and Ludinus are beyond redemption?

Sarenrae: …###.

3. She was beyond redemption too. The weaver of webs and chaos and corruption. The Queen of Spiders. Yet you said you loved her in Aeor, and in the end you and the rest of them spared her. Do you love her more than us?

Sarenrae: ##, ### ####.

i think you’re a liar

ARCHEART

1. Well? Aren’t you going to strike me down?

Corellon: …#### ## ### ####?

i’m a wielder of the arcane arts that you blessed mortals with, and I’m someone who might have a say in your potential demise. You destroy people like that, along with their homes and cities and families, don’t you? You gave us the power of creation and then cut us down like insects when we created something that might threaten you, when we drew outside the lines of what you intended for us to create. So I ask again, are you going to strike me down like Archmage Selena Erenves?

Corellon: # ##### ###### ### #### ### #### ######, ### ### ### ####.

2. You are the god of arcane magic and creation, you gave us the gift of creation, yet you cut Aeor down for what they made. Answer me honestly, in the present day are there things we might create that you would still stop us from creating?

Corellon: ##### ##

3. You seemed tired in Aeor, like you were ready to die. Of course when push actually came to shove you suddenly realized you wanted to live, badly enough that you slaughtered a whole city for it. I ask you now that death is once again on the horizon for you and your siblings, would you welcome the peace of oblivion?

Corellon: # #### # #### ## ####### ### # ###### ## ######. ## #### ######.

QUEEN OF SPIDERS

1. If we stopped Predathos from being released, would you let Opal go?

Lolth: ## ###### ###

i didn't think so.

2. Do you think it will be painful and agonizing when you are consumed?

Lolth: ## ### ##### ###'## ##### ## ##### ##? ### ####, Cyrus ### ###### #### ### ###### ###, ## ###.

3. Do you think Ethodok and Vordo were afraid and in pain when you let Predathos devour them?

Lolth: ...###'## ### ##### ## ######## ##### #####.

i'm not the only one who failed his siblings.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr downfall #the prime deities #the betrayer gods #the exandrian pantheon #this is just weird and for me personally to get out all of my feelings #ooc Dorian Storm

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pearlcrumbs · 27 days ago

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Master List of My HOTD Merch :3

I'm just really excited to show off all the stuff I have, I never have anyone to gush to about it so. I also apologies for any purple glares I forgot to turn off my neon light

First off; my wall collage

I wanted like wall art of some sort but I couldn't decide of who so I just kinda got a bunch of pictures printed lmao. Sometimes it feels weird of me but I still like it. I like that Aegon and Rhaenyra have the same expression in their main photos (doomed siblings fr) I also put my fav dragons from each side (Sunfyre & Caraxes my beloveds) There was also supposed to be a Davron photo but they were like backwards with the rest of it.

My life size, stainless steel replica of Blackfyre

It is heavy and it is sharp, this was like of the first things I bought myself and when I got it, I had my boyfriend throw apples at me and it sliced them. I got it off Etsy from a shop called Sharpedgeknifes. Wasnt cheap but worth it to have a sword so

My Funko Pops

Okay before any Funko purists come after me, there are the only ones I have out of their boxes. And I kept the boxes. But Aemond was my first one and as I've said, Jace and Baela are king and queen of my desk. My young Alicent is to match a friend of mine who has young Rhaenyra! Rhaenys was a Christmas present from my brother (may she rest in peace). I also cried in the middle of Target when I got Rhaenyra, Baela and Jace cause I was only gonna get Jace but my boyfriend demanded I let him get me all three.

My Aemond and Jace keychains!!!

THESE ARE ACTUALLY MY MOST PRIZED POSSESSIONS!! They're from ShellsNRosesArt on Etsy (Whos also just a great artist, I'm pretty sure thats their name on all platforms too). But my friend with the Young Rhaenyra funko actually has Luke and Helaena to match mine!! I love them so much actually The Calendar

A Christmas present from another good friend of mine!! And yes, February is Rhaenyra and Alicent (Strange coincidence but)

Coloring Book

It's sideways but I got it from Target I think. I have not finished coloring a single picture in it lmao

Egg

It lights up, I got it for Christmas. I think its from Target too but I dont know.

Dark Sister

I have an itty bitty Dark Sister I think from Amazon because I jokingly asked my mom for a full sized one and she got me the little one because she thought it was funny. its very cute

Book

Bought this off Amazon, it got delivered to the wrong house so I had to awkwardly steal it from my neighbor's porch. I got it solely to look at the pictures. I'm a simple guy like that. It also has my favorite Aegon still ever in it.

Hat

This is not one of the actual ones from like the whole New York thing (I wish. I got it off Etsy from MoonlitMile. I do actually wear it outside and I did recreate the Harry Collett photo when I got it. I was very excited.

Sunfyre

Theses are from an Etsy shop called KaylaKaiserCreations and theyre so cute!! They make all the dragons but I got Sunfyre cause he's my favorite colors and also the prettiest. They're also not that heavy and just the cutest.

Crown Necklace & Pin

These were both gifts, I think they're both from Hot Topic. I think the pin is Balerion's skull and the necklace is obviously Rhaenyra's crown. I also think the crown can double as a ring if it'll fit your finger.

Thanks if you made it this far, I was just really excited to show people!!

#house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #aegon ii targaryen #baela targaryen #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #sunfyre #caraxes #daemon targaryen #team green #team black

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darkwing-ramblings · 3 months ago

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Season Seven Karim and the Culmination of His Bad Choices

S7 E5 Karim: “After my sister failed, I assumed she would send her… [scoffs] new wife.”

A terrible brother in law.

S7 E5 Karim: “You humans are vermin. A plague.”

An unrepentant racist

S7 E5 Karim: I’ve been so worried about you. Are they treating you well?

Miyana: Yes. Your sister has granted me amnesty. I have nothing to my name, but I am safe.

Karim: And… how is our heir?

Miyana: Heir? Is that how you see our child?

Karim: I am only thinking of the future Miyana. This heir will play a great role in the rebirth of the Sunfire empire. It’s what we dreamed of.

Miyana: My dreams have changed. I dream of a child who is healthy and happy, who plays and laughs, who is loved. Please, Karim. We tried to achieve so much, and we failed. But this… this dream, we can have.

Karim: You… You are asking me to give up?

Miyana: No. I am asking you to fight… to stay alive for me. For our baby.

Already failing as a father and failing to prioritise his pregnant partner’s safety.

S7 E7 Janai: Only the most powerful Fire Mage could hope to perform it. Only one person among all the Sunfire elves can do this.

[Immediate and well timed scene change]

Karim: Absolutely not. You sentence me to death, and now you dare to ask me for a favor!

Says the prince who has attempted a coup twice now, one which ended in banishment hence him giving it a second go around murdering his only surviving older sister. His surviving sister who tried to spare him in the last conversation we saw them have which he sneered at and Karim knows his partner is pregnant and under the power of. This feels like a failure as a brother, partner and father.

Karim: I will never destroy the orb while there is even the slightest hope that it might be restored.

Gren: [interpreting Amaya] Not even to save a life?

Karim: Whose life? My own?

Notably this is what Miyana asked of you! Bad Karim! More tallies go in the terrible partner and father category. He didn’t even try a political play to get Miyana support with the child etc! Come on, absolutely nothing? If your child is the future you think they are then act like it man!

Janai: No, the Sun herself. And you are the only one who can save her.

S7 E8 Karim: Inferi. Ruptura…

Janai: Karim! The spell. Light the last rune! What are you doing, Karim?

Whilst his sister, sister in law and an utter stranger who is notably an elf not a human hold off shadow beasts on a strict and perilous time limit. Should Karim complete the spell he will save the sun instantly- the sun he holds sacred, that powers magic he casts, gives strength to all of his people, Miyana will be around to benefit from and that his future child will draw on as a spell casting focus.

Skipping a couple of Panicking lines about Aaravos coming and the realisation of him sabotaging his own Queen and sister (as someone who believes in the absolute right of the monarchy) again…

Janai: destroy the orb, Karim! Or I’ll—

Karim: Or you’ll what, sister? Kill me? I am your only hope. Kill me and you doom the sun herself!

One spell to destroy the beats and part of a speech later

Karim: [to Aaravos] With a single word I can trigger the final rune, and destroy the sun orb, and all your plans with it. But it need not come to that. All I ask is that you hear me out. [… self aggrandizing and stepping onto Aaravos’ palm later] Together, Great One, we can-

[Aaravos kills him]

Wow Karim what a great plan and glorious future that was… Miyana asked you to give up on political ambition because you’re going to have a baby together and this is what you did anyway?!? The sun was within your saving! That single word is difficult to utter while dead! Did you forget Aaravos was the one who first corrupted your precious sun orb, killed your sister Kessa who you ideologically always agreed with, killed your great-grandmother and allied with the dark magic using human mage who attacked your empire and lead to the damage you desperately wanted undone?!?

Goodness gracious, it shouldn't be possible to rival Aaravos' terrible parenting of Sir Sparklepuff but it somehow feels like he did...

#the dragon prince #the dragon prince season seven #the dragon prince season 7 #tdp season 7 #tdp s7 #aaron ehasz #tdp meta #meta #opinion #the dragon prince spoilers #tdp spoilers #tdp karim #tdp miyana #my thoughts #long post

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novankenn · 6 months ago

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Sweet Seductions

Ozpin was sipping his morning cup of tea as he activated the holographic display for his personal computer. Opening his email he began to peruse the flood of emails in his inbox. His mug fell from nerveless fingers.

Ozpin: NO! NO! NO! NO!

Glynda: Headmaster?

Ozpin: Start the evacuation! They're coming!

Glynda: ????

Ozpin: the ARCS! They're on the way!

Glynda: No...

Glynda opened her tablet and typed in a code she had hoped to never have to use. Beacon was going to be completely abandoned... she just hoped there was enough time.

A very distinctive bullhead flew past Beacon's tower. Close enough for Ozpin and Glynda to see it clearly through the windows of the Headmaster's office.

Glynda: We're...

Ozpin: ... Too late...

The ship landed unmolested, and the rear ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss. Seven figures strode down the ramp, each dressed in form fitting and rather revealing body suits. They carried not weapons... but the Arcs had no need for them.

In their lead a messy haired young blond man. He stopped, with the six young women following him doing the same in complete unison. They all struck rather enticing poses before the young man in the lead gave a light chuckle as he surveyed the gathering crowd of students.

????: I'm Jaune Arc, and these are my sisters... surrender in the name of her majesty Queen Salem.

Random Student: What the fuck dude? What the hell???

Rocket lockers fell into Beacon's court yard, and there was sudden flurry of motion as weapons and armor were donned.

Joan: (Smirking) They ALWAYS do this. Brother why do you bother with these theatrics?

Jaune: It's fun. Admit it. It's fun.

Joan: True.

Coco: I don't know who you are but coming to Beacon and threatening us... won't work! We won't go down with out a fight!

Jaune: Ah... firstly I introduced myself with my first words, so... rude. Second... Resistance is futile...

The group raised their right hands and in unison snapped their fingers. That simple motion spelt their doom...

youtube

With the first notes of the blaring music that mystically began to play, and the septet started to move.

Coco: (Here weapon falling from nerveless fingers) Wha...

The family of blonds moved in perfect unison. The influence of their combined familial semblance washing over the gathered students. Their movements were erotic, seductive and enchanting. All thoughts of resistance fled from the gathered mod of students. Once they were pacified the septet of Arc's stopped dancing and sauntered forward. Hips moving in a enticing sway.

From the windows of Beacon's tower Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch watched in enraptured by the display of absolute power.

Ozpin: We're too late...

(Utter & Complete Insanity Story Collection)

#rwby #jaune arc #jaune's sisters #the Arcs serve Salem #their semblance is OP BS #utter & complete insanity story collection #Youtube

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vulcajes · 2 months ago

Note

Narcissa Black headcanons? (If you haven't done them already)

UGH MY LITERAL WIFE 🫶🫶

How I view her:

Queen. Icon. Legend. Mother. The best to ever exist. She was too cunty for this world. Deceptive, charming, and witty; she was born for pureblood politics and society. Very people-smart and a natural secret finder, could find out anything about anyone and use it against them for what she wants. But nobody believes she'd ever do that because of how charming and sweet she seems, even people who have been on the receiving end of her manipulation forget about it easily. Just generally good at playing games: games with people, mostly. But games, nonetheless. Still, her sweetness isn't just for show and she's an absolute darling to those she cares about. Would never actively harm someone without having a reason behind it and would never do anything to harm her family. I could yap about her for centuries, I fear.

My fave hcs:

The most popular girl from first to final year. Beloved by everyone, teachers and student alike.

Above average student but didn't excel in anything except charms (her fave and her best, top of the class)

Wanted to go into acting (specifically theatre) as a child but knew it wasn't possible

Was everyone's go-to for when it came to hair and makeup advice, and she was fucking good at it

Natural blonde who dyed her hair black

Epitome of the 60s "It Girl" from her clothes to her hair. Everyone wanted her or to be her.

Never played quidditch but secretly enjoyed the sport (would've been good at it too)

Her entire family's favourite (siblings, cousins, parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents) and considered the best example of a pureblood girl

A really nice laugh. Idk why but she has a gorgeous laugh that's so soft and polite, hand covering her mouth. Her face doesn't wrinkle when she laughs either. How.

Doesn't necessarily believe in Voldemort but definitely has some pureblood supremacist beliefs from childhood.

My fave ships:

Lucissa — I mean... cmon now. So unbelievably cunty. They are the epitome of cunt. I love them. Hot take but they actually loved each other very much.

Nobleflower — oh my god so much potential. They're so doomed lovers. They make me sick. And then her sister TORTURED HER EX LOVER AND HER HUSBAND ?!?!?!?!? Evil.

Sunflower — this is just one entirely indulgent. I think James would be OBSESSED with her. She's such an it-girl. He would be down horrendous. Secretly, though. Wouldn't want Sirius to know.

Narlily — listen... in a muggle au... it'd work so well. Rich, posh girl and a smart, working class icon so so yummy. Lily who speaks her mind so loudly and willingly and Narcissa who's used to being silent for survival... let's go lesbians

Emcissa — best friends to lovers? I think so. Emma and her bond over quidditch (she's the only one who knows about Narcissa's love for it) and also they kiss. They're so it girls and they kiss so so much. Yay.

#narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #narcissa black headcanons #marauders era headcanons #marauders era hc #marauders hc #marauders headcanon #the noble and most ancient house of black #the black sisters #the black family

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the-tropes-are-hungry · 10 months ago

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The Cat's Mother (1/3)

Did someone say mommy issues? Congrats, Narinder, you lose!

CW: Stillbirth, death by burning. [Next]

His mother protected him.

Her litter was cursed. Dead kit, after dead kit, after dead kit. Six dead daughters and one all-black son who came out half the size of the corpses and barely breathing. In their matriarchal colony, he was a travesty.

He let out a single mewl, his first and meant-to-be-last breath.

His mother’s nurse, her sister, took the ill omen for what it was and placed him in the water to drown him. Better to let seven kittens go back to the River Eater together than the incomplete six. Grief would cleanse the poisoned womb. Next time, there would be daughters.

Mother disagreed and took him from the water. She protected him. She held him and groomed him and gave him his first taste of life while his sisters lay cold in a basket and hers lay dying on the floor.

They left the colony before his eyes (only two, Heket teased) opened.

Mother was a warrior. Her fur was the colour of bright sand under the spotless blue sky, her coat thin but sleek over lean muscle that let her twist and strike like lightning. She killed every member the colony sent after them asking her to return, breaking the Wrath Bringer’s prohibition on striking messengers. For this, they became strays, and he wore the blood of mother’s victims as if she’d pulled off their skins and wrapped him in them.

He should not have been a warrior. Every omen, card, tea leaf, entrail, and star said his claws should have folded against sand, never-mind stone. His teeth should have rotted out of his skull. His ears should have been filled with pus. The hatred of seven dead kinswomen should have doomed him to a feeble, terrified existence. The River Eater should have supped on his blood and spat out his deformed bones.

Instead, where mother was the wind, he was her shadow. Where her eye went, his darts followed. Where her sword struck, his claws sank. When she showed her fangs, his already held flesh. There was little she could teach with blade or chain or claw that he could not master, and she loved him for it.

“My little lord,” she praised, purring deep in her chest over every kill, every triumph, every show of power. She loved his midnight dark pelt, grooming him to an oil-slick shine and taking every opportunity to procure the oils and waxes to give him the texture of smoke to go with his flawless grace.

They stayed nowhere, and lived richly (as bandits, Shamura complained). If Mother said they would eat from the Thunder Mother’s table, then they would scale the temple walls and gorge themselves on honeyed meat and rich wine and fill their bags with trinkets and tributes. If she decided the Tortoise Keeper’s tax men demanded too much, they would make a game of slowly cutting around their shelled heads to peel off the shell—only to realize, delighted (and to Kallamar’s horror), that the entire brain came out when they pulled.

Mother adored him, and made his life a paradise. He bathed in her favour, supped on her devotion, and grew tall atop the pillar she raised for him. Six prized daughters had died to bring her one son; therefore, the omens must be wrong and the gods who peddled them equally blind. Their peoples’ colonies did not need another queen, they needed a Lord of Lords to rule them, and she named him appropriately.

“Narinder--!”

It was the last thing she said before she died.

They were, in the end, only bandits in the eyes of the Green-Eyed Queen. Thieves, stealing both from her altars, and her divinity.

Mother had begun to gain uncanny power. He hadn’t notice it, or else he had not been old enough to understand it. The way people whispered of a gold sphynx; a flash of light on the road that became a rain of copper darts and sharp stone; how travellers at midnight could avoid her wrath by offering a pot of lamp oil, or a clever riddle. Whispers, rumors, and—sure enough: prayers.

Prayer, faith, devotion, love. Four names for the same energy, the same power that the Green-Eyed Queen wanted back from them. Theirs was a land of gods and demigods where the love of the many empowered the few. While his mother was never kind to their victims, she never struck the young or their mothers either. She left the elders alone in their beds. She was, in some small corners, to a very lucky few, a grace. A blessing.

So, the Green-Eyed Queen sent her hunters.

A fortnight later, his mother was in chains with nails driven through her wrists and ankles, locked in an iron cage his claws and knives could never break through. He tracked them for three days, twelve years old and trembling with hunger, rage, and terror. All he needed was one chance to spy the key among the knights and hunters. Just a moment’s distraction to get through the lock and cast off the chains and hide her, protect her, feed her fledgling divinity the way she had been trying to spark the same in him.

They dragged her deep into the forest, built a great bonfire to their queen, and hurled his mother’s cage into it.

He fought better than he should have. He killed more than any other twelve-year-old could have hoped for: at least two. In his furor he didn’t see the other figures strike the camp to flank him, he just saw the cage. He just heard Mother screaming, and burning, and dying.

The iron was glowing red when he threw himself at it, but the spider caught him in three strong arms while the fourth kept swinging their weapon. His throat tore with every emotion made sound. He forgot to fight the spider, he needed Mother and he fought for her with hisses, snarls, and yowls.

“It is enough,” said the spider.

He’d dropped Mother’s sword. He’d run out of darts. He unsheathed his claws on all four paws and screamed, shrieked, wailed at the creature holding him. He lashed out in a flurry swipes and kicks and they, understandably, slammed him into the ground.

“Shamura!”

“At ease—he is frightened.”

They pinned him there and no matter how much he clawed and kicked and fought their flesh never wept blood. The spines of their carapace were thick, snaring his claws and tearing two of them out. Their armor was like nothing he had ever seen, liquid black and gold links that flowed like water under his claws. He fought until his throat was bloody, and his arms went feeble, and his eyes were blinded by sweat and tears and smoke. He fought until three horrible days without sleep or food or peace fogged his mind and yet he could still see. He could see his life running thin, the thread of it spun of something almost different but now fraying from abuse.

He saw the moment where Shamura weighed his flesh against the hunger of their brother and soldiers. He understood that if he did not tip those scales in his favor, they would eat him, and at least his flesh would go to better use than the smouldering char of his mother.

He could not die here. He could not let the Green-Eyed Queen take his mother and then be devoured in turn.

He sheathed his claws. He let his arms fall. The spider eased their weight on him until he could roll to his side and see the smoking cage atop its doused embers. He curled up tight as he had been in the womb, and lay there.

He let out a single mewl, his next but never-to-be-last breath, and wept.

Two thousand years later on a hazy bonfire dawn, Narinder will kneel in a circle of gray stone and let the memories come for him. He will remember disciples, and siblings, and priests, and knights. He will remember temple halls and celebrations. He will remember camaraderie and wine and soldiers and conquest. He will remember his mother’s purr and her gentle claws grooming behind his ears. He will remember six dead sisters and understand, for the first time, how his mother’s life was a tragedy and that he had never wept for her, only for himself.

But on that day, in the distant past, on a battlefield swiftly stripped of gold and armor and weapons, with the corpses left to lay in the grass, Narinder limped with Kallamar’s help to his mother’s cage. The squid merely touched the cool iron with a word and it corroded away, letting him inside with a nervous word that anything of value had been taken from her already by her captors.

All he wanted was one more moment with her, if the charred husk flung against the bottom of the cage was anything of her at all. He wanted to make a promise. He wanted her to know he would do it, as he knelt beside her and placed both hands on the corpse.

“I will kill the Green-Eyed Queen,” he whispered, his voice still raw and wet from screaming. “When I am done there will be no more queens.”

When he saw the glint of red he knew she heard him. The corpse was just a corpse, so even his young hands could reach into the charred meat and pry out the sharp edges of a dead womb.

Theirs was a world where faith and prayer could change fate. The cycle of devotion from a mother to her son crafted a crown with a single red eye. The memory of six dead daughters crystalized with intent to preserve one perfect son.

He put on the crown and went back to Shamura.

His mother protected him. Always.

[Next]

I have the Cat's Mother, the Worm's Mother, and the Lamb's Mother all written. Trying to get a full fic to work but at least this "prologue" bit is done. If I actually reach the plot I'll post this to AO3 with its actual title.

#cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl red crown #when it's narilamb I'll tag the narilamb #next up is Leshy #if I get to write this fic it'll be the best religious trauma dump #cotl shamura #cotl kallamar #sunny writes #Estrangement of Lords #Estrangement AU

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feral-renaissance-cat · 1 month ago

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Who Defines True Love Anyway?

At first the curse had stuck dread into the hearts of everyone at court, a harsh reminder of why manners are important even with unpleasant guests, but the mercy of the other fairies removed the threat of death and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And so the king and queen began preparations.

Princess Aurora was doomed to prick her finger on a spindle at the age of sixteen and fall into an unwakeable slumber unless freed by true love's kiss. One of the king's advisors suggested they burn all spindles in the kingdom and ban the trade of them so Aurora could never encounter one. That advisor did not keep his job long. Everyone else knew better than to disrupt such a vital industry. Instead Aurora was taught to spin from an early age. She pricked her fingers many a time, and never so much as yawned afterward. However, she did gradually learn how to handle the tools of spinning and weaving safely, and by the time she was nine she was making clothes for her dolls and gifts for visiting dignitaries. The kingdom received many visitors as part of the second phase of the royal couple's plans.

Once a week, the castle opened its doors to the children of its kingdom. Aurora was encouraged to mingle with noble heirs and farmers' sons and doctors' daughters and anyone with whom she may someday fall in love. The doors were also always open to visitors from neighboring realms who were eager to strengthen political ties. Aurora, naturally, didn't get along with all of the children, but she was never short of friends and as she grew older she had several whose company she requested more than others, including all three children of the emperor from the other side of the mountains. The two brothers were older than she but the sister was only a month younger and also enjoyed weaving. The brothers, regardless, were happy to accompany Aurora on her excursions through the woods to find ingredients for dyes.

It was when she was thirteen that her parents first sat her down and told her of the curse. “Is there anyone you hold dear in your heart?” her mother asked.

Aurora thought a moment, then said, “I hold you and father dear. I hold my nanny and tutors dear, except maybe strict old Professor Caslo. And I take joy in my time with Elyse, whose parents run the bookshop. She knows so many stories and she tells them wonderfully.”

The king and queen exchanged a glance. “Is there anyone you find handsome? Or beautiful?” her father asked. “Is there anyone you see who makes your heart flutter like a bird preparing to sing?”

Aurora grinned. “Yes! Whenever the merchants come with wool and flax and cotton I can spin, or silken thread, or baubles I can weave into my projects, my heart leaps and dances with excitement!”

With heavy hearts, the king and queen explained to her that this was not true love. It was love of someone’s company, or a love of learning, or a love of her craft, but not a love that could break the curse. She needed to find someone she could give her heart to, so that in return they could wake her with a kiss. Aurora despaired, for she loved nothing more than the company of her friends and the lessons of her tutors and the art of weaving. How could she possibly love a single person more than any of those?

For the next three years Aurora strained her heart. She looked for qualities in all her friends that drew her more to one than the other. She had Elyse secretly whisper tales of romance to her so she could try to understand how two people could fall so deeply in love that it forsook all other loves. She asked the princes from over the mountain to tell her of their own affections for other princesses, which they gladly did for their whole journey out into the woods. Aurora listened to their words and barely understood any of them. It sounded to her that both the princes and the authors of Elyse’s tales were being silly and making things up. How could one look from another person turn your insides into bubbles? How could one become so obsessed with the color of someone’s eyes or the shape of their hands? How could thoughts of a person make you lose sleep at night as though they were an idea for a new pattern you were eager to figure out before morning so you could start work on it at once?

The day of her sixteenth birthday dawned with dread. Aurora dared not touch even her loom for fear that she might bring the curse upon herself. She had not found anyone she loved the way she was told she should. If she pricked her finger now, she would surely never awake from the magical slumber.

Aurora tried and tried to love as she was expected to love. She hoped that, perhaps, if she devoted herself to someone, love would follow. She chose the middle son of a merchant, who sold his father’s nettle and hemp thread but was happy to gift Aurora with as much as she desired. In exchange she made him all sorts of tunics and trinkets with it, relieved that she did not have to spin it herself. She liked the smile he gave her when she presented him with her latest work, and convinced herself that that was love.

Her parents saw these smiles and gifts exchanged between the two and were at peace. Surely this was a perfect match, or rather as perfect as it would get. They would have preferred if she gave her heart to someone of nobility, but this meant that their precious daughter was safe from the curse.

Aurora did not feel safe. She felt trapped in a performance, the script of which she did not know but everyone else seemed to have memorized. She played her part the best she could, all the while fearing the day she got it wrong and had to admit that none of it was true from the start. The worry and grief ate at her day by day. Eventually she could take it no longer. She lay down in her bed with her favorite spindle, and pricked her finger upon its point.

There was a great stir in the castle when the princess’s sleeping body was found the next day. The king and queen called for the merchant’s son at once. He knew nothing of her curse, and so was distraught to see her lying as still and pale as a corpse. “It is only magic, boy!” the king assured him. “A kiss will wake her!”

But the kiss of the merchant’s son did not wake her. Neither a chaste kiss on the hand nor an impassioned kiss to her cold lips made any difference. What was once a stir became a panic, and then a frenzy. A decree went out that anyone who loved the princess with all their hearts should come to the castle at once.

A slew of suitors whom Aurora had brushed off as nuisances were first at the door. The queen recognized them as ones her daughter had complained about and sent them away; it could not be true love if it were one-sided.

Elyse came with the words of her stories emboldening her heart. She could very well be a hero from a romantic tale, for she did love her time with Aurora and how the sweet princess had listened to her with such rapt attention. With a dashing swish of her traveling cloak she knelt to kiss Aurora. Nothing came of it, and Elyse walked home in disappointment.

The royal children from beyond the mountains came as soon as they received the king’s desperate plea. The princes regarded Aurora as more of a second sister than a true love, but they tried nonetheless. Even the princess gave Aurora a teary kiss as well, though more to say farewell to her favorite weaving partner.

When that did not work, the king fell to his knees and wept. He kissed his treasured daughter on the cheek in hopes that perhaps their familial love would suffice, and continued his weeping anew when Aurora remained in slumber.

The princess from beyond the mountains saw that Aurora still clutched her spindle as she slept. The queen, who was on the verge of collapse from sorrow, explained that Aurora held it too tightly for anyone to take it from her without force, and none dared to possibly harm those skilled fingers. The mere thought was too much for the queen to bear and she fell beside her husband at the edge of Aurora’s bed. The foreign princess thought back to all those hours she and Aurora had spent at their looms and spinning wheels, the way Aurora was in her deepest throes of emotion either when a finished project brought her sincerest joy or some error of the machinery frustrated her until she turned bright red in anger, the excitement with which Aurora would show her some new method of spinning her thread to enhance its strength or color. Carefully, the princess from beyond the mountains lifted Aurora’s arm and brought the spindle to the sleeping beauty’s lips.

The silence that fell as everyone watched in anticipation was so absolute that the gasp Aurora made upon waking seemed, by comparison, as loud and howling as a hurricane’s gale. She sat up in bed and beheld the scene around her; her parents all but prostrate upon the floor, the princes at the foot of her bed, and the foreign princess standing above her, holding her hand as well as the spindle within it. Thinking it was the other princess whose kiss awoke her, Aurora blushed with guilt.

“If it was you whose love saved me,” she said, “I am sorry to say that I only ever thought of you as one of my dearest friends, and I desired nothing more than that friendship.”

The princess from beyond the mountains laughed with relief and told her, “As I desired nothing more from you. It was the spindle’s kiss who saved you.”

Aurora stared at the spindle, then looked to the mark on her other hand where the point had pricked her. “But it was the spindle’s kiss that cursed me,” she said.

One of the princes shrugged in the dramatic way of young noble men. “What is love if not a curse that ultimately saves us?” he said.

Aurora took this as another of the prince’s silly remarks, and yet she finally felt the truth of it, for she did love nothing as much as her work, despite her wish that she could love a person so well, but which she would not give up for the world.

The kingdom then rejoiced, for the princess was saved. She later married a lesser prince by law only, because he too had love only for his studies although he admired and praised her work, and whose family feared he too would never find a wife. She in turn found him to be of good wit and almost as good a storyteller as Elyse to keep her entertained at her loom. Just as it had been in her childhood, Aurora kept the castle open for children of all manner to gather and socialize. She and her husband adopted several orphans from these gatherings as their heirs, and Aurora taught them all to spin and weave. She loved her husband and children as she loved her mother and father and all her friends, but throughout her life it was known in her kingdom and all others that her true love was the spindle.

#happy aromantic awareness week #aro/ace #sleeping beauty #aro Aurora #reimagined fairy tales #aro/ace awareness #aromantic #asexual #platonic love #came up with this idea ages ago then suddenly it's aromantic awareness week and I figured now was the time to post it

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arataka-reigen · 1 year ago

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hello!! i saw the tags on your pinned post abt how shoujo wasn't just romance and it got me curious bc i've read some nice shoujo but really dislike romance-heavy plots. are there any shoujos you like that don't have much or any romance in them? ty and i hope you have a good day! 💛

Oh, there are lots of mangas that are classified as shoujo and don't have romance!!

I am just now beginning my journey through shoujo as well, so I don't have a lot of recommendations for stuff I actually read, but the ones I did read or watch so far are:

Natsume Yuujinchou and basically anything else by its author, Yuki Midorikawa. Sometimes, her works do include romance, but the focus is almost always in the interpersonal relationships and the difficulties her characters go through in life. NatsuYuu is about an orphan boy who can see yokai, and for that reason he acts in "weird" ways and his foster families dislike him, so he keeps going from family to family. The story is about how he finds a good family who accepts and loves him, makes friends, and learns to make friends even with yokais.

There are currently 6 anime seasons out, and a 7th season is on its way, so you can either read the manga or watch the anime.

Akatsuki no Yona - i mean, this one does include romance, but i'll still put it on the list because as far as the anime went the focus is heavy on Yona's actual journey to gather the dragons of legend to be able to recover the kingdom that was stolen from her. It shows how Yona goes from a sheltered spoiled girl to a person befitting the title of dragon king.

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom - this one is the og villainess isekai and it truly deserves the hype. It is about a girl who wakes up in the child body of the villainess of her favorite otome game. She remembers that the villainess' fate in the game was always either death or exile, so she tries her hardest to change her fate. This one is classified as a reverse harem, but the main character is pretty oblivious and worries more about farming and eating sweets and generally being the best girl ever than actually worrying about romance. Aro ace queen tbh. And her harem is just happy to be with her and be dragged along for her stupid adventures. Plus, the female members of her harem are taken seriously as well, Mary is a raging lesbian and it is not subtext. I mean, it is a shoujo, so of course the female characters would be important lol.

Usagi Drop - listen to me. You will absolutely not look for anything related to this manga. If you like the premise you can watch the anime. But, please, do not look for the manga. You will only be extremely disappointed by it. That being said, I recommend the anime. It is about a man who returns home for his grandfather's funeral and then finds out his grandfather had an illegitimate daughter who has now become an orphan. He ends up having to take care of her because the rest of the family considers her a shame to the family.

Now, for the stuff I havent seen yet, I'll just write some that are on my "plan to read" list and put their genres next to their names so you can check it out if you think the genre's sound interesting:

7 Seeds (drama, horror, psychological, sci fi, survival)

Requiem of the Rose King (drama, historical, supernatural, gender identity)

Basara (drama, fantasy, adventure) (i think this one has romance, but from what i've heard, the main character's story is a lot deeper as she takes her brother's identity in order to fight against the king who killed her brother, it is pretty famous and considered a classic)

Ghost Hunt (horror, mystery, psychological, supernatural)

Helter Skelter (horror, psychological)

My Stepmother and Stepsisters aren't Wicked (comedy, historical, slice of life)

Ikoku Nikki (drama) (this one is the one i'm currently most interested on, i hear it's about a distant woman who's never had a good relationship with her sister and now has to take care of her teenage niece because her sister died)

Itsuwari no Freya (crossdressing, historical)

Limit (drama, psychological, school) (this one sounds incredible tbh, on a field trip their bus gets into an accident and only 5 girls remain, having to learn to survive and trying to assert themselves over one another because they hate each other.)

Machida-kun no sekai (school)

Mitarai-ke, Enjou suru (drama) (the main character wants to infiltrate the household of the family who blamed her mother for a fire, in order to prove her mother's innocence)

Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You (comedy)

Uramichi Oniisan (comedy, showbiz, workplace)

Usotoki Rhetoric (mystery, historical)

Don't Call It Mystery (mystery)

If anyone has more things to recommend I would also love to hear about it!!

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Tender Tragedy

Pairing: Arthur Dayne x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: death

Words:2601

Day winding down to night, Dany took her intimate party on to her personal balcony where an iron pit sat at the center. Surrounding her great pyramid were small specks of orange light. Each one belonged to a family getting ready for slumber. Not Daenerys and her court. Their work tend to bleed into the late hours of the night. There was much work to be done in Meereen.

“Your grace.” Ser Barristan Selmy, a newly added member, holds out a jewel studded goblet to his queen.

Dany eyes the extravagance of the cup as she takes it graciously from the old knight’s hand. Growing up, such decadence was scarce for the once crown prince and princess. Viserys often complained that had Robert not started his rebellion, they would still have the Targaryen wealth that was owed to them.

Alas, Viserys’ own vanity was to be his doom. Now only Dany basked in such exquisite items.

Taking a sip of the sweet wine she had been given, Daenerys can’t resist thinking on her other siblings; those long dead. She’d had Rhaegar, her older brother, and an older sister, (y/n).

Rhaegar, the whole of the rebellion being his fault, of course had to die in order to restore order in the seven kingdoms along with the death of Aerys. That was a certainty that Dany had slowly come to acknowledge. She didn’t want to think that any fault lay on her family, but there were so many facts she couldn’t ignore. Targaryens were to blame for everything.

One thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around was why her eldest sister had to die as well. No one explained to Dany the ultimate fate of (y/n). Those like Jorah and Selmy who knew kept her in the dark.

Turning back to Selmy, she watches as he seats himself in front of the fire that gently warmed his aging joints. Jorah was next to him, speaking quietly with Grey Worm who preferred to stand at attention in case his blade was needed.

For a moment, Dany imagines how the guiding hand of a gentle, older sister might have changed her life instead of growing up with Viserys’ cruel tendencies. She grieves for what could have been.

“What happened to (y/n)?”

Her inquiry has Grey Worm and Jorah ceasing their conversation all together. Even the introspective gaze that Missandei had while listening to them had evaporated.

Selmy sadly stares at his hands. He always became melancholic when the subject of (y/n) was brought up. “I don’t think right now’s the time for that. . .”

“Then when will be? No one talks about her. Why am I not to know about her, my only sister?” Her tone of authority has them averting their gaze from her drilling eyes. Must she be stuck with the knowledge that her elder brother Rhaegar died because of the accusation of rape and knowing Viserys was a monster in his own right much like their father? Were there truly no good members of House Targaryen that were worthy of life?

Pondering for a second, Selmy heaves out a weary sigh. “It is not a happy story. Many do not want to recall what happened to your sister because she was much loved and her death devastated every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. As if enough blood hadn’t been shed already.”

“It was utterly pointless.” Jorah murmurs, his own eyes glossing over. Dany had pestered him before about (y/n), any bit of information, but Jorah stood his ground and never uttered a peep about the elder Targaryen daughter.

Quietly, Daenerys trails over to them and sits on the other side of Selmy. “What was she like? I just want to get an idea of who she is.”

That was an easier question to answer.

Light came back into Selmy’s eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile. “She was goodness incarnate, Your Grace. Much like yourself. And beautiful. (y/n) did much to help those suffering in the slums of King’s Landing. Was always trying to make things better and was an excellent problem solver. She was a burst of life in the Red Keep. Everyone thrived in her presence.”

So why was she too a casualty of the rebellion. Dany would tread lightly to that question. “Did she ever marry? She was very close to Rhaegar in age, right?” She’d be at the perfect age where young ladies were often pawned off to other influential families. Even Daenerys had been married to Khal Drogo when she was just ten and three.

Jorah chuckles at that. “Oh many tried. She was considered the perfect match. Constantly being hounded by old and young lords alike. Marrying her off though had never been Aerys’ top priority when his mind started to rot.”

“He never thought of marrying (y/n) to Rhaegar?” It was Valyrian tradition to wed one sibling to the other. Many generations of the Targaryens had kept the practice alive despite the negative views the Sept had toward it.

“It had been discussed.” Selmy admits. “Maybe if he had done that to begin with, we could have avoided war. But. . . (y/n) had already pledged her love to someone else.”

Ser Arthur carefully scans his surroundings in the hallway to make sure no one saw or followed him to the destined rendezvous point. When he seemed to be completely by himself, he closed the door and turned to face you. Patiently awaiting him on the foot of the bed with a wide grin.

He’d mentioned many times how he’d never, in a million years, get used to the sight of your smile and the way it illuminated your lavender eyes. Beacons that entangle Arthur in a trap he had no plan to escape from.

You stand and dissolve the small distance between you in a blink of an eye. Your hands, soft and smelling of the sweetness of spring, grab his cheeks to pull him down to your starving lips.

Arthur was all too ready to comply.

“She was in love with the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne.” He remembers Ser Arthur with the utmost fondness, but their relationship had been doomed from the very start. Selmy had been there when Arthur was sworn into the Kingsguard. Even by then the boy was completely enraptured by Princess (y/n).

Dany, listening intently, originally this of this as a perfect story from some old fairytale . A princess and her lover knight, a classic. But (y/n)’s story did not end happily ever after.

Missandei holds Dany’s hand. She too had a sense of where this kind of story was going.

“So great was their affections for one another, it was quite obvious to everyone around them. During tourneys, Arthur would ask for her favor. The dances before the war, they would dance with each other. When war finally broke out, we found (y/n)’s chambers empty. Arthur, before joining Rhaegar’s forces, spirited the princess out of the Keep.”

You jolt to a stop as Arthur held out an arm to stop you from advancing. You’d been crawling along the shadows in the corridors of the Keep as Arthur led you hall after hall to evade any guards. Like hell he’d leave you behind. What he was doing was punishable by death but he didn’t care.

Thinking the coast had been clear, you’d almost gone around the corner but Arthur’s better trained ears heard someone coming.

He holds you close to his side so that your cheek was pressed against his armor and you were partially hidden under his cloak. You didn’t breathe for fear of discovery.

Whoever it was walked right past you, none the wiser. Both of you release your breath simultaneously. Even if someone had caught you, Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to kill them; even if it was his own brothers from the guard. They no longer mattered anymore.

A single touch from Arthur had you jumping and he chuckling. He’d only reached out for your hand. He brings it up to his lips and gives your knuckles the most gentle of kisses.

Finally you smile as he coaxes you along.

At this point, Selmy pauses to quench his parched mouth and ignite the courage required to continue with the story. He wished it ended there, (y/n) and Arthur escaping and happily living out the rest of their days somewhere in Essos.

Dany as well as the others drink from their cups.

“Of course this caused such a rage in Aerys. (Y/n) tended to have stubborn strike, but for the most part she had been obedient to Aerys. It was the quite the blow to him that his treasured daughter had escaped with one of his personal guards.”

Aerys had sent whatever manpower he could spare to look for (y/n) and Arthur.

“They remained elusive for several months. But one day while Arthur was gone to fight in a battle, Rhaegar’s defenseless camp had been attacked. They dragged (y/n) out by force.”

You’re pretty sure your scream pierced a few of your assailants’ ear drums.

Someone grabbed a fistful of your silver hair and nearly rips your skull from your neck. Even though it caused you unspeakable pain, you fight and claw at any inch off vulnerable skin you could dig your nails into.

They curse at you, crown Targaryen princess, and treat you with outstanding abuse you had never experienced before.

You could taste the rusty burst of blood trickling out from your split lip. Feel the boning of your corset imprint itself into your torso as they beat you into unconscious submission. These could not possibly be natives to the Crownlands. Possibly someone Aerys had paid off. No person, knowing who you are, would ever treat you in such a manner. Whether you were the Mad King’s daughter or not.

Fight had fled from you as they hoist you onto the back of an awaiting horse. They keep their eyes open to scan the area once more before leaving. There was no sign of the Sword of the Morning.

Silent tears spring into your vision as you watch Rhaegar’s plundered camp consumed by flames.

Your captors waste no time and heed their mounts to move faster.

“(Y/N)!!!”

Your eyelids try to flutter open at the sound of Arthur’s voice stretching over miles. It was impossible.

Hooves cease to beat and quietly stop at the approaching figure. Men in armor dismount and brandish their swords. Arthur was greatly outnumbered.

His battle had been far away from the camp yet there was Arthur sizing up his chances as he hops off of his own war horse.

“Yield, Ser Dayne.” One called out to him. “The king wants you alive.”

Eyes that could have passed off for Targaryen flick over to you and a knife that had suddenly appeared tauntingly against your throat. You stay absolutely still unless the blades gives you its sharp kiss. The only way you could keep your fear at bay was to keep your gaze focused on Arthur’s eyes. Wisteria filled pools calm your racing heart although you knew there was still much for you to fear.

Arthur dropped the great sword of his house, Dawn, in front of his feet in surrender.

Countless knights descend upon him and bind his limbs in chains. It would not do to have a knight of Arthur’s caliber have any access to his limbs.

He’d be compliant as long as they kept the two of you together.

“Couldn’t Ser Arthur have taken them on? I’ve constantly heard of his mastery with the sword and how he was like no other.” To Dany, the infamous Sword of the Morning gave up quite easily.

Every line on Selmy’s face seems to deepen. “Alas, Arthur was still but a human. He knew when to pick his battles. This was not one he could’ve ever won by himself.”

He knew he must tie off the story of (y/n) Targaryen and Ser Arthur Dayne. Anyone could imagine the torture Aerys put his daughter and Arthur through before their actual death. They accepted their fate with their hand’s holding the other’s.

(Y/n) didn’t she a tear when she glared at her father as he read out their punishment. She kept her head held high as did Arthur. That’s how Selmy wanted to remember them. Not their grotesque corpses that had been left.

From the older man’s reaction, Daenerys knew she’d learned enough as her own tears spill over her bottom lashes.

Next to her, Missandei hastily wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Her hand was trembling in Dany’s as they support one another.

From a hidden pocket, Selmy sighs and pulls out a leather drawstring pouch. “After. . . After they had died, Aerys wanted their remains to be tossed like common trash. Instead we properly buried them. However. . . Before all remnants of her life was scrubbed from the world, I saved this one piece of her.”

Once placed in her hands, Dany tentatively pulls open the pouch and pulls out a silver locket. Engraved into its metal were beautiful flowers. Each petal captured with intricate details. In the center was tucked a large pink pearl.

Dany opens it, her eyes instantly round and glisten. “I-Is this. . .” Her gaze falls back onto the contents of the locket. Inside was a perfectly curled lock of silver hair. Targaryen hair.

“Before she died, Aerys had her head shaved for further humiliation.” Selmy whispers.

Softly Dany pets the soft piece of hair. The only part of her sister she’ll ever know.

Shutting the locket with a gentle hand, Daenerys holds it close to her heart.

The strong beating of Arthur’s heart had nearly lulled you to sleep. His arm slung around you, daring anyone to put you in separate cells.

They granted you this one last request.

Aerys wouldn’t let you and Arthur live. Both of you accepted that when you were captured. The Mad King didn’t take prisoners of war.

At least you had one last night with him. To be held in his arms and gifted kisses upon the crown of your head. This was all you had ever asked for.

The Few months you’d spent with him evading Aerys had been the happiest. If this was the price you had to pay for it then so be it. You’d finally experienced true happiness

“(Y/n)?”

“Hmm?”

You shift in his hold to look up at his gorgeous face. The man was a work of art and possessed the looks of old gods of the sun. Despite the sultry pout of his full lips, Arthur had always been dedicated to you; no other woman had ever held such sway over him in his entire life. Sweet as it was he’d even tried his hand at poetry to try and explain how much he truly loved you. It was awful but to you it was your dearest possession.

All over again, you fall in love with him from the way he gazed down at you with naked love.

“Being with you has completed my life. No matter how short a time we had. I’d do it all over again knowing this would be the price.”

You blink back tears but it’s useless. His image is blurry. “M-Me too. Knowing that you love me and you’re here…”

Arthur caressed the side of your face and pressed his forehead to your’s.

Whatever what happened when the sun rose, you’d have no regrets.

#Arthur Dayne #arthur dayne fanfiction #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne fanfic #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic #A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom

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