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neonlight2 · 1 year ago

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Jaehaera Targaryen (oc)

Masterlist

Part 1

How did everyone react to her growing up and becoming more… scandalous? (Part 2)

Warning: again, small intervals of smut, mentions of step-cest??, death and a dash homophobia (also some of these parts are just fucking long as hell, sorry?)

***

Aegon

He learned from the best.

It would be a lie to say the boy didn’t learn from Jaehaera’s actions. She was practically his idol, and when he got old enough to know better, he used her example.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out that Jaehaera’s magnetism was like no other, for it drew him in as well.

The prince would copy her mannerisms around women, studying the affects it would have on them. He noticed how they blushed at the way she spoke, how their thighs clenched by her lustful gaze, and how they shuttered whenever her body merely grazed their skin.

After weeks of watching and practicing his demeanor late at night in the mirror, Aegon tried it out on a beautiful lady. A married lady.

He’s cocky, but we knew that already, and the woman gladly falling into his embrace didn’t help anything.

A part of him thought that she was just desperate to fuck a Prince; he was very aware of his status. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him, but the easiness of it all wasn’t satisfying for him.

He’s greedy and vain. Again, he knows.

So one night he decided to sneak away from the palace— something else he can thank Jaehaera for. If she hadn’t taught him such good balance he would have never been able to run the wall as it thinned toward the outskirts of town. Aegon wanted a real challenge— or rather he wanted something real. He wanted someone to want him.

Everyone always wanted Jaehaera, him included. He badly wanted to know what that felt like, for he barely knew what it was to be admired in the first place.

This meant he’d have to go somewhere where women who did know who he was wouldn’t give a shit. Women that couldn’t care less if you were royalty because if you didn’t give them something in return, they couldn’t give a fuck. You might as well kill them cause you won’t get what you want if you don’t pay the price.

He went to a brothel… without any coin.

Prostitutes, or whores as most like to call them, were some of the most honest people in the land. They knew it was highly unlikely for a high standing man to marry one of them, and most were orphans, which meant no family money to take care of them. Their best chance was to do their job, save up their coin, and then live the rest of their lives out in peace.

He knew of a good, clean one that Jaehaera often went to. She always said it was to go see a friend of hers, which confused him because other than Edeline, Jaehaera didn’t have friends. You were either family, or you weren’t. At least that’s what she would tell him as they trained with wooden swords when he was a boy, reminding him that blood relation meant nothing but stains and harm.

When he arrived there, in a cloak two times the size of himself, he could see why she liked it so much. People gathered in groups, pleasuring one another as if it were to save them from damnation. Men ploughing into various women and other men, whilst bystanders touched each other intimately. He could only hear that of skin slapping and the wetness of sweat and slick. And smell… well let’s just say it made him hard enough to make him worry of soiling his trousers.

For a moment he was in a trance. He’d never seen such debauchery. Gods how he loved it.

It was only until he saw long flowing black hair that he snapped out of it. Aegon watch as it swayed freely, exposing its owners bare behind as she sauntered away from him. In a brief moment, the prince swore he saw her wink at him, and that her eyes were a deep amber.

He scurried through the crowds after her, not minding the limps touching him along the way. Once he’s made it to the other side, he could no longer see her. She had vanished, and that made his heart plummet.

“Is there something I can help you with sir?”

Aegon almost pissed himself.

“Seven hells!�� He turns around to see the girl; her eyes were not amber, but a pretty blue. Swallowing back his embarrassment and ignoring the growing red of his cheeks from her naked frame, he replied.

“I was just browsing.”

Humming, the girl feigned belief, letting her hands wander the fabric of his cloak.

No matter how hard he tried, the Prince couldn’t help his eyes flickering to her breasts, noticing the way her nipples perked up at him and the chills that followed along the rest of her skin.

Peeling off his cloak, the boy placed it around her as if it were second instinct. What he didn’t expect was the action to shift his flushed state to her. As he tied the strings around her shoulders he watched as pink ran about her collar, up her neck, till finally meeting her face.

She was slightly taller than him as well, so when she looked toward the floor as if she were shy, he could still see most of her face. He found it desirable, and the more he let his mind drift, and the longer she had her eyes closed— Aegon could imagine her.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to caress her face.

Scoffing, the girl shook her head. “There’s no need for compliments if you’re going to pay me to get your cock wet.”

Laughing genuinely against her hair, she can feel his smile. “You can’t pay for my flattery,” Aegon whispers, “And I don’t pay for a good fuck.”

That’s all it took for her to grab him and lock them in a private room together.

When Aegon thinks on this memory, he was both grateful and disappointed with the pace. He was filled with slight regret of the fact the interaction lasted half an hour at most, and after that night he never saw the girl again. He also felt a sense of sympathy over cumming so quickly. Even when the girl chuckled and said it was a compliment to her services.

He couldn’t bare to tell her that he was a virgin.

Yet everything he found embarrassing was only worsened by what he loved and treasured about that night.

It started simple, her bare cunt grinding on his clothed cock— making the wet spot of his pants even more noticeable. As she made work of his shirt, hoping to kiss down his happy trail, which made him quiver like a cold child. He rarely watched her during the process, preferring to keep his eyes closed with his head thrown back while she had her way with him. But he could help glancing down when he felt her sucking the tip of his cock through his soaked cotton.

Aegon could have came right there if he had no shame at all. The sight of her hollowed lips around his bulge, hair falling around her face and her eyes shut as she moaned around him— if he allowed himself to the Prince could envision—

“Quite eager are we sir?” She asked, looking up at him with a smirk as she palmed him.

Shutting his eyes quickly, he pleaded, “Don’t call me that, please.

Apparently she found his demeanor cute; she often chuckled at him.

“If you wish…what should I call you then?”

Aegon hesitated, scrunching up his face as she pulled down his pants, feeling his prick hit the bottom of his stomach.

“Call me— ah.”

Her lips wrapping around his cock broke Aegon’s words, along with any train of thought he had managed to muster.

Humming against him, Aegon had to push her away in fear of cumming in her mouth too quickly. His fingers crept to her hair, bunching it along her scalp before tugging up. A loud pop from the loss of connection practically made his legs shiver.

“If you do that, I’ll finish,” he panted, eyes still closed as he caressed her face, occasionally slipping his thumb into her mouth as his head dug into the mattress. His imagination was running wild, and her comments did nothing to help.

“I thought that was the idea?” She quipped, kitten licking whatever she could touch. “Now—,” she laced their hands together in order to free herself, shifting upwards— “what was it you wanted me to call you?”

Aegon could feel her weight, pushing on either side of him until her heat followed. She was burning, almost as much as he, and her skin was unbelievable soft. He could feel the push of her thigh, pressing against his own as she used him as a seat— one to relax upon and make whatever pleasure she could derive.

“Speak little Prince.”

In any other state, Aegon would have shot up, eyes wide, ready to ask her how she knew him. Then he’d probably ridicule himself for being naive enough to believe he could escape his identity. However, the boy was under a trance. Her bare cunt was resting on his leaking cock and the only thing the young Targaryen could do was moan.

At the title. At the demanding tone of which it was said. And how much it sounded like Jaehaera.

“That.” Aegon whispered.

“What was that, I need you to be a little louder for me—?”

“Call me that! ‘Little Prince’,” he mewled pitifully, “‘Spoiled Little Prince’.”

The whole night they spent fucking. She used him until her body grew tired, and Aegon had not yet gotten his fill. So he did what she asked, following her direction to perfections. And he kept his eyes closed the whole time, imagining another.

And the girl wasn’t clueless.

She knew the moment he refused to call out her name, even when she told him it twice within the same hour. But she couldn’t be bothered to care, nor would she take the time to ponder why the name ‘Jaehaera’ sounded so familiar when it fell from Aegon’s lips as he slipped inside of her. No, this was one of the rare times that she got to actually enjoy herself. So selfishly, she would enjoy it.

He’d never go to that brothel again. In fact he’d forbid himself from doing so, denying himself from the ultimate pleasure. Limiting and furthering him from his wishes, the deepest running from heart to mind every night. That girl gave him what he dared not even whisper when as he touched himself, for he trusted not the nosy walls within the castle.

Yet he could not control his impulses. No matter how hard he tried, nor how many light haired maidens threw themselves into his arms with fluttering lids and sensual touches— he ended the nights of his youth with a dark maned lady in his bed. Of course they’d always leave in the morning. Coincidentally, of their own accord. Aegon assumed they were ashamed or thought he’d banish them if he awoke first. However, despite his reputation, he found the mornings cold. His arms were left lonely, empty— a perfect parallel to his heart one may say.

But that’s nothing more wine could not fix… right?

Aegon’s “shameful” habits would cease anytime Jaehaera came home. And he always had a doorman tell him the moment she arrived on royal grounds, for the first and only time she had caught him in the act with a lady of well standing— he was horrified beyond believe.

He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was shame? Even though he knew there not need be, she’d never judge him even given his despicable thoughts.

But perhaps it was guilt? For using her image? And withought her permission. Not to mention that night…

Aegon often saw Edeline and Jaehaera together. Frequently linked at the arms or touching on another in order to be aware of the others whereabouts. He grew up with it that way, and he thought nothing of it for that was the way Jaehaera lived. Forever passionate and unabashedly so.

She praised his mother, and he’d watch as the woman that had raised him smiled like she were his age.

She’d laugh and tease Rhaenyra, making the sister he barely knew somewhat familiar to him.

So Edeline was no exception. There was no questions when he noticed her touch the woman, whisper close to her ear, and constantly give her suggestive glances.

Which is one of the reasons he had no malice toward fluid sexuality because he had loved Jaehaera for far too long, and Otto hadn’t got to him fast enough to change his mind about that.

As for how he felt about Edeline… he neither liked nor disliked her. To be honest she barely interacted with him. He predicted that to be because of his mother and grandfather, neither being too fond of her for differing reasons. His mother green with envy and his grandfather all the same only mixed with a brown muck of hypocrisy and mutiny.

But when she had, she was kind and rather funny. She didn’t have a filter, much like Jaehaera. Instead of taking offense to her rashness, he found it refreshing and slightly amusing. Not to mention her youthfulness blended well with his own. She always looked so happy.

Aegon would laugh at her antics, picking up a few as habits along the way.

However, there was one memory of her he could never erase. Something he dreamt about while in the light of the sun or moon; he couldn’t escape it.

He was young. He knew that much, yet he could not remember the exact age. But he knew for certain he would always wonder about the castle, sneaking about, searching for mischief, for fun, maybe even trouble.

He remembers finding his way into a room, one yellow in light of thousands of candles, all dripping to the floor. No doubt giving the maids plenty of work to do in the morning.

His head would peak through and see a shadow— of her. Hair pulled up with loose strands of ringlets falling down toward her face and shoulders. She was a sight to be seen, beautiful simply. There was nothing particular about her. Anyone else within the court would have thought her plain, calling her matching brown hair and eyes dull, comparing the color to the muck and shit along the common streets.

But in that light they shined, a pool of gold matching that of Rhaenyra’s dragon— a likeness to his own in the short future. Aegon understood why Jaehaera took such interest in her, and he remembers wondering whether she were simply basking in the life bestowed upon her by Jaehaera, or if she were waiting for her. The ladder made him weary and scamper to a darker corner in which to hide.

He should have know better. If Jaehaera was to walk in, mere seconds would pass and he’d be caught. Maybe scolded, for Jaehaera had taught him that ‘one’s room is a sacred place of safety and should be respected’.

He was greeted with much worse.

He could tell by the sound; it was not Jaehaera. Certainly because he would have never heard hers, unless she were in a skipping mood— but she was always light-footed in the night. However, it was the clinking of armor that gave it away.

She thought it a waste of time to wear any.

So when the sound surged through the entryway, his eyes grew wide as he scampered away from the door, hoping to sneak under the bed before anyone saw.

He could only watch as Edeline’s scrunched up in confusion, trying to cover her bare bodice as they approached her figure. They had little politeness for her. One grabbed her arms while to other swept through her belongings, as if searching for something.

Finally, there was silence. No more of her yelling, demanding to know what they were doing, not her cries as the guard holding her grasped her jaw harshly in order to stop the noise. That’s when he noticed the green peaking in out from the back. And he dared to lean forward, catching sight of the man. He felt his lip tremble as he watch Sir Criston Cole holding Edeline without any care. And he almost gasped after seeing the earrings that the other had found in Edeline’s dresser. Green Emeralds in the shape of tear drops.

His mothers.

The last he saw of Edeline was her screaming profanities, squirming against hoping to break free of Sir Cole’s hold, before finally shrieking out what he’d never forget—

“Jaehaera! She will kill you all, I swear it! Jaehaera!”

He hid under that bed for what felt like hours, maybe it had been, but those last words remained loud in his words. And it was only until the door opened again, this time without footsteps, and booted feet coming into view. Not taking in the consequences, he started crying, wriggling from out under the bed until he jumped into Jaehaera’s arms. She had barely asked him what was wrong when he cried out,

“They took her!”

Jaehaera didn’t need to be told who was taken, nor who had taken. Her eyes grew a shade deadlier than the magma that rests beneath the earth. She was quick to grab him, hoisting him on her hip as she ran though the halls, caring very much to awake a maid to take Aegon from her.

“Take him to his mother, and tell the Queen that she is not allowed to leave her chambers by order of Princess Jaehaera.”

That was the last time Aegon had seen her for years. After that night it would seem everything would change.

Jaehaera would be gone more than she would be at Kings Landing.

His grandfather would be banished from castle grounds until he was well of age.

His father, Viserys would be cold to them all, for a long while.

And his mother would cry that night, upon hearing each decree of Jaehaera departure and Otto’s banishment— he could not tell which upset her more.

Aemond

Let’s not pretend that this man wouldn’t be a tad bit of a hypocrite. I mean… he would resent Lucerys but love Jaehaera. I think we all know who’s more “illegitimate” here. Anyway—

I strongly believe Aemond and Aegon both have abandonment issues, and not in a literal sense per say, but they definitely feel neglected. And while Aegon drifts away and acts out, Aemond definitely seeks approval. He is obsessed with it. Whether it be from his mother, his father, or Jaehaera.

*cough cough* explains the praise kink *cough*

Seriously though, he really is obsessed with being perfect.

And this gets worse every time Jaehaera leaves.

I just imagine him as a child at “peak perfectionist” in his studies and practices, especially because of his dragon fixation. He wants to make up for what he lacked at the time. So when he met Jaehaera for the first time his standards skyrocketed. Not just for himself, but for everyone else.

This is where the hypocrisy comes in.

I don’t think Aemond is homophobic or sexist, but I do think he believes in tradition. Which makes zero sense but let me explain.

He definitely believes in blood status, no shocking, but he also thinks that means each class has its own rules. Meaning anyone beneath his station has no right to sully their name without consequences. He has no respect for those who are found guilty of cheating, wedlock, or affairs. That’s their problem. It doesn’t affect his family.

They have no limits.

Unless of course you’re Rhaenyra’s kids. But hey, that’s where the flaw in his logic shines through.

Don’t worry, Jaehaera will call him out on it later.

Basically— if anyone ever thought of slut shaming Jaehaera, they die. In fact he’d be so disgusted by them it would be as if they had just admitted to the debauchery.

Jaehaera herself could have said the same thing, he wouldn’t blink an eye. Anyone else… they die. For they had no right to speak of her in such away, even if she had made it public information.

However, in all, he is a gentleman. It’s what he prizes himself on.

He’s a good academic, a talented knight, and a dutiful Prince.

And while he enjoys the affects of his behavior, he despises that half of it isn’t truly him. He revels in praise, but he cringes away at his reflection very evening before he sleeps. Not just because he can’t stand the sight of what he’s physically lost, but the will of what he had as a young boy.

The shitty part of it all is, he knows that he doesn’t need to be this way for her to be proud of him. But he takes that as a reason to continue, because he wants more. He wants to surprise her, impress her so much that she couldn’t leave him behind again.

She’d either have to stay and watch him grow even further, or take him with her.

Alright— now let’s address the obvious:

Aemond would act as if Jaehaera’s more “scandalous” behavior didn’t bother him, because he always says she is free to do as she wishes. And he does believe that, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it, or approve of her partners.

He’s a jealous bastard, and he knows it.

Aemond will take each interaction Jaehaera has with someone other than him personally. He’ll hold a grudge against the other person, and feel insecure that he’s not doing enough to keep her attention. And depending on who it is, Aemond will react differently.

If it’s anyone below his rank, it’s a easy fix. He’ll threaten them to never speak to her again, and it works like a charm because the few that had the balls to not do as he said were punished severely, either locked up for the rest of their days, executed, or sentenced to servitude.

You might ask, how does Jaehaera allow this?

Well— half the time she’s not in kings landing. When she leaves, Aemond makes his move, and the individual Jaehaera was interested in has suddenly disappeared.

However, Aemond is not a monster. Aemond would never harm someone simply because they have Jaehaera’s affection.

The only reason he ever does the number of things listed is because they’ve…

1. Bragged about having her favor or speaking crudely of her

2. Tried to use her affection for their own gain

3. Made her displeased

He also doesn’t discriminate so it doesn’t matter, lord or lady— just don’t make Jaehaera sad.

Now, time to discuss how Jaehaera’s behavior affected his own display of sexuality.

Aemond is demisexual. (It’s my headcanon, you can disagree, but it just makes sense to me.)

So while Aegon (personally I think he’s bi-sexual), is more overt with his sexual preferences, Aemond usually keeps those things to himself.

This is because he has trust issues, and he has always viewed sex as a transaction growing up.

He knew the system of social hierarchy, lords selling out their daughter for fortune or status, and the irony of the relationship between his own mother and father. Though he’d never say anything of the sort out loud. If he were honest, the thought made him sick, but it was all he’d ever known.

And he knew that pleasure existed, but for a cost as well.

Men would seek a carnal release, and women in the darker parts of the city would give them what they wanted for a fixed price.

Nothing had ever been free.

Until of course, Jaehaera spoke of pleasure.

“Byka zaldrīzes?” Little dragon

Aemond’s head snapped up quickly, having been stuck on the same word for the past hour or so while laying out in the library, studying while Jaehaera read whatever she hadn’t already. If he were truthful, he’d admit that his mind was clouded with what Jaehaera was wearing.

It was nothing out of the ordinary persay; she often wore clothing out of fashion or from another kingdom, gifts from her many travels. Yet, this time was different. This time she came back from Dorne.

She had come back from the kingdom before, always happier for it because she got to share her findings of her “favorite culture”. Always promising that she would be back there next voyage if the weather permits.

The weather always permits.

But this time was different. Aemond was in the midst of “becoming a man” as his mother and Otto would say. He prided himself with not acting rashly through all the changes, not wanting to be like his brother. Furthermore when he felt his whole body go flush at the sight of Jaehaera leaping off her dragon, barely covering her breasts with a beaded blouse and loose fabric around her exposed hips, straight into his father arms, he couldn’t help but few embarrassed. Even more so when she commented on it.

“Oh no! You poor thing— did you all stand out here for too long? My poor little dragon is burning to a crisp!”

Aemond wanted her dragon to eat him alive.

So here they were, as Jaehaera insisted to bring back his wellness, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. I could look up just once…

It was a battle he only won with her mercy of saying his name.

“Yes?” He responded in a high pitch than he meant to.

Smiling at him fondly, she tilted her head, leaning the bun atop her head against the leg of a chair— and he knew that her scalp was beginning to ache.

“Would you like me to help you take down your hair?” He asked, not even thinking of the rejection that may follow.

“Would you?” She asked, humming at the idea, “Braid it for me?”

His hands shook slightly at the thought of running his hands through the smooth strands. He had played with her hair before, knowing it was a privilege, for she found great pride in it. She hadn’t cut it in decades, claiming she liked the tradition of the Dothraki. The last he’d seen, her hair landed at the beginning of her calves. That was two years ago.

Apparently she knew his answer for she had begun to turn as his lips parted to speak. “Your brother sent me letters while I was away.”

Gulping down his nerves, he uttered a brief hum of recognition, before teasing the ties holding her hair. Aemond watched as it uncoiled and twirled until pooling at the ground. The sight filled him with joy, for her knee the braid would take time, but also made him weary…

He did not want to talk of Aegon, or anyone else for that matter. Not while he had her to himself, finally.

Shaking her head to even out her hair, Jaehaera continued, “Yes, and I was quite surprised.”

“That he can write?” Aemond quipped, allowing himself to slot both his hands underneath her hair before drawing it out towards him. He’d let the black wires drown his very being if she’d wish it.

Jaehaera her head back in a laugh, making Aemond freeze when her scalp brush against his fingers. “You’ve become quite quick my little dragon, but no, I was surprised he was the one to send me letters. Not you.”

He could hear the teasing smile creeping through her voice. “Too busy for me—?”

“No!”

Aemond voice made both of them stir, Jaehaera’s head quirking to the side in order to showcase her raised brow. All while Aemond’s hands dropped to the floor, softly brushing the hair fanned around his legs.

“I mean— I just haven’t had anything to write about.”

I don’t have anything I want you to know, he meant.

Nodding slightly, Jaehaera faces forward once again. “Alright.”

Sighing, disappointed at his choice of words, for how he came across, for the change of tone in her voice. It hated all of it.

“I only mean that nothing interesting happened,” he mumbled, moving closer to her and plopping her hair in his lap so he could gently part through it, “Everything is dull when you’re not home.”

It was a guilt trip, and Aemond wasn’t proud of his methods, but he’d do anything to convince her to stay.

Jaehaera hummed again, the way she had before but without a nod, feeling Aemond’s hands coiling her hair into three. She knew what he meant, and she knew it was true.

“Aegon told me something interesting,” she said, her voice turned gentle and comforting, “but now I think he shouldn’t have.”

Aemond’s brows creased together, trying to figure out what it could be. Aegon had done numerous of things since Jaehaera last left, he’d know, he had to hear every time their mother reprimanded him. But what he couldn’t figure out is why Jaehaera wouldn’t want to know. Not only did Aegon tell her everything, beyond what was appropriate, but Jaehaera was known to want to know everything.

“Why is that?” He asked meekly, starting the trend of the braid, making quick work from all the practice he had from helping his mother and sister.

Jaehaera didn’t say anything for a while. They both just sat there as Aemond braided her hair, listening to each others breathing, and sometimes Aemond believed that she could hear his heartbeat.

“He told me something that wasn’t his.”

“Oh? Did he gossip about mother?”

That would be a reasonable explanation, Aemond thought. Jaehaera’s demeanor always shifted when his mother was brought up, let alone if she entered the room.

“No.”

“Father?” That one was less likely, they barely spoke to their father.

“You,” she said instantly, “he told me about something about you, well I suppose the both of you.”

Aemond froze, and Jaehaera knew he couldn’t be finished already. Even with his agile fingers, the most skill maid couldn’t even do her hair that quickly.

“Aemond?”

He knew what it was. There was nothing else that the boys had done together, anything that Aegon would have felt Jaehaera should know.

All he could feel was shame.

“Whatever he said is a filthy lie.” He claimed, voice now dark, surprising Jaehaera enough to turn around. She was almost taken back by how his eyes mimicked such destain.

Staring for a moment, Jaehaera let her thumb swipe over the middle of his brow, trying to release its tension. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—,”

“It is foul,” he spat, no longer able to keep eye contact with her.

“I’ve been gone too long,” she whispered with an air of guilt about her. “They’ve already taught you shame.”

She tilted her head one last time, hoping to catch his eye once again, but Aemond refused. He’d rather die than her see the tears welling up in his eyes. Jaehaera brushed his cheek before turning back around, inviting him to continue.

“Pleasure is only a sin when it comes from a place of cruelty Aemond.” This time her voice much more firm. “Remember that for me please.”

The boy bit the inside of his cheek hard, as to squeak out a sob, instead replacing it with a faint hum. It took the rest of the time to finish braiding her hair before either of them spoke again.

“It was not pleasurable,” he confessed, now allowing himself to peer up at her eyes. “Only wrong.”

“Did you not want to go to the brothel?” She’d ask, not falter of amusement or confusion.

Aemond shook his head. “Aegon won when we were sparring, and his prize was that he got to take me there. To “make me a man”, he said.”

There was anger festering in her eyes, and a part of it made Aemond terrified and happy all at once. He knew his brother was in for a rude awakening now. He just hoped he’d be there to witness it.

“Don’t ever bet on things like that again.” She demanded. “And promise me you’ll only ever do things that you wish, and if the other person wishes as well.”

“I promise.”

“And don’t go to anymore brothels.”

This time Aemond was curious. “Why?”

“They’re not made for souls such as yours.” She stated, as if it were to be a well renowned knowledge.

“What about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your soul. Why is it fit for such a place?”

Jaehaera smile to herself, a new distance within her pupils as she looked beyond him. “It was born there and is a part of me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but be confused. He had only a brief understanding of her past, as much as anyone else, but he could not figure why she would be nostalgic. Of all the terrors and torture she was brought forth from, why does she harbor it so fondly?

“Is it because of Edeline.”

The woman he only had a glimpse of as boy.

Jaehaera’s eyes were sharp as they quickly returned to him, bringing a hand to his jaw. “Don’t ever speak of her,” she lightly warned, her touch soft yet there all the same.

Her voice grew acidic, like the words she uttered was a soured poison. “These walls have eyes, painted green, and I will not have you be a subject of one of there inquiries.”

Only a second passed before she arose to her feet, ready to leave.

“I’m sorry!” Aemond sputtered, terrible worry filling his stomach.

Jaehaera stopped, looking back at him with a glint of intrigue. “Whatever for?”

“For- for,” he stuttered over his tongue, even more confused by her behavior.

She smiled at him, “Thank you for braiding my hair my little dragon.”

And as she left he could hear her yell, “Tell your mother I said hello.”

Last thing—

While he acts like he’s better than his brother, Aemond has definitely fantasized about Jaehaera. But I don’t think he copes with it in the way Aegon does. In fact I think he finds the though disgusting and treacherous. Like he would be betraying he in a way.

So he keeps her in his mind, imagining her, and if ever he finds it to unbearable, he’d be left with his hand and the mere thought of her. For it was enough.

Heleana

The babe is precious.

Obviously, she knows what sex is. She has children.

But I don’t think she really knows, if you get what I mean. I think Heleana just thinks it’s a thing that happen, or has to happen, and at least she gets children that she adores out of it.

Sad, I know, but I think it’s true.

So, she knows that Jaehaera has sex as well, but as she gets older, she picks up signs that Jaehaera is getting something else out of it. Because she’s not checking any of the original boxes set when she was growing up.

For one, Jaehaera wasn’t married.

This fit of course for Jaehaera’s character and everyone else in the family being so on edge about her hand and all.

But still, it’s a big topic.

Secondly, Jaehaera never had any children, nor did she express a want for any of her own.

And finally, if she ever did in fact use sex for procreation, then why did she sleep with women?

Basically, Heleana knew something was up, she didn’t know what it was, and honestly she didn’t care.

And as much as I would love for someone to actually give this sweet girl true love and adoration in the bedroom… she doesn’t need it.

Heleana could live her whole life without having sex and be perfectly happy.

She found pleasure and delight in other things.

What I’m trying to get at is… she could care less what people say or think of Jaehaera. Heleana never doubts Jaehaera for a second, for she admires her honesty and free spirit.

Within her gift she also suspects that the gods hold favor for Jaehaera, proving even more that her trust is not misplaced.

Do I think Jaehaera gave Heleana the talk? Because Alicent sure as hell didn’t.

Yes. But in a way Heleana would understand.

Jaehaera would uses spiders and other animals as reference, casually making a joke about how she would even get away with ripping off her lovers head if they deserved it— Heleana would never think to do so, but she’d laugh anyway.

Jacaerys

Jaehaera didn’t have to give Jace the talk because Daemon ran his mouth enough for him to pick up on innuendos. But Rhaenyra envitably gave him the talk.

I imagine that Jace would get as mad when people called Jaehaera a whore as he did with his mother. In a sense, he can relate to Aegon and Aemond in that sense. However— Jace would rather not hear about that stuff.

Not because it bothers him that she is more… promiscuous, but because it’s like hearing his mother talk about having sex. It can just be uncomfortable, which is why he’d also keep those types of things more to himself.

Jace would definitely ask questions if he couldn’t find the answers from any other source. He’s not scared of Jaehaera or his mother teasing him or making a big deal over it. He just rather not have the two women who raised him know he’s having sex, and if they do— that’s all they should know. No details.

I also think Jace believes firmly in the sentiment that “what happens in the comfort of one’s own home is their business.”

Basically, he hates when the Lords and Ladies of court try to talk about his mother, of his conspicuous decent, and anything or anyone Jaehaera chooses to do.

He wishes everyone would mind their own damn business and shut up.

Speaking of shutting up— he hates crudeness.

A casual joke every now and then? Sure; it’s bound to happen when he’s serving in the royal army anyhow. But he dislikes excessive dirty humor and crass talking. He thinks it somewhat disrespectful and has a bad past with it.

This explains why he gets so mad at Aegon at the dinner, when he makes a comment about him “knowing where to put it”. Not to mention he disrespected his fiancé—

Oh, and this boy is head over heels for Baela. Holy shit this boy is whipped. I’m talking, he would have married her the day of their betrothal if he could have.

They have known each other since they were children, comforted one another in times of sorrow, and watched/helped each other grow. They share the same hobbies: dragon riding, sparring, and love for adventure. And even in their differences, Baela being more rash like her father, and Jace like his mother— they are able to overcome.

I can imagine the few times anyone did joke with him or tease him a bit about sex would have been after they got betrothed.

Anyone with at least one eye could see that Jace was putty in Baela’s hands, and because Baela takes after her father she’s more forthcoming with her advances— more bold.

She would have always been more physical— with anyone— than her sister. Constantly using her arms as she spoke, hugging, nudging, slapping someone’s shoulder as she laughs, etc.

So when they get engaged, she takes that as a sign that she can further her advances. It would start a little innocent, she’d hug Jace in every greeting and goodbye, then she’d kiss his cheek, take his hand… leading to eventually initiating their first kiss.

Daemon would be proud of his daughter, if we’re being honest; he’d totally say something like, “well…she is my child.”

Rhaenyra would be glowing with happiness because of how in love they are.

And Jaehaera would be all of the above but also would make comments like, “You mustn’t leave them alone now, or else you may have an urgent reason to speed along the wedding.”

Jace would be red as his houses color, while Baela would laugh and scream,

“There are other ways to prevent that!”

Everyone would have practically fallen to the floor with shock or laughter.

Lucerys

Too precious.

Jaehaera knows he’ll “do the deed” one day. Not only because it’s his duty to produce heirs, but he also adores Rhaena.

And by the way the boy peaks over at his betrothed when he believes no one is watching, she knows that even his shyness could not trump his longing to cherish her in any and every possible way.

However, I would describe their relationship more of a friendship lover type. Rhaena and Lucerys aren’t in love the way Jace and Baela are: passionate and adventurous. They’re soulmates in a way that they don’t have to profess their undying love for each other to understand.

They’re more affectionate in a softer sense. They listen to each other without having to be asked, step into each others habits, and link the others hand with their own to keep them safe from wandering.

They reason before they fight, and they prefer to read and speak of other things than politics, succession, and war.

Numerous topics varying from music and art to cultures and even agriculture.

Basically— they’re a perfect match.

I also think that Jaehaera would give Lucerys a book on anatomy— which she annotated because let’s be real, the men that wrote them didn’t bother to learn everything— instead of speaking to him about it, just to spare him an hour of flushed cheeks and anxiety. And while she’d make sure both him and his brother knew that pleasure was important and natural, she wouldn’t feel the need to go over all the bases with Lucerys. Jaehaera knew and trusted that he would be delicate and gentle with Rhaena. He never gave her a reason to believe any different.

That being said— Lucerys is similar to his brother in not wanting to hear of Jaehaera’s sexual conquests. Of course, growing up he had the firm knowledge that there was no shame in the act, but he couldn’t help that anytime the subject was brought up his ears turned red.

The family has an unsaid agreement to try to keep such talk to a minimum around him, for once his face stayed pink until the next day.

I do think that Lucerys is more intuitive or empathetic than his other family members though. He may not necessarily know the most, but he can tell by someone’s voice, expression, or body language how they feel about someone else (or just in general).

So no matter how many partners Jaehaera took, he could clearly feel and see the difference in how she spoke of them to… others.

He noticed Jaehaera and Daemon.

He noticed Jaehaera and his mother.

He even picked up on how his uncles felt about her, which made his stomach turn every now and then.

But above all he noticed Jaehaera shift in behavior when a woman named Edeline was mentioned.

Whittling away at a piece of wood he had been for hours, trying to create something that somewhat resembled a ship, Lucerys sighed deeply to himself. He was ready to throw the damn thing into the fire, never to look at its bumpy surface again. The heat of the fireplace was not helping his frustration, only making the young dragon grow hotter, but he knew he only had himself to blame. If he had simply chose to sit next to his mother, rather than at her feet, he would have been contented to the coolness of the leather bound chair.

However, as he felt her hands come down upon his head, petting it gently, he could find no solace in his complaints.

“What is the matter my darling,” Rhaenyra’s cooed, heart warm with the vision in front of her. Her second oldest, resting at her feet as if he were her youngest child, yet with a face more grown than she had remembered.

Twisting around the boy groaned lightly, hugging his mother’s leg as he propped his work onto her knee. “She made it look so easy,” he whispered, dismayed by his lack of progress.

Laughing, Rhaenyra picked up the wonky boat, brushing her fingers over the ridges. “Well… firstly, you know you shouldn’t place your standards on Jaehaera’s abilities for your own,” she mused, “None of us should.”

“Secondly,” she chuckled to herself once again, “Jaehaera’s first couple looked just like this.”

Lucerys’ eyes widened at the news, “Really?!”

“Yes,” she combed her fingers through his brown curls. “That’s why she practiced so often. She’s a perfectionist.”

Lucerys could see his mother’s mind wandering, her eyes looking at him yet seemingly finding a way to see something else. He noticed that happened quite a lot lately; this has been the longest Jaehaera had been away from them.

She had left kingslanding suddenly, angered by something Lord Hightower had done, or at least that’s what his mother deemed as an appropriate explanation for him to know. She wouldn’t exactly tell him or his brother what he had done to upset Jaehaera, and he supposed she never willingly would.

Jaehaera had only sent them a letter, promising to visit briefly in a couple months. Lucerys just hoped this month would be the final within her absence.

He wasn’t surprised to hear that there was rivalry between the two. Jaehaera openly held her disregard for the hand of the king, even whispering little snide remarks under her breath, allowing him and his brother to partake in the joke alongside her and Daemon.

What Lucerys couldn’t understand was why Jaehaera would leave… when Otto was the one to be banished in the end.

Which is what made him curious of this third party he had heard of by many gossiping whispers…

“Mother, who is Edeline?”

Rhaenyra practically flinched at the name. Her eyes finally resurfacing to acknowledge him. “Where did you hear that name?”

Lucerys straighten his posture, creating space as his mother leaned forward, hands ready to keep him in place. The size of her eyes frightened him. “I-I heard a few ladies say it and something about Jaehaera—,”

“Who my child?” She got closer, her voice more that of a queen now than his mother. “Who said such things?”

“I- I don’t know- I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if that’s why Jaehaera was sad.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, eyes empty with something Lucerys swore he’d never gaze upon again if he could help. “Alright,” she softened, hand caressing his cheek, “Such a sweet boy you are.”

She cooed at him like a new born babe, and he couldn’t help but melt at it. “Don’t worry so much my love, all will be well. Jaehaera just has business of her own to take care of.”

Smiling she hugged him to her chest, “When she’s done she’ll join us here. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Nodding, Lucerys blinked at the door, watching as Daemon walked through. And his body felt solid once more.

Rhaenyra broke her hold and kissed Lucerys head before standing, greeting her newly wedded husband. Lucerys watched at how tenderly Daemon peered down at her, letting his hands smooth over her arms, before settling on her stomach. He kissed her forehead, whispering something that Lucerys though inconceivable to hear.

That’s how he found out he was to be a brother again.

Rhaenyra was quick to work, giving Lucerys one last kiss, then walking out to attend to whatever was happening. She was practicing her royal affairs, and she never missed them.

“She’s someone Jaehaera loved very much.”

Snapping his gaze from the doorway to Daemon, Lucerys’ eyebrows perched. “What?”

“Edeline,” Daemon mused, “that’s who you asked about right?”

“Yes, but— Jaehaera never mentioned a lady that she—“

Daemon laugh loudly, “She was her hand maiden. But I suppose she was treated like a lady…”

“I don’t remember a—,”

“Boy,” Daemon stepped closer, towering over him with a cheeky smirk, “she hasn’t visited us in quite some time, and even if she was Edeline’s stomach cannot withstand the fly here. You have not been to kingslanding in a couple of moons. Of course you can’t remember her.”

“You barely met her,” he tilted his head at the thought, almost giggling to himself. “And now you never will.”

“Why- what do you mean?” Lucerys asked with beady eyes, mocking that of his mother’s Daemon thought.

Leaning down to his level, Daemon placed his hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, as if giving grave news. “Otto had her executed.”

Lucerys gasped, making Daemon laugh despite his effort in trying to keep composed. “And now Jaehaera has left kingslanding, no doubt to plot that cunt’s fate.”

“Which means,” Daemons tone lowered as he brushed off Lucerys clothes, “we must all be ready to aid her if and when she’s in need.”

His eyes bore into Lucerys’, “Do you understand boy?”

It took a fraction of a second for Lucerys to nod, and less time for Daemon to remove himself from the situation. Patting the boys head, he turned and marched out of the room with a happy tune about him.

It was then that Lucerys understood how dangerous Daemon was. That he fed on chaos, and that whole conversation wasn’t just to warn him of what to come, it was to threaten him as well. To not ruin his entertainment.

Lucerys could also feel his eyes begin to water. Not because he was scared of Daemon, or what was to come. No, the boy realized that Jaehaera was out there, not just plotting Otto’s demise, but weeping over a loved one.

His heart ached at the thought of hers broken.

Baela

Idolizes Jaehaera

That’s enough said really… but I’ll continue.

Baela admires Jaehaera’s strength and autonomy over everything. She adores the pride in the way Jaehaera stands, the confidence in her demeanor, and the assurance in her voice.

If someone was to ask who she wanted to be when she grew up, it’d be Jaehaera.

So basically, is super proud of how fluid Jaehaera is in her identity, sexuality or not. She loves how Jaehaera doesn’t allow herself to be constricted to standards of court, and it gives her hope that she does not have to follow that path either.

And don’t get me wrong, Baela doesn’t want to sleep around per say, as I said, she and Jace are smitten. But she doesn’t feel guilty when she does find herself attracted to other lords of court. Just like she doesn’t feel ashamed for her affinity for swordsmanship. She’s not afraid to be different, and she’s not afraid to be adventurous.

She would definitely openly talk about her attractions with everyone she trusts. She’s an open book about things like that, because she likes to share. She believes it makes her closer to those she loves. Of course she keeps specifics to herself if it’s her father or Rhaenyra— she knows that they wouldn’t exactly want to hear that she (when she’s older and closer to a marriage appropriate age) wants to ride Jace like he’s her personal dragon. Or that she dreams of kissing him against the edge of the walls of Driftmark.

But she’s a totally open book when around Jaehaera and Rhaena— even to Jace. She often thanks Jaehaera for her boldness when she whispers dirty secrets and ideas into Jace’s ear as they train.

And while the idea of having children doesn’t overwhelm her with joy, Baela cannot help but feel happy when thinking of Jace with a child of her own. Their heir, by ways of their choosing.

She feels most liberated like this, and she thanks Jaehaera every day for giving her the role model to look up to.

Rhaena

Rhaena knows everything. Let’s get this squared away. She knows about sex, not just anatomy but everything else that’s should come with it.

Why you may ask?

Cause she asked Jaehaera about all of it, and Jaehaera answered every single one until her heart was content.

She’s curious. More so than even her sister, the difference between the two being that she’s more kept to herself with things of that nature. She’s not outspoken like Baela, though she admires her sister for it, Rhaena likes having secrets of her own.

She find power in her elegant sensuality when she wishes to use it, taking after her mother in that regard.

Rarely does she discuss it as she gets older. Occasionally she may giggle and share with her sister or Jaehaera, but she’s much more reserved.

However, she would still discuss matters like these with Lucerys, claiming it’s important for their future. But secretly she also loves the blush that overcomes his voice.

She tells him what she likes to do on her own, she she likes him to do, guiding him gently— differing from Baela who all but orders Jace around (it’s okay he likes it).

She also confessed that she feel attracted to both lords and ladies, confiding in Jaehaera first before telling Lucerys.

She knows there’s nothing wrong with it, growing up watch Jaehaera and her mother, and any other women surrounding them. And since she’s watched her fathers acceptance of the behavior her whole life, she’s held a standard in her heart for the man she would be to marry. Luckily, she was overjoyed when it turned out to be Lucerys. She felt no fear around him.

She’s never forget the confusion on his cute face when she first told him.

“That’s fine. You know it’s fine right? You weren’t scared of telling me we’re you? I’d never—,”

She shut him up with a kiss and told him she loved him.

Lucerys smiled with pink cheeks for the rest of the day.

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entomolog-t · 7 months ago

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Writing Question

A few of my OCs participate in sports (and honestly this question works for odd hobbies too) and I was curious if anyone had any advice or thoughts on terminology.

I really dislike reading the equivalent of an infographic in fics, even if its a subject I'm not very familiar with, and especially in action sequences it really breaks the pace. I don't like the terminology being too clinical either. I'm sure we've all read something on a topic we're familiar with from an author who has clearly researched but never experienced the subject (no judgement ! I don't expect everyone to have experienced first hand everything they write about)

ANYWAYS - I personally like to use a couple context cues, descriptors and the sport specific words (which tends to include odd terms/slang ect..). Though I'm worried that in doing so it could be a bit difficult to follow for some.

For example:

Gen pop vocab : She tackled him

Niche sport vocab : She hit a blast double.

I would write something like: She closed the distance- head ploughing into his gut as she ran through him. God, he hated blast doubles.

^ Theres still some sport vocab, but I try to integrate it close to the descriptors.

#g/t community #I'm curious #Honestly I like the immersion of some terminology that I'm not familiar with #Like- It feels like it quickly conveys the character to be more proficient than me #and if it IS niche vocab that I get??? HUGE appreciation to the author

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drenosa · 8 months ago

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Inspired by an oc of @evenmorefatallyobsessed (mild nfsw alert btw)

Neptune: *Holding up a dating app on a Scroll in front of Sun, swiping either left or right at the Monkey Faunus' direction* Look, sometimes you got to take some drastic measures to get over a girl. Sure, you're saying you're happy to just be friends with Blake, but that doesn't mean you have to forget about your needs.

Sun: *Listening with half-a-mind* Sure... Left. Left. ... Right. Left. Ooh, Deffo Right. Says she also likes to use her tail for ~fun~.

Neptune: Yeah, you're getting it. Don't worry, bud. This Certified Lady's Man will help you get your groove!

Sun: *Pausing his swiping to give Neptune a pointed look* Certified, huh?

Neptune: *Coughs slightly* Ye-yes, now come on. Just a few more.

Sun: Uh-huh... Left. Right. Left. Left. ... !!! *Snatches the Scroll out of a surprised Neptune's hand* Oh, Right to the Hells to the Yeah! Bona-Fide Major MILF!

Neptune: Woah, seriously?! Lemme see, lemme see! *Grabs the Scroll back*

Sun: Never saw an office jacket and pencil skirt look THAT good before. And on an ass like that?! Gawd DAYUM!

Neptune: No way, someone look that good for you to... to- *Stares at the Scroll in abject shock and horror* Ah... fuck.

Sun: *Blinking away his surprise at Neptune's reaction* Whu... what, she got some super red flags or something?

Neptune: Uh... Yeah?! Holy hell, that's my Mom!

Sun: ...

Neptune: ...

Sun: Bitch. Would! *Starts climbing over the table to get at the Scroll and Neptune* Gimme that scroll back! I got to message her ASAP!

Neptune: Hell no! *Shoving a hand in Sun's face to keep him away* Back off, motherfucker! This shit ain't gonna happen!

Sun: *Smushed face* Fwuf hoo! ma honna bu a mahafaha fu wheel! Himme! [Fuck you! I'm gonna be a motherfucker for real! Gimme!]

Neptune: *Using multiple limbs to keep Sun away* Bros before hoes, dick-weasel! My mom ain't no hoe fo' sho'!

Sun: *Face unsmushed, trying his hardest to reach the promised land that is his Scroll* Imma weasel my dick into her! My hoe will plough her fields something fierce. Now give my Scroll back!

Neptune: That's a no from me, Bitch!

Neptune&Sun: *Start wrestling WWE-style*

~~~~~~~~~~

Yang: *Seated with Blake not far from the SeaMonkey Bros* So... that guy at one point, huh?

Blake: *Mildly embarrassed at the short-lived crush* At one point, yes.

Yang: *Grinning bemusedly* Certainly a catch that slipped away. Can't believe I got reeled in instead.

Blake: *Elbows Yang in the ribs* Shush you. I can still do a catch-and-release with you.

Yang: Hehe. Love you too, Blakey.

Blake: *Muttering* You better.

#rwby #rwby shitpost #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #oc #ariel vasilias #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumbleby

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nottheeconomy · 8 months ago

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Meet my Stardew valley farmer OC! The one! The only! *Post Mortem*!

Yeah that name really didn’t bode well with grandpa, senior Mortem. Don’t worry though! Young Mr Mortem is here to take care of the farm!

Me Mortem in his clip-on twin tail extensions and spiky choker, working the plough in the fields

I like to think that he gave Lewis a mini heart attack when he had to welcome him to the valley!

Hahahahahhahahahahahahhaha

I got into Stardew recently and I’ve been really enjoying the game! Alas, as a mobile player I’ll have to wait a while for 1.6

The caves though

The caves beckon me

I must dig deeper

120 floors aren’t enough

#stardew valley #stardew farmer #stardew sebastian #stardew morris #the economy is producing #First time drawing out an OC like this #Oh to stay at home and Stardew #I don’t want to leave my houseeeeeeeeeeee

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filurig · 2 months ago

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🌙 ☄️ forrr arvo or folke ⁉️⁉️ for tha celestial ask game

ill do the second one only for folke, bcs i got another ask for arvo with it so!

🌙 - If given the chance, what is one thing about their life your OC would change permanently?

arvo: he would've changed it so that he was born a human

folke: he would've made it so that his brother never passed away

☄️ - From your OC’s perspective, write a short paragraph about their average day.

(folke)

(ill just write a hypothetical journal entry because what he does depends on the season and what there is to do, ploughing/preparing the fields for the year's harvest, harvesting peat, taking care of the animals but that's daily, potential culling of them when autumn approaches, harvesting his fields of rye, oats, rapeseed and potato, general maintinence, etc)

july 17

Checked on the hens at the crack of dawn. Eggs had been laid, thus I did not return to the house empty handed. Although the roosting hens were broody - came out relatively unscathed.

While preparing coffee, Selma came by yet again. Had told her about my plans today to collect peat, so it was expected. She declined both coffee and porridge, although she accepted eggs (need to fish with her soon...)

Let the hens out, rooster in tow. Selma and I went to lead the goats to the field, Adrian came by... Had not expected it. Another pair of hands (claws? wings?) to help... I suppose. Thankfully he stayed in his flighted form.

Went to the wetlands to gather peat. Worryingly arid today - drought is still plaguing us. Hoping that whoever drew the ire of our Almighty Father did not happen to be I - and that they apologise quickly so that He may bring us another bout of rain! (That was written in jest. A little.) The drought does the crops no favours, but no plight comes without a boon (no matter how small) I suppose, as it will assist in the drying of the peat. Selma and Adrian assisted in digging and bringing the peat to the drying field.

On way back, checked for weeds at the fields. Spotted quitch. Curses! Stopped doing our best to remove all. Some remnant of the blasted thing likely remains - as it always does. Couldn't linger too long.

Afternoon. Tired, so might retire early - not much to do now that the peat is drying. Decided to tend to the path - been some time since last time. Selma helped. Adrian decided to leave... Looked uncomfortable after something that I had said... Selma told me I ought to apologise later. She is right...

After path was done, Selma took her leave. Made dinner - some potatoes from the cellar and pickled herring - inappropriate for the evening, I know, but... alas, I had forgotten the mid-day meal anyway. Led the goats and hens, rooster back to their enclosures before sleeping. Their enclosures shall be cleaned tomorrow.

#asks #oc stuff #oc: folke #oc: arvo #folke's writing here btw is kind of 'sloppy' bcs i imagine if he keeps a journal he probably writes quickly hehe #pareidolia tag #just realised it said short paragraph not several. Erm......................................... dont think about it

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co-co-ocelot · 2 months ago

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(I just realised I've never made an intro page- OOPS. WELP. Here it is!)

Salutations! My name is Co Co Ocelot, because no you do not get to know my real name get DUNKED ON. >:D

The things I like right now:

-Undertale

-Five Nights At Freddy's

-Genshin Impact

-Hazbin Hotel + Helluva Boss

-Cult Of The Lamb

Asks: OPEN

What is on my account?

Generally art- specifically OC X Cannon (if you don't like that, I can respect it but that's like the majority of my stuff so you probably won't like my blog, but hey! You never know if I could change your mind :D), Fanart, My ask blogs (which are also probably mainly OC X Cannon- which I'll get into a little later), and reposts.

What are the rules here?

Comments:

-13+ (I mean... Not like you'll listen but still. I'd like to put it there for consideration.)

-No hate for unjust reasons, such as disliking a ship, thinking something is cringe, or disagreeing with an opinion of mine. However! If you are respectful with criticisms or corrections for just reasons such as myself unintentionally coming across the wrong way, this is perfectly fine. We are all human and make mistakes, so if I do something that could come across as offensive, please tell me! I'll really appreciate it.

-Absolutely no racism, homophobia, transphobia EXC, because this will result in a ban. I will tell you though, just telling you what you said was X, Y and Z. I can understand that people make mistakes, or something could be taken the wrong way, so just be careful about this sort of thing to avoid any miscommunication.

-No self promotion (it's kind of rude T<T)

Asks:

Please don't ask:

-Questions about myself, please keep it to the characters, though I do appreciate the interest. <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

-Overly sexual asks, (Such as graphic descriptions- but just asking a character "doth thou plough?" Is fine and honestly pretty funny. Just don't take it too far.) (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

-Ask anything litterally illegal or inappropriate/creepy? Such as PDF-file type behaviour. That stuff is real nasty.

Please do ask these however! And don't be afraid to ask stuff that's not on here! As long as it doesn't go against the "don'ts" section, you're good! Just remember to not be worried, because of you do anything I'm not comfortable with I'll let you know and add it to the list of no-goes, zero hard feelings! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

-Angst (So asking sad questions, making characters remember stuff that no person should ever experience- but what's the point in having a favourite character if you don't mentally and physically destroy them? I LOVE THAT SHIT)!

-Asking about the characters, head cannons, or story! This one is a BIG yes please! It helps me build the story as we go along.

-Anon magic- that stuff is really funny (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

-Show off your OCs! For an example, if your OC is a new employee of Vox Tech, I may have them sometimes be in the background of the panels, occasionally coming in and doing tasks, exc! Just tell me a little about them and their personality and I'll so it! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

What ask blogs are available right now?

Current counting: 1

Secret Garden: OC (Rosemary) X Vox

Yes this is inspired by Flower Fell the Undertale AU ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

Content warnings for this blog:

- Gore

- Valentino. I hate that fucker

- Dark/Downright disturbing themes such as SH, SA, PTSD, Child abuse/SA, manipulation, exc... (I'D LIKE TO EMPHASISE THAT I AM NOT ENDORSING THIS, IT'S JUST ONE OF THE CHARACTERS BACKSTORY, AND AT NO POINT IN THE STORY IS IT VIEWED IN A POSITIVE LIGHT)

- Generally soul crushing angst

- Oc x Cannon... If you don't like that for some reason (I'm judging you, it's the best)

Context summary:

The curse:

-A few years back, (post Vox vs Alastor) a man named Zentheal hired Rosemary, a sinner who, as things were then, had a tight hold on pentagram city's drug rings, meaning they had power. He could 'respect' that, he just chose not to because he's a dick. He hired them to spy on a business rival for quite the attractive price.

-Despite the blatant disrespect and death threats if failure occurred, Rosemary accepted, (not that they they had the option to say no) but rather quickly found out said business rival was a nightmare, and it was like staring at paint dry.

-Rosemary ran out of time and Zentheal was beyond livid. After a rather brutal torture session he sent Rosemary back home, completely unaware of what the upcoming hours would entail.

-Pain. Lots of it. And none of it having to do with the torture. The flowers that already held their roots under their skin ever since they arrived in hell...were spreading.

-Rosemary had thrown up from the pain twice, completely immobilised while the flowers slowly breached the surface of their skin, and in the end they experienced all that pain for a mere...what? 7-8 flowers to grow?

-This couldn't be safe at all... Were they going to die...?

How they met the Vees:

- Recently, Velvette and Rosemary had done a collaboration, where -essentially- Rosemary gave Vel a boatload of the strongest drugs they had so she could give them to her team and see what shit they cooked up. It was mainly out of boredom but oh BOY did people go crazy for the nonsensical designs the buzzed out designers made. Both sides saw increased sales from then on, so they decided to do another collaboration in the near future.

- Velvette and Rosemary ended up becoming good friends from that encounter, meaning they came over to the Vee tower often to hang out, becoming quite familiar with the three. Velvette just made sure to keep them FAR away from Valentino.

Where the story is currently:

- All three of the Vees, as it stands right now, are unaware of Rosemary's curse.

- Vox is still stuck in an incredibly toxic an abusive situationship with Valentino, who is getting more and more insane by the day. Vox is getting sick of it.

- Vox is considering letting Rosemary join the Vee's, but is debating it, since Rosemary and Valentino get on awfully. They both want to kill eachother, and oh boy do they try.

What happens next? You'll have to ask and find out.

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clumsyhissingcat · 1 month ago

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No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIESUnconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | “It’s us or them.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.7 for Whumptober !

This one doesn’t need that much lore to be understood, but if you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Brian was normally very good at saving his strength. For any lightning magician, this was absolutely vital, and a large part of the training of the members of his guild, mostly made up of lightning mages, consisted of learning to carefully control the flow of energy and determine the minimum level necessary.

There was a blur of movement to his right and he let his magic enhance his reflexes, the shortened nerve impulses enabling him to move in time to dodge the hammer that smashed the ground where he stood just in time. A splinter of rock cut into his cheek without him even feeling it, completely focused on his opponent's next moves. There was an opening !

Brian threw himself forward in a burst of white light, aiming for the vital points.

The man he was up against straightened up, too quickly for it to be natural, and ploughed through the air with his weapon.

Brian leapt back with a cry of rage, forced to retreat again, skidding on the wet ground. He barely recovered and put a few more steps between himself and the enemy.

The latter, instead of continuing his attacks, watched him with a hallucinatory gaze, a euphoric sparkle in his eyes.

For God's sake, a guy of his build wasn't even supposed to be wielding a war hammer ! He was skinny, weak and obviously barely trained to fight ! Not even a challenge for a certified guild leader !

Brian gritted his teeth as the faint metallic taste in his mouth became more noticeable. In theory, the guy should have been on the ground by now, yes. If he wasn't the worst kind of opponent for a lightning mage.

A Berserker. Or at least, a pale imitation of one. Completely drugged with black henbane, insensitive to pain, endowed with enhanced strength and, worst of all, delirious stamina.

Brian's grip on his sword had been trembling for a good two minutes. He tightened it as best he could and tried to think above the panic that was beginning to mount. They were in the sewers, narrow and shifting spaces, in which using his increased speed was difficult and dangerous, especially when relying only on his imperfect night vision. Running away was not an option, and the very thought of it stirred a deep revolt within him.

But so was continuing to fight against such a resilient man.

Mages with an affinity for lightning essentially fought in two ways : by using their ultra-speed in a refined way to beat the enemy in a matter of seconds, or by unleashing huge discharges of power in just a few bursts. Brian couldn't count on the latter after putting his powers to work all the day, especially given the state he'd been in the week before, right after another seizure. As for the first...part of the problem stemmed from the Berserker's own reflexes.

The other came from Brian's deep-seated fear of what would happen if he missed. Or if the Berserker got up as if nothing had happened.

If the guild leader went all out, he could certainly give him one hell of a beating. But the price to be paid for this success...

The madman rushed at him with a scream, and Brian felt his power roar through his veins, tingling in his fingertips, in his legs, vibrating in every muscle. He barely dodged, swollen with adrenalin mixed with indecision. He pivoted and in a second of quick thinking lacerated the assailant's flank. He was rewarded with a satisfying spurt of blood. The man didn't scream or even slow down : he stretched out his leg to trip Brian. The lightning magician moved to dodge it too...

...And a sudden muscle contraction in his calf caused him to stumble anyway. He barely recovered, compensating with his good leg to transform his fall into a roll that allowed him to get up hastily and unleash a bolt of lightning from his fingertips that kept his opponent at bay. His outstretched fingers twitched spasmodically, as did his right leg. He'd dropped his sword in his fall, his strained muscles unable to keep a firm grip on the movement.

Oh shit, he was absolutely losing this duel, wasn't he ?

The gunman stared at his fingers for a second, then a delighted smile stretched across his face. He raised his eyes, staring at Brian.

-You're dead, you bastard.

The voice was hoarse and the words garbled, painfully extracted from the depths of a brain clearly not at its best when it comes to word.

The guild leader didn't reply, his heart in his throat, unable to think of an answer at the same time as his survival.

This wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this situation, and each time it felt like the last. And maybe it was the last, Brian mused, his leg and arms twitching spasmodically and unceasingly. A dull terror gripped his throat, soaking his palms with a sweat that had nothing to do with the effort. How many times had this same terror pressed against him in recent years?

Saving his strength, planning every necessary move, retreating as soon as possible at the slightest doubt. The daily routine of a lightning mage, the precepts that all those who employed these particular spells had to follow. He knew this. He knew exactly what consequences he was exposing himself to by neglecting these basic precautions.

And yet, he continued to end up in this position, always.

Brian exhaled slowly, the breath trapped in his lungs.

This wasn't the first time.

The Berserker launched a final charge to finish off his enemy.

Barely had he completed his first step when a flash of white blinded him. Then, a detonation, so powerful that he screamed in pain as his eardrums exploded, the destruction of delicate organs enough to briefly overcome even the insensitivity of the Berserker trance. In the confusion of the moment, he felt something going through his neck.

The afterimage on his retina finally dissipated. He wobbled, blinking wide-eyed to take stock, warm liquid dripping onto his shoulders from the two points of pain on either side of his head and on his chest.

The magician had disappeared.

For a second, he just stared at the last place he had stood. Gone...gone...a flash...

He turned around.

Crouched in the dust and leaning his shoulder against the wall to keep from collapsing, the man was staring at him with something that could only be terror on his blood-spattered face. And a kind of disbelief. Clearly, he hadn't expected to lose to a guy with almost no experience. His little escape attempt had failed.

The Berserker stepped forward to finish him off. Then the world turned, his legs gave up and he collapsed. He grunted in bewilderment, tried to lean on his arms to get up, but they gave way too, and he found himself flat on his back. His extremities were strangely numb, and for some reason his top was soaked through. He couldn't move enough to see, though. All he could do was growl at the mage, because the bastard had done something... !

He growled, struggling as he rapidly weakened, and as he flailed his gaze landed on an object on the ground beside the guildmaster. A small, blood-stained dagger.

His mind was no longer clear enough to make the connection, and he bled to death in a matter of seconds.

Brian could have fainted with relief. He had sincerely believed that this madman would manage to get up and kill him. But apparently, even Berserkers needed blood to live.

He'd managed to use what little stamina he had left in a final, full-speed thrust, pulling out his dagger to slit the man's throat. He'd finally won.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Another violent muscle spasm painfully contracted his leg for a few seconds. Teeth clenched, Brian managed to tear his cape from around his neck quickly. Fortunately, the pin had been specially designed to detach easily. Better to lose a cape than a man. He threw the pin on the side, then maneuvered his body shaking with tiny uncontrollable tremors to the side as fast as he could, clumsily putting the cape under his head. He only had a few seconds left before the worst of the crisis struck. He lay on his side as comfortably as he could, his vision devoured by dazzling white flashes.

Reinforcements were on their way. A location enchantment was bound to the cape pin and he'd gone deep into the tunnels hours before. They were probably looking for him now. This wasn't the first crisis he'd suffered after overusing his powers.

He was still repeating these thoughts over and over to himself when a sudden wave of muscular contractions seized him.

#whumptober2024 #no.7 #Magic with a cost #OC #fic #fantasy settings #Hurt #Seizure #Fight #Blood

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tcwmatchmakingau · 1 year ago

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Old Flames

Prompt : What if Fives somehow matched with an old fling he had feelings for early in the war and they rekindle that old romance?

Pairing : Fives x Female OC

Rating : NFM

Word Count : 4,985 sorry :/

Content Warnings : Mention of death. Swearing. Sexual innuendo. Otherwise fluff and a bit of angst

The music was in a minor key and pumping, just the way Veera liked it. She loved to dance and her music loud but feeling a little self-conscious, (she was slightly older than the average patron), she kept to a darker corner of the dance floor. She’d not been to this club before but had already decided she would return, especially if this DJ was appearing… just, not on a night like tonight. Speed dating was on in the room next door and she’d come to support a work colleague who’d wanted company to be on the safe side. But that had worked to her own advantage, as she had arranged to meet a date of her own here. Veera had bitten the bullet! After a failed relationship with a clone officer, she’d decided to enlist the help of RTL Matchmaking, an agency dedicated to clones. Veera had always preferred letting nature take its course, so to enlist the help of an agency to speed up the process of finding a partner, went right against her grain. At least they were a not-for-profit! It took a hell of a lot for her to submit but the man she’d lost was going to take some beating, no standard fellow would cut it, she wanted to meet another clone but with an aversion to 79’s, she knew she needed professional help.

The first round of ‘speeding’ had finished and contenders were now hitting the main room, most of them remaining in their ‘chat up’ frame of mind. Veera’s friend was in round two, so she had another good hour of meat market diplomacy to contend with. Still, she was grateful for any chance to go out. One week shy of the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the war, Veera had found herself a short-term detainee in Coruscant’s immigration detention. She’d been deported from Raxus, accused of ‘Pro-Republic Views’. It wasn’t as black and white as that though, Veera was more a conscientious objector and had made some political comments that angered her regional governor, a man of dubious character. A deal had been struck that saw Veera and her university colleagues released from a labour camp but deported, “To their obviously preferred home world,” as punishment. Needless to say, being from a Separatist world during the height of the conflict meant life hadn’t been easy on Coruscant.

But now, Palpatine was dead, the war was over and Veera had freedom! She could be with whomever she wanted and go wherever she wanted and right now, she wanted to go to the bar! She ordered two bottles of water, downed one on the spot and thought to hell with it, “A morning concoction too, please!”

She’d barely finished her first sip when some boy saddled up to her, attempting a vulgar chat up line. The bartender heard and locked eyes with Veera, waiting to see her response and her first thought was to verbally bite a great chunk out of the lad but she restrained herself.

“I’m seeing someone,” she told him short and sweet. Tucking her bottled water under her arm, she took her drink in hand and moved to slip away.

“Are they here tonight though?” he followed up.

Veera just inhaled and walked away to find a table, concentrating solely on not spilling her drink as she watched the liquid swirling close to the rim of the glass. She thought a quick sip would lessen the chance of any spillage but didn’t see the group of animated young men advancing towards the bar and they were too busy talking to see her. It was an accident waiting to happen and sure enough, one ploughed straight into her! Next thing Veera knew, other than a hefty jolt, was caf and vodka up her nose and her water bottle hitting the floor. Swiftly registering that even more of her drink was dribbling over her mouth like a horseshoe moustache, she feigned looking for her bottle whilst quickly wiping her chin. One of the men had already retrieved it and was passing it to her with a, “Miss, your water.”

She was taken aback to realise he was a clone. It was then she realised another of the group had grabbed her hand to steady her drink, thus preventing any further disaster. Looking up at him with admittedly a little trepidation, to both apologise and thank him, she froze! She could tell by his expression that he too was doing a double take. But that goatee and tattoo, it was definitely him. She gasped for air.

“Fives!”

“Veera?”

Panic set in and her eyes darted around the club, “Fives, you’ll get into trouble!”

“Veera, the war’s over. I doubt we have to worry about that anymore.”

His comment brought her back to the here and now and she realised to her embarrassment she was on the cusp of hyperventilating. He had taken her other hand as well while the boys with him were looking at them in total confusion.

“I was never what they said I was,” she blurted out, surprising herself even.

“Hey cyar’rika, I never thought you were.”

It took a moment for his words to register and he looked at her with such a deep empathy she was transfixed.

“Um, this is awkward,” he continued. He gave her hand a tiny squeeze before letting go, “I’m actually here to meet someone. I don’t want to be rude but I’m about to be late.”

“Oh! That’s ok,” she swiftly answered. “I um, sorry to hold you up, I didn’t spill anything on you did I? Best let you go then. I’m supposed to be meeting someone as well anyway, so er –“

“Yeah well, uh, it would be nice to see you again… might even catch you before I leave tonight, if my plans don’t work out?”

“Sure, maybe later then…. unless you were here to meet with a Jane Doe to begin with?” she said jokingly. It was the name oddly given by RTL to identify herself to her match.

His mouth gaped, “Were you told to meet up with a John Doe?” he asked suspiciously.

Now Veera stood stunned, “Did you get that name from RTL?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“You’re John Doe?”

“Yeah, and you’re Jane Doe?”

“Yes!”

The lads were watching their conversation toing and froing as if watching a null-racket match.

“They matched us!” Veera stated.

“Looks like it,” he laughed a little. “Wow!”

“Yeah, wow! …Oh, well er… now I know why they gave us pseudonyms.”

“Yeah, bet they’re sitting in their office looking at their chronos thinking, any…minute…now!” Fives joked.

They took each other in for a moment before Fives clapped his hands together and turned to his junior clones.

“Ok gentlemen, it would appear I’ve stumbled across my date. You can all go now and sign up to the speed dating. We’ve got some serious catching up to do.” And with that, Fives led Veera to a table, sat her down first then joined next to her.

“I have to admit I’m staggered!” said Veera, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

“Me too…although, I wanted to see you again.”

“As did I but –” Veera let out a big sigh. “When RTL interviewed you, did you tell them about –?“

“Yeah, I did,” he preempted her words, “You?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “So, where do we start?”

Fives huffed in acknowledgement they’d have a bit to get through. “How about er… where do you work?” he teased.

Veera saw the funny side of his hackneyed first-date question, “Same hospital but I’ve moved to the ED, which I’d wanted all along. What about you, you’re out of armour, still an ARC with the Five-o-First?”

“Yes, although thinking of applying for an instructor’s position. It comes with a promotion.”

“Really? You’d be good at that that…. I’d like for you to get a promotion.” Veera then nodded at the lads who had come with Fives, “So, no Echo, although I’d dare say this wouldn’t be his scene, how is he?”

Fives paused and momentarily drew on the tabletop with his finger, “Actually, we lost him over a year ago, killed in action.”

Veera’s heart sank, “Fives! I am so sorry.” She instinctively reached out to hold Fives by the hand, “That wasn’t very smart of me, I didn’t think, I am so sorry.”

Fives placed his other hand on Veera’s to fully envelope hers but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, “It’s alright, time heals as they say.”

“Hmm, they say.” Veera brought her other hand into the mix and they silently sat holding each other.

“You know,” he said, turning to look at her, “it happened only about a week after we deployed.”

“So soon after I met you both!” It deeply unnerved Veera to think that on meeting Echo, his days were already numbered.

“And about two days after I was ordered to not see you again.”

Veera was silently registering his despondency when he scoffed, “The irony still gets me, only Echo could console me after losing you, then I would’ve given anything for you to console me after losing Echo.”

Fives was staring blankly at their hands watching his thumb slowly caresses her when he realised Veera was letting go to scoop him up in a hug and Force, he hadn’t realised how much he needed the gesture.

“I’m sorry. I thought Echo was such a lovely fellow.”

“Huh, you might not say that when I tell you he told me to dump you like a hot kebroot! He did a very good job of talking me out of wanting to defy my orders.”

Veera laughed as she sat back. “Oh, did he now?” she said with a knowing smile. “Guess I can’t blame him after what they probably said about me. Ultimately he was looking out for you. Bless him!” She raised her glass in a toast and took a sip of its remnants, offering Fives the rest. He took it and raised it in return.

“Yeah, good ol’ Echo,” he toasted, and then finished off her drink. He laughed to himself as he put the glass down with a faint sniff, “He was filthy on finding out you were Raxian.”

Veera wasn’t prepared for how much that would hit a nerve, “He wasn’t alone on that front.”

“Sorry, put my foot in it, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” But as he lent on the table his memories kept swirling around in his head and it ended up too much for him, finally turning to face Veera and spitting out, “What in Sith’s Hell was going on?”

Veera retracted a little at his gesture and he was quick to apologise, taking her hand again and holding it firmly in both his. “I’m sorry it’s just, it drove me nuts, even after all this time it would crop up to bug me…. It couldn’t have been too bad or they wouldn’t have let you join a clone matchmaking service.”

Veera couldn’t help acknowledge his logic with a slight laugh.

“I’ll talk officer,” she joked, raising her hands in surrender, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know but I’m gonna need a drink while I’m at it.”

“I do want to know,” said Fives decidedly, “I do… Let’s get something.”

He turned the switch for the holo-menu on their table and they lent in to see what was on offer. Despite the uncertainty of what he would learn, he felt a pleasant familiarity being next to Veera and he hoped she felt the same, so close together their arms almost touching, and as they finalised their choices he’d sneak a look here and there, the length of her eye-lashes, the straight line of her nose and her cheek bones, or more so the plump bit right at the top, he was sure the girls would have a name for it when doing their makeup but he knew it as the part he loved to brush his thumbs over, if he could just hold her face in his hands. Force, he’d forgotten just how captivating she was.

“Oh let’s get both bottles!” she said.

“What?” he snapped back to paying attention, “Two bottles of wine?”

“Why not? The war’s over and we should live it up - they matched us up for a reason! Our friends can help with any leftovers.”

“Oh mesh’la.” He smiled at her and hit the order button with conviction. Turning to face Veera, Fives sat with one arm resting on the table, the other on the back of his chair and in a tone that hinted he was accustomed to giving orders, said short and sharp, “Ok then, from the beginning!”

Veera sighed deeply and made herself comfy in her chair.

“Before you lads got rec leave and we were looking after Wolffe in our hospital, I’d worked out that somebody was going through my apartment messing it up, as if toying with me. I was convinced the politician that got me deported had hired Raxian goons to intimidate me.”

Fives was taken aback.

“I reported it to the police and told Wolffe and my uncle, you remember he was Wolffe’s surgeon, during one of Wolffe’s check-ups, that’s when he started helping me out with bug detectors and the like. He knew I was from Raxus, he’d read my dossier but still, he was taking a bit of risk with me being a new arrival. What we didn’t know then, was that Homeworld were also going through my flat.”

“What? I thought they were just watching your place, not going through it.”

“Turns out they’d been watching the Raxians going into my joint so assumed I ran some safe house. Homeworld would go in and rifle around after the Raxians had been in.”

Fives nodded to hold off as their waiter arrived with their order. He then did the honours and poured Veera a glass of wine whilst she decided on something to eat from their mixed platters.

“So,” he continued, taking some food for himself, “you had two groups routinely rifling through your apartment.”

“Yes, then you clones got granted rec leave and Wolffe arranged that One-o-Fourth party at 79’s to thank our ward staff.”

“The night me met,” Fives smiled and Veera couldn’t help smiling back.

“Yes and because Homeworld were watching my place, they’d seen Wolffe visit but then saw me come home with you after our date.”

“And from that they accused you of entrapment?” Fives shook his head and helped himself again to the platter. “Did they not realise all I scored that night was a caf and data pad full of legal documents to read while you got changed for your night shift?” he playfully bemoaned.

Veera shrugged, “Bureaucrats, maybe getting invited in for caf and to read someone’s data pad is their idea of sexy.”

Fives laughed out loud.

“No, hang on!” Veera remembered, “You got a kiss when you later dropped me off at the hospital so you can’t complain!”

“I’ll complain I only got the one,” he said with a wink and a sip of his wine. He was pretty certain she’d blushed at that.

“Anyway,” she stalled to recover, “a few nights later, Wolffe visited and crashed on the couch while I went to work. They actually broke in that night and he caught one of them.”

“For real? Go Wolffie!”

“He then arranged a meeting with Fox for information on who he’d caught but it turned out he caught a Homeworld agent. That’s how we found out their involvement.”

“No way!” Fives laughed, “Incompetent lot.”

“Yeah, I have my opinions, anyhow, Wolffe’s meeting with Fox was then interrupted by Homeworld. Wolffe was told you and he were getting orders to sever contact but Fox argued it would be better if Wolffe stayed in touch as an informant.”

Fives paused for a few minutes to absorb the latest bit of information. “Hmm, so Wolffe go to stay onboard yet I was thrown overboard? Crafty bastard that Fox. It’s not for nothing he’s called that.”

Veera shifted a little uncomfortably.

“And Wolffe started informing on you?” said Fives surprised and with a little shake of his head, picked over the platters again and Veera joined him. “How did you find that out?”

“Let’s just say Wolffe told me without telling me, if you catch my drift. He thankfully didn’t believe them and disagreed with what they were doing, so, hell of a risk on his behalf!”

“It was either very trusting or foolish of him.”

“Since when have you known him to be foolish?” Veera was feeling a little pressured and pulled the menu up to order some more water. “Look a lot happened in the hospital and Wolffe came to trust me. I just can’t tell you what because that would be a breach of client confidentiality.”

Fives prickled. “And now the war’s over and we’re all friends again? That and or I take it they never found anything?”

“There never was anything.” Veera said pointedly.

“Well, not that they could prove,” he teased.

“You’d better be bloody joking!��

“Mesh’la, I tease you too cruelly.” He picked up the wine bottle and topped up her glass as if a peace offering. She took a sip and continued.

“After Wolffe caught the Homeworld guy, I think they were a bit embarrassed so they stepped up their surveillance and finally caught one of the others. He admitted they’d been hired by someone off-world to harass me, there was nothing more to it.” And with one hand on her heart and the other raised to swear an oath, she added, “And that’s the truth!”

Fives lowered his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgement of her declaration.

“Now, I want to know what happened to you,” she blurted out.

Fives lent back in his chair with his glass of wine and pulled a platter nearer for easier pickings. “Well, we flew out the morning after our date and I got commed to present to the captain’s office. Had to stand to attention whilst this Homeworld officer strutted up and down with his chest puffed out, telling me I’d been seen at your place. He asked me how long I’d known you, where and how did we meet, where had we been, what did we do there, was ours a romantic relationship and if so, how romantic? Surprised he didn’t ask for the length of my cock.”

Veera choked on her wine and tried to scold him but Fives just laughed for having caught her off guard, “Oh they all gag, cyar’rika.”

She eyed him with a look of disbelief, “Fives, you are shameless!”

He laughed some more, then confessed, “Sorry, had to let off steam, I still get angry at the thought of that shebs’palon.”

Veera gathered herself then added her two credits worth, “I’m surprisedyoudidn’t volunteer the information.”

“Oh but I told them in my RTL interview.”

“Fives!” she shook her head..

“Which is clearly why they matched us up!” he said with a grin that implied he was either happy or done something wrong, probably both.

“Fives!!!”

Veera buried her head in her hands.

“Ok, I’ll behave. Back to my interrogation. The best bit was when he asked me, as if he were springing it on me, if I knew you were from Raxus? His face was priceless when I said you’d told me upfront and let me read your court documents. That pleasure however was short lived. He screamed at me that they were fakes you used to trick people –”

“What?”

“–and that known Raxian operatives had been seen going to your flat so you clearly were up to no good. I was lucky not to be getting charged with fraternisation but if I did anything after his dressing down, I’d get treason!”

Veera stared at him wide-eyed and silently contemplated the unpleasantness of Fives’ encounter. “I knew from Wolffe they were saying entrapment but didn’t realise they threatened you with treason. That’s horrible!”

“It was downright scary. He then told me to visit the doxies if I wanted company, I was ropable.”

“I’m sorry Fives. I really shouldn’t have agreed to that date.”

“Oh cyar’rika, I understand I’m impossible to resist,”

“Oh Fives,” Veera rubbed her forehead, “You got the impossible bit right,” she teased, “and for the record, my documents aren’t fake!” Veera said indignantly.

“Oh I know. I was having a heart to heart with Skywalker a month later, he put in a request for evidence so I could get a copy from the courts which I read in full.”

“Oh! You did your research…. I’m impressed, in a back-handed compliment kinda way.”

“I wanted to get to the truth! Then all I wanted was to let you know I hadn’t ghosted you but I couldn’t work out how. Then, time just…” he shrugged, looked away and went back to leaning on the table.

Fives’ honesty and honey eyes had warmed Veera as he’d told her his story. She felt guilt for what he’d been through, getting threatened by Homeworld.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had ghosted me,” she finally said, “I gave you the notes to read for a reason. Wolffe told me what happened about two weeks after you deployed, said he didn’t want me thinking the worst of you.” She paused and inhaled deeply, “I was livid to learn I couldn’t see you again or explain anything.”

Silence followed as the two looked at each other with small expressions of hopelessness over the past. Then Fives swiftly moved in, cupping her face with both hands and kissed her. Veera found herself feeling a little surprised by his urgency but a cosiness soon took over and she felt suspended in time. His lips soft, his nose pressing into her cheek, warm. He moved gently, savouring the moment, making her feel she was going to melt entirely and needed to grasp onto him for dear life wherever her hands landed, as if that was going to save her from being rendered into a liquid on the floor. He pulled back to breathe but she kept her eyes closed, she didn’t want the feeling to evaporate.

“So you felt the same as me?”

He delicately pressed his forehead to hers as he spoke and Veera could barely whisper, “I did.”

She could clearly hear his breathing over the music.

“And now?” he asked.

“I’m so grateful for a second chance.”

He pushed his chair back a little further out of the light and pulled her up to straddle him. They sat compressing themselves together, behaving the best they could in a public space yet wanting to feel everything of the other, their kisses deep and sensuous.

Eventually they pulled back before things got out of hand but remained as seated, not breaking the hold their eyes had on each other for a long time, no words needing to be spoken. Then Veera laid against his chest and he gently held her. Feeling each other’s warmth they relished in the stillness.

“I want to take you home now,” he whispered.

“I want that too…but it’s rude to ditch our friends. Besides,” she said, sitting back up to look at him, “the wait will make it a thousand times sweeter.” She ran her hands through his hair and he looked at her as if to say you’re playing a dangerous game.

They were all flushed as they righted themselves back in their seats then topped up their glasses, sharing tidbits with each other from their platters.

But curiosity got the better of Fives, “Still can’t believe Wolffe was able to stay. Did you and he ever ….get together?”

Veera was caught totally off-guard.

“That look is admission enough,” he said with a faint, understanding smile. “Always thought he was keen on you.”

“How?”

“You didn’t see him looking down at us every five seconds at 79’s?”

Veera shook her head.

“Oh he was keeping an eye on us.”

Veera looked down at the table.

“I’m pissed he got to stay on while I got banished.”

“Well it’s not like he had any say in the matter, Homeworld ultimately made the decision and ordered him.”

Fives sat silently, finally nodding and screwing up his nose he drawled under his breath, “Still think Fox is a crafty bastard.” He poured himself another glass.

“Pour me one too please….and actually, they say it’s not proper to talk about an ex on a first date. Can we please not talk about Wolffe anymore, not today.

“Veera, forgive me, because I want to believe it was all unintended and we got caught up in the crossfire of war but because of you, I was threatened with charges of fraternisation and treason. That’s a hot date with a firing squad! It also tarnished my reputation with my seniors. I am well aware standard first date protocol means we discuss hobbies, art galleries and preferred pets but really, we are not on our first date and we have history, so I think I deserve some background knowledge if I’m to entertain this match-up any further. The One-o-Fourth extracted us from our mission. He knew I’d lost Echo and he even told me he got the same orders as me so I’m very pissed to learn that wasn’t true and he got to stay with you. Dammit, we’d even been in 79’s together drinking in Echo’s memory and you knew nothing?”

Veera couldn’t tell if it were nausea or hurt she was feeling but she couldn’t have looked good because it made Fives

swiftly work to make amends.

“Mesh’la, I’m sorry, I’m sorry –“

“If you’re feeling pissed,” said Veera firmly, “I get it….but piss on Homeworld, not Wolffe. You know what I think? I think he chose not to tell me because he knew I was already very upset and the news of Echo would’ve crushed me. He also felt that if we didn’t talk of military matters, they’d have no evidence they could twist against me, or all three us for that matter. He knew I like you. He also knew I liked him but I was a mess. Yes, I was sweet on him before I met you but thought I’d read him all wrong. You asked me out first. If it’s any consolation, we both felt guilt that he got to stay and that I’d dated you and that you were taken out of my hands before the natural flow of things could take their course. Those issues gnawed at us constantly.”

Fives went quiet. He sat for a long while with his arms crossed, his thumb stroking his bottom lip. The sound of Veera sniffing snapped him out of his reflections. She was dabbing her eyes and wiping her hands on her skirt when he took them in his and rested them on his knees.

“Forgive me, please? I don’t want any more sadness or hurt. I’m sorry.” He started sniffling himself. “Look, I can lay all my cards on the table and tell you about my exes and exploits but I went to RTL to find something serious. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would lead to a second chance with you! You knocked me out the park when I met you at 79’s. Then we dated and I thought wow, this girl’s unbelievable! No one since has ever made me laugh like you did, or made me think of them in awe. I’m so sorry I upset you.” He sniffed again and swallowed hard. The look of pleading on his face too much for Veera.

“Come here you,” she said and gently drew him towards her.

They kissed, slowly, simply, sniffled a bit in between then rested their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry too,” she said.

After a moment of regaining their calm she asked him, “Do you think they matched us cause they knew we needed to get this off our chests or cause we actually do match?”

Fives huffed a little laugh, “I’d like to think both.”

“You’re such a diplomat.”

Fives threw his head back laughing, “Me, a diplomat? Cyar’rika, you’ve been drinking,” he winked. “Oh I hope we don’t have to wait too much longer for the kids, I want to go home.”

The twinkle in his eye made Veera blush.

“You were going to take me out dancing, remember?”

“Hmm, fond memories of the night we met, another thing I couldn’t forget about you.”

Veera laughed, “You know the saying about dancing?”

Fives shook his head.

“The vertical expression of a horizontal desire, legalised by music.”

“Young lady!” he beamed.

“Come on hazard stripes! Let’s dance.”

“Hazard stripes? Oh girl…you’ve been warned!”

Fives and Veera’ companions eventually emerged from their speed dating. Having agreed to look for them together, they finally spotted them on the dance floor but they weren’t dancing, rather leaning against a pillar, enfolded in each other’s arms.

“I’ve never seen him so….peaceful,” said one of the clones.

“Yeah, especially not with a lady!” another added.

Veera’s colleague asked them what they meant.

“Well, he’s usually so animated, like flirty and joshing with them –“

“Or all over them!”

The boys laughed heartily.

Veera’s colleague however looked at them, enamoured. “Well, all I can say is there must be something to this RTL Matchmaking lot cause look at them both, that’s pure tenderness right there. Think I might sign myself up.”

“Hey, what for?” exclaimed the first clone, “You’ve just met me!”

“Uh, uh, cheeky! I’ve just met all three of you. The agency would’ve narrowed it down to one for me, saving me a load of grief. Anyway, let’s go get a drink, we might be here a while.”

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #501st Legion #reader request #AO3 link #prompt response

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organdon3r · 3 months ago

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anyways :3 just breaking up all *those* kinds of posts!

OC CONTENT!!!

His name is Renee and he got his head just a bit separated from his body because he was picking flowers for his sick mother and didn't realise the farmer was in the fields plowing them with those ploughs that are attached to some tractors

he's a bit silly

#art #oc #original character #oc art

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red-riding-wood · 11 months ago

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Chapter 4

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

The Lannister’s head turned to the sound of my blade against its scabbard too late; I pierced him through the ribs, thrusting upward just enough to strike him in the heart. Blood bubbled from his lips, a wet gargle in his throat. I had only the time to spare him a cursory look, to glimpse briefly the widening of his hooded eyes before my attention was stolen by the others. When I pulled my blade from his corpse, crimson splattered my roughspun tunic.

Two more swords were drawn, and gasps sounded around us as the passing peasants and fishmongers ascertained the violence. I broadened my stance, the sheen of blood glinting off the steel of my blade as I held it to the last golden fingers of dawn, my eyes darting between my two opponents as I awaited their retaliation. My heart beat fiercely against my chest, my veins singing with fire.

The first blow came from above, and steel clashed with steel in a resounding clang across the docks, reverberating through my bones and gritted teeth as I forced the assassin’s blade back, staggering him but opening myself to his counterpart, who followed up with a jab toward my guts.

Jumping back, my stomach roiled as I felt the soft brush of the blade’s tip over the fabric of my belly, and feinting left I attacked the first again, swords meeting once more in a furious clash. The grating of steel rang in my ears as my blade slid and nicked him in the side, brought just in time to deflect the second’s steel as it came downward.

Growling with frustration, the wounded soldier’s guard fell, his sword no longer ready and his hood falling over a bald, indented skull. I fought aggressively, seizing my chance to bury my blade in his gut but once more brought to heel by a ferocity to match from the second. I was forced to one knee as I blocked his blow, both hands clinging round the hilt of my sword and my arms trembling and my teeth grinding together as sweat pricked the base of my neck and my muscles screamed with strain.

He was much stronger than I, and from the corner of my eye, his bald friend was recovering, so I let my blade slide from his and tumbled to my right, threads of crimson wisping across my dirt-streaked face as I pulled myself up, hand scraping against the ground and my feet nearly tripping over a rope left careless across the wooden dock. Between the threads of my hair, the warmth of Lannister gold and the bright of steel winked in the dawn.

They advanced in unison, and I had no choice but to hobble back, soon finding my balance enough to leap; I needed distance, and perhaps surroundings I could better use to my advantage rather than the openness of the docks. The still-hooded man was far too aggressive to let me get a hit in.

Just above the docks, I spied an alley behind the shops narrow enough that it would be difficult for both to face me at once. I turned and ran, the laughter of the Lannisters taunting me to turn back.

A woman dropped a basket of bread as I practically ploughed into her, shouldering her aside. The bread cracked under my boot it was so dry, but it did not unbalance me. Casting a glance behind me, I saw her scrambling away, bread left abandoned, to evade the two men that came charging at me with drawn swords.

“Get back here, you troublesome little shit, you,” the bald man sneered, and my heart slammed against my ribs as I came to a corner, the toes of my boots digging into the dirt and sand of the ground as I came skidding to a halt. Blade ready, I swivelled to face them once more when I heard the whistle of metal by my ear, and a startling thwack against the wooden frame of a building.

Clammy hands gripped the hilt of my sword as I turned my head to see the dagger imbedded in the wood, an inch or so from my face, having caught no more than a wisp of red hair that tugged from my scalp as I drew back.

I was being charged from both sides now, by the two men I’d been fighting and now a fourth, his dark hood and robes matching his accomplices but his hands reaching beneath the folds of fabric for another dagger rather than a sword.

Thinking fast, I kicked at a small stand of empty bread baskets, wicker and crumbs spilling to the earth and feebly barricading the fork in the path behind me. I ran, my blood pumping ice cold death and my heart in my throat.

“Foolish fucking girl,” I heard the bald one taunt again from behind.

The alleyway opened into a small courtyard overseeing the docks, alive with the blurs of panicked and fleeing civilians dressed in muted cloths and tunics. All but one, who advanced on me, causing my stride to falter. Tall and lean, the man moved like a cat, though he did not don the dark robes of the Lannister assassins but rather, the bright, warm yellows and orange and emblazoned suns of a distinguishable Westerosi house.

House Martell, of Dorne, my recognition of the bronze skin and distinct design of emblazoned speared suns fed my mind, watching as he seemed to dance with his spear, deft arms spinning it in a tasseled whirl. Though flashing me a smirk, his eyes, sharp as his spear, were pointed to my aggressors, who came spilling into the courtyard behind me.

Careful not to turn my back on the Martell, I turned side face and held my sword firmly at the ready, between myself and the Lannister assassins. I was in the open again, but for whatever reason, this spearman seemed to be on my side, lunging for the man on the far left. So I stood my ground.

Livid and murderous, the bald man rushed me as the other two were preoccupied with the thrusting spear of the Martell, blood trickling from his wounded side but only seeming to plunge him into a blind fury. Feinting to the left, I dodged his swing entirely and brought my sword across his arm, slicing past cloth and ring mail and hitting solid bone.

The bald man cried out, his sword clattering to the ground as blood poured like a calamitous tide down the forearm that hung at an odd angle from the slice, blood red as thick wine spilling through fingers curling as if desperate to collect it in his palm. Wasting no time, I thrust my blade into his guts, earning another broken cry to my ears as his knees buckled beneath him.

To my horror, the others were right behind me, the Martell having chosen to back away and offer his opponents an honourable chance rather than cutting them down in the narrow alley, where he could have easily reached them with his spear without fretting over their blades. He grinned at them, his spear a bronze-brown flurry against the darkening sky as he spun it over his head. Though he was clearly quite arrogant, perhaps even foolish, I could not help but quirk my lip at the confidence he exuded and the grace with which he moved, seeming to dance rather than fight. But the point of his spear was still painted in blood.

One of his opponents, the hooded one that had been with the bald, was bleeding from his shoulder, which slumped from the injury, but his sword-bearing arm still swung strong and true at the Martell. The spear checked it before I could even react, and it and the Lannister’s sword became another flurry of motion. To my right, I spotted the dagger man reaching beneath his robes, and as the second knife sailed through the air toward me, I vaulted back, bumping my shoulder against the spine of the Martell.

His theatrics stilling, we took up a defensive stance; he proved himself adaptable as my movements became his, the aggressive Lannister’s sword aiming again for my partner but meeting my sword, and his guts skewered by the flash of the steel-pointed spear. Invigorated, I knocked the sword from his arm and sent my blade swinging for the neck of Daggers.

Swiftly, he dodged, just as I heard the squelch of blood and catch of ring mail to my left, telling me the Martell was only just freeing his weapon from the corpse of its unfortunate victim.

And that was all I heard before the air was knocked from my lungs, and my opponent’s weight ploughed into me, sharp pain stinging along my left forearm and nicked collarbone. Blood roared in my ears, numbing the world around me. I gasped, fingers reaching for the hilt of my blade but my arm trapped beneath a powerful knee. My own blood fell in a hot droplet against my face as I watched the silhouette of the man against the darkening sky raise his dagger to bring down in a final blow.

Without thinking at all, really, I brought my other hand up to shield my face, my eyes wincing shut as I anticipated the pain of the dagger tearing through my palm. Instead, the bloodied dagger fell across my chest, and I fluttered open my eyes, chest heaving as I watched the Martell’s spear knock Daggers from me. Rather than following up with a simple thrust, the spearman circled his prey.

Bleeding, sore, and acting on impulse, I grabbed the dagger in my shaking hands and rolled over, thrusting it where I knew his lung would be. Daggers shuddered, coughed, blood spewing upward in a geyser from his mouth before the bright left the blue of his eyes and they stared up as pale, lifeless pearls.

Collapsed over the man, my fingers finally releasing the dagger, I heaved out a final breath and rocked back onto my knees, bloodied fingers swiping the hair from my eyes and leaving my forehead sticky.

And as I remembered the man who stood above me, his dark, nearly pitch black eyes studying me with a certain intrigue and his sculpted brows narrowing but spear held lax at his side, I yanked the dagger from the corpse’s breathless lung and stared up at him, wild, my weight sinking forward again as I readied myself to spring upward.

Dark eyes twinkled like stars in a black sky, and he smiled, the base of his spear resting against the ground and the tip of it pointed to the heavens, a bronze-gold serpent slithering along the steel and the leather of its tassels finally beginning to settle like the writhing tails of rattlesnakes. He reached a hand out, slow and innocuous.

“Why did you help me?” was my first question, eyeing the hand he reached to me in aid and deciding to bring myself to my own feet, dagger switching to my left hand and my sword to the other.

The Martell eyed me with curiosity and amusement, sharp eyes darting from the hand he now retracted, slow again like a serpent coiling its neck to strike, and told me in an accent I had only heard once or twice in my lifetime, the syllables lilted but soft and flowing seamlessly into one another like song,

“Anyone who wars with the Lannisters is a friend of mine.”

I narrowed my eyes at him now, and asked, “Who are you?”

Smiling, he wiped the blood of his spear off on the dark robes of Daggers’ corpse, and as he sheathed it along his back, he said, “Forgive me, my friend. My name is Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. And you are?”

My eyes must’ve widened in disbelief, for he seemed to enjoy my confusion; the sharp, distinctive lines of his face contorted into a prideful yet easy grin. A Westerosi prince, in Essos? The Red Viper himself – a legend I had grasped fleetingly in Willem Darry’s lessons, the Dornish prince said to poison his spear so that his enemies would fall dead with a mere cut. I recalled little if anything else about him, only tales of the Viper and the tragedy that had befallen his sister, who was wed to the older brother I had never known, Rhaegar Targaryen. The Martells and Targaryens went far back, our bloodlines having tied on numerous occasions after Aegon had conquered the Seven Kingdoms.

But although his prowess in battle lived up to his name, and he did indeed wear robes of the sun and spear of House Martell, why was he a continent away from home, unguarded, in this place of cheap wine and poverty and cobblers who reeked of old leather?

Unconvinced, I eyed him now with caution and a slight amusement. “And what is a prince doing in a place like this? You’re a little far from home.”

The false prince looked around at the now near-empty courtyard, save for a few curious onlookers in the far pockets of vendor stalls. Though flies were already swarming the pools of blood and fresh meat, he inhaled the scent of viscera and sand and salt as if breathing his first taste of anything. Almost reverently, his gaze gave a final sweep across it before settling back on my own.

“Adventure,” he told me. “The world is a big place. A shame it would be to hide away in one corner of it, for the entirety of a life that could end at any moment.” Eyes trailing down to the dagger and sword I still clutched in uncertain fingers, he added, “You could do away with those, my friend. I do not harm those who fight by my side.”

Reluctantly, I sheathed the dagger in my boot. Though the gold stripe of the handle was perhaps a bit garish for my liking, it could come in handy later, as a ware to sell or a concealed weapon, and I sheathed my sword after wiping it across the dark robes of Daggers as the false prince had his spear.

“Walk with me,” he said, and for a moment I did nothing as he turned, footsteps silent but his presence known to all by his finery and lazy yet dignified stride. He paused when I didn’t follow, casting a saturnine look to me and cocking his head.

“You do not believe me,” he concluded, to which I chuffed a nervous laugh.

“The only prince I’ve ever known,” I said, “certainly wouldn’t have stepped in to save a commoner.” The last words to leave my tongue began to dip into venom like a quill tasting black ink, for thoughts of Viserys were dangerous, heart-wrenching, sickening.

Dark eyes lit up, and his grin curled around white teeth. “Your saviour, now, am I?” he teased. “It seems you would be in my debt, then.”

“Hardly… I could’ve… handled myself,” I said indignantly, though my thinking seemed to whittle down from the throbbing in my arm that came to me, slowly, and my fingers reached for the cut across my tunic. They came away stained in a bright, fresh blood.

The prince – or false prince – cast an unbothered look down at the cut; it was shallow, after all, blood dribbling leisurely down my forearm, the most uncomfortable thing about it being the way the now-dampened roughspun clung to the stinging wound. Still, he cocked a brow at me, especially as I bunched the fabric of my tunic over it to stop the bleeding and the evening chill forced a shiver through me in my sweat and blood.

Are you really going to just stand there? His gaze seemed to say. Look at you.

Men began to slowly trickle into the courtyard – men with spears, pitchforks, daggers and shortswords that seemed to itch at their belts. They looked at me with their beady, frightful eyes and my flesh began to crawl, but when they looked at the prince, their jaws seemed to roll slack.

The prince, he seemed to not pay them any mind.

The huff of a capitulant sigh escaped my lungs, and I started forward, falling astride the Martell.

“Mayhaps you could’ve held your own,” he said, though his thoughts were distant, brow ponderous. “You fight almost like a Westerosi knight, from your stance, the way you hold your sword, though for certain you do not fight as honourable, but swifter – though not as fluid as the dance of the Braavosi. Sharper, wild, lawless. Are you a sellsword?”

He led me through the narrow, winding alleys of the seaside market, the scents of overlapping spices still lingering in the air, the residents and shopkeepers poking their heads from creaking wooden doors hesitantly. Had I not been tending to my injury, my hand would’ve been poised over the hilt of my sword, expecting someone to leap from the pockets of shadow the dying light didn’t dare touch.

The docks slowly began to come into view, a relief gradually settling in my bones with each step I took.

“No, not a sellsword,” I said. “I do not fight for gold.” “Then what do you fight for?”

A silence stretched between us, impossibly thick at first, until it pulled so taut I scarcely found the word in my chest,

“Survival.”

“Stabbing that Lannister through the spine, that was for survival?” He cocked a dark brow at me.

Another silence. My swallow felt heavy. Supplying information to a commoner or shopkeeper was a risk enough, but to a possible prince? I could ruin myself. And with everything still so fresh in mind, with the sun having just finally toppled completely below the horizon, I had hardly the time to think up an elaborate story.

Something akin to a smirk slithered upon the prince’s sharp, yet playful features. He must have taken my silence for his answer, and continued on to his next wonderment,

“Are you a warrior?”

I chuffed out a semblance of a laugh. Women weren’t warriors, nor knights, though I supposed I was the closest thing to one; I had offered my blade and my soul to blood, had practically made the protection of Daenerys and Viserys my life’s duty, so much so that I scarcely knew what I planned to make of myself next.

“Almost,” I answered.

He seemed intrigued at that, but continued to press, “A thief?”

“When I need to be.” I eyed him cautiously from the corner of one eye.

“An adventurer?”

Though I was now embarking across the Narrow Sea to find a mother I only knew of in tales and whispers, to a continent I hadn’t seen since I was too young to remember, adventure was not what I sought. A home, I realised; the closest thing I’d once had had been burnt to its foundations by the usurper’s men. A family, I mused rather wistfully.

“Hardly,” I said.

“A beggar?”

My mouth weaved into a bitter line. “No longer.”

“A whore?”

“Sometimes.”

The prince’s gaze lingered on me on that one, brow arched and a quirk in his mouth. I returned his gaze unabashedly, as if I had claimed to be innocent. He seemed to like that, I noted, as he chuckled and set his gaze forward again, for which I was thankful for. A slight blush suffused my cheeks.

“Whatever you really are, consider me intrigued,” he said.

Though our conversation was, at the least, a formidable distraction from the pain of my wound and the ache in my tired bones, he was too curious for my liking, and without knowing where exactly he was leading me, I couldn’t be certain what fate he planned.

“I must return to Westeros,” I told him. “I ask that you leave me on my way, my…” I fumbled for the words, my own smile quirking my lips as I bowed my head at him rather clumsily. “… my prince.” I was still not entirely convinced this wasn’t one foul trick. “Though well met, my quest does not concern you, and my time in Essos is rather short.”

That proved to be the wrong thing to say, for his dark eyes lit up and his playful smirk seemed to stretch wider over his face.

“I always find myself so intrigued by a quest,” he intoned. I wondered at this point how much of this he was saying to get under my skin. “Especially a quest that involves spilling Lannister blood. Perhaps you should tell me of it on board my ship? We are sailing to Maidenpool on the morrow.”

Maidenpool. I vaguely recalled having pointed out the city on an old, withered map in Ser Willem’s manor. It docked the Stormlands, homeland of the Baratheons and the usurper. Host to King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros and the fabled Iron Throne.

As the ocean air came wafting through the alleys, the brine and rotten seaweed and fishermens’ catches, the land beyond seemed to call to me again, my aching joints renewed with a new energy. I tried my best to keep my excitement and dangerous hope from my tone as I asked,

“And if you really are The Red Viper, what exactly would you want with me?”

“You killed three Lannisters today. Those are three reasons alone to offer you board on my ship. As I said, you are my friend – a friend who has not yet offered her name, but a friend nonetheless.”

I could scarcely believe it when the yellow of a sail poked from behind the last of the shops, a massive ship of red-tinged chestnut wood bobbing slowly on the restless waters, a golden man and spear protruding from the bowspirit, a bronze snake coiling round his body.

“Aleera,” I told him, unable to ward off all awe from my tone.

“And so, the mystery begins to unravel.” His footsteps were silent as they landed on the boards of the docks. “Well met, Aleera. Perhaps when we dock in Maidenpool, I shall finally know your second name.”

Targaryen, some voice sprang from the depths of my bosom to supply, but caught on my tongue like a thorn. I could call myself anything now, but calling myself the blood of the dragon would either elicit a laughing fit or place a target on my back.

Snow, I thought next; I was a bastard of the North, after all, and in Westeros, bastards were given the appropriate title of their region of birth. But I had never even seen the snow, nor the weirwood trees or wolves or shadowcats. I swallowed both titles, realising for one sickening moment that mayhaps I didn’t belong in either world of fire or ice.

“Your curiosity will only bring you disappointment,” I told him, deciding. “It is only Aleera.”

“No family?” he asked, as the magnificent sails of the Martell sigil came into full view: a vibrant yellow spear thrust through a crimson sun, emblazoned on the billowing fabric of orange fire. Now closer to the crewmates, I noticed several warriors – men and women alike – dressed in the warm colours of Dorne and fine, rich leathers, pale yellow shawls. Their skin gleamed shades of bronze and olive where the leatherwork made sensual patterns over their flesh, and at their sides or backs they wielded spears, bows, or curved blades of various styles and sizes.

A woman with engraved leather epaulettes and a tangerine silk dress and dark, curly hair that tumbled over her breast in coils of untamed beauty seemed to take an interest in Oberyn and I; long, bedazzled fingers curled over the edge of the ship and she studied me from black painted eyes with equal parts caution and intrigue. Though donning the warm, inviting yet fierce colours of Dorne, she was cold as stone.

“No family,” I confirmed, my gaze back to his as we came to stand on the ramp leading to his ship.

“It must be rather lonesome, having no one in this world.” I could tell not if he was attempting to worm his way beneath my skin or genuinely sympathising. His words were almost sullen, gentle, yet his black eyes were piercing, stripping me of my tunic, my flesh, my bones, until I was almost certain my secrets were secrets no longer. His gaze, I found I almost could not hold; my eyes darted to the toes of my boots, to the cracks in the wooden barge that seemed to undulate in my blurring vision, black threads twisting round my heart.

“Aleera, I would be honoured to have you come aboard my ship,” he said, and I blinked away my sudden tears to witness his hand gesturing with a flourish to the upper decks. “That is, if you do not still harbour misgivings about the legitimacy of my title,” he added, a teasing lilt to his tone. He could switch from melancholic to serious to playful in a heartbeat. I needed to do the same if I wanted to keep up.

Looking him up and down, I said, with a quirk of a smile on my lip, “You are perhaps too sharply dressed for a mummer. Too well-groomed for a pirate.” Lifting at the bottom of my tunic clumsily, I did a mock curtsy this time, feeling ridiculous in my peasant clothing but deciding this whole situation was rather ridiculous. Surreal. “Forgive me, Prince Oberyn,” I proclaimed dramatically.

Pleased, he grinned back at me, though before he could speak, the woman in the tangerine silks appeared by his side, her long, gold-ringed fingers grasping his jaw and pulling his gaze from me to her.

“Lover, I’d nearly sent out a search party,” she said, voice breathy with concern but purred with affection. Looking down at the blood splatters on his robes, she smiled, though her eyes betrayed her fear. “Getting into trouble, I see.”

My brows lifted as she tugged his mouth to hers, and Oberyn’s hands lifted to the small of her waist, feeling her nearly-bare skin beneath her silks and seeming to devour her as he sank into the kiss. Not often had I seen such public displays of affection. Shifting my weight uncomfortably, the boards of the docks creaked beneath my boots. But Oberyn ended the kiss on his own time, as if nothing existed in those moments but the two of them, one arm still cradling his lover’s waist and brushing his cheek to hers as he turned his gaze and his gesture to me.

“Ellaria, this is Aleera, my new friend. Aleera, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand,” he introduced us, and her dark, smoky gaze settled on me with full attentiveness as her tongue darted between bow-shaped lips. “She is in my debt for saving her from big, scary lions.”

Ellaria’s purr-like giggle chimed with his sarcastic flare, and the quirk of my mouth turned sardonic as I shot him a sharp look.

“Perhaps if you’d not been so preoccupied with your theatrics, you may have actually killed more than one,” I said.

Oberyn chuckled, smirking. “I like this one,” he murmured in his lover’s ear. “She’s hot-blooded.”

“We like them hot-blooded in Dorne,” Ellaria said, to me or her lover or herself I could tell not, her tone sultry and her dark gaze trailing over my body, lingering on the curve of my hips, the line of my mouth – the places I was not accustomed be made such keen interest of a woman. Then, it caught on the torn and bloodied fabric of my sleeve, and she smirked at me as she remarked, “She wears blood like a second skin.”

“And she calls herself a commoner, yet her skin is pale as milk,” Oberyn observed. “You do not work the fields or hawk your wares to the bazaars without gaining a little colour. A Westerosi, she claims, but she does not say where. Her accent is not of the North. Perhaps of the capital, though her penchant for killing Lannisters makes her survival unlikely… and I do not taste bile on my tongue when she speaks…”

“While your lack of disgust for me is truly flattering, Prince Oberyn, I am not for sale, if that is where this is headed – ”

“Sometimes.” His movement was almost jarring, had it not been so fluid, the silks of his lover’s waist barely causing a stir as he pointed a finger at me, and a devious smile curled his lip. “Sometimes, you are,” he reminded me, and it wasn’t until he laughed, white teeth flashing in the quickening dark, did I realise I might have appeared startled.

I mustered a sneer, which only seemed to amuse him more, and Ellaria rolled her eyes as she looked from me to him, her seductive tone now laden with boredom. “If you’re finished with your games, and the girl does not wish to accompany us tonight, I beg you to return to me, lover. The night grows dreadfully cold in your absence, and I have a hunger…” Her fingers pawed at the bare of his chest where his robe dipped generously low.

“Then before I sate your cravings, my beauty, I must extend my offer to our guest one last time,” he said, and though his tone changed when he turned his attention back to me, his accent still carried his speech with a soft, lulling nature, like a rattlesnake luring in its prey. “We have a maester to tend to your wound, and fires below deck to warm your bones, clothing soft against your battle-worn flesh…” His black gaze swept across me again, as if to make his point. Then, narrowing, it bore straight into mine as his curiosity returned to him. “You could not possibly come from the capital, for you do not hide your intentions well enough. You are looking for something; mayhaps this is why you seek passage to Westeros. But your eyes…” Ellaria seemed almost disappointed when he pulled from her, and I refused to look away as one calloused yet graceful finger gently tilted my chin up. His breath smelled of spices and wine. “They say the eyes betray one’s darkest secrets. What secrets lie beneath such cold steel?”

For one moment, I was suffocating; I desperately needed to swallow against the dryness of my throat, but I dared not. Silently, calmly, I returned his gaze, whilst wondering if he could feel the raucous beat of my heart against my flesh. His finger was dangerously close to my pulse.

“My secrets are not for sale, either, my prince,” I told him.

“Of course, because you do not want gold, but you do want something…” He trailed off to ponder this, but I interrupted sharply before he could,

“Everyone wants something.”

My breath hissed through my nose as he released me from his touch, and though his smirk was near devilish and the spear that glinted on his back would be so bitterly cold buried in my insides did he decide I was no longer his friend, his black eyes were bright and the feel of his skin was still warm against mine. “Not like you do,” he corrected me, and I knew that I was not boarding this ship without offering something in return. Perhaps I could’ve offered to share his bed, but my flesh still crawled from the way the hands of the Dothraki warrior had grabbed me, and tonight my blood sang with war, not love.

“Admittedly…” I said, easing my tone. “I was only born in Westeros. The country is rather foreign to me. But I believe it is home. And that it holds promise of new life.”

Sated with this information, for the time being, he nodded approvingly, but his eyes told still of great curiosity. “Tell me, Aleera, do you wish to live and die in the same corner of the world, or will you sail with us to find this new life you seek?”

A smile twisted my lip slightly, something in his words stirring an excitement in my veins despite every intuition telling me that this was too good to be true. I looked back over my shoulder, at the alleyways that still buzzed faintly with activity, an agitation set upon the marketplace by the violence we had enacted. A breeze lifted the curls of hair from my shoulders and watered my eyes, sending a shiver through my body as I began to release the pressure of the blood-soaked roughspun against my arm. The damp chill of the wind settled deep in my bones, as cold as the arakh that had been held to my throat, as cold as the ice that had settled in my veins as my sister cast me away.

“Mayhaps I was wrong about you, Aleera.”

Whispers of her came to me on the wind, and as I turned my back, they seemed to disappear into the noise, the fluttering of the sails aboard the ship and the drunken rumble of the beginnings of a sea shanty somewhere above decks.

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn. It seems I find myself in your debt after all.”

NEXT CHAPTER coming soon!

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